The Burning Stone (Crown of Stars 3)

“You see by this spectacle, my friends,” said Judith in a voice that carried to the four corners of the hall, “that she has now bewitched even our good king. What more proof do you need that she has stained her hands with malevolent sorcery?”

Ai, Lady! At long last he appeared at the door with twilight at his back, alone, without retinue, although thank God he had taken pains to make his clothing look neat. Perhaps the soldiers had done it for him. Master Hosel’s belt looked perfectly in place with his rich tunic and hose. The salamanders worked into the leather almost seemed to slide and shine in the torchlight.

o;Lord have mercy,” they murmured, surveying her. “It’s no wonder the prince took a fancy to this one.”

They led her back out into the hall. If she had thought herself fallen into the pit of misery before, it was nothing to what happened now: Even Henry, caught in mid-sentence as he addressed Sapientia, fell silent when he saw her. They all fell silent, every soul in the hall. A moment later when Theophanu rose to relinquish her own seat beside the king, they all broke into voice at once.

“No dogs set over her to guard her?” Conrad’s battle-trained voice carried easily over the throng. “I’d not leave such a precious treasure unattended.”

She felt a blush flow like fire through her cheeks and down all her limbs, then furiously wished it cool for fear of causing an untimely and horrible conflagration. The king had a very odd look in his eye, and he offered her his own cup to drink from. She dared not refuse. The wine hit her throat with a rich bouquet and glowed in her stomach. She had to share the king’s platter—an honor of such distinction that it branded her forever among the folk present here tonight. She would never be anonymous again, not on the king’s progress. And the worst of it was that his fingers kept touching and tangling with hers in the dish so that despite the wonderful aroma and flavor of the food, she could scarcely get it down her throat which stayed parched no matter how much wine she drank.

Hathui slipped into the hall and stood in disapproving attendance behind the king’s chair. Hanna, trapped in Sapientia’s service, could only throw her despairing glances, helpless to help her. All other faces blurred together.

Young men wrestled before the king and threw her tokens in competition for her favor, and she had to give a kiss to the winner—a brawny lad whose breath smelled of onions. Jugglers and tumblers entertained, and she had to shower them with silver sceattas brought to her by the stewards. She had to pass judgment on the poets who came forward in the hope of gaining the fancy—and the favor—of the king, and the king demurred on all counts to her judgment. He sat with heavy-lidded eyes and watched her when he was not watching his court. His limbs brushed hers at intervals, but surely that was accident because they sat so close together. The sick feeling that afflicted her heart would not go away.

“How can you honor her, Your Majesty,” said Judith finally, pushed to the edge of her patience, “when my son lies in a fever in his chamber, sweating away the pollution she brought onto him?”

Henry turned in his chair to regard the margrave. “I will act as is fitting, considering the accusations brought before me this day. I have already convened a council of biscops, to be held at Matthiasmass in Autun. There your son and this woman will be brought before those most fit to judge in such matters.” His gaze lit on Liath again, and he toasted her with wine. “Yet as my dear cousin Conrad has so wisely warned me, I dare not let such a treasure go unguarded. She will remain by my side until then—”

“By your side, cousin?” shouted Conrad, then roared with laughter. “Will that be after the prince tires of her, or before? But I am much struck by her beauty, too. I am not ashamed to state here in front of witnesses that no matter how many royal beds she graces, I will gladly take her off your hands when you are through.”

When Henry laughed, other noblemen took up the jest, took up wagers: How many months until Sanglant tired of her—or the king—or then Conrad? Who would have her next?

Ai, God. She was desperately ashamed to be made mock of in this fashion. Better to be spinning above the Abyss waiting for God to blow her into the pit than suffer this any longer!

To her left, Princess Theophanu sat as still as stone. Beyond Theophanu, Helmut Villam frowned at the assembly and did not join in the jesting. But Henry had a grim smile of perverse satisfaction on his face even as he watched her with that terrible glint of wine-inflamed desire on his face. She recognized it now. Hugh had looked at her so on certain winter nights in Heart’s Rest; what always followed was never pleasant, at least not for her.

“You see by this spectacle, my friends,” said Judith in a voice that carried to the four corners of the hall, “that she has now bewitched even our good king. What more proof do you need that she has stained her hands with malevolent sorcery?”

Ai, Lady! At long last he appeared at the door with twilight at his back, alone, without retinue, although thank God he had taken pains to make his clothing look neat. Perhaps the soldiers had done it for him. Master Hosel’s belt looked perfectly in place with his rich tunic and hose. The salamanders worked into the leather almost seemed to slide and shine in the torchlight.

He strode forward down the ranks of tables and without a word or any least gesture of acknowledgment halted with arrogant grace before the king’s table. There, he held out his hand. She staggered to her feet, but the king caught her by the wrist.

“My bed, or his,” the king murmured.

Sanglant’s nostrils flared in anger. But he did not move.

Henry’s hand tightened on her arm. A whippet growled softly and was hushed. Even the jugglers and tumblers peeked out from where they sat tucked under the king’s table. Everyone watched.

The king’s bed.

She stood stunned for a good long time. Henry was about the age Da would have been, had he survived, but Henry wore his years with vigor and he had the fine, handsome, noble appearance that God of necessity grant to a regnant.

The king’s protection.

Hugh would never dare touch her. Even the biscops, called to council, would surely be lenient with the king’s mistress.

Sanglant waited with the dead calm of a man who knows the death blow is moments away.

“I beg your pardon, Your Majesty,” she said. “But I swore an oath before God long ago.”

He let her go. She cared for nothing now except getting out fast; ducking under the table, she crawled over fresh rushes, chicken bones, and the dregs of wine cups, and when she emerged on the other side Sanglant was there to hoist her up, assisted, unexpectedly, by one of the jugglers giving a hearty shove to her backside.

Everyone began talking at once.

She saw the door so far in the distance that she was sure they would never make it there, and then it gaped open before her and they stepped out under the night sky. She would have run, out he made her walk so that they would not look undignified.

He said nothing. When they got back to his chamber, he dug into her saddlebag without asking her leave and pulled out the gold torque. She began to shake. He caught her hands and still without a word twisted the torque around her neck—and stared at her, in her fine gown ornamented with the night sky.