Child of Flame

“Heresy.”

Did the hall quiet, or was it only the thick table and the heavy embroidered tablecloth hanging down to brush the floor that muffled the noise of the feasting multitude? Lord Druthmar began laughing at a joke told to him by the lord sitting at his right hand. Lady Waltharia had the prince’s attention all to herself.

“It’s been said that these heretics use evil magic to gain followers. It’s also been said that God aided Ekkehard. Take your pick.”

“I let the church folk quarrel about religion.”

She chuckled and called for more wine. Anna felt it safe to emerge from under the table, wriggling back under the bench. Standing, she wiped off the spoon on her tunic so that it was clean enough to give back to Blessing.

Petitioners came forward to beg Lady Waltharia to allow them to return to their farms now that the Quman menace had fled. A poet begged leave to entertain them with the song that he had composed this very night in honor of their victory. Blessing’s head drooped, her eyes fluttered, she yawned, and tried to climb into her father’s lap to sleep.

“I’ll take her to her bed.” Sanglant rose, cradling Blessing in his arms. A great shout rose from the assembled soldiers, cheering him, and for the first time since returning from battle he smiled, acknowledging their tribute. He raised a hand for silence, and the crowd quieted, waiting for him to speak.

“Drink well this night,” he called. “Tomorrow we hunt Quman.”

With the soldiers’ cheers still echoing, Anna followed him out by dark passages that led them not immediately to the tower but rather to the barracks, a long attic room built over the stables. Pallets of hemp and straw made lumpy beds, but they were a softer mattress than the plank floor. She could smell the horses below and even catch glimpses of them through warped floorboards. It was quiet in the barracks; most of the men still feasted in the great hall. Those who had been wounded in today’s engagement had been carried up here to recover, or die.

With Blessing asleep on his shoulder, the prince visited each of the injured men, traded jokes, checked poultices, or quizzed them closely about what they had seen and done in the battle. A few were too injured even to speak, although one of these could at least grasp the prince’s hand. One man had a gray face, as though the life drained quickly out of him. Anna knew all their names, Chustaffus, Fremen, Liutbald, and even reckless Sibold, who had taken a grim wound to his chest but joked in a lively enough manner when he saw his prince before him. Maybe he wouldn’t die.

There were, of a miracle, only three corpses, hauled back from the battle and now covered with shrouds, but one was faithful Wracwulf, who had been given the honor this day of carrying the prince’s golden banner. Sanglant knelt beside his body for a long time while Blessing snored quietly in his arms. After a while, Captain Fulk appeared to take his place with the dead. Only then did Sanglant take his sleeping daughter to the tower chamber where her bed waited. Anna carried a lamp to light their way. Once inside the room, she hung it from an iron hook set into the wall, then helped the prince wash Blessing’s hands, sticky with grease and honey, strip her down to her under-tunic, and tuck her into the trundle bed. He stood over the child, watching her slide into a deeper sleep as intently as he had studied his wounded soldiers.

“You’re a good girl, Anna,” he said suddenly. With a poker, he stirred the coals in the brazier closest to Blessing. “What do you think? Should I leave her here at Walburg under Waltharia’s protection while I ride east? Yet who can I truly trust? Can I trust anyone?”

“You can trust me, my lord prince.”

He looked at her finally and grinned a crooked grin, a charming grin. She would have jumped out the window right then and there, if he’d asked her to; he had that kind of shining honor to him, so bright that sometimes she thought she could actually see it like a nimbus around him even though she knew it was only her heart that loved him, just as his soldiers loved him.

“So I can,” he agreed, and her heart leaped with joy, knowing she’d won his trust in return.

He had remained still for a long time. Now he began to pace, working the length of the chamber, cutting it into patterns, squares and stars and circles, until she got dizzy watching him. She took off her shoes and lay down beside Blessing on the trundle bed. The feathers were so soft that she thought she might sink forever. She was tired, and she hadn’t slept in such a comfortable bed since she’d left Mistress Suzanne’s. But she cracked an eye open to see what he was doing. He had stopped by the door and stood there listening, hand poised a finger’s breadth away from the latch. The latch creaked, shifted, and turned. He jumped back so that, as the door opened, it hid him.