Child of Flame (Page 77)

“I do not understand you, my lord,” he stammered, temporizing. Villam would mention Kansi-a-lari’s name in the next sentence, and the trap would be sprung.

“Do you not?” asked Villam, looking honestly surprised. “Did Prince Sanglant not marry the woman named Liathano?”

Relief hit like a fist to his gut. “I do not know her, my lord.”

Villam smiled wryly. “Had you seen her, you would not so easily forget her.”

“That one! Was she young and beautiful, my lord, not in the common way of beauty but like a foreign woman with skin of a creamy dark shade? Had she a child in her or newly born?”

“That one.” Villam sighed, considered his wine cup, and took a hank of bread to chew on. “What became of her?”

“You do not know? Angels took her up into the heavens.”

“Angels?”

“We might also call them daimones, my lord.”

“I do not know what to make of these tidings,” said Villam thoughtfully, looking troubled. “Is she an agent of the Enemy, or that of God? Is she of humble origins, or of the noblest birth? Did she bewitch the prince, or is her favor, bestowed upon him, a mark of his fitness to rule?”

“My lord margrave,” said the servant Humbert so sharply that Villam blinked, thrown out of his reverie by those words. “The King’s Eagle waits outside. She bears a message for you.”

Villam said nothing for a while, although as he mused he drew his fingers caressingly over the curve of an apple. “I will need a rider to carry a message to my daughter,” he said at last, “a trustworthy and loyal man, one from the home estates. Waldhar, perhaps. His father and uncle served me well against the Rederii, and his mother is a good steward of the Arvi holdings. Let him make ready to leave and then come to me.”

The servant nodded. He had a tidy manner, efficient and brisk. “Will you need a cleric, my lord margrave, to set the message down on parchment?”

“Nay. It is to go to my daughter’s ears alone. Give him an escort of three riders as well.”

“I would recommend six, my lord margrave, given the news of Quman raids.”

“Yes.” Villam had been margrave for many years, with the habit of command and the expectation that his servants would run to do his bidding at once, and effectively. “See that this frater is given food and drink and then send him on his way. Best that it be done quietly.”

“So will it be done, my lord margrave.” Humbert looked Zacharias over with a look compounded half of curiosity and half of disdain. “Would you prefer that those who serve him are like to gossip or to remain silent about which direction the prince rode out in three days ago?”

“Alas, people are so wont to chatter. That is why I keep a discreet man like yourself as my steward, Humbert.”

“Yes, my lord margrave.” Humbert gestured to Zacharias. He did not have a kindly face, but he looked fair. “Come, Brother. You will not want to linger long here at the king’s court, for it will go hard with you, I am sure, should your quest become generally known.”

“I thank you for your hospitality, my lord,” said Zacharias, but Villam had already forgotten him as the doors opened and a woman strode in. She wore fine clothing and, over it, a cloak trimmed with red and pinned at one shoulder with a brass brooch shaped as an eagle.

Zacharias knew her at once, that familiar, fierce expression, her hawk’s nose, and the way she had of sauntering with a little hitch in her stride, noticeable only because he knew to look for it, that she had developed after falling from an apple tree when she was a child.

He hurriedly stepped sideways into shadow, hoping his hood would obscure his face. She had the habit of a good messenger, looking around swiftly to mark the chamber and its inhabitants. When she saw him, she faltered, puzzling over his shadowed face. He knew her well enough to interpret her expression, for it was one she’d worn as a child: seeing something that she knew was familiar but could not quite put her finger on.

Annoyance and curiosity tightened her mouth, and she seemed about to speak when Villam spoke instead.

“Eagle, you bring me a message from the king?”

“Yes, Margrave Villam,” said Hathui, her well-loved voice deepened by maturity and altered by a woman’s confidence and pride. At once, she turned her attention to the margrave.

How different their fates had turned out to be, the admired elder brother and the doting young sister. She had become a respected Eagle, standing beside the king’s chair, while he had been marked forever as a slave, hunted and desperate.