As a younger man Shurik had never allowed his fears to overmaster his good sense. But like her, he was growing older. Add to that his recent exile from Kentigern and his harsh treatment at the hands of the Weaver, and Yaella could see how he might imagine dangers at every turn. She didn’t dare say any of this to him, of course. She listened as he ranted on about the ill will of the gods and how they had cursed him with bad fortune, and she tried to put his fears to rest.
On this morning, to her surprise and relief, he appeared to have forgotten both Weavers, at least for the moment. He wasn’t even urging her to eat, though that would soon change if she didn’t climb out of her chair and return to the breakfast he had brought her, which sat untouched on the bed. He merely sat near the hearth, staring at the patterned tapestry that hung on the wall. When he finally spoke, however, it became clear to her that the Weavers were anything but forgotten.
“It’s possible that they caught him,” he said abruptly, as if they had been talking all this time.
“Who?” she asked, knowing well who he meant.
“Grinsa, of course. The Solkarans might have him already, and the boy as well. That may be why word of their escape never reached the guards here in Mertesse.”
“I’ve told you, Shurik. Solkaran guards would have ceased their search at the northern fringe of the Great Forest whether they had him or not. That’s where Solkaran lands end and those of Mertesse begin.”
“But surely soldiers of the royal house can ride where they please.”
“Yes. But with Numar new to his power and fears running high throughout Aneira, they aren’t about to stray too far from the royal city in pursuit of two men.” She closed her eyes briefly, angry with herself for arguing the point. Better to let him believe that Grinsa was no longer a threat. “He may very well have been captured. I certainly hope that he was. But it’s just one possible explanation. They may simply have decided that the gleaner and the Curgh boy weren’t worth so much effort.”
Perhaps he sensed more in her tone than she meant to convey. He stared at her a moment, a pained expression in his eyes. Then looking down, he asked, “Is that what you think?”
“No.”
But he heard the hesitancy in her answer and his face colored.
“He’s a Weaver, Yaella. I’m certain of it. I know it seems odd that I would have drawn the attention of two of them, but I have.” He smiled grimly, the wounded look in his eyes remaining. “It seems I’m more important than either of us ever realized.”
“I’ve never doubted that you’re important, Shurik. You should know that. But I know that my own fear of the Weaver has made me wary of every new Qirsi I meet. You first encountered this man just after you weakened the gates at Kentigern, and you immediately thought that he knew somehow you had betrayed Aindreas. Isn’t it possible that you allowed your fear of being discovered to color your impression of the man?”
Shurik stood, his lips pressed thin, his cheeks reddening further. “No,” he said, his voice icy with rage. “It’s not. And you should know better.”
He stalked to the door.
“Shurik, please. I’m sor-”
The door slammed behind him before she could finish her apology.
A small part of her was glad to see him go, and she wondered if on some level she had meant to make him angry. She knew she should find him and apologize. If he was right, and this Grinsa was a Weaver, the Solkarans would have little chance of capturing him and even less of preventing his escape. She might have been tiring of Shurik’s company, but she knew that he was safer with her than alone. Still, Yaella continued to sit before the fire, watching the flames dance and enjoying her solitude.
After some time, she stood, walked slowly to the bed, and made herself eat. Then she left her room in search of Shurik. She checked his quarters first, but the door was unlocked and the room empty. After that she walked to the kitchens and the great hall, but none of the servants in either place had seen him. An uneasy feeling came over her and she walked quickly through the corridors and out into the castle courtyard. Nothing. Almost running now, she stepped into the outer ward, circling it twice. He wasn’t there either.
As she passed the city gate a second time, she thought she glimpsed a shock of white hair at the sally port. Rushing to the gate, she stared down the lane leading to the city, but she saw no sign of him.
“Who was that you were speaking to?” she asked the nearest of the guards.
The man stared at her blankly. “I wasn’t speaking to anyone, First Minister.”
