Weavers of War (42 page)

Marston shook his head. “Not especially.”

“I do, Your Majesty,” Diani said. “He risked a great deal revealing to all that he’s a Weaver. A man who would do that must be trustworthy.”

Kearney gave a small smile. “I agree. What I’m about to say must not leave this circle, for it’s not really my secret to tell. But under the circumstances it’s the best way I can think of to put your fears to rest.” He paused, eyeing Marston and then the duchess. “Do I have your word that you’ll keep this to yourselves?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

The thane nodded. “Of course.”

“Perhaps you’ve heard that in the past, when Weavers were discovered, they were not the only ones who were executed.”

“Their families were as well,” Diani said.

“Yes. Which is why the gleaner and my archminister have long kept it secret that they’re brother and sister.”

“Impossible!”

“Why, Marston?” the king asked. “Because it proves her fealty?”

“But she and the archminister—”

“Whatever Keziah is doing, I assure you, she has the best interests of the realm at heart. You have to trust me, Marston, as your father does. Keziah has risked more in this fight against the conspiracy than anyone I know, except perhaps her brother and Lord Curgh.”

“Risked in what way, Your Majesty?”

“I can’t tell you that. Again, you have to trust me.”

Marston nodded. “Yes, Your Majesty.” He didn’t look pleased, but it did appear to Diani that he had been swayed by what the king had told him. Certainly she had been.

“Does this change your opinion of Abeni, Lady Curlinte?”

“No, Your Highness, it doesn’t.”

Olesya shook her head. “I didn’t think so. Continue to watch her, and the others as well.”

She heard a dismissal in the words. “Yes, Your Highness.” She bowed, as did Marston. “Thank you.”

They walked away together, the thane staring at the ground, muttering to himself.

“I was so certain,” he said at last.

“I know.” Diani made the decision abruptly. She was still ashamed of what she had done, but perhaps there was a lesson here for both of them. And if anyone could understand, this man would. “After the attempts on my life, I had every Qirsi in my castle imprisoned. I didn’t know which of them to trust, so I refused to trust any of them. Olesya the queen made me release them, but to this day, my first instinct when I encounter a strange Qirsi is to look for signs of treachery.”

“Is that what you think I do?”

Diani shrugged. “Isn’t it?”

He looked away. “Perhaps.”

“I’m not saying that there aren’t traitors among the Qirsi—there may be several here with us. But they can’t all be with the conspiracy.”

“I suppose not. I just hope you’re right about this gleaner.”

“If I’m not, and it turns out that there are two Weavers arrayed against us, it won’t matter who else is a traitor.”

“That’s true.” Marston paused, and after a moment he shook his head again. “Something still bothers me about all this. If the king’s archminister—”

She held a finger to her lips. There were too many people around them, and Kearney had made it clear that this was not to be shared with anyone. “Not here.” Taking him by the hand, she led him away from the armies again, until they were alone on the moor with the swaying grasses and the hulking grey stones.

“Now, you were saying?”

“It’s probably nothing,” he said. “You’re right about me. I’m looking for reasons to doubt them, seeking out enemies when that’s the one thing we have in abundance.”

The sun shone in his eyes and the breeze stirred his hair. He really was quite attractive, and charming as well, despite his youth.

“Then let’s not talk about this anymore,” she said, stepping closer to him. “I’m tired of worrying about the gleaner and his sister and whose side they’re on and all the rest of it.”

He reached up and brushed a strand of dark hair from her brow. “I take it,” he said, his voice suddenly rough, “that there is no duke of Curlinte.”

She smiled, putting her arms around his neck. “Actually, there is.”

He looked so surprised that she actually laughed aloud.

“It’s true,” she said. “His name is Sertio.”

“Sertio,” the thane repeated dully.

“Yes. He’s my father.”

Marston closed his eyes briefly, and gave a small shake of his head. “You enjoyed that, didn’t you.”

Diani giggled. “Yes.”

A moment later their eyes met, and for just an instant she found that she couldn’t move at all, that she could hardly breathe for the pounding of her heart. Then he encircled her waist with his arms, pulling her to him, and the world and the war fell away, leaving only the sun and the wind and the kiss they shared amid the grasses.

