Seeds of Betrayal

Chapter Twenty-six

City of Kings, Eibithar

She could always tell when Kearney was unhappy with her. The signs were subtle, like the scent of snow in the highlands before a storm. The silver-haired king had spent too long in the courts of Eibithar’s nobles to reveal much, and few others would have noticed anything at all. Except, perhaps, for Gershon Trasker. But to Keziah, who had loved him for so many years, the indications were as clear as a bright morning in the cold turns. The way he avoided her gaze; the expression on his face, a boyish mix of hurt and resentment; the restless pacing as he listened to the counsel of his other ministers. She had seen all these things before, usually after she angered him with some cutting remark about the queen, or overstepped with her teasing about the Glyndwr traditions.

Until now, though, she had never actually tried to make him angry. The other ministers did not appear to have noticed what she was doing. If they had they were certainly keeping it to themselves. Clearly, though, they believed that she was angry with the king and she could only assume that they would delight in seeing her influence with Kearney wane. More to the point, she wondered if one of them might see in this an opportunity to exploit.

Unlike the ministers, Gershon was watching everything she did with complete understanding and-dare she think it-more than a little admiration. They hadn’t spoken in private since the night after Paegar’s death, when she went to his quarters to tell the swordmaster of the gold she found in the high minister’s chambers. All who lived in Audun’s Castle knew of their enmity, and would have taken note of seeing them together. But she had learned to read Gershon’s expressions as well. He had long been her chief rival for Kearney’s ear, and even loving the man she served, she had not been entirely above court politics. Gershon was watching her, gauging the progress she made in alienating the king, and offering his approval with raised eyebrows and barely concealed grins.

She felt his gaze upon her now, as she watched the king pace before his writing table, and she sensed the swordmaster’s concern. Before this day, she had opposed Kearney only on small matters, trifles really, that would trouble the king without compromising the safety of the kingdom. With this meeting of Kearney’s council of ministers, matters had abruptly grown far more dangerous.

“You’re certain of these tidings, Your Majesty?” Dyre asked, his yellow eyes fixed on the king. “Might there be some mistake?”

Kearney shook his head. “There’s no mistake, Minister. This information came from our own men. It wasn’t purchased and it didn’t come from those who might oppose us.”

“First he goes to Kentigern, and now he sends a messangeer to Curgh,” Wenda said. “Could it be that Marston is trying to broker a peace?”

Kearney stopped, glanced at Keziah, then faced Gershon. “Swordmaster?”

Even the other ministers couldn’t help but notice that. The king almost never asked Gershon questions of this sort. He was Kearney’s most trusted advisor on tactics, arms, and war, but not on matters of statecraft and mediation. Until recently, he would have asked Keziah before anyone else. It was working. The archminister’s chest felt tight, and she feared she would cry, right here in the king’s chambers.

Gershon cleared his throat and straightened in his chair. “I would think it possible, Your Majesty. We did have Tremain send Marston a message, asking him for help.”

Dyre shook his head. “We asked only to know where he stood in this conflict. We certainly didn’t ask him to mediate it.” He looked at Keziah. “Did we, Archmimster? After all, it was you who penned the message to Lathrop.”

“As you say, High Minister,” she answered coolly, “we asked only where he stands.”

“Maybe he took it upon himself to do more,” Gershon suggested.

A cue.

She turned to the swordmaster, arching an eyebrow. “Maybe he’s decided to sell his loyalties to the highest bidder. He wouldn’t be the first noble to do so.”

He glared at her. “The buying and selling of loyalties is a Qirsi trade, Archminister. It has been for centuries.”

“That’s enough!” Kearney said, his voice like a blade. He looked from one of them to the other, but his eyes came to rest on Keziah. “Marston’s no traitor, and his house is the strongest in the land. What could Curgh or Kentigern possibly offer him?”

She regarded him as if he were simple. “The throne, of course. He’s probably trying to decide which of them will make the stronger ally, and which alliance will cost him the least.”

