“Go on,” said Anne after a suitable interval.
“This text Bernard bound into the middle of his book is not proving to be what I expected. If it goes on as it has begun, from what little we have translated so far, then it may prove more dangerous than any of us can know.”
“Yet what we seek may still be found there. You must continue, Sister. If we cannot find the key to the Aoi crowns, through which they wove their magic, we will not be able to prevent the Lost Ones from returning.”
“I will continue,” said Meriam, her frail body almost hidden by shadows. The lamplight did not quite reach her. “What of the other matter? What of the promises made to my son?”
Anne frowned as if she’d forgotten what she was about to say next, but the expression passed quickly. “That must wait until we see what transpires with Ironhead. King Henry’s mind is closed to me, and his Eagles shroud him from my sight. Let us see what course events take before we act. Meanwhile, another serious matter must be dealt with. Brother Lupus is missing.”
“Do you suppose he is dead?” asked Severus.
“Do you hope he is?” asked Marcus with a smirk. “You’ve never cared for Brother Lupus.”
“A common-born man with no family to recommend him? And no respect for those born of noble kin?”
“I would know if Brother Lupus were dead,” said Anne, thus ending the exchange. “He is missing, and I cannot say why, nor can I find him when I seek him through fire or stone. Brother Marcus, you must seek him out. Rescue him if need be.”
“Travel again! Sister Venia remains whole and hearty, and knows the northern kingdoms better than I do. My Wendish is a frail thing, easily flustered. She could go.”
“Sister Venia remains under ban in the northern kingdoms and might be recognized. It will be you, Brother Marcus.”
He sighed. “Very well.”
Anne nodded. Her calm expression never altered. Why should it? Her wishes were never refused. “There remains the unfinished business of my mother, Lavrentia, whom I thought long since dead. One among us must go to St. Ekatarina’s Convent in Capardia. Without seven to bind a daimone to our will, we haven’t the power to do what needs to be done, as we did with Bernard.” There it came, the look that none could disobey. “Therefore, it must be you who goes, Sister Venia.”
Antonia sighed, an echo of Marcus’ displeasure at having to leave the manifold comforts of the skopos’ palace. She had eaten well this night at the Feast of St. Johanna the Messenger. But she knew better than to object. “What am I to do there?”
“Gain the confidence of the sisters. Enter the convent as a guest. Discover what you can. When the opportunity arises, kill my mother.”
Anne did not keep them much longer. Antonia had only postponed her hunt, not given it up. Once she was sure that the others had gone to their beds, she made her way to the suite of chambers reserved for the use of the skopos.
The carpeted anteroom leading into the skopos’ bedchamber muffled her footfalls, so she entered in silence and paused behind the concealing wooden screen. She scented magic at work here, a perfume like that of almonds. She always wore certain amulets to protect herself against the effects of bindings and workings, what she called common magic, as easily learned by an old wisewoman as by a noble cleric. Love spells, sleep spells, invisibility spells: these she had no fear of, and the scent of almond seemed to her like a veil, one that worked as a double-edged sword in her favor. If Hugh used common magics to conceal his intrigues, then he might just be arrogant enough to believe that no person in the skopos’ palace was immune to them. Except Anne.
She peered out into the chamber. The presbyter sitting in attendance with Hugh had fallen asleep, snoring softly in a chair set against the far wall. Hugh was alone with the dying woman.
At first, Antonia thought he was actually spinning Mother Clementia’s soul out of her wasted body, a pale thread of light that writhed and curled in his hands. But she had lived in Verna long enough to recognize the aetherical form of a daimone. Marcus had been right: Hugh had bound a daimone and used it to control the skopos.
She had to admire his audacity and skill. After all, he was using his power for good. So what did it matter what means he employed?
Mother Clementia sighed in her sleep. The pink color seeped out of her cheeks as Hugh wound the struggling daimone into a red ribbon. The skopos grayed, fading. Dying fast. Only the daimone had kept her alive for so long.
At last Hugh sat back, finished. The red ribbon in his hands twisted and fluttered like a live thing, and perhaps it was now that it contained a daimone. He concealed the ribbon in his sleeve and, to her surprise, slipped his precious book out from under the shelter of the skopos’ featherbed. Antonia stepped back into the shelter of the angled screen as Hugh walked past her to the door, so lost in thought that he didn’t even scan the shadows to make sure he hadn’t been observed.
