Silver Blade

SILVER BLADE Red Queen Series: Book #2 By Michelle L. Levigne

Triskelion Publishing 15327 W. Becker Lane Surprise, AZ 85379 First e Published by Triskelion Publishing First e publishing January 2007 ISBN 1-60186-075-7

Copyright 2007 Shelley Munro All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information retrieval and storage system without permission of the publisher except, where permitted by law.

Cover design Triskelion Publishing. Publisher’s Note. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and places and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to a person or persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is purely coincidental.

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SILVER BLADE Red Queen Series: Book #2

Historical Note: In 60 or 61 AD, when Britain was still a newly-conquered territory of Rome, King Prasutagus of the Iceni Tribe died and supposedly left half his wealth to Nero, and the other half to his daughters, to be administered by his wife, Queen Boudicca. When the Roman officials came in the spring to assess the wealth of the dead king's estate, they decided to take all of it and declared the Iceni royal line ended. Women were non-entities in Roman culture, except for the power they wielded behind the scenes. The Romans ignored the fact that Queen Boudicca was a warrior and a powerful, wealthy woman in her own right. They also ignored the fact that among the Britons, the royal line of descent of some tribes ran through the first-born daughter -- the man she married became the next king. Boudicca protested these judgments and was stripped and flogged. The Roman officials gang-raped her daughters and despoiled the royal household. Some historians speculate the rapes were deliberate, to stop a nobleman from marrying one of the princesses to become king. Boudicca rose up in rage and rallied the Britons to support her vengeance. Later, even Roman historians admitted that she had just cause for rebellion. Britain was already seething with discontent over Roman taxes and the abuses practiced by officers and nobles. When veterans retired from the army, they were given land – often just before the harvest or right after the spring planting. The land was taken with little or no recompense to the families who had lived there for generations. These practices enraged the people, but the Britons were squabbling tribes who didn’t unite against a common enemy. Divided, they were too few in number to make any difference. The Romans usually left the religious practices of conquered people alone. Nero decided the Druids weren't simply scholars, bards and teachers, the repository of all culture and learning and arts – they were the fomenters of rebellion. He set about to drive the Druids out of Britain, persecuting them just as he persecuted the early Christians. While Boudicca gathered her allies, Governor Seutonius Paulinus led the army against the

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last bastion of the Druids, the Isle of Mona. The Druids were slaughtered, their riches carried away, the sacred oaks chopped down. Those who had hesitated to throw their lot in with Boudicca now had reason for rebellion. Before the vengeful tide of an estimated 230,000 Celtic warriors disintegrated into chaos, it razed and burned three Roman towns, slaughtering and torturing their citizens -- Camulodunium (Colchester), Verulamium and Londinium (London).

The warriors rampaged across the

countryside, destroying Roman and pro-Roman farms and households. Then, in late August, the uncontrollable mob fell to the military tactics of the Roman military machine. Paulinus kept the army moving for the remainder of the year, exacting revenge on the Britons, despoiling the land, until a more reasonable governor came to replace him. The two princesses vanished, without a clue to their fates. Boudicca died soon after the tragic defeat. Some say she took ill and died. Others say she took poison, following Cleopatra's example so she would not be taken prisoner to Rome.

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Chapter One

“Someone is watching us,” Devona said. “Staring.” Casida had long ago stopped wondering how her blind sister could notice so much. They were Kreefa, and what she had lost at birth, Verdidan had made up for with triple the strength in her other senses, and her seer’s visions. Right now, Casida’s shoulders twitched under the weight of the Roman official's gaze. Her crest fur prickled, anticipating trouble. She refused to let the fat, balding man know she noticed him. For several heartbeats, Casida slipped backwards in time, to her childhood. Her mother, Alastrina had also attracted the attention of a Roman official. The army commander had desired her, though she was almost eight moons pregnant with Devona. Many Romans had died that day, when the Red Queen refused and the commander tried to force her to his will. At least that Roman commander long ago had been handsome and fit. This Roman official standing at the edge of the marketplace looked greasy, his skin spotty from too much rich living. Sunset neared and the market of this small Briton town grew deserted. The shadows turned long and cool, cast by one and two-story buildings of stone, surrounded by conical huts of daub and wattle. Smoke rose in the air, and the smell of meat and fresh bread. Despite the hospitable smell and feel of the place, every house and every person here was a stranger. The Britons knew better than to stand between a Roman official and what he wanted. Why risk their homes, their livelihoods, or the enslavement of their children, to help a stranger? The sisters needed to complete their errands and leave quickly. “Evan stares more, and he drools,” Devona whispered. Casida choked on laughter. Her sister was right. Who was worse? Strutting Evan, who

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demanded she take him as her mate? Or this Roman, who would soon send a man after her and offer insultingly small amounts of silver for the use of her body? Hand-in-hand, the sisters turned to leave. Their traveling party had divided across the countryside to talk to people and gather up tales. Eight of the Queen’s Hunt had gone south from their village, past Hadrian’s Wall into Briton to investigate tales of men who could turn into wolves. Casida, as Red Queen, had a duty to find the Lost Ones, Kreefa who had remained when the tribe had left Achaia, now called Greece by the Romans. It neared fall now, and the Hunt had left in early spring. They had not returned. Casida sometimes wondered if she wanted to find them for the sake of the tribe, or to stop Evan from pressing his suit. Her mate, Huon, had led the missing Hunt. Casida had a year until she was required to declare her mate missing and find another Hunt Leader. She and Huon had only been mated three moons. She didn’t want to declare him dead. She could barely remember his touch, his scent, the feel of his arms around her in the night. She couldn’t mourn him. “You didn't worship,” a young man said to their right He spoke Greek. Casida was surprised to hear the language of her ancestors, and stopped. Slim, dressed in the simple robes of a traveler, he smiled and gestured at the shrine to Mercury they had just passed. “Everyone makes an offering, just to appease the Romans. Why not you?” “Why waste money or food on a block of stone?” Devona said with a smile. Her hand tightened in Casida's grip. “There is no god but Verdidan, and he will protect us from fools.” “Verdidan? Veritas? The truth?” The young man smiled. “You are a scholar?” Casida guessed. “I try to be.” “Verdidan is the truth.” Devona's voice softened, making Casida's crest fur prickle in anticipation. Would she speak one of her visions to this stranger? “Verdidan is the truth, the life, the way through the barrier created by our evil. There is no god but Verdidan, though … you know him by other names.” “Yes.” The young man sighed. “My name is Aristarchus. My master sent me to find you.” Devona followed him before Casida could even think to refuse. They went down a lane, away from the main street through the center of the town. The signs on the doorways proclaimed the livelihood of the people living in the houses they passed -- weavers, potters, leatherworkers.

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“Your sister –” Aristarchus began, his face troubled. “Is blind. Yes. But Verdidan has gifted her – and us – by granting her a greater vision.” Casida smiled. The young man looked at Devona with interest, rather than the repugnance many felt for the blind. “She is blind because she was born early.” “Our mother died giving me life,” Devona said. She tipped her head slightly to one side and her milky eyes focused unerringly on their guide. “We are travelers, settling for a generation or two, then moving on, always seeking a safe haven. Will your master tell us the way to our long-sought home?” Their guide stopped short. His mouth worked soundlessly for a few moments. Then he rolled his eyes, looked heavenward, grinned, and gestured for them to follow him. “He is accustomed to such strangeness in his master,” Devona murmured. “That is a good sign.” Casida sighed. Sometimes, much as she loved her younger sister, she wanted to slap Devona until she spoke simple words. Aristarchus pushed open the door under the sign for a family who dyed cloth. The acrid scents nearly blinded Casida for the first few seconds. She clutched Devona's hand and followed their guide, through the steamy front room full of vats and piles of cloth, to a courtyard where a bent, balding, gray-haired man in Roman-style robes sat in the sun. “You doubted me,” the man said with a smile, and never turned his face away from the sky or opened his eyes. “You were named Tall, but now you are Small,” Devona said. She shrugged off Casida's grip and stepped forward, crossing the uneven ground without stumbling, to stand in front of the old man. “You doubted what your visions showed you. Why shouldn't your messenger doubt you when you sent him to find us?” She reached behind herself, found the little stool waiting there, and perched on it. “You were given a warning for us?” “Ah, child.” The man sighed and opened his eyes and reached out slightly shaking hands to trace her jaw line with his fingertips. “Even here, the light of truth burns brightly. I doubted, so I was shown you.” He glanced over his shoulder at Casida and Aristarchus, who stayed near the doorway. “There are those who would brand you both as creatures of the Evil One, but I have been shown that your souls are purer than many who think they stand in the gates of Paradise.”

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He smiled, and a touch of mischief wiped away the weariness Casida smelled in his scent. “Who are you?” Casida asked. “Small is most appropriate. I was a scholar, respected and powerful, until the Light blinded me on the road to Damascus.” Small turned back to Devona. His voice softened. “How much more clearly you see, child, than I ever did. The brightest lights sometimes burn the shortest time. But be happy. You will not go to your rest with your tasks undone, your destiny unfulfilled. Your heart will be complete. Both of you, though the way ahead of you is filled with sorrow, terror and pain. Do not hold back your heart from joy and love.” He looked up at Casida now, who stepped over next to Devona. “Do not hold back from completing this task set before you, though you will know great grief. Do not hold back your heart. Those with great gifts and authority are held accountable for them. On Judgment Day, do not let it be said that you wasted the wealth of your soul through fear. Let us both stand before the One who created us both, and hear him say he is pleased with us.” “You also serve Verdidan?” Casida whispered. She dropped to one knee in front of the old man. “He does,” Devona said. She reached out unerringly and took the man's hand. “Our ancestress came from an island of great peace and safety. We seek that land, so we may go there and those who would call us servants of evil will not find us.” “Ah, do we not all seek that land?” Small shook his head. “I cannot tell you the way to go … Queen. You are a queen of high honor and the way is lonely. But not always lonely, if you dare to look beyond your fears and pain. There are two brothers you seek. Both will bring you pain when they are found. Great sorrow will come if you do not hunt them until they are found and caught and stopped. There will come one who will help you hunt and will ease your loneliness, if you dare to accept all that is offered to you. Great sorrow, but great joy. Weeping lasts but for the night. Joy will come in the morning.” He sighed and his shoulders slumped. “How I wish I could urge you to flee and seek happiness in a land of sun and warmth.” “Duty calls, and will not be ignored,” Casida murmured, speaking a proverb that had come down to them from Mother Dawn. “Better to bear the yoke willingly, than the whiplash in bitter shame.” “Exactly.” Small nodded.

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“You should leave Britannia, Small,” Devona said. “There is great danger and unrest coming. The Britons see only two people in the world -- Britons and Romans.” “And I am most certainly not a Briton.” He chuckled, squeezed her hand, and guided it to Casida's hand. “You should also heed that advice, Queen. But you will not. Listen to this advice, however. Procurator Catus Decianius is in this village, and he has a reputation for taking any lovely young woman who catches his attention. He is already sending men looking for you.” He frowned. “If you move quickly, only a few will find you. It is right to defend yourself,” he added, and looked directly into Casida's eyes, “but do not glory in their pain, or you will have taken the first step in becoming just like him.” Five soldiers followed the sisters when they entered the forest that curved around the town on three sides. Casida's crest fur prickled warning. She mind-called and the Hunt answered. She wished she had sent Briant, their older brother, to seek for the herbs she needed for their healing supplies. Briant was a skilled hunter and stood as Hunt Leader in Huon’s absence, but he knew nothing of herbs. Sighing, Casida gripped the basket of her purchases in one hand and Devona's hand in the other, and ran. The Romans’ horses crashed through underbrush. Howls rang through the forest as the Hunt raced to answer her call. Casida opened her mind and showed them her plan. The sisters crossed a clearing and paused in the first crimson streaks of sunset. Devona nodded, smiling slightly. Casida shifted to wolf and vanished into the shadows behind her. A few heartbeats later, the Romans crashed into the clearing and reined their horses to a stop. “Where's the other one?” Their leader was the only one with a crest on his helmet. Devona sat cross-legged on the ground and picked through the contents of the basket, ignoring him. “Where's your sister? The Procurator wants both of you.” A wolf howled. Fear scent filtered through the clearing and two soldiers fought nervous horses. The leader repeated himself, and Devona ignored him. He dismounted and stomped across the clearing to her. Casida erupted from hiding and knocked him to the ground. She heard and felt ribs snap and smelled blood on his breath. She stayed on his chest in wolf shape. The air darkened with wolf bodies leaping to knock soldiers from their saddles. The horses ran, screaming. In moments, the four soldiers were dead, throats bitten through. Casida stayed perched on the leader. His fear scent thickened the air. He screamed like a castrated boy when

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she shifted to Human. “Roman pig,” Casida spat. “The Roman who tried to take my mother died for it.” She drew her knife down his leather breastplate, slicing through the lacing on one side. The man stared. Fear sweat soaked his clothes. “It is the law of my people that no Kreefa shall ever eat Human flesh, at risk of their souls. But you, Roman pig, are not Human.” She drew her knife's tip across his throat, leaving a delicate red line. “Mercy.” “When you raped girls and they screamed for mercy, did you pity them?” Casida spat, hitting his left eye. “Does being a Roman give you the right to do anything to a woman?” She bounced, wringing a shriek from him. Blood trickled from his mouth. “Red Queen.” Briant strode up to her and stood where the Roman could see him. “We are ready to go, Lady.” Casida drew her knife across the Roman's throat again, pressing deeper. Blood flowed in a thick, glistening line. The soldier closed his eyes and turned his head aside. “Don't do this, Sister.” “Let him live, to tell the truth of what we are?” Casida slid off the man and stood. “Don't harm yourself. Torture him, and you become as filthy as a Roman. Kill him cleanly, and honor the Kreefa.” Casida nodded, remembering Small's warning. “Bring honor to the Kreefa.” “Run, Roman,” Briant ordered, as Casida walked away. Half the Hunt had already vanished into the forest. Devona waited on the edge of sunset and shadow. Briant-wolf snarled as Casida took Devona's hand and stepped into the shadows of the trees. The Roman cried out, the sound ending in a gargling shriek and a thud as his body hit the ground. Casida refused to look back and watch her enemy drown in his own blood. Casida decided, when this duty was over, she would take the tribe out of Britannia, south and east, to the hot lands of sand and Moors, maybe to Hispania where her great-greatgrandmother had been honored as a Red Queen deserved. She had been born in Britannia and loved the misty lands -- the moors and rivers and the fierce people of the many scattered tribes, the Bards and Druids and the warriors who went into battle clothed in nothing but rage and tattoos of blue woad.

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Still, she entertained a sweet, wistful dream of a land where it was warm all year, and she could sleep without dreaming of blood in her mouth and vengeance burning in her heart. If Huon was proven dead, she wouldn't take Evan as her Consort. She needed a skilled warrior, but a warrior who hated killing. Evan enjoyed it too much. The Kreefa walked a razor's edge in hearkening to their wolf nature. The Kreefa had to learn to walk away from battle, before it swallowed them up and destroyed them for all time. * * * * * “Grandfather?” Ansgar paused at the edge of the circle of oaks, where the Druid leaders met in council. He had no crimes on his conscience and knew enough of the Druids not to be prey to the fears of the ignorant. Still, entering the circle made him uneasy. It reeked of magic. Ansgar hated all magic, even the magic tamed by the Druids. His life was too full of magic lately, with these man-wolves turning every full moon into a time of terror and blood. “Are you well, son of my daughter?” Bram, Phantarch of the Druids on the Isle of Mona, stepped away from the knot of murmuring, robed figures. “Very well, Grandfather. I heard you call in my dreams.” “Yes, indeed, our most revered leader.” Bricriu, Lord of Semer, stepped from the shadows. He had the right to attend all conferences of the Druids, even if he had no vote. “What new crisis makes you send for your most clever spy?” When Nero had ordered the persecution of Druids, Bricriu had sheltered many in Semer's narrow valleys, in the lands of the Parisi, as they fled north and west to safety. His white-gold hair and midnight-blue eyes and his love of fine clothes and poetry made him an elegant figure that women sighed over. Ansgar felt only pity for his childhood friend, who wanted to be a Druid but lacked the discipline and the maturity. Bricriu was still very much a child, and sometimes Ansgar shuddered at the damage a child with so much power in his hands could do, in ignorance. Ansgar didn't want to gnaw that problem tonight or wonder why Bricriu spent more time with the Druids than with his own people. He had traveled four days, evading Roman troops on patrol, following the dream summons. He needed to know what his grandfather required of him. “It has been long since you reported on the doings of the outside world.” Bram nodded his white head, smiling, and clasped Ansgar's hard shoulder to shake him once. “Come. You need to

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be fed or you'll faint halfway through your report.” Ansgar nodded to Bricriu and let the old man lead him away. The two men crossed the moonlit meadow surrounding the ring of sacred oaks. The light from the waxing moon seemed like molten silver. Ansgar shuddered at a fragment of a dream, and he was glad to pass again into shadow as he followed his grandfather down the slope of the island. “You are plagued by dark visions?” Bram murmured. “The full moon has become dangerous.” “The man-wolves.” The Druid nudged Ansgar's shoulder when he would have stopped. “Magic must be fought with magic, and placed in the hands of our most skilled warrior.” Ansgar nodded and fought the shudder deep inside. He had been trusted with dangerous tasks for the Druids since his youth. He could face any weapon, enemy, or enraged beast, and survive. The ancient wisdom of the Druids and the powers of the arcane magic and magicians who opposed them formed a far different battle. Only once had his grandfather required him to surrender his control and skills to the guidance of another mind. Ansgar had little recall of that time. Obeying Bram's greater wisdom had protected him, though he walked through flames. Ansgar would rather place a knife to his own throat or thrust his hand into a blacksmith's coals, rather than ignore any request the old man made of him. “Ancient tales have come to us from the land of the Greeks,” Bram mused as he ladled out warmed mead for them to drink. The door of his hut was shut tight and latched. The walls were thick stone, the thatching of the roof sufficient to muffle any sound. “Knowledge of the man-wolves?” Ansgar guessed. Bram smiled into the small peat fire on his hearth. “Why do we insist that these are men who become wolves? What if they are wolves who, through forbidden magic, become men?” He shook his head and signaled Ansgar to listen. “Seven of us drank of the Sacred Nine. We searched the Otherworld for answers, defenses and allies. A harsh darkness waits to fall on Britannia. Whether it fights the Romans or aids them, it will devour our people if it is not stopped. We have seen a weapon and how to forge it. We will give it to you. With it in your hand, seek a people led by a woman of fire, a great warrior. Mingle your fire with hers. When your weapon shows its true power, bring her to us.”

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“She is the source of the darkness?” “Not yet, but it longs to enslave her.” Bram gazed unseeing into his cup. “If the darkness takes her, she will birth an abomination that will plunge the world into madness.” He set down his cup and stood. “Come. You must see this.” He led Ansgar to the caves along the northern shore of Mona, where prisoners awaiting trial were kept. “We have caught a man-wolf.” Bram didn’t smile and Ansgar waited for the sour side of the news. “Innis was bitten in the battle, defending his folk.” Ansgar fought not to cry out in fury. He had killed three man-wolves in the ten moons since the creatures had begun to terrorize Britannia. He had also been forced to kill five warriors who had been bitten while fighting the man-wolves and had gone insane at the next full moon. Innis had grown up with Ansgar, a fisherman on the mainland opposite the Isle of Mona. “This man-wolf isn’t like the others,” Bram continued. When Ansgar opened his mouth to ask more questions, he shook his head and gestured for him to wait. They continued walking. Ansgar sensed something wrong, like a harp string out of tune, when they reached the clearing around the prison cave. He put out a hand to stop Bram, just inside the shadows of the trees that faced the cave mouth. The guard on outside duty sat slumped against the log barrier before the cave. His eyes were closed, mouth open, hands lax. He snored counterpoint to the soft peeping of night insects. Ansgar crossed the clearing in three running steps. He drew his short sword, prepared for an ambush. When Bram would have gone into the cave, Ansgar blocked him. What would his life be worth if he let any harm come to his grandfather? That mattered more to him than the punishment from the Druids if he allowed harm to the Phantarch. He glared, but Bram only chuckled. Inside the interconnected caves, only one barrier of leather straps woven with wooden slats stood in place. The guard on inside duty lay curled up on his side, snoring with a dry rattle. The prisoner was silent. Dressed in torn breeks, the black-haired, bearded man slumped against the rough wall, arms held up by chains attached to a spike near the ceiling. The stink of drying blood met Ansgar's nose. Bram lifted down the torch that burned at the mouth of the cave. In the stronger light, what Ansgar had thought was a mat of black hair on the

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prisoner's bare chest became a coating of congealed blood. “Still whole.” Ansgar gave the barrier two solid shakes for demonstration. “The ground is so hard-packed outside, I couldn't pick up the murderer's track in broad daylight. Who could have done this?” “Another Druid, I'm afraid,” Bram said with a sigh. “This night will be long before I can tell you the rest of the tale. Run to Bowyn. He will take this from here.”

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Chapter Two

“What do you see?” Casida looked into the milky depths of Devona's blind eyes and silently prayed for Verdidan's guidance. Her sister had been born with a special gift, forged in the fires of adversity. Surely Verdidan would grant the child a vision to guide the Kreefa in these dangerous times? Alastrina had died giving birth to Devona seventeen years ago. An entire company of Roman soldiers had died them, but Casida still felt the jagged knife’s edge of loss and hunger for vengeance. She had been four years old, riding behind her father, Caradoc and had seen everything. Caradoc had been a shadow of himself since the day Alastrina died, but he forced himself to live to raise Briant, seven years old, Casida, and the new baby. Caradoc had died last winter, shortly after Casida agreed to take Huon, son of Hoel, as her mate. He had been weary with his burden and thought Casida ready to lead the tribe. Casida questioned her father’s judgment for only the second time in her life. The first time was when he urged her to consider either of Hoel’s two sons as a mate. Hoel had joined them a scant six moons before, leading a band of fifty Lost Ones. Daman and Huon were as different as night and day, both in coloring and temperament. When Casida chose Huon, Daman had demanded Devona as his mate. He had been troublesome ever since the younger girl refused him. Casida was glad Daman had vanished with the Queen’s Hunt, even if it had cost her Huon. Sweet, wise, quiet Huon, with his gentle lovemaking and his reverence for her power as Red Queen. All this trouble could have been avoided, she thought now, if she had listened to her first instincts and took the tribe far from Britannia, far from the Romans and their hateful, growing empire. Huon would be alive, and they never would have heard the tales of the man-wolves far

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to the south of Britannia. When the Kreefa left Greece to seek a safer home, many stayed behind. These Lost Ones lived without the shelter and guidance of the Red Queen. Casida feared some Lost Ones had also migrated to this green, misty land and were the source of the tales of men who turned to wolves and ran mad at the full moon. She could not accept the stories of wounded men who became wolves. It was impossible, yet she had to investigate. The fear generated by the Lost Ones endangered her tribe. So now they hunted, riding through the south of Britannia where Casida had vowed she would never go again. They heard only tales, no solid evidence. She and the Elders had prayed for guidance – and then Devona woke her not twenty minutes ago and told her she had been granted a vision. The two sisters left their place by the fire and came down to the river where they could talk in the light of the near-full moon. “We walked down a road of closely-fitted stones,” Devona whispered. She raked shaking fingers through her sweat-dampened, golden hair. “The sun crossed overhead from our left hands to our right and our shadows never went ahead of us.” “South. We are going in the right direction.” Casida nodded. It was good to know at least that decision had been wise. “A dark man will meet us, wearing the moon as a weapon, and we must follow him.” Devona shivered. Casida wrapped an arm around the girl's shoulders. “The path is spattered with blood hotter than flame, more bitter than wormwood. There will be death and sorrow if you fail.” She shivered and slumped into her sister’s embrace. “The weapon is forged and cannot be un-made.” “Sleep,” Casida whispered. She cradled Devona close as exhaustion took her. * * * * * “We must continue south,” Casida said, after she reported Devona's words to the Hunt the next morning, as they broke camp. “More Romans,” Briant said with a snort of disgust. “If I could, I would bite out the throat of every Roman between here and Gaul,” Evan said with a grin. “For you, Red Queen.” Evan should have been named Ferris, 'rock,' or better yet, simply named Mountain. Black-

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haired, leather-skinned, and two heads taller than Casida, his voice rumbled like a mountain about to erupt. Only in his wolf form did he have any grace or beauty. “Even if the Kreefa slaughtered Romans until we bathed in their blood, we would not destroy Rome.” Devona's frail voice turned hard. “Half the world will worship us.” Evan still grinned. “And when the truth of our wolf nature emerges? Worship will turn to fear and the world will unite to destroy us.” Casida shook her head. “Bloodshed will not bring us safety.” “No, but it will buy us enough peace to gather our strength and find a safe place.” “It is a wheel made of knives.” Devona turned to Evan. Though her head barely topped Casida's shoulder, her stern glance made him step back. “We shed blood to avenge the lives taken from us. Our enemies retaliate. We retaliate. There is no one innocent. Like our brothers, the wolves, we must refrain from bloodshed except to eat or protect ourselves.” “Our fight is not with the Romans – this time. Whoever these man-wolves are, you must be ready to pass judgment, even leading to death,” Hoel said. “As I and my Lost Ones allied with you and saved our lives, these bloody ones must bow to you or die, so we do not suffer for their crimes.” * * * * * “Tomorrow is the full moon,” Bram said, when he and Ansgar were settled once again in his quarters. “We had hoped to see whether the prisoner had control over his shape or if the moon controlled him.” Bram tugged on his beard and frowned into the soft glow of the peat fire. “Bowyn is to bring Innis tomorrow, to see if we are able to cure the madness.” “You will need me to make sure he hurts no one, if you fail?” Ansgar felt sick at the thought of killing his friend, but he would do it to protect the Druids and stop the madness. “That, also. The dead man is most strange. A thin stripe of black, fine hair runs down his back, from the nape of his neck to the dividing of his buttocks. Of the three wolves who died and became men, only one had a stripe. The two with no fur were naked when they became men, but the ones who had fur had clothes.” “Why, Grandfather?” “The prisoner would never respond to our questions. Bowyn and I agree, he was silent through terror.”

