The interview was over. She signed with her hand the gesture for departure, and he knew there was no point in protesting. But he could not leave one question unasked, even if he was punished for asking it.
“What will happen to Liath? Because of what I did, I mean.”
She favored him with a sudden smile, and its power—its approval—struck him as if he had been granted a glimpse of the Chamber of Light in all its brilliance through a crack in the gates. “That is the first time in this interview you have spoken of her need and not your own. She serves as a King’s Eagle, and I have heard no complaint of her service there. It will continue. Now.” He bowed his head over clasped hands, was allowed to kiss her opal ring, and backed out of the room, stumbling down backward over the doorstep.
Master Pursed-Lips waited outside, as glowering as any looming storm cloud. Mercifully, he withheld the willow switch.
“You may be certain,” said the schoolmaster in his disagreeable voice, “that you and your fellows, whose connivance in this matter has been duly noted, will be confined in the novitiary for the remainder of the king’s visit, and closely guarded thereafter. Take no notion in your mind to escape and run after them. We have dealt with these kinds of things before.”
Spoken ominously, the schoolmaster’s threats proved true. The king’s progress left the next day and although the other novices got to leave the barracks and line the road to lend pomp and dignity to the departure of king and court, Ivar, Baldwin, Ermanrich, and Sigfrid were left behind. They waited out the dreary interlude in the courtyard, taking turns with their knives at the fence.
”She’s really in love with you?” demanded Baldwin.
“Why should that surprise you? Am I that ugly?” Ivar wanted to slug his friend.
Baldwin looked him over consideringly, then shrugged. “No.”
“But if she’s an Eagle,” pointed out Ermanrich, “then she can’t be of noble birth. Why would your father ever allow you to marry a common-born woman?”
“But her father was in the church, and educated,” Ivar protested. “He must have come out of a noble lineage!” Thinking about it only made it worse, but he couldn’t help thinking. Mother Scholastica had promised to send a message to his father. He would have to be patient—and Liath had promised to wait.