Seeds of Betrayal

Chapter Seventeen

After their strange conversation in the tavern the previous night, Keziah was relieved not to see Paegar when she emerged from her chamber the following morning. She managed to avoid him in the kitchens and hall as well, eating a light breakfast before returning to her room. When the midmorning bells tolled from the gates of the city wall, their sound muffled by the thin coating of snow that now lay over the City of Kings and Audun’s Castle, she made her way to Kearney’s chambers, expecting at any moment to hear the high minister calling to her. Still she didn’t see him, and Keziah began to wonder if she had angered him with her passionate defense of the Eandi.

It was only during the ministerial audience with the king that Paegar’s absence began to concern her. Even if he was angry with her, even if his pride still suffered from her rejection of his advances, he would have attended the audience. True, she had known him only a few turns, but in that time she couldn’t remember him missing a single discussion with Kearney.

No one else appeared to notice. They spoke of the thane of Shanstead, and word from the west that Kentigern’s captains were mustering in hundreds of new soldiers from the countryside surrounding the tor. But no one commented on the fact that the high minister had not joined them.

Finally, at the end of the discussion, as the other ministers stood to leave, Keziah asked, “Has anyone seen Paegar this morning?”

The king, who had already returned to his writing table to look over some recent messages, glanced up at her, a slight frown on his face. “Isn’t he here?”

“No, Your Majesty,” she answered, unable to mask entirely her exasperation. “I haven’t seen him at all today.”

“Nor have I,” Wenda said.

The others shook their heads.

Kearney raised his eyebrows. “Perhaps you should go to his quarters, Archminister. He may be ill.”

Keziah nodded. “Yes, Your Majesty. I’ll go right away.”

By the time she reached his room, Keziah was truly frightened. She tried to tell herself that he was probably avoiding her, or maybe even punishing her with his absence. She sensed, however, that there was more to it than that. She couldn’t say why; it was just a feeling. Such was the magic of a gleaner. Among her powers, it was the one she liked least. It might warn her of danger, but it often brought grief and fear before she knew why.

She knocked on his door with a trembling hand. No answer came. She tried the handle, but it was locked.

“Paegar?”

Nothing.

She ran to the nearest tower and called for a guard. In moments, two of Kearney’s men answered her summons and followed her back to the high minister’s quarters.

“It’s locked,” she told them, her voice quavering.

One of the men pounded a fist on the door. “High Minister?” When Paegar didn’t answer, the guard tried the door, then looked at Keziah. “Perhaps he’s gone, Archminister.”

“Gone?”

“Maybe he’s left the castle.”

It was the one possibility she hadn’t considered, but she dismissed it almost immediately. He wouldn’t have gone to the city if it meant missing the audience with Kearney. And he wouldn’t have left for good without a word, or at least a note, for her.

She shook her head. “No. He’s in there. You have to open the door.”

“We haven’t a key, Minister.”

“Then find one,” she commanded, her voice rising.

One of the men ran off. Keziah leaned against the wall by the door, her arms crossed in front of her chest. She tried to calm herself, to stop the shivering and the fluttering of her stomach, but her apprehension only grew.

After what felt to her like hours, the guard finally returned with two more men, one of them carrying a ring of keys.

“It might be one of these,” this man said. “I’m not certain.”

He began trying them one by one, a process that had Keziah ready to scream in frustration after only a few moments.

“This is ridiculous!” she said. “For all we know he could be dying in there.” He could already be dead. “Open this door right now!”

“But, Archminister-”

“Break it if you have to, but I want it open!”

The guards looked at one another briefly. Then one of them shrugged. “All right,” he said. “You heard her.”

The others moved away, and he rushed the door, crashing into it with his shoulder. It took four or five blows, but finally the bolt gave way, the corridor echoing with the sound of rending wood.

“Demons and fire!” the man breathed, staring into the room.

Keziah pushed past him, then fell to her knees with a sob.

Paegar lay facedown upon his hearth, his head resting in a pool of blood, his arms lying at his side, palms up.

The guard stepped forward cautiously, as if afraid the high minister might suddenly move. He squatted beside Paegar and slowly turned him over, exhaling sharply through his teeth. Keziah turned her head away, though not before seeing that the impact had crushed the minister’s face right across his eyes and the bridge of his nose. She felt her stomach heave and had to clamp her mouth shut to keep from being sick.

