Seeds of Betrayal

Chapter Thirty-one

Mertesse, Aneira

Their first few days in Mertesse had been no better than their conflict-ridden journey north from Dantrielle. Despite the understanding Dario thought they had reached during the night they spent at the inn just outside the northern city, Cadel remained a difficult business partner, finding fault with nearly everything Dario did, not only musically, but also with respect to their other profession. The lutenist thought he understood the cause of Cadel’s dark moods. They still had not learned the name of the Qirsi they were to kill, they knew nothing of his powers, and they couldn’t even be certain that he intended to return to Mertesse with the duke’s company. Dario could not deny being on edge as well, and he wasn’t the one who would have to kill the sorcerer when the time came. This had to be far worse for Cadel. Still, that didn’t excuse the man for treating him this way. Young as he was, Dario was no child. There wasn’t a lutenist north of Noltierre who could play with him, and while he might not have been killing for hire as long as Cadel or for as much gold, he knew how to use a blade and defend himself in a fight. Hearing how the singer picked at him, one might think that he was still apprenticing.

They did manage to get a job playing in the west quarter of the city, just a short distance from the marketplace. The tavern, called the Swallow’s Nest, bore a disturbing resemblance to Dantrielle’s Red Boar, though the clientele seemed a bit more respectable. They were paid six qinde for each night they played and given a room and all their food for free. They had to pay for their ales, but neither of them drank much. All in all, the arrangement suited them well. It was a job, and getting it should have pleased Cadel.

Instead, it just made matters worse. Now that they had committed themselves to nightly performances, he grew even more critical of Dario’s playing, until the lutenist began to wonder if any amount of gold could justify remaining with the man.

Cadel’s mood finally changed for the better on the Night of Two Moons, though Dano couldn’t really say why. The duke’s company had not yet returned, and though their performance of The Paean to the Moons went quite well that night, the crowd was no better than any other.

When they returned to their room late that night, Dario asked Cadel why he seemed so pleased. The singer merely smiled mysteriously and said, “The wisdom of the moons, boy. At times the legends are worth more to men like us than Uulranni blades.”

No doubt Dario should have tried to think through what the man meant, but he was so angry at being called “boy” that he barely heard the rest of what Cadel said.

Four days later, the duke finally returned to Mertesse. Few saw him enter the city. Coming north from Solkara, he entered the castle through the south gate, without passing through the city’s marketplace. Word of his return spread quickly, however, as did rumors of the grave condition of his first minister.

The following morning, Cadel and Dario ventured into the city streets and, choosing a prominent spot among the peddlers’ carts began to play. Dario did not like playing his lute outside, particularly with the air so cold, but he knew that Cadel had reasons for asking him to do so. They told the innkeeper at the Swallow’s Nest that they were hoping to draw more customers to the tavern by giving the city folk a taste of their music. In reality, Cadel hoped to draw some of the castle guards into conversation between songs.

It worked. The first minister, one soldier told them, was not nearly as ill as some believed. She had suffered greatly from the poisoning and had slowed the company’s return to Mertesse, but she would live and she continued to serve the duke.

“I had heard the duke has a new minister,” Cadel said casually as Dario pretended to tune his lute yet again.

The guard shook his head. “The traitor you mean? No. The duke would never stoop to making him a minister, not even a lesser one.”

The traitor! Dario forced himself to keep his eyes on the instrument in his hands.

“Why do you call him the traitor?”

“You don’t know?” the guard said, obviously pleased to be the bearer of such fascinating news. “You must not be from here. Caerissan aren’t you?”

Cadel smiled, though Dario could see that it was forced.

“Yes, I am.”

“Thought so. I can pick any accent in the Forelands. Not just realms mind you. But even cities. I’d guess you’re from Jetaya.”

“Very good. That’s quite close.”

Actually, Cadel had once told Dario that he came from the Adlana dukedom, which was more than fifty leagues south of Jetaya, but if he didn’t care to correct the man, Dario certainly wouldn’t.

“The traitor?” Cadel prompted after a brief silence.

“Oh, right. He used to be first minister in Kentigern. They say he betrayed his duke during the siege and was given asylum here.”

