“The Eagle?”
Waltharia released her hand and stood. “The one who witnessed my father’s murder.”
She left as precipitously as she had come. In her wake, a woman entered bearing a lantern whose commonplace flame illuminated her familiar face and wry smile.
“Hathui! Were you outside all this time?”
“I brought the margrave here.”
“Ah. It would make sense that you must speak with the margrave about her father, and what you saw.”
“Yes, for my own part. For yours, however, she is only the first.”
“The first?”
Hathui hung the lamp from one of the horizontal poles that supported the canvas ceiling. Then she turned, still smiling, and shook her head as she might at a child who refuses to go to bed when she’s told. “Who will approach you, to gain your favor and your notice.”
“There are others?”
“Oh, yes,” said Hathui wickedly. “But I’ve put off the rest until tomorrow.”
Liath laughed helplessly, angrily, and wiped tears from her eyes. “Books are easier to understand.”
“For some.”
“Ai, God, Hathui. What am I to do?”
“Learn quickly.”
Hathui’s scarlet-trimmed Eagle’s cloak was certainly the worse for so much wear, and it had been mended in a dozen spots. Her brass Eagle’s badge glowed in the lamplight.
“It was easier riding as an Eagle,” said Liath. “I remember when I first saw you and Manfred. And Wolfhere.”
“I remember,” said Hathui in a low voice, frowning.
“Do you think Wolfhere is dead?”
“No.”
“Do you know where he is?”
“No.”
“I didn’t see him through the crown. He wasn’t one of those weaving the spell. But Hugh was. It’s strange, now that I reflect on it. It was only a touch, at the end, but he was thinking of you.”
“Hugh of Austra was thinking of me?” Hathui’s voice shook, and real fear creased her lips and eyes.
That expression made Liath recall that day back in Heart’s Rest when Wolfhere had rescued her from Hugh. She had been so weak then, not in body so much as in spirit. As skittish as a calf, Hanna had once said. Hathui hadn’t seemed frightened then. In fact, she had seemed as clever and strong as any woman can be who knows herself and her power and her place in the world and is satisfied with all of these things.
“The one who thought of you was with Hugh. Hugh was using him to absorb the power of the backlash that comes at the tail of such a powerful spell. Hugh must have known that the people who wove the spell would die, so he sacrificed this other man in his place.”
“Who are you speaking about? I already know Hugh is a murderer twice over.”
“Three times, then. This other man thought—that he would never see you again unless you met on the other side.”
“The other side?”
“I don’t know where that is.”
“I know,” Hathui whispered hoarsely. Even in lamplight, with shadows thrown helter-skelter by the sway of the lamp, it was easy to see how the blood had drained from her face. “My grandmother was an unrepentant heathen. Even after she professed to enter the Circle of Unity she still set out offerings for the Old Ones. You said Hugh is a murderer three times. What did you mean?”
“It was no one I had ever met, but I felt a kinship with him. He was seeking the same thing I seek. The heart of the universe. His name …” So much had happened so quickly; the spell had overwhelmed her. She had grasped his name, but she could not remember it.
“It must have been Zacharias!” murmured Hathui, weeping. “Is he dead, then? Truly dead?”
“Yes. I felt him die, through the spell. Who is he?”
Hathui sank to the carpet as she sobbed. Liath knelt beside her, resting a hand on her shoulder, but she was helpless to comfort her.
“M-my brother. Ai, God. How? How?”
“Hugh of Austra was part of Anne’s weaving.”
“You destroyed the spell by killing Holy Mother Anne.”
“No. I killed Anne, it’s true. I did my part. But I had allies, whose names I do not know. It was the plan made by the ancient ones. I was only the final weapon they unleashed. Zacharias did his part as well. How they came in contact with him I do not know, but in the end he cast himself into the crown that Hugh was weaving. Northeast of here, somewhere out beyond the marchlands. Because of what he did, the entire northern span of the weaving was knotted and tangled and thereby ruined.”