“What does that mean?”
“It means that his soul is fled from Earth.”
“How do I find him?”
“Seek you his killer and get your revenge. Kill the one who killed him.”
“Will it bring him back, if I kill the one who killed him?”
The angel’s smile would brighten a hall shrouded in darkness. “Oh, yes. Certainly. Delve deep, and seek him at his heart. Drive out the soul you find there. That will kill the one who killed him. The one called Sanglant.”
“But he loved him! He trusted him!”
“Alas,” the angel said in a gentling voice, as a mother might soothe a weeping child. “So it happens among humankind, that the ones we love most are quickest to betray us.”
“How will I go?”
“Come with me now. I will set you on your way. Brother Petrus, there is an attendant who serves the princess. Find her, and place an amulet around her neck … Ah!”
Elene grunted, struggling against the spell, lips moving as she murmured an incantation.
“Petrus, the knife.”
“Your hands, my lord. Let me do it, if it must be done.”
“I’ll not let others stain their hands so mine may remain clean. This is my decision, not yours.” He took a common kitchen knife, good sharp iron, out of Petrus’ shaking hands, and went to the table. Grasping Elene by the hair, he set the knife to her pulsing throat.
Elene tried to struggle, but she could not.
Anna shrieked, but the only noise that escaped her was a moan. She staggered up, but she was too slow with that lethargy weighing her down. She was too slow, and it was already too late.
He cut.
Elene’s blood spurted over the board, spattering Berthold’s sleeve and hair, although he was too fast asleep to stir. Blood flowed. A Dragon and a Queen toppled sideways in the first gush. The rest of the pieces were soon awash, islands in a red sea.
Hugh braced her body in the chair and dropped the bloody knife onto the carpet. He walked over to Anna and grasped her. She sagged against him; she could not help herself.
o;Well,” he said in a melodious voice so soothing Anna was sure he tamed wild beasts with it. She recognized it immediately as the voice of the man who had been talking to Wolfhere. “Conrad’s doomed daughter and Villam’s lost son. How unexpected this is. How handsome they look together, dark and fair!”
Elene grunted, got hold of the lion, and dug it into her palm. Her eyes flared. “Who are you? What sorcery …?”
The chess piece rolled out of her hand, landed on a corner of carpet, and tumbled off that onto the plank floor. Her eyes fluttered as she fought to keep awake.
“You know tricks, Lady Elene, but you are inexperienced.”
Anna thrust the needle into her hand again, and the pain burst like fire and focused her mind, but it was so hard to fight. It was so much easier to sleep.
He turned and saw Blessing. “Ah,” he said, voice catching. “So old already. Just as I’d hoped….”
From this angle, seated crosswise to Blessing and slightly behind her, Anna saw his expression darken.
“How can it be that you still wake?” he asked.
Before she could answer, Brother Heribert said, quite clearly, “Who are you?”
“Better I should ask, who are you? You are Brother Heribert, a particular intimate counselor of the prince, guardian of his daughter. Before that you were a cleric in the schola of the biscop of Mainni, rumored to be her—” He laughed. Anna ducked her head and, feeling the dizzy drag of exhaustion pulling her down, jabbed the needle in. “God in Heaven! Look at your eyes! How comes this? I thought I was the only one who knew this secret. Why are you here?”
“I am looking for the one I love. They say it is the other one who stole him. The one called Sanglant.”