“He’s my counselor, and my friend.” Sanglant gestured to Heribert to sit beside him. Because Wolfhere did not sit, Heribert did not either, hovering beside Sanglant rather like a nervous bird about to flap away.

“You’re aware of what manner of man this is?” Wolfhere asked.

“Very much so. I would trust him with my life. And with my daughter’s life, for that matter.”

“Condemned by a church council for complicity in acts of black sorcery! The bastard son of Biscop Antonia!”

“Then, truly, I would be first to condemn him, being a bastard myself.” Sanglant grinned sharply but, glancing at Heribert, he saw that the cleric had gone as stiff as a man who expects in the next instant to receive a mortal blow. “That argument holds no water for me, Wolfhere. Heribert has long since honored me with the truth about his birth and upbringing, although I admit that he’s never known who his father was.” Wolfhere began to speak, but Sanglant lifted a hand. “Don’t try to turn me against him. I know far more of Heribert’s inner heart and loyalties than I do of yours!”

Wolfhere’s usually calm facade cracked even further to reveal indignation and a glimpse of wrenching pain. “Is it true that Biscop Antonia has gone to Anne and been taken into the Seven Sleepers?”

“So I swear by Our Lady and Lord,” murmured Heribert, “for I was with Biscop Antonia when we escaped your custody, Eagle, as you well remember. When we came to Verna by various complicated paths, Anne took my mother’s pledge to serve as—” He broke off to stifle a giggle as a child might when it came to laughing over a much-hated adult’s discomfiture. “—as seventh and least of her order.”

Distantly, a wolf howled. Jerna whispered above the prince, sluicing down on the breeze to curl protectively around his shoulders. Her touch was soft and cool. Two sentries bantered over by the outer wall as they changed watch.

At that moment, Sanglant understood the whole. As if sensing his growing anger, Jerna slipped away into the air. He rose slowly, using his height to intimidate. “You know them, then, Anne and the others.” He didn’t need to make it a question. “You’ve been one of them all along, and never loyal to my father, or to his father before him. Never loyal to your Eagle’s oath.”

This was too much for Wolfhere. “Don’t mock what you don’t understand, my lord prince! King Arnulf trusted me, and I served him until the day he died. I never betrayed Wendar.” Agitated, he continued in a choked voice as he sank down onto the stone block with the weariness of a man who has walked many leagues only to find his beloved home burned to the ground. “Ai, Lady! That it should come to this! That Anne should be willing to use evil tools in a good cause. Have I misjudged her all this time?”

“Does this surprise you?” demanded Sanglant. “Liath and I were her prisoners for many months. It does not surprise me.”

“You were not her prisoners! Liath was—” Here Wolfhere halted, breaking off with an anguished grimace.

Sanglant finished for him. “Her tool. Even her daughter was only a tool to her. Did Anne ever love her?”

Wolfhere covered his eyes with a hand. The pain in his voice was easy to hear. “Nay, Anne never loved her. Bernard was the one who loved her.”

“Anne killed him in order to get Liath back.”

“Bernard took what wasn’t his to have! It may even be possible he meant well, but he was horribly and dangerously misguided and full of himself, never listening to any voice but his own. He damaged Liath by hiding her from those who understood what she is and the power that is her birthright. We had no choice but to do what we did to get her back!”

Hands in fists, he rose and paced to the fire, staring into it as though he could see memories within the flames. At last he looked up. “Liath isn’t here, is she?” The old Eagle seemed ready to strangle on the words. “Verna lay abandoned when I reached it, everything in ruins, and Anne had left already with the survivors.”

“You did not follow her?”

“Crossing the mountains on foot at this time of year? I haven’t the skills to travel as Anne may, walking the stones. God’s mercy, Prince Sanglant, where is Liath?”

Sanglant had to close his eyes to shut away the memory. He could not speak of it; the pain still burned too deep and if he spoke he knew he would break down into sobs.

Heribert touched him, briefly, on the arm before stepping forward. “I had already left,” he said softly, “so I did not witness the conflagration myself, but my lord prince has told me that unearthly creatures with wings of flame walked into the valley through the stone circle and took Liath away with them.”