“And he lives in the castle?”

“He lives in the first minister’s quarters,” the man said with a wink. “If you get my meaning.”

The singer gave the same thin smile and nodded. “I once met a minister in Kentigern. I performed there many years ago. Perhaps it’s the same man. I believe his name was Bekthad jal Pors.”

The guard shook his head. “No. I think this one’s called Shurik jal… something. Those white-hair names give me trouble.”

“Oh, well. It was worth a try.” He glanced at Dario. “Are you tuned yet?”

The lutenist began to play another song, and eventually the guards moved off.

Shortly after, Dario and Cadel returned to the tavern. For the first time since their initial encounter in Dantrielle, the older man seemed truly pleased.

“I’m impressed,” Dario told him over their midday meal. “That guard would have told you even more if you’d given him the chance.”

“Probably,” Cadel agreed. “He certainly would have kept talking. I’m not sure we would have been interested in anything else he had to say.”

“So now we know where to find this Qirsi. How do we kill him?”

Cadel gave him the same mysterious grin he had offered on the Night of Two Moons. “We wait.”

“For what?”

“Don’t you know the moon legends?”

Dario shrugged. “Some of them. To tell you the truth, half the time I don’t even know which turn we’re in.”

“Well, you should.”

The lutenist cursed himself for his honesty. No doubt Cadel would see it as another occasion to lecture him.

“An assassin uses every weapon he can,” Cadel said, “every scrap of information. What turn is this?”

Dario thought a moment. “Qirsar’s.”

“And what do the legends say about Qirsar’s Moon?”

He shrugged. “I guess something about the Qirsi.”

“Something about the Qirsi,” Cadel repeated, shaking his head. “Yes, they say something about the Qirsi. On the Night of Two Moons, a Qirsi’s magic is more powerful than on any other night of the year. And what about on Pitch Night?”

It came to him in a rush. For all Cadel’s bluster, in this instance, there could be no arguing with him. Dario should have remembered. It was brilliant.

“On Pitch Night in Qirsar’s Moon,” he answered, so excited he barely managed to keep his voice low, “a Qirsi has no power at all.”

Cadel nodded, sitting back in his chair. “Very good. Very good, indeed.”

“We have more than half the waning to wait,” Dario said.

“That’s all right. We still have some planning to do. I doubt our friend will be venturing far from the castle, especially on that night. We’ll spend our evenings singing and our days preparing for Pitch Night.”

The lutenist nodded. It seemed a sensible plan.

That night, however, the Swallow’s Nest was so crowded the two musicians had almost no room to perform. The innkeeper said he had never seen so many people in his tavern and he credited his success to the daytime performance they had given in the streets of Mertesse. He offered to raise their nightly wage to seven qinde, provided they agreed to return to the marketplace each day. Posing as wandering musicians, they could hardly refuse.

The day following his ill-fated attempt to speak with Keziah was quite possibly the longest of Grinsa’s life. Of course he intended to reach for his sister again that evening, and the wait for nightfall nearly drove him to madness. Consumed by his fear and frustration, he set a punishing pace throughout the day, which Tavis managed somehow to match. They encountered no Solkaran soldiers and covered several leagues, stopping for the evening near a village that Grinsa knew to be only a day’s walk from the northern edge of the Great Forest. If they continued to evade the royal guard, they would be in Mertesse in another four or five days.

Their meal consisted of roots and berries once again. Tavis grumbled about it, but Grinsa hardly noticed. He wasn’t hungry and he had little to say to the boy. He just stared to the east, waiting for the moons to rise. After some time, Tavis lay down to sleep offering a curt “Goodnight.”

Grinsa marked Panya’s progress through the sky with an anxious eye, but it was Ilias he awaited. As soon as he saw the red moon top the trees, he closed his eyes and reached for Keziah.

Upon entering her dreams, he turned a full circle, scanning the plain for any sign of the dark sky he had seen the night before. Seeing none, he felt something loosen in his chest.

“Kezi?” he called.

