Kate Elliott - Crown of Stars 1 - King's Dragon

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Sorcery, like any other branch of knowledge, must be learned, used, and mastered. The young
apprentice to the blacksmith does not begin by forging a fine sword for the prince. The young apprentice
to the weaver does not with her first thread weave the queen's hearth rug. So the rhetor makes her first
speech to her mirror, not to the marketplace, and the young manatarms fights his first battle against the
tilt, not against his liege's mortal enemy. So did the blessed Daisan proclaim the Holy Word for
twentyone years before even He mastered the art of prayer well enough that He might by His own prayer
and meditation ascend to the Chamber of Light. Learn these things, Liath. You cannot use them, for you
are deaf to magic, but you may think on them, you may practice them as if you were a mage's apprentice,
and in time you may have gained a sorcerer's knowledge. To master knowledge is to have power from
it."
There, on the gate that rested only in her mind, stood a constellation of jewels like a cluster of
stars, tracing the form of a rose. And on each farther gate, a new constellation, sword, cup, ring, and so
on, as was appropriate. For these constellations also shone above in the heavens, together with the
twelve constellations that made up the Houses of Night, the world dragon that bound the heavens, and
the many other constellations arrayed as emblems on the sphere of the fixed stars, set there by the infinite
wisdom of Our Lady and Lord.
Eyes still closed, she drew, in her mind, the form of the rose, but its shape and airy substance
vanished like bird tracks in sand washed by the tide; she could not keep hold of it. But she could use the
table as a kind of engraving surface. She set her hand lightly on the polished wood grain and carefully,
precisely, traced out the dimensions of the Rose on the wood. Such a slight task to make her sweat so;
her face flushed with heat, and she felt warm all over.
Hand drawn to the end of the pattern, palm hanging half over the lip of the table, she paused.
A sudden noise jolted her out of her concentration.
"Liath? Is there a fire in here?"
Liath jumped up so fast she banged her thighs on the table's edge. Cursing under her breath, she
spun around. "Hanna! You startled me!"
Hanna wrinkled up her nose, sniffing, and cast about, rather like a dog. "Your brazier must have
overheated. It smells like burned wood. You'd better" But even as she spoke, the scent dissipated.
Hanna sighed, heartfelt. "At least you have color in your cheeks." She walked forward and took Liath's
hands in hers. "I hate to always see you so pale."
"Does Hugh know you came here?" Liath asked, darting to the door and looking, out. The
passageway remained empty. She heard Lars chopping wood outside.
"Of course not. I saw him riding out
"He'll know you're here. He'll come back."
"Liath! Take hold of yourself." Hanna grasped Liath's hands and chafed them between her own.
"How can he know if he's gone from the village? He didn't see me leave the inn."
"It doesn't matter. He'll know." Liath was shaken by a sudden swell of emotion. "You're all I
have left, Hanna," she said in a hoarse voice, and then, abruptly, hugged her fiercely. "It's all that's kept
me safe, knowing I can trust you."
"Of course. Of course you can trust me." But Hanna hesitated and slowly pushed back out of
Liath's arms. "Listen. I've spoken to Ivar. He needs servants to go with him, to keep him in proper state
at the monastery. He'.s takingme." Liath, stunned, heard the rest of Hanna's confession through a veil of
numbness. "I'm sorry, Liath. But it was the only way I could get out of marrying young Johan. Mother
and Father have agreed to it."
With nothing left to hold her up, Liath sank down onto the chair.
"Oh, Liath. I knewI never meant" Hanna dropped to her knees. "I don't want to leave you."
/ don't want you to leave me. But Liath knew she could not speak so.
"No," she said instead, so softly the words barely took wing in the air. "You must go. You can't
marry Johan. If you go with Ivar, then you can find a better marriage or a better position. Quedlinhame is
a fine town. Both monastery and convent are ruled over by Mother Scholastica. She is the third child of
the younger Arnulf and Queen Mathilda. She is a learned woman. That is why she has the name,
Scholastica. She was baptized as Richardis." It was all there, in the city of memory, all the knowledge
that Da had taught her neatly lined up in niches, along avenues, under portals and arches, but what good
was it if she was utterly alone? She wanted to cry but dared not, for Hanna's sake. So she kept talking.
