by Kate Elliott
The room blazed with heat. The council members cried out as fire blossomed at the heart of the Eagle Seat, engulfing Feather Cloak entirely. Liath staggered at its brilliance, yet within the archway of leaping flames shadows writhed.
Hanna riding in the train of a battered army across a grassy landscape mottled with trees and low hills.
Hugh seated at a feast in the place of honor next to a laughing man who wears a crown of iron, yet as she takes in her breath sharply, horrified to see Hugh’s beautiful face, he looks up, startled, just as if he has heard her. He turns to speak intently to the veiled woman seated at his right hand.
Wolfhere walking with bowed shoulders down a forest path. She forms his name on her lips, and abruptly he glances up and speaks, audibly: “Liath?”
Lamps burn in a chamber made rich by the lush tapestries hanging on its walls. People have gathered around King Henry—she recognizes him at once—but as though a lodestone drags her, her vision pulls past him to that which she most seeks:
Ai, God, it is Blessing! The baby is crying, struggling in Heribert’s arms as she reaches out for her mother.
“Ma! Ma!” the infant cries.
Blessing can see her!
“Blessing!” she cries. Then she sees him, emerging out of a shadowed corner. Maybe her heart will break, because she misses him so much. “Sanglant!”
He leaps forward. “Liath!” But a figure jerks him back.
They were gone.
“Look!” shouted Cat Mask.
Through the fading blaze, Liath saw a sleeping man. His head was turned away from her, but two black hounds lay on either side of him, like guardians. He stirred in his sleep. That fast, fire and vision vanished, and the flames settled like falling wings to reveal Feather Cloak standing unharmed.
Liath sank down to the floor, shaking so hard she could not stand.
“Let this be a sign,” said Feather Cloak sternly. “Who among you saw the Impatient One and the man who must be her son, who partakes both of our blood and of human blood?”
But the others had not seen the vision made of fire, and Liath was too shaken to speak.
“She must leave,” said Feather Cloak to Eldest Uncle. “She bears an ill-omened name. Her power is too great, and like all of humankind, she does not understand it. I have spoken.”
“So be it,” said Eldest Uncle.
Cat Mask jumped forward. “Let her blood be taken to give us strength!”
They all began arguing at once as Liath leaped to her feet. “Is this what you call justice?” she cried.
“Silence,” said Feather Cloak in a voice so soft that it seemed more like an exhaled breath, and yet silence fell. A wind blew outside, making the roots at the ceiling tick quietly against each other in its eddy. “She must leave unmolested. I will not risk her blood spilled while we are still so weak.”
“Yet I would have her walk the spheres before she goes,” said Eldest Uncle as congenially as if he wished to offer an honored guest a final mug of ale before departure.
White Feather hissed. Skull Earrings made a sharp protest, echoed by others. Only Cat Mask laughed.
Feather Cloak regarded Liath coolly. She had eyes as dark as obsidian and a gaze as sharp as a knife. “Few can walk the spheres. None return unchanged from that path.”
“This I have seen,” said Eldest Uncle, “that if we would live, we must help her discover what she is.”
The glow illuminating the Eagle Seat dimmed until it had the delicate luminescence of a seashell. With dimness came a sharpening of smell: dry earth, sour sweat, the faint and distracting scent of water, and the cutting flavor of ginger on her tongue. Liath felt suddenly weary, cut to the heart by that glimpse of Sanglant and Blessing, as if her shell of numbness had been torn loose, exposing raw skin.
“Let her return here no more,” said Feather Cloak, “but if she can mount the path to the spheres, I will not interfere. When one day and one night have passed, I will send Cat Mask and his warriors in search of her. If they find her in our country, then I will look the other way if they choose to kill her. I have spoken.”
“So be it,” murmured Eldest Uncle, and the others echoed him as Cat Mask grinned.
IV
JUDGEMENT IN HASTE
1
“SHE isn’t at all what I remember.”
King Henry stood with his granddaughter in his arms at an unshuttered window in the royal chambers, attended only by Rosvita, Hathui, four stewards, six guards, and Helmut Villam. Princess Theophanu and four of her ladies sat in the adjoining chamber, playing chess, embroidering, and discussing the tractate Concerning Male Chastity, written by St. Sotheris, which had only recently been translated by the nuns at Korvei Convent from the original Arethousan into Dariyan. Their voices rang out merrily, seemingly immune from care.