“Oh, Paegar,” she whispered, her tears staining the stone floor like raindrops on a city lane. “I’m so sorry.” What had she said to him the previous night? Tomorrow can only be better. She’d never been more wrong about anything in all her life.

The guard lowered the minister’s body to the floor again so that it lay just as it had when they entered the room.

“Better get the surgeon,” the guard said. “And the swordmaster as well. He’ll want to see this.”

Other guards stepped into the chamber, but Keziah remained where she was, on her knees in the middle of the room. The men walked around her, seeming to know better than to ask her to move. Eventually she heard a familiar voice and realized that Gershon had come, and with him the master healer.

The swordmaster bent down to look at the body, rolling Paegar over much as the guard had a short while earlier. After a few moments he glanced at Keziah.

“You didn’t hear anything?”

She shook her head and wiped the tears from her face. “Nothing at all.”

“When did you see him last?”

“Last night. We went to a tavern in the city.” She closed her eyes. “I should have come for him before meeting with Kearney.”

“It wouldn’t have mattered.”

She opened her eyes again.

“Look at the blood,” he said, pointing to the dark edges of the stain on the stone floor. “It’s already drying. This happened hours ago. He probably awoke in the night to a cold room, got up to add wood to his fire, and fell.”

“That must have been some fall,” the surgeon said, standing over them and gazing down at Paegar’s face.

“What else could it have been?” Gershon asked. “The door was locked from the inside…”

Even as he spoke the words, the swordmaster seemed to falter. Keziah knew why. The words came back to her as well. Lady Brienne of Kentigern had been murdered in a locked room as well, and though her father blamed Tavis of Curgh, Gnnsa had convinced Keziah, Kearney, and Gershon that the boy was innocent, and someone else to blame.

“Could this have been done with magic?” Gershon asked her.

She considered the question for several moments. “I don’t see how.”

Gershon looked up at the surgeon. “Is it possible someone hit him with something, then put him here to make it look like he had fallen?”

The man shook his head and knelt beside Keziah. “Look at the way the blood has splattered here,” he said, pointing to the edge of the hearth. “That’s where his head hit. I’m sure of it. I didn’t mean to say he couldn’t have fallen-I think it likely that he did. I just meant that I’ve rarely seen a simple fall result in such a severe wound.”

Gershon nodded. “I see.” Keziah could tell, though, that he still had his doubts. He took a breath and looked at the archminister again. “I should inform the king. Are you all right?”

She hesitated, surprised by the question. “I will be.”

He glanced at the body once more, then left the room. The guards continued to step around Keziah, and she decided that she should leave as well. There was little she could do here but get in their way.

She returned to her chamber and sat on her bed. She felt that she should have been crying again, but the tears wouldn’t come. She was just cold and terribly tired, though she had slept well the previous night. After a time, she lay down again and almost immediately fell into a deep sleep. She dreamed of Paegar, not bloody and ruined as she had just seen him, but whole and smiling as he had been such a short time before. She saw herself with him, as if she were looking from outside her own body. They were in the castle gardens together, talking and laughing. She strained to hear what they were saying, but the wind was rustling the brown leaves on the shrubs and ivy, and birds were calling from overhead. She couldn’t hear any of it. She called to Paegar and the dream Keziah to wait for her, to let her walk with them, but they ignored her, still laughing.

The minister awoke to pounding on her door, unsure of how long she had slept. Running her hands through her hair, she rose and crossed to the door.

“Who is it?”

“Gershon Trasker.”

She unlocked the door and pulled it open.

“Good thing you answered,” the swordmaster said, frowning at her. “I was about to think we had to break in another door.”

“What do you want, swordmaster?”

“The king wants to speak with you. I think he’s called for all his Qirsi.”

“All right.” It almost seemed like she was still dreaming, so fogged was her mind. “What’s the time?” she asked as they started walking toward Kearney’s chambers.

“It’s almost time for the prior’s bells.”

Keziah took a breath. She had slept away much of the day.

The other ministers were already with the king when they arrived. Kearney looked up when Keziah and Gershon walked in, his eyes meeting hers. She read his concern in the furrowing of his brow, and she nodded, as if to say that she was all right.

She sat, as did Gershon, and the king stepped to the center of the room.