"Queen Mathilda retired to Quedlinhame after King Arnulf the Younger died and their son Henry became
king. All of Quedlinhame is under her grant, her special protection, so it is a very fine place, they say. I
believe the king holds court at Quedlinhame every year at Holy Week, when he can, to honor his mother.
There will be every opportunity for someone as clever as you to advance yourself in service. Perhaps you
can even attach yourself to the king's progress, to his household. He has the two daughters, Sapientia and
Theophanu, who are old enough now to have their own entourages, their own retainers."
Hanna laid her head on Liath's knees. The weight and warmth were comforting and yet soon to
be gone from her forever. "I'm so sorry, Liath. I would never leave you, but Inga will be coming back
from Freelas in the summer with her husband and child, so there isn't room for me. It must be marriage or
service."
"I know. Of course I know." But hope leached out of Liath like water from a leaking pail. She
shut her eyes, as if by being blind she could cause this all not to come to pass by not seeing it happen.
"Liath, you must promise me you won't lose hope. I won't desert you. I'll try every means to
secure your release."
"Hugh will never release me."
"How can you be so sure?" Hanna lifted her head. "How can you be so sure?"
She sighed deeply, without opening her eyes. She left the city of memory behind, left the jeweled
rose and Da's words. "Because he knows Da had secrets and he thinks I know them all. Because he
knows I have the book. He'll never give me up. It doesn't matter, Hanna. Hugh is to be invested as
abbot, as Father, at Firsebarg. We will leave as soon as it is possible to travel south." She opened her
eyes and leaned down, whispering, although there was no one to hear them. "You must take the book.
You must take it away from here. Because he'll get it from me if I have it. Please, Hanna. Then if I'm ever
free of him, I'll find you."
"Liath"
But she would never be free of him. He knew. Of course he knew.
She let go of Hanna's hands and stood. Hanna scrambled to her feet and turned just as Hugh
opened the door.
"Get out," he said coldly. Hanna glanced once at Liath. "Out!"
He held the door until Hanna left. Then he shut it firmly behind her. "I do not like you having
visitors." He crossed to Liath and took her chin in his left hand; his fingers cupped her jaw. He stared
down at her. The deep azure dye of his tunic brought out the penetrating blue of his eyes. "You will no
longer entertain any visitors, Liath."
She wrenched her face out of his grasp. "I'll see whom I wish!"
He slapped her. She slapped him back, hard.
He went white, except where her fingers had left their red imprint on his fine skin. He pinned her
back onto the table, pressing her wrists painfully against the hard wood surface, and held her there. He
was pale with anger, and his breath came ragged as he glared at her.
"You will not" he began. His gaze shifted over her shoulder. He caught in a breath. He dragged
her off the table and shoved her away. Whatever will had momentarily possessed her was already
sapped. She stood numbly and watched as he brushed his palm over the tabletop. He inscribed his hand
in a circle, narrowing, spiraling in, to trace the outline of a rose burned lightly into the burnished wood
grain. His expression was rapt, avid. Finally he turned.
"What have you done?"
"I've done nothing."
He grabbed one of her hands and tugged her forward, placed her hand over the table where she
had to see, although the outline was almost invisible. The lines felt like fire along her skin.
"The Rose of Healing," he said. "You have burned its shape into the table. How did you do this?"
She tried to pull her hand out of his, but his grip was too strong. "I don't know. I don't know. I
didn't mean to."
He grabbed her by the shoulders, shook her. "You don't know?" If anything, he looked more
furious than when she had slapped him. "You will tell me!"
"I don't know."
He struck her backhanded. His heavy rings scored her cheek. He struck her again. He was
diving into a rare fury. "How many years have I studied to find the key to the Rose of Healing, and you
don't know! Where is your father's book? What did he teach you?"