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“You think he fears the one who made him a wolf?” Bram nodded, frowning so the wrinkles dug black lines across his forehead. “I fear one of our number dabbles in the forbidden, ancient magic, exploring secrets the gods hid to protect us. He killed his servant to keep us from learning the truth.” “How does this connect to the woman of fire?” Bram sighed wearily. “She will know where the magic originates, and if not, she will hunt it with you. My daughter's son, you are the last of our blood. The gods gifted you as a warrior and hunter, to shield the Druids from Nero's madness. Bitter though it is, remember that your gift includes dealing death in its proper time and place. It will be up to you to kill the source of the magic. If the woman is endangered, I think you must kill her as well, to keep the enemy from using her.” * * * * * “I know this place.” Briant held up one hand, signaling the line of horses to stop. He glanced sideways at Casida, and Devona riding behind her. “I've been here in my dreams.” “Ill omen, or good?” Casida murmured. Her crest fur rose, pressing against her overshirt, as she caught the scent of her brother's unease. “The dreams of pain?” Casida saw nothing but an emerald meadow, sloping down to a river shallows lined with reeds. She could almost taste the watercress growing in the sweet, clean water, and the fish they would catch for the evening meal. The trees like a wall on the other side of the river presented no menacing spectacle, but Briant had told her his dreams. They held a wall of trees. She imagined tormented souls racing from the black shadows cast by the full moon. Blood would stream from their mouths and ears and drip from the claws protruding from fingers and toes. Fur would sprout through their flesh, scratching in slow torment from the inside out. Twisted creatures, half-human, half-animal, they would race through the world, spreading Fever madness with their fangs and claws. She and her Hunters, guided by Devona's visions, had a duty to find the source of the magic that turned men to beasts. Whether the magician was Rebel or Human, she vowed to destroy him. Half the tribe's Elders rode with her, and every Hunter who had no mate or children to guard. Knowing the innocent children and their mothers were safe, in their village far to the north, reduced the burden that rested heavy on her heart.

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“Were the dreams prophecy or a command?” Devona whispered. Casida released the reins of their horse with one hand so she could squeeze her sister's hands where they met at her waist. Devona's skin was warm, not burning or icy. She had not fallen into a trance. Yet. Casida was grateful not to carry gifts beyond those of the Red Queen. Briant was as dark as their father, Caradoc, who came from a mystical bloodline. They had always served as seers and spiritual leaders since the days of the first Red Queen. Devona had taken that gift to a higher level. Briant had always seemed so practical, unwilling to trust anything that could not be understood with the senses. Except where his dreams emerged. “Who commands us to appear?” Casida said, speaking more to herself than to her siblings. “Does Verdidan send us here, to deal with the abominations, or does the source of your evil dreams lure us to danger, Brother?” “We can continue another hour before making camp,” Devona said. She raised one hand, touching the warm rays from the sun sitting in the tops of the trees. “Or we can camp here, rest for battle, and make the enemy come to us.” “Little girls who won't pick up a spear shouldn't talk so knowingly about battle,” Briant said with a mocking growl. He reached to yank on her braid. Devona evaded him by sliding down off the other side of the horse. He sighed. “We stay?” “You speak for the Hunt.” Casida met his frown for five long seconds, until her brother laughed. Grinning, she swung her leg over the horse's back and slid down to the ground. Devona waited for her. Holding hands, the sisters raced to the water's edge. By the time the horses were picketed and the fires started, the sisters had caught nine large fish between them. Casida used a long stick, sharpened to a point to spear her fish. Devona waded in until the chill waters soaked her breeks to the knees, with one hand in the water and the other holding her knife at the surface. She claimed she felt the fish humming as they swam past her legs, and Casida knew better than to doubt anything her sister said. After all, Devona had five fish, and she had four. * * * * * “Our Queen provides for us, as always.” Bricta sighed with a feathery chuckle, and tossed her fish bones into the fire. The years had wasted her away to a bent, white-haired figure, but she

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still had the strength to ride all day and stand sentinel in the watches of the night. Nine Elders, Casida and her siblings shared one fire. The rest of the Hunt gathered around the other two. Casida's earliest memories were of falling asleep listening to the Elders and her parents discussing the news of the land or the history of the tribe. It felt right to sit here in quiet contemplation, while laughter and singing came from the fires on either side. “Verdidan blessed us, when Caradoc and Alastrina mated. Many handsome young men wanted to share your mother's blankets.”

The tiny Elder shook her head and chuckled.

“Verdidan blessed Alastrina because she put her duty to the tribe ahead of the hungers of her body. Caradoc bound his soul to hers and they were happy. As happy as our first Queen and her Warrior.” Briant groaned softly and Casida glared at him through the curtain of her unbound hair. Bricta was in an expansive mood, lavishing praise and telling stories -- a rare occurrence. “It is the full moon.” Orin moved closer to the fire, so his face became visible in streaks of bronze light and shadow. “I remember fighting the Fever with wine. Lucky is a man who has a mate to touch his soul and release the fire. It is sweet joy instead of torment. The Red Queen is a gift from Verdidan because she protects us from the beast that tries to rule when the moon burns. We honor you, Casida, daughter of Alastrina.” “Indeed.” Elda stood. Her long, black hair bore streaks of silver and scars stood out like white ice against her tanned skin. “Marriages are made at the full moon, to speed the newlymated couple into oneness.” “Huon has not been gone half a year. Do not ask this.” Casida blushed, hearing the knife's edge in her voice. “You need an heir,” Bricta said. “You need a strong mate. These are perilous times. Your mother needed a man who could speak many languages and understand the currents of politics and rumors. Verdidan gave us Caradoc – may his soul be in bliss. Now is not the time for scholars and diplomats. We need a warrior.” As a child, Casida had often crept into her parents' blankets to sleep tucked up between them. In that warm nest, she had heard their minds' voices, saw breathtaking beauty behind her closed eyelids. Caradoc did not die with Alastrina, but he had faded slowly for years. Casida had grown up, poignantly aware of her father's emptiness, grateful that he had stayed to raise her into

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a Red Queen worthy of her mother's memory. She knew in order to be the Red Queen her tribe needed, she required a mate who touched her soul, not just her body. Huon might have joined with her that deeply, someday. They had found sweetness together, but he had only begun to approach her soul before he died. If the tribe merely needed to tear throats and scatter bloody bodies across the battlefield, Evan would be the perfect Consort. He would die young, proud of the violence he would wreak to protect the tribe. Evan would never want anything from her but the bruising passion that came with the Fever. No matter how she tried to explain what her parents had known, he would never understand. “Consider your duty to the tribe, and the mate who will meet those needs,” Elda said. Howls rose from the darkness across the river. Casida leaped to her feet and raced down to the river's edge before the utter wrongness of those howls crystallized in her mind. “Not wolf. Not Kreefa,” Briant whispered behind her. “Sounds like some idiot with a broken jaw, half-drunk to ease the pain, trying to sound like a wolf.” Evan strode past the siblings and stepped into the river. “Men in pain … becoming wolves?” Casida closed her eyes and concentrated to control her body's reactions. She needed utter calm inside before her scent and the power of her mind could bring peace to those tortured souls beyond the trees. * * * * * Innis shrieked, his back arching so far, Ansgar thought the man would break in two. A fence of thorn bushes surrounded him. Outside that wall, Druid healers burned herbs to cleanse the air and doused him with potions to fight the magic and the pain that made him foam at the mouth and shout incoherent curses. If need be, they would set fire to the thorns. Ansgar doubted a wall of fire would do any good. He had seen men in battle madness fight on after receiving mortal wounds. It was up to him, with a triple-barbed arrowhead ready in his bow, to end Innis' misery. Several paces back from the healers stood a circle of Druids in their many-colored cloaks. These silent witnesses searched their collective memories, wisdom and experience to find a cure. A gargled shout escaped Innis. He raised his hands to the sky. Outlined by the flames beyond him and the silvery moonlight above, his fingers visibly lengthened, thickened, and sprouted long, shining claws.

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Ansgar took a step forward and raised his bow. His guts churned but his arms were steady. Innis' screams turned to rasping grunts, as if he had torn his throat with the force of his agony. He bent double, head in the dirt. A snarl escaped him. Ansgar took another step closer. “He grows hair all over, like wheat in the fields,” a young healer woman cried. Determination added twenty years to her face as she gathered up a bucket, stepped to the edge of the thorns and emptied the contents over Innis' head. She chanted the ancient words of healing, calling down the powers of the many gods of Britannia. The snarls and growls faded and Ansgar felt his heart jerk. Was it that simple? Innis howled and lunged against the thorn fence. It cracked and the stakes holding it to the ground shrieked and snapped and pulled out of the damp soil. The woman fell, struck by the wall. A clawed hand snatched at her through the thorns. It snagged on her sleeve. She lay stunned, staring up at the moon, while the healers around her scattered. A man at the nearest fire picked up a burning brand. Ansgar knew the flames wouldn't reach Innis soon enough. If a bite could spread the madness, couldn’t a scratch and spilled blood do the same? His arrow sang through the air. Innis howled as the shaft penetrated his hand, and drew back behind the thorn wall. The sound chilled Ansgar. He shook off the certainty that a wolf raged inside that barrier and his laughing friend had died. He stepped forward. The circle of witnesses parted. He drew another arrow and readied it in his bow. Other healers helped the fallen woman stumble away. She was pale, her green eyes nearly silver in the moonlight. Ansgar stepped up to the thorn fence, just outside the reach of those deadly claws. He looked in and his supper rose in his throat. The creature crouching in the center of the enclosure looked like something a child would make of mud, half man and half dog. Coarse, dark brown hair covered the beast. Blood streamed where claws protruded from fingers and toes. Ansgar heard bones crackle and watched legs and arms lengthen in a matter of a few breaths. Yellow ichor oozed down the arrow shaft that ran through the center of the hand becoming a paw. Innis screamed and howled as his face bones lengthened. His jaw stretched like dough caught between two battling children. His nose flattened. The howl deepened. He bared bloody

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fangs. Ansgar stepped back as Innis lunged at the thorn fence. It snapped like kindling and the man-wolf stuck there. Snarling, it clawed at the turf. Druids scattered. A few brave souls raced forward to fling burning brands into the thorns. Ansgar backed up four steps, raised his bow, drew back on the string and sighted down the arrow shaft. He hesitated. “It is mercy to stop the madness,” Bram said from behind him. “Let his blood rest on me if there is any blame.” Ansgar held his breath and released the string. The arrow flew and pierced the creature's snarling mouth, to lodge halfway out the back of its neck. Innis reared up, tearing at the thorns, howling fury. Bloody eyes fastened on Ansgar, who readied another arrow. The howl stopped, crackling into a whimper. The creature fell backwards. Fur vanished, sucked into the skin and warped limbs melted back to their true form. Ansgar dropped to his knees and watched Innis writhe and whimper. “Well done,” Bram murmured. He stopped beside Ansgar and rested his hand on the warrior's head in blessing. “Is it?” Ansgar's voice cracked with bitterness and the sickness rising up in his belly. The dying man whimpered and his eyes opened. “You die well, Innis, son of Finn. You resisted the evil which tried to rule your body.” Bram raised a hand in blessing. “Sleep, and know your memory will be held in great regard.” Innis smiled. His lips moved, as if he tried to speak. Blood bubbled up from his throat and he choked. His eyes glazed, but it was many long heartbeats before his struggling body stilled. * * * * * Wolves erupted from the black barrier of the trees. Their howls raked at Casida's soul like a hot blade on abraded skin. Stop them! she cried so all the Kreefa heard. Let no claw or fang touch you. This is sickness. She plunged into the stream and shifted to wolf. Briant howled and followed. All the Hunt leaped to obey. It was the Red Queen's duty to fight evil and the Hunt's duty to guard her life. Casida flew up from the river shallows on the other side. Water clung in silver beads to her red coat, steaming in the hot light of the full moon. She howled challenge and gathered all the strength of her mind, to stun the newcomers into submission. The best battle of all, Caradoc had

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taught her, was the one that ended before one drop of blood fell. The enemy were four oddly elongated, awkwardly moving wolves. Their howls didn't stop when the massed Kreefa in wolf form surged up from the river toward them. Thirty warriors, trained from childhood in the use of their wolf bodies, against four strangers. Any other time and place, Casida would have thought the odds uneven and unfair. Tonight, she did not dare think of honor. Sickness and evil ruled here. She couldn't know if these strangers had greater strength and endurance than the Kreefa. She couldn't know if their claws weren't filled with poison and the choking sickness didn't reside in their fangs. Magic? Briant asked. If we are magic and someone tries to steal what we are, yes. She focused on the wolf two paces ahead of its fellows. You and I, like the time we knocked that obnoxious miller's son from his mule when he stole Devona's doll. That thing is no mud-headed mule, Briant shot back, but his mouth dropped open in a canine grin. Casida showed the others what she intended. When she and Briant raced ahead of the pack, the others divided into teams to attend to the other three wolves.

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Chapter Three

Briant turned to the right, Casida to the left, three steps before they reached their target. The mud-colored, too-long creature turned to watch Casida. Briant doubled back first and snarled. The wolf turned sharply, nearly falling off its feet. Casida turned, doubling back. She and Briant hit the wolf at the same time. She felt its ribs give and heard a snap somewhere inside the creature's body. It went down under them. She shifted back to Human, snatched up her knife, turned it as she slammed it down, and rapped the stunned creature at the base of its skull. The beast's eyes glazed over and crossed and it crumpled to the ground. Its fur instantly began to melt away. Fear drowned the fury scent burning in the air as the other three strangers crumpled before the skilled attack. Casida watched her hunters and was proud. Briant cursed. Casida turned to look at the wolf transforming back to Human at her feet, and she understood. Blood flowed from the ears and mouth and nose of a naked girl, perhaps thirteen years old. Blood clotted her fingertips, where her claws had retracted.

Casida looked at her own

unblemished fingertips. At need, she could manifest only claws, but she had never bled from the change. “No crest fur,” Briant said. He got up from his half-crouch behind the girl and gestured for Casida to look. None of the four prisoners had crest fur. All were naked, marked with whip scars, branded as slaves on the left thigh and shoulder. They brought the four strangers back to their camp and kept vigil through the night. Casida had no need to exercise her power as Red Queen to protect her people from the Fever. The

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effort of the strange, brief battle had used up much of the burning in their blood. The four prisoners – the girl and three males – were left untied, their wounds washed, and wrapped in blankets and left in the center of the camp. Casida and Devona sat nearby to watch and wait until they woke. Couples crept off into the darkness to celebrate the full moon, and others wore off their extra energy with weapons practice or running in wolf shape to protect their camp. Casida had too much time with her thoughts, and didn’t like where they led. She had hoped the story of man-wolves who turned others into man-wolves with a bite were nothing but stories. The presence of these four with no crest fur shook her deeply. The girl died without waking. The youngest male looked enough like her to be her brother. He stayed unconscious.

The other two were adults, and as they moaned and regained

consciousness, fur sprouted from their flesh. “Be still,” Casida hissed. She closed her eyes and exerted all her power to calm them. She concentrated until beads of sweat ran down her face and back, and still the men moaned. “Kreefa.” Briant grunted as he clubbed first one, then the other unconscious. “And yet not Kreefa.” “They are not Kreefa at all, because I could not touch their minds.” Casida wiped sweat from her face as gasps and murmurs went around the circle of those gathered to study the prisoners. “My thanks. I could not control them.” “Your scent did have some effect,” Bricta corrected. She stood long in silence, studying the prisoners. “I had hoped we could prove the tales false before people began to hunt wolves.” “This is magic, then. Borne in the hands of an enemy none of us are ready to face.” She took a deep breath and turned to face Devona, who stayed seated by the dead girl. “We will face this enemy soon enough, won't we?” After we find the man who carries the moon as a weapon, Devona whispered into her soul. * * * * * In the morning, the boy and the two men woke in their right minds. They grieved for the dead girl, who had already been washed and wrapped in a blanket for burial. They were runaway slaves – a father and his two children, and his younger brother. They had thought they were safe and close to freedom when wolves attacked them at the last full moon. The wolves bit them, but didn’t kill them – and then had turned into men who commanded the four to join with

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them and learn to run as wolves and be kings. The four had fled in terror, but the man-wolves hadn’t followed them. Last night, they thought they would die in torment when the moon rose and their bodies began to change. Casida listened to their tale, their fear, and couldn’t comprehend the deliberate torment of innocent Humans, to inflict a curse on them and allow them to inflict madness on others. Then again, she could not comprehend the depths and darkness of magic that could turn Humans into wolves. The magic of the Kreefa was part of their flesh and blood. It caused them no pain or madness when they shifted between their two bodies. “Evil tries to steal our natures, to enslave innocents,” Devona said, after they had buried the girl, clothed the three men, and broke camp to continue their journey. “All the world will suffer, if we do not stop this evil. They steal half the gift and make it a curse.” Casida nodded and stared at the long stretch of muddy trade road ahead of them. Somewhere to the south was the answer to this bitter riddle, the man who carried the moon as a weapon, and Romans. Blood and pain would come of this trail. That was a certainty. The only question was who would die, who would live, and who would suffer? * * * * * “I do swear, I will find out who has done this evil and I will destroy him,” Ansgar muttered.

His eyes were full of grit and smoke after the sleepless night. He stared out to sea

from the shore of the Isle of Mona and wondered which gods he vowed to. Did any listen? The Druids worshipped truth, beauty and wisdom far more devoutly than any of the gods. Perhaps they were more right than they could guess. How would he find the guilty one? Ansgar sighed and turned to walk up the beach. The pebbly shore crunched under his boots. All night he had listened to the Druids argue and plan. They had no more idea where to start than he did. They couldn't agree. Some felt it was a wondrous power. They only saw the advantages of an army of man-wolves, to drive the Romans from Britannia. Others reminded them of Innis and how he suffered before he died. Even if warriors were brave enough to volunteer, no one could condone the price of pain demanded by such magic. The problem, they all agreed, was that no one had willingly taken up the gift to change forms. It had been forced on the innocent.

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A good man was dead. His wife and children would wail for him. They would starve, because the Romans taxed everything a man left to his kin. “Grandson!” Bram's bellow stopped Ansgar before his thoughts could grow blacker. “It is time to forge the weapon, and the wielder must be part of the task.” Ansgar felt his mouth form a hard, cold smile. He strode across the pebbly sand, up the rocky shore to the sheltering trees where Bram waited. Despite his sleepless night and enough thinking to make his head ache, his steps grew lighter and new energy poured through his body. Soon, he would be on his way, seeking the woman of fire and a possible answer to this entire bitter, bloody, murdering riddle. * * * * * Ansgar's memories of the two days and two nights of forging the silver knife wavered like the air above a copper helmet on a scorching day. What was real and what was a vision from the Otherworld? His skills of stealth and disguise, of moving unseen among his enemies, had seemed to flow from Ansgar's mind and coalesce in the chilly air of the next night, mingling with the moon’s light to solidify into the silver, iron and gold that formed the blade of the knife. The knife shimmered softly like a sliver of the moon. It felt far heavier than its carved stone handle could account for, and its bifurcated tip seemed to move like a bird's beak, hungry for prey. As Ansgar traveled east and south, following the tales of wolfish activities, he dreamed of using the knife in battle, but never of the woman of fire, whom he was to find. No insights, though he slept a day and a night after the forging of the blade, and the Druids surrounded his bed with mystical smoke. His own blood had gone into the blade, so it would not harm him if it fell into enemy hands. Ansgar wondered what his grandfather really intended, under all his mystical words, warnings and blessings. This silver blade hearkened back to the dark days of blood and terror. The lore of the Druids sought for light and understanding, for wisdom and reason. The Druids preserved music, art and beauty. Yet now, the Druid council had resorted to ancient lore and the use of silver, moonlight and blood when an enemy arose with magic as a weapon. What was he to do? Perhaps the woman of fire would have the answer? Or would she be his death?

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Ansgar smiled at the irony of it. Girls in every tribe would gladly share his blankets and boast that they had tumbled the mighty warrior who served the Druids. If he asked one to marry him, even a temporary ritual marriage of a few seasons, they would refuse. As his grandfather said, it was pleasant to dance around the flames, to flirt with the heat – but would anyone willingly sit down amid the coals? Did Bram have that illustration, that conversation in mind, when he told Ansgar to seek the woman of fire? * * * * * The new moon had passed when Ansgar heard the story of the Romans slaughtered by wolves only a few stadia from a town. He took this as a good sign, even after he learned the details. The attack had happened at sunset, long before the full moon. Man-wolves didn't appear until the full moon. That broke the pattern. Or was this magic so new, there was no pattern yet? The dead Romans were veterans serving Procurator Catus Decianius, hunting women for his use. Decianius preferred unwilling women. Could the man-wolves have appeared to defend the women from the Romans? Could this magic had been wrought to save Britannia from Rome? Ansgar asked about the women the Procurator had wanted, hoping to find the man-wolves through them. No one was sure if they were travelers or local women. Several stories said a redhaired woman led a band of travelers who rode sleek, tall horses, unlike any bred in Britannia. At mid-afternoon, just before the half-moon, he found signs of a large number of unshod horses. They left the Roman-built road a dozen stadia from Londinium and turned northwest. From the freshness of the hoof prints in the moss, grass and mud at the side of the road, he guessed they had turned away in the late morning. Such a large company could not travel quickly. He studied the marks of their passage through the underbrush and across the meadow, and guessed he would catch up with them after dark. Ansgar decided to watch them for a few days and learn what he could before he approached them. When Ansgar found the travelers, they made him smile. They were beautiful people, graceful, strong and healthy. Even those with pure white hair stood tall and straight. Their sleek horses made the shaggy beasts of the Britons look like ponies. Even the Iceni, renowned for their horses, would envy these.

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Ansgar dismounted and circled their camp, staying far from the flickers of firelight, keeping downwind, hidden in the smoke of their fires and the scent of roasting meat. He didn't want them to sense his presence until he was ready to approach. It took him more than a candlemark to make his cautious, creeping way close enough to see them and hear them speak. Then the red-haired woman stood before the fire. He feasted on the slim perfection of her form. Dressed in dark breeks that clung to her long, lean legs, and a long shirt that bared her arms, she raised her hands to the sky. The firelight danced on the copper and silver bands adorning her arms from wrists to biceps. She wore her hair in a simple braid. Curling strands had worked free to surround her face in a halo that glistened gold and scarlet in the dancing light from the flames. Could she be the woman of fire? She opened her mouth and sang with a sweet, low, pure tone. Ansgar didn't understand a single word that left her lips. He crawled a little closer, leaving the concealing nest of bushes, hoping to hear more clearly. The people gathered around the three fires echoed her song. She sang another long phrase. They echoed her. Ansgar wriggled around until he was more comfortable and strained his ears to pick up even a few words he could recognize. In serving the Druids, he had perforce learned smatterings of several languages. Still, when the singing ended and the people passed their food around the fires, he had heard nothing he could identify. These people spoke so softly, he could barely make out one word in a dozen. Ansgar gritted his teeth, knowing he didn't dare crawl any closer. He thought an invocation to Epona – surely the horse goddess would hear him? She had to be served by these people, since they possessed such wonderful beasts. The moon traveled the sky, rising to zenith. Ansgar saw no children with this band. He wondered how these people treated their children, what kind of family life they practiced. His own memories of his parents were tender and warm, but very few in number. When his father had died in a short-lived rebellion against the Romans, his mother took him to Mona to live with Bram. Only a few years later, she faded away in her grief. Ansgar concentrated on the people sitting around the fire with the red-haired woman. He heard laughter, a few songs in the local tongue, and once several women got up to dance,

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accompanied by a few flutes, a drum, and much clapping of hands. The red-haired woman led a girl with golden hair, who laughed and tipped her head back to watch the stars as she danced. When the pair reached the edge of the circle closest to him, the girl paused to look directly at him. Ansgar braced for trouble. She tipped her head to one side, then smiled as her partner led her around again. Firelight touched her face to reveal the milky eyes of one born blind. Ansgar shivered, sure the girl had somehow seen him. He had strong experience with those who possessed gifts to compensate for their losses. After a time, a dozen of the band retired to their blankets or traded places with the sentinels standing beyond the leap of the firelight. Still, the blonde girl said nothing. Ansgar dared let himself relax. Then the tones of the voices sharpened. “Evan!” A man beckoned for someone at another fire. A tall, dark-haired, bare-chested man stood and approached the central fire. Ansgar instantly disliked this man who smiled a little too widely. Was it his swagger? Or the way he watched the red-haired woman as if he would eat her? A black-haired man stood. He had stayed close to the red-haired woman and the blonde girl all evening, and shared a common cup with them. Ansgar thought he saw a similarity in their faces. They were family, at the very least. “I am Red Queen's Eldest,” the black-haired man said. “I won't let you force Casida.” Ansgar scooted back so he could kneel without being seen. Voices had grown loud enough for clarity. He guessed Casida was the red-haired woman. Ansgar mouthed her name, liking the way it slid sweetly across his tongue. “I am the best choice.” Evan held out a hand in a placating gesture. “Briant, my friend, we have shed blood for each other. These dangerous times require a warrior Consort.” He chuckled. “The only man fiercer, swifter and stronger than me is you – and you certainly can't mate your own sister.” Ansgar had felt hunger for Casida from the moment he saw her slim, graceful shape silhouetted against the firelight. That didn't give him the right to be angry when Evan pressed his suit. He watched Casida, admiring her strength that let her show a calm face to her unwanted suitor. In many ways, she reminded him of Boudicca, queen of the Iceni. Boudicca had red hair, also. She was beautiful, in a strong, bold way. Casida had a delicate beauty, with strength under

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the gentle, flowing lines of her face and form, like the current in a deep river. Boudicca had married a strong man, both warrior and diplomat, to lead the Iceni in the troubled times of the Roman invasions. Prasutagus was twenty years older than Boudicca and it must have been hard for a grown man to serve a woman who had just left childhood. There must have been stormy times between them, until they learned to work together as one. Ansgar had seen the royal couple many times and knew they were devoted to each other and their daughters, Ardra and Neala. But Evan, with his booming voice and arrogant stance, was no Prasutagus. Ansgar knew his kind. Evan would never alter his thoughts and actions to suit his royal bride. “Very well.” Casida stood. Without shouting, her voice cut through the crackling of the fire, the sounds of night insects and the faint hooting of owls far off to Ansgar's left. “I will let Evan present his suit. But only once.” “That is all I ask. A chance to speak with you alone, with no one to whisper unkind stories into your ears.” Evan's mouth smiled and his voice held laughter, but anger sparked in his gaze as he looked from under heavy brows at Briant. “Fool.” The blind girl laughed, and the light sound made the hairs stand up on Ansgar's arms. “Briant approves of you as Consort. If you blame anyone, blame my visions.” “Devona?” Casida held out a hand to her sister. The girl stood without her sister's help and turned to face Evan. Her white eyes gleamed in the firelight. She held out her hand, palm out as if to push him away. “Walk into the darkness.” Her voice rang hollow. “Speak sweetly to persuade the Red Queen. But do not touch her. The moment you do, the moon will strike you. Your flesh will blacken and rot from your bones.” Devona took a step back and her arm dropped limply to her side. Briant took hold of her hand. Her ragged chuckle broke the silence that enclosed them all like a bowl of rare Greek glass. “Take off that silly charm you bought.” She leaned into her brother's support. “It won't dull the Red Queen's powers or drive her into Fever, no matter what the village witch promised.” “Hoel?” Casida said. She nodded to the gray-haired man sitting closest to Ansgar. He stood and approached Evan and yanked on something hanging from his belt. Hoel raised his hand, showing something dark and small hanging from a string. He sniffed it and barked laughter.