“I thought I saw a Qirsi here. I was wondering if it was the…” She faltered. Since Shurik first arrived in Mertesse, a traitor from Kentigern seeking asylum in Aneira, she had not known what to call him when speaking with others. He wasn’t a minister any longer, and she refused to call him “the traitor” as she knew most of the guards did. “I thought it might be my friend, Shurik. The Qirsi from Kentigern.”
“I swear, First Minister. There was no one.”
She turned toward a second guard, who stood a short distance from the gate. “Did you see him?”
“No, First Minister.” He gestured toward the first guard. “Like he says, there wasn’t anyone here. We would have noticed a whi-” He nearly choked on the word, his face turning crimson. “We would have noticed a Qirsi,” he said a moment later.
Yaella gazed toward the city again, but still saw no one. She was so certain that she had seen the white hair of a Qirsi, but then again, she hadn’t been well recently.
“My apologies,” she murmured, walking back toward the inner gates. “I must have been mistaken.”
She finally found Shurik some time later, standing alone at the top of the granary tower on the far side of the castle. The wind blew hard so high up, and Yaella shivered as she stopped next to him, looking out over the city walls toward the Great Forest.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly, glancing at him, trying to read his expression. “You’ve never given me cause to question your word or your judgment, and I shouldn’t start doubting you now.”
“But you have. You think I’m wrong about Grinsa.”
“I don’t know what to think. I’ve never even seen him, so who am I to say you’re wrong?” She shrugged. “Maybe I just find the idea of facing two Weavers so frightening that I don’t want to believe it.”
He gave a wry smile. “I can understand that.”
“For what it’s worth, just now, when I thought you had left the castle, I was very worried.” She briefly considered telling him what she had seen at the city gate, but that would have served only to make him more afraid, and for no reason at all. The guards wouldn’t have lied to her. Certainly she had imagined it.
“I’m not about to leave the castle, Yaella. This is the only place I feel safe. At some point, the Weaver may order me to search for Grinsa again, but until then I’m staying here.”
She hooked her arm through his and rested her head against his shoulder. “Good.”
Shurik pressed his lips gently against the top of her head. Then he regarded her oddly, as if noticing her for the first time. “You’re out of your quarters,” he said, grinning. “Outside the castle corridors even. I can hardly believe it.”
“I told you, I was worried.”
“How do you feel?”
“Tired. A bit cold.”
“Shall I escort you back to your chamber, First Minister?”
Yaella smiled. “Soon. I like it up here.”
They stood there a while longer, watching thin, grey clouds glide over nearby farms and the bare trees of the Aneiran wood. Occasionally the sun broke through, casting stark shadows on the brown fields before vanishing again behind the grey. At last, as the clouds began to thicken and the wind increased, they retreated into the closest tower and descended a winding stairway to the corridors near Yaella’s room.
“I have to ask you something,” Shurik said, as they approached her door. “But I’m afraid you’ll think me foolish again.”
A pair of guards turned the corner in front of them and walked past. Neither of the Qirsi spoke until the men reached the far end of the hallway and turned out of sight.
“I don’t think you’re foolish, Shurik, and whatever else I may think or Grinsa, I don’t doubt for a moment that he’s a threat to you. Just ask me.‘
“All right. I know that the Solkarans pursued him and the boy. For all I know the two of them are a hundred leagues from here. But still I’d like you to ask the duke to alert his guards. I want the men looking for them, just in case Grinsa comes to the castle.”
Yaella felt a strange tightness in her chest and once again she saw in her mind that head of white hair.
You imagined it. You’re as unnerved as Shurik
.
“Of course,” she said. “I need to rest right now. But I’ll speak with him later today.”
They stopped in front of her door, and Shurik turned to face her, looking anxious. “Do you think he’ll do it? We both know how he feels about me.”
“Regardless of his feelings for you, Rowan is smart enough to recognize a threat to his castle. If I tell him there are agents of Eibithar in the kingdom who wish you harm, he’ll double the guard at every gate. I promise.”
He nodded, even smiled. “Thank you,” he said. He kissed her cheek. “I’ll leave you now. Rest.”
