King's Dragon (Crown of Stars 1)

“Good,” said Sanglant. And to Liath: “Come.”

She followed him outside. Her heart hammered hard in her chest. But for some strange reason she was not afraid but instead relieved—and even elated.

He halted in the great courtyard, full in the sun, and stretched shoulders and neck like a great beast settling itself after a triumphant struggle. Then he studied her, and because she had already betrayed herself, she was not afraid to look directly at him in return.

“I have heard the Heleniad, of course,” he said, “or parts of it at any rate. In the king’s progress many poets have sung the epic to entertain the court, and of course you have heard the poet who resides in Werner’s palace recite it over these past ten nights.”

“Mangle it, more like.”

He smiled. “Perhaps you would render it more pleasingly.”

She shook her head sharply. “I am not poet or bard, to sing in public.”

“No, you are not. You are something altogether different, I think. Is there truly such a book as this … Astronomicon?”

“I have heard of such a book, but never seen it. There is a reference to it in the Etymologies of Isidora of Seviya where she comments on—” She broke off. Lord in Heaven! Was she trying to impress him?

“You are truly Wolfhere’s discipla, are you not?”

“I don’t know what you mean by that.”

“I don’t know what I mean either,” he said sharply, and frowned and looked abruptly away from her. It was almost painful to have him look away; she had not realized how much his gaze warmed her, or at least how much she wanted his attention. Like bread given to a hungry child.

She winced, for was it not a true enough comparison? She was alone and he was here—He was like no one she had ever laid eyes on. Sanglant lifted a hand, and she tensed, but only because half of her willed him to touch her while at the same time the other half feared what his touch—the tangible and irrevokable sign of his interest in her—would unleash. How could she even feel this way after what had happened with Hugh?

But Sanglant was not trying to touch her; he opened his hand to reveal her Eagle’s ring. “A man brought this to me yesterday. I believe it is yours?”

He waited. Finally, as carefully as one might pluck a jewel from the coils of a snake, she picked it up off his palm. “It is mine. What happened to the man—?”

“We gave him shelter and employment of sorts.” His eyes glinted. She could not read his expression. “His daughter I sent to our healer. She may yet live.”

“I thank you,” she said softly. The ring was still warm from his skin.

“Let me,” he said, and he took her hand and slipped the ring onto her finger. He glanced up over her shoulder, released her abrupdy and stepped back. “Here is your praeceptor.” Acknowledging Wolfhere, he allowed himself a brief, self-mocking smile. “She is yours,” he said to Wolfhere. “Though perhaps you should watch her more closely.” He spun and left them.

Wolfhere crossed his arms over his chest and frowned at her. She twisted the ring and, blushing, said nothing. The stench of the tannery clung to his clothes. “Prince Sanglant is right,” he said finally. “I should indeed be watching over you more closely.” He gestured. “Come.”

She dared not disobey.

2

WERNER detained them again, but in the end Liath found herself seated opposite Wolfhere in the empty stall that had become both bedchamber and storage room for her and Wolfhere and Manfred.

“Now,” said Wolfhere in the quiet tone of a man who intends to brook no disagreement, “for twenty-five days we have bided here in Gent and you have avoided me except when I have demanded your time to teach you about the duties of an Eagle.”

ady. She had let her impatience with fools and that old slow-burning anger at Da’s death get the better of her. She had betrayed herself to them all.

“What—?” said the mayor, mouth popped open with the look of a fish on a platter. “What—? I don’t—”

“I am outraged!” said the man who claimed to be an astrologus, and the deacon, too, stepped forward, staring with interest—or was it surprise? or was it suspicion?—at Liath.

“Mayor Werner,” said Sanglant, cutting into this so sharply that all of them drew back from Werner’s chair. “I have need of this Eagle, messages to be run to those of my men who are posted along the walls. You have this business in hand, I believe, and the biscop will arrive soon.”

Werner opened his mouth.

“Good,” said Sanglant. And to Liath: “Come.”

She followed him outside. Her heart hammered hard in her chest. But for some strange reason she was not afraid but instead relieved—and even elated.