Bonds of Vengeance (46 page)
“I would have kept trying, for a while at least. Eventually, I would have had to kill you.”
As quickly as the smile had come to his lips he felt it flee, along with much of the blood from his face. “You jest.”
“No. I like you, Minister. Very much. But I serve a great cause. I’d gladly die for our people, and if I had to, I’d kill for them as well. I’m glad you’ve made that unnecessary.”
Pillad swallowed, nodded once more. He could still feel where the man had touched his hand, though it wasn’t merely warm anymore. Rather, it burned like an open wound.
City of Kings, Eibithar, Osya’s Moon waning
The first of the Eibitharian dukes was to arrive at Audun’s Castle before nightfall, meaning that this was Cresenne’s last day of freedom. Keziah had explained as much to her the day before, but Cresenne knew that the king would be coming to tell her so himself. It was his way, she had come to realize. She wasn’t yet ready to say that she had been wrong about Eandi nobles and the Qirsi who served them. But she did have to admit that Kearney and Keziah were different somehow. Even Lord Tavis was not quite as she had expected.
After speaking with the archminister that first day, Cresenne had answered all of Grinsa’s questions, at least all that she could. She had even told them of the Weaver, though she had begged the king not to reveal this to anyone other than his nobles. And to her surprise he granted her request. She expected the Curgh boy to exult in his exoneration, but though Cresenne sensed his relief when she told the others of her role in Lady Brienne’s murder, Tavis offered no outward response.
She had spoken with Keziah a number of times since that day, and, most surprising of all, she actually felt that they were becoming friends. They were far more alike than Cresenne ever would have guessed, and after her initial discomfort around Bryntelle, Keziah had taken an interest in the child. Best of all, Grinsa seemed genuinely disturbed by their growing bond. Cresenne would have befriended the emperor of Braedon had she been certain that it would irk the gleaner.
After their first conversation, when Keziah convinced Cresenne to speak to Kearney openly of her involvement in the movement, the two women had not spoken of the Weaver again. Indeed, they had hardly mentioned the movement, or the threat of civil war, or even the messages
Kearney had sent, summoning the other dukes to the City of Kings. Mostly they talked of their childhoods, of their families and their loves. Cresenne still sensed that the archminister wasn’t telling her all, particularly when the topic turned to Grinsa or the king, and she guessed that one or both of the men had been her lover. But she didn’t push the woman on these matters. For the first time in memory, she had a friend, and she was content simply to enjoy their friendship and to accept the limits placed upon it by the minister.
Which was why the previous day’s conversation had come as such a blow.
They were in the gardens, enjoying the first clear day in what felt like ages. Keziah had carried Bryntelle for a time, cooing at the girl and playing with her until the baby began to fuss for her mother. But after handing the child back to Cresenne, she grew quiet, her eyes fixed stubbornly on the path before her. At first Cresenne thought nothing of it, but as the silence between them stretched on, she grew wary. For all the laughter and easy conversation she had shared with Keziah, Cresenne had never forgotten that she was, when all was said and done, a prisoner of the king and a renegade in the eyes of all around her.
The baby had fallen asleep, and Cresenne held her in the crook of her arm, gazing down at her and turning her body to keep the sun off Bryntelle’s face.
“If you’ve something to say, you’d best get it over with,” she told the minister. “Bryntelle will wake soon, and she’ll need to eat.”
“All right,” Keziah said quietly. But for a long while she said nothing, each moment of silence heightening Cresenne’s apprehension. “The king asked me to talk with you,” the minister began at last, still staring at the ground. “I’m speaking as archminister now, rather than as your friend.” She glanced over briefly. “And I am your friend, Cresenne. It’s important to me that you know that.”
“I understand.” Really she didn’t. Her stomach was balling itself into a fist, and she wasn’t even certain why.
“Javan of Curgh arrives here tomorrow, and possibly Lathrop of Tremain as well.”
“yes, I’ve heard.”
“In the next few days, the king expects Marston of Shanstead to arrive from Thorald, and also the duke of Heneagh. He’s even hoping that some of those who have pledged themselves to Aindreas’s cause, will come. Domnall perhaps, and Eardley.”
“What’s your point, Keziah?”
“The king trusts you, and he’s been willing to allow you to remain free in the wake of your confession. But the dukes are not likely to be so generous. Javan in particular will want to know why Kearney grants these liberties to the woman responsible for his son’s suffering.”
She should have expected it. They thought her a traitor, she had admitted being party to an assassination. Cresenne supposed that she should have been grateful for the freedom she had enjoyed until now. Yet she couldn’t help feeling that they had betrayed her. Keziah called herself Cresenne’s friend. Kearney had promised that she had nothing to fear from him. And now they wished to lock her away, so as to avoid offending a handful of dukes.
“You must understand,” the minister continued. “With Aindreas threatening rebellion, the king can’t take for granted the support of any duke. Thorald and Curgh, the major houses, are especially important. If Galdasten—”
“So he wants me in the dungeon?”
“No!” Keziah sounded horrified. “He wouldn’t do that!”
“Then what?”
“The prison tower. With the days growing warmer, it should be quite comfortable, and of course Bryntelle will remain with you. The dukes will be here for some time, but when they finally leave, you’ll be free to leave the tower.”
It was more than she should have expected, but still she trembled at the thought of being locked away. Was this how she would spend the rest of her life? A prisoner in the king’s castle? They wouldn’t execute her. She felt fairly certain of that. But they couldn’t let her go free. Ever. Bryntelle would grow up with iron bars on her windows and guards at her doors. Or she would grow up in the home of another, knowing that the world considered her mother a traitor and murderer.
“What if I refuse?”
Keziah halted and faced her, her expression bleak. “Don’t.”
