The Burning Stone (Crown of Stars 3)

Liath grunted. Sanglant dipped a hand in the cold water of the trough, and waited. “Hugh told me once that you could only hate what you could also love. But you can never trust him. Never, ever.” Sanglant had never heard her speak with such passionate and almost gleeful fury. “If that had been Hugh who was here when I was ill, he would have sat beside my bed and read aloud to me, and reminded me that Sanglant can’t read. Hugh would have knelt beside me as I measured the angle of rising or plotted the course of the moon through the zodiac, and he would have mentioned just so elegantly that Sanglant has learned some of the names of the constellations and stars, enough to navigate the night sky, but it doesn’t truly engage him. That he doesn’t have the passion for knowledge. Not like I do. Not like Hugh does.”

“Not all of us are granted that particular passion,” said Venia soothingly, as if nervous of Liath’s anger. “I must confess that I find the computus to be tedious beyond measure. All those long strings of calculations! But I can see that for a woman who loved them, it would be easy to feel affection for a person who could love them in his turn.”

“That isn’t what I meant at all.” Then she let out such a drawn-out, tense sigh that Sanglant only came to himself when he felt the goat chewing at the hem of his tunic. He shoved it back and stepped away. “I don’t wear a slave’s collar anymore. I don’t have to. And I never will again. Don’t trust Hugh of Austra because he’ll twist every word you utter and warp every thought that passes through your mind to his own use. He has to live with his hand clutched at the throat of any creature he wants to possess.”

Sister Venia made no answer. Perhaps it would have been more prudent to remain outside, but truth be told, he was too stung by the unflattering comparison made between him and Hugh. He stepped over the threshold to see Sister Venia holding the baby while Liath stood with one foot up on the chest and her gaze turned away from both of them.

“Ah,” said Venia. “Prince Sanglant.”

“What are you thinking of with that grim look on your face?” Sanglant asked his wife.

She didn’t look at him. “Freedom,” she said, and for an instant he thought he heard the cold arrogance of Anne in her tone. Then she shook free of it and turned to indicate their visitor. “Sister Venia has come, as you see. She says that the council broke up with much disagreement on all sides, and that the servants are in a frenzy.”

Venia smiled compassionately. “You are in a difficult situation. I took advantage of the servants’ confusion to speak with you. But I dare not remain long.”

Sanglant sighed. “Are you here to propose something?”

“Nay, Prince Sanglant. Only to make a point.” She clucked at the baby for a moment, and Blessing smiled and reached for the shiny gold Circle of Unity that hung at her breast. Venia flicked the jewelry briskly away. “It seems to me that the Aoi in their distant home plotted to create Prince Sanglant for their own purposes. It seems that Sister Anne and her cabal plotted to make Liath—Princess Liathano—for their own purposes. But why succumb to their plans? Why simply fight them without any vision of your own?” She waited, letting the baby grab her forefinger. They tussled gently. Blessing chortled.

“Go on,” said Sanglant.

Venia shrugged as if to make light of her own words. “What do I see here in this common hut, locked away in a mountain valley? I see Emperor Taillefer’s great-granddaughter, of legitimate issue, wed to the favorite son of King Henry, the most powerful regnant in the western realms, and who is also quite likely born out of a royal line of his mother’s people, the very ones, we have heard, who seek to rule in their own right when they return. Yet neither of you have experience in these matters. Princess Liathano was born into a magi’s villa, and then, it appears, spent much of her life as a fugitive. Prince Sanglant was raised as a fighter, not a courtier. Because of this, you haven’t seen how you can mold the situation to your own advantage.”

Liath remained silent, watching neither Venia nor Sanglant but the grain of wood on the lid of the chest, as if she expected it to writhe into life at any moment.

“Go on,” said Sanglant.

“If a great cataclysm is coming, then those who survive it will be in chaos. They will need strong leadership. Separately, I am sure you stand as powerful pieces in this great game being waged above our heads. Together, you could be more powerful still.” Then she smiled modestly, holding out the baby. “I believe she is wet.”

She left, and left them in silence.

“Why did you speak of Hugh with her?” asked Sanglant.

She looked him straight in the eye as if challenging him to object to anything she had said, as if she knew he’d been listening. “He was being discussed by the others because of his activities in Darre. He was sent to the palace of the skopos to stand trial for sorcery, but instead he seems to have bound the skopos to his will by means of a daimone, and thrown his power behind a man called John Ironhead, who has been crowned king of Aosta.”

“What news of Queen Adelheid?”

“Dead. Fled. No one knows. Or they won’t say. Sister Venia felt at a disadvantage during the discussion because she didn’t know anything about Hugh.”

“So she came to you.”

“She might have felt I would have fewer compunctions about telling her what I knew.”

“She might have wanted to curry favor,” he pointed out. But he was too proud to let her know how much he’d overheard. Did it really bother her that much that he couldn’t read?

“What do I care about her currying favor?” demanded Liath. “I was upset, and she listened. How can it matter what I said now? Tomorrow we won’t be here.”

“But what she said—” he began, and she turned on him with as much anger as he’d ever seen in her.

“Rule as emperor and empress with the dogs all going for our throats? Never.”

“But, Liath,” he began, coaxingly, seeing what an uncertain and difficult temper she was in, “what Sister Venia says is true. We have to look farther than our own escape, our own well-being. Many more people than you and I and Blessing will be swept up in this tide, when it floods in. If we have any power to protect them, then isn’t it right that we act?”

But she only started to laugh. “You’d better change her,” she said. “Jerna brought down some fresh moss from the slopes this morning. You’re dripping.”

o;Ah,” said Venia. “Prince Sanglant.”

“What are you thinking of with that grim look on your face?” Sanglant asked his wife.