“To allies,” she said, raising her cup.

He hesitated, then raised his goblet as well.

“Qerle said you expect your court to be spared when the movement takes the Forelands. Is that right?”

“It seems reasonable, doesn’t it? Now that we’re allies.”

The woman gave a thin smile. “That depends on what you bring to the alliance. You’ve offered only gold, and as Qerle already told you, that’s one thing we don’t need.”

“I can offer arms as well.”

She drank her entire cup of wine, then placed the goblet on her palm and held it before her. An instant later it shattered, shards of clay scattering on the floor like frightened vermin.

“What use would we have for your arms?”

The duke shuddered. Of course they would send him a shaper. “Then what is it you want of me?”

“Nothing that you haven’t contemplated already, Lord Kentigern. It’s known throughout the land that you hate your king, and that you’ve convinced other dukes to join you in opposing him. We ask only that you continue to foment rebellion.”

Aindreas began to feel vaguely uneasy, just as he had the night before when Qerle spoke of his opposition to the king. He picked up his goblet, then returned it to the table without taking a sip. “We can’t prevail in a civil war. Even with the support of the other houses, my army isn’t strong enough to defeat Kearney and his allies.”

“Leave that to us,” she said. “Those I serve want civil war in Eibithar. Once that war begins, we’ll do everything in our power to keep Kearney from defeating you.”

Aindreas gripped the edge of the table, as if to steady himself. “But how do I convince the others to start a hopeless war?” he asked dully, his stomach turning to stone.

“I’ll leave that to you.” She smiled and stood, brushing slivers of clay from her cloak and dress. “We’re allies, my lord. We have to learn to trust each other.” She sketched a small bow and turned toward the door. “From now on we’ll communicate solely through messages,” she said over her shoulder. “Address them to my ship and put your seal on the scroll. I’ll know they’re for me.”

She slipped out of the room, closing the door gently behind her.

Aindreas reached for his wine once more, then thought better of it and sat back in his chair, rubbing his eyes with an unsteady hand.

He had no qualms about opposing Kearney or even about waging civil war so long as he had reason to hope that he might prevail. Until he met Jastanne, he had been eager to do whatever was necessary to remove Glyndwr from the Oaken Throne.

Suddenly, though, his certainty had vanished.

Those I serve want civil war in Eibithar. The words repeated themselves in his head like the insipid lyric of a child’s song, relentless and unwelcome.

He shouldn’t have been surprised. Ean knew he shouldn’t have been. For he had heard much the same thing said before, by Javan and by Kearney and by the strange Qirsi man who had saved Tavis of Curgh from Kentigern’s dungeon. Before tonight, he had dismissed such claims as the desperate excuses of men who had embraced a killer and turned their backs on truth and honor. But it was another matter entirely to hear the words spoken by a leader of the conspiracy.

From the beginning, the duke had every reason to believe that Tavis had killed his Brienne. The dagger, the blood, the locked door. He had never thought to question his own assumptions. Certainly he had never considered asking Brienne about the murder. More than once he had considered going to. the Sanctuary of the Deceiver in Kentigern City on Pitch Night so that he could see her. Ean knew how much he wanted to go, and also how much he feared the encounter. He never made the journey. It was too soon, he told himself each turn. I’m not ready to face her. Even on the Night of Two Moons in Bian’s Turn, when his daughter’s wraith came to him, Aindreas had been unable to do more than weep at the sight of her. But even had he managed to speak with her, he wouldn’t have asked her about that terrible night so many turns ago. Tavis had killed her. He knew this.

Or at least he thought he did. Are you certain? she had asked him last night. It wasn’t the real Brienne. He knew that of course. His mind wasn’t so far gone. But the doubts voiced by this apparition that haunted him echoed his own, particularly now, with what the Qirsi woman had told him.

Those I serve want civil war in Eibithar.

He was bound to the Qirsi now, held fast by chains he had forged himself. He had thought to use them, to harness the power of their conspiracy to rid Eibithar of the demons in Audun’s Castle. Now it seemed he was surrounded by demons, and he could find nothing to distinguish one from another.

Chapter Twenty-nine

Great Forest of Aneira

With all that had happened in Aneira over the past few turns, Grinsa should have expected that a thick mist and strong wind would not be enough to keep the soldiers of Solkara from pursuing them. “That man is an Eibitharian lord, come to kill our queen!” Shurik had said, pointing an accusing finger at Tavis and calling for the royal guard. At any time, such a claim would have drawn the attention of soldiers and city folk alike, but with the king dead and Grigor’s hanging still fresh in the minds of every man and woman in the realm, Shunk’s words seemed to awaken all of the Solkaran countryside.

Just an hour after their escape through the south gate of Solkara City, Grinsa and the boy crouched in the shadows of the Great Forest and watched as guards poured from the castle, fanning out in every direction.

“Is that all for us?” Tavis whispered, face grim and eyes wide.

“I’m afraid so. By now Shurik has probably told them who it was he saw. Tavis of Curgh, who murdered Lady Brienne and came to Solkara to do the same to the new queen. He may even have told them that I’m a Weaver.”

“They’ll kill us both.”

The gleaner nodded. “If we give them the chance, yes, I expect they will.”

A few moments later, they were on their way again, running through the wood like hunted elk. Grinsa wanted desperately to go north toward Mertesse, where he suspected Shurik would be headed. But with the soldiers following, he didn’t dare give away their true intentions so soon.

Instead, he led Tavis to the south and east, toward the Rassor River and the shores of the Scabbard, hoping their pursuers would believe they had a ship awaiting them in one of the inlet’s many hidden coves.

For several days they continued in this direction, sleeping in what natural shelter they could find in the forest, and eating Osya’s root and what remained of the harvest berries growing along the forest road. They built no fires, and they wasted no time hunting for more substantial fare. Most of the guards sent after them were on foot, and though Grinsa sensed that they were still following, he and Tavis saw no sign of them. On two occasions, however, smaller parties of mounted soldiers nearly found them. Once, two days out from Solkara, they managed to avoid the soldiers by concealing themselves in a dense and uncomfortable copse of holly until the men had passed. The second time, caught in a portion of the wood that was relatively open, Grinsa had no choice but to raise a mist. He coaxed strands of fog from the earth as slowly as he dared, hoping the soldiers would take it for a natural mist rather than an act of magic, but judging from the way the men drew their swords, peering through the fine grey cloud and bare tree limbs, he felt certain that he hadn’t fooled them. After a time, Grinsa summoned his power a second time, snapping a large limb from a nearby oak so that it crashed loudly to the ground. To their credit, the horsemen didn’t flee, though several of their mounts reared, whinnying nervously. But they did retreat at last, allowing Tavis and Grinsa to hurry away from this section of the wood.