King's Dragon (Crown of Stars 1)

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.

9

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 Frater 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?”

o;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.