“Let them see you,” he told the young lord. “Let them wonder about the wounds and the blade that caused them.”
At first, Tavis found their stares and questions almost impossible to bear. Every eyebrow that went up at the sight of his face, every whistle through gritted teeth that greeted him as he entered an inn, every thoughtless remark-“Lad looks like he’s been through a war”; “I’ve never known road thieves to have such a heavy hand”; “A pity, seems he might have been fair of face once”-brought back his grief at losing Brienne and dark memories of the horrors he endured in Kentigern’s dungeon. Still, he understood the reasoning behind Grinsa’s request. Convincing the men and women they met in the taverns to talk about the assassin had been difficult. If he and the gleaner could win their trust, and at the same time make them believe that the singer was responsible for Tavis’s injuries, they just might learn something about the man or his whereabouts.
As of yet, however, on the last day of both the turn and the year, they hadn’t gleaned anything new. Still weary after another uncomfortable night in the tiny bedchamber they were renting, Tavis’s patience had run out.
“Father’s gold isn’t going to last much longer,” he said, not bothering to conceal his annoyance as they walked past the peddler’s carts. “And we’ve nothing to show for all the qinde we’ve spent here.”
Grinsa scanned the marketplace, as if too intent on his vain search for the minister to bother looking at him. “If we weren’t spending the gold here, we’d be spending it elsewhere,” he said. “Unless you’re ready to start sleeping in the wood rather than in a bed.”
“The snows are almost on us,” Tavis said. “No doubt they’ve begun already to the north. And you speak of sleeping in the wood?”
Still the gleaner didn’t look at him, though he did grin. “As you say, your father’s gold can’t last forever. Eventually you’re going to have to choose between sleeping on the ground and working to earn more gold.”
Tavis shook his head and muttered a curse. Neither possibility appealed to him.
“Let’s just find the assassin and be done with it. If I’m going to suffer through the snows, I’d just as soon do it in my own castle.”
They both knew that wasn’t likely to happen this year, perhaps not ever again. But Grinsa had the grace and sense not to say anything.
They passed much of the morning walking the length and breadth of the marketplace, nodding to those they recognized from the taverns and stopping to greet peddlers with whom they had spoken before. Once again, neither Tavis nor Grinsa mentioned the assassin, or asked questions of any sort. Despite his concerns about their gold, Tavis sensed that the gleaner had no intention of leaving Solkara any time soon. He could also see that Grinsa continued to search the marketplace with his eyes, even as he spoke and laughed with the sellers.
By midday they had covered much of the city, and they paused as the bells rang, trying to decide whether to return to the inn at which they were staying, or buy a small meal from one of the food vendors.
Tavis’s feet ached, and he told the gleaner as much, hoping he could convince Grinsa to go back to the inn.
“It will cost us less to eat in the marketplace,” the Qirsi said. “If you’re truly concerned about your father’s gold…” He didn’t bother to finish. He didn’t have to.
Before Tavis could respond, however, they heard a light footfall behind them.
“I’d have thought you’d be harder to find. Men such as yourselves should travel the city with care.”
They both turned to see the minister standing before them. She held a dagger in her hand, though she held it close to her body so that others in the marketplace wouldn’t see. Her bright golden eyes were fixed on Grinsa and her expression was grim.
“I’m glad to see that you’re all right,” the gleaner said. “I was concerned when I heard of the poisoning.”
The woman actually laughed, though the look in her eyes didn’t change. “Were you?”
“Yes. I trust your duke is well?”
A moment’s hesitation, then, “Yes. Thank you.”
Grinsa’s gaze wandered to her dagger. “Is that intended for us?”
Her face blanched, even as her blade hand remained steady. “I carry it to protect myself.”
“From us.”
A pause, then, “Yes.”
“Would you believe me if I told you that you don’t need it, that we bear you no malice?”
“No, I don’t think I would.”
The gleaner shrugged, but Tavis could see that he was troubled.
“Very well,” he said. “Is this a chance meeting, or have you come looking for us?”
“The latter. I want to ask you some questions.”
“Can you give me any reason why we should answer? You show no trust, you doubt me when I say that I was concerned for your safety, and you stand before us bearing a blade. Are you offering anything in return, Minister?”
“I offer your continued freedom,” she said. “I could just as easily have you arrested as members of the Qirsi conspiracy. I have no doubt that the men in Solkara’s dungeon would have no trouble getting answers to the same questions I wish to ask. But their methods are sure to be far less gentle than mine. An hour with them, and this blade will seem a trifle.”
At the mere mention of the dungeon, Tavis felt himself begin to tremble and sweat. He was certain that hers was an empty threat, but his memories of Kentigern were still too fresh in his mind.
Grinsa laid a hand on his shoulder, his eyes still on the minister. “I don’t think you have any intention of having us arrested. You have no evidence that we’re part of the conspiracy, unless you refer to our inquiries about the Eandi singer. And if that’s the case, you’d have to explain your own knowledge of the man, which I can’t imagine you want to do.”
The woman opened her mouth, closed it again. The hand holding the blade fell to her side.
“As it happens, Minister, we might be willing to answer your questions, but only if you agree to answer ours in return.”
“I can’t do that,” she said.
“Then you’d best call for the Solkaran army, or prepare yourself to use that dagger. Because you have no other means of compelling us to tell you anything.”
The minister glared at him, seeming to weigh her choices. Her grip on the blade tightened, whitening her knuckles, and Tavis sensed that she was ready to summon the castle guard. After what seemed a long time, however, her expression softened somewhat. She glanced down at her blade, then sheathed it.
“I can’t tell you everything,” she said, her voice low. “But I will answer some of your questions.”
“Fair enough,” Grinsa answered after a moment’s pause. “Where shall we go?”
She glanced about, appearing unsure of herself.
“You don’t want to be seen or heard speaking with us at any length, but neither do you trust us enough to go somewhere private.”
The minister met his gaze again. “You understand me quite well, don’t you?”
“I know how I’d feel. Why don’t we return to the inn at which we met the first time? We’ll have some privacy there, but the innkeeper can guarantee your safety.”
“Very well.” She gestured toward the far side of the marketplace. “After you.”
They walked to the inn in silence, the minister a few steps behind them, as if she expected them to flee at any moment. Tavis wasn’t certain that he trusted her any more than she did the two of them. Not only did she have a blade at the ready, but she was also Qirsi. Who knew what powers she possessed? Grinsa appeared perfectly willing to keep his back to her, however, and not for the first time, Tavis was glad to be traveling in the company of a Weaver.
The inn was called the Grey Dove, named like other Qirsi establishments, for the pale sorcerers who came there to eat and drink among their own kind. Entering the tavern just after the ringing of the midday bells, they found it far more crowded than it had been several mornings before. They couldn’t help but be seen together, but with the crowd came a din that would keep others from listening to their conversation. They waded through the mass of white-hairs to an empty table near the back of the great room. The minister appeared uncomfortable, and she continually looked around, as if expecting at any moment to be recognized by one of the inn’s patrons.