“So what would you counsel us to do, Archminister?” Gershon, with another cue. His voice was heavy with sarcasm, but she read the concern in his blue eyes. If Kearney took her words to heart, it could lead them all down a path to civil war. She doubted, however, that her king would ever again take seriously any advice she gave him. At least, he wouldn’t if her plan worked.

“I’m not certain there’s anything you can do,” she said. You rather than we. None of the rest would hear it, but Kearney would. Before long, his displeasure with her would be as obvious to all of them as it already was to her. “You thought that by taking the throne for Glyndwr, you could avoid a civil war, but you were wrong. Curgh and Kentigern are still at each other’s throats, and the other houses are choosing sides. All you’ve done is put Glyndwr in the middle of the conflict. You should never have come here, and now that you have you’re even more powerless to keep the peace than you were. Glyndwr can’t mediate anymore. Everything the king does is seen as a ploy to keep the crown. Nobody trusts him.” She felt Kearney staring at her, but she refused to meet his gaze. “Now that he’s king,” she said, her voice dropping, “everything has changed.”

For a long time no one spoke. Keziah knew they were watching her, as if waiting for her to weep, or run from the room, or berate the king. But she merely sat, staring at her hands, her face crimson and her heart aching as if from a dagger’s blow.

“That’s rubbish,” Gershon finally said, sounding angry, just as all of them would have expected. It seemed strange that with Paegar gone, the swordmaster, who had hated the Qirsi all his life and had hated her most of all for sharing a bed with Kearney, should become her closest confidant in the castle. Even stranger, he best served their growing alliance by continuing to treat her with disdain and hostility, just as he always had. “We saved this kingdom-the king did really-and everyone in Eibithar knows it except Aindreas and you. Just because you’d rather be back in Glyndwr doesn’t mean the rest of us feel the same way.”

“I said that’s enough!” Kearney broke in again. “It doesn’t matter anymore what any of us wishes had happened. I am king, and I’ll do everything I deem necessary to hold this kingdom together. So, assuming for just a moment that Marston isn’t trying to broker an agreement between Aindreas and Javan, that some darker purpose lies behind these journeys he’s making, what should we do?”

“Tobbar is still alive,” Wenda said. “He may be ill, but he still speaks for the House of Thorald. Perhaps we should send a message to him. He may not even know what his son is doing, in which case maybe he can get Marston to stop.”

“And if he does know?” the king asked.

The high minister hesitated, though only for a moment. “Then I’m afraid the archminister is right. There’s nothing more we can do. If Thorald is intent on opposing us, we can only hope that the armies of Curgh and Glyndwr, when combined with the King’s Guard, will be enough to hold off the other major houses.”

Kearney shook his head. “I won’t accept that. There have to be alternatives. I will not allow Marston’s betrayal-if that is in fact what he has in mind-to destroy the kingdom.”

“Your resolve is admirable, Your Majesty,” Dyre said cautiously. “But it would be… dangerous not to prepare ourselves for the worst. It may not be a fight we want, but it is one in which we can prevail, provided that we ready the army.”

“Yes, fine,” the king said, sounding impatient. “Gershon, you’ll continue to work the men, even through the snows. Do whatever you feel is needed to keep them battle-ready.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

“Wenda,” Kearney went on, turning to the high minister, “I want you to draft a message to Tobbar, informing him that we’re aware of Marston’s activities and asking him if Shanstead is making these overtures on his behalf.”

She glanced uneasily at Keziah. Usually Kearney would have had his archminister write such a message. “Yes, Your Majesty,” the older woman said. If she took any pleasure in Keziah’s fall from the king’s grace, she showed no sign of it. Rather, she appeared uncomfortable.

Yet, Kearney wasn’t finished with her. “When you’re done,” he said, “bring the message to me. Then meet with the rest of the underministers and come up with a better answer to my last question. There have to be other ways to combat any betrayal by Thorald than just sending my army north. Now go.”

The high minister stood and bowed to him. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

The other ministers stood as well and started toward the door, Keziah among them.

