When she burned, she was incoherent, tossing and turning and babbling at intervals, lost to him. “The heavens run swifter than any mill wheel, as deep under the Earth as above it. But they and their creatures are eternal. The Earth is mortal. Yet, behold, she departeth very suddenly. What is this ribbon of light tunning through the heavens, disturbing them? It has only one side, and it never ends. It only returns again to its starting place.”
Sometimes, when she raved, unlit candles would come alight, or lamp wicks snap into life that hadn’t been burning before. At these times the servants fled from the hut, frightened. Only Jerna, who was braver now, would stay in the hut, always hovering hear the baby, stroking it, blowing its black cap of hair into wispy spikes and then smoothing it out again. She even curled around the baby’s cradle at night, an unearthly guardian, when Sanglant caught such sleep as he could, although his sleep was disturbed constantly either by the baby’s crying or by Liath’s sudden restless fevers.
Now and again Liath tried to show interest in the baby, but she would drift off at the exertion of letting it lie on her chest or, worse, break into a wheezing, weak cry because she couldn’t feed it. Then the crying would exhaust her and she would slip into a cold sleep, her hands like ice.
The baby squalled and squalled. Sanglant carried her in a sling against his chest, or on his hip, or settled in a rocking cradle that Heribert had devised, and everywhere he went the servants crowded round, trying to touch Blessing, so wildly curious at this apparition that they neglected their labors and Severus complained peevishly that his bread was burned, his porridge cold, and the blankets left in disarray on his pallet when they ought to have been neatly folded after he rose in the morning.
At Meriam’s suggestion, Sanglant milked the goats, and they tried everything they could, heating the milk and dropping it in her mouth bead by bead, soaking the corner of a cloth in goat’s milk and putting it between her lips, molding a nipple out of sheep’s intestine for her to suck on. But she would only take a minuscule amount before turning her head away. Squalls turned to mewls and mewls to whimpers.
“Ah, well,” said Anne four days after its birth, observing the baby with equanimity. “It will die. That only goes to show that it was never meant to be born.”
He felt the growl slip from him, enough that his Eika dog stood and barked, enough that Anne’s new attendant, the black hound, growled and lunged for him.
“Sit!” said Anne, and the hound sat. She had not yet named it, nor did she seemed inclined to do so. But she only smiled at Sanglant, and it seemed to him that she was mocking him, waiting to see him fall apart in a rage as he watched the life leach out of his precious daughter.
But fear and desperation had healed him somewhat—he hadn’t had nightmares since the day Blessing was born—and now fury banished the old instincts. He set a hand on the head of his dog to calm it and looked Anne straight in the face.
“Do you have so little feeling that you would stand by and let your own granddaughter die?”
“God’s will is unknowable.”
“Then if you have so little love in your heart, think instead of the gold torque you wear at your throat. Don’t you have a responsibility to your kin to keep your lineage alive?”
Now she was far more interested than she had ever been in the child. “What do you mean, Prince Sanglant?”
“Since the day we met, I have wondered to which royal lineage you owe your blood. If I’m right, then it makes no sense to me why you would not make every effort to keep this infant alive. Is it possible that you aren’t Emperor Taillefer’s granddaughter?”
“What makes you think that I am?” she said, but he saw that he had surprised her, and by that reaction he saw that his blow had hit true.
“Who else could you be? You aren’t of Varrish kin because they’re gone except for my aunt Sabella, her daughter Princess Tallia, and her poor, idiot husband who isn’t fit to rule. You’re not of Wendish blood because I know all my kin. All the Salian princesses whether married or unmarried or given to the church were discussed by my father’s council after Queen Sophia died, from the eldest old crone of sixty to the girl of nine, because they wondered if there was one suitable for him to marry. A woman of your age and appearance was never mentioned. In Karrone they dare not wear the gold torque. Nor do the royal houses of the eastern realms decorate themselves in that way. The Alban queens wear armbands, not torques, to show their breeding. I admit you might be Aostan, but according to every rumor the royal house of Aosta was wiped out except for Queen Adelheid.” He smiled a little, thinking that if not for Liath, he might have been bedding Queen Adelheid now. Yet if not for Liath, he would still have been chained to Bloodheart’s throne, a madman. “Who else can you be? St. Radegundis was pregnant when Taillefer died. No one knows what became of the child born to her. But you do.”