In the Ruins

“Two days’ ride down the road we found where they scattered into the woodland. They must have been fleeing from—” He broke off, and glanced nervously at Antonia; it was good that he feared her. “We brought the remains back in wagons, Your Majesty, although I admit we found no stray horses living or dead.”

“What manner of remains?” Antonia asked.

“A tumble of bone, hard to sort out because cast here and there along the ground and amid bushes. We found twelve skulls. Two of them were somewhat smaller than the rest. Belt buckles, metal bits, such things. This as well, among the bones.” He offered her a silver brooch molded in the shape of a panther grappling with a hapless antelope.

“Austra’s sigil,” said Antonia.

“He was wearing that when he arrived,” said Adelheid breathlessly. Her cheeks became red as she took the brooch from the captain and weighed it in her palm. “Still, why ride south? Why not ride north?”

“He claimed to have been exiled from Wendar,” said Antonia. “So he could not hope to find refuge there. Yet I, too, wonder what they hoped to find in the south.”

“Twelve skulls,” mused Adelheid, “but thirteen went missing.”

She gave Antonia such a look, but Antonia refused to be drawn. There had been no reason to raise a galla to pursue Heribert.

“I left men behind to continue searching, Your Majesty,” said the captain, “knowing you would wish to account for everyone.”

“What if it was Hugh who survived?” Adelheid asked, still studying the brooch. “How can we know? Bones do not speak.”

“Do you wish Lord Hugh dead? Or alive? Your Majesty.” It was said sharply, but Antonia had tired of this conversation which they had repeated a dozen times since the morning four days ago when they had woken to find Lady Elene murdered, and Hugh, Princess Blessing, and Brother Heribert vanished together with nine soldiers including one of Adelheid’s loyal captains.

“I wish Henry still lived,” said Adelheid. She wiped an eye as though it stung. “He was a good man. None better.”

She sank down on the stone bench and rested her elbow on her knee and her forehead on her palm, the very image of a woman mourning a lost lover. Her gaze strayed over the ancient mosaic, and her eyes glittered, washed with tears.

“So it went in the old story,” she said, indicating the mosaic on which Antonia stood. The man was draped only in a length of cloth that did a poor job of covering his shapely body. The huntress’ hair was as dark as Adelheid’s, braided and looped atop her head in the antique style, common to Dariyans and depicted in mosaics, painted walls and vases, and sculpture. She had a bold nose and black mica eyes and the faintest memory of Prince Sanglant in tawny features.

“I do not know the story,” said Antonia impatiently, “nor am I sure I wish to know it.”

Adelheid raised a startled face to look at her. “Surely you must know it! It is the first tale I was told as a child.”

“The story of the blessed Daisan?”

The Aostans were tainted by their past, as everyone knew. Despite the loving and firm hand of God directing them to all that is right and proper, they persisted in remembering and exalting the indecent tales of ancient days.

“The story of Helen. When she was shipwrecked on the shores of Kartiako, she went hunting but found instead this man, here.” She indicated the male figure who held a staff, and was standing beside an innocent lamb. The image of the lamb had sustained damage about the head, stones chipped away. “She thought he was only a common herdsman, but he was the prince of Kartiako, the son of the regnant. She did not discover his worth until it was too late. Thus we are reminded each time we walk in this garden not to let appearances deceive us. Not to reject too swiftly, lest we regret later.”

“Are you speaking of Lord Hugh’s return to Novomo, Your Majesty? Certainly you rejected him swiftly enough.”

Adelheid looked at her without answering, expression twisted between annoyance and tears, and turned away to break off a twig of clematis. She rolled the leaves against her fingers until they were mashed to pulp.

“I was thinking of Conrad’s daughter,” she said reluctantly. “I regret she was killed in such a cowardly way. She did nothing to deserve it.”

“Your Majesty!” Brother Petrus hurried down the steps with a pair of stewards at his heels. “The envoys have come, Your Majesty! They’ll be here by day’s end.”

Adelheid rose and flicked away the last tear. “We must grant them a splendid reception. Captain Falco, muster all the guardsmen and soldiers. Let them line the streets and array themselves about the palace and the courtyard and the audience hall. Brother Petrus, let my schola assemble, every one. Send Veralia to me. She will supervise my stewards. She must consult with Lady Lavinia. I will go crowned and robed. Afterward, there must be a feast, as fine a meal as can be assembled at short notice.” She recalled her company and belatedly nodded toward Antonia. “What do you wish, Holy Mother?”