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“The musk of a dozen different beasts. Is your own scent so repulsive?” He tossed the charm into the fire. A shower of sparks shot into the air. “If you resort to stupid tricks to win a mate, you will never find one.” Then his face grew stern. “I still hope my sons yet live – as does the Red Queen. Daman counted you a friend. If you try to steal what belongs to his brother, do you think he will let you live?” “Forgive me.” Evan bowed to the older man. Ansgar wondered what sort of power play had unfolded before him. He sensed tender subjects that everyone avoided. Would they turn into traps for him, or help him in his mission? “Go,” Hoel said. He gestured out into the darkness beyond the firelight. “Casida?” Evan held out a hand to her. She stared coldly at his hand until he finally lowered his arm. He bowed, gesturing for her go ahead of him. Ansgar held his breath when Casida walked toward his hiding spot. Evan waited until she vanished from the reach of the firelight, then he hurried to follow her. They both walked past Ansgar, only a few paces away from where he lay. The talk around the fire resumed, low-pitched and slow. Ansgar listened to the footsteps in the darkness, waiting until someone laughed and the watchful tension eased enough to let him move. Crawling backwards, he slid into the sheltering bushes, then turned and crept on hands and knees to follow Casida. A narrow stream trickled through the heathery meadow. Ansgar felt the ground give under him as he got to his feet. A peat bog was close by. He made a mental note of it, if he should have to flee for his life. The couple paused at the stream. Ansgar saw Casida gesture at it. Evan laughed, the sound rough in the shimmering silver light of the moon. Ansgar felt the waiting quiet of the dark, rolling meadow in his bones, like the feeling he had among the sacred oaks. More than the sentinels watched from the darkness. He could lose his life tonight if he wasn’t careful, and that thought made him bare his teeth in a fierce grin, daring the darkness to do its worst. Evan took a long, lunging step across the stream. Ansgar smiled. Casida had imposed her will, putting the stream between herself and her suitor. He admired her. She seemed so young, caught in the firelight, and yet so strong and sure. “You are wrong.” Casida's voice cut through the night quiet, cold and sharp like the silver

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blade sheathed at Ansgar's waist. “This is not the time for battle, but for cunning and caution.” “We shame our ancestors if we run away every time someone threatens our hides!” “Would you have fought Phaon when he led the tribe from Olympus?” Casida dug her fists into her hips and glared across the stream at him. “Sweet one, why are we arguing? The full moon is near.” Evan chuckled. “Our bridal night will be glorious, I promise you.” “Don't make promises you can't keep.” “You doubt my skill?” He laughed harder. What kind of idiot laughs when a girl doubts his manhood? Ansgar knew he would be angered, or at least embarrassed, if the girl he wanted in his bed doubted his performance. “Don't speak for the man who will share my blankets.” She turned her back on him and faced Ansgar. Ansgar halted, praying she didn't see him. What kind of fool stood so close he could see the flashing of her green-gray eyes? Evan lunged back across the stream and grabbed her shoulders. “I'm that man,” he growled, and yanked her around to face him. “Let go of me.” Her voice cracked like pebbles hitting ice on a pond. He grunted and twisted aside when she jerked her knee up, aiming for his groin. “Evan –” She gasped as he yanked her up against his chest. “I'll drown the land in Roman blood for you.” “The only blood that will flow,” she growled, “will be yours. Let me go before I rip out your throat.” She pressed her hands against his chest, putting space between them. “You want me.” He bent his head toward hers. Ansgar stepped toward them, grasping the hilt of the knife. “You want me inside you.” Evan began to laugh. The sound cut off with a roar and he flung her away. Blood flowed from long, dark streaks on Evan's neck – but she held no knife. “You'll pay,” he growled, and leaped at her. Ansgar rushed forward and drew the blade. Casida darted out of Evan's way. The two men met with a loud, hard thud that seemed to rock the ground under them. Ansgar staggered back. Evan stumbled, going to his knees. The moonlight revealed a long, black stripe of fur down

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the middle of his hairy back. Just like the man-wolf murdered on Mona. Ansgar raised the silver blade as Evan snarled and lunged at him. Time slowed, the seconds dripping like honey in winter. Ansgar saw Evan's nose and jaw lengthen, melting like tallow over a flame. His beard spread across his face. His teeth sprouted up long and sharp from his mouth. The knife plunged into Evan's flesh as if into a sheath. A yelp cut the air, like a puppy trampled by a horse. Evan hit Ansgar and the two men went down, rolling in the heather. Casida shouted, her cry elongating into a howl. Ansgar twisted free, regained his feet and staggered away, watching Evan, waiting for him to jump up and attack. Evan rolled onto his back and a low, ragged keening filled the air. Ansgar blinked sweat from his eyes and shook his head. His mind refused to accept what he saw. The silver blade protruded from high in the other man's belly. It shuddered in time with his staggering breaths. A black crevice appeared in Evan's chest, spreading up to his throat. Blood flowed out, turning black in the silver moonlight. The stink of corruption writhed through the air. “Casida!” Briant raced past Ansgar and flung his arms around his sister. “What happened? Are you hurt?” Then his gaze fell on Evan, whose cries had devolved to a gurgling whimper. Other voices called in the darkness. Ansgar staggered a few steps closer to the brother and sister. “The man who carries the moon as a weapon,” Casida whispered. “This is deep, dark magic.” “Who are you?” Briant demanded. Others reached them then. Some shouted, others cried out in disgust and staggered away. The stink rising from Evan's body made Ansgar want to vomit. He didn't dare move, as several dozen people circled him, Casida, Evan and Briant. Their questions faded quickly. They watched their queen or regarded Ansgar with killing anger in their eyes. He shuddered, remembering how Evan's face had changed. The man had begun to change

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into a wolf in a matter of breaths, with no pain. Innis had suffered. Was the difference tied to the stripe of fur on Evan's back, and Innis' lack of it? Ansgar wondered if he would get answers before these people killed him. “What did you do?” a woman asked. Her skin was the color of new leather, her hair the warm glow of chestnuts, streaked with silver. She seemed not to notice the stench as she dropped to her knees next to the rotting corpse. Evan's skin had vanished in glistening black ooze. His shape melted like a slug doused in salt, until white bones appeared. “Who are you?” Casida's voice rang steady and strong. She stepped forward, her incomparable green-gray gaze fastened on Ansgar. She frowned, but he sensed no threat from her. Not yet, anyway. “I am Ansgar, grandson of Bram, Phantarch of the Druids.” “Huh. Druids,” Briant said with a grunt. His frown faded a little. “So, you work magic?” “I carried the knife on my grandfather's orders, but I have no magic of my own.” “Why are you here?” Casida said. “If I take the knife in my hands, will it kill me, too?” “I know not, Lady.” Ansgar bowed to her, as he would bow to Boudicca. “There is silver, iron and blood in the blade, forged in moonlight, invoking all the gods and the Unknown God above all others. And I am here to find you.” “He killed Evan,” Hoel said. He stepped up behind the siblings. “If he has power to kill in such a strange way, we must be careful.” “He came to my defense. Evan thought to force me.” A bitter chuckle broke from her throat as murmurs went around the circle. “Devona warned him. The moon would strike and he would rot. Where is Devona?” “Safe.” Briant stepped away from the knot of people around the puddle of slime and white bones that were once Evan. “We are watched. I smell madness.” He glanced at the others, then looked into Ansgar’s eyes for several long moments. That bubbling, foreign tongue flowed from his lips while he watched Ansgar. Casida nodded and closed her eyes. For a moment, Ansgar thought he heard her voice, but her lips didn’t move. He sensed movement. The people still at the fire scattered, vanishing into the

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darkness. Casida raised her hands in a gesture like the Druid's blessing and said something in her foreign tongue. The knot of people still gathered around her tilted back their heads and let out a soft howl that made the hairs stand up on Ansgar's neck. He thought of the stripe of hair or fur down Evan’s back. Had his quest thrown him into a nest of man-wolves?

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Chapter Four

“Take up your weapon,” Casida said. She gestured at the glistening patch in the ground. “It’s not the full moon,” Ansgar said. He admitted his fear to bend over and reach for the knife. What was to stop all these people from attacking him while he was off balance? “What does that have to do with it?” Briant said. “The man-wolves only spread the madness at the full moon.” “You know of them?” Casida said. “Are the stories true?” “Too true. At the last full moon, I had to kill a childhood friend, because he had been bitten and turned into a beast.” “Evil magic,” the gray-haired woman murmured. “We are duty bound to fight it. This is what Verdidan made us to do.” She stepped up closer to Ansgar. “I swear to you, grandson of the Druids, I am the Red Queen, born with the power and duty to fight these man-wolves, to protect the innocent. I was told to watch for the man who carries the moon as a weapon.” She gestured again at the silver-bladed knife. “Will you join your knowledge and skills with ours in this battle?” What Ansgar wanted was to take her into his arms and taste her mouth and learn the shape of her pressed hard against him. She had named herself queen, and a warrior queen she was, like the legendary queens of old. He forced down the lust that startled him with its intensity, and nodded. “Visions led me to you, as well. I will join with you.” He bowed, spreading his hands in a salute of honor, and reached for the knife while all the others watched. Join with you. The words echoed through his mind, into his heart and groin. He wished all

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the others would vanish, so he could join with Casida in the most elemental way, man to woman. “Bring them back.” Devona staggered into their midst. Her milky eyes seemed to glow. She shivered and Casida wrapped an arm around her sister as she pointed across the moonlit meadow, toward the trees where members of their group had vanished. Ansgar wiped the silver blade on his shirttail – though it was as gleaming clean as if it had never touched Evan – and slid it into its sheath. Then he looked where she pointed. All the hair on his body stood on end when he saw mist spill across the meadow toward them. Black streaks wove through it, like snakes. The gentle night breeze moved counter to the flow of the mist. From the darkness, a woman cried out. “Devona?” Casida turned to her sister. “The enemy strikes. Many weapons, many warriors.” People emerged from the trees, racing back toward the campsite. The mist followed, clinging to their arms and legs. The certainty that danger seeped in from the darkness filled Ansgar's muscles with the tension of a harp string wound too tight. “Briant!” That liquid language flowed from Casida, touched with the harshness of urgency. She and her brother ran forward to meet the leading edge of the mist. Ansgar stared, captured by the grace of her lean figure, then he followed them. Casida turned to him as he rejoined her. She opened her mouth to speak, then paused as if she heard something. She gestured at the forest. A howl rose into the night quiet. More howls answered. Ansgar turned, unwilling to believe his ears. Casida’s people halfcrouched all around him, eyes closed, heads tilted to the sky, crying out to the full moon. The howls in the distance sounded like Innis -- a man in pain, trying to sound like a wolf. The people around him sounded like wolves dressed in the skins of people. “We were born for this,” Casida whispered. “It is our duty. Don’t fear, grandson of the Druids. To fight the wolf, you must live inside his skin, yes? All is well.” Ansgar drew the silver blade and held it out, silently pledging it to her battle. She smiled grimly and nodded. Movement flickered at the edges of Ansgar's vision. He turned. Missed it. Turned again. More flickers of movement. He turned again and saw six wolves streaking toward the camp. Movement among the trees crashed down on the oncoming wolves and became more

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wolves, three for every one that attacked. The attacking wolves scattered. Some fled back into the trees while the rest fell under the onslaught of the greater number of wolves. Wolves squealed and snarled. Bodies thudded, tangling together into a writhing mass in the moonlight. In moments, the battle ended, and Ansgar still stood there, his knife drawn and ready. This was the strangest battle he had ever witnessed. The defender wolves fled back into the trees, leaving three pale forms prone on the torn meadow. Casida ran to those figures. Ansgar swallowed the urge to curse at her for acting foolishly, and hurried to follow. He was only a few steps away when she reached the first figure, a man clad only in breeches, lying face-down, streaked with blood that looked black in the silver moonlight. Ansgar shuddered when he saw the man had a fur stripe down his back, pale gold to match his hair. Casida reached down to grasp his arm and turn him over. She cried out and leaped to her feet. Ansgar snatched her into his arms, turning to put himself between her and the dead man. Casida stared at her hand. He caught his breath when he saw it streaked with black that turned to dust and fluttered to the ground. “I touched him and he burned – where my rings touched.” She pulled free of Ansgar's hold and turned back to the dead man. Black marks showed on the body's wrist, where Casida had grasped him. The marks glistened, then sank into the flesh. Casida wore silver rings on every finger of both hands, and her bare arms sported silver bands. Ansgar looked down and saw she wore silver rings on her toes, and silver bands on her ankles. He nearly laughed aloud in relief to realize that while silver corrupted the man-wolf, and had killed Evan, who was a man-wolf, Casida was untouched by it. He didn’t know why that meant so much to him, unless it was part of the lust he felt for her. Ansgar pushed those thoughts aside to consider later. “Tyra?” Casida called, and waited until the woman joined those gathered around the dead bodies. She explained that Tyra was an Elder of her people, and a healer. All three dead strangers had a stripe of fur down their backs. Casida gestured for Tyra to watch. She rested a hand on the first man's back. A sizzling sound arched through the air. Casida

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wiped her hand on the torn grass and crouched down to watch. Tyra knelt next to her and Ansgar crouched on her other side, ready to defend her. Black marks marred the dead flesh where Casida's rings had touched, glistened, then spread. “Just like Evan,” Tyra whispered. “It isn't just the knife, but silver that is poison.” “These are Lost Ones. Rebels. What have they done that silver, which blesses us, poisons them?” Casida mused. She frowned, puzzled, not sickened by the corruption of the body before her. Ansgar admired her strength – a true warrior queen. “Lost Ones?” the healer asked. “Who knows what has happened to them in the centuries since our ancestors left Olympus?” “Tyra … “ Casida's voice dropped to a growl that sent a chill down Ansgar's back. He recalled how she and her people had howled so convincingly. She shook her head and strode over to join Devona, who knelt over the third body. “What shall we do with the dead?” “Why not touch them all with your rings, and let them dissolve?” Ansgar snapped. He immediately felt ashamed when her gaze met his. The puzzlement in her eyes made her seem a small child, wounded, as if these men meant something to her. And yet how could she know them? “What are lost ones?” Ansgar demanded. “Long ago, our people fled our ancestral home on the slopes of Olympus, in Greece. We are … touched with magic,” Tyra said. She gestured at the slowly corrupting body. “Those who would not flee to safety, who would not bind themselves to the laws of Verdidan, we call the Lost Ones. They have corrupted the gifts born into our blood. The Red Queen is right. We are dutybound to find the source of this madness and destroy it.” “I think” Devona said, “it would be a mercy to let them vanish. Trapped in evil magic, who knows what else might happen? Destroy their bodies, so the poison doesn’t spread.” “I'll do it.” Ansgar drew the knife. The blade winked in the moonlight. He tried not to remember what had happened to Evan. Where Casida had touched the dead with silver, the black ooze spread slowly. When Ansgar stabbed into the bodies with his knife, the corruption spread instantly. Soon, little remained but stinking black puddles dotted with white chunks of chalky bone. He supposed it

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was good that even the bones crumbled to dust. It would be awkward, leaving skeletons littering the land as they found and killed all the man-wolves. Ansgar shuddered. It wouldn't come to that, would it? He shook his head and vowed not to rest until they had the identity of the magician who had created such foulness. Nearly half the group had gathered around the fire again when a shout rose up from the trees at the far end of the meadow. Briant and the returning hunters led a hunched figure by a rope around his neck. “He's just a boy,” Casida whispered as she stepped forward to meet the hunters. “Red Queen!” the captive gasped. He dropped to his knees and tears flowed down his dirty, blood-streaked cheeks as he gazed up at her. “You are the Red Queen of the legends? Anstice?” “Anstice was my ancestress.” She smiled and the boy gulped, fighting tears as he tried to smile back. “Where are your kin?” She knelt facing him. Briant stood over them, his knife ready. “I'm the last, I think. There were nearly twenty of us when we were captured in the spring.” The boy wrapped his arms around himself, hunching forward with nausea. Ansgar clutched the knife in its sheath when he saw the brown stripe of fur down the boy's bare back. “How was your second nature stolen and made into a curse?” “We were locked away, chained up in the dark. Underground.” The boy shuddered. “They cut us and took our blood. They drugged us. We lived inside a black mist. It speaks with his voice, day and night. He wants us to burn. He creates the Fever even during the New Moon. He sent us to fight you tonight. We can't fight it. Those who try go mad, and die.” “You are fighting it now,” Ansgar said. “The Lady wraps me in her power.” The boy cast a look of such adoration at Casida, Ansgar felt sick. Then he felt chilled. What sort of magic did Casida carry in her blood? Did her silver rings hold magic? Ansgar stepped back, wondering how far her power reached. What had the boy said about a black mist? Don't be an idiot, he scolded himself. Casida and the evil magician are as far apart as the sun from the moon.

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Then he looked down at his feet and saw the darkness spun and swirled with the movement of his steps. Like heavy mist mixed with reeking, glowing swamp gas. Ansgar cursed. Casida jolted to her feet. The boy moaned and flung himself at her. “Protect me, Lady! He reaches for me. He will kill me.” “It's all right,” Casida said. She grasped the boy's shoulders and helped him stand upright. “We will fight –” The boy screamed and twisted free of her grasp. The scream turned to a howl like Ansgar had heard men howl as they fled burning buildings, engulfed in flame. Black marks glistened on the boy's shoulders – marks matching Casida's rings. Black mist congealed around the boy. Ansgar caught Casida around the waist and yanked her away as the boy collapsed. The mist sank into his flesh, spreading the black, glistening rot. Casida didn't fight as Ansgar carried her away, running. Briant followed, and all Casida's people. Ansgar couldn't move fast enough, far enough, that they didn't hear the boy's agonized cries turn to a liquid gargling and then stop. * * * * * “We carry death in our hands,” Casida whispered. Dawn light seeped golden, violet and pink through the trees, promising a glorious, warm, sweet-scented day. The cold dug a little deeper inside her. Why had she been so blind? She had seen the damage done when her rings touched the dead Kreefa. Why hadn't she realized that a Kreefa caught in evil magic would also be killed by silver? Tyra had brought her the news just a short time ago that the three Changelings had also died from the black mist. How long until the evil touched her people, and they died of the rings and bracelets they wore as protection? She flinched at the sound of footsteps on the dewy grass behind her and turned to see Ansgar. He met her gaze, his own dark and full of questions. And pity. She could face his questions, even his anger, hatred and fear, but not pity. She pretended to nibble on the bread Elda had made for their breakfast. The warm aroma made her stomach twist. “I didn't even learn the boy's name.” Casida pinched off some crust and rolled it into a ball. Ansgar settled down next to her and waited. She wanted to retreat into Caradoc's arms and cry her fears and questions. She needed his warmth, the steady assurance of support and strength. Caradoc never told her what to do. He

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always asked questions, made her think, helped her make her own decisions. He didn't expect her to know everything, but helped her find the answers. Casida especially wanted that warmth. Huon hadn't worked past his awe of her position as Red Queen, so it was always a struggle for him to question her and help her think through difficulties. But Huon's loving filled her with warmth so she could escape the pressures for a while. His mouth had always tasted of honey mead and his hands were strong and gentle. She took a deep breath to steady herself and will away that distracting hunger boiling up inside. The scent of Ansgar filled her head and spilled down into her belly. Casida clenched her fists, digging her fingers into the innocent lump of bread. Now was the wrong time to feel such things! For just a moment, she let herself imagine Ansgar's reaction if she leaped on him, wrapped her legs around his hips and tore at his clothes. He would be surprised. Startled. Perhaps even frozen with shock. The humor of it, imagining his eyes wide, his mouth open, cut through the roiling inside Casida's mind and belly. She smiled and relaxed her hands, and forced her mind away from the image of Ansgar laughing and tearing at her clothes in turn. “Who are the Lost Ones?” Ansgar asked. “You said they have magic, like you, but they have let it be turned to evil? They are your kin, yes? And you are duty-bound to stop them. I need to understand, to fight at your side.” “The Lost Ones … do not think of themselves as lost.” Casida sighed. “Centuries ago, we lived on Olympus. The Greeks thought their gods lived there and stayed away. We lived in safety and shame, because the full moon spilled Fever into our blood. “Until Anstice was born. Her mother came from an island nation of wisdom, peace and powerful gifts used for good. She had power to touch the souls and minds of all Kreefa. She gave them freedom to live in peace, without fear. But enemies tried to use us, to become gods. We fled, seeking safety and peace. The ones who refused to follow the Red Queen, we call the Lost Ones.” “That sounds like a story told many times.” A smile touched his voice and Casida relaxed a little. He didn't sound angry, and by his scent he didn't fear her. When this hunt ended, the Kreefa would leave Britannia. She would never see Ansgar again, so why did it matter if he became her friend or loathed her? The need for his approval lay anchored in something far deeper than the longing born in

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her the moment they met. It was something stronger than this hunger for his hands on her body, the taste of his mouth, the scent of him embedded into her flesh. “We are a people of deep tradition and honor,” Casida said. “We are not at fault, but our kin are the source of this evil. That makes us responsible.” She caught her breath. “Please do not hate us for our secrets.” “The Druids have many secrets, to protect those who are not wise enough to handle the power. I was sent to find you, so I know you are an ally and not the enemy. Come with me to meet my grandfather and work with the Druids. Together, I think we will find the way to rid Britannia of this evil magic.” He held out his hand. Casida hesitated for a heartbeat. When she slid her hand into his grasp, a sizzling began in her blood, as if the full moon hung over their heads instead of the rising sun. She had never wanted a man so intently, not even Huon when the Fever steamed in their blood. * * * * * “Where did you come from?” “What?” Casida laughed as she turned to face Ansgar. They had been riding nearly two hours now at the head of the group, with Devona on the horse behind her. In that time, she had surreptitiously studied the man who rode silently beside her. She felt his gaze on her often, and wondered if he liked what he saw. She liked what filled her eyes. As dark as Evan, Ansgar was as refined and sleek as the knife he carried, where Evan had been raw iron. He rang with strength and control, like a fine sword blade. He didn't have to prove his strength. He merely existed, quiet and assured and ever watchful. She liked his long face, his dark, wide eyes, the blue-black mass of his thick, glistening hair, cut to shoulder length, and tied back. Ansgar kept his beard trimmed close, and by his scent he was diligent in washing himself. So many Humans were so numb in the nose, they reeked to the point of nauseating Kreefa senses. Everything about Ansgar was pleasant. “Your name.” Ansgar shrugged and looked ahead, down the faint trail. “It isn't one I know. Your folk are from far away, yet many carry Briton names.” “We have lived in Britannia for two generations. We give our children names in the tongue of the land that hosts us.”

