gracefully around her, such a fine bronze sheen to it that it almost seemed to shimmer in the moonlight.
"Human skin," he breathed. The words died away onto the night breeze, then were answered by hers.
"You who were once called Zacharias-son-of-Elseva-and-Volusianus. I have taken your blood into my blood. You are bound to me now, and at last I have seen how you can be of service to me and my cause."
ALIVE.
At first Liath could only ride silent along the newly-cut road i while the riot of forest tangled around her until she felt utterly confused. Why had Da lied to her? Had he even known? Ai, Lady. Why couldn't it be Da who still lived, instead of her mother?
At once she knew the thought for a sin. But her mother existed so distantly from her that she could grasp no feeling for that memory which came in the wake of Wolfhere's words more as dream than remembrance: a courtyard and herb garden, a stone bench carved with eagle claws, a slippery memory of silent | servants half hidden in the shadows. Of her mother she recalled little except that her hair had been as pale as straw and her skin as light as if sun never touched it, although she remembered sitting sometimes for entire afternoons in the bright sun of an Aostan summer, a light more pure than beaten gold.
"You knew all the time."
"No," he said curtly. "I only discovered it now, on my journey to Aosta."
"Hanna didn't tell me."
"She had already left me to return to King Henry with news of Biscop Antonia's escape."
"Did you tell my mother you found me? Did you tell her Da was killed? What did she say?"
"She said I must bring you to her as soon as I can."
"But where is she now?"
Finally he shook his head. "I dare not say, Liath. I must take you to her myself. There are others looking for you—and for her."
"The ones who killed Da."
His silence was answer enough.
"Ai, Lady." She knew herself to be a young woman now, having left the last of her girl's innocence behind when Da had been killed and Hugh had taken her as his slave; she knew she must appear different to his eyes than she had on that day over a year ago when they had parted in Autun. She had grown, filled out, gotten stronger. But Wolfhere might have aged not a single day in the last year for all she could see any difference in him. White of hair, keen of eye, with the same imperturbable expression that all wise old souls wore in order to confound youthful rashness, he had weathered much in his life that she could only guess at. Surely it took some remarkable action for a common-born man to make an enemy of a king, for kings did not need to take notice of those so far beneath them in all but God's grace. Yet the grieving Henry, at Autun, had banished Wolfhere from court as punishment for his being the messenger who had brought him news of Sanglant's death at Gent.
Except Sanglant wasn't dead.
"If only I could have taken you with me to Darre instead of Hanna," Wolfhere murmured. Then he grinned wryly. ."Not that I have any complaint of Hanna, mind you, but do not forget— as I have once or twice to my regret—that we Eagles do not control our own movements. We must go as and where the king sends us."
"If you dislike the king's command upon you, then why do you remain an Eagle?"
"Ah, well." His smile gave little away. "I have been an Eagle for many years."
They rode on for a time in silence as the afternoon sun drew shadows across the road. A red kite glided into view along the treetops and vanished as it swooped for prey. Vines trailed from overhanging branches to brush the track.
"Is she well?" Liath asked finally.
"She is as she ever was."
"You might as well tell me nothing as tell me that. I hardly remember her. Ai, Lady! Can you imagine what this means to me?"
"It means," said Wolfhere with a somber expression, "that I will lose you as an Eagle."
It struck her suddenly and profoundly. "I'm no longer kinless. I have a home." But she could make no picture in her mind of what that home
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley