Elliott, Kate - Crown of Stars 1 (80 page)

Liath found herself a pallet on which to sleep, a richer bed than any she had lain in since
—
Hugh.

No. She was Safe now. She need fear him no longer. She set her sword, her good friend, beside her. Reached into the bowcase to touch the wood and horn of her bow,
Seeker of Hearts.
Last, she settled her saddlebags next to her body. She felt the book like balm against her soul and, nestled against it, hidden as well, the gold feather; she had hope now that she might in time puzzle out the secret of the inner text.

For the first instant she feared sleeping, but she was so very very tired she could no longer fight it off.

Hanna lay down beside her and put her arms around her. "I thought you were dead," she whispered. "Oh, Liath, I am so glad you are alive."

Liath kissed her on the cheek and wiped the last tear from her face. There was nothing more she could do, not now, except to rest and pray that her path would seem clearer in the morning. There was so much she had to learn and so much she must discover about herself, about the book, all the things Da had hidden from her for all these years.

krypte.
"Hide this."

"Trust no one."
Da had not meant to leave her alone. He had meant to protect her, for as long as he could.

"I love you, Da," she whispered.

Sleeping in her friend's embrace, she did not dream.

would not leave the chapel, or perhaps he simply could not. At last, with the efforts of several servants, he was taken to the bedchamber set aside for his use. There he lay silent and unmoving on the bed, not because he slept but because he did not have the strength to stand or to kneel or
—even—to mourn. His children came in, Theophanu shepherding a trembling Ekkehard. No tears stained Theophanu's face, but she was pale. Sapientia was sobbing noisily. As a girl, Rosvita recalled, Sapientia had idolized Sanglant, had followed him like a puppy even to the point of being annoying, but Sanglant had never lost his temper with her—not that he had had much of a temper, being in all things a tractable child. It might be that Sapientia truly mourned him, despite her jealousy at her father's preference for the bastard over the eldest legitimate child.

Rosvita had never observed that Sapientia was capable of duplicity.

Margrave Judith appeared in the doorway, spoke to a servant, and was ushered inside. She walked over to Rosvita. "News from Kassel," Judith murmured, eyeing the king with interest and
—perhaps—pity. "Helmut Villam has taken a turn for the better. It appears he will live."

Roused by this whispering, Henry pushed himself up, though it was clearly exhausting for him to move at all. His face was graven with sorrow; he had aged ten years in one hour.

"Is it Villam you speak of?" he said. "What news?"

"He will live," said Rosvita in a calm voice, which was surely what the king needed at this deperate time rather than more hysteria.

Sapientia caught in a sob and let it out, bursting into a new stream of tears.

Henry shut his eyes. Slowly, he lifted a hand, the cloth, to his face. He murmured something, a word. No, it was a name: "Alia."

The touch of the old rag appeared to give him strength. "I want him gone!" he said. "Gone! Out of my sight. Send him south to Darre with the escort for Biscop Antonia."

"Whom, Your Majesty?"

"Wolfhere! But keep the other one here, the one who also witnessed. Where is Hathui?"

She stepped out from the shadow by the doorway. "I am here, Your Majesty."

"You will stay by my side," he ordered.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"It is time," he continued. His voice broke on the words, and yet none there would have mistaken him for anyone but the king. "Sapientia." Startled, the young woman flung herself to her knees and clutched at the bedcovers, bowing her head. Henry reached out but did not quite touch her hair. This mark of affection he could not quite
—not now, not ever, perhaps—bring

himself to show for her. "You will ride out in the morning on your heir's progress."

Her sobs ceased. She began to speak.

He turned his back on her. "Go," he said, the word muffled by the cloth in which he buried his face.

Rosvita began to move forward, to lead Sapientia away before she did something foolish, but Judith forestalled her. "Let me," said the margrave. "I will see she is outfitted and sent properly on her way."

"Thank you," murmured Rosvita.

