THE Merlin settled Uther back into his bed for a well deserved nap. The Ardh Rhi had made a remarkable recovery but still lacked essential strength to handle much more than feeding himself and using the chamber pot.
“Sleep now, Highness,” he whispered, holding his palm over Uther’s eyes.
The Ardh Rhi didn’t need help in falling into deep, healing sleep. In moments he snored lightly.
“How long?” Ygraina whispered from her chair beside her husband’s bed.
“He will sleep a few hours and then require food and drink again,” Merlin replied. He didn’t like the waxy color of the brenhines’ skin. She needed rest as much as Uther did.
“No. How long will he live?” She brushed a fallen lock of graying hair off of Uther’s brow with the touch of a familiar lover.
“Unknown,” Merlin shrugged. He envied Uther the love of this gentle woman. Together, they had ruled with strength and a wily hand at politics. Separately, neither one would have succeeded at much. He’d recognized how they completed each other all those long years ago when he cast a glamour on Uther so that he could appear as Gorlois, Ygraina’s first husband, and infiltrate her well-guarded caer.
As Uther and Ygraina lay together, conceiving their son, Uther’s army had ambushed and slaughtered Gorlois and his warband. Long before Uther left Ygraina’s bed, she was a widow.
Merlin’s price for his part in the deception was the raising of that son, Arthur. So much depended upon Arthur. The gods knew he was the only one who could hold Britain together long enough to beat off the Saxons.
“You must know something, Myrddin Emrys. You see the future.”
“With luck and care and a mild winter, Uther might live to see spring.” With Wren around to nurse him, he might surprise them all. She had worked a better cure than Merlin thought possible without the great healing magic.
He almost swelled with pride at his daughter’s accomplishments. At the same time he feared for her. Powerful people wanted Uther dead, and she stood between them and the Ardh Rhi.
“No longer?” Panic widened Ygraina’s eyes.
“I can promise no more. The poison has eaten away at him for too long.”
“And my son. You promised to restore Arthur to me.”
“When the time is right.”
“I say the time is now!”
Merlin met her gaze in silence. Arthur must be a proven leader of men before Merlin revealed his identity. Otherwise the client kings would reject him, or use his weakness as an excuse to fall into war among themselves.
“Rest, Highness,” Merlin ordered Ygraina. “Rest while you can. Your husband will be a demanding patient when he wakes, and until I discover the poisoner, Uther must not be left alone.”
“I will rest here.” Ygraina settled into her highbacked chair and closed her eyes. “You may go about the business of finding the guilty. Exact whatever revenge you must from this person, but allow me to watch their death.”
“I will do what I can, Highness.” Merlin backed out of the chamber. He had other chores as well.
Remorse made him more tired than he truly was. He had slept a while during the night while he watched Wren wrestle with her demons. Demons he had planted in her mind.
How could he have done that to his precious daughter?
He hadn’t many choices once the nature of the poison was revealed. Whoever had dropped minute doses of druidsbane into Uther’s wine must be a powerful magician to have survived the harvesting of the poison. That same magician would be able to read an unguarded mind. Wren had to believe in the cancerous demon rather than the poison for her own protection.
A truly determined assassin might recognize in Wren the one person who could undo the convoluted plot.
Where had Wren gone? He’d best find her and make certain the unknown magician didn’t follow her.
If he knew his daughter at all, she would head for the rolling hills south of the city. She’d need fresh air and the renewal she’d find only in solitude.
He hoped he found her before she stumbled upon the sacred spring and its abandoned dolmen. Ten years ago he’d discovered remnants of bloody sacrifices there. Followers of dark powers had perverted the shrine to their own use. The place stank of evil, so he had warded it well and encouraged the forest to retake the place.
Tonight was Samhain. Perhaps he should make a point of renewing the wards to keep any ambitious demons from using the dolmen as a portal into this world tonight.
o0o
“I have found a virgin for tonight’s festivities.” Nimuë licked her lips seductively as she caressed her lover’s cheek. “A real screamer. She could raise the dead with her voice.”
