Relief overwhelmed her, and she felt her face flush. Grateful for the dim light in the corridor, she thanked the men and hurried to her chamber.

She would go to him this night, she told herself. Having feared that she might lose him, she could no longer bear to keep from him her true feelings. But as the night went on, marked by the ringing of the twilight bells, and then the gate close, Nitara lost her nerve. She wanted to go to him, but she feared that he would turn her away, that he might think her foolish, or worse, weak. And too, she feared him. He was a Weaver, and so the most powerful Qirsi she had ever known.

Eventually she undressed, pulled on her sleeping gown, and crawled into bed, trembling with her fright and her disgust at what she had become.

Unable to fall asleep, she merely stared at the fire, much as she had the previous night. The midnight bell tolled and still she lay awake. She longed to ask him if it were true that he was a Weaver, to ask him if he thought he could love her. Yet she cringed at the idea of doing so. Perhaps he already had a woman. She had never seen him with anyone, but the palace was vast, and she really knew so little about him.

Look at you, a voice said within her mind. Kayiv's voice. You're a child with an infatuation, nothing more. He might pity you, he might laugh at you. But he won't love you.

That of all things roused her from her bed. It wasn't weakness to want him, she told herself. It was only weakness if she allowed herself to be mastered by her fears. She resolved to go to him then. She started to reach for her clothes, but already she felt herself beginning to waver once more. So she fled the chamber, dressed only in her shift, and made her way to Dusaan's door.

She knocked quickly, as soon as she reached the high chancellor's chamber, thus forcing herself to remain there. At first there was no response and she had to resist the urge to hurry away. She made herself knock a second time.

"Who's there?"

She shivered at the sound of his voice. "Nitara."

The door opened. He was still dressed. He hadn't been sleeping.

"What do you want?"

"Ia"I wish to speak with you."

His eyes narrowed. "Now?"

She suddenly found that she didn't know what to say, and so she spoke the first words that came to her. "I know who you are, what you are."

He glanced to both sides and she did as well, belatedly. The corridor was empty save for her.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said. "You should return to your chamber."

"Yes, you do." She stepped forward gazing up into his eyes. "I don't intend to tell anyone. I just want to be with you."

He stared at her a moment longer, then pulled her into his chamber and closed the door.

"What is it you think you know?" he asked, turning to face her, his expression deadly serious.

"I believe you lead the movement," she said, surprised to hear that her voice remained steady. She took a breath. "I believe that you're the Weaver."

For a long time he said nothing, his face revealing little more. "You came to me in your sleeping gown to tell me that?"

She felt her cheeks reddening once more, and she looked away. "Yes."

"What of Kayiv?"

"He and I are no longer . . . I don't love him. I don't think I ever did."

"I meant, does he also believe that I'm the Weaver?"

Her eyes flew to his face. He was actually smiling, kindly, with none of the mockery she had feared seeing in his golden eyes.

"No, High Chancellor. He thinks me a fool."

"Is this why you're not with him tonight?"

"No. As I said, I don't love him."

He nodded, turning away and walking to his writing table. "When you first thought of coming here, to say what you have, how did you think I would respond?"

"I don't know. I hoped . . ." She stopped, shaking her head. "I don't know," she said again, her heart aching.

"I can't love you, Minister. At least not now. It would be dangerous for us both. The emperor demands that I devote my days to his service, and my nights belong to the movement. Someday, perhaps. But for now, you should go back to Kayiv."

She fought to keep from crying, feeling like a chastised child, hearing Kayiv's laughter in her mind. "I can't."

He turned to her. Tall, regal, powerful. How could she ever go back to any other man?

"Very well. But you understand why I have to turn you away, regardless of my desires."

"Yes, High Chancellor."

He paused, then, "Call me Weaver."

Her breath caught in her throat. "Then it's true," she whispered, breathless and awed.

Dusaan returned to where she stood, grasping her shoulders firmly. "You can speak of this with no one. Do you understand? If Kayiv raises the matter, tell him that you were wrong. Make him think that you feel a fool for even raising the possibility. My life depends upon it, and so yours does, too."

