Seeds of Betrayal (38 page)

“Who’s there?”

“It’s Paegar.”

Keziah smiled. In a castle and city that had long seemed empty of warmth and companionship, the high minister had in recent days become her closest friend, really her only friend. They had spent a good deal of time together since the waning began, talking as they walked through the corridors and wards, and laughing in the kitchens over midday meals. The night before, they had left the castle for a Qirsi tavern Paegar knew in the northern quarter of the marketplace. Keziah hadn’t been to a tavern in years. In Glyndwr, as Kearney’s first minister and lover, she had rarely left his side, much less his castle. Though she missed terribly the nights they spent together, she had found herself reveling in the freedom of being able to leave the confines of the castle walls and breathe in the life she found in the city. For too long, Keziah realized the previous night, she had allowed herself to steep like tea leaves in the grief that followed Kearney’s ascension and the end of their love affair. Without saying a word, perhaps without even knowing it, Paegar had helped her see this. All it had taken was a friend inviting her to live again, to find mirth and good company without the man with whom she had shared her bed. She hadn’t known how to thank the minister, and in a sense, she didn’t have to. It was enough that they enjoyed their time together.

“Come in!” she said. Then remembering that the door was bolted, she crossed the room and unlocked it.

“Good morning, Paegar,” she said, waving him into the room.

He smiled. “And to you, Archmimster.” Noticing her robe, he halted, his face falling. “Did I wake you?”

“Not at all. I was watching the snow.”

He raised an eyebrow. “That would explain why yours is the only chamber in the castle in which I can see my breath.”

Keziah gave a small laugh. “I know. I should start a new fire.” She turned to face the window again and sighed. “But isn’t it lovely? I’ve missed the snows.”

“Spoken like a woman raised on the steppe. To me the snows are a bother. I never feel so old as I do in the cold turns.”

She walked back to the window to push the shutters closed again. “You’re not old, Paegar,” she said, glancing back at him. “Not even for a Qirsi.”

The high minister had stepped to the hearth and was piling new wood for a fire. “You’re most kind, Archmimster, but I’m a good deal older than you and far closer to the end of my life than I am to the beginning of it.”

Bolting the shutters, she turned to look at the man. In many ways he reminded Keziah of her father. Like Dafydd, and unlike most older Qirsi, he had a full, healthy face. To be sure, there were lines around his eyes and the corners of his mouth, but his cheeks weren’t sunken like those of some, and his color remained a healthy white, rather than the sallow yellow that crept into the faces of Qirsi nearing the end of their lives.

“I’d say you have some years left,” she told him with a grin. “I expect you to be showing me the city’s better taverns for a long time to come.”

“Hardly a pursuit worthy of the king’s ministers.” Paegar placed one last log in the hearth and sat back on his heels. “The wood is ready, Archminister, but I’m afraid I don’t have fire magic. Only gleaning and mists and winds.” He gestured toward the hearth. “Can you?”

She shook her head. “I’m afraid not. Gleaning, mists and winds, and language of beasts. How embarrassing. Here we are, two of the king’s most trusted Qirsi, and between us we can’t even light a fire.”

Paegar grinned. “Indeed.” He glanced around the chamber, but Keziah kept no candles or lamps burning during the night.

“Wait just a moment,” Keziah said. She stepped into the corridor, lit a tinder with the torch mounted by her door, and, returning to the hearth, handed it to the minister.

Watching him light the fire, she had to smile at what had just passed between them. She usually told no one what powers she possessed. Grinsa knew, of course, and Kearney, but that was all. Since Paegar had confided in her, however, she felt that she should do the same. More than that, though, she wanted to tell him. She viewed it as a measure of how quickly their friendship was deepening that they could share this so soon.

Which raised another point. “You need to stop calling me Archminister, Paegar. Please.”

“It wouldn’t be appropriate for me to call you Keziah in front of the king or the other ministers,” he said, standing once more.

She considered this. “All right, but certainly there’s no harm in it when we’re alone.”

