He glanced down at his scrolls again. "Not unless you wish to."

There was a correct reply to this. She felt sure of it. But she had no idea what it might be. After a moment's silence, she walked to a chair near his table and sat.

For some time, he continued to stare at his papers, rustling them noisily. At last he cast a quick look her way, and forced a smile. "You must have been . . . pleased to see the gleaner again."

"Yes, Your Majesty." Even now, after all that had passed between them, he still could not speak to her of Grinsa without sounding like a jealous lover.

"He's the reason I asked you here, you know."

"I thought so."

"Knowing him as you do, I thought it best that you be present. This promises to be a most delicate discussion."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"I hope I can trust you not to say anything . . . inappropriate, either to me or to Lord Tavis."

Keziah grimaced. When she was still trying to attract the attention of the conspiracy, and trying as well to make herself suspect in the king's eyes, she had been insolent and insulting, not only to Kearney but also to several of his noble guests. During one feast given in honor of the dukes of Rouvin and Grinnyd, she had so offended the Wethy noble that Wenda had felt compelled to apologize on Keziah's behalf. No doubt, word of her transgression had found its way back to the king.

"Of course, Your Majesty. As I've already told you, I wasn't myself in the days immediately following Paegar's death. But I'm better now. You needn't worry about me anymore."

"I'd like to believe you, Keziah. But I'm not yet ready to surrender all to trust."

She nodded, her eyes stinging. "I understand, Your Majesty."

This was all of her own doing. She had chosen to alienate her king, to draw the eye of the Weaver so that she might learn more of his movement. But still, it grieved her to think that Kearney, who she had loved more than any other man in her life, should now find it so hard to trust her.

They sat in uncomfortable silence for several moments. Keziah stared at her hands, but she sensed that Kearney was watching her, perhaps waiting for her to say more. When she finally gathered the courage to meet his gaze, however, she found that he had turned his attention back to the scrolls on his table.

The bells began to toll in the city, and before they had finished there came a knock on the king's door.

"At last," he murmured. Then, in a louder voice, "Enter!"

The door opened revealing Gershon and two soldiers. The swordmaster walked into the room, eying the minister and the king with interest. At the same time, the guards stepped to the side. Behind them stood Grinsa, Lord Tavis, and a Qirsi woman.

Kearney stepped out from behind his table and beckoned them into the chamber with a wave of his hand.

Seeing Keziah, Grinsa gave a tight smile, but he remained by the woman, as if guarding her. It took Keziah a moment to realize that she was carrying a baby.

She almost stood then, to get a better look at her niece, but to have done so would have raised too many questions. Instead, she studied the girl's mother. She shouldn't have been surprised that the woman was beautifula"Pheba had been as well. But Keziah had to admit that she had never met any woman so attractive. She had long, fine hair that she wore pulled back loosely from her oval face. Her eyes were quite pale, no deeper in color than the parchment on Kearney's table, and her lips were full and wide. She glanced around the room warily, her eyes lingering briefly on Keziah before flitting away once more. She clutched her baby to her breast, as if expecting one of them to rip the child from her arms at any moment, and she kept herself as close to Grinsa as he did to her. If Keziah hadn't known that she had hurt him, that she had gone so far as to send an assassin to kill him, she might have thought them very much in love.

"Please sit," the king said, crossing to the hearth and turning so that he faced all of them.

Cresenne looked to Grinsa, who led her to one of the chairs near the hearth, taking the other one himself. Tavis sat near Keziah, nodding to her once as he lowered himself into the chair. He appeared just as she remembered him. Straight hair the color of wheat, dark, intelligent eyes, the refined features of an Eandi noble. He would have been handsome had it not been for the lattice of dark, angry scars that covered his face, remembrances from his stay in the dungeon of Kentigern Castle.

Kearney pulled a chair just in front of Cresenne's and sat as well, facing her. "I know you won't believe this," he said, "at least not at first. But you have nothing to fear from me. Answer our questions honestly, and no harm will come to you or your child."

