The Burning Stone (Crown of Stars 3)

Upstairs, Lavastine sat on his bed and stroked Steadfast’s head where she lay, breathing heavily, on the coverlet beside him.

“But her father was duke before her,” said Alain, sitting or the other side of Steadfast.

Lavastine glanced up. “You have fled the redoubtable duchess, I see. Well, her mother is of Karronish kin, and it is well known that they do not let men rule there unless no daughter, sister, or niece can be found to take up the staff. Her father Rodulf had the duchy because he had no sisters, and he devoted himself to the battlefield and let his wife administer his holdings as well as her own. She was a difficult woman. No doubt he was happier in the field.”

“But it’s true, isn’t it, that the ancient physicians wrote that male seed was weaker and that females are formed more like to the angels than are males?”

“That is what the learned deacons report. If you and Tallia have a daughter, I will be well pleased.”

“Ai, God,” whispered Alain. Steadfast lay still, eyes open and fixed on Lavastine as he curled his fingers around her ears and stroked them softly. Her right paw was hot and swollen and had an odd, grainy texture rather like stone at the very tip. “Just like Ardent.”

Lavastine grunted. “If it is true that some creature stalks us, then we must post more guards and sentries. But if we do so, then Duchess Yolande may feel we do not trust her, and she may take offense.”

“Why has she come?”

“Her father followed Sabella, and he was not bespelled as I was. Sabella still lives—”

“As a prisoner in the care of Biscop Constance, in Autun.”

“But nevertheless alive. And Tallia is her daughter, of age, and married—so she will in time produce an heir.”

Alain found a burr in Steadfast’s coat and busied himself worrying it free.

“But I don’t believe she plots treason. I think she is merely paying court. Prudence dictates that she ought to. Henry is not overly pleased with his three legitimate children. Tallia has as much right to the throne as any of them do.”

Suddenly the only noise Alain heard was the pounding of his heart and the slow wheeze of Steadfast, drawing in a labored breath and letting it out again. “The throne?”

“You must be ready for anything.” Lavastine stroked Steadfast’s head. His frown was fleeting but more frightening because of that. “This wound is exactly like the one inflicted on Ardent. Three incidents, taken together, suggest a pattern, and while Prince Sanglant acted strangely after his rescue, still, we all heard rumors about Bloodheart’s enchantments. There is also the testimony of your dreams. Dreams are often false, but I think yours are true visions. It is better to assume we are threatened by a curse than to do nothing.”

Ai, God. It was like the battle of Gent all over again; watching your faithful retainers fall one by one as they protected you. It made Alain sick at heart to see the hounds suffer so. “The deacon must bless this hall, and place an amulet over every threshold.”

“I dislike resorting to sorcery. Yet … Send a mage to kill a mage. We must speak to the deacon about this matter, and send word to Biscop Thierra. She may have certain clerics among her schola who can drive out demons and other creatures molded in the fires of the Abyss.”

“What about guards?”

“It would be wise, I suppose. But we are better protected by the hounds.”

“They always know,” said Alain. “They can smell it.”

“You must not go out alone, Alain. You must be careful.”

“It’s not stalking me—”

“How can we know? Curses are driven by hate, not intelligence. I will not risk you, Son. We must behave as if any person who marched to Gent is under attack.” He sighed suddenly and reached to tweak Alain’s sleeve straight. “You will need another cloak. Here, now, open the shutters. Give her some light. Perhaps if we soak the wound, and draw out the poison—”

But in the end it mattered not. It took her six days to die.

7

RAIN poured down in torrents. It had been days since they had seen the sky or even the steep ridges around them as they struggled through the Julier Pass on their way to Aosta. The road had washed into mud, and Rosvita had given up riding on her mule and now, like every other soul in Princess Theophanu’s army, she picked her way along the path one foothold at a time.

“Beware!” The shout startled her.

Ahead, the horrible ripping sound of sliding rock made her stop dead. She clutched the reins of her mule and muttered a prayer. Arms waving, Brother Fortunatus slipped from the path in a cascade of mud and gravel.

“Brother!” she cried, but she had learned not to move. She had seen a pack mule and drover lost that way, walking where the ground had just poured over the path. But God were merciful this day. Fortunatus fetched up a man’s height below them, and once the mud had stopped moving, the men-at-arms threw down ropes to drag him up. He had lost his mule the day before when it had gone over the cliff, caught in yet another avalanche of mud and shale.

“I hear we’re almost at the top!” Fortunatus cried cheerfully after he had caught his breath. “It certainly looks farther down to the rocks than it did yesterday!” He was coated with mud, but then, they all were.