King's Dragon (Crown of Stars 1)

In Osna village, it was considered the duty of the eldest daughter to inherit her mother’s goods and property and carry on her work and title, and the duty of the eldest son to marry well and thus weave a greater web of connection between households. Only younger children were sent into the church. Surely the great princes of the realm, men and women, expected the same from their sons and daughters.

“No wonder your parents were angry,” said Alain as the full import of Agius’ rebellion hit him.

The frater merely grunted. He sat back abruptly and ran a hand through his hair, tousling it, then fingered his chin to rub at the days’-old beard now growing there.

“What will you do?” asked Alain.

“I will save my brother’s daughter, for the love there was between us. So will the number of my sins become greater.”

“But you said you would not aid them … and she is so young.” Alain trailed off. The girlchild was only a little younger than Aunt Bel’s youngest daughter, sweet Agnes. “What hold do they truly have over you? Surely they wouldn’t—”

“Kill her?” Agius smiled sourly. “You are a good boy, Alain. You do not yet understand what we are capable of, we who still pursue the power held before us by the Enemy as a temptation. For the power given us to wield on this earth is an empty power compared to the sacrifice of the blessed Daisan and the promise of the Chamber of Light. But we are tainted by darkness, and so with clouded eyes we grasp at shadows.” He clapped his hands; once, imperiously. “Cleric! Bring me a knife. I am not worthy to call myself a good churchman with such a beard.” His expression was ragged with despair, but he moved with the sure and decided movements of a man who has come to terms with a terrible destiny.

3

AGIUS walked, and Alain walked beside him, trailed by the hounds. Biscop Antonia rode at the front of the procession on her white mule, led by her servants. A cleric carried a green banner on a pole, marked with the badge of her city: a black tower at the confluence of two rivers. The black cloth of the tower was embroidered in gold thread with a biscop’s crosier.

“There is so much talk of dukes and lands and biscops and allegiances,” Alain confessed. “I can’t make sense of it.”

Agius smiled thinly. “You cannot make sense of why I am to be used as the snare to trap the white deer?”

“The white deer?”

“That is the name we gave Constance.” When Alain nodded, trying to look as if he understood perfectly well what Agius was talking about, the frater gave a sigh of frustration. “Constance is King Henry’s sister, his youngest sibling except for Brun.”

“But why would Lady Sabella call you cousin? You do not wear—” Alain drew his fingers around the curve of his throat.

“Only those descended from the house of royal kin are permitted to wear the golden torque. It signifies their royal blood. Both Sabella and her husband Berengar may wear the golden torque. Duchess Liutgard is so ornamented. I am not.”

“But why would—? And not you—? If you are the son of a duke?” Clouds had come in from the east. It was colder than it had been in the morning. Alain felt the dirt of the road under his boots. If it rained, the road would get muddy; how much rain, how much mud, would it take to prevent this plan from going forward? Yet he marched with Sabella’s forces, under the aegis of Count Lavastine. Should he not wish devoutly for her victory?

“As reading and prayer, so the ordering of the world,” said Agius with a sigh.

“What?”

“I seem fated to teach you, Alain. I trust to Our Lady’s Wisdom that you will take better to the great truth of Her Son’s sacrifice and redemption than you have so far to your letters. Now. Attend.”

They walked along a deserted road. The farmers and freeholders who owed allegiance to Autun had all fled inside the city walls at the approach of Sabella’s army. Though clouds were their roof and the green fields their chamber, Alain felt transported back to the days of lessons with the frater at Lavas Holding. Agius was not an easy teacher, more often ruthless and impatient with mistakes than forgiving of lapses. What he knew he was determined others should know.

“There are ten great princes in the kingdom of Wendar and Varre. Six of these princes we know as dukes. Four we know as margraves, since they administer the marches that lie along the eastern border. The sovereign is first among these princes, not apart from them. It is by their consent and the sovereign’s strength that a prince or princess of the royal line comes to be acknowledged as the next ruler of Wendar and Vane.”

“But weren’t Wendar and Varre once separate kingdoms?”

“I can’t imagine what your father was thinking,” said Agius with some exasperation, “not to educate you properly.”

“My father taught me all the things a merchant’s son needs to know,” said Alain hotly, stung by this unwarranted criticism. “I can repair a ship. I know a bit about sailing and navigation. I know the worth of coins from many different kingdoms and peoples. I can barter.”

“I did not mean your foster father.”

Distracted, Alain forgot his anger momentarily. “Surely you don’t still believe I might be Count Lavastine’s bastard?”

Agius gestured eloquently toward the hounds, which padded faithfully after Alain. They were as meek as puppies—as long as Alain or Count Lavastine was next to them. Agius knew well enough what they would do to anyone else who approached them. “But that is neither here nor there. I will perform the task given me by our Lady. Attend.”

They crested a rise. In the distance, Alain saw the city of Autun, the cathedral tower, the city walls, and the faint glimmer of the River Rhowne as it wound through fields lush with growing grain. Then the road dipped down into forest, and trees obscured the view.

“I will not trouble you with the story of the rise of the house: of Saony. It is a long and complicated affair better left to the nuns of Korvei, who have for many years chronicled the deeds of the great princes of this realm. What you must know is that in the year 679, according to that chronicle, the young King Louis of Varre, known as Louis the Child, died. Two years later the elder Arnulf, king of Wendar, died. Arnulf the younger, his son, became king of both Wendar and Varre. What year is it now, Alain?”

What year? It was spring. This particular day was St. Casceil’s Day, as had been duly recited in the morning service. Since they had not yet celebrated the Feast of St. Susannah, it must not yet be the month of Sormas, but he could not recall now which day of Avril St. Casceil’s Day fell on.