David Coe - Bonds of Vengeance

Tavis nodded. “Well, I’m. . I’m happy for you.”

“Thank you. I’m not sure that I am.”

“What do you mean?”

Grinsa eyed the guards for a moment. “Walk with me.” They started toward the nearest of the towers, descended the stairs, and stepped out into the castle’s upper ward. The wind had died down, but snow still fell, the flakes soft and cold on Tavis’s face.

For a short while, the two of them merely walked, following a meandering path through the Glyndwr gardens.

“What have I told you about her?” Grinsa finally asked, his voice low.

“Very little. I gather that you thought her a gleaner, just as she did you. I believe you loved her and that you only learned she was with the conspiracy after you left her.”

“I should have known earlier.” He shook his head. “She kept asking me about your Fating, about what I saw in the stone. The night I left she pretended to be hurt that I was leaving her, but I could tell there was more to it than that. I just chose not to see it for what it was.”

“You were in love.”

“That’s a poor excuse.”

Tavis started to argue, but quickly thought better of it. Grinsa expected a great deal of himself, more than was fair, it sometimes seemed to the young lord. If the gleaner had decided to blame himself for the woman’s betrayal, there was little Tavis could do to talk him out of it. And since he had never been in love, Tavis could hardly claim to be knowledgeable on the subject. Instead he walked and waited for Grinsa to continue.

“I’d always known that I would have to find Cresenne eventually. She serves the conspiracy and she may know something about the Weaver who leads it. But I had hoped to put this off as long as possible. I wanted to find Shurik first, and since his death I’ve hoped that my sister could find out what I might otherwise have to learn from Cresenne. I didn’t expect to see her this soon, and certainly not under these circumstances.”

He didn’t want to ask, but there seemed little choice. “Now that she’s here, what are you going to do?”

The gleaner shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Do you still love her?”

“I’d be a fool if I did.”

Tavis grinned. “That does nothing to answer my question.”

Grinsa actually laughed. “I don’t suppose it does.” His smile gave way to a grimace that told Tavis all he needed to know. “I don’t know if I can love her after what she’s done. But I am still. . drawn to her.”

“Does she know that you’re-?” He stopped himself, searching the ward for Kearney’s guards.

“Does she know the extent of my powers?”

“Yes.”

“I never told her, but I think she’s reasoned it out by now. It’s one of the reasons she called for me today, maybe the only reason. She needed my healing magic.”

“I expect that she called for you because you’re the child’s father. Whatever else lies between you, nothing can change that.”

The gleaner smiled and put his hand on Tavis’s shoulder. “Thank you. You may be right. But still your question raises an interesting point. If she knows I’m a Weaver, she’s a danger to me, to Keziah, and to our hopes of defeating the conspiracy.”

“Maybe now she can be turned from their cause.”

“You mean because of the baby.”

“I’m sorry, Grinsa,” Tavis said, retreating quickly. “I wasn’t implying that we should use your daughter as-”

“It’s all right, Tavis. Before this is over, we may have to think in such terms. For now, though-for tonight-I’d just like to think of Bryntelle as my babe, and nothing more.”

“Of course.”

They both fell silent, though Grinsa gave no indication that he was ready to return to the herbmaster’s chamber.

“There’s more on your mind,” the gleaner said at last. “I can always tell.”

Tavis was eager to tell him of his conversation with Kearney, but this didn’t seem to be the time.

“It’s nothing.”

The Qirsi halted, forcing Tavis to face him. “I don’t believe you. Just speak and be done with it.”

“All right.” He took a breath. “The duke came to the chamber during Cresenne’s childbirth. We spoke briefly, and he suggested that if she is or once was a part of the conspiracy, and if she had anything to do with arranging Brienne’s murder, she might be able to prove my innocence.”

Tavis saw the gleaner’s jaw tighten, but his expression remained the same, and when he finally replied, his voice was even and low. “The duke makes an interesting point. What is it you’d have me do?”

“I don’t know. First, we need to learn all she knows about what happened in Kentigern.”

“I already intended to ask her about that, along with a host of other matters. What then?”

He shrugged. “If it turns out she knows something of the plans to kill Brienne and of the assassin, I suppose we’ll need to bring her before the other dukes, perhaps even the king.”

Grinsa looked away, his lip pressed in a tight line. “I don’t want her journeying with us.”

“It wouldn’t be for long.”

“Any time at all will be too much. She’s dangerous, Tavis. For you, and especially for me.”

“Even now? Even after what you two have shared this night?”

“She lied to me!” Grinsa said, his voice rising. “She tried to have me killed!”

“Perhaps she can change.” It seemed to Tavis that he and the gleaner had reversed roles for just a moment. How often had Grinsa urged him to use reason, to move beyond his anger and resentment?

“Just because of the child?” The Qirsi shook his head. “That’s a great burden to put upon such tiny shoulders.”

“It’s not just the child. You said yourself that you almost lost both mother and daughter tonight. If it weren’t for you, Cresenne might be dead, or she might be mourning the babe rather than nursing her. Whatever happened between you before tonight, it’s all different now. You saved her despite her betrayal, and together you share responsibility for another life.” He chanced a smile. “Even I know enough to see the significance of that.”

“We’re not a family, Tavis. I don’t think we ever can be. We’re adversaries in a war. That’s more powerful than any bond that ties us to each other.” He rubbed a hand over his face, looking haggard and worn. “I’ll consider what you’re asking of me. Truly I will. And I’ll speak with her tomorrow. But I make you no promises.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to.” Tavis gestured toward the tower entrance. “You should sleep. It’s been a long night.”

Grinsa smiled wearily. “Are you ministering to me, Lord Curgh?”

“It seems someone needs to.”

They turned and started back the way they had come. It was snowing harder now and already it was difficult to see their footprints in the dim light of the castle torches.

“I do think you’re mistaken, though,” the young lord said after a few moments. “Whatever else you and Cresenne may have been, you are a family now. Not even this war can change that.”

She would have liked to sleep for days, uninterrupted. But Bryntelle woke her several times during the course of the night, the first few times to suckle, and the fourth time, Cresenne finally realized, because she had soiled her swaddling. When Bryntelle did sleep, Cresenne managed to as well, but as dawn broke, and the baby drifted into slumber during yet another feeding, Cresenne remained awake, lighting a nearby candle with her magic and staring at her daughter in the firelight.

She had promised herself that she would not be one of those mothers who saw her child through ensorcelled eyes. If the babe was ugly, so be it. She would admit as much to herself and to the world. And seeing Bryntelle for the first time, she had to concede that her baby did not look as she had hoped. Her skin was too red, her eyes swollen from the trauma of her birth, her head somewhat misshapen.