"No," she said, while blood trickled down her cheek.
He lifted her up bodily and carried her out of the room and into his own cell. There, he dropped
her onto the bed. There she lay, staring up at him. He studied her, and all the while his left hand opened
and shut to a rhythm known only to him.
Finally he knelt on the bed beside her. He wiped the thin film of blood off her skin. His touch was
gentle.
"Liath." His voice was coaxing, persuasive. "What use is knowledge if it is not shared? Have we
not learned well together this past winter? Can we not learn more?" He kissed her cheek, where the rings
had cut it open, then her throat, then her mouth, lingering, insistent.
But the fire had woken in her, however damped down it might burn. Ever since she had drawn
the rose, a thin edge of sensation burned inside her where before she had felt nothing. Fire melts ice.
Each time he kissed her she shuddered away from him.
"No," she said softly, and braced herself for the blow.
"Liath," he sighed. He ran a hand along the curve of her body. His breathing came in unsteady
bursts, more ragged even than it had been when he was angry. "I have never treated you ill, in my bed."
"No," she said, compelled to answer with the truth.
"You could have pleasure. But you must trust me. I have seen how quickly you learn. How much
you want to learn. That you want to learn more." He laid his full weight on her. Even through their
clothing, she felt the heat of his skin, burning off, enveloping her. "You know very well, my beauty, there
is no one else you can ask. No one else you can turn to. I am the only one. There were rumors about
your Da, dear old Master Bernard, but these villagers let it alone, let him alone, because they liked him.
Because the biscop of Freelas has worse things to worry about than one stray sorcerer who sets hex
spells to keep foxes out of henhouses."
Trapped in this tiny cell, the walls so thick, the air so still, she was already walled up, lost in a
prison of Hugh's making.
"But you would not be so lucky, as young as you are, and the way you look." He stroked her
hair in that way he had, running a hand up her neck and catching the hair on the back of his hand, in his
fingers, stroking free. "This hair is too fine and too lovely, your skin stays dark through the winter, like the
folk from the southern lands, and who in these Ladyforsaken parts has seen such folk, or even believes in
them? And your eyes. As blue as the deep fire, or did you know that? I know. I have sought since I was
a boy to unlock the secrets of sorcery. There are others like me, others who struggle to learn and to
master. Somehow you were born with it in your blood. I know what you are, but I will never betray your
secret to anyone else. Do you believe me?"
Even trapped under him, knowing he would say anything to convince her to give him the book, to
tell him everything she knew, the horror of it was she did believe him. She had a sudden premonition he
had spoken those words rashly and without thinking he might be swearing himself to them.
"I believe you," she said, but the words hurt. He knew what she was. A sorcerer makes herself,
but two sorcerers must never marry. Her mother had said it once, placing a hand on Liath's brow.
Because the child of two sorcerers might inherit a wild streak of magic more dangerous than the king's
wrath. Except Liath had inherited a kind of deafness instead. Da taught her, but only so she could protect
herself by having that knowledge. "You cannot use them, for you are deaf to magic."
Or so she had always thought. But now she had burned the Rose of Healing into the wooden
grain of the table.
Hugh would put no barrier in the way of her studying Da's book, other books, as long as she
shared everything she knew and learned with him.
"I will be faithful to you, Liath," he said, cupping her face in his hands, a lover's gesture, a lover's
sweetness, "as long as you are faithful to me."
Ai, Lady, but it burned, this new fire. It hurt so horribly, running out like lines burned into her
flesh, long since dormant. She could no longer cloak herself in lethargy. So it was, so she felt: A
momentous decision was about to be made.
He shifted, rolling slightly off of her, and made a low, contented noise in his throat. "Liath," he
said, softly, gently, coaxingly, and he tightened his embrace on her.
