The Burning Stone (Crown of Stars 3)

“Then it is well you are writing their history, since no one in Darre will do so. I came here from the North.”

“You have surprised me, Mother. I hear no trace of the North in your speech.”

“I was raised from an infant at a convent in Varre, but when I was fourteen I was taken from there to St. Radegundis’ convent in Salia. Indeed, I came to her convent not six months after St. Radegundis passed out of this world and into the Chamber of Light.”

“That is incredible. Surely you have looked at the Vita, then?”

“Sister Petra has been copying it diligently these last six weeks. You yourself in your delirium mentioned that this manuscript is the only copy in existence. Such a precious document must not be lost to us.” Her voice had the familiar quaver of age, as fragile as stalks of flowers torn by a gale. The company had stilled, and it was silent as Obligatia spoke as a biscop might, reading from the scriptures to edify her congregation. “‘The Lord and Lady confer glory and greatness on women through strength of mind. Faith makes them strong, and in these earthly vessels, heavenly treasure is hid. One of this company is Radegundis, she whose earthly life I, Fidelis, humblest and least worthy, now attempt to celebrate so that all may hear of her deeds and sing praise in her glorious memory. The world divides those whom no space parted once. So ends the Prologue.’”

Something in the abbess’ tone made Rosvita’s skin prickle, like a mouse nibbling cheese down to the fingers that hold it.

“How did you come by the book, Sister Rosvita?”

“I received it from Fidelis’ own hands—” She broke off, hearing Mother Obligatia gasp, as at a pain.

“His own hands! You must have been very young.”

“Not at all, Mother. He lived to an incredible age. It was not two years ago that I received it from him.”

“Two years! How can that be? He was already old—”

The ring and echo of soldiers’ voices and of boots tramping on stone cut through the old woman’s reply, and light rose just quickly enough that Rosvita caught the end of Mother Obligatia’s gesture: wiping a tear from her cheek.

Then Hugh came among them. It was impossible to know how he could walk so gracefully, blinded by cloth bound over his eyes. Steered by Captain Fulk, who kept fingers pressed to Hugh’s arm, he knelt before the three women, whom he still could not see. Rosvita hitched the trailing edge of her robe sideways, half afraid that if any part of him came in contact with it, he would know of her at once, that he would know everything about her and all that she suspected, all her loyalties and weaknesses.

“I had hoped to be brought before Queen Adelheid or the blessed Mother of this convent,” he said in his beautiful voice. The soldier holding the lamp stood behind him, which had the effect of giving a halo, the crown of saints, to his golden hair. “I am Hugh of Austra, son of Judith, margrave of Austra and Olsatia. I beg you, let me speak if that is your will.”

“I am Adelheid.” She rose, though she knew he couldn’t see her, but surely he heard the change of position because his head shifted slightly, an odd questing motion like that of the great cats Rosvita had seen in the menagerie in Autun, lifting their heads when they heard the sound of the gate being opened and closed as a deer was driven into their enclosure. “How did you and your party come to be here, Lord Hugh? This convent lies on none of the main roads.”

“Your Majesty.” He did not precisely incline his head, but he had mastered the art of shifting his shoulders to show respect: as proud as a nobleman, he was not too proud to acknowledge her greater rank. “We had crossed St. Vitale’s Pass and were riding south to Darre when we were accosted on the road by Lord John’s soldiers and brought against our will to this encampment. We still wish to ride on to Darre. That is our only goal.”

“Then why did Ironhead send you up here, if you are his prisoner? What of the other people in your party?”

“Alas. Lord John is an ambitious man, Your Majesty. I will tell you truthfully that he was suspicious of our reasons for traveling. He suggested that we must be agents of King Henry of Wendar. He believes that we have messages for the skopos from King Henry regarding the fate of Aosta. He was blunt, Your Majesty.” He paused as Adelheid laughed. “He said that were he Henry, he would send a message to the skopos offering protection and gold if she were to support him as king of Aosta.”

“Is that the message that you and your company are bringing to Darre?” asked Adelheid sharply.

“Nay, Your Majesty. I have been accused of sorcery, and I am being sent before the skopos to be judged.” How easily the words came out of his mouth, so easily that for an instant it was impossible to believe that he had been anything but falsely accused. “Lord John sent me to persuade you to surrender in return for letting my party go. That is all.”

“Or in return for letting you go free, so that you can escape the skopos’ judgment!”

The cloth blindfold did not conceal his beautiful mouth. He smiled now, not quite enough to reveal the chipped tooth. “I do not intend to persuade you to surrender, Your Majesty. I intend to reveal to you how you can make your escape. After that, I will convince Lord John to release me and my party so that we can continue on to Darre.”

o;Sister Petra has been copying it diligently these last six weeks. You yourself in your delirium mentioned that this manuscript is the only copy in existence. Such a precious document must not be lost to us.” Her voice had the familiar quaver of age, as fragile as stalks of flowers torn by a gale. The company had stilled, and it was silent as Obligatia spoke as a biscop might, reading from the scriptures to edify her congregation. “‘The Lord and Lady confer glory and greatness on women through strength of mind. Faith makes them strong, and in these earthly vessels, heavenly treasure is hid. One of this company is Radegundis, she whose earthly life I, Fidelis, humblest and least worthy, now attempt to celebrate so that all may hear of her deeds and sing praise in her glorious memory. The world divides those whom no space parted once. So ends the Prologue.’”

Something in the abbess’ tone made Rosvita’s skin prickle, like a mouse nibbling cheese down to the fingers that hold it.

“How did you come by the book, Sister Rosvita?”

“I received it from Fidelis’ own hands—” She broke off, hearing Mother Obligatia gasp, as at a pain.

“His own hands! You must have been very young.”

“Not at all, Mother. He lived to an incredible age. It was not two years ago that I received it from him.”

“Two years! How can that be? He was already old—”

The ring and echo of soldiers’ voices and of boots tramping on stone cut through the old woman’s reply, and light rose just quickly enough that Rosvita caught the end of Mother Obligatia’s gesture: wiping a tear from her cheek.