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“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.
“Blessing!” Changing, made hoarser by pain or sorrow, that disembodied voice spoke again. “Sanglant!”
Sanglant leaped forward. “Liath!” he cried.
Alia grabbed him by the elbow and jerked him back, hard. Her strength was amazing: Sanglant, who stood a good head and a half taller than her, actually staggered backward.
Blessing twisted out of Heribert’s arms. Henry cried out a warning as she fell, and Sanglant flung himself toward the baby, but he was too far away to catch her.
But some thing was already under her.
Blessing sank into folds of air that took on a womanlike form, a female with a sensuous mouth, sharp cheekbones, a regal nose, a broad and intelligent forehead, and a thick fall of hair. She was not a human woman but a woman formed out of air, as fluid as water, made of no earthly substance. A veil of mist concealed her womanly parts, but she was otherwise unclothed, and she had the ample breasts of a nursing woman. In her arms, Blessing calmed immediately, and she turned her head to nurse at that unworldly breast.
Henry’s face whitened in shock as he rose. “What obscenity is this? What manner of creature nurses the child?”
Sanglant stationed himself protectively in front of the creature. “Liath was too ill to nurse her after the birth. Blessing wouldn’t even take goat’s milk. She would have died if it had not been for Jerna.”
“What is it?” murmured Theophanu. Her ladies, clustered behind her, looked frightened and disgusted, but Theophanu merely regarded the scene with narrowed eyes and a fierce frown.
Everyone backed away except Heribert. Adelheid’s hands twitched, and she leaned forward, quite in contrast to Theophanu’s disapproving reserve, to stare at the nursing aetherical with lips parted. Hathui remained stoically behind Henry’s chair.
“It is a daimone, I believe,” said Rosvita. Fortunatus, at her back, whistled under his breath. He had not deserted her. “One of the elementals who exists in the aether, in the upper spheres.”
“Do such creatures have souls?” asked Adelheid.
“The ancient writers believed they did not,” murmured Rosvita reflexively. A collective gasp burst from the people pressed back against the far walls. No one spoke. The baby suckled noisily as everyone stared. Ai, Lady! What manner of nourishment did it imbibe from a soulless daimone?
“It is true, then.” The mask of stone crashed down to conceal Henry’s true feelings. “You have been bewitched, Sanglant, as Judith and her son said. You are not master of your own thoughts or actions. Lavastine was laid under a spell by Biscop Antonia. Now you are a pawn in the hands of the sorcerer who stole you from me. Where is Liathano? What does she want?”
