This was the last thing Dusaan had expected.

“So you think I might have sent the assassin.”

Her eyes flicked away. “I wondered,” she said, showing more courage than he knew she possessed.

Usually he would have done nothing to dispel her doubts. Such uncertainty and fear could be more effective than gold in keeping his servants loyal But under these circumstances he didn’t want to risk driving Yaella away from the movement.

“I didn’t,” he told her. “You have my word.”

She glanced at him, her gaze dropping again almost immediately. But she nodded and murmured, “Yes, Weaver.”

“You don’t believe me.”

She was wise enough not to deny it. “Forgive me, Weaver Its been a difficult day. I-I don’t know my own mind.”

He wanted to be generous with her but he could only tolerate so much “I understand, of course. It must have been terrible for you, finding him like that. But,” he went on, his voice hardening just a bit, “I expect that by the next time we speak, you’ll have abandoned your mistrust. There’s still a great deal to be done, and I must have complete faith in all who serve me I’d hate to lose someone else so soon after Shunk’s death.”

The woman swallowed “Of course, Weaver. Thank you.”

Dusaan could tell that she wanted their conversation to end, but he kept her there as he pondered all that she had told him.

“Shunk indicated to me several turns ago that he suspected Grinsa might be a Weaver,” he said at last. “Did something happen in Solkara to convince him further?”

“Grinsa escaped the city by shattering the swords of several Solkaran soldiers and shrouding himself in a mist. Yet, when Shunk first met him in Kentigern, he claimed to possess only gleaning magic.”

Dusaan nodded. It didn’t prove the man was a Weaver, but it certainly gave him cause to wonder.

“You were in Solkara at the time too. Did you see this man when Shunk did?”

“No, Weaver I was still in my bed, recovering from the poisoning.”

“Ah, yes. Forgive me, I’d forgotten. I take it you’re well now?”

“I’ve healed, yes.”

“Good,” he said, nodding again. The Weaver had the impression that she was keeping something from him, though her mind seemed open. There was more at work here than mere grief. He would have liked to question her further, but he could feel himself tiring, and he still had more to do tonight, particularly now that Shunk was dead. “I’ll leave you,” he finally told her “Rest well, and be ready to serve me the next time we speak.”

“Yes, Weaver.”

He released her mind and opened his eyes once more to his chamber in the Imperial Palace. He stood and poured himself a cup of water, which he promptly drained. He poured a second, sipped it, and returned to his chair.

With the traitor gone, there remained only one person who could help him find the gleaner. He was reluctant to turn to her, not only because she loved the man and carried his child, but also because she would be giving birth within this next turn, and any journey she undertook right now would be most difficult for her. But what choice did Dusaan have? If Grinsa was indeed a Weaver, and if he knew enough to send an assassin for Shunk, he threatened the entire movement Eventually he might even become a danger to Dusaan himself. He had to be found and killed.

The Weaver explained much of this to Cresenne upon entering her dream. Even as he spoke, however, he could not keep his eyes from straying to her magnificent belly. He could hardly believe that one as lithe as she had been nine turns ago could have been transformed so completely. He could imagine how she must have looked beneath the simple shift she wore, her body as white and smooth and round as Panya on the Night of Two Moons. Yet her face remained just as he remembered it from the first time he walked in her sleep. A bit fuller perhaps, softer in the cheeks, but radiant nevertheless.

“You understand, I have to send you north,” he told her, barely trusting himself to speak.

“Yes, Weaver.”

Just a short while ago he had thought to claim Jastanne as his queen. He had touched her, wanting to do so much more. But now, staring at Cresenne, he couldn’t even summon an image of the other woman’s face.

“You’re eager to find him,” he said, unable to mask the rage in his voice.

Cresenne blanched. “No, Weaver. I just-”

Before he knew what he had done, she recoiled as if from a blow. An instant later a red imprint of his hand began to darken her cheek. He hadn’t moved.

“You should know better than to lie to me. Now answer. Are you eager to see him?”

She dropped her gaze, nodding.

“You love him.”

“I don’t know.”

He would have liked to slap her again, but he sensed that this time she wasn’t lying. “Can you continue to serve me?”

Dusaan knew what she would say. All answers but one would invite death. Her fate would be decided not by what she said, but rather how she said it. Even as he waited for her to speak, though, he wasn’t certain what he would do if he heard another lie. He had no desire to kill her; he wasn’t even certain that he could.

“I’m devoted to this movement,” she said. “I want my child to grow up in the world you have envisioned, Weaver.”

A clever response, though not truly an answer to his question. He considered pressing her on the matter, but thought it best not to. He had just hurt her, and he didn’t need his powers to see that she hated him for it. There seemed no sense in forcing her to lie, and thus forcing himself to kill her.

“Very well. You’ll find a way north?”

“With the new turn, there should be peddlers coming to Kett. I’m certain one of them will agree to take me, provided I offer enough gold. I’ll have to go up onto the steppe-crossing the Tarbin during the snows would be difficult. But Grinsa will do the same. He can’t risk the Tarbin so long as the Curgh boy is with him.”

Dusaan felt his rage returning. She had given this a good deal of thought. He wondered briefly if she had considered making the journey even without his approval. “Do you feel well enough to go?” he asked, keeping the rest to himself.

She appeared to falter for just a moment, a thin smile flitting across her face. “Yes.”

“You were going to say something else.”

“It was nothing.”

“You wondered if it would make any difference if you told me you didn’t.”

Cresenne winced and nodded, seeming to brace herself for another blow.

The Weaver merely shook his head. “Probably not. You wish to serve the movement, to ensure your child a place in a better world. This is the cost you must bear for that glorious future. Believe me when I tell you that it’s far less than others have paid in the past turn.”

“Yes, Weaver.”

“Can you kill this man if you have to?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Twice now, I’ve sent assassins for him. But killing him myself…” She shrugged, looking young and frightened, although whether of Dusaan, or of having to kill Grinsa, the Weaver couldn’t say for certain.

“Perhaps it will be enough if you can tell me where he is. If he is a Weaver, you’ll have no more chance against him than the assassins you’ve sent. I may be the only one who can defeat him.”

“I’ll do my best to find him, Weaver. You have my word.”

“I have far more than that. I have access to your dreams. No matter where in the Forelands you go, I can reach you. Never forget that, Cresenne. This man may love you as much as you love him. He may even possess the same abilities I do. But if I choose to kill you, he’ll be powerless to stop me.”

One of her hands had wandered to her belly, as if she sought to guard her baby from his threats. Her gaze remained steady, however. “I understand, Weaver.”

“I’m glad. I’ve foreseen great things for you and your child. I’d hate for anything to keep the two of you from your true fates.”