on this plain. He’ll be suspicious of this, of me, especially since he ordered me to kill the king, and the king still lives.”
“You expect him to enter your dreams tonight?”
“We expect him and his army to reach us tomorrow. I’d be very surprised if he didn’t come to me before morning.”
“Which is why you shouldn’t sleep at all tonight,” Grinsa said. “By this time tomorrow, all of this will be over, for good or bad. Why risk dreaming of him at all?”
Fotir had to admit that the gleaner made a good point.
“You agree with him,” Keziah said, eyeing the minister, a pained expression on her face.
“I don’t know yet what you propose, Archminister. I’ll make no judgments until I do.”
She looked relieved. “Thank you. I think we should let him enter my dreams, and I think Grinsa should be there as well.”
“Is that possible?” Fotir asked, looking from Keziah to the gleaner.
“She wants me to use her mind to strike at him, to make her dreams into a battlefield.”
“He asked if it was possible, Grinsa, and you know that it is. We both do.”
Fotir sensed that there was far more at work here than there appeared, but he didn’t presume to ask questions. What Keziah suggested struck him as extraordinarily dangerous, but also cunning. If Grinsa managed to hurt the Weaver in this way, or-dare he think it? — kill the man, it might save thousands of lives.
“Can you fight him as she says?” Fotir asked.
Grinsa nodded reluctantly. “I believe it’s possible, but only at terrible risk to her.”
Fotir could tell from the look in the gleaner’s eyes and the tone of his voice that there was more at work here than just concern for his sister. Grinsa feared the Weaver. He didn’t believe fully in his ability to defeat the man, be it in Keziah’s mind or on the battle plain.
“If it seems the battle isn’t going your way, can you wake her in time?”
“You would actually consider this, First Minister?”
Fotir faced the king. “I share your concern, Your Majesty.”
“We don’t know that he can!”
Keziah placed her healed hand on the gleaner’s arm. “Let him finish, Grinsa.”
“If he can be,” Fotir went on, “and this war can be prevented, it might be worth the risk.”
“And what if I fail? What if I’m not strong enough to defeat him or even to protect her?”
“If you can’t defeat him,” Keziah said, drawing Grinsa’s gaze once more, “he’s going to kill me anyway. Maybe not tonight, but soon.” Grinsa looked at her with such tenderness that the archminister actually smiled. “You can’t protect me forever, Grinsa.” She glanced at Kearney, the expression in her eyes almost seeming to ask the king’s permission. “None of you can.”
“So you mean to go through with it.”
Before any of them could speak, a voice called to the king.
“What now?” Kearney muttered.
A moment later the thane of Shanstead joined them in the firelight, the young duchess of Curlinte beside him. “Pardon me for interrupting, Your Majesty.”
“This really isn’t a good time, Lord Shanstead. Can it wait until later?”
“Actually, Your Majesty, I wished to see how the archminister is faring, and to have a word with her.”
The king bristled. “To what end?”
“It’s all right, Your Majesty,” Keziah said. Looking past him, she went on, “I’m feeling much better, Lord Shanstead. You’re kind to ask.”
“Not at all, Archminister.” He hesitated. “I wanted … well, I felt that I owed you an apology. And you, too, gleaner. It seems I misjudged you both.”
Kearney glanced at his archminister, and she at him. “That can’t have been easy for you to say, Lord Shanstead.”
“No, Your Majesty.”
“It takes an honorable man to admit his errors. Your father would be very proud.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.”
“How fares your queen, Lady Curlinte?”
“Abeni’s betrayal was a blow, Your Majesty, as was her death. But Her Highness is known as the Lioness of the Hills for good reason. She’ll be ready to do battle come morning.”
“I’ve no doubt.”
There was a brief, awkward silence. Then Marston bowed, forcing a smile. “Well, I’ll let you return to your conversation. Forgive the interruption.”
“Not at all, Lord Shanstead,” the king said. “We’ll speak again later.”
The thane nodded, and he and the duchess walked away.
Kearney stared after them. “It seems you’ve won them over.”
Keziah smiled grimly. “And all it took was two broken hands and quite nearly my death.”
“Eandi suspicions won’t vanish overnight, Archminister.”
“No, Your Majesty. Indeed, I expect they’ll outlive us all, even should we defeat the renegades.”
“We can deal with that later,” Grinsa said. “Right now, all that matters is the Weaver.”
Keziah could still see Shanstead and the duchess making their way through the camp. “I will say this: they make a fine couple.”
“A couple?” Kearney said, frowning. “Are you certain?”
Keziah turned to Fotir. “Don’t you think so?”
The minister shrugged. “I can’t say that I noticed.”
She rolled her eyes. “How can men who see so much on the battlefield be so blind when it comes to matters of the heart?” She cast a look at her brother. “I suppose you didn’t notice either.”
“I don’t think I want to answer.”
Kearney and Fotir laughed. Keziah merely arched an eyebrow.
“When would you do this?” the king asked at length, growing somber once more. “When would you confront the Weaver? Tonight, obviously. But when?”
“It will be a few hours still before he tries to reach for me,” Keziah said. “Perhaps when Panya rises.”
Grinsa shook his head. “I’ve lost track of the days. I don’t even know how deep into the waning we are or when the moons will be rising.”
“We’ve five days left until Pitch Night,” Fotir told him.
“Then, yes. We should wait for Panya’s rise.”
“Very well,” Kearney said heavily.
“We have your permission, Your Majesty?” Keziah asked.
“Would it matter if you didn’t?”
“Of course it would. You’re my king. If you command me not to do this, I won’t.”
“As your friend, I’d gladly give such a command. But as your king, I know that I can’t.” He paused, still looking at her, but then turned to Grinsa and said quietly, “Guard her well, gleaner.”
“You know I will, Your Majesty.”
Kearney nodded to Fotir, then strode away, as if suddenly eager to be as far as possible from the three Qirsi.
“He’s frightened for you,” Grinsa said.
Keziah shrugged. “He’s an Eandi king who’s being forced to rely on magic that he doesn’t fully understand. That’s what frightens him.”
“It’s more than that, and you know it.”
Keziah eyed Fotir briefly, appearing uncomfortable. “I suppose,” was all she said.
“I should leave you,” Grinsa said. “Rest. Just don’t sleep.”
She grinned. “I won’t. Thank you for healing me, Grinsa.”
He started away. “Of course.”
“Wait, gleaner,” Fotir called, stopping him. “I’ll walk with you. Will you be all right alone?” he asked the