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“But why not your name? Do your people give all their queens foreign names?” “My mother was Alastrina – may Verdidan give her bliss. But my grandmother was born in Italia, and she was named Cira.” “Ah. Sun. Was she as golden and red as you?” “All our first-born daughters are Red Queens.” “Her name means song of love.” Devona raised her head from where it rested against Casida's back and yawned. “Hungry, slug-a-bed?” She laughed and reached for the bag hanging from the saddle. Ansgar smiled his thanks when she offered him some of the dried apple pieces she shared with Devona. They rode on in silence, broken only by the plodding, sucking sounds of their horses' hooves in the damp ground and the murmured conversations of the others behind them. Casida felt comfortable with Ansgar. She trusted her sister's visions, and something inside her had howled in joyful recognition when she saw him. She sensed he had come to bring answers. She liked everything about him -- his polite way of speaking, the calm control and intelligence he displayed, even his clean, healthy scent. He was a good man, full of integrity and strength. Together, they could protect her tribe. Ansgar’s presence, she decided, drove away the chill and loneliness that seemed her constant companion since her father died. Even Huon’s tenderness in mating hadn’t been enough to fill the emptiness left by Caradoc’s death. He is not Kreefa, Devona said, slipping into Casida's thoughts with a shimmering echo to her mental voice. We need not tell him all. I didn't mean that. She tightened her arm around Casida's waist. He changes your scent. Warmer. Spicy. Huon never changed your scent that way, until you had been married two moons. I have no intention of mating – Perhaps you should. Anstice was a Halfling. We need fresh blood. He carries magic, and not just in his knife. Devona snorted laughter. Casida's face scorched as her unruly mind followed that imagery exactly where Devona had intended it. “I should have known.” Ansgar started to tug on the reins of his horse. He glanced at

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Casida with a smile. “We’re expected. My grandfather’s prize pupil.” He gestured at the young man who stepped from the shadows of the trees on either side of the trail. The youth wore a shirt too large for him, which hung past his knees. Sagging, muchmended leggings wrapped his limbs and mud caked his ragged boots. He leaned all his weight on a staff with a hook on the end. A rowan wood staff, with a hook wrapped in bands of copper. Casida recognized it as a Druid staff. The Romans had banished Druids from this part of Britannia, razing their oak groves, burning the halls where they taught the history, lore and music of Britannia. Druid couriers still moved safely under the noses of the Roman patrols, and would until the invaders had the wits to learn the Druid signs and markings. “He waits for you.” She glanced over her shoulder at Briant, who rode two lengths behind them. He nodded and moved up to put Ansgar between him and Casida. “For us. Grandfather sent me to find you, remember.” His crooked grin made her blush, reminding her of his words last night -- A woman of fire. Indeed, sometimes Ansgar’s glances, when he thought she wasn’t looking, made her feel quite warm inside. “Then he has a message we need to hear.” She gestured for him to ride ahead. Briant followed him. “He wants very much to earn your trust,” Devona murmured. “But is it wise for him to trust us?” “I am the seer, not you.” She dug her fingers into Casida's waist, threatening to tickle. The sisters laughed quietly until their horse drew even with Ansgar, who talked with the young Druid. Briant stayed mounted, keeping watch. The young man glanced up at Casida when she stopped her horse, and his eyes widened. Obviously, he had heard of the vision. The young man's gaze slid to Devona behind her. When he smiled, it seemed as if the sun had suddenly burst forth from behind black storm clouds. “Is all well, Brother?” “We go to the Iceni tribe, to King Prasutagus,” Briant said in that slow, slurred way of his that meant he was confused, but amused by it. He grinned at Ansgar's questioning look. “Hail, Lady of Fire.” The young Druid stepped forward and bowed. “My master is with King Prasutagus and Queen Boudicca. He bade me invite you to join him.”

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“What is your name?” Casida smiled. The young man tried to meet her gaze as he spoke, but Devona drew his attention like a lodestone. People often stared at her sister, unsettled by her milky eyes. Casida doubted that was why he stared. “Druce, Lady.” “Can you ride?” “Oh, yes, Lady.” He smiled, his joy brilliant. Casida wished Devona could see his face, just for a moment. * * * * * “You've won an admirer,” Ansgar said, leaning over so he could speak softly to Casida and Druce wouldn't hear. He tried not to laugh at the wide-eyed delight of the young Druid, when Casida gave him a horse to ride. He knew Druce adored horses, but his poor fisher family could never have afforded one if they held back every copper coin of taxes for twenty years. “He barely knows I'm here.” Casida beckoned for him to glance back behind them. Devona now rode behind Briant and Druce rode next to them. The young man chattered and stammered, his head turned to watch the blonde girl. Ansgar knew Devona had never said a word and Briant asked all the questions that Druce eagerly answered, but Casida was right – his attention focused on Devona. “He's a little young to take a wife, but your sister would be welcome among the Druids,” he offered. “Seal her up for the rest of her life on that island?” Casida laughed. “Her visions weary her, so you've only seen her quiet and mysterious. Soon, she'll be her usual bright self.” “The power only comes on her occasionally, then?” Ansgar relaxed a little more. Casida, he had already equated with the women warriors among the Druids. Her magic was not the same as that used on Mona, but he understood the power she carried was meant for good. Devona, as a seer, he understood better. He wondered if everyone among the Kreefa carried magic. Yet what good was their magic, if they hadn’t known Evan was a man-wolf? “Too often, but always at our need, and we thank Verdidan for that blessing and gift. You should, also. If she had not warned me of the man carrying the moon as a weapon, you would have died moments after you stabbed Evan. Even though you did save me from him,” she added

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with a shrug and a smile. “I moved too hastily.” Ansgar laughed when her smile turned to a frown. “I think you could have fended him off. I recall, you threatened to rip his throat out.” “I'm skilled with my knife.” “And with many other things, in many other ways, I don't doubt.” His smile trembled when she blushed and looked away. Ansgar wondered what her mouth tasted like. He wanted to unbind her long, thick braid of glorious, molten red hair, tangle his fingers in it and feel it slide against his skin. Would it burn him, or be as cool and sweet as the morning breeze across the apple orchards of his childhood home? “Tell me of the Iceni?” Casida looked ahead down the rutted cart road they now followed. So, the warrior queen who fought off a violent suitor blushed and grew uneasy in the presence of a man who flattered her. Ansgar smiled and began to tell her of Prasutagus, Boudicca, their daughters, and the nobles of the royal household. “Prasutagus was among the kings who parlayed for peace when the Romans decimated the Catavaulanni. They became subject kings, but kept some power, in exchange for taxes, providing housing for army officers, and allowing observers in the royal house.” “Observers?” Casida narrowed her eyes at a point in the air above her horse's ears. “Romans?” “They advise the kings, so they do nothing that smacks of rebellion. Spies. If the kings offend them, they lie about their wealth, so the taxes increase.” “A Roman will stand with Prasutagus and Boudicca, when we come before them?” “Lucius Marcellus. His father got him his post by flattering Nero. When his father falls from grace, so will Marcellus.” “This Nero needs his throat cut.” A growl resided at the back of her voice, and it made the hairs stand up on his arms. “You hate Romans, don't you?” “Doesn't everyone?” “Hmm, yes, but we don't proclaim it loudly enough to bring a legion riding down on us. We hide our weapons and hatred until we're strong enough to fight back.”

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“Evan wanted to fight them.” “Don't be cruel, sweet Queen.” He chuckled when she cast a confused frown at him. “You compare me to that fool. I hope you regard me in a better light.” “You are alive and he is not. Isn't that good enough?” Her eyes sparkled with repressed laughter. “More than your knife has a sharp edge. A mortal wound.” Ansgar clutched at his side. Casida's ringing laughter was all the reward he could have wanted for such foolery.

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Chapter Five

Druce left them when they came within sight of the gates of the Iceni royal household. He would wait for his master on the road to Mona. Bram traveled in the guise of a bard because the Romans didn’t equate bards with Druids. Casida appreciated the irony and looked forward to meeting the wily old man. “When you come to Mona to confer with the masters,” Druce said, as he made his farewells, “I will be glad to show you anything, tell you anything you wish to know.” “We look forward to that,” Casida said, thinking mainly of the close friendship already binding Devona and Druce together. “Do you have a message for your master?” “Only to be careful of the third string of his harp. The peg likes to slip.” He laughed and bowed to them and stepped off the side of the trail. Devona laughed. She sounded like a girl with nothing on her mind but the boy who had captured her fancy. Casida wished blessings on Druce. Everyone of the Red Queen's blood carried a heavy duty, but for a while, the young Druid had lifted Devona's burden. Perhaps he had a mind agile enough to accept the reality of the Kreefa. Would he leave his master for Devona's sake? Casida laughed at herself and waved farewell to Druce. Who was she to seek a mate for her sister, when she shied away from taking her own? Then other concerns filled her mind, as they rode through the gates and were welcomed and led to meet the king and queen of the Iceni. Prasutagus, unlike other kings, didn’t mimic the Roman lifestyle. His Great Hall was roofed with solid oak beams and thatch, and war shields hung from the eaves. A central fire pit warmed the hall and the roof's beams were blackened with the smoke of generations of fires -- no hypocaust or tiled roofs in the Roman fashion. An upper room looked down on the feasting hall,

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where the noble ladies could retire when the feasting grew too loud and warriors grew drunk. Casida looked straight ahead as she walked before the double line of her Hunt, to the High Table where Prasutagus and Boudicca waited. She noted every detail -- the multi-colored clothes, gold torques and armbands, how few nobles had adopted Roman clothes, the smells of roasted meat, fresh bread, mead and beer. No stench of filth under the thick layer of rushes on the floor. The tables gleamed from cleanliness, not a sticky coating of spilled beer. This was a good hall, a strong, rich tribe. It resisted the influence of the man who sat on a bench at Prasutagus' right hand. His white Roman robes contrasted with the rich colors of the Iceni court. Casida wanted to laugh at the sight of his bare knees. The Romans thought it unmanly to wear breeks, except when a fierce winter threatened to freeze a man's privates. “My king, my queen.” A white-haired man stepped forward, cradling a bard's traveling harp. His sparkling, black eyes were Ansgar's. Casida smiled in recognition. So this was Bram, the Phantarch. For all his advanced years, he radiated life and energy. “Our guests are the nobles of the Kreefa tribe, weavers and healers and horse traders, from beyond Hadrian's Wall.” “Be welcome.” Boudicca stood and spread her hands in greeting and blessing. Casida liked this queen. There was something in this tall, strong, red-haired woman that struck a chord of recognition. Boudicca understood the burdens, duties and loneliness of a queen. Casida took a step forward and bent the knee, bowing her head to Boudicca, then to Prasutagus. “We are glad of your welcome, royal hosts and beloved leaders of the Iceni. I am Casida, daughter of Alastrina, daughter of Cira, daughter of Nicia, heirs of Anstice, who first carried the title of Red Queen.” “Red Queen.” The Roman snorted. Casida's crest hair stiffened, but she chose to ignore him. “Most appropriate,” Prasutagus said with a chuckle that ended in a faint rattle in his lungs. He stood and bowed to Casida. “Welcome, Red Queen of the Kreefa. And welcome to your nobles.” He gestured for her to take a seat on the bench placed to Boudicca's left. “Forgive my curiosity, but are all the women of your family graced with such red hair?” “Only the heir, Majesty.” Briant stepped up next to Casida before he bowed with a grand

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sweeping motion of his cloak. “Royal hosts, this is my brother and Leader of the Queen's Hunt, Briant, son of Caradoc. And our sister, Devona.” Casida reached back for Devona's hand, as if she were helpless. They knew people assumed if a girl was deficient in body, she lacked mentally. It had worked to the tribe's advantage, when people spoke unwisely within Devona's hearing. “Welcome, child,” Boudicca said. She stepped down and reached for Devona's hand. “Will you permit my daughters to tend to your sister?” “Most gladly, Lady.” Ansgar had prepared for their entrance into the Iceni hall, just as he promised when he rode ahead of them two hours ago. Ansgar had said Ardra and Neala were intelligent girls. In only a few hours with the princesses, Devona would have a clear understanding of the Iceni, and conditions in Britannia. Boudicca gestured, and movement on the stairs from the upper room answered her. A moment later, the princesses appeared. Ardra and Neala had their mother's long face and brilliant, wide eyes. Their hair was dark, as Prasutagus had been before the years turned him silver. They moved with grace and eagerness, slowed by decorum. They bent the knee and waited for their parents to introduce them. Devona smiled and tilted her head to one side, as if examining the girls. Casida hoped she wouldn't frighten the children too much, when she revealed the many ways she could see. The rest of the Hunt took seats at the long tables running down either side of the Great Hall. Casida sat next to Boudicca, with Bram between her and Briant. She fought not to laugh aloud when the Druid winked at her. “My grandson is troubled by what the silver knife did to the man-wolves.” Bram waited to speak until after the meat, bread and beer had been served and conversation grew loud enough no one could eavesdrop. “As am I. My people believe silver holds healing and blessing. What evil magic makes it deadly?” She held up her hand, decorated with silver rings. “I don't like the idea of my pretties conspiring to kill me.” “You do not strike me, Red Queen, as a woman concerned with vanities.” Bram regarded her from under his thick, snowy brows and nodded. A few strands of white hair fell into his eyes.

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* * * * * From his vantage point in the upper room, Ansgar saw everything in the Great Hall without being observed. The less that Roman spy saw him, the better Ansgar felt. Behind him, Devona and the two princesses chattered and mixed girlish gossip with insights into every member of the Iceni court. He congratulated Casida on her good fortune in having such an able spy, and Boudicca on raising such wise and able daughters. Bricriu sat by the Roman, doing his duty by distracting and flattering him. The young nobleman could sometimes be an idiot, but he had a talent for ingratiating himself with Roman officials. Roman merchants and supply officers were dependent on the rich produce of the hidden valleys of Semer. He was left alone, which made his land the best place for rebels to hide. Romans in general were fools, Ansgar had decided long ago. They could be such efficient, deadly warriors, yet had so little wisdom. Lucius Marcellus ignored anyone to the left of Prasutagus, as if sitting on Boudicca's side of the hall made them unworthy of his attention. The Romans ignored Boudicca's power and influence, merely because she was a woman. Hadn't they learned from the treachery of other queens down through history? Nero would not be emperor now, if not for his mother's schemes. Bram stood to do a bard's duty with song. His songs weren't in Latin, and Lucius Marcellus barely spoke enough Briton to find his way to the slop jar. Bram sang of the glories of the reign of Boudicca's father, the previous king. On the refrain, everyone joined in, thumping knife hilts or cups against the boards of the trestle tables. Ansgar knew it would never occur to the Roman that the locals used this opportunity to taunt him. On the next verse, Marcellus stood, bowed shallowly to Prasutagus, and left the hall. Ansgar had been waiting for that. He joined Casida and Briant at Boudicca's side. Bricriu barely noticed him, all his attention on Casida, absorbed to the point his mouth hung open. That only proved Bricriu had some innate wisdom. Who wouldn’t stare at Casida and want her? Ansgar felt inordinately proud that Casida’s face lit in a smile when she saw him, and everyone in the hall could see it. * * * * * “How should I address you?” Casida felt awkward now that she could speak privately with Bram. It had been so easy to

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talk with him, like a long-lost grandfather, when they sat in the Great Hall. Now that they were alone, Bram seemed different. His gentle smile, big, black eyes, and tangled white hair and beard hadn't changed – yet she sensed a depth to him that spoke of accumulated centuries of wisdom. His scent revealed kindness, and a frightening strength. If she revealed too much to Bram, would he turn from kindly ally to outraged foe, willing to do anything to protect his people? The Druids' vision had said she was involved in this plague of madness. Wouldn't it be easier to destroy every Kreefa, every man-wolf, until the plague ended? Yet Devona's vision had said to go with the man who carried the moon as a weapon. Ansgar trusted Bram, and Casida had to trust Ansgar. Bram settle on a padded bench in the upper room. At this time of the night, no one would come there, and sound did not carry. They would have complete privacy to talk. “Hmm, Druids address me as either Master or by name, depending on rank and age.” He chuckled. “The only one who doesn't call me either is Ansgar, because he is my grandson. You are no Druid, nor agemate, nor grandchild. Though you might be, if that look in his eyes means anything.” Casida blushed. Bram chuckled louder and reached across the space between their benches to squeeze her hand. The faint, spicy scent of Ansgar's desire for her was hard to miss, even in a crowded hall. She had sensed him watching her while she ate. She felt his presence when he came down the steps and entered the Great Hall. The bench they shared vibrated underneath her when he sat on it, even with Briant and Bram sitting between them. “Long ago, before the invaders, the kings and queens often addressed their Druid advisors as 'Father' or 'Uncle’ or 'Aunt.'“ “It is respectful to address an Elder as 'Uncle,' among the Kreefa,” she gladly admitted. “It will make me feel a little younger, I think.” For a few heartbeats, they smiled at each other. Then the uneasiness returned. Bram made her feel as if he could take her apart with the power of his mind, examine her thoughts and feelings and know her inside and out. “My grandson says you also hunt the magician who turns men to wolves,” Bram said. “I will start by telling you what we know, what we have seen and heard and done.”

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Ansgar had concentrated on the 'how' of protecting people. Bram focused on the 'why' of the transformation, achieving it, and all the convoluted reasons and possibilities. She shivered when Bram referred to ancient tales that paralleled Kreefa history. She wouldn't have been surprised if Bram calmly requested her to demonstrate how a Kreefa shifted shape. “My grandson told me your tribesman also had a stripe of fur down his back. He showed no pain when the transformation began.” “Also?” Casida's mind caught on that word. “You've seen other people with crest fur?” “Is that what you call it?” His kindly smile didn't fade. “Is this common among your people?” He paused, looking deep into her eyes. “Am I mistaken, or do others among your people become wolves at will? Are your men born with crest fur? Born with the power to become wolves?” “Everyone born with the crest fur can become a wolf, yes,” she said slowly, while her mind raced. How far should she risk this easy, warm partnership with the truth? No Human had ever known the full truth of the Kreefa since the day Staffen Warrior claimed Dawn the Healer as his mate. Would Bram continue to smile, consider it wonderful, and ply her with a thousand questions if she shifted to wolf before him? Could she trust him not to consider the Kreefa abominations? He was Phantarch to all the Druids, but could he guarantee the Kreefa would not be hunted down and destroyed? “These man-wolves are not of my people. Someone has stolen our gift, and turned a blessing into a curse. That is why we hunt. We must end this evil. Tell me what has happened.” “One man was captured. He had crest fur and was murdered before we could get answers. Those savaged by man-wolves don’t grow crest fur and they go mad at the full moon. We have been forced to kill them all, to stop the madness from spreading further. “Bram leaned back against the wall and studied her, his head tilted to one side. “I think some Kreefa were captured by magic and forced to share the wolf shape.” “Kreefa have fought Humans at the full moon and wounded them, but they never turned to wolves. Why is it happening now?” “Evil, warped magic. Men dabble in powers and knowledge which the gods have forbidden for good reason.”

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Casida paused to seek some sense of right or wrong. Nothing inside her warned if she should speak or hold silent. “The Red Queen has the power to calm the Fever at the full moon. I control the males who cannot be calmed by their mates.” “Do you think you would sense it, if magic tried to control your people?” “I don't know. There is much I don't know, Uncle.” Casida exchanged a bitter smile with the old man. “I think you must teach me what you know and believe. Then, I might know.” * * * * * “How quickly can we make this trip to Mona?” Casida asked, the morning they left the Iceni lands. “It depends on how many Roman patrols we need to avoid, I suppose,” Ansgar said. “Why?” “The full moon is in two nights. If we are among the Druids, our enemy will hesitate to attack again.” “Three nights,” Ansgar said, with a shake of his head. “Two nights. We know the moon in our blood.” Casida dug her heels into her horse and moved ahead and away from him. Ansgar stayed back. He needed time to think. He needed to get Casida’s laughter and her sweet scent out of his mind. What kind of warrior was he, to let a woman distract him constantly? Casida rode alongside the wagon Bram drove. Devona, Druce and Tyra, the healer woman rode with him. Ansgar scowled when their laughter floated back to him on the breeze. Was he jealous of his own grandfather, or Casida's sister? No. He never got jealous. Ansgar had learned long ago that women were glad for a few tumbles in the haymows, or to jump over the Beltane fires with him, but they expected no lifetime commitment from the grandson of the Phantarch. He understood there was something about him that no woman could hold to her heart. So why be jealous? No woman wanted his heart, and no woman had ever promised hers in return. He was a fool to want to taste Casida's sweetness and keep her for himself for the rest of his life. * * * * * “Full moon,” Casida said the next evening, as the last streaks of sunset painted the sky glorious shades of purple, scarlet and gold. She studied the silver orb peering over the horizon,

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like a guest unsure of his welcome. “You were right.” Ansgar searched for words to make a joke of it. Her somber demeanor struck him as a little too serious. “Briant!” She turned her horse, searching the mounted band stretched out behind them. From out of nowhere, her brother appeared. As if, Ansgar thought, he had formed like mist from the ground. The hairs on his arms stood up as the siblings babbled in their foreign tongue, liquid syllables flowing out so swiftly Ansgar couldn't distinguish individual words. In moments, Briant ran off ahead and everyone turned off the rocky trail to follow him. Casida pulled her horse aside to let everyone else pass her. Ansgar stopped next to her. “There is a small hollow not far ahead, with a spring and apple trees. Ena brought down a deer, so we eat well tonight.” She smiled and gestured for him to follow the others. “What are you going to do?” “Sometimes, my friend, it is wise not to ask a woman such a question, because you won't like the answer.” She smiled that teasing smile Ansgar already loved, and slapped his horse's rump so the beast leaped forward. Ansgar laughed, glad to see her in a good humor, after two days of quiet, somber faces and half-answers to most of his questions. She had spent more time talking with Bram than with him. Even knowing they had serious business to tend to, Ansgar hadn't liked losing her attention or smiles. He reached the camp before her change of mood struck him as odd. What was she doing, that she didn't want him to know? “Ansgar?” Bram stopped him with a hand on his shoulder when he turned to remount his horse. “What troubles you?” “Ride with me, Grandfather? The Red Queen doesn't want us to see something.” He held out a hand to help Bram swing up onto the horse behind him. “It's the full moon.” “What does that have to do with it?” He dug his heels in and they trotted away before anyone could ask what they were doing. Ansgar’s skill in spying for the Druids and passing under the noses of Roman patrols lay in listening to the gut instinct that guided him. Right now, instinct told him a few seconds of delay

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would make him miss whatever Casida didn't want him to see. He hurried, but lost her trail in only a few steps. The forest was eerily silent, as if the trees were alive and holding their collective breath, waiting – for what? Ansgar finally gave up and turned them around, and they returned to the camp to find Casida already there. She laughed when Bram told her they had gone spying. Ansgar felt like an awkward youth with spots on his face, and wished his grandfather wouldn’t embarrass him. “It is the full moon, and it burns in our blood. I walked the perimeter of our camp and assigned our guards, and touched the minds of those who have no mates, so they can resist the Fever,” Casida said with a shrug. “There is nothing to hide.” Ansgar couldn’t bring himself to apologize, and it irked him that she didn’t seem irritated with him. He watched her through the evening. Several times, one man or another would approach her, seeming on the verge of distress. Casida would take them by the hand or cup their faces in her hands, look into their eyes, and then send them away visibly calmer and comfortable. The full moon encouraged every couple to vanish into the darkness. Ansgar heard enough giggles, moans and thrashing to guess what the men with wives did to fight this Fever Casida mentioned. He watched Casida, wondering if she would claim one of the young men as her partner, but she seemed destined to spend the night alone, watching the moon. Briant had gone out on sentinel duty, and Bram slept the sleep of the old. Even Devona had deserted Casida, to sit in the shadows under one of the wagons and giggle and whisper with Druce. Ansgar wondered if those longer silences implied kissing, or more intimate activity. He wondered if he needed to warn Druce. Devona was princess and priestess, and Ansgar doubted Briant would lightly shrug it aside if a man not of their tribe made love to his sister. Ansgar watched Casida, and wondered if she had no partner tonight because she needed to protect the men from the Fever – or if she had no one. Would she be angry or pleased if he took her hand and stole a kiss? When the moon touched the horizon, Casida curled up in a blanket just outside the ring of firelight and Ansgar knew his chance has passed. Perhaps it was for the best. Why taste what could never be his for keeping? That afternoon, they reached Mona and crossed the narrow strait of sea to the island. Casida spent the next night, the second night of the full moon, speaking with the Druid Council,

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and Ansgar had no chance at all. He slept in his own bed, in the hut next to Bram’s, and his dreams were twisted, full of shadows and fire. Casida’s laughter taunted him. He woke often, and each time ached a little more. How could a woman soak into his skin so quickly, without any effort on her part? What was he going to do about it? * * * * * “Who is that?” Devona turned, swan-like, her whole body moving to follow the path of a distant figure. Just moments ago, Ansgar had found Druce and Devona in the shade of one of the many rowan trees planted on Mona, laughing and chattering like two ordinary youngsters in love. Ansgar had been loath to intrude on their fun, but Bram had asked him to find Devona and Casida. Watching the young couple, Ansgar had forgotten Devona was both blind and a seer. “Another noble, come for the meeting,” Druce said with a shrug as he stood and helped Devona to her feet. Ansgar felt nothing but irritation as he stared after the distant figure. That flowing cloak of green, gold and black checks, the flash of gold at his throat, and the long-legged, assured stride all added up to one person. Didn't Bricriu spend any time tending to his people and lands? He was beholden to the king of the Parisi. Didn't he feel any sense of responsibility? Bricriu had flattered Casida incessantly, when they were with Prasutagus. He had ignored Casida’s gentle refusals and followed her to Mona. Bricriu was indeed a fool. Are you any better? Ansgar scolded himself. It didn’t help him hold his hunger in check when Devona and Druce kept sneaking away to kiss and whisper and laugh. They constantly held hands and they glowed whenever they were together. For the first time in his life, Ansgar felt jealousy. He wanted a woman to smile for him as Devona smiled for Druce. And not just any woman, but Casida. Ten days in her company had only fed the aching hunger. He couldn’t remember a single woman who had grown more alluring after such constant company. Most women repelled him after so much time together. Ansgar suspected that bedding Casida wouldn’t do anything to kill his desire for her, as it did with other women. So what was he going to do? Back to work, he scolded himself, and delivered his message to Devona and Druce. They