Hanna was leaving. She herself would leave, to be alone in Firsebarg with Hugh. To go on in this
fashion, always resisting him, always frozen, listless, numb. Barely able to acknowledge any human
contact but his; forbidden any human contact other than with him, as he strove to isolate her.
Wouldn't it be easier to give in? To give him what he wanted? Mistress Birta had herself said that
Liath's position was enviable. She would not be treated badly. She would probably be treated well.
She had burned the Rose of Healing into the table. Lady's Blood, she might even learn enough to
see if she truly was deaf to magic. Or if Da had truly not known, and she was born with a mage's power.
Or if Da had known all along, and lied to her.
Why would Da lie to her? Only to protect her.
Hugh ran his hands up her arms. He brushed her throat, tracing an oval there, like a jewel, and
she shivered. He sucked in his breath hard and reached to unbuckle his belt. "Stop fighting me, Liath.
Why should you not have pleasure? Why?"
Her skin tingled where his lips touched. Why, indeed? It had come time, at last, to choose.
"I will not be your slave," she whispered. She would have wept, it was so hard to say, but she
was too terrified to weep. She placed her hands against his chest and pushed him away, locking her
elbows and holding them rigid.
He went quite still. "What did you say?"
Having said it once, she knew she must hold to it as strongly as ever she might. She twisted away
from him and slipped off the bed to land bruisingly on her knees, huddled on the rug, her gaze on him the
way a trapped rabbit stares at a fox. But she raised her voice above a whisper. "I will not be your slave."
He sat up straight. "You are my slave."
"Only by the gold you paid."
His mouth pulled to a straight line. "Then it is back out with the pigs." But he smiled as he said it,
knowing full well that after a winter of luxury she could never face that again.
Liath thought this over: the dirty straw, Trotter's back, the cold spring nights. "Yes," she said
slowly. "Yes. I'll go back out with the pigs." She climbed stiffly to her feet, walked stiffly to the door.
None of her limbs worked right.
He was off the bed in an instant. He grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her around and hit
her so hard that she staggered. Hit her again. She fell back and hit her head against the wall. She stopped
her fall with a hand and shoved herself back up. With a hand shielding her face, she moved to pass him,
to get to the door. Hfe struck her. Again. This time, she fell right to her knees and had to huddle there,
panting. Pain flamed through her. Her ears rang. He kicked her in the side, and she gasped in pain,
gagging.
"Now," he said, his voice taut with fury, "the pigs, or my bed?"
Carefully she rose to her feet. Her balance did not quite work right, and her right eye could not
focus. She took an unsteady step, caught a breath, took a second step, and rested her hand on the door
latch. Lifted it.
The door opening, and the blow, occurred at the same time. She fell forward into the corridor,
onto her hands and knees. Another blow, along the ribsperhaps it was his boot. She struggled to get to
her feet, but each time she rose and showed the slightest movement forward, he hit her again.
Blood hazed her right eye, but it didn't matter, because she couldn't really see out of that eye
anyway.
She got a hand on the wall and pulled up, and then was flung hard into the other wall. Her head
slammed into stone, and she dropped hard. When she tried to stand again, she could not. She lay there,
whimpering, trying not to whimper, trying not to make any sound, trying to get her legs to work. His boot
nudged her side.
"Now, Liath. Which will it be?"
"The pigs," she said. The words were hard to say, because her mouth was rilled with blood.
Since she could not rise, she found purchase with her elbows and tried to crawl forward. This time, when
he hit her whether with hands or boot she could no longer tella swirl of blackness flooded her. She heard
her own labored breathing. She could not see. Her vision grayed, then lightened. She saw the narrow
passageway as a hazy pattern of stone and shadow, but that was enough. She heaved herself up on her
elbows and drew her body along after her. Forward, toward the pigs.
She heard words, a horrified exclamation, but it was not attached to her.
