Crown of Stars (Crown of Stars 7)

“Heh! Having you for a companion, I begin to think all men are blind!”

Alain whistles. The hounds stand with heads high and ears pricked up, smelling and tasting the air. “There may be more wounded men lying out here who can be saved if they’re found quickly.”

They nod obediently.

He marks her in the distance, riding along a flank where men scramble through ruined pickets seeking survivors. The wings of dusk settle over the Lady of Battles until he can no longer see her, but he knows she still stalks the field. Always and ever she will ride. “We are not done yet, you and I,” he says to her, knowing she can hear him at any distance. “I challenge you. I challenge you.”

He turns to the soldiers. “Light a lamp, I pray you,” he says.

Flint snaps. A flame leaps from the wick, and the lamp wakens, spilling light. He leads them out to search the darkening battlefield.

“He is coming,” said Stronghand.

Duchess Liutgard and Duke Conrad had long since marched out to the Varren encampment to recover Liutgard’s daughter, and returned to their separate quarters in this portion of the new palace. The holy mothers had arranged to meet in the morning for a conclave.

Theophanu and Stronghand sat in chairs on either side of an open window, in the middle chamber of the suite reserved for the regnant. Her servants and stewards and his guardsmen and council members waited in attendance together with a half dozen of the messenger eagles.

All night he and she had sat thus, alone, just talking. She had described the forthcoming conclave at length—and with a subtle humor that repeatedly amused him—in terms that suggested it would be nothing more than a wrestling match argued with words rather than grappling. He had told the story of the Alban conquest. Of Aosta, there was rumor to chew over and discount. Of her father, the king, she spoke affectionately and yet with a kind of bitter reserve that betrayed ambivalent feelings. He told her of what he had seen at Gent in the days when his father, that belligerent warlord, still lived. They touched last on the afternoon’s council, when the two of them had come to such an abrupt and instinctive accommodation.

Dawn would come soon.

Flambeaux smoldered in their sconces, trailing smoke and the waxy scent of herbs tucked in to sweeten their burning. A fire burned in twin braziers, because the humans found the night air cold, although the chill made no difference to him.

She wore a shawl draped over her shoulders; her hair was uncovered, twisted back in a single thick braid. She was easy to look on, unusual among humankind for not fidgeting or stretching her mouth into the grimaces called smiling and frowning. Like stone, she had patience and a smooth exterior. She was easy to talk to, and had an exceedingly clever mind, nor did she reveal too much in the manner of a person attempting to ingratiate herself where she feels inferior. He minded the same balance: they must learn enough of each other now to gain a worthy measure of trust, but not too much, lest the arrangement fall through before it is binding.

“If he is not truly the son and heir of Count Lavastine,” she said, “then who is he? Who is his mother? Who his father?”

“Does it matter?”

“It matters to you, which tribe you are sprung from. You named your birth tribe and cousin tribes, and those who allied with you early, and those who came late or not at all. You remember their names. Kinship always matters. He is bound to the county of Lavas in some manner. I would like to know how. The count of Lavas controls a great deal of territory along the northeastern coast of Arconia and well inland. The one who rules there would be a welcome ally.”

“Against Conrad and the heir to Arconia?”

“Yes. Conrad has multiple claims. His elder surviving daughter will be duke of Wayland after him. His younger daughter by Tallia can claim the duchy of Arconia. The infant son—if the child still lives—also has a claim.”

“Do you think it wise to honor the arrangement he claims to have made with Sanglant before the end? That Conrad’s infant son, if he lives, marry Sanglant’s young daughter, if she lives?”

“We must have heirs.”

“My sons in the north and west, your kin here in the south and east.”

“One daughter of Wendar to marry one son of the Eika in every generation, to keep the alliance.”

“Should it hold,” he said, with a flash of teeth.

“That promise lies beyond our power to enforce. We must raise those who will come after us to honor the agreement, and pray that they do.”

“It’s true that after death our hands clutch nothing but dust. That is fair. You remain suspicious of Conrad, it seems.”

“I think it wise to distrust him. He is a likable man. But we hold weapons against him as well. If Lavas supports us, and we enrich Lavas with certain estates and toll routes currently claimed by the duke of Arconia, Lavas will counterweight Conrad’s power.”

He nodded. “As well, an emporium developed north of Medemelacha—in Osna Sound—would provide another staging ground for a fleet. Supported by the Lavas militia. Their placement along the coast makes them a bridge between the regions of the alliance.”

“We’ll have Arconia caught in a pincer, and keep her weakened. Cut off her access to trade. Route trade through the north coast, which Lavas can control.”

“A good plan. Especially if we institute a census, so we know who has survived and what taxes and tithes and tolls to expect, what regions were hurt most and which harmed least. But we must keep in mind this caution. The shorelines have altered all along the northern sea. It will take years to see how this upheaval has altered the nature and utility of the ports and coastal drainage.”

“Yes. When we were in Gent—Sanglant and I—we saw that it may be necessary to abandon Gent’s sea trade, although it remains a land crossroads. Much has changed.”