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sighed, laughed, and followed him to where Bram and the Druid council were waiting. The three met Casida as they approached the hillside where the Druid council met in fair weather. Ansgar was glad to see Bricriu hadn't found her. He had bad dreams where Bricriu flattered Casida into his bed. Today, Casida wore a beltless dress in pale green, her long hair unbound so all the curls tangled and bobbed in the freshening breeze coming off the sea. She was barefoot and wore summer flowers twined in her hair. Maybe Blodwed had looked like this when the ancients made the maiden from flowers. “Why is everyone gathering?” she asked. She smiled at Druce, holding hands with her sister, and shared a knowing glance with Ansgar. He was glad Casida approved of the attraction between her sister and the young Druid. “It’s time to tell everyone what the Council has learned.” Ansgar bowed, gesturing for her to precede him into the hollowed cup in the hillside that formed a natural amphitheater. Eight days had passed since the battle under the full moon. The Kreefa horses and those tending them stayed on the mainland, scattered among the fishing villages and the rocky pastureland. Casida, her brother, sister and the Elders stayed on Mona, learning from and teaching the Druids. When he wasn’t with Casida, Ansgar had been busy sending messengers out to the kings of the tribes attacked by the man-wolves, to tell them there was hope of an answer, protection, and a cure. Bram stood in the center of the hollow, watching the Druids and visiting nobles settle down on the slopes on three sides of him. Ansgar led his three charges to a spot by Bram's right hand. All of Mona had been caught up in learning the truth of the people who had vanished without explanation recently. The Romans had a bad habit of taking girls off the streets and out of the fields to serve them, or conscripting boys and grown men to service in the army without allowing them to send word to their families. What disappearances could be blamed on Romans, slave raiders, or man-wolves? Ansgar wondered how many people had been entrusted with the secret that the Kreefa held magic to battle the man-wolves. The enemy magician would make Casida his target, eventually. He vowed, as he had done many times since coming to that conclusion, that he would defend Casida with his life. The same instinct that made him a skilled hunter told him Casida

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could hold the only hope of destroying their enemy and saving all Britannia. The gathering began with recounting news that had been gathered, recorded, and studied. Rumors of wolves in larger numbers. Disappearances and deaths. Ansgar thought it strange that the man-wolves had attacked no one during the last full moon. Had the battle he witnessed drained the magician's power, or even destroyed all his servants? While the people around him rejoiced that the man-wolves had vanished, Ansgar gnawed on the certainty that their enemy merely gathered his strength. “You are worried?” Casida murmured, leaning closer to him. “It is my duty to worry about everything,” he said, trying to smile. The scent of the flowers twined in her hair mingled with a subtle, spicy perfume that Ansgar knew was purely Casida. It sent his heart racing. He clenched his fists to keep from reaching for her. Her loose gown hid her lean, graceful lines, making her seem more womanly, more desirable, and more elusive. “May I speak?” Bricriu raised his arms to claim attention and stepped forward, to join Bram. Ansgar frowned, angry with himself for letting his attention wander. What had they been discussing moments ago? “The Inner Council has heard your concerns,” Bram said, and gestured for Bricriu to resume his seat on the hillside. Bricriu had concerns? When did anything beyond the affairs of Semer ever hold his attention? Ansgar fought the uneasy feeling that the foolish, likable nobleman had suddenly changed into someone he didn’t know. “Lord Bricriu has brought troubling news,” Bram continued. “Though only ten days have passed since the Kreefa have become our allies, news of their presence has spread everywhere. Lies and fears mix with the truth.” The Phantarch bowed to Casida. “Red Queen, some fear your people will make our enemy more angry, and then you will abandon us when his magic strikes twice as cruelly.” “I swear on my mother's blood,” Casida said, as she stood. “The Kreefa will stay until this danger has been destroyed.” “Forgive me, Lady, but for some, that is not good enough,” Bricriu said. “The people need

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a surety.” “No.” Ansgar barked the word loud enough to startle the people around him. “Grandson?” Bram gestured for him to stand and join him, facing the hillside. “What do you think we are about to propose?” “You want to make Casida a hostage for her people's honor.” Ansgar glared at Bricriu, whose mouth dropped open, genuinely startled. “How will the Kreefa hunt without their Queen to guide them? They are a single heart and mind. If the Romans took our kings and queens hostage, would we be docile and serve them?” Shouts and curses answered him from all around the hillside. Bricriu bowed to Casida. “Your people are mounted on superior horses. You travel lightly, unburdened by elderly and children. You could decimate a village or a king's great hall and vanish. The Kreefa owe loyalty to no one in Britannia.” “The Kreefa have allied themselves with the Druids, for the good of all Britannia,” Bram said. “We are strangers, and our word of honor means little,” Casida. Her voice cut through the mutters like a hot knife through rancid fat. “If there is something else we can do, to reassure the tribes, tell me.” “Marriage.” Druce struggled to his feet, visibly shaking with some strong emotion. “I propose a marriage alliance.” Ansgar clenched his fists. It took all his strength of will not to throttle the young Druid. Did Druce have any idea what he was saying? “I will not abandon my people. We have a village of nearly eighty families north of Hadrian’s Wall, and our merchants who travel the world trading spices and horses. I will not bring them to live here, where Rome can harm them. Will you send one of your nobles into exile, to live with me?” Casida's smile took on a bitterness that burned through Ansgar's belly. “Not you.” Druce’s smile flattened and his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were white. Ansgar could almost smell the young Druid’s terror. “Devona.” While Ansgar and Casida stared and mutters rippled through the crowd, Devona laughed. She held out a hand. Druce helped her to her feet, and before the entire gathering, she flung her arms around him and kissed him soundly.

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Ansgar finally had to tear his gaze away. He met Casida’s gaze. She looked away, but Ansgar thought she smiled. He wished he could smile. The thought of Casida thrown into another man’s bed for the sake of soothing ridiculous fears made his stomach ache, as if he had swallowed live coals. That pain couldn’t compete with the ache lower in his body, when he imagined Casida naked among his sleeping furs, smiling and reaching out welcoming arms to him.

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Chapter Six

“I saw death riding him,” Devona said. Ansgar paused in the doorway of the hut the sisters shared. He had expected to hear them laughing or even Casida scolding her sister for accepting Druce’s marriage offer. Anything but this. He shuddered, hearing the fear that warped Devona's sweet voice. “I saw Daman,” the girl continued. “Daman is dead. You have nothing to fear,” Casida said. “I know he is dead. But he is not. I heard him laughing when we met Lord Bricriu in Boudicca's hall. Today, when he stood before the Druids, I saw Daman's shadow riding his shoulders.” The shadows of old pain and fear made her milky eyes dark. “Who is Daman?” Ansgar asked. His hands itched to snatch up his sword and kill someone. The idea of anyone threatening Devona made him furious. His protective anger must have been clear on his face, because neither sister seemed upset at his intrusion. “He wanted Devona, just as Evan wanted me.” Casida wrapped her arms around her sister, both of them sitting on the furs in front of the hearth. “Daman was a skilled hunter. He enjoyed the blood. He enjoyed darkness and the Fever. I think Father gave him dangerous work to frighten him into humility. He wanted Devona's power, and he liked to dominate the weak and helpless.” “I dare anyone to say Devona is weak and helpless,” Ansgar offered with a crooked smile. “He considered me a tool, to bend to his will,” Devona whispered. A little color returned to her face. “He and Evan were best friends. I think they planned to rule our tribe.” “They are dead now.” Casida gave her sister a little shake. “I sent a Hunt in the spring, when the rumors of the man-wolves first reached us. None of them returned. Daman is dead,

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little bird. He will never threaten you again.” “His spirit hovers around Bricriu,” Devona said. “I will never go near Semer. It will be death for me.” “Bricriu is sometimes a fool, but he could never be a threat,” Ansgar said. “If you marry Druce, all the Druids of Britannia will protect you. I dare any evil spirit or magic to reach you, then.” He dragged a stool to the edge of the furs and sat facing the sisters. “Do you really intend to marry Druce?” Devona’s face lit with joy. She laughed and rested her head on Casida’s shoulder. “I can tell by your scent, you both are worried for me, and you think I’m silly.” Scent? Ansgar shivered, wondering what sort of magic let the seer know the feelings in a man’s heart, just by his scent. “He touches my soul.” Devona clutched at Casida’s hands. “He is already a part of me. We are bound together, intertwined, as our parents were.” “In such a short time?” Casida stopped just short of snorting, disbelief thick in her voice. “It happens. Father told me often of how he and our Mother loved. Just because you and Huon – “ Devona closed her eyes and sighed. “I’m sorry. That was cruel.” “Huon is dead. If our souls had touched, I might have died with him.” Casida nearly whispered. Ansgar thought he heard pain in her voice. He bit his lip to keep from asking the question, but she looked up and must have seen it in his face. “Huon – Daman’s brother – was my mate. He led the Hunt that never returned.” She tugged her hands free of Devona’s grasp and stood, to pace in the confines of their hut. “What Devona speaks of, the touching of souls, it happens among us. Mates become one person, sharing thoughts, dreams, feeling each other’s pain and joys even when separated by many days of travel. Part of our Father died when the Romans killed our Mother.” She took a deep breath and stopped, to stare into the fire. “Huon and I were mated only a few moons. We had no time to find this oneness. I barely knew him at all. If Devona says she has found the other half of her soul in Druce … I will not block their marriage.” She turned her head to look over her shoulder at Ansgar. “Especially if it will soothe the fears of the Britons and make them trust us.” “You said when this danger is over, you would take your people completely out of Britannia. What happens to Devona and Druce?” Ansgar had to ask.

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He imagined watching Casida ride away without looking back, on that day. Why would she, when he had no claim on her? “Druce will ride with us,” Devona said. She drew her knees up to her chest, wrapped her arms around her legs, and rested her chin on her knees as she spoke. “He knows what we are, Sister.” “Everything?” Casida seemed to freeze. “Our souls touch. We have shared dreams. He has seen my second nature.” Devona giggled. “I warned him, but he nearly wet his breeks, anyway.” “Devona!” Casida’s tone of voice scolded, but she smiled. Then she sighed. “I have no objections. Will your grandfather?” “He’s likely organizing the feast as we speak,” Ansgar said. In a matter of days, Druce would take his bride into his bed. Ansgar wished, just for a moment, that he had offered himself as Casida’s husband for the marriage alliance. But when the danger from the man-wolves had ended, Casida would still ride away, and he would remain here to serve the Druids. Would a few moons with Casida in his arms be recompense enough for the loss he would feel? Idiot! Don’t let any woman – even her – become that important to you! * * * * * Ansgar shivered as Casida's tribesmen began the refrain of their song at Devona’s wedding feast. The language was lovely, all liquid vowels and soft consonants, but he didn't understand a word. The minor key and the clash of rising and falling harmonies made the hairs stand up on his arms. “You think this is sad?” Casida asked, leaning close enough the spicy scent of her hair filled his nostrils. It set his heart racing and traveled like a burning arrow to his belly. “I don't understand the words.” He smiled and leaned back against the tree that ringed the feasting meadow. He clenched his fists to keep from snatching her into his lap. As the feast went on, couples would sneak away – at least a dozen had already left – to celebrate their own unions. How long could he endure with Casida at his side, all but forbidden to touch her? Ansgar had to stay until Druce finally got up the courage to lead Devona from their seats of honor, to the hut prepared for

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their bridal night. He dared any man to perform, with the entire island aware of what he tried to do. It was enough to render a man incapable for a week or more. Even if he were the groom and Casida his willing bride, Ansgar doubted his ability on a night like this. The thought of having the right to take pleasure in her body and being unable – it made him want to bellow louder than the fiercest war cry, out of pure frustration. Almost as frustrated as he felt right now. Casida rested her hand on his clenched fist. He jerked and she smiled, snorting as she muffled laughter. “Shall I tell you the words?” She nodded toward the singers, accompanied by pipes. “Please.” “It is the song of a Red Queen, lamenting the death of her mate.” Casida hummed along for a moment. “We were one,” she sang so softly only Ansgar could hear. “We shall always be one, “We were made for each other “When Verdidan made the world. “Your mouth filled mine with sweetness, “Your eyes filled the world with light. “Your hands stroked fire into my flesh. “Our pleasure created new life. “Your body filled my empty flesh, “Your spirit made my spirit whole and strong. “Death takes you for only a while, “My heart, my soul, my mind, my life. “Only a while, and we shall be together, “For I cannot live without you.” Her voice broke and she turned away quickly, but not before Ansgar saw a glimmer of tears. He turned his hand under hers and caught it, squeezing gently, unsure what to say. “Father sang it over Mother's body, the day Devona was born. I thought it strange, to sing a marriage song at such a hurting time.” Casida turned back to him and blinked away tears. “I

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have never been able to sing it since.” “Maybe he needed to sing it, or he would have died,” Ansgar offered. Casida stared into his eyes. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed each fingertip. Still staring into his eyes, she curled all but her index finger around his hand. With that one finger, she traced the outline of his lips, tickling slightly with her thumbnail. Ansgar knew he had to say something, before he acted unwisely. “Did you sing it for Huon?” slipped from his lips. “Huon?” Casida blinked, frowned, then her gaze dropped to their joined hands. She tugged her hand free and shook her head. “There was no body to sing over, nothing to burn. We shared our bodies, but that was all we had. I am so jealous of Devona, I think I could spit poison,” she blurted. “Not everyone is made for love,” he offered, intending to help her. The words tasted bitter on his tongue. “Obviously not,” she whispered. “How soon until this is over?” “Soon. The blessings have been spoken, and their agreement to wed has been announced four times to all and sundry. Now all they need is the –” Ansgar sighed when he caught a glimpse of movement on the other side of the meadow. He nodded and gestured for Casida to look. “The cup.” Bram approached the seat of honor with a low, two-handled cup. Ansgar saw the pride glowing in the old man's dark eyes as he looked at his prize student. He stood tall, dignified in the flowing, dark blue robe of a Bard. Druce stood and bowed to the Phantarch. Devona did the same a heartbeat later. Bram set the cup, filled with mead, on the table before the bridal couple. Then he took their right hands and joined them. The sounds of merriment faded to nothing in a few heartbeats, so Ansgar heard clearly the invocation spoken over this last part of the ritual. Bram held out his hand. First Devona, then Druce gave their hands to him. With a short, golden blade, he nicked their thumbs and let three drops of blood fall from each, into the shallow cup. He swirled the contents and spoke blessings on the joining of the blood and prayed fertility on the marriage. Druce lifted Devona’s hand to his lips and kissed the cut on her thumb. Devona flinched, and Ansgar heard her gasp. Casida leaped to her feet, about to run to her sister. Ansgar caught

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hold of her hand to stop her. Devona went still and her face seemed to glow. She took hold of Druce’s hand and drew it to her lips to echo the gesture. Druce went perfectly still in his turn, and Ansgar saw his face pale and his eyes go wide. Ansgar imagined how Casida’s mouth would feel against his skin. No wonder Druce looked stunned. Imagination sent a wave of fire through him, an ache nearly as bad as when he had been kicked in the privates as a boy. But this sweet aching made him want more. Made him want it to be real. “Drink and be one. Pledge yourselves to each other. Bring peace to the land with your oneness,” Bram cried, his voice echoing through the night. “I pledge myself to you. Let us be one.” Druce took the cup from Bram and held it to Devona’s lips. Devona took her sip from the cup, smiling. She pressed her hands around the cup, capturing Druce’s hands, and guided it to his mouth. “I pledge myself to you,” she echoed. “Let us be one.” Druce tipped his head back as he drank, draining the cup dry. He handed it to Bram, then opened his eyes, to grin at Devona with such giddy joy, Ansgar nearly roared his approval. Bram lifted the cup and turned it over. A shout rose up from the assembled witnesses. Devona flung her arms around Druce’s neck. They kissed, and kept kissing, as more shouts of approval and cheers rang through the air. Ansgar had to look away and found Casida watching, laughing with tears in her eyes. Druce gathered up Devona in his arms and hurried through the crowd. The people separated, making a pathway for them. As Druce vanished into the trees, to take his bride to their bed, Casida fled in the opposite direction. Ansgar followed her, careful to keep her within sight, but not so close he intruded on whatever troubled her. He understood the need to be alone. After what Casida had said, he thought she needed some solitude. But not for too long. His envy of Druce’s joy made him hope that somehow, he and Casida could help each other. A little sweetness, to help them forget that in the morning the hunt for the man-wolves would resume and they would both be alone no matter how closely they worked together. He found Casida standing in a clear spot on a hillside, feet planted apart, arms raised to the

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sky. She sang, her voice low and sweet, edged with the wild howling she had made before the battle with the man-wolves. Her eyes were closed, her hands open to the sky. Ansgar didn’t understand the words, but he thought it was a prayer. Casida had told him of the god she served. Though the concept of one god over all the world struck Ansgar as odd, tonight he wished he could call on Verdidan for a blessing. He would ask for Casida in his arms, bright-eyed and eager to laugh and tumble with him in the thick, sweet, cool grass. Casida’s song finished and she spoke. Ansgar flinched when he heard her speak his name. Then she spoke other names. Huon’s was among them. Did she appease the spirits of the dead with her song? Was she asking for safety for their hunting? “You should be celebrating with the others,” Casida said without turning to him. Ansgar wasn’t surprised that she had sensed his presence, though he had stayed in the shadows while she stood exposed, painted silver by the moonlight. “I think we’re both just jealous enough not to enjoy the feast,” he said, and stepped out of the shadows. “I’m happy for Devona.” Casida went to her knees in the damp grass and smiled at him as he settled down facing her. “I simply couldn’t stay there another moment. Even here, I think I can feel the burning in her blood. We’ve always been close. I held her when she was born, while they fought to save our Mother’s life. I can feel her joy. I can feel the Fever settle into her soul and I’m happy for her, but it hurts! “People think because I’m the Red Queen, the Fever doesn’t affect me. They’re wrong. My blood steams at the full moon, but I am able to keep it separate, so the hungry ache for a man’s touch doesn’t rule my mind. It still hurts, to be so empty, to smell the pleasure and joy in the air and hear the laughter, and to know I’m alone,” she finished, dropping down to a whisper. Ansgar knew his mouth had fallen open. He watched her, breathless, as if the needing hunger, the fire she described had settled into his belly. His mouth felt dry, so that nothing would soothe this thirst but Casida’s mouth, the taste of her skin. He was afraid to breathe and inhale the sweet, wild perfume that was solely Casida. He was afraid to move and acknowledge the aching that spread through his groin. He felt her hunger as if their souls, their minds had touched and merged. “I’m a fool,” Casida said with a broken laugh. She stared into his eyes as if held prisoner.

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“I should turn my thoughts to other things. But I can’t help wondering how it would be to tear my clothes off and leap on top of you.” Ansgar laughed, because the only other choice was to groan. “I can’t ride away with you, when the Kreefa leave Britannia behind,” he said, his voice taking on a rasp. “All I can offer is to ease the pain with a little pleasure. Would that be so bad?” Casida’s face grew still, and her eyes widened and glistened, until Ansgar thought she might cry. She simply looked at him, unmoving, until he thought she had stopped breathing. Finally she shook her head. “Is it so easy here, to come together and then walk away? I know seasonal marriages are accepted, to agree to live as husband and wife for a year and a day and then simply part. The Kreefa are not that way, to take only pleasure without growing so close that leaving would … would make me bleed deep inside.” “It’s not easy.” Ansgar stood and held out a hand to her. His heart stopped for a moment, when Casida took his hand and let him help her stand. “I know it will kill me to let you leave, but you can’t stay and I can’t go with you. I know I’ll always be alone, because of my duty.” He drew his eating knife from his belt and held out his hand to her. “I’ve learned to be happy with little, temporary joys, and never poison memories with regrets. You want me as much as I want you, Red Queen. Yes?” He remembered how to breathe again when she nodded and a tiny smile caught up one corner of her mouth. “We have already vowed before the Council to be loyal partners in this hunt. Let’s promise each other, we will part good friends, with no regrets or anger to make our memories bitter. Yes?” “No regrets.” Casida looked long into his eyes before she held out her hand to him, to let him make the cut in her thumb. Ansgar’s knees tried to fold, when Casida’s tongue licked the drops of blood from his thumb. The flames in his belly turned into a roaring furnace. He licked the drops of blood from her thumb and as he pressed their cut thumbs together, to seal the vow, it seemed for a moment the world turned inside out. He looked through Casida’s eyes at his own face, yet still looked down at her. He could feel her heart as it began to race, felt the dizziness twist through her body. He thought he could even hear the whisper of her thoughts – and that she suffered the same

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strange sensations that he did. Casida laughed, a short, gasping little sound. She twisted free of his grip on her hand. Their thumbs separated. Ansgar dropped the knife and reached for her. She smiled, stars in her eyes, stepped into his arms and her head tilted back. Their lips met. His arms clutched tight around her, but she didn't make a sound of protest. He tasted the blood on both their lips, then forgot everything else in the wonder of Casida clinging to him as tightly as he held onto her. Melting flowed through his body, like sweet honey mead. Ansgar heard his pulse begin to roar. The hillside seemed to tip under his feet. Nothing mattered but tasting the warm sweetness of Casida's mouth and keeping her, soft and pliant, in his arms. Her mouth tasted of wine and honey, and the perfume of apple blossoms. Ansgar lost himself in the wonder of her willingness to open to the pressure of his mouth, to tangle her tongue with his, to share their breaths. Casida wrapped her arms around his neck and shoulders, pressing tight against him. He dared to slide both hands down her back, cupping her small, perfect bottom to press her tight against his groin. The softness of her flesh through her thin dress amazed him even as the allure of her mouth pulled him deeper into dizzy, breathless hunger. He'd never wanted a woman with such painful intensity before -- not even inflamed from battle or his head burning with mead. He knew he should stop. He didn't want to stop until she was completely his. He wanted to make love to her until she promised to stay with him always. “Ansgar.” Casida's voice cracked. Ansgar laughed and took her mouth prisoner again. She slid one arm down between them, just enough to use it as a lever. “Ansgar?” “Casida?” He pressed his lips to her shoulder. Triumph flared hot through him as she moaned at the caress. He squeezed her bottom, lifting her up against him, spreading her legs to wrap around him. “I can’t stay.” Her words cut through the haze of aching sweet need that filled his blood. Ansgar loosened his arms but didn't let her go. “Casida –” He couldn't apologize. Not when she still felt willing and soft, pressed tight against him. He wasn't sorry. “Would you abandon all you know and love, just because we burn for each other? No, you

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wouldn't. You are too honorable.” She swallowed hard and closed her eyes. But she didn't push free of his arms. “The Fever fills me. I have no power to fight this hunger. It terrifies me.” “Don't be afraid. Ever,” he begged, and bent his head to kiss her again. Casida whimpered even as she opened her mouth to his kiss. Her hand tangled in his hair, holding him close so their lips clashed and bruised. “I want you tonight, Ansgar,” she moaned, when he left her lips to trail hot kisses down her neck. “I don’t care how much it will hurt tomorrow, or the day we ride away.” A core of ice moved through him at the thought of letting Casida leave him behind. Another man would hold her someday and that thought rankled like a poisoned arrow. Another man would claim her forever. But Ansgar would hold her tonight – and for however many nights she was willing to give him. Tonight, he held Casida in his arms. He would be grateful and enjoy whatever time they had. “Tonight, we will not care about tomorrow,” he whispered. His arms protested when he opened them and stood Casida back on her own feet. She slid her arms down from around his neck. Cool night air washed over his skin, his clothes heavy with sweat. Casida moaned a protest. “Not here,” he whispered. “There are eyes everywhere.” Her eyes widened in shock and she blushed. He laughed and held out his hand. She gave her hand into his and matched him step for step. Soon they were running through the apple orchards of Mona, to the hut in the shadow of Bram’s hut. Once inside, Ansgar’s hands shook when he let go of Casida and barred the door. He turned to see Casida tug her pale green dress over her head. In the golden-red glow of the peat fire, just a few steps from the pile of furs that was his bed, she was red all over, like living flame. “Ansgar?” Casida's voice wobbled when he could only stare. She tugged long, curly strands of fiery hair down over her shoulders, hiding her small, perfect, pale gold breasts. Her hands trembled. “Is something wrong?” “Wrong?” For a moment they just looked at each other, suddenly awkward, as if the flames in their blood had never been. “You’re perfect,” he vowed. Then laughter gushed up from

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inside him, destroying the stunned stiffness that threatened to nail him to the floor. He took two steps forward and gathered her close against him again. “Do Britons –” She squeaked when his kisses changed to a tiny nip in the soft flesh of her shoulder. “You don't like that?” Ansgar knew he was a fool. What made him think she would enjoy roughness? “Slowly. We have all night.” Casida smiled when he drew back to see her face. Her lips already looked bruised, soft and inviting, and they had only begun. “Casida –” “Do Britons make love with their clothes on?” Her whisper turned to a soft, chiming giggle when he groaned. “I'm a selfish brute.” It felt like tearing his flesh from his bones, to open his arms and release her so he could peel out of his clothes. He tossed them onto the bench where she had dropped her dress. When he turned around, Casida knelt on the edge of the bed furs, curled up on herself so her long hair made a garment that covered her. “Why aren’t you afraid of me?” “The scent of you … wanting me … it tells me all you feel.” She held out her hand to him. He knelt on the furs next to her. “It would drive away all my fear, if I felt any. I can’t fear you, Ansgar, when the Fever joins us so completely,” she added on a whisper, as she tipped her head back to meet his kiss. Casida melted back into the furs under him, like warm, honey-scented tallow. She laughed, ending on a groan of pleasure when he stretched out on top of her. Ansgar forgot his worries over rushing her, hurting her, as he drowned in the wonder of her body responding to his every touch. Her skin was softer than the bed furs, smoother and sweeter than apple blossoms and rose petals. Her hands roamed over his body as if they had always belonged there. She flinched once, her fingers digging into his back when his fingertips brushed the soft curls between her legs. Ansgar murmured apology against her lips, but she laughed and reached down to stroke him until he shuddered. A groan rattled him to his bones. She echoed him with a moan that stoked the fires hotter in his groin and head, and shifted her hips under him. When he entered her, she matched him stroke for stroke, in perfect rhythm. Ansgar fought the drowning, exultant sensation, forcing his eyes open to watch her. Casida tilted her head back,

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eyes half-closed. Tiny whimpers escaped her. She whispered his name, her voice breaking, and that was all it took to devastate him. Stars exploded inside as he closed his eyes and fell forever. Ansgar sprawled across her, boneless and barely able to breathe. He lay still, his head tucked under Casida's chin. The sweat covering them cooled. Casida's small, strong hands rested on his back, keeping him right there, on top of her, inside her, though his greater weight crushed her into the furs of their bed. Ansgar lay still, lost in wonder and the sweet, drowsy, drugged sensation filling his flesh. He considered coaxing Casida to stay, to keep the Kreefa in Britannia. Shame cooled his scorched flesh. What kind of man was he, to let devastating pleasure tempt him to break a vow made in blood? He shifted his arms under them so he could lift himself off her. Casida murmured a protest. She started to tighten her arms, but she was as limp as he had been just moments ago. Ansgar thought he had seen nothing so beautiful as the sleepy, satisfied, sweet smile on Casida’s face. He had put that smile there. He stayed kneeling between her legs, watching her, determined to enjoy the moment. They would have many nights like this, he promised himself. Casida was not a woman he could taste just once and then walk away. When she left him … maybe he should follow her? What kind of a man are you, he scolded himself again, to chase a woman, even if she is a queen? Casida's eyes grew clear of the daze of passion. The mixture of sadness and humor made him want to cry. “Regrets already?” she whispered. “I want you again. But I think it will kill both of us.” The choking sensation in his chest threatened to emerge as laughter. “That’s not what your scent says,” she whispered. Casida drew her legs away and turned onto her side. When she reached for a fur, Ansgar took it from her and lay down facing her, pulling the fur up over them both. His hands trembled as he reached to bring her up against him. They lay on their sides, heads far enough apart to see each other in the dim glow of the peat fire. He draped an arm around her waist and Casida let their legs intertwine.

