The Burning Stone (Crown of Stars #3)

He got very thirsty after a while. His face had swollen, and it was hard to see, or maybe that was twilight sinking onto the earth. His heart ached as much as his body. Why had Liath deserted him?

But he must not think of her. He must remember Tallia’s preaching, for she was the only one who had stayed. The others could not see the truth because they were blind, their sight had clouded just as he could barely see because of his injuries. That was the life granted to humankind, to be battered and bruised and left to rot in the stink hole of earth. Only in the sacrifice and redemption could salvation be found.

A light swam into his vision, bobbed there. He heard whispers, a giggle, the shuffling of feet down to the other end of the stables, and painfully he got to his knees just as the stall door was unfastened and flung open.

Was it an angel, gleaming in the soft light of a candle?

“Ivar!” It was only Baldwin, sagging forward to embrace him, but even that embrace hurt and he yelped in pain. “Dear God,” swore Baldwin. He soothed Ivar’s face and hands with a cool cloth. “Come, come, my heart. We haven’t much time. We bought the whore for the night, but I don’t think the sentry will stay away from his duty for too long even for that.” He got an arm around Ivar’s waist and grunted, tugging Ivar to his feet. The movement made Ivar sneeze, and the jolt made him hurt everywhere. His left knee throbbed. His right hand felt broken.

“Come on,” said Baldwin impatiently.

“Where are we going?” He could barely get the words out of his throat. Pain had lodged in his belly and wouldn’t go away.

“Hush.” Baldwin brushed his hair with his lips. “You just don’t understand how much I love you, Ivar.”

Outside, the night wind hit hard and made him shiver convulsively. After a while, stumbling over stones and with Baldwin murmuring an explanation that Ivar couldn’t quite register through the throbbing pain in his head, they came to an alleyway. At once he felt more than saw the presence of others.

“Your Highness,” said Baldwin.

“Ah, you got him. Good!”

Ivar sucked in a breath in surprise and then coughed violently, and that made his ribs hurt so badly he almost vomited. But he dropped to his knees. He had recognized the voice. “Prince Ekkehard!” His voice sounded like the rasp of a file on a dull blade.

“Milo and Udo will smuggle you and Baldwin out of Autun tonight and hide you along the road,” said the young prince briskly. “Tomorrow, when my entourage reaches your hiding place, we’ll smuggle you into one of the wagons and take you with us.”

“Baldwin?” croaked Ivar.

“She’ll do it to me next, beat me like a dog, when she’s forgotten how much she lusts after my face. I hate her!”

“And you love me,” said Prince Ekkehard with sudden passion.

“Of course, my lord prince. I will love you and serve you as you deserve.” Ekkehard laughed happily, recklessly. He was so young, not quite fifteen, and the young men around him were no more than boys, really. But they had opened the gate to freedom.

Ivar did not resist as they bundled him aboard among chests and draped a blanket over him and Baldwin. He hurt too much to resist, and anyway, he didn’t want to stay, not with Judith, not anywhere near Hugh, not by the king, and nowhere where his heart would bleed for Liath. But his heart would always bleed. It was the sacrifice he would make day in and day out, like the sacrifice made by the blessed Daisan, flayed and bleeding at the foot of the empress of all Dariya. Heart’s blood blooming into roses.

“Stop talking,” whispered Baldwin. “You’re delirious. We’ll be safe as soon as we get outside the gates.”

Rough wood planks scraped the side of his face as the wagon lurched along the streets. After a while, through the veil of the blanket, he saw the hazy glare of torchlight. They passed under the gates of Autun. He smelled the tannery first, then the slaughterhouse, sharp with blood and entrails and death. Once they got beyond the environs of town, he smelled fields and dirt and the dust of harvest. It was quite cold, but Baldwin, feeling him shiver, curled around him and breathed softly into the back of his neck, warm, sweet breath that stirred the hairs at his nape.

“Liath,” murmured Ivar.

“They branded her with the mark of outlaw. And excommunicated her. I thought you’d want to know. She was named as a maleficus. That’s very bad, isn’t it?”

Very bad.

“But Hugh—”

“They’re sending him south to pray under the eye of the skopos, to do three years penance. I’m glad. I hope he’s made to kneel for days and days and that his knees bleed.”