Bonds of Vengeance

Chapter Two

Glyndwr, Eibithar

Tavis had thought that when Grinsa called the herbmaster back into the chamber, the woman’s labor was near its end. But though she no longer screamed out with such desperate anguish, she continued to moan and cry, as if pushed beyond endurance. The soldiers who stood with him in the corridor had long since stopped talking among themselves. Mostly they kept their eyes lowered, exchanging looks occasionally, when the Qirsi woman sounded particularly wretched.

After a time, the duke of Glyndwr entered the hallway and the men straightened. He nodded to them as he walked past, but he didn’t stop until he reached Tavis.

In most respects, Kearney the Younger was the image of his father. He had the king’s bright green eyes and fine features, but his hair was a soft brown, perhaps like Kearney the Elder’s had been before it turned silver. Though still two years shy of his Fating, the boy was already nearly as tall as Tavis. He was thin as a blade, however, and awkward. He wore the silver, red, and black baldric on his back, as did all Glyndwr’s dukes. But the baldric and the sword it held appeared far too large for him. His father had chosen to give him the dukedom rather than appointing a regent to oversee the realm until Kearney the Younger’s Fating. As Tavis looked at the young duke now, he couldn’t help but wonder if the elder Kearney had placed too great a burden on the boy.

The Qirsi woman groaned again and Kearney glanced at the door, the color draining from his face.

“She labors still?”

Tavis nodded. “She doesn’t cry out as she did earlier, but I’ve heard no babe yet.”

Kearney faced him. “I’ve posted guards as you suggested, but I’d like to know more of this woman. You say she’s part of the conspiracy?”

“We believe so, yes. My companion, the gleaner, knew her in the Revel. When he left for Kentigern, intending to win my freedom, she sent an assassin for him.”

“So after her child is born, I should imprison her?”

One of the guards glanced at Tavis, then quickly looked away, his face twisting sourly. Kearney had seemed afraid of him a few turns before, when they met at Kearney the Elder’s investiture. He since seemed to have accepted that Tavis was innocent of Brienne’s murder, treating the Curgh lord as he would any noble from a rival house. Glyndwr’s soldiers might consider Tavis a murderer, but their duke did not, and the young lord vowed silently to remember the boy’s courtesy when he finally reclaimed his rightful place in the Curgh court.

“To be honest, Lord Glyndwr, I’m not certain what you should do. I felt you should know who the woman was before extending to her the hospitality of your house. But as to her future, I would have to defer to Grinsa’s judgment.”

“The Qirsi? He’s but a gleaner.”

“He’s as wise as any of my father’s ministers,” Tavis said. “And the woman bears his child as we speak. I would ask you to consider his counsel before you do anything with the woman.”

Kearney appeared to weigh this briefly before nodding once. “Very well. Still, we’d be wise to guard against any possible dangers. Aside from your friend, I intend to keep all Qirsi out of her chamber. My father and I don’t suspect any of the white-hairs who serve Glyndwr, but we’d be fools to ignore all we’ve heard from other courts across the Forelands.”

“It seems a most sensible precaution, Lord Glyndwr,” Tavis said, and meant it. Kearney might look callow and ungainly, but there was more to this young duke than Tavis had thought. It seemed the king’s faith had been justified.

“I trust you’ve been treated well since your arrival, Lord Curgh,” the young duke said after a brief silence. Tavis noted that Kearney’s eyes were fixed on the nearest of the guards.

“I have, Lord Glyndwr. Your castle is all it was reputed to be, and more, as are those who serve in your name.”

“Thank you.”

Tavis expected the duke to leave then, but Kearney surprised him again, leaning against the opposite wall, as if intending to take up Tavis’s vigil as his own.

“You said she bears his child,” the boy began, meeting the young lord’s glance for just an instant. “Yet she sent an assassin for him?”

“Yes.”

The duke pursed his lips. “What does a man do after such a thing?”

Tavis gave a small, sad smile and shook his head. “I hope never to find out, Lord Glyndwr.”

Kearney grinned, but quickly grew serious again. “You also said that the woman hoped to stop your friend from reaching Kentigern. Do you believe she had something to do with. . with the events there?”

