The Gathering Storm (Crown of Stars #5)

The Gathering Storm (Crown of Stars #5) Page 141

The woman sang while using the staff to weave the threads into a new pattern woven in and out between the monoliths. The web of light thrummed, pulsing as to the dance of an unseen spider tangled in its own weaving. Light blossomed into an archway surmounting the nearest lintel.

“Now!” cried the woman. The light of the weaving limned her gaunt profile.

Antonia knew her: a noble cleric from the north country of Wendar, a notable counselor to King Henry. What was Sister Rosvita doing here? Why was she not in Darre with the king and his court? Why did she look so old?

“Stop them!”

A man’s voice rang out from within the forest of rock pinnacles behind her.

“Go!” shouted one among the clerics, a young woman with the pale hair common to the northern barbarians only recently come into the Circle of Unity. She wore an Eagle’s cloak; her face, glimpsed briefly, seemed vaguely familiar. Antonia set her jaw and with an effort clambered to her feet, but it was too late. Behind, she heard the shouts of men rushing across rocky ground, feet crackling on stone. Ahead, the clerics hurried through the gleaming archway, the first two carrying Mother Obligatia. One by one the rest vanished.

“Rosvita!”

To Antonia’s amazement, Hugh of Austra emerged from the pinnacles, furious, disheveled, and outwitted, a score of soldiers crowding up behind him and exclaiming aloud in terror and wonder.

Rosvita glanced back last of all, pausing on the threshold of the glittering archway. She marked the man who, out of breath and flushed with anger, now stood beside Antonia, but she neither smiled nor frowned; she simply looked, measuring him, noting Antonia for the first time without any outward evidence of surprise.

The crown of light faded.

Sister Rosvita turned, stepped through, and was gone.

The crown disintegrated into a thousand spitting sparks that drifted to the ground like so many fireflies winking on and off.

“Damn!” swore Hugh. His hands were dirty, his golden hair wild in disarray; he wore a layman’s tunic and hose, and these were scuffed and even ripped at one knee, as though he had been climbing, no better than the common soldiers massed behind him. Yet despite this he remained beautiful, almost radiant in his fury as the sun rose in pitiless splendor behind him.

She lifted a ragged sleeve to cover her eyes. The light gave her a vile headache, and spots of shadow and light flashed and whirled in her vision.

“I pray you, Presbyter Hugh,” she said, pleased to discover that her voice worked, calm and in command, “I have been a prisoner here, cast into a pit of darkness. I would be most grateful if you would escort me back to my rightful place.”

Her words like a hook yanked him back to himself. He brushed away a smudge of dirt on his cheek.

After a pause he spoke, now completely in control of himself, all that blazing emotion tucked away. “You must be Sister Venia. Holy Mother Anne thought you irretrievably lost, Sister, but I am heartened to find you whole and safe.” He glanced heavenward before offering her the support of his arm. “Come. Let us retreat to the shade. I pray you tell me what happened, and why you did not return to Darre.”

He found her a decent place to sit and made sure that a soldier padded the rock with several tunics to make a comfortable seat. He sent soldiers to reconnoiter. Meanwhile, wine was offered to her, a subtle vintage that cleansed her palate.

With these assurances to strengthen her, she was able to tell her story, careful to let no hint of her anger at Anne color her words. Hugh was surely well placed in Anne’s councils by now; she could only guess at his loyalties.

“So you are free, after two years in captivity,” he said wonderingly, laughing. “In exchange for Sister Rosvita, it seems. A clever irony.”

“Was Rosvita also a captive?”

“She was. She …” He frowned as he glanced toward the stone circle, mostly hidden by the pinnacles that surrounded them. “She discovered things too dangerous for her to know. Holy Mother Anne, Queen Adelheid, and myself had to take action to help King Henry, who came under the influence of bad advisers, Rosvita among them.”

The comment surprised her. Antonia had never hesitated to dispose of those who threatened her. “You did not simply eliminate her?”

His smile would have broken the heart of any maid, soft and sad as that of a gentle lover thwarted in his plans by the arrival of a nobler suitor. “You are a woman, Sister Venia, and thereby fashioned out of stronger metal. I am sentimental, as men are. I admire Sister Rosvita too much to deal so arbitrarily with her. I had hoped for another solution.”

She did not believe him, but the words sounded nice. He knew how to evoke sympathy while hiding his true motives.