David Coe - Bonds of Vengeance

“The Crown.”

“Is that where you’re going next?”

“I don’t intend to go anywhere, Cresenne.” He made himself meet her gaze. “I don’t know yet what this vision means. I’m not even certain that I’m to be there with them.”

“Of course you are. You’re tied to the boy in some way. You told me that long ago, in Galdasten.”

The gleaner remembered, of course. There had been a storm that night, much like the one to which he had wakened out of this most recent vision. Was there meaning in that as well?

“You must be tired,” he said. “You should get some rest. Bryntelle will be fine with me.”

Cresenne leaned forward and kissed the baby on the forehead. Then she stretched out on the bed, closing her eyes.

“If it means anything,” she said, already sounding sleepy, “I know that you don’t want to leave us, that it will pain you to go.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“I think you are. In the end I think you’ll decide that you have no choice. You’ve pledged yourself to protecting both Tavis and me, but you can only be with one of us at a time. And you feel somehow responsible for the boy.”

“Don’t you think I feel the same way about you, about Bryntelle?”

“Bryntelle isn’t in danger. Keziah told us so. And whatever danger I’m in is of my own making. That’s what you’ll decide.” She opened her eyes for just a moment. “And you’ll be right.”

She closed her eyes once more and rolled away from him. After a few moments he stood and began walking around the chamber with Bryntelle, rocking her gently and singing an Eibitharian folk song in a near whisper. Soon both the baby and her mother were asleep.

The day passed slowly. Grinsa couldn’t keep the vision from his mind, nor could he help but think that in the end, Cresenne’s words would prove as prescient as any gleaning. It seemed that Bryntelle was beginning to adjust to the strange hours she and her mother were keeping. She slept for the rest of the morning and well past midday before waking, hungry and wet. Grinsa changed her swaddling, then woke Cresenne so that the baby could nurse.

As Bryntelle ate, the city bells began to toll. It was far too early for the prior’s bell.

Cresenne frowned, looking from the window to Grinsa.

“Has another duke arrived?”

“None were expected after Labruinn and Heneagh. The rest have refused to come.”

“Then what?” She sounded alarmed, and Grinsa silently cursed the Weaver once more. Cresenne had lied to him when they were still lovers and the gleaner couldn’t be certain that he had known her as well as he believed at the time. But she hadn’t struck him then as the type of person who was easily frightened. Only now, bearing scars from the Weaver’s assault, did her face turn the color of ash at the merest hint of danger.

“It’s probably just a messenger,” he said. “From one of the other dukes, I’d guess.” He made himself smile. “I’m sure it’s nothing to be afraid of.”

But he could feel his own pulse pounding too hard in his temples, and though he tried to appear calm, he found himself looking repeatedly toward the window on the chamber’s steel door, as if expecting at any moment to see Keziah’s face, or the king’s.

Eventually the pealing of the bells ceased, and though he could hear voices rising to the narrow window from the castle ward, none of what he heard gave him cause for concern. Still, he wasn’t entirely surprised when at last he heard the scrape of a boot in the corridor and a low voice speaking to the guards.

A moment later a face loomed at the door’s steel grate. It wasn’t the king or Keziah. Rather, it was Tavis.

“Forgive me,” the young lord said, his dark eyes flicking briefly toward Cresenne, who covered herself with a corner of the bed linens.

“What is it, Tavis?”

“A message. I think you should hear it.”

“Can it wait?”

“It’s all right,” Cresenne said, her voice low and tense. “I won’t be able to sleep anyway.”

He looked at her and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

She shook her head, swiping at a tear that had appeared suddenly on her cheek. “It’s not your fault. I knew this would come. Actually I dreamed it. I just didn’t expect it would happen so soon.”

Grinsa and Lord Tavis entered Kearney’s presence chamber together but quickly separated, Tavis going to where his father stood near the window, and the gleaner sitting on the arm of Keziah’s chair. The other dukes were there as well, as were the thane of Shanstead and Gershon Trasker. All of the nobles had brought their ministers, so that the chamber felt crowded and warm.

When Tavis and Grinsa arrived, the king had just asked the older dukes-Javan, Lathrop, and Welfyl, the duke of Heneagh-about the realm’s past relations with the matriarchy in Sanbira. Now Welfyl, bent and frail looking in his chair by the dormant hearth, began a rambling reply, telling of his one visit to Sanbira in 853, when the queen at that time, Meleanna the Ninth, had honored him with an invitation to Castle Yserne.

“What’s happened?” Grinsa asked, his voice so low Keziah could barely hear him.

“Didn’t Tavis tell you?”

Welfyl paused long enough to frown at the two of them before continuing his tale.

“Only that a message had come,” Grinsa went on, lowering his voice even further. “I gather it’s from the queen.”

“Yes.”

“My pardon, Lord Heneagh,” Marston said, interrupting the old duke before Keziah could tell her brother more, “but I’d be interested in knowing if the queen ever spoke to you of an alliance between our two realms.”

“I was getting to that,” Welfyl said crossly. “Meleanna told me at dinner that night that the Matriarchy wished to avoid alliances with any of the northern realms. She said that the Sanbiris valued their friendship with Eibithar, but that they didn’t wish to risk offending the lords of Aneira and Braedon. ‘We have no wish to be party to your quarrels,’ is how she put it.” His brow furrowed. “Or something to that effect.”

“It seems Olesya is more willing than were her grandmother and mother to take such risks,” the thane said, turning to the king. “I believe this is a fine opportunity, my liege. We’d be wise to accept her offer as quickly as we can.”

Grinsa was watching the king as well. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. But am I to understand that the queen of Sanbira has proposed an alliance?”

“Yes, she has. I assumed that Lord Tavis had informed you on your way here.”

“No, Your Majesty. He merely said that a message had come. I believe he thought it more appropriate that you inform me, since the message was clearly intended for you.”

Keziah knew better. The tension between the young lord and her brother had been thick as a coastal fog when they entered the chamber. She could imagine the two of them walking in complete silence all the way from the prison tower. But Grinsa would conclude properly that the state of their friendship was no concern of Kearney’s or the other nobles. The message was what mattered.

“I’ve already read it to the other lords,” Kearney said, “so I won’t waste time with it again. Briefly, the queen writes of an attempt on the life of one of her duchesses, Diani of Curlinte. Diani is young-her mother just passed to Bian’s realm a few turns ago-and she survived the attempt. But House Curlinte is closely tied to the royal house, and it seems Diani’s first minister was behind the assassination attempt. The queen fears the conspiracy will strike at her again, and she proposes an alliance to fight the Qirsi threat.”

Grinsa’s gaze had shifted to the boy, who was staring back at him, his face pale, so that the scars he bore appeared even more livid than usual. Keziah couldn’t say what passed between them in those few moments, but within the span of a single heartbeat, Grinsa looked as troubled as the boy.