9

Dawn found a silent crowd of us in Arthur’s chamber, watching the rise and fall of his chest as if by doing so we could prevent Charon from ferrying him across the river Styx. Or to Hel’s domain, or the Celtic realm of the dead, or whatever Underworld one chose to believe in.

Having twice touched upon the emptiness of death myself, I doubted there was any realm at all beyond the one we could see and feel with our senses. It made it all the worse to know that Arthur teetered on the brink of such an abyss.

The braziers and body heat had made the room unbearably fuggy, and Daella got up to throw back the shutters. The first pale pink light of the day touched upon the chalice, sitting on a table amid the paraphernalia of the physician with whom Daella apprenticed, and the surgeon who sewed together or cut off the body parts of soldiers damaged in battle. Only I could see the fine crack through its middle; to an unfamiliar eye it looked only like a facet of the quartz from which it was carved.

Did the crack matter? I didn’t know. I kept seeing the vision in my head, of the cauldron splitting to reveal the green stone. Surely that meant that crack or no, Arthur and Britannia would be preserved.

I hadn’t had the chance to find out. Nothing had come to me on how to use the chalice. I didn’t know the chant. I had called for honey and wine, and I’d poured a pool of honey into the chalice and started to trace the route of the labyrinth with my fingertip, but I had known it to be an empty gesture, meaningless without the spell that had once saved me. There was no knowing in me, no power, to direct the chalice’s use.

Nor in Maerlin.

Was it because Arthur was not Phanne?

I had tried laying my hand on Arthur and connecting with his mind, thinking that that might trigger a response in me, an awareness of what needed to be done, but all I had felt in him was a scattered, confused self, caused by the opium he had been given for his pain.

Or maybe the chalice only worked as death laid its hands firmly upon one, and Arthur had too much life in him yet. I had to place my faith in the chalice letting me know what I needed to know, when the time came.

That time would come, I tried to tell myself. The vision could mean nothing else. Could it?

Daella sat back down beside me. I took her hand. “Are you all right?” I asked softly.

Her lips tightened and a frown creased her young brow; she nodded, although there was a sheen of tears in her eyes. “Is it terrible that I only feel numb about Uern, and can only grieve for Grandmother?”

Daella’s odious brother Uern had been with Mordred, and a few days ago had told her that their grandmother Mari had died during the winter. Then, when the chaos of last night had erupted, he’d tried to kidnap Daella, to return her to Tannet Fortress. Terix had been the one to save her, killing Uern in the process; I didn’t know what effect that would have on Daella’s long-standing crush on Terix. “Your grandmother taught you everything you know, and raised you with love. Your brother thought you a worthless piece of property. Of course you would mourn one, and not the other.”

“I’m not glad he’s dead, but I’m not sorry, either. They say blood’s thicker than water, but it’s not always, is it? I feel more like a sister to you than I ever did to him.”

I put my arm around her waist and hugged her.

Uern’s death had been the least important one of the night.

Druce, leader of that northern tribe of Britons between Corinium and Mona, had been killed by Maerlin. Druce had formed an allegiance with Mordred and Horsa, to undermine Ambrosius’s plans for a peace pact that would encompass all of southwest Britannia.

Mordred himself had put the sword to Ambrosius. The old hero had died in his bed, dreaming of the morning and of seeing his lifelong ambition come to fruition.

I felt a hand on my shoulder, and knew by the feel of his touch that it was Maerlin. “You should sleep,” he said.

I put my hand over his and looked up at him; his face was sunken, hollowed out with shadows. “No more than you.”

Everyone had been up all night. Everyone was still in shock over what had happened, so much happiness and hope turning in such a short time to despair and grief.

“Go, rest. Arthur may yet need all your energy and wits. I’ll send someone to wake you if there’s any change.”

I nodded, knowing he was right. On the way to my room Terix found me, and walked with me. We’d already talked about Brenn, and the atrocities of the night.

“Wynnetha has been captured alive,” Terix told me. “Una tracked her into the forest and took her prisoner.”

“Una! Then I’m surprised Wynnetha’s still breathing.”

“She won’t be for long. The Britons are calling for her head on a pike.”

“I can’t think of a nicer place for it,” I said.

“You should have seen it when Una arrived with Wynnetha; for once, everyone saw her, and they acted like a four-headed basilisk had suddenly appeared in the middle of the dining table, between the stuffed figs and the roasted boar. Una had the sense scared out of Wynnetha, too—she jumped at every prod Una gave her, like she was being herded by Death himself. Everyone thinks of Death as a skeletal man cloaked in black, but I tell you, after seeing Una with her blue eyes glowing out of those crazy black tattoos on her face . . .” He shook his head. “I think a tiny girl with white hair is more frightening. She didn’t look of this world.”

I smiled to myself, pleased for Una. “She must have been proud of herself, if she let everyone see her.” I took Terix’s arm. “And you? Are you all right with what happened with Uern? You’ve never killed anyone before, much less someone you knew, and the brother of a friend.”

“And you’ve never smashed someone’s head in with a mortar.”

“I wasn’t thinking. All I saw was that he was killing Brenn.”

“All I saw was that Daella was screaming and fighting, and Uern was dragging her off. I didn’t care who Uern was; all I knew was that he was taking one of us. I couldn’t let him. And you know what’s truly strange? I was terrified of what was happening, the fighting all around me, blood spraying and men falling. I’d trained with some of those men, but never felt like one of them; I was fighting beside them, all the while wondering what in Hades I thought I was doing and how long I could possibly last before getting cut down. Then I saw Daella and Uern, and all that fear . . . didn’t go away, but it didn’t matter anymore. All I cared about was killing—no, destroying that threat to one of our own. I hated battle, but I could have happily kept chopping at Uern until he looked more like chunks of meat in a butcher’s stall than a human being.” He made a low, rueful sound. “I probably would have, too, except I finally remembered that Daella was watching. I know she didn’t care for him, but still. It seemed like bad manners to keep chopping.”

I leaned my head on his shoulder, chuckling. “Oh, Terix. At least you didn’t make a joke of it.”

“I thought of a few, but kept those to myself, too. See how wise I’m growing in my old age?”

“You’re a veritable sage.”

“I should write a book of my wisdom. ‘Part One: When you’ve killed the brother of your friend, don’t laughingly point out the corpse’s look of surprise to her.’ ”

“Very good advice,” I said.

“Hard to remember in the heat of the moment.”

“I have faith you’ll master it. Given enough practice.”

“You don’t have any brothers, do you? Since I need the practice.”

“If I find any spare ones lying around, I’ll send them your way.”

We reached my room, and I wrapped my arms around Terix’s waist and laid my head on his chest. He hugged me back, his cheek resting atop my head. We put a good face on it with our bantering, but we’d both been shaken by what had happened, and were shaking still.

“We can’t leave yet, can we?” Terix asked softly.

I shook my head. “They need us.” I wouldn’t mention the promise I’d made to Maerlin in the throes of passion, to stay with him for a year and a day. Time enough to debate that point, when the Briton world had settled back onto an even keel.

Neither did I want to think too closely about what that promise meant, now that the marriage of Wynnetha and Arthur was most definitely over. If Arthur survived . . .

I couldn’t think about it.

We parted and I flopped down onto my old bed and pulled a fur over my fully clothed self. Dried blood crusted the hem and the sleeves of my gown, but I was too tired to do anything about it, and all my other clothes were up in Maerlin’s workshop.

I shut my eyes and willed a dreamless sleep to come.