She had thought of this many times. Even though neither of her parents had been Weavers, Grinsa’s powers made it clear that there was Weaver’s blood in her veins.
“Yes, they might.”
“And you must also know that if they have the gift, and if their true powers are discovered, they will be killed and you with them.”
Keziah nodded.
“Do you know why I’ve come to you?”
Before she could answer, she felt a strange sensation, as if she were being distracted by another sound, though there was nothing here but the wind and the Weaver. An instant later her head began to spin, and she nearly fell to the ground again.
“Well?” the Weaver said. “Do you?”
At first she thought the Weaver was doing this to her, and she tried to guard herself, as if from an assault. Then she heard another voice calling her name, as distant and soft as a whisper, but insistent and drawing nearer. Grinsa.
“The movement,” she managed to say. “You lead the movement.”
“That’s right.”
She sensed a light behind her, and though she didn’t dare turn to look, she guessed that Grinsa had added his landscape to her dream. The Weaver didn’t appear to notice-she couldn’t imagine why, but she thanked the gods for her good fortune.
“Do you know how I found you?” the Weaver asked.
“Paegar. He told you about me.”
“Yes, he did. He said that you were once in love with your king. Is that true?”
She considered lying again. At that moment she would have said nearly anything to end this dream before the Weaver learned of Grinsa and of all she had done to convince the movement that she could be turned against Kearney. But she had sacrificed too much to lure the man here. She could hardly drive him away now.
“Yes, it’s true. I loved him, and he cast me from his bed as soon as they gave him the crown.”
“You hate him.”
Keziah hesitated. Even here, speaking with this man, she couldn’t bring herself to say the words.
“It’s all right,” the Weaver said gently. “Perhaps it’s too much to ask you to hate him already. But you long to strike back at him.”
She heard Grinsa approaching and in her mind she shouted for him to leave her, to return another night. But he couldn’t hear her any more than could the man standing before her.
“I do.”
“I can help you,” the Weaver said. “I can make you part of a great movement that will rid the Forelands of your foolish king and others like him. Already, throughout the seven realms, Qirsi like you are rising up against the Eandi courts. You can join us. You can punish the Glyndwr king for what he did to you, and assure your children of a glorious future.” He took a step toward her. “All you must do is pledge yourself to my service and open your mind to me, fully, without reservation.”
She faltered. How could she do such a thing without revealing too much?
“You resist,” he said, his voice harder. “Why?”
Keziah sensed that Grinsa was close and she had to fight an urge to whirl on him and yell for him to leave her.
“I can’t do this. Not yet.”
“I have revealed myself to you, because you have made it clear with your actions and your words that you no longer wish to debase yourself in service of the Eandi. You have been chosen and you must join me now.”
She felt his magic buffeting her mind and she struggled to hold him off, fearing that her defenses would fail her at any moment.
“Others before you have fought me as well,” he said. “They suffered for their defiance. Is that what you want?”
“No,” Keziah answered, her voice quavering. “I don’t mean to defy you. But I’ve never had someone ask this of me before. I don’t know what to do.” This last, she intended for Grinsa. Surely he could hear the Weaver now. Couldn’t he see that he had to leave her?
“Merely open yourself to me,” the Weaver said.
“I’m afraid. You have to give me a bit of time.”
“Kezi?” Grinsa whispered, as if standing just beside her.
Go! Please! I can’t hold him off muck longer!
“There is no time. You received your gold, didn’t you?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Call me Weaver. I’m not some dull-witted Eandi noble, and I won’t be addressed as such.”
“Yes, Weaver. Forgive me.”
“You have your payment,” he said again. “Now it is time for you to give yourself to me and this movement.”
“But-”
“Enough!”
Pain exploded in her mind, blinding, searing. He was crushing her eyes, though she hadn’t seen him take a step toward her. She threw up her hands, trying to shield herself. She tried to draw upon her magic, but no power she possessed could protect her from a Weaver.
“Give yourself to me!”
Helpless, lost, she collapsed to the ground, writhing in agony.
She heard Grinsa cry out her name and abruptly, the pain ceased.
“What was that?”
Keziah managed to open her eyes, though for several moments she could see nothing at all.
“What, Weaver?” she said, her voice barely carrying over the sound of the wind.
“I heard a voice cry out. I think it spoke your name.”
He was looking about, as if expecting to see someone step out of the darkness.
“I cried out, Weaver. But I heard nothing else.”
“No, it sounded…” He stopped, shaking his head.
Keziah still felt Grinsa standing nearby, and now she heard him whisper again.
“I love you,” he said, and then was gone.
She choked back a sob.
The Weaver faced her once more, his features still shrouded in shadow. “Stand up.”
The archminister stood slowly, her legs trembling so violently that she barely trusted them to support her. Even with Grinsa gone, she realized that she could not open herself to the Weaver. She needed to conceal too much from him-her reasons for seeking out the conspiracy, her real feelings for Kearney, Grinsa’s powers. Standing on that darkened plain, facing for the first time a man who might have been stronger than her brother, it seemed to Keziah that her entire life consisted of secrets that had to be guarded. She had never given a thought to what a Weaver might do to her through her dreams. There had been times in her dreams of Grinsa when he had put his arms around her, or kissed her brow, and she had felt all of it. It never occurred to her that he could hurt her as well. Why would it? But having felt the Weaver’s wrath, she didn’t doubt for a moment that he could truly maim her, perhaps even kill her. She thought abruptly of Paegar and shuddered. Had he angered the Weaver? Was that why he was dead?
“Are you ready to open your mind to me now?” the man demanded.
“I can’t,” she whispered, flinching at the mere thought that he might hurt her again.
“You know now what I can do to you.”
“Yes, Weaver.”
“Yet still you resist. Tell me why.”
“I don’t trust you.” Even keeping herself closed to him, she sensed that lying to him again might be dangerous. So she sought refuge in those truths she could chance. “I’m archminister to the king of Eibithar. You may want me to join your cause, or you may wish only to learn from me what you can and then kill me. As you say, I know now what you can do to me. If anything I fear you more than I did before.”
“I can kill you where you stand,” he said, his voice like a drawn sword. “Yet I don’t. Doesn’t that tell you something?”
“It says only that you need something from me. I can’t be certain what it is.”
They stood in silence for several moments, Keziah staring at the black space where the Weaver’s face should have been. She felt his eyes upon her, but she couldn’t begin to guess at what he was thinking. She could only steel herself to endure more pain and hope that she could withstand another assault.
When he spoke again, he surprised her, as much with his words as the gentle tone of his voice. “I can see why Paegar loved you.”
Her face grew hot.
“You do know that he did.”