The Gathering Storm (Crown of Stars 5)

“He’s dead,” whispered Sapientia.

“No,” said Sanglant. “He is still breathing.”

Lady Eudokia poured the rest of the wine into her servant’s slack mouth, although most of it slipped down his cheeks to stream away along the cracks in the flagstones. Already his face looked less swollen, and the wine had washed away the last of the blood, red drowning red.

“Sorcery,” said Lady Bertha. “Look at his hand.”

“Sorcery,” said Lady Eudokia, although it wasn’t clear if she were responding to Bertha’s comment. Heribert kept up a running translation. “I am familiar with sorcery, son of Henry. It runs in the blood of the women of my house, but we do not spend it unwisely, because sorcery exacts other costs, not so evident to you now but dangerous just the same. Is it sorcery you have come for?”

“You are not alone in commanding sorcery, Most Exalted Lady. Not every person who wields such powers uses them wisely, or well, or to the advantage of humankind.”

“An odd notion, Prince Sanglant. I use sorcery to the advantage of my family. Why should I use it to benefit others, who might be my enemies? Have you come to seek help from me against your barbarian magi? I will not interfere in quarrels that are beneath my notice.”

“What if this one is not beneath your notice? Sorcery can be harnessed in many ways. Its effects can cause tremors far beyond its point of origin. Do you know of the ones we call the mathematici, who weave threads of starlight into crowns formed of stone?”

Her color changed. Like the man bitten by the snake, her skin flushed and a tremor passed through her body. She dropped the cup, which landed squarely on the body of the prone eunuch before rolling off his chest to ring as it struck stone. The bitten eunuch groaned and sat up, rubbing his arm.

A door opened and closed, and a young eunuch in gold robes hurried in to whisper a message into Basil’s ear. Basil, in turn, bent down to speak to the lady. Her color restored, she nodded and spoke a command.

“Go, now.” Basil’s green robes flared as he stepped away from the couch. “A suite has been made ready. You can retire there. We will call you when it is time to dine.”

“But—” Sapientia rose.

“Nay, Sister, let us do as we are bid. The army should be safely settled in by now, with a market close at hand. We must be patient.”

“It could be a trap!” she muttered.

He bent close, to whisper in her ear. “I think we can fight our way free of a palace protected by slippered eunuchs.”

“Bayan never insulted the worth of the Arethousan legions. He fought them once. Have you?”

Stung, Sanglant turned away from her and walked after the eunuch. The others followed obediently, murmuring together.

Basil showed them into two adjoining rooms which opened onto a porch looking over a sere garden. A fountain burbled merrily out in the sun. The spray made rainbows, quickly wicked away. A bed of rosemary was the only ornament; other plots of earth lay barren.

Within the suite a small group of attendants loitered and with gestures offered to bathe their hands and feet, to set up a chessboard, to settle them on divans piled with pillows so that they could rest. Silken tapestries graced the walls, depicting scenes of elaborate feasts and girls picking flowers.

“What do you make of it?” Heribert asked.

“My sister, or these handsome rooms?”

Heribert raised an eyebrow, wickedly, but shook his head. “Which man was bitten by the snake?” he asked. “Nay, I refer to the Most Exalted Lady Eudokia.”

“I expect that the walls, and the servants, have ears. If I were the master of this house, I would make sure that at least one among these attendants could speak Wendish.”

He sat down on one of the couches, stretching out amongst the pillows, yawning. All that sun, riding up to the palace, had made him tired, and he did not plot intrigue well when he was tired. It was easier to fight.

He dozed fitfully, waking frequently while around him his retinue talked quietly among themselves or napped. Breschius played chess with Lady Bertha. Sapientia snored softly. Flashes of dream brightened and faded as he twisted in and out of sleep. Liath weaving light among standing stones. Severed threads curling and writhing like beheaded snakes, like the serpent winding its way up Eudokia’s wrist. Bells. An arrow flowering into flame. Bayan, dead, and Sapientia walking in chains, a prisoner. Who had done this to her?

He started awake, troubled and restless, and this time got to his feet. Walking outside, he staggered when he hit the sunlight; in the shady arbor, he had forgotten its strength. Hathui strolled up beside him.

“By the fountain we are surely safe from listening ears, my lord prince.”

The fountain’s spray beckoned. He sat on the lip of the fountain and let the cooling mist float over him, beads collecting on his neck, sliding under the heavy torque, moistening his lips and hands. Hathui followed, shading her eyes with an arm. The rest of them prudently waited in the shade, watching him—or still sleeping away the heat of the day.

“Do you think she knows of the Seven Sleepers?” Hathui asked once she stood within the corona of the fountain’s noisy spray. “Or is in league with them?”

“I don’t know. The church condemned the mathematici a hundred years ago. I do not know if the Arethousan patriarch did the same. Perhaps Brother Breschius knows. I suppose it will be difficult to tease out the truth.”