Yaella nodded. But as she lingered in the doorway, watching him walk away, she couldn’t help thinking that the Qirsi man she had seen at the gate had looked a good deal taller than Shurik.
Chapter Thirty-two
Tavis had circled once through the marketplace, stopping at the carts of a few peddlers to look at blades or travel sacks-his was badly frayed-before moving on again. Granted, they were well into the snows now, and in a kingdom like Aneira, which stretched southward all the way to the Border Range, the northern cities were bound to have a more difficult time attracting merchants during the colder turns. Still, the young lord could not keep himself from measuring this marketplace against the one in Curgh, and he noted with satisfaction that it fared poorly in the comparison.
Seeing no sign of Grinsa, Tavis had resigned himself to a second pass through the markets when he saw a knot of people forming in the distance. Curious, he started in that direction. Before he reached the growing throng, however, he heard the gleaner calling his name, or rather, Xaver’s.
He stopped, turning to see Grinsa striding toward him.
“Where are you going?” the Qirsi asked as he drew near.
Tavis nodded toward the crowd, but said nothing. There were too many people close by and though he had been working to perfect his Aneiran accent, it remained less than convincing.
Halting just in front of him, Grinsa gave a quick glance toward the mass of people, his brow wrinkling for just a moment. “What is it?”
“I don’t know,” Tavis said quietly. “I thought I’d take a look.”
“Another time perhaps. We need to find a room and talk.” Grinsa faced him again, an avid look in his fire yellow eyes. “He’s here, in the castle.”
“All right, we’ll go shortly. But I want to see what’s happening over there.”
Grinsa frowned. “Excuse me!” he called to a man hurrying past them. “What is it you’re all rushing to see?”
The man looked at them over his shoulder, barely slowing down. “The musicians, of course.”
“Musicians?”
The stranger gave an exasperated sigh and stopped, though clearly he would have preferred to leave it to someone else to answer their questions. “The ones from the Swallow’s Nest.” When neither Tavis nor Grinsa gave any sign that they understood, he went on, his tone growing more impatient by the moment. “They’ve played in the marketplace the past several days. I guess they hope to draw people to the tavern.” He started away again. “They’re better than any festival players I’ve ever heard.”
“Thank you,” Grinsa called after him. “There,” he said, turning to Tavis again. “It’s just musicians. Seems you’ll be able to hear them tomorrow if you like. For now, we need to talk.”
Reluctantly, Tavis followed the gleaner away from the crowd and toward one of the many narrow lanes leading off the marketplace. It took them some time to find an inn that would rent them a room, and more time still to haggle over the price. By the time they began to climb the steps to their room in yet another Qirsi inn, it was well past midday. Once they were alone, Grinsa told Tavis all that he had learned from the guards at Mertesse Castle.
Shurik had returned with the duke and hadn’t left the safety of the castle since. He spent most of his time caring for the first minister, who was still recovering from the poisoning in Solkara. The new duke, though honoring his father’s pledge to protect the man, despised him and had no intention of ever making him a minister.
“How did you get a soldier of Mertesse to tell you all this?” the young lord asked, when Grinsa had finished.
“You remember the peddler we met in the Great Forest?”
Tavis felt the blood drain from his face.
“With all the guard told me,” the Qirsi went on a moment later, “I still have no idea how I can get close enough to Shurik to-” He fell silent, glancing uneasily at Tavis.
“To what?”
Grinsa stared at him briefly, his mouth twitching. Then he looked away. “To kill him.”
“I thought you wanted to question him, to learn what you could about the conspiracy.”
“I did. But with Keziah trying to join the movement, he’s too great a threat, to her as well as to me. I don’t have a choice anymore.”
Tavis considered this for several moments before starting to nod. “All right. What do you want me to do?”
Grinsa smiled, looking relieved. “Nothing for now. Rest. Walk the marketplace. Enjoy the musicians. I still have a great deal to learn. It’s been several years since I last visited Mertesse, and I don’t remember much about the castle.”
“You think we’ll have to do it there?”
“I doubt very much that Shurik will give us the opportunity to do it anywhere else.”