Child of Flame (Crown of Stars 4)

She snorted, delighted by his reply. “On the mercy of the prince! Whom you tried to murder when he was but a mewling infant, if the old story is indeed true, and certainly my dear father believes it true, since he’s the one who told it to me.”

A sharp whistle, repeated three times, sounded from the trees.

“But I trust we can ask him ourselves,” she finished, turning at the sound of riders approaching up the track.

Blessing woke up abruptly, lifting her head and squirming so determinedly that Heribert gave up in disgust and let her wriggle out of his grasp. “Dada!” she yelped ecstatically as streaming gold banners appeared among the trees. A moment later the prince himself rode into view, quite splendid in his gold tabard, scarlet cloak, gleaming armor, and the intimidating dragon helm, gold dragon plating sculpted onto the helmet in such a way that it looked as if the dragon was about to launch itself into attack.

He pulled up his horse and dismounted at once, had barely gotten his helm off before Blessing was on him, clamoring to be picked up. “Hush, Daughter,” he said, laughing as he picked her up. He looked at Waltharia, who was admiring the fine figure he made. “It worked.”

“It always does.” She smiled as at an old memory, meeting his gaze straight on.

“Dada, look at me!” scolded Blessing, then shrieked with glee when he tweaked her nose.

“How is Hedwig?” asked Wolfhere.

Waltharia chuckled. “Hates you as much as ever, or so I assume from the stream of oaths she let fly when she realized last night that it was you who had arrived in the train of the prince.”

“I shall endeavor to keep out of her way,” murmured Wolfhere mildly.

“So you had better, if you value all your limbs.” She turned back to Sanglant. “A timely visit, my lord prince. The Quman invested Walburg only six days ago. You saw what they did to the fields and orchards. There are a dozen farmers unaccounted for from the estates.” She walked boldly up to him and fingered the hem of Blessing’s tunic, smudged and ragged from play. The little girl eyed her suspiciously. “I am surprised, though, that you expose the child to so much danger, riding on campaign with you.”

“Less danger with me than with any caretaker.” Anna knew how fiercely he loved his daughter. She could see it in his expression now as he glared defiantly at Lady Waltharia, as if her good opinion mattered to him. “Better she die if I die than that she live without my protection.”

“And her mother—? Ah. Best we leave that subject for another time, I see. I’ll personally escort your schola and your nursery to the safety of my fortress.”

“I thank you,” he said stiffly, still looking irritated. He kissed Blessing. “You go with Anna, little one. Nay, no arguments now.” Nor did he wait for arguments. He handed Blessing over to Anna’s care and left again with his war band, thundering down toward the plain, no doubt to track down and kill as many fleeing Quman as he could.

Lady Waltharia did indeed escort them to Walburg, but she left them at the gates in the care of a steward and herself rode off to pursue their enemies.

Planks had been thrown hastily down over the outer ditch to accommodate the sally. Anna walked over, feeling safer that way as a servant led her mule. The planks shifted under her feet, and she had to throw out her arms to keep her balance before she reached solid ground. The next bridge led directly under the wall, guard towers looming on either side and murder holes spaced at intervals. She heard voices murmuring down the holes and glimpsed movement, soldiers watching from the safety of their fortifications. The gate creaked open; they passed through into Walburg itself.

For a city under siege it was remarkably clean and orderly. Avenues wrapped around the hill where the original fort had risen. Newer streets, all of them lined with plank walkways, radiated outward from the cathedral square. Tents had been thrown up in the square and in a handful of vacant lots in neat lines to accommodate refugees, but most of the unbuilt ground had been given over to orchards and gardens, provision against the siege. Smaller than Gent’s cathedral, the basilica of St. Walaricus had a tidy look about it, everything squared off, the lintels painted with intertwined spirals and linked circles flowering into wreaths and the tower decorated with a carved tree on each face, painted silver.

“The Villam sigil is the silver tree,” explained Zacharias as they passed through the cathedral square on their way up to the fortified palace.

“So it is,” agreed Heribert, “but so also was St. Walaricus martyred by being hung from a tree by a heathen prince.”

“Clever of Villam to dedicate the cathedral to Walaricus, was it not? Then he could have it both ways.”

Heribert looked surprised. Anna liked him much better than she liked Zacharias, who had spit in God’s face, but even so, he made her kind of uncomfortable just because he was always so tidy and clean even in the worst camp conditions. Sometimes she just didn’t see the point of being so fussy.

“Do you think Villam chose to dedicate his cathedral to St. Walaricus just so he could display his own sigil upon the church tower without anyone calling him to account for such presumptu-ousness?”

Zacharias laughed. “Do you suppose Villam did not? He’s a more clever man than I, friend.”

“Than I devoutly pray we be spared his intrigues.”

Zacharias merely smiled. Anna didn’t trust him when he smiled, no more than she trusted the old Eagle Wolfhere who, like any wolf, looked as ready to bite you as to lick your hand.

The men-at-arms, even Matto, were led to the barracks, but Blessing and her personal retinue were given a tower room in the palace, good enough to see out along the river. There was a bed all downy soft, a smaller trundle bed heaped high with a feather quilt, and four sleeping pallets stacked against one wall. A half-dozen braziers heavy with coals warmed the chilly room. Anna sat cross-legged on the thick carpet since Zacharias, Wolfhere, and Heribert took the bench and chair. Blessing decided to sit on the table, right in the center, where she could command the servants as they brought in a hearty meal of chicken basted in mustard and parsley, a juicy broth, leeks cooked in butter, slices of veal with a mint sauce spooned over it, and honey dumplings.

The rich meal made Anna burp. She curled up at the foot of the bed, suddenly so sleepy that she wanted nothing better than a nap.

Woke to a shriek.

“Dada! Dada! See me up here!”

“Lord save us, Your Highness!” That was Heribert, frantic. “You’ll fall to your death!”