“We believe the conspiracy did. We suspect that they wanted to make me appear her killer in order to drive a wedge between my father and Aindreas of Kentigern.”

“It seems they succeeded.”

Tavis felt his throat constrict. They had indeed. True, with Grinsa’s help, and the timely intervention of Kearney’s father, the kingdom had managed to avoid a civil war. But Tavis’s father had been forced to relinquish his place in the Order of Ascension and Tavis had become an exile, cast out of his own court until he could prove his innocence, something he had not yet been able to do, though he’d confronted Brienne’s killer in a tavern in Mertesse. From all Tavis had heard, Aindreas still threatened war against Curgh and had even gone so far as to challenge the legitimacy of Kearney the Elder’s reign.

“Yes,” he murmured. “I suppose they did.”

“Forgive me, Lord Curgh, but my point is this: if this woman was involved with Lady Brienne’s murder, then she can help prove your innocence.”

Tavis stared at the boy as if he had just conjured mists and winds like a Qirsi.

“I’m not certain anyone would listen to her,” he said, hoping the duke would gainsay him. So many times already in the turns since Brienne’s murder, Tavis had thought that his redemption was at hand. The discovery of blood on the window shutter outside his chamber in Kentigern Castle; his encounter with Brienne’s spirit in the Sanctuary of Bian; his struggle with the assassin in Mertesse. Yet each time, his hopes had been dashed. “She’s a Qirsi traitor. Some will claim that she’d say anything to escape execution.”

“Perhaps. But others may listen.”

He had denied himself the luxury of hope for so long that he couldn’t bring himself to embrace it now.

“Not the ones who matter. Not Galdasten or Eardley or Rennach. Certainly not Kentigern.”

“Perhaps not at first. But you have to try. Surely you don’t mean to ignore the possibility.”

Tavis would have smiled had it not been rude to do so. He remembered what it was to be this young. Not very long ago he would have argued much as Kearney did now. But Aindreas’s prison had aged him. Every cut of Kentigern’s blade, every searing touch of his damned torches had struck at Tavis’s faith in justice, or even in the mercy of the gods.

“No, Lord Glyndwr. I won’t ignore the possibility. But neither will I celebrate my absolution prematurely. I’ve done that before, to my rue.”

The boy nodded, seeming to sense that there was more at work here than he could fathom.

A lengthy silence ensued, to be pierced at last by a long wail from within the chamber that trailed off into gentle sobs. A moment later came a different sound, unexpected after so much anguish, and welcome as rain after drought: the cry of a babe.

For just a few seconds it was easy to forget that this was the child of a Qirsi traitor. Even the guards grinned.

“I should tell the prelate,” the duke said, pushing away from the wall. Then his face reddened. “Though I suppose the child’s mother will prefer that the prior come from Morna’s Sanctuary.”

This time Tavis did smile. “I would think so, yes.”

Kearney started leave. “I’ll send a message.”

“Don’t you want to see the child?”

The boy shook his head. “I still remember when my brother was born, and my sister as well. I’m not very fond of babies.”

Tavis watched Kearney walk away, deciding that he liked this boy-duke. Finding himself alone once more with the guards, the young lord allowed himself a quick glance at the men positioned around him. Still, none looked at him. Even their duke’s acceptance was not enough to overcome their suspicions.

The baby soon stopped crying, to suckle, or perhaps to sleep, but still Grinsa did not emerge from the chamber. After some time Tavis began to wonder if he should return to their room rather than wait any longer. Abruptly he realized that his journeying with the Qirsi was about to change drastically. Perhaps it had even come to an end. Grinsa was a father now and regardless of whether or not the woman was to be punished, Grinsa’s first responsibility had to be to their child. For all he knew, the gleaner had forgotten that he was in the corridor and had no intention of leaving the woman’s side until morning. Tavis could hardly blame him, and yet neither could he deny that he felt angry, even betrayed.

Just as he was ready make his way back to the chamber, however, the door opened, and the gleaner stepped out into the hallway, his skin flushed deep red, and his hair damp with sweat. In the past nine turns, he and Grinsa had been pursued by the king’s guard in Aneira and the soldiers of Kentigern. Yet Tavis had never seen the gleaner look so weary.

“Is she all right?” the young lord asked.

