“We will not return to Wendar,” replied Henry in a voice that rang hollow, like a bell.

“But the news from Theophanu! The Quman raids that devastate the marchlands! Geoffrey in Lavas, besieged by drought and famine and bandits. What about Conrad, who may already be plotting? Two Eagles have come, pleading for your return! Your Majesty!”

“We will stay here and unite Aosta, and receive our crown, Adelheid and I, crowned as emperor and empress. We will send emissaries to every kingdom, to each place where a stone crown is crowned by seven stones, and there they will await their duty to save all of humankind from the wicked sorcery of the Lost Ones.”

“But, Your Majesty, it is not practicable. The emperor’s crown will fall quickly from your head if you lose Wendar to the Quman, or to Conrad, who has married your niece! What of Sapientia, fighting in the marchlands? What of Theophanu, who sends an Eagle to beg for your swift return? Aosta must wait until you have settled affairs in Wendar!”

“And Mathilda anointed as our heir.”

“Your Majesty!” The soft chanting of clerics and presbyters, intoning the service of Vigils, floated up to them even as Villam sounded ready to weep. “Your Majesty. Your children by Queen Sophia !”

“Mathilda anointed as my heir,” repeated Henry. With his arms clamped tightly against his sides, he moved only his lips, like a statue, like a slave caught in fear for his life.

Villam drew his sword and turned on Hugh. The presbyter had not moved but only watched, one hand stretched out along the railing, his slender fingers stroking the stout wood railing as a woman might pet her cat. “You’ve bewitched him! That is not the king’s voice! That is not the king! You’ve used foul sorcery to pollute his body and imprison his mind!”

Impossible to say what happened next. Villam lunged. Hugh moved sideways, pantherlike, as graceful as one of the acrobats she’d admired yesterday evening. He even had a startled look on his face, as though surprised. But Villam hit the wooden railing with a crash, sword still raised.

The railing splintered and gave way. Villam staggered outward, cried out as the sword slipped from his fingers, but he had only one arm to grasp with as Hugh reached out to him and it was not enough to save him. He fell. Hathui gasped out loud. Her hand closed on Rosvita’s and held on there, as tight as a vise, but neither woman moved as Villam’s shriek of outrage and fear faded to silence. Nor did King Henry make any least acknowledgment that his eldest, dearest, and most trusted companion had fallen to his death right in front of his eyes.

After a moment in which Rosvita thought she had actually gone deaf, the distant voices from various chapels in the palaces and down in the city reached heavenward again; she knew the service so well that scraps of melody and words were enough to reveal to her the entire psalm.

“I cry aloud to God when distress afflicts me, but God have stayed Their hand.
In the darkness of night, have They forgotten me? Can the Lord no longer pity?
Has the Lady withdrawn Her mercy?”

“Come out,” said Hugh. “I know you’re there.”

How soft his voice, and how delicate. Not threatening at all. An eddy in the breeze roiled around her as suddenly as an unseen current turns a boat in the water of a swift-flowing river.

“Come forward, I pray you,” he said.

She slipped her hand out of Hathui’s strong grasp, trying to shove the Eagle away, trying to give her the message to run, to flee while one of them could.

Who would come to their aid? Whom could they trust?

Stepping forward into the light, she said the only thing she could think of to give the Eagle a hint of her thoughts. “A bastard will show his true mettle when temptation is thrown in his path and the worst tales he can imagine are brought to his attention.”

“Sister Rosvita!” Hugh looked honestly surprised, as though he had expected to see someone else. “I regret that you are here.” He whistled. Four guards clattered up the stairs, pausing only to bow before the king before they knelt in front of Hugh. “Take her into custody. Beware what wild accusations she may speak, for I fear her heart has been touched by the Enemy.” Henry stood rigid, watching as though he were a stranger, his expression cold and hard. Certainly his features had not changed, but he looked nothing at all like the king she knew. “Come, Your Majesty, we must attend the Holy Mother.”

But as Hugh crossed to the stairs, he paused beside Rosvita, frowning. “I had not hoped for this, Sister Rosvita, nor for what must come now. You know how much I admire you.”

“Traitor,” she said coolly. The shock of Villam’s death burned in her heart, but she would never let Hugh see how much it hurt. No doubt he could crush her in an instant. All she had left her were her wits. She had to spin more time for Hathui to escape.