Paegar shrugged, looking uncomfortable. “I suppose not.”

In a few moments, the fire in her hearth was burning bright and hot, warming the chamber.

“Thank you, Paegar,” she said. “But I can’t imagine you came here only to build a fire for me.”

His ears turned red, though he managed a smile. “No, I didn’t. I was hoping you’d join me for a quick breakfast in the kitchens before we meet with the king.”

“Of course,” she said. “I need to dress first. Will you wait for me?”

His color deepened, and for the first time it occurred to Keziah that the minister might be taken with her. She felt her chest tighten. Nothing could ruin their friendship faster. Much as she already cared for him, she knew that she could never love him. She still loved Kearney; she probably always would. When she looked at Paegar she saw her father, someone to whom she could turn when her lingering love for the king became more than she could bear. She could no more fall in love with him than she could with Grinsa.

“I’ll be in the hallway,” he said. “Take your time.”

Keziah nodded and watched him leave, feeling as though she might cry. At last she had found a friend in the City of Kings, and already she was on the verge of driving him off.

She dressed quickly, splashing cold water on her face and brushing out her hair before putting on her ministerial robes.

“Maybe I’m wrong about what he’s feeling,” she whispered to herself.

She joined him in the corridor and they walked to the kitchens, neither of them speaking.

As always the kitchens bustled with activity, even early in the morning of a day when no feasts were planned and no guests were expected to arrive. The scents of spices, baking breads, and roasting meats filled the air. People, animals, and birds ran or flew in every direction, the kitchenmaster shouted instructions to cooks and servants, and guards tried to sneak tastes of fresh loaves of bread and simmering stews.

“What do you want?” the master demanded, seeing Paegar and Keziah. “Are you here for the king or for yourselves?”

Few people spoke to Qirsi ministers in such a tone. But here, amid the food and the cooking flames, the kitchenmaster was king. He spoke to everyone with disdain and impatience. He might even have done so with Kearney, had the king the courage to venture down here.

“Ourselves,” Paegar said. “We’re just looking for a bit of breakfast.”

The man frowned and shook his head. “Fine,” he muttered. “Take what you want and get out of my kitchens.”

Paegar nodded, a small grin on his face. “Of course, kitchenmaster.”

The ministers gathered some breads and cheeses, and a few pieces of dried fruit, before retreating into the king’s hall to eat.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen that man smile,” Paegar said as they took seats in a corner of the hall. “He reminds me of the swordmaster in that way.”

“Oh, Gershon smiles sometimes,” Keziah said. “Just not at anyone with Qirsi blood.”

Paegar nodded. “I see. I sensed that the two of you don’t like each other, but I never understood why.”

Keziah shrugged, taking a bite of bread. “There’s a bit more to it than that,” she said casually. Then she stopped herself, realizing where this was headed.

The high minister stopped chewing and looked at her closely. “Is something troubling you? It’s the swordmaster, isn’t it? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s not…” She shook her head a second time. “It’s nothing. There are just certain things I don’t think we should talk about.”

Paegar dropped his gaze. “Of course. I understand.”

She could hear the hurt in his voice and she cursed her own stupidity. She wasn’t handling this well.

“Paegar, there’s a great deal about my life in Glyndwr that you don’t understand, and that I’m not certain I could ever explain.”

The minister kept his eyes fixed on the food sitting before him. “I didn’t intend to make you feel that you had to.”

Keziah sighed, closing her eyes. Grinsa would have done this far better. “You didn’t,” she told him. “But I sense that you… that you harbor some affection for me.”

He looked up at that, the bright red of his cheeks confirming her suspicions.

“I’m flattered,” she went on. “Truly I am. But I’ve been friendless for so long, and I’ve so enjoyed the time we’ve had together these recent days. I don’t want to risk losing you so soon.”

“How do you know you’d lose me? Perhaps you’ll fall in love with me as I have with you.”

