“Even the stone burned,” whispered Sanglant hoarsely. The sight of the mountains washed in flame had stamped itself into his mind, so that even with his eyes shut he gained no respite. Splendid and terrible, the creatures had destroyed Verna without seeming even to notice that it was there.
“Ai, God.” Wolfhere’s sigh cut the silence. He simply collapsed like a puppet whose strings have gone lax, folding down to sit cross-legged on the dirt with the fire casting shadow and light over his lined face and pale hair.
Sanglant waited a long time, but Wolfhere still did not speak. After a bit, the prince called to Matto and had the boy fill the empty cup with ale. Wolfhere took the cup gratefully and drained it before devouring a second wedge of bread and a corner of cheese. After Matto retreated, Heribert finally sat down. His movement released the words that Wolfhere had clearly been holding back.
“All those years, Anne and I, raised together in the service of a common goal. I was taken from my parents as a child of six to serve her. I thought I knew her better than any other could, even Sister Clothilde, who was never privy to all of Anne’s youthful dreams and wishes, not like I was. Anne was always more pure and exalted than the rest of us. I never thought she would league herself with a maleficus like Antonia, who raised galla out of the stones with the blood of innocents, fed living men to a guivre, and did not scruple to sacrifice her own loyal clerics to further her selfish aims.” Heribert winced at these words but said nothing, and Wolfhere—who wasn’t looking at him—went on. “We were not raised to use such means and to league ourselves with the minions of the Enemy! How can Anne have taken such a person into her confidence, and given her even greater powers?”
“Such are the chains binding those who rule,” retorted Sanglant. “The great princes use whatever sword comes to hand. Isn’t this merely quibbling? If your plan succeeds, then all of the Aoi will die anyway. What matters it what tools you use, when killing is your goal?”
“It matters that the cause be just. It matters that our enemies are wicked. It matters that our efforts be honorable and that our hearts do not turn away from holiness.”
“Drowning an infant is honorable and holy? You’ve never denied that you tried to murder me when I was just a suckling baby.”
“I did what I thought was right at the time.”
Sanglant laughed angrily. “It gladdens my heart to hear you say so! Why, then, do you suppose that I will let you dwell even one night near my daughter, whom you might feel called upon to attempt to murder in her turn! Anne would have let her starve to death. How are you any better than that? You are welcome to leave, and return to Anne who, I am sure, will be glad enough to see you.”
The moonlight washed Wolfhere’s face to a striking pallor. “It was easy enough to drown an infant before I knew what it was to love one. You must believe me, my lord prince. I cared for Liath as much as I was allowed to, when she was a child. But Anne did not think it right that we love her, that we weaken ourselves or her in such a manner. Only Bernard did not heed her. Bernard never heeded her.” He turned his head sharply to one side as though he had just been slapped. “I gave Anne everything, my life, my loyalty. I never married or sired children. I never saw my family again. What did faithless Bernard care for all that? He stole everything I loved.”
Examining Wolfhere’s face, Sanglant simply could not tell whether he was acting, like a poet declaiming a role, or sincere. Did the outer seeming match the inner heart?
“This is a touching confession, but I am neither cleric nor frater to grant you absolution.” Sanglant let the irony linger in his voice as Wolfhere regarded him, calmer now that the flood of words had abated but still agitated. “Many things have been said of you, but I have never heard it said that you are gullible, or naive.”
“Nay, I was most gullible of all. It troubled me that Anne made no effort to love the child, but I refused to let myself think on what it might mean about her heart. But now I fear my doubts were justified. Anne is not the person I thought she was.”
The prince lifted both hands in disgust, crying surrender as he began to laugh. “I am defenseless against these thrusts. Either you are the most shameless liar I’ve ever encountered or you have come to your senses at last and can see that Anne cannot be trusted. What she plans is wrong. She is the wicked one. How can you or I know what the Lost Ones intend? Do they want peace, or war? Have they plotted long years to get their revenge, or were they the victims of human sorcery long ago, as my mother claimed? Anne intends some spell to defeat them. Tell me what she means to do.”
