Chapter Eight

Summer 500

I didn’t need to hear the words to know what everyone was saying. I sensed it in their pitying glances, saw it cloaked in the eyes of courtiers, scented it on the wind that carried the servants’ secrets beyond the alleyways, and in my darkest moments, I even tasted it on my husband’s tongue. In the alehouses and barracks, ripening fields and desolate moors, they all whispered the same refrain—“the queen is barren.”

Two years had passed since my children were born dead, and still my womb refused to allow life to take root. Grainne had assured me from the moment I regained consciousness that there was no reason I could not have many more children, but even then I had been suspicious. As a midwife, I had on occasion lied to a grieving mother, especially when I sensed that telling her the truth would mean taking away all she had to live for.

If that was the case for Grainne, I would not hold it against her. It was my highest duty to produce an heir. If she saw some merit in giving me false hope, then I would credit the cloud of deception in her gray-blue eyes to my own untamed imagination.

For a while, I was able to convince myself she was right, especially when, a few months after I had recovered, my moon time came and went without a drop of blood for three straight months. In that small bloom of anticipation, my world was right once again. But hope was drowned in a rush of crimson that returned with every new moon to remind me of my failure to my husband and my country.

“Arthur, we must decide what to do if this continues. We cannot leave the country without an heir,” I told him late one night as we lay in bed.

He grunted his agreement. “I have thought upon that much since our children died. We could pick up the plan my father abandoned and name one of Lot’s sons to the throne. Gawain would make an excellent king.”

“But what of those who believe the throne should pass through my line? My nearest relative is my cousin Bran.”

“Does he wish to take the throne?”

I thought hard. As a member of the Combrogi and ruler of Gwynned, Bran was known well to both of us. Though he was a capable fighter, he had not the stomach to take on a larger kingdom, much less the entire country. “No, I do not believe so.”

“Then we must approach the house of Lothian and, failing that, pick another of the Combrogi. I would like to watch Mark’s nephew Constantine. Like Tristan, he is a strong strategist and a capable fighter. After Gawain, he may be our wisest choice. Let us allow time to reveal the answer.”

As we grappled with the real possibly of a childless future, life at Camelot continued. This month we held pleading day outside in the courtyard rather than in the Great Hall to capture the blessed relief of occasional breezes tossed up from the harbor. However, the winds could scarcely reach us, blocked as they were by the sour bodies gathered around us. The crowd was attracted by the oaths and screeching of our last case, a loud quarrel between two lordlings who came to blows before Arthur and I could render judgment.

Before we could call forth the next petitioner, a man emerged from the crowd, the ragged, coarse material of his tunic dragging behind him. Sobbing, he fell to his knees at our feet, mumbling something that sounded like “forgive me” over and over. He clutched and clawed at our legs as though we could save him from whatever plagued his mind.

I clambered back in my chair, seeking to move out of his reach. I sent Kay and Lancelot a warning glare, ready to call them into service to remove the intruder.

He was trembling, eyes rolling about uncontrollably as he begged, “Mercy, my lord, have mercy.”

Arthur leaned toward him, placing a hand on his bony shoulder. “What crime have you committed? How may I show you mercy?”

The man looked up, and his eyes cleared for one awful moment, holding in their depths the chilling resolve only madness could create. “Murder.”

Kay and Lancelot inched closer, but Arthur paid them no heed. His deranged subject held all of his attention. “Whom have you killed? Why come before me?”

The man shook his head as if loathe to confess the nature of his crime. He stared at us for a long moment. Then slowly he pointed at Arthur, speaking so softly we had to lean forward to hear him whisper, “You have the eyes of the dead.”

My skin prickled, and I caught the flash of steel, but before I could react, a dark-haired woman leapt out of the throng and tackled our claimant, sending him sprawling with a cry of pain. The crowd let out a collective gasp and backed quickly away. Arthur and I were on our feet, weapons drawn, while half the Combrogi surrounded our attackers.

“What is the meaning of this?” Arthur roared.

“I have just saved your life,” the woman announced.

We stepped cautiously toward where she lay, still holding our claimant. She lifted his left arm, which dangled uselessly in her grip, and revealed a thin blade pressed against his palm and wrist, concealed beneath a tattered sleeve. It was the same hand he had held out to Arthur.

“This was inches from your throats, and neither of you saw it.” She looked at us, accusation plain in her stunning black eyes.

For a moment, neither of us moved. Then involuntarily, my hand went to my throat.

“How do we know you are not involved, merely part of the trick?” I asked.

“Because if I were,” she said with a look of disdain, “you would be dead by now.”

Arthur recovered himself, expression blossoming as though he had just been made party to the plot of some elaborate joke. “Indeed, Sobian can be lethal when she puts her mind to it.”

I stared at him, openmouthed. “You know this woman?”

Arthur laughed, a hearty sound that began in his chest and escaped as a joyous rumble. He extended a hand to the woman and helped her to her feet. “Kay, take this man away.” He kicked the madman with the toe of his boot.

“Gladly.” Kay pulled our would-be killer roughly to his feet. “I have additional business with you.” His voice held the promise of dreaded things to come.

I was still speechless, trying to comprehend what had just taken place. This woman had come out of nowhere to save us from a madman bent on killing us both but whom neither of us, trained in the arts of war, had suspected. Now it appeared Arthur knew her.

I took Arthur’s hand, suddenly unsteady. “What is going on? Who is this woman?”

Arthur’s smile brightened. “Guinevere, meet Sobian, Scourge of Sidhe.”

Sobian brushed off her deep golden cloak and sank into a curtsey. “I am honored to be of service, my queen.”

I took in the stunned crowd standing around us, as unsure of how to react as I was. “I—how do you know one another?”

Arthur’s gaze followed mine. “That is a story best told in private.”

Bedivere and Lancelot set about dispersing the crowd while Arthur invited Sobian inside. He sent servants ahead with orders for strong ale and water so Sobian could wash. I followed on their heels, still confused and feeling suddenly displaced by our guest.

Arthur and I sat in a small meeting room just off the main hall, waiting as Sobian cleaned the dirt from her clothes and skin. Octavia brought in the ale then hovered protectively at my side, just like the second mother I’d always felt her to be. I put a hand reassuringly on the one she laid on my shoulder.