The margrave led Sapientia from the room. The servants hovered nervously, but Henry did not move. He had done what was necessary. He had done what should have been done months ago, but she was not about to tell him that now. Sanglant was a brave man and a good soul
—half human though it was—but he was not meant to be king. She sighed, heartfelt. The servants brought water and cloth to bathe the king's face.

Theophanu glanced toward Rosvita and asked a question with her expression. Rosvita shook her head. Better to take the living children away so as not to remind him of the dead one. With a slight nod, Theophanu led Ekkehard out of the chamber.

Henry did not respond, not when his servants offered him wine, not when they bathed his face. He was as stone, lost to the world. Together with the Eagle, Rosvita stood vigil beside him long into the dark night.

ALAIN
could not sleep. The bed he had been given was too soft and too warm and too comfortable. He just could not sleep. The hounds snored softly. Count Lavastine snored, too, in a hushed counterpoint to the hounds. Unlike most noblemen, Lavastine did not sleep

in a room with his servants; no one dared sleep within range of the unchained hounds. Perhaps it was the very lack of bodies that made Alain keep starting awake. He had never slept so
privately
before. In Aunt Bel's longhouse here were full thirty people sleeping at night, and in the stables
—

Not my Aunt Bel any longer.

He sat bolt upright for perhaps the tenth time, and Sorrow woke and whined softly, seeking his hand and licking it.

Lavastine's heir. This in his wildest dreams he had never imagined. He knew at that moment he would sleep no more this night, so he rose and dressed quietly and slipped outside, Sorrow at his heels. Rage slept peacefully and did not stir.

Outside, a servant woke instantly. "My lord, may I escort you?"

How quickly they changed their treatment of him. But he was Lavastine's heir now, sealed by the king's own words. He would control their fates and their families in ten or twenty years. He knew better, from serving in a lord's household, than to try to go anywhere alone. It would never be allowed.

"Is there a chapel nearby?" he asked. "I wish to pray."

One of the biscop's clerics was found and Alain was escorted to a tiny chapel whose Hearth bore a fine jeweled reliquary box sitting in muted splendor on the polished wood of the altar. The chapel was not empty. A servant girl knelt on the stone before the Hearth, polishing the pavement with her own skirts.

In the next instant, just before she looked up, like a mouse caught in the act of nibbling at the cheese, he recognized her.

"My lady!" he said, aghast to find Tallia on her knees on the stone wiping the flagstone with her fine silk skirts. Her hands were red, rubbed almost raw by the unaccustomed work.

She stared at him, eyes wide and frightened. "I pray you," she said in a whisper, "do not send me away. Let me unburden myself before Our Lady in this fashion, by the work of my hands, though it is unworthy of Her regard."

"But surely you do not wish to ruin that fine cloth?" Alain could just imagine what Aunt Bel would say if she saw silk of that quality being used to sweep floors, however holy.

"The riches of Earth are as dust to the glory of the heavens and the Chamber of Light. So did Prater Agius preach."

"You heard Agius preach?"

"Did you not hear him as well?" she asked timidly. She came forward, still on her knees, and clasped Alain's hands in hers, almost in supplication. "You were his companion. He saw that you were of noble birth before any other did, is that not true? Was his vision not a gift to him from the Lady Herself? Did he not preach the true Word of the blessed Daisan's sacrifice and redemption?"

"That is heresy," Alain whispered, glancing around, but they remained alone in the chapel. Sorrow sat panting by the door, and no man dared enter because of him.

"It is not heresy," she finished, her pale face taking color as she took heart from whatever memory she had of Agius' preaching. "You must acknowledge it. You heard him. You must know it is the truth."

"I
—" It made him deeply uncomfortable to have a princess who wore the gold torque marking her royal kinship kneeling in front of him—and speaking of heresy, in a biscop's palace. "You must rise, Princess." He tried to tug her to her feet, but she was either stronger than she looked or holding fast to her purpose. Her hands were warm on his, warming his, and he looked into her face and did not understand what he saw there.