Hot moisture inflamed the secret place between her legs at the thought of what her lover and his comrades would do to that virgin. That alone would be worth all of the work to get the girl to the ritual site.
“We must have time to work through the entire ritual to satisfy the men,” her lover said. “No one must come looking for her prematurely.” His voice became husky with desire.
Nimuë smiled to herself. She needed him eager and ready at sundown. Did she have time to slip into a hidden alcove with him right now? The forbidden nature of the tryst heated her as much as the thought of holding him inside herself.
Her knees weakened with her need to join with him. She reached up on tiptoe to kiss the corner of his mouth, brushing the tips of her breasts against his chest. With her free hand she cupped his manhood.
“Not now.” Her lover held her shoulders, keeping his elbows rigid and a disappointing distance between them. “You must make certain no one locks the girl away, beyond your reach. She must walk into the ritual site by herself, not under duress or carried there. Can you bewitch her as you have bewitched me?” His hands trembled slightly, but he kept his distance.
Nimuë knew a thrill of power. If she pushed, she’d have him panting and sweating for her, in her, within moments. Later she promised herself. Later when she could take her time and let him know who truly ruled this relationship. He’d never control her again after tonight.
“I have watched her closely for three days now. I know her habits. I will have her ready at the assigned place and time.” She almost wished she could substitute her mentor for the screaming virgin. But the demon would know the difference and reject the offering.
“And afterward?” He kissed her neck and pulled her close. His arousal pushed hard against her belly. Only a few layers of clothing separated them.
“If all goes as planned, you won’t need to worry about afterward.” She forced herself to sound normal, not breathless and wanting. She had to maintain control.
“Just make certain no one suspects either of us in the girl’s disappearance. We’ll return her in the morning, slightly used but not hurt.” He chuckled low in his throat.
If Nimuë worked the ritual correctly, the screaming virgin wouldn’t return to Venta Belgarum. She’d be dead, every drop of blood drained from her and fed to Nimuë’s demon.
“I know how to keep a secret and appear to be in two places at once,” she replied. “You taught me that long ago.”
Haven’t I kept the secret of my teacher’s identity. Haven’t I hidden the truth of how and where I found my demon?
o0o
I ran away from Curyll and Morgaine. I ran through the straight streets of the army camp, up the hill, past the sentries and bonfires. I ran. I ran until my heart pounded so loud that it drowned out all other sounds. I ran until my lungs ached and my head grew light. All semblance of a pattern in my life evaporated.
At last I collapsed in a heap beside a spring at the bottom of one of the rolling hills. Shrubs and saplings hid the small pool surrounding the spring and me from casual view.
A solitary standing stone guarded the pool. The twin spirals of fertility etched into the surface mocked me.
Curyll loved another. I’d never hold him close or bear his children while beautiful Morgaine captured his heart.
Tears flowed freely down my face. Racking sobs added new pain to my laboring lungs.
Why would Curyll, or any man, look at me after Morgaine had seduced him with her beauty, her wealth, and the promise of royal favor? I hadn’t sensed any magic about her today. She didn’t need any.
At last I had no more tears to add to the pool. I raised myself up to a sitting position, careful to avoid looking at my face in the watery reflection. I knew I’d see ugly splotches and red-rimmed eyes. Beautiful women like Morgaine seemed to be able to cry and become even lovelier. Men jumped to still their tears with gifts, tenderness, and pretty words.
Not me. My tears angered men and made them avoid me. I tried very hard not to cry. But today I couldn’t hold back. A new round of sobs threatened me.
My heart ached for the loss of Curyll. But strangely, my head no longer throbbed, nor did my eyes shy away from the afternoon sunshine.
