Child of Flame (Crown of Stars 4)

“Nay, Sanglant, don’t judge her harshly yet. Perhaps the king detained her.”

“The king could not detain a sorcerer with her powers. She could have followed us if she had chosen to. But she did not. I no longer serve any useful purpose in her plotting, now that I am, as you say, as good as a rebel against my father’s authority. That was all she cared for.”

“Nay, friend, I am sure there is a greater part for you to play if these prophecies come true.”

“But will I play the part they wish me to play? I’m not captain of the King’s Dragons anymore, a piece to be moved about in their chess game.” He frowned abruptly, shading his eyes as he stared westward at the camp. A commotion had arisen. He heard voices but couldn’t quite make out the words. Was that two goats complaining, when they only had one? Yet Captain Fulk could deal with it. He had other battles to fight.

Resolve came swiftly, and with all its sweet savor. Knowing that he knew what had to be done and that he was the one to do it cleared his mind of doubts and despairs. A man who doubted fared poorly in battle, so he had long ago trained himself not to doubt.

“The Seven Sleepers must be stopped, Heribert. If my father won’t believe me, and won’t act, then I must act.” He knew he was right, just as he knew in battle when it was time to turn a flank or call the charge. He’d only been wrong once, defeated by Bloodheart’s illusions. He didn’t intend to be wrong again. “Consider what my mother did, and why I am here at all. She never cared for Henry. She didn’t become his lover out of lust or passion or love. She did so in order to give birth to me, so that I would be a bridge between his people and hers. We walked for twelve days together, fleeing Verna, and during that time when she spoke at all she told me about the Aoi council and how it is broken into factions. Some of them hate humankind still and hope to conquer all human realms, while some seek compromise and alliance.”

“Alas, not even the fabled Aoi are immune from intrigue.”

“Even animals mark their territories and who comes first and who last in their herds. If that faction of the Aoi who still hate humankind comes to power after the return, then some prince born of human blood must prepare for war. If my father will not do so, then I must.”

Heribert coughed lightly. “My lord prince. My good friend. If you did not trouble Anne, and let her work her sorcery, then the Aoi would not return at all. And Wendar would remain at peace.”

Sanglant looked away. “And all my kin would be dead. Nay. I cannot. I can’t turn my back on my mother’s people. I will not let them all die.”

“Will you instead be the unwitting tool by which they conquer humankind? You said yourself that they showed little enough interest in you. In truth, Sanglant, you might be better served to ask your father’s forgiveness and help him restore the Aostan throne to Queen Adelheid. With Aosta in his grasp, he has power enough to be crowned Holy Dariyan Emperor, like Taillefer before him. Such power would give him the strength to meet any Aoi threat, should the events you speak of come to pass.”

The image of Bloodheart’s chains rose in his mind’s eye. Those chains still weighed on him. They always would. “I won’t ask for my father’s forgiveness because I did nothing wrong except marry against his wishes.”

“Had you married Queen Adelheid, as your father wished you to, you would have been king in Aosta and heir to your father. Then you would have had the strength to do what needed to be done.”

Sanglant turned, stung into fury, only to see Heribert jump to his feet, half laughing, in the way of folk who seek to appease an armed man whom they have inadvertently insulted. He knew the look well enough. The cleric held his staff out before him, as if to protect himself, although he hadn’t any skill with arms.

“I only speak the truth, Sanglant. I would offer you nothing less.”

Sanglant swore vigorously. But following the strong words came a harsh laugh. “So you do, and so you do well to remind me. But I won’t seek my father’s forgiveness.”

“So be it,” agreed Heribert, lowering the staff. “I know what it is to be unable to forgive. But it is well to understand the road you walk on, and what brought you to it.”

“Hush.” Sanglant lifted a hand, hearing his name spoken in the camp. “Come.” Heribert hastened to follow him as he strode toward the ruins. He had gotten about halfway when the youth Matto came jogging toward them.

“You see there, Heribert, a lesson to you. I need counselors who are not blinded by their admiration for my many fine qualities.”

Heribert laughed. “You mean by your ability to fight. Forgive him, my lord, for he is young.”

“I fear that if he persists in following me, he will not get much older.”

“Do not say so, may God forgive you!” scolded Heribert. “We cannot know the future.”

Sanglant did not reply because the youth ran up then. His broken arm still hung in a sling, but it didn’t pain him much anymore. His cheeks were flushed now with excitement, and he still seemed likely to cast himself on the ground at Sanglant’s feet, hoping for a chance to kiss his boots. Luckily, he had learned from the example of Fulk and his soldiers. Drawing himself up smartly, he announced his message as proudly as if he were a royal Eagle.

“Your Highness! Captain Fulk begs you to come at once. A frater’s come into camp seeking you.”

Entering camp, Sanglant sought out Blessing first; she was safely asleep in a sling tied between an old stone pillar and a fresh wooden post, rocking gently in a breeze made by Jerna. As the baby took more and more solid food and less of the daimone’s milk, Jerna’s substance had thinned as well. He could barely make out her womanly shape as a watery shimmer where the late afternoon sun splashed light over the pillar. Just as well. Those womanly curves increasingly bothered him in his dreams, or when he woke at night, or when he had any reason to pause and let his mind wander. Better that he not be able to see her at all than be tempted in this unseemly way.

It was a relief to have distraction. He turned his attention to the stranger. It took him a moment to recognize the ragged man dressed in robes that had once, perhaps, been those of a frater. The man came attended by a fractious goat which was at this moment trying to crowd the other goat out of a particularly lush patch of thistles. A dozen of Fulk’s men, as well as Fulk himself, watched over him, not standing too close.

“You’re the man who traveled with my mother,” said Sanglant, looking the man up and down. He was an unprepossessing sight, dirty, with an infected eye. He stank impressively. “She said you were dead.”

“Perhaps she thought I was,” said the man.

“Address Prince Sanglant properly,” said Captain Fulk sharply. “Your Highness, he is to you. He’s a prince of the realm, son of King Henry.”

“Your Highness,” said the ragged frater ironically. “I am called Brother Zacharias.” He glanced at the prince’s entourage, the soldiers now come to stand around and watch since there was nothing of greater interest this fine evening to attract their attention. What he thought of this makeshift retinue he did not say, nor could Sanglant make sense of his expression. Finally, the man met his gaze again. He had a stubborn stare, tempered with weariness. “I followed you, Your Highness.”