She drew back, suddenly afraid to see anything, and stepped out from the shadow of the little roof into the blast of the noonday sun.
“I will never love any man but him.” Was it that pledge which had bound her four days ago in the circle of stones where she’d crossed through an unseen gateway and ridden into unknown lands? Had she really been foolish enough to turn away from the learning offered to her by the old sorcerer?
She shaded her eyes from the sun and sat again on the bench. It had heavy feet fashioned in the likeness of a lion’s paws, carved of a reddish-tinged marble. That same marble had been used for the pillars lining the inner court.
Because the king was not now in residence at Weraushausen, a mere Eagle like herself could sit in the court usually reserved for the king rather than stand attendance upon him. It was so quiet that she could believe for this while in the peace that God are said to grant to the tranquil soul—not that such peace was ever likely to be granted to her.
A sudden scream tore the silence, followed by laughter and the pounding of running feet.
“Nay, children. Walk with dignity. Slow down!”
The children of the king’s schola had arrived to take their midday exercise, some more sedately than others. Liath watched as they tumbled out into the sunlight. She envied these children their freedom to study, their knowledge of their kin, and their future position in the king’s court. One boy climbed a plinth and swung, dangling, from the legs of the old statue set there, an ancient Dariyan general.
“Lord Adelfred! Come down off there. I beg you!”
“There’s the Eagle,” said the boy, jumping down. “Why couldn’t we hear her report about the battle at Gent?”
Next to the statue stood Ekkehard, the king’s youngest child. He resembled his father although he had the slenderness of youth. At this moment, he wore a sullen expression as if it were as fine an adornment as his rich clothing and gem-studded rings, in sharp contrast to the austere expression of the stone soldier. “I asked if I could ride back with her, to my father,” he said, “but it wasn’t allowed.”
“We must be going back to the king’s court soon,” retorted the other boy, looking alarmed. By the slight burr in the way he pronounced his Wendish, Liath guessed he was from Avaria, perhaps one of Duke Burchard’s many nephews. “King Henry can’t mean to leave us here forever! I’m to get my retinue next year and ride east to fight the Quman!”
“It won’t matter, forever,” muttered Prince Ekkehard. He had a sweet voice; Liath had heard him sing quite beautifully last night. In daylight, without a lute in his hand, he merely looked restless and ill-tempered. “Soon I’ll be fifteen and have my own retinue, too, and then I won’t be treated like a child. Then I can do what I want.”
“Eagle.”
Liath started to her feet and turned, expecting to see a cleric come to escort her to Cleric Monica. But she saw only the top of a black-haired head.
“Do you know who I am?” asked the child. For an instant it was like staring into a mirror and seeing a small shadow of herself, although they looked nothing alike except in complexion.
“You are Duke Conrad’s daughter,” said Liath.
The girl took hold of Liath’s wrist and turned over the Eagle’s hand to see the lighter skin of the palm. “I’ve never seen anyone but my father, my avia—my grandmother, that is—and my sister and myself with such skin. I did see a slave once, in the retinue of a presbyter. They said she had been born in the land of the Gyptos, but she was dark as pitch. Where do your kinfolk come from?”
“From Darre,” said Liath, amused by her blithe arrogance.
The child regarded her with an imperious expression. “You just rode in from the king’s progress. Has there been news? My mother, Lady Eadgifu, should have had her baby by now, but no one will tell me anything.”
“I have heard no news of your mother.”
The girl glanced toward the other children. Ekkehard and his companion had moved off to toss dice in the shadow of the colonnade, and the others kept their distance. Only the old statue remained, like a trusted companion. He had once held a sword, but it was missing. Flecks of blue still colored his eyes, and in the sheltered curve of his elbow and the deeper folds of the cloak spun out in folds of stone from his left shoulder Liath could see the stain of gold paint not yet worn away by wind and weather. Lichen grew on his stone sandals and between his toes.
Was it not said that the Dariyan emperors and empresses and their noble court were the half-breed descendants of the Lost Ones? This stone general looked a little like Sanglant.