She hurt everywhere, stinging bruises, sharp deep pain in her bones, a fiery stabbing at her ribs;
blood trickled, salty, from her mouth, and yet her mouth was dry. She was so thirsty. She could picture
the pigs perfectly in her mind. They lived outside the city of memory, in pleasant comfort: Trotter, who
was her favorite, and the old sow Truffling, and the piglets Hib, Nib, Jib, Bib, Gib, Rib, and Tib, some of
whom she could tell apart, but she could not now recall which ones had been slaughtered and salted and
which ones kept over the winter.
He hit her again, from her blind side, and she collapsed onto the cold floor. Rough stone pressed
into her face, but the tiny irritating grains helped her stay conscious; she counted the grains, each one
pressing into her cheek, into the open wound, like salt. She just breathed for awhile. Breathing was hard.
It hurt to inhale and exhale, but eventually she had to get out with those pigs. She would be safe with the
pigs. The book would be safe with the pigs.
Pain like a hot knife stabbed through her abdomen. She screamed out of stark fear. He was
going to kill her rather than let her go. Kill her! That hadn't been the choice.
She opened her left eye to see Hugh standing more than a body's length away from her, staring at
her, his face as cold and stubborn as the stone. But he had not touched her.
The pain lanced again. Warm liquid trickled down the inside of her thighs. Pain stabbed again.
She tried to gasp out words, but she couldn't make them form on her tongue. Ai, Lady! It hurt. She
curled up into a ball, and fainted.
Came half conscious when Lars picked her up. Dorit was speaking. Liath caught a glimpse of
Hugh and then lost him again. Her thighs were sticky with dampness. The cool afternoon air struck her to
shivering as Lars carried her outside. Pain coursed through her abdomen again. She twisted, tossing her
head back. Dorit was speaking to her, but Liath could not understand.
Lars' jolting walk sent flares of pain up her legs. She fainted.
This time, when she recognized she was awake, she tried not to panic. She was lying on a hard
surface. She couldn't open her eyes. Something cold and clammy covered her eyes, like the hand of a
dead, decaying corpse. . ..
She jerked, clawed at it, but her hands were captured and held tight in another's strong grip.
"Liath, it's Hanna. Stop that. Stop it. Trust me."
Hanna. She could trust Hanna. She clung to Hanna's hands. What had happened? She was
naked from the waist down, legs propped up, lying flat on her back, awash in pain.
Another voice intruded. "Can you sit, Liath? You ought to, if you can."
"Here," said Hanna in that wonderful practical voice she had. "I'll put my arms under you and
hold you. Just lean on me, Liath."
Rising up, even to a half sit, made her head throb. The pain in her abdomen came and went in
waves. The clammy hand dropped away from her face, but it was only a cold rag. Through her good eye
she saw Mistress Birta and, in the background, Dorit. Mistress Birta straightened up from her crouch at
Liath's feet. Her hands were blood red.
Dizziness swept Liath. "I have to lie down," she gasped. Even as Hanna lowered her, she fell
completely out of consciousness.
Came up again, still lying on the hard surface. Mistress Birta was speaking.
"We'll move her upstairs. I've done all I can."
"I've seen him hit her a few times, now and again," said a new voice which Liath vaguely
identified as Dorit's, "but with that temper she has, and her his bonded slave, I've never blamed him. But
this." There was a heavy silence, followed by the clucking of tongues. "It's a sin against Our Lady, it is. I
couldn't let her lie there, bleeding, when I saw she was losing a child."
Hanna and Birta carried her upstairs. It took that long for Dorit's words to sink in.
Losing a child.
They laid her on Hanna's bed and padded her with moss to absorb the blood still flowing from
her. Birta pulled a shift down over her hips, so she might rest modestly.
She choked out the words. "Is it true? Was I pregnant?"
"Well, surely, lass. Do you suppose you can bed with a man all winter and not become pregnant?
Hadn't you noticed that your courses had stopped?"
Liath just lay there. She felt Hanna's warm hand come to rest on her hair. So comforting. Dear
Hanna. "I'm so tired," she said.
"You sleep, child," said Mistress Birta. "Hanna will sit with you for a while."