"Yes. Weaver."

The smile touched his lips again. Would that she could touch them as well.

"I'm . . . pleased that you know. I didn't think I would be, but I am."

"Thank you, Weaver."

"Go now. In the morning, you must act as if none of this ever happened. If you can't do that, I'll have no choice but to kill you."

She knew that she should have been afraid, but for some reason she wasn't. "Good night, Weaver." She turned, reached for the door.

"How did you know?" he asked.

Nitara glanced back at him over her shoulder. "You have the look of a king," she said, and left him.

CHAPTER.

Twenty-Two.

City of Kings, Eibithar With the arrival in the royal city of the thane of Shanstead and the duke of Tremain, the king seemed eager to begin discussions of the Qirsi threat and all that he had learned from the woman being held in his prison tower. Not surprisingly, therefore, Javan of Curgh and the others were summoned to the king's presence chamber early the following morning. What did come as a great surprise to Fotir jal Salene and the other ministers was the king's request that all Qirsi be excluded from the conversation. The guard who came to Javan's chamber didn't phrase the request quite that way. Rather, the minister received a separate invitation to meet with the king's archminister and the other visiting Qirsi. But there could be no mistaking the king's intent.

"You're angry," the duke said, after the guard had gone.

Fotir didn't wish to lie to Javan, but neither did he think it appropriate to say anything critical of the king. So he gave a vague shrug, his gaze fixed on the floor. A year ago, he felt certain that his duke wouldn't have even thought to speak of this. But the time they had spent together in Kentigern, struggling to win Tavis's freedom and then fighting side by side against the invaders from Mertesse had strengthened their friendship. There may have been a time when Javan questioned Fotir's loyalty, but in the wake of all they had shared those doubts had long since been laid to rest.

"I probably would be, were I in your place," he went on a moment later. "But this is obviously a precaution he's taking with all the ministersa"it has nothing to do with you personally."

"Of course, my lord."

"And yet that makes no difference to you."

Fotir looked up. The duke was watching him closely, a troubled look in his blue eyes.

"May I speak frankly, my lord?"

"By all means."

"Every time we divide ourselves it weakens us. It doesn't matter if the divisions lie between realms, between houses, or even between a lord and his ministers. No doubt the king believes that he's merely being prudent. But to what end? If what we hear of the attack on the woman is true, the leaders of the conspiracy already know that she's helping us. And assuming that no duke would bring to the royal city a minister he didn't trust, I would think it likely that all of us will hear eventually of what's said in your discussion, despite our absence. On the other hand, if by some chance one of the Qirsi in this castle is wavering in his loyalty to the courts, this is only likely to drive him or her closer to the conspiracy."

"All that you say may be true, First Minister," the duke said, his expression still grave. "But the king obviously feels that in light of recent events we cannot risk any more betrayals. He's convinced that the conspiracy is real, that it was responsible for Brienne's death. The time has come for the courts to plot a response to this threat. And it behooves us to keep the nature of that response a secret, even at the risk of offending our ministers." He opened his hands. "I'm sorry."

"Of course, my lord. Thank you." He did his best to keep the hurt from his voice, but knew that he had failed.

They stepped into the corridor and walked much of the distance to the presence chamber in silence. At the door, Fotir bowed to the duke before continuing on toward the great hall, where the ministers were to meet.

"First Minister," the duke called to him, forcing Fotir to stop and turn. "You do understand that I'll tell you all I can of what's discussed here today."

The minister had to smile. Again, it was a kindness the duke would not have shown him a year ago. "Yes, my lord. Thank you."

Javan entered the chamber, and Fotir turned once more and resumed his walk to the hall. For a second time, however, he stopped. With the nobles speaking among themselves, the ministers were left with certain freedoms they might not have enjoyed otherwise. And if the court Qirsi were to develop their own strategy for combatting the conspiracy, they would be well served by consulting all who would be aiding them in the coming struggle. Taking the nearest stairway down to the castle's inner ward, the minister crossed to the prison tower, where he knew he would find the gleaner, Grinsa jal Arriet.

