The Burning Stone

Its hoot echoed like a warning, “Who? Who?” and then it launched itself up from the rock and glided away.



“Eagle! I did not expect you to be gone for so long.” Princes Sapientia appeared with a handful of servingwomen, having just come from the privies.



“Your Highness!” Hanna’s expression betrayed her surprise no less than did her voice.



“Has she bewitched you, too?” demanded Sapientia as Hanna knelt before her. Liath hesitated, then felt it prudent to kneel in her turn. “Made proud by my brother’s attention!”



“I beg your pardon, Your Highness, for being so long away from you,” replied Hanna in a calm voice. “We knew each other before we became Eagles. We are almost like kin—”



“But you are not kin.”



“No—”



“You are a good, honest freewoman, Hanna. What she is no one here yet knows.”. She beckoned to a pair of guards who had remained respectfully behind. “Bring her.”



“I must return—!” Liath began.



“You must come with me.” Sapientia’s eyes gleamed with triumph. “You will not have your way so easily with the rest of us, Eagle!”



“Sanglant.” But the wind blew her voice out into the gulf of air beyond the ramparts, where the bluff tumbled down and down to the land below. To fight would only cause more of a scene, as well as make her life immeasurably harder, so she went, and then was sorry she had done so when Sapientia returned directly to the hall. It was swarming with as many of the court who could crowd in, and the rest of their retainers and servants sat at trestle tables outside. With Duke Conrad and Margrave Judith and various local ladies who had ridden in to offer gifts before the king and share in his generosity in return, the king’s progress had blossomed into a field crowded with life, hundreds of folk crammed together all eager to enjoy the night no matter what form their entertainment took. And when Sapientia led her into the great hall, so stuffed with people that it seemed to bulge at the seams, she would have sworn that every gaze turned to scrutinize her. Nausea swept her, washed down by the brush of Hanna’s arm or her elbow, her last—and briefest—reassurance.



They had all been drinking, of course; it was a feast, and wine flowed freely. But the king rose, seeing her, and she knew at once—because she had known the signs intimately in Da’s face—that he had been drinking hard to drown anger in his heart.



But he was still the king in dignity and voice.



“Has my son’s mistress come to pay her respects?” he asked, gesturing toward her to make sure any soul in court who had not yet noticed her would notice her now.



“Or has she simply tired of her new conquest?” drawled Margrave Judith, “and thrown him aside as she did my son once she had polluted him with her magics?” Her glare was as frightening as that of a guivre, turning Liath to stone. Hugh did not appear to her among the sea of faces, all of them staring, but she was sure he was behind this humiliation.



“That is not for us to judge, but rather a matter for the church.” Yes, Henry was drunk, but coldly angry beneath and able to control himself in his cups far better than Da had ever been able to. But Da had been nothing but a disgraced frater. Henry was king. “Seat her beside me,” he continued with that iron gaze, edged like a sword. “Let the royal mistress be given honor as she deserves, who graces my son’s bed.” He knew what he was doing. “But not dressed like that! Not dressed like a common Eagle! Has my son not gifted you with clothing fit for your rank?”



He did not mean her to reply; he only meant to remind her of his power, as if she had ever forgotten it.



Theophanu rose from her seat to the left of her father. A servingwoman hurried forward, and the princess whispered in her ear before turning back to the king. “Your Majesty, I have reason to be beholden to this woman. Let me clothe her in a fitting manner.”



The blow came from an unexpected source. Henry hesitated, but that hesitation gave Theophanu time to gesture peremptorily. Liath slipped out from the circle of Sapientia’s retainers and into the cool but not unfriendly clime of Theophanu’s followers.



They led her away to a room tucked under the eaves in the hall, and here the first servingwoman arrived out of breath with her arms draped with cloth. She shook out the bundle to display a fine linen undertunic and an indigo silk overdress embroidered with tiny gold eight-pointed stars. The cloth rippled like a glimpse of the night sky, pure and mysterious.



“I’ve never worn anything so fine!” Liath whispered in awe, but they dressed her ruthlessly, measured her frame—as tall as the princess but more slender—and belted the overdress with a simple chain of gold links. They announced themselves satisfied with the condition of her hair but wove a golden net of delicate knotwork studded with pearls around the crown of her head as ornament.