“Not at all,” he said, his voice hardening. “I’ve never asked my ministers to be anything less than honest! But neither have I demanded from them anything less than their respect and their courtesy! If you feel you can serve me in a manner that befits both your station and mine, then you may remain in my castle! Otherwise I expect you to pack your things and return to Glyndwr! Is that clear, Archminister?”

She was sobbing, her cries for forgiveness tearing at her chest. But only within. She couldn’t imagine where she found the strength, but somehow she kept her composure, so that all Kearney saw was the coloring of her cheeks and the trembling of her hands. And those he would have anticipated.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” she managed, the words as soft as falling snow. “Is that all?”

“No, it’s not. I’m tired of this foolish bickering between you and Gershon. I want you to speak with him, and finally put this nonsense to rest. Regardless of Marston’s intentions, I can’t tolerate this any longer. There’s too much at risk.”

It was more than she could have asked for. She had been eager to speak with the swordmaster for days, and now the king had given her just the excuse she needed. Still, Kearney would expect an argument.

“But, Your Majesty-”

“I know it’s been both of you all along. But in light of your behavior recently, I’m placing the onus for this on you. Find a way to work with the swordmaster, or leave.”

You would choose Gershon over me? Have I really hurt you that much? “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“That’s all. You may go.” He picked up a scroll from his table and began to read, as if his words had not been enough of a dismissal.

“Yes, Your Majesty. Thank you.”

She stood and left the room quickly, not trusting herself to look back at him. Once she was in the corridor, she could at least close her eyes and take a long steadying breath. But two of Kearney’s guards stood near the door, and though they would not have been able to make out all she and the king said to each other, they would have heard Kearney’s tone when he raised his voice. They eyed her with unconcealed distaste, their stares forcing her to walk away.

She thought briefly of returning to her chamber. She would have liked nothing more than to splash warm water on her face and lie down for a long sleep. It was more important, though, that she speak with the swordmaster. She hurried to Gershon’s quarters.

Reaching his door, Keziah hesitated, as if suddenly unsure of whether or not to knock. Gershon might be her only ally in the castle now that Paegar was dead and she had alienated Kearney, but they remained wary of one another. Even now, working together to combat the conspiracy, the concerns that bound them to each other were matched-nearly overmatched-by their long history of hostility and distrust.

She almost turned away from the door. But then she remembered that Kearney had ordered her to speak with the man. Eventually, she would have to do this. Better to do it now, with her courage high.

She knocked twice, the sound echoing loudly in the corridor.

In a few seconds the door opened and Gershon peered out into the corridor. Seeing her, his eyes widened, and he quickly looked down the hallway in both directions.

“Are you mad?” he asked in a loud whisper. “Did anyone see you come here?”

“The king asked me to speak with you, swordmaster,” she said, allowing her voice to carry. “He fears that our disagreements are weakening the throne, and he wishes for us to discuss our differences so that we might put them behind us.”

Gershon looked at her, as if trying to gauge whether she was telling him the truth. “All right,” he said at last. “Here? Or do you want to walk?”

“Better we speak in your quarters,” she said quietly. “Even with the king’s blessing, it would be best if others didn’t see us together.”

He nodded and stepped to the side, gesturing for her to enter.

Stepping into the chamber, Keziah saw that the swordmaster’s wife was there, as were their four children.

Sulwen Trasker nodded to her. “Archminister,” she said, her tone neither warm nor cool.

“Good day, my lady.” Keziah turned back to Gershon. “Should I come back later?”

“No.” He looked past her to his wife. “This might be a good time for their devotions,” he said, nodding toward the children. “I’ll meet you at the cloister shortly.”

Sulwen’s eyes strayed to the minister again, but she nodded and called to the children to stop their playing. It took several minutes to get all of them out of the chamber, but eventually Gershon and Keziah were alone.

“They seem like fine children,” Keziah said, taking a seat near the hearth and stretching her hands toward the fire to warm them.

Gershon frowned, as though uncomfortable accepting compliments from her. But after a moment he muttered, “Thank you,” and took a seat across from hers. “I wouldn’t have thought that you like children.”

“Why not?”

His frown deepened and he looked away. Keziah sensed that he wished he hadn’t spoken at all. “You were with Kearney all those years, loving a man who couldn’t give you children. I just assumed.”

“I like children very much, swordmaster. I just loved Kearney more.”

More than anything she had wanted to have children with her duke- her king. But doing so would have revealed their forbidden love to the world, and the first labor probably would have killed her. Her kind weren’t strong enough to bear even half-bloods.

“The king truly wanted us to speak?” Gershon asked, breaking a brief, strained silence.

Keziah took a breath, clearing her mind. “Yes. He said he was tired of our bickering.”

“Is that why he asked to speak with you?”

“Hardly,” she said, a wan smile springing to her lips. “He had me stay so that we could discuss my recent behavior.”

“So, it’s working.”

“I suppose it is.”

He looked at her, searching her eyes. “You don’t sound pleased. Wasn’t this your idea?”

“Yes, swordmaster, it was my idea.”

“Then what’s the matter?”

She turned her gaze to the fire. “I guess I didn’t realize how difficult it would be. I still love him, and to see the way he looks at me now, to hear him threaten to send me back to Glyndwr-”

“He did that?”

Keziah nodded, still staring into the bright flames. “He also told me that he would hold me responsible if you and I continue to fight. He told me to find a way to bridge our differences, or leave.” She smiled again, though it felt brittle. “You should be happy: our king has chosen you over me. If you wish to rid yourself of me, you can do so now. I know you’ve wanted to for a long time.”

She glanced at Gershon, only to find that he had looked away once more. He appeared uneasy again, though she couldn’t tell if it was because he no longer wanted her gone, or because he still did.

“I don’t think he’d really have you leave the castle,” he said, his voice low.

“You didn’t hear him today, nor did you hear everything I said.”

“Is it possible that you’re pushing him too hard?”

“Do you think I am?”

He shrugged. “Maybe. You said some things about Marston today that struck me as too strong. He’s not a traitor, and by suggesting that he is, you make it harder for Kearney to trust him. That could be dangerous.”

“I was trying to make it seem that my anger at the king had made me distrustful of all Eandi.”

“Well, you did that.”

“Don’t worry, swordmaster. After today, the king isn’t likely to place much faith in anything I say. Our ties to the House of Thorald are safe.” She felt a single tear rolling down her cheek and she swiped at it impatiently, hoping that Gershon hadn’t seen.

“You’re doing the king a great service,” he said, his voice more gentle than she had ever imagined it could be. “He may not know it now, but when all of this is over, I’ll tell him. I swear it.”