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Danu stood in the bailey until the last rider had passed through the gate. “I would like to watch them ride out of the city,” she told Maedoc. Magnus had left her with eight guards. Maedoc, the captain of his Knights of the Crescent Moon, was in charge of her security. He alone knew her true identity, because Magnus deemed it wise. The others thought they were protecting Seona.
“Yes, my lady,” Maedoc answered in his gruff way. “This way, if you please.” Since Magnus had revealed her true identity to him, Maedoc had been practically tripping over himself to serve her. He led her to Magnus’s solar and threw open a pair of great oak doors. A blast of cold, damp air surrounded her.
Stepping through the doors, she found herself on a stone balcony overlooking a courtyard bordered by fine buildings. Beyond was the main street of Chroina. Mounted soldiers and supply carts filled the road from edge to edge and stretched into the distance. She could not see the front of the party, where Magnus would be.
“The east gate is about a mile that way.” Maedoc pointed in the direction of the party. She knew from talking with Magnus that one thousand men rode for Larna. The number represented three quarters of his fighting force. The final quarter remained in Chroina to guard its citizens, especially the ladies in the Fiona Blath.
She had learned that of wolfkind’s population of just under six thousand, the vast majority were too old to serve in the army. In another hundred years, the population would be next to nothing. All the females, including Anya and Seona, would be gone. Their only hope for survival rested in Anya’s womb.
A pang of loss struck her, not just that her people had been reduced to this while she’d been imprisoned, but also that the hope of her people would come through another woman. Duff’s words from Hyrk’s dungeon came back to her. A human woman is said to have appeared to Magnus in a vision as the mother of his future heir.
She’d dismissed this supposed vision, because she had been in no position to grant one. Perhaps she shouldn’t have dismissed it so hastily. Magnus’s vision seemed to be unfolding before her eyes. Anya was the human woman. Magnus had just made Riggs his second. That meant in the absence of a blood heir, Anya and Riggs’s offspring would one day sit the throne of Marann.
She clutched her boar-skin cloak around her as she looked upon a city with nine vacant buildings for every occupied one. She was happy for Anya, happy for wolfkind that they had this precious hope. But she could not help feeling as though Marann’s hope should come directly from Magnus.
He was a good king. A good man. Ruling was in his blood. He bore the mantle of leadership with grace, strength, and fairness. His line should go on. He deserved an heir to love and to raise, to teach as his father had taught him.
But for Magnus to have a blood heir, he would have to impregnate a female. Her fists clenched at the thought.
Beneath the cloak, her hands cupped her empty womb. She imagined her current body round with Magnus’s child. She pictured him beaming over her protruding belly, pacing Glendall’s corridors as a physician oversaw the birth, cradling his newborn child, eyes brimming with love.
It made her sick to imagine any other woman sharing those moments with her king. And that was without considering the coupling itself. If the thought of Seona carrying Magnus’s child upset her, imagining Seona under him as his seed took root in her womb made fire pulse in her breast. Pain made her look down. Her fingernails had bitten half-moons into her palms.
It should be me. I am their Mother. I would be their mother again.
But she could not see a way.
The wintry air battered her skin as the last of Magnus’s party disappeared from view. Her would-be lover rode for Larna with his army. The distance between her and Magnus felt like a rope pulling at her insides. Over the coming days, that distance would grow, until finally, with Magnus’s victory, that distance would become infinite.
She would regain her deity, but lose her king. And any chance of participating in his vision.
I’m being selfish. What kind of goddess puts her own desires before the wellbeing of her people?
She would lose Magnus, true. But, restored to her throne, she would have the power to bless her precious wolfkind beyond measure. She would shower them with life and beauty and happiness for two thousand years to make up for the time she’d languished in prison. Then she would add another two thousand and another. She would gift her priests with new passages to pen in her Archives. She would ensure that Magnus’s name would be revered for all time.
She must do what she could to help her king win this war. She might be powerless in this mortal body, but she wore something that held nearly unlimited power, if she could only access it. Her hand wrapped around her moonstone at her neck.
I need to see Anya.
She must discover what the human had done to get the moonstone to work for her. It had given her understanding of the wolfkind tongue, a great power indeed. Once she learned Anya’s secret, she would speak to Assaph. The priest had blessed Hyrk’s gemstone, allowing Magnus to use it. Perhaps a blessing would make her moonstone work for her.
Once she could wield its power, she could aid Magnus and his army. Her help might mean the difference between defeat and glorious victory.
