“Blessing!” Changing, made hoarser by pain or sorrow, that disembodied voice spoke again. “Sanglant!”
Sanglant leaped forward. “Liath!” he cried.
Alia grabbed him by the elbow and jerked him back, hard. Her strength was amazing: Sanglant, who stood a good head and a half taller than her, actually staggered backward.
Blessing twisted out of Heribert’s arms. Henry cried out a warning as she fell, and Sanglant flung himself toward the baby, but he was too far away to catch her.
But some thing was already under her.
Blessing sank into folds of air that took on a womanlike form, a female with a sensuous mouth, sharp cheekbones, a regal nose, a broad and intelligent forehead, and a thick fall of hair. She was not a human woman but a woman formed out of air, as fluid as water, made of no earthly substance. A veil of mist concealed her womanly parts, but she was otherwise unclothed, and she had the ample breasts of a nursing woman. In her arms, Blessing calmed immediately, and she turned her head to nurse at that unworldly breast.
Henry’s face whitened in shock as he rose. “What obscenity is this? What manner of creature nurses the child?”
Sanglant stationed himself protectively in front of the creature. “Liath was too ill to nurse her after the birth. Blessing wouldn’t even take goat’s milk. She would have died if it had not been for Jerna.”
“What is it?” murmured Theophanu. Her ladies, clustered behind her, looked frightened and disgusted, but Theophanu merely regarded the scene with narrowed eyes and a fierce frown.
Everyone backed away except Heribert. Adelheid’s hands twitched, and she leaned forward, quite in contrast to Theophanu’s disapproving reserve, to stare at the nursing aetherical with lips parted. Hathui remained stoically behind Henry’s chair.
“It is a daimone, I believe,” said Rosvita. Fortunatus, at her back, whistled under his breath. He had not deserted her. “One of the elementals who exists in the aether, in the upper spheres.”
“Do such creatures have souls?” asked Adelheid.
“The ancient writers believed they did not,” murmured Rosvita reflexively. A collective gasp burst from the people pressed back against the far walls. No one spoke. The baby suckled noisily as everyone stared. Ai, Lady! What manner of nourishment did it imbibe from a soulless daimone?
“It is true, then.” The mask of stone crashed down to conceal Henry’s true feelings. “You have been bewitched, Sanglant, as Judith and her son said. You are not master of your own thoughts or actions. Lavastine was laid under a spell by Biscop Antonia. Now you are a pawn in the hands of the sorcerer who stole you from me. Where is Liathano? What does she want?”
“I pray you, Your Majesty,” cried Rosvita, stepping forward. She knew where such accusations would lead. “Let us make no judgment in haste! Let a council be convened, so that those best educated in these matters can consider the situation with cool heads and wise hearts.”
“As they did in Autun?” replied Sanglant with a bitter grimace. He eased Blessing out of the grip of the daimone. The baby protested vigorously, got hold of one of his fingers, and proceeded to suck on it while she stared up at his face. The daimone uncurled herself; Rosvita knew no other way to explain it—the creature simply uncurled into the air and vanished from sight. Just like that.
With a deep breath to steady himself, Henry took a step back and sat. “I will call a council when we reach Darre. Let the skopos herself preside over this matter.”
“You expect me to bide quietly at your side?” demanded Sanglant.
“Once you would have done what I asked, Son.”
“But I am not what I was. You no longer understand what I have become. Nor do you trust me. I have never abandoned this kingdom, nor will I now. I know what needs to be done, and if you will not support me, then I will find those who will act before it is too late.”
“Is this rebellion, Sanglant?”
“I pray you,” began Rosvita, stepping forward to place herself between the two men, because she could see the cataclysm coming, the irresistible force dashing itself against the immovable object.
“Nay, Sister,” said Henry, “do not come between us.” She had no choice but to fall silent. She saw in the king certain signs of helplessness before the son he had loved above all his other children, the way his lips quirked unbidden, the tightness of his left hand on the throne’s armrest, his right foot tapping on the ground in a rapid staccato. “Let him answer the question.”
Sanglant had never been a man to let words get in the way of actions. “Heribert!” He gathered his daughter more tightly against him and strode to the door with Heribert following obediently at his heels. At the door, he turned to regard his sister. “Theo?”
