The young duke of Glyndwr, Kearney’s son, stood waiting for them just inside the castle gates. He looked small and lonely, as might a child whose playfellows had all abandoned him.
Tavis dismounted and bowed to the boy, as did the gleaner.
“Rise, Lord Curgh, and be welcome.”
“Thank you, my lord duke,” Tavis said, straightening.
“You bring tidings from the City of Kings?”
“No, my lord. We’ve been. . elsewhere. You await word from the king?”
“Yes. I received word not long ago that I was to have the men prepare to march. We’ve been gathering weapons and provisioning for several days.
“Are we at war, then?”
“Not yet, but we will be soon. It’s simply a matter of where the men will be sent.”
Something in the way he said it caught the gleaner’s attention. It seemed the duke wouldn’t be riding with his men, and so wouldn’t be fighting alongside his father. Kearney was still two years shy of his Fating, younger than any soldier in his army. Nevertheless, it couldn’t be easy for him to watch his men prepare for war, knowing that he wouldn’t be fighting by his father’s side.
“Won’t they go north?” Tavis asked.
“It’s hard to say. The empire’s fleet menaces us from the north, but the Aneirans are massing on the Tarbin. That’s the shorter march. My father may send Glyndwr’s men there.”
“Do you know yet where the king will be going?” Grinsa asked.
“Not for certain, no. But I should think he’ll go north.”
Tavis glanced at the gleaner, his scarred face grim. “That’s where Curgh’s men will go, as well.”
Grinsa nodded. Of course. The empire was the greater threat. No doubt Keziah would ride with Kearney, which meant that Cresenne and Bryntelle would be left alone in the City of Kings, with no one there to guard them from the Weaver’s next assault. He could barely swallow for the tightness in his throat.
Tavis shook his head. “Aneira to the south and Braedon to the north. They’ve succeeded in dividing us.”
“More than you know, Lord Curgh,” the duke said. “My father expects that several of the houses will refuse to join the fight.”
“What?”
“Yes. Galdasten, Rennach, Eardley, Domnall, and Sussyn. And of course Kentigern, as well.”
“Surely they wouldn’t just stand by while the empire and the Aneirans carved up the realm.”
“He fears they’ll do just that.”
“Damn them!” Tavis said. “They’re fools.”
It all seemed to be coming together, like some terrible, fragmented dream. Even the little Grinsa had learned from the Qirsi he killed in Helke had convinced him that the Weaver was in Braedon. Why else would he have needed to send gold to his underlings through a merchant? “He can’t pay them directly,” the man had said. It had to be because he only had access to imperial qinde. Now the empire’s fleet was poised to attack Eibithar’s northern shores, and all the land teetered on the precipice of war.
“This is what the conspiracy has been waiting for,” he said. Both of the young nobles looked at him. “The Weaver will wait until the slaughter begins, and the armies begin to weaken one another. Then he’ll strike.”
“Where should we go, Grinsa?” Tavis asked.
“If it’s at all possible, we should be with the king when he rides.” He saw Kearney the Younger wince, as if the mere thought of accompanying his father pained him. “I think we should leave for Audun’s Castle immediately.” I want to see Cresenne. I want to hold my daughter.
Tavis nodded and faced the duke again. “We had thought to pass the night in your castle, Lord Glyndwr, to enjoy your hospitality and your company. It seems, though, that the time for such pleasures is past. If we can impose upon you for some food to take with us, and for water and grain for our mounts, we’ll be most grateful.”
Once more the gleaner was struck by the changes he saw in Tavis. A turn ago, he would have left it to Grinsa to speak for them both and make such requests, lacking the self-possession to do so himself.
“Of course, Lord Curgh. Come, and we’ll see to it immediately.”
The two young men started to walk away, but Grinsa lingered in the ward.
“Is something wrong?” Tavis asked.
“No, I. .” His eyes flicked toward the duke for just an instant. “I’d like some time alone.”
Tavis seemed to understand immediately. “We’ll find you shortly, then,” he said, and walked away with Kearney.
Crossing to the far corner of the ward, where no one could see him, Grinsa closed his eyes and sent his mind soaring north and west, down off the steppe and into Audun’s Castle. He quickly found Cresenne, sleeping of course, though it was the middle of the day.
As soon as she appeared before him, whirling around in the middle of the plain, her pale eyes wide with fright, he called to her.
“It’s all right,” he said. “It’s only me.”
Seeing him, she ran to where he stood, falling into his arms. He kissed her forehead, and, when she turned her face up to his, kissed her deeply on the lips.
“Where are you?” she whispered.
“Glyndwr.”
“Are you coming here?”
He smiled. “Yes. We should be there in a few days.”
“Gods be praised,” she said, resting her head against his chest. After a moment she looked at him again.
“There’s talk of war.”
Grinsa nodded. “I know. Tavis and I won’t be able to stay long. When Kearney rides, we’ll go with him.”
She swallowed, dropping her gaze. “Of course.”
He looked down at her, pushed a strand of hair back from her brow. Her scars were fading, and she looked less weary than she had when he left for Wethyrn. “Tell me about Bryntelle.”
Cresenne fairly beamed. “She’s beautiful. She’s getting big, and she smiles all the time.” She lifted a slender hand to his cheek. “I think she misses her father, though.”
He gave a small laugh, looking away. “I doubt that.”
She touched him again, making him meet her gaze. She stood on her toes and kissed him. “I miss her father.”
“And I miss you.” He should have been happy; he was going to see them both in a matter of days. Yet already the thought of leaving them again made his chest ache, as if the Weaver had struck at his heart. “You know that I want to stay with you, that if all this-”
She held a finger to his lips and smiled, though suddenly there were tears on her face. “I know.”
“This is what he’s been waiting for, isn’t it? This war is his doing.”
“I think so. I don’t know for certain, but it fits with all that’s come before.”
“I agree.”
“If we’re right, then he must believe that he’s strong enough to prevail. He won’t allow the war to begin if he has any doubt.”
He saw so much fear in her eyes, as if she had foreseen in these final steps toward war the inevitability of her own death. “Maybe,” Grinsa said. “Or maybe knowing of me, knowing how much we’ve learned from you, he feels that he can’t afford to wait any longer. He couldn’t have anticipated all of this, Cresenne. He escaped our notice for a long time-too long-and he did great damage to so many of the courts. But we’ve hurt him, too. He hasn’t won yet. You see in this move toward war the confidence of a man who thinks himself on the verge of victory. I see in it the desperation of a man who sees success slipping through his hands.”
“I want to believe you.”
“Then do.”
She took a long breath, finally nodding and forcing a smile. “I’ll try.”
“How’s Keziah?”
“I don’t see her much. With war coming, she’s busier than ever. But I think she’s all right.”
“Good.” He touched her silken hair. “You should sleep,” he said. “And I have preparations to make. We’ll be leaving here soon.”
He kissed her once more, and was about to break his link to her mind, when she stopped him.
“The assassin?” she asked.
“Tavis killed him.”