Child of Flame (Page 363)

“How dare you suggest such a thing!” shrieked Sophie.

“With what authority do you dare speak to us in this arrogant manner?” demanded Imma.

“With the authority of the army that sits outside your walls and which saved you from being sacked and murdered by the Quman.”

Was that a faint cackle of amusement, coming from the emaciated figure on the sickbed? Impossible to tell, since the sound was drowned out by the protests hurled at him by her outraged children. Sanglant merely smiled, took Sapientia by the arm, and drew her out of the chamber and down the stairs to the lower level.

“You’ve angered them,” she said.

“They’re no better than a pack of jackals. But that will keep them sober for a few days.”

She glanced at him sidelong. Her eyes were still red from crying, but at least she did not attack him for usurping her authority. Marriage to Bayan had restrained her worst impulses; perhaps it had also accustomed her to following a stronger personality’s lead. “Would Father disinherit them? Is that what you hope to inherit? The duchy of Saony?”

“Nay, it’s not what I want. But it’s of no benefit to the kingdom to leave a pack of fools and quarrelers in charge. Don’t forget that our great grandfather, the first Henry, was duke of Saony. This is the base of our family power. The regnant would do better to name Theophanu as duke in Rotrudis’ place.” He paused, waiting for an outburst, knowing how Sapientia envied Theophanu, but his sister said nothing, only listened. They crossed the length of the great hall in silence, their footfalls sounding lightly on wood as Sapientia’s attendants followed at a discreet distance, whispering among themselves. Torchlight made fitful shadows dance on the walls. Many noble folk, those who hadn’t the rank or the connections to be admitted to the duchess’ private chambers, had crowded in to wait, and they, too, watched and whispered as prince and princess walked past. “Theophanu has as much right to the duchy as any of them do, and she’s more fit to rule.”

“She’s at Quedlinhame. She could be called here.”

“It might make them think twice if she brought her retinue here. But neither you nor I have the authority to name Theo as Rotrudis’ heir.”

“I have the authority. Father named me as his heir!”

He stopped her from speaking by taking hold of her wrist and drawing her out through the double doors to the porch. Lamps hung from eaves, rocking in the breeze. A haze covered the night sky, obscuring the stars.

“Do you, Sapientia?” he asked quietly. “Do you have the authority?”

She burst into tears.

The courtyard of the ducal palace remained busy even this late at night: carts bringing in dead, wounded, or loot from the battlefield; servants attending to business despite the lateness of the hour; soldiers at rest, having nowhere else to bed down. The population of Osterburg had swelled, due to the siege, and even here within the confines of the ducal palace one could smell the press of bodies. The constant buzz of lowered voices ran like an undercurrent at the edge of his hearing, phrases caught and lost, curses, muffled laughter and heartfelt weeping, whispered gossip. In such close quarters, he had learned to shut it out.

“They won’t follow me,” she said hoarsely through her sobs. “They don’t trust me. It was Bayan they followed and trusted all along. I could have reigned with Bayan at my side, because he made me strong. Now what shall I do?”

He guided her across the courtyard to the chapel. Lamps ringed the stone building, and an honor guard of Ungrian soldiers stood with heads bowed on either side of the doors. As one, they went down on one knee when Sapientia approached, but when she took the arm of Lady Brigida to go inside to pray, the captain of the guard beckoned to Sanglant.

“My lord prince, what do you intend for the morning?”

“We must leave at first light to hunt down as many of the Quman as possible. If we break their back now, then they won’t be able to raid again, not for a good long time. Perhaps not ever, if God so wills it.”

“Without our good lord, Bayan, we cannot remain long in this country,” said the captain, with an expressionless glance at the woman interpreting for him.

“Then bide with me as long as it takes to destroy the Quman. That is all I ask.”

“For your sake, my lord prince, and for the honor of our good lord, Bayan, we will follow you a while longer.”

The Ungrian captain’s translator was also his concubine, a wiry spitfire of a marchlander who had become infamous on the march for whipping to death a captured bandit whom she claimed had once raped her sister. A persistent rumor dogged her that the man had been neither bandit nor rapist but rather her innocent husband, come to fetch her back to their farm, and that she’d killed him in order to stay with her Ungrian lover. Sanglant had certainly noticed her around camp, and he certainly noticed her now. She looked like the kind of woman who would draw blood in the midst of dalliance, and you’d never notice until afterward.