Prince of Dogs (Crown of Stars #2)

Prince of Dogs (Crown of Stars #2) Page 124

The temptation washed over Liath to correct Princess Sapientia, for if partly correct her account was so jumbled as to be absurd: The Arethousans did indeed only allow a male to be titled “Emperor,” but it was the infidel Jinna khsh?yathiya who had his mother poison all those relatives who might contest his claim to the throne.

“Is that what you mean to do to Theophanu?” asked Brigida lightly.

The chill hit Liath’s throat and spine at the same instant, and her hands tightened on her belt. She could not help but look toward the door, which stood half open; smoke leaked in from torches stuck in sconces in the corridor beyond. He came with his attendants. The torchlight made a halo around him, gilding his fine golden hair. He wore long hose, an azure tunic embroidered with sunbursts, and a cloak thrown back over one shoulder, clasped by a handsome gold-and-jeweled brooch in the shape of a panther. He looked like a noble lord just in from the hunt; only by his shaven chin could one tell he was a churchman.

Both noblewomen and all the other attendants in the chamber looked up at the same instant. Sapientia glowed. Brigida simpered.

“I beg your pardon,” said Hugh smoothly. “I did not mean to interrupt you.” Sapientia gestured at once and a chair was unfolded for him so he could sit beside her. Servants brought linen and water for him to refresh himself. He did not look at Liath. He didn’t need to.

“We were speaking of nothing important,” said Sapientia too quickly.

“No, indeed, Father Hugh,” said Lady Brigida. “I heard that next we go to my uncle Duke Burchard’s palace in Augensburg, and then to the royal palace at Echstatt. There’s lots of good hunting.”

“And a host of soldiers,” added Sapientia, who always grew excited speaking of battle, “to be gathered for the attack on Gent.”

“I am glad to hear it,” said Hugh.

In this way they readied themselves for bed. In this guest room there were four actual beds and four additional camp beds. In every room at this time, Liath knew, an elaborate dance went on, just as it did when it came time to seat for dinner, testing rank against rank, establishing the order for who would sleep where and next to what person, so that all might know who was most privileged and who less so. Sapientia took the bed that held pride of place, centered in the room, and Hugh the one next to her. His proximity to her caused no comment—not anymore. Brigida slept on the other side of Sapientia, lesser ladies by degrees farther away on the other beds and the favored and most noble of the clerics on the remaining camp beds. Liath retreated to the door, hoping for the chance to escape out to sleep in the stables or at least, as she had the last two nights, in the corridor.

“It is a bitter chill night,” said Hugh, “and some few of my attendants have gone out to help warm the stables. All of your people may sleep herein with us, Your Highness, so that none must suffer the cold.”

“Of course!” said Sapientia, always wishing to appear magnanimous, and disposition was made.

“Here, Eagle,” he continued casually, “there is a place here.” Hugh indicated an open space on the floor beside his bed.

She dared not object. She wrapped herself tightly in her cloak and lay down. Soon the torches were extinguished and in blackness she lay, catching now and again the wink of a gold buckle where belts or ornaments had been hung from the bed frames to wait until morning. She could not sleep, not even after the restless settling down of the twelve or fourteen people in the room had ceased and most every breath gentled into soft snoring or the long cadences of sleep. His presence and the faint murmur of his voice in a prayerlike monotone wore on her as painfully as if she lay on a thousand prickling needles. Her chest felt tight, but she could not resist peeking up at him. The shadow that was his form sat upright in bed, curved over his hands—and threads gleamed between his fingers. He seemed to be weaving.

As if he sensed her scrutiny, he moved, hiding his hands. “Your Highness,” he whispered. “You are not yet asleep.”

Sapientia yawned. “There are so many things that trouble my mind, my love. Whom shall I marry? Why can it not be you?”

“You know that is impossible, though it is my fondest wish. Were I not illegitimate—”

“Not in my heart!”

“Hush. Do not wake the others.”

“What do I care if they hear me? They know my heart as well as you do, and so shall all the court, even my husband, whatever poor sorry fool he may be. I love you more than anyone—”

“Your Highness.” He broke in gently. “It is your fate as Heir to marry, and mine as bastard and churchman to remain unwed. What God has granted us, we must endure gladly. You shall find affection and good will toward your husband in time—”