Prince of Dogs (Crown of Stars 2)

He closed his eyes a moment. It was difficult for Rosvita to imagine what thoughts might be going through his mind. Like the book, like a veil drawn to hide the chamber behind, he was closed against her. He had completely given up abbot’s robes and now dressed like any fine lord in embroidered tunic, a short cloak with a gold brooch, silver-banded leggings, and a sword; one knew he was a churchman only by his lack of beard and his eloquent speech.

“I do not speak easily of this,” he said finally. “It pains me deeply. The young woman’s father died in severe debt. I paid it off because it was the charitable thing to do, as you can imagine, being a Godly churchwoman yourself, Sister. By that price, she became my slave. She had no kin and thus, really, no prospects, so I kept her by me to protect her.”

“Indeed,” murmured Rosvita, thinking of Ivar’s protestations of love. Of course a count’s son could never marry a kinless girl who was also another man’s slave! He should never even have considered it. “She is a beautiful girl, many have noticed that, and has an awkward smattering of education. Enough to attract the wrong kind of notice.”

“Indeed. That she repaid me in this manner …” Here he broke off.

“How then did she come into the Eagles?”

He hesitated, clearly reluctant to go on.

“Wolfhere,” she said, and knew she had made a hit when his lips tightened perceptibly.

“Wolfhere,” he agreed. “He took what was not his to have.”

“But only free women and men may enter into the Eagles.”

Elegant, confident Hugh looked, for an instant, like a man stricken with a debilitating sorrow. “My hand was forced.”

“Why do you not tell the king? Surely he will listen to your grievance?”

“I will not accuse a man if he is not beside me to answer in his turn,” said Hugh reasonably. “Then I would be taking the same advantage of Wolfhere that he took of me, in a sense, when he claimed the young woman in question for the king’s service without letting the king judge the matter for himself. Nor do I wish to be seen as one who takes unseemly advantage of my—” He smiled with that same shrewd glint. “Let us be blunt, Sister Rosvita. Of my intimate association with Princess Sapientia.”

“No one would fault you if you brought the matter before the king now. It is generally agreed that your wise counsel has improved her disposition.”

But he merely bowed his head modestly. “I would fault myself.”

4

THEY gathered an army and, helpless, he watched them do so. By the angle of light that shone through the cathedral windows and the sullen warmth that crept in through the vast stone walls during the day when the doors were thrown open to admit sunlight, he guessed that spring had come at last. With the spring thaw running low, the winds would give the Eika good sailing out of the north.

From the north they came, droves of them, collecting at the foot of Bloodheart’s throne like so much flotsam cast up by the tide.

That day, when the rebellious son returned, he knew he had to act. When even rebellious sons return to the fold, it means great movements are afoot, even so great as to attract back those who once were condemned to leave. Even the priest, crouching just out of range of Sanglant’s chains while he taught him to read the bones, turned to stare at the unexpected sight of the young Eika princeling who wore a wooden Circle around his neck.

“Why have you come back?” roared Bloodheart in the human tongue, confronting the slender Eika who stood, proud and unflinching, before him.

“I bring eight ships,” said the son, gesturing to certain Eika who stood behind him, representative, perhaps, of soldiers who remained outside. There were by now in Gent too many Eika to all crowd into the cathedral. He could smell them; their metallic scent permeated the air. “These two, from Hakonin, these two, from Skanin, and this one, from Valdarnin. Three more sailed with me from Rikin. These will swell the number of your army.”

“Why should I take you in, when it was my voice and my command which sent you home without honor?”

Sanglant measured the distance between himself and the priest, then patted the rags draped over him that had once been clothing. He slid a hand under cloth and pulled out the brass Eagle’s badge. With a flick of the wrist, he tossed it at one of his dogs, to his left. The sudden growling movement of two dogs leaping to growl over the badge startled the priest enough that he jumped sideways.

With that jump, the priest came for an instant within reach of Sanglant.

He sprang. As his hand closed on the Eika priest’s bony arm, he jerked the knife out from under his tunic. Yanking the priest around hard, he dropped his grip on the creature’s arm and snatched the little wooden chest out of the crook of its elbow.

Then he leaped back into the protection of his dogs—barking and raging wildly now—as a roar of fury broke from Bloodheart’s throat and all the Eika in the hall began shrieking and howling at once, their dogs echoing them until Sanglant was deafened. He had only moments to act before he would be overwhelmed.

There was no time for finesse, but then, there rarely was in a pitched fight.

He hacked violently at the hasp of the chest. The knife, little used, still bore a good edge. The hasp snapped and wood splintered as he struck down and again, with all his strength, then wrenched the lid open and dumped the contents out on the floor.

He didn’t know what an Eika heart would look like. But where else would Bloodheart keep his heart if not close by him? Why else would the priest carry a chest night and day, never letting it leave his side?

But all that spilled onto the floor was a bundle of down feathers and a white hairless creature smaller than his hand. With rudimentary ears and eyes, a nub of a tail, and four limbs, it looked like the premature spawn of an unholy mother, a ghastly colorless thing without defined features and with no recognizable parentage. It fell with a sickening plop onto the flagstone floor and lay there, limp, unmoving.

Dead.