“Be quick about it, High Minister,” Kearney called to her. “We may not have much time.” Then, “Archmimster, I’d like you to remain for a moment.”

Keziah halted in midstride, her face coloring again. The other Qirsi looked at her briefly, then left.

“You’d better go as well, Gershon,” the king said.

Keziah hadn’t turned to look at Kearney or the swordmaster, but she could imagine Gershon’s nod, the grave expression on his blunt features as he said, “Yes, Your Majesty.”

The swordmaster brushed past her on his way to the door, but, of course, kept his silence.

“Please sit,” Kearney said, his voice colder than she had ever heard it when they were alone.

She would have given anything to avoid this conversation, but she realized that by asking her to remain, the king had done more to help her than he could ever know. This was not the time to weaken.

The minister turned and walked slowly back to her chair, eyeing the king as she did, and trying her best to look insolent.

“Yes, Your Majesty?” she asked, her voice flat as she dropped herself into the seat.

“Perhaps you’d like to tell me what that was all about.”

She raised her eyebrows. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Demons and fire, Kez! You’ve never spoken to me as you did just now! I’ve never known you to accuse anyone without cause the way you did Marston, and I’ve certainly never heard you speak of ‘Eandi nobles’ with such contempt.”

She looked away. I’m sorry! she wanted to say. I have to do this! I have to convince them that I can be turned, that you’ve hurt me so much my loyalties are no longer so certain. Don’t you see? I have to do this for you. Instead she regarded him coolly and lied. “Just because I never said it before, that doesn’t mean I haven’t thought it.”

“So you believe that Eandi nobles are quick to betray their allies?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Does that include me?”

She knew she had to hurt him. Even speaking with him in private, she couldn’t afford to waver from her purpose. But she couldn’t bring herself to speak the words. She merely shrugged, leaving the question unanswered, and so answering it in his mind.

Kearney swallowed. “I see.” He stepped around to the far side of the table and sat, as he often did when she made him angry or sad. It almost seemed at such times that he needed to put something solid between them. “Have you felt this way very long?”

“I didn’t when we were in Glyndwr, if that’s what you mean.”

“So you feel that I’ve betrayed you.”

“I said what I did about Marston of Shanstead, not about you. Why do the Eandi always make everything about themselves?”

He just stared at her, as if she had told him she was an Aneiran spy. After a few moments, his eyes narrowed. “This all started after Paegar died, didn’t it?”

“Did it?” she asked. She didn’t want their discussion turning in this direction, but she felt powerless to stop it.

“Do you believe I wronged him in some way? Was his funeral too modest? Or was there more to your friendship with him than I knew? Was he your lover? Is that it? Did losing him remind you once more of the love we lost?”

“He wasn’t my lover.” How could I ever love anyone other than you? “This has nothing to do with Paegar.”

“Then what is it, Kez? What’s happened to you?”

“Nothing has happened to me, Your Majesty. I merely expressed an opinion. I believe that Marston intends to betray you.”

“Because that’s what Eandi nobles do.”

“Because this Eandi noble has every reason to, and because your hold on the throne may appear tenuous to Eibithar’s other houses.”

Kearney shook his head again. “I think there’s more to it than that. You’re angry with me. I can always tell.”

“Well, Your Majesty, it may be that you don’t know me as well as you thought.”

His jaw tightened, the way it did when he was trying to control his rage. “Yes,” he said thickly. “That may be. In which case the question becomes can I still trust you to serve as my archminister.”

Keziah’s breath caught in her throat. It was one thing to convince others in the castle that she and Kearney were estranged. It was quite another to lose her position and with it her influence. The conspiracy would have no interest in her if she didn’t still serve Eibithar’s king. Losing what she had left of him in this way was bad enough, but to do so in vain would kill her.

Yet the only way to keep him from sending her away was to goad him further. “I merely expressed an opinion, Your Majesty. Am I to understand that you wish to be served only by those who will agree with all you say, and offer counsel that pleases you?”