She came into view an instant later, walking quickly toward him, her face as white as new snow, dark purple lines under her yellow eyes. Reaching him, she fell against his chest, sobbing like a hurt child so that her whole body shook. Grinsa merely held her, stroking her soft hair.

After a long time, she stepped back, wiping her tears, though more still flowed down her cheeks.

“Tell me,” he said.

Swallowing, she looked away for a moment, as if she didn’t want to talk at all. Once more, he was reminded of how she had looked as a young girl.

At last she began to speak, telling him first of Paegar and their friendship, and then of his death and the gold she found in his chambers. By the time she started to explain her idea for attracting the notice of the conspiracy, Grinsa understood everything he needed to know. At least he thought he did.

“I find it hard to believe that Kearney allowed you to do this,” he said, not bothering to mask his anger.

“Kearney doesn’t know.”

Then, finally, he truly grasped all that she had endured. “Oh, Kezi,” he breathed. “I’m so sorry. There’s no one you can tell? Not even one of the other ministers.”

“I’ve told Gershon everything, but no one else.”

“Gershon?” he repeated. His expression must have been comical, because she smiled through her tears.

“Yes. He’s actually been quite kind to me.”

“He shouldn’t have let you do this. He should have known how dangerous it would be.”

It was the type of statement that would have drawn an argument from her a few turns before. This night, she only gave a small shrug. “Neither of us knew there would be a Weaver.”

Grinsa hadn’t thought of it either. It wasn’t his place to fault his sister or the swordmaster.

“I felt what he did to you,” he said. “Are you all right?”

“I am for now. That was the only time he hurt me.”

“Did you finally do what he wanted?”

Her tears started to fall again. “Of course not. How could I? As soon as I open my mind to him he’ll kill me. He’ll know about you, he’ll realize that I’ve been deceiving him.” She shook her head. “Had I known that I’d be contacted by a Weaver, I never would have tried this.”

“So end it now.” But as soon as Grinsa spoke the words, he knew that it would do no good.

“Ending it does nothing, Grinsa. You of all people should know that. He knows who I am and how to find me. He told me he’d return in a few days and that when he did I’d have to open myself to him or he’d kill me.” She faltered, looking away briefly. “Can he really do that? Can a Weaver kill someone through their dreams?”

He would have liked to lie to her, to put her mind at ease, but it would only have made matters worse, and she would have sensed that he was hiding the truth.

“Yes,” he told her. “He can kill you, just as he hurt you last night.”

“So what can I do? How do I deceive a Weaver?”

“I don’t know,” he said gently. “I’ve never had to try. I suppose you have to find a way to keep some of your thoughts from him while making him believe that your mind is completely open to him.”

“But how? Is my mind open to you right now?”

“No. But I’ve never wanted it to be. I’m content to speak with you, and learn from you what you want me to know.”

She raked a rigid hand through her hair. “I’m dead,” she whispered.

“No, you’re not. You’re stronger than you think. You need only find your strength.”

Keziah gave a small nod, but she wouldn’t look him in the eye.

“Did you learn anything about the Weaver?” he asked. “His name, perhaps, or where he lives?”

“I learned nothing. He kept himself in darkness and summoned a bright light from behind. I couldn’t see anything.”

“I saw that he had darkened the sky, and I thought I saw something glowing at its center.”

“How is that possible?” she asked, frowning. “The Weaver saw nothing of the sky you created. I did, but he didn’t.”

“You’re certain?”

She nodded, then appeared to shiver. “He would have said something.”

“Interesting,” he said, allowing himself a small grin.

“Why are you smiling like that?”

“Last night, as I was walking toward you in the dream, I almost thought I could hear you calling to me, telling me to leave you.”

“I was, but you wouldn’t listen.”

“I know. I should have. I’m sorry.” He narrowed his eyes. “Did the Weaver hear those thoughts? Did he know I was there?”

“Of course not.”

“Then there’s your answer.”

Keziah blinked. “I don’t understand.”

“You already know how to hide your thoughts from a Weaver. You allowed me to see what you were seeing, to hear and feel all that was going on in your dream, without revealing me to the Weaver.”

“But my mind was closed to him.”

“Not entirely, not enough to keep him from your dreams. The words ‘opening your mind’ offer an image, nothing more. There’s no door in your head that keeps one set of thoughts separate from another. Opening your mind simply means allowing him to read all your thoughts rather than some of them. The secret lies in showing him what you need to while making him believe that there’s nothing more.”

“I don’t know if I can do that.”

“You did it last night.”

“Maybe, but I don’t know how.”

He reached out a hand to brush the hair back from her brow. “Somewhere inside, you do. You have to find that knowledge, Kezi, and you have to trust your power. If I could do this for you I would. You know that. But this is your burden. You chose to carry it, and now you have to live with that decision.” Or die with it. Grinsa didn’t say it. He didn’t have to.

She took a breath and nodded once more, a dull look in her eyes.

“I should let you sleep.”

“Where are you?” she asked, as if she hadn’t heard.

Grinsa winced. He’d almost forgotten again.

“We’re near Mertesse. That’s why I tried to contact you in the first place. To warn you. While we were in Solkara, we encountered Shunk jal Marcine, the minister who betrayed Kentigern during the siege. We escaped him, but I’m certain he knows I’m a Weaver. I had to reveal too many of my powers in getting away. I don’t think he knows you’re my sister, but if he decides to look for our family, it won’t take him long to find you.”

“You think he’s back in Mertesse?”

“As certain as I can be.”

“And what do you plan to do with him when you find him?”

Grinsa hesitated. “I was going to question him about the conspiracy. Beyond that… I hadn’t decided.”

“But you’ve considered killing him.”

The idea of it still troubled him, but he could hardly deny it. “Yes.”

“That’s what you have to do, Grinsa. If the Weaver contacts him we’re lost. Shurik will tell him, and the Weaver will learn in no time that we’re related. Don’t bother questioning him. I’ll find out everything we need to know about the movement. Just kill him and get out of Mertesse.”

He knew she was right, yet he couldn’t believe that she could speak so casually of murder, even when it concerned a man like Shurik.

“You’re surprised to hear me say such things.”

“I guess I am.”

She gave a small shrug. “This is the world we live in now. If Shurik had the opportunity to kill you, he wouldn’t hesitate to do so. Which means you have to kill him first.”

“I’m not arguing with you. I just worry that you’re changing so quickly. The Keziah I knew a year ago would have had trouble speaking those words.”

“I’m not the one changing, Grinsa. Eibithar is different, as are all the realms of the Forelands. A year ago you were traveling with the Revel, and Kearney and I were still in Glyndwr; Lady Brienne was still alive and Javan of Curgh was in line to be king.” She looked away. “I’m archminister to the king. I no longer have the luxury of being squeamish. We both know that Shurik has to die. I just happened to be the first of us to say so aloud.”

He gazed at her for several moments, though she continued to look away. Unable to think of any reply, he finally stepped forward and put his arms around her again.

She held him tight, pressing her cheek to his chest. “I’m afraid,” she whispered. “Of everything.”

“I’m afraid for you. But I know how strong you are. Trust yourself and you’ll be all right.” He kissed her forehead and gazed into her eyes for a moment. “I love you, Kezi. I’ll see you soon.”

He released her and a moment later broke the connection linking their minds.

Opening his eyes to the darkness of the Aneiran wood, he lay down near where Tavis slept and closed his eyes once more, falling almost immediately into a deep, dreamless slumber.

Grinsa and Tavis reached the north edge of the Great Forest late the following day and waited for nightfall before continuing onto the narrow open plain that lay between the wood and Mertesse. Grinsa was convinced that most of the Solkaran soldiers had returned to the royal city, but he didn’t dare chance being mistaken. For the next several days he and the boy traveled by night and rested during the day, taking refuge in the darkened corners of barns and abandoned shacks. Leaving Tavis briefly on the second day, Grinsa ventured into a nearby village and bought them enough food to last the rest of their journey.

On their fourth night out of the forest, they came within sight of Mertesse. Even from a full league away, they could see torches burning atop the great stone walls and towers of the castle. Tavis wanted to try to reach the nearest entrance to the city before the ringing of the gate-closing bells. Grinsa agreed that they had time enough to make it, but he argued against trying.

