Elliott, Kate - Crown of Stars 1 (17 page)

There was a new animal stabled next to Hugh's bay gelding: a small gray mare. Liath found Ivar in the kitchen.

"Liath!" He hugged her. "You smell like the stables," he said, laughing self-consciously, and he pulled away from her, as if he was embarrassed to have taken such a liberty with her.

Liath smiled despite herself. Ivar had a sunny smile and he was very glad to see her. She kissed him on the cheek, and then they both blushed.

"I didn't expect to see you here," she said quickly, to cover the awkwardness.

Deliberately he put a log on the fire. "I saw Prater Hugh riding north yesterday. I thought you might be alone."

"I am. I went down to the inn."

He stayed by the fire, but his gaze lifted to her. The flames lit his reddish-blond hair and gave color to his pale, freckled cheeks. When he spoke, his voice was low and serious. "Come away with me. Now. Today. You can't stay here. I know he must
—" He faltered. "He
must mistreat you. I've never liked him. Thinking that he's better than my father and him just a bastard."

Here it came. Poor Ivar; he had always been one to shoot the deer before he had the bow in his hand. "Where would we go?"

"I heard the Dragons rode through Freelas, with the prince himself leading them. They say there've been Eika raids this spring and summer all along the northern coast. The biscop sent word to King Henry there's been a sighting out at Sheep's Head."

"Do you truly suppose the Dragons would take me? You're a count's son, and you have fighting skills. If your father petitioned King Henry, he would take you. But I've nothing more than what my Da taught me to defend ourselves while traveling. I don't have kin to speak for me. And I can't imagine why I would want to join the Dragons, when everyone knows they get all the worst fighting and will most likely die before their first year of service is up."

Stung by her words, he flushed. "I suppose Hugh's bed is comfortable enough, is it?"

"Take it back! How dare you say that to me? I sleep with the pigs rather than with him!" All of her anger flooded out. She was shaking.

Ivar went so pale, even standing next to the fire, that his freckles stood out even more. "Forgive me," he said finally in a whisper. "It's just that I
—" He broke off. She was still too angry to apologize for her outburst. "But what will you do? You may sleep with the pigs now. You can't think he'll let matters stay that way?"

"He's a brother of the church. You know what they swear when they are invested into orders." It sounded lame even to her.

"Perhaps you don't understand how this works. Hugh was invested into the church because he's a bastard. My own father had a girl child by
—well, never mind by who—and she's now a deacon down south at Wisslaren. He has yet to decide which one of us younger boys he's going to give to the church. Before I was bom, my sister
Rosvita took orders first as a nun and then as a cleric in King Henry's schola. That was never by her choice, though she accepted it gratefully enough. So what makes you think Hugh ever chose to be in the church or ever meant to give up his ... pleasures?"

She thought of ten answers, but there was no point in speaking words that were meaningless or, worse, lies. She could not lie to Ivar in order to try to lie to herself. She said nothing.

"Listen." Carefully, like a man approaching a wounded dog, he crossed to her and, gently, took her hand. "It's a fool's notion about the Dragons. I know that. But Father must send a levy next spring to King Henry, and if he does, he's sure to send me. Perhaps ... well, if the Dragons really have ridden north, there must be some Eagles with them, to carry messages back to the King. I've heard it said that the Eagles will take any strong-minded person into their ranks as long as they're freeborn. And you
are
freeborn. Gero is riding up to Freelas tomorrow. I'll see what he can find out."

"But you won't tell him what you plan?" It was an idea made more horrible because she began to hope again.

"He guesses enough. We can trust Gero. He hates Hugh worse than you do. Here Gero is my father's heir and Hugh insulted him to his face last spring, treated him no better than a common potboy." Clearly the insult still stung. Ivar flushed and his tone grew quite heated. "My father is a count of the land, and just because we're so far north that the king's progress never comes here nor has any child of our line served the king except my sister as a cleric and a great uncle who died as a Dragon at the Battle of Lenzen. But no matter what Prater Hugh said, there was nothing Gero could do unless he wanted to raise his hand against a brother of the church."

