Later in the day, however, after they had talked themselves into a lengthy silence, Xaver eyed the young lord, suddenly appearing uneasy.
“I have a favor to ask of you,” he said, meeting Tavis’s gaze for but a moment before looking away.
“Of course. Anything.”
“Don’t say that until you’ve heard what it is.”
Tavis felt his stomach tighten.
“I’m not certain that my father’s going to let me fight,” said the liege man. “And if he asks your father to keep me out of the battle, your father will do just that.”
“I really don’t think-”
“Please, let me finish. You’re my lord-I swore an oath to serve you. And since we’re both past our Fatings, you have the authority to overrule my father.”
“Xaver, the last thing I want to do is get between you and Hagan. Besides, if my father decides to keep you out of combat, there’s nothing I can do.”
His friend scowled at him.
“Why are you so eager to fight, anyway?”
“You have to ask? You’re just as avid for it as I am.”
Tavis shook his head. “That’s different. I have reasons that have nothing to do with this war and everything to do with Cadel and Brienne and all the rest.”
“Well, I have reasons, too, Tavis! You’re not the only one who wants to strike back at the Aneirans and the Qirsi and the empire, and everyone else who’s been attacking us for the past year. You’re not the only one whose father…” He shook his head. “I know it’s hard between you and your father, but it’s not easy being the son of Hagan MarCullet either. He’s been the best swordsman in the land for just about all my life. And everyone expects me to be just like him.” Including me.
Xaver didn’t have to say this last aloud. As his friend spoke Tavis found himself remembering what Xaver had told him of the siege at Kentigern, which was the first and only time the young man had fought in a battle of any sort. He said at the time that he had acquitted himself poorly, that he had embarrassed himself in front of Javan. For his part, the duke never had anything but praise for Xaver’s courage as a warrior, but that wouldn’t have kept Xaver from feeling that he had something to prove to himself, to his duke, and to his father in this newest war.
“I’m sorry, Stinger. You’re right, I’m not the only one. As I said before, I have no desire to put myself between you and Hagan, but I’ll do what I can.”
Xaver nodded, still looking displeased.
“Personally, I’d be honored to march into battle beside you.”
He smiled at that. “We’ve been talking about it since we were five.”
“Longer than that, if my mother is to be believed.”
“Thanks, Tavis.”
“I’m not promising anything. You understand that.”
“I know. But I’m grateful anyway.”
“Just promise me that you’ll watch my back, and I’ll do the same for you.”
Xaver grinned. “Done.”
* * *
After Javan and Tavis rode away, Keziah turned her attention back to Kearney, who was still giving comfort to the duke of Heneagh. There was a pained expression in her pale eyes. She held a hand to her mouth, as if afraid that she might weep at any moment.
“Perhaps we should find someplace where we can speak,” Fotir suggested.
She nodded, but her gaze never left the king.
“Keziah.”
She looked at Grinsa, seeming to rouse herself from a dream. “Yes, of course.”
It looked to the gleaner that she hadn’t slept in days. There were circles under her eyes, and her skin was so wan that she almost looked gray. He wondered how many times in the past few nights she had dreamed of the Weaver.
The three Qirsi walked away from the king toward the rear of the Curgh camp where there were fewer soldiers. After a few moments, Grinsa realized that one of Kearney’s men was following a short distance behind them.
“My shadow,” Keziah said, seeing him glance back.
“Kearney’s having you watched?”
“It’s necessary. We still need for everyone to believe that he doesn’t trust me.”
Fotir looked from one of them to the other. “Am I to understand that the king knows of your attempt to join the conspiracy?”
Keziah gave a rueful smile. “That was necessary as well. He was preparing to send me away from his court.”
“This seems to be growing more perilous by the moment.”
Grinsa said nothing, though it occurred to him that it had all been far too dangerous from the very beginning. Keziah had contrived to join the Qirsi conspiracy, making it seem to the Weaver that she served his cause, and convincing all those around her that she had betrayed her king and her land. Kearney knew the truth now, but that seemed small consolation to Grinsa. If the Weaver learned that Keziah had been deceiving him, he would make her suffer terribly before killing her.
“Can we speak frankly with that soldier hovering at our shoulders?” Fotir asked.
“We haven’t much choice, First Minister,” Keziah said, impatience creeping into her voice. “Believe me when I tell you that these inconveniences mean little to me at this point. I have far greater matters weighing on my mind.”
The gleaner thought that Fotir might respond in anger-the minister was no more accustomed than was Keziah to having people speak to him so. To his credit, however, the man gave a small smile and inclined his head. “You’re right, of course. Forgive me, Archminister.”
Keziah frowned, as if she had expected more of a fight.
“Have you heard from the Weaver again?” Grinsa asked in a whisper.
“I last heard from him about a half turn ago,” she answered, whispering as well, “just after we marched from Audun’s Castle. He was angry with me for failing to kill Cresenne.”
“Did he hurt you?”
His sister tried to smile, failed. After a moment she looked away. “It wasn’t too bad.”
Grinsa didn’t believe her, but he let it pass, his heart aching for her.
“He told me that he would find another way to kill her. Don’t worry,” she said, seeming to believe that she was anticipating Grinsa’s next question. “I sent word back to the castle. She knows to expect an attack.”
The gleaner looked away. “The attack’s already come.”
She gaped at him.
“Is she-?”
“She’s all right.” Actually, the gleaner couldn’t say with any certainty that she would ever truly recover from all her encounters with the man. The Weaver had tortured her, leaving scars on her face that might have looked like those Tavis bore had Grinsa not been able to heal her so soon after the assault. One of the Weaver’s servants had poisoned her, very nearly taking her life. And the last time he entered her dreams, the Weaver had raped her, or come as close to rape as a man could without actually touching her physically.
“What did he do to her?”
“It’s not important. What matters is that Cresenne drove him from her dreams. She won.” Though at what cost?
Keziah still stared at him, but the horror on her face had given way to a look of wonder.
“Did she really?”
“Yes. And as I’ve been telling you all along, you have the power to do the same.”
After his own unsuccessful encounter with the Weaver half a turn before, as he and Tavis were riding across the southern Moorlands, Grinsa had come to doubt that anyone could prevail against the man. But despite all that she had endured during her dreams of the Weaver, Cresenne had given him hope, not only for himself, but for Keziah as well. He still feared for his sister-for all of them, really-but he had to believe that Dusaan could be beaten.