Alia’s jaw tightened as she regarded him with displeasure. “None among your kind can pass through the gateway that leads to our country.”
“So you say. But you are here.”
She opened her left hand, palm out, to display an old scar cut raggedly across the palm. “I am what you call in your words a sorcerer, Henri.”
“Do we not already harbor mathematici among us? They might travel as you did. We are not powerless.”
“Father!” protested Theophanu, although she glanced toward Adelheid, “you would not allow condemned magic to be worked for your advantage—?”
Henry lifted a hand to stop her. She broke off, looked at Rosvita, then folded her hands in her lap and regarded the opposite wall—and the tapestry depicting St. Thecla’s draught of the holy cup of waters—with a fixed gaze.
“You do not understand the structure of the universe, Henri. I was born in exile, and for that reason I can travel in the aether. I have walked the spheres. None among you would survive such a journey.”
Sanglant’s lips moved, saying a word, but he made no sound.
Henry shook his head. “How can I believe such a fantastic story? It might as well be a fable sung by a poet in the feast hall. I and my good Wendish army are marching south to Aosta to restore Queen Adelheid to her throne. You may march with us, if you will. A place at my table is always reserved for you, Alia.” He turned to regard Sanglant, who stood with hands fisted and expression pulled down with impatience. Hereby lay the danger in giving a man command for all his young life; soon he began to expect that no person would gainsay him, even his father. “You, Son, may march with my army as well, if you will only ask for my forgiveness for your disobedience. I will show every honor due to a grandchild of my lineage to your daughter, as she deserves. There is a place for you in my army. If you ask for it.”
“You believe none of it,” said Sanglant softly.
Henry sipped at his wine, then spun the empty cup in his fingers as he contemplated his son in the same manner he might a rebellious young lord. “How can I believe such an outrageous story? I am regnant. We had this discussion before. If you wish my forgiveness, you must ask for it. But you know what obligations your duty to me entails.”
“Then I will look elsewhere for support.”
The words struck the assembly like lightning.
Villam stepped forward. “Prince Sanglant, I beg of you, do not speak rash words—”
“I do not speak rashly,” said Sanglant harshly. “You have not seen what I have seen. You do not understand Anne’s power nor her ruthlessness.”
“What do you mean, brother?” asked Theophanu. She had distanced herself so completely from Rosvita after the escape from St. Ekatarina’s that Rosvita could no longer even guess what might be going on in her mind. “If your words and the words of your mother are true, then it would appear to me that this woman, Anne, seeks to protect Earth from the Aoi. Why, then, would you act against her unless you have thrown in your lot with your mother’s people? This might all be a diversion to aid them.”
Blessing woke up crying. She struggled in Heribert’s arms, but she wasn’t reaching for her father. She was reaching for the middle of the room, tiny arms pumping and face screwed up with frustration.
“Ma! Ma!” she cried, wriggling and reaching so that Heribert could barely keep hold of her as she squirmed.
The air took on form.
Mist congealed at the center of the chamber, in the space ringed by the hanging lamps. Like a window being unshuttered, pale tendrils of mist acted as a frame. Rosvita staggered, made dizzy by this abrupt displacement of what she knew and understood while all around her the people in the room leaped backward or fled into the other chamber, sobbing in fright. Adelheid rose to her feet. Henry remained seated, but his hand tightened on one of the dragon heads carved into the armrests of his chair.
“Ma!” cried the baby.
There came a voice in answer, faint and so far off that it might have been a dream.
o;What of me?” asked Alia, who had listened without apparent interest. “I am no ally of this Liathano, whom I do not meet or know. I am no ally of these womans who are sorcerers, who mean to do my people harm. That is why I come to you, Henri, to ally against them.”
Henry drained his cup of wine and called for another. Beside him, Adelheid sat with the composure of stone. Only her hair moved, tickled by a breeze that wound among the lamps hung from the ceiling. “If I send an embassy to your people, then we can open negotiations.”
Alia’s jaw tightened as she regarded him with displeasure. “None among your kind can pass through the gateway that leads to our country.”
“So you say. But you are here.”
She opened her left hand, palm out, to display an old scar cut raggedly across the palm. “I am what you call in your words a sorcerer, Henri.”
“Do we not already harbor mathematici among us? They might travel as you did. We are not powerless.”
“Father!” protested Theophanu, although she glanced toward Adelheid, “you would not allow condemned magic to be worked for your advantage—?”
Henry lifted a hand to stop her. She broke off, looked at Rosvita, then folded her hands in her lap and regarded the opposite wall—and the tapestry depicting St. Thecla’s draught of the holy cup of waters—with a fixed gaze.