Child of Flame (Crown of Stars #4)

Child of Flame (Crown of Stars #4) Page 131

In the afternoon, with winter twilight sighing down outside, Matthias came in with Raimar and Autgar. He was taller than Suzanne now, filled out enormously from a combination of steady meals and hard work. He stank of the tannery, and as he washed the worst of the stink off his hands, he broke his news. “Anna! I’m to be taken in as a journeyman at the tanning works!”

His words left her cold, although she managed to hug him. They all expected her to be happy for him. He continued to speak as he stepped back from Anna, exchanging a look with his betrothed, the youngest of the weavers who had fled Steleshame with Suzanne. She was a girl about his age who had round cheeks and clever hands. “I’ll live at the tannery now, and I’ll have every other Hefensday off.”

They all fell to talking as they made ready to attend the Hefensday Eve service, washing their hands, tidying their clothing, the women retying their hair scarves. Because Anna couldn’t join in the talk, she waited by the door like a lost child peeking in at a feast of camaraderie she could never share in. Matthias would move on with his life. After everything they’d survived together, he was leaving her behind. She could never be more than an afterthought in his new life. She wasn’t more than an afterthought in any of their lives, not really, no matter how kindly they treated her.

Reflexively, she drew her finger in a circle around her wooden Circle of Unity, the remembered gesture that her mother had habitually repeated in moments of fear or sadness or worry. What had become of the Eika prince who, when they had crept to the door of the crypt in the cathedral, had watched them silently and let them go? He had drawn his finger, just so, around the Circle of Unity he wore at his chest, although she still could not fathom why a savage Eika would wear a Circle, symbol of the faith of the Unities.

Tears filled her eyes suddenly, bringing with them the bitter memory of the young lord who had knelt before her at Steleshame and spoken gently to her. She hadn’t answered him, and ever after that moment, she had lost her voice, as though God were punishing her for her silence.

“Here, now, Anna,” said Suzanne, “it’s a fine day for Matthias, is it not?” With a smile, she tugged Anna along with her, gesturing to the others to follow. “You look well enough, lass. You won’t disgrace us when we process like a fine and wealthy family into church, will you?”

Helen was wiggling in Raimar’s arms, and he was laughing good-naturedly as he tried to wipe a sooty stain gotten God knew where off her cheek. The rest of the household trailed behind Suzanne like so many sheep, and in this cheerful fashion they made their way down the dusky streets to the cathedral.

On Lordsday many folk crowded into the cathedral for the evening services, for tomorrow would be Hefensday, seventh and therefore highest of the days of the week. The service had already started as they entered, making their way down the nave to the spot under a window painted with a scene of the blessed Daisan teaching his disciples. An ugly scar still marred the painted robe of the blessed Daisan, where an Eika weapon had mauled the paint. Most of the pillars had sustained damage during the Eika occupation. Stone angels, gargoyles, and eagles carved into the pilasters bore rake marks, as though they had been repeatedly clawed by a creature powerful enough to gouge stone. The paved floor had been scrubbed often enough that only a few traces of the fires that had burned here remained. The shattered windows had been restored first, although one was still boarded over.

At the altar, a cleric led the congregation in the seventh-day hymn. “‘Happy that person who finds refuge in God!’”

The altar had been cleaned and polished to a gleam, a holy cup of gold placed upon it, together with the ivory-bound book containing the Holy Verses out of which the clerics and the biscop dictated the service. Only one object lent a discordant note to the apse: a heavy chain fastened to the base of the altar, hammered in with an iron spike.

Anna remembered the daimone whom Bloodheart had chained to the altar in misery. Suzanne noticed her shuddering, and put an arm around her to comfort her. But nothing could ever drive out that recollection, flashes of recognition that always assaulted her when they came to services.

“In the crypt lies the path you seek,” the daimone had said in its unformed, hoarse voice. By that path she and Matthias had escaped Gent.

Yet it was the Eika who had stood by silently to let them escape. Matthias had forgotten that, but she never would.

The toddler had fallen asleep, but the baby was wakeful, now and again smacking its lips and taking a quick nurse at its mother’s breast as the clerics sang the opening hymns.

“Where do you think Lord Hrodik is?” Raimar said to Suzanne. He caught Anna looking at him, and smiled at her. He always treated her and Matthias well. He had lost his family to the Eika, a young bride, his parents, and three brothers, and like Suzanne he was determined to make a good life for himself out of the wreckage. For that reason, as well as mutual respect, they had come to an agreement a few months ago and announced their betrothal, to be consummated in the spring.