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“I'm not sorry for what we did,” she whispered. “The Red Queen never gives herself to anyone but her mate – but I’m not sorry.” “I warned you, I’m a possessive brute. I want you in my bed – I don’t want to leave this bed – for a year and a day.” “Not even to eat?” Her little chuckle sounded almost normal. “You are food enough for any man.” Ansgar caught up strands of her hair to tuck behind her ear. He smiled when she closed her eyes, seeming to purr under his touch. “I'm a jealous fool. I think of your dead husband and I’m jealous of all the nights he held you before me,” he whispered. “Kiss me?” Ansgar folded her in his arms, rolling her onto her back. Before he claimed her mouth, he saw her smile. He cursed his jealousy when he had no right or reason, but that didn't restrain the bruising force of his kiss. He wondered if he tried to erase Casida's memories of her husband, or simply imprint himself on her irrevocably. More kisses followed, gentler but deeper and growing in hunger. The sluggish stirring of his blood made him want to laugh and curse. “Slowly.” He drew back. “It's not so long since we were afire.” “Long enough.” Casida reached up to stroke hair out of his face. “Tell me about him. “ Ansgar laughed when she blinked, then frowned, clearly confused for a moment or two. “Huon.” He tried to imagine what the dead man must have looked like. Hoel without the gray hair, the battle scars. Young and lithe, golden-brown and lusty. How could any man not be, with Casida lying naked next to him? “Do you miss him?” “I didn't know him long enough to miss him.” She rested her hand on his shoulder. “We were only mated three moons.” “I'm sorry.” It amazed him that he did feel sorry for Huon. “He was a good man. But I could only mourn him as his Queen, not as his mate.” “He adored you, I'm sure.” “He was terrified of me.” Casida snorted laughter when he frowned at her. “Not of me, really. When it was dark and there was nothing but us and our blankets. But afraid of betraying the Red Queen. Terrified Briant would skin him alive if he hurt me.”

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“Do I need to fear your brother?” “Never.” Her hand slid down his shoulder to his chest, then under their furs. “Briant will likely demand that you stand before the Elders with me and exchange marriage bands, and he will expect you to ride with us and learn to be Hunt Leader.” She sighed. “I will explain to him. He will have to be content with knowing that you made me happy.” “Only happy?” He grinned at her snort of laughter. “The night is still young, and I am very pleased with how it has begun.” She tipped her head up to look into his eyes. “But only if this is the beginning.” Ansgar muffled his shout of laughter by kissing her. One kiss turned into many, and their eager, searching caresses roused the fire in him. Casida wrapped her legs around him and tried to push him onto his back. He easily flipped her over, pinning her under him. She squealed, nearly breathless with laughter when he caught her wrists and drew her arms up over her head, holding her flat and semi-helpless. “Slowly,” he whispered, hoarse with the effort of controlling himself. “Did you love him?” Ansgar froze. He hadn't meant to speak his thoughts. “Love?” Her whisper caught in her throat. “We barely knew each other. Our fathers asked us to mate. Hoel led a band of Lost Ones. They joined us. Huon and I sealed the union of our tribes.” “Much like us, then. Sealing the partnership between Kreefa and Britons, until the danger is gone.” “Much like us.” Casida sighed. “Huon and I barely knew ourselves. We had no time to get to know each other. I couldn't sing the soul song for him. It was cruel, because he was sweet to me, he was good and he died serving me.” “Shhh.” Ansgar kissed up the curve of her neck. “He knows. I dare any man to fault you because you couldn't be false.” He nibbled and kissed along the line of her jaw, until he found her lips. He kissed her once, softly, briefly. “Forgive me. I'm an angry brute. I have no right to be jealous. We have no claim on each other.” “No claim.” Casida curved her hand around his neck as he hovered over her. “How can I be so happy, when I know this won’t last?” “The gods never give eternal bliss. Be glad for what we have.”

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Hours later, when the fire had burned down to a few stubborn red streaks of coals peeking through the ash, Casida lay with her head on his chest, her arm across him, one leg hooked over his knee. Ansgar smiled drowsily and idly watched the swirls of smoke as they slid through the thatched roof. He liked this quiet, sleepy, slightly achy sweetness. The negligible weight of Casida halfresting on him. The warm, musky perfume of her spread all across his body. No woman had ever stayed the night through with him before. No one had ever tumbled into his blankets for any reason except pleasure, intoxicated with battle victory or dancing and song and too much drink. He had always been asleep, or feigned sleep, to spare the girl when she crept from the blankets, snatched up her clothes and slipped out into the darkness. Most of the time, he didn't care, or had been relieved that there would be no awkward good-byes. Ansgar knew he would feel Casida trying to leave him, even if he were fast asleep. He would feel her absence with his spirit. He gently stroked down Casida's back as he contemplated convincing her to keep the Kreefa in Britannia. His fingers encountered fur, and he brushed it aside to enjoy the flower petal smoothness of her skin. The fur didn't move. Ansgar brushed it again with his fingertips. Casida sighed and snuggled up closer to him. Her arm tightened around him. He held still, sensing something odd was about to break upon him, and he didn't want her to wake. When she lay still again, Ansgar carefully turned so they both lay on their sides and Casida leaned against him. By stretching his arm to the point of cramps, he managed to pick up a block of peat and toss it into the fire. Sparks shot up and the glow brightened. It became just bright enough to reveal the thin stripe of fur, narrower than his thumb, down Casida's back. It was just slightly darker than her hair. He had missed it between their bed furs and her hair and the laughing, writhing, sweaty passion that had claimed them repeatedly. Ansgar lightly ran one fingertip up the line of fur. Casida murmured and shifted against him. He followed the line up under her hair, to the nape of her neck. Then down the curve of her spine, to where it vanished between her soft cheeks. Common sense said if Casida carried the magic to battle the man-wolves, then she would be marked by it in some way. Still, uneasiness nibbled at the edges of his drowsy contentment.

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Ansgar reminded himself that Casida had resisted the magic of the full moon, which drove the man-wolves mad. She had guarded her people from the allure of the moon. Bram had accepted her as an equal, accepted her power, the magic in her. Yet something ached where he had been warm and soft with sweet pleasure just a few moments before. He pressed his fingertips deeper into the fur, stroking against the grain. Casida moaned softly, deep in her throat. She pressed her hips against him and her mouth moved against his chest. The tip of her tongue brushed his skin. A shudder ran through his flesh, responding to her caress. He left the stripe of fur alone, and Casida stilled. Ansgar settled onto his back again, and adjusted Casida in his arms. He tugged a fur up over them and closed his eyes. He told himself he didn't care. Casida was his, from her toes to her fingertips to the ends of her sweet-smelling, soft hair. That stripe of fur seemed as sensitive to his touch as her breasts, her belly and the inside of her thighs. He could put that to good use. Ansgar concentrated on those images to shove away the sense that he had made a drastic error. Casida was his, for as long as he could make her stay. Why endanger this sweetness with foolish questions and ideas?

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Chapter Seven

“The secret is in the blood.” Casida nearly toppled headfirst into the spring where she had knelt to drink. She wiped her wet hands on her dress and turned to glare at Devona, who slipped out of the darkness and stood with her milky eyes turned to the moonlight. “What are you doing out of bed?” Casida mock-glared at her sister and sat back on her heels. “Tired of Druce already?” Devona shook her head. Her skin was pale in the moonlight, but not so pale her blush didn't show. “A kiss of blood, given in love and hunger, seals the souls. Our souls. United as one. For eternity. No matter what anyone does to us now, we are together forever.” She wrapped her blanket tighter around her shoulders and sighed. “I used to pity Father, but now I envy him. A part of our Mother was with him always, even if a part of him died with her.” She sighed, her smile widening. “Don't be jealous, Sister. It is yours for the taking.” “And suffer with a thousand leagues of distance between us?” Casida knew better than deny what she had done with Ansgar. She blinked back sudden tears. “Thank you, but no.” “Ask.” Devona took one step closer. Her blanket slipped down her shoulders – revealing she wore nothing underneath it. She giggled uncharacteristically and tugged it up around her neck. “Get back to your bed. What do you think you're doing, sneaking around in the dark, abandoning a sweet boy like Druce?” “He's most sweet, but he's not a boy. I had to tell you this, before it's too late. Be happy for me. When I die, I will live on in him. Take the gift.” Devona turned and vanished into the

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moonlight and shadows. Casida stared at the spot where her sister had been, and shivered. What had Devona meant, under those seemingly clear words? Why offer her the chance to bind her soul to Ansgar's, when they couldn't be together? Ansgar sighed and curled around her when she returned to his hut and slid under the furs next to him, but he never woke. Somehow, that irritated her more than her sister's cryptic words. Casida held her breath to fight the urge to cry, and lay still. Sleep was a long time coming. * * * * * Ansgar watched Devona and Druce walk through the morning mists along the shore, where Mona looked out over the open water. Arms around each other’s waist, they smiled and chatted, seeing only their partner and nothing of the rising sun. He envied them. They had each other, forever. Druce had made his choice, to give up his Druid studies to be with Devona. Ansgar wished he could be free to make such a choice, but he had been born for his duty as spy and warrior for the Druids. The simple pleasures weren’t for him. The tumult and heat he had created last night with Casida was proof enough of that. He smiled, remembering how Casida had smiled when she woke that morning and found him watching her. They had made no promises to each other, but he was sure they would share their blankets tonight, wherever they made camp. Today, teams of Druids and Casida’s hunters would leave Mona and spread across the land, seeking signs of the man-wolves. He and Casida were paired together. Ansgar laughed, remembering how that assignment had seemed like torment – until last night. Now he was grateful for Bram’s choice, and wondered if the canny old man had foreseen what would happen. If only Casida would come into his arms as his wife, not just a temporary lover. Ansgar’s smile faded. He had to remind himself of the facts, to avoid pain in the future. Casida wasn't free to stay with him, much as he dreamed of begging her to do so. He refused to beg. Not because he knew she had to say no, but because he didn't want to see her refuse him calmly, without hesitation. What kind of man was he, to want her to feel pain on leaving him? The answer came immediately -- the same kind of man who gladly took whatever sweetness they could find together and vowed in blood that neither had a claim on the other. Casida had her own life, her

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own duties, and he had no right to expect her to abandon her life just because they enjoyed each other’s loving. The Romans had it easier, he supposed. Their women had no lives of their own. Ansgar knew he would never be happy with a Roman wife, raised from birth to serve her husband, even to enduring abuse. The only wife who would satisfy him was a wife raised in the ways of the Britons. Who sacrificed for the good of her people. Who gave herself fully, in battlefield and bed. A wife who might ask him to forsake all to be with her? “The things we value so highly can turn to chains.” Bram startled Ansgar by coming up behind him, where he stood on a ridge looking out over the island. “Grandfather?” Ansgar looked into the old Druid’s black eyes and wondered if Bram knew he and Casida had become lovers. He wouldn’t be surprised. He dared to hope Bram approved. “Some things we think are unchangeable are as fragile as mist, and as enduring.” Bram clasped Ansgar's shoulder, shook him once, and smiled as he turned to leave. “Then we find out they aren't what we truly value at all.” “What do –” “Decide what you truly want, and then let nothing stand in your way. Pay the price, begin the journey.” Bram looked over his shoulder, eyes twinkling with mischief. “And never, ever look back.” Then he walked away, leaving Ansgar gaping after him. Let nothing stand in his way? He turned to see the place where Devona and Druce had vanished into the trees. He couldn’t keep Casida, but he could make sure no one came between them during the short time they would have together. Ansgar grinned when a plan came to him. He could use Briant’s brotherly, protective rage to his advantage. * * * * * “Marry you?” Casida went still inside. All the churning warmth in her belly, aroused when Ansgar stepped into the clearing where she met with the Hunt, vanished and left her feeling abandoned. “We discussed this last night.” “So that’s where you were,” Briant muttered. He fixed Ansgar with a piercing stare. The panic Casida felt on Ansgar’s behalf shocked her. “Not for our lives,” Ansgar hurried to say. He turned to Druce. “Explain to them of

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Lughnassad marriages.” “For blessing,” the young Druid hurried to say. He shared a bench with Devona, an arm tight around her. “Handfasted, in the service of the gods, for a year and a day. After that, husband and wife are freed to find other mates – or to stay together if they so choose or if a child is conceived.” “The Kreefa have bound themselves to Britannia through the marriage of Devona and Druce,” Ansgar added. “But they will stay here. They aren’t visible. You and I will be riding together. If we address each other as husband and wife … “ A tiny smile twitched his lips for a moment. “If we marry to strengthen the alliance, the tribes will be assured.” Casida looked into his eyes and knew what he was thinking, as if she stood inside his thoughts. They could spend every night together openly, whether camping in the forest or as guests of kings. She wouldn’t fear that Ansgar would seek pleasure with some pretty servant girl – and Casida felt some shock that she even worried about such things. A marriage of a year and a day, temporary, meant to be dissolved. It felt wrong, yet was it any more wrong than making love with a man who was not her mate? She couldn’t resist the lovely temptation Ansgar held out to her. If she breathed too deeply, she knew she would taste his hunger for her in the very air. “Devona.” Her voice caught for a moment. “Speak as Verdidan's servant. Is this wise?” “It is good, to allay fears, to bind our people more closely to the land,” Devona said after a few moments. “I see ripples in a pool, moving out from the golden coin of your joined lives. Many sad ripples. Many happy ones. A double blessing ….” She nodded and a wickedly mischievous grin twisted her lips. “Take him, Sister.” You want him as hotly as he wants you. Teach him the way of the Kreefa when the Fever strikes sweetly. * * * * * The next full moon brought no signs of the man-wolves anywhere. The Hunt and the Druids sent back to Mona more tales of Roman arrogance -- men conscripted into service as beasts of burden and drudges for the military, farms confiscated and given to army veterans in the middle of harvest, and merchants who offended an officer taken as slaves. No tales of people vanishing in the darkness while a wolf howled nearby.

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Casida agreed with Bram -- their enemy merely bided his time, gathering his strength and forces. He knew they hunted him now. She prayed the Kreefa boy they had captured was right, and all the slaves taken by the magician had died or managed to escape. She sometimes woke in the night, dreaming of the black-streaked fog and the corruption that killed the boy, rising from the touch of her silver rings. Ansgar always woke and wrapped himself around her to drive away the cold in her bones, to comfort her, as if he walked those dreams with her. Briant had left immediately after the wedding to carry news to their village in the north. When he returned to report that all was well and everyone was ready for the winter, Casida slept a little easier. Despite her misgivings over the lie of her temporary marriage, she reveled in each day that passed. The fall colors were glorious. She even delighted in days so full of fog the air was thick against her face and filled her lungs with wooly wetness. She spent her days on horseback with Ansgar, traveling the land, gathering the rumors, meeting with the Hunt at every new moon to report, compare stories, and send a messenger back to their village. She and Ansgar spent as many nights under the cloudy or starry skies as they did as the guests of nobles. The condition of their bed didn't matter to her when Ansgar drew her into his arms. Even on the nights they didn't make love, it was joy to lie pressed against him, sharing his warmth and breathing his scent. At the next full moon, the man-wolves struck on the northern border of Parisi land. By the time members of the Hunt arrived to investigate, all tracks and scent had vanished and the trail was dead. The full moon after that, the man-wolves attacked and destroyed an entire village within site of the fires of Mona. Every member of the Hunt was half a day of riding away. The full moon after that – nothing. Their enemy had gone to ground, gathering his strength. Casida feared that the villagers who had not been slaughtered were prisoners, either slaves or fodder for the man-wolves’ blood thirst. Or worse, they were Changelings, as the victims of the man-wolves’ attack had been called. Without a trail to follow, with nothing to help find the lair of the manwolves and the magician who created them, she and the Hunt and the Druids could do nothing. Another quiet full moon passed before they returned to Mona. Casida looked forward to seeing Devona. Even the joy of being with Ansgar couldn't soothe the ache of being separated from her sister. Devona stayed on Mona, to learn from Bram and share her visions and insights

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with the Druids, and to be with Druce. “Is he good to you?” Casida demanded, as she and Devona went to find privacy in her hut. “Very good. But not so much I didn’t miss you.” Devona sighed and leaned her head on Casida's shoulder. “You always knew how to protect me, yet let me be and do what I wanted. Druce knows how, but everyone else here ….” She shuddered a little. “I am either sacred or totally helpless. They worship or they pity me. The few who know the truth of the Kreefa avoid me when the shadows grow long. They think I might shift to wolf and rip their throats out. Druce thinks I should encourage such thinking.” “Devona!” Casida sensed the enjoyment her sister had in such vindictive thoughts, and it shocked her. “There’s so much he doesn’t understand, yet. For instance, why don’t my eyes work when I'm a wolf, if we have two bodies?” “The magic in our blood dictates that a wound affects both bodies.” She slipped an arm around her sister's shoulders. “I'm glad he's wise enough to love you.” “Is it as lovely for you and Ansgar as it is for us?” “Enough to make you want to die,” Casida whispered. Tears touched her eyes. “Is it lovely, being joined in your souls?” “Don't you know already?” Devona settled down in front of her hearth and smiled that mystical smile that irritated her sister more often than it frightened her. “We didn't mate for life.” “What does that have to do with it?” She held out her hands. Casida complied, giving her hands into her sister's grasp. A tingling spread through her fingers, up her palms, her arms, to gather across her scalp and down her crest fur. Then it settled into her belly, warm, feeling like the ebb and flow of the tide. “The greatest queens are born to those who mated with their souls and hearts,” Devona said. “Your baby will need her father, if you want her to grow to true greatness.” Casida went so still, she thought her heart had stopped beating. She waited for that teasing little smile to curve her sister's lips, for some sparkle of mischief in those milky eyes. Finally, Devona released her hands and got up to fetch oatcakes and mead. “When?” she made herself ask, ignoring the food her sister put in her hand. “When did I

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conceive?” Casida fought the conflicting whirlwinds inside her soul -- delight and terror. She thought she had been careful to prevent conception. A child of Ansgar’s would be a Halfling. Anstice had defeated the Halfling curse, but that didn't mean Casida's child would be so lucky. Did she dare have a Halfling child? “Under an oak half-bare of leaves. The sky churned like the sea and falling stars rained all around you.” Devona shrugged and filled her mouth with buttered oatcake. “That hasn't happened yet.” A chuckle caught in her throat, mostly in relief. Truly, the stars did seem to fall every time Ansgar made love to her. “Soon, then.” She grinned when Casida could only scowl at her. “Eat. You'll need your strength. In more ways than one.” “Oh – you.” Casida felt something loosen in her chest, and she was able to mirror her sister's grin. By the time Ansgar came to fetch Casida to eat the evening meal with Bram, the two sisters had talked through the thin awkwardness their separation had created. Casida replenished her supply of herbs, to make sure she had the freshest potion to prevent conception. Even if she dared have a Halfling child, she refused to raise her heir without her father. There would be no child from Ansgar. If she conceived and was visibly pregnant before the curse of the man-wolves was broken, Ansgar would demand their marriage become permanent. She couldn’t stay in Britannia, and he couldn’t come with the Kreefa. How could he, when he cursed the man-wolves and she had never revealed to him her second nature? Casida thought of the loathing that would kill the love in Ansgar’s eyes, the curses that would fall from his lips, the day she stood before him in wolf form. She refused to destroy the precious joy and pleasure they shared. Time enough for grieving and loss when the Kreefa left Britannia. Better that Ansgar mourn her than hate her. Duty would compel him to kill her, if he ever learned the truth. * * * * * Prasutagus lay ill when Casida and Ansgar visited the king's household just before winter solstice. There were no feasts, no long evenings of talk and stories, music and laughter during

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their stay. Casida was glad, because it gave no excuse for Lucius Marcellus to sit among them in silent, cold disdain. It disturbed her that the Roman envoy showed so much concern for Prasutagus' lingering illness. She mentioned it during an evening meal with the royal family. “The Roman weasel doesn't want to have to deal with me,” Boudicca said with a snort. “No Roman likes to remember our women are warriors. During the first invasion, women killed just as many of their soldiers as our men did.” “Mother practices with the sword post every morning,” Ardra announced. “He watches her sometimes, and he always looks sick.” “He turned white when Ardra joined Mother once,” Neala added with a giggle. “Pity the Romans,” Ansgar said. “Forced to deal with two fierce women warriors. It's said a warrior with his wife at his side can hold off an entire legion.” “I have no fear for the Iceni.” Prasutagus smiled, but didn't grace them with the hearty laughter Casida enjoyed. “I am a long way away from my grave, and when Epona sends me to join my ancestors, I know our tribe is safe in the hands of my wife and our daughters.” He rested his hand over Boudicca's on the tabletop. The royal couple shared a smile that spoke of years of friendship, trust and understanding. Casida felt her throat close in the sick pangs of envy. “The Romans will not dare try any of their tricks,” he continued. “I guaranteed it when I became a subject king instead of sacrificing hundreds of good warriors in battle. They have made promises, and they will stand by them, for honor's sake if not for profit.” “Roman honor is only for Romans,” Ansgar said, shaking his head. “We are only fodder to feed their empire.” “Then we will show them how to be men of honor to everyone, not just their own people.” Boudicca's eyes were somber and thoughtful when her gaze met Casida's. Even if her husband looked at the future and felt secure, she had her doubts and would be prepared. Casida felt better for her friends, knowing that. Late afternoon the next day, Casida heard shouts coming from the king's chambers, as she crossed the rainy yard between the Great Hall and the hut where she and Ansgar slept. She shifted to wolf and sped lightly through the drizzling, icy rain to the narrow shelter of the

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thatched eaves outside Prasutagus' window. Casida heard the heaving cough of a man who couldn't empty his lungs of the thickness that came with lung fever. Scurrying footsteps turned to splashing and she peered around the corner to see Lucius Marcellus fleeing through the icy rain. Hackles rising, Casida shifted to Human and hurried to the doorway.

She found

Prasutagus sprawled across his table, still struggling for breath. He tore up a roll of parchment with shaking hands, his face red and streaming with so much sweat she doubted he could see. She called for servants and hurried into the chamber to force the ailing king back into his chair. “Burn it,” Prasutagus gasped, when Casida was sure he didn't have enough breath for the effort. She stepped back as servants hurried into the room. Casida waited until the king's color came closer to normal and his chest didn't heave like a bellows. Then she swept up the pieces of the parchment and made sure the man could see her do so. He nodded his thanks and closed his eyes as she left the chamber. * * * * * “Do you know what this is?” Ansgar asked Casida. He knelt on the stone-paved floor of their hut, studying the parchment she had pieced together by rushlight. It was nearly the dinner hour, but she didn't feel like eating. “I can read enough to get by in several languages. Not enough to understand all of that.” She tipped her head back against the wall post and closed her aching eyes. “I know it mentions Nero and Prasutagus' herds and fields.” “You heard Prasutagus shouting. This is reason enough to make any man die of the furies.” Sighing, he sat back on his heels and finished peeling off his cloak, which was heavy with sleet. “It's a Roman document, stating Prasutagus grants half his wealth to Nero, his emperor and god, on the day of his death.” “That Roman weasel thought he could trick Prasutagus into signing it?” “I've heard happy rumors that Marcellus' father is losing favor with Nero. This is probably an effort to secure his position against his father's fall.” Ansgar swept the pieces into the brazier. “With a little Roman trickery, they could claim Boudicca's property as well. Only barbarians allow women to control their own wealth.” He spat into the flames.