"Why did I never think of that?" Liath whispered. "Hugh's child. I could not bear to have Hugh's
child."
"Hush, Liath," said Hanna. "I think you ought to sleep now. Lady and Lord, but he beat you.
You're all bruises. He must have gone mad."
"I won't be his slave," whispered Liath.
When she woke again, much later, she felt a pleasant lassitude. The little attic room was dim, but
some light leaked through the shutters. The old blanket draped over her was scratchy but warm. She was
exhausted, but she was at least alone; Hugh was not here.
That counted for something.
Then she heard the pound of footsteps on the back stairs accompanied by raised voices.
"I will not let you wake her, Prater!"
"Let me by, Mistress, and this time I will ignore your impertinence."
"Prater Hugh, it may not be my place to speak so to you, but I will, so help me God, send my
husband with a message to the biscop at Freelas about this incident, if you do not listen to me now."
"I am sure, Mistress, that the biscop has greater concerns than my taking a concubine."
"I am sure she does," replied Mistress Birta with astonishing curtness, "but I do not think she will
look so mildly on your taking a concubine and then beating the young lass so brutally that she miscarries
the child conceived of this illegal union."
"It was no child. It had not yet quickened."
"Nevertheless it would have become oneif the Lady willedhad you not beaten her."
"I remind you that she is my slave, to do with as I please. You forget, or likely you do not know,
Mistress, that the biscop of Freelas, though a noblewoman of good character, does not have powerful
kin. But I do. Now stand aside."
"But she is still a child of Our Lady and Lord, Frater Hugh. It is Her Will, and not yours, that
chooses whether a child be lost before its time. For we women are the chosen vessel of Our Lady, and it
is by Her Will that we have been granted the gift of giving birth, a gift accompanied by pain, for how else
shall we know the truth of darkness in the world and the promise of the Chamber of Light? I have
midwifed many a woman in these parts, and I have seen many a woman miscarry from illness or hunger
or by the chance lifting of Her Hand, and I have watched women and their babes die in childbed. But I
have never seen a woman beaten so badly that she lost her child, not until now. And I will testify so,
before the biscop, if I must."
There was a silence. Liath measured with her eyes the distance from the bed to the shutters, but
she knew she hadn't the strength to get there, to open them, to throw herself out in order to escape from
him; and anyway, even now, she did not want to die. Light bled into the room and from the yard she
heard the cock crow. It must be early morning. The silence made her skin crawl. She waited, shuddering,
for the latch to lift.
Finally, Hugh spoke. His voice was stiff with controlled fury. Ai, Lady, she knew him so well,
now, that she could see his expression in her mind's eye. "You will return her to me when she can walk.
We are leaving for Firsebarg in ten days."
"I will return her to you when she has recovered."
He was furious. She heard it in his voice. "How dare you presume to dictate to me?"
"She may yet die, Frater. Though she is not my kinswoman, I have a certain fondness for her.
And she is a woman, and like myself and all women, under the special care of the Lady. For is it not
written in the Holy Verses: 'My Hearth, where burns the fire of wisdom, I grant to women to tend' ? You
may threaten me if you like. I do not doubt you could easily ruin me, for we all know your mother is a
great noblewoman, but I will see Liath well before I let her travel such a difficult road."
"Very well," he said curtly. Then he laughed. "By Our Lord, but you've courage, Mistress. But I
will see her before I go today."
Liath shut her eyes and hoped against hope that Mistress Birta would send him away.
"That is your right," said Birta finally, reluctantly. The door opened.
"Alone," said Hugh.
Liath kept her eyes shut.
"I will wait outside," said Birta. "Right out here."
Hugh shut the door behind him and latched it. She heard the sounds he made, the slip of his
boots on the plank flooring, his intake of breath, the creak of a loose plank under his weight, the door
closing, tugged shut, the snick of the latch, sealing them in together. She did not open her eyes. He said
nothing. She was so alive to him that she knew exactly how close he stood to her, how a bare turn would
brush his robes against her blanket, how near his hands hovered by her face.
