Thinking of Grinsa, her mind turned southward, to Aneira and all that she had heard recently of events there. It had been some time since her brother last entered her dreams, and Keziah wondered where he was and whether he and Tavis of Curgh were any closer to finding Brienne’s killer. She still wished that Grinsa hadn’t gone with the boy. For all her brother’s power, she didn’t like the idea of him tracking a hired blade.

Someone knocked at her door, forcing her abruptly from her musings and memories. Pulling her robe tighter around her shoulders and passing a hand through her tangled white hair, she faced the door.

“Who’s there?”

“It’s Paegar.”

Keziah smiled. In a castle and city that had long seemed empty of warmth and companionship, the high minister had in recent days become her closest friend, really her only friend. They had spent a good deal of time together since the waning began, talking as they walked through the corridors and wards, and laughing in the kitchens over midday meals. The night before, they had left the castle for a Qirsi tavern Paegar knew in the northern quarter of the marketplace. Keziah hadn’t been to a tavern in years. In Glyndwr, as Kearney’s first minister and lover, she had rarely left his side, much less his castle. Though she missed terribly the nights they spent together, she had found herself reveling in the freedom of being able to leave the confines of the castle walls and breathe in the life she found in the city. For too long, Keziah realized the previous night, she had allowed herself to steep like tea leaves in the grief that followed Kearney’s ascension and the end of their love affair. Without saying a word, perhaps without even knowing it, Paegar had helped her see this. All it had taken was a friend inviting her to live again, to find mirth and good company without the man with whom she had shared her bed. She hadn’t known how to thank the minister, and in a sense, she didn’t have to. It was enough that they enjoyed their time together.

“Come in!” she said. Then remembering that the door was bolted, she crossed the room and unlocked it.

“Good morning, Paegar,” she said, waving him into the room.

He smiled. “And to you, Archmimster.” Noticing her robe, he halted, his face falling. “Did I wake you?”

“Not at all. I was watching the snow.”

He raised an eyebrow. “That would explain why yours is the only chamber in the castle in which I can see my breath.”

Keziah gave a small laugh. “I know. I should start a new fire.” She turned to face the window again and sighed. “But isn’t it lovely? I’ve missed the snows.”

“Spoken like a woman raised on the steppe. To me the snows are a bother. I never feel so old as I do in the cold turns.”

She walked back to the window to push the shutters closed again. “You’re not old, Paegar,” she said, glancing back at him. “Not even for a Qirsi.”

The high minister had stepped to the hearth and was piling new wood for a fire. “You’re most kind, Archmimster, but I’m a good deal older than you and far closer to the end of my life than I am to the beginning of it.”

Bolting the shutters, she turned to look at the man. In many ways he reminded Keziah of her father. Like Dafydd, and unlike most older Qirsi, he had a full, healthy face. To be sure, there were lines around his eyes and the corners of his mouth, but his cheeks weren’t sunken like those of some, and his color remained a healthy white, rather than the sallow yellow that crept into the faces of Qirsi nearing the end of their lives.

“I’d say you have some years left,” she told him with a grin. “I expect you to be showing me the city’s better taverns for a long time to come.”

“Hardly a pursuit worthy of the king’s ministers.” Paegar placed one last log in the hearth and sat back on his heels. “The wood is ready, Archminister, but I’m afraid I don’t have fire magic. Only gleaning and mists and winds.” He gestured toward the hearth. “Can you?”

She shook her head. “I’m afraid not. Gleaning, mists and winds, and language of beasts. How embarrassing. Here we are, two of the king’s most trusted Qirsi, and between us we can’t even light a fire.”

Paegar grinned. “Indeed.” He glanced around the chamber, but Keziah kept no candles or lamps burning during the night.

“Wait just a moment,” Keziah said. She stepped into the corridor, lit a tinder with the torch mounted by her door, and, returning to the hearth, handed it to the minister.

Watching him light the fire, she had to smile at what had just passed between them. She usually told no one what powers she possessed. Grinsa knew, of course, and Kearney, but that was all. Since Paegar had confided in her, however, she felt that she should do the same. More than that, though, she wanted to tell him. She viewed it as a measure of how quickly their friendship was deepening that they could share this so soon.

Which raised another point. “You need to stop calling me Archminister, Paegar. Please.”

“It wouldn’t be appropriate for me to call you Keziah in front of the king or the other ministers,” he said, standing once more.

She considered this. “All right, but certainly there’s no harm in it when we’re alone.”

Paegar shrugged, looking uncomfortable. “I suppose not.”

In a few moments, the fire in her hearth was burning bright and hot, warming the chamber.

“Thank you, Paegar,” she said. “But I can’t imagine you came here only to build a fire for me.”

His ears turned red, though he managed a smile. “No, I didn’t. I was hoping you’d join me for a quick breakfast in the kitchens before we meet with the king.”

“Of course,” she said. “I need to dress first. Will you wait for me?”

His color deepened, and for the first time it occurred to Keziah that the minister might be taken with her. She felt her chest tighten. Nothing could ruin their friendship faster. Much as she already cared for him, she knew that she could never love him. She still loved Kearney; she probably always would. When she looked at Paegar she saw her father, someone to whom she could turn when her lingering love for the king became more than she could bear. She could no more fall in love with him than she could with Grinsa.

“I’ll be in the hallway,” he said. “Take your time.”

Keziah nodded and watched him leave, feeling as though she might cry. At last she had found a friend in the City of Kings, and already she was on the verge of driving him off.

She dressed quickly, splashing cold water on her face and brushing out her hair before putting on her ministerial robes.

“Maybe I’m wrong about what he’s feeling,” she whispered to herself.

Maybe you’re not.

She joined him in the corridor and they walked to the kitchens, neither of them speaking.

As always the kitchens bustled with activity, even early in the morning of a day when no feasts were planned and no guests were expected to arrive. The scents of spices, baking breads, and roasting meats filled the air. People, animals, and birds ran or flew in every direction, the kitchenmaster shouted instructions to cooks and servants, and guards tried to sneak tastes of fresh loaves of bread and simmering stews.

“What do you want?” the master demanded, seeing Paegar and Keziah. “Are you here for the king or for yourselves?”

Few people spoke to Qirsi ministers in such a tone. But here, amid the food and the cooking flames, the kitchenmaster was king. He spoke to everyone with disdain and impatience. He might even have done so with Kearney, had the king the courage to venture down here.

“Ourselves,” Paegar said. “We’re just looking for a bit of breakfast.”

The man frowned and shook his head. “Fine,” he muttered. “Take what you want and get out of my kitchens.”

Paegar nodded, a small grin on his face. “Of course, kitchenmaster.”

The ministers gathered some breads and cheeses, and a few pieces of dried fruit, before retreating into the king’s hall to eat.