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* * * * * “Others must know about this,” Boudicca said, when Casida and Ansgar met with her very late that same evening in the upper room of the Great Hall. “Marcellus claims all loyal Romans and subject kings leave half their wealth to Caesar on their deaths.” She pounded her clenched fist into the arm of her chair. “He told my husband it was an inventory of our wealth, to ensure we were not harmed if our nobles rebelled. The fool thought the King of the Iceni lacks the wit to read a Roman document!” “He became angry when his lie was revealed?” Ansgar guessed. “Tripped over his tongue and contradicted himself ten times over. He had the gall to refuse to speak with me, when I confronted him.” A mirthless laugh barely curved her lips. “I caught him searching for the scroll. You did burn it?” “Every piece,” Casida whispered. “My friend, I trust you because you serve the Druids.” Boudicca held out her hand to Ansgar and he grasped it, dropping to one knee before her in silent pledge. “Ride for me, to every noble house and every king. Warn them. Marcellus lacks the wit to plan this on his own. Other Roman spies may have already tricked other kings into signing away half their tribes.” * * * * * Casida and Ansgar rode hard, warning the kings of all the tribes. They spent winter solstice with Devona and Druce and Bram, on Mona, then rode north on their errand, nearly to Hadrian’s Wall. On their return to Mona, they learned Prasutagus had succumbed to the lung illness and died. Ansgar and Casida escorted Bram to Iceni lands, to comfort and advise Boudicca. There was no telling what the Romans would do about the tribe’s leadership. The Iceni accepted Boudicca’s right and her ability to rule, but would the Romans? Lucius Marcellus was unusually silent during the mourning rites for Prasutagus. Casida smelled a strange mixture of fear and excitement through the heavy perfumed ointment he wore. She found it odd that the man didn’t want to participate. Every tale of the Roman portrayed him fighting for leadership and high visibility in ceremonies. Why did he pull back now? Why was he in such a hurry to leave Iceni lands? Maybe he feared Boudicca would try to punish him for all the slights she had suffered from him? Ansgar laughed when Casida voiced her thoughts to him their third night in Boudicca’s

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house. “Marcellus is eager to ride to Camulodunium, to report.” A smile softened Ansgar's stiff mouth. “I wonder why he is in such a hurry to reach the governor.” “Or the safety of the army?” she mused. “Few would grieve if he vanished between Iceni lands and the army.” “It would give Rome a good excuse to grind the Iceni into the dust, if something did happen to him.” Ansgar nodded, understanding lighting his eyes. The next day, he organized a dozen trustworthy warriors to follow the Roman and his escort to Camulodunium, to prevent accidents. * * * * * Casida and Ansgar rode with Bricriu when the lord of Semer left Iceni lands. In all these moons, Casida had yet to see the hidden, fertile valleys of which the nobleman was so proud. She was curious, too, because she couldn’t forget Devona’s whisper of fear. If Devona saw Daman’s shadow hovering around Bricriu, then there was danger either in Semer itself or connected with the vain, silly nobleman. When she proposed they accept Bricriu’s invitation to be his guests for a few days, and spy out Semer’s ravines, hidden springs and caves, Ansgar hesitated. She disliked the faint anger and fear in his scent. Ansgar feared nothing, so what was wrong? “Do you think we will find the man-wolves in Semer’s ravines and valleys?” he finally said. “I don’t know. I know it would be a gift to Devona, to make sure Daman’s spirit doesn’t haunt Bricriu’s stronghold.” Ansgar snorted, his scent grew more pleasant, and a crooked grin tugged at his mouth. “That one would be just hapless enough to invite a foul spirit to take up residence.”

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Chapter Eight

“This is an enchanted place,” Casida confided to Ansgar, after they retired to their bed the first night. “I find it hard to believe everyone in Semer is as well-fed and well-dressed and healthy as his household.” “They are.” Ansgar stretched out on his back in the Roman-style bed Bricriu had given them. “The Romans leave it alone, as if they go blind when they ride past.” “Next you'll tell me no maidens are kidnapped, no boys conscripted, no cattle or horses stolen. And he has the sweetest honey in all Britannia.” “Not completely.” Casida waited, but he just closed his eyes, finished stretching, and curled up on his side, facing her. His lips twitched and the richness creeping into his scent meant he fought laughter. He played with her. He expected her to attack him, and then the play would turn to lovemaking. Tonight, she didn't dare. After Devona's prophecy of conceiving, she paid strict attention to her moon cycles. Casida had run out of her potion to prevent conception, so she was doubly cautious. She wouldn't be free to make love to Ansgar for another day or two. “Casida?” Ansgar clasped her hand. “Angry?” “Deathly tired,” she lied. “What were you going to say?” He smiled and drew her down to him. “Here is the sweetest honey in Britannia,” he whispered, and kissed her thoroughly. They didn't make love. Despite the hunger in his scent, Ansgar seemed content to kiss her and indulge in slow caresses. He listened when she said she was tired. How many men were so considerate? Ansgar fell asleep, but Casida remained wakeful. She rested her head on his chest and

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listened to the steady, deep beats of his heart. It was a comforting sound, yet unbearably sad. She knew this bliss was only temporary. Her thoughts went with her when she finally slept. A dream strangled her, so that she jerked awake with a low moan of grief. Ansgar woke instantly and tightened his arms around her. She clung to him and wept. She had dreamed of Huon, for the first time in moons. “He was so close,” she whispered, when Ansgar made her tell what troubled her. “Calling to me. Warning me. Crying in the wind.” As if it heard her, the wind moaned past the shuttered window of their room, rattling the wood panels and stirring the draperies hung over it against drafts. “Warning you of what?” “I don't know. The other members of the Hunt were there. Caught in that black mist.” She shivered despite Ansgar's warmth wrapped around her. “Huon and my cousin, Hafgan. He was just a boy. And Gwyr. And Mabon, another cousin. And Daman.” “Ouch.” He forced a chuckle. “Such hatred in your voice.” “Father vowed he would die before he let Daman have Devona. If he hadn't been fading for years, mourning Mother, I would have thought Daman poisoned him.” Casida shuddered, aching with the pain of knowing she and Ansgar would never have her parents' unity. “I was glad Daman died. Cruel of me, but there it is.” “You protect your sister.” Ansgar kissed her. Then he grew still and Casida felt the tension fill his body. “What if they aren’t dead?” “What?” “You said they were caught in a black mist. Remember the black mist that killed the boy, the night we met? Lost Ones were kept prisoner. What if the magician has them all prisoner?” Casida could hardly breathe as the rightness of that idea crashed through her. Their enemy used Huon’s Hunt to create more Changelings. They were prisoners somewhere, in torment. Then a new thought struck and a sob escaped her. “Casida?” Ansgar drew her onto his lap and cradled her like a child. “What is it?” “If Huon lives, then we are not even handfasted for a year and a day.” Ansgar’s arms tightened around her. She welcomed the strength that threatened bruises.

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“Until we find him, you are my wife.” The harshness in his voice frightened and thrilled her. Casida mentioned her fear no more after that. * * * * * The storm that had threatened and howled through the night didn't strike, though the sky boiled gray all morning. Casida couldn’t read the weather when she and Ansgar rode out of Bricriu’s stronghold to explore, and that irked her. Had she gone so long without taking wolf shape that her senses had dulled? “Let's go where we can see all Semer at one time,” Ansgar said. “We can plan our search from there.” He aimed for a black ridge emerging from the gray mist that ringed the entire valley, and led the way as the trail grew narrower. “A sheep trail,” Casida announced, catching a whiff of dirty, wet wool in the sodden air. “Then there should be a shepherd's hut close by.” She nodded and tugged her cloak tighter. The winds grew fiercer, determined to strip away her clothes, the higher they climbed out of Semer's shelter. Soon they reached the highest point, a rocky outcropping that let them look out over Bricriu's territory. Casida looked down on Semer's rich fields and saw only shifting black shadows hovering over everything. “It escapes me how Bricriu avoids flooding,” Ansgar said, after they had sat long enough to be chilled to the bone. “See?” He pointed out the arms of the valley. “All those rivers flow in, but not out. A vast river flows under the stronghold – we used to play in the caves when we were boys. Where does the water go?” An icy gust of wind slapped them, making their horses snort and stomp. “It's time to find that shepherd's hut.” What they thought was another outcropping, wrapped in fog, turned out to be a tangle of dead and dying trees. They looked like a giant child's stick game, tossed down during a temper fit. Just to one side of the trees sat a hut. Ansgar sent Casida inside while he sheltered the horses among the trees. Casida pushed aside the ragged remnant of sagging plank door and stepped inside. The hut leaned drunkenly to one side, the posts half-rotted. Part of the wall and roof looked as if something had bitten a hole in the thatching. The floor was packed dirt, strewn with the debris of

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generations of animals. No animals lived there now, judging by the scents. The only furniture was a low bench, barely wide enough for two to sit. “We’ll be more comfortable with the horses,” she said, when Ansgar stepped into the hut behind her. A thunderclap and a roaring sheet of rain answered her. A fist of icy wind made her flinch. Ansgar yanked the rotting plank door shut. It made little difference. “Two are warmer than one,” he muttered, and pulled her to the far corner of the hut with him. Huddled close together, they stayed out of the rain and the worst of the winds. He opened her cloak and wrapped it around him with her pressed against his chest. Then he wrapped his cloak around them both and tucked her head up under his chin. “When the rain slows, we can join the horses.” He rubbed his hands down her back, stirring her crest fur. Casida moaned, feeling the caress down to her toes. Ansgar shifted his hold on her, changing her stance so she pressed tight against him. She felt his arousal pressing against her belly. Ansgar nibbled down her neck. One hand stroked slowly down her spine, and everything between her hipbones melted. The other hand cupped her bottom, pressing her closer against him. Casida bit her lip to hold back another moan. She found the bottom of his long sheepskin vest and slid both hands under it, then inside his wool shirt. Ansgar cursed when her chilly hands met his hot, perspiring flesh. Casida laughed -- two could play this game of torment. He stumbled backwards a step, tangling their legs. She found the buckle for his belt. “Enough,” Ansgar growled. He bent down and slung her over his shoulder. Casida shrieked, half in laughter, as he tugged her breeks down, exposing her bottom to icy air. Before she could struggle free, he slapped her bare skin and yanked her leggings and boots off as well. Ansgar sat on the bench and dropped her down to straddle him. Her cloak dropped down to cover her. Despite the ice crawling up one exposed foot and leg, Casida melted when Ansgar's mouth closed over one nipple through her shirt. His hands made short work of the fastenings of her vest and shirt. She returned the favor and then unfastened his cloak, to pull it up over their heads,

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creating a tent. The howling of the wind, the darkness, the icy bursts of air reaching in through the gaps in their makeshift shelter and their clothes added to the spice of their unfriendly surroundings. Under their cloaks, the air grew damp, thick with the scent of their pleasure. Their loving became a battle against the entire world. Long after the avalanche descent, Casida kept her legs wrapped tight around Ansgar's hips, listening to the storm that drowned the sound of their thundering hearts. She felt his pulse, still pounding hard in his neck where her cheek pressed. She touched the tip of her tongue to his skin and in the salt damp tasted the essences of them both. “Let the world end,” Ansgar groaned. His voice sounded hoarse. “I've reached the reward of the gods.” Casida laughed. Her throat felt sore, abraded by her cries. Both feet were exposed to the icy air, caught between Ansgar's back and the flimsy daub and wattle wall. She didn't want to release him, but she knew his bare bottom had to be just as chilled, pressed against the filthy wooden bench. “We'll die of the ague if we don't get dressed,” she said with some regret. “But I don't want to leave here.” “Neither do I.” He cupped her breast, rubbing his thumb across the nipple until it grew hard. “This is worth dying for.” “Flatterer. Hedonist.” “Temptress.” Ansgar grasped her waist with both hands and lifted her off him. “My feet are frozen.” Casida bit her lip against a groan as she put her weight on her legs again. Her hips had grown stiff. “Your feet. Be grateful that's all.” She stuck her tongue out at Ansgar, who stayed seated as he refastened his shirt and vest. Casida huddled inside her cloak while she pulled on leggings, breeks and boots. Her sweaty flesh still gained a coating of ice before she was dressed. Ansgar bent to slide his breeks up his hips and yelped. He jumped up from the bench and kicked it hard, so it flew across the hut and knocked another hole in the wall. “Splinters,” he growled. “Bend over and let me pull them out.”

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Ansgar's face grew red. She bit her tongue, holding back a dozen teasing remarks. Finally, he groaned, turned his face to the ragged doorway, and bent over. He hissed once when she flipped up the bottom of his cloak and exposed his bottom. Casida was glad his nether cheeks didn't have much hair and she could see the dark slivers of wood embedded in his pale flesh. She didn't want to irritate him further by asking where the splinters were. In moments, she removed all three pieces of dirty wood. Two had dug in deeply enough to draw blood. “I hope you're satisfied.” He turned around and yanked up his breeks with enough force to make his metal belt jangle. “Very satisfied. But how will we explain to our hosts when we steal away to their stables for hours at a time?” Ansgar tried to scowl, but lost the battle in a howl of laughter. They were still laughing when the sound of the wind and rain died down. Arms linked, they dashed the few steps from the hut to the rough shelter where the horses waited. “Not much better, but more room,” he said, as they settled down in a pile of wind-blown leaves. Between that, their cloaks and two huge, fallen trunks as a windbreak, they were comfortable. Casida nestled contentedly in Ansgar's arms, watching the half-naked branches overhead sway and shake and battle each other in the howling wind. “Sad to see even oaks can't stand up against everything,” Ansgar remarked. “Oaks?” “There. Right over the hut.” He pointed and traced one black outline with his finger. Something had struck it hard enough to half kill it, but it fought and held onto life and dried leaves. Lightning flashed and thunder screamed directly overhead. Casida stared, frozen by the sound and brilliance. Stars filled the stormy sky, showering down on top of her. Flames sputtered in the dead branches of the oak. Ansgar leaped up to stomp on fallen sparks and burning bits of bark. “Falling stars,” Casida whispered. She pressed her hand flat against her belly. If Devona had seen rightly, she and Ansgar had made their daughter barely an hour ago. Not just a daughter, but a Halfling. Casida trembled. The tribe needed fresh blood, but

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Halflings could go mad and die in their first Fever. Most survived with the help of their mothers and the Red Queen and they were brilliant, strong, showing the worth of fresh blood. Their children were among the brightest and best. Wasn't Anstice, the first Red Queen, a Halfling? The question, Casida knew, was whether she had the right to risk her heir being a Halfling. How could she have been so careless? Just one more day of waiting … but how could she have waited, when Ansgar's slightest touch brought on the Fever? How could she leave the father of her child behind? How could she make her child grow up fatherless? Still, joy warmed Casida. Her heir would be Ansgar's child. A daughter of his blood would be strong, brave and dangerously smart. If only Ansgar could help raise his child, but she knew it could not be. Ansgar was needed here as eyes and ears for the Druids while Nero ruled. She could not stay in Britannia. She would go and raise her heir in safety. The wisest choice, she knew, was not to tell Ansgar she carried his child. He had to let her go, but she could spare him the pain of being torn between his duty to his people and to his child. She would have to leave him before her belly expanded. She had to solve the riddle of the Changelings in the next few moons. Once the danger had passed, she would be free to go. Her thoughts and decisions flashed through her mind and soul while Ansgar still stomped on tiny fires and the sparks from the lightning strike flew through the air. Casida watched, and saw the significance of the dying fires. The sweet, sometimes brutal passion she and Ansgar shared, would soon die. After she gave the Kreefa their next queen, they would not require her to take another mate. Casida knew she could never lie in another man's arms once she lost Ansgar. * * * * * Two days of riding through the fog and storms rattling Semer yielded nothing. Casida couldn’t shake the certainty that Semer would hold answers in their hunt. Between her dream and Devona’s vision, the truth waited to be discovered. Ansgar agreed with her, and sent word to Bram of what they believed. The effort exhausted her. She wondered if that was a sign that she had conceived. It frightened her a little that she knew so little about childbearing. When Ansgar grew worried about her and demanded they rest for a while, she agreed. He took her to Fenella, who had

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become a friend. Fenella held a small, rocky estate north of Semer. She was a warrior who had won fame on the battlefield during the first invasion. The leather-tough, white-haired woman's hall was small and narrow. She had few servants or luxuries, but Casida thought there was no finer hostess in all Britannia. They ate plain fare and laughed, told stories and played at knucklebones and when the servants retired, discussed the safety of Britannia. “Tell Bram to gather all warriors pledged to the Druids,” Fenella said when it was just the three sitting by the fire pit. “My people bring me tales, and I think Nero moves against the Druids again. Soon. After the spring rains.” Ansgar nodded. His smile was grim. “We expect some of our people to join us. They’ll pass on the word immediately.” Casida closed her eyes, suspecting she might cry if she were not careful. She could shift to wolf and cover the distance to Mona in a day. But she couldn't make the offer. She had never shifted to wolf in front of Ansgar. His voice held loathing when he spoke of the man-wolves, and she refused to shock him, to make his disgust transfer to the Kreefa, and to her. She kept quiet and let her second nature sleep for the sake of peace in their marriage. Their temporary marriage. She didn't resent a moment with Ansgar, yet it pained her that half her life seemed to sleep, and would not awaken until she left Ansgar and Britannia far behind. She longed to shift to wolf and run for hours until she had left all dangers and plotting behind and found peace in her soul again. Would it be so bad? Slip out while Ansgar slept, shift to wolf and let her second nature go free for a little while? If she was truly pregnant, she would only have two, maybe three moons before she couldn’t shift without harming the child. It was too soon to tell, though, and she didn’t want to miss a moment of lying at Ansgar’s side, safe, warm and desired. * * * * * When Ansgar rode out to hunt with two of Fenella’s servants, Fenella insisted Casida stay indoors with her. The two women sat by the fire, talking about hunting and battles. Casida liked the tough old woman, who had survived her six warrior brothers, eight nephews and their children to inherit the family lands. “Wife!” Ansgar stomped into Fenella's hall only two hours later, shaking sleet from his

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cloak. “Where are you? I expect a proper greeting.” Casida laughed and turned to the door. A familiar scent came to her on the chill air that streamed into the hall, laden with sleet and the threat of another storm. “Devona?” She jumped from her chair by the fire and ran to the damp, cloaked and hooded figures coming through the door. Casida laughed and flung her arms around her sister. Druce and Ansgar stepped back and let the sisters laugh and hug and chatter. Fenella joined them, followed by two ancient servants. They took away the newcomers’ bags and icecrusted cloaks and Fenella ordered food for them all. “What are you doing here?” Casida demanded for the fifth time, as they settled down around the fire. “Visions.” Ansgar shrugged. “Devona doesn’t believe that we found nothing in Semer.” “You simply haven’t looked closely enough,” Devona retorted. “A fine hunter you are. Haven’t you taught him anything, after all these moons as mates? Druce is quite an apt student.” She leaned into Druce's shoulder and he bent his head to brush a kiss against her forehead. The happy glow on her cold-reddened face created a knot around her sister's lungs. Casida smiled and teased back, but she found it hard to join the conversation about the weather and traveling conditions and then what she and Ansgar had found in their weather-inhibited hunt. She couldn't yank her gaze away from the happy picture the two young lovers presented. Druce would travel with the Kreefa, no regrets or duties holding him back, when it came time to leave Britannia. Casida couldn't decide if the nagging ache inside was envy, or guilt because Ansgar would not be able to raise his child. “Sister?” Devona reached around the edge of the fire pit, holding a hand out to Casida. “Sorry.” Casida felt her face warm. She laughed when Ansgar teased her about sleeping with her eyes open. “You three should be more weary than me.” “And it's a poor hostess who makes her guests stay up to entertain her when they hunger for their beds.” Fenella rose to her feet with considerably more agility than Casida felt. “Devona.” Casida held out her hand to her sister. They linked arms as they walked the long side of the hall and she described the curtained sleeping alcoves, so her sister could find her way without guides. “I dreamed of Daman again. At the same time you dreamed of Huon,” Devona whispered.

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She sat down on the edge of the bed box, when Casida guided her into the alcove she and Druce would share. “Just before he left with the Hunt, he told me that I belonged to him, and he would kill me if I didn’t wait for him.” “Why didn't you tell me? What's the use of being sister to the Red Queen if you don't let me protect you?” “I wasn't afraid. Then.” Devona shivered and snuggled closer into Casida's warmth. “I dreamed Daman came to claim me. He killed Druce and threatened to make me drink his blood. I know Daman is dead. He can't reach me from the Otherworld.” She sighed. “Maybe I’m afraid of being so happy.” “I know.” Casida smoothed damp hair back from her sister's forehead. “I've dreamed of Huon several times now. Perhaps the gloom of this time of the year makes us think of the dead.” “What did you dream?” She turned so they faced each other. “I didn’t see everything when you called the Hunt.” “That he was still alive.” She shivered, hating the ideas that rose from the darkness in her mind. “I dreamed they live, trapped in the black mist.” Her stomach twisted. “Sometimes, I think I hear them laughing. They have gone mad – or they are purely evil. I’m not sure.” “I know it's cruel, but I do hope they are all dead.” Devona shook her head and hunched her shoulders against cold that Casida sensed in her spirit. “You have claimed your mate and all the Druids of Britannia adore and protect you. Be happy, little sister.” “Be happy, yourself, Red Queen.” Her mouth curved up in a mischievous smirk. “Were the falling stars bright, when you conceived your heir?” “Sparks from a lightning strike looked like falling stars.” Casida's face warmed as she remembered that wild hour of lovemaking. “How can you tell? My scent?” “I touched you and knew. Tell no one about this child. You've chosen not to tell Ansgar. That was wise. Tell no one, until it can't be hidden.” “Why?” Casida whispered. “Because she will be Halfling?” “I … I see black mist surrounding her, and so many futures. Some bright, some dark, some filled with blood. Silence will slow our enemies. And what are a few moons of lost rejoicing, to those who mean the most to us?”

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Casida remembered her sister's words when she joined Ansgar in their bed. He fell asleep quickly, an arm wrapped around her under their blankets. Casida wondered how it would feel to lie next to him until her belly became a barrier between them. Would he lovingly curve his hands over the growing child, as she had seen her father touch her mother before Devona was born? Or would he be the kind of man who would fear to touch her during her pregnancy, lest she break and lose the child? She would never know the kind of father Ansgar could be. If they did not destroy the manwolves soon, she had to convince him that they worked better divided. Then she would return to the Kreefa village and give birth to her heir. Whispers and soft laughter and the rustling of blankets filtered through the night quiet from the other side of the hall. Casida wished her sister and her mate all the oneness that she herself would never know. * * * * * Fenella’s hall became their headquarters as they reorganized the search for the man-wolves. At Devona’s insistence, all the teams of Kreefa and Druids searched the land around Semer and slowly worked their way through the convoluted crevices and ravines and valleys of Semer itself. Devona refused to go into Semer. Ansgar felt her fear, despite her calm voice and face. Sometimes he thought he could see through Casida’s eyes, touch her thoughts, even understand the knowledge that came to her through her super-sensitive sense of smell. Casida seemed distracted as the days wore on, far more than Ansgar could blame on the approaching full moon. Some nights, he woke to find Casida gone from their bed. She always returned quickly, her feet cold from the bare earth floors, smelling of grain and wood smoke. Sometimes he followed her to the cooking hut, where she scavenged through the food left from a meal, or raided the pot of cereals that slowly cooked on the coals all night. Sometimes, he only had to look through the curtains of their sleeping alcove to see her standing by Devona’s alcove. The sadness on her face sent a pang through him. Did it gnaw at her, that her sister had found love with a man who would stay until death, while Casida was bound to a man who would let her ride away? Ansgar wanted to ask her to stay, to bring the Kreefa down from the north, but he refused to beg. Each time he woke alone, he tried to ignore the spark of anger that seemed a little larger, a little hotter, each night.

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Chapter Nine

Casida thought she walked along the stream by the Kreefa village. She walked hand-inhand with Ansgar. At any moment, he would pick her up, carry her across the stream into the woods, and they would spend the warm, drowsy afternoon in pleasure. The village and stream and Ansgar vanished and darkness closed in thick and cold around her. Casida choked on nausea when she realized it was all a dream. Devona had told her that when the Otherworld drew her in, it was wisest to submit. Fighting would only prolong the unpleasant experience. Casida tried to be still and let come what may. The blackness shredded, like claws had slashed it. She let herself be drawn into a chill gray light, with a sickly green luminosity that made her think of caves. She heard breathing, shallow and labored. Casida turned or was turned. “Huon?” The man held to the pulsing black wall with chains of black mist never reacted. Casida tried to call again, putting all her breath and energy into the effort. She knew her vanished mate hung before her. His hair lay in tangles of gold and brown over his shoulders. The smooth curves of muscle had wasted away from his chest and arms. His full, strong mouth looked bruised and swollen. His deep brown eyes, once sparkling with life and humor, now looked flat and lifeless. He stared at a point in the air by her knees. “Huon!” She had to get him to hear her, see her. Casida knew this dream was proof he lived. The lightness that filled her shocked her. How could she be so happy he was alive, when she loved Ansgar? How could she ask Huon to help raise another man's child? Her sense of justice said she should hate Huon for adding one more complication to her life – but she could only feel joy at seeing his face. That joy

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gave her strength. “Huon!” she screamed, making her head throb. She lunged forward, fighting the sensation that she moved through clay. She managed to put out a hand and touch Huon's shoulder. He jerked, lifting his head. Casida whimpered, feeling ice trail up her arm and down into her gut from touching his flesh. Huon stared at her. He had been pale before, but now color drained from his face and left him whiter than bleached bones. His mouth worked. He spoke her name, but she heard nothing. His cracked, bruised lips moved. Was that a smile? She couldn't tell through the shaggy tangles of his hair. Huon yanked on his chains, trying to reach for her. A mist chain came loose and swung at her. Casida tried to duck, but the air was thicker than mud and slowed her. The end of the long arm of mist slapped her face and she went tumbling backwards. Casida woke in a tangle of blankets. Ansgar jerked awake and wrapped his arms tight around her. She didn't cry, though she shuddered and clutched at him for warmth. Was it only the warped imagination of a breeding woman? Or had it been real, a warning glimpse granted by Verdidan? “I'm tempted to think there's something foul in Fenella's beer,” Ansgar said, when her shivering had slowed. “Or there's some magic in the air. We both had the strangest dreams.” “Dreams?” Casida's voice cracked. “We were at your village.” A snort of laughter escaped him. “I don't know how I knew that. The day was beautiful. Warm and golden and I could smell apples ripening. We walked by the stream. You were barefoot. I saw the trees on the other side of the stream and I wanted to carry you into the shade and kiss you all the rest of the day. Then ….” He frowned. “It got cold and dark and I woke when you cried out.” Casida blinked hard against tears before they grew thick enough to fall. Ansgar had walked in her dream with her. How could she have touched his soul when they had only been married a few moons? Such a unity of mind and heart was only possible after years of sweet partnership. Devona said she and Druce were already one, but Druce was a Druid. Wasn't Ansgar the grandson of the Phantarch? Couldn't magic flow in his blood?

