Crown of Stars (Crown of Stars 7)

Liutgard looked troubled. “It’s true. All this talk of a secret cabal, these Seven Sleepers. It would make sense they would have a deeper plan.”

ant tapped one foot, waiting. The plank flooring of the hall was swept clean. No carpets covered the long boards. The scritching of quills continued unabated. Clerics bent their heads over tables, writing and writing and writing. He wondered that their hands did not begin to ache.

“Then a proper marriage,” Mother Scholastica said.

“We settled this at Gent,” he retorted.

“A subtle player made that move. Her kinfolk out of Bodfeld are not even counts, nothing more than minor lords. Her father was dedicated to the church and should never have fathered a child. It can’t even be proved that she is legitimate rather than a bastard. It can’t even be proved she has a soul. Without your support, Sanglant, she is nothing more than an excommunicated practitioner of forbidden sorcery. Subject to execution, if the church so desires.”

“With such plain speaking, you can scarcely expect me to withdraw my ‘protection,’” he answered. “I weary of this game.”

“The throne, or the woman.”

“It is a false choice. Why are you so stubborn?”

“Why are you so stubborn?” She was mightily displeased. Her anger made him uneasy, but he would not back down. “You are a fool, Sanglant. It would have been better if Henry had married you to Villam’s heir, as Villam wanted.”

“You were against the match at the time, as I recall.”

“So I was. Then. Villam had already too much power in Henry’s council.”

“Waltharia is unmarried, at this moment. Would you object to her now?”

Scholastica hesitated. Liutgard looked surprised, but Theophanu smiled in that elegant, enigmatic way she had, giving away nothing.

“I would object,” said Liutgard finally.

Scholastica still gave no answer.

“Had you someone in mind?” he asked his aunt.

“An alliance might be sealed,” she said slowly, “with a princess out of Salia or Alba. Even, in these times, with the Polenie, although I account them rather small. A worthy match, bringing with it a worthwhile alliance. Something that will aid us.”

“As Liath did. She saved us. All of us.”

Scholastica’s frown was hard and her tone bitter. “No one knows what she did. Not even you. No one witnessed. She might have done or said anything. You do not know.”

“I know what she told me. I know what happened. I know Anne is dead and her cabal of sorcerers scattered.”

“How do you know that the great tempest was not brought about by that creature’s magic? By her doing? Or with her as accomplice who then murdered her master? You do not know anything, Sanglant. You cannot prove anything. Those who accompanied her are lost. They cannot tell us what they saw. She is a sorcerer. A daimone’s get. Soulless. Dangerous.”

“Visited by a saint in Gent.”

“An illusion!”

“An illusion—if you say so—believed by half the population and most importantly by those who witnessed. Those whose lives she saved!”

“They are fools, easily led! She could have said anything to convince them to follow her.”

He rose slowly, hands loose, shoulders tight.

“Sanglant,” whispered Theophanu, warning him.

“I was there!” he said, really angry now. “She saved lives at the risk of her own. She could have run, but did not. Don’t tell me it was an illusion! All my Dragons died, and half the city besides!”

His anger did not sway her, nor did his height and his strength as he towered over her.

“You did not die.” Her lined face showed no fear and no apprehension, only her stubborn will, not to be cowed by the likes of him. “Although it seems to me that you should have. It is said that your mother bound a spell into your flesh. It is said you cannot die. At times I have wondered if your courage in battle is due to honor and duty and loyalty, or to the knowledge that no matter how many of your men die, you will not suffer their fate.”