Course set, she whirled around to demand that Anya be brought to her, but when she turned, it was to nearly plant her face in the broad, armored chest of Maedoc.
The knight steadied her with two massive hands on her shoulders. “Beg pardon, my lady. Didn’t mean to make you start.” He set her away from him with a rising of color to his bearded cheeks. He cleared his throat. “Lady Anya is here. You want to receive her?”
What perfect timing! “Yes, Maedoc. Send her in. Thank you.”
Striding into the solar, she smoothed the velvet of her gown, the color like deep ocean waters under a full moon. Her stomach lifted with a strange sensation. Nerves? She was not accustomed to feeling nervous.
To one of the guards, she said, “If it is not too much trouble, would you ask that tea be sent up?” Without the children, Glendall was short-staffed. She did not want to burden anyone, but she would like to provide hospitality to Anya, especially since she planned to interview the human at length.
The guard left to pass along her request, and in through the open door came Anya.
The human wrung her hands as she approached the table where Magnus dined and met with his council. She was small in stature compared to wolfkind females, but similar in height to the human body Danu occupied. Waves of chestnut hair cascaded around delicate shoulders and made a soft waterfall over her forest-green gown. She, too, wore a cloak, as did most everyone since the children had disappeared and there were fewer attendants for the fires. Large eyes like polished tiger’s eye displayed curiosity and concern.
How odd it must be for the human to face her sister’s body knowing someone else dwelled within.
“Sister,” she greeted, setting a tone of conspiracy for them. She rushed forward and took the human’s hands. “I am glad you came.”
Anya’s eyes widened. Her hands trembled in Danu’s grasp. She appeared uncertain how to proceed.
“Speak freely, my dear, but keep your voice soft.” She spoke close to Anya’s ear while kissing her cheek in greeting. “We must pretend I am Seona. Let us converse as secretive sisters, shall we?”
Anya nodded. Following Danu’s example, she kept her voice low when she said, “I suppose I shouldna attempt to curtsy then, since I wouldna do so for Seona.”
“Precisely.” She smiled, pleased Anya caught on so quickly. She had a feeling this human was no stranger to secrets and plotting. “Come. Sit.” Arm in arm, she led Anya to the far end of the table, where the guards would not overhear them. “We have much to discuss.”
Anya came along with limping steps and took a seat. Behind her, two white-haired servants started a fire in the hearth. “Aye, we do, indeed.”
Danu arranged herself in the chair beside Anya’s. They sat close, as sisters might, heads bent for private conversation while the fire began warming their backs. “Congratulations on being with child.” She let none of her earlier thoughts show on her face. “You must be elated.”
Anya’s hand went to her womb. A small smile played at the corner of her mouth. “Aye. ’Twas unexpected to say the least, but most welcome.” Anya’s wide eyes showed her nervousness, but the smile on her lips felt genuine.
“Unexpected?” she asked. “Did you not hope for a child when Riggs took you as his lifemate?”
Anya shook her head, her hair shifting on her shoulders. “Och, Riggs dinnae take me as his lifemate. At least no’ wi’ intention. It simply happened. As for being with child—I’ve never shown signs of it before. Figured I was broken.”
Infertile, she meant. Interesting. Even more interesting that she and Riggs became bonded as lifemates while Danu had been imprisoned. The creation of a lifemate bond was a sacred blessing gifted to a deserving couple under the full moon. The couple would pray and ask to become lifemates, and Danu, if she felt so inclined, would grant the request. But for two thousand years, she had not been able to receive or answer prayers.
Oblivious to Danu’s musings, Anya said, “Riggs showed me I’m no’ broken. At least no’ in any way that matters.” Color infused her cheeks. “But I willna bore you gushing over my lifemate. Tell me. How does Seona fare?” Gone was the glow she wore when speaking of Riggs. Her hands twisted in her lap.
“She is as well as she can be,” Danu answered, “Considering she dwells in Hyrk’s dungeon. For a mortal, such a place would be deadly, but she is protected by my deity. And by Duff. He will ensure no harm befalls her.”
“Duff?” Anya frowned.
Ah, yes. Anya did not know him as Duff. “You know him as a gypsy. Gravois, I believe, is the name he goes by in the mortal realm.”
“Gravois! You ken of him?” She sat forward in her chair.
