“Did you ever take a message from Shurik back to the leaders, or those who could contact them?”

“No, never.”

“Would you know how to do such a thing?”

“Even if I did, I’d refuse. I already told you: I will not betray any of the others.”

“That’s not what I’m asking you to do.”

“Then what?”

Abruptly Aindreas was trembling. For more than a turn, since his troubling conversation with the thane of Shanstead, he had pursued the Qirsi, arresting them, torturing them, and all the while, lying to Villyd and the rest about his reasons. Now, at last, he had the man he sought, the one who could lead him to the conspiracy and bring his plans to fruition. And Aindreas felt himself waver. Once he started down the road before him, there could be no turning from it. Certainly, he could never return to where he stood now. His house, his kingdom, would never be the same.

An image of Ennis entered his mind. His boy, his heir. Seeing that face, he shivered, and nearly reached for his sword to finish the Qirsi without speaking another word. But then another image came to him. Brienne. Not as he last saw her, a bloodied corpse on Tavis’s bed, but rather as she had appeared the night before she died, golden and spirited and so beautiful that it made his chest ache. Her murderer was free, and the man who guarded his life when Aindreas sought vengeance now sat on the Oaken Throne. It was more than Aindreas could bear.

He took a step forward, extending a hand toward Qerle’s head. The Qirsi flinched again, turning his face away and wincing in anticipation of more pain. Aindreas waited a moment, until the man relaxed. Then he removed the blindfold from Qerle’s eyes.

The white-hair blinked several times, as if even the dim glow of the torches was too bright for him.

“Why did you do that?” he asked, regarding the duke warily.

“I want you to help me contact the leaders of your conspiracy.”

“Why?”

“I want their help. And I think they might be interested in having mine as well.”

“You can’t be serious.”

That of all things made the duke laugh. “You doubt that I’m serious? You, who I’ve tortured for the better part of a day?”

“You’re mad.”

“Perhaps I am. But my land is ruled by a king I hate, a king who offered refuge to the man who killed my daughter. Your leaders hate the Eandi courts, but can they deny the value of allying themselves with one as powerful as Kentigern? I’m offering them a chance to bring down Eibithar’s king, and in exchange all I ask is that my court be spared, perhaps even given a place of influence in the new order their rebellion creates. Do you really expect them to say no?”

The Qirsi shook his head, his pale eyes wide, as if he feared Aindreas more now than he had when the duke was torturing him.

“I don’t know what they’ll say,” he said softly. “But I’m sure they never even thought this possible.”

“You have to convince them that it is. You have to make them believe that I can help their movement.”

“So, you’re going to let me go?”

“I need someone to speak with the Qirsi leaders for me. Who else is there? I’m willing to pay you quite handsomely if you succeed.” He lifted one of the torches again. “But I want you to remember this day, and what I did to you. If you fail me, your next visit to this dungeon will make today’s torture seem mild by comparison.”

The man nodded. Aindreas could see hatred in his pale eyes.

“You’d like to kill me,” the duke said. “I understand. I’d probably feel the same way, were I in your position. But you’re going to have to swallow your anger. If you betray me, or if you attempt to flee Kentigern, I’ll find you. My men will be watching your every movement, and they’ll be watching your wife and children as well. From what I hear, it seems you have a lovely family. You wouldn’t want to see any of them down here, would you?”

“You wouldn’t,” the Qirsi breathed.

“I’ve just told you I want to ally my house with the Qirsi conspiracy. You honestly think I’d hesitate to torture another white-hair or two?”

“The movement’s leaders will think I’m luring them into a trap. They may kill me when they hear what I have to say, fearing that you intend to use me as a means of capturing them.”

Aindreas shrugged. “You’ll have to convince them otherwise.”

“How?”

“I don’t know, Qerle. Frankly, I don’t care. These are your people, not mine. Talk to them. Tell them whatever you have to. But be persuasive. Your life, and the lives of those you love, hang in the balance.” The duke hesitated. “I can offer you some token to prove to the others that your message truly comes from me-a gold round perhaps, or a piece of cloth bearing the seal of my house.”

Qerle glanced down at the raw, angry burns on his arms and chest. “I think you’ve given me all the tokens I need, Lord Kentigern.”

Aindreas raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps you’re right. The scars you’ll keep, but we can ease your pain a bit.” He looked up at the prison door. “Guards!” he called, his voice pealing like sanctuary bells in the stone prison.

He heard his men hurrying to the door, and, after a moment, he heard the lock turn.

“Yes, my lord?” a soldier asked from the top of the stairs.

“It seems this man is not guilty of any crime. Remove the bonds from his hands and feet, and take him up into the tower. Then find a Qirsi healer in the city and have him or her brought here. I want this prisoner made whole again and released.”

“A Qirsi healer, my lord?” the guard asked.

There hadn’t been a Qirsi in the castle since Shurik’s betrayal, at least not one who wasn’t taken immediately to the dungeon.

The duke nodded. “I want his injuries mended as soon as possible.”

Two guards descended the stairs, and began to release Qerle from the bonds holding him to the wall.

“I’ll look forward to speaking with you again, Qerle,” Aindreas said, as he started up the stairs. “Don’t keep me waiting long.”

“Of course… my lord.”

Something in the man’s voice made the duke pause at the top of the stairs. Looking back at Qerle, however, he saw that the Qirsi had his eyes closed, and his head tipped back against the wall. After a moment the duke left the prison, thinking that he must have imagined it.

Aindreas waited several days for Qerle to return, his patience strained almost from the start. Despite his warnings to the Qirsi, he knew better than to have his soldiers follow the man. The conspiracy’s leaders had not enjoyed so much success by allowing themselves to be observed by the soldiers of Eandi nobles. If he had guards follow Qerle, the Qirsi would never speak with him. Instead, he had his men watch Qerle’s home, and he didn’t have them make any effort to hide themselves. As long as Qerle knew his wife and children were in danger, he wouldn’t knowingly betray the duke.

This at least was what Aindreas told himself. After five days of waiting for the Qirsi to return to Kentigern Castle, the duke began to wonder if the man had fled anyway, or worse, if he had been killed as a traitor by others in his movement.

At last, just after dark on the sixth day, a knock at the duke’s door interrupted his supper. He had taken to wine once again, much as he had in the days following Brienne’s murder, and he was already on his third goblet, having barely touched his meal.

“What is it?” he called.

A guard opened the door and poked his head in the chamber, looking, for all his brawn, like a timid boy.

“There’s someone come to see you, my lord. A Qirsi man. He says-

Aindreas was striding toward the door before the fool could finish whatever it was he was trying to say.

“Where is he?” he asked, pushing past the man and into the corridor.

“We’ve held him at the gate, knowing how you feel about their kind. We were going to send him away, but he-”