“By now you’ve all heard what’s happened,” he began. “Paegar jal Berget, our high minister, fell in his quarters last night, hit his head on the hearth, and died.” He looked at each of the ministers. “I’m not as familiar with Qirsi custom as I should be, and so I’d like to leave it to you who knew him best to plan for his funeral. You shall have the full cooperation of all who live in this castle, the swordmaster, his guards, the kitchenmaster, and everyone else. I’ll also see to it that the prelate makes the cloister available to you, though I realize you’ll probably wish to work with the sanctuaries in the city.” He hesitated. “Did Paegar have any family?”

For a moment no one answered.

“No, Your Majesty,” Keziah said at last. “He had a brother, but he’s long dead, as are his parents.”

The king nodded, looking somber. “Then I’ll leave it to you to see to his quarters, Keziah. I know how close you two had become recently.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

She could feel the other ministers staring at her, and she knew what they were thinking. They had known Paegar for years, she for but a few turns. What right did she have to lay sole claim to his friendship? It didn’t matter that she had done nothing, that this had been Kearney’s doing. They hated her. They had never stopped hating her. Paegar’s friendship had only made it seem that way. Without him, she was alone again, an outcast in the king’s court. Kearney didn’t appear to notice. Her eyes stinging, Keziah stared at the floor, refusing to look at any of them. She would not give them the satisfaction of seeing her cry, not even today.

After a bit more discussion, Wenda agreed to take charge of the funeral plans, and Dyre said that he would meet with the prior in Bian’s Sanctuary. In another few minutes, the king dismissed them. Keziah knew that he’d want her to stay so that they could speak in private, but she just wanted to be alone. She kept her gaze lowered so that he couldn’t catch her eye and followed the others into the corridor.

She made her way back to Paegar’s room, pushing the door open and peering inside, as if expecting to find someone there. His body was gone and the floor still wet from where servants had mopped up the blood. They had left the window open, probably so that the stone would dry, and the room had grown cold. The soft snow of the day before had given way to a harsh, windy storm, the kind that usually came to the upper Forelands this time of year, Taking a steadying breath, Keziah stepped inside, closing the door behind her.

For a long time, she merely wandered in slow circles. It felt strange to be in another person’s chamber, looking at his belongings. Even with a cold wind stirring the air, it still smelled like Paegar. Keziah had expected the full weight of her grief to fall upon her as soon as she stepped into the chamber, but instead she found it comforting to be among his things, his scent, his home. It felt like a warm blanket on a snowy night. After some time, she stepped to his small writing table where she found a quill and ink, wax and a brass seal, and a number of papers. She stared at them a moment, then stepped away, crossing her arms over her chest. Maybe the others were right, maybe she had no business going through his things.

Thinking that perhaps his clothes would be an easier place to begin, Keziah moved to the wardrobe standing by his bed. Inside she found several ministerial robes, not only those he had worn in Audun’s Castle, but also several bearing the crest of Rennach, and others bearing crests she didn’t recognize, most likely from lesser houses in the Rennach dukedom. There were other clothes as well. A riding cape, trousers and shirts she had never seen him wear, even a leather jerkin. A sword with a plain leather hilt rested upright against the inside of the wardrobe and a swordsman’s belt sat beside it.

Behind these, almost completely hidden from view, she found a small pouch and a wooden box. Keziah hesitated, then picked up the pouch. It rang with the sound of coins. Untying the drawstrings, she emptied the pouch onto the floor and stared with amazement at what she saw. There had to be at least fifteen gold pieces there, nearly an entire year’s wage for a minister. She picked up the wooden box, and knew from its weight and the jingling she heard from within that it held gold as well. More than one hundred qinde, as it turned out.

Keziah leaned her back against Paegar’s bed, gazing at the money lying before her. She wasn’t sure she had ever seen so much gold in one place, save for the Glyndwr treasury, where she had gone once with Kearney many years before.

Paegar hadn’t ever struck her as being extravagant. Before last night, he had never even offered to buy her a meal. Certainly he had never given any indication that he possessed so much gold. And since he kept the coins hidden in the back of his wardrobe, she had to assume that he wished to keep his wealth a secret.

Abruptly, Keziah found herself thinking once more of their conversation in the Silver Maple the night before. He had laughed away the idea that he might be a part of the Qirsi conspiracy. But how else could she explain this?