But she knew very well he would not go away just because she kept her eyes shut. Da always
said you must face what you feared or otherwise become its victim. Of course, Da had always said it
with a derisive smile, since he had been running ever since her mother died.
She tightened her grip on the blanket, took in a deep breath, and looked up at Hugh. He studied
her with a curious, intent expression. She stared back at him, suddenly so overwhelmingly tired that fear
could take no grip on her.
"Why didn't you just kill me?" she whispered.
Hugh chuckled, smiling. "You are far too precious a treasure to cast away so carelessly." Then
his expression changed, so fast, like a black storm rushing in from the sea. "But you must not cross me,
Liath. Not ever, not like that, again."
She looked away from him to the coarse wooden slats of the wall. A few stray pieces of straw
poked through from the loft beyond.
He settled down comfortably beside her. "You will need some kind of servant while we travel,
and I am sure you would feel more comfortable settling in, in Firsebarg, if you had someone you knew
with you. There was some talk of the Mistress' daughter marrying one of the freeholders, and also some
talk that she was unwilling to. I think it might be well if the girl came with us. Then you would have
company, and someone to do the work and perhaps, even, if she proves herself clever, to become
chatelaine of our household. That would be a fair opportunity for someone of her birth. If you would like
that, then I will speak with Mistress Birta now."
Our household.
No matter what she did, not matter how strong her will to resist him, no matter how angry he
became with her, how cold she remained to him, no matter how well she had locked away her heart or
how well she had hidden Da's book and knowledge, Hugh's sheer stubborn persistence would eventually
wear her away to nothing. He was utterly determined to possess her. And if she ran away, where would
she run to? To death, most likely, or to a life far far worse in degradation and hunger and filth. If she even
could run away. No matter how great a head start she gained, Hugh would catch up to her. He always
knew where she was and what she was doing. As long as he owned her, as patient as he was, she was
helpless against him.
"Count Harl has granted Ivar permission to take Hanna south with his party, to Quedlinhame,"
Liath said. Her voice was a little hoarse; she didn't know why. She hardly knew she was speaking at all.
"Hanna? Ah, is that the girl's name? Well, I will be abbot, Liath, and in a few more years I will be
elevated to the rank of presbyter and gain the ear of the skopos herself. I can offer her better prospects
than a common monk can. If you want her, I see no difficulty arranging the matter with her parents. Do
you want her?"
Why not give in to the inevitable? If she had only managed Da's affairs better. If she had only
insisted he live more frugally. If she had not begged him last spring to let them stay just one more summer
in Heart's Rest.
What good did it do to fight this incessant struggle, when she could not possibly hope to win?
She could not go on and on and on and on. And if Hanna was with her, surely everything else would not
be so bad? She could study, and learn, and divine the secrets of the stars and perhaps far more besides.
Perhaps she would discover the mystery of the rose burned into wood. That would be her consolation.
"Yes," she said. Her voice emerged thickly. "I would like Hanna to come with us."
"Where is the book, Liath?" His expression did not alter.
"The book."
"The book," he echoed. "The book, Liath. Tell me where the book is, and I will allow you to
bring the girl with us."
She closed her eyes. He touched her, drawing his fingers delicately around her collarbone,
tracing her slave's collarno actual substance, not iron or wood or any element one could touch, but just as
binding.
He had won. He knew it, and so did she.
She did not open her eyes. "Under slats, beneath the pigs' trough, in the inn stables."
He bent to kiss her lightly on the forehead. "I will arrange for the girl to accompany us. We leave
in ten days."
She heard the latch lift and then Hugh's voice as he spoke to Mistress Birta, drawing her away
down the stairs to the common room below. Ten days.
She covered her face with her hands and lay there, despairing.
days dragged by for Liath, one long day after the next. It took her far longer to recover her
strength than even Mistress Birta had expected. At first she slept most of the time, an aching, fitful sleep
made worse by the uncomfortable straw ticking of Hanna's bed. Even getting up to relieve herself in the
bucket by the door exhausted her.
