Blessing had a disconcerting habit of leaning so far out tower windows that it seemed in the next instant she would fall, or fly.

 “Look!”  She had crawled up into the embrasure of an archer’s loophole and was still–-barely–-small enough to push into the narrow opening so that she could look down into the forecourt.  “My father has left the feasting hall.  I don’t like it when he makes me stay here, like I’m in prison.  Doesn’t he have enough prisoners to lord it over?  Why does he pick on me?”

 “Your lord father does not like it when you behave as you did this morning,” said Anna for the tenth time that evening.  “When you act like a barbarian, then you must be treated as one.”

 Matto sat by the cold hearth, a lit lamp dangling above him.  He had made use of the long and dreary afternoon to oil the young princess’ harness until it gleamed.  Looking up, he winked slyly, and Anna blushed, gratified and irritated at the same time.

 Blessing forced her shoulders through the loophole.  Anna hastily grabbed her trailing feet just as the girl called out, words muffled by the stone.  “Who’s that with him?  It looks like an Eagle!  He’s coming back here!”

 Anna tugged, grunting, but Blessing was either stuck or was holding on.  “Matto!”

 He was more than happy to set down the harness and help her, because it gave him an excuse to put his arms around her as he grasped hold of Blessing’s ankles as well.  “Your Highness!” he said.  “I pray you, do not get stuck in there or we will be the ones who will face your father’s anger.”

 There was a pause.

 Blessing wriggled backward, half slid down the stair-step embrasure, and hopped to the carpeted floor.
Despite everything, the girl had a profound sense of fairness and did not like to see her attendants blamed for her misadventures.

 “Well, there is an Eagle with him,” she said defiantly.  “I don’t know where she came from, or how she could have found us out here in Ungria.  I hate Ungria.”

 “We all know you hate Ungria, Your Highness,” said Anna wearily, allowing herself to lean against Matto’s broad chest.  His hand tightened on her shoulder.

 “Thiemo won’t like that.”  Blessing had a sweet face still, although she stood as tall as many a nine or ten year old child, but her expression was sharpened by a spark of malicious glee as she bared her teeth in something resembling a grin.  “I hear him coming up the stairs now.”

 Anna stepped out from under Matto’s arm.

 “I’m not afraid of him!” Matto muttered as the latch flipped up.

 The door had a hitch to it, and the floor was warped, so it took Thiemo a moment to shove it open.  To be safe, Anna took two more steps away from Matto.

 “My lord prince is returning,” said Thiemo, addressing Blessing.  “Your Highness.”  His gaze quickly assessed Anna, and Matto, and the distance between them, and then he grinned winsomely at Anna, the smile that always made her dizzy.  How could it be that a lord like Thiemo even noticed a common born girl with skin stained nut-brown from the tanning pits?

 Blessing’s tunic was twisted around from climbing.  As Anna helped the girl to straighten herself and found a comb to brush her untidy hair, Thiemo and Matto gathered up the harness, tidied up the chamber, and did not speak one word to each other.  The two young men had never been friends, since the gulf in their stations did not truly permit such intimacy, but had once been friendly companions in Blessing’s service.  Not any more.

 The clamor of footsteps and voices echoed up from below.  Lamplight glimmered and, all at once, fully a dozen people crowded into the tower chamber.  Blessing scrambled up to hide in the stair-step embrasure, crouching there like a sweetly-featured gargoyle with Thiemo and Matto standing as guards to either side of the opening.  Anna retreated to the hearth while Prince Sanglant and his noble companions and loyal followers took up places around the chamber.  His sister seated herself at the table with her faithful companion Lady Brigida at her side and the others ranged about the room, standing respectfully or sitting comfortably on the bed or the other bench, according to their station.  It was the usual retinue: Lady Bertha of Austra, Brother Heribert, Wolfhere, that nasty Brother Zacharias, whose robes were damp, Captain Fulk, kind Brother Breschius, even-tempered Lord Druthmar, who commanded a contingent of Villam cavalry, and the one they all called the Rutting Beast, the notorious Lord Wichman.  The only Ungrian present was Istvan, a noble if rather grim captain who, like Brother Breschius, had thrown his loyalty to Sanglant after Prince Bayan’s death at the Veser.  Anna had expected to see the prince’s mistress, Lady Ilona, whose favorite gown Blessing had so thoroughly ruined this morning, but evidently she did not hold an intimate enough rank within the prince’s personal circle to be invited into his private assembly.

