“Stay, now.” Breschius steadied her. “Why, then, would they take the body?”
“To prove they killed her,” said Sorgatani. “Such is the custom among my people. A trophy. A prize.”
How had it come to this, that she had found Liath only to lose her?
“This is not news that I look forward to bringing to Prince Sanglant,” Breschius added.
She shook her head and rose. After all, she would go on. It’s what she had done before. It’s what Eagles must do, even if their hearts were broken. “You don’t have to, because I will do so, as is my duty as the King’s Eagle.”
5
THE king’s progress arrived in Quedlinhame late of an afternoon to find an Eagle waiting in the audience hall of the old ducal palace, dozing by a warm hearth. She had been wounded in the left shoulder, and although she wore clean, mended clothing and a linen bandage over the wound, it was clear she’d been lucky to survive an arduous road.
“What news?” he asked her, before tasting the drink offered him, before taking off his armor. His courtiers crowded into the hall, a smoke-stained structure about half the length and breadth of any of the newer palaces built by either of the Arnulfs. It dated from a time when the lords of Quedlinhame had more modest ambitions. “When did you arrive?”
“Four days ago, Your Majesty,” she answered, overawed by him. If she wondered what had happened to King Henry, she knew better than to ask him. He had a vague memory that he had seen her years ago, younger, less weathered, but he did not clearly recall her name or her origin. Elsa, maybe, something common. “Ill news, I fear. I barely escaped with my life, as you can see. Kassel is fallen to treachery.”
“Kassel!” Liutgard grasped Theophanu’s arm to steady herself. “What news?”
“An unexpected attack by Lady Sabella’s troops, out of Arconia. They arrived asking for guest rights. Lady Ermengard offered them respite for the night. There was talk that the company had been attacked. They said creatures lurking along the forest road assaulted them with poisoned arrows. Maybe that happened, or maybe it was a lie. At night, they rose up and killed most of the palace guard and took your daughter prisoner. The steward—that is, not her, but her son Landrik—got me out, with a horse, but he was shot down defending me so I could escape. I was wounded.” She touched her bandaged shoulder, but it was obvious that the injury pained her far less than did the memory. “I knew some little-used paths, so I evaded them who pursued me. My lady, your daughter was alive last I saw her.”
Having spoken, she wept.
“Let her sit down,” said Sanglant. “What is your name, Eagle? You’ve done well.”
“Elsa, Your Majesty,” she said through tears. “Of Kassel, years past, before I became an Eagle.” Ambrose led her to a bench.
Liutgard let go of Theophanu and gripped Sanglant’s elbow so hard he winced. “This I paid for following your father to Aosta on his fool’s errand,” she said, her voice hoarse and her expression grim. “One daughter lost, and the other in the hands of a woman who has proclaimed herself my enemy through her actions!”
“Sit down, Liutgard,” said Theophanu in her calm voice.
She allowed Theophanu to lead her to a bench, where she sat staring accusingly at Sanglant.
He nodded, acknowledging her anger. “We ride on in the morning, Cousin. I will not fail you.”
By the door, Mother Scholastica watched them. She looked stern and annoyed and superior—and not one whit surprised.
He woke at dawn out of a restless sleep filled with the noise of horses being saddled and men making ready to ride. The bed he lay in had seen a hundred years of restless sleepers, no doubt. Boxed in and placed under the eaves at the midpoint of the hall, it had recently been furnished with a new featherbed and feather quilt, which kept him as warm as anything could, although he never really felt warm unless Liath lay beside him.
He sat up and drew one curtain aside to see that someone had already thrown the doors open. Cold air blasted in as folk rose from their bedrolls and prepared to travel. Many still slept. All those up and moving wore Fesse’s sigil.
Hathui walked in from outside. Seeing him awake, she hurried over. She smelled of the stables.
“Your Majesty.”
“What news?” he asked her. “Any news of Liath?”
“None, Your Majesty. You can’t expect to hear from her for many days.”
He shut his eyes. He had abandoned his own daughter, as God witnessed. He had himself made, after all, choices no different than those Liath had made years ago, the same choices he had been so angry at her for making. So be it. At this stage of the journey, there was no going back.