In the Ruins (Crown of Stars 6)

He shut his beautiful eyes and his legs gave out as he sank onto the stone in an attitude of prayer. His hands shook, and Ivar pulled the lamp from his grasp before he dropped it.

“Ai, God. How can it be? You were dead. I saw you myself. I touched you. I pressed that ring onto your cold hand. You were dead.”

“It was a ruse, Baldwin. I am sorry you had to suffer, not knowing the truth.” He set down the lamp and, hesitantly, placed a hand on Baldwin’s shoulder. “I was never dead, only drugged. I escaped from Queen’s Grave to take a message to Princess Theophanu.”

Baldwin surged up and embraced Ivar tightly, bursting into tears.

Ivar was at first too choked up to speak, but he understood how little time they had. “Surely your absence will be noted.”

“Yes, yes,” murmured Baldwin into his shoulder. “I came out to use the necessarium, but she’ll wonder and suspect. She keeps me prisoner. You can’t imagine how awful she is, always watching me.”

“You saved our lives.”

“I know.” He said the words not with anger or accusation, but simply because they were the truth.

He released Ivar, then grasped his hands in his own and stared keenly at him. There was a look in Baldwin’s handsome face that had never been there before, but Ivar could not identify what it was. The light from the lamp, shining up from below, highlighted the perfect curve of his cheekbones and lent sparks to his lovely eyes. The midnight blue of his robes blended into the night, making him appear almost as an apparition, not a real human being at all. He had lost none of his unfortunate beauty.

“Why are you here, Ivar? I knew you wouldn’t abandon me.”

“Will you escape with me, tonight?”

“Yes.”

“I need one thing.”

“What?”

o;Brixians, perhaps. They’re the only Salians who would degrade themselves in such a way.”

“My lord,” said one of the clerics sternly, “if such folk are starving, then God enjoins us to give them aid and compassion.”

“Well,” continued Amalfred boldly, “if Lady Sabella grants me those stores, then I can feed my restless soldiers who mutter about rebellion.”

“I pray you, Your Highness,” said Baldwin without looking up from his writing desk. How pleasing his voice was, compared to the coarser voices of Sabella’s companions. “Those rations of grain are meant to go to the poor in Autun, Your Highness. There are so many who haven’t enough to eat.”

“The poor of Autun cannot aid me,” said Sabella, “but Lord Amalfred’s hungry soldiers can fight to protect the Varren borderlands.”

“And gain a little territory in Salia for themselves,” added one of her companions.

Sabella laughed, but she looked again, frowning, at the pair of servants. “Haven’t you done? What slow pair of fools has been foisted on me now? What are your names?”

“I pray you, Your Highness,” said Baldwin sweetly without looking up from his writing desk. “I have forgotten again whether it is the monastery of Firsebarg or that of Felden which desires a new abbot to rule over them, now that their lord father has been absent so long.”

“Firsebarg, Baldwin! Why won’t you attend the first time I tell you things. My sister Rotrudis’ useless whelp, Reginar, has gone missing since last year. Must I remember everything for you?”

Johanna tugged on Ivar’s sleeve, and he hastily followed her out of the chamber by a side door. They came into a narrow courtyard abutting the wall.

“Wait here a moment, I pray you,” Johanna said, indicating he should set down the buckets. “I must use the necessary. Then we’ll get on with our work.”

She had lit a taper from one of the braziers and by its light slipped into one of the closed stalls built out from the wall.

Up here on the height it was cold and the wind bit hard. He blew on his hands and stared about him, but there wasn’t much to see. A pair of torches lit a distant gate. He could not see the town below but felt the expanse of air. All other souls slept. Only Lady Sabella had riches enough to burn oil at night.

He stared at the door, and at last it creaked open and creaked shut. A light appeared, and a pale head loomed before him. Without speaking, he grabbed the cap that covered Ivar’s head and ripped it off, then held the lamp close to see the color of his hair. With a muttered oath more like a moan than words, he grabbed Ivar’s left hand first, released it, and grasped the right one. There winked the lapis lazuli ring, gleaming in lamplight.

He shut his beautiful eyes and his legs gave out as he sank onto the stone in an attitude of prayer. His hands shook, and Ivar pulled the lamp from his grasp before he dropped it.

“Ai, God. How can it be? You were dead. I saw you myself. I touched you. I pressed that ring onto your cold hand. You were dead.”