He chuckled. “You have fifty qinde?”
Cadel pulled out his money pouch and counted out the gold pieces, which glittered in the sunlight.
The merchant rubbed a hand over his mouth, his dark eyes fixed on the coins and the hand holding the knife falling to his side.
“What is it you want of me?”
Cadel swung the travel sacks and lute off his shoulder and knelt beside them, returning his money to his pocket. Rummaging through Dario’s bag, he soon found the lutenist’s pouch of gold and counted its contents. Then he added a bit of his own.
“This lute and travel sack belong to a friend of mine. He wants them taken to his sister in Tounstrel dukedom.”
“Tounstrel! You said Solkara. It’ll take me nearly the entire turn to ride to Tounstrel.”
Cadel raised an eyebrow. “When was the last time you cleared fifty qinde in a single turn?”
The man clicked his tongue several times. “The girl’s name?”
“Lettalle Hunfuerta. She lives in a village on the Plain of Stallions, just north of Tounstrel city.” He pulled from his pocket the message he had written the night before. “On your way to Tounstrel, I want you to deliver this to Castle Dantrielle. Give it to the first minister there.”
“You ask a lot.”
Cadel strode to the cart and dragged the man down off of his seat. The peddler tried to raise his knife, but the singer slapped it away.
“What’s your name?” Cadel demanded.
“T-Traver. Traver MarSint.”
“Well, Traver, you’re right. I do ask a lot. And I expect even more. There’s forty qinde in that travel sack. If I hear from Lettalle that she didn’t get the lute, or that even a single qinde is missing from the pouch in that sack, I’ll find you, and I’ll slit your throat. Do I make myself clear?”
The merchant nodded, his eyes wide, spittle on his chin.
Cadel released him, smoothing his overshirt. He took out his money again and paid the man his gold.
Traver tucked it away in a pocket without bothering to count it.
“You better get moving,” Cadel said. “You’ve a long journey ahead of you.”
The man eyed him briefly, then nodded again and climbed back onto his cart.
“Why don’t you want me going to Mertesse?” he asked, picking up the reins.
Cadel started to walk away. “It’s not safe,” he said over his shoulder “I hear two people died there just last night ”
She sat on the floor beside Shunk’s hearth, staring at the bloodstained bed, tears running down her face like melting snows off the steppe Her love’s body and that of the other man had already been removed, but Yaella couldn’t bring herself to leave, even with soldiers and servants constantly stepping around her.
The castle guards said that the second man was a musician, a lute player of some renown, who had come to the castle to bed one of the duchess’s ladies. But despite their certainty, and the broken flask of wine found in the middle of the chamber, she had no doubt that he was actually a paid assassin. She found it remarkable that Shunk had managed to kill the man, on Pitch Night no less.
Her chest ached merely thinking of how she had doubted him. For nearly an entire turn, he had spoken of his fears, of how two Weavers wanted him dead. Yet for all that time, she had tried to convince herself and him that the danger wasn’t as great as he believed. She should never have left him alone. She should have stayed with him, or better yet, insisted that he accompany her to the sanctuary.
“I failed you in so many ways, Shunk,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
One of the Weavers had arranged this. She felt certain of it. Sitting there in the chamber, Yaella resolved to learn which one If it turned out to be her Weaver, the leader of the movement, she wasn’t sure what she would do. The man could read her thoughts. He would sense her rage, her need for vengeance, and he would have her killed as well. But if it was the other one, this Grinsa jal Arriet, she would use every resource within her grasp to destroy him. She owed Shunk that much She heard the sound of boots clicking in the corridor, and looking toward the doorway, saw the duke walk in. Reluctantly, she stood and bowed to him
“First Minister,” he said, meeting her gaze before walking to the bed and shaking his head at the dark stains. “This is a terrible business. I don’t understand how such a thing could happen in my castle.”
Is that all you can think about? Your castle? “Yes, my lord.”
“You must be terribly upset I’m sorry for you.”
Her tears starting to flow once more and she cursed herself. This foolish young duke had hated Shurik, yet she reacted to his smallest kindness as if he had put his arms around her
“Yes, my lord. Thank you.”
“I’m sure you’ll want the funeral to be at the sanctuary, but you’ll have whatever help the servants of this castle can offer.”
“That’s most generous of you, my lord ”
He hesitated. “There is the matter of this chamber. There’s no hurry of course, but at some point it will need to be.. emptied. Will you want to do that, or would you like me to have the servants take care of it?”
Shurik had left most of his belongings in Kentigern when he fled Aindreas’s castle after the siege, but there might be some gold in this chamber. The Weaver’s gold.
“I’ll see to it, my lord.”
“Very well. As I say, there’s no hurry.” He glanced about the room once more, shaking his head. “I intend to find out how this happened, First Minister. No man, regardless of his race or how he came to be here, should fear for his life within the walls of Castle Mertesse.” Rowan turned to leave, his cape swirling
“Thank you, my lord,” she said again, despising him.
Yaella remained in the chamber for a few minutes more, then walked back to her own quarters and curled herself into a ball on her bed, sobbing as she hadn’t since she was a girl Her stomach felt hollow, and no matter how tightly she wrapped herself in her blankets, she couldn’t stop shivering.
Her mind was clear, however, and she thought of the two Weavers. If her Weaver had wanted Shurik dead, he wouldn’t have needed assassins to kill him. He could have done it in a dream. It had to have been Gnnsa, to whom Shurik would never have opened his mind Yet, Yaella could not keep herself from blaming both of them. Had the Weaver who haunted their sleep not sent Shurik after Gnnsa, this might never have happened. She had been more than happy to work on behalf of the movement when its enemies were Eandi, and Shurik fought by her side. But if one Weaver opposed the other, their war already claiming Shurik’s life, how was she to choose between them? The Weaver had spoken of a glorious future, in which Qirsi ruled the Forelands and aspired to be more than festival performers and servants of Eandi nobles. And though she was drawn to such a vision, she increasingly found herself repelled by the thought that the Weaver she knew, the one who had bought her loyalties with gold and who held them with cruelty and the constant threat of a painful death, should claim the throne for himself She could never turn to this other Weaver as an alternative, not with Shurik’s blood staining his hands. But perhaps she didn’t need to. Perhaps there was another way. Shurik was gone, and though she couldn’t bring him back, she might be able to strike a blow on his behalf, one that would be felt by both Weavers.
Chapter Thirty-four
Curtell, Braedon, Eilidh’s Moon waxing
It promised to be a long, difficult night. He needed to speak with several of the Qirsi who served him, and with one whom he hoped would pledge herself to him before dawn. Fortunately, Dusaan had slept well the previous night. He might have been a Weaver, but he could not escape the limitations placed upon Qirsi magic by the moon legends. Qirsar’s Pitch Night affected him as it did all his people, and so, unable to reach for the dreams of others, he allowed himself a night of rest. He felt better for having done so.