 Sanglant paced, wearing a path from the door to the window and back again, but his attention remained fixed on the battered Eagle who had been given Anna’s stool for a seat, the only common-born person in the room not on her feet.  This was no arrogant privilege granted her by reason of her Eagle’s status;  she looked too exhausted to stand on her own.  But although her shoulders drooped, her keen gaze did not waver from the prince’s restless figure.

 “So it’s true,” Sanglant said at last.  “Wolfhere glimpsed the truth with his Eagle’s Sight, but we had no way to confirm what he had seen.”  He glanced at Wolfhere, who regarded the other Eagle with a thoughtful frown, as though the news she had brought were nothing more troubling than the screech of a jay.

 “We must march on Aosta at once!” cried Sapientia.

 Sanglant barely glanced at her, nor did she try to interrupt him when he spoke.  “With what magic will we combat those who have imprisoned the king?  Nay.  This changes nothing, and in truth only makes our course more clear.  We must continue east.  That is the only way to defeat our enemies.”

 “But Your Highness,” objected the Eagle, “I have been already two years seeking you.  How can we know what has befallen King Henry in that time?  He is hidden to my Eagle’s Sight.  He may be dead.  They may do any foul deed to him that they wish!”

 “And so may they continue to do,” said Heribert quietly.  “I have seen the power of the sorcery they wield.  We cannot fight it with spears or swords.”

 “But Your Highness,” pleaded the Eagle, “if you ride east, into unknown country and the lands where the Quman breed, it may be years until you return to Wendar.  What will happen to your father meanwhile?”  She knelt at the prince’s feet, her presence forcing him to stand still.

 “They need Henry alive in order to rule through him,” said Sanglant.  “His Wendish armies will desert Adelheid and her advisors if Henry dies.  The nobles and their retinues will return to Wendar without the king to lead them.”

 “There is the child, Your Highness.”  The Eagle’s voice was soft, but Sapientia all at once burst into noisy exclamations.

 “Abandoned!  Set aside!  And for a toddling brat!”

 Wichman snorted, but fell silent at a glance from the prince.

 “It is true that the child can become queen in Henry’s place, but she cannot yet be three years of age.”  Sanglant looked toward the embrasure where his unnatural daughter had concealed herself in the shadows of the window’s stone archway.  Blessing was not more than three years old, but she appeared so much older that King Geza had suggested to Sanglant that he betroth her to Geza’s favorite child, a brash fifteen year old boy whom many whispered had been all but anointed as heir despite having a dozen older brothers.

 “Regents have ruled through three-year-old children before, Your Highness,” said Wolfhere.  “This girl, Mathilda, would no doubt be easier to control than a mature man of Henry’s stature and experience.”

 “Are you suggesting we give up our quest?”

 “Nay, I do not, my lord prince, but I implore you to listen carefully to what Hathui has seen and heard.  I trained her myself, and King Henry saw her worth and raised her up to stand at his right hand as a trusted advisor.”

 Sanglant’s lips twitched, as though he wasn’t sure whether to smile or frown.  “Just as you stood beside my grand-father, King Arnulf?”

 Wolfhere shrugged, unwilling to be drawn into an argument so old that Anna could only guess at its contours.  Intimately involved as she was in the care of Blessing, she often witnessed the interactions between Sanglant and his closest counselors.  Despite Wolfhere’s status as a respected elder, she had seen tempers flare and accusations thrown like knives.

 Sanglant returned his gaze to the younger Eagle.  “I do not question your loyalty to my father, Hathui.  You have proven it by riding so far to seek my help.”

 “What of the king?” she demanded.

