The Burning Stone

“Where is my wife?” he asked her, seeing that Tallia did not appear for the meal.



“She is not feeling well,” said Yolande smoothly. “But have no fear for her well-being, Count Alain. She rests under the care of my physicians.”



“I would like to see her, my lady duchess,” said Alain stubbornly.



“Alas. She is sleeping, and I think it best that she not be disturbed, don’t you? I will let you know when she wakes.”



But she didn’t let him know. He visited her chambers eight times that day, and Tallia remained indisposed, resting asleep, or under the care of the physicians, whose work couldn’t be disturbed. Had Yolande made a pact with Geoffrey? Had they planned this abduction all along, for it seemed like an abduction to him. If he could only speak with Tallia, surely she would return to his side. But he didn’t know the protocols; he could scarcely call out his soldiers to attack the duchess and her retainers. In truth, he didn’t know what to do.



Duchess Yolande left the next day, and Tallia went with her, concealed in a wagon tented over by a strong canvas roof embroidered with the stallions that were the sigil of Varingia’s power. Geoffrey rode east to his wife’s holdings, but he left his banner behind to mark his claim.



“King Henry will come.” It was more threat than statement.



The count of Lavas held court in his hall and rode progress through his lands, avoiding Osna. News travels fast. When he rode out in the fields and forest, he saw them whispering and pointing. A few were too quick to bend a knee while others were guardedly insolent. And while most of them remained genuinely respectful, he hadn’t been heir and count long enough that he couldn’t tell what they were thinking, what he would have been thinking in their place: Whom will the king favor? How will the king judge? How can we prepare for what will come?



They were waiting and watching. Chasms had opened. Doubt had been seeded. That was enough; it was what Lavastine had feared all along.



Fear never returned.



3



“MOTION is the primary cause of change,” said Severus in his dry, arrogant voice, “and the lower spheres are governed by the laws of celestial motion. Power emanates from the aether, that element which is closest to God and thus unstained by the touch of the Enemy.” Liath could not see his expression, but she could deduce it from his tone of voice. He insisted on hanging a blanket between them when he tutored her so that he would not be forced to look upon her. “This effluence from the aether affects all things. In movement lies harmony, but in movement also lies power. As the celestial bodies move, they weave threads of power out of the aether depending on the angle and confluence of their relationship each to the other.”



At this moment, the only effluence Liath could concentrate on was that the fetus in her womb was pressing on her bladder, but she dared not interrupt Severus. He had once scolded her for asking to pee in the middle of a lesson and had refused to teach her for two weeks until Anne had finally soothed him.



“Ptolomaia discusses the positions of the planets and stars in the heavens according to their motion.” At this point, Anne or Meriam would have insisted that Liath recite passages she had herself read in the Syntaxis or in al-Haytham’s Configuration of the World, but Severus never sought to discover what she already understood. Like the aether, he simply emanated. “She states, ‘The celestial bodies are at their most powerful at the zenith,’ and we have also discovered that their power waxes along these angles and threads when they lie at midnight, at the nethermost depths, opposite zenith. But she continues in this fashion, ‘Further, they are in their second most powerful position when they lie on the horizon, or just below it, about to rise.’ Descending stars and planets create a different flux in the pattern, one which can be used, or countered, depending on your purpose, but never disregarded. All movements must be taken into account. The whole must be seen, not the parts. In this way the mathematicus can understand and harness the power immanent in the heavens. Therefore, position and motion. Let these act as your guide.”



The fetus stirred, pressing upward against her stomach. Liath stifled a burp. The hall smelled of the fresh wood shavings that had been littered over the floor that morning. Severus never allowed them to sit outside when he lectured because, he said, the natural world distracted her—yet another instance of her degeneration, no doubt. A breeze brushed her cheek, curling in through the front doors, which were thrown open. It was another fine day. In the distance, she heard steady ax chops fading into silence at intervals. Sanglant would be out on the valley slopes, out in the sun and wind and fresh air. Able to pee when he pleased. At moments like this, she envied him.