David Coe - Bonds of Vengeance

She felt it in the rhythm of their movements on the small bed, in the way he gazed up at her, watching her love him.

A part of her wanted to hate herself for all that she had done to him, to the world in which their daughter would live. But his touch wouldn’t allow it. If I can forgive you , he seemed to say with his kisses, his caresses, if I can love you, you must do the same for yourself .

And as she arced over him one last time, biting back a soft cry, her body seeming to burn with what he had done to her, what they had done together, she realized that she could do this much, for him, for herself, for Bryntelle.

Afterward, drained and sated, happier than she had been in many turns, and more afraid as well, she watched him sleep, touching his white hair, studying his face by the faint light that the window allowed into the chamber.

When the sky began to brighten with morning, he awoke, dressed quickly, and stooped to kiss her where she lay.

“I’ll come back to you,” he whispered. “To both of you. I promise.”

He kissed Bryntelle, brushed her cheek with a slender finger. Then he straightened, and left the chamber, tears glistening on his cheeks.

It was all just as she had dreamed it would be.

She had seen much else in her vision as well, things that made her tremble for herself and for her child. She hadn’t seen enough, however, to know if Grinsa could keep this last promise he had made.

Curtell, Braedon, Amon’s Moon waxing

The high chancellor didn’t have to look at Nitara to know that she was watching him, following his every movement with her ghostly pale eyes. He felt her stares as he might the breath of a lover, stirring his hair, touching the nape of his neck, the harbinger of a kiss. He had regretted turning her away from his bed every night since their encounter in his chamber, though he knew he had been right to do so. For years he had dreamed of finding a woman with whom he could lead the Forelands when at last his plans bore fruit. He had thought to make Cresenne his queen, and when he realized that she had betrayed him, he had turned such thoughts to Jastanne. Certainly it had never occurred to him to look for his queen within Harel’s court.

There could be no denying that Nitara was beautiful and intelligent. When Dusaan first thought to turn Kayiv and her to his cause, he had considered the man the more promising of the two. Only as he spoke to them of the movement and its needs did he begin to see just how wrong he had been. She was brilliant, and Kayiv proved far more limited than the Weaver had hoped.

That she knew who and what he was only served to deepen Dusaan’s fascination with the woman. It was one thing to touch Jastanne with his mind as she stood naked before him, her hair dancing in the wind on the plain he had conjured for her dreams. It would have been quite another to lie with a woman who knew his face and his name, as well as the extent of his power. He realized, however, that there were dangers as well, and thus far, his caution had overmatched his need and his passion.

The greatest risk, he felt certain, came not from Nitara herself but rather from Kayiv, who had been her lover until recently. Dusaan didn’t know what she had told him, or how she had explained her decision to end their love affair. The Weaver had made her swear that she wouldn’t tell anyone what she knew about him, and he had urged her to go back to Kayiv and repair their relationship. But though she had promised to keep his secret, she had made it clear that she couldn’t love the minister anymore. And judging from the way Kayiv was glaring at the high chancellor, as the other Qirsi in the ministerial chamber argued some arcane point of Braedon law, Dusaan could only assume that the man had guessed where her affections were now directed. He might even have concluded that Nitara was already sharing the chancellor’s bed.

Dusaan didn’t fear the man. He had far more pressing matters with which to concern himself than the pique of a spurned lover. But the chancellor knew from what Nitara had told him that when she first began to consider that he might be the Weaver, she voiced these suspicions to Kayiv. If Kayiv’s resentment ran deep enough, he might repeat what he heard to other ministers, perhaps even to the emperor.

He thought he could ease Kayiv’s anger, and with it the danger that the man might act against Dusaan, if he could manage to speak with him in private. The mere need to arrange such a conversation, however, pointed to a far greater problem. Kayiv had cause to hate him, and therefore to spread rumors that he had betrayed the emperor, that he might in fact be far more than he admitted. Nitara, who knew for certain that he was the Weaver and did lead the movement, was in love with him. And though she seemed satisfied for now to love him from a distance, it was possible, even likely, that she would grow restive with time, coming to resent him for refusing to return her love.

Cresenne had betrayed him. Grinsa had seen his face. Yaella ja Banvel, first minister to the duke of Mertesse, had thought to blame him for the death of Shurik jal Marcine, her lover. In the past half year, the movement had lost, in addition to Shurik, Enid ja Kovar, first minister in Thorald, Paegar jal Berget, high minister to the king of Eibithar, and Peshkal jal Boerd, first minister to the duke of Bistari. Their deaths had little in common-one had died at the hands of a drunken musician, another succumbed to the poison of a ruthlessly ambitious Eandi noble, and yet another died at the hands of the Weaver himself, who had been forced to kill Paegar to guard the secret of his identity. Only Enid had died as a direct result of her duke learning that she served the Weaver’s cause. Yet it seemed to Dusaan that for the first time, his movement was in danger of being exposed to too much scrutiny. From what he had been told by his chancellor in Yserne, he gathered that the recent assassination attempt in Curlinte had fooled no one. The movement hadn’t suffered for this failure. A minister loyal to the courts had been killed in such a way as to convince the duchess and Sanbira’s queen that he was the traitor responsible for the assault. But they had been fortunate in this instance. A similar failure elsewhere might be disastrous.

Which brought him to the crux of the matter. He wasn’t ready to reveal himself and challenge the courts directly; the Eandi weren’t sufficiently weakened yet. But perhaps the time had come to push the emperor into a war with Eibithar. Such a conflict, if it succeeded in drawing Aneira, Caerisse, and Wethyrn into battle as well, might succeed where more subtle machinations no longer could. Even if the emperor gave the order to begin preparations for the invasion now, it would take another turn or two before the fighting began in earnest. Enough time, Dusaan believed, for the final pieces of his plan to be put in place.

Yes, the time had come at last. Perhaps this was a bit earlier than he had intended originally, but a skilled leader knew when to hold true to his initial designs, and when to change them to meet the exigencies of circumstance.

“Wouldn’t you agree with that, High Chancellor?”

He stared blankly at Stavel. He had completely lost the thread of their discussion. “I’m sorry, Chancellor. My mind must have wandered.”

The older man frowned. “I was saying that we may be able to satisfy both Muelry and Grensyn by making whatever solution we propose temporary.”

The high chancellor shook his head, finding it nearly impossible to believe that they were still discussing this foolish dispute among the southern houses. The matter should have been settled days ago. “No wonder my attention drifted,” he muttered.