The general nodded as if to show he understood Antonia’s disgust. He indicated her with an open palm, showing respect in a way that won her grudging admiration. “Here are those who will fight for God. Let them battle where they can do good. As for me, I will use my sword where I can and my wits where I must. Are you agreed to the marriage?”

It was a swift thrust, but it did not take Adelheid by surprise. “My daughter Mathilda, to be betrothed to the young Emperor Niko. Yes. She is young yet, not more than five, but she will grow.”

His good eye narrowed. Where the scar damaged his face, he had no expression. It appeared that the muscles were somehow paralyzed. “Your daughter is of no use to me. She is a child. You are a woman.”

That fast, everything changed. Just as a wind will overset the careful preparations of a farmer who has not yet bundled his hay, so the plans agreed between Antonia and Adelheid flew away to nothing.

The empress laughed. Her nearest courtiers, seeing and hearing the words not spoken, set hands to faces, or hid their eyes, or chortled, or exclaimed, each according to their nature.

Antonia fumed. She must remain silent or lose all. She saw her own power eroding so quickly that she knew she must cling to the shoreline before the entire sandy cliff collapsed beneath her. It was no good to protest that the queen must not trust Arethousans or that her beloved Aostans would never trust her again should she marry one, because she had already considered and approved the idea of marrying her young daughter to one of them. To a foreigner! A heretic!

Here he sat as if he already ruled by Adelheid’s side.

“Betroth your daughter to the young emperor if need be,” he went on. “This is also good. But the power of yours and of mine— the power to keep our empires alive—must be joined. Otherwise we will die and our empires will die. Do you want this, Your Majesty?”

Antonia seethed with a rage she could never express.

“No,” said the empress. “I do not want my empire to die. Yet if I make an Arethousan king beside me, my people may turn their backs on me.”

” ‘King’ is only a title. I will be your consort, a simple lord. Call me what you will. What you must. But only you and only I, joined together, can save our empires.”

She took hold of his callused hand, hers so slight and his so large but surprisingly gentle as he touched her small fingers and smiled. By this simple means, they were betrothed in the sight of humankind.

But not of God.

He rose, and Adelheid rose with him. None spoke. The court was too stunned to speak, seeing what no one had ever expected: the empress of Aosta binding herself to a crafty Arethousan who by guile and wit and no doubt worse means had raised himself to become general and lord among that heretical people.