“Would you rather go elsewhere?” Grinsa asked, his voice just loud enough to carry over the noise.

The minister shook her head, tight-lipped and wary. She sat, as did Grinsa and Tavis, but for some time none of them spoke. Eventually a serving girl came to their table, bearing bowls of stew and a loaf of dark bread. A second girl came a few moments later, and placed three cups of red wine on the table. Tavis began almost immediately to eat, but the two Qirsi merely sat, the minister staring at her food, and Grinsa watching her.

“You think we’re with the conspiracy,” the gleaner said at last, drawing her gaze.

“Aren’t you?” she asked, sipping her wine.

“You think this because we were asking about the Eandi singer. The one who is also an assassin.”

The minister returned her cup to the table with a quivering hand, spilling some of her wine. She fumbled for her napkin, but Grinsa wiped away the wine before she could reach it.

“I sensed the day we met that you might know this man as well,” Grinsa went on. “Does that mean that you’re part of the conspiracy?”

“No!” she said, looking up. “I have nothing to do with it.”

“Why should we believe you?”

“I’m first minister to the duke of Dantrielle. I’ve served him loyally for more than five years now.”

Grinsa gave a small shrug. “You wouldn’t be the first Qirsi minister to betray her duke.”

“But I haven’t-” She stopped, staring at him with narrowed eyes. “You don’t really believe I’m with the conspiracy, do you?”

“What makes you say that?”

“Answer me.”

After a few moments Grinsa shook his head, a smile touching his lips. “No, I don’t. But you’ve assumed from that first day that we were, and I thought this would be the best way for me to answer your suspicions.”

“So you still maintain that you have nothing to do with the movement either?”

“It’s the truth,” Grinsa said. “I’d even go so far as to say that we’re enemies of the Qirsi who lead it.”

The woman looked at Tavis, making no effort to hide her curiosity about his scars. He resisted the urge to turn away, suffering her gaze as best he could.

“That morning you told me that the singer did this to the boy. Is that true as well? ”

The gleaner hesitated. “In a manner of speaking. I believe I said that the singer was responsible for his scars, which is closer to the truth.”

“Now you’re weaving mists with your words.”

“Perhaps,” Grinsa admitted. “But I can’t tell you more. Not without endangering the boy’s life, and my own.”

“I see. Then it seems we’ve nothing more to say to each other.”

“You still don’t believe me,” he said.

“Actually, I do. I’m not certain why; I suppose I’ve no choice but to trust my instincts. And they tell me that you’re not a traitor.”

“Then why would you assume that our conversation is over? Unless you don’t consider yourself allied with those who oppose the conspiracy.”

“Of course I do. But I needed information about the movement, about those involved with it. Obviously, you don’t have any knowledge of this.”

“No,” Grinsa said, “I don’t. But you can still help us. I’m no friend of these renegade Qirsi, and neither are you. We’re partners in this struggle, and I need information. The singer-the assassin-has killed on behalf of the conspiracy. My friend and I need to find him.”

The woman turned away. “I can’t help you with that.”

“You can tell me where you saw him, where he was going. Anything you can tell us might prove to be of value.”

“You don’t understand,” she said. “I don’t want you to find him.”

“What?” The gleaner sat back, looking for the first time like she had truly surprised him. “Why-?” He stopped, his eyes widening. “Are you lovers? Is that it?”

The minister burst out laughing so loudly that others in the tavern paused in their conversations to stare at her. The gleaner’s face reddened, but the woman didn’t appear to notice.

“No,” she said, when her laughter finally subsided. “We’re definitely not lovers.”

“Then what?” Grinsa asked.

She fell silent again, refusing to look at either of them. Tavis assumed that she would refuse to answer, but he was wrong.

“I’ll tell you,” she said at last, her voice so low that both Tavis and Grinsa had to lean closer just to hear her. “But I’ll give you no details, no names, no places. You’ll just have to trust that I’m telling you the truth, and that I have the best interests of the land at heart.”

Grinsa nodded. It seemed to Tavis that the gleaner didn’t know what else to do.

“I’ve hired him. I’ve sent him to kill someone we believe is part of the conspiracy.”

“What?” Tavis said, unable to stop himself. “Are you mad?”

The minister’s eyes narrowed once more. “You’re from Eibithar! I’d know that accent anywhere.”

Tavis felt himself flush.

“Yes, he is,” Grinsa said, sighing. “Our search for this man has brought us far. But that’s not important now. I need-”

“Not important?” the minister repeated, her voice rising. “One moment you tell me that we’re allies in a struggle against the conspiracy, and the next I learn that you’ve brought an enemy of my realm to the royal city.”

“He’s not an enemy of your kingdom!”

“Of course I am,” Tavis said.

Grinsa winced and shook his head.

“At least one of you is being honest, gleaner,” the minister said.

“The man we seek is an enemy of Qirsi and Eandi alike,” the young lord continued, facing the woman. “He’s an enemy of Eibithar, but he also may have killed your Lord Bistari, which I believe makes him an enemy of Aneira as well. Isn’t it possible, Minister, that in this instance the interests of our two kingdoms, indeed, of all the seven, are the same?”

She eyed him closely, as if trying to see beyond his scars. “Who are you?”

Tavis almost told her then. For just an instant, for the first time in what seemed an age, he felt like a noble again, like a man whose life revolved around the courts and the exigencies of statecraft. Before Kentigern he had given little thought to what it actually meant to be a noble. Only now that his title was gone, and with it his future, did he realize that he had lost more than comfort and wealth and power. He had trained all his life to be duke and perhaps king. It was his calling, the one trade at which he might have excelled.

“His name isn’t important,” Grinsa said, gently placing a hand on Tavis’s arm, as if reading his thoughts. “But he makes a good point.”

The minister looked from one of them to the other, before finally nodding. “Yes, he does. Unfortunately, there’s nothing I can do to stop the singer now. I’ve given him gold and asked him to kill. I have no way to contact him again, and even if I did, I’m not certain that I would. We’re at war with the conspiracy, and I’ll not quibble about fighting my battles with a bloodied weapon.”

“Can you at least tell us which direction he’s gone, so that after he’s served your purposes we can find him?”

“How do I know you won’t find him too soon? Do you intend to engage him in conversation before seeking your vengeance?”

The gleaner frowned, but said nothing.

“I thought not. I’ve sent him to one of Aneira’s houses, but that’s all I’ll tell you.”

“You’ve told us nothing at all,” Tavis said.

“Of course I have. You know now that he’s still in this kingdom. That should help you quite a bit.”

Tavis started to argue the matter, but Grinsa tightened his hold on the young lord’s arm, silencing him.

“Can you tell us anything about this person you sent him to kill?” the gleaner asked.

She faltered. “Like what?”

“You said before that you believe this person is part of the conspiracy. You’re not certain though, are you?”

“I’m certain enough.”

But Tavis could tell from the tightness of her voice, and the way her hands began to tremble again, that she had doubts.