In the Ruins

Page 144

Beyond the palace gates he walked the cold streets. It was dark and dank, and his feet slopped in mud. In the handful of years since Bloodheart’s ouster there had been time to rebuild walls and residences but not yet the plank walkways that had once kept men’s feet out of the muck.
Wind moaned through eaves. A smattering of rain kissed his face. All the smells of the city drifted on that night air: offal and sewage, fermenting barley and rancid chicken broth, the rank savor of the tannery and the slumbering iron tang of the blacksmith’s forge. The old marketplace had been reconstructed as a row of artisan compounds. The old mint was still a ruin, a jumble of charred pilings and shards of lumber too badly burned and broken to be scavenged for other buildings. Eyes shone in lamplight, and feral dogs growled as he and his escort passed. He growled back. They slunk away into the shelter of overhangs and collapsed walls.
“Amazing they haven’t been killed,” said Fulk. “I’d think it would be good sport for the lads in the town to hunt them out, vermin like that.”
“No doubt they’ve tried,” replied Hathui. “It’s hard to kill them all.”
The central square of Gent opened before them. The soldiers swept the lantern light in swathes across the stones, but the square was empty. Everyone had gone home or found lodging. They mounted the steps, but these, too, were deserted. A single flower petal lay forgotten on stone. Otherwise, every wreath and bouquet brought here earlier had vanished.
“Where is Liath?” He took a lantern. “Wait here.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” said Fulk, but he looked at Hathui as with a question, and she nodded back at him, and abruptly Sanglant wondered if there was some deeper intimacy going on between those two.
Never mind it. He was not the right person to judge.
Folk slept restlessly in the nave. Once, years ago, refugees had gathered here. This group were commoners who, having walked in from outlying areas to witness the anointing and crowning of the regnant, had no other place to stay before they set out for the journey back to their homes in the morning. He kept the lantern held low so none would mark him, and made his way to the stairs that led down to the crypt.
The stairs took a sharp corner, here, which he remembered as clearly as if it had been yesterday. A spiderweb glistened, spun into a gap in the stones. He halted at the bottom of the stairs. A field of tombs faded into darkness. Beyond the halo of lantern light, it was utterly black.
“Liath?” he said softly, but there was no answer.
He waited, listening, but heard nothing. He smelled the aroma of clay and lime but no scent of oats. Instead, the fragrance of drying flowers brushed him. The bones of his Dragons had been thrown down into this holy place. In a way his old life, that of the King’s Dragon, Henry’s obedient son, had died here, too. The old Sanglant could not have taken on the regnant’s mantle despite Henry’s desire to raise him to that exalted state. It was Bloodheart’s captivity that had changed him. How strange were God’s ways!
“‘Be bound as I am by the fate others have determined for you,”’ she said.
“Liath!” He shifted the lantern, but he still could not see her. The pit of darkness had swallowed her.
“Do you remember?” she asked. “That’s what you said to me, that day.”
“I don’t remember saying it. I remember following you down here. God know I remember the day well enough. I died that day, or would have, if my mother hadn’t cursed me. And you lived.”
“I remember something else you said,” she added, and he heard amusement in her tone. She was laughing at him.
“What is that?”
“‘Down that road I dare not walk.”’
He laughed. “Not here among the holy dead, at least. But there is a cold bed waiting to be warmed if you’ll come with me.”
“Not tonight, beloved. It wouldn’t be right.”
“So you say. I’ll not ask again if it displeases you.”
“Nay, don’t scold me, Sanglant. I’m still reflecting on my sins. What do you think happened to Wolfhere?”
“What has that to do with your sins?”
“I’m not sure, but I feel sure there is a connection. Do you think he’s dead?”
“If he is, I will not mourn him overmuch, considering he tried to murder me when I was an infant. He was taken with Blessing, though. So much so that he tried to kidnap her.”
“Blessing said otherwise, so you also said.”
“That he protested against her being taken? She can’t be expected to have understood the whole.”