“Yes. They both are, though we almost lost each of them in turn.” A smile touched his lips and was gone. “I have a daughter. Cresenne tells me she’s to be called Bryntelle.”

“This was her decision? You have nothing to do with naming your own child?”

“You forget. My daughter is Qirsi. She’ll always bear my name. Bryntelle ja Grinsa. I couldn’t have chosen any better.”

Tavis nodded. “Well, I’m. . I’m happy for you.”

“Thank you. I’m not sure that I am.”

“What do you mean?”

Grinsa eyed the guards for a moment. “Walk with me.” They started toward the nearest of the towers, descended the stairs, and stepped out into the castle’s upper ward. The wind had died down, but snow still fell, the flakes soft and cold on Tavis’s face.

For a short while, the two of them merely walked, following a meandering path through the Glyndwr gardens.

“What have I told you about her?” Grinsa finally asked, his voice low.

“Very little. I gather that you thought her a gleaner, just as she did you. I believe you loved her and that you only learned she was with the conspiracy after you left her.”

“I should have known earlier.” He shook his head. “She kept asking me about your Fating, about what I saw in the stone. The night I left she pretended to be hurt that I was leaving her, but I could tell there was more to it than that. I just chose not to see it for what it was.”

“You were in love.”

“That’s a poor excuse.”

Tavis started to argue, but quickly thought better of it. Grinsa expected a great deal of himself, more than was fair, it sometimes seemed to the young lord. If the gleaner had decided to blame himself for the woman’s betrayal, there was little Tavis could do to talk him out of it. And since he had never been in love, Tavis could hardly claim to be knowledgeable on the subject. Instead he walked and waited for Grinsa to continue.

“I’d always known that I would have to find Cresenne eventually. She serves the conspiracy and she may know something about the Weaver who leads it. But I had hoped to put this off as long as possible. I wanted to find Shurik first, and since his death I’ve hoped that my sister could find out what I might otherwise have to learn from Cresenne. I didn’t expect to see her this soon, and certainly not under these circumstances.”

He didn’t want to ask, but there seemed little choice. “Now that she’s here, what are you going to do?”

The gleaner shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Do you still love her?”

“I’d be a fool if I did.”

Tavis grinned. “That does nothing to answer my question.”

Grinsa actually laughed. “I don’t suppose it does.” His smile gave way to a grimace that told Tavis all he needed to know. “I don’t know if I can love her after what she’s done. But I am still. . drawn to her.”

“Does she know that you’re-?” He stopped himself, searching the ward for Kearney’s guards.

“Does she know the extent of my powers?”

“Yes.”

“I never told her, but I think she’s reasoned it out by now. It’s one of the reasons she called for me today, maybe the only reason. She needed my healing magic.”

“I expect that she called for you because you’re the child’s father. Whatever else lies between you, nothing can change that.”

The gleaner smiled and put his hand on Tavis’s shoulder. “Thank you. You may be right. But still your question raises an interesting point. If she knows I’m a Weaver, she’s a danger to me, to Keziah, and to our hopes of defeating the conspiracy.”

“Maybe now she can be turned from their cause.”

“You mean because of the baby.”

“I’m sorry, Grinsa,” Tavis said, retreating quickly. “I wasn’t implying that we should use your daughter as-”

“It’s all right, Tavis. Before this is over, we may have to think in such terms. For now, though-for tonight-I’d just like to think of Bryntelle as my babe, and nothing more.”

“Of course.”

They both fell silent, though Grinsa gave no indication that he was ready to return to the herbmaster’s chamber.

“There’s more on your mind,” the gleaner said at last. “I can always tell.”

Tavis was eager to tell him of his conversation with Kearney, but this didn’t seem to be the time.

“It’s nothing.”

The Qirsi halted, forcing Tavis to face him. “I don’t believe you. Just speak and be done with it.”

“All right.” He took a breath. “The duke came to the chamber during Cresenne’s childbirth. We spoke briefly, and he suggested that if she is or once was a part of the conspiracy, and if she had anything to do with arranging Brienne’s murder, she might be able to prove my innocence.”

Tavis saw the gleaner’s jaw tighten, but his expression remained the same, and when he finally replied, his voice was even and low. “The duke makes an interesting point. What is it you’d have me do?”