“I am fine,” I told her between long draughts of ale. “Really.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Keep telling yourself that and eventually you may believe it, but I don’t. I can feel you trembling.”

Was I? I stilled myself for a moment. Wild energy still coursed through my veins from the attack, but beneath that, yes, I was shaking. And why should I not be? Some lunatic had just tried to kill us both, and I never saw it coming. I took a deep breath and tried to arrange my thoughts. Best start with the most pressing issue. “Arthur, who is this woman? Why do you trust her so?”

Arthur smiled, his face taking on a dreamy air as though he recalled a cherished memory. “Let’s just say that during my time in Uther’s army, I grappled with her on more than one occasion. Sobian is, to this day, one of the most fearsome creatures I have ever encountered.”

“More fearsome than I?” I quirked an eyebrow at him, daring him to give the wrong answer.

His smile widened, and he leaned forward to kiss me. “Of course not.”

I gestured for him to continue. “Get back to your story. I want to know who this woman is before she returns.”

“This woman, as you call her, has always gone by the name Sobian, though I’ve never believed her to be Irish. She used to be a river pirate. I first encountered her when I was stationed at Caerleon near the Bristol Channel. Uther sent a contingent of men because she was causing a lot of trouble on the Sabrina. If you were foolish enough to fall for her charms, you’d lose your purse faster than your pants.” Arthur chuckled. “They called her the Scourge of the Sidhe because she had the ability to slip on and off of ships with her crew as stealthily as the fey and the charm to convince the captain he’d given her his goods of his own free will.”

“It’s hard to believe one woman could possess such charm,” I said dryly.

“Oh, I assure you, she does. Wait a bit. I’m sure she’ll turn it on you. Women certainly aren’t immune.”

“Immune to what?” Sobian entered the room as Octavia quietly slipped out.

“I was just telling my wife about your reputation.”

She gave me a dazzling smile. “I knew I was not ever far from your mind, my king.” She curtseyed to Arthur, lowering her long lashes at same time as her bosom.

I did my best to hide the glower her shameless flirting brought to my face before she looked up.

“Please sit with us and have a drink. It is the least we can do for you.” He held out a cup to her, and she obliged his request. Arthur leaned toward her across the table. “How did you know what that man was going to do? Do you think him genuinely mad?”

Sobian’s reaction was guarded as she watched me over the rim of her cup. “Let’s just say I had been tracking him for some time and knew better than to believe what I saw.”

Her vague answer did nothing to improve my opinion of her. “How exactly does a river pirate know how to spot an assassin?”

“I left that profession many years ago. Now I earn my keep in many ways.”

Arthur arched an eyebrow. “So you are an honest woman now?”

Her amusement came out as a trilling laugh. “I would not say that, but I am no longer a criminal if that is what you mean.”

“What do you do?” I asked.

“I have been a warrior, a spy, and even an outlaw for a time.”

“And an assassin,” I added.

Sobian’s eyes grew wide, and she made to protest.

I held up a hand to silence her denial. “Don’t bother. I was trained by one of the best warriors on this isle and know you have to be aware of what to look for in order to spot someone as convincing as our criminal.”

Sobian was dumbstruck. She turned to Arthur. “I would never—”

“I know. Please forgive my wife’s rudeness.” He shot me a scathing look. “She does not know you as do I. In fact, I was thinking that we can use a woman of your skills.”

It was my turn to be incredulous. I set down my cup with more force than I intended. “We can?”

“Yes.” His tone brooked no argument. “Today has shown us our security is weak, and I cannot have that. Sobian, you have seen the law from both sides. You know its holes. I believe you can help me improve my ability to protect myself, my wife, and my people.”

Sobian took a long drink. “What exactly are you asking of me?”

“I would like you to lead my cadre of spies. You will learn everything you can of our friends and enemies.”

I cringed at the thought of having this woman around regularly. “Kay already acts as your second, and I have Lancelot as my champion. What more protection do we need?”

Arthur’s exasperation came out in a flare of temper. “Guinevere, you have a strategic mind. If you let go of your petty fear that I will give you up for Sobian—which will not happen, I assure you—you will be able to see the wisdom in my choice. Kay and Lancelot protect us daily, but someone needs to be in command. Until now, I have filled that role, but it is becoming clear I cannot handle that duty in addition to governing my country. Sobian has already proven her loyalty to us. Who better to employ?”

My cheeks reddened. I could not believe he would call me jealous in front of her, no matter what their history. “First of all, husband, I have no fear of this woman. If need be, I will prove that to you in the sparring ring. Second, will it not appear strange that a woman is suddenly in charge of our guard? I do not think your men will take kindly to taking orders from her.”

Arthur regarded me calmly, a challenge in his eyes. “Nor do I. That is why her true role will only be known to us and our champions. Sobian, you are well versed in subterfuge. Do you believe you could pretend to hold another role while acting in this one?”

Sobian looked back and forth between us, chewing the nail of her littlest finger as she weighed her options. “Of course.”

Arthur stood, motioning for us to do the same. He placed my hand in Sobian’s. “Meet your new lady’s maid.”

I coughed, choking on the ale I was swallowing. “Arthur, you must be joking.”

“Not at all. It is the perfect disguise. She will have every right to be near us.”

“I already have Octavia. What do you suggest I do, turn her out? And what will people say when Sobian is seen meeting with you in private?”

“Octavia will continue to fulfill the same duties she always has. She will simply appear to have more help.” He cast a flirtatious look in Sobian’s direction. “As for what people will say, kings have had dalliances with maids since time began. The more they believe that, the less likely they are to suspect the truth.”

I shoved Arthur with both hands, knowing the act wouldn’t budge him, but it made me feel better. “I am simply supposed to go along with this, is that right?”

Arthur said nothing.

I looked from one to the other, knowing I was trapped. Arthur’s plan was sound, but I did not like the idea of living in close company with a woman Arthur had obviously befriended in the past any more than I liked knowing people would think he was disloyal to me. Arguing with him would do no good. Perhaps I could tolerate the situation until I found a reason to have Sobian removed. “If you two will excuse me, I would like to lie down.”

