Prince of Dogs

Page 162

“My lord!” She stared at the hounds, aghast. Alain had never seen eyes as blue as hers, as bright as fiery Seirios, the flaming point of the Huntress’ bow in the night sky. “I beg your pardon—”
“Nay, think nothing of it.” But he was puzzled by the hounds’ reaction. “You have a message for my father?”
“For Count Lavastine, yes.”
“I am his son.”
She was surprised. “I do not mean to interrupt your walk, my lord. If one of your men will show me to the count—”
“I will do so myself.”
“But, my lord—”
He waved aside the cleric’s objections. They had as their object this morning the little abbey of Soisins, founded by his great-grandfather after the death of his first wife in childbirth and added onto by his great-grandfather’s second wife after his own death in battle. “This is more important.” No one argued with him. “Come.” He said it more to the hounds than to the others: where he and the hounds went, the rest followed. “Walk beside me,” he said to the Eagle.
She glanced toward the hounds. “I’m sorry to have startled them. They don’t seem very … welcoming.”
Alain heard the men-at-arms muttering behind him, and he could just imagine what they were saying. “Sometimes they surprise even me, but they won’t harm anyone as long as I’m with them.” With only a slight hesitation she moved up beside him. At once, still growling low in their throats, the hounds flowed to his opposite side, a mass of black coats and legs scrunched together. So intent were they on avoiding her that they scarcely noticed the handlers and men-at-arms hurriedly sidestepping to make room for them.
“What happened to your horse?” he asked.
“Ai, Lady!” She glanced behind herself as if wondering if someone followed besides his guards. “Elfshot, my lord.”
“Elfshot!”
“Fifteen days south of here. I’ve almost lost track of the days.” She told a jumbled story of bandits and shadowy figures in the deep forest. “One of their arrows struck my horse’s flank, just a scratch, but even though the deacon at Laar blessed it, the poor creature sickened and died.”
“But you’re a King’s Eagle! Surely you could have commandeered another horse.”
“So I could have, had I been in Wendar. But no one here would give me a fresh mount in exchange for a sick one.”
“And this in my father’s lands?” He was appalled. “That isn’t how we serve the king’s messengers! I will see the deacons hereabouts are reminded of our duty.”
“Do you support King Henry, my lord?” she asked, clearly surprised.
He could only imagine the reception a Wendish rider—though she scarcely appeared Wendish, with that complexion—had received in this part of Varre. “I do what is right,” he said firmly, “and I hope my aunt—I hope my elders will never be disappointed in me by hearing I have stinted in hospitality to a stranger.”
She smiled, a brief flash on her face that he wished, at once, to see again. “You are kind, my lord.”
“Didn’t the blessed Daisan say, ‘If you love only those who love you, what reward can you expect?’”
That did make her smile again. “In truth, my lord, many of the folk who offered me shelter and food these last fifteen days had no horse to give in exchange. It was the ones who did who were least hospitable.”
“That will change,” he promised her. “What is your name, Eagle?”
Startled, she took a stutter step, stumbling to catch up as he paused to look at her. “I beg your pardon, my lord. It’s just not—few noble folk ask—”
Of course. Eagles hatched from common stock. No nobly born lord or lady would ever think of asking one’s name. He had betrayed his upbringing, and yet, why should he be ashamed of simple courtesy? “I am called Alain,” he said, to reassure her. “I meant nothing by it. It’s just hard to address you as ‘Eagle’ all the time.”
She ducked her head as she thought over this answer. She had a fine profile, limned now by the morning sun to the east. But for all her obvious physical vitality, she wore under that vigor a mantle of fragility, as if she might break apart at any moment. She is afraid. The revelation came to him with such force that he knew it to be true, yet he could hardly say so aloud. She lives in fear.
“I am called Liath,” she whispered, and sounded amazed to hear her own voice.