Keziah shivered again. “Tell me,” she said, not wanting to hear.
“It’s nothing you don’t already know. Cresenne is a prisoner of the realm, and I’m a Weaver. We have no future here-certainly Bryntelle doesn’t.”
“But the war is over. Surely you have nothing more to prove to Kearney and the rest. And Cresenne has suffered enough for what she did.”
“There are many who would disagree with you. I love her, but if I didn’t, I’m not sure that I’d want to see her go free. As for me, the law is quite clear on what’s to be done with Weavers.”
“Kearney can change the law! I’ll talk to him!” She was shaking once more. She had finally found the strength to live without Kearney. But how could she ever live without Grinsa?
He touched her cheek, looking at her with so much love. “I don’t want you to talk to him.”
“Then what are you going to do?”
“Something I’ve always dreamed of doing. We’re going to the Southlands.”
“The Southlands?” she said, her voice hardly more than a whisper. “How?”
“I don’t know yet. I expect we can find a merchant ship to take us. There are still a few Qirsi ships that sail beyond Sanbira on the Sea of Stars. Or maybe we’ll cross the Border Range. We’ve still several turns before the snows.”
“Does Cresenne know?”
“Not yet. But aside from Bryntelle and me, there’s nothing holding her here.”
“The Southlands,” she said again. Keziah had never thought that anyplace could sound so far away. She pressed her face against his chest, muffling her sobs. “I’ll never see you again.”
“You don’t know that. And besides, I’m a Weaver. I can always find my way into your dreams.”
“It’s not the same.”
“I know.”
“What will I do without you?”
“You’ll live a long, happy life. You’ll serve a young duke who may yet prove himself one of the great leaders this land has ever known. You’ll love a fine minister who will be devoted to you. And you’ll find that you’re stronger and more capable than you know.”
She smiled at him through her tears. “You gleaned all that?”
“I didn’t have to glean it. I know it in my heart.”
He kissed her forehead again, and Keziah held on to him as if she never intended to let go.
Chapter Twenty-eight
City of Kings, Eibithar, Morna’s Moon waning
The journey southward from Curgh to Audun’s Castle took nearly half a turn. Grinsa understood that most of the king’s men were on foot, but still he found their pace maddeningly slow. Every day he found himself wishing that he could simply kick his mount to a gallop and cover the distance as swiftly as the beast could manage. But he remained a free man solely because Kearney had chosen to ignore Eibithar’s laws regarding Weavers, and it would have been inappropriate for him to ride ahead of the king.
As it was, all that made the long ride bearable was Tavis’s presence by his side. He had urged the young duke not to accompany him to the City of Kings.
“You’ve only just become duke,” he had said the morning they left, when Tavis appeared in the castle’s lower ward, dressed in rider’s garb. “You should remain here with your mother and your people.”
To which the boy had calmly replied, “I don’t want to. And anyway,” he added, “You made a promise.”
Grinsa still believed that Tavis should have stayed behind, but he was glad to have the young noble with him. They rode together each day, saying little, merely enjoying each other’s company.
One morning, as they passed near the banks of the Sussyn, Tavis suddenly asked, “Can a Weaver enter the dreams of anyone, or only a Qirsi?”
“I believe only a Qirsi. When I enter someone’s dreams, I touch their magic, just the way I would if I was weaving their power with my own. I don’t know how I could do that with an Eandi.” He glanced at the boy, sensing that this was not the answer he had wanted. “Still, I’ve never tried to enter an Eandi’s dreams. I suppose it may be possible.”
Tavis nodded, but said nothing more.
It was the only time they even came close to speaking of Grinsa’s impending departure.
When at last the host came within sight of the royal city, just before dusk on the twelfth day of their journey, the gleaner’s impatience got the better of him.
“Your Majesty, may we have your permission to ride ahead? I’m … I’m quite eager to reach the castle.”
Kearney smiled and nodded. “Of course. I’ll ride with you.” He looked back at Gershon Trasker. “Swordmaster, I’d like you to remain with the men for the rest of their march. We three are going to ride on to the city.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
It was late in the waning, and though they pushed their mounts, the three riders still hadn’t reached the city walls when night fell. Grinsa raised a bright yellow flame to light their way, and some time before they came to the walls, they were joined by a large contingent of soldiers who had ridden forth at the sight of his fire. Recognizing their king, several of the men returned to the castle, shouting news of the king’s return. By the time Kearney, Tavis, and Grinsa rode through the south gate, bells were tolling throughout the city and thousands of people had lined the streets to cheer their sovereign. They regarded Tavis and Grinsa warily, but if they still thought the young noble a butcher, they kept it to themselves.
Grinsa, Tavis, and Kearney entered the castle, only to find that most of the soldiers who had remained behind when the king rode to war had gathered in the main courtyard to greet them. It promised to be a lengthy welcome.
“Your Majesty…”
Kearney grinned. “Go, gleaner. Tavis and I will find you later.”
He was off his horse almost before the king had finished speaking. “Thank you, Your Majesty,” he said with a quick bow.
A moment later he was running toward the chamber in which Cresenne had stayed before being moved to the prison tower. He could only assume that she had been returned to the same room after Kearney and the nobles left Audun’s Castle.
He needn’t have even wondered. She was waiting for him at the entrance to the corridor, Bryntelle in her arms, torchlight glittering in her pale eyes, starlight shimmering in her hair. He strode to her, wrapping her in his arms and kissing her long and deep.
“I can’t believe you’re really here,” she murmured, her breath warm on his cheek.
They kissed again, only to be interrupted by a loud squeal from Bryntelle.
“I think someone else would like a hug.”
Grinsa laughed. Had he ever been this happy? “Look at you!” he said to his daughter. “She’s so big!”
“She can sit up by herself now. And she’s making all kinds of sounds.”
The child was every bit as beautiful as Cresenne. Her mouth and nose were just like her mother’s. Her eyes were more like his in shape, and their color was a perfect blending of Grinsa’s and Cresenne’s.
“She’s exquisite.”
“Isn’t she?”
He glanced at Cresenne, kissed her again.
“Do you want to hold her?”
Grinsa nodded. Cresenne put Bryntelle in his arms, and, of course, the child immediately began to cry.
“She’s not used to you.”
“It’s all right,” he said, rocking Bryntelle gently. “She has plenty of time.”
He smiled down at the girl, gently stroking her cheek with a finger and whispering to her. Eventually her crying subsided and she grabbed hold of his finger with a tiny hand.
“I’ve spoken to the queen a few times recently,” Cresenne said at length.
“The queen? Really?” he said, his attention still fixed on Bryntelle.
“She’s been kind to me. She says that she can give us a bigger chamber, if Kearney will agree.”
He looked up. “That’s kind of her. But I have something else in mind, if you’re willing to leave the City of Kings.”
Cresenne regarded him skeptically. “Leave? I didn’t think Kearney would ever allow it.”
“He’ll let us go if we agree to leave Eibithar.”