“We’ll be far more noticeable among the few who enter the city at night. We should wait for morning and enter with the shepherds, just as we did in Solkara.”

Tavis looked unhappy, but he let the matter drop, something he wouldn’t have done a few turns before.

They continued on until they were less than half a league from the castle before stopping for the night. There were no buildings nearby, but with thin high clouds covering the sky, the night didn’t grow too cold. They slept in the open, rising with first light to complete their journey to the city walls. When the gates opened to the pealing of the city bells, Tavis and Grinsa were among the first to enter the city. They crossed through the gate in the company of several merchants, their hoods over their heads and their eyes fixed on the ground. None of the guards seemed to notice them. Apparently, word of their escape from Solkara had not spread beyond the forest.

Once in the city, they made their way to the marketplace, which was already filling quickly with peddlers and their customers.

“What now?” Tavis asked, his voice low.

“I need to go to the castle and see if I can learn where Shurik is. The duke and his company should have returned from Solkara several days ago. I want to know if the traitor was with them.”

“And if he wasn’t?”

“I’d rather not think about it. I expect that he was, in which case it becomes a matter of waiting for him to emerge from the castle.”

“If he thinks you’ve followed him here, he’s not likely to come out any time soon.”

The gleaner nodded. “I know. Let’s find out first if he’s in Mertesse. Then I’ll worry about the rest.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Remain in the marketplace. We’ll find an inn later.”

“All right.”

“And stay out of trouble, Tavis,” he added. “We’re too close to Shurik to muck things up now.”

The young lord opened his arms wide. “Why do you always think I’m going to find trouble?”

Grinsa frowned and started to walk away without responding. The answer seemed as plain as the scars on Tavis’s face.

The journey back from Solkara had left her weary and weak. Even after five days resting in her chamber in Castle Mertesse, Yaella found that she wanted nothing more than to sleep, or to huddle in the great chair beside her hearth. She ate little-the mere thought of food or, even worse, wine, left her queasy-and she had only left her chamber twice, once to speak with the duke, and a second time to satisfy the castle surgeon, who urged her to walk the corridors in order to regain her strength.

She couldn’t help but notice that Rowan, who had been poisoned as well, appeared to have made a full recovery already. Shurik assured her that this was simply a matter of his being Eandi.

“There’s no question that they’re physically stronger than we are,” he told her, soon after their return to Mertesse. “The duke especially. He may be a dullard, but he’s built like his father. Of course he’s mended faster than you have.”

Yaella feared that there was more to it than that, however. Except for the Night of Two Moons nine evenings before, when the god’s gift of magic seemed to bolster her physical strength, she hadn’t felt whole since first leaving Mertesse nearly a turn before. She wasn’t a young woman anymore-at thirty-one the minister was only four years younger than her mother had been when she died. True, her father lived to be almost forty, but even if that proved to be her fate also, she was approaching the final years of her life. What if she never recovered fully from the poisoning? What if her near encounter with the Deceiver marked the beginning of a slow decline toward death? Notwithstanding what Shurik had told her, she didn’t feel ill anymore. She felt tired. She felt old.

Shurik spent much of his time with her, encouraging her to eat and offering to make tea for her and fetch her something more from the kitchens. Though grateful for his company at times, now and again she would have liked to tell him to leave her. She understood, though, that he needed to care for her in order to keep his mind from his own troubles. He slept poorly at night, twitching like a sleeping cat and crying out at the demons that haunted his dreams. His face, always thin and pale, had a pinched, unhealthful look that worried her.

Having felt the power of the Weaver, having faced him in his wrath and awakened to find her heart pounding, tears on her cheeks, Yaella could hardly fault Shurik for his fear of the man. On the other hand, she didn’t know what to make of his worries about this second man, whom he also believed to be a Weaver. She couldn’t deny that it was strange for a Revel gleaner to conceal the fact that he possessed other powers. Yet neither could she say that this alone meant he was a Weaver. Weaving magic had not been bred out of her people, as some of the Eandi seemed to believe, but Weavers were rare and she remained skeptical that Shurik had managed to make enemies of two of them.

