“Do you doubt that Kearney appreciates your counsel?”

“Not at all. But he’s known you far longer than he has the rest of us. Like most Eandi nobles, he probably sees his other Qirsi as faceless sorcerers who aren’t to be trusted.”

“Kearney’s not like that!” she said, her voice rising. She looked to the side, her lips pressed thin. “I’m sorry,” she said a few seconds later, her voice calm once more. “But I know the king, and he’s not like other Eandi. He may not know the rest of you very well yet, but he trusts you and he listens to what you tell him.”

Paegar made himself smile, struggling with an unexpected bout of jealousy. “I’ll take your word for it. As I’ve already said, you know him better than I. But I’ve served several Eandi nobles in my life, and in my experience, they have little regard for their Qirsi.” He took a sip of ale, gazing off toward the fire burning on the far side of the room. “Just once, I’d enjoy the chance to serve in a Qirsi court.” He glanced at her. “Wouldn’t you?”

“I’ve never considered it,” she said coldly.

“Oh, come now, Keziah. All of us have at one time or another.”

“I’m telling you, I haven’t.”

“Not even when you were a child?”

She hesitated. “Well-”

“You see? I knew it!”

Keziah shook her head. “That’s different.”

“Why? Because you were too young to know any better? Nonsense. In many ways the dreams of our childhood are more honest, because as children we haven’t been taught yet which dreams are permissible and which aren’t.”

She eyed him warily. “It seems you’ve given this a good deal of thought, Paegar.”

He smiled broadly, ignoring the slight flutter in his chest. “Not so much, really. When I was younger I thought often of going to the Southlands, to see what the Qirsi homeland is like. But that’s a long way from here, and at this point I’m a bit old to try crossing the Border Range.”

“That’s not what I meant, and I think you know it. We’ve all heard the rumors, Paegar. There are those here among us who would like to remake the Forelands in the image of the Southlands. And you should make no mistake, if I learn that you’re one of them, I’ll destroy you.”

He laughed. “You believe I’m with the conspiracy?”

Her gaze didn’t waver for an instant. “I didn’t say that. But I want you to understand that I don’t take lightly talk of Qirsi courts and serving Qirsi lords. We live in the Forelands. The kingdoms belong to the Eandi. Given the history of our people in the seven realms we’re fortunate to serve them as we do.”

“I’ll remember that, Archmimster.”

She didn’t correct him. And for a long time, she kept her gaze fixed on her food.

“I’m feeling tired,” she finally said. “I think I’d like to return to the castle now.”

Paegar nodded. His stomach had balled itself into a fist, and his head was pounding. Clearly he had miscalculated badly, and in a short time he would have to face the Weaver, far less certain of the prize he intended to offer the man than he had been just a short time before.

They made their way back to Audun’s Castle without a word passing between them. He walked her to her door, where they stopped and faced each other.

“This has been a difficult day,” she said, her voice so low he could barely hear her.

It’s not over. Not nearly. “I’m sorry for that.”

Keziah shook her head. “Don’t be. It’s not your fault. Sleep well, Paegar. Tomorrow can only be better.”

“Goodnight, Keziah.”

He left her there and returned to the darkness of his chamber, locking his door behind him. The fire had burned down again, though the embers still glowed an angry red. He put wood on the coals and then lay on his bed, not bothering to undress. His mind raced, and a part of him wondered if he could stay awake through the night, postponing at least for one day his encounter with the Weaver. As he lay in the shadows cast by his fire, though, feeling the chamber gradually grow warmer, Paegar’s fear of the Weaver began to give way to weariness. A difficult day, she had called it. Indeed it had been.

He didn’t realize he was asleep until the dream began, and he found himself stumbling over boulders on the grassy plain. Soon he reached the slope and started to climb. The ascent was not long this time, although he was winded when he reached the summit and saw the Weaver approaching, his body a living shadow against the brilliant light. The same dream every time, yet filled with so much uncertainty that Paegar trembled.

“You were paid?” the Weaver demanded, stopping before him.

“Yes, Weaver. Thank you.”

“Good. You’ve heard of the death of Aneira’s king?”

“Word of it reached the castle several nights ago.”

“There is a fight looming for the throne, just as you might expect. Carden’s only heir is a girl, not yet of age. Carden’s brother seeks the crown as his own, but the other houses fear him and may challenge the Solkaran Supremacy. I want you to counsel your king to make overtures to the other houses. Tell him that the end of Solkaran rule could bring peace to the Tarbin. With all that Eibithar has been through in the past year, the idea should interest him.”

“Do you believe any house in Aneira would be moved by overtures from Eibithar’s king?”

“That’s my concern,” the Weaver said, his voice edged with steel.

“Of course, Weaver. Forgive me.”

“You understand what I want?”

“Yes, Weaver.”

The man nodded once.

“I’ve befriended the king’s archminister!” Paegar said quickly, fearing that the Weaver intended to end their conversation. Immediately he wished that he had kept silent. Keziah would never join the movement. But he had been planning this for so long, and if the Weaver believed there was any chance the minister could win her over, he might leave Paegar alone for a time.

“Well, by all means, seek her help in this matter,” the Weaver said, sounding impatient. “Such counsel will carry more weight coming from two of you.”

“You misunderstand, Weaver.” He winced at his choice of words, but forced himself to continue. “She was once the king’s lover. Before, when he was duke. And now she’s not. She has few friends in the castle-the other ministers were angered when Kearney made her archminister instead of Wenda. They treat her poorly.”

“What is your point?” the man asked, biting off each word.

“With time, I think she could be persuaded to join the movement.” He was lying to a Weaver. He must have been a fool.

For several moments the Weaver said nothing. Then, “You believe Kearney’s archminister can be turned?”

“I do.”

“I sense something else in your thoughts.”

Paegar swallowed, fearing that he was about to die.

“You love her.”

He would have to remember to say a quick prayer of thanks to Adriel when this night was over. “Yes, Weaver. Very much.”

“But she doesn’t love you.”

Paegar shook his head.

Again the Weaver fell silent, standing motionless for so long that the minister began to wonder if he thought this a worthless pursuit, born of Paegar’s fruitless love. But the man surprised him.

“Such things are never easy,” he said softly. “Do what you can with the minister. We’ll speak again soon and you can tell me what progress you’ve made. Maybe we can turn her together.”

His blood turned cold at the thought of enduring another of these dreams so soon, but all he could do was nod. “Yes, Weaver. Again, thank you.”

He expected to awaken then, as he always did when his dreams of the Weaver ended. But the two of them continued to stand there, almost as if the Weaver had forgotten him.

And perhaps he had. For in the next instant the brilliant light blazing behind the Weaver dimmed, so that rather than blinding him, it offered a softer glow by which to see much that he had missed before. It lasted only a moment, but that was enough. Or rather, it was too much. For just an instant, no longer than the flicker of a single lightning strike on a warm night, Paegar looked upon the Weaver’s face. A square face, golden yellow eyes like those of a wild cat, straight nose and full lips. All framed by the wild white hair that always danced in the wind of this plain. This plain, which ran eastward to the Scabbard and overlooked the dark mass of Eibithar beyond the water. Ayvencalde Moor.