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“I am the Holy Mother of the faithful, child.”
“You are the skopos? Holy Mother Anne’s successor?” she asked. “Yet you speak Wendish. You’re not Dariyan-born. Did Holy Mother Anne choose you to succeed her?”
“God have chosen me to do their work on Earth.”
Elene giggled, her expression touched so slightly with hysteria that Antonia almost missed it. Beneath the noble arrogance inherited from her father, she was fragile. The strength she had shown in front of Wolfhere had no deep roots. “I pray you, Holy Mother, intercede with the queen. Do not let them harm Wolfhere. He saved my life!”
There was a secret here, but she would have to probe carefully to uncover it. “How did he save you, child?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“I pray you, Holy Mother,” broke in Berthold, “can’t you see she is exhausted? Let her rest. Surely you can interview her later.”
“Wolfhere must not be harmed!” Elene dropped to the floor, weeping.
“Let go, brat!” Berthold shook off Blessing. He crossed to Elene, grasped her hands, and knelt beside her. “I pray you, lady, do not despair. I won’t let Wolfhere be harmed.”
She lifted her face to stare up at him through her tears. Such a handsome couple! So young and so emotional, as the young were.
“Stop it!” said Blessing furiously. She stomped forward and tried to shove herself between Berthold and Elene.
“That’s enough, brat!” said Berthold sternly.
“Stop it, yourself!” Elene pinched the girl so hard on her backside that Blessing shrieked, leaped away, and flung herself into Anna’s arms, sobbing noisily.
“No one loves me! I hate all of you!”
Elene’s tears had dried. She looked at Berthold, measuring him, and he stared at her with all the intelligence of a young man who has fallen hard and helplessly into the snare of infatuation. She did not remove her hand from his. Tremulously, she smiled.
“No! No! No! He loves me, not her!”
“Your Highness,” said the servant girl, clutching the writhing child so tightly against her that the strain showed on her face, “I pray you, do not make a scene. Of course Lord Berthold loves you. We all do.”
“Even Papa got rid of me! No one loves me! No one! No one! No one!” She fell into a sobbing temper tantrum that took all the servant girl’s strength to contain.
Antonia smiled. “Lady Elene. What is it you wish?”
She released Berthold’s hands and stood. His concern had given her an infusion of strength. “I wish for Wolfhere to be released so he and I can continue north. I want to go home!”
“Queen Adelheid will not be so easily persuaded.”
“I have other—” She cut herself off, remembering prudence.
“I expect your grandmother has taught you some of her arts, child. I am not ignorant of Anne and her sorcery. I know Meriam. Is she dead?”
Elene’s shoulders curled. Her tense stance slackened. “Yes,” she whispered. “She’s dead. Anne knew it would kill them all, and she didn’t care! That’s what Wolfhere said.”
“Wolfhere would know, would he not, for he was Anne’s most loyal servant.”
Elene tilted her head sideways as a measuring smile teased her lips. “That’s right,” she said in a mocking tone.
Impertinent child!
“I don’t know what Wolfhere told you to convince you to travel with him. I stood among their number, once, before Anne tried to betray me. I saw what was coming. I saw who supported Anne, but I also saw that I would be sacrificed, so I chose a different path. That is why I survived.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Berthold.
Blessing sobbed on and on. “No one! No-o-o one!” The child had remarkable stamina, which was, no doubt, some unnatural inheritance from her parents.