As a younger man Shurik had never allowed his fears to overmaster his good sense. But like her, he was growing older. Add to that his recent exile from Kentigern and his harsh treatment at the hands of the Weaver, and Yaella could see how he might imagine dangers at every turn. She didn’t dare say any of this to him, of course. She listened as he ranted on about the ill will of the gods and how they had cursed him with bad fortune, and she tried to put his fears to rest.

On this morning, to her surprise and relief, he appeared to have forgotten both Weavers, at least for the moment. He wasn’t even urging her to eat, though that would soon change if she didn’t climb out of her chair and return to the breakfast he had brought her, which sat untouched on the bed. He merely sat near the hearth, staring at the patterned tapestry that hung on the wall. When he finally spoke, however, it became clear to her that the Weavers were anything but forgotten.

“It’s possible that they caught him,” he said abruptly, as if they had been talking all this time.

“Who?” she asked, knowing well who he meant.

“Grinsa, of course. The Solkarans might have him already, and the boy as well. That may be why word of their escape never reached the guards here in Mertesse.”

“I’ve told you, Shurik. Solkaran guards would have ceased their search at the northern fringe of the Great Forest whether they had him or not. That’s where Solkaran lands end and those of Mertesse begin.”

“But surely soldiers of the royal house can ride where they please.”

“Yes. But with Numar new to his power and fears running high throughout Aneira, they aren’t about to stray too far from the royal city in pursuit of two men.” She closed her eyes briefly, angry with herself for arguing the point. Better to let him believe that Grinsa was no longer a threat. “He may very well have been captured. I certainly hope that he was. But it’s just one possible explanation. They may simply have decided that the gleaner and the Curgh boy weren’t worth so much effort.”

Perhaps he sensed more in her tone than she meant to convey. He stared at her a moment, a pained expression in his eyes. Then looking down, he asked, “Is that what you think?”

“No.”

But he heard the hesitancy in her answer and his face colored.

“He’s a Weaver, Yaella. I’m certain of it. I know it seems odd that I would have drawn the attention of two of them, but I have.” He smiled grimly, the wounded look in his eyes remaining. “It seems I’m more important than either of us ever realized.”

“I’ve never doubted that you’re important, Shurik. You should know that. But I know that my own fear of the Weaver has made me wary of every new Qirsi I meet. You first encountered this man just after you weakened the gates at Kentigern, and you immediately thought that he knew somehow you had betrayed Aindreas. Isn’t it possible that you allowed your fear of being discovered to color your impression of the man?”

Shurik stood, his lips pressed thin, his cheeks reddening further. “No,” he said, his voice icy with rage. “It’s not. And you should know better.”

He stalked to the door.

“Shurik, please. I’m sor-”

The door slammed behind him before she could finish her apology.

A small part of her was glad to see him go, and she wondered if on some level she had meant to make him angry. She knew she should find him and apologize. If he was right, and this Grinsa was a Weaver, the Solkarans would have little chance of capturing him and even less of preventing his escape. She might have been tiring of Shurik’s company, but she knew that he was safer with her than alone. Still, Yaella continued to sit before the fire, watching the flames dance and enjoying her solitude.

After some time, she stood, walked slowly to the bed, and made herself eat. Then she left her room in search of Shurik. She checked his quarters first, but the door was unlocked and the room empty. After that she walked to the kitchens and the great hall, but none of the servants in either place had seen him. An uneasy feeling came over her and she walked quickly through the corridors and out into the castle courtyard. Nothing. Almost running now, she stepped into the outer ward, circling it twice. He wasn’t there either.

As she passed the city gate a second time, she thought she glimpsed a shock of white hair at the sally port. Rushing to the gate, she stared down the lane leading to the city, but she saw no sign of him.

“Who was that you were speaking to?” she asked the nearest of the guards.

The man stared at her blankly. “I wasn’t speaking to anyone, First Minister.”

