The Burning Stone
“That sorcery killed Count Lavastine?” answered Alain. “Certainly I believe it is true, and I was the first to say so.” This calm remark caused so much stir, people bending and talking and gesticulating to their neighbors, that Hanna was able to skip across from one bench to another and thereby move herself so far forward in the crowd that she was finally halfway to the front. “He was killed by a curse set on him by Bloodheart, the Eika chieftain he defeated at Gent.”
Lady Tallia flushed, color creeping into her cheeks. Her attendant touched her on the shoulder, as if to signal her, but Tallia made no attempt to speak.
“A clever ploy,” said the noblewoman sitting beside Geoffrey. Her voice was as sweet as honey and only somewhat more cloying. “But you have no proof.”
“Prince Sanglant would testify that there was a curse. When he was Bloodheart’s captive, he saw an unnatural creature brought to life to fulfill that curse. That creature, that curse, is what killed my father.”
Henry looked angry at the mention of Sanglant. “Then there is no doubt in your mind that you are Lavastine’s son?”
“You admit you might not be his bastard?” demanded Henry, clearly amazed.
Geoffrey’s kinfolk stirred and smirked; some looked outraged, and some looked gleeful. Their expressions were mirrored here and there in the hall by courtiers, who surely must now be wondering if a common boy had shown them up and embarrassed them by pretending to be one of them. He had the same fine proud line in his posture, only his expression was tempered by a gravity and modesty that was more truly noble than any wellborn man or woman there except for the king. And they would hate him for that.
But Alain had already gone on. Perhaps he was oblivious. Perhaps he, didn’t care. Or perhaps he was really that honest, a miracle in itself. “My fa— Count Lavastine named me as his son and treated me as his son. That his wishes should be dishonored in this shameful way is disgraceful, but I am well aware on my own account that we are all tempted by pride and envy and greed and lust to act in ways that God cannot approve. But I ask you to consider this, Your Majesty. It is Lavastine’s judgment that is being questioned here, not my worthiness.”
Geoffrey looked furious. His kinfolk muttered among themselves, annoyed and angry at being lectured, and Geoffrey’s wife sat the little child straighter on her lap, as if it were on display at a market and she wanted to fetch the highest price for it. Henry looked thoughtful, leaning over to make a private comment to Helmut Villam. His niece sat as stiff as a statue, looking desperate. Had she been forbidden to speak? What did she wish for?
“Where is my daughter?” asked Henry. “How does she fare?”
“She is well, Your Majesty. She is married—” A general cheer rang out at this statement, and Hanna had to wait for it to die down before she could go on. “She and Prince Bayan have won a victory over the Quman.” As there came further rejoicing, she edged forward enough that she could speak to Henry in a low voice. “There is more, Your Majesty, but I am charged by your daughter to relate it to you in a more private setting, if it pleases you.”