The Burning Stone (Crown of Stars 3)

“Wise counsel,” said Margrave Judith with a gleam in her eyes that made Hanna exceedingly nervous. “What do you say, Hugh?”

Hugh had a certain quirk to his lips that betrayed irritation. He smiled to cover it now. His voice remained as smooth as honey, and as sweet. “It is God’s will that sister love brother. For the rest of us, we must treat weak and strong alike with equal compassion.”

“Still,” mused Judith, “I had not considered the possibility of a marriage for Prince Sanglant. I will propose to Henry that he marry Sanglant to my Theucinda.”

“You would marry your own legitimate daughter to my bastard brother?” asked Sapientia, astonished.

In her mind’s ear, Hanna could hear her mother’s voice commenting. She knew exactly what Mistress Birta would say: that Margrave Judith, a wise administrator, was merely gathering the entire flock of chickens into her own henhouse.

“Theucinda is my third daughter, just now of age. Gerberga and Bertha have their duties, their estates, and their husbands and heirs in Austra and Olsatia. Theucinda can serve me in this way, if I think it advantageous.” She drained her cup, still watching her son. “But I do not concern myself as much with Sanglant’s marriage. Do not forget that Henry may marry again.”

“As you did,” said Hugh stiffly, glancing toward Baldwin and as quickly away as if embarrassed to be caught looking.

Judith chuckled. “What is this frown, my pet? I must have my amusements.” By not glancing toward Baldwin she called attention to his presence because everyone else then looked at him. The poor boy was, truthfully, the prettiest creature Hanna had ever seen; as was now commonly said among the servings folk, he had the face of an angel.

Hugh seemed about to speak. Abruptly he moved forward to take his mother’s empty wine cup and have it refilled. When he returned it to her, she touched his wrist as lightly as a butterfly lights on a flower to sip its nectar, and for a moment Hanna thought that something passed between them, mother and son an unspoken message understood by what could be read in the gaze and in the language of the body. But she did not hold the key to interpret it.

When Judith left, Ivar was hustled away together with Baldwin, and Hanna could only catch his eye as he crossed the threshold. He lifted a hand as if in reply, and then was gone. For the rest of the day, preparations for the wedding feast consumed her attention. Mercifully, Hathui pressed her into service to escort two wagons to an outlying farmstead where stores of honey and beeswax candles had been set aside for the regnant’s use as their yearly rent.

She loitered at the farmstead, talking to the old beekeeper while his adult children and two laborers loaded the two wagons with casks of honey and carefully wrapped bundles of delicate wax. His youngest son eyed her with interest.

“Ach, the king himself!” said the old man, whom Hanna quite liked. “I’ve never seen King Henry. It’s said he’s a handsome man, strong and tall and a fine general.”

“So he is.”

“But I have seen Arnulf the Younger with these own eyes, and that sight I’ll never forget. He came here by this very farm when I was a young man, with his escort all in rich clothes and with such fine horses that it nearly blinded a man to see them. I remember that he had a scar under his left ear, somewhat fresh. He rode with an Eagle at his right side, just like you, a common Eagle! Only it were a man. Strange it were, to see a common man riding next to the king like his best companion. But he died.”

“The Eagle?” asked Hanna, curious now.

“Nay, King Arnulf. Died many a year ago and the son come onto the throne for the elder girl couldn’t bear children and it isn’t any use to have an heir if she can’t bear children in her turn, is it now?” He glanced toward one of the adults, a tired-looking woman who had an angry lift to her mouth. A number of small children helped—or hindered—the labor, but none of them ran to her. “Ach, well, they say Henry has children of his own and a fine son who got him the throne, who’s captain of the Dragons, they say.”

“That would be Prince Sanglant.” They all looked at her so expectantly that she felt obliged to give them a quick tale of the fall of Gent and its retaking.

“Ach, now!” exclaimed the old man when she had finished. “That’s a story!” He gestured to his youngest son, and the lad brought a mug of sweetened vinegar so tart despite the honeyed flavor that Hanna could not keep from puckering her mouth while her hosts laughed good-naturedly.

“Now, then,” said the old beekeeper, gesturing toward the son. “Can you do me a favor, Eagle? If you’d take the lad with you, he could see the king and walk back home after. He’s got a yearning to see the king, and how can I say ‘nay’ to him, who was the last gift my poor dead wife gave me?”

The lad’s name was Arnulf, no doubt in memory of the dead king; he had light hair and a pleasant if undistinguished face except for a pair of stark blue eyes that held such a wealth of wordless pleading in them that Hanna did not have the heart to say no. Arnulf proved to be no trouble, although he asked a hundred questions as he walked alongside the wagons, driven by two skeptical wagoneers in the service of the king’s stewards who had grown so accustomed to the presence of the king on their daily travels that they were amused by the lad’s excitement.

As they passed a stand of woods, a pack of riders swept by to the right. Hanna recognized them because of the dogs. She called out: “Look there. That is Prince Sanglant.” The lad gaped.

“They say he’s run mad,” said the first wagoneer, to which the second retorted, “He’s never harmed any but the king’s enemies. You won’t find a better captain than Prince Sanglant. I hear such stories….”

Hanna caught sight of Hathui riding down the track, and hailed her.

“I see you have what you came for,” said Hathui, reining in beside Hanna. “Wish me good fortune in my own hunt. I’m to bring him back in time for the feasting tonight.” She lifted a chin to indicate the riders who had just vanished into the copse.

“What’s wrong with him? Many things are whispered, that he’s more dog than man now.”

Hathui shaded a hand to get a better look at the trees. “Chained among the Eika for a year?” She shrugged. “At least those prisoners the Quman take are made slaves and given work to do. It’s a miracle he’s alive at all.” Her gaze had a sharp sympathy. “Don’t forget how he fought outside Gent when he was finally released.”

Hanna smiled. “Nay, I’ve not become Sapientia’s advocate against him. But do you think it’s true, what’s rumored, that Henry has it in mind to name Sanglant as his heir instead of his legitimate daughter?”

Hathui’s frown was all the answer she would give as she nodded at Hanna and rode away.

Hanna left the wagons and wagoneers by the pit-houses that served the kitchens and let Arnulf follow her to the great open yard that fronted chapel, hall, and the royal residence. There, as luck would have it, king and court had gathered outside to cheer on bouts of wrestling. Hanna made her way through the crowd to the side of Princess Sapientia. Catching the princess’ eye, Hanna knelt before her. With a graceless exhalation of surprise, the lad plopped down beside her.

“Your Highness.” Sapientia was in a good mood, all light and charm made bright by that very energy that so often made her look foolish. “Here is Arnulf, the beekeeper’s son. He has escorted us from his father’s farmstead with honey and candle-wax.