I was halfway out of the room before Sobian came trailing after me. “Let me assist you, my lady,” she offered, amusement clear in her voice.

“I do not require your services,” I spat over my shoulder.

I made it to my room and slammed the door. Alone at last, I leaned against the door, struggling to catch my breath. Tears spilled over as the enormity of the day finally sank in. I slid down to the floor and ran my hands through my hair. How could my life have changed so much in only a few hours? I thought Arthur had grown to love me, but he had just accepted a former lover back into his confidence after only having been reunited with her for a few hours. What did that mean for my marriage?

I didn’t know how long I spent contemplating my situation, but just as quickly as the tears had come, I started laughing. I was being ridiculous. Arthur had had to learn to live with Aggrivane at court long ago. Granted he’d sent my former betrothed on missions away from Camelot as often as possible, but he had still learned how to cope with his presence. I was behaving like a child. Galen had been right the day we argued in the forest so many years before. I really was as bad as a fisherman’s wife. And worse, I had changed little with the passage of time. I stood, straightening my dress and mentally preparing myself to apologize to them both.

After a few deep breaths, I went back down to the meeting room, expecting to find Arthur and Sobian discussing the finer points of her new role. But to my surprise, the room was empty. Octavia came in, holding a tray to collect the ale pitcher and our used glasses.

“Do you know where Arthur went?”

She eyed me carefully. “He is in his room. Alone.” She emphasized the word, knowing I would wonder. “They told me about her new role. Are you in agreement that it is wise?”

“I will be,” I reassured her.

Octavia made a noise indicating she wasn’t so certain then busied herself cleaning up the table. That was when I saw the lone sheet of paper. Thinking it to be notes from Arthur and Sobian’s discussion, I bent over the table to get a better look.

My blood turned to ice. The letters were formed of patterns made by varying lengths of horizontal, vertical, and diagonal lines. It was written in Ogham, the ancient language of the Druids, so it could not have come from Arthur. He hadn’t studied with them long enough to have learned it. Plus, its message was not one a husband leaves his wife.

I ran to Arthur’s room, rubbing my hand over the goose-pimpled flesh of my arm. “You may wish to rethink your decision,” I said as I entered.

He looked up. “Why is that?”

I held the paper out to him. “This was left in the meeting room.” I shivered again.

He plucked the paper out of my hand and turned it in several directions, trying to figure out how to read it. “Ogham. That’s unusual. What does it say?”

I grabbed it back, irritated beyond decorum. After what had happened with the madman and Sobian, I didn’t think I could take much more.

“That’s the problem. I think it’s a threat. ‘My queen, you may close your eyes to the one you scorned, but that will not keep me away. I will breathe your last breath so that you will live on forever in me.’”

Arthur’s face darkened. “Only one man could claim such a thing.”

I looked at him quizzically, brow furrowing. “How do you know Sobian isn’t party to this? It appeared right after she did in the very room she last occupied.”

Arthur sighed, clearly frustrated that I didn’t trust Sobian implicitly as he did. “Because this isn’t her way. As she said, if she wished you dead, you would be. She has no need for idle threats.”

“Who then?”

“Think about the message.” His tone took on a condescending air I did not care for. “Someone you once rejected? Who did you give up to marry me? You may not want to see it, but the answer is right in front of you.”

He didn’t have to say the name. Suddenly I knew exactly who he blamed. His menacing gaze was fixed on my former lover.

Guilty or not, Aggrivane was in serious trouble.

Within the week, Aggrivane was given a special assignment as an envoy in Brittany, and Camille chose to go with him. In many ways, it was easier for me not having him around, not being reminded of what would never be, especially with Camille’s recent pregnancy. That had been a surprise given Aggrivane’s insistence on their love being chaste. Plus, while I’d never suspected Aggrivane, I breathed a little easier knowing he was out of easy reach of Arthur’s wrath.

But despite this move, the notes continued appearing as summer progressed, which meant Aggrivane couldn’t have sent them. They came at odd intervals, frequently enough that the sender had to be nearby—messages didn’t travel that quickly from Brittany—but inconsistently enough that I could never anticipate them. Or rather, I was always anticipating them, always on edge, as I was sure my hunter intended. Each one was more threatening and found in a more intimate location than the last. The fear they provoked built along with summer’s heat. These were no mere mind games; whoever was doing this had a point to prove—he or she had, or could gain, personal access to me. It had to be someone in our inner circle, but I had no idea who it could be or why this was happening.

Then on the night of the full moon, after Grainne and I completed our ritual, I found a tattered page tied to the apple tree in the center of the labyrinth at the very heart of Camelot. Without reading its sinister message, I crumpled it with a snarl and marched straight to Arthur’s quarters.

“I cannot take any more of this. I am the queen. I will not have one of my subjects threatening me. If you will not act to find out who is doing this, I will.”

Arthur stood. “What will you do?” he asked with a mocking chuckle. “Interrogate each man of the realm until one finally confesses? I’m already doing everything that can be done, wife. Sobian is investigating. Give her time.” He marched over to me, towering above me. “And if you ever speak to me like that again. . .”

I looked up at him, steel in my eyes. “You’ll what? Divorce me? Hit me? In the former, you cannot, and in the latter, you forget I can and will take you on any day.”

“Is that so?” He picked me up and carried me to his bed. “Let us see how well you fare.”

It was Sobian’s idea to gather the kings of the tribes, their lordlings, and the Combrogi at Arthur’s southern power base, a scarred hill fort called Cadbury. Officially, we were together to celebrate Samhain—the night the old year gave way to the new—but what only those closest to the crown knew was that Sobian had reason to believe this area was linked to the source of the chilling notes.

“When I was a pirate, I amassed a vast collection of valuable paperwork along with the other booty,” she explained. “Naturally, I kept any correspondence written by those in power in case it would ever prove useful leverage. In time, I noticed these pages had common characteristics, such as the way the vellum was prepared or even the color of the ink, little signatures that betrayed a common maker. By matching those with the name of sender, I could usually narrow down the location of origin.” She tapped one of the threatening notes against her hand. “I believe this came from somewhere in the south-central part of the Summer Country.”

