night she killed Brall and his men, Fetnalla marveled at her own power, at the mastery with which she wielded her magic. The Weaver had given her this, simply by speaking to her of the wonders their people could accomplish working together, by forcing her to become more than she had been.
And gazing at her love as she stared at the broken weapon in her hand, Fetnalla realized that Evanthya could never truly understand. She still equated loyalty with fealty to the Eandi courts. She still measured strength by counting Eandi warriors and gauging the quality of their weapons. She could no more contemplate joining the movement than she could hacking off her own arm. Yet, standing on the plain, feeling the sun and wind on her face, feeling more alive than she ever had, Fetnalla also understood that the only way to save Evanthya’s life was to force the woman to become more than she was, just as the Weaver had done for her. Probably it wouldn’t work. Probably Fetnalla would have to kill her. But she owed it to herself and to Evanthya to try.
“You knew that I was a shaper,” she said, speaking softly, as to a frightened child.
Evanthya nodded, still looking at the hilt of her sword. A single tear rolled down her cheek, but she made no effort to wipe it away. “That’s how you killed Brall.”
“Evanthya-”
Her eyes snapped up, meeting Fetnalla’s once more, silencing her. “When did you join them?” she demanded. “How long have you been a traitor?”
Fetnalla’s anger flared, and she struggled to control it. She had to make Evanthya see the world as she saw it, which meant, at least for the moment, accepting what a limited notion she had of the Weaver’s cause.
“I’m not a traitor,” she said, pleased by how calm she sounded.
“Don’t lie to me!”
“I’m not lying. I’m with the movement. I killed Brall and his men. But that doesn’t make me a traitor.”
“What kind of madness is that? The movement?”
“Yes. That’s what we call it. We’re led by a Weaver, Evanthya. He wants to unite all the realms of the Forelands and rule them as king. Think about that. A Qirsi king. Qirsi nobles. How long have our people been forced to serve the Eandi, to put up with their foolish wars and their limited minds? Isn’t it time we claimed the land as our own?”
“Would you listen to yourself? Less than a year ago you gave me all the gold you possessed in this world so that I could hire an assassin and strike at the conspiracy. You knew-both of us knew-that this movement, or whatever you want to call it, was a threat to all that we cared about.”
“We were wrong. I was wrong.”
“No, you weren’t! These renegades have been responsible for murders in every realm. They killed Chago and the king-”
“The king was a brute and a despot, and Chago was no better.”
“So they deserved to die? Did Brall?”
“Yes. You know how he treated me for the past half year.”
Evanthya gave a high, desperate laugh and threw her arms wide. “He treated you that way because he thought you had betrayed him. And I hated him, too, because I thought that he was mistaken, that he was treating you unfairly. But now…” She shook her head.
“Now you think he was justified.”
“You betrayed me, as well. You lied to me, and you nearly killed me.”
“I did not!”
“You murdered Brall to keep Orvinti’s army from reaching Dantrielle. You wanted the castle to fall-or rather, your Weaver wanted it. And if it had, I would have been executed, along with my duke and his family. You know that’s true.”
Fetnalla did know it, and she had known it at the time. “I assumed you’d get away,” she muttered, but she had little hope that her love would believe her.
“You never answered me. How long?”
She didn’t have to answer, of course, and yet she felt compelled to do so. “Not long,” she said, her voice low. “Four or five turns. The Weaver first came to me shortly before you and Tebeo arrived in Orvinti to speak of opposing the regent.”
“That makes sense. You acted so strangely when we were together. Just as you did later, when you and Brall came to Dantrielle.” She looked at her sharply. “You had that dream. You were dreaming of him, weren’t you?”
“That’s how he communicates with us. He walks in our dreams.”
“I remember that you were terrified of him. You cried out in your sleep. This is the man you want to lead the Forelands?”
“It’s not terror; it’s awe. Do you know what it’s like to be in the presence of one who is so powerful, to feel that power touching your own mind? All my life I’ve thought that I was fortunate to be the servant of an Eandi lord. But he’s shown me that I can be so much more than that. He’s promised me that I will be.”
“And he’s already making good on the promise. Only a short time ago you were just first minister of a great house. Now you’re a murderer and a fugitive. He must be very great indeed.”
“Stop it!”
“Do you love him?”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“I love him as I would a king, Evanthya. A true king. Or maybe even a god.”
Evanthya’s mouth twisted in disgust. “Please!”
“I still love you. That’s why I want you to join me and be part of this new kingdom the Weaver is making.”
“I can’t believe what you’re saying! Think of what this man has done, of what others have done in his name! Look what he’s made you do! This kingdom you’re helping him make will be built on a foundation of lies and betrayals and murders!”
“I told you to stop!” She leveled a finger at Evanthya’s heart, her hands trembling with rage. “I will not allow you to speak that way of the Weaver and his movement!”
“You won’t allow me?”
Once more Fetnalla fought to control her ire. She had known that Evanthya would say such things. It had to be difficult for those Qirsi who had spent their lives in the service of the Eandi, and who had yet to learn of the Weaver’s cause. He called into question all in which they believed and on which they had based their lives.
“You make him sound evil,” she said. “And he’s not. We’re living in a land ruled by despots. You can’t think that it would be easy to win our freedom.”
“Our freedom? We’re not slaves, Fetnalla!”
“We might as well be. But,” she went on, cutting off Evanthya before she could reply, “it’s not too late to change all that. He wants you to join us. He wants you to be part of his movement and the new world he’s creating.”
The color drained from her love’s face. “He knows of me?”
“Of course.”
“You told him about us?”
“He walks in my dreams, Evanthya. He can read my thoughts.” She smiled. “And many of my thoughts are of you.”
“Does he know that we hired the assassin to kill Shurik?”
“Well, yes.” She lied. She had yet to muster the courage to tell him this, and somehow he had yet to read it in her thoughts. “But he’s forgiven us for that.”
“He’s forgiven you.”
“He wants to forgive you, too. He wants you to join him.”
“I don’t believe you. He has no reason to forgive me, or to care for me at all. He only has reason to want me dead-indeed, he has several.”
“That’s not true!” Fetnalla spoke the words forcefully, but she couldn’t look her love in the eye as she did.
“You’re lying. I can always tell.” Evanthya looked about, as if noting their surroundings for the first time. “That’s why you’re waiting for me here, isn’t it? He’s ordered you to kill me, just as you did Brall.”
