Prince of Dogs (Crown of Stars 2)

By this time the road was a swirling, choking mass of dust made no better by the hysterical townsfolk who swarmed in behind the line of monks and nuns. Their excitement was itself a creature, huge and perilous and joyful. Was this not the king? There would be a ceremony later, after the king had washed himself and greeted his sainted mother in quieter rooms. Queen Mathilda was not strong enough for a public greeting. Then Mass would be sung in the town’s church, and as many townsfolk as could manage would crowd into the church to see the king robed and crowned in royal splendor, his sacred presence a reminder of God’s heavenly grace and Henry’s earthly power. After the Feast of St. Valentinus tomorrow, townsfolk could bring their grievances to the king’s personal attention, for he would rest in town for Hallowing Eve and the holy days of All Souls and All Saints which followed. Only then would he and his retinue ride on to Thurin Forest, where they would hunt. Ivar envied them the freedom to hunt.

But he had his own hunting to do. Somehow, at some time in the excitement during the next three days, Master Pursed-Lips would stray from his attentiveness. He would forget to watch quite as closely. Somehow Ivar would find a way to contact Liath.

4

LIATH had searched the line of monks along the roadside, but their heads had remained bowed, their faces hidden. So she rode on into Quedlinhame, through the town, and up a winding road that led to the top of the hill where thick walls protected monks and nuns from the temptations of the world; so Da had said to her. Had he been a brother here once?

Beyond the monastery gate, layservants took the horses and led them away to the stables. She started after them, swinging her saddlebag off the horse and draping its weight over her shoulder—then heard her name above the clamor of horses and wagons.

“Liath!” Hathui hailed her.

Liath threaded her way through the mob, avoiding a whippet hound snapping at the end of a leash, stepping over a fresh pile of horse manure, waiting as a noble lady still mounted on a fine gray gelding crossed in front of her.

“Come. We are to attend the king.” Hathui smoothed down her tunic and straightened the brass badge that pinned her cloak. Then she frowned at Liath. “You should have left your gear with the horse. It’ll be safe in a convent, I should think!”

Liath attempted a smile. “I didn’t think. I just grabbed it.”

Hathui crooked an eyebrow. She was not a woman easily fooled nor one to succumb to nonsense. “What’s in there so precious that you’ll never let that bag leave your side?”

“Nothing!” It was said too quickly, of course. Liath shifted the saddlebag on her shoulders, shrugging the back pouch aside where it had gotten tangled with her bow quiver. “Nothing special except to me. Something Da left to me. The only thing I have left of him.”

“Yes, so you’ve said before,” replied Hathui in the tone of someone who doesn’t believe what she is hearing. “But if Wolfhere minds not, than neither shall I. He may settle this with you when he returns.”

Which, Lady grant, might be many months from now. Though she missed Hanna bitterly, Liath did not regret that she would not see Wolfhere until next year, when he and Hanna could cross back over the mountains from Darre and return to the king’s progress. She liked Wolfhere, but she could not trust him.

he stared after her, keeping his head lifted defiantly as the long train passed, the last of the courtiers and their attendant servants at the end. He searched them all, looking for Hanna. Hanna had sworn to stay by Liath. But of Hanna he saw no sign.

The willow switch surprised him. This time it landed on his shoulders and he actually grunted out loud, it hurt so badly.

“It is unseemly to stare,” said the schoolmaster coldly. “You bring notice on yourself.”

Ivar clamped his lips shut over a retort. Now he could not get angry. Now he must plan. Liath had come to Quedlinhame and though the novices rarely stirred outside their dormitory and courtyard, though they were always heavily supervised, he would find a way to let Liath know he was here. He would find a way to see her, talk to her. To touch her.

Even thinking such a thing was a sin.

But he didn’t care.

The last of the train rolled by. The monks and nuns fell into place behind the king’s progress. Bells rang in Quedlinhame. Someone at the head of their procession began to sing and the others joined in as they walked back toward town, following the king.

O God, endow the king with Thine own justice, and give Thy righteousness to the king’s heir so this one may judge Thy people rightly and deal out justice to the poor and suffering.

By this time the road was a swirling, choking mass of dust made no better by the hysterical townsfolk who swarmed in behind the line of monks and nuns. Their excitement was itself a creature, huge and perilous and joyful. Was this not the king? There would be a ceremony later, after the king had washed himself and greeted his sainted mother in quieter rooms. Queen Mathilda was not strong enough for a public greeting. Then Mass would be sung in the town’s church, and as many townsfolk as could manage would crowd into the church to see the king robed and crowned in royal splendor, his sacred presence a reminder of God’s heavenly grace and Henry’s earthly power. After the Feast of St. Valentinus tomorrow, townsfolk could bring their grievances to the king’s personal attention, for he would rest in town for Hallowing Eve and the holy days of All Souls and All Saints which followed. Only then would he and his retinue ride on to Thurin Forest, where they would hunt. Ivar envied them the freedom to hunt.

But he had his own hunting to do. Somehow, at some time in the excitement during the next three days, Master Pursed-Lips would stray from his attentiveness. He would forget to watch quite as closely. Somehow Ivar would find a way to contact Liath.

4

LIATH had searched the line of monks along the roadside, but their heads had remained bowed, their faces hidden. So she rode on into Quedlinhame, through the town, and up a winding road that led to the top of the hill where thick walls protected monks and nuns from the temptations of the world; so Da had said to her. Had he been a brother here once?

Beyond the monastery gate, layservants took the horses and led them away to the stables. She started after them, swinging her saddlebag off the horse and draping its weight over her shoulder—then heard her name above the clamor of horses and wagons.

“Liath!” Hathui hailed her.

Liath threaded her way through the mob, avoiding a whippet hound snapping at the end of a leash, stepping over a fresh pile of horse manure, waiting as a noble lady still mounted on a fine gray gelding crossed in front of her.

“Come. We are to attend the king.” Hathui smoothed down her tunic and straightened the brass badge that pinned her cloak. Then she frowned at Liath. “You should have left your gear with the horse. It’ll be safe in a convent, I should think!”

Liath attempted a smile. “I didn’t think. I just grabbed it.”