We couldn’t accuse anyone based on that idea, but it was a place to start. Sobian suggested we gather everyone in the area and observe them in the abandon of the feast when they would be most at ease.

Situated atop a towering hill overlooking the Somerset Levels, Cadbury had one of the most impressive views I’d ever seen. From its walls, farmland, bogs, and untamed wilderness stretched to the horizon in every direction. Anyone foolish enough to attack this fort would be seen long before they glimpsed the castle and its four terraced earthen banks and ditches surrounded by thick stands of trees. Even if they did manage to overcome those obstacles, the castle itself was ringed by a wooden palisade with several gatehouses full of archers and armed troops. Arthur had chosen his location well.

Cadbury was even more impressive from the inside. The great hall, a massive structure separate from the fortress’s other buildings, was larger than any I’d ever seen, even Camelot. Above me, its support timbers stretched like ancient oaks into darkness even hundreds of candles could not penetrate. Based on the number of bodies milling about, I was fairly confident it could hold nearly a thousand people without strain.

At a signal from Arthur, Kay rapped on the underside of the table, indicating to the crowd they should quiet down—and for a moment, I was back in Corbenic the night Arthur had proposed and turned my life upside down. I shook my head to clear it and pushed my goblet out of arm’s reach. Whatever Arthur had them serving was too strong for me to consume without measure. I needed my wits about me if I was to observe whatever actions Arthur suspected would be brought out as our guests drank themselves into unsuspecting candor.

Arthur stood, watching imperiously as his guests settled and turned their faces to him. “I promise you will not have to listen to me overmuch this night—”

“Aye, we all know how you love making speeches,” Bedivere interrupted from his table below the dais, brotherly grin bright enough to light the night.

Arthur acknowledged him with an expression colored by a mix of amusement and annoyance before turning back to the assembly. “It is by no coincidence I picked this night to bring you together. It is the new year, and as the wheel of time turns once more, it is a time for celebrating, a time for new beginnings and unity. In that same spirit of brotherhood, I wish to introduce all of you tonight to our newest member. As many of you know, Mark of Cornwall has ruled the kingdom of Dyfneint in addition to his own land since his brother’s passing into the Otherworld. This night, he wishes to formally pass control of Dyfneint to his nephew, Constantine.” Arthur raised his hand, indicating the two men should rise.

Mark looked around at the assembled lords. “I could have passed the crown to my nephew in private, but I wanted all of you to know he takes this throne with my blessing.” He stepped forward and kissed his nephew, removing a golden torque from around his neck and placing it around Constantine’s throat. He turned back to the crowd. “My fellow lords, regardless of your quarrels with me, if you recognize my nephew as the rightful ruler of Dyfneint, please stand that I may see you.”

Arthur remained standing, and I joined him, offering Mark a compassionate smile. One by one, each of the lords, including Ana, silently rose.

Mark nodded his thanks. “In that knowledge, I bid you all peace.” He and his nephew took their seats.

Before Arthur could speak again, Malegant stood. “My king, if we are using this feast as a public stage for private matters, I wish to speak.”

Beside me, Arthur stiffened. He still hadn’t forgiven Malegant for his embarrassing tussle in the market all those years before, for which Malegant had been banished from court for three months. “Lord Malegant, I remind you this is not pleading day. If you have a case to lay before the court, I suggest you come to Camelot on the next full moon with everyone else.”

“But this isn’t just any case. And I too wish the full witness of the court to its outcome.”

Arthur pursed his lips behind folded hands. “I have a feeling if I forbid you to speak you will do so anyway, and I have no desire to eject you from my court again. You may proceed, but be brief.” He sat down hard on the bench, hunched shoulders and taut muscles clearly displaying his displeasure.

Malegant bowed with dramatic flourish. “Thank you, my king.”

Arthur made an impatient gesture, commanding him to get to the point.

“Quite simply, I am here to lodge a formal complaint that Lord Uriens still holds approximately one hundred of my men captive in his lands. I have petitioned this court multiple times against him, and still they languish rather than being reunited with their families.”

Before Arthur could issue a rebuttal, Uriens was on his feet, rushing toward Malegant with the virility of a man half his years. “You attacked me, remember? Do you truly expect no punishment for your breach of peace? Did it ever occur to you that our king has taken no action because he feels me justified in my acts?”

Malegant shot Arthur a disdainful look. “If that is so, then he is not only cowardly but a disgrace to his role.”

The collective intake of breath in the room was audible. Many of the men in the crowd stood, loyalty and instinct bidding them to protect their king.

Before I could blink, Uriens had his eating dagger drawn, blade at Malegant’s throat from behind. “I could split you open from ear to ear here and now, and no one would lift a finger to stop me, you traitorous bastard!”

Weapons were not allowed at the quarterly meetings, but still Combrogi rushed forward to do what they could to prevent any further violence.

Malegant grinned evilly. “Go ahead, old man.”

Uriens flicked his wrist and blood ran from Malegant’s throat, but the younger man spun away before the blade could do any serious damage. Malegant picked up his own utensil and caught Uriens in the side. Blood blossomed in a crimson stain on Uriens’s tunic.

Malegant laughed, a cruel sound of dark glee. He wielded his dagger at the others. “Who else wishes to oppose me?” He turned his manic eyes on Arthur. “Do you dare challenge me, king?”

“Surrender or I will kill you myself,” Arthur yelled.

Malegant made a show of thinking. “I rather like my odds.”

He turned and melted into the now turbulent crowd, most of whom were trying to stop him. He dodged bodies and gloved fists as though he had trained for this very moment, shoving some men aside, tripping and punching others until he was free.

Arthur motioned to Kay, Lancelot, and Sobian. “Take your troops and be sure he leaves this city in worse shape than he entered it. And if he happens to stop breathing in the process, bring me his head on a pole.”

I sat dumbfounded in the chaos that followed, unable to do more than watch as Morgan tended to her injured husband and groups mobilized to ensure Malegant was apprehended.

Arthur sat equally silent, a vein in his neck pulsing rapidly.

“Owain and Accolon will kill him for that,” I finally said.

