“No, in truth, I do not. But I won’t leave him.”
“Ah. And if a compliant young woman of suitable rank can be found—God help her!—who would agree to be queen and accept you as his concubine? Would you accept such an arrangement?”
Liath frowned, but she owed him this much, that she truly consider such a course of action. Waltharia waited, perfectly at ease as the light from outside faded and the space within the tent darkened until every shape was only a deeper cast of shadow, even her own. From beyond the walls of the tent came the many noises of the camp settling down as twilight fell over them: horses stomping and blowing, men singing or calling out orders, a wagon’s creaking rumble as objects were moved, a dog’s bark, the distant piercing cry of the golden griffin as it soared above. Liath felt herself caught within the inner heart of the camp, unseen but measured as the outer seeming went about its public life.
“No, I couldn’t live with such an arrangement.”
Waltharia nodded. “So be it.” Nothing in her tone revealed whether she approved or disapproved of Liath’s answer. “It can be done, but it will not be easy. You must agree to be patient and to work at this one step at a time.”
“I can be patient. There is a thing he lacks, Lady Waltharia.”
“Is there?” she said with a laugh. “I have not yet discovered it, then. No, I pray you, I am only jesting. What do you need?”
“You see in what manner we are dressed. Sanglant’s road has been a difficult one. He and his army escaped the cataclysm with little more than their weapons and horses and the clothes on their backs. A regnant cannot be anointed and crowned without vestments appropriate to such a ceremony.”
“Yes, it’s well you warned me. I will see that suitable robes are brought, although it will be difficult with his height. Still, it can be managed.” Unexpectedly, she reached out and took Liath’s hand in hers. “Ah. Your skin is warm. Do you have a fever?”
“No. I’m never sick with such things.”
“Is it true?” she whispered. “That your mother was a daimone of the upper air? A creature of fire?”
“It’s true.”
“What does it mean? Do you have a soul?”
“All creatures created by God have souls.”
“Can you fly, as it is said daimones can?”
All at once, grief choked her as she remembered what she had lost. Barely, she was able to rasp out the words, although she didn’t know why she should confess something so dangerous, so terrible, and so private to a woman she scarcely knew. Her rival. Possibly her ally.
“Once I could, but not on Earth. Only in the heavens.”