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“Drowning an infant is honorable and holy? You’ve never denied that you tried to murder me when I was just a suckling baby.”
“I did what I thought was right at the time.”
Sanglant laughed angrily. “It gladdens my heart to hear you say so! Why, then, do you suppose that I will let you dwell even one night near my daughter, whom you might feel called upon to attempt to murder in her turn! Anne would have let her starve to death. How are you any better than that? You are welcome to leave, and return to Anne who, I am sure, will be glad enough to see you.”
The moonlight washed Wolfhere’s face to a striking pallor. “It was easy enough to drown an infant before I knew what it was to love one. You must believe me, my lord prince. I cared for Liath as much as I was allowed to, when she was a child. But Anne did not think it right that we love her, that we weaken ourselves or her in such a manner. Only Bernard did not heed her. Bernard never heeded her.” He turned his head sharply to one side as though he had just been slapped. “I gave Anne everything, my life, my loyalty. I never married or sired children. I never saw my family again. What did faithless Bernard care for all that? He stole everything I loved.”
Examining Wolfhere’s face, Sanglant simply could not tell whether he was acting, like a poet declaiming a role, or sincere. Did the outer seeming match the inner heart?
“This is a touching confession, but I am neither cleric nor frater to grant you absolution.” Sanglant let the irony linger in his voice as Wolfhere regarded him, calmer now that the flood of words had abated but still agitated. “Many things have been said of you, but I have never heard it said that you are gullible, or naive.”
“Nay, I was most gullible of all. It troubled me that Anne made no effort to love the child, but I refused to let myself think on what it might mean about her heart. But now I fear my doubts were justified. Anne is not the person I thought she was.”
The prince lifted both hands in disgust, crying surrender as he began to laugh. “I am defenseless against these thrusts. Either you are the most shameless liar I’ve ever encountered or you have come to your senses at last and can see that Anne cannot be trusted. What she plans is wrong. She is the wicked one. How can you or I know what the Lost Ones intend? Do they want peace, or war? Have they plotted long years to get their revenge, or were they the victims of human sorcery long ago, as my mother claimed? Anne intends some spell to defeat them. Tell me what she means to do.”
For a long time Wolfhere regarded the moon. Its light bathed the wall behind them until the stone shone like marble, revealing flecks of paint, red, blue, and gold, and the malformed figures common to old Dariyan forts: creatures with the bodies of women and the heads of hawks or snakes or lions. A wolf howled in the distance, as a companion might call out advice to one in need. “I cannot. My gifts are few. Nor have I ever been privy to the deepest councils, or understood the full measure of the mathematici’s art. I am not nobly born as you are, my lord prince.” Was that sarcasm, or only the cutting blade of truth? “I was raised to serve, not to rule.”
“Then why follow me instead of Anne, after you saw what transpired at Verna? What do you want from me?”
Wolfhere considered the question in silence. It was a mark of his sagacity that he could not be hurried, although by now Sanglant felt the urge to pace itch up and down his legs. Finally he gave in to it, taking two strides to the wall and tracing the attractive curve of a woman’s carven body with a finger. He had reached such a pitch of excitement that each grain of stone seemed alive under his touch. He noticed what he was doing, that his fingers rested on the bulge of a breast, and quickly pulled back his hand and trapped it under his other arm.
At last, Wolfhere shook himself as a wolf might, emerging from water. “I don’t know. I want to find Liath, my lord prince.”
“As do I. But what do you mean to do with her, should you find her? Take her back to Anne? Is that what Anne commanded you to do?”
“Nay. I was meant to follow Anne and the others from Verna, but I could not bring myself to, not after what I had seen there. So much destruction! The monks at the hostel had seen a man fitting your description walking north. It was easy enough to follow you and your mother, although not so easy to avoid the notice of the king’s soldiers as King Henry and his army marched south.”
“Where did Anne go?”
Wolfhere hesitated.
The prince took a half step forward. An arm’s length was all that separated the two men now: the old Eagle, and the young prince who had once been a Dragon. “Tell me the truth, Wolfhere, and I’ll let you travel with me if that’s your wish. I’ll let you help me look for Liath, for you must know that there is nothing I want more than to find her.”
Wolfhere examined him. The firelight played over his expression, brushing light and dark across his features as if one never quite overpowered the other. “How do you mean to look for Liath, my lord prince, when it took eight years for Anne and me to find her before? With what magic do you intend to seek out a woman stolen away by unearthly creatures who fly on wings of flame?”
“If she loves me and the child,” said Sanglant grimly, “she’ll find a way back to us. Won’t she? Isn’t that the test of love and loyalty?”
“Perhaps. But what do you intend to do meanwhile? You didn’t ride south with your father’s army. Had you done so, you would discover soon enough that Anne and the others traveled south to Darre.”
“Ah! Is that why Anne sent you? To spy on me? Very well. I’ll take up her challenge, because I mean to defeat her now that I understand what she is and what she means to do to my mother’s kin.” As usual, now that Sanglant knew what his objective was, a plan unfolded before him. “I’ll need griffin feathers and sorcerers to combat her magic. And an army.”
“All of which will be useless, my lord prince.” Wolfhere was far too old and wily to be won over by the excitement of such a bold plan; no doubt he expected a full-grown eagle, not just a fledgling. “You do not understand her power. She is Taillefer’s granddaughter, and a mathematicus of unequaled strength and mastery.”
“I respect her power. But you forget that I am married to her daughter, and that her granddaughter bides in my care. Blessing is half of my making. I am not without rank and power in my own right.”
“You no longer wear the gold torque that marks your royal lineage.”
“Liath wears the torque that once was mine, as is her right. My daughter wears one.”
“But will you wear one again? Or have you turned your back on what Henry gave you, as was his right as your father?”
The cool words irritated him. “I will take what I need and deserve when I am ready, not before! My father does not own me.” But irritation could be turned into something useful, just as anger makes splitting wood go faster. “Help me restore Taillefer’s line to its rightful place, Wolfhere, in preparation for the return of the Aoi, so that we can face them from a position of strength. Help me find Liath. Help me defeat Anne. In truth, your experience would prove valuable to me.”
long time Wolfhere regarded the moon. Its light bathed the wall behind them until the stone shone like marble, revealing flecks of paint, red, blue, and gold, and the malformed figures common to old Dariyan forts: creatures with the bodies of women and the heads of hawks or snakes or lions. A wolf howled in the distance, as a companion might call out advice to one in need. “I cannot. My gifts are few. Nor have I ever been privy to the deepest councils, or understood the full measure of the mathematici’s art. I am not nobly born as you are, my lord prince.” Was that sarcasm, or only the cutting blade of truth? “I was raised to serve, not to rule.”
“Then why follow me instead of Anne, after you saw what transpired at Verna? What do you want from me?”
Wolfhere considered the question in silence. It was a mark of his sagacity that he could not be hurried, although by now Sanglant felt the urge to pace itch up and down his legs. Finally he gave in to it, taking two strides to the wall and tracing the attractive curve of a woman’s carven body with a finger. He had reached such a pitch of excitement that each grain of stone seemed alive under his touch. He noticed what he was doing, that his fingers rested on the bulge of a breast, and quickly pulled back his hand and trapped it under his other arm.