*   *   *

Filtem found the place, a small bed of grass in a cluster of great grey boulders, sheltered from the wind and blissfully private. Actually, others had found it before him—he had seen a couple emerge from the stones the night before, two Sanbiri warriors. Though the queen allowed women and men to fight side by side, she prohibited them from having romances. Those who defied her had to be discreet. And so did two ministers serving in different courts.

After their conversation with the gleaner, Craeffe had thought that Abeni would want to speak with them. But she went off with Eibithar’s archminister, affording Craeffe and Filtem an opportunity to steal away.

There was no one in the circle of stones when they reached it, and they quickly slipped out of their robes, before falling into each other’s arms and stretching out on the lush grasses. The sun was high enough to warm their skin and soon both of their bodies were flushed and covered with a fine sheen of sweat, the rhythm they shaped together growing more urgent by the moment. At last Craeffe climaxed biting back a cry, her back arching, her breasts bared to the sky. Then she lay forward, kissing Filtem deeply.

He bit gently on her lip, and she started to laugh.

But just then the sound of voices reached them, and they both froze. At first, Craeffe couldn’t make out any of what was being said. She sat up again, holding a finger to her lips to keep Filtem from speaking and closing her eyes in concentration.

“… I’m looking for reasons to doubt them,” a man said, “seeking out enemies when that’s the one thing we have in abundance.”

“Then let’s not talk about this anymore.” That voice Craeffe recognized. Lady Curlinte.

“I’m tired of worrying about the gleaner and his sister and whose side they’re on and all the rest of it.”

Craeffe’s eyes flew open and she stared down at Filtem. Clearly he had heard it as well, for he was gaping back at her.

The conversation continued for another few moments—nothing else that caught her attention. But they didn’t need to say anything more. The gleaner had a sister! And since the man was a Weaver, it was likely that few others knew of her.

She hadn’t heard Lady Curlinte and this man she was with leave, and she wondered idly if the duchess had found love out here on the moor.

Craeffe rolled off of Filtem and both of them began to dress as quickly and silently as possible. Still they waited—something told the minister that Diani was still there, and she half-wondered if they too might seek refuge within the circle of stones. Eventually, however, she heard them speaking again, their voices so low that Craeffe couldn’t hear any of it. Soon there was nothing but silence. Stepping lightly out of the circle, Craeffe saw that the duchess and her consort had gone.

“Come on,” she called softly to Filtem. “We have to find Abeni.”

As it turned out, the archminister was looking for them as well.

“Where have you two been?” she demanded upon seeing them.

“That doesn’t matter. We overheard something.”

“Overheard what?”

Craeffe smiled. She couldn’t help it. She knew that Abeni disliked her, that the woman hated depending on her for anything. She would have enjoyed stretching this out a bit, making the archminister wait. But in this case, her tidings were too important.

“The gleaner has a sister, and I believe she’s here.”

“What?”

“We heard Diani speaking of it—it was just in passing, but there could be no mistaking what she said.”

“Which was?”

“‘I’m tired of worrying about the gleaner and his sister and whose side they’re on,’ or something to that effect.”

“And how does that prove that his sister is here?”

“Why else would Diani be concerning herself with it at all? If the man had a sister elsewhere, it wouldn’t be of concern to the Eandi. But if she’s here, and they’re still trying to figure out if they can trust him, or both of them, then it would be of great concern.”

Abeni appeared to consider this. Finally, she looked at Filtem. “Is that what you think?”

“Yes.”

“I suppose it does make sense.”

“Do you know who it could be?”

Abeni shook her head. “No, I wouldn’t know where to—” She stopped, her mouth falling open. “Demons and fire!” she whispered.

“You do know.”

“I might.” She looked at them both. “Don’t speak of this to anyone, not even to each other. I’ll take care of it.”

She started to walk away.

“But—”

Abeni spun to face her, a finger leveled at her heart. “Not a word!”

Craeffe glared after her. “Who does she think she is?”

But Filtem didn’t have to reply. Craeffe knew the answer. Abeni was the Weaver’s chancellor.

