However, there were not nearly enough men to defend the outer bailey, and slowly, slowly, slowly… the birds came closer and closer… alighting on the remnants of the burnt outer wall, breaching that barrier to amass in the outer bailey. Although, fortunately, as of yet, they had not come near the wards Elspeth had placed…
Because it was presumed that Morwen would attempt to barter for the things she most valued, Prince Eustace was dragged from the oubliette, hands bound, and brought to the ramparts. At the moment, he looked nothing at all like the arrogant bully who’d enjoyed picking on those less fortunate. Hungry, dirty and tired, he sat where they bade him to sit, and perhaps only bided his time, still hoping that Morwen would free him. With his head in his hands and his winter grey eyes so like his father’s, he sat looking like the broken man he was.
Rhiannon didn’t want to feel pity for him, and yet, she did.
She knew what it felt like to be discarded, and she knew what it felt like not to be valued. Only she would never have taken her fury out on others, as he had.
Sweet fates. What must it be like to feel so little compassion for human suffering, or the lives of others, that one would put an entire castle to the torch?
It was no wonder they kept Wilhelm from the King’s son, because if that were Rhiannon’s family murdered by his hand, she might, indeed, have killed him herself, pity bedamned.
Now, she watched from the ramparts, along with her sisters and Marcella as Morwen’s birds transformed themselves into soldiers in the blink of an eye. It happened so swiftly, there wasn’t a change to note. They were simply birds one instant, the next, black-clad soldiers, armed with glittering swords, exactly like those soldiers her sisters had encountered at the Widow’s Tower. “She’s here,” announced Seren, rubbing her arms.
“Someone fetch Giles.”
“I’ll go,” offered Edmund.
At the moment, Giles and Wilhelm were both in the courtyard preparing their best line of defense, and if there was a bright side to be found, it was this: They wouldn’t have to worry about any siege. But, alas, neither did they have the resources to win hand-to-hand. As it was, they hadn’t even the numbers to hold the castle for long, nor enough missiles to keep Morwen’s army at bay. Rhiannon begged the Goddess for mercy.
“I hope she’s listening,” said Rosalynde.
“What of Cael?” asked Elspeth. “Has he emerged yet?”
Rhiannon shook her head, even now dreading the sight of her husband as much as she dreaded the coming battle. Their time was up.
What would he say?
What could she say?
For all Rhiannon knew, he had already slipped away, and even now he was out there… with Morwen—his benefactress and mistress.
“Nay,” said Seren, reading Rhiannon’s mind, and Rhiannon frowned.
She had always been better at mindspeaking than any of her sisters. And, in fact, until now, she had been better at everything than everybody, except Morwen. It was wholly unnerving to discover that Seren was suddenly the better, stronger, wiser dewine—and neither was she accustomed to her sister’s altered appearance, although for Wilhelm’s part, he seemed unfazed by the changes in his wife, and if anything, he seemed relieved—as they should all be.
As the dark clouds grew darker, Rosalynde waved a hand, speaking softly to entreat the Goddess…
Goddess of light, protect us this night.
Ye who would harm, ye who would maim,
Proceed and face the same.
By all on high and law of three,
This is my will, so mote it be.
“Alas,” said Marcella. “I fear it will not constrain her.”
“It’s something,” said Ellie.
And then they waited. All together. All five dewines stood watching as the Golden Hour arrived, and the fields continued to pepper with soldiers, until every puddle bore boots.
An even colder mist crept out from the woodlands, crawling slowly toward the castle, frosting the air so that it was possible to spy one’s breath. Rhiannon rubbed her arms vigorously, fear rising up her spine like an icy tide.
When finally Morwen arrived, she came with reinforcements—Welsh standards raised high against the setting sun. However, they did not rush the castle. Instead, they moved closer, and closer until the foreground was a crush of black and metal.
And then, suddenly, a sea of men parted before the Witch Queen, as they had during the battle of the Tower, her soldiers standing quietly, allowing her to pass.
In she rode, astride some enormous black horse, her black hair plaited for war and her armor shining dully. And yet, though she was unmistakable, there was a horse and rider trailing behind her who wasn’t immediately recognizable—not until she came closer.
Rhiannon gasped.
Marcella snarled.
“Christ!” said Giles.
Rhiannon’s heart kicked violently against her ribs, as Giles immediately moved to restrain Marcella, who started screaming.
“Do not harm him, Morwen! Kill him and I will slay you myself!”
It was Jack.
Hands bound at his back, with a bloodied cloth shoved ruthlessly into his mouth, he was stripped of his armor, including his clothing. Naked as the day he was begot, he sat astride his courser, his wide blue eyes peering up into the ramparts, speaking words his mouth could not…
Do not treat with her, he said.
Rhiannon’s heart gripped with fear.
Morwen halted outside missile range, tugging at Jack’s lead rope, pulling his horse up beside her. “I’ve brought you a gift,” she said sweetly, her voice echoing unnaturally across the misty, puddled field.
Poor, poor Jack!
Rhiannon attempted to connect with him, and found his heart flame beating savagely.
Jack, she said. Oh, my dear, sweet Jack.
I am sorry, he said stoically.
We will trade for you! she said. We have Eustace!
Nay, my lady, do not. Do not treat with her, he said bravely, and even from this distance, Rhiannon could see that his shoulders lifted and his chin hitched defiantly.
Raucous laughter reached the ramparts. Clearly, having heard their mindspoken words, the Witch Goddess was heartily amused. And yet, Jack never once said from whence he’d come, Rhiannon realized. Had he somehow managed to keep that from Morwen?
Even now, could Drakewich’s soldiers be en route?
Rhiannon prayed it was true.
“Let us treat!” demanded Morwen. “You have something that belongs to me. I wouldst have it returned. Moreover, as a sign of your enduring good will, I will require the traitors Cael d’Lucy and Marcella le Fae. Send both to me now, and I shall free this man-child and leave you in peace.”
Behind her, her entire black-clad army shifted in preparation. At the flick of her fingers, all the Welsh bowmen in her company moved forward.
Do not treat with her, begged Jack desperately, shaking his head, and Morwen laughed. “Fool,” she said, glancing at her defiant prisoner. “Do you not realize I can hear you?”
Go to hell, you spawn of the devil!
“Quite to the contrary,” she said mirthfully, and tears pricked at Rhiannon’s eyes because she understood what Jack was saying, and it was true. Whatever transpired, they should not barter with Morwen. And, to that end, he’d already decided he would die for this cause. And die he would, Rhiannon knew, and she swallowed the tears that rose to choke her. Her gaze sought Marcella, but Marcella’s eyes were only for Jack.