“I thought I saw a Qirsi here. I was wondering if it was the…” She faltered. Since Shurik first arrived in Mertesse, a traitor from Kentigern seeking asylum in Aneira, she had not known what to call him when speaking with others. He wasn’t a minister any longer, and she refused to call him “the traitor” as she knew most of the guards did. “I thought it might be my friend, Shurik. The Qirsi from Kentigern.”

“I swear, First Minister. There was no one.”

She turned toward a second guard, who stood a short distance from the gate. “Did you see him?”

“No, First Minister.” He gestured toward the first guard. “Like he says, there wasn’t anyone here. We would have noticed a whi-” He nearly choked on the word, his face turning crimson. “We would have noticed a Qirsi,” he said a moment later.

Yaella gazed toward the city again, but still saw no one. She was so certain that she had seen the white hair of a Qirsi, but then again, she hadn’t been well recently.

“My apologies,” she murmured, walking back toward the inner gates. “I must have been mistaken.”

She finally found Shurik some time later, standing alone at the top of the granary tower on the far side of the castle. The wind blew hard so high up, and Yaella shivered as she stopped next to him, looking out over the city walls toward the Great Forest.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly, glancing at him, trying to read his expression. “You’ve never given me cause to question your word or your judgment, and I shouldn’t start doubting you now.”

“But you have. You think I’m wrong about Grinsa.”

“I don’t know what to think. I’ve never even seen him, so who am I to say you’re wrong?” She shrugged. “Maybe I just find the idea of facing two Weavers so frightening that I don’t want to believe it.”

He gave a wry smile. “I can understand that.”

“For what it’s worth, just now, when I thought you had left the castle, I was very worried.” She briefly considered telling him what she had seen at the city gate, but that would have served only to make him more afraid, and for no reason at all. The guards wouldn’t have lied to her. Certainly she had imagined it.

“I’m not about to leave the castle, Yaella. This is the only place I feel safe. At some point, the Weaver may order me to search for Grinsa again, but until then I’m staying here.”

She hooked her arm through his and rested her head against his shoulder. “Good.”

Shurik pressed his lips gently against the top of her head. Then he regarded her oddly, as if noticing her for the first time. “You’re out of your quarters,” he said, grinning. “Outside the castle corridors even. I can hardly believe it.”

“I told you, I was worried.”

“How do you feel?”

“Tired. A bit cold.”

“Shall I escort you back to your chamber, First Minister?”

Yaella smiled. “Soon. I like it up here.”

They stood there a while longer, watching thin, grey clouds glide over nearby farms and the bare trees of the Aneiran wood. Occasionally the sun broke through, casting stark shadows on the brown fields before vanishing again behind the grey. At last, as the clouds began to thicken and the wind increased, they retreated into the closest tower and descended a winding stairway to the corridors near Yaella’s room.

“I have to ask you something,” Shurik said, as they approached her door. “But I’m afraid you’ll think me foolish again.”

A pair of guards turned the corner in front of them and walked past. Neither of the Qirsi spoke until the men reached the far end of the hallway and turned out of sight.

“I don’t think you’re foolish, Shurik, and whatever else I may think or Grinsa, I don’t doubt for a moment that he’s a threat to you. Just ask me.‘

“All right. I know that the Solkarans pursued him and the boy. For all I know the two of them are a hundred leagues from here. But still I’d like you to ask the duke to alert his guards. I want the men looking for them, just in case Grinsa comes to the castle.”

Yaella felt a strange tightness in her chest and once again she saw in her mind that head of white hair. You imagined it. You’re as unnerved as Shurik.

“Of course,” she said. “I need to rest right now. But I’ll speak with him later today.”

They stopped in front of her door, and Shurik turned to face her, looking anxious. “Do you think he’ll do it? We both know how he feels about me.”

“Regardless of his feelings for you, Rowan is smart enough to recognize a threat to his castle. If I tell him there are agents of Eibithar in the kingdom who wish you harm, he’ll double the guard at every gate. I promise.”

He nodded, even smiled. “Thank you,” he said. He kissed her cheek. “I’ll leave you now. Rest.”

Yaella nodded. But as she lingered in the doorway, watching him walk away, she couldn’t help thinking that the Qirsi man she had seen at the gate had looked a good deal taller than Shurik.