“I won’t,” Kearney said. He smiled faintly. “You realize, of course, that you were much the same way not too long ago.”
“I know. To be honest, I’m still wary of most Qirsi. I suppose I will be for the rest of my days. But even knowing that the conspiracy is real, that it can reach every court in the Forelands, I’ve also come to realize that there are Qirsi in this land who would rather die than betray their realms.”
“Marston is a good man, Gershon. I agree with much of what you’ve said, but I also believe that he’ll be a valuable ally in our wars with the empire and the conspiracy.”
“I’m sure he will, Your Majesty.”
Kearney grinned. “You’re doing it again.”
The swordmaster had to laugh. “Yes, I am. Just be wary of him,” he said, growing serious once more. “Don’t confuse his passion for wisdom and don’t allow his suspicions to color your perceptions of those around you.”
“Is that what you think I did with Keziah?”
“I can’t be certain. But I do wonder if you could have given the order to have her removed from the castle without Marston pushing you in that direction.”
The king appeared to consider this, until eventually Gershon began to wonder if he ought to leave.
“Perhaps I should return to the ward, Your Majesty. The men have been training since midmorning bells, and I’ve yet to join them.”
“Yes, all right,” Kearney said absently. “You’ve been watching her all this time?” he asked, before Gershon could even start toward the door. “You’ve been keeping her safe?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. To the extent that I can. I can’t protect her from the Weaver, of course. I don’t believe anyone can. But I check on her whenever I can.”
“I’m grateful to you. And I apologize for what I said before. This isn’t your fault. Truth be told, no one’s to blame.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.”
“I’d appreciate it if you continued to watch her for me. As you said before, there’s little I can do for her without drawing the attention of the Weaver’s servants.”
“You have my word, Your Majesty. I’ll do whatever I can for her until it’s time for me to ride to the Tarbin.”
The king frowned, as if he had forgotten that they would be riding to battle before long. “Yes, of course. Thank you, swordmaster.”
Gershon bowed and left the chamber, making his way through the corridors to the nearest stairway. Even had the king not asked it of him, he would have continued to watch over the archminister. He felt bound to her in this matter. It might not have been his fault, but to the extent that anyone allowed her to do anything, he had allowed her to do this. He might even have encouraged it.
Still, he was relieved to be sharing the burden of this secret with Kearney. His one regret was that he wouldn’t get to see Marston’s face when the thane learned that Keziah would be remaining with the king after all.
The archminister finally roused herself from her bed late in the day, as the ringing of the prior’s bells echoed through the castle. Unwilling to remain in her chamber any longer, and not yet ready to face Gershon, or Kearney, or the other ministers, she made her way to the prison tower.
Cresenne was asleep when she arrived, and the old Qirsi nurse who had been caring for Bryntelle during the days since Grinsa’s departure was walking slowly around the sparse chamber humming softly to the baby. The guards unlocked the door for Keziah, and the minister approached the nurse.
“Is she sleeping?” she asked in a whisper.
“Aye. It’s been some time now. She’ll be wakin’ soon an’ wantin’ her mother.”
“All right. I’ll take her.”
“Of course, Minister.” The woman smiled at Bryntelle and kissed the child lightly on the forehead. “Until tomorrow, little one.”
She handed the baby to Keziah and curtsied before leaving the chamber. Cresenne stirred when the guard closed and locked the steel door, but she didn’t wake and for the better part of an hour both mother and daughter remained asleep. Keziah walked in slow circles holding her niece, much as the nurse had done. She didn’t have much of a singing voice, but she sang anyway, keeping her voice so low that only Bryntelle could hear her.
Eventually, as the chamber began to grow dark, she heard Cresenne moving once more. Turning toward the sound, she saw the woman sit up and run a hand through her tangled white hair.
“How long have you been here?” she asked through a yawn.
“An hour perhaps. Since the prior’s bells.”
Cresenne glanced at the torches mounted on the wall near the door. A moment later they jumped to life, bright flames lighting the chamber. Their glow woke Bryntelle and she began to cry. Keziah carried her to her mother and in a moment Cresenne was nursing the child.
“You look awful,” Cresenne said, glancing at Keziah once more. “Like you’ve been crying-” She stopped, all color draining from her face. “Has something happened? Have you heard from Grinsa?”
“No, it’s nothing like that.”
Cresenne closed her eyes briefly, then opened them again passing her free hand through her hair a second time. “Then what?”
Keziah cast a quick look toward the door. The guards in the corridor were talking quietly to each other. She sat beside Cresenne and keeping her voice to a whisper, described her conversations with Gershon and the king.
“So now Kearney knows. Isn’t that good?”
Keziah gave a small shrug. “Maybe it is. I don’t know. The more people who know, the greater the chances that the Weaver will learn of my deception.”
“But surely you can’t think that the king would betray your confidence.”
“Not intentionally, no. But knowing what I’ve risked on his behalf, he’ll find it hard to grow angry with me when I provoke him. And I needn’t tell you that even something that subtle won’t escape the notice of those who serve the movement.”
Cresenne eyed her briefly, but said nothing. For some time, even before the Weaver’s attack and the abrupt changes it had brought to Cresenne’s life, Keziah and the woman had begun to build a strong friendship. But though they had told each other a good deal about their lives, Keziah hadn’t spoken to Cresenne of her affair with Kearney, nor had she admitted that she was Grinsa’s sister. Indeed, on more than one occasion Cresenne had wondered aloud if the minister and Grinsa had ever been lovers; it had been all Keziah could do to keep from laughing at the very idea of it. Sitting with her now, Keziah briefly considered telling her of the love she had shared with the king. Doing so might have helped Cresenne understand her concerns about all that had happened this day. Once again, however, something stopped her. Perhaps she was merely being overly cautious, or perhaps she feared the woman’s judgment. Many people of her race were no more accepting of love affairs between Eandi and Qirsi than were Ean’s children.
Instead she raised another matter. “A moment ago, when I told you what Gershon, Kearney, and I had discussed, I left out one detail. The king also spoke of moving you to Glyndwr. That was to be the pretext for sending me away.”
“I can’t say that I’m surprised. Before the Weaver tried to kill me His Majesty offered to grant me asylum in the highlands as an alternative to keeping me here as a prisoner.”
“Yes, I remember.” When they had first discussed the possibility, Keziah had thought it a fine idea. So long as Cresenne remained in the City of Kings, she would never have any freedom at all. At least in Glyndwr, she would be free to roam the castle grounds whenever she liked without fear of having to return to this chamber every time a noble came to visit the king.
“So are Bryntelle and I to leave then?” Cresenne asked, her tone surprisingly light.
“I told the king that I thought you should remain here, where we can protect you. But I have to admit that this was somewhat selfish on my part. So long as the Weaver believes that I intend to make an attempt on your life, he won’t do so himself. As soon as he hears that you’ve left, he’ll try to kill you, and then he’ll punish me for failing to do as he instructed.”