David Coe - Bonds of Vengeance

“I’m not talking about the scars. You seem older, like you have purpose, like maybe you’ve found peace.”

Tavis shook his head. “I haven’t. I had the assassin, Xaver. I had my blade at his throat, and I let him go.”

Xaver gaped at him. “Why?”

“Grinsa made me do it. The assassin had been hired to kill a member of the conspiracy-Aindreas’s former first minister, actually. If the assassin hadn’t killed him, Grinsa would have had to, at considerable risk to both of us.”

“I’m not sure I understand,” his friend said, frowning.

“It doesn’t matter. I had him and I let him go. The rest isn’t important.”

They stood in silence for a moment, watching the soldiers, Gershon’s commands echoing off the castle walls.

“You’ve managed to prove to the king that you’re innocent of Brienne’s murder,” Xaver said, as if searching for any good tidings. “Surely that’s brought you some peace.”

“I think Kearney has believed in my innocence for some time now. But if we can convince the other dukes-or at least most of them-I’d be pleased.”

“That’s all? Just pleased?”

Tavis looked away again. “I don’t expect more than that anymore.”

Xaver said nothing.

“You think I pity myself too much.”

His friend hesitated. “I think you’ve been through a terrible ordeal.”

“It’s not over.”

“It can be, if you only allow it.”

“You want me to surrender? Do you think I can just return to Curgh and resume my life there, knowing that Brienne’s killer still walks the land?”

“The conspiracy killed her, Tavis. You know that as well as anyone. The man you’re after is a hired blade and nothing more. You said yourself that he killed Aindreas’s minister. He doesn’t care about the conspiracy or the courts. He cares only for gold.”

“You sound like Grinsa.”

“Then maybe it’s time you started listening.”

“The assassin killed Brienne, and I’ve sworn to avenge her.”

“Sworn to who?” Xaver demanded, his voice rising.

“To myself.”

Xaver seemed to know better than to question this. “So where will you go?” he asked, his voice dropping once more.

“I don’t know. Something happened to Cresenne last night. At this point I might not be able to get Grinsa to go anywhere.”

His friend gave a puzzled look. “Who’s Cresenne?”

It had been a long time since they last spoke. Too long. Tavis told Xaver what little he understood of Grinsa’s love affair with Cresenne, and explained as well the woman’s role in Brienne’s death.

“I don’t know if he still loves her,” he said. “I suppose he does. But I’m certain that he won’t leave here unless he’s convinced that Cresenne and their baby are both safe.”

Another long silence, which was broken at last by something Tavis never would have expected.

Xaver cleared his throat, then said, “I’ll go with you if the gleaner can’t.”

It was more than Tavis could have asked; more, in fact, than he was willing to accept. But still, he was moved beyond words by the offer. His gaze fell to the dark thin scar on Xaver’s right forearm, a scar Tavis himself had given the boy in a drunken rage.

“Your father would have my head, Stinger.”

“He’d have both our heads, but in the end he’d understand.”

“I’m grateful. Truly I am. But I can’t let you do this.”

“I’m your liege man-I’ve sworn my life to you. Under the customs governing such things, I’m not sure that you can refuse me.”

Tavis smiled. “And yet, I have. You said yourself the first time we spoke of my desire for vengeance that I was mad to go after the man. You said he’d kill me. Do you really think that two boys would fare any better against him than one?”

“I’d wager that I’m as good with a blade as the gleaner,” Xaver shot back, sounding young.

“I have no doubt that you are. But Grinsa is more than just a gleaner.”

“What do you mean? He has other powers?”

“Yes. Mists and winds, shaping, healing.” He didn’t dare tell his friend more than that. As it was, he had probably said more than Grinsa would have liked, though he wasn’t telling Xaver any more than the gleaner himself had revealed during their escape from Solkara several turns back, and during Cresenne’s difficult labor in Glyndwr.

Xaver lowered his gaze, chewing his lip as he so often did. After some time he nodded, as if convinced at last that Grinsa was a worthy travel companion for Tavis.

“How’s your arm, Stinger?”

Xaver put his hand to the scar, rubbing it slowly, as if the question itself had rekindled his pain. “It’s fine. I rarely even think about it anymore.”

Tavis wasn’t certain he believed that, but it wasn’t a matter he wished to pursue.

“And I trust my father’s treating you well?”

“Yes, very.”

Tavis wanted to ask more, but he didn’t have to. It seemed that his friend still knew him better than anyone else.

“He misses you, Tavis. He doesn’t say so, but I can tell. Whenever he asks my father to join him for a meal or a ride, he asks me as well. It’s as if having me with him is the next best thing to having you.”

The young lord wanted to believe this, but he and his father had been at odds for too many years. “He probably just knows that your father wants you there. After Kentigern, Hagan hardly let you out of sight.”

Xaver smiled at the memory. Hagan MarCullet had been in Curgh when Brienne died, and had ridden with the duchess to face Aindreas’s army, knowing that if Curgh’s army was defeated, Xaver, Javan, and Fotir would probably be executed.

“That’s true,” he admitted. “But the duke isn’t doing all this for my father. He often asks me if I’ve had word from you, or if I have any idea of where in the Forelands you might be.”

Tavis could think of a thousand reasons for this-maybe it was a way for his father to make conversation with Xaver; perhaps he sought information to mollify Tavis’s mother, who would have asked similar questions of the duke with some frequency; or perhaps he was merely curious. “Does he speak much of the crown?” he asked, eager to change the subject.

“Tavis-”

“It’s all right, Stinger. I’m just asking. I expect he wishes every day that he were king.”

“He’s never said anything about it in front of me, not that he would. But I think you’re wrong about him, Tavis. He always speaks well of Kearney, of the need to protect Glyndwr’s hold on the throne. I think he’s made peace with all that happened in Kentigern.”

“You didn’t see the way he looked at Cresenne yesterday.”

Xaver shrugged. “So he blames her, and the conspiracy. But that doesn’t mean that he blames you as well. You were as much a victim of her actions as he. More, really. I’m amazed that you don’t hate her.”

“Who says I don’t?”

“You’ve hardly spoken of her, except to tell me what she did and that she was Grinsa’s lover.”

“That’s all that matters now,” Tavis said, surprised by how little rage he felt. “Even if I did hate her, even if I wanted to exact a measure of revenge, I couldn’t. Grinsa wouldn’t allow it.” He kicked at the grass, squinting in the early morning sun. “To be honest, I can’t bring myself to be angry with her. I know that she hired the man who killed Brienne, but I also know that she’s confessed her crimes to the king. Without her, Kearney would still have his doubts about my innocence. For all I know, my father would as well.”

Xaver started to object, but Tavis raised a hand stopping him. “Forget I said it. The point is, she’s trying to mend some of the damage she’s done. I’m grateful to her.”