“Let me speak bluntly.” Lady Eudokia waited for Heribert to translate before she went on. “Why are you here? If you had wanted another princess for your master, you would have traveled to Arethousa, for it is only the Most Just and Holy Emperor who can dispose of his cousins and sisters and daughters. In any case, it is well known that your master married the Aostan widow. I have not heard that your people follow the idolatrous Jinna custom of marrying more than one spouse at a time, or is it possible that you are still as barbaric as the Ungrians?”
Captain Istvan snorted audibly, but said nothing.
“Perhaps it is you who wish a princess for your own bed,” she went on, confronting Sanglant with her gaze but still refusing to use his name or dignify him with any kind of title.
“I am already married,” he said sweetly, “or else surely I would ask for your hand in marriage, Lady Eudokia.”
Was that amusement or anger that made her lips twitch? She beckoned for the servant and ate another dozen grapes before indicating that the man should offer the platter to her guests. Sapientia ate eagerly, but Sanglant waved him away.
“Then what brings you here? Have you come to embrace the true faith and cast aside the apostate heresy that the Dariyan clerics preach?”
“Outrageous!” exclaimed Sapientia, a grape poised before her lips.
“Do you not suppose,” Sanglant murmured, “that there stand among the servants one who can understand Wendish? Do not be incautious.”
“Oh!” She studied the attendant servants as if she could puzzle out their linguistic skills simply by the cut of their faces.
“How do I respond, my lord prince?” asked Heribert.
“Say this, Heribert.” Battling with wits he found himself nervous, palms damp. He smoothed his tunic over his thighs, the movement draining off a sliver of his tension, and continued. “Most Exalted Lady Eudokia. What do you know of sorcery?”
Sapientia turned to him, startled, and grasped his wrist, but Eudokia, amazingly, chuckled. She clapped her plump hands. A eunuch bowed before her while she whispered into his ear. He left the arbor by a side door.
They waited in silence while the servants brought around grapes, figs, and sliced apples, still moist. Sanglant touched nothing. A sense of foreboding crept along his spine like the brush of venomous fingers. He shifted, marking Lady Bertha and seeing that she, too, sat erect, watchful, ready, as did Captain Istvan. The Eagle, Hathui, dipped her chin to show that she was alert. Sapientia nibbled anxiously on grapes, frowning between bites.
The eunuchs returned. One waited in the corner while the other knelt before Lady Eudokia, pale golden robes rustling into folds around him. He held a lidded ceramic pot. Lady Eudokia began to hum, slipping sideways into a wordless chant, as she removed the lid and slowly lowered her hand into the pot. Was that a bead of sweat on the eunuch’s face, trickling alongside his nose? Probably it was only the heat.
“God Above!” whispered Sapientia, hand tightening on Sanglant’s wrist as Lady Eudokia removed her hand from the pot.
A banded asp twisted upward to encircle her wrist. It reared its head back, hood flaring, and struck the hapless eunuch on the forearm.
Sapientia gasped. One of the lordlings shrieked.
The pot slipped from the servant’s hands and shattered on the floor, shards scattering everywhere. He cried out, choking, as he slapped a hand over the bite, but already the flesh swelled horribly, a red mortification creeping onto the offended hand. Lady Bertha and Captain Istvan leaped to their feet, but Sanglant raised a hand to caution them, and they paused with knives half drawn, unwilling to sit down again but respecting Sanglant’s command.
One of the other eunuchs hurried over with an uncovered pot into which Lady Eudokia gently deposited the writhing snake. He clapped a lid over it and placed the pot on the floor beside the stricken man, who was gasping for breath as a drop of blood squeezed out of his right eye. The noise of his labored breathing and his whimpering moans was the only sound in the arbor except for the wheeze of the bellows worked by the slaves. The sleeve of his robe, covering the bitten arm, had gone tight because of swelling flesh.
“Basil.” The green-robed eunuch padded forward and offered Lady Eudokia a gold cup and a shallow bowl filled with fragrant herbs. She took hold of the stem in her right hand and with her left sprinkled crushed herbs into the cup while muttering all the while words whose meaning Sanglant did not understand.
“Beroush. Beroush … keddish gedoul.” She switched into the familiar cadences of Arethousan, and Heribert bent down to whisper a translation.