Without the headache driving me, I could think again. Morgaine and Curyll hadn’t announced their betrothal yet. I still had time to work a little seduction of my own. My grief turned to resolve, cold and calculating. Tonight at the banquet Curyll would see me as The Morrigan, graceful and elegant. I would take the time to rest and comb the twigs and moss from my hair. I’d wear a clean gown, too, one suitable to the rank others bestowed upon me. Perhaps Blasine could lend me something more attractive than the plain leaf-green and oak-brown garments I usually wore.
A sturdy stalk of nettle on the other side of the small pool waved to me in the afternoon breeze. He reminded me that my sach was lacking many of the herbs I commonly carried. I should place pots of nettle beneath Uther’s sickbed to keep further evils from him.
The fading stalk of wild parsley next to the nettle begged to be added to the herbal pot.
Strange. My sach was empty of parsley, a natural diuretic and one of the ingredients in the standard tonic to relieve a woman’s monthly cramps and bloating. I didn’t remember preparing a dosage for any of the women in the bower. Had Morgaine stolen some to incite Curyll’s lust? Lust, not love. I’d probably given what I had on hand to Uther, to ease his painful swelling after the demon roared out of his body. I had worked so much magic that day I barely remembered any of it — the cancerous demon, the dosage, the spells —
Methodically, I applied myself to harvesting the few medicinal herbs growing around the pool that I could use. The carving on the dolmen enticed my glance. I refused the allure of it. I didn’t want it to lead me into a vision of the future. A future devoid of Curyll. That would be a false vision. I would find and implement a new plan to show him where his heart truly belonged. Unlike the double circles, the future was not etched in stone. It could change if one knew what clues to seek out in the vision and avoid them.
Gently, I cut the parsley stalk with my belt knife. My mind reached out to thank the plants for sharing their leaves and late blossoms with me. They accepted my thanks, content they could be of use this season before they retreated back into the earth for the winter.
A feral cat wandered up to the pool for a drink. He stayed to watch me. His orange-and-white fur reminded me of another cat, long ago. I missed Helwriaeth.
“Will you stay with me? I need a friend.”
The cat blinked and considered but did not answer. It hunched down and watched me.
In a few moments I had pushed the lingering ache of Morgaine’s seduction of Curyll to the back of my mind and lost myself in my tasks. From the spring, I moved uphill again, seeking more seeds, leaves, and mosses.
As usual, I lingered longer than I should have in the rolling hills and high meadows. The cat trailed behind me every step of the way. I was bent over an interesting double-blossomed daisy when a golden-yellow flower faery whispered in my ear.
Look at how long the shadows grow this time of year! He giggled and tickled my nose. His bright orange, brown, and gold wings caught the glow of the descending sun.
“I suppose I have to go back,” I sighed. Ghosts and creatures from the Otherworld had never frightened me before. Samhain was just another day in the fascinating calendar of days. Remnants of my nightmare urged me to seek shelter within stone walls and lighted rooms.
I looked about to thank the autumnal spirit for his reminder of the time, but he had disappeared. As had his companions — faeries never traveled alone. Insects, birds, and small field animals had fled as well. The orange-and-white cat blinked at me and retreated without further communication.
An eerie sense of aloneness descended upon me. I had never truly been alone before. Da, the friends we visited, or the Ladies of Avalon had always been no more than a shout away.
I hadn’t wandered far. If I left now, I had plenty of time to skirt South Hill and cross the River Itchen at the Roman bridge. Due north offered a more direct route into the city but required fording the river through a tricky marsh. I set my direction east, around the hill that had been home to the old hill fort and the ritual turf maze.
A gentle breeze seemed to guide me in that direction.
Wren! where are you? I heard in my mind more than with my ears Da’s shout.
I knew that Da worried about me. His thoughts vibrated out of the distant city, seeking me. I considered the shortcut through the marsh. The wind circled and pushed me back to the east.
I obeyed it and set my course back around the hill toward the Roman bridge, trying to appear as if I didn’t care that darkness approached with the lengthening shadows. Barrow wights fed on fear. A fleeing human made herself a target. But I’d be back in the city well before full dark.