She nodded, but couldn’t speak for the tears that were now coursing down her face. After keeping such a tight hold on her emotions for so long, it was all Keziah could do just to breathe amid her sobbing. Her anguish overwhelmed her; she felt like a child caught in the sudden tumult of a great ocean wave. Indeed, the only thing that saved her, that allowed her to stop crying at last, was the look of utter panic on the face of the poor swordmaster. He had found a kerchief and was holding it out to her. But he seemed at a loss to do more than that.

“Forgive me, swordmaster,” she managed, taking the kerchief and dabbing at her tears. “As I said before, this is more difficult than I had expected. Do you have any water?”

He nearly leaped to his feet, so anxious was he to do anything other than sit before her watching her cry. He went to a pitcher near the small window, poured her a cup of water, and carried it to her like a server at a banquet.

“Is there something else I can do?”

She shook her head. “I’ll be fine. Thank you. Just tell me, did you hear any of the other ministers speaking of today’s discussion?”

“Yes,” he said. “I made a point of walking with them briefly, at least until they reached the stairway leading to their chambers. They’re very much aware of the change in your behavior, and they trace it to Paegar’s death.”

She winced. “I’ve been too obvious.”

“No, it’s all right. A number of them…” He stopped himself, his face turning bright red.

Keziah smiled. “They think that Paegar and I were lovers.”

“Yes.”

“Kearney suspected the same thing, though I told him it wasn’t so.”

“Why? Where’s the harm in it? It makes all of this much more convincing.”

“I don’t want him thinking that, no matter how much it might help us.”

Something in her voice must have reached him. He stared at her a moment, then nodded. “Very well.”

“But the ministers do think it,” she said, prodding him.

“Some of them do. And at least one of them remarked on the growing discord between you and the king. If it was your aim to make the castle’s Qirsi think that your loyalties might be compromised, you’ve succeeded.”

She made herself grin, though she suddenly felt a chill, as from a north wind. “Well, I suppose I should be pleased then.”

Gershon continued to stare at her, a look of genuine concern in those hard blue eyes. “Are you certain about this? It’s not too late to stop. You can attribute it all to your grief at Paegar’s death, apologize to the king, and go back to advising him as you always have. No one would ever know but me, and I wouldn’t think worse of you for making that choice.”

“Careful, Gershon. Treat me with such kindness too often, and I may yet mistake you for a friend.”

He frowned again. He was the only man she had ever met on whom a frown seemed more natural than a smile.

“I’ll take that to mean that you still intend to go through with this,” he said.

“I do, unless you’ve thought of a better way to learn what we need to know about the conspiracy.”

She knew that he hadn’t of course. There was no other way. Had there been, she would have jumped at the chance to end all of this.

Keziah stood. “Your family will be awaiting you in the cloister, swordmaster. You should join them.”

He made a sour face. “I think I’ll see to my men instead.”

The minister laughed. “Perhaps you should join me in the sanctuaries one day. Devotions don’t have to be as tedious as the prelate makes them.”

Gershon actually grinned. “Good day, Archminister.” He pulled his door open and held it for her. “I hope this can be the beginning of better understanding between us,” he said, letting his voice carry into the corridor. “I pledge to do my best to make it so.”

She stepped into the hallway and turned to bow to him. “As do I, swordmaster. Thank you.”

He nodded once, looking for just an instant like he wanted to say more. But after a moment, he merely shut his door again, leaving her alone in the corridor. Had Keziah not known better, she would have thought he was going to tell her to be careful.

She walked quickly back to her chamber, passing guards as she went, and enduring their stares as best she could. She passed Wenda as well, just a few steps from her room. Seeing her, the high minister paused, clearing her throat awkwardly.

“Yes, Wenda?” she asked, not bothering to mask her impatience.

The older woman faltered, then shook her head. “It was nothing, Archminister. Good day.”

Keziah resumed her walking. “And to you, High Minister.”

Entering her room, she shook her head, cursing herself for not being more courteous. She might have learned something from Wenda. She thought about leaving the room again and finding the high minister, but it wouldn’t have been in keeping with her recent behavior. And she was just too tired.

She walked to her bed intending to lie down, but a dark shape on her blanket caught her eye. For a moment she stood utterly still, staring at this thing, afraid to move, as if thinking it might scurry away at her approach. Then she realized what it was, and fear gripped her heart like the clawed hand of some great beast of the Underrealm.

He should have gone to the cloister. Sulwen would be expecting him, and even knowing how he felt about the devotions, she would chastise him for failing to join her and the children there. After speaking with the archminister, however, Gershon couldn’t even bring himself to walk to the ward, where the guards were training. He just sat, watching the fire burn, wondering how he had allowed the Qirsi woman to talk him into this. He had known from the start that her plan carried risks, and he had weighed them carefully. What he had neglected to consider, though, were the other costs-the archminister’s heartache, and the king’s as well.

Kearney’s love affair with his minister had been a mistake. Gershon had wanted to say so to Kearney a thousand times while they still lived in Glyndwr. Despite having misgivings about his duke taking the throne in the midst of the conflict between Curgh and Kentigern, the swordmaster had at least found comfort in the knowledge that Kearney’s ascension would end this foolhardy affair. But though the king and the Qirsi no longer shared a bed, it seemed to Gershon that their love continued to color all that happened here in Audun’s Castle. It made the archminister’s deception possible, by making believable her alienation from the king. Yet it also increased the dangers of what she was doing. By angering Kearney, by adding to the pain he had already suffered by losing her, Keziah risked not only her life, but the safety of the entire kingdom.

The swordmaster finally trusted her. Any doubts he had harbored about her devotion to Kearney and Eibithar had vanished when she agreed to seek out the conspiracy. But he thought her terribly young, and he had seen her put Kearney in harm’s way too many times. Gershon still remembered, with a vividness that made his sword hand tremble, how enraged he had been when she allowed her friend, the gleaner, to bring Tavis of Curgh to Tremain where the Glyndwr army had stopped on its way to the Heneagh River. At the time, the boy was still a fugitive from Aindreas’s dungeon, and Kentigern and Curgh were on the verge of war. No harm came of what she had done, and Kearney granted the gleaner’s request to give Tavis asylum. But Keziah had taken a terrible chance, placing at risk both the House of Glyndwr and the House of Tremain. Despite trusting her, despite knowing how much she loved the king, Gershon couldn’t help but feel that she remained the greatest threat to everything he held dear. That she was also their greatest hope of learning how to defeat the conspiracy only served to deepen his fears.

He made himself stand, and reached for his sword, intending to join his army in the castle courtyard. Before he could strap the scabbard to his belt, however, he heard a knock at his door. He pulled it open, only to find Keziah standing before him once more, her face deathly pale and her eyes wide, like those of a child who has just awakened from a frightening dream.