“I don’t know. First, we need to learn all she knows about what happened in Kentigern.”

“I already intended to ask her about that, along with a host of other matters. What then?”

He shrugged. “If it turns out she knows something of the plans to kill Brienne and of the assassin, I suppose we’ll need to bring her before the other dukes, perhaps even the king.”

Grinsa looked away, his lip pressed in a tight line. “I don’t want her journeying with us.”

“It wouldn’t be for long.”

“Any time at all will be too much. She’s dangerous, Tavis. For you, and especially for me.”

“Even now? Even after what you two have shared this night?”

“She lied to me!” Grinsa said, his voice rising. “She tried to have me killed!”

“Perhaps she can change.” It seemed to Tavis that he and the gleaner had reversed roles for just a moment. How often had Grinsa urged him to use reason, to move beyond his anger and resentment?

“Just because of the child?” The Qirsi shook his head. “That’s a great burden to put upon such tiny shoulders.”

“It’s not just the child. You said yourself that you almost lost both mother and daughter tonight. If it weren’t for you, Cresenne might be dead, or she might be mourning the babe rather than nursing her. Whatever happened between you before tonight, it’s all different now. You saved her despite her betrayal, and together you share responsibility for another life.” He chanced a smile. “Even I know enough to see the significance of that.”

“We’re not a family, Tavis. I don’t think we ever can be. We’re adversaries in a war. That’s more powerful than any bond that ties us to each other.” He rubbed a hand over his face, looking haggard and worn. “I’ll consider what you’re asking of me. Truly I will. And I’ll speak with her tomorrow. But I make you no promises.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to.” Tavis gestured toward the tower entrance. “You should sleep. It’s been a long night.”

Grinsa smiled wearily. “Are you ministering to me, Lord Curgh?”

“It seems someone needs to.”

They turned and started back the way they had come. It was snowing harder now and already it was difficult to see their footprints in the dim light of the castle torches.

“I do think you’re mistaken, though,” the young lord said after a few moments. “Whatever else you and Cresenne may have been, you are a family now. Not even this war can change that.”

She would have liked to sleep for days, uninterrupted. But Bryntelle woke her several times during the course of the night, the first few times to suckle, and the fourth time, Cresenne finally realized, because she had soiled her swaddling. When Bryntelle did sleep, Cresenne managed to as well, but as dawn broke, and the baby drifted into slumber during yet another feeding, Cresenne remained awake, lighting a nearby candle with her magic and staring at her daughter in the firelight.

She had promised herself that she would not be one of those mothers who saw her child through ensorcelled eyes. If the babe was ugly, so be it. She would admit as much to herself and to the world. And seeing Bryntelle for the first time, she had to concede that her baby did not look as she had hoped. Her skin was too red, her eyes swollen from the trauma of her birth, her head somewhat misshapen.

With every hour that passed, however, these flaws seemed to diminish, leaving Cresenne with a child she could describe only as beautiful. Overnight, her skin had lightened to a pale shade of pink, the swelling around her eyes had lessened. Her lips were perfectly shaped, as was her tiny nose. Her fingers and toes, wrinkled like the skin of some ancient Eandi, were smaller than Cresenne had ever imagined possible. Wisps of fine hair covered her head and the back of her neck, softer than Uulranni silk and as white as the new snow covering the highlands. Sitting in her bed, she felt helpless to do anything more than gaze upon her baby and weep, not for fear, or exhaustion, but for a joy unlike any she had known before.

Eventually, Bryntelle awoke again, her yellow eyes opening slowly. They were the color of fire, not quite as pale as Cresenne’s but not so bright as those of her father.

“Are you hungry again, little one?” Cresenne whispered, placing a finger on the child’s lips to see if she wanted to nurse. Immediately, Bryntelle took the finger in her mouth and began sucking on it. Cresenne laughed. “Very well.”

She sat up straighter, wincing at the dull ache in her back and hips. She pulled off her shift and raised Bryntelle to her breast. The babe began to suckle greedily.

“You’d think I hadn’t fed you all night.”

She heard a knock at the door and felt her body tense.

“Come in.”