She scarcely heard him. "I always wanted to be a King's messenger."

"But the Eagles ride alone. It's very dangerous, even with the King's seal to protect you."

"It wouldn't be so different from the life Da and I lived. And I'd be free, Ivar. Not bound. The Eagles are beholden to no one but the king." She choked down a heartsick laugh. "Freeborn or not, they couldn't take me anyway. I'm not free. Hugh bought me for two nomias. I'd never seen nomias in my life before the auction."

Ivar released her hand and began to pace. "Your father had four books. They must have been worth a nomia at least."

"Hugh took them and never paid for them. He said they belonged to the church now. He
stole
them."

For once Ivar did not share her indignation. "Deacon Fortensia says all books pass to the church. Anyway, they're no good to you if you can't read. Liath." He stopped in front of her. "Promise me that if I can find a way to take you out of here, you'll come with me."

He looked so young, a boy pretending to be a man. He hadn't even begun to grow a beard yet. Liath felt infinitely older, wiser, felt so very tired, struggling against
•Hugh. Still, Hanna had gotten the book safely away. Ivar might yet discover an escape. "I promise. Thank you."

He flushed. Leaning forward, he kissed her, but he was inept and their lips did not meet squarely. He flushed more deeply yet, excused himself, and fled, leaving Liath alone in the kitchen.

Unexpectedly she felt heartened. She had touched the book. If there had been Eika raids in the west, then perhaps the Eagles would even take someone like her to fill their ranks. Perhaps Count Harl would need volunteers for his levy, to support King Henry against the Eika raiders. Perhaps the winter would be mild. She could outface Hugh. She
would.

Five days passed too quickly. She was nervous, afraid Hugh would return at any moment, that every sound was the track of his boots. But he didn't come back. She slept in the kitchen, lingered at the inn and helped Hanna with her chores, and even, once, terrified and shaking for fear Hugh would appear out of thin air beside her, crept to the inn stables and leafed through her precious book. Hugh remained blessedly absent.

On the first Ladysday Eve, she stared up at the lowering sky and let herself embrace a brief contentment. Though it was cool and cloudy, so she could not observe the heavens while she had solitude to do so, still she had seven days until he returned. She poured a bath for herself, hauling the water, heating the water. As from down a long distance she recalled the old Dariyan baths in the villa where she had lived with Da and her mother. Remembering those times she luxuriated in the hot water, head back, hair floating on the ripples made by her body as she shifted in the great copper tub. The roaring hearth poured warmth over her. She heard the light patter of rain from outside. After she had soaked to her heart's content, she washed every piece of her clothing
—something she dared not do when Hugh was around—and hung it to dry on chairs in front of the hearth. Wrapping herself in a blanket, she hesitated, then with a determined grimace walked to Hugh's cell.

The chamber was cold and empty.
Empty.
She poured a bucket of hot coals into the brazier and while it warmed the little room she knelt on the soft carpet and opened the chest. A rich emerald robe lay folded on top. Underneath it lay three fine linen undershifts. She lifted one out and pulled it on. The cloth felt so very soft against her skin. She sighed with pleasure and dug farther down to find cool silk beneath. There was a man's fine tunic and a woman's overdress of pale gold silk. She admired it for a long time. Had it been a gift to him from his mother? What was he keeping it for? She folded it up again and placed it back in the chest. Dug farther down yet. . . And found books.

The first four she knew at once: Da's books. She felt down, seeking the astrolabe, but it was gone. Hugh must have taken it with him. At last she lifted out the fifth book. It had a frayed binding, but it was stamped in gold, and the spine was encrusted with pearls, some of them missing. She opened it.

The Acts of the Magicians.
For the longest time her hand could not move, even to touch the words. Da had spoken to her of this book.

"Chaldeos was a minister to the Empress Thaissania, she of the mask. At her order he wrote a lesson for her three children, so that they might learn the magics by which the Aoi ruled their empire."

