David Coe - Weavers of War

City of Kings, Eibithar, Adriels Moon waxing

The touch of his mind on hers was as gentle as the Weavers had been brutal, as tender and loving as the Weavers had been vengeful and cruel. She sensed in that touch his passion, his longing to be with her, his hope that he could shield her from the pain that seemed to have enveloped all the land. And she wanted nothing more than to hold him in her arms-really to hold him, beyond this haven he had created so that he might speak with her as she slept-to show him that she yearned for him, too.

Theirs was the most unlikely of loves, having overcome deception, betrayal, and her devotion to the Weavers conspiracy. But feeling the caress of his thoughts, Cresenne could not question the power of what they shared.

Tell me about Bryntelle, Grinsa whispered, still holding her close amid the sun-warmed grasses of the plain he had conjured for this dream.

How could she not smile at the mention of their daughter? The girl had been the lone spark of light in a darkness that had consumed her days and nights over the past several turns.

Bryntelles fine. Shes been up much of the day, crying, but I think thats because shes getting her first tooth.

He pulled away slightly, looking down at her, his face lit by a dazzling smile. A tooth? Really?

Cresenne nodded. Its not much right now-just a little bump on her gums. But one of the healers tells me that once it appears itll grow in very quickly.

Grinsa was still smiling, but there was a pained look in his eyes. I wish I could be there to see it.

Soon, she said, looking down, her chest tight. She sensed that he wanted to kiss her, and she kept her face turned away from his. Has the fighting begun?

Yes, we fought our first skirmish this morning.

At that she did look up. Are you all right?

Yes, fine.

And Keziah?

She is, too. As are Kearney and Tavis.

Good. She nodded again, shivering as if the warm breeze had grown icy and harsh. Thats good. She hesitated. Then, Have you seen the Weaver yet? Her stomach turned to stone as she spoke the words, but she tried to keep her voice even.

Grinsa shook his head. Not yet. I expect he wants the war to begin in earnest before he reaches the Moorlands. The more damage the Eandi do to each other, the easier his task when the time comes.

She felt certain that he was right. While Grinsa and the Weaver had little in common beyond their powers and their formidable appearance, Grinsa had come to understand the conspiracys leader quite well. Only a year before, Grinsa had been but a gleaner in Eibithars Revel, concealing the true extent of his powers and spending his days and his magic showing others glimpses of their futures. Now he was an advisor to kings and nobles, though still they called him gleaner. Cresenne of all people, having been one of the Weavers most trusted servants-a chancellor in his movement-knew how strong the enemy was, and so how great the lands need. If anyone could destroy the Weaver and his movement, her beloved could. So why did she find it so difficult to take comfort in Grinsas arms, to believe that he could prevail in this war that loomed before them, as black and menacing as some seaborne storm summoned by Amon himself?

For a long time, neither of them spoke. Cresenne sensed that Grinsa was gathering himself to end the dream. She could feel his despair at the distance between them, how he begrudged every day they spent apart. No, there could be no doubting the power of their love.

All of which made what the Weaver had done to her that much more galling.

I should return to the front lines, he said, grimacing. Who knows when the empires men will attack again?

I understand.

Youll kiss Bryntelle for me?

Again she smiled. Of course.

Grinsa pulled her close again, kissing her deeply. Cresenne returned the kiss with as much passion as she could muster, not wanting him to sense how she suffered for it.

At last he released her, a frown on his handsome face.

Whats the matter? he asked.

Its nothing.

Cresenne-

Please, Grinsa, she said, closing her eyes, wishing she could just sleep. I just Its going to take some time for me to to heal.

I want to help.

You cant. No one can, she added, seeing how this hurt him. Just make certain that you win. Killing the Weaver will do more to help me than you can know. Destroy him for me, and Ill see to the rest.

He just gazed at her, looking so sad. Ill do what I can.

Thats not enough! she wanted to say. You cant fail at this! Hell kill me! Hell kill Bryntelle! But he knew all of this. As much as she wanted Dusaan jal Kania dead, Grinsa wanted it more.

I know you will.

He brushed a strand of hair from her brow with the back of his hand. And even this gesture, done with such care and tenderness, was nearly enough to make her shudder with the memory of the Weavers brutality.

I love you, Grinsa.

And I love you, more than you know.

She awoke to the sound of swifts chattering as they soared past the narrow window of her chamber. Bryntelle still slept in her cradle, her arms stretched over her head, her mouth making suckling movements. Cresenne sat up, taking a long breath and running both hands through her hair. Grinsa deserved better from her. He carried the burdens of every man and woman of the Forelands on his shoulders, and all she could think to do was tell him what he already knew: that in order to be whole again she needed for him to destroy the Weaver.

Her wounds had healed, and in recent days she had finally begun to eat again, slowly regaining her strength after the poisoning that almost killed her. But the Weaver had left her with other scars that remained beyond a healers touch. True, she had managed to fight Dusaan off and then to end that horrific dream before he could take her life, but the memory of rape clung to her bed, her hair, her body-the stench of his breath, hot and damp against her neck. She could still feel him driving himself into her again and again, tearing her flesh, his weight bearing down on her until she wondered if she could even draw breath. She could hear him calling her whore. It had only been a dream, she tried to tell herself, an illusion he had conjured by using her own magic against her. But did that lessen the humiliation or deepen it? It had been a violation in so many ways and on so many levels. Did his invasion of her mind make what he seemed to have done to her body any less real?

She feared that she might never again be able to bear Grinsas touch. The Weaver had poisoned all of her dreams, even those in which her love spoke to her. Grinsas merest kiss when he walked in her sleep, his most gentle caress, made her feel once more the savagery of Dusaans assault. Cresenne wanted desperately to believe that it was the dreams that did this, that once she and Grinsa were together again, and he could hold her in his arms without touching her mind, everything would be all right. But she had no way of knowing this for certain, and doubt lay heavy on her heart.

Grinsa would have told her to sleep more. The sun would be up for several hours yet, and since she still didnt dare sleep at night, for fear of another attack from the Weaver, she wouldnt have another opportunity to rest for quite some time. But she was awake now, and she knew herself well enough to know that she could lie on her bed from now until dusk, and she wouldnt get back to sleep. Instead, she stared out the window and waited for Bryntelle to wake, knowing that the baby would be hungry when she did.