"And if I refuse?" she asked, her voice barely carrying to where Keziah sat.

Kearney smiled. "Let's not talk about that for now. Listen first to what I have to say. Consider what I ask of you."

She hesitated, then nodded.

The king indicated Gershon with a nod of his head. "That's Gershon Trasker, captain of the King's Guard and my swordmaster since I first became duke of Glyndwr. I asked him here so that he might assess the risk posed by the . . . by your movement."

She stared at the swordmaster, who offered no response at all. No doubt he thought the woman should be imprisoned immediately for her betrayal, the king's questions saved for the dungeonmaster and his instruments of torture. Keziah knew that Gershon had little tolerance for traitors, and even less when their eyes were yellow.

"The woman sitting beside Lord Tavis is Keziah ja Dafydd, my archminister."

Cresenne looked at her again, but quickly turned her attention back to the king.

Kearney started to say more, then stopped himself, his eyes meeting Keziah's for just an instant. Then he faced Grinsa. "Gleaner, I believe you know better than I what questions she might be able to answer. Would you?"

"Of course, Your Majesty."

"Pardon, Your Majesty," Gershon broke in, standing as he spoke, a hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "But before we continue, I'd like to know what powers this woman possesses."

Cresenne smiled coldly. "Gleaning, healing, and fire, swordmaster. I'm hardly a threat to your king. I'd imagine you have more to fear from his archminister." She eyed Grinsa, the smile lingering. "Or perhaps the gleaner."

It was a curious comment, and a dangerous one. Clearly she knew of Grinsa's powers, but did she know as well that Keziah had spoken with the Weaver who led her movement?

Whatever she meant to imply, Gershon did not seem mollified. "Fire, eh?"

She rolled her eyes. "Think for a moment, swordmaster. Not like a warrior but like a man and a father. Do you honestly think I'd do anything so foolish with my child in my arms?"

That seemed to reach him. His mouth twisted sourly, but after another few seconds he nodded, returning to his seat.

"Gleaner?" the king prompted once more.

Grinsa sat forward. "How long have you been with the conspiracy, Cresenne?"

She furrowed her brow. "Conspiracy? I'm not certain I know what you mean."

"Would you prefer I called it the Qirsi movement?"

"I still wouldn't know what you werea""

"Stop it!" The gleaner glared at her. "You think this is a game. You think that I'll be stayed by pity and love of our child. You're wrong. Archminister," he said, not taking his eyes off the woman. "Please take my daughter from the chamber. I have no doubt that you can find someone in the castle who'll care for her until I'm finished here."

Keziah glanced at Kearney, who nodded his approval. She stood and started walking to where Cresenne sat. She could see the baby now, eyes closed, lips slightly pursed. She had not spent much time with babies. She knew little about how to care for them; she wasn't even certain she could hold her niece properly. But even she could see how beautiful the child was, her face a perfect blending of Cresenne's features and Grinsa's.

As she approached, Cresenne shrank back against her chair, tightening her grip on the baby. Her eyes, wild and afraid, flew to Grinsa's face. "You can't do this."

"If you resist," he said calmly, "if you make us take Bryntelle by force, she's more likely to be hurt."

"You bastard! She's your daughter!"

"And as I've told you already, I won't allow myself to be swayed by that. This is your doing, Cresenne, not mine."

"I won't hurt her," Keziah said softly, holding out her arms for the child. "You have my word."

Still Cresenne clung to her. "She'll be hungry soon. She'll need me."

Grinsa looked away. "I've no doubt we can find a wet nurse in the city."

Cresenne glared at him. "I despise you," she whispered. "I don't care that you are her father. I wish you were dead."

"Yes, I know. You made that clear when you sent the assassin for me." His face wore a bitter smile, but Keziah could see how this was hurting him. "Take the child, Archminister."