Cresenne took a breath, nodded. “I should return to my quarters, then. I don’t have a lot, but I should probably gather the few things I carried with me from Aneira.”
“Can I help?”
“No.” She couldn’t help but be moved by the stricken look on Keziah’s face. Clearly this conversation had pained the archminister. “I’ll be all right,” she added, trying to smile.
“May I stop by later?”
“Why don’t you walk me to the tower tomorrow? I’d be grateful.”
The minister smiled, her relief palpable. “Of course.”
Cresenne and Bryntelle passed the rest of the day in their chamber. It took Cresenne but a few moments to gather her possessions, but after speaking with the archminister, she had no desire to be seen by anyone else. Solitude promised to be something she would have in abundance for the rest of her days, but privacy was another matter. There were no bars on the door to this room, and though there were guards posted just outside in the corridor, she didn’t have to see them or hear them or endure their stares. For one last day, she savored the basic comforts of the room she was in as she would have the luxuries of being queen.
She slept fitfully and had awakened early this morning, unable to get back to sleep after hearing the peal of the dawn bells. Keziah hadn’t told her what time of day she was to be taken to the tower and Cresenne thought it best to be ready whenever the minister and Kearney’s guards arrived. She sat with Bryntelle asleep in her lap. She had pulled the tapestry away from the chamber’s lone narrow window so that she could watch the sky brighten and listen to the crack of wooden swords and the shouted commands of the king’s swordmaster as he trained the royal army in the ward below.
A knock at the door startled her so that Bryntelle awoke and began to cry.
“Come in!” she called, cradling the girl to her chest.
The door opened, revealing the king. Cresenne stood and bowed as well as she could with the baby in her arms. “Your Majesty.”
“Good morning,” he said, sounding unsure of himself.
“Please come in, Your Majesty.”
He hesitated still, eyeing Bryntelle. “Perhaps I should return another time.”
“There’s no need. She just woke up. She’ll be fine in a moment.”
The king nodded, then entered the room, still looking uneasy. “The archminister spoke with you?”
It seemed there was a hand squeezing her heart. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
He had begun to walk a slow circle around the room, but he stopped now and faced her. “I am sorry. I want you to believe that.”
“Of course, Your Majesty.” She tried to keep her voice even, but failed.
“You doubt me.” Before she could respond, Kearney shook his head. “I don’t blame you, though it is the truth. I do this because the dukes will expect no less. As it is, I’ll have to answer to those who will wonder why I haven’t had you executed.”
“I’m grateful for your mercy, Your Majesty.”
“And I’m grateful for all you’ve told us. When the dukes leave the City of Kings, as they must eventually, you’ll be free once again.”
“Free to roam the castle, Your Majesty? Or free to leave, to take my child and make a life for myself elsewhere in the Forelands?”
Seeing him struggle with the question, she knew.
“We can offer you a fine life here in the castle, Cresenne. Your child will grow up with the sons and daughters of those who serve me. She will be taught with them, she’ll enjoy all the freedoms and privileges they enjoy.”
“But I’ll remain a prisoner, not in the tower perhaps, but in the castle.”
“Yes.”
“And whenever your dukes journey here, and whenever you welcome nobles from the other kingdoms, I’ll return to the tower.”
“I would think so, yes.”
“Forgive me, Your Majesty, but that isn’t freedom.”
“No,” he said. “I don’t suppose it is. Though you’ve helped us a good deal in the past turn, you’re still guilty of crimes against this realm. You made some poor decisions long ago, and now you must live with the consequences of those choices.”
I chose to fight for my people! What else could I have done?
She knew she couldn’t say this. She wasn’t even certain she still believed it entirely. And yet she felt that she could barely contain her rage. Not for the first time, she wondered if she had been wrong to turn against the Weaver, even knowing that Kearney and Grinsa would have taken Bryntelle from her.
“There is another way,” he said after a lengthy silence. “I can offer you asylum in Glyndwr, just as I did for Lord Tavis after his escape from Kentigern. You would be confined to the castle there, just as you are here, and there are far fewer children in Glyndwr Castle than there are in the royal palace; your daughter might be lonely at times. But Glyndwr receives few visitors, so you’d spend little or no time in the prison tower there.”
He was offering her exile. He made it sound inviting, at least when compared with the life that awaited her here, but there could be no other name for it. Eibithar’s king was asking her to choose between banishment and imprisonment.
“You don’t have to decide today.”
“How soon would I leave, were I to agree to this?”
“As soon as the dukes have departed. I’d send a sizable group of men with you—you and your daughter would be safe. The snows linger a bit longer in the highlands, but the journey wouldn’t be difficult this time of year.”
She looked down at Bryntelle. At least she wouldn’t have to see her mother in a prison every second turn. “I’ll consider it,” she said.
“Good. Personally, I think it a far better place for you than Audun’s Castle. That doesn’t mean that you’re not welcome to remain here. But I believe Glyndwr would be easier. For both of you.”
And for you as well
. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”
He took a breath, his eyes falling on the baby. “She’s well, I take it.”
“Yes, thank you.”
“I’m glad.” He stood there a moment longer, then crossed to the door. “I’ll leave you. Keziah should be along shortly to take you to . . . to where you’ll be staying.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. Thank you.”
He left her, closing the door softly behind him. Once more Cresenne found herself thinking that there was more to him than she had thought. True, he had angered her—who was this Eandi king to question her choices?—but clearly he had been disturbed at having to imprison her, despite what she had done, despite the consternation his generosity was sure to evoke from his dukes. When she asked herself if the Weaver would do the same for an Eandi in her position, she had to admit that he wouldn’t. No doubt others in the movement would take Kearney’s compassion as a sign of weakness, but Cresenne saw it differently. It seemed to her that if all Eandi were like Kearney of Glyndwr, there might never have been a conspiracy.
