Wenda returned his smile. She wasn’t fond of dancing, but she could hardly refuse an invitation from one of the king’s guests. “Of course, my Lord Grinnyd. It would be an honor.”
The duke rose, pulling out Wenda’s chair and taking the minister’s hand when she stood. She didn’t look back at Keziah and Gershon, but she felt their eyes following her as she left them alone together. She would have given all the gold Kearney paid her to be a mouse under the table during the conversation they were about to have.
She couldn’t take her eyes off of them, though Qirsar knew she wanted to. It seemed that everyone in this shining hall was staring at the king and queen, though Keziah was certain that the sight of them dancing didn’t do to others what it did to her. Kearney looked as he always did, wearing his usual battle garb, the Glyndwr baldric-silver, red, and black-strapped to his back. The silver in his hair and the youthfulness of his face made him appear ageless and regal, as a true king should. Leilia, on the other hand, looked even older and sadder than usual. Keziah had expected that the end of her affair with Kearney would give new life to the queen, but clearly it hadn’t. Perhaps she realized now that Keziah hadn’t destroyed their marriage or stopped Kearney from loving her; she had done all of that herself.
“What did you say to the duke?” Gershon asked in a low voice, his eyes on the king as well.
“Not much, really. I complained about Kearney not following my counsel and remarked that Eandi nobles were quick to question the loyalty of their Qirsi. Other than that I said nothing offensive, though I’m sure I proved a rather poor dinner companion.”
“Do you think you might be taking this too far?”
“They’ve given me gold, but I’ve heard nothing from them since,” she said. “This isn’t a time to temper my behavior.”
“Nor is it a time to get yourself banished from the king’s court. You heard Grinnyd. He thinks that you’re a threat to the king, and he won’t hesitate to say so to Kearney.”
“I know. To be honest, I don’t know if I can stop myself anymore. I don’t plan any of the things I say. They just come to me. It’s almost as if I’ve actually started to believe them.”
She knew that Gershon was staring at her, but she couldn’t tear her gaze from the king.
“Are you a threat to the king?”
Keziah managed a small smile. “No, it’s not that bad.”
“Not yet.”
At that she did look at him. “I’ll do nothing to harm him or the kingdom. You have my word.” Her eyes drifted to Kearney again. “I’m more a danger to myself than to anyone else.”
She sensed him frowning. “What does that mean?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Nothing.” She closed her eyes. “Have I stayed long enough yet? I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”
“Yes, you can go. The way you’ve been lately, you’re likely to draw more attention remaining to the end than leaving early.”
“Do we need to have words first?”
“You’ve done enough tonight. I think a simple ‘goodnight’ will do it. Just make it convincing.”
“That doesn’t seem to be a problem. Be well, Gershon. We’ll speak again soon.”
He nodded, saying nothing.
Keziah stood abruptly, draining her goblet and setting it on the table smartly. “Goodnight, swordmaster,” she said, her tone heavy with sarcasm. She turned and strode from the great hall, certain that most of those who remained were staring after her.
She returned directly to her chamber, only allowing the scowl to leave her face when she had closed and locked the door behind her. Crossing to her bed, she lay down and, as she had every night for the last half turn, began to cry, muffling her sobs with her pillow. She had thought that this deception would become easier with time, but it hadn’t. Just the opposite was true. Every day that drove her further from Kearney brought new, deeper grief, until she began to fear for her sanity. She missed Paegar almost as much as she did her brother, though she knew that had it not been for the minister’s treachery, she would never have found herself in these circumstances.
After a time, when she was too weary even to cry anymore, Keziah forced herself up, splashed some cold water on her face, and put on her sleeping gown. The fire in her hearth had burned down, and she added two logs before climbing back into bed.
She must have fallen asleep instantly, for it seemed the next moment she was dreaming.
She stood on a plain, a cold wind cutting through her sleeping gown and making her hair dance. Tall grasses bowed like novices in a sanctuary and hulking boulders loomed like great grey beasts in some child’s tale. There was something both familiar and alien about the scene and for a moment she wondered if her brother had come to speak with her. Except that this wasn’t the moor near Eardley, and in all the visions Grinsa created for her, there had been daylight. It was night here on this plain.
Or so she thought. Looking up at the blackened sky, straining her eyes to see something, she realized that there was nothing. No stars, no moons, no clouds. Just darkness, as absolute as death.
Keziah shivered. And in that instant, she heard a single word spoken. “Come.” It brushed past her like the feathered seed of a harvest flower riding the wind. Before she understood what she was doing, she had turned and started walking toward the sound.
Confused and frightened, her arms crossed over her chest against the chill wind, she opened her mouth to call out Grinsa’s name. At the last minute, though, she stopped herself, not quite understanding why.
Soon she was climbing a gentle slope. She had heard nothing more, but she knew this was the way, and even as the climb grew more difficult, she didn’t stray. After some time, the ground became level again and she stopped, breathing hard.
The light that stabbed suddenly into her eyes made her cry out and cower, as if Bian the Deceiver had revealed himself to her. She didn’t realize that she had dropped to her knees until the voice spoke again.
“Rise.” His voice was deep, powerful, as she imagined a god’s might sound.
Keziah stood slowly and, still shielding her eyes with a hand, tried to see who had come. A figure stood before her, tall and imposing, as black as the sky against that brilliant white glare. Wild hair twisted about his shoulders in the wind, and a long cape stirred like pine boughs.
“You believe you’re dreaming,” he said.
“Aren’t I?”
“People often think so the first time they encounter a Weaver this way. You are asleep, but this is not dreaming as you know it.”
Precisely because this wasn’t her first encounter with a Weaver, Keziah knew immediately that he was telling the truth. She felt a fool for not anticipating this. Of course the conspiracy would be led by a Weaver, perhaps several.
“Do you believe me?”
“Yes.”
“I sense no surprise on your part. You expected this?”
“No, I-”
“Then what?”
“This isn’t the first time a Weaver has entered my dreams. My father was a Weaver. He spoke to me this way many times.” The lie came to her easily. She’d been lying about so many things for so long-Grinsa, her affair with Kearney, and, most recently, her feigned resentment of the king and all the Eandi. At this point, she felt as comfortable with deceit as she did with the truth.
“Your father was an underminister for the House of Eardley.”
She swallowed. How much more did he know about her?
“Yes. He never told anyone but my mother and me about the true extent of his powers.”
Keziah held her breath, terrified that he would ask about her brother.
“I see. This pleases me. You bear a Weaver’s blood and so your children might be Weavers.”