Reluctantly, her hands shaking as if from a palsy, Cresenne placed Bryntelle in Keziah's arms. She was crying now, and she fussed over the child a moment, tucking in her swaddling until it was snug and smoothing the wisps of snowy hair on the baby's head.

"Her name is Bryntelle," she said, meeting Keziah's gaze.

"I know. Neither of you has anything to fear from me."

The woman gave a hesitant nod. Keziah straightened and started toward the door. Before she was halfway across the chamber, however, Cresenne, cried out, "Wait!"

Keziah halted, turned.

"I'll tell you what you want to know," she said. "Just don't leave with her."

"It's too late for that," Grinsa said.

The archminister shook her head. "It doesn't have to be."

Her brother shot her a baleful look, but once more the king nodded. "Let me remain here," she went on. "I'll hold Bryntelle. So long as Cresenne answers your questions, I'll stay. But if she refuses you again, I'll leave immediately, taking the child with me."

A frown creased Grinsa's forehead, but he looked to Cresenne, as if gauging her response.

"Very well," the woman said.

Grinsa exhaled heavily. "Let's begin again. How long have you been with the conspiracy?"

The woman stared at her hands. "Nearly three years."

"Why did you join?"

"They offered me gold."

"Is that the only reason?"

Her gaze met Grinsa's for just an instant, then dropped again. "No. It offered me a way to strike at the Eandi courts. The movement seeks to end Eandi rule in the Forelands."

Kearney turned to Gershon, his face grim. He didn't look surpriseda"no doubt he had expected something like this. Her words would have served only to confirm his darkest fears.

"How does your movement intend to do this?"

"I don't know. I know that's our goal, and I know that much of what we've done has sought to bring turmoil and instability to the seven realms. But beyond that, I've been told nothing."

"You've told me already that you're paid by couriers and Qirsi merchants. Do you know where the gold comes from?"

She shook her head.

"Are you paid in common currency or imperials?" the king asked.

"Common currency."

Kearney looked disappointed. "Forgive me, gleaner. Please go on."

"What do you know about the movement's leaders?"

Cresenne started to reply, then stopped herself. She stared at Grinsa, her eyes narrowing slightly. "What?"

"What can you tell us about the movement's leaders?"

There was something strange in the way Cresenne was looking at him, as if she abruptly knew that she had the advantage. It took Keziah only a moment to understand why. Apparently Grinsa had made clear to her that he knew of the Weaver, only to find himself unable to use that knowledge now for fear of bringing harm to Keziah. She felt certain that Cresenne didn't know all of this, only that he knew more about the movement than he was willing to allow the others to hear, and that this provided her with a refuge of sorts.

"Very little," she said.

Gershon narrowed his eyes.

"As I told you a moment ago, they pay me through couriers, and they give me instructions the same way. I believe they prefer not to be known, even by those who support their cause."

"I think you're lying," Gershon said.

Grinsa nodded. "I believe she is as well, swordmaster."

Cresenne said nothing. She merely watched Grinsa, as if daring him to challenger her.

"But perhaps we should return to this later," the gleaner went on smoothly. "Tell us about the murder of Lady Brienne of Kentigern."

Keziah sensed Tavis's anticipation, though he didn't move or change his expression "I know only what I've heard."

"Now I know you're lying," Grinsa said. "The assassin you sent for me said that you didn't want me helping Tavis, that you didn't want me reaching Kentigern at all. Now, why would he have thought that?"

"I sent no assassin."

Grinsa looked up at Keziah. "Go. Take Bryntelle and go."

Keziah started to leave the room, though she didn't care for the idea. Before she could go, however, the baby woke and began to cry. It was almost as if she felt her mother's distress and cried out in answer.

"She needs to eat," Cresenne said quickly.

"We'll find a wet nurse." Keziah had never known Grinsa could sound so cold.

"Not soon enough. She's just a babe. She can't wait while you search the city for a woman to nurse her."

"It's all right, gleaner," the king said. "We'll have a brief respite while Cresenne nurses her child. Then we'll continue."