David Coe - Bonds of Vengeance

“She changes everything, Grinsa, and you know it. Not long ago I expect you thirsted for my death. You planned to capture me and have me executed as a traitor.” She looked down at Bryntelle, who had fallen asleep at her breast. “You won’t do that now. How would you explain such a thing to your daughter?”

“So much, for a mother’s love.”

She looked up. “What does that mean?”

“You don’t see a child lying in your arms. You see a tool, a weapon, perhaps even a shield.”

“That’s not true!”

“You think that I’ll spare your life for her sake. You probably even think that you can use my concern for her to turn me to your purposes.”

“I love her more than you could ever know!”

“Good. Because this blade cuts both ways.”

Cresenne shivered. “I don’t understand.”

“I need you to do certain things. You sent the assassin for me, which tells me that you sent his partner-the singer? — to Kentigern. You paid him to kill Brienne and make it look like Tavis’s crime.”

She should have denied it, just as he should have denied being a Weaver. And like Grinsa, she couldn’t bring herself to speak the words. “What is it you want?”

“As soon as you’re able, you’re going to come with us to the City of Kings, where you’ll tell the king just what you’ve done.”

“You can’t be serious!”

He gave a thin smile, his reply.

“Why? So that I can restore the Curgh boy’s good name. Don’t you understand that I hate the Eandi, that I’d sooner bring ruin to the Forelands than help even one of their nobles?”

“Yes, I understand. But you should understand that if you don’t do as I ask, I’ll have Bryntelle taken from you, and I’ll instruct the duke of Glyndwr to place you in his dungeon.”

She searched his face for some sign that he was dissembling. Seeing none, she began to tremble, as if he had doused the fire and thrown open the shutters to the icy wind. “She needs me,” she said in a small voice, holding Bryntelle so tightly to her breast that the baby awoke and began to cry.

“I know she does.” He spoke gently now, stepping closer to the bed. “And if you do as I ask, she’ll remain with you. I’ll do what I can to make certain of that. But you have to begin to make right all that you did in the service of your Weaver.”

“He’ll kill me.”

“I’ll protect you.”

She made herself smile, though abruptly there were tears on her cheeks. “If you really wanted to kill someone, is there a person in all the world who could stop you?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never been so desperate to kill someone.”

“Not even me?”

“I never wanted to kill you, Cresenne. And I never wanted to see you executed. To be honest, there was a part of me that hoped I’d never have to see you again at all. It would have been far easier that way.”

She nodded, looking at Bryntelle again. A tear fell on the bridge of the girl’s nose and she wrinkled her brow. Cresenne laughed, wiping the tear away.

He sat in the chair beside her bed. “What do you know about this Weaver?”

She stared at the fire. She had expected this, though she had hoped that she might be able to avoid his questions for a few more days, at least until she had time to decide whether or not to lie to him. For now, however, she realized that the truth would serve her as well as any lie. The fact was, she couldn’t tell him much. “Very little,” she said. “He makes certain of that.”

“Is he in one of the courts?”

“Possibly.”

“He seems to have a lot of gold. Do you know where he gets it?”

“No.”

He exhaled through his teeth. “You have to give me more than this, Cresenne.”

“I don’t know more. I’ve never seen his face, he’s never told me his name, or anything about his life beyond the conspiracy.”

“How does he contact you?”

“He enters my dreams.” She glanced at him for just an instant. “Isn’t that how all Weavers do it?”

“How does he pay you?”

“He seems to have a network of couriers. I imagine he uses merchants to get the gold from one place to another.”

“Are all of them Qirsi?”

“So far.”

Grinsa looked down at his hands. “Has he ever hurt you?”

She felt her stomach clench. “What do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean. Has he hurt you?”

“Sometimes he needs to demonstrate the extent of his powers. It’s not like he hurts me every time we speak.”

He just stared at her, saying nothing.

“I suppose Eandi nobles never use the threat of pain to maintain discipline among those who serve them.”

“An interesting comparison. If your Weaver is so much like an Eandi noble, what’s the point of this movement he leads?”

“That’s not what I meant!”

“No, I don’t suppose it was.”

“I didn’t say he was like the Eandi,” she said, her face growing hot. “I just meant that a leader-any leader-sometimes has to use force to keep order among those who follow him.”

“I see.”

She swiped at a strand of hair falling into her eyes. “Look, I’m still tired and sore from last night. Can we talk about this another time?”

Grinsa regarded her for a moment before giving a small nod and standing. “Of course. Do you need anything? Can I bring you some food, perhaps?”

“No, thank you.”

He turned from the bed and started toward the door.

“Do you want to hold her?” she called after him.

He stopped, facing her again. “What?”

“Do you want to hold her? She’s your daughter, too, and you haven’t held her yet. I thought maybe you’d like to.”

He stood motionless, as if held by some unseen hand.

Cresenne laughed aloud. Strange how this powerful man, who spoke of defeating the conspiracy and protecting her from the Weaver, could suddenly look so frightened at the notion of holding his own child.

“She’s not going to hurt you. You’re the Weaver, not she.”

“I–I don’t know how.”

“To hold a baby?”

He approached the bed, his steps uncertain. “I’ve never held one before.”

She lifted Bryntelle, holding her out to him. “Just be certain to support her head. Her neck isn’t strong enough yet.”

Grinsa swallowed, nodded. Taking her in his slender hands, he cradled her awkwardly against his chest. Immediately, Bryntelle began to cry.

“See?” he said, trying to give her back to Cresenne. “I told you I didn’t know how.”

“You’re holding her like she’s a crate of pipeweed. Have you ever held an animal in your arms?”

“Well, yes. A cat.”

“Good. Hold her as you would a cat.”

“By the scruff of her neck?”

Cresenne arched an eyebrow.

“Please take her,” he said. “I’ll try again another time. I think she senses that you and I are at odds right now.”

She shrugged, taking Bryntelle to her breast again. The baby fretted a moment longer, then began to nurse again.

“Do you think there’ll ever be a time when we’re not at odds?” Cresenne asked, her eyes fixed on the baby.

“I hope so, for Bryntelle’s sake.”

“So do I.” She looked up, meeting his gaze. “Truly I do.”

“I’ll check on the two of you later.” He crossed to the door. “Consider what I’ve told you, Cresenne,” he said, pausing with his hand on the door handle. “Whatever affections I still harbor for you, whatever I may feel for our child, I won’t let sentiment be my guide in this. I can’t. Too many people are depending on me.”

She eyed him for a moment, then nodded, though she kept her silence. At least until he was gone.

“Don’t worry,” she whispered to the baby, once the door had closed. “He won’t really take you away from me. He can’t. We’re all he has in the world, unless he actually thinks of that Curgh boy as family.”