Dusaan felt his rage returning. She had given this a good deal of thought. He wondered briefly if she had considered making the journey even without his approval. “Do you feel well enough to go?” he asked, keeping the rest to himself.
She appeared to falter for just a moment, a thin smile flitting across her face. “Yes.”
“You were going to say something else.”
“It was nothing.”
“You wondered if it would make any difference if you told me you didn’t.”
Cresenne winced and nodded, seeming to brace herself for another blow.
The Weaver merely shook his head. “Probably not. You wish to serve the movement, to ensure your child a place in a better world. This is the cost you must bear for that glorious future. Believe me when I tell you that it’s far less than others have paid in the past turn.”
“Yes, Weaver.”
“Can you kill this man if you have to?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “Twice now, I’ve sent assassins for him. But killing him myself…” She shrugged, looking young and frightened, although whether of Dusaan, or of having to kill Grinsa, the Weaver couldn’t say for certain.
“Perhaps it will be enough if you can tell me where he is. If he is a Weaver, you’ll have no more chance against him than the assassins you’ve sent. I may be the only one who can defeat him.”
“I’ll do my best to find him, Weaver. You have my word.”
“I have far more than that. I have access to your dreams. No matter where in the Forelands you go, I can reach you. Never forget that, Cresenne. This man may love you as much as you love him. He may even possess the same abilities I do. But if I choose to kill you, he’ll be powerless to stop me.”
One of her hands had wandered to her belly, as if she sought to guard her baby from his threats. Her gaze remained steady, however. “I understand, Weaver.”
“I’m glad. I’ve foreseen great things for you and your child. I’d hate for anything to keep the two of you from your true fates.”
He released her then, sending the woman to the waking world with fear for her child fresh in her mind. Clearly he would never claim Cresenne’s love as his own. But perhaps her terror would serve his needs just as well.
Even after becoming aware of his surroundings again, the gentle crackle of his fire and its warmth on his legs and face, Dusaan continued to squeeze his eyes shut. His temples had begun to throb and he rubbed them, taking long deep breaths.
He had no idea of the hour, but he guessed that little of the night remained. There was time enough for one last conversation, the most important of them all, though he could not let her know that. He had promised to kill her if she did not open her mind to him, but as with Cresenne, he didn’t know if he could follow through on his threat. At any time, he would have leaped at the chance to win the loyalties of Eibithar’s archminister, but with Paegar dead and the invasion looming, his need of her could not have been greater. If she refused him, he would find a way to compel her acquiescence, even if it meant returning to her dreams again and again, even it meant resorting to torture. Regardless of the cost to both of them, she would serve him.
Sending his mind eastward one last time, over the Scabbard and the bare-limbed trees of Kentigern Wood, the Weaver reached down into Audun’s Castle, finding the archminister in her bedchamber. He could feel himself growing weary and though confident that his magic would not fail him before this last conversation ended, he vowed silently to rest the next night.
He made her walk a distance-not far, and not up the slope, but just long enough to convey the scope of this vision he had conjured for her. When she finally stopped, just a few steps from where he waited, her cheeks were slightly flushed. She had an oval face and long hair, which she wore tied in twin braids. The last time they spoke, he had failed to notice how pretty she was.
“I knew you would come to me tonight,” she said, before he could speak. “I gleaned it in a vision last night, as I slept.”
No one who served the movement had ever said such a thing to him before. He wasn’t certain what it meant, but for some reason it pleased him.
“Did it frighten you to dream of me?”
“No. It convinced me that my destiny lies with your cause.”
“So you won’t defy me anymore?”
“No, Weaver. My mind is open to you.”
So it was. Reaching further into her consciousness, embracing her thoughts and feelings as he would a lover, he felt her abandon her resistance. He sensed the doubts that lingered, and even the residue of fear she felt looking upon him. But they were obstacles no longer. He grasped the power of her love for Kearney and the depth of her pain at losing him. He tasted the grief she felt at losing Paegar and even saw that she suspected him of having a hand in the minister’s death. Some shadows remained, darkened places she couldn’t bring herself to show him yet, but this was true of every Qirsi whose mind he had touched. With time, the light of the white sun he brought to her dreams would illuminate even these murky corners. In all ways that mattered, though, she was his, fully and by her own consent.
“I’m pleased,” he said after some time. “I know that you’ll prove most valuable to our movement.”
“Thank you, Weaver.”
“Tell me, does your king still rely on you for counsel?”
Keziah began to toy with one of her braids, a great sadness in her eyes. “Not very much. He did for the first few turns we were here, but the last turn has been difficult. After Paegar died, I stopped trying to hide how angry I was. I’ve said and done things that Kearney might never forgive.”
“You’ll have to apologize. Blame your behavior on your grief. Tell him you love him still, and you said what you did to hurt him. Do whatever you think is necessary to win his confidence again.”
“I don’t know if I can.”
“You must. You’re of no use to me or our cause if you can’t influence your king.”
She chewed her lip briefly, looking like a child. “Yes, Weaver.”
“It won’t be easy, but you have to try. Think of it as a test, the first of many that you’ll face in your service to this movement.”
What he asked of her carried risks, not only for her, but also for the movement. As she regained Kearney’s trust, she might also begin to rekindle their passion. There was a chance that she would question her loyalties again, that Dusaan might lose her to Eibithar’s king. But as he told her, without the king’s trust, she could offer nothing to the movement.
“Your king is aware of the threat from Kentigern?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“And what does he intend to do about it?”
“He’s trying to make Aindreas an outcast within the kingdom. He hopes to win the support of the other dukes. If Kentigern sees that he is alone, that civil war will bring only ruin, he might relent.”
“Is it working?”
“Not as he had hoped Several of the other houses, Galdasten among them, remain certain that Tavis of Curgh killed Aindreas’s daughter. They think Kearney is in league with Javan, and they question the legitimacy of his reign.”
“Is Kearney speaking with the lords of Galdasten?”
“Not since his investiture. He intends to invite the duke to Audun’s Castle, but he’ll wait until the snows end.”
“It would be better for the movement if he didn’t meet with Galdasten at all, but I suppose that can’t be helped ” He paused for a moment. “As you win back the king’s trust, I want you to encourage him to take a firmer stance with Aindreas and his allies. Tell him that a king can’t tolerate such dissent in his realm. Make him see that Kentigern is guilty of treason Don’t push too hard. You shouldn’t actually call Aindreas a traitor. Just lead him in that direction. Kearney’s pride will do the rest.”
“Yes, Weaver. I’ll begin right away.”
“Good. Is there anything you wish to ask, before I leave you?”
“Yes. When might I expect more gold?”