David Coe - Bonds of Vengeance

Kearney was by her side instantly, an arm around her shoulders, and a look of deepest concern in his green eyes. “Are you all right?”

She barely managed to weather another wave of nausea. “I will be,” she whispered. “Just weary. I think the night has finally caught up with me.”

“You should sleep.”

“No, not with the dukes coming.”

Kearney shook his head. “It’s only Shanstead and Tremain arriving today. Perhaps Domnall as well. Wenda can stand for you, or Dyre.”

“I’ll be fine. I just need to. . I’ll get some air, perhaps have something to eat.” Actually she didn’t think she could keep any food down. “I’ll be fine,” she said again.

“You’re certain?”

She nodded, forcing herself to stand straight. Her head spun, but she managed a smile and the king stepped away from her. “When do you expect Marston?”

“By midday,” he said. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Yes. Thank you, Your Majesty.” She stepped slowly to the door, squeezing her eyes shut against the dizziness and biting back the bile rising in her throat.

The air in the corridor was cooler, which helped a bit. She smiled her way past the guards and hurried to find Grinsa.

She found him in the corridor that ran between the prison tower and the stables, walking slowly with Bryntelle in his arms, singing to her in a low voice.

He turned at her approach, smiling a greeting.

“I’ve almost gotten her to fall asleep,” he whispered.

“We have to talk.”

His smile vanished. “What’s happened now?”

She glanced up and down the hallway to be certain that they were alone. “Have you stopped to wonder what the Weaver will do when he realizes that you’re both here, with me?”

Clearly he hadn’t. He just stared at her. But a moment later, Bryntelle began to cry, as if she sensed his alarm.

“He’ll order me to kill you both.”

Grinsa shook his head. “No, he won’t. He knows better than to send you after me. He’ll have you kill Cresenne, perhaps Bryntelle also, though that would complicate things greatly.” He twisted his mouth, gazing down the corridor as if he could see the Weaver standing in the shadows. “He’ll tell you to befriend me,” he said after a brief pause. “He’ll want you to win my trust so that you can find out where I’m going next. He can’t have both of us killed here, and given how much she knows about him and his movement, he’ll still consider Cresenne the greater threat.”

Keziah was trembling now. The nausea had passed, though her stomach felt hard and cold, like a stone on the moors. “So what do I do? If I don’t kill Cresenne, he’ll know that I’ve been lying to him. And if he speaks to me of arranging your murder, I may not be able to keep from him that you’re my brother.”

“You have to, Kezi.”

“You make it all sound as if it’s just that easy.”

“I know it’s not. But you’ll have to find a way. The hardest part will be finding a way to maintain his trust without killing Cresenne. She’ll be guarded, of course, even more heavily now that he’s made one attempt on her life. Finding an opportunity to get close enough to kill her will be difficult. That should allow you to put him off for several days. Perhaps more. In the meantime, we’ll have to think of some way to keep both of you alive.”

“And what about you?”

“As I said, he won’t have you kill me. He knows for certain now that I’m a Weaver. If I’m right, and he does want you to win my confidence, you’ll do just that. And when the time comes, you can tell him precisely where I’m going. You won’t have to lie, at least not about that.”

Keziah desperately wanted to believe him. But she couldn’t keep the image of Cresenne’s agony from her mind. She couldn’t forget the sight of Paegar, Kearney’s traitorous minister, lying dead in his chamber, his head resting in a pool of blood. That had been the Weaver’s doing as well. She felt certain of it. Just as she was certain that whatever Paegar had done to earn his death paled next to her own deception. And she couldn’t help wondering how the Weaver would exact his vengeance on her.

When Tavis awoke midway through the morning, Grinsa still had not returned to the chamber he and the young lord shared. The boy knew that there had been something wrong with Cresenne-the guard who came to find the gleaner had told them that much-but he could be certain of nothing more. And for the moment at least, he didn’t care. Out of respect for the gleaner, he would spare the Qirsi woman the tongue lashing his father had given her, and the icy indifference shown by his mother. But after what she had done to him, he wasn’t about to run to her offering comfort. Besides, there was another he wished to see.

His parents had arrived from Curgh the previous day with a small contingent of soldiers and Hagan MarCullet, his father’s swordmaster. The king wished to speak of the Qirsi conspiracy and how best to defeat it, and Tavis’s father wouldn’t have engaged in such a discussion without Hagan by his side. And knowing that Tavis would be in Audun’s Castle, Hagan wouldn’t have made the journey from the north coast without Xaver, his son, who also was Tavis’s pledged liege man.

The two young friends had seen each other the day before, though only briefly. Almost immediately upon their arrival in the City of Kings, Javan insisted on seeing Cresenne, and Tavis, not yet ready to face Xaver and the questions he knew the young man would ask, had followed obediently. There had been a feast the previous night, the first of many, no doubt, as Eibithar’s dukes converged on the castle, but again, Tavis managed to avoid his friend, sitting between his mother and father and enduring their questions as best he could. Did you find the assassin? Yes, but he slipped away. Has the gleaner been kind to you? Very. You’ve proved your innocence; are you ready to come home with us? No, not yet.

It was easier with his parents. They feared pushing him too hard, challenging his easy answers. Xaver would be different, his questions more difficult, his ability to hear the truth behind Tavis’s words more finely honed. Even after all this time, no one knew him as Xaver did, though Grinsa came close.

He would have liked to put off this encounter for several more days, but he knew that he wouldn’t. It wasn’t just that he didn’t wish to hurt his friend. Though he feared Xaver’s questions, he also longed for the young man’s companionship. Despite all they had been through, all that Tavis had done to hurt him, Xaver remained his most valued friend. So he searched the castle, soon finding Xaver at the edge of the inner courtyard, watching Gershon Trasker work the royal guard.

He wasn’t certain that Xaver saw him approach-the young man never turned his gaze from the soldiers-and Tavis stopped a few strides from him, uncertain as to what to say.

“I didn’t think you wanted to see me.” Xaver glanced at him for just a moment, as if looking for changes in his appearance.

“Of course I do.”

The ghost of a smile touched his lips, and a soft wind stirred his light curls. He looked just as Tavis remembered. Broader in the shoulders perhaps, his face a bit more square. But it was still Xaver. Youthful and handsome and a little bit sad, just as he had been every day since his mother’s death nearly nine years before.

“Then why have you been avoiding me?”

Tavis looked away, his gaze traveling the courtyard, seeking a safe place to land and settling at last on Gershon. “Who says I’ve been avoiding you?” But he couldn’t help grinning.

“You look. . you look well, Tavis.”

He let out a small laugh. “No, I don’t. I’ll never look well again. Aindreas saw to that.”