“It’s true,” he said, glancing toward Hathui, who despite her appearance of contrite prayer was no doubt listening closely. “Being true, as it is, I wonder that the margrave of Austra shelters the man who truly betrayed Henry.”

Ekkehard sniffed and wiped his nose with the back of a hand.

Waiting for his brother to speak, Sanglant realized that he, too, was trembling, that he had in him reserves of hatred he hadn’t known he possessed. Bloodheart was dead, and any power he had left to harm Sanglant resided in Sanglant’s heart and head alone. He had other enemies, of course, some of whom had not yet declared themselves. But he had only one man he truly hated.

“That’s the other thing she wants,” said Ekkehard, his voice shaky. He glared at Theophanu. Her expression was cool and distant, without trace of the anger that had flared.

“That who wants?” asked Sanglant, who had now stuck in his head the image of his enemy, to whom God had given exceptional beauty. Why did the wicked flourish and the innocent suffer? Why did God allow beauty to grow in a vat of poison?

“That Gerberga wants,” said Ekkehard irritably, “in exchange for her support of your claim to the throne and crown of Wendar.”

“Of course. Eastfall and Westfall must have strong margraves in these times. I am agreed to this, and I see no reason not to marry Lady Theucinda to a worthy man, a younger son, perhaps, who has not yet been claimed as another woman’s husband.”

“Or been killed in Henry’s wars!”

“Enough, Theo! What is the second request, Ekkehard?”

He smiled, but it wasn’t a kind smile. “There is something Gerberga wants very much, that she cannot have because of a promise she made to her mother when she was named as Judith’s heir. She can’t go against a promise sworn to her mother, surely you see that.”

“I see that. What is it she wants?”

Through the open doors, the graying of shadows heralded the approaching dawn. Birds cooed sociably. A creature scrabbled in the rafters. Then, once again, it was silent. Even the guards had ceased speaking in that undertone that had drifted at the edge of Sanglant’s hearing all night.

“She wants to be rid of Hugh,” whispered Ekkehard. “She hates him, but she promised her mother never to harm him, no matter what, and to give him shelter when he needed it. Margrave Judith loved him best of all. Just as our father loved you, the bastard, the least deserving.”

An explosion of pigeons burst out of the arcade, fluttering away into the twilight sky. The sound of their passage faded swiftly as they flew over the town and out past the walls. Sanglant’s senses were strung so tautly that he imagined them skimming over the fields. He felt he could actually hear the pressure of wing beats against the air as their flight took them over woodland and farther yet, racing south into the uncut forest lands where beasts roamed and lawless men hid from justice.