The Burning Stone
Page 80

“What did Hugh say to you?” Henry asked Sanglant in a perfectly collected voice.
The question surprised her, but Sanglant got a stubborn look on his face and set his mouth mulishly.
“What did he say to make you attack him in that way?” repeated the king, each word uttered so distinctly that they fell like stones.
Sanglant shut his eyes. “‘Do you cover her as a dog covers a bitch?’” He croaked out the words, his voice so harsh she could barely understand him. Then he buried his face in his hands in shame. And she burned.
An unlit candle set on the side table snapped into flame.
Henry started up in surprise, and Sapientia leaped up beside him and took hold of his elbow, to steady him. Villam murmured a prayer and drew the sign of the Circle at his breast. But Theophanu only glanced at the candle and then nodded to Rosvita, as if to answer a question. Hathui sighed softly from her station behind the king’s couch.
“What is this, Sanglant?” demanded Henry. “A sign of your mother’s blood at last?”
“Merely a trick, learned as a child and then forgotten,” said Sanglant without looking at Liath.
“Nay,” Liath said, although her voice shook. “I cannot let you shoulder the burden which is properly mine.”
“Sorcery!” hissed Sapientia. “She’s bewitched Hugh. That’s why he’s gone mad for her. Just like she’s bewitched Sanglant.”
“You’re a fool, sister!” retorted Theophanu. “She saved my life. It’s your beloved Hugh who is the maleficus!”
“Hush,” said the king. He touched Sapientia on the arm and she let him go at once so that he could walk forward. The injury to his shoulder had not wounded the dignity of his gait. Frozen, Liath dared not move as he stopped in front of her and then circled her as a man does a caged leopard he means to slay. “Have you bewitched my son?”
“Nay, Your Majesty,” she stammered, dry-eyed with terror.
“How can I believe you?”
“She has not—!” Sanglant began, head flung back.
“Silence! Or I will have you thrown out while I conduct this interview in your absence. Now. Speak.”
The king could crush her flat in an instant, with the merest flick of his hand command his soldiers to kill her. “It’s true I know some few of the arts of sorcery, as part of the education my father gave me,” she began hesitantly, “but I’m untrained.”
“Hah!” said Sapientia as she paced behind Henry’s couch. Sanglant shifted where he knelt, as if he, too, wanted to pace.
“Go on,” said the king without looking toward his daughter. His gaze, fixed so unerringly on Liath, made her wonder if perhaps it wasn’t better just to get that spear through the guts and have done with it.
“My Da protected me against magic, that’s all. He told me I’d never be a sorcerer.” It all sounded very foolish. And dangerous.
“Her father was a mathematicus,” said Rosvita suddenly. Ai, Lady: the voice of doom.
Henry snorted. “She arrived at my progress an avowed discipla of Wolfhere. It is a plot.”
“Wolfhere didn’t want her to leave,” said Sanglant. “He argued against her leaving him, most furiously. He wanted her to stay with him.”
“The better to fool you into taking her with you. And marrying her! A royal prince!”
“Nay, Father. Hear me out.” Sanglant did rise now. Sapientia stopped pacing and with flushed cheeks studied her half brother. Theophanu, as cool as ever, had clasped her hands at her belt. Villam looked anxious, and Rosvita, who might be her best ally or her worst enemy, wore a grave expression indeed “Hear me out, I beg you.”
Henry hesitated, fingered the bandage that wrapped his arm. Oddly, he glanced back toward Hathui.
“I cannot know everything that is in Wolfhere’s mind,” Hathui said, as if in response to a spoken question. “I have no doubt he has seen and done much that I have never—and will never—hear about. But I do not think he ever intended Liath for any path but following him—and—” She glanced toward Sapientia, who had paused beside the window to run her fingers down the ridges of the closed shutters. “—to free her from Father Hugh.”
Amazingly, Sapientia said nothing, appeared not even to hear the remark except that her tracing faltered, stopped, and began again.
At last, Henry nodded to Sanglant. “You may speak.”
“You wouldn’t have taken Gent without her aid. She killed Bloodheart.”