In a moment of terror, Seren understood what He was saying. The creature meant for her to prove the veracity of her words with a willing sacrifice… only a sacrifice of her person… a sacrifice of her womb.
If you choose me, turn the blade, and see…
“Caw, caw!” said the black bird.
Only now, she understood, and once again, despite the angry face that glared down upon her, the same sense of quietude arose within her, and she knew… deep in her heart… if the Goddess was life, then, as her lover, the Horned God must be the one to light the spark of truth in her to create the Divine Child. She was the Divine Child. The Chosen One of her Age. The Regnant of her Day. But only if she gave herself to this sacrifice… and the sacrifice she now knew was a child of her womb. And yet if she chose this, she would be barren for the rest of her days. She would never, so long as she breathed, give Wilhelm a child of his blood. She would never know what it was like to be a mother…
Why? Even her grandmother had known the joys of childbirth. Why must she make this choice before ever having conceived?
Every path is different, my daughter… your child is every child…
The booming voice was gentle again, although it buckled and twisted against the wind, breaking like the voice of a youth on the verge of becoming a man.
Male. Female. Child. Mother. Father. Indistinguishable.
We are bound by destiny, to destiny bound,
I to you, and you to me…
Now you may choose, or choose to be free.
As you will it, so mote it be.
Tears brimmed in Seren’s eyes, but she steeled her heart and wiped her face. Now was no time to weep.
If she did not choose this now, it could be that no more children would be born to the realms of men.
If she did not choose this now, her sisters might die, as well…
So, too, would Wilhelm—the man she loved more than life itself.
If she didn’t choose this, her mother’s shadow would descend over the realm, extinguishing the light of this world, and the hearts of men would lie stillborn in a cradle of night.
With a defiant scream, Seren lifted the Sword of Ages and turned the blade—but not within her hand.
Understanding what was required of her now, she turned the blade so that its point was poised to enter her breast, and then with a sob, she fell upon it with all her might.
The sword pierced her flesh, filling her body with excruciating pain. It found her heart, and she screamed, sobbing over the death of her body, and suddenly, as the wind died, the clouds dissipated, all faces vanished…
She lay very still upon her bed… in the morning’s first rays.
The black bird flew away.
For a long, long moment, she lay prone on the bed, confused, wondering how in the name of the Goddess she’d come to lie face down on the Sword of Ages.
“Seren!” said Rose as a flash of light illuminated the room and they saw her lying so still on the bed. “Seren!”
“Sweet loving Mother!” said Elspeth.
Seren heard the rush of feet to her bedside, felt her sisters shove her over, and lift her gently off the sword. She felt hands sweeping over her body, her breasts, her limbs…
The sword went clattering to the floor as someone hurled it from the bed, and the voices that surrounded her now sounded a bit less frantic.
“Was it another dream?” pressed Elspeth.
“I-I don’t know! I heard her scream and thought it must be one of our babes.”
A warm hand slapped Seren upon the cheek. “Seren?”
“Is she ill?”
“I don’t know,” said Rose.
“Wounds?”
“I see naught. Seren, wake up! Seren!”
“Look at her hair,” said Elspeth, expelling the words with a gasp, as Seren opened her eyes.
20
Sleep eluded Rhiannon.
For the love of the Goddess, Cael hadn’t freed her; he’d put her in the hands of a fellow executioner.
Didn’t he know?
But, of course, he did.
We are not aligned, he’d said.
We are not aligned.
Tears pricked at her eyes as his words needled her heart, far, far more painfully than did any of the brambles she’d slept near. He’d kissed her good-bye, perhaps forever, and now it seemed that instead of saving her, he’d given her over to be murdered for the good of the realm?
Marcella claimed she was taking Rhiannon to her sisters—or at least, this was what Rhiannon had presumed. Only now that she considered it, no one had ever said they were taking her to Warkworth. Had they?
Nay.
Marcella had merely said she’d been tasked to “remove” Rhiannon from Blackwood, and yes, perhaps to keep her safe, but only so long as she didn’t deem Rhiannon a threat to the Realm…
By the by, before you think to judge me… consider that before we are done, one of you—either you or your sisters—will put a blade through your mother’s heart.
Therefore, you are no better than a huntsman.
Either you will spill Morwen’s blood, else she’ll spill yours, and for the good of the realm… I am prepared to slay you all.
Frustrated, Rhiannon turned on her pallet, peering into the treetops. By now, the fire had long since died, and she was cold, but she hadn’t the wherewithal to cast a warming spell. Her teeth chattered viciously, perhaps more from nerves than from the chill. Every time Marcella or Jack turned in their beds, disturbing bracken, it made her heart leap painfully against her ribs.
She was afraid, she realized.
Terrified.
Perhaps for the first time in her life.
During these past few days, Marcella had managed to strip Rhiannon of her pride. She gave her a true glimpse of her own vulnerability. Rhiannon wasn’t anyone’s savior, nor anyone’s protector. She was merely a woman, surrounded by uncertainty, who missed her husband… desperately.
Using her cloak for a blanket and her arm for a pillow, she tossed and turned, doing her best to avoid brambles. Alas, the more she fidgeted, the more they clawed at her, even as worry pricked at her belly.
She could leave, she realized.
Now, whilst they were still sleeping…
Like her sisters, she was a child of the forests. She might have a chance alone. She didn’t know precisely where Warkworth was, but she knew it was north and close to the sea. She also knew how to gauge direction by the position of the sun. Whatever she didn’t have in her saddlebag, she could forage from the land.
She didn’t need these paladins…
Unfortunately, the horses were weary from so many long days. Like Rhiannon, they hadn’t rested properly since leaving Blackwood, and if she left now, her poor horse would pay the price of her impetuosity.
So, then, she could travel afoot… concealing herself with magik, though Marcella was a dewine. She would know what signs to look for.
Anyway, Marcella would have use of the horses, and she also knew precisely where Rhiannon was going. Doubtless, they would pursue her till caught.
Going back wasn’t very wise either. Although they’d managed to slip away, by now, Morwen was no doubt in pursuit. She would push her band to their limits to make up for lost time.
Nay, in the end, it simply wouldn’t be wise to waste more time trying to escape a woman who, according to her own word, had been assigned to protect her. She must believe that Cael would never put her in the hands of a mercenary who meant to kill her. And yet, she lay there, confused by all she’d learned—one shocking revelation after another from the instant she’d left Blackwood.