The Burning Stone (Crown of Stars 3)

“After he’s dead, you will let me build a convent, won’t you? You’ll put no obstacles in my path, I know it. It’s only he who is trapped by his old allegiances to the word of the false church. We can build together a church dedicated to Mother and Son, and we’ll dedicate ourselves there, in perpetual virginity, in Their Names. In this way we can free ourselves from the burden of mortality! We’ll bless any children we might have had by never condemning them to the prison of existence on this earth!”

“No!” He flinched, let go of her as he recoiled. How could she talk like this when every soul in this holding mourned their good lord who lay dying? “You know Lavas County must have an heir. You know it! It’s our duty.”

“Nay, it’s our duty to break the chains of this world, to escape the flesh that traps us.” She shuddered. “Everything that is most distasteful, all that binds us to the Enemy, darkness, desire, bestial mating, all that pumping and panting—”

Was she mocking him? Out of patience, he grabbed her shoulders. “But we must make a child, Tallia! That’s our duty.” She tried to pull away, but he was too angry to feel compassion for her fear, if it was fear at all. Maybe it was only selfishness.

“Never! I’ll never defile myself so! I’ve dedicated myself to—”

“Do what you will, build what you will, dedicate yourself as you will—after you’ve given Lavas County an heir!”

She swayed, eyes rolling back, and fainted.

He stood there stupidly with Tallia limp in his arms as her servingwomen crossed into the chamber, alerted by their raised voices. They stared at him like frightened rabbits. With a cry of frustration, he surrendered her into the care of Lady Hathumod; the only sensible one among them, and fled to the chapel. He knelt before the Hearth, but although the frater who attended the chapel touched his lips with sanctified water from a gold cup, still he could find no words. After a while, the frater left him alone in the silence of God’s chamber, and as he knelt there, he thought he had never felt more alone in his life. He wanted to weep, but he had no tears. He wanted to pray, but he had no eloquent words. Yet did good God ever demand eloquence? How many times had Aunt Bel told him that God preferred an honest heart to a clever tongue?

were satisfied. He saw it in their expressions as they bent their knees to him, as they said, “Bless you, my lord.” No doubt details remained to be worked out, but those could be left to the stewards. Quarrels would still erupt because they always did. But he was content that he had done his best.

“What of our good Count Lavastine, my lord?” called one of the elders. “We heard he’d taken ill.”

Any satisfaction he felt drained from him in an instant. “Pray for him,” he replied. “Pray to God for Their healing grace.”

They returned to Lavas Holding by early afternoon, and as Alain followed the hounds up the stairs to Lavastine’s chamber, he heard a woman’s muffled weeping. He entered the room to see Tallia kneeling beside the count’s bed in prayer, her shoulders trembling and her cupped hands covering her face.

“I pray you, Son,” said Lavastine, seeing Alain as he chained Fear and Rage to an iron ring set into the wall close beside the bed. The expression that crossed his face was clearly one of relief. “Escort your wife to your chambers. She has prayed over me all morning, and I fear she needs rest.”

Alain paused to caress Terror; by Lavastine’s order the old hound had been allowed to lie on the bed beside him, and there he rested, quieter each day but somehow still alive. He whined, pressing his hot, dry nose into Alain’s hand. He could not thump his tail, or move his legs, but he kept his dark gaze focused faithfully on his master.

“Come, Tallia.” She did not resist as Alain took her elbow and raised her up. Behind, servants helped the count sit up in bed, then flinched back as Fear jumped up onto the bed to lie across Lavastine’s dead legs. Alain looked away and hurriedly led her upstairs. Sorrow followed him as far as the threshold; then, whining, she turned back into the room to remain with the count.

Upstairs, Alain sent Tallia’s servingwomen from the room. She was still sobbing softly. Her sorrow for Lavastine touched him deeply. He thought he had never loved her as much as he did now, when her compassion was made evident by her tears.

“Don’t despair, beloved,” he whispered into her ear. She was limp with sorrow; he held her close.

“How can I not?” she said faintly. “He remains stubbornly blind. That’s why he’s turning to stone, because he refuses to accept the true word, the holy death and life of the blessed Daisan, who died that we might all live unstained in the Chamber of Light. He will fall into the Abyss. If only God had giver me the strength to make him see!”

He was too startled to reply. This was not what he had expected.

Then she looked up at him; a spark of passion lit in her eyes a hundred unspoken promises. It dazed him, torn with grief and sorrow for Lavastine, yet wanting her so badly. He sighed and gathered her closer, waiting for what she would say to him while she allowed him to hold her so intimately.

“After he’s dead, you will let me build a convent, won’t you? You’ll put no obstacles in my path, I know it. It’s only he who is trapped by his old allegiances to the word of the false church. We can build together a church dedicated to Mother and Son, and we’ll dedicate ourselves there, in perpetual virginity, in Their Names. In this way we can free ourselves from the burden of mortality! We’ll bless any children we might have had by never condemning them to the prison of existence on this earth!”

“No!” He flinched, let go of her as he recoiled. How could she talk like this when every soul in this holding mourned their good lord who lay dying? “You know Lavas County must have an heir. You know it! It’s our duty.”

“Nay, it’s our duty to break the chains of this world, to escape the flesh that traps us.” She shuddered. “Everything that is most distasteful, all that binds us to the Enemy, darkness, desire, bestial mating, all that pumping and panting—”

Was she mocking him? Out of patience, he grabbed her shoulders. “But we must make a child, Tallia! That’s our duty.” She tried to pull away, but he was too angry to feel compassion for her fear, if it was fear at all. Maybe it was only selfishness.

“Never! I’ll never defile myself so! I’ve dedicated myself to—”

“Do what you will, build what you will, dedicate yourself as you will—after you’ve given Lavas County an heir!”

She swayed, eyes rolling back, and fainted.

He stood there stupidly with Tallia limp in his arms as her servingwomen crossed into the chamber, alerted by their raised voices. They stared at him like frightened rabbits. With a cry of frustration, he surrendered her into the care of Lady Hathumod; the only sensible one among them, and fled to the chapel. He knelt before the Hearth, but although the frater who attended the chapel touched his lips with sanctified water from a gold cup, still he could find no words. After a while, the frater left him alone in the silence of God’s chamber, and as he knelt there, he thought he had never felt more alone in his life. He wanted to weep, but he had no tears. He wanted to pray, but he had no eloquent words. Yet did good God ever demand eloquence? How many times had Aunt Bel told him that God preferred an honest heart to a clever tongue?

Finally he gripped the tasseled end of the altar cloth in one hand and pressed the cloth against his forehead. “God, I pray you,” he whispered. “I beg you, heal my father.”

For the longest time he listened, but he heard no answer.