The more the minister considered this, the more agitated he grew, until at last he felt that he needed to flee the castle entirely or give himself away by his pacing and his muttered curses. Striding swiftly to the nearest gate, Paegar left the castle and descended the sloped lanes to the city. Once there, he simply wandered, passing shops and taverns, peddler’s carts and flocks of sheep driven toward the markets by shepherds. He walked the city’s outer streets, passing all four of the sanctuaries. He briefly considered leaving the city altogether, and meandering for a time in the grasses and farmlands that lay beyond the city walls.

But as the day wore on, marked by changes in the rate of the snowfall, and the occasional tolling of the gate bells, Paegar grew increasingly uneasy. At first he merely thought it the lingering effect of his talk with Keziah. As the feeling continued to mount, however, he realized it was more than that. He might not have been the most powerful Qirsi in the castle, but he was a gleaner, and he knew this sense of foreboding had to be more than the product of a pained heart.

Stopping just at the gates of Elined’s Sanctuary, he turned and started back toward the castle, walking as fast as he dared. By the time he had climbed the lane back to the castle’s north gate, he was breathing hard, sweat dampening his brow in spite of the cold and snow. He hurried through the outer ward, into the castle’s inner courtyards, and finally into the shelter of the corridors. Of course Keziah was the first person he saw.

“I was just coming to look for you,” she said. “I was hoping we might have supper together.”

He didn’t even alter his stride. “Tomorrow perhaps. I’ve other matters to which to attend this evening.”

“You don’t look well, Paegar,” she called to him as he walked on. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, Archminister. I promise. I’ve been out walking and I’m eager to warm myself by my hearth.”

He turned a corner before she could answer, ran up the nearest stairway, and continued on to his chamber without meeting up with anyone else. His heart was pounding as he reached for the door handle, as much with fear as with the effort of returning to the castle. He hesitated a moment, then pushed open the door and stepped inside slowly.

He saw it immediately, though someone else might have missed it. A part of him had known all along what awaited him here. His thoughts had been carrying him on this path the entire day.

There on his bed, barely visible against the dark brown of his blankets, lay a small leather pouch. He wanted to leave, to turn away from the bed and hurry back out of the castle as if he had never seen the pouch, as if he had no idea what it contained or what it meant.

Instead he closed the door and sat on the bed beside it, staring at it for several moments as if he expected it to move. At last he lifted the bag into his hand, hearing the muffled ring of the coins within. It felt heavy. It must have held fifty qinde, at least. He could judge such things now. He had no idea where the movement got its gold, or how they managed to leave it in his chamber without anyone noticing. But he could gauge the contents of a leather pouch simply by its weight.

He untied the drawstrings and poured the coins onto the bed. Eighty qinde. The Weaver would be coming to him tonight, no doubt to give him some new task. Maybe he knew of Keziah already and wanted her to join the movement. Perhaps he had decided that Kearney had to die. Paegar would know soon enough.

Staring at the gold pieces lying on his bed, glimmering in the murky light of his room, Paegar didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He had no need for more gold. As high minister, his food and bed were provided by the king and he received a handsome wage as well. On occasion he liked to spend a few qinde on a good meal and ale in the city, but he avoided extravagance for fear of drawing attention to himself and his wealth. He still had more than one hundred qinde hidden away in a small wooden box in his wardrobe, gold he had yet to spend from the Weaver’s previous payments. The minister served the Weaver not to gather riches, but to stay alive. The Weaver had sought him out and in so doing had tied Paegar’s very survival to the success or failure of the Qirsi movement. The gold he received had become little more than a harbinger of his conversations with the Weaver.

His stomach felt empty and sour. It occurred to him that he had eaten nothing since his breakfast with the archminister.

A knock on his door made him jump. It had to be Keziah. No one else ever came to his room.

He returned the coins to the pouch as quietly and quickly as he could, and hid the bag under his pillow-no chance of her finding it there, he thought ruefully. He stood and took a step toward the door. Then, as an afterthought, he placed a log on the embers of his fire.

Opening his door at last, he found the archminister in the corridor, looking pale, her lips held in a tight line.

“Keziah.” It was all he could think of to say.

“You’re angry with me.”

“No, I’m not.”

She shook her head. “Don’t lie to me, Paegar. You’re angry about what happened this morning. I could tell by the way you rushed by me just now.

He had to smile. Just as he had expected, this was going to make it easier for him to conceal his betrayal. “I’m not angry, Keziah. I’m disappointed, and perhaps a bit embarrassed-”

“You shouldn’t be,” she said, her eyes growing wide. “There’s no shame in this, Paegar. I just can’t love you. I can’t love anyone right now.

“I understand, Keziah. Honestly I do. And I’m not angry with you. I’m just not ready tonight to dine with you again. Perhaps tomorrow.”

She nodded, looking sad. “Of course. I probably shouldn’t have come. I just… I need you, Paegar. I need your friendship.”

“You still have it. I assure you.”

Again she nodded, turning away as she did. “Thank you, Paegar. Good night.”

“Good night, Keziah.”

Paegar watched her walk back toward her chamber. He had hours yet until the Weaver would come to him, and belatedly he wished that he hadn’t sent the archmimster away. Not that he was at all hungry, but he longed for her company.

“Keziah, wait,” he called to her, just as she reached her door. “I’m being foolish. I would like to dine with you. Why don’t we go back to the tavern? I’ll even pay for your dinner.”

She eyed him doubtfully. “Are you certain?”

“Yes.” He had decided earlier in the day that his pride was to be the first casualty of his effort to win her trust. Perhaps it would take a toll on his heart as well. But that was a small price to pay for being with her. He retrieved the pouch, pulled out two gold pieces, and placed the rest in his wardrobe beside the wooden box.

He and Keziah left the castle and walked through the city streets to the Silver Maple, the Qirsi tavern in which they had eaten the previous night. The barman nodded to them as they entered and a serving girl with the white and black hair of a half-blood and bright yellow eyes led them to a small room at the back of the building. A few moments later, she returned with two tankards of ale and two steaming plates of the same spicy stew they had enjoyed the night before.

For a long time they ate in silence, looking up at each other once or twice and smiling awkwardly. Knowing that he would be speaking with the Weaver in just a short while, Paegar searched his mind for ways he might begin to broach the subject of the movement. None came to him. In the end, though, Keziah did it for him.

“Do you enjoy serving the king, Paegar?”

He looked up, surprised by the question. “Do I enjoy it?”

“Yes. You seem so solemn much of the time. I wonder if you’re happy in the castle.”

The minister made a show of considering the matter for several moments. “I suppose I do,” he said at last. “I’ve never been a favorite of the kings I serve. Aylyn relied mostly on Natan and Wenda, and Kearney turns mostly to you and to Gershon. But I’m paid well, and I lead a comfortable life.” He frowned. “I imagine that sounds terribly ungrateful. There are Qirsi throughout the Forelands who would gladly trade their lives for mine.”