PROLOGUE (63 page)

But for this she had paid a price. She had lost her father, murdered at night by sorcery with no mark left on his body. Even now, fell creatures stalked her
—some of them inhuman and one all too human. Seeking sorcerous knowledge from
The Book of Secrets
as well as what secrets he vas sure she held hidden inside her, a holy man of the church had made her his slave—and worse.

After such misery as made Alain wince to hear it, she had been rescued by Eagles. Yet she could not trust even them, certainly not Wolfhere. She couldn't trust anyone except an Eagle named Hanna who was now, somehow, Father Hugh's prisoner. Except Prince Sanglant, whom she had met in Gent
—and he was dead. Except perhaps an Aoi sorcerer seen through fire, and she had no idea where he was. In the end, tormented again by Father Hugh, she had discovered the most terrifying knowledge of all: She held locked inside her a sorcerous power trapped in her bones or in her blood over which she had no control.

"I don't know what to do with it. I don't know what it means or what it is, how much Da locked away and how much he never knew of. I only know he was trying to protect me. What if I go back to the king's progress? Hugh is holding Hanna as a hostage to make me come back. And if I don't go back, then what becomes of her? Ai, Lady, I don't know what to do! I don't know what's going to become of Hanna. But if I go back to the king's progress, Hugh will imprison me again. There's nowhere to run any more. I'm so afraid."

"Then maybe you have to stop running," he said reasonably.

Her laughter was sharp in reply. "And let them find me? Let Hugh trap me?"

"Find yourself." The answer didn't come cleanly; answers rarely did. But he sensed that they groped closer to the question now, and only when they could discover the question could they search out the path that would lead her to the answer she sought.

"Gnosi seaton,"
she murmured. " 'Know thyself.' That's what the prophetesses of the ancient gods said at the temple of Talfi."

His hand.
The memory from his dream engulfed him so abruptly that he had to cover his eyes. " 'Let be your guide that which first appears to your eyes.' It wasn't the funeral at all. It was his own
hand.
That's what she meant."

"What funeral?"

He shook himself free of the windings of forgotten sleep. "My dream of Fifth Son, the one I had this night."

"I only have nightmares," said Liath, her voice so quiet that even the snap of twigs and roll of burning logs drowned it. "I've never had a true vision, except through fire
—and that isn't truly a vision but a gateway."

Before he knew what he was about, he had pulled the leather thong up from around his neck and opened the little cloth pouch. He laid the delicate red rose on his palm for her to see. It gleamed uncannily in the firelight.

She stared. "The Rose of Healing," she whispered. Her voice caught, broke, and she sniffed back tears. She did not attempt to touch it.

The petals burned on his palm. Quickly he replaced it in the pouch. Then, trembling slightly, he took another log and set it on the hot coals. It smoldered, caught, and blazed, flames dancing along its length.

She wiped her nose again with the back of a hand and looked up at him. She reached, hesitated, then laid a hand on his arm. The touch was so light it might not have been there at all, and yet in that simple act Alain understood that, as with the hounds, he had won her trust forever.

HE crept back upstairs when the first stirrings of dawn reached him. She had fallen asleep hours ago. Yet he could not bear to leave and instead had sat watch over her and the fire for the rest of the night.

Upstairs, his father was awake and waiting for him.

"Alain." He nudged Terror out of his way and swung his legs out of bed, rose, stretched, and then turned to examine his son with a frown. "Open the shutters."

Alain obeyed. The sting of cold air chased along his skin like so many gnats.

"Close it again," said Lavastine after examining him. "Have we not spoken of this? You of all people must be more careful than most."

"Careful of what?"

"I hope you are not about to say you went out to the pits to relieve yourself when we have a perfectly good chamber pot here, and a servant to carry it away in the morning?" Alain flushed, having finally realized where his father thought he had been for most of the night. "Where
have
you been?"

"Down in the hall, talking with
—"

"Talking
with?"

"That's all!"

"Perhaps it isn't fair to expect so much from you. It's a rare man who in his youth can resist a fair morsel set before him. Had God wanted us to remain as pure as the angels, They could have molded us differently, I suppose."

"But I didn't
—

"Is it the Eagle? You know they swear oaths. They aren't allowed congress of that nature with any but their own kind, on pain of being thrown out of their Order. But you're a good-looking boy, and fair spoken, and she's a long way from the king. We each of us have our weaknesses."

"But we didn't
—!"

"So it was the Eagle."

"I
talked
to her. You know I've always told the truth, Father! I heard her crying and I went to see
—I comforted her, that's all. Can't you send another messenger in her place?"

"Why shouldn't she return to court? That is her duty."

"She has an enemy at court."

"An
Eagle
has an enemy at court? Why should anyone at court even notice such an Eagle, unless she has brought the king's displeasure down on herself?"

"It isn't that at all. There's a nobleman at court, an abbot, who wants to force her to become his concubine."

"Indeed." Lavastine walked over to the shutters and opened them again, framing himself in the full blast of cold air. He stared outside, examining some sight in the courtyard below. No one could ever doubt Lavastine ruled here. He did not have the height or bulk of King Henry or of his own cousin Geoffrey, but even standing in his bare feet, dressed only in a linen undershift as a robe against the chill, he had authority, that absolute assurance that all he surveyed lay under his command. Some gray colored his sand-pale hair; no longer a young man, neither was he old in the way of men entering their decline. Alain wished
he
could feel so sure of himself, could in the simple act of opening a shutter proclaim his fitness to stand in his ordained place in the world. Aunt Bel had that assurance; so had his foster father, Henri. "Perhaps it's even understandable, if the nobleman is insistent enough. If she becomes his concubine, she'll lose her position as an Eagle. Then, should he tire of her, she would have no recourse except to return to her kin
—if they would take her in."

