The Gathering Storm (Crown of Stars #5)

The Gathering Storm (Crown of Stars #5) Page 353

A dark-haired, homely boy of about ten years of age sat at the base of her couch, holding a gold circlet in his hands and trying not to fidget. A general outfitted in gleaming armor stood behind her, striking because he had one eye scarred shut from an old wound while the other was a vivid cornflower blue, startling in contrast to his coarse black hair and dark complexion. He stood between the two slaves, so straight at attention, hands so still, that he might have been a statue. But he blinked, once, as he caught sight of Hanna’s white-blonde hair, and then a man laughed, such a loud, pleasant, hearty sound that Hanna’s attention leaped sideways to the king and queen seated on splendidly carved chairs to the right of the Arethousan lady on her dais.

Nothing could have shocked her more—except the appearance of a lamia slithering in across the soft rugs.

The king and queen sat on a dais of their own, rectangular and exactly as high as that on which the Arethousan noblewoman presided. Two banners were unfurled behind their chairs—the doubleheaded eagle of Ungria, and the red banner adorned with eagle, dragon, and lion stitched in gold belonging to the regnant, or heir, of Wendar. Behind the queen stood three grim-faced Quman women, one young, one mature, and one very old: They wore towerlike headdresses covered in gold, and when Hanna looked at them they made signs as one might against the evil eye.

The king laughed again. He was a big, powerful man not quite old but not at all young. “It’s as if a breath of snow has come in. I’ve never seen hair so white!” He turned to his queen, taking her hand, but her expression was as sour as milk left too long in the sun.

“That’s just what your brother used to say,” Princess Sapientia said. “She is my father’s Eagle, but I don’t trust her. Nor should you.”

Hanna gaped, but she knew better than to defend herself.

“These folk are known to you, King Geza?” asked the Arethousan lady. Behind her, the one-eyed general was smiling at a jest known only to himself.

“They are known to me!” said Sapientia. “That woman is Sister Rosvita, one of Henry’s intimate counselors. I have never heard an ill word spoken of her, although it’s true some are jealous that the king honors her so highly when her lineage is not in truth so high at all.”

“Will she know the usurper’s mind?” asked the lady.

“She might.”

They spoke Arethousan slowly enough that Hanna could follow its cadences; Geza and Sapientia were not fluent, and the noblewoman evidently disdained to use a translator.

“Sister Rosvita, step forward,” said the lady.

Sister Rosvita took one step, halted, and inclined her head respectfully. “I am Sister Rosvita. Although I could once claim to be one of Henry’s intimate counselors, that is true no longer.”

“So she says!” snorted Sapientia.

“Yet we have seen rebellion in plenty,” said Geza, “not least in the person of your charming brother, my dearest Sapientia. Henry loses support and his authority falls to pieces. Is that not the sad fate of those who do not rule well, Lady Eudokia?”

The lady’s smile thinned her lips. Hanna almost expected her to flick a snake’s forked tongue out of her mouth. “We need but one great victory to gain the support of the people here in Arethousa, it’s true. We must drive the usurper’s army out of Dalmiaka. After that, we will turn to the golden city in triumph. My aged cousin will retire to a monastery and allow my nephew to take what ought to be his.”

“Is that when I will become emperor, Aunt?” The homely child sitting at the foot of the couch spoke in a piping voice, peculiarly loud. He looked as if surprise were his normal state as he spun the circlet between his fingers. Obviously he would rather be playing than sitting in on this grave council.

“Yes, Nikolas,” she said dismissively. The general did not move, not by one finger’s breadth, although he had developed a disconcerting habit of flicking his gaze now and again back to Hanna. “Tell us again, Sergeant Bysantius, in what condition you found this sad party?”

“In my opinion, Exalted Lady, they were fleeing from the usurper’s soldiers. If not, then they should become actors and go on the stage, for they have fooled me.”

“I pray you,” said Rosvita in a strong voice, “we are a small group of clerics, harmful to no one. We have both crippled and ill among us.”

“I did not give you permission to speak!” snapped Lady Eudokia. Rosvita pinched her lips together over a retort, yet otherwise her placid face did not change expression. Rosvita was a mild woman, but she was probably smarter than the rest of them put together.