 “To fight the rebellious lords of Aosta, to fight the Jinna bandits and the Arethousan usurpers, it seems to me they must have Henry to lead the army.  Why kill him if they can control him with sorcery?  Why control him with sorcery if they felt powerful enough to kill him and still keep the crown of Wendar on the child’s head?  Nay, let us pray that my father lives, and that his queen and her counselors will keep him alive until the child is old enough to stand up at the war council herself.”  He glanced again toward the embrasure, but the shadows hid his daughter from view.  Only her eyes winked there, two sparks of fire.
“We cannot fight the sorcerers unless we have a hope of winning, and we have no hope of winning unless we can protect ourselves against their magic.”

 “Griffin feathers,” murmured Zacharias.  His face was flushed, and he was perspiring.

 “I fear the Kerayit will not care about Wendish troubles, Your Highness,” said Breschius softly.  “They may not choose to aid you.”

 “So you have said before.  I do not neglect your counsel, Brother.  But Anne’s plotting threatens the Kerayit as much as any people.  No place on earth will be safe.”

 “And we could all die tomorrow,” added Lady Bertha cheerfully.

 Wichman guffawed, caught sight of Anna, and gave her a wink.  She shifted nervously.  He had tried to grope her once, although Sanglant had put a stop to it, but the duchess’s unruly son still made her uneasy.

 “Set aside for a babe in arms!” muttered Sapientia.  Yet it had been months since anyone had paid much attention to her, and although she still had the luster of the royal blood, she had faded in an intangible way, like silver left unpolished.  “Did the Wendish nobles not hear my father confirm me as heir?  How can they bow before an infant in Aosta?”

 “What of Wendar itself, my lord prince?” Hathui asked.

 He paced to the door, pausing there with his back to the assembly.

 “I should return to Wendar!” cried Sapientia.

 “I wonder if my sisters still quarrel over Saony,” remarked Wichman, “and if Ekkehard has managed to stick his key into his wife’s treasure chest yet.”

 Sanglant ignored these comments as he replied to the Eagle.   “I commanded a cohort of Lions to attend Theophanu.  I sent many levies of fighters back to their farms.  As you can see, I rode east with less than ten hundreds of soldiers.  Two thirds of the army we had at the Veser no longer rides with me.  They must defend Wendar until I return.”

 “Can they?”  Grimacing with pain and favoring a leg, Hathui rose to stand defiantly in the middle of the room.  “Do you know what I have seen in the two years I have traveled, struggling to reach you, my lord prince?”

 From no other common born person might a noble lord hear such a tone, but it had long been understood that Eagles had to have a certain amount of freedom to speak their mind if their information was to be of any use to their regnant.  She went on without asking his leave.

 “Salia lies torn apart by civil war, plague, and drought.  Bandits lurk along every road.  I heard little news of Varre as I rode through Wayland, and received nothing but scorn from the retainers of Conrad the Black.  It is said that he celebrated Penitire in Mainni as if he were king, with Sabella’s daughter Tallia beside him as his new wife.  Avaria has been swept by plague.  I rode through more than one empty hamlet, and as many where the path was blocked by fallen trees and villagers standing there with scythes and shovels to guard themselves from any who might bring the contagion into their homes.

 “Princess Theophanu refuses to name any of Duchess Rotrudis’s children as heir to the duchy of Saony, but both the daughters have threatened to seek Conrad’s aid to gain the ducal seat.”

 “Two sows rooting in the mud while the boar looks on!”

 “I pray you, Wichman,” said Sanglant, “let the Eagle finish her report without interruption.”

 Hathui continued.  “Cousins fight among themselves to gain lands and titles come free because there have been so many deaths in the recent wars.  Riding through the marchlands I saw fields withered by drought.  I saw children laid low by famine, with their stomachs swollen and their eyes sunk in like those of corpses.  In Eastfall, it rained every day for two months straight and ergot destroyed half their stores of rye.  Heretics preach a story of a phoenix offering redemption.  It is no wonder that people listen.  The common folk fear that the end of the world is coming.”

 Wichman laughed.  “What evil does not plague Wendar?”

