Child of Flame - Page 112/400

Bayan nodded.

“But how will I free him from my aunt’s tower? She will excommunicate me for aiding him.”

Brother Breschius stepped forward. “You are the heir, Your Highness. You have already proved your fitness to rule. Think of this as a test of your regnancy. Biscop Alberada would not contest King Henry, were he to tell her that Prince Ekkehard must be sent to the Villam fortress for safekeeping, with or without a large escort, for surely in such times of trouble we cannot afford to lose a large number of men to guard duty. Nor should she contest you, who are destined to rule after your father, may God will that he be blessed with a long life.”

Sapientia twisted the fine embroidered border of her tunic in her hands, crushing roundels between her fingers. The gesture made her look a little like a goose girl about to scold her lover. Yet even a humble goose girl might develop the habit of command.

For an instant, Hanna remembered what Hathui used to say: God make the sun rise on noblewoman and commoner alike, for all folk are equal before God. What truly separated Hanna from Sapientia?

Sapientia lowered her hands. She had a queen’s bearing; in that moment, in the gloomy church with the silent saints staring down at them from on high, one could see the luck of the regnant in her face. “I will speak to my aunt. Ekkehard will ride out at dawn, to escort the Eagle until it is safe for her to ride on alone.”

Hanna laughed softly to herself. At herself. God had long since separated the lowborn from the high, no matter what Hathui said. A few words exchanged, and Hanna’s fate was sealed.

“Eagle.” Bayan rose. His gaze on her was steady, a little admiring still, but quite final, as though he knew he had said farewell to her for the last time. “By no means turn south until you have come west of the Oder River. Even then, be cautious. The Quman range far.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“Ekkehard is young and foolish, snow woman,” he added. “Take care of him.”

“Come, we should go,” said Sapientia sharply. Bayan went obediently. He did not even glance back. His husky, authoritative figure faded into the gloom alongside that of the princess. Hanna heard them continue talking although she could not make out their words.

Breschius lingered. He took her hand and drew her forward to stand before the altar. “Trust in God, friend Hanna.” He made the sign of a blessing over her.

“I thank you, Brother. In truth, I feel afraid.”

He walked with her to the entryway, still holding her hand. His grasp felt comfortable, like a lifeline. Once they stood on the porch, beyond the most holy precincts, he bent his head to speak softly into her ear. “Never forget that a Kerayit princess has marked you as her luck.”

The silence, and the secrecy, and the strange tone in his voice, like doom, made her shudder. Death had brushed her with its cold, callous hand.

They left in the cold light of dawn, Hanna, Prince Ekkehard, his six noble companions, and the twenty other heretics, excommunicates all. Sixteen of them marched, since Bayan did not care to lose so many horses.

Frost made the ground icy, a thin crust that hooves and boots crushed easily. As they crossed the western bridge, Hanna looked back to see Lord Dietrich’s head stuck on a pike above the gate. After that, she could not bring herself to look back again. Ivar was probably dead anyway. Looking back would not bring him to life. She kept her gaze fixed on Ekkehard’s banner, fluttering weakly in a lazy wind. The rain that had followed them for so long had passed. They rode out in cold, hard weather with the sun glaring down and not a feather’s weight of warmth in it.

Hanna had not even been given leave to say farewell to her friends among the Lions. Ekkehard’s escape had an unsavory air about it, tainted by Lord Dietrich’s ghastly death and the threat of excommunication.

They saw no sign of Quman scouts.

It seemed an inauspicious way to ride out.

VIII

UNKNOWN
COUNTRY

1

ALAIN pushed through the crowd now arguing and lamenting in the council house. Once outside, he whistled the hounds to him and ran to the small house, marked by various charms, chimes, and wreaths, that belonged to Adica. She never went in, or out, without making certain gestures at the threshold; and certainly he had not seen a single person from the village enter this hut. But if their gods, or their council, meant to strike him down, they could do it later.

Inside, he stowed the leather bundle with her precious items inside a wooden chest for safekeeping. He grabbed one of her sleeping furs and hurried outside, where the hounds waited.

Sorrow and Rage weren’t alone. Half the village had followed him, although they hadn’t come inside; the other half waited uneasily outside the council house.