She heard voices, and in an instant her heart was in her throat. It took her a moment to realize that the sound came from below rather than from the corridor. Guards no doubt, walking across the ward below Paegar’s window. Still, she quickly returned the gold coins to the box and pouch. It would be dark soon, and in spite of everything, she found that she was hungry.

She started to put the box and pouch back in the wardrobe, but then stopped, unsure whether that was wise. What if others found the gold? What if someone in the movement came looking for it, someone who had heard Kearney tell her to see to Paegar’s belongings? It might be safer for her if they found the gold. Then again, if a guard found it, or someone else loyal to Kearney, all would learn of Paegar’s betrayal. Keziah didn’t want that. In the end she took the gold back to her chamber, shaking as she hurried through the corridor. The distance between her quarters and Paegar’s had never seemed so great.

Once the gold was hidden to her satisfaction, in the back corner of her own wardrobe, she stepped out into the corridor again, making certain to lock her door. Then Keziah went in search of the one person with whom she knew she had to share what she had learned of her friend.

On most nights, Gershon and his wife ate with the king and queen in the king’s hall. Kearney, both as duke and king, had never been one to rest once the sun went down, and during most suppers, while their wives chatted and their children ate and played, the king and his swordmaster spoke of the state of Kearney’s army, or the advantages of various alliances, or, as in recent days, the prospects for war.

Tonight, though-with Kearney’s permission, of course-the Trasker family ate alone. Kearney even allowed them to use his presence chamber for the meal, an offer Gershon accepted after only a moment’s consideration. Sulwen, a smile on her ageless face, her brown eyes sparkling with the light of candles and torches, had been taken completely by surprise, but she was a clever woman and didn’t need to ask him why they were doing this.

A man had died today, not from poisoning or the point of a blade, but from a simple fall in his bedchamber. It was at once comic and tragic, ludicrous and deeply frightening. On this day, life seemed to Gershon as fragile as the wings of a butterfly, and he wanted to be with those he loved most. He wanted to eat and laugh with his children. He wanted to raise a glass of wine with the woman he loved, and, when the children were asleep, make love to her until they were both weary and sated.

Which is why when he heard the knock on the chamber door, he chose to ignore it. A few seconds later it came again, louder this time, more insistent. Still he did nothing, though by now Sulwen was staring at the door, knowing, as she always did, that it was just a matter of time. For a third time, the intruder knocked.

“It doesn’t sound like whoever it is intends to go away,” Sulwen said, facing him again.

“Maybe not yet,” Gershon said, getting to his feet and striding to the door. He yanked it open, only to find the archminister, quite possibly the last person in the entire castle he wanted to see just then. “You.” He shook his head. “I should have expected this.”

“I need to speak with you.”

“I’m sure it can wait until morning.”

“If I wait until morning, you’ll rail at me for not insisting that I tell you tonight.”

He faltered, narrowing his eyes. She had his attention, he had to give her that.

“This had better be important,” he told her at last. He glanced back at his wife. “I’ll return in a moment. I swear it.”

She merely smiled, the way she always did when he made promises he couldn’t keep.

He frowned, but stepped into the corridor anyway, closing the door so that he and the Qirsi were alone.

“What is it? Quickly, woman.”

She ran a hand through her white hair. “I don’t want you sharing this with anyone yet. Not even Kearney. Do you understand?”

“I make no promises to you, not when it comes to what I tell the king.”

She shrugged and started to walk away. “Very well.”

Gershon would have given anything to let her leave. But she had him now, and they both knew it. He swore loudly. “Fine, you have my word.”

The woman nodded and walked back to where he stood. “I believe Paegar was a traitor. I think he was involved with the conspiracy.”

Gershon gaped at her. “What? Are you certain?”

“Certain enough. I was going through his belongings, as the king asked me to do, and I found a good deal of gold.”

“How much?”

“Nearly two hundred qinde, all of it hidden in the back of his wardrobe.”

The swordmaster whistled through his teeth. That was more than two years’ wages for a minister, or a swordmaster for that matter.

“That’s a lot of gold, I’ll grant you. But I’m not sure you can assume that he was a traitor just because he was wealthy.”

“Last night, Paegar spoke to me of the conspiracy. Not in so many words, but I’m sure that’s what was on his mind. He wanted to know if I had ever dreamed of serving Qirsi nobles and he made it sound as if he had. When I accused him of working for the conspiracy, he denied it, but by then I had made it clear that I didn’t approve, and that I’d have him imprisoned.”