Arthur grunted, a masculine sound I had grown to associate with disapproval. “If they can find him. That slippery bastard has more holdings in this part of the country than there are chambers in a beehive.”

“Do we still hold the feast, or would it be better to postpone?” I asked.

“No, we will proceed. Sobian still wants to see how everyone acts when deep in their cups. Now I must be her eyes.” Arthur motioned Bors over. “Tell the servants to bring out dinner. That should tempt everyone back to order.” He winked at me. “If I know one thing, it’s that rumbling stomachs sooner obey the call of food than ears listen to any order. Uther’s army taught me that.”

Arthur was right. At the first whiff of food, the remaining lords who had chosen not to chase after Malegant turned their attention from their plans and arguments to peer over one another’s shoulders, hoping to catch a glimpse of what delicacies were being laid on the table. Soon, all were seated, their earlier proclamations quieted to a hushed buzz of conversation.

I had just taken my first bite of roasted meat when a serving maid approached us from behind.

The girl bowed her head. “Forgive me, my king, but I am sent to find the queen.”

“I am here. What need have you?”

The girl kept her eyes on the ground. “My lord Aggrivane has need of your skills for his wife and child lie ill in the next building.”

I wondered why I had not seen them among the crowd. As much as I disliked Camille, I wouldn’t have wished her ill health. I looked at Arthur, trying to gauge his reaction.

He nodded. “Go, but take Gareth with you. I will not have you alone with so many revelers and madmen about.”

I touched his hand in thanks. “If Morgan returns, send her as well. We may have need of her. . . specialized skill.” I choked out the compliment. “I will meet you back here when I am finished.”

The girl and I found Gareth then fled into the cool night, a fine spray of mist falling from the moonless sky. I shielded my eyes from the unexpected brightness of dozens of leaping bonfires. As my eyes adjusted, the courtyard came alive with dancers, hundreds of people packed into the confines of the thick castle walls.

“Forgive me, my lady,” the maid said demurely then grabbed my wrist before leading me into the fray, Gareth following close behind.

I quickly understood why she had risked touching me. If she had not, I would have quickly lost her in the shifting throng. Everywhere I looked was a whirl of light, color, and sound. The flash of a blue cloak gave way to the giddy laughter of a group of young girls enjoying their first festival and the cry of a vendor hawking skewers of meat. Faces whirled past, some painted into masks, others unrecognizable under hoods, everyone’s eyes gleaming wildly. We veered to the left, and a cup of some rank drink was thrust into my hand, but before I could see who had given it, they were swallowed up in the press of people. We wove right, dodging a knot of rowdy men, and I yelled my apologies as I stepped on someone’s foot. I turned back just in time to narrowly miss colliding with a brazier.

I was panting by the time we reached the doors of the next building, a long, low structure like the ones in which we lived in Avalon. Gareth took up his post outside. Without pausing, the maid—whose name I still did not know—opened the door and led me to the chamber where Camille and her young son were staying. His cries were audible before the door more than cracked open.

The poor thing must be miserable.

Camille was visible as soon as I entered the room. She leaned against the windowsill, clad only in her shift despite the cool dampness of the breeze. It clung to her, fixed in place by sweat. She held her screaming son on her right hip, propping herself up with the other. The strain in her features said she was using all her energy to stand upright.

Camille looked up, her face pale and drawn, hair plastered to her forehead and neck. “I can’t get him to stop crying.” Her voice was thin and weak.

“Here”—I reached out to take him—“let me try.”

Her hands barely brushed mine, but it was enough to confirm she was burning with fever. Her son’s forehead was equally hot, his tiny, clenched palms clammy as he beat against my shoulder.

“Shhh. . . all will be well, little one,” I cooed, stroking his hair, careful not to bounce him and upset what likely was a delicate tummy. “Camille, please lie down.” I pulled the sheets back from the bed. I turned to the maid. “Has she anything else to wear?”

The maid removed another thin tunic from a chest and helped Camille into the dry clothing.

Camille lay back. “I wonder why you bother when I will just sweat through it too.” She spoke through cracked lips that looked painful even from a distance.

I turned to the maid. “Water some wine and bring it back here for her. Then go to the kitchen and bring back some yarrow and feverfew, honey, a flagon of wine, a small cooking pot, a mortar and pestle, and as much willow bark as you can find.”

The maid curtsied and scampered off without a word.

I smiled at Camille. “I will make a tea that will hopefully help both of you sleep and bring the fever down. How long have you been ill?”

Camille’s eyes fluttered closed as she lost her battle to keep them open. “I felt strangely upon rising this morning and grew weaker throughout the day. Llew became restless only a few hours ago. He is why I did not attend the feast.”

I looked at Llew, who had finally stopped screaming and trying to beat me into making him feel better. He was worn into submission, a cranky mew the only indication he was still fighting whatever illness held him in its grip.

The maid returned with the wine and some of the supplies. She helped Camille drink while I struggled to grind the herbs with one hand and keep Llew secure in my other arm. Once the maid was gone again to fetch the rest, I looked at Camille, who had sunk into sleep, her breathing shallow but even.

“Your mother needs her rest, little Llew. And so do you. Sleep now.” I abandoned the mortar and rubbed the top of his head, willing his tiny eyelids to grow heavy. “The Goddess guard you as you slumber.” I kissed his tiny limp hand as he finally drifted off.

I didn’t know how long I sat there holding him before a voice cold as ice woke me from my reverie.

“Does it pain you to know he could have been yours?”

I looked up to see Morgan draped in the doorway, arms crossed defensively.

She was right. He could have been my son had Aggrivane and I married. I shifted Llew’s weight in my arms. Now that she mentioned it, it did hurt, but I wouldn’t let her know.

“Does it pain you to be such a shrew?” I snapped back.

Morgan pushed off the doorframe and moved back to let the maid through. “Suit yourself. I don’t have to help you.”

I would have let her go if Camille hadn’t woken right then, mumbling incoherently. I handed Llew to Morgan and rushed to her side, cupping her forehead. “Her fever is worsening.”

