"Now that all of Italy is in the hands of Manfred's enemies, I suppose I would go back to Constantinople," she said. The thought of returning home to the city she loved was a faint light in the blackness of her despair.
"For my part, I would not stop you from going," he said. The weary sadness in his voice stung her.
If he meant it—and he seemed to—she should be relieved. Overjoyed, even. But all she felt was the weight of her grief, pressing pain into the very marrow of her bones.
"What do you mean to do about Tilia Caballo and Ugolini?" she asked.
"I am sure King Charles wants them, but I do not care to be the one who dooms them by turning them over to him."
King Charles. The title sounded so strange. That was how the ones who supported him must speak of him, of course. And her heart wept a little for Manfred, whom she had not thought of in her agony over Daoud's death.
She heard the note of disdain toward Charles in Simon's voice and wondered at it.
"You will not deliver Charles's enemies to him? After coming here and helping him win his war? Have you turned against him?"
"Gradually—too gradually, I am sorry to say—I have come to see that Charles d'Anjou was not the great man I once thought him to be. When I learned that John and Philip were killed, that killed any remaining feeling I have for Charles. So I will help you if I can. But where can you all go? All of southern Italy and Sicily will be overrun with Anjou's men. I cannot keep you, and you cannot safely leave me."
"Let us go back to the others," said Sophia. "It will be best if we talk together about this."