She had expected Grinsa, but instead the herbmaster bustled in, crossing hurriedly to the shelf near her bed where he kept his herbs and stoppered vials of various extracts.

He glanced at her. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m sore. But other than that I feel all right, thank you.”

“Some pain is normal, particularly after a difficult labor. And the child?”

“I think she’s fine.”

“Good.” He stepped to the bed and looked at Bryntelle a moment. “She’s nursing quite well, and her color seems right for a Qirsi child.” He turned and started for the door. “I’d stay longer, but one of the guards was wounded in training this morning. I’ll try to return later.” He hesitated at the door, facing her again. “The gleaner is here to see you. Shall I send him in?”

She didn’t answer. As much as Cresenne wanted to refuse him, to avoid this encounter for as long as possible, she knew that she couldn’t, not after what Grinsa had done for her the night before. “Yes,” she said at last, the word coming out as a sigh. “Thank you.”

He nodded and let himself out of the room, leaving the door ajar. A moment later Grinsa walked in.

Cresenne, though very much aware of his presence the night before, hadn’t really looked at him until now. She hadn’t remembered his face being so thin, and though he had always been an imposing man, he appeared taller and broader in the shoulders than he had in Curgh. She silently cursed the racing of her pulse.

His bright eyes fell on her as soon as he entered the room, but he quickly averted his gaze, his face coloring, as if embarrassed to see her nursing the baby.

She should have found a way to use this against him, but instead she felt herself growing discomfited as well. With her free arm, she draped her shift over her shoulders and breast so that only Bryntelle’s face could be seen.

Grinsa paced the room briefly, like a restless dog, finally stopping before the hearth.

“How do you feel?”

She shrugged, glancing down at Bryntelle. The baby’s eyes were beginning to droop again. “Not too bad.”

“And Bryntelle?”

She smiled in spite of herself. It was the first time someone else had used her-their-daughter’s name.

“She’s hungry all the time.”

“Isn’t she supposed to be?”

“I think so, yes.”

He nodded, resuming his pacing.

“I believe she looks a little bit like you.”

“Don’t!” he said, halting near the door and glaring at her.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t talk to me like we’re husband and wife! Don’t pretend that this child changes who you are and what you’ve done!”

“What do you know about who I am, Grinsa?”

“I know you’re a traitor.”

“A traitor to whom? The kingdom of Eibithar? I was born in Braedon and raised in Wethyrn. How can I betray a kingdom that’s not my own?” She forced a thin smile. “From where I sit, you’re the one who’s guilty of treason. You’ve forsaken your people for the Eandi courts. You, of all people.”

He narrowed his eyes. “What does that mean?”

“I think you know. We live in a land where you risk your life simply by admitting the extent of your powers, yet you willingly serve those who would be your executioners.”

She thought he would deny it. Until this moment none in the movement, not even the Weaver himself, knew for certain that Grinsa was a Weaver as well. They suspected, of course, and Cresenne had been fairly confident of it for some time. But only now, watching him wrestle with the implications of what she had said, did she know beyond doubt.

“Do you really want Bryntelle to grow up in a world where her father fears for his life every day?” she went on. “And what if she inherits more from you than just her name and the shape of her face? What if she carries your power in her blood? Do you want her to live in fear as well?”

The Weaver had said much the same thing to her several turns before, walking in her dreams as he often did. At the time it had been mere speculation, one possibility among many. Yet still, it frightened her, as if the Weaver had already claimed her child for his movement. Yet here she was echoing his words to Grinsa, the one man in the Forelands whose claim to Bryntelle rivaled her own. As she searched Aneira for the gleaner, carrying his child, dreading her next dream of the Weaver, Cresenne had wondered if she could turn Grinsa to her cause and thus trade one Weaver for another. She had thought to control him then, so that rather than serving a Weaver she feared, she might wield this man as a weapon. Gazing at him now, though, seeing how he regarded her, with loathing in his yellow eyes, she wondered if that had been folly.

“Of course I don’t want her to grow up as I did,” he said, “bearing the burden of that secret and that fear.”

“Then why do you fight us?”

“Because I’ve seen what your Weaver can do.”

She felt the blood drain from her cheeks. “What?”

“Yes, I know about him. I know that he’s capable of great cruelty, that he wields his power as a weapon, not just against the Eandi but against Qirsi as well.”

