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Alain wiped his nose and tried to speak in greeting, but he could not get words past the grief lodged in his throat.

“I heard the tale,” said the prince, “and I helped the huntsmen beat the bushes on the cliffs and down by the river, but we found nothing. The adder must have gone back into its den.” He glanced again toward the hounds, aware of their least shifting movements. Rage growled again, all stiff-legged, but did not rush in: She knew a worthy opponent when she saw one. “May I look at the wound?”Advertisement

“I thank you,” said Lavastine.

Alain made to shift Ardent’s right foreleg to turn over her paw … and for a moment could not, until he braced himself and heaved. She was almost too heavy to be moved.

“Strange,” said Sanglant as he examined the paw. “It’s as if she’s turned to stone.” He bent to sniff along her body exactly as a dog would.

Behind, the servants whispered as they watched him, and abruptly Sanglant jerked up, hands clenching at his side, as if he’d heard them. Bliss barked a warning. Outside, the baying and howling had subsided.

“She smells like the Eika.” He shook his head as a hound flings off water. He traced the curve of her ear and the grain of her nose, dry and as cold as stone. “Are you sure it was an adder that bit her?”

“What else could it have been?” asked Lavastine. “She was at the threshold, there—” He pointed to the door of the chamber.

“You saw nothing?” The prince looked at Alain. He had startlingly green eyes and an expression as guarded as that of a caged panther which, given room to bolt free, suspects a hidden weapon is poised to strike it down as it runs.

“I wasn’t here—” Alain felt himself blush.

“Of course not,” said the prince curtly. “I beg your pardon.” He paced to the window, stared out as if searching for someone, then abruptly turned back. “I saw a creature among the Eika that was dead and yet was animated by Bloodheart’s magic.” When he spoke the name of his captor, his gaze flinched inward. He touched the iron collar that ringed his neck, noticed that he had touched it, and jerked his hand down to his belt. A flush spread across his fine, high cheekbones, a dull stain over his golden-bronze complexion.

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Lavastine waited, toying with Ardent’s leash, tying it into knots and untying it again without once glancing at his hands.

At last Sanglant shook his head impatiently. “Nay, it is impossible that such a thing could live past Bloodheart’s death. Or that it could follow us so far, when only sunlight animates it and we travel swiftly by horse and it is no bigger than a rat.”

“What you speak of is not at all clear to me, Your Highness.” Lavastine gestured to the servants and, as one, they retreated out the door to leave the count, his heir, and the half-wild prince alone with the living hounds and their dead companion.

Sanglant hissed between his teeth. “Lady preserve me,” he whispered as if struggling against some inner demon. “It was a curse, that’s all I know.” He measured his words slowly, as if he did not quite have control of them—like a nervous horseman given an untried mount to ride. “A curse Bloodheart wove to protect himself from any man or Eika who wished to kill him. Let you and your people accompany me, Count Lavastine. I have certain … skills. Together with your hounds, if there is aught that stalks this place, we can catch it.” He paused, set a hand on Ardent’s cold paw, and shut his eyes as he considered.

Suddenly he started up with such violence that the hounds began barking madly.

“Peace!” said Lavastine over their noise, and they subsided.

“It isn’t you at all,” said the prince. “It’s seeking her. She’s the one who killed him.”

That quickly, and without warning or any least polite words of parting, he was out the door and vanished from their sight. They heard the servants scattering out of his way as he strode down the corridor, and then much murmuring, leaves settling to earth after a gale blows through.

Lavastine sat for a long while in silence, so stem of face that the servants, glancing in, retreated at once. “A curse,” he muttered finally. He lowered his eyes to the tangled leash, and sighed as Alain wiped a tear from his own eye. Poor, good-natured Ardent. It seemed impossible that she wasn’t barking cheerfully, begging to be let out for a run.

Then he lifted a hand and touched a finger to his lips as he did when he meant Alain to listen closely. “Prince Sanglant is beholden to me for rescuing him. He favors you, and Henry favors him—which is not surprising. Princess Sapientia is brave but impulsive and unsteady. I have not seen Princess Theophanu, but she is said to be coldhearted. Alas for Henry that the prince is only half of human kin, and a bastard besides. Watch and listen carefully as we ride with the king’s progress. I believe the king wishes to make Sanglant his heir—” pqdm.com