By the time ten days had passed, she could negotiate the stairs once a day. She was sitting
slumped on a bench downstairs at midday, waiting for the Mistress to bring her a meal, when Hanna
came in from the yard.
Hanna's face was red from the sun, but her eyes were red from tears, and she wiped her nose
with the back of a hand, sniffing as if she had caught a cold. She sank down on the bench next to Liath,
looking no less dispirited. "Ivar left this morning. I ran down when I heard, but he'd already gone. He
didn't even leave a message for me."
Bitter shame wormed its way into Liath's heart. "Mine is the fault. I'm sorry. He needed you. I
shouldn't have begged you to stay with me. He never wanted to be forced into the church. He wanted to
ride in the Dragons. And he could have, if it wasn't for me."
"Ai, Mother of Life, spare us this!" exclaimed Hanna, letting out an exasperated sigh. "You're as
bad as he is. Of course he'll be fine. Count Harl sent two servants with him, so he'll have familiar faces
with him at Quedlinhame. And if it's true that King Henry stops there each spring, then he'll be able to see
his sister Rosvita, too. She's a cleric in the king's schola. So between her position and the gift Count Harl
is making to the monastery, I'm sure Ivar will be treated very well. Probably better than his own father
treated him, for there's only the one child younger than him, and she's the apple of her father's eye. With
the help of his sister Rosvita, Ivar might even come to King Henry's notice. Don't you think?"
Liath was able to emerge far enough out of her own misery to recognize that underneath Hanna's
practical assessment of Ivar's situation lay a real misery of her own. "Yes," she said, because it seemed to
be the reassurance that Hanna wanted, "I'm sure he will. They'll educate him." She paused and took one
of Hanna's hands in her own. "Hanna." She glanced around the empty room, listened, but they were
alone. "I know you can tally well enough, but I'll teach you to read and write. You'll need to know, if you
wish to rise to the position of chatelaine."
Like an echo, Hanna looked around the room also, then toward the door that led out to the yard
and the cookhouse. It sat ajar, and through it they heard Mistress Birta ordering Karl to run eggs down
to old Johan's cottage to trade for herbs. "But I've no church training. If I know how to read and write,
won't people call me a witch or a sorcerer?"
"No more than they'll call me one." She let go of Hanna's hand and wrung her own together,
suddenly nervous. "Listen, Hanna. You'd better know now, before we're in Firsebarg. Da
"Liath. Everyone knows your Da was a sorcerer. A fallen monastic, too, but one lapse, one child,
isn't enough to get a man thrown out of the monastery. There must have been something else as well,
disobedience, defiance, something more, like studying the forbidden arts. Deacon Fortensia has told us
as many stories as I have fingers and toes about monks and nuns reading forbidden books in the
scriptorium and falling into love with the dark arts. But your Da never did anything the least bit harmful,
not like old Martha who tried throwing hexes on people who offended her, after she got proud about old
Prater Robert sleeping with her. But she stopped that, once it was made plain to her that no one
here would tolerate such things. But your Da was generous. What's the harm in magic if it's a
helpful thing? So says the deacon."
"But Da wasn't really a sorcerer. I mean, he had the knowledge, but nothing he ever did"
Hanna looked at her strangely. "Of course he was! That's why we were all so glad he put roots
here and stayed each year, when we thought he meant to move on. You didn't know? People don't visit a
sorcerer whose spells are useless. What about old Johan's cow that wouldn't calve until your Da wove a
摘要：

Sorcery,likeanyotherbranchofknowledge,mustbelearned,used,andmastered.Theyoungapprenticetotheblacksmithdoesnotbeginbyforgingafineswordfortheprince.Theyoungapprenticetotheweaverdoesnotwithherfirstthreadweavethequeen'shearthrug.Sotherhetormakesherfirstspeechtohermirror,nottothemarketplace,andtheyoungma...

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