The Miracle Thief by Iris Anthony

he suddenly turned and raised his cup to me.
    My knight stepped forward, to my side.
    The room was not even half-filled, and even then there were only the count’s men-at-arms and a few clerics. The count himself had chosen to stay at the villa. It was not unexpected, since these lands in Neustria had fallen under his protection, but he seemed to have claimed the estate just as surely as he’d tried to claim the throne. His banner now had the place of honor, and his men the best seats at the banqueting tables.
    As I walked into the hall, the archbishop’s translator had turned from the Dane to relay a message to the count. “The chieftain will wait until December, but the girl will not go to the abbey. She will stay with you in Rouen.”
    I could not keep myself from speaking. “That was not the agreement! I am to inquire of Saint Catherine at—”
    Not one of them acknowledged I had spoken, save the Dane, and he looked at me with such ill-concealed interest that I soon wished I had not. But I could not let them disregard the agreement my father had made. “I am to go to Saint Catherine at the abbey in Rochemont. That’s what my father, the king, commanded.”
    The archbishop’s translator glanced away from the archbishop toward me. But it was the count who spoke. “The Dane will not allow it.”
    Not allow it? “He already agreed to it.”
    â€œHe fears an early winter. He does not wish to lose you along the way. Nor do we, my lady.”
    I might have been charmed by his sentiment, but it was clearly an afterthought.
    The Dane was staring at me again, and in a gathering where he towered above every man, it was difficult to ignore him. A flush swept me from head to foot.
    The count’s smile was perfunctory. “We do not dismiss the king’s command. In lieu of your journey to the abbey, the relic will be brought to you.”
    How could it be brought to me if it were in the chapel at the abbey? Besides, I didn’t want the relic. I wanted to know God’s will. “There’s no need. I simply wanted the chance to ask Saint Catherine if—”
    The archbishop responded with a pinch of his mouth. “If Saint Catherine blesses the marriage, then she will allow her relic to be moved to Rouen. My nephew, the canon, will be able to go and return much more quickly than you would.”
    I eyed the canon.
    â€œIt will save you the journey.”
    But I did not want to be saved the journey, and I did not want the relic here. I wanted to go there , to the abbey up in the mountains. I wanted to experience, for one last time, the peace that had seemed to reign there, and I wanted to speak to that nun again. In spite of all reason, in spite of her having spent her life at the abbey, I felt certain she would understand.
    But the count was already speaking to the translator, and the archbishop was all but ignoring me. The translator’s gaze wandered to me as he listened to the count and then, once the count was done speaking, he verified the message he was to pass to the Dane. “There is no reason for the princess to journey to the abbey. If Saint Catherine agrees with the marriage, the baptism, and this alliance, then she will allow herself to be brought here.”
    Robert nodded, and the translator turned toward the Dane.
    Had not one of them listened to me? “But—”
    The archbishop sighed as he rubbed at a spot beneath his ear, tilting his miter precariously to the side. “Is this not what you wanted? A chance to let Saint Catherine decide?”
    â€œYes… but I do not think that—”
    The Dane was pulling some rust-stained ring from his arm and offering it to the translator.
    The monk shrunk from the giant, shaking his head.
    The Dane grunted and then moved toward us, trying to give it to the archbishop. It was then I saw it for what it was: that metal arm ring he’d dipped in blood back at the meadow.