Danu smiled. “Yes. I know him. He’s of the Fae. He spends most of his time in the mortal realms since the king of the Fae, Arwan, cursed him to dwell forever in darkness. Duff is chained to night and shadow, but he disguises himself as Gravois so he may circumvent the curse.” At least he had done so when he possessed her moonstone. For the first time, it occurred to her just what Duff had sacrificed when he’d given the stone to Anya. She resolved to help her friend any way she could once she was restored to her throne.
Anya’s mouth hung open while Danu spoke. She snapped it shut and thumped a small fist on the table. “I knew there was somat fishy about that tinker.” At that moment, the guards admitted a servant with a tea tray. Oblivious to the interruption, Anya muttered, “So Gravois’s a bloody faerie.” Her eyes darted back and forth, as if she were slotting pieces into a mental puzzle.
The servant set the tray before them. If he thought it strange that the two human women were discussing the Fae, he showed no sign of it.
“Always surrounded by magic, that one,” Anya said, reaching for the teapot. “I never saw him use it himself, but every tinker in his camp had somat magical about them. He told me once he was attracted to magic. I should have guessed he was a faerie. Magic-lovers, one and all, that lot.” She nodded, as if she were an authority on the Fae.
Danu found herself liking this human who blurted whatever she thought and used her mind to solve problems.
“Attracted to magic,” she mused while helping herself to a cup of tea. Steam swirled into the crisp air as she poured. “Yes. That describes Duff—and the Fae—perfectly. How did you come to meet him?”
Anya sipped. When she put her cup down, a faraway look came into her eyes. “I had chosen a path of wickedness, and it led me to take a terrible fall.” A wry smile twisted her full lips. “A legacy of daughters who fall from high places. ’Tis what Fergus left behind.” She raised her cup and sipped again, leaving Danu confused about this Fergus. “’Tis where Gravois found me,” Anya went on. “At the bottom of a crevasse. He took me to his camp, and his fellows helped mend my legs. As soon as I was hale enough, he sent me on my way. Gave me some speech about destiny that I dinnae understand until only recently. And without my kenning it, he slipped a bloody magical stone into my dress. ’Twas as though he knew I would need its power of translation. And need it I did. Would have been lost without it.”
Something in her relaxed at hearing Anya mention the moonstone. She untied her cloak so Anya could see she wore it around her neck. “This stone is one of the things I wish to discuss with you.”
Anya’s gaze fell to the moonstone. She did not look surprised to find it in Danu’s possession. “So, he gave it to you, then. I wondered when he would. ’Tis in the painting, after all.”
“Painting?”
“He hasna shown it to you? Och, but he wouldna, would he? At least, he wouldna have shown it to Seona, lest he frighten her senseless.”
Danu blinked. She had no idea what Anya was talking about. “Shown me what?”
“Come.” Anya stood briskly. A wince pulled her face taut, but she did not slow her movements. “Take a walk wi’ me.”
Excited to explore more of Glendall, she left the solar with Anya. Her excitement fizzled when they reached their destination. Surrounded by her guards and Anya’s, they entered a place she’d already seen: the great hall.
Gone were the tables and benches where the guests had been seated. Servants swept and mopped. Anya led the way to the dais.
Curious, Danu followed.
Magnus’s throne sat in a position of prominence. Behind it, a large portrait of her king hung on the wall. The artist had captured him in the moment of victory following a hunt. A great mottled boar lay at his feet, and a fearsome spear glinted from his gloved hand.
Anya circled around the throne, and for the first time, Danu noticed a smaller throne set back from the other. She had not seen it at the feast, perhaps because Magnus’s advisors had been lined up in front of it.
Without ado, Anya pulled on a golden cord of braided rope. A curtain parted, and a second portrait was revealed. This one was smaller than Magnus’s, and the subject was a female. A human female, judging by her delicate build. In fact, the female looked somewhat like Anya, though there were subtle differences. The figure in the portrait was more slender. Her hair and eyes were both a lighter shade of brown than Anya’s. And on her cheek was a purple paw print.
Danu gasped. Her hand went to her cheek, fingers playing over the scar there. “It’s her—me.”
“Seona,” Anya said. “Aye. The artist painted it as Magnus described his dream vision. When I first met him, he thought I was the woman in the portrait. Because of this.” She turned her head, giving Danu an opportunity to see her scars up close. They looked like claw marks dug in her flesh from cheekbone to jaw. Had she gotten them falling from the high place she had mentioned in the solar? Anya faced the portrait again. Her fingers trailed over the carved frame. “He supposed mayhap the dream erred by showing him a paw print instead of claw marks.” She huffed with wry humor. “The moment I saw this, I knew it was Seona. ’Tis her perfect image.”
