Child of Flame (Page 185)

“What do you think?”

He shrugged uneasily. “Why would Ironhead poison the very one who made his reign possible?”

“What about Hugh of Austra?”

He blinked. For an instant, she thought he hadn’t understood her, as if she’d suddenly begun speaking Jinna. “Presbyter Hugh? That she’s survived so long is only due to the care he gives her. She rallied for a time after he became one of her intimate attendants, but in this last week she’s gotten very bad.”

“She’s not young.”

“Truly, she is not. God act as They see fit. If They choose to take the Holy Mother back into Their bosom, so be it.” A haunch of beef was brought round, but she couldn’t bring herself to eat. She wasn’t hungry. Ironhead was getting drunker and more aggressive. He interrupted the poets singing his praises, called belligerently for more wine, and practically forced it down the throat of the poor girl beside him, who was beginning to cry. Abruptly the king leaped to his feet.

“I have a thirst no wine can slake!” he bellowed.

A hollow silence fell over the hall. Ironhead yanked the girl to her feet and dragged her out of the hall. Before anyone could react, Hugh was out of his chair and hurrying after them.

“If any person can save that poor girl, it’ll be Presbyter Hugh,” said the Aostan duke. “Would you care for some wine?”

“Nay, I thank you.” She caught the edge of her quiver on the chair’s back as she rose too quickly, but by the time she got into the broad passageway that led from the hall down toward the royal suite she saw no sign of the king at all, only Hugh, with the girl sobbing at his feet.

“Bless you, Your Honor. He meant to rape me, and I didn’t—I didn’t know how—it’s that rumor he’s heard from the north that my mother the Lady of Novomo was harboring the queen last year. I knew he would punish me to get at her. But you saved me! You’re the only one brave enough to stand up to him—”

“Hush, now, child.” He helped her up before calling over a servant. “See that she is taken to her chambers and left alone. Keep her out of the king’s way, if you please.”

“Of course, Your Honor.”

“That was nobly done,” said Liath as the girl was led away. Strange to hear words meant sardonically but spoken as if in praise.

“It isn’t right.” There was a lamp here, too, set on a tripod along the wall, a plump ceramic rooster with a flame burning from its crest. Its light gilded his hair and made his robes shimmer. “She was so young, and unwilling.”

Anger burned away the chains that fettered her tongue. “And wasn’t I, Hugh? Wasn’t I?”

He changed color. “To my shame,” he murmured hoarsely. That fast, he walked away—from her, from the hall where singing and merriment carried on, oblivious to the absence of the hated king. She hurried after him but somehow could not quite catch up, down carpeted corridors, up stairs whose banisters were carved with sinuous dragons, crossing a high bridge, out into the night air, still rosy from the sunset, that led them over into the holy precincts of the skopos’ palace. At last he paused, high on a parapet overlooking the river below and the distant lights of the harbor to the west. They were alone except for a lamp swaying in a soft breeze, flame twisting and flaring as the wind teased it.

He turned on her. “Why do you follow me? Can you forgive me for what I did to you?”

It was like lashing a stubborn mule to drive the words out. “How can you think I would?”

“Then why come here? Why torment me? Although truly if that’s how you wish to punish me for the harm I did to you, then you are amply justified.”

“How am I tormenting you?”

“To hear your voice and see your face after so long? To stand so close and not touch you? Isn’t that torment enough? Nay.” He turned away suddenly to open doors she hadn’t seen before. “Let me not speak of torment, who sinned so grievously and caused you so much pain.”

Her voice was her own again, but her limbs still worked as though to another’s will. She followed him into a simply furnished chamber, a single bed, a table covered with books, a bench, a chest, and a lamp hanging from the ceiling. The curtains softening the walls had no pattern, only a plain gold weave as richly brilliant as his hair, like an echo of the sun. He stood beside the table, not looking at her, profile limned by lamplight. Like the sun in shadow.

It was just too sudden. Words spilled out of her unbidden as her fingers brushed her own neck. “It was just that you had to have your hand on the throat of everything you wanted to possess. And I was one of those things.”