“Darre! There are devils in Darre!”
“Devils? Under the eye of the skopos herself?” Liath chuckled. “You mean elves. They aren’t truly devils, Hanna. Or even daimones.”
“But Deacon Fortensia says they’re the product of intercourse between fallen angels and the daughters of men. That’s why they’re devils.”
“That isn’t what the blessed Daisan taught. Da always said that elves were born of fire and light, tainted only by the darkness that came into the world in the time of chaos, and that they existed before humankind was ordered by the Holy Word.”
Hanna regarded her in horror, as if Liath had revealed that she herself was a devil, born of unnatural congress between a human woman and an angel who had forsaken the Lady and Lord. “You know so many strange things,” she muttered finally.
“It’s only because I learned to read, Hanna. You could do so, too, if you wanted to.”
“If I was in the church!”
“In Darre. I remember, Hanna!” These memories, born fresh out of the cloud in which she had been wandering, were like a thawing in the frozen northlands. “Da said that it was in Darre that King Henry met the elvish woman who bore him the prince that secured his succession.”
Hanna still looked doubtful and a little worried by this ungodly talk, but she squared her jaw and forged forward gamely. “Is it really true that the prince is half elvish? But it must be. Inga says her husband’s cousin’s wife was in Freelas the day the Dragons rode through, and she saw them. The Dragons, that is. She said there couldn’t be any doubt but that he wasn’t but half of human kin, he was so terrible and splendid to look upon. He had hair as black as night, skin the color of bronze, and green eyes.”
Liath laughed. Stuttered to a halt, having not heard that strange sound for so many months: her own simple laughter. “How could Inga’s husband’s cousin’s wife have been close enough to the prince, much less the Dragons, that she could see what color eyes he had?”
“He does have green eyes, and he is half elvish, poor bastard. His mother deserted him before he was two months old.”
Liath spun round so quickly she collapsed to the floor, huddling on her knees. Vaguely she realized that, behind her, Hanna rose. Brave Hanna. For there he stood, poised in the archway that led into the church. Of course he had known.
“She never knew Wendish or Varren, only Dariyan and a bit of Aostan, which is like enough to Dariyan that she might understand the one if she knew the other. They say she came out of Alba, which is known as a place where the Lost Ones still walk abroad in secret places and under the moon. But the tongue she spoke most easily was Salian, and it was in Salian she named the child.” He smiled, as if he was perfectly aware that she knelt rigid, frozen, at Hanna’s feet only because of his presence. “She called herself Alia, which of course means ‘other’ in Dariyan, though Prince Henry as he was then never seems to have understood the riddle. My old nurse was one of those who attended at the birth, for they had need of many witnesses, since Henry’s fertility was proven by this child. This is what my nurse told me: That Alia stared at the afterbirth and the newborn child and the blood that necessarily attends such events and said, ‘These are bloody fields I have been brought to. Take it away.’ So he was called Sanglant, for that is the name they heard her speak.”
His tone changed, and his eyes, so hard, were riveted on her. “Liath. From now on you will ride out with me. You can ride, can you not?”
She nodded mutely.
“Then come.”
“But it’s so cold out there.”
“You will come. Now.”
She rose and went.
5
WITHOUT even looking up at Hanna, without acknowledging her, Liath stood. She walked down the chapel aisle as stiffly as if strings moved her limbs for her, walked past Hugh and out into the church.
In the instant after she passed out of sight, Hugh looked right at Hanna, really seeing her. He studied her as if trying to decide if she posed a threat to them. Then, with an unconscious, deprecatory toss of his fine head, he dismissed her from his mind and turned to follow Liath out.
“You fool,” said Hanna under her breath, watching his form fade into the unlit gloom of the church. And yet, how could she look upon him and then turn without loathing to meet young Johan, with his pox-marked face and dirty fingernails and heavy, deliberate speech, on the marriage bed?
“You fool,” she said again, just to make sure she understood perfectly well what she was. Satisfied, she knelt on the padded cushion where Liath had knelt, warmed by the brazier. And she thought, long and hard, about what she had just seen.