“You think he was trying to turn you against the king?”

She seemed to weigh this. “Possibly. He had confessed to me earlier in the day that he was in love with me. If he was with the conspiracy, he would have wanted me to join as well.”

“It’s also possible that he was telling you he loved you to get you to join.”

“I suppose.”

Gershon looked away. “Did you…? Were you in love with him?”

“No. I told him the truth, that I still love someone else.”

The swordmaster nodded, though he still wouldn’t look at her. He had never approved of the love she and the king shared, and for a long time he had questioned whether she truly loved Kearney, or had only been using him to exert her influence over the House of Glyndwr. In recent turns, however, as Kearney was faced with Lord Tavis’s plea for asylum, his own unexpected ascension to the throne, and the need to end his love affair with the minister, Gershon had been forced to accept that her love for the man was genuine and powerful.

“And what of his efforts to turn you? Were you tempted to join him and his allies?”

“What do you think?” she asked, her voice rising. “Do you really believe I’d be speaking to you right now if I had been?”

Gershon winced, regretting the question almost as soon as the words passed his lips. “You’re right, I-”

“I know that you hate me, swordmaster,” she said, her pale eyes blazing in the torchlight. “To be honest, I don’t care. But I am tired of you questioning my loyalty to Kearney and this land! I’m no more inclined to betray him than you are.”

“You’re right,” he said again. “It was a foolish question. But then I must ask you, why do you want me to keep this from the king?”

“Paegar was my friend, and while I know that his treachery makes him little better than a demon in your eyes, it’s not that simple for me.”

It was the swordmaster’s turn to grow angry. “Well it ought to be! You tell me that you love the king, that you’re loyal to him and to Eibithar. Yet you seek to protect a traitor.”

“He’s dead, swordmaster.”

“It doesn’t matter! He betrayed the land! If he had left a wife or children, that would be one thing. But you said yourself earlier today, he has no family. There’s only the high minister, and he deserves neither your concern nor my consideration. He sold his kingdom and king for gold.”

“Gold he never spent. Gold that sat hidden in his wardrobe until the day he died.”

Gershon couldn’t believe he was hearing this, even from a Qirsi. “First of all, you don’t know how much of it he spent! It may be that he received thousands of qinde from his friends in the conspiracy. The gold you found may have been merely the crumbs of a much grander feast.”

“Two hundred qinde?”

“It’s possible, isn’t it?”

“I can’t believe-”

He raised a hand, stopping her. “I only asked if it was possible. And it is, right?”

She opened her mouth, then closed it again. After some time, she nodded.

“Second,” he went on, fighting the urge to gloat, “what the man did with the gold is of no importance to me. It’s enough to know that he was a traitor. Nothing else matters. And I refuse to protect his name for no reason other than your grief at losing a friend.”

The woman glared at him. “Yes, he was my friend. I didn’t know him long, but I was beginning to understand him, to have a sense of what kind of man he was.”

“Yet it was only when he died that you realized he had betrayed you and everything you work for.”

“Yes. He deceived me. Is that what you want me to say, swordmaster? That he left me feeling foolish and dull-witted? There, I’ve said it.”

“All I want is to understand why you’re speaking to me of this at all. You’re wasting my time, and I’ve had enough of it!”

He reached for the door handle, fully intending to return to Sulwen and his children.

“Please, wait,” the Qirsi said, closing her eyes and rubbing a hand across her smooth brow. She looked weary and pale. Whatever his feelings about Paegar, Gershon could not deny that the man’s death had taken a toll on the archmimster.

“What I’m trying to tell you,” she said, “is that while Paegar betrayed us, and was paid to do so, I believe that he was coerced into it somehow. I don’t believe he had the heart of a traitor.”

“Does that matter?”

She glowered at him again, but only briefly. Gershon had tried to keep his tone mild. He wasn’t trying to goad her, only to grasp what it was she was telling him. After a moment, she seemed to realize this.

“I think it might,” she answered. “In fighting the conspiracy, wouldn’t it be helpful to know how its leaders go about spreading its influence? Wouldn’t you like to know what it is they hope to accomplish and how they intend to do it?”

