“Tell me truly, Wolfhere, is this Eagle’s sight illusion or real?”
“Alas, my lord prince, it has never lied to me in all my days.”
“Then your sight is more truthful than your tongue, Eagle. Anne made skopos with my father’s blessing!” He glanced toward Bayan. The Ungrian prince, as jovial as ever, was accepting the congratulations of various nobles from among Sapientia’s train. No one begrudged him his victory; he had proved himself worthy, even if he was a foreigner. “Pray to God, Heribert,” he looked around and saw Zacharias, “and you, too, Zacharias, no matter what you believe now. Pray to God to grant me patience to endure what I must for the sake of the kingdom, and the wits to learn intrigue.” He laughed harshly, drawing his little retinue away from the crowd, seeking his daughter where she splashed merrily in the stream, pretending to be a bird rising from the water. “Bloodheart taught me well, although he never meant to do me any favors. If his dogs couldn’t tear out my throat in Gent, then these dogs surely will not do so now. Ai, God, to think that my father offered me the kingdom and I turned it down!”
“Your Highness!” said Wolfhere, surprised. “What do you mean?”
“No matter.” Sanglant lengthened his stride, moving out through the grass away from the rest of them as he called to his daughter. He wore a leather cord around his neck and now, restless, he pulled it out to cup his hand over a round leaf of silver engraved with various signs. “My father would not have named Anne as skopos and fallen victim to her lies if I had been at his side, advising him. She would never have gained such influence if it had been me who had ridden to Aosta with Adelheid as my queen.”
He stopped dead as his daughter crowed in triumph, having escaped Thiemo’s efforts to catch her, and turned on Wolfhere. “Or you could be telling Anne everything that you’ve learned while riding with me. You could be hiding from me what she tells you.”
“So I could, Your Highness. And I could kill your daughter while she sleeps. Lord Thiemo is a good boy, but not my match.”
“The old wolf is wise and subtle. Tell me, Wolfhere, how does one learn intrigue?”
“What sort of intrigue do you wish to learn?”
“The intrigue of the king’s court. It’s said that you were my grandfather Arnulf’s favorite. You, a common-born man. Folk must have hated you because he listened to you above all others.”
“So they did. And your father most of all.”