Morgan laid Llew next to Camille in the bed. Without a word, she stripped off her cloak, rolled up the sleeves of her tunic, and rattled off yet another list of supplies for the poor maid to fetch. Then she hung the pot over the fire and poured in the honey, which caught the light and reflected it onto her face, making her glow like some Otherworldly being.

Like the fey they say she hails from. That rumor had been around before I set foot on Avalon’s shores and had dogged her ever since. Sometimes I wondered if it was true.

I picked up the mortar and pestle and continued grinding. “How is your husband?”

She threw me a look that clearly questioned my motives for asking. “He is resting nearby. The wound is serious, but there is nothing else I can do for now.” She stirred the honey before setting the spoon down with a bang.

Llew woke, whimpered, and I scooped him up.

Morgan turned on me, scooping the herbs out of the mortar and flinging them into the pot without so much as glancing down. “Why did Arthur let him go? If my husband had done that to”—she struggled to say Malegant’s name but could not—“anyone, he would have been arrested on the spot. Why not the same punishment for him?”

“We tried, Morgan. You were there. He escaped.”

Morgan gave me a chiding sidelong glance. “Is that really the best you can do? Do you think me so dim-witted that that explanation will suffice? I’ll go after him myself if I have to.” She began pouring the amber liquid into two cups.

“No, don’t. He’s dangerous.”

She snorted. “You think I don’t know that? I’ve dealt with him before. I know how changeable his alliances are. He’s in league with whoever benefits him.”

“Much like you.” The words slipped out before I realized I was even thinking them.

Her eyes widened, and she stopped pouring. “Is that what you think of me?”

“Does it really surprise you? You’ve always lived for yourself—you have said as much.”

“Believe what you will.” She paused as if thinking, then her mouth curved into a vindictive sneer. “You’d better enjoy holding that little boy because he’s the last child who will ever fill your arms. Your bloodline dies with you. But mark my words—one day my child will be greater than even you. You may think I am concerned only with my own well-being, but you know nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

I tipped one of the cups into Llew’s tiny mouth, too stunned to respond. He gurgled and attempted to spit out the contents, but I wouldn’t let him. When he finally swallowed, I put him back into bed with Camille, who woke only long enough to drink her own dose.

“I will stay with them,” Morgan said. “Go back to your husband. I should be here, close to mine.” I took a few steps toward the door before Morgan called after me. “Be on your guard. Evil spirits roam this night.”

I rolled my eyes. Of course they did. It was the feast of the dead, the night when the veil between the worlds was the thinnest. But I was a trained priestess with one of Aggrivane’s younger brothers as a guard. I had nothing to fear.

By the time Gareth and I emerged into the courtyard, the evening’s drizzle had intensified to a light shower, but it wasn’t stopping the revelers. The music had grown primal, fed by the deep vibrations of horns and punctuated by the rhythmic booms of drums. Around the central bonfire, a group of men and women chanted in a language ancient and dark. Although I did not understand the words, it felt somehow appropriate to invoke the ghosts of Samhain.

Even more people packed the courtyard now, so I no longer bothered to ask pardon for barging through groups or stepping on toes. Nor did they seem to care. Caught up in the ecstasy of the night, they only had eyes for one another and the spirits only they could see.

Past the painted woman decorating drunken couples with spirals and swirls, through the knots of undulating couples around the bonfires, and beyond the brawny twins hawking ale, I scurried, head bent to shield me from the rain. Then a hand shot out from a tangle of dancers, and I was caught up as they swirled through the crowd. Forced to keep up or be trampled, I was passed from one partner to another. The black eyes gazing back at me were eerily similar from one to the next.

When they finally let me go, the door to the great hall was in sight, but Gareth was not. I craned my neck, peering through the swirling mass of people to catch sight of his dark curls. Once I thought I saw him, but it turned out to be only the tanner. I was still looking for Gareth when I heard my name, spoken by a voice I recognized but could not immediately place. For a moment, I thought Gareth had caught up to me.

I turned instinctively and found myself looking up at a hooded man. When he angled his head to meet my gaze, the firelight flickered on his face, which was painted from temple to temple in red spirals. The effect was shocking, making him appear more demon than man, and obscured his identity as much as the Sacred King’s had been at my first ceremony.

He leaned down so he was closer to my level. “Do you not recognize me?” He clucked his tongue disapprovingly.

I backed up, seeking escape, uncomfortable from his nearness and familiarity. Only a handful of people would have dared speak to me in such an informal way, but his build and voice did not match any of them.

“Do I know you?” I finally asked, frantically searching for the door that had been nearly within reach before he distracted me but now had vanished into thin air.

He chuckled. “Maybe this will jog your memory—‘As the dreamer dreams of solace, so I dream of you. Come with me now into the city made from earth and ashes, from which there is no escape.’”

For a moment, I couldn’t place his words. But then, with an icy chill, I realized he was quoting one of the notes, one of the ones no one else knew about.

“How? Why?” I stumbled back, unable to comprehend being face to face with the man who had stalked me for months. I edged back again but was met with cold, wet stone at my lower back. One glance down told me I had backed into the well. I struggled to keep my balance as he leaned into me.

“I told you I could get to you anytime, anywhere. And here we are.” He cocked his head to the side. “Do you still not recognize me?”

He pulled back his hood, giving me a clear view of his decorated face. It took me a moment to see through the maze of markings, but when I did, a scream rose up in my throat. It was seized by panic, and I was able only to squeak out his name.

“Malegant.”

He grinned mirthlessly. “That’s right. And now you’re coming with me.”

He grabbed my wrists, preventing me from fighting back. I tried to kick my way free, but he avoided my blows just as he had avoided those in the hall. His other hand, clad in a glove, clamped over my mouth. Instinctively, I gasped, inhaling an astringent odor foreign to the leather that made me want to gag. But instead of letting me go, he pulled me close, spreading his fingers so they covered my nose as well.

My head tipped forward as I gasped for air, suddenly lightheaded. The world spun around me as I fell, helpless, into his arms.

“That’s it, my queen, just give in,” he purred into my ear as he pulled me along.

