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“To look on her will kill you, yes, and it’s no rumor. It’s a curse set on her, no sorcery that she sought of her own will.”
“A terrible fate for any person, to be always alone,” he said, and Liath saw how he looked searchingly at Hanna and how she colored, and spoke to cover her discomposure.
“Send a pair of archers out to that stump, there. If we have any trouble, or see any wolves, they’ll hear us shout.”
Thiadbold wiped his forehead again as he looked at Liath. “You’ll not be having any trouble with wolves, I doubt.”
“I hope not.” Liath brushed a hand over her bow. She had obtained a quiver and arrows and sword and sheath to replace those lost. The griffin-fletched arrows had a metallic smell. “We’re armed well.”
“So you are,” he agreed cryptically.
As soon as they crossed the ditch Liath said in a low voice, “He’s taken a fancy to you, Hanna. How well do you know him?”
“Not that well!”
“You’re blushing. He’s a good man, good looking, levelheaded, and has the regnant’s trust. Have you given no thought—”
“Leave it, I pray you. I’ve walked no easy road these past few years.” But she relented, smiling with what looked like regret. “I admit all that you say of him is true. At another time, in another place—they’re good men, those Lions. They’re the company that rescued me from Bulkezu. I suppose when I see them I’m reminded of the monster.”
“Bulkezu? He’s dead.”
“Dead.” She halted and looked at Liath. “Sorgatani told me he was dead. How did it happen?”
Liath reached over her own left shoulder and, again, touched the curve of her bow, which was strung, ready for battle. “I killed him.”
Hanna covered her eyes and Liath took two steps before realizing that her friend was weeping. She turned back, hugged her, and they stood under the forest cover until Hanna was done.
“There. I promised I wouldn’t do that.”
“How badly did he hurt you?” whispered Liath.
Hanna pressed a hand to her own forehead. “I saw horrible things, but I was never touched. Ai, God. I will never forget what I saw.”
“No, of course you won’t. Nor should you.”
“I wish I could. Is it bad of me to wish I could?”
Liath took her hand. “No. Come, let’s go see Sorgatani.”
A path frequented by sheep and littered with their droppings took them across a burbling stream into a meadow rimmed on three sides with an old earth berm, the remains of an ancient habitation. Along the fourth side the nuns, or their servants, had built a fence so they could corral livestock here. The painted wagon sat in the middle of the green, violets blooming around it. Four horses grazed peaceably. Brother Breschius crouched beside a fire, which was spanned by an iron tripod. He was crumbling herbs into an iron pot hung from the tripod’s upper supports when he heard their voices.
“Lady!” he cried, striding to her with an expression of delight. “Ai, God! We thought you lost!”
He would have knelt and kissed her hand, but she would not let him. He laughed when he saw she was determined in this, winkled his hand out of hers, unhooked a small bell from his belt, and slipped the tiny hood off its clapper. The overtones of its resonant ring echoed back from the forest.
The door at the back of the wagon opened, and Sorgatani looked out. She saw him, and saw Hanna—and Liath. Her mouth dropped open.
“Liath!”
“It’s safe for you to come out,” said Hanna. “We’re alone.”
Overtones still teased at the edge of Liath’s hearing.
“Does the convent have a bell? Do you hear it?”
“Hear what?” asked Hanna.
Sorgatani paused on the steps.
