Crown of Stars (Crown of Stars 7)

“Send a pair of archers out to that stump, there. If we have any trouble, or see any wolves, they’ll hear us shout.”

Thiadbold wiped his forehead again as he looked at Liath. “You’ll not be having any trouble with wolves, I doubt.”

“I hope not.” Liath brushed a hand over her bow. She had obtained a quiver and arrows and sword and sheath to replace those lost. The griffin-fletched arrows had a metallic smell. “We’re armed well.”

“So you are,” he agreed cryptically.

As soon as they crossed the ditch Liath said in a low voice, “He’s taken a fancy to you, Hanna. How well do you know him?”

“Not that well!”

“You’re blushing. He’s a good man, good looking, levelheaded, and has the regnant’s trust. Have you given no thought—”

“Leave it, I pray you. I’ve walked no easy road these past few years.” But she relented, smiling with what looked like regret. “I admit all that you say of him is true. At another time, in another place—they’re good men, those Lions. They’re the company that rescued me from Bulkezu. I suppose when I see them I’m reminded of the monster.”

“Bulkezu? He’s dead.”

“Dead.” She halted and looked at Liath. “Sorgatani told me he was dead. How did it happen?”

Liath reached over her own left shoulder and, again, touched the curve of her bow, which was strung, ready for battle. “I killed him.”

Hanna covered her eyes and Liath took two steps before realizing that her friend was weeping. She turned back, hugged her, and they stood under the forest cover until Hanna was done.

“There. I promised I wouldn’t do that.”

“How badly did he hurt you?” whispered Liath.

Hanna pressed a hand to her own forehead. “I saw horrible things, but I was never touched. Ai, God. I will never forget what I saw.”

“No, of course you won’t. Nor should you.”

ifted trembling hands toward Liath’s face, and Liath grasped them. “I suppose,” she said, her voice as shaky as her arms, fading as exhaustion overwhelmed her, “that in some part of me I was always waiting, I was always hoping.”

“For what?” Liath asked her, and bent close to listen.

“For you.”

3

“MOTHER Obligatia is a powerful ally,” said Hanna to Liath much later. They had shared a bowl of porridge—so strongly flavored with leeks that Liath could still taste them after two cups of ale—while Hanna told of her adventures in Aosta and farther east. Now, as Hanna finished her tale, they paused at the wall. Lions labored in what remained of the day’s light, lifting stones back into place.

Thiadbold left off working to come speak to them. Like most of the other Lions, he had stripped down to his under-shift and was nevertheless sweating despite the cooling temperature. He had dirt streaked on his face and his hands were caked with earth. He had tied a kerchief around his hair to keep it clean; red strands curled around his ears, and he used a wrist to wipe a strand out of his left eye.

“No stonemason would admire it,” he said, gesturing toward the hasty work and the laboring men, “but it will hold for a season or two until better work can be done.”

Folquin, down the line, waved at them, then yelped and leaped when Leo dropped a rock a hand’s breadth from his foot.

“How long will it take to fill it all in?” Liath asked.

He shrugged. “A day or two, not more with this company.” He smiled at Hanna. “You’ve seen them in action.”

“So I have,” she said, and Liath saw how she reddened, just a little, and how her smile turned crooked, just a little. “The best soldiers in the regnant’s army.”

He laughed. “Fair spoken, and even true. These Lions have served faithfully through hard trials and hard losses.” He indicated the forest. “We’ve heard there’s a witch and a wagon out in the trees. Need you an escort?”

“It’s close by,” said Hanna, “and there is some danger involved to your men, which I suppose you will have heard as well.”

“That a look from the witch’s eyes brings death? We’ve heard such a rumor.”