To anyone with the presence of mind to pay us heed, we probably looked like every other drunken couple, one supporting the other as we danced ourselves into oblivion. I tried to speak, to cry out, to wrench my arms away, but I could not move. I was completely under his control. And I was slipping away, giving in despite my best efforts to fight whatever foul concoction was tempting my body to sleep.

My eyes began to close. The last thing I saw was him yanking off the glove and tossing it into the bonfire, where it was consumed by the flames.

Then there was nothing but darkness.

Waking was much slower than falling into the void. I was aware first of a rocking sensation and an occasional bump. Mind still addled, I mistook the rhythm for a cart or even a boat, but then I breathed in sour horse sweat. With a jolt, the events of the night came back to me. I struggled to open my eyes, heart pounding, breath heaving with the knowledge I was under Malegant’s control.

My vision was hazy, marred by whatever drug Malegant had used on me and made worse by the steady rain. As we continued slowly, a blurred kaleidoscope of brown, green, and black marched with us. I tried to reach up and wipe away the rain clinging to my eyelashes, to clear my sight, but I found my hands were bound together and tied to the horse’s saddle.

Then I felt it. Another heartbeat behind my own. The warmth of human contact. The familiar scent of wood smoke from the bonfires and just a slight remnant of the acerbic potion that beckoned me back to darkness even now. I fought back a wave of nausea as the realization of who was holding me upright dawned on me. Slowly, I raised my head, unable to make myself turn to look him in the face.

A low chuckle deep within his chest, a sound I felt rather than heard, was the only verbal acknowledgement he gave to my being awake, though his grip on me tightened.

There was almost no sound as we picked our way slowly down the slick, muddy track. We were still descending the steep path from the castle to the road below, so I couldn’t have been unconscious long. We weren’t so far away from the castle I couldn’t escape. I just had to figure out how.

I breathed deeply, willing my mind to clear and fighting back a rising tide of panic. Being bound and still sluggish, escaping would not be easy, but I vowed he would not take me beyond Arthur’s reach. I took stock of my situation. It was raining, so the road was wet. If our horse faltered, I would topple along with him and only gain Malegant’s wrath for my efforts. He knew I was awake, so I had no element of surprise either. Nor did I have a weapon with which to wound. There was at least one horse ahead of us and one behind judging from the muddy squash made with every step of the animals’ hooves. I had no way of knowing how many men were making the journey on foot. Malegant was too smart to leave me loosely guarded. He had seen me fight and knew my capabilities.

As I tried to think, the rain increased, sending streams of green paint into my eyes. So that was how he had slipped me past the tower guards. I was just a woman in a painted mask, a passed out reveler like so many others.

Inwardly, I cursed. How was this possible? Arthur had his best men, including an assassin, on Malegant’s tracks, yet he’d walked out the main gate with me unconscious in his arms. It was a testament to the power of distraction. Chances were good no one was expecting him to hide in plain sight. What were the chances they were following us now?

I twisted around, straining to look past Malegant’s broad shoulders for any sign we were being followed.

“No one is there. We’re all alone, you and I, and my men will be of no aid to you,” Malegant purred into my hair, his lips brushing my temple as he pulled me even tighter against him. I wriggled and turned my face away, trying to avoid his advances. His grip on my shoulders increased, fingertips digging bruises deep into my tense muscles. “Fighting only makes me want you more.”

As if to prove his point, Malegant reined his horse to a stop and dropped the reins. His left arm slid to my waist, and he tipped me backward, pinning my arms between his body and mine as he leaned over me. I sucked in air and tried to squirm away, but he held me fast.

His lips came down on mine with surprising force, his voracious hunger forcing my lips apart until I gagged on his tongue. Summoning all my strength, I pitched forward against the solid wall of his chest and bit down hard on his tongue. He cried out and recoiled but not before I tore at his lower lip, drawing more blood.

He dragged the side of his hand across his gushing lip, yelling a string of epithets that would have made even Arthur blush. Before I could blink, the back of his hand hit me squarely in the jaw, sending me reeling, vision suddenly alight with stars and lightning. I was falling, the muddy ground quickly approaching my head, when his fingers wrapped around my calf, stopping my descent. Stinging pain spread across my scalp as he wrenched me back onto the horse by my hair. One of the gold combs that had held it in an intricate twist was lost in the mire. The strand of hair it had been responsible for fell over my face, sticking fast in the blood streaming from my nose and mouth.

His men had surrounded us, frantic to ensure I didn’t escape. Their torchlight illuminated Malegant’s face and his swollen lower lip. I saw myself reflected in his eyes—bloodied but far from broken.

Over his shoulder, the Tor was visible through a clearing. Its bonfires winking through the mists were an odd reminder of the feast we were supposed to be celebrating. But it also reminded me of the one weapon I possessed, one I doubted he would ever suspect.

Malegant yanked the black strands from my face, scrutinizing my eyes. He wanted me to cower and collapse, that much was clear. But he was dealing with a woman used to physical pain, trained to endure it. I would never give him the satisfaction of knowing how badly he had hurt me.

Instead, I laughed, a primal sound that stunned us both. Maybe it was the aftereffect of whatever floral essences he had used to render me unconscious or a side effect of his blow, but it was genuine. I had an idea of how I could escape.

“Bloody woman is crazy,” one of Malegant’s men said.

Malegant said nothing, just signaled for us to continue. His arms around me—certainly not weak before—became strong as two iron chains. There was no way I’d be able to budge until he wanted me to. But I didn’t need to.

I waited until we had gone some distance and were out on the open road leading away from Cadbury before I relaxed against him. Let him think the fight had gone out of me or, better yet, that I had passed out from my wounds. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, shutting out all sound, all sense of what was going on around me. I was aware of the energy of the night, of the feast, but as I searched deeper, I felt the familiar pulse of the Tor deep within the earth below us. I concentrated on matching my heartbeat to it, becoming one with it. As I inhaled, I drew it in, allowing the energy to pool in my fingers. Then I began to move them, slowly, subtly, drawing the mists toward me.

Once I was certain I had control, I opened my eyes. A short time later, we entered the forest. It had stopped raining but only recently. On either side, trees hugged the road so closely their dripping leaves still sent rills of freezing water down my back and between my breasts.

