Elliott, Kate - Crown of Stars 3 (40 page)

"Will the young lord take an egg?"

It was a rich gift for such a village, offered by a young woman no older than Tallia. She had dirty blonde hair pulled back in a braid, a face hastily washed with dirt still smearing her neck and patching one ear, and an appetizing shape that her clothing did little to disguise. She had a pretty smile, and she opened his hand so she could roll the egg onto his palm. It was warm, roasted, and her fingers were warm as well. Alain was suddenly terribly glad that their party wasn't spending the night here. He flushed, she thanked him, and abruptly Tallia came over to stand beside him.

Someone laughed. The village girl retreated, not without a backward look. Tallia had a high stain of color in her cheeks, and, daringly, she took hold of his hand right out there in public.

It was a tiny victory. He squeezed her fingers, feeling triumphant—truly hopeful—again.

"God will only favor our sacrifice as long as we both remain pure," she murmured.

His reply stuck in his throat. He felt like he'd been kicked. She let go of his hand and went over to her horse as soon as Lavastine's steward called the servants to order, leaving him standing there. He didn't have the heart to eat the egg himself. He peeled it, broke it in half, and fed it surreptitiously to Sorrow and Rage.

They had ridden not an hour out from the village when an outrider clattered up to tell the count that an Eagle had been

sighted, riding after them. Lavastine obligingly pulled the party aside and soon after a weary-looking Eagle rode into view. He had a remount on a lead behind him, rings of dust around his eyes, and hair that would have been red if it hadn't been so dusty from riding.

"Count Lavastine. I am sent by order of His Majesty, King Henry. This tale came to his ears through the agency of Prince Sanglant." He paused. Alain knew the look of Eagles recalling a message memorized days or weeks ago. " 'Count Lavastine must beware. The one whose arrow killed Bloodheart is protected against magic, and if Bloodheart's curse still stalks the land, then it seeks another.'"

"A curse," muttered Lord Geoffrey.

"Prince Sanglant spoke of a curse before," said Alain. "The Eika, at least, believed it could affect them."

"Yet Bloodheart is dead." Lavastine smiled grimly. "Nevertheless, I value my life as much as any man, and in particular the life of my son. Let men march in a square around the riders, each one a spear's length apart, and let them keep their eyes to the ground and look for any creature that might fit the description Prince Sanglant gave us. Let my clerics pray, and cast such charms as God allow. We must trust in God to see that no harm comes to those who have been faithful to Their commands." He gestured to signify that this was his will on the matter. Terror barked once, and Fear answered. Steadfast and Bliss sat, panting, on the verge. Sorrow sniffed in the brush growing in the ditch that lined the road, and Rage had flopped down on the track in the shade of a wagon.

Lavastine turned back to the Eagle. "Return to the king. Tell Prince Sanglant that I am beholden to him for his warning. I will do what I can should he ever have need of my aid."

Geoffrey hissed out a breath. "If the court divides on the issue of succession, then you have as good as declared yourself for the prince."

"God enjoin us to honor our debts," retorted Alain.

Lavastine nodded. "Eagle, have you understood the whole?"

The Eagle looked uncomfortable. "Matters are troubled between king and prince," he said, choosing his words with care. "There was an altercation at court, and when I left Werlida the prince had retired to his rooms in disgrace. His own dogs attacked the king, he struck a holy frater in front of the entire court, and he has gone against the king's will and claims to have wed a woman of minor family who has in addition had accusations of foul sorcery laid against her." Then, noticing that his voice had risen, he coughed and finished in a more temperate tone: "But he may be bewitched."

"Liath!" breathed Alain. Tallia turned in the saddle to stare at him with a frown.

"The Eagle," said Lavastine.

"An Eagle no longer," said the Eagle before them. "Stripped of her cloak and badge. She is now the prince's concubine. Or was, when I left Werlida."

"She would have done better to come with us. The displeasure of the king is a hard path to walk." Lavastine considered the road in silence. His milites were already moving into their new positions around the riders, and two of his clerics had lit censers to purify the road before and behind with incense. "Tell King Henry that if this disgraced woman has no other place to go, the count of Lavas will take her in."

"Are you sure that is wise, cousin?" demanded Geoffrey.

"I am sure it is prudent, and farsighted. I know danger when I see it, and she is no danger to us. There is something there..." He trailed off, drawn away down an unknowable path; a moment later, blinking, he shook himself. "Who holds her holds a strong playing piece."

But as the Eagle rode off and their retinue lurched forward again into their new marching order, the words Tallia had spoken on their wedding night rang in Alain's ears as though she had only spoken them moments before: "/
am merely a pawn, nothing more than that. As are you, only you do not see it."

L

AT
the palace of Werlida, Queen Sophia had commissioned a garden to be built in the Arethousan style. Shaped as an octagon, it had eight walls, eight benches, eight neatly tended garden plots that bloomed with brilliant colors in spring and summer, and eight radial pathways leading in to the center where stood a monumental fountain formed in the shape of a domed tower surrounded by eight tiers of angels, cavorting and blowing trumpets. According to legend, the fountain had ceased flowing on the very day Queen Sophia died.

In fact, the fountain had ceased flowing years before that because the Arethousan craftsman who had devised the cunning inner workings had died of a lung fever one winter and no one else knew how to repair it.

But the story persisted, as such stories do.

Now Rosvita made a leisurely circuit of the fountain together with half a dozen of Theophanu's young companions, noble girls who had gravitated around the princess as part of her entourage. Theophanu stood on the lowest tier with her feet on the stone wings of one angel and a hand clutching a trumpet on the third tier for balance. Standing thus, she could get a better view over the retaining wall out to where the road branched at the base of the lower enclosure.

