The Burning Stone (Crown of Stars 3)

She folded her hands before her like a saint readying for prayer. “You are a learned man, Prince Sanglant.”

“Not at all. But I listen when the clerics read from the Holy Verses.” He allowed himself a smile, half lost on his lips and quickly passing away. He knew a battle joined when he met one; and, as always, he intended to win.

“What have you to offer me?” she asked.

“The protection I can bring you as we travel, in exchange for which you will agree to feed and clothe me, and supply me with a suitable mount.”

“I do not need that kind of brute protection. In addition, I have only two mounts suitable for riding. You have nothing but service to offer me, Prince Sanglant. Will you bind yourself to me as a servant, one who walks at my side?”

The first blow that lands always comes as a surprise. But he knew better than to flail.

Liath did not. Her anger fairly sparked off her. “I have something you want,” she cried furiously.

Her anger had no effect on the depthless calm worn by her mother. “What is that?”

“Myself!”

“Earthly ties can only interfere with the concentration and detachment required of any person who wishes to learn the arts of the mind.”

“I have a horse, and I will only go with you if Sanglant comes with us. He will ride beside us on my horse not as a servant but as a soldier. As a captain.”

“As he was once captain of the King’s Dragons.” Anne studied him. He recognized the measuring gaze of one whose course of action is not yet fixed. But he chose to wait. Perhaps Liath’s flanking action would serve the purpose, and the truth was that he did not care how the victory was won. He simply would not leave her.

“His name is famous among the people of Wendar and Varre, and among their enemies,” Liath continued. “He is worth more than you know.”

Anne lifted a hand to capture the magelit globe and turn its light directly upon him. He had to blink at first because the light was so strong, but he did not shrink from her scrutiny. “Nay, Liathano, I am not unaware of his worth, the child of human and Aoi blood. Not at all.”

Like a warning finger run up his back, his spine tingled.

“It is not what I expected,” she said, still studying him in the way an eagle gliding above the earth surveys the landscape below and all that runs there. “But still … We can learn more than we have known up until now.”

“Then it’s agreed?” Liath stuck stubbornly to the issue at hand.

“It is agreed.”

“Ai, Lady!” Liath embraced him, shedding a few tears. “I pray God that we find the peace you long for when we reach Verna.”

He kept his arms around her but his gaze on her mother, who watched them without approval and yet without any obvious censorious disapproval. Her gaze had its own disconcerting backwash. He did not trust her. Yet neither did he feel in his gut that Liath’s choice to go with her was the wrong one. This contradiction he could not explain to himself.

Liath sighed with satisfaction and raised her head to get a kiss, and of course he complied.

But that did not mean he stopped listening.

“This, too, is unexpected,” Anne murmured, too softly for Liath to hear, but he heard very well, as well as a dog. “But not without advantage for our cause.”

*   *   *

The palace slept as they made their way through the upper enclosure, but it was a natural sleep; he recognized its rustlings and murmurings. As they packed their few possessions, Liath had haltingly told him the entire story of Hugh’s attack, and while at first he had certainly wanted nothing more than to get his hands around Hugh’s throat and throttle him, he knew enough to let the feeling swell and then burst. They were in enough trouble. Henry would refuse to let them leave; all three of them knew that unsavory fact, and they worked more quickly, and in such silence as they could, because of it, although it was a tricky business getting the gelding out of the stable.

When at last they arrived at the gate where three mules and one horse waited, he began to doubt Anne’s princely appearance because she had no retinue. An instant later, he knew himself mistaken when he heard whispering on the air. They spoke in a language he did not recognize, more wind than voice, and he could not see them, but he heard the breath of their movement and the rustling of that portion of their invisible bodies which gave them substance.

“Who is there?” murmured Liath, as if afraid her whisper would wake the palace. The magelight seemed now to Sanglant merely a particularly bright lantern—although its glow had too steady a flame to be natural.

“My servants,” said Anne softly.

He shuddered as fingers trailed over his back, searching, then vanished. Breath tickled an ear, and his hair stirred, blown into his eyes. By the time he brushed it away, he was alone again. He threw his armor—muffled in the dragon-sigil-bedspread—over the back of one of the pack mules and tied it on securely, then handed the spear to Liath. “I must get the dog.”

o;What have you to offer me?” she asked.