When we were sufficiently deep within their gnarled embrace, I let the force flow from my fingers. At first, only a ribbon of mist was visible here and there among the trees, not an unusual sight so near to dawn. But as we advanced, speeding toward our unknown destination, the fog grew subtly denser, obscuring the trees then crawling and whirling over the road like a sinister snake. It slithered upward, reaching from root to treetop until we could no longer see the coming dawn. Finally Malegant and his men slowed their horses, proceeding as though they feared the spirits hidden within the mists would accost them at any moment.

All the while, I worked the ropes binding my hands, ignoring the burn as they bit into my flesh. I nearly had enough slack when one of Malegant’s men spoke up.

“My lord, there is evil magic here. Should we continue or take another route?”

Malegant tensed behind me. He stopped his horse, and the others followed suit. With one last burst of will, I brought the mists in so they surrounded us in a wall of white on all sides. I was just about to jump when Malegant seized my shoulder, forcing me to twist to face him.

He growled, low and menacing like a dog taunted past endurance. “What was your plan, priestess? To baffle us? Make us lose our way? Or did you simply hope we would turn tail and run in fright?” He clenched my fists, squeezing my fingers until I cried out. “You forget, woman, that I was married to two priestesses. I know all of your tricks. And I also know what you require to perform them.”

Malegant’s smile was cruel. He nodded to the guard nearest us. “Break her fingers—each one of them.”

Pain shot through my hands as though shards of glass were flowing in my veins. I wanted to scream, but my sore, swollen jaw would not let me speak, much less cry out. Waves of nausea ebbed and flowed, but I sensed we weren’t moving anymore. That must have meant I was wherever Malegant had intended to take me.

When I opened my eyes, I expected to be chained in a dark, dank cellar. But I was lying in a soft bed in a square room with a high timbered ceiling that met at a point in the center. Above me, candles flickered in a round iron chandelier. Slowly, mindful not to exacerbate the throbbing in my temples, I turned my head. A tall wooden chest swam into view, followed by a table and chair on one side of the bed and a small fireplace on the other. A breeze swayed the shutters on either side of the small window, carrying in the earthy, cave-like scent of moist rock and flowing water.

I tried to sit up, forgetting my injuries, and yelped as I unwisely pressed my weight onto my hands. I collapsed back onto the sheets, panting, blanketed in cold sweat, and fighting my rebelling stomach. My head began to ring.

“Now, that was not wise.” Malegant clucked his tongue chidingly.

I jumped, unaware I wasn’t alone. He must have been sitting somewhere outside my view.

He came toward me, his eyes reproachful. “Imogen worked so hard to set and bandage your fingers, and here you go trying to undo all her efforts.”

Imogen? I recalled a flash of graying auburn hair and kind brown eyes amid the darkness. Perhaps I did have some memory of her.

Malegant grasped my upper arms and helped me to a sitting position, seating himself on the bed so his hip touched my leg. As I had on the horse, I tried to scrabble away, but every movement brought increased pain that threatened to hurl me back into the void of unconsciousness.

Once the dizziness passed, I looked at my hands. No wonder they felt five times their normal size. They were bound in reams of thick, strong cloth so bulky they resembled the heavy protective gloves worn by blacksmiths and bakers. Fascinated, I held up one hand and tried to move my fingers. The effort sent a jolt of pain through my hand, but my fingers remained immobile.

“Harming you was never in my plans; you made me do this when you tried to escape.” Malegant carefully guided my hand back down to the bed. “Do not try to use them. Imogen is here to help you as you heal.” He leaned toward me, weight forcing me onto my back once again. “Besides”—a spark of lust lit his eyes—“this way you can’t fight back.”

In a flash, he was kissing me just as hungrily as before. With a sickening chill, I knew what he intended to do. My lips went dry, my limbs began to shake, and my stomach, already unsteady, audibly voiced its willingness to void itself in any way it could. As he worked his belt loose, I tensed my muscles and prepared to fend him off, suddenly wishing I had paid more attention to my mother’s lessons on hand-to-hand combat.

I forced my face to the side. “Please, no,” I mumbled through my swollen jaw.

He pinioned my chin between his thumb and fingers, forcing my face back to his. He continued kissing me, smothering my breath with his lips. I knew better than to bite him again, even if my jaw would have let me, so I twisted my hips, hoping to gain some leverage to push him back. Wrenching an arm free, I aimed an elbow at the base of his neck and tried to bring my knee up between his legs while he was distracted.

But he was too strong, too quick. He caught my elbow and pinned both forearms behind my head, the weight of his body holding me down. I writhed beneath him, still seeking escape, but when his naked flesh touched mine, I quickly learned all I was doing was arousing him more.

I screamed silently as he thrust into me. Tears sprang from my eyes as he ripped me apart from the inside. I clenched my eyes shut as if that act alone could make him stop. I found myself fading away, no longer able to feel the pain or hear Malegant’s grunts of pleasure. It was strangely like manipulating the elements, falling into the void between worlds. Only this time, instead of gaining power, it was being taken from me.

Something inside my mind shattered. The physical violation was one level of horror, but the truth of what he was doing did not lie solely in the act. He had taken my sovereignty, the right of every woman, every priestess—and especially the queen—to choose her lovers as she willed. Had he killed Arthur, taken my crown, and left me for dead, he couldn’t have rendered me any more powerless. It was that thought, so much more damaging than my physical exhaustion, that made me stop struggling and simply endure what was being done.

Eventually I felt the sweet relief of his weight releasing me as he rolled off to one side.

Still panting, he kissed my cheek softly. “Thank you, wife. Let us see how quickly you can bear me a son.”

I froze. Wife. I suddenly remembered the story of Malegant taking Fiona from her homestead to make her his wife. He seeks to invoke ancient laws by which I am now his legal spouse. But what about Fiona? Was he going to take two wives? And did he not know I was barren? Perhaps he didn’t believe it. I closed my eyes and swallowed hard. This was nothing like the attack I suffered as a child. Then I was a valuable commodity to be traded and bargained. Now I am owned. I am his property to do with as he pleases regardless of my will or commitment to the man who is his king.

That was when I knew this nightmare was far from over.