He knew what was coming before she pulled the dagger away. He would have done the same had he been in her position.
“Damn,” he had time to mutter.
Then he felt an explosion of pain at the back of his skull, and the minister knew no more.
The healers did what they could for her, mending the shattered bones in her leg and body, and easing her pain somewhat. Keziah had been through this before, however, and far too recently. She knew that it would be days before she could move without discomfort.
She also knew that she was fortunate to be alive at all, that had it not been for Aindreas of Kentigern, she too would have been counted among the victims of the Weaver and his war.
“Where can we take you, Archminister?” one of the healers asked, when they had finished ministering to her leg.
Keziah could hear soldiers cheering to the north. It seemed that the Weaver had been defeated. Somehow, incredibly, Grinsa had prevailed. Keziah felt that she was living some marvelous dream; for just an instant she feared waking to find that none of it was true, that the war had yet to be fought, that her survival and Grinsa’s remained uncertain.
“I want to see my-” She felt her face color. “The gleaner. I want to see Grinsa.” She tried to stand. “But I can go to him myself.”
The healer laid a gentle but firm hand on her shoulder. “No,” he said. “You can’t. You’ll be walking on your own soon enough. Tomorrow perhaps, or the day after. But for now, I’ll carry you.”
She started to object, then stopped herself. It hurt just to breathe, much less move. “Very well.”
He lifted her effortlessly, and began walking toward the center of the Eandi lines. Resting in the healer’s arms, Keziah suddenly found herself thinking of Fotir and Kearney and even Tavis of Curgh, wondering if they were alive, hoping desperately that they had survived the battle.
So it was that she was already looking for Curgh’s first minister when he spotted her and called out her name. Fotir ran to her, grinning like a young boy on Bohdan’s Night.
“You’re alive!” he said. “Earlier, when we couldn’t find you, Grinsa and I feared the worst.” He looked at the healer. “Thank you. I can take her.”
The healer glanced at Keziah, grinning slightly, an eyebrow raised.
She smiled in turn. “It’s all right. He’ll see to it that I don’t walk.”
The healer laughed. “Very well.”
Fotir took her from the man.
“Thank you,” Keziah said, as the healer began to turn away.
“Of course, Archminister. Stay off that leg.”
“I will.”
“What happened?” Fotir asked her, when they were alone.
She met his gaze briefly, then looked away, abruptly remembering the awkwardness of the night before. “The Weaver sent a shaper to kill me.”
“What is it with you and shapers?”
“Careful, First Minister. As I remember it, you’re a shaper.”
This time it was Fotir who looked away. “True. Well, in any case, I’m glad you managed to defeat him.”
“Actually, it was a woman, and I was saved by the duke of Kentigern.”
Fotir stared at her, his bright yellow eyes wide. “Kentigern?”
“Yes. He died rescuing me.” She almost said more, but thought better of it. “He wanted nothing more than to redeem his house.”
“Perhaps by saving you he did.”
She feared that redemption wouldn’t come so easily for the people of Kentigern, but she merely nodded and said, “Yes, perhaps.” A moment later, their eyes met again. “Where’s Grinsa?”
“I’ll take you to him.” Fotir began to walk, carrying her past clusters of soldiers, some wounded, others simply smiling, sharing tales of the recent battle. “He was hurt,” the first minister said. “The Weaver broke both of his legs and his shoulder.”
Fear seized her heart. “But he’s alive.”
Fotir smiled reassuringly. “Yes. And he’ll be very happy to see you.”
They reached her brother a few moments later and Fotir lowered her to the ground beside him. Three healers knelt beside him, their hands on his legs and shoulder. Grinsa’s eyes were closed and his face was damp with sweat.
“Grinsa,” she said, shocked to see him looking so.
His eyes flew open. “Kezi!” He gripped her hand so tightly that it hurt. “I thought I’d lost you. Are you all right?”
“Not too bad. Better than you, it would seem.”
He gave a small frown. “I’m fine. I was just helping the healers.”
“Please talk to him, Archminister,” said one of the healers, an older woman. “He’s supposed to be resting.”
“The sooner they’re done with me, the sooner they can help someone else.”
The healer continued to look at her, pleading with her pale eyes.
“I think it’s best that I stay out of this.” She glanced up at Fotir. “Don’t you agree?”
But the minister was staring northward, his expression grim. “Excuse me,” he said after a moment, and walked off without waiting for her reply.
Keziah looked at her brother, who merely shrugged.
“Tell me what happened,” she said after a brief silence.
Grinsa began to describe for her his battle with the Weaver, and for a long time she forgot about Fotir and Aindreas and the woman who had nearly killed her, so rapt was she held by Grinsa’s tale.
“Do you know who she is?” she asked when at last he had finished. “This woman who saved us?”
He shook his head. “No. But the Weaver spoke to her, so others may know what she did. I fear for her.”
Keziah nodded.
“What about you?”
She told her story in turn, once again saying nothing about all that had passed between Aindreas and the Qirsi woman. Grinsa, however, seemed to sense that she had left something out.
“How fortunate for you that the duke happened upon you when he did.”
Her gaze flicked toward the healers. “Yes.”
Grinsa was watching her, and he nodded, seeming to understand her reticence.
“Do you know what happened to Tavis?” Keziah asked.
His brow furrowed. “No. I saw him charge the Qirsi lines, but I lost track of him in all that happened after.”
“I’m sure he’s all right,” Keziah said, knowing how empty the words would sound, but feeling that she should say something. “It seems you were right about him. He did have a role to play in all this.”
Before Grinsa could answer, the healers sat back on their heels, all of them looking worn.
“That’s all we can do for you now, gleaner,” the woman told him. “The rest will take some time. The bones in your leg have knitted well-you should be able to walk normally in just a few days.” She hesitated. “Your shoulder … It had been broken before…”
Grinsa sat up slowly and smiled, though Keziah could see that it was forced. Her chest ached for him.
“It’s not your fault,” he said. “How bad is it?”
“You’ll be able to move the arm, but not as you once did. And it will never look quite right.”
He nodded, smiled again. “It could have been much worse. Thank you-all of you-for what you did.”
They bowed to him, then moved off.
“I’m so sorry, Grinsa.”
“It’s nothing,” he said. He looked at her, his eyes meeting hers. “Truly, Kezi. With all that could have happened, this is a trifle.”
“Of course,” she said. But there were tears on her face.
