Child of Flame (Crown of Stars 4)

“Come quickly, Sister. A most terrible act—”

Abruptly, Rosvita recognized the voice, shaken now, warped by horror and tears. “Is that you, Hathui? What trouble has brought you to my chambers this late in the night?”

“Come quickly, Sister.” It seemed the pragmatic Eagle was so overset that she could only repeat these words.

Frightened now, Rosvita groped in the chest at the foot of her bed for a long tunic and threw it on over her head. She had only just gotten it on, and it was still twisted awkwardly sideways, when Hathui boldly grabbed her wrist and tugged her urgently.

Rosvita got hold of a belt and stumbled after her, banging a thigh against the table, stubbing her toe on the open door, and at last hearing the door snick closed behind her. Hathui lifted the lamp as Rosvita hastily straightened her tunic and looped the belt twice around her waist.

“Do you trust me, Sister?” the Eagle whispered hoarsely. In Hathui’s gaze, Rosvita saw terror and a passionate rage, reined tight. “You must trust me, or you will not credit what I have seen this night. I pray you, Sister, it may already be too late.”

“The king is not—” She could not say that grim word because once spoken it could not be taken back.

“Nay, not dead.” Her voice broke. “Not dead.”

“Sister Rosvita.” Fortunatus appeared at the door. “I heard noises—”

“Stay here, Brother. Do not sleep until I have returned, but by no means follow me nor let the young ones do anything rash.” He nodded obediently, pale, round face staring after them anxiously as the two women hurried away down the corridor.

With an effort, Hathui spoke again. It seemed that only the movement of her legs kept the Eagle from dissolving into hysterical tears. “Not dead,” she repeated, like a woman checking her larder yet again in a time of famine to be sure that she still has the jars of grain and oil she had set aside for hard times.

They came to a cross corridor, turned left, and descended stairs and by a route unknown to Rosvita made their way along servants’ paths to the great courtyard that lay between the regnant’s palace and the palace of the skopos.

“Where are we going?” murmured Rosvita, risking speech.

“Not dead,” repeated Hathui a final time as she paused behind a pillar that might shield her lamp from prying eyes. Her face, made gray by shadow, loomed unnaturally large in the lamplight as she leaned closer to Rosvita. “Spelled. Bewitched. I saw it happen.”

She shifted, drawing a leather thong over her head. “I almost forgot this. You must wear it to protect you against the sight.” She pressed an amulet into Rosvita’s hands. The silver medallion stung Rosvita’s palm.

Did the king protect himself against the sight of his own Eagles, or was he already suspicious of Anne? As Hathui moved out into the courtyard, Rosvita caught her arm and drew her back.

“Nay, Eagle. You must tell me what you saw before I take one step farther. Here.” She retreated backward into the shelter of an alcove, where travelers could refresh themselves and wash their faces before they entered the regnant’s hall. A fountain trickled softly, but when Hathui held out her lamp, a leering medusa face glared out at them, water dribbling from the mouths of its snake-hair into the basin below. The Eagle gasped out loud and turned her back on the hideous sculpture.

“What I saw… nay, first put on the amulet, Sister.” Rosvita obeyed, and Hathui went on. “I sleep in an alcove of the king’s chamber. I woke, for I swear to you that an angel woke me, Sister. I woke to see the bed curtains drawn back and Hugh of Austra holding a ribbon above the king’s sleeping form. The ribbon twisted and writhed like a living thing, and in truth, for I can scarcely believe it myself, I saw a creature as pale as glass and as light as mist pour out of that ribbon and into the king’s body. King Henry jerked, once, and opened his eyes, and the voice he spoke with then was not his own.”

Rosvita caught herself on the lip of the basin. Water splashed her hand and cheek, spitting from the mouths of snakes. “Hugh,” she whispered, remembering the passage he had read from The Book of Secrets that day when she and Theophanu and young Paloma had overheard him in the guest chapel at the convent of St. Ekatarina’s. Remembering the daimone he had bound into a silk ribbon that night when he had helped Adelheid, Theophanu, and the remnants of their entourages escape from Ironhead’s siege of the convent. “A daimone can be chained to the will of a sorcerer, and if he be strong enough, he can cause it to dwell in the body of another person, there to work its will. ‘Until one mouth utters what another mind whispers.’”

“Can it be true, Sister?”

“If you saw what you describe, it cannot be otherwise. But I tremble to think it might be true.” Her heart was cold, not hot. Her hands seemed frozen, and her mind clouded and useless. The amulet burned at her breast. “Yet where was the queen?”

“Ai, worst of all! She stood to one side and watched him do it! Cool as you please she told her servingwoman to tell the skopos that the deed was done and that from now on matters would proceed as they knew was best.” Calm, practical, levelheaded Hathui, a common woman with so much good sense and simple courage that she had been granted the king’s signal regard, broke down and wept, tears flowing down her cheeks in echo of the monstrous fountain behind them. But she was able to do it silently, so that her sobs would not alert the night guards.

Rosvita took the lamp from her hand. “Do you know where Villam is?”

“I went to him first, but when we got back to the king’s chambers, the king was gone and his steward said he had gone to hold an audience with the skopos. Villam sent me to rouse you. He said we must meet him in the skopos’ palace. He thought if we got hold of King Henry before the spell bit too deep—”

o;The king is not—” She could not say that grim word because once spoken it could not be taken back.

“Nay, not dead.” Her voice broke. “Not dead.”

“Sister Rosvita.” Fortunatus appeared at the door. “I heard noises—”

“Stay here, Brother. Do not sleep until I have returned, but by no means follow me nor let the young ones do anything rash.” He nodded obediently, pale, round face staring after them anxiously as the two women hurried away down the corridor.

With an effort, Hathui spoke again. It seemed that only the movement of her legs kept the Eagle from dissolving into hysterical tears. “Not dead,” she repeated, like a woman checking her larder yet again in a time of famine to be sure that she still has the jars of grain and oil she had set aside for hard times.

They came to a cross corridor, turned left, and descended stairs and by a route unknown to Rosvita made their way along servants’ paths to the great courtyard that lay between the regnant’s palace and the palace of the skopos.