There was a good deal Fotir wished to ask Grinsaa"about the man's journey with Lord Tavis, about Shurik's death and the strange remarks Tavis had made to Javan about all that happened in Mertesse, and about this woman who had confessed to arranging Brienne's murder, and with whom Grinsa had apparently once been in love. But knowing what he did of the gleaner's powers, Fotir realized that these questions would have to wait. He had aided the gleaner in his efforts to win Tavis's freedom from the dungeon of Kentigern Castle, and so knew that the man was a Weaver. And he knew as well that there was no one in the Forelands he was more eager to have on his side in the coming war.

As the minister expected, Grinsa was there, holding the child he had fathered and walking slowly around the corridor just outside the woman's chamber.

"Good morning," Fotir said, emerging from the stairway.

Grinsa held a finger to his lips, then whispered, "Good morning," in return.

Fotir approached him, eyeing the baby. "Is she asleep?" he asked, lowering his voice.

The gleaner nodded toward the chamber door. "They both are."

Glancing through the iron grate at the top of the door, Fotir saw the woman sleeping peacefully on the small bed against the opposite wall. There were livid scars on her face that seemed eerily similar to those borne by Lord Tavis.

"They'll fade eventually," Grinsa said, standing beside him, "though they won't disappear entirely."

Fotir nodded, unable to tear his gaze from her. Even marked so, she was beautiful. "You healed her?" he asked.

"Yes."

The minister looked back at the guards, who would have been close enough to hear, had the two Qirsi been speaking in normal voices. "It seems," he said, his voice even softer than it had been a moment before, "that you've revealed a good deal of yourself in recent turns."

Grinsa nodded. "And it hasn't gone unnoticed by the king."

Fotir raised an eyebrow. It was one thing for him to know that Grinsa was a Weaver. He was Qirsi himself, and though loyal to the courts, he had no intention of betraying the man's confidence; not after all Grinsa had done for Tavis. Not after he had seen to it that Shurik jal Marcine paid for his betrayal. It was quite another matter, however, for an Eandi noble, particularly the king, to learn of Grinsa's true powers. "Do you think he knows?"

"I'm certain of it. I told him."

"What?"

"I had little choice, and there are . . . other matters to consider, other secrets that must be preserved. Believe me when I tell you that Kearney is the least of my concerns."

"I do believe it. In a way, that's why I've come."

The gleaner eyed him sidelong. "What do you mean?"

"Shanstead, Tremain, and my duke are meeting right now with the king. The ministers are meeting separately in the great hall. We all intend to discuss the conspiracy and what we've learned from . . ." He gestured toward the woman.

"Her name's Cresenne." Grinsa exhaled. "You want me to join your discussion."

"Yes. I think you'd have much to offer."

The gleaner gave a small smile. "I'm not certain the others would even sit in the same chamber with me. You know who I am. The others will see only a Revel gleaner, one who's tied to both Cresenne and Lord Tavis. I can hardly claim to be impartial in this matter."

"Some may see that as a weakness. I don't. And I believe the rest are reasonable enough to consider that your opinions might be of value."

"I'd rather not leave her alone."

"You can bring her with you if you'd like."

"I mean Cresenne. I'm afraid the Weaver will try to kill her again. I don't know that anyone else can protect her."

"I understand," Fotir said. "I certainly wouldn't want you to do anything that might endanger her life." He turned to leave. "We can speak again later. I'll tell you what was said."

"Wait." Grinsa beckoned one of the guards to the door and had him open it. Entering the chamber, he sat on the bed and laid the baby beside the woman. Cresenne stirred, opening her eyes.

"Is everything all right?" she asked, her gaze straying to the open door and Fotir.

"Yes, everything's fine," he told her. "I need to go for just a short while. I won't be long, but I think it best that you remain awake until I return."

She nodded, sitting up and passing a hand through her tangled hair. She glanced at the baby, then looked at Grinsa once more, smiling. "You got her to sleep."