Queen Adelheid had escorted Alia and Sanglant outside to show them the royal garden, with its rose beds, diverse herbs, and the aviary that the palace at Angenheim was famous for. Standing beside Henry at the window, with her fingers clamped tight on the sill, Rosvita saw Adelheid’s bright gown among the roses. A moment later, she saw Sanglant on his knees by one of the herb plots, fingering petals of comfrey. Brother Heribert knelt beside him and they spoke together, two heads bent in convivial conversation. The contrast between the two men could not have been bolder: Sanglant had the bulk and vitality of a man accustomed to armor and horseback and a life lived outdoors, while Heribert, in his cleric’s robes, had a slender frame and narrow shoulders. Yet his hands, too, bore the marks of manual labor. How had they met? What did Heribert know that he had not told them?
“She isn’t anything like what I remember.” Henry’s expression grew pensive. “It’s as if that time was a dream I fashioned in my own mind.” Blessing had fallen asleep on his shoulder.
“Perhaps it was,” observed Rosvita. “Youth is prey to fancy. We are adept at building palaces where none exist.”
“I was very young,” he agreed. “In truth, Sister, I find it disturbing. I recall my passion so clearly, but when I look at her now, I fear I made a mistake.”
A stiff breeze stirred the leaves in the herb bed next to the prince. Laughing, Sanglant stood as Heribert leaped up, startled. The outside air and Heribert’s presence had restored the prince to good spirits, yet now he glanced back toward the open window where his father stood. Had he heard them? Surely they stood too far away for their conversation to be overheard.
“Was it a mistake. Your Majesty?” She nodded toward the prince.
“Nay, of course not. Perhaps I am only a little surprised that memory has not served me as well as you have.” He smiled with the craft of a regnant who knows when to flatter his advisers, but Rosvita sensed tension beneath the light words.
“You were very young, Your Majesty. God grant us all the privilege of change and growth, if we only use it. You are a wiser man now than you were then, or so I have heard.”
He smiled, this time with genuine pleasure. The baby stirred, coming awake. She yawned, looked around, and said, quite clearly: “Da!” After this unequivocal statement, she frowned up at Henry. She had a clever little face, quite charming, and mobile expressions. “Ba!” she exclaimed. She seemed to have no other mode of speech than the imperious.
“The months do not count out correctly,” said Henry. “Nine months for a woman to come to her time, and even if she deliver early, no child will survive before the seventh month. Sanglant and the Eagle left fourteen months ago, yet this child is surely a yearling or even older. But her coloring is like that of the Eagle’s, if I am remembering correctly.”
“Do not doubt your memory on this account. I also believe the child resembles its mother in some ways. Look at the blue of her eyes! But you are right, Your Majesty. Even if she were a seven months’ child, born early, she could therefore be only seven months of age now.”
“Come.” Henry carried the baby out to the garden, heading for his son, but as soon as he stepped outside the beauty of
the autumn foliage and late flowers distracted the child. Rosvita watched as the king surrendered to her imperial commands: each time Blessing pointed to something that caught her eye, he obediently hauled her to that place, and then to another, lowering her down to touch a flower, prying her fingers from a thorny stem, stopping her from eating a withered oak leaf blown over the wall, lifting her up again to point at a flock of geese passing overhead.
He was besotted.
Sanglant had wandered to the garden by the wall where he spoke privately to Brother Heribert. What intrigue might he be stirring up? Yet had Sanglant ever been one for intrigue? He had always been the most straightforward of men.
Still, he made no move to interfere with the capture of his father: Blessing worked her will without obstacle. Queen Adelheid had gone into the aviary. Rosvita had to admire the young queen: either she was determined to turn Alia into an ally, or else she intended to divert all suspicion while she concocted a plan to rid herself of her rival. It was hard to tell, and even after months of sharing the most difficult of circumstances in Adelheid’s company, Rosvita didn’t know her well enough to know which was more likely.
But as Rosvita watched Henry dandle the child, her heart grew troubled.
