The Burning Stone (Crown of Stars 3)

Hugh winced with apparent pain. “The books! Ai, yes, I took them from her in a vain attempt to save her soul.” He turned to the biscops. “Isn’t it the duty of those of us who serve God to take all such tokens of forbidden sorcery into our hands, to send them to the skopos? But Liath was so young. How was I to know that she was already so thoroughly corrupted by the Enemy—?” Here he broke off. He reeled slightly and such a sick look of despair crossed his face that for an instant Ivar felt pity. “Ai, God,” murmured Hugh. “And that she should have taken Prince Sanglant.”

Ivar saw the king’s face in that moment when Hugh spoke the fateful words. An instant only, but a cold fear swept through him and out of an old memory borne forward on that wind he recalled a line from the Gold of the Hevelli.

“Her doom was laid down like the paving stones of a road before her, where her feet were meant to walk.”

“Why else would Sanglant have ridden away from everything I offered him?” murmured Henry.

“But it isn’t true!” cried Ivar.

“He loved her, too, poor boy,” said Hugh, looking up at Ivar with such sincere sympathy on his face that Ivar faltered. “He, also, was one she snared.”

Wasn’t it true that Liath had only seemed to love him? That she hadn’t honored the pact they made at Quedlinhame? She had said that the man she loved was dead and that she would never love another, and yet had turned around and ridden off with the prince.

But even if he hated Liath for abandoning him, he hated Hugh more. He hated Liath because he still loved her. Hugh had never offered him anything but scorn and insult. “I called her a sister,” he said hoarsely now. “And I would have married her if I could have, but not because she cast a spell over me.”

’s mouth twisted. He lifted a clenched hand, held it at his heart, and stared unseeing at Hugh’s golden head. But he made no reply, only turned to look at Biscop Constance, as if expecting her to pass judgment.

Constance shook her head in the way of a woman who doesn’t like what she is hearing. “But why would Princess Theophanu and in particular Sister Rosvita accuse you, Father Hugh, rather than the Eagle, Liathano? Sister Rosvita is both wise and cunning. Why does she speak against you? There is also the matter of this Sister Anne from the convent of St. Valeria who vanished without a trace.”

Something sparked in Hugh’s expression, a lightning flash of anger as swiftly gone. “Sister Anne of St. Valeria Convent vanished when Liath returned. Who can say if she found the good sister a threat and disposed of her? I cannot, but I fear the worst.”

“Sister Anne had the panther brooch in her possession, and it vanished with her,” retorted Constance. “Surely it would be in your interest, Father Hugh, to make sure such a ligatura disappeared, so its existence would not condemn you.”

“That is true,” he agreed. “I would never dispute your wisdom, Your Grace. But others had access to my personal belongings. I am not the only person who could have woven a ligatura from a brooch whose very shape would have betrayed its owner, since the panther is well known as the sigil of the marchlands of Austra. Isn’t it also true that a message was sent to St. Valeria Convent? Yet Mother Rothgard has sent no representative to testify against me. There would have been time for such a person to reach Autun had Mother Rothgard deemed her testimony against me necessary.” He turned from Constance to Henry, and he looked as innocent as an angel. “As for Sister Rosvita, I do not know what her relationship was to the sorceress, or how she might have been influenced by her. If only I could have protected her—” His voice caught on the word and then, with difficulty, he went on. “But I was helpless, God forgive me.”

Helpless! The humble word stuck in Ivar’s throat like a stone. He knew with sudden sick certainty why Maigrave Judith looked so cool and calm. He knew as if he had seen it through the veil of time, through the forbidden arts of the sortelegi who seek knowledge of future events, how the rest of the council would unfold. Sister Rosvita always traveled with the king. Her voice carried weight. Why had she been sent south to Aosta with Theophanu?

It was all so clear now. Hugh would win again.

“He’s lying!” Ivar thrust his way forward until he stumbled out where everyone could see him. “I was there in Heart’s Rest! He abused her beyond what is rightful. He trapped her, stole her books so she couldn’t make the debt price and only because he wanted her for himself. He wanted her, not the other way around. Everyone in Heart’s Rest knew he coveted her since the day he first saw her.”

Hugh winced with apparent pain. “The books! Ai, yes, I took them from her in a vain attempt to save her soul.” He turned to the biscops. “Isn’t it the duty of those of us who serve God to take all such tokens of forbidden sorcery into our hands, to send them to the skopos? But Liath was so young. How was I to know that she was already so thoroughly corrupted by the Enemy—?” Here he broke off. He reeled slightly and such a sick look of despair crossed his face that for an instant Ivar felt pity. “Ai, God,” murmured Hugh. “And that she should have taken Prince Sanglant.”

Ivar saw the king’s face in that moment when Hugh spoke the fateful words. An instant only, but a cold fear swept through him and out of an old memory borne forward on that wind he recalled a line from the Gold of the Hevelli.

“Her doom was laid down like the paving stones of a road before her, where her feet were meant to walk.”

“Why else would Sanglant have ridden away from everything I offered him?” murmured Henry.

“But it isn’t true!” cried Ivar.

“He loved her, too, poor boy,” said Hugh, looking up at Ivar with such sincere sympathy on his face that Ivar faltered. “He, also, was one she snared.”

Wasn’t it true that Liath had only seemed to love him? That she hadn’t honored the pact they made at Quedlinhame? She had said that the man she loved was dead and that she would never love another, and yet had turned around and ridden off with the prince.

But even if he hated Liath for abandoning him, he hated Hugh more. He hated Liath because he still loved her. Hugh had never offered him anything but scorn and insult. “I called her a sister,” he said hoarsely now. “And I would have married her if I could have, but not because she cast a spell over me.”

“What is your name, my son?” asked Constance, coming forward.

He shook under the weight of so many eyes. Judith glared at him. Baldwin had reappeared and made frantic fluttering hand signs, as if to send a message, but he was too frightened to read the gestured words. “I—I am Ivar, son of Count Harl and Lady Herlinda of the North Mark.”

“A novice poisoned by heresy whom I’m delivering to the monastery of St. Walaricus in the marchlands,” added Judith in a loud voice.

Constance lifted a hand for silence. She had cool features and stunningly bright eyes. Her mouth had a displeased curve to it, as at a sour taste. “You were not among those brought forward to testify. What do you know of this matter in Heart’s Rest?”

“I remember when Liath and her father came to Heart’s Rest I befriended her, and so did Hanna, my milk sister. She’s an Eagle now.” Sapientia’s Eagle, flown with the princess to the east—and thereby another witness who could not testify.

“Is it true, as Father Hugh claims, that her father was known as a sorcerer? That people came to him for diverse spells and certain potions and amulets?”