David Coe - Bonds of Vengeance

Pillad felt his cheeks redden. “Don’t think too much of it.”

“Minister, why do you still resist? Your duke has lost faith in you. How long do you think it will be before he banishes you from the castle entirely?’

“It won’t come to that.”

“Can you be certain? I’m sure you never thought it would come to this.” He paused watching Pillad, his light eyes fixed on the minister’s face. “Actually, you’re probably right. It won’t come to that, though not for the reason you think. He won’t send you from the castle because he won’t have time. Renald isn’t a bold man. It would take him several turns, maybe close to a year before he could muster the nerve to send you away. My allies and I will have already struck at the Eandi courts by then. For all we know, Renald will be dead before the end of the growing turns, as will any Qirsi who still serve him.”

Pillad looked up at that.

“Is he worth dying for, Minister? After what he’s done to you today, can you honestly say that you’re still willing to give your life for this man and his house?”

Was it possible that he had come here knowing that Uestem would find him? Had he intended to pledge himself to the movement all along? Listening to the merchant speak, grappling with this last question he had asked, Pillad couldn’t help but wonder. For abruptly, the answer seemed all too plain.

“No, I can’t.”

Uestem smiled, his expression free of irony. “You mean that? You’re ready to join us?”

“What would be expected of me?”

“I don’t know yet. To be honest, I haven’t been confident enough in my ability to persuade you to inquire. But I will now.”

“Yes, do.” He drained his ale and placed it on the table a bit too sharply. The noise startled him. “So what will happen now?”

“Someone will contact you in the next few days. You’ll-”

“Someone? You mean it won’t be you?”

The man placed his hand on Pillad’s. His skin felt warm and smooth. “It will be all right. Much of what you do in service to the movement will be through me. But not all.”

The minister nodded.

“You’ll be given a bit of gold-I don’t know how much-and you’ll be asked to perform some task on our behalf. When you’ve completed it, you’ll be contacted again. What happens after that will depend upon many things, so I can’t tell you much more.”

The minister pulled his hand away and stood. “I should return to the castle. I’ll be missed before long.”

“You’ll be missed here.”

Pillad felt his face grow hot again, but he smiled. He started to walk away, but then halted, facing the merchant again. “What would you have done if I had refused you again?”

“I would have kept trying, for a while at least. Eventually, I would have had to kill you.”

As quickly as the smile had come to his lips he felt it flee, along with much of the blood from his face. “You jest.”

“No. I like you, Minister. Very much. But I serve a great cause. I’d gladly die for our people, and if I had to, I’d kill for them as well. I’m glad you’ve made that unnecessary.”

Pillad swallowed, nodded once more. He could still feel where the man had touched his hand, though it wasn’t merely warm anymore. Rather, it burned like an open wound.

City of Kings, Eibithar, Osya’s Moon waning

The first of the Eibitharian dukes was to arrive at Audun’s Castle before nightfall, meaning that this was Cresenne’s last day of freedom. Keziah had explained as much to her the day before, but Cresenne knew that the king would be coming to tell her so himself. It was his way, she had come to realize. She wasn’t yet ready to say that she had been wrong about Eandi nobles and the Qirsi who served them. But she did have to admit that Kearney and Keziah were different somehow. Even Lord Tavis was not quite as she had expected.

After speaking with the archminister that first day, Cresenne had answered all of Grinsa’s questions, at least all that she could. She had even told them of the Weaver, though she had begged the king not to reveal this to anyone other than his nobles. And to her surprise he granted her request. She expected the Curgh boy to exult in his exoneration, but though Cresenne sensed his relief when she told the others of her role in Lady Brienne’s murder, Tavis offered no outward response.

She had spoken with Keziah a number of times since that day, and, most surprising of all, she actually felt that they were becoming friends. They were far more alike than Cresenne ever would have guessed, and after her initial discomfort around Bryntelle, Keziah had taken an interest in the child. Best of all, Grinsa seemed genuinely disturbed by their growing bond. Cresenne would have befriended the emperor of Braedon had she been certain that it would irk the gleaner.

After their first conversation, when Keziah convinced Cresenne to speak to Kearney openly of her involvement in the movement, the two women had not spoken of the Weaver again. Indeed, they had hardly mentioned the movement, or the threat of civil war, or even the messages Kearney had sent, summoning the other dukes to the City of Kings. Mostly they talked of their childhoods, of their families and their loves. Cresenne still sensed that the archminister wasn’t telling her all, particularly when the topic turned to Grinsa or the king, and she guessed that one or both of the men had been her lover. But she didn’t push the woman on these matters. For the first time in memory, she had a friend, and she was content simply to enjoy their friendship and to accept the limits placed upon it by the minister.

Which was why the previous day’s conversation had come as such a blow.

They were in the gardens, enjoying the first clear day in what felt like ages. Keziah had carried Bryntelle for a time, cooing at the girl and playing with her until the baby began to fuss for her mother. But after handing the child back to Cresenne, she grew quiet, her eyes fixed stubbornly on the path before her. At first Cresenne thought nothing of it, but as the silence between them stretched on, she grew wary. For all the laughter and easy conversation she had shared with Keziah, Cresenne had never forgotten that she was, when all was said and done, a prisoner of the king and a renegade in the eyes of all around her.

The baby had fallen asleep, and Cresenne held her in the crook of her arm, gazing down at her and turning her body to keep the sun off Bryntelle’s face.

“If you’ve something to say, you’d best get it over with,” she told the minister. “Bryntelle will wake soon, and she’ll need to eat.”

“All right,” Keziah said quietly. But for a long while she said nothing, each moment of silence heightening Cresenne’s apprehension. “The king asked me to talk with you,” the minister began at last, still staring at the ground. “I’m speaking as archminister now, rather than as your friend.” She glanced over briefly. “And I am your friend, Cresenne. It’s important to me that you know that.”

“I understand.” Really she didn’t. Her stomach was balling itself into a fist, and she wasn’t even certain why.

“Javan of Curgh arrives here tomorrow, and possibly Lathrop of Tremain as well.”

“yes, I’ve heard.”

“In the next few days, the king expects Marston of Shanstead to arrive from Thorald, and also the duke of Heneagh. He’s even hoping that some of those who have pledged themselves to Aindreas’s cause, will come. Domnall perhaps, and Eardley.”

“What’s your point, Keziah?”

“The king trusts you, and he’s been willing to allow you to remain free in the wake of your confession. But the dukes are not likely to be so generous. Javan in particular will want to know why Kearney grants these liberties to the woman responsible for his son’s suffering.”