Twilight finally drove them back inside. Adelheid and her attendants came from the mews, Sanglant and Heribert from the garden. Alia lingered outside, alone, to smell the last roses. No one disturbed her. By custom, the feast would continue into the night, but neither Henry nor any in his party seemed inclined to return to the great hall. Too much remained unspoken.
Blessing went to Sanglant at once. She had begun to fuss with hunger. A spirited discussion ensued among the attendants on the efficacy of goat’s milk over cow’s milk to feed a motherless child. He took her outside.
Rosvita went to the window. A cool autumn breeze, woken by dusk, made her shiver. Sanglant avoided his mother and settled down out of her sight on the far side of the old walnut tree.
Adelheid came to stand beside Rosvita. The queen smelled faintly of the mews and more strongly of the rose water she habitually washed in. She had such a wonderful, vividly alive profile that even in the half light of gathering dusk her expressions seemed more potent than anything around them, as bright as the waxing moon now rising over wall and treetops.
“You have acted most graciously, Your Majesty,” said Rosvita.
“Have I? Do you think I am jealous of the passion he once felt for her? That was many years ago. Truly, she looks marvelously young for one as old as she must be, but until she explains her purpose here, it is not obvious to me that she possesses anything he now desires or lacks.” The young queen’s tone had a scrape in it, as at anger rubbing away inside.
“And you do?”
“So I did,” she replied bitterly. “As you yourself know, Sister Rosvita, for you came with my cousin Theophanu to seek me out in Vennaci. Yet did you not just see Henry holding in his arms the living heir to Taillefer’s great empire? If it is true, what need has Henry for a queen of my line?”
“What manner of talk is this, Your Majesty? Your family’s claim to the Aostan throne is without rival.”
Adelheid smiled faintly, ironically. “It is true that no noble Aostan family holds a better claim. Certainly the skopos will support me if she can, since she is my aunt. Yet how did my lineage help me after the death of my mother and my first husband, may God have mercy on them? Which of the nobles of Aosta came to my aid when I was besieged? My countryfolk abandoned me to Lord John’s tender mercies. I would have become his prisoner, and no doubt his unwilling wife, had you and Princess Theophanu not arrived when you did. What would have happened if Mother Obligatia had not taken us in despite the hardship it placed upon her and the nuns in her care? What if she hadn’t allowed Father Hugh to use sorcery to aid our escape?”
“What do you mean?” But trouble, like a swift, may stay aloft for a very long time once it has lifted onto the wind.
“I had no rivals before. Now I do.”
“Henry has legitimate children, it is true.”
“None of whom can claim descent from Emperor Taillefer. Nay, it is clear that Henry favors Sanglant, Sister Rosvita. Henry would have seen me married to Prince Sanglant, had he been given his way a year ago.”
Since it was true, Rosvita saw no reason to reply beyond a nod.
“If that was his plan, then he must have hoped that by marrying me, Sanglant would be crowned as king of Aosta. It is understood, I believe, that only a regnant strong enough to claim the regnancy of Aosta can hope to claim the imperial title of Holy Dariyan Emperor as well. Henry hoped to give Sanglant that title. Or so I assume.”
“Henry has never hidden his ambitions. He hopes to take that title for himself.”
“Certainly he is now entitled to be crowned king of Aosta because he is my husband. But Ironhead still reigns in Darre. Do you not see my position?”
Rosvita sighed. Adelheid was young but not one bit naive. Yet Rosvita could not bring herself to speak one word that might seem unfaithful to Henry. “You are troubled, Your Majesty,” she said instead, temporizing, hoping that Adelheid would not go on. But the one trait of youth Adelheid had not yet reined in was impetuousness.
“Let us imagine that it is true that this child is the legitimately born heir to Taillefer, his granddaughter two generations removed. I brought Henry the crowns of Aosta. But her claim to Aosta’s throne, and to the Crown of Stars Taillefer wore as Holy Dariyan Emperor, is far greater than anything I can confer.”
Rosvita glanced back into the room. Two stewards stood by the door, looking bored as they guarded the wine. Various tapestries depicting the life of St. Thecla hung from the whitewashed walls: witnessing the Ekstasis; debating before the empress; writing one of her famous epistles to far-flung communities; accepting the staff that marked her as skopos, holy mother over the church; the stations of her martyrdom.
