Child of Flame (Page 50)

“She isn’t anything like what I remember.” Henry’s expression grew pensive. “It’s as if that time was a dream I fashioned in my own mind.” Blessing had fallen asleep on his shoulder.

“Perhaps it was,” observed Rosvita. “Youth is prey to fancy. We are adept at building palaces where none exist.”

“I was very young,” he agreed. “In truth, Sister, I find it disturbing. I recall my passion so clearly, but when I look at her now, I fear I made a mistake.”

A stiff breeze stirred the leaves in the herb bed next to the prince. Laughing, Sanglant stood as Heribert leaped up, startled. The outside air and Heribert’s presence had restored the prince to good spirits, yet now he glanced back toward the open window where his father stood. Had he heard them? Surely they stood too far away for their conversation to be overheard.

“Was it a mistake. Your Majesty?” She nodded toward the prince.

“Nay, of course not. Perhaps I am only a little surprised that memory has not served me as well as you have.” He smiled with the craft of a regnant who knows when to flatter his advisers, but Rosvita sensed tension beneath the light words.

“You were very young, Your Majesty. God grant us all the privilege of change and growth, if we only use it. You are a wiser man now than you were then, or so I have heard.”

He smiled, this time with genuine pleasure. The baby stirred, coming awake. She yawned, looked around, and said, quite clearly: “Da!” After this unequivocal statement, she frowned up at Henry. She had a clever little face, quite charming, and mobile expressions. “Ba!” she exclaimed. She seemed to have no other mode of speech than the imperious.

“The months do not count out correctly,” said Henry. “Nine months for a woman to come to her time, and even if she deliver early, no child will survive before the seventh month. Sanglant and the Eagle left fourteen months ago, yet this child is surely a yearling or even older. But her coloring is like that of the Eagle’s, if I am remembering correctly.”

“Do not doubt your memory on this account. I also believe the child resembles its mother in some ways. Look at the blue of her eyes! But you are right, Your Majesty. Even if she were a seven months’ child, born early, she could therefore be only seven months of age now.”

“Come.” Henry carried the baby out to the garden, heading for his son, but as soon as he stepped outside the beauty of the autumn foliage and late flowers distracted the child. Rosvita watched as the king surrendered to her imperial commands: each time Blessing pointed to something that caught her eye, he obediently hauled her to that place, and then to another, lowering her down to touch a flower, prying her fingers from a thorny stem, stopping her from eating a withered oak leaf blown over the wall, lifting her up again to point at a flock of geese passing overhead.

He was besotted.

Sanglant had wandered to the garden by the wall where he spoke privately to Brother Heribert. What intrigue might he be stirring up? Yet had Sanglant ever been one for intrigue? He had always been the most straightforward of men.

Still, he made no move to interfere with the capture of his father: Blessing worked her will without obstacle. Queen Adelheid had gone into the aviary. Rosvita had to admire the young queen: either she was determined to turn Alia into an ally, or else she intended to divert all suspicion while she concocted a plan to rid herself of her rival. It was hard to tell, and even after months of sharing the most difficult of circumstances in Adelheid’s company, Rosvita didn’t know her well enough to know which was more likely.

But as Rosvita watched Henry dandle the child, her heart grew troubled.

Twilight finally drove them back inside. Adelheid and her attendants came from the mews, Sanglant and Heribert from the garden. Alia lingered outside, alone, to smell the last roses. No one disturbed her. By custom, the feast would continue into the night, but neither Henry nor any in his party seemed inclined to return to the great hall. Too much remained unspoken.

Blessing went to Sanglant at once. She had begun to fuss with hunger. A spirited discussion ensued among the attendants on the efficacy of goat’s milk over cow’s milk to feed a motherless child. He took her outside.

Rosvita went to the window. A cool autumn breeze, woken by dusk, made her shiver. Sanglant avoided his mother and settled down out of her sight on the far side of the old walnut tree.

Adelheid came to stand beside Rosvita. The queen smelled faintly of the mews and more strongly of the rose water she habitually washed in. She had such a wonderful, vividly alive profile that even in the half light of gathering dusk her expressions seemed more potent than anything around them, as bright as the waxing moon now rising over wall and treetops.