"She has no kin."

"Then it is doubly wise of her to resist such an arrangement. I admire her pragmatism. She is better off in the Eagles." He shut and latched one shutter, leaving a draft of cold air to spill into the room while he called over Terror, Ardent, Fear, and Bliss and leashed them to a ring set into the wall. "But I remain puzzled. Why did she confide in
you?"

Alain hesitated. For an instant, he wanted to say, "Because she's a wild creature, like the hounds, and she trusts me," but the notion was so outrageous that he knew he could speak no such thing aloud. "I don't know."

Lavastine had marked the hesitation. "If you have conceived some fondness for the Eagle . . . you understand why nothing must happen, Alain. You of all people must be more careful
—"

As he hadn't been when the servingwoman at Lady Aldegund's manor had accosted him. Only the savagery of the hounds had saved him from giving in to base desire! Hadn't he learned anything from that? "I wouldn't
—if I'm to marry Lady Tallia—" But this was too much. He sat down heavily on the bench and buried his face in Sorrow's flank. The thick smell of dog drove all impure thoughts out of his mind—or most of them, anyway, though he could not banish the image of Tallia. And why should such thoughts be impure? Wasn't it true that desire came from the Lady and Lord, that They had granted it to humankind so that woman and man could create children between them?

"What wouldn't you do since you're to marry Tallia?" asked Lavastine, sounding more curious than anything.

"She's so holy, so pure. It wouldn't be right if I didn't come to her as...pure as she will come to me."

"A Godly sentiment, Alain, and I am proud of you for it. It is just as well that the Eagle leaves today. If you have conceived a
fondness
for her, it might prove hard to keep your pledge to your future bride."

It took Alain a moment to sort through this. Then he jerked his head up. The untied hounds swarmed over to him, licking his hands. "Go away!" he said, irritated at their attention. "But I wouldn't
—I wouldn't think of—" He stammered to a halt. With the window open, he could see his father's expression clearly and read what it meant: Not that
Alain
was tempted by the young Eagle, but that
Lavastine
was.

Was
this
how Alain had been conceived? By a young man who, seeing a young woman, determined to have her in his bed no matter what
she
wanted? "Isn't it written down by the church mothers that
we
must all come cleanly to the marriage bed?" he demanded, horrified to see Lavastine in this unflattering light. No word of scandal had ever touched Henri the Merchant.

Lavastine bowed his head and looked away. "So I am justly reminded of my own faults."

"I beg your pardon, Father." How had he come to blurt out such an appalling statement
—even if it was true?

But Lavastine only smiled wryly and crossed the chamber to touch Alain's hair as a praying man might touch a reliquary. "Never beg pardon for telling what is only the truth. Be assured I have learned my lesson in such matters. I have learned to confine myself to whores and married women, such as may be approached discreetly."

"Father! But the church mothers enjoin us to
—

The count laughed sharply and called Steadfast over to him. She had become more restless of late; most likely she was going into heat. Already the males had begun to grow more irritable than usual. "I am not that strong, son. We must all learn the measure of our strength. Otherwise we exhaust ourselves striving for that which we can never gain." He tied Steadfast up away from the others and frowned at her, then whistled for Sorrow and Rage. Good Cheer was, as usual, hiding under the bed. "Let the servants in, Alain," he added curtly, motioning toward the door.

"But, Father, what about the Eagle?"

Lavastine was down on his knees now. Grabbing Good Cheer by the forelegs, he dragged her bodily out from her hiding place while she whined and attempted to lick him into leniency. He grunted, heaved her up, and wrestled her over to the wall while she leaned heavily against him, anything to impede his progress. "Cursed stubborn hound." He patted her affectionately on the shoulder. Then he turned round.

"Well, then, boy, we shall keep the Eagle here with us, which is the only practical choice, is it not? She knows the lay of the land by Gent. She has walked in the city and remembers its streets and walls. She traversed this hidden tunnel. What use to us is her knowledge of Gent if she is with King Henry when we attack?" He lifted a hand, forefinger raised as the deacon did when she meant to scold her congregation. "But there will be no
—"

"I never even thought of it!"

Lavastine smiled thinly. "Perhaps you did not. Not yet, at any rate."

"Then you must make the same promise!" Alain retorted, still waiting at the door.

Steadfast barked, and all at once all the hounds began yipping and barking. "Hush! Stop that noise, you miserable creatures!" snapped the count, but he was not truly angry with them. He could not be. Just as, Alain saw suddenly, he was not angry at what Alain had said. Having been granted the heir he so long desired and despaired of ever having, he could not bring himself to chastise him. Nor, perhaps, did he even want to, though the demand had been impertinent.

"Very well. She will stay with us...untouched. We march to Gent after the Feast of St. Sormas. Once we have retaken the city, we will collect Tallia and return home."

Collect Tallia.
It made her sound like a chest of gold or a jeweled cup, a valuable treasure held by the king to be given out as a prize. Wasn't that what she was, now that her parents had been disgraced and shorn of their position? But their disgrace did not strip from her the inheritance she received through her mother nor the royal bloodlines that tied her to both the ruling house of Wendar and the princely house that had once ruled Varre.