Henry had gone with Villam into the adjoining chamber to oversee the chess playing, Hathui sticking close to him rather like a falcon on a jess. Villam leaned with a hand on the back of the chair inhabited by one of Theophanu’s favorites, the robust Leoba. Even at his age, he was not above flirting. Indeed, he was currently unmarried and despite his age still an excellent match. Leoba let him move a chess piece for her, Castle takes Eagle.
The game brought Rosvita back to the moves being enacted here and now. “Surely, Your Majesty, you do not believe that King Henry would put you aside on such slender evidence?”
Adelheid had the grace to blush. “Nay, Sister, do not think me selfish. In truth, I have no fear for myself. I am fond of Henry, and I believe he is fond of me. He is well known for being pious and ‘obedient to the church’s law. He will not break a contract now that it has been sealed. But if God are willing and grant us Their blessing, I will have children with him. What is to become of them?”
Now, finally, she saw the battle lines being drawn. “How can I answer such a question, Your Majesty? At best, I may hope that the king hears my voice, and my counsel. I do not speak for him.”
“You saved my life and my crown, Sister. I trust you to do what is right, not what is expedient. I know you serve with an honest heart, and that you care only for what benefits your regnant, not for what benefits yourself. That is why I ask you to consider carefully when you advise the king. Think of my position, I pray you, and that of the children I hope to have.” She smiled most sweetly and moved away to meet Alia by the door. Beckoning to the stewards, she had a cup of wine brought for the Aoi woman.
“Was that a plea, or a warning?”
Rosvita jumped, scraping a finger on the wooden sill. “You startled me, Brother. I did not see you come up beside us.”
“Nor did the queen,” observed Fortunatus. “But she has observed a great deal else. Henry already has grown children who will be rivals to whatever children she bears. Yet she does not fear them as she fears Sanglant.”
Rosvita set her hands back on the sill, then winced at
the pain in her finger.
“You’ve caught a splinter,” said Fortunatus, taking her hand into his. He had a delicate touch, honed by years of calligraphy.
As he bent over her hand, working the splinter loose, she lowered her voice. “Do you think she fears Sanglant?”
“Would you not?” he asked amiably. “Ah! There it comes.” He flicked the offending splinter away and released her hand. She sucked briefly at the wound as he went on. “He is the master of the battlefield. All acknowledge that. He returns rested and fit, with soldiers already kneeling before him, although only God know when they pledged loyalty to him, who has nothing.”
“Nothing but the child.”
“Nothing but the child,” Fortunatus agreed. The privations of their journey over the mountains to Aosta and their subsequent flight from Ironhead had pared much flesh from Fortunatus’ frame. Leanness emphasized his sharp eyes and clever mouth, making him look more dour than congenial, when in fact he was a man who preferred wit and laughter to dry pronouncements. In the last few weeks on the king’s progress he had been able to eat heartily, as was his preference, and he was putting on weight. It suited him. “I would say he is the more dangerous for having nothing but the child. He isn’t a man who desires things for himself.”
“He desired the young Eagle against his father’s wishes.”
“I pray God’s forgiveness for saying so, Sister, but surely he desired her more like a dog lusts after a bitch in heat.”
“It’s true it is the child who has changed him, not the marriage. You are right when you say he desires no thing for himself, for his own advancement. But what he desires for his child is a different matter.”
“Do you think it will come to a battle between him and Queen Adelheid?”
She frowned as she gazed out into the foliage. Wind whipped the branches of the walnut tree under which Sanglant sheltered with Blessing, although no wind stirred the rest of the garden. It seemed strange to her, seeing its restlessness contrasted so starkly with the autumnal calm that lay elsewhere. The prince rose abruptly. Heribert, beside him, asked for the baby and, with reluctance evident in the stiffness of his shoulders, Sanglant handed her over. She was splayed out with that absolute limpness characteristic of a sleeping child. The prince and the frater stood together under the writhing branches, talking together while the baby slept peacefully. Finally, Sanglant looked up and seemed to address a comment to the heavens. Surely by coincidence, at that very instant, the breeze caught in the branches of the walnut tree ceased.
