The Burning Stone (Crown of Stars #3)

“As God wills. No need to touch my armor. I’ll put it on tonight. I’ll go down now to the shed and bring up one of the goats. I’ll bring up Resuelto.”

She nodded, began to get to her feet.

“Can you open the gate, Liath?”

Poised to rise with the baby held tight against her shoulder, she looked at him. Her hair seemed to actually spark, in that instant, and he thought the grass at her feet might burst into flame. But she controlled herself. “If Hugh can do it,” she said in a soft, furious voice, “then so can I.”

*   *   *

He wondered where Jerna had gone, and why she had departed so precipitously. She had never abandoned Blessing before. Someone or something had called her away. Judging by the disturbance in the trees in the lower part of the valley, he guessed it was Anne.

Resuelto was eager enough to come with him; the gray gelding always looked forward to their daily rides. The goat was less eager, but he got hold of her kid and she followed meekly enough, although she had a tendency to try to butt him from the rear and she kept pulling away from the path to nip at any delectable flower or weed.

He had buried the dog along the path, just below their hut, as a reminder to Anne and the others that he hadn’t forgotten their treachery. After two months, all the grass and wildflowers had withered on the mound that marked the burial, leaving only dirt and dead things. In a sour kind of way he liked the look of it; at times, chafing at the elegant bonds that held him, the barren little tumulus matched his mood.

He was still fuming. As soon as Jerna had sung open the concealed pathway up in the high meadow, he should have thrown Liath over Resuelto and taken them all out, not just Heribert, but he had chosen caution. Maybe he had been right to be cautious: it had been a trap, after all. But it galled to know they had been so close to escape.

And yet, how far would they have gotten before Sister Anne sent her servants after them? He knew how Liath’s father had died, and while he didn’t fear for himself, or even Liath, he wasn’t sure that he could protect Blessing.

He went so deep into this sort of fruitless musing that he actually tied up Resuelto and the goat to opposite ends of the post by the trough before he realized that Liath was talking to someone, inside the hut. He halted, hearing Blessing fuss a little, and there was a silence. Perhaps she had only been talking to herself.

“Nay,” Liath said with anger, “you’re too kindhearted a soul to trust a man like Hugh of Austra.”

“Is he a dangerous man, then, set loose in Darre?”

“With Da’s book, and a daimone at his command? He is.”

“But a clever one, evidently.”

Liath grunted. Sanglant dipped a hand in the cold water of the trough, and waited. “Hugh told me once that you could only hate what you could also love. But you can never trust him. Never, ever.” Sanglant had never heard her speak with such passionate and almost gleeful fury. “If that had been Hugh who was here when I was ill, he would have sat beside my bed and read aloud to me, and reminded me that Sanglant can’t read. Hugh would have knelt beside me as I measured the angle of rising or plotted the course of the moon through the zodiac, and he would have mentioned just so elegantly that Sanglant has learned some of the names of the constellations and stars, enough to navigate the night sky, but it doesn’t truly engage him. That he doesn’t have the passion for knowledge. Not like I do. Not like Hugh does.”

“Not all of us are granted that particular passion,” said Venia soothingly, as if nervous of Liath’s anger. “I must confess that I find the computus to be tedious beyond measure. All those long strings of calculations! But I can see that for a woman who loved them, it would be easy to feel affection for a person who could love them in his turn.”

“That isn’t what I meant at all.” Then she let out such a drawn-out, tense sigh that Sanglant only came to himself when he felt the goat chewing at the hem of his tunic. He shoved it back and stepped away. “I don’t wear a slave’s collar anymore. I don’t have to. And I never will again. Don’t trust Hugh of Austra because he’ll twist every word you utter and warp every thought that passes through your mind to his own use. He has to live with his hand clutched at the throat of any creature he wants to possess.”

Sister Venia made no answer. Perhaps it would have been more prudent to remain outside, but truth be told, he was too stung by the unflattering comparison made between him and Hugh. He stepped over the threshold to see Sister Venia holding the baby while Liath stood with one foot up on the chest and her gaze turned away from both of them.