“Do we have someone speaking with Tobbar’s sons?” the king asked, looking first at Gershon, and then at the ministers, his eyes finally coming to rest on Keziah.

“We send messages to Tobbar regularly, Your Majesty,” the archminister said. “We rely on the duke to see to his sons.”

Kearney frowned. “But the duke is ill. From all I’ve heard, he may be dying. Wouldn’t we be foolish to ignore the sons until after the father is dead?”

“It would be… inappropriate for us to send messages directly to either the thane of Shanstead or his brother, Your Majesty,” Wenda said. “It might imply that we distrust the duke. At the very least it would indicate that we no longer consider him the leader of the House of Thorald.”

Kearney threw up his hands. “Then don’t allow the message to come directly from the throne. Use one of our allies. Use Lathrop.”

“The duke of Tremain, Your Majesty?”

“Yes. Ask him to contact Marston. He shouldn’t mention that he’s acting at my behest, but we need him to get some sense of where the thane and his brother stand.”

“Tobbar will see through that immediately,” Gershon said.

“No doubt,” the king agreed. “But he’ll also understand why we’re doing it. We don’t need Thorald and his sons as allies in this. As long as Thorald refuses to take sides, Aindreas can’t challenge us. But if the brothers Shanstead sympathize with Kentigern and Galdasten, we need to know, so that we can make plans to defend ourselves and the houses standing with us.”

Wenda nodded. “That seems a wise course, Your Majesty.”

“Will you see to it, Archminister?” Kearney asked, facing Keziah once more. “I’d like the message dispatched before nightfall.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

“Very good,” the king said. He glanced around the chamber. “Is there anything else?”

No one spoke, and after a moment Kearney gave a single nod. “Then we’ll meet again in the morning.”

The ministers stood and started to leave, as did Gershon.

“Archminister,” the king called as Keziah reached the door. “A word? ”

She cast an uneasy look at the others, all of whom were staring at her. “Of course, Your Majesty,” she said, returning to her chair.

“You understand what I want in this message?” the king asked when he and Keziah were alone.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” she said, knowing this couldn’t be the only reason he had called her back.

Kearney opened his mouth as if to say something, then shook his head and turned away, looking hurt and just a bit angry.

He had told her several times that he didn’t like her calling him “Your Majesty.”

“It makes me feel that I’ve lost you,” he told her on one occasion. “When we’re with others, I understand that you have to. But when we’re alone…”

When we’re alone, she wanted to say, it’s the only way I can remind myself that you don’t love me anymore. He still looked the same, with a youthful face and brilliant green eyes beneath a shock of silver hair. They still saw each other every day and she still dreamed of his touch at night. Yes, they were in Audun’s Castle, and yes, Kearney wore the jeweled circlet on his brow, but it would have been so easy for her to forget that their love had ended. She needed to address him formally for the same reason Kearney hated it: so that she’d know she had lost him forever.

“I trust you’re well,” he said after a brief silence.

“Yes, Your-” She let out a slow breath. “I’m fine.”

“Good.” He glanced at her briefly, looking uncertain. “Do you think Thorald can be convinced to support us?”

“Only if it serves them. You’re a young man, and you have an heir. Under the rules, Glyndwr will hold the throne for as long as the line of heirs continues uninterrupted. Already they can see that their wait will be a long one. Gershon may believe they’ll be slow to abandon the rules because of Thorald’s position among the houses, but I’m less certain.”

“Why didn’t you say so earlier?”

She shrugged, gazing toward the fire. Five turns ago she could have explained it to him, but now he had other burdens. Her problems paled beside those of Eibithar and her king.

“It’s not like you to lower your sword, Kez, especially where Gershon is concerned.”

Keziah smiled. He hadn’t called her that in a long time.

“I saw no reason to argue the point,” she said. “The truth is, none of us knows what Tobbar will do, much less Marston and his brother. Perhaps after we’ve heard back from Lathrop we’ll have a better sense of what we can expect from Thorald and Shanstead.”

The king nodded, his brow furrowing beneath the violet jewel on his crown. “Perhaps.”

They fell silent again, the king standing near his desk, and Keziah watching him from the chair. Whatever it was he had called her back to discuss clearly made him uneasy. But it wasn’t until he finally spoke that she understood why.

“Have you had word from your friend?” he asked, his eyes flicking in her direction for just an instant.

“My friend?” she repeated.

“The gleaner.”

It took her a moment to realize that he meant Grinsa, who was more than just her friend and a good deal more than a mere gleaner. Grinsa jal Arriet was a Weaver, a Qirsi who could bind together the powers of many Qirsi and wield all their magic as if it were his own. Such was the fear of Weavers among the Eandi that ever since the Qirsi Wars centuries ago, Weavers and their families had been executed upon being discovered. This explained why even Kearney, whom Keziah still loved as she had no other man, only knew Grinsa as her friend. In fact he was her brother, though, because of Qirsi naming customs, by which sons carried their mother’s name, and daughters their father’s, this was easy to conceal.

When Kearney first met Grinsa in Tremain during the growing turns, the king had sensed the power of the love they shared, and had actually been jealous. Keziah couldn’t help but notice, just from the way he asked about Grinsa, that a residue of that jealousy remained to this day. Maybe she hadn’t lost him entirely after all.

“No, I’ve heard nothing from him in some time.”

Kearney twisted his mouth, as if uncertain whether to be relieved or disappointed.

“I thought maybe with the Revel in the city…”

“He’s not with the Revel anymore. He’s with Lord Tavis.”

The king nodded. “I know. Do you have any way of contacting him?”

He contacts me in my dreams, as Weavers do. “No, I’m afraid I don’t.” She watched him as he squatted to stir the fire. “You’re concerned about Tavis?”

“Of course,” the king said without looking at her. “But more than that, I’m eager to learn if they’ve found Brienne’s killer. If they can prove Tavis’s innocence, we might end this conflict between Curgh and Kentigern before it turns to war.”

“I suppose we might,” she said, though she found herself wondering if it was too late for that. Even if there were a way to prove beyond any doubt that the Curgh boy hadn’t killed Lady Brienne of Kentigern, her death and all that followed it had left scars on both houses. Their hatred for each other ran deep; bridging that rift would take time.

“Isn’t there any way to find him?” Kearney asked, looking back at her, his face ruddy from the heat of the fire. “Is there no one to whom you can send a message?”

“I don’t even know where they’ve gone. Before he left, Grinsa said something about going to Aneira, but he didn’t tell me more. And while I may be archminister to Eibithar’s king,” she added with a small smile, “that doesn’t carry much weight with the Aneirans.”

Kearney tried to smile, but he just looked pained, like a man too aware of his own powerlessness to find humor in the limitations of those who served him.

“If you hear anything, you’ll let me know?”

“Of course.”

They remained that way for several moments, their eyes locked. Finally Keziah stood, looking away as she did.