Besh and Sirj, on the other hand, were told courteously but firmly that they were not welcome at the feast. D'Pera sat alone, though Grinsa noticed that throughout the evening her people approached her singly or in pairs and spoke to her quietly. Eventually Grinsa and Cresenne did the same.
It felt awkward to offer his condolences; D'Pera knew all too well that Grinsa and E'Menua hadn't liked each other. But she greeted them graciously.
"We're sorry for your loss, N'Qlae," Grinsa said, as they stood before her. "The a'laq loved you very much. He told me to tell you so."
"You were with him when he died?" Her voice was steady, but tears shone in her eyes.
"I tried to heal him, but there was poison in his blood. I couldn't fight it."
"But you tried. Thank you for that." She hesitated. "You were right about the Mettai. Your wife has told you how they saved us?"
Grinsa nodded, noting to himself that this once she didn't falter at the word "wife."
"Yes, she told me."
"That's twice that they saved us-that all of you saved us. You have our gratitude."
Grinsa wanted to ask if that meant they would let Besh and Sirj leave the sept, but he thought that was a discussion best left for another day. He and Cresenne bowed to the n'qlae and returned to where they had been sitting.
The feast seemed destined to go on through much of the night, but eventually Grinsa and Cresenne left on the pretense of needing to put Bryntelle to bed. Judging from the way Cresenne's friend F'Solya looked at them, though, they weren't fooling anyone.
Back in their z'kal, they put their daughter in her small bed before undressing and slipping under their blankets. After that, Grinsa lost track of the time, caring only for the taste of Cresenne's lips and the soft warmth of her skin.
Later, as they lay together, their desire sated at least for a time, Cresenne said, "So what now?"
Grinsa was running his hands through her hair, and he laughed. "What did you have in mind?"
She propped herself up on one elbow. "I'm serious, Grinsa. Where do we go from here? I don't want to stay with the Fal'Borna, but I don't know where we should go next."
"Neither do I," he said, turning serious. "We can't leave here until we know that Besh and Sirj are safely away from the sept. But after that…" He shrugged.
"We should head west," she said. "North and west. I don't want to go near the J'Balanar, but I want to get away from here."
"All right," he said. He felt the kernel of an idea forming, but he didn't know if it was even possible, and he wasn't ready to say anything that might get Cresenne's hopes up.
"What are you thinking?" she asked.
"That I'll go anywhere you want me to," he said, which was true. She smiled and kissed him. "Good."
Grinsa waited a few days before seeking an audience with the new a'laq. As the lone male Weaver in the sept, he spent a good deal of time alone outside L'Norr's z'kal, but the young Weaver said little to him, and at least at first, Grinsa was reluctant to intrude on the A'Laq's solitude.
But Grinsa had also spoken several times with Besh and Sirj. Now that the war had ended, both of them were eager to be on their way back to their home village.
"We helped them fight off the J'Balanar raiders," Sirj said with quiet intensity. "They should be willing to let us go."
"I'll do what I can," Grinsa told him.
That same day, he went to see L'Norr in his z'kal.
It was warm and dark within, and it smelled of smoke and cooking meat. "Forgive the intrusion, A'Laq," Grinsa said.
"It's all right," the man said, motioning for him to sit. "Let me see if I can tell you why you've come. You want to know if I intend to let the Mettai leave."
Grinsa smiled and nodded. "That's part of it, yes."
L'Norr grimaced. "I don't want to. That probably doesn't surprise you. The Mettai killed Q'Daer. Their serpent killed E'Menua. But I understand that these two helped fight off the J'Balanar, and that their magic actually did protect us from the plague." He paused, eyeing Grinsa. "D'Pera has done as you asked. She's convinced me to let them go."
"I'm grateful for that, A'Laq, but you should know that I didn't ask her to speak with you. She did this on her own."
L'Norr appeared genuinely surprised by this. "Really?"
"I swear it."
The man seemed to weigh this briefly. "Well, regardless, the Mettai can leave whenever they're ready. I'll trust you to let them know."
"Thank you, A'Laq."
The man regarded him expectantly. "You indicated there was more." Grinsa nodded but said nothing, suddenly unsure of how to proceed. L'Norr watched him for several moments, and then abruptly his eyes widened and the color fled his cheeks. "You want to leave, too."
"Yes, A'Laq."
The young Weaver looked away. "Damn," he said.
"I know that-"
"You'd be leaving me with no Weavers aside from D'Pera."
"U'Vara will be a Weaver."
To Grinsa's surprise, the color rushed back into L'Norr's face, so that it turned bright crimson.
"I know that," the a'laq said. "But I'd have no warriors who could weave."
"We can't stay here, A'Laq. I respect the Fal'Borna-truly I do-but this isn't the life Cresenne and I want for ourselves or for our daughter."
L'Norr wouldn't look at him. "So long as you're with us, you'll never want for anything. You'll be part of the most powerful clan in all the Southlands."
"I thank you for that."
"But it doesn't change your mind."
Grinsa took a breath. "No, A'Laq, it doesn't."
"I see." His eyes flicked toward Grinsa for just an instant, but then he looked away again. "I won't keep you here against your will, but I would ask you to take a few more days and think about this."
"Of course, A'Laq." Grinsa stood. "Thank you."
Before Grinsa could leave, L'Norr asked, "Where would you go?" Grinsa shook his head. "We don't know yet."
Even after Grinsa had told him twice, Besh couldn't quite believe that he had heard the Forelander correctly. "They really will let us go?" he said. "Whenever we want?"
Grinsa and Cresenne were both smiling. Even their baby had a huge grin on her pale, beautiful face.
"Whenever you want," Grinsa told him.
"First light," Sirj said. "I want to leave in the morning."
It was cold and it had begun to snow. Besh had no doubt that the journey home would be difficult and long. But he was every bit as eager to be leaving as Sirj.
"Yes," he agreed. "First light."
"Will you be coming with us?" Sirj asked the Forelander and his wife.
The two Qirsi shared a look and then Grinsa shook his head. "No, I'm afraid not. I don't know yet where we're going, but we've been in the sovereignties, and they weren't at all welcoming."
"No," Besh said. "I don't suppose they were."
"I believe I can prevail upon the Fal'Borna to give you food and horses," Grinsa said. "Cresenne and I can even give you some gold if you need it."
"We don't," Besh said. "But thank you. We'd welcome the food and horses, though."
Grinsa and Cresenne left them for a time, saying that they wanted to give Besh and Sirj a chance to gather their belongings. In truth, though, the Mettai had precious little with them. They put their clothes in their travel sacks, and they were done.
They had been granted the freedom to go anywhere in the sept, but they rarely took advantage of this, preferring to remain near their shelter, where they felt most comfortable. On this day, however, Besh insisted that they go to see the n'qlae. Sirj seemed reluctant, but he followed anyway, as Besh knew he would. Sirj felt responsible for him, and would want to make sure that Besh was safe.
The n'qlae was in her z'kal, and she greeted the men with little warmth. "We'll be leaving tomorrow," Besh told her. "We simply wanted to thank you for helping as you did."
"I'm not sure I did very much," the woman said. "But you're welcome."
"We're sorry for the loss of the a'laq."
The n'qlae nodded, but said nothing.
"We're sorry as well for the death of the other Weaver, Q'Daer."