King's Dragon (Crown of Stars 1)

“Through a woman who was not even a queen in her own right, but only through her marriage to Arnulf. I am the rightful queen, Count Lavastine, and when I am restored to my throne through the efforts of my faithful followers, I will give my daughter Tallia to the throne of Varre as queen and marry her to a man of noble birth among those who have supported me. Thus will Varre be restored, separate once again from Wendar and no longer subject to taxes and duties imposed by the reigning monarch in Wendar.”

Alain could scarcely catch his breath, hearing Sabella speak so bluntly. Count Lavastine evidently had unplumbed reserves of calm, because not a flicker of emotion escaped him.

“You speak rebellion, Your Highness, against King Henry, who has received the blessing of the skopos in Darre and of the assembly of biscops and presbyters at Autun. Henry was himself named heir by your father, the younger Arnulf. Did you not swear before Biscop Antonia of Mainni seven years ago to reconcile with your brother?”

“So I did reconcile at that time. I was younger, and my daughter not yet healthy. After many years of prayer and with the wise counsel of Biscop Antonia and the considered support of Rodulf, Duke of Varingia and Conrad the Black, Duke of Wayland, I have chosen again to put forward my case. Let us speak plainly, Count Lavastine. I seek your support as well.”

Sabella had a bland, almost monotone voice, but the deep furrows of long anger that lined her face gave the lie to her seeming coolness.

“Such a decision cannot be reached lightly,” said Lavastine. He glanced toward Alain as if he had known the boy was eavesdropping all along, then smoothly changed the subject to last summer’s Eika raids and the prisoner he had captured in the battle at the Vennu River.

Amazed by the count’s notice, Alain stood frozen until, mercifully, one of the biscop’s clerics signaled to him. Alain jerked himself away and hurried over to refill a fine glass pitcher. For a little while he was busy.

In the kitchens, where he refilled his own ceramic pitcher from barrels brought from the cellar, a different discussion was going on.

“I heard that fifty of those pigs will go to the beast that hides in the cage,” said one of Cook’s assistants.

“Hush, now,” said Cook. “We needn’t have your gossip here. Go back to your chopping.”

“I heard it, snuffling and clacking its teeth, and one of the handlers is missing a hand. Bitten off, it was, I’d wager.”

“It’s a monster!”

“Nay, it’s only a leopard, that’s what one of the servingmen back by the wagons said.”

“Has he ever seen it? Why must they shroud that cage, then? Why do they keep it outside the palisade, back by the forest, as if to hide it? It’s a basilisk, mark my words. One look and it will turn you to stone.”

“I won’t have this!” said Cook sternly, then turned her sharp gaze toward Alain. “You, lad, aren’t you serving wine?”

He hurried back into the hall, poured, fetched more wine, only to find himself in another lull. A monster in a shrouded cage! He was not quite sure what a leopard was, anyway. Was it like a basilisk?

He eased down the dais toward the count but came to a halt somewhat behind the chair of Biscop Antonia. Next to her sat the sallow, quiet girlchild whom Alain had identified as Tallia, daughter of Sabella and Berengar. Alain studied her surreptitiously. No longer truly a girl, she was not yet quite a woman. She had pale features that resembled neither her mother nor father strongly. A fine linen scarf woven with golden lions on a wheat-colored background, whose effect was to render her even paler, concealed her hair. The gold torque around her slender neck was so thick and heavy it appeared to imprison rather than elevate her.

Fish—for of course the noblefolk fasted for Penitire by eating no meat—and vegetables and savories lay untouched on her plate. She ate only bread, although twice he saw her drink watered wine from the cup urged on her by the biscop, who tended to her charge solicitously. Farther down the table, Prince Berengar drank and ate with gusto.

At last, pale Tallia leaned toward the biscop and spoke. “Why can my lord father not observe Holy Week in a Godly manner, Your Grace?”

o;Which resides now in the hands of King Henry.” Count Lavastine maintained such a discreet hold on his tongue that Alain could not tell if he supported Lady Sabella or King Henry. Or, indeed, if he supported either one.

“Where it does not belong. I and my daughter are the last living heirs of the royal house of Varre, through my mother, Queen Berengaria. I am the only living child of Arnulf and Berengaria, whose names I remember in my prayers daily.”

“King Henry is also the child of Arnulf.”

“Through a woman who was not even a queen in her own right, but only through her marriage to Arnulf. I am the rightful queen, Count Lavastine, and when I am restored to my throne through the efforts of my faithful followers, I will give my daughter Tallia to the throne of Varre as queen and marry her to a man of noble birth among those who have supported me. Thus will Varre be restored, separate once again from Wendar and no longer subject to taxes and duties imposed by the reigning monarch in Wendar.”

Alain could scarcely catch his breath, hearing Sabella speak so bluntly. Count Lavastine evidently had unplumbed reserves of calm, because not a flicker of emotion escaped him.

“You speak rebellion, Your Highness, against King Henry, who has received the blessing of the skopos in Darre and of the assembly of biscops and presbyters at Autun. Henry was himself named heir by your father, the younger Arnulf. Did you not swear before Biscop Antonia of Mainni seven years ago to reconcile with your brother?”

“So I did reconcile at that time. I was younger, and my daughter not yet healthy. After many years of prayer and with the wise counsel of Biscop Antonia and the considered support of Rodulf, Duke of Varingia and Conrad the Black, Duke of Wayland, I have chosen again to put forward my case. Let us speak plainly, Count Lavastine. I seek your support as well.”

Sabella had a bland, almost monotone voice, but the deep furrows of long anger that lined her face gave the lie to her seeming coolness.

“Such a decision cannot be reached lightly,” said Lavastine. He glanced toward Alain as if he had known the boy was eavesdropping all along, then smoothly changed the subject to last summer’s Eika raids and the prisoner he had captured in the battle at the Vennu River.

Amazed by the count’s notice, Alain stood frozen until, mercifully, one of the biscop’s clerics signaled to him. Alain jerked himself away and hurried over to refill a fine glass pitcher. For a little while he was busy.

In the kitchens, where he refilled his own ceramic pitcher from barrels brought from the cellar, a different discussion was going on.