The babe squealed with delight at every somersault turned by the tumblers. She stared with rapt attention at the hands of the Qirsi, watching as flames of gold and red, blue and purple, orange and green crept over their skin. She grinned, wide-eyed and enthralled, at the songs of bards and pipers. Most nights, the child napped at least once, usually twice. She hadn’t slept at all this night. Long after the performers left the castle, she continued to laugh and coo.

For Cresenne the night was spoiled only by the appearance of a face from her past. While holding Bryntelle so that the baby could see one of the bards, she spied a bald, fat Qirsi standing near the other musicians. She recognized the man immediately. Altrin jal Casson, one of the gleaners with whom she had worked in Curgh just over a year ago, when she first met Grinsa and began plotting the murder of Kentigern’s Lady Brienne. Seeing him, she quickly turned away, so as to hide her face. Bryntelle, of course, began to cry, because she could no longer see the singer, and thus drew more attention to her. When Cresenne faced the musician again, Trin had vanished. She didn’t see him again for the rest of the night. But she suspected that he had noticed her and remembered, and she dreaded having to speak with him. He had been kind to her during their brief friendship, but the Revel was a small community, and she had little doubt that he had heard of her betrayal.

With the sky brightening and the castle beginning to wake, Cresenne knew that she should return to her quarters and sleep. As long as the Weaver still lived she needed to take her rest during the day. But like Bryntelle, she was wide awake, her mind alive with visions from the previous night. So she remained where she was, watching the sun rise, feeling the air grow warmer.

It had been several days since she last spoke with Grinsa. No doubt he was occupied with other matters-for all she knew he and the Weaver had already met in battle. She shuddered at the thought. Her magic ran no deeper than that of most other Qirsi, but she felt that if Grinsa had died, she’d have sensed it somehow. This was what she chose to believe, what she would continue to believe until she heard tidings to the contrary.

She thought it likely that he knew how difficult it was for her to have him in her mind, to feel his caresses and kisses in that way. He was brilliant and he knew her better than did any other man she had ever known. He couldn’t have helped but notice how, in the aftermath of the Weaver’s last assault, she shied from his touch. Cresenne was desperate to believe that all this would change when they were truly together and he could hold her in his powerful arms. The Weaver had violated her mind far more than her body. Perhaps when Grinsa could touch her without having to enter her dreams she would rediscover her passion for him. But until then, until she knew for certain that the Weaver was dead, she preferred that Grinsa didn’t disturb her sleep, though this meant having no word from him at all.

At last, as the sun began to grow hot against her face, and the night guards, weary and bored, were replaced by rested men, Cresenne carried Bryntelle to the nearest of the tower stairways and descended to the lower corridor, intending to eat a small breakfast and then return to their quarters.

Before she reached the kitchen, however, she saw a familiar form walking toward her, a warm smile on his round face.

“Cresenne ja Terba,” Trin said, opening his arms in greeting. “I thought it was you last night, though I thought I’d inquire of the soldiers before I approached you.”

She smiled in spite of herself and allowed him to embrace her.

“And who is this lovely young lady?”

“Her name is Bryntelle.”

Trin regarded her for a moment, his yellow eyes dancing. “Bryntelle ja…?”

Cresenne had to laugh. How could anyone be so transparent? “Bryntelle ja Grinsa,” she said.

The fat man grinned. “Ah! I thought so. I always knew that the two of you were destined for one another. I believe I told you so at the time.”

“Yes, you did, much to Grinsa’s embarrassment.”

“The boy needed a push, that’s all.” He looked at the baby again. “She’s quite beautiful. Not that I’m surprised, mind you.”

“Thank you.”

“Where were you off to?” he asked. “I’ll walk with you.”

“Actually, we were on our way to the kitchen.”

“Better still!” he said brightly. “I’ve already eaten, but I’ve never been one to refuse a meal.” He patted his ample belly. “Particularly a free one.”

Again she laughed. Trin was just as she remembered, and though she had dreaded this encounter, she already found herself grateful for his companionship.

They walked to the kitchen and then sat eating a small breakfast. All the while, Trin regaled her with tales of the Revel, describing for her the public humiliations and private indiscretions of seemingly every Qirsi and Eandi in the festival. Some of the names she recognized from her days as a gleaner, others she didn’t, but she had to admit that she found all of it quite entertaining. Bryntelle appeared to as well, laughing every time Cresenne did, and smiling at this strange bald man who told such clever stories. It occurred to Cresenne that the child had never heard her mother laugh so often or so loudly. That, as much as anything, may have been what the babe found so amusing.

At last, Trin ran out of tales, or at least chose to make it seem so. He stared at her, his smile slowly fading, a kindly look in his eyes.

“So tell me, cousin, how is it you’ve come to live in Audun’s Castle?”

It was a polite question, but likely an unnecessary one. A man with Trin’s penchant for gathering information about others could hardly have spent so much time in the City of Kings without hearing talk of the Qirsi traitor living under Kearney’s protection.

“I think you know.”

He tipped his head, conceding the point. “Word travels the streets. But what’s Grinsa’s connection with all of this? The last I saw of him, he was searching for you. He accused me of aiding the conspiracy, and even struck me.”

Her eyes widened. “He didn’t! When was this?”

“Long ago, at Kearney’s investiture. I forgave him, of course. Had I been so in love with you, and so desperate to find you, I might have done the same. Still, for a man such as myself, who makes a point of knowing as much as possible about the affairs of others, it was rather confusing.”

“I can imagine.” She looked at Bryntelle, smoothing the wisps of white hair that covered her head. “There’s so much to explain, Trin, much of it too painful or too humiliating to tell. It’s enough to say that our love affair began as a seduction and deception.”

“You were acting on the conspiracy’s behalf.”

“Yes.”

“And that’s why you fled.”

She nodded.

“Where did Grinsa find you?”

Cresenne smiled. “I found him, just before Bryntelle was born.”

“I see. And how is it that our friend, the Revel gleaner, has become guardian to a disgraced lord and an advisor to kings?”

Once more, she shifted her gaze to the child. “He’s a wise man, Trin. And he’s somewhat more than he first appears.”

“That tells me nothing.”

“Still, it’s all I can say. I’m sorry.”

He laid a meaty hand over hers. “No need for apologies, my dear. I offer none for my prying-you should give none for telling me that it’s none of my concern.” He grinned, for just a moment, then grew serious again. “Tell me, though, what does the future hold for you?”

Cresenne shrugged, her stomach balling itself into a fist. “Who can say? If the W-” She looked up to find Trin eyeing her intently. “If the conspiracy wins this war, I’m probably a corpse. If it can be defeated…” She made a small gesture with her hands, unsure of what to say. “I suppose this is my future.”

“Do they treat you well, these Eandi who call you traitor behind your back?”

“How do you-?”

“I told you: word travels. Do they?”

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