“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
