David Coe - Bonds of Vengeance

He shook his head, his jaw set. “No. I expect the bells will be ringing shortly.”

“Shall I leave you until they do?”

He glanced down at his scrolls again. “Not unless you wish to.”

There was a correct reply to this. She felt sure of it. But she had no idea what it might be. After a moment’s silence, she walked to a chair near his table and sat.

For some time, he continued to stare at his papers, rustling them noisily. At last he cast a quick look her way, and forced a smile. “You must have been. . pleased to see the gleaner again.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Even now, after all that had passed between them, he still could not speak to her of Grinsa without sounding like a jealous lover.

“He’s the reason I asked you here, you know.”

“I thought so.”

“Knowing him as you do, I thought it best that you be present. This promises to be a most delicate discussion.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“I hope I can trust you not to say anything. . inappropriate, either to me or to Lord Tavis.”

Keziah grimaced. When she was still trying to attract the attention of the conspiracy, and trying as well to make herself suspect in the king’s eyes, she had been insolent and insulting, not only to Kearney but also to several of his noble guests. During one feast given in honor of the dukes of Rouvin and Grinnyd, she had so offended the Wethy noble that Wenda had felt compelled to apologize on Keziah’s behalf. No doubt, word of her transgression had found its way back to the king.

“Of course, Your Majesty. As I’ve already told you, I wasn’t myself in the days immediately following Paegar’s death. But I’m better now. You needn’t worry about me anymore.”

“I’d like to believe you, Keziah. But I’m not yet ready to surrender all to trust.”

She nodded, her eyes stinging. “I understand, Your Majesty.”

This was all of her own doing. She had chosen to alienate her king, to draw the eye of the Weaver so that she might learn more of his movement. But still, it grieved her to think that Kearney, who she had loved more than any other man in her life, should now find it so hard to trust her.

They sat in uncomfortable silence for several moments. Keziah stared at her hands, but she sensed that Kearney was watching her, perhaps waiting for her to say more. When she finally gathered the courage to meet his gaze, however, she found that he had turned his attention back to the scrolls on his table.

The bells began to toll in the city, and before they had finished there came a knock on the king’s door.

“At last,” he murmured. Then, in a louder voice, “Enter!”

The door opened revealing Gershon and two soldiers. The swordmaster walked into the room, eying the minister and the king with interest. At the same time, the guards stepped to the side. Behind them stood Grinsa, Lord Tavis, and a Qirsi woman.

Kearney stepped out from behind his table and beckoned them into the chamber with a wave of his hand.

Seeing Keziah, Grinsa gave a tight smile, but he remained by the woman, as if guarding her. It took Keziah a moment to realize that she was carrying a baby.

She almost stood then, to get a better look at her niece, but to have done so would have raised too many questions. Instead, she studied the girl’s mother. She shouldn’t have been surprised that the woman was beautiful-Pheba had been as well. But Keziah had to admit that she had never met any woman so attractive. She had long, fine hair that she wore pulled back loosely from her oval face. Her eyes were quite pale, no deeper in color than the parchment on Kearney’s table, and her lips were full and wide. She glanced around the room warily, her eyes lingering briefly on Keziah before flitting away once more. She clutched her baby to her breast, as if expecting one of them to rip the child from her arms at any moment, and she kept herself as close to Grinsa as he did to her. If Keziah hadn’t known that she had hurt him, that she had gone so far as to send an assassin to kill him, she might have thought them very much in love.

“Please sit,” the king said, crossing to the hearth and turning so that he faced all of them.

Cresenne looked to Grinsa, who led her to one of the chairs near the hearth, taking the other one himself. Tavis sat near Keziah, nodding to her once as he lowered himself into the chair. He appeared just as she remembered him. Straight hair the color of wheat, dark, intelligent eyes, the refined features of an Eandi noble. He would have been handsome had it not been for the lattice of dark, angry scars that covered his face, remembrances from his stay in the dungeon of Kentigern Castle.

Kearney pulled a chair just in front of Cresenne’s and sat as well, facing her. “I know you won’t believe this,” he said, “at least not at first. But you have nothing to fear from me. Answer our questions honestly, and no harm will come to you or your child.”

“And if I refuse?” she asked, her voice barely carrying to where Keziah sat.

Kearney smiled. “Let’s not talk about that for now. Listen first to what I have to say. Consider what I ask of you.”

She hesitated, then nodded.

The king indicated Gershon with a nod of his head. “That’s Gershon Trasker, captain of the King’s Guard and my swordmaster since I first became duke of Glyndwr. I asked him here so that he might assess the risk posed by the. . by your movement.”

She stared at the swordmaster, who offered no response at all. No doubt he thought the woman should be imprisoned immediately for her betrayal, the king’s questions saved for the dungeonmaster and his instruments of torture. Keziah knew that Gershon had little tolerance for traitors, and even less when their eyes were yellow.

“The woman sitting beside Lord Tavis is Keziah ja Dafydd, my archminister.”

Cresenne looked at her again, but quickly turned her attention back to the king.

Kearney started to say more, then stopped himself, his eyes meeting Keziah’s for just an instant. Then he faced Grinsa. “Gleaner, I believe you know better than I what questions she might be able to answer. Would you?”

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

“Pardon, Your Majesty,” Gershon broke in, standing as he spoke, a hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “But before we continue, I’d like to know what powers this woman possesses.”

Cresenne smiled coldly. “Gleaning, healing, and fire, swordmaster. I’m hardly a threat to your king. I’d imagine you have more to fear from his archminister.” She eyed Grinsa, the smile lingering. “Or perhaps the gleaner.”

It was a curious comment, and a dangerous one. Clearly she knew of Grinsa’s powers, but did she know as well that Keziah had spoken with the Weaver who led her movement?

Whatever she meant to imply, Gershon did not seem mollified. “Fire, eh?”

She rolled her eyes. “Think for a moment, swordmaster. Not like a warrior but like a man and a father. Do you honestly think I’d do anything so foolish with my child in my arms?”

That seemed to reach him. His mouth twisted sourly, but after another few seconds he nodded, returning to his seat.

“Gleaner?” the king prompted once more.

Grinsa sat forward. “How long have you been with the conspiracy, Cresenne?”

She furrowed her brow. “Conspiracy? I’m not certain I know what you mean.”

“Would you prefer I called it the Qirsi movement?”

“I still wouldn’t know what you were-”

“Stop it!” The gleaner glared at her. “You think this is a game. You think that I’ll be stayed by pity and love of our child. You’re wrong. Archminister,” he said, not taking his eyes off the woman. “Please take my daughter from the chamber. I have no doubt that you can find someone in the castle who’ll care for her until I’m finished here.”