The likeness was remarkable. It looked exactly like the face staring back at Danu from the polished bronze mirror in the Orange Blossom chamber. Sure enough, the woman in the portrait wore the moonstone. But what captured her attention and refused to let it go was the bundle in the woman’s arms. A baby, fair of skin and blond of hair. Chubby fingers and pink cheeks looked so real they sparked to life a fierce longing in her womb.
The baby had fair hair. Unlike Anya and Riggs. The child in the portrait could only be Magnus’s blood heir.
Her eyes wandered to the portrait of Magnus. His mane of gold surrounded him as regally as any crown. Her human heart pounded fiercely. If Magnus truly had this vision, and if it prophesied the future, he would one day be blessed with a blood heir. And the smaller portrait seemed to imply that Seona would be the mother.
“Will I get her back?” Anya asked.
Danu dragged her gaze from Magnus’s portrait to find Anya touching the image of her sister.
“I believe so,” she said. “Once Magnus defeats Hyrk, the cell holding Seona will be no more. Only then can we return to our true bodies. Duff will ensure she is brought to where I am the very moment the cell fails.”
Anya watched with hopeful eyes. She nodded once with purpose. “Good. Marann needs you where you belong.”
Anya was right. But for some reason, hearing the words left her feeling oddly unsettled.
For a while, they studied the portraits in silence. At last, Anya said, “I canna imagine Seona allowing Magnus close enough to bring this image to life. Nor can I imagine Magnus doing aught to force the matter.”
“Of course, he would not force the matter,” Danu said, perhaps more harshly than necessary.
Anya’s eyebrows shot up. Then her eyes danced, and her lips quirked. “Which leaves me to wonder how this bairn will come to be.” Danu fought the urge to squirm under Anya’s assessing gaze.
“How should I know? I didn’t give this vision. I was in Hyrk’s dungeon.” She shouldn’t speak so frankly where there were ears to hear and mouths to relate her whereabouts to Hyrk, but something about this little human put her on edge. She did not hold as much control over her emotions as she would like. Still, she looked around them. The guards were alert, but far enough away not to hear their every word. The servants cleaning the great hall worked diligently, paying them no heed.
“Someone gave it,” Anya said. “Magnus told the vision to his priest, who confirmed it as more than an ordinary dream.”
Could Anya be right? Could some other immortal have blessed a king in her realm with a vision? She couldn’t imagine any other immortal bothering with a realm they had no stake in. Except, perhaps Hyrk, but it wouldn’t be him. He seemed determined to prevent the vision rendered here in flawless brushstrokes.
Duff was benevolent enough for a Fae to offer some hope to her people in her absence, but she doubted he could have pulled off a vision. The Fae were attracted to magic, true, but their innate magic was limited to sifting place and time and using glamour to appear any which way they desired. To her knowledge, the Fae had no power to meddle with the inner workings of mortal minds.
The vision had to be a mistake. “Mortals often mistake the ordinary for the divine,” she said, though in her heart, she didn’t quite believe that both Magnus and Assaph would make such a mistake.
Anya studied her a moment before gazing up at the painting. “So the portrait is rubbish, then? Pity. It brings Magnus hope. It’ll pain him to know ’tis naught but nonsense.”
“I did not say it was nonsense,” Danu snapped. The idea of Magnus losing hope threatened deep sadness. She knew what it was like to lose hope. “Besides, we have more pressing things to worry about.”
“Och, I suppose you’re right.” Anya sounded weary all of a sudden. “You’re to rule in Magnus’s stead, and I’m to oversee the running of the keep.” She spoke of the duties Magnus had left them in his absence.
Danu waved a hand. “Not those things.” Perhaps the portrait was rubbish, as Anya so bluntly stated. But if any chance existed for Magnus to know the joy of an heir, one thing was certain: He must defeat Hyrk. And she was determined to help any way she could. She met Anya’s questioning eyes. “We must plan how to help our men.”
Excitement lit Anya’s features. “What do you have in mind?”
Danu tapped her moonstone. “You know this as the Translation Stone, but in reality, it is much more than that.”
Anya smiled broadly. “I’ve been wondering about that.” She grabbed Danu’s hand. “Come to my chamber. There is only one way in and out, so the guards willna need to be inside with us. We’ll be able to speak freely.”
“Lead the way.”