“How is this possible?” she asked. “Has he seen you? Does he know where you are?”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were concerned for my safety.”

“I am.”

He let out a bitter laugh, though not before Cresenne saw something else flash in his eyes. “Of course you are. That’s why you sent that assassin for me.”

Actually, I’ve sent two. She hadn’t intended to give Grinsa’s name to the second man, Cadel, the partner of the one Grinsa killed. But Cadel asked upon learning that Jedrek was dead, and to have denied him the name would have raised his suspicions. “That was before. . ”

“Before what? The baby? I’ve already told you, this child changes nothing.”

She met his glare as long as she could, seeing once again all the hurt and hatred in his eyes, and knowing this time what lay at the root of it all. He had loved her so deeply. Twisted as it was now, that love still resided within him, waiting to be rekindled. Waiting to be used again. Yes, she loved him, too, though he would never believe that. But she loved Bryntelle more. Her love for this child was already the most powerful force in her life, more so even than her fear of the Weaver. No doubt he would sense this the next time he walked in her dreams. Only Grinsa could protect her now, if he could be convinced to do so. Folly or not, she had little choice but to try.

“She changes everything, Grinsa, and you know it. Not long ago I expect you thirsted for my death. You planned to capture me and have me executed as a traitor.” She looked down at Bryntelle, who had fallen asleep at her breast. “You won’t do that now. How would you explain such a thing to your daughter?”

“So much, for a mother’s love.”

She looked up. “What does that mean?”

“You don’t see a child lying in your arms. You see a tool, a weapon, perhaps even a shield.”

“That’s not true!”

“You think that I’ll spare your life for her sake. You probably even think that you can use my concern for her to turn me to your purposes.”

“I love her more than you could ever know!”

“Good. Because this blade cuts both ways.”

Cresenne shivered. “I don’t understand.”

“I need you to do certain things. You sent the assassin for me, which tells me that you sent his partner-the singer? — to Kentigern. You paid him to kill Brienne and make it look like Tavis’s crime.”

She should have denied it, just as he should have denied being a Weaver. And like Grinsa, she couldn’t bring herself to speak the words. “What is it you want?”

“As soon as you’re able, you’re going to come with us to the City of Kings, where you’ll tell the king just what you’ve done.”

“You can’t be serious!”

He gave a thin smile, his reply.

“Why? So that I can restore the Curgh boy’s good name. Don’t you understand that I hate the Eandi, that I’d sooner bring ruin to the Forelands than help even one of their nobles?”

“Yes, I understand. But you should understand that if you don’t do as I ask, I’ll have Bryntelle taken from you, and I’ll instruct the duke of Glyndwr to place you in his dungeon.”

She searched his face for some sign that he was dissembling. Seeing none, she began to tremble, as if he had doused the fire and thrown open the shutters to the icy wind. “She needs me,” she said in a small voice, holding Bryntelle so tightly to her breast that the baby awoke and began to cry.

“I know she does.” He spoke gently now, stepping closer to the bed. “And if you do as I ask, she’ll remain with you. I’ll do what I can to make certain of that. But you have to begin to make right all that you did in the service of your Weaver.”

“He’ll kill me.”

“I’ll protect you.”

She made herself smile, though abruptly there were tears on her cheeks. “If you really wanted to kill someone, is there a person in all the world who could stop you?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never been so desperate to kill someone.”

“Not even me?”

“I never wanted to kill you, Cresenne. And I never wanted to see you executed. To be honest, there was a part of me that hoped I’d never have to see you again at all. It would have been far easier that way.”

She nodded, looking at Bryntelle again. A tear fell on the bridge of the girl’s nose and she wrinkled her brow. Cresenne laughed, wiping the tear away.

He sat in the chair beside her bed. “What do you know about this Weaver?”

She stared at the fire. She had expected this, though she had hoped that she might be able to avoid his questions for a few more days, at least until she had time to decide whether or not to lie to him. For now, however, she realized that the truth would serve her as well as any lie. The fact was, she couldn’t tell him much. “Very little,” she said. “He makes certain of that.”

“Is he in one of the courts?”

“Possibly.”

“He seems to have a lot of gold. Do you know where he gets it?”

