Antonia from her concealment saw the pair as they climbed the steps onto the long porch that looked over the enclosed garden. A trio of bored guards dogged their heels. One held the chain bound to Blessing’s left wrist, a necessary precaution after her first two escape attempts. On the third step Heribert paused and glanced back over the garden, and for an instant Antonia thought he looked right at her, although surely she was safely hidden in the bower.

“That child has a terrible liking for you, my lord,” said the older of the two guards attending Berthold. He spoke in Dariyan.

“Do you think so?” Berthold had taken to Dariyan so easily that it was likely he had some prior knowledge of the language, although nothing Antonia knew of the Villam clan suggested an earlier link to Aosta.

“Surely enough, for I’ve two daughters close to her in age and I know the look they gave those lads they took a liking to.”

“Poor thing,” said Berthold.

“Think you so?” asked the younger guard. “She is a brat. Princess Mathilda is a nobler child.”

“I pray you, Philo, I will not hear Princess Blessing spoken of in that way.” The tone was gentle enough to make the older guard chuckle and the younger one truckle.

“I beg pardon, my lord. I meant nothing disrespectful. Yet it’s her father killed our lord, the queen’s husband. His own father! Surely the stain of his patricide marks her somehow. She hasn’t the look of proper people. What if that’s the influence of the Enemy?”

“I’m no cleric to answer such troubling questions. Princess Mathilda is a fine young lady, indeed, as she must be with such royal parents. What say you we go find those pastries you were speaking about?”

“Is it the pastries you lads are wanting a closer look at, or the cook’s helpers?” said the elder, and the younger two chortled.

They walked away in good charity with each other. Queen Adelheid had no idea how thoroughly Lord Berthold had cozened his guards and what freedom they allowed him, none of which she had approved. He had the run of the castle, as long as he kept out of the way of those who would get his guards in trouble. Antonia watched the three men retreat down the length of the garden between the serried ranks of fruit trees only now leafing and budding as the warmth of spring tried to penetrate the clouds. There was a brilliance in the sky today that gave her hope that the sun would break through soon. If not now, when?

Berthold could have escaped a hundred times in the last three months, but he had not, because Blessing could not. Like Villam, he was loyal to Wendar and, despite Mathilda’s superior claims, it was obvious to Antonia that Berthold had made his choice. Adelheid might believe otherwise, but she had allowed herself to be blinded by his youthful charm.

Nay, Heribert was the cause of it all. He had turned Berthold’s heart, although it wasn’t clear with what inducements. Blessing, too, had a hand in it, however unwitting. Mathilda had many fine qualities, including Henry’s infamous temper and openhanded generosity and Adelheid’s devious mind, but she did not shine, not as Blessing did. The child was without question an abomination, intermingling the blood of three races, but she had power that could be molded and used as a tool, either by the Enemy or by the righteous.