“Not at all,” he said, his voice hardening. “I’ve never asked my ministers to be anything less than honest! But neither have I demanded from them anything less than their respect and their courtesy! If you feel you can serve me in a manner that befits both your station and mine, then you may remain in my castle! Otherwise I expect you to pack your things and return to Glyndwr! Is that clear, Archminister?”

She was sobbing, her cries for forgiveness tearing at her chest. But only within. She couldn’t imagine where she found the strength, but somehow she kept her composure, so that all Kearney saw was the coloring of her cheeks and the trembling of her hands. And those he would have anticipated.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” she managed, the words as soft as falling snow. “Is that all?”

“No, it’s not. I’m tired of this foolish bickering between you and Gershon. I want you to speak with him, and finally put this nonsense to rest. Regardless of Marston’s intentions, I can’t tolerate this any longer. There’s too much at risk.”

It was more than she could have asked for. She had been eager to speak with the swordmaster for days, and now the king had given her just the excuse she needed. Still, Kearney would expect an argument.

“But, Your Majesty-”

“I know it’s been both of you all along. But in light of your behavior recently, I’m placing the onus for this on you. Find a way to work with the swordmaster, or leave.”

You would choose Gershon over me? Have I really hurt you that much? “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“That’s all. You may go.” He picked up a scroll from his table and began to read, as if his words had not been enough of a dismissal.

“Yes, Your Majesty. Thank you.”

She stood and left the room quickly, not trusting herself to look back at him. Once she was in the corridor, she could at least close her eyes and take a long steadying breath. But two of Kearney’s guards stood near the door, and though they would not have been able to make out all she and the king said to each other, they would have heard Kearney’s tone when he raised his voice. They eyed her with unconcealed distaste, their stares forcing her to walk away.

She thought briefly of returning to her chamber. She would have liked nothing more than to splash warm water on her face and lie down for a long sleep. It was more important, though, that she speak with the swordmaster. She hurried to Gershon’s quarters.

Reaching his door, Keziah hesitated, as if suddenly unsure of whether or not to knock. Gershon might be her only ally in the castle now that Paegar was dead and she had alienated Kearney, but they remained wary of one another. Even now, working together to combat the conspiracy, the concerns that bound them to each other were matched-nearly overmatched-by their long history of hostility and distrust.

She almost turned away from the door. But then she remembered that Kearney had ordered her to speak with the man. Eventually, she would have to do this. Better to do it now, with her courage high.

She knocked twice, the sound echoing loudly in the corridor.

In a few seconds the door opened and Gershon peered out into the corridor. Seeing her, his eyes widened, and he quickly looked down the hallway in both directions.

“Are you mad?” he asked in a loud whisper. “Did anyone see you come here?”

“The king asked me to speak with you, swordmaster,” she said, allowing her voice to carry. “He fears that our disagreements are weakening the throne, and he wishes for us to discuss our differences so that we might put them behind us.”

Gershon looked at her, as if trying to gauge whether she was telling him the truth. “All right,” he said at last. “Here? Or do you want to walk?”

“Better we speak in your quarters,” she said quietly. “Even with the king’s blessing, it would be best if others didn’t see us together.”

He nodded and stepped to the side, gesturing for her to enter.

Stepping into the chamber, Keziah saw that the swordmaster’s wife was there, as were their four children.

Sulwen Trasker nodded to her. “Archminister,” she said, her tone neither warm nor cool.

“Good day, my lady.” Keziah turned back to Gershon. “Should I come back later?”

“No.” He looked past her to his wife. “This might be a good time for their devotions,” he said, nodding toward the children. “I’ll meet you at the cloister shortly.”

Sulwen’s eyes strayed to the minister again, but she nodded and called to the children to stop their playing. It took several minutes to get all of them out of the chamber, but eventually Gershon and Keziah were alone.

“They seem like fine children,” Keziah said, taking a seat near the hearth and stretching her hands toward the fire to warm them.