“No.”

He exhaled through his teeth. “You have to give me more than this, Cresenne.”

“I don’t know more. I’ve never seen his face, he’s never told me his name, or anything about his life beyond the conspiracy.”

“How does he contact you?”

“He enters my dreams.” She glanced at him for just an instant. “Isn’t that how all Weavers do it?”

“How does he pay you?”

“He seems to have a network of couriers. I imagine he uses merchants to get the gold from one place to another.”

“Are all of them Qirsi?”

“So far.”

Grinsa looked down at his hands. “Has he ever hurt you?”

She felt her stomach clench. “What do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean. Has he hurt you?”

“Sometimes he needs to demonstrate the extent of his powers. It’s not like he hurts me every time we speak.”

He just stared at her, saying nothing.

“I suppose Eandi nobles never use the threat of pain to maintain discipline among those who serve them.”

“An interesting comparison. If your Weaver is so much like an Eandi noble, what’s the point of this movement he leads?”

“That’s not what I meant!”

“No, I don’t suppose it was.”

“I didn’t say he was like the Eandi,” she said, her face growing hot. “I just meant that a leader-any leader-sometimes has to use force to keep order among those who follow him.”

“I see.”

She swiped at a strand of hair falling into her eyes. “Look, I’m still tired and sore from last night. Can we talk about this another time?”

Grinsa regarded her for a moment before giving a small nod and standing. “Of course. Do you need anything? Can I bring you some food, perhaps?”

“No, thank you.”

He turned from the bed and started toward the door.

“Do you want to hold her?” she called after him.

He stopped, facing her again. “What?”

“Do you want to hold her? She’s your daughter, too, and you haven’t held her yet. I thought maybe you’d like to.”

He stood motionless, as if held by some unseen hand.

Cresenne laughed aloud. Strange how this powerful man, who spoke of defeating the conspiracy and protecting her from the Weaver, could suddenly look so frightened at the notion of holding his own child.

“She’s not going to hurt you. You’re the Weaver, not she.”

“I–I don’t know how.”

“To hold a baby?”

He approached the bed, his steps uncertain. “I’ve never held one before.”

She lifted Bryntelle, holding her out to him. “Just be certain to support her head. Her neck isn’t strong enough yet.”

Grinsa swallowed, nodded. Taking her in his slender hands, he cradled her awkwardly against his chest. Immediately, Bryntelle began to cry.

“See?” he said, trying to give her back to Cresenne. “I told you I didn’t know how.”

“You’re holding her like she’s a crate of pipeweed. Have you ever held an animal in your arms?”

“Well, yes. A cat.”

“Good. Hold her as you would a cat.”

“By the scruff of her neck?”

Cresenne arched an eyebrow.

“Please take her,” he said. “I’ll try again another time. I think she senses that you and I are at odds right now.”

She shrugged, taking Bryntelle to her breast again. The baby fretted a moment longer, then began to nurse again.

“Do you think there’ll ever be a time when we’re not at odds?” Cresenne asked, her eyes fixed on the baby.

“I hope so, for Bryntelle’s sake.”

“So do I.” She looked up, meeting his gaze. “Truly I do.”

“I’ll check on the two of you later.” He crossed to the door. “Consider what I’ve told you, Cresenne,” he said, pausing with his hand on the door handle. “Whatever affections I still harbor for you, whatever I may feel for our child, I won’t let sentiment be my guide in this. I can’t. Too many people are depending on me.”

She eyed him for a moment, then nodded, though she kept her silence. At least until he was gone.

“Don’t worry,” she whispered to the baby, once the door had closed. “He won’t really take you away from me. He can’t. We’re all he has in the world, unless he actually thinks of that Curgh boy as family.”

Brave words. But her hands still trembled as they had when he first threatened to take Bryntelle. A voice in her head screamed for her to take the baby and flee, but her body wasn’t ready for a walk through the corridors, much less flight through the highlands. Which actually worked to her advantage. It would be several days before the herbmaster would let her leave for the City of Kings, and the journey would have to be a slow one. That gave her time.

Grinsa might have been allied with the Eandi now, but he was a Weaver. And who had more to gain from the Qirsi movement than a Weaver?

A Weaver with a child.