 Hathui was not so easily cowed.  “I have heard no report of locusts, my lord, nor has there been any news of Eika raids along the northern shores these past two years.”

 “A spitfire!  Do your claws come out in the bed, too?”

 Impatiently, she turned back to Prince Sanglant.  “Princess Theophanu has sent three Eagles to Aosta and heard no answer from her father in reply to her pleas for help.  I crossed paths with a fourth --”  Anger creased her lips, quickly fled.  “–last summer, who rode south to seek the king.  I saw with my Eagle’s Sight that she crossed the Alfar Mountains safely this spring, but as soon as she came near to Darre she was lost in the sorcerer’s veil.

 “Conrad of Wayland acts as if he is king, not duke.  Yolanda of Varingia is embroiled in the Salian wars.  Biscop Constance remains silent in Arconia.  Liutgard of Fesse and Burchard of Avaria ride at Henry’s side in Aosta.  Saony has no duke.  Theophanu cannot act with the meager forces she has at her disposal.  Who will save Wendar, my lord prince?  Who will save the king?”

 Sanglant said nothing.  Within the embrasure, Blessing shifted, feet rubbing on stone.  Sapientia wept quietly while Brigida comforted her.  The others waited.  Anna glanced over toward the window to see both Thiemo and Matto looking at her.  Heat scalded her cheeks, and she looked down.  What would happen if they came to blows?  Would Prince Sanglant banish them for creating trouble?  She didn’t want to lose either of them, but matters could not remain in this tense stalemate.  She was going to have to choose.  And she didn’t want to.

 “You have the army and the leadership, my lord prince,” continued Hathui.  “Turn your army home.”

 “I cannot.”

 “You can!  Henry left Wendar in a time of trial.  If he had stayed in Wendar, he would not have become bewitched.  He ought to have stayed in Wendar and not ridden off to Aosta in search of a crown.  And neither should you!”

 “I am not riding to Aosta in search of a crown.”  Anna heard the edge creep into the prince’s voice that meant the Eagle’s words had angered him, but perhaps the Eagle did not care, or did not know him well enough, to heed the warning.

 “But you are riding east, in search of other tokens of power.  Some have named you as a rebel against your father.  I see for myself that you have usurped your sister’s command of this army.”

 Silence, cold and deadly.

 Yet wasn’t it true?  Even though nobody said so?

 A sharp snap caused everyone to jump, but it was only Wolfhere treading on a twig carried up to the room in the crowd.  Lord Wichman chuckled, looking at Sapientia to see what she would do, thus challenged.  Lady Bertha folded her arms across her chest, her smile thin and wicked.

 Sapientia stared up at her elder brother, waiting.  In a strange way, thought Anna, Prince Bayan had trained her to listen to him and wait for his approval before acting or reacting.  Now she looked to Sanglant in the same way.  Over the last three years she had been broken of the habit of leading.

 “I have done what I must.”  The hoarse scrape of his voice lent a note of urgency and passion to his words; but then, he always sounded like that.  “I have never rebelled against my father.  Nor will I.  But the war is not won yet.  Adelheid and her supporters have traded in the king for a pawn who speaks with the king’s voice but without Henry’s will.  Who will act as regnant now?  I say, the one who can save him by acting against Anne and her sorcerers.”

 Heribert cleared his throat and spoke diffidently.  “Do not forget that Anne sits on the skopos’ throne.  She is no mere ‘Sister’.  She is Holy Mother over us all.  To go against her, my lord prince, you must war against the church itself.”

 “Even those who call themselves holy may be agents of the Enemy,” murmured Wolfhere.

 “As you well know,” replied Sanglant with a mordant laugh, moving restlessly toward the table.  “Is there wine?”

 “Return to Wendar, my lord prince,” said Hathui stubbornly.  “Raise an army, and ride to Aosta to save the king.  I beg you.”

 He allowed Heribert to pour him a full cup of wine, which he drained.  “No.”  He set down the cup so hard that the base rang hollowly on the wooden table.  “I ride east, to hunt griffins.”