Gershon frowned, as though uncomfortable accepting compliments from her. But after a moment he muttered, “Thank you,” and took a seat across from hers. “I wouldn’t have thought that you like children.”

“Why not?”

His frown deepened and he looked away. Keziah sensed that he wished he hadn’t spoken at all. “You were with Kearney all those years, loving a man who couldn’t give you children. I just assumed.”

“I like children very much, swordmaster. I just loved Kearney more.”

More than anything she had wanted to have children with her duke- her king. But doing so would have revealed their forbidden love to the world, and the first labor probably would have killed her. Her kind weren’t strong enough to bear even half-bloods.

“The king truly wanted us to speak?” Gershon asked, breaking a brief, strained silence.

Keziah took a breath, clearing her mind. “Yes. He said he was tired of our bickering.”

“Is that why he asked to speak with you?”

“Hardly,” she said, a wan smile springing to her lips. “He had me stay so that we could discuss my recent behavior.”

“So, it’s working.”

“I suppose it is.”

He looked at her, searching her eyes. “You don’t sound pleased. Wasn’t this your idea?”

“Yes, swordmaster, it was my idea.”

“Then what’s the matter?”

She turned her gaze to the fire. “I guess I didn’t realize how difficult it would be. I still love him, and to see the way he looks at me now, to hear him threaten to send me back to Glyndwr-”

“He did that?”

Keziah nodded, still staring into the bright flames. “He also told me that he would hold me responsible if you and I continue to fight. He told me to find a way to bridge our differences, or leave.” She smiled again, though it felt brittle. “You should be happy: our king has chosen you over me. If you wish to rid yourself of me, you can do so now. I know you’ve wanted to for a long time.”

She glanced at Gershon, only to find that he had looked away once more. He appeared uneasy again, though she couldn’t tell if it was because he no longer wanted her gone, or because he still did.

“I don’t think he’d really have you leave the castle,” he said, his voice low.

“You didn’t hear him today, nor did you hear everything I said.”

“Is it possible that you’re pushing him too hard?”

“Do you think I am?”

He shrugged. “Maybe. You said some things about Marston today that struck me as too strong. He’s not a traitor, and by suggesting that he is, you make it harder for Kearney to trust him. That could be dangerous.”

“I was trying to make it seem that my anger at the king had made me distrustful of all Eandi.”

“Well, you did that.”

“Don’t worry, swordmaster. After today, the king isn’t likely to place much faith in anything I say. Our ties to the House of Thorald are safe.” She felt a single tear rolling down her cheek and she swiped at it impatiently, hoping that Gershon hadn’t seen.

“You’re doing the king a great service,” he said, his voice more gentle than she had ever imagined it could be. “He may not know it now, but when all of this is over, I’ll tell him. I swear it.”

She nodded, but couldn’t speak for the tears that were now coursing down her face. After keeping such a tight hold on her emotions for so long, it was all Keziah could do just to breathe amid her sobbing. Her anguish overwhelmed her; she felt like a child caught in the sudden tumult of a great ocean wave. Indeed, the only thing that saved her, that allowed her to stop crying at last, was the look of utter panic on the face of the poor swordmaster. He had found a kerchief and was holding it out to her. But he seemed at a loss to do more than that.

“Forgive me, swordmaster,” she managed, taking the kerchief and dabbing at her tears. “As I said before, this is more difficult than I had expected. Do you have any water?”

He nearly leaped to his feet, so anxious was he to do anything other than sit before her watching her cry. He went to a pitcher near the small window, poured her a cup of water, and carried it to her like a server at a banquet.

“Is there something else I can do?”

She shook her head. “I’ll be fine. Thank you. Just tell me, did you hear any of the other ministers speaking of today’s discussion?”

“Yes,” he said. “I made a point of walking with them briefly, at least until they reached the stairway leading to their chambers. They’re very much aware of the change in your behavior, and they trace it to Paegar’s death.”

She winced. “I’ve been too obvious.”

“No, it’s all right. A number of them…” He stopped himself, his face turning bright red.

Keziah smiled. “They think that Paegar and I were lovers.”

“Yes.”

“Kearney suspected the same thing, though I told him it wasn’t so.”

“Why? Where’s the harm in it? It makes all of this much more convincing.”

“I don’t want him thinking that, no matter how much it might help us.”

Something in her voice must have reached him. He stared at her a moment, then nodded. “Very well.”

“But the ministers do think it,” she said, prodding him.

“Some of them do. And at least one of them remarked on the growing discord between you and the king. If it was your aim to make the castle’s Qirsi think that your loyalties might be compromised, you’ve succeeded.”

She made herself grin, though she suddenly felt a chill, as from a north wind. “Well, I suppose I should be pleased then.”

Gershon continued to stare at her, a look of genuine concern in those hard blue eyes. “Are you certain about this? It’s not too late to stop. You can attribute it all to your grief at Paegar’s death, apologize to the king, and go back to advising him as you always have. No one would ever know but me, and I wouldn’t think worse of you for making that choice.”

“Careful, Gershon. Treat me with such kindness too often, and I may yet mistake you for a friend.”

He frowned again. He was the only man she had ever met on whom a frown seemed more natural than a smile.

“I’ll take that to mean that you still intend to go through with this,” he said.

“I do, unless you’ve thought of a better way to learn what we need to know about the conspiracy.”

She knew that he hadn’t of course. There was no other way. Had there been, she would have jumped at the chance to end all of this.

Keziah stood. “Your family will be awaiting you in the cloister, swordmaster. You should join them.”

He made a sour face. “I think I’ll see to my men instead.”

The minister laughed. “Perhaps you should join me in the sanctuaries one day. Devotions don’t have to be as tedious as the prelate makes them.”

Gershon actually grinned. “Good day, Archminister.” He pulled his door open and held it for her. “I hope this can be the beginning of better understanding between us,” he said, letting his voice carry into the corridor. “I pledge to do my best to make it so.”

She stepped into the hallway and turned to bow to him. “As do I, swordmaster. Thank you.”

He nodded once, looking for just an instant like he wanted to say more. But after a moment, he merely shut his door again, leaving her alone in the corridor. Had Keziah not known better, she would have thought he was going to tell her to be careful.

She walked quickly back to her chamber, passing guards as she went, and enduring their stares as best she could. She passed Wenda as well, just a few steps from her room. Seeing her, the high minister paused, clearing her throat awkwardly.

“Yes, Wenda?” she asked, not bothering to mask her impatience.

The older woman faltered, then shook her head. “It was nothing, Archminister. Good day.”

Keziah resumed her walking. “And to you, High Minister.”

Entering her room, she shook her head, cursing herself for not being more courteous. She might have learned something from Wenda. She thought about leaving the room again and finding the high minister, but it wouldn’t have been in keeping with her recent behavior. And she was just too tired.

She walked to her bed intending to lie down, but a dark shape on her blanket caught her eye. For a moment she stood utterly still, staring at this thing, afraid to move, as if thinking it might scurry away at her approach. Then she realized what it was, and fear gripped her heart like the clawed hand of some great beast of the Underrealm.

He should have gone to the cloister. Sulwen would be expecting him, and even knowing how he felt about the devotions, she would chastise him for failing to join her and the children there. After speaking with the archminister, however, Gershon couldn’t even bring himself to walk to the ward, where the guards were training. He just sat, watching the fire burn, wondering how he had allowed the Qirsi woman to talk him into this. He had known from the start that her plan carried risks, and he had weighed them carefully. What he had neglected to consider, though, were the other costs-the archminister’s heartache, and the king’s as well.

