“You are quiet, Your Majesty,” said Hathui having given up her attempts to get Liath to speak.

“What have we left?” he asked her. “What was once an alliance is now, again, only loyal Wendishmen and marchlanders.”

“Isn’t that for the best?”

“Is it? Did we not have strength in numbers? Did we not have strength because we reached across the old boundaries? My father was not foolish in thinking that empire would make him strong.”

“It killed him.”

Hathui’s tone surprised him, but as he examined her face, he saw neither anger or resentment, only sadness.

“Did it? That he marched south to Aosta—perhaps. Yet any of us might die, on any day.”

“Perhaps not you, Your Majesty.”

The barb had a sharp hook. “That may be, yet I pray you consider that my father might have died in his bed, or fighting against his enemies in Wendar, as easily as he was captured by the queen’s plots.”

“Do not forget Hugh of Austra, Your Majesty.”

Ah.

He glanced at Liath, but she seemed far removed from their conversation. She had light hands on her mount, a submissive mare who was content to follow where the rest led. She was far beyond him, a world away, judging by her frown and the unfocused nature of her gaze, not quite lighting on tree or earth or cloudy sky.

“I have not forgotten him, Hathui. Where he is now, I cannot say.”

“Dead, I hope,” muttered Hathui. “I saw him murder Villam with his own hands. I will never forgive him that, although my forgiveness is not a thing a man of his station cares about. If he lives, he will have found refuge. I hope he is dead.”

“I would just like to know.” He laughed. “Better to know that there’s a man in the dark stalking you with a knife. Even if you can’t see him. Yet what do you make of it, Hathui?”

“Of Hugh’s plots and Queen Adelheid’s treachery?”

“Nay. Of this new alliance.”

“What alliance, Your Majesty?” She looked around, as if expecting a pack of wolves to lope out of the surrounding woods. As they moved down into the bowl of a valley, beech and silver fir gave way to spruce. The dense boughs of spruce had absorbed the heavy winds better than most trees. Although the road was darker, often shaded and dim, few broken branches and fallen trees blocked their path.

“That between the Quman and the Horse people.”

“Is there one?” Liath had been listening, after all. She spoke as if the question had been addressed to her. “The Horse people are few, so they say. If they do not make allies of the Quman, they will end up fighting them. So they have done for generations, surely, with the aid of sorcery.”

“So they have done, but it is not clear what will become of sorcery now; or how the balance of power will change with the return of my mother’s people. If I were one of the leaders of the Horse people, I would seek allies. It may be they will seek an alliance with the Quman. It may even be they will seek an alliance with the Ashioi.”