From the garden a magnificent vista opened before them. The land spread out as fields and villages, pastureland and scrub brush and woodland, and finally the distant march of forest. The river wound south, a ribbon vanishing into the haze of trees.

From the gravel path, Rosvita watched as Duke Conrad's entourage reached the branching road and his banners turned south. From this distance, she could only guess which figure was his.

Was Conrad thinking about Theophanu? Did he truly regret that Henry had forbidden the match, or was his anger for the insult implicit in Henry's refusal?

Did Theophanu regret the lost chance for a betrothal, or was she relieved? Rosvita could not tell. Another person might rage, or sulk, or weep. Theophanu either did not have the heart for it, or concealed her heart too well.

"Theophanu!"

Prince Ekkehard marched down a path at the head of a gaggle of boys. The schola had only arrived in Werlida yesterday.

"Are you happy to see Conrad go?" demanded Ekkehard as he scrambled onto the stonework beside Theophanu. "I wanted to go with him to Wayland, but Father says I'm to go to Gent and become abbot of the monastery he means to establish there dedicated to St. Perpetua in thanks for Sanglant's rescue. But I don't want to go to Gent and certainly not just because Father is so mad that Sanglant ran away with that woman. I don't know why he's punishing me for what Sanglant did." Ekkehard talked more than he thought. But perhaps he had stumbled on the heart of the matter nevertheless: the change in Henry's behavior that had come about since the morning they had all risen to discover Sanglant and Liath gone.

Theophanu's inscrutable smile did not change as she answered. "He isn't punishing you, Ekkehard. He's giving you authority of your own. Remember that we are royal children. Father will use us as he sees fit, to strengthen the kingdom."

Was there a trace of irony in her voice? Even sarcasm? Rosvita could not be sure.

The gates into the garden opened again, and their quiet contemplation was completely overset as the king and his courtiers entered in the wake of Ekkehard. The chatter of the mob irritated Rosvita. What had happened to unbalance her equilibrium? Didn't she always pride herself on her cleric's amiability and even temper? Hadn't she gained the love and trust of king and court, not to further her own ambition but because it was her duty as one of God's servants? She had not felt so much disturbance in her mind for many years. Like Henry, she desperately wanted to know what had happened to Sanglant and Liath, but until Henry mentioned the subject, no one else dared to.

Courtiers fluttered around the king, chief among them the Salian and Ungrian ambassadors. Sapientia clearly preferred the elegant Salian lord who had journeyed here on behalf of Prince Guillaime, but Henry hid his leanings and let himself be courted. As he reached the fountain, he turned away from the Ungrian

ambassador to help Theophanu down from her perch. Ekkehard leaped down after her.

"Will I get to ride out to hunt with you tomorrow. Father?" he demanded.

"Of course." But Henry was distracted by the sight of Conrad's entourage crossing into the forest. Was he thinking of Sanglant as he watched them go? He drew Theophanu to him, and a moment later he and Villam and several other lords began to discuss the situation in Aosta, leaving Ekkehard to stand helplessly at the edge of their discussion.

"My lord prince. I hope I don't intrude." Judith's young husband Baldwin slid into the vacant space beside Ekkehard. "Perhaps you'll recall that we met last night."

"You're Lord Baldwin, Margrave Judith's husband."

"So I am," agreed Baldwin guilelessly.

For an instant a smirk hovered on the young prince's lips, but Ekkehard had learned manners in a hard school, and he recovered himself. "Of course I remember you."

"I've heard nothing but praise for your singing, my lord prince. Perhaps in the days to come you might honor us with some songs." Baldwin was, truly, an exceptionally handsome young man, and Rosvita watched with some amusement as Ekkehard melted under the combined flame of prettiness and flattery.

"I see no reason to wait! We'll go now. And perhaps you'll ride out to hunt with me tomorrow."

"Of course, my lord prince. I am yours to command."

They strolled away together. Was that Ivar in their wake, looking as sullen as a dried-up frog? She had not been allowed to speak to Ivar, who was under a novice's vows, but perhaps that was for the best. When Judith and her retinue returned east, he would be safely confined to a monastery, where labor, study, and prayer would circumscribe his day and leave him little time to dwell on that which was forbidden him.

Rosvita shivered, thinking of the silence of the convent. No, indeed, she had not truly been at peace since the day the
Vita
of St. Radegundis had come into her hands. The mouse's hunger gnawed at her, unceasing and implacable. She had so many ques tions, and too few answers.

Where had Sanglant gone? What had happened to
The Book of Secrets?
Had Liath bewitched him with magic, or had the prince overwhelmed the poor young woman with his attentions?

Did Henry's seeming calm only cover a furious heart that would fester and, in time, erupt in some other form?

"Sister." Brother Fortunatus had sidled into the garden behind the king's retinue. She bent close to hear his whisper, "I stood at the lower gate and observed every rider and every wagon. There was no sign of Sister Anne of St. Valeria Convent in Conrad's retinue."

"Sister Amabilia has found no sign of her in the lower enclosure either?"

"No, Sister." She had never before seen him so grim. "She has vanished."

"It is a mystery," agreed Rosvita. "Draft a letter, Brother. We must inform Mother Rothgard as soon as possible."

He nodded obediently and retreated, and his white-robed figure was soon swallowed in the milling mob of courtiers, who had expanded onto all the paths to exclaim over the beauty of the flowers and the grave little sculptures, mostly saints and angels, that populated the garden or waited with the patience of stone in niches carved into the walls.