Kearney’s love affair with his minister had been a mistake. Gershon had wanted to say so to Kearney a thousand times while they still lived in Glyndwr. Despite having misgivings about his duke taking the throne in the midst of the conflict between Curgh and Kentigern, the swordmaster had at least found comfort in the knowledge that Kearney’s ascension would end this foolhardy affair. But though the king and the Qirsi no longer shared a bed, it seemed to Gershon that their love continued to color all that happened here in Audun’s Castle. It made the archminister’s deception possible, by making believable her alienation from the king. Yet it also increased the dangers of what she was doing. By angering Kearney, by adding to the pain he had already suffered by losing her, Keziah risked not only her life, but the safety of the entire kingdom.

The swordmaster finally trusted her. Any doubts he had harbored about her devotion to Kearney and Eibithar had vanished when she agreed to seek out the conspiracy. But he thought her terribly young, and he had seen her put Kearney in harm’s way too many times. Gershon still remembered, with a vividness that made his sword hand tremble, how enraged he had been when she allowed her friend, the gleaner, to bring Tavis of Curgh to Tremain where the Glyndwr army had stopped on its way to the Heneagh River. At the time, the boy was still a fugitive from Aindreas’s dungeon, and Kentigern and Curgh were on the verge of war. No harm came of what she had done, and Kearney granted the gleaner’s request to give Tavis asylum. But Keziah had taken a terrible chance, placing at risk both the House of Glyndwr and the House of Tremain. Despite trusting her, despite knowing how much she loved the king, Gershon couldn’t help but feel that she remained the greatest threat to everything he held dear. That she was also their greatest hope of learning how to defeat the conspiracy only served to deepen his fears.

He made himself stand, and reached for his sword, intending to join his army in the castle courtyard. Before he could strap the scabbard to his belt, however, he heard a knock at his door. He pulled it open, only to find Keziah standing before him once more, her face deathly pale and her eyes wide, like those of a child who has just awakened from a frightening dream.

She held out his kerchief to him. “I forgot to return this to you,” she said, a flutter in her voice.

He took it from her, watching her closely. Clearly, this wasn’t all that had brought her back to his door.

“Do you want to come in again?”

She nodded and hurried past him to the center of the room.

Gershon closed the door and turned to face her. “What-?”

He stopped, staring at what she held in her hands. It was a simple leather pouch, brown, tied with a thin black cord, but he understood instantly that it signified far more than that. He crossed to where she stood and took the pouch from her. It was heavy with coins.

“You’ve counted it already?”

Keziah nodded. “One hundred qinde.”

He handed it back to her quickly. “You shouldn’t have come here. They may be watching you.”

“I know. I was scared. It thought that by returning the kerchief-”

“You wanted this, Archminister. You’ve done all you could to draw their attention, and now that you have it, you must keep your nerve. If you give them cause to doubt you, they’ll kill you.”

Any other day such a remark from him might have brought a cutting response about how he had never cared so much for her safety before. It would have been a joke, of course, though with an edge. But abruptly, even this humor was denied them. None of this was funny anymore.

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” She started for the door. “I’ll leave.”

“How much did Paegar have?” Gershon asked, stopping her again just short of the door. “I don’t remember.”

“One hundred and ninety qinde.”

He turned to face her, whistling through his teeth. “Even if he spent none of it, that’s nearly three hundred qinde they’ve spent here alone. That’s a lot of gold.”

“Yes, it is.”

“I know of nobles in Eibithar and Aneira who couldn’t afford to pay so much. Not just barons, mind you, but thanes and marquesses. That may be the way to find them, Archminister. If we can trace that gold to its source, we can find the leaders.”

Keziah nodded again, still wide-eyed. “I’ll do what I can.”

“And I’ll do everything necessary to keep you safe. You may not see me, you may not even believe that I can see you. But I’ll be watching just the same. You have my word.”

The Qirsi woman gazed at him a moment, then hurried back to where he stood and brushed her lips against his cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered.

A moment later she was gone, and Gershon was forced to wonder if he had judged her too harshly a short time before. It wouldn’t have been the first time. She might have been reckless, as only someone so young could be. But standing alone in his chamber, contemplating what she was about to do, he thought her the bravest soul he had ever known.