The Burning Stone (Crown of Stars #3)

The Burning Stone (Crown of Stars #3) Page 86

“Will we ride out with him in the morning?”

“Do we have another choice?” But for that question, she had no answer.

2

“YOU’VE made a fool of yourself, Hugh.”

Margrave Judith did not mince words when she was angry, and she was very angry now. Ivar huddled in a comer of the spacious chamber reserved for her use, clinging to an equally frightened Baldwin. She had already hit Baldwin once for not getting out of her way quickly enough; his cheek was still pink from the slap. She was so angry that Ivar could not even get any pleasure out of her castigation of Hugh, which she conducted in front of her entire household.

Not that any of them appeared to be enjoying it either. Her servants and courtiers admired and loved Hugh, who treated high and low alike with graciousness and perfect amiability.

Now he stood with hands clasped behind him, a bruise purpling on one cheek, and his gaze fixed not on his mother but on a gaudy spray of white-and-pink flowers outside that shielded the open window from the glare of the late afternoon sun.

“Your conduct has embarrassed me,” she continued mercilessly, “and, God help me, may have lost you your influence with Princess Sapientia. Fool! And more fool I for thinking I could raise a son who would not fall prey to his male weakness! What hope does a man have if he betrays a consuming lust for a woman of unknown birth who brings no advantage to his kin and kind? By the amount you desire her, you give her that much power over you.”

“But she has power,” he said in a low voice, still flushed. “More power than anyone here knows or suspects. Except Wolfhere.”

“Power! A handsome face is not power. Even grant you that her father was a magus, as they’re all saying now, even grant that magus’ blood has lent her power, then what use is it to you since you have become her prisoner by reason of this unseemly obsession?”

“She is mine,” he said with such zeal that cold ran down Ivar’s spine like the fingers of the Enemy, probing toward the heart for weakness.

“She is Prince Sanglant’s, as is apparent to anyone with eyes not blinded by lust.”

“Never his!” He reached out suddenly, broke off a spray of glorious flowers, and began shredding them into bits. Petals spun down around him.

“Has she bewitched you? Bound some kind of spell onto you? They’re saying that her father was a fallen monastic who dabbled in the black arts as well as in some Jinna whore’s belly, and who paid for his sins by being eaten alive by the minions of the Enemy. It would make sense that she had learned a few tricks from him before he died.”

“Yes,” he said hoarsely, “she has bewitched me.” He clenched both hands. Astonishingly, he began to weep with thwarted fury—just utterly lost control of himself.

Liath had done this to him.

Ivar could not help but exult at Hugh’s humiliation and rage. The Holy Mother had visited this punishment upon him for his arrogance. But when he thought of Liath, a stuttering sickness gripped his heart.

She had not even noticed him! Not two days ago when she first arrived at the king’s progress, not yesterday when the king had passed judgment by letting her remain his servant, and not today, when she had returned in defiance of the king’s command. By what right did she ignore him, who had done everything he could to help her? Did the love they had pledged each other mean nothing to her? What on God’s earth did Prince Sanglant have that he didn’t—?

“Hush,” said Baldwin, caressing his arm to distract him, though he hadn’t realized that he was grunting and muttering out loud. “Don’t draw attention to us, or she’ll hit me again.”

“How can she love him?” Ivar choked out.

“Of course a mother loves her son.”

“I didn’t mean—”

Margrave Judith stood up, and both boys instinctively flinched back, but she did not even glance their way. She picked up a fine silver basin filled with water and dashed it full in Hugh’s face.

“Control yourself!” She replaced the basin with perfect composure and sat back down. “I see I am almost too late.”

The shock of it brought him back. Trembling, he wiped his face dry with a sleeve.

“Kneel before me.” Slowly, he did so. “Am I not first in your heart?” she asked grimly.

“You are my mother,” he replied in a dull voice.

“I nurtured you within my body, bore you with great effort, and raised you with care. Is this how you repay my efforts?” He began to speak, but she cut him off. “Now you will listen to me. Three years ago I had to agree to have you sent to the North Mark after the incident in Zeitsenburg. You swore to me then there would be no more such incidents, yet I now find you entangled with a girl born of a magus’ breeding. Have you gone against my wishes in this matter? Have you, Hugh?”