"I pray King Henry will put me in the church," she said, staring up at Alain.

Or marry her to me.
The thought popped unbidden into Alain's mind. He was so stricken by it that he let go of her hands and sat down on the nearest bench. Ai, blessed Lord and Lady. He was a lord, now, heir to the count of Lavas. He could think about marriage.

"Then, when I am made deacon, I will preach," she said in a fierce whisper. "I will preach the Holy Word Agius taught me, though the skopos calls it heresy. If they condemn me for it, then I will be a martyr, as he was, and ascend to the Chamber of Light where the saints and the martyrs live in the blazing light of Our Lady's gaze and Her Son's sweet glory."

Alain almost laughed, not at her but at the strange path that had brought him here to this chapel on this night.

Serve me,
the Lady of Battles had said, and she had given to him a blood-red rose as her token, as the sign of her favor. He had served, as well as he was able. He had ridden to war. He had broken the compulsion laid by sorcery on Lavastine, and he had killed the
guivre,
though only because of Agius' sacrifice. He had tried always to do what was right, though sometimes he had failed. He had not saved Lackling, but he had saved the Eika prince, although perhaps the life of the savage had not been worth the life of the poor simple boy. But it was not his place to judge the worth of their souls.

And Alain knew that although he had been raised from freeholder's son to count's heir, a huge leap in the world of men, such fortune could only have come about because of the presence of divine favor.

"Come, Tallia," he said, bold enough to use her name and hoping he would not be judged proud and insolent for doing so. "It is not fitting that you kneel. Sit beside me, I pray you." He gave her his hand and helped her up and, after a hesitation, she deigned to sit beside him on the bench.

She glanced past him toward the door and shuddered.

"What is wrong?"

"The hound. It scares me."

"I won't let it hurt you." He snapped his fingers. "Sorrow, come, boy." Sorrow padded dutifully over to him, and as if pulled along behind it on a string, his distraught servant crept into the chapel where he could observe safely, from a distance. Tallia shrank back from the hound's massive presence, but he bade the hound sit . and then he took her hand in his and, whispering softly, let her touch the hound's head. "You see," he said, "they are like any soul that wishes only to be touched with compassion and not with hatred or fear."

"You are very wise," said Tallia, but after a moment she withdrew her hand from Sorrow, though the hound made no move to snap or growl at her, obedient to Alain's command.

Alain smiled wryly. "I'm not wise. I'm only repeating what my fa
—" But Henri was not his father. Lavastine was his father. Yet at this moment it did not truly matter. Henri had raised him as well as he was able. "I'm only repeating what others have taught me."

There was a sudden flurry of movement by the door. Rage bounded in, followed by Lavastine. Tallia shrank away, but Rage sat down firmly on Alain's slippered feet, as if to make sure he did not run, and ignored the girl.

Lavastine ran a hand through rumpled hair and glared at Alain. "What do you mean by this?" he demanded. "I
—my lord—I— "Well! Out with it!"

"I couldn't sleep. I just came here
—" He gestured, half terrified that he had offended Lavastine, half confused by the expression on Lavastine's face, which he could not interpret.

Lavastine caught himself and made a simple bow. "Princess Tallia. I beg your pardon." He called to a servant. "Escort the princess back to her chamber."

Given no choice, Tallia left, but she cast one look
— pleading or grateful, Alain could not tell—back at Alain before she was led away.

"She's in disgrace now," said Lavastine, sitting down on the bench beside Alain and absently letting Sorrow chew on his hand. "And her mother certainly is." He rubbed his beard, then fingered the silver Circle that hung at his chest on a gold chain. "Henry might be willing to marry her off, if the right bargain was offered. Any lineage is strengthened by royal blood." He stared at the Hearth for some moments longer, though he was obviously not viewing the fine reliquary or meditating on its holy contents. Then he shook himself, this stillness as much as he could muster in the course of one day. "Come, lad. It is almost dawn, did you not know?"