David Coe - Bonds of Vengeance

“I must disagree with the thane, Your Majesty,” Fotir said from where he stood, near his duke and the young lord.

“How so, First Minister?”

“I don’t believe this message represents a change in the Sanbiri attitude toward alliances. The queen doesn’t suggest that we join forces with her against any other realms, but rather only against the conspiracy. I can’t know for certain, of course, but I would guess that she sent similar messages to every sovereign in the Forelands.”

Grinsa nodded, his mouth still set in a thin line. “That sounds likely to me, as well.”

“This isn’t to say that we shouldn’t pursue the alliance anyway,” Fotir went on. “But you should recognize her offer for what it is.”

“The queen’s letter also proves beyond doubt what we’ve thought for some time now.” Javan. “The conspiracy is a threat to every realm and every court. From this day forward, any time we hear of a noble’s death, we must question the circumstances surrounding it. We can’t assume that anything is as it seems. Not until this threat has passed and the Qirsi have been defeated.”

Marston nodded. “I agree with Lord Curgh. And though it saddens me to say it, I’d add that we can no longer simply trust the counsel of our Qirsi without question. It seems there are more traitors in the Forelands than we feared. Blind trust can only lead to disaster.”

“So we’re to assume then that all of them have betrayed us?” Lathrop shook his head. “That’s nonsense.”

Keziah felt as if an arrow had buried itself in her chest. Several of the other ministers looked angry. She thought Evetta might cry. Even Xivled, who had appeared unfazed by the decision of the king to exclude Qirsi from his discussion with the dukes a few days before now seemed disturbed by what his lord had said. But Keziah’s pain had far less to do with Shanstead’s words than with the way Kearney was looking at her. She had worked hard to make him doubt her. But more recently, since the Weaver instructed her to begin winning back the king’s trust, she had tried as best she could to do just that. It had seemed a gift, a spar of light in the shadows she had woven about herself. She had known it wouldn’t last, but for just a short while she had thought to continue her deception of the Weaver while also repairing some of the damage she had done to what remained of the love she and Kearney once shared.

Seeing how he regarded her now, however, she understood that it was too late. She saw fear in his green eyes, and so much suspicion. There might have been love there as well, a residue of the passion she remembered from their time in Glyndwr. But it had been twisted and defiled by all that had come since. Marston might find it hard to convince the other nobles to stop trusting the Qirsi who served them, but he had already swayed the king.

Caius of Labruinn glanced at his first minister, the oldest of the Qirsi in the king’s chamber. “Forgive me, Ottah,” he said, “but I’m not ready to dismiss the thane’s suggestion so quickly. No doubt the duchess of Curlinte trusted her minister, just as Lord Shanstead’s father trusted his.”

Caius was a young man in comparison to the other dukes. Not as young as Marston, but close. The young ones, it seemed, would lead this battle. Perhaps they hadn’t grown as close to their ministers, having only led their houses for a few years. Perhaps, having come into their birthrights at a time when the conspiracy was already beginning to spread across the land, they found it easier to question the loyalty of those who served them. Whatever the reason, Keziah found herself hating this man, and the thane as well.

Caius had risen from his chair and was pacing the floor now. “It seems there’s something in the Qirsi heart that breeds treachery. It runs like a river through the history of your people.”

Fotir bristled. “With all respect, Lord Labruinn, I find what you’ve said offensive.”

“As do I.”

Everyone in the chamber turned to look at Tavis.

“If it wasn’t for the Qirsi I never would have escaped from Kentigern. In all likelihood I’d be dead by now.”

Marston gave a small laugh. “My Lord Curgh,” he said, as if speaking to a child. “If it wasn’t for the Qirsi, you might never have been in Kentigern’s dungeon in the first place. Lady Brienne would still be alive and you would be in line behind your father for the throne.”

“That’s true, Lord Shanstead. Not all the Qirsi can be trusted. But neither can they all be dismissed as traitors. Even I can see that, though I have more cause than any of you to hate them.”

“The boy makes a good point,” Gershon said from the far corner of the chamber. Then his face reddened. “I mean Lord Curgh. Forgive me, my lord.”

Tavis actually smiled. “Apology accepted, swordmaster.”

The king stood, compelling the rest of them to their feet. “I’ll consider a response to the queen of Sanbira,” he said. “As to the rest. .” He faltered, his eyes straying to Keziah for just an instant. “We’ll speak of it again tomorrow.”

The nobles and ministers bowed to him and began to file out of the chamber. Keziah lingered a moment, and Grinsa with her. She hoped that Kearney would call her back. Perhaps if she could talk to him, she might allay whatever fears Marston had planted in the king’s mind. But Kearney kept silent and soon she and Grinsa were in the corridor.

Tavis was waiting for them. It struck her as strange that this young lord, whom she still thought of as spoiled and undisciplined, should be the most vocal defender of the Qirsi among all the gathered nobles. Even stranger, Gershon Trasker had been the only person to agree with him.

“You think it was him,” Grinsa said to the boy without preamble.

“I think he was behind it, yes. According to the message, the assassins are all dead. But I find it difficult to believe that the singer would have allowed himself to be killed.”

“You almost managed it in Mertesse.”

Tavis’s eyes narrowed, as if he thought Grinsa were mocking him. “I was fortunate, and you know it.”

Grinsa looked away, twisting his mouth sourly. There was more to this than Keziah could possibly have understood. “So, you think we should go to Sanbira,” he said.

“If we’re going to look for him, we should start there.”

If we’re going to look for him . . The words hung between them like a lofted arrow between two armies. A challenge.

“You can’t go,” Keziah said. She watched Grinsa, searching for some response. When he offered none, she turned her glare on the boy. “You know that he can’t. Without him, Cresenne will die.” She realized there were guards nearby and she started down the corridor away from them, drawing Tavis and Grinsa after her as if by the sheer force of her will. She didn’t stop until they had reached her chamber and she had sent away the servants and closed the door. “Cresenne needs Grinsa here,” she began once more, keeping her voice as low as her emotions allowed. “It’s just a matter of time before the Weaver tries again to kill her. We all know it, just as we all know that Grinsa is the only one who can protect her, the only one who can pull her from the dreams.”

“Keziah-”

“I know that you want vengeance,” she said to the boy, ignoring her brother. “I can even understand why you might need it. But it’s more important that he remain here.”

“Then, I’ll go alone.”

“No,” Grinsa said, “you won’t.”

“I don’t answer to you, gleaner.”

“I know you don’t. That’s not what I meant.”

The boy said nothing, looking more astonished than relieved.

Keziah could think of nothing to say. Grinsa couldn’t leave the castle; it was as obvious to her as the scars on Cresenne’s face, as clear as the sound of Bryntelle’s cries. Whatever he owed this young lord, whatever they had shared during their travels through Aneira, none of it could mean as much to Grinsa as his family. Surely he knew that.