“I don’t know.”

She was trying her best not to cry. “I try so hard. My mother and my four siblings, an uncle and three of his children and two cousins. I’m all that stands between them and death.” She shuddered. “And I’m still more fortunate than most, all those poor dead souls. But sometimes I just don’t know how I can stand another day of it.” She sucked in air, coughed at the stench, and rose, squaring her shoulders. “I just have to. I just have to.”

As she turned to go back into the tent, she rested a comforting hand on Hanna’s arm. “At least I’m out of Bulkezu’s tent. It’s not that he hits you, but there’s just something so cold and unnatural about him. And he’s so ugly.”

“Ugly?” Hanna almost laughed, but did not.

“With those slanty eyes and that complexion, like mud? That Lord Manegold is like the sun beside a nasty goblin, for that’s all the beast is.”

Since Hanna thought Lord Manegold even more vapid than the infamous Baldwin, and not nearly as pretty, she didn’t reply.

“At least it’s not so bad for me now as it has been for you all this time.”

“For me?” Shame made her cringe away from the other woman. How had she suffered, compared to all those prisoners she heard screaming as the Quman cut them down?

“He watches you all the time. I know you’ve been his mistress longer than any other woman. I don’t see how you can stand it and keep so calm and dignified. You’re so strong! I guess that’s why you don’t think of yourself as his whore.”

Maybe sometimes people could not hear the truth, and it was useless to explain.

“You’re not even pretty, but I know he only rapes you because you’re the King’s Eagle. It’s like raping the king that way, isn’t it? I know he’s trying to humiliate the king through you. I admire you for never letting him dishonor you.”

Or maybe it was impossible for people to grasp the truth when the truth stood outside everything they knew.

Light shone as a lamp bobbed around back, away from the feast. She saw Bulkezu, escorted by one of his night guards. But he was only looking for her. She had been gone for too long.

“I thank you,” she said to Agnetha. “I had forgotten the words to that song.”

Agnetha saw Bulkezu. Her mask of stone would have done King Henry proud. She wasn’t a stupid girl, only an innocent one, struggling to survive. “My lord,” she said, dipping down to show him deference. When he did not reply, she walked with head held high back to the feast: no flattery, no fear, no whining.

“Sing me the song,” whispered Bulkezu. He didn’t laugh.

It had been a reckless day, and a certain foolhardy courage still gripped her. She stepped carefully as she came out from under the trees. She had always been quick on her feet, so her mother often said.

“My lord prince,” she said softly, “I didn’t expect to meet you here.” Rude comments and nasty retorts bubbled up on her lips, but she choked them off. “Just an old song I used to sing as girls do. I’d forgotten the first line. It goes like this.”

She had a decent voice, could carry a tune and entertain the inn customers without ever dreaming of running away to become a court poet. “‘Golden is his hair and sweet is his voice; I don’t want to love him, but I have no choice.’” She laughed, seeing the flash of dimple that could signal his laughter, or his rage. Hate burned hot in her. “I’ve seen him, the man who is handsomer than you. And he is.”

His right hand twitched once, then stilled. “Why do you go to so much trouble to make me angry? I haven’t touched you.”

“You haven’t touched my body. You’ve just brutalized my heart and my soul.”

He regarded her for a while in silence. Behind, Ekkehard had begun, thank God, a more cheerful song, goaded on by Agnetha’s giggling praise.

“Where is Liathano?” he said at last. “Lead me to her, and I’ll let you go free.”

“She already has a husband, Prince Bulkezu.”

“I already have four wives. And a Kerayit shaman’s luck.”

“Or her curse.”

That made him laugh, but the laughter did not reach his eyes. “Don’t make me angry,” he said at last, before indicating that she should follow him back to the feasting.

They continued north along the tributary. Three days and seven villages later, they came to its confluence with the Veser River. The first sign of outriders came about midday when a scout was killed. Several larger scouting bands were sent out, and when they returned with their reports Bulkezu ordered a change in their marching order. As usual when they approached a fortified site, the prisoners were driven to the front as the army pressed forward through the trees.