She smiled sadly. “Perhaps I would. But after all I’ve been through this past year, I’m not ready to try. My heart still belongs to another, and though he and I can’t be together, I don’t really want to stop loving him.”

“Even though it pains you?”

Abruptly there were tears on her face and an ache in her chest and throat. “Yes,” she whispered. “Even so.”

To her amazement and her profound relief, the man actually smiled at her. “Well, I certainly hope he’s worth all this. I’d hate to think that such an extraordinary woman was wasting her love on a fool.”

She almost told him everything then. About Kearney and their forbidden love, and the distrust this had sown in her relations with Gershon. About how Kearney’s ascension to the throne had forced them apart, though their love continued to burn, like the smouldering remains of some great fire. She longed to speak of it with someone, and it had been so many turns since she last walked in her dreams with Grinsa. But she couldn’t bring herself to say the words. Maybe it was too soon after the awkwardness of the morning, or maybe, after all that she and Kearney had shared, she still felt that she owed the king her silence.

In either case, all she could do was smile at Paegar and say in a soft voice, “You’re a good man, High Minister.”

He gave a small shrug, looking down again. “I’ll take your word for it.”

They sat wordlessly for a time, Keziah taking a few bites of her meal, though she was no longer hungry. Occasionally she felt Paegar gazing at her, but she didn’t look up.

“So has the king heard anything from Shanstead yet?” he finally asked.

She met his gaze, smiling gratefully. “Not yet, no. But I only sent the king’s message late in the waxing. We may be well into Qirsar’s Turn before we hear anything.”

“You’re more patient than I. I’d spend each day on the ramparts searching the horizon for any sign of a messenger.”

“Actually, I’m more interested in knowing what Marston and Aindreas talked about when the thane was in Kentigern.”

Their conversation went on this way for some time, until Keziah almost forgot the uneasy moments with which their meal began. Despite her earlier fears, the minister could not help but think that their friendship would survive this day, and-dare she hope it?-even grow stronger for it.

Eventually they heard the midmorning bells summoning them to their daily discussion with the king, and they left the hall to make their way to Kearney’s chambers.

As they walked through the corridors, Paegar glanced at her, a shy grin on his lips. “How did you know?” he asked.

“Know what?”

“That I was falling in love with you.”

Keziah smiled. “Your face gives you away, Paegar. I’m afraid you don’t keep a secret very well.”

“Really
^?
” he said, looking surprised. “I’ll have to remember that.”

All through their audience with the king, and well after, as he walked the castle grounds alone, Paegar tried to convince himself that it was all for the best. Yes, he loved her. Keziah’s efforts to discourage him that morning had done little to change the way he felt for her. Indeed, the entire time they sat in Kearney’s presence chamber, he could barely take his eyes off her. She wore her hair loose this day, as she had the past two or three days, and it fell over her brow and around her shoulders like fine strands of white gold. Perhaps aware of his staring, her cheeks had more color than usual, making her pale eyes appear almost white. He had never seen her look lovelier.

He knew, however, that the wound she had inflicted on his heart would heal with time. What mattered most was that their friendship continue so that one day soon he could deliver her to the Weaver. In a way all of this would help him. From this day forward, any discomfort she sensed on his part, any dissembling that failed to deceive her, she would attribute immediately to his unrequited affections.

He would pay a price for this, he knew, but pride was the least of his faults, and the cost seemed small enough given the rewards that awaited him. Besides, once Keziah joined the Weaver’s cause, Paegar would become superfluous. Two ministers in the court of Eibithar’s king was a luxury even the Weaver could not afford. No doubt he would have Paegar leave for another court, one where he would be of greater value. Any love affair that might have grown from his friendship with the archminister was doomed to end quickly. Better it shouldn’t begin at all.

Still, convincing her to join the Qirsi movement promised to be far more difficult now, relying on occasional conversations in castle corridors and courtyards, than it would have been in the intimacy of a lover’s bed. He would have to proceed more slowly than he had first hoped, and of course, he would need to make certain that no one overheard their discussions.