At last she managed to turn the first page. A neat scribal hand had written in three narrow columns on each page. The first was Dariyan, the second the graceful bird tracks of Jinna, and the third was Arethousan. Glancing at the Dariyan and Jinna, she saw that each column reproduced
—translated—the others. If she could puzzle out the letters of Arethousan, comparing them to the other two languages, she could learn how to read it as one unraveled a code.

A spray of hard rain pounded on the shutters. A storm was blowing in. It had become much chillier and the coals had burned away. Her hands were numb with cold. Setting the book on the bed, she wrapped herself in the blanket and hurried back to the kitchen to stoke the fire, light a lamp, and bring more coals for the brazier. Back in the chamber she looked at the chair and then at the featherbed. Surely, just this one afternoon, she could allow herself this luxury: to read until dark in this soft and gloriously warm bed. She could not decide. It seemed indecent somehow, and yet, the book, lying open to the first page of text, beckoned her.
The Acts of the Magicians.
Secrets her father had only begun to teach her the month before he died.

Why not? Why not be reckless this once? She settled herself in the marvelous soft bed and propped herself up on one elbow to read.

And lost herself.

Book One. The Courses of the Stars and the Spheres of the Heavens, how they may be divined according to the ancient Babaharshan magicians to lend strength to the Art,
Dariyan she knew so well that she could read it mostly with her eyes, her lips shaping the words but not speaking them aloud. To read the Jinna was a more laborious process, though she had once spoken it easily. She must sound out each letter and, melding them together, create the words.

But at least much of this material was familiar to her. The stars follow a fixed course, and the pole star, Kokab, is the axle around which the great wheel of the stars spins on its infinite round. The lesser wheel is known as the zodiac, the world dragon that binds the heavens. It is a circle of constellations, each representing one of the Houses of Night, and through these houses move the Sun and the Moon and the wandering stars known as planets. The ancient Babaharshan magicians gleaned this knowledge from a thousand years of observation and mastered sorcery by drawing on the powers of the stars and the planets as they waxed and waned.

A scuffing sound. Then a low laugh. Utterly startled, Liath gasped and jerked her gaze up from the book. Froze, terrified. She had no idea how long she had been reading or how long he had been standing there, watching her scan the pages and turn them, watching her form the difficult Jinna words and speak them out loud. Thus did she betray herself to him.

Hugh walked into the cell. He was travel-worn and damp, his riding cloak slung over one shoulder and his frater's robe spotted with rain. His golden hair was wild in disarray, there was a smudge of dirt on his pale cheek, and he looked completely satisfied.

"What's this?" he asked. She could not move. He took the book from her nerveless fingers and scanned the pages that lay open. "Not only can you read, but you can read this edifying work. I am impressed, but not entirely surprised, that you know Dariyan, even in this antique form. Surely you do not know Jinna as well? Even I, with my court education, do not know Jinna, although of

course I can read the Arethousan as well as I can read Dariyan."

"You know Arethousan?" she demanded, torn by such an acute desire to know that she forgot herself. Then she broke off, grabbed her own worn blanket, and wrapped it tightly around her torso. The linen undershift was far too light to wear alone, in front of
him.

He smiled. He set the book down on the table, casually, loosened each finger of his gloves and drew them off slowly. He rested his hands on the bed, close to her, bending down right next to her, his face a hand's breadth away from hers. "I like your hair unbound." He lifted a hand and ran it up along her neck, then drew his fingers back down through her hair. "And so clean. Have you changed your mind, my beauty?" His voice changed timbre, taking on an odd, hoarse note.

"No." She turned her head away, out of his touch, and waited for him to hit her.

He straightened. "It is a comfortable bed. You'll share it with me soon enough. I want a bath. You may keep the undershift, as long as you promise me you will care for it properly. Fine cloth is too precious to be treated carelessly. And dinner will be tonight, instead of Ladysday next. You'll wear the gold overdress for dinner." He glanced down at the open chest. "Which you've already found." He smiled again. Liath could not imagine what had transpired to put him in such good humor.