David Coe - Bonds of Vengeance

“You can’t mean that you intend to leave with him,” she finally managed in a quavering voice.

“I do.”

“But-”

He held up a hand, silencing her. “There’s more at work here than my wishes, more to this than any of us can understand.”

“Your dream.”

She looked at Tavis, then turned back to Grinsa. “What dream?”

He was eyeing the boy. “I had a vision last night. I saw Tavis fighting the assassin on the shores of the Wethy Crown. I don’t know the outcome; I’m not entirely certain what it meant. But it seems the gods are telling me to go.”

“You can’t know that.”

At last he met her gaze. “Cresenne dreamed that I’d be leaving.”

Keziah opened her mouth to argue, closed it again. She couldn’t begin to guess what it might mean. She wished she could deny that it meant anything at all, but she knew better, possessing gleaning magic herself.

“But who’ll protect her?” she asked, tears stinging her eyes. “Who’ll protect me?”

Grinsa stepped past the boy and gathered her in his arms. “You’re the answer to both questions, Kezi,” he whispered.

“I can’t protect her from a Weaver.”

“He expects you to kill her. He won’t do anything himself so long as he believes he can count on you. You told me yourself that he intends this as a test of your commitment to the movement. He’ll give you every opportunity to succeed, because he has ample reason to want you to.”

She clung to him, laying her cheek against his broad chest. “But I can’t put him off forever. Eventually he’ll lose patience with me, and then we’ll both die.”

“Tavis and I won’t be gone that long.”

“You’re going to the Crown, Grinsa, and then you’ll be searching for a single man. This could take you half the year.”

“It won’t. Can you prevail upon Kearney to give us two mounts?”

The familiar twisting in her chest nearly made her wince. “I don’t think I can convince him to do anything anymore.”

“I can,” Tavis said. “Or more precisely, my father can.”

“But will he?” Grinsa asked. “He won’t want you to leave. Certainly not for this.”

“He won’t want me to, but he’ll let me.”

“All right,” Grinsa said. He looked down at Keziah. “Tavis and I will ride to Rennach, which shouldn’t take us more than five or six days, if we push the horses a bit. From there we’ll find passage on a merchant ship to the Crown.”

“A ship?” Tavis asked.

“Yes, of course. Riding all the way around the gulf and up the peninsula would take far too long.” He eyed the young lord. “Is that a problem?”

Tavis looked away. “I don’t fare well on ships. I never have.”

“If the weather’s reasonably fair, the crossing should take less than a day. It’s not like crossing the Scabbard during the snows. This time of year the Gulf of Kreanna is actually rather pleasant.”

Tavis nodded, clearly unconvinced.

Grinsa looked at Keziah once more. “My point is, we can be in Helke in seven or eight days.”

“But then you have to find the assassin.”

“I dreamed of him, Keziah. I know where to look.”

She wanted to say more, to argue the point until he changed his mind. But that wasn’t Grinsa’s way. He knew just as she did what he was risking. No doubt he realized as well that the journey he was about to undertake wouldn’t be as easy as he made it sound.

For several moments she and her brother stared at one another, until finally, his eyes still locked on hers, Grinsa said, “Tavis, you should tell your parents that we’re planning to leave. See if you can get those horses.”

“When will we be going?”

“Tomorrow morning, at first light.”

“All right.” He regarded them both for a moment, then let himself out of the chamber, leaving Keziah and Grinsa alone.

“Does he survive the encounter you saw?” she asked.

“I don’t know, but I think his chances are better with me there.”

Back in the growing turns, when Grinsa had risked so much to save Tavis from the dungeon of Kentigern, Keziah had asked him if the boy was worth the possible costs. She nearly asked him again now.

“I don’t know how you can bring yourself to leave them,” she said instead. “It would kill me.”

He closed his eyes briefly, taking a long breath. “I’m not sure that I can explain it. He has a role to play in this war before it ends. Killing the assassin isn’t it-to be honest, I’m not certain what it is-but I sense that he can’t do the rest if he’s still consumed with his need for vengeance. And if he dies, and his destiny remains unfulfilled, we’ll all suffer for the loss.”

“And what of Cresenne? Doesn’t she have a part to play in this as well?”

“Yes, of course she does. But I fear that. . that I love her too much to see clearly what it might be.” He swallowed, looking more unsure of himself than Keziah could remember. “For all I know, she did her part by having Brienne killed and betraying me.”

Keziah shook her head. “I think there’s more to it than that. She’s not the same person she was then.”

“I know.”

She felt his weariness as if it were her own. Much as she wanted to convince him to remain, she understood that she could help him best by not trying to do so.

“If the Weaver comes for her again, you’ll have to find a way to wake her,” he said. “He can’t make her remain asleep, although it may seem that way at times. This is something you need to learn as well.” He held his face close to hers, his yellow eyes fixed on her own, as if he could will her to comprehend what he was saying. “When he hurts you, when he closes a hand round your throat, it’s all an illusion. His magic only allows him to reach into your dreams. After that, he’s using your magic and your mind to hurt you. So you have to train your mind to resist him. You can’t panic, you can’t give in to fear of what he seems to be doing to you. He can’t kill you without your complicity. If you keep your thoughts clear, you should be able to wake yourself before he can harm you. Explain this to Cresenne. Work on it together.”

Keziah nodded, feeling tears on her face again. “We’ll try.”

He started to say something, then stopped himself. Trying isn’t enough, Kezi . He had said this to her before and no doubt he was thinking it now. But he merely kissed her and wiped away her tears with a gentle hand. “I know you will,” he whispered. And left her.

The light in her chamber was just as she had envisioned it, soft and golden, deep orange from the sunset seeping through the small window to mingle with the bright yellow of the torches. She had bathed earlier in the day, rousing herself from her tears and her fright to clean the stale smell from her limbs and hair. Then she had bathed Bryntelle as well, so that they would both be clean for him on this last night.

He entered the chamber with food from the kitchens and a small carafe of wine. After the guard closed the door, Grinsa asked that he and his comrade leave the corridor so that the three of them might have some privacy. Just to the bottom of the tower, he pleaded. When the men refused, he pulled two daggers from his belt, stuck them in the wooden door just above its steel grate, and draped his overshirt from them so that it hung in front of the small window. This, too, was just as she had seen.

They ate, he sang to Bryntelle until she slept. And as night settled over the castle, moonless and cool, Grinsa took Cresenne in his arms and began to remove her clothes, gently and silently.

She hadn’t been with any other man since their time together, and the memory of his touch seemed to awaken her passion as from a long sleep. His lips on her neck and breasts, his hands traveling her body, deft and sure. There was something familiar about it, and yet something new as well. Moving above him, her back arched, her hair falling loose, she finally found it within herself to admit what she had known for so long. She loved this man, and somehow, a gift of the gods, an offer of forgiveness beyond any she had imagined possible, he loved her as well.