Chapter Seventeen

They were walking around the camp—it seemed to Keziah that she had spent much of this day circling the Eandi soldiers, first with Sanbira’s archminister and now with her brother. Usually Grinsa was quite skilled at concealing his emotions. He had spent his life hiding not only the true extent of his powers, but also his fear of being discovered, and his concern for Keziah’s safety. But at this moment, turning over in his mind what she had told him, he had the look of a man confronting his own doom. Passing a hand over his haggard face, he shook his head.

“You’re certain of this?” he finally asked.

As if she could be wrong about such a thing.

“Yes. She left little doubt about any of it.”

“Three of them.”

“She told me who they are, Grinsa. The first ministers of Macharzo and Norinde, and of course Abeni herself.”

“Knowing who they are isn’t enough.”

“But surely you can defeat three Qirsi.”

“Yes, but that’s not the point either. I knew that one of them was a traitor, maybe even two. But three? That leaves me with an army of thirteen.” He shook his head again. “Even if the imperial army was with us, that wouldn’t be enough.”

She sensed his fear, his desperation. But someone had to say it. “That’s all you’ve got. It has to be enough.”

He cast a look her way, but he didn’t grow angry. He merely nodded.

“Abeni wanted to make an attempt on your life immediately, but I convinced her to wait, saying it would be better to make you think that you commanded a loyal army. I hope that was the right thing to do.”

“Actually, I’m not certain it was. I’d rather face the Weaver with a small army than have to fight traitors and his force at the same time.”

Keziah had thought of this as well, though only after her conversation with the archminister ended. “I’m sorry. She spoke of killing you and I panicked.”

“It’s all right.”

“Do you want me to go back to her and convince her to strike at you sooner?”

He shook his head. “You risk raising her doubts.”

“Then maybe we should go to the nobles and tell them that we’ve learned of traitors in their courts.”

“That’s also too dangerous. Abeni will know that the information came from you.”

“Couldn’t you say that you sensed their treachery?”

But even before he answered, Keziah knew that this wouldn’t work either. If Abeni and her fellow renegades were executed as traitors, leaving Keziah as the only survivor among those who claimed to support the movement, the Weaver would know that she had betrayed them.

“There’s nothing to be done about it now, Kezi. She’ll make her plans, and you’ll have no choice but to follow along.”

“What will you do?”

He smiled, looking so weary that it made her chest ache. “Whatever I have to.”

“We should turn back,” she said, glancing over her shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of Kearney.

“You need to be careful, Keziah.”

She faced him again, putting on her bravest smile in turn. “I always am.”

“I’m serious. Norinde’s first minister isn’t much of a threat, but both women are shapers. Either of them can kill you with a single thought, and I won’t be able to do anything about it.”

“Why would they kill me? Abeni is ready to declare herself my closest friend, and I get the sense that she keeps a tight rein on the others.”

He looked away, the muscles in his jaw bunching as they often did when he wanted to say something but feared her reaction.

“Hasn’t this gone on long enough?” he finally asked. “You’ve learned the names of the other traitors in this army, you’ve learned that the Weaver intends to have Kearney killed on the battlefield. We know as much about Dusaan’s plans as we need to, in large part thanks to you. But this war—the real war—will begin in the next day or two.” He winced, as if suddenly in pain. “Actually, I suppose it’s already begun. Dusaan is done making plans. It seems to me that the time has come to end this deceit, before you get yourself killed.”

“How do I end it, Grinsa? Do you see a way out of this? Because I certainly don’t. Until the Weaver is killed, I won’t be safe, no matter how much you try to protect me. You saw what he did to Cresenne when she betrayed him. He’ll be no less brutal with me.”

“So what are you going to do? Kill Kearney? Fight me? Do all the things Dusaan and his servants expect of you?”

“Of course not!”

“Then what choice do you have, Kezi? You’re fast reaching a point where you can’t risk staying with them anymore.”

“That may be so, but I’m not there yet!”

Keziah started to walk away, not quite understanding why she was so angry with him. She knew that he was right. She had barely slept the past several nights, fearing that the Weaver would come to her demanding to know why Kearney still lived, and she was still shaken from her conversation with Sanbira’s archminister. How much longer could she continue to deceive Abeni and the others? How many more times could she allow the Weaver to enter her mind without revealing her true feelings for Kearney or her love for her brother?