men. To be honest, I don’t see how they can continue this war.”
“And what of our losses?”
“Not nearly as bad as the empire’s, my liege, but still more than I would have hoped.”
“Damn.”
Before either man could say more, Grinsa joined them, looking grim.
“Your Majesty,” the gleaner said, dropping briefly to one knee. “I’m glad to see you’re unhurt. I feared the worst.”
“Thank you, gleaner.” Kearney narrowed his eyes, as if the full import of the gleaner’s presence there on the battlefield had finally reached him. “Was it magic that made my horse rear?”
“Yes, it was. I tried to stop him, but couldn’t act quickly enough.”
“Who was responsible?”
“One of your healers, Your Majesty. A man named Lenvyd jal Qosten.”
The king frowned, seeming to search his memory. “The name is vaguely familiar. An older man, isn’t he?”
“Yes. He was left behind when you marched from the City of Kings. He followed you here, later, though only after making an attempt on Cresenne’s life.”
“It seems the gods were with me today.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Where is this man now? I want to speak with him.”
Grinsa looked away. “He’s dead.”
“Dead? You killed him?”
The gleaner’s mouth twitched, and he didn’t meet the king’s gaze. “Yes, I did.”
Kearney started to say something, then he glanced at the others standing with them and appeared to think better of it. In the end, he merely said, “We’ll speak of this again, gleaner.”
Grinsa inclined his head slightly. “As you wish, Your Majesty.”
Kearney began to lead his men and the other nobles back toward the camp. Hagan put an arm around Xaver’s shoulder and steered him after the king, his anger seemingly overmastered by his relief, at least for the moment.
“You and I will speak a bit later, as well,” Javan told Tavis, sounding cross, and fixing him with an icy glare.
“Yes, Father.”
The duke turned and walked away, leaving Tavis alone with Grinsa.
“Sounds like we’re both in a bit of trouble,” the young lord said.
“I suppose.”
“Why did you kill that man, Grinsa?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” He started away, but Tavis grabbed his arm, forcing him to stop and face him.
“That’s too bad. I want an answer.”
Grinsa shrugged off his hand, just as Tavis would have had their roles been reversed. “You want…” the gleaner repeated, shaking his head. “What business is this of yours?”
“I’m your friend, Grinsa. It’s as much my business as everything else that’s happened in the past year. And if that’s not enough, it’s my business because I’m depending on you to defeat the Weaver. So is everyone else on this plain. I need to know if you’re able to do that, or if your feelings for Cresenne are going to get in the way.”
“How dare you!” The gleaner spun away again.
“You killed him for vengeance, didn’t you?” Tavis called after him. “You once accused me of pursuing Cadel just to get revenge, but you just did the same thing. Isn’t that so?”
The gleaner halted, his hands balled into fists. After a moment, he turned, and stalked back to where Tavis still stood, looking so angry that for a moment the boy thought Grinsa was going to hit him.
“This wasn’t the same,” he said. “The man was Qirsi. He had language of beasts. He was still a threat to the king and everyone else with a mount.”
“Cadel was still an assassin. Wasn’t he a threat?”
“The Weaver could have contacted this man. He could have learned a great deal from him.”
“How much more does the Weaver need to know, Grinsa? He knows where we are, how many men we have.”
Grinsa looked off to the side, his lips pressed thin. It was, Tavis realized, the first time he had ever seen the gleaner truly ashamed of something he had done.
“I don’t blame you for doing it,” the young lord said, as gently as he could. “I would have done the same thing.”
Grinsa’s eyes flicked in his direction for just a second.
“Of course, that might only make you feel worse.”
The gleaner smiled, shaking his head again. After a moment he began to laugh quietly. “Well, it doesn’t make me feel any better.”
Tavis laughed in turn.
“The truth is, I’m not sure why I killed him,” Grinsa admitted, turning serious once more. “I did it without thinking. He told me that he had poisoned her, and I killed him. It wasn’t out of vengeance. It was just rage.”
The young lord nodded. “I understand. But it’s one thing to act on your rage with a healer. It’s quite another to do it with the Weaver.”
“I don’t need you telling me that. Truly, Tavis, I don’t.”
Tavis shrugged. “Then I won’t speak of it again.”
They returned to the camp, where they found the king speaking with Sanbira’s queen and the rest of the nobles. A few of the Qirsi were there as well, but not many.
“Gleaner,” Kearney called as they approached. “Have you seen the archminister?”
Grinsa faltered in midstride. “Demons and fire! Keziah!”
“What is it?” Tavis asked.
“I’ve no time to explain. We have to find them!”
“Them?”
“The archministers.”
* * *
Her hand still throbbed, but Keziah’s tears had stopped. She refused to grieve any more. Either Kearney had died, or he hadn’t. Either Grinsa would find a way to overcome the betrayals of the Qirsi around her, or he wouldn’t. She couldn’t help her beloved king, nor could she fight her brother’s battles for him. All she could do was fight for herself, and she had every intention of doing that.
Abeni was still with her, as was the first minister of Macharzo, whose name, it seemed, was Craeffe. A third traitor, a man who served as first minister of Norinde, was nearby, apparently watching for any sign that others were headed this way, though Keziah couldn’t see him. They were in a tight circle of hulking boulders, sheltered from the wind and the failing sunlight, and hidden from view.
“They’re going to be missing her,” Craeffe was saying now, her thin face looking grey in the shadows. “We should kill her and be done with it.”
Abeni looked bored. “We gain nothing by killing her. If she turns up dead, suspicion will fall on us and we’ll have gained nothing. Alive, she’s a valuable tool, and a way of controlling Grinsa.”
“She betrayed the Weaver. Don’t you think he’d want her dead?”
“Actually, I expect he’d want to kill her himself.” She looked at Keziah. “Don’t you agree, Archminister?”
“Craeffe is right,” Keziah said, through clenched teeth. “You should kill me and be done with it. I’ll never help you, and-”
The rest of the thought was lost in a paroxysm of agony as yet another bone in her hand shattered. That made four now. Only her thumb remained whole. And, of course, the other hand. Better just to die than endure this.
“Don’t be so certain that you won’t help us,” Abeni said. “Torture does strange things to people.”
“We can’t keep her hidden forever.”
