In the Ruins (Crown of Stars 6)

Because he had seemed so callow, compared to Hugh. As much as she had hated Hugh, she had never truly stopped comparing Ivar to him, and found Ivar always wanting although he was honest and true.

“Hanna is my friend,” she said at last, seeing that the others—Rufus, dark-haired Nan, and an older man all the other Eagles called Hasty because of his deliberate way of doing things but whose name was Radamir—watched her. “I wish we had news of her.”

“I don’t know if she survived the earthquake,” said Rufus. “That one that collapsed St. Mark’s. I heard a rumor that she and some of the king’s schola crept away during the tumult. I was gone by then. She had been placed in Presbyter Hugh’s retinue, but Duchess Liutgard was unhappy about it. He never allowed Hanna to make her full report to the king—that is, the emperor.”

She questioned him further, but he hadn’t much more to relate although it all emerged in greatest detail, since Eagles honed their ability to memorize and recollect.

“I pray she still lives,” Rufus finished. “She is a good woman.”

“If any can survive this, Hanna can.”

Behind, a commotion signaled the approach of Sanglant and his entourage: the tread of footsteps, the babble of conversation, a chuckle, a muttered wager. It never let up. Tonight he spoke with his cousin, Liutgard, whom he seemed to trust, while that bastard Wichman trailed behind making crude jokes to the Ungrian captain, Istvan, who bore his witticisms stolidly. A bevy of nobles swarmed around; a steward waited at his right hand; soldiers loitered beyond the firelight, never straying far.

He stood straight and held the centermost place among his retinue, with that astonishing ability to know where each of his attendants were without skipping from place to place like an anxious dog seeking a pat on the head. But she could see in his face and bearing that the journey and the obligations thrust upon him were exhausting him. He was strong, but even the strongest must rest.

Soldiers had already pitched the journeying tent in which they slept. Thank the Lord and Lady that it was too small to admit more than two people.

She caught Captain Fulk’s attention, and he nodded at her and chivvied the king toward his pallet, separating him smoothly away from the others. Liath wasn’t sure if Fulk liked her, or even respected her, but on this account, at least, they understood one another.

She took her leave of the Eagles and, as Sanglant’s attendants made ready to sleep, dispersed to their own encampments, or settled in for guard duty, she crawled into the tent and pulled off her boots.

“You must come with me when I tour the army,” he said impatiently. “You must be seen at my side, as my consort. As co-regnant.”

ese distant marchland borderlands, empty wilderness stretched wide, and villages were without exception bounded by log palisades, which protected mostly against wild beasts both animal and human since a true army would make short work of such meager fortifications. This one had not burned, but the gates sat wide and the vanguard had marched in without seeing any living creature except for a pair of crows that fluttered away into the trees, cawing.

“I miss birdsong,” Liath said. “Even in winter, there should be some about.”

Sanglant was out on his evening round of the army. Hathui had gone with him, leaving her with a trio of Eagles who regarded her with wary interest. She did not feel easy with Sanglant’s noble brethren and preferred the company of the messengers.

“Hanna spoke of you,” said the redheaded one called Rufus.

“Hanna! When did you last speak with Hanna?”

“Months ago. More than that, perhaps. A year, or more. She came south with a message from Princess Theophanu. Hathui says that she and Hanna met on the road, in Avaria or Wayland—I’m not sure which—and that Hanna knew the truth of what had happened to the king but she never confided in me or anyone.”

“Why not?”

“She was watchful. That’s all I know. I liked her.”

Liath propped her chin on a cupped fist and frowned at the Eagle. He was a likable, even-tempered young man who reminded her vaguely of Ivar but perhaps only because of his red hair. They looked nothing alike, and he did not have Ivar’s inconvenient and ill-timed passions.

She sighed. Heart’s Rest seemed impossibly distant. That interlude with Hanna and Ivar, innocent friends, could never have happened in a world as blighted as this one. How blind she had been in those days! Hanna’s friendship was true enough, but Hanna had been struggling with her own obstacles, which Liath had blithely ignored. Ivar had never been her friend; she had pretended otherwise because his infatuation with her had made her uncomfortable.

Because he had seemed so callow, compared to Hugh. As much as she had hated Hugh, she had never truly stopped comparing Ivar to him, and found Ivar always wanting although he was honest and true.

“Hanna is my friend,” she said at last, seeing that the others—Rufus, dark-haired Nan, and an older man all the other Eagles called Hasty because of his deliberate way of doing things but whose name was Radamir—watched her. “I wish we had news of her.”

“I don’t know if she survived the earthquake,” said Rufus. “That one that collapsed St. Mark’s. I heard a rumor that she and some of the king’s schola crept away during the tumult. I was gone by then. She had been placed in Presbyter Hugh’s retinue, but Duchess Liutgard was unhappy about it. He never allowed Hanna to make her full report to the king—that is, the emperor.”

She questioned him further, but he hadn’t much more to relate although it all emerged in greatest detail, since Eagles honed their ability to memorize and recollect.

“I pray she still lives,” Rufus finished. “She is a good woman.”

“If any can survive this, Hanna can.”

Behind, a commotion signaled the approach of Sanglant and his entourage: the tread of footsteps, the babble of conversation, a chuckle, a muttered wager. It never let up. Tonight he spoke with his cousin, Liutgard, whom he seemed to trust, while that bastard Wichman trailed behind making crude jokes to the Ungrian captain, Istvan, who bore his witticisms stolidly. A bevy of nobles swarmed around; a steward waited at his right hand; soldiers loitered beyond the firelight, never straying far.

He stood straight and held the centermost place among his retinue, with that astonishing ability to know where each of his attendants were without skipping from place to place like an anxious dog seeking a pat on the head. But she could see in his face and bearing that the journey and the obligations thrust upon him were exhausting him. He was strong, but even the strongest must rest.