“Of course, but-”

“As I told you, swordmaster, Paegar spoke to me of the conspiracy, perhaps hoping that he could convince me to join. It’s possible that he also spoke of me to those who paid him.”

“What makes you think that?” Gershon asked, surprised by how much this alarmed him.

She shrugged, a slight smile on her lips. “Call it the instinct of a gleaner.”

Gershon merely nodded. He didn’t trust the Qirsi, nor did he like to rely upon their magic any more than was necessary. But over the years, he had come to respect the power that dwelled within them.

He waited for her to go on, but she said nothing more. She just watched him expectantly, as if at any moment he might offer some reply.

“So, you think he told his allies about you,” Gershon said at last, still not certain what she was telling him.

“Yes. In which case, they may decide to lure me into their movement just as they did Paegar.”

And finally it all made sense. “You want to join them, don’t you?”

“Well,” she said, grinning now, “not really, no. But how else can we learn who they are and what they want?”

“And you don’t want me to say anything to Kearney because if they know we’ve discovered Paegar’s betrayal, they might be wary of approaching you.”

The smile lingered on her lips, though the swordmaster saw something else lurking in her eyes. “That’s why I don’t want you to say anything to the others,” she told him. “Someone had to be giving Paegar his gold, and that person could very well be here in the castle.”

“What if that person killed him?” Gershon said, as much to himself as to the minister.

She nodded, seeming to shudder at the suggestion. “I’d thought of that.”

“Yet you’re still willing to pretend that you’ve embraced their cause?”

“Would you go to war to protect Kearney?”

“Of course,” the swordmaster said.

“How is this any different?”

Gershon considered himself an intelligent man, perhaps not as brilliant as the king, but capable certainly of matching wits with any foe on a battlefield. Yet, every time he spoke with this woman she seemed to be one stride ahead of him. “I don’t suppose it is,” he said. “I’ll let you do this, if you’ll promise to keep me informed of everything that happens.”

She arched an eyebrow. “I intend to do this whether or not you let me.”

“Must you always be so difficult, woman? All I meant was, I’ll agree to keep Paegar’s treachery a secret, but I want to know who you’re speaking with, and what they have in mind to do.”

“And I’m telling you that might not be possible.”

“It will have to be!” Gershon let out a long breath, trying to control his temper. He often wondered if she tried to anger him. “The king trusts me with the safety of everyone in this castle, including yours.” Especially yours.

“If you’re going to attempt something this dangerous, I have to be certain that I can protect you. Paegar’s dead. Now, it was probably an accident, a simple fall in a dark chamber. But it might have been more than that, and I’d be falling my king if I didn’t do everything in my power to keep you from the same fate.”

“I’ll be trying to convince these people that I’m a traitor,” she said. “If they see me speaking with you, they’ll know it’s a lie. In trying to protect me, you’ll really be endangering my life.”

“Then we’ll have to make it appear that I’m interrogating you, that my questions are born of mistrust rather than concern.”

She smiled, her eyes dancing. “That should be easy for both of us.”

He had to smile as well. She had more than a little courage. To be fair, she was braver than many Eandi warriors he knew. She was brilliant as well, and though he found the Qirsi strange-looking, with their pure white hair and yellow eyes, he had to admit that she was prettier than most. Perhaps for the first time, he understood why his king had loved this woman; why, in all likelihood, he still loved her.

“I guess it should,” he said. He heard one of the children laugh from inside the presence chamber. It sounded like Ula, his youngest. Sulwen would be wondering where he had gone and whether he intended to come back at all. “So it’s agreed then?” he asked. “You’ll keep me informed?”

She nodded. “Yes. You have my word.” She smiled again. “Now go back to your wife and children, swordmaster. Forgive my intrusion.”

She turned and started walking away. Still, Gershon stood there, watching her.

“You never told me why I shouldn’t tell the king,” he said at last. He kept his voice low, so that no one else would hear, but still the words reached her.

After a moment she turned to face him again.

“I see why we have to keep this from the others,” he went on. “But why the king? Surely Kearney can be trusted to keep this to himself.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” she asked. “Even now, after so many turns apart, do you really believe Kearney would allow me to risk my life on his behalf?”

There was nothing Gershon could say. The answer was as plain to him as the single tear rolling down Keziah’s face. Kearney would never have let her do it. Not even with Gershon protecting her. Not even if it meant saving his kingdom.