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Casida let herself glory in a few heartbeats of hope. If Ansgar had magic in his blood, it would protect their child. She would not face the Halfling curse when her first Fever came. Still, nothing had changed, had it? Ansgar would stay here and Casida would go north and they would never be together. “Kiss me for the rest of the night?” she whispered. “Make me think it's summer?” “My Queen.”

Ansgar chuckled and slid his arms around her.

“Such strenuous,

unreasonable demands you make on your poor, lowly servant. But I shall certainly do all I can to please you.” He stretched out on top of her, sending that sweet flare of warmth through her belly. Casida smiled, parting her lips for his kiss, and closed her eyes before the tears returned. * * * * * “Casida?” Druce's voice cut through her dreams. She woke dizzy, as if she had inhaled too much smoke. Her head ached and she clutched at twisted images from her dreams. Huon had returned to her dreams, destroying the sweet warmth from Ansgar’s loving. Huon begged her to come with him. He bled. He dissolved into a puddle of black corruption. He tried to pull her down into a dark, cold place that reeked of death. Ansgar pulled her from Huon's arms, then attacked her with the silver blade, striking at her child-swollen belly. “Casida?” Druce called again. “Come.” She shoved back her sleeping furs and swung her legs over the side of the bed. “Careful, love,” Ansgar said, his voice heavy with sleep. He yanked the blanket up to her neck, then rolled out of their bed and reached for her dress. He pulled on his breeks while she tugged her dress on, then stepped over to the curtain. “It's Devona,” Druce said, when he was only halfway through the curtain. “Nightmares.” Casida flew past him and Druce followed. Ansgar stayed behind and she was grateful because Devona huddled naked in her bed. Tears streaked her face and her eyes were swollen. “It's Daman,” Devona whispered. “He's coming for me.” “Nonsense. The evil dead can't harm us.” “No.” A harsh sound wracked her body. She twisted free of Casida's embrace, half-falling off the bed before Druce caught her. “He's furious. He'll kill me for giving myself to Druce. He's gone mad. It's a dark, cold place, full of pain, and he thinks he rules. It drives him mad. All he

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wants is to kill, to drink innocent blood. And he wants me. But he can't have me.” “Devona!” Casida shook her sister until her head wobbled on her neck. “They are either dead or prisoners. Daman would not leave his brother to suffer and rot, and Huon would not ally with evil magic. Daman is not free to torment you.” “He is evil. Purely evil, but handsome as the gods our ancestors refused to worship.” Devona shrank in on herself, deflating like a wineskin with its plug removed. “For the love of our people, flee. Thunderclouds wait to spill the vengeance of innocent blood, and floods will destroy all, before anyone can cry out for mercy. Defy the pain, grab hold of what your heart longs for and flee!” Druce wrapped his arms around Devona and lifted her onto his lap. “Sshhh, little love. It is but a dream.” “No,” she moaned. “Dreams are gifts from Verdidan, you told me. Warnings. Glimpses of the future that might be, so that we may change it. Why should we be warned if we cannot change it?” Casida wondered when Druce had grown from a gawky, eager, love-stunned youth into such a wise man. Before her eyes, Devona calmed and her color improved. She scolded herself for ignoring her sister's nakedness, and gathered up a bed fur to cover her. “Casida.” Devona rested her head on her husband's shoulder. “Heed me. Tell no one of your child. Druce, swear on our love, you will guard Casida and her baby.” “With my life and soul,” he whispered, and raised her hand to press a kiss against back and palm in pledge. “The enemy will try to weave his magic into your blood and enslave your child. Your son will be his slave, the vessel of illness that will spread through the world. Your daughter, his tool to control all. Silence will protect you and the treasure in your womb, until it is too late to lay claim.” Devona sighed, and a single tear trickled down, sparkling among the previous tears. “Sleep,” Casida whispered, and reached to stroke her sister's hair back from her damp, slightly fevered face. “Sleep is forever.” She opened her milky eyes and stared over her sister's shoulder. “Seers are never shown their deaths, because that is one future we are forbidden to change.” “Devona!” Casida's voice cracked.

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“I will not see your daughter born.” “You will. I will send you north, with the others. This entire land is poison, and you will be safe once you leave it.” “Perhaps. Daman didn't torment me until I came here. Druce, my only love, please don't grieve when I'm gone.” “You will not leave me. I won't let you leave me,” Druce vowed. He buried his face in her tangled, pale hair. * * * * * Two nights later, when arrangements had been made to send Devona and Druce north to the Kreefa village, Casida rode across a flat, desolate landscape in her dreams. Her white horse rode a narrow trail marked with golden light. Black streamers writhed at the edges, smoking when they pressed against the golden heat. Devona screamed. A black wolf laughed and emerged from the darkness. Black streaks slithered in his wake. Casida yanked herself awake and sat up, choking on a cry. She sat still, listening to the darkness, begging the night to stay quiet. Ansgar lay still beside her, undisturbed by her movements. She was both grateful and irritated. A flicker of Devona’s terror lingered at the edges of her mind. Stifling a curse, Casida slid out of bed and reached for her thin woolen smock. She didn’t feel the burn of the cold floor on her bare feet. Devona stepped out between the curtains of her alcove before Casida was halfway across the narrow hall. The sisters held hands and hurried to the door. There was no need to speak. * * * * * Something was wrong. Ansgar felt it in his gut, in the prickling of awareness down his back. Uneasiness stirred through the house, the land, the air. He rolled over, reaching for Casida. Gone. Would he find her raiding the cereal pot in Fenella's cooking hut again? Ansgar reached for his clothes. Tonight, he would confront Casida. Why she should be hungry in the middle of the night, he had no idea. She wasn't sickening, or she wouldn't remain eager and willing whenever he kissed her. He cursed the chill and tugged his icy boots onto his bare feet. Ansgar hesitated, then

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picked up his belt knife. It was ridiculous to arm himself inside Fenella's house. Still, he felt naked without some weapon, so late at night, with the entire world as still as death. He found Casida, dressed only in her wool smock, barefoot on the icy ground. She held her arms out as if embracing the world and tilted her head back, watching the sky. Ansgar studied the sky, the soft glow that grew stronger – then the clouds shifted, letting the moon shine through. In its light, Ansgar saw Devona standing a short distance away, also watching the moon with her blind eyes. Devona had likely had another bad dream and Casida had probably left him to comfort her sister. They went outside so Casida could prove to Devona that they were safe. Ansgar grinned in anticipation of warming Casida when she returned to their bed. He knew he was a fool to worry needlessly, and turned to leave. Ansgar heard something that didn't belong. Casida growled, sounding uncomfortably like a wolf. Then she shouted in her foreign tongue. Shadows moved along the outer wall, caught in the moonlight between the bare branches of the trees beyond. Ansgar thought of ravens, living through the winter on offal and the frozen dead. He drew his knife. Men climbed over the walls. One ran for the gate while the others streaked through the moonlight, straight for Casida. Bare feet on frozen ground, the chill wind tugging at her hair and her thin, short gown, she raised her hands and shouted at them – and they stopped. A wolf howled behind Ansgar, near the house. Another answered, slightly to his left, still behind him. A third called outside the wall, as the last shreds of clouds slid away from in front of the nearly full moon. The gates creaked open, and dark, four-legged shapes raced through the opening. Wolves howled behind him. He raced to put himself between them and Casida. Her voice still ringing off the ice-crusted walls and hard ground, Casida howled and raced forward. Ansgar roared in anger and impotent terror for her. The sound caught in his throat as her clothes vanished and she melted into something lean and sleek and furred. She glowed like burning blood, a hurtling shape that hit the first oncoming wolf with the force of a falling tree.

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The beast shrieked. Ansgar heard bones snap. The cry of pain stopped, shattered, and two shapes – one red and one dirty brown – tumbled across the hard ground. Casida-wolf vaulted high and came down hard on her opponent. A black wolf leaped at Ansgar, jaws dripping, eyes red with madness. He cursed himself for a fool and dropped to a crouch as he raised his knife. One bite from those jaws, and he would be a slavering, maddened beast at the next full moon. A second black wolf flew over Ansgar from behind and hit the first almost directly above his head. He barely had the sense to lower his arm, to avoid slashing his rescuer. Ansgar rolled aside and jumped to his feet. What kind of fool stood and stared with his mouth hanging open while demons raged around him? Wolves battled, one on one. Only nine shapes had appeared, over the walls and through the gates. Each one was accounted for, and other wolves paced circles around the combatants. They ignored Ansgar and he felt suddenly small and insignificant. He turned to look for Casida-wolf. She rolled off her opponent and back to her feet, staggering for a moment. The creature writhed, smearing steaming blood across the ground. Limbs warped and hair vanished, and a brown-haired man gurgled and drowned in the blood gushing from his torn throat. Casida howled and raced directly toward Ansgar. He dropped into a crouch, ready to defend himself. Against Casida? Why would she try to kill him? A heavy form knocked him off his feet from behind. Ansgar's head slammed into the ground. He felt the skin of his forehead split open. Pure terror got him to his feet, blinking blood out of his eyes, waving his knife before him as a shield. Casida battled a brown wolf. She snarled, dove in to claw and bite, and darted away in a beautiful, deadly dance. Ansgar put his back to a tree for protection. He wiped blood from his eyes, and it finally penetrated his aching, spinning head that Casida hadn't jumped to attack him, but to defend. Ansgar knew he was an idiot for refusing to see the evidence that had been right under his nose for moons. The stripe of fur, her uncanny sensitivity to sounds and smells, her deadly skill in hunting. Perhaps even her lusty appetite in bed was tied to the wolf that had emerged in the light

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of the moon. The black wolf to his right tore open the throat of a gray wolf, then knocked it off its feet with enough impact to break its back. It melted into a man who cried out, all his limbs shuddering. The black wolf leaped on him and tore out his throat. Then, with the man’s life spilling out to steam on the frozen ground, the black wolf reared up on its hind legs and became Briant, clothed only in breeks. “Fire!” His voice still held a wolf's snarl. Ansgar turned and saw flames dancing against the sky on the other side of Fenella's household. He ran, recalling where the well lay in the yard, the buckets, and how many people were in the household. Dead bodies lay scattered across the yard, and he saw more wolves locked in battle. How many man-wolves did their enemy control? The granary and stables were on fire. Fenella's old cook lay sprawled face down in the blood-streaked, frozen, rut-filled yard. A bucket still trickled its contents across the dirt where it had fallen from her hand. Ansgar grabbed it up and turned back to the well. He kept his knife out, ready for an attack. He scooped up a bucketful from the well, then dredged up more, filling all the containers within reach. Servants and the Druids who had come to report the evening before joined him as the wolf battle slowed. They sloshed water on the burning walls and climbed up to hack loose chunks of burning thatch and toss it down to the ground. Devona screamed. Ansgar ran, terror choking him. * *

*

*

*

Devona shrieked, the sound drawn out as if yanked from her soul. Casida snarled and slashed with her forepaws at the gray wolf that tried to keep her from running to her sister. She didn’t know this Kreefa, and that frightened her. How many Rebels and Lost Ones served the enemy magician? She had lost count of the Kreefa that lay dead in the yard, members of her Hunt as well as the enemy. It couldn’t go on forever, could it? She lunged, catching her enemy’s throat in her jaws. Again Devona screamed. Casida heard the sobs of the frightened little girl her sister had been, too young to understand the visions that had come to guide their tribe. Fury gave her strength. She ran, blood streaming from her

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mouth, while her enemy writhed and his blood gushed out on the frozen ground behind her. Casida returned to the open yard in front of the stairs leading up to the Great Hall. The battle had moved elsewhere, except for two spots of activity. Briant-wolf rolled on the hard, icy ground with a brown wolf, snarling, his claws raking at the stranger-wolf's sides and belly, his jaws clamped around its throat. Druce staggered through the open doorway of Fenella’s hall, out into the moonlight. Devona lay bloody and limp in his arms. Casida howled, shifted to Human and darted forward. A black shape leaped out through the doorway and knocked Druce off his feet. The world staggered as Casida stared at the wolf. She recognized his blue-black fur and the cropped ear, torn in a hunting accident in his youth. Fangs gleamed with blood. The wolf's tongue lolled out in silent canine laughter as it took one step toward Devona. Druce lunged upward from his knees and landed on the wolf's back. It snarled and twisted sideways, shaking the young man off as if he were a leaf. “Daman!” Casida roared. She stalked toward him. “Leave her be!” She gathered all her strength, all the power of her will, to batter the Kreefa warrior she had believed – prayed – was dead. Casida's crest fur shivered in warning. She sensed movement behind her. “Down!” Ansgar shouted. A spear passed by her face, so close it caught a few strands of her hair. The butt end stroked her shoulder and the contact was enough to knock it off course. The spear thudded into the doorframe and Daman-wolf fled into the blackness. But not before he raked his claws along Devona's face and dug into her side. She screamed. Pain and the smell of fresh blood exploded through the darkening air. Casida howled and covered the distance in three great leaps. The smell of Devona's agony, her terror, filled the air until she wanted to shriek and heave out everything inside her. Druce reached Devona first and gathered her into his arms. When Casida touched his shoulder, the young Druid lifted a tear-streaked, bruised and bloody face to her. “Little dove?” Casida's voice cracked. Her hands trembled as she reached to brush bloody hair back from Devona's pale face.

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Blood clotted her golden hair and greased her pale, slim body. Too much blood. When Druce shifted her in his arms, so Casida could see her, more blood gushed from her wounds. Deep gouges marred Devona's long, pale throat. Daman hadn't managed to bite her throat out, but he had punctured the life vein, shredding it beyond all hope of stanching the bleeding. Casida saw that with her first glance. She refused to accept it, even as common sense said Devona was already lost to them. Wailing, she tugged her sister from Druce's arms and cuddled her close. Devona felt no bigger than she had been at age five, when she shivered from nightmares and crawled into Casida's blankets with her. The wails turned to howls when Casida felt the fluttering of Devona's heart slow. She closed her eyes and released her fury to the skies. At the edge of her mind, she felt the touch of Briant's soul, responding to her grief as it carried across the land. The fury and grief rolled out of him to merge with hers. They soared over the landscape like war eagles. There, two more members of the Hunt felt and heard her cry in their souls, and she caught them up in her anger and loss. Then another, and others, until all the members of the Hunt echoed the shattering in her heart. They added their pain to hers, like oil poured on a flame, and cried out their grief. The echo slammed back into Casida's aching soul and body, making her feel hollow and sore inside. Her rising howl of grief stopped short, the breath knocked from her lungs. She crumpled over Devona's still body, feeling the last bit of breath slowly fly from her lungs. Weeping silently, Casida kissed the still-warm brow. She tasted Devona's blood, felt it sticky and cooling on her own skin. “I killed Nyle,” Briant said. How long he had been standing there, watching in silence, Casida had no idea. “Why would Nyle help Daman kill Devona?” “Evil magic.” She brushed sticky fingers across Devona's pale, still face. “Daman kept the Hunt from returning, man-wolves roam Britannia, and an old friend has died as a murderer.” “If Daman could turn Nyle evil, what of Huon?” “Do you even know what evil is?” Ansgar snarled, startling them. His bitter scent carried pain as well as fury, both so strong Casida’s stomach tried to turn inside out. * * * * * Most of the dead were strangers, Ansgar was relieved to note. Of the twenty members of

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Casida’s Hunt who had been at Fenella’s hall that night, eight had died defending Druids and servants. Somehow, he had a hard time wrapping his mind around the concept. Casida had told him that her people had powers, gifts from Verdidan, and they were dedicated to finding and destroying the man-wolves. She told him the man-wolves were a result of magic taken from her own people and warped. Why had he never seen through her vague words to the truth? Why was it so hard to accept now, when he had seen her shift her form as easily as another woman would slip into a dress? He thought of Casida, writhing under him, crying out in pleasure, and he felt ready to spew. He had mated with a beast, a creature of evil magic. An abomination. He thought of Casida’s loving touch, her sweet smile, her laughter when they played their love games and she pretended that he overpowered her, and he wanted to wring her neck. She had lied to him, held back the truth of what she was. He thought of the shadows in Casida’s eyes when she thought he wasn’t watching. The sadness that sometimes came after they had exhausted themselves with lovemaking, and he wanted to enfold her in his arms and tell her it was all a bad dream. He remembered the agony on her face as she held her murdered sister, and he ached for her. He thought of the Druids and Fenella’s servants who were alive because Casida’s people had died to protect them. How could he be grateful to these abominations? Many were wounded. Were they safe from becoming man-wolves because it wasn’t quite the full moon? Yet what did any of them really know of the foul magic at work? Casida worked with Druce to bandage the wounds of her people and Fenella’s servants, in the Great Hall. She was pale, her eyes huge and shadowed. Her grief radiated through the air, sending an ache through him, but she worked instead of sitting in a corner and wailing. He had to admire her for that. The Kreefa had suffered tonight. Their suffering had proven they were indeed allies with the Britons in destroying the man-wolves – but they had lied, all these long moons. Would you have let them ride through Britannia if you had known the truth? Ansgar wished he could quiet the voice of reason, but he was too tired in mind and body. If he had known, he

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would have used the silver blade on every one of them, every chance that he had. He thought of making love to Casida, exhausting her with a night of passion. He imagined watching her sleep, with that beautiful smile that made him ache with pure joy, and then sliding the silver blade into her heart. It made him want to spew. Briant approached Casida as she cleaned up after tending the last wounded man. Ansgar looked at the black-haired young man and saw the wolf that had leaped to defend him. He had to remember that -- Casida and her people had been the defenders. “Hunt Leader?” Casida's flat voice showed no weariness. “Four of Huon’s Hunt. Ten Lost Ones.” “If only we could have captured one, to learn the truth. Where their master has his lair, if they were slaves or willing.” She raked her fingers through her dirty, sweaty hair. “Their trail?” “Destroyed. No scent. Someone knows how to foul Kreefa noses and blind Kreefa eyes.” Briant's mouth pulled up in a fierce, angry smile. His gaze shifted to Ansgar. “You would be Hunt Leader, if you were her mate in truth.” “Briant!” Casida glared at her brother in a battle of wills, until Briant looked away first. “Leave us to talk.” “Where is she?” her brother asked. Casida gestured toward the alcove where Druce and Devona had slept. Ansgar swallowed down another surge of grief. He had to remind himself that Devona had been just as much a creature of magic as her sister and brother. He should pity Druce, who had been deceived, rather than these two. Briant raked Ansgar with one more glance, then stalked to the closed curtains. Ansgar followed Casida to a table tucked into a far corner of the hall, where they could talk in some privacy. He watched her graceful stride and shuddered. He couldn't block out the memory of Casida shifting to wolf and dancing through the battle in savage beauty and power. What power did the Red Queen hold? All the things he had thought he understood, thought he accepted, shattered around him. He thought of Casida writhing under him, her cries of pleasure, her legs wrapped tight around his hips. What would it have taken for her to lose control, to turn to wolf and savage him? “Your head.” Casida reached to touch his arm and he flinched, twisting away from her

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before he could think. “I'm fine.” Ansgar hated the clipped sound of his voice, but he couldn't stop the shudders welling up from deep inside. This was his wife, with dark smears of weariness under her eyes, clad in a short smock, smeared with blood, bruised, shuddering with cold. He should make her sit by the fire and scold her for not taking care of herself. He wanted to throw her down into their bed, assure himself she was unhurt, and then celebrate that they had survived. He wondered if he could ever bear to touch her again.

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Chapter Ten

“You smell sick,” Casida said. “I'm not.” Ansgar sat down on the opposite side of the table from her. “What should we do with the dead?” “Burn them. For all we know, this magician has the power to bring dead bodies back to life.” “Will you burn Devona, too?” “How else can we take her home?” She blinked rapidly, and he realized she fought tears. A lifetime ago, he would have enfolded her in his arms and comforted her, and welcomed her tears against his skin. “So many times,” she whispered, “you almost asked me to stay. Now you can’t wait to see us leave.” “What am I to think?” He slammed his fists down on the table, making her jump. The whiteness of her face made him ache, then anger rushed in on a tidal wave. “You lied to me, Casida. You lied to us all.” “Is it a lie to be silent? Everything I told you and Bram and the Druids was truth. Did you need to know that the Kreefa have two bodies, two natures?” In her low, tight voice, he heard the snarling of a wolf trapped and fighting for its life. Ansgar could only stare, so many angry, pained words trying to break free, he choked on them. Casida waited, her face growing more pale, a stillness flowing out of her that made him wonder if the entire hall would fall silent. Finally, she nodded, got up and walked away from him. He followed her to their sleeping alcove. Casida tugged her smock over her head and

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began washing in the basin of water that had been sitting all night. It was likely icy, but she didn’t seem to notice any more than she noticed Ansgar’s presence. Battle bruises marred her fair skin, on her arms, down her neck, her legs. Ansgar imagined her soft skin covered in red fur, her bones reshaped to the form of a beast that could kill with one bite of her powerful jaws. For the first time, he saw her naked and felt no hunger. Would he ever want her again? “You’re taking Devona home.” His voice cracked, as if he had inhaled smoke. “Are you abandoning your hunt, then?” “We aren’t wanted here.” Casida didn’t even glance over her shoulder at him as she spoke. She continued washing her arms. Her hand shook as she wrung out the cloth. All Ansgar could see was the red stripe of fur down her back. Just last night, he had pressed his face into it and inhaled its musky, clean perfume with unknowing pleasure. “We have a duty to destroy the Changelings, and we must find some other way to do it.” She sat on the edge of the bed box, bent one leg up and scrubbed it. “If only Verdidan would give us a sign that we had done that tonight.” “You can't wait to leave, can you?” “Give me a reason,” she whispered, “why we should stay in a land that will always loathe us.” The dark smears under her eyes had deepened in just a few heartbeats. Something inside Ansgar shuddered and cracked. He wanted to gather her into his arms and tell her to sleep, and he would protect her. He wanted to shake her, to shout that she had lied to him – but had she? After everything Casida had told the Druids about the Kreefa and the Lost Ones, someone should have asked if the Kreefa were man-wolves. No one had ever asked, and she had – wisely – never volunteered the information. Casida's beauty hid a beast that killed with brutal efficiency. From the first night they made love, she had wrapped herself around him with fire and hunger. She had deceived him with her silence. She had let him assume that she was something else entirely. Ansgar stalked out the main doors, into the chill, harsh light of dawn. He inspected the damage to the buildings, planning where to put guards that night, in case the man-wolves attacked again. He ordered the dead bodies be burned, and then avoided the funeral pyres. * * * * *

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Casida insisted on washing Devona's body by herself. She covered the gashes in her throat with the bold, multicolored cloak Druce had given her for a bridal present. She arranged her sister's hair in intricate braids while it was still damp from washing, and turned her head to hide her slashed cheek. How long she sat in silence, Casida had no way to calculate. She barely noticed when Druce joined her and perched on the side of the bed. He became a statue with her, holding Devona's cold hand and looking at her still face with eyes that shimmered wetly but never shed any tears. Neither one slept. No one intruded with food or to urge them to sleep or even bring oil lamps. Casida wondered if Fenella’s entire household had fled, horrified at learning what had sheltered with them. It was good they had been abandoned, she knew. If someone accused them, if she smelled fear or anger – if Ansgar came to confront her –she wouldn’t be able to control herself. All her hurt and rage would break free. She would shift to wolf and kill someone, perhaps many people, until she used up the frenzy of pain hidden just beneath the thin, brittle crust of her numb disbelief. If she lost her baby, it would mean nothing. The disbelief, the anger, the betrayed anguish in Ansgar’s eyes warred with the knife-sharp agony of Devona’s death. Hadn’t she sworn at her sister’s birth to protect her? Hadn’t she been telling Devona for moons now that she had nothing to fear from Daman? Casida wondered if she had been a liar all her life, and only now realized it. They burned Devona's body on a pyre separate from all the others who had died in the battle. Briant taught Druce to sing the soul song, and sang it with him. After the ashes had cooled, Briant and Casida gathered them in two leather bags. In silence, they mounted their horses and rode out through the gates of Fenella’s household. A dark shadow stood in the doorway and Casida refused to hope it was Ansgar. She would return to her village, far in the safety of the north. She would keep her promise made to Bram and the Druids, no matter what they might think of her and the Kreefa when Ansgar told them the truth. She would direct the hunting from afar, through her mental link with Briant. He would be her representative, working in secret. She would give birth to her heir and when Daman and his Rebels had been found and destroyed and Devona avenged, then Casida would take her tribe and her heir and leave Britannia altogether. She would ride beyond the reach of Rome’s ever-expanding empire. Maybe she

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would be the Red Queen who would find Mother Dawn’s lost island kingdom. Casida led her people through the night, refusing to stop until they were far from anyone who might have heard what happened. She stared hard at the moon. She wondered if Ansgar watched the moon and missed her. Or did he shudder, disgusted by what they had shared? She almost wished the Changelings and Rebels would attack them on their journey north, so she could burn up the aching inside her before it turned into poison. * * * * * There were too many Romans about on the roads. Ansgar ground his teeth in frustration every time he had to get off the road to avoid being seen, and perhaps stopped and questioned. After Fenella’s warning, anyone traveling on Druid business tried to avoid all notice of Romans. He had to move quickly, to make sure the truth reached his grandfather’s ears. Had the Romans heard about the man-wolves, finally? Did they try to attend to the problem in their own way, marching steadily onward, grinding everything under their feet? Or did the Romans think the tales of madness at the full moon were merely cryptic talk in preparation for a rebellion? The tribes of Britannia would never drive the Romans off their land until they united under one voice, one banner, and learned the battle tactics of their overlords. The tribes would never unite as they were now, loyal to many kings rather than to the land as a whole. They would indulge in their battle frenzies and scream and throw themselves against the Romans. They would slaughter hundreds under the sheer force and weight of their first charge. Then the Romans' steady plodding and unified face would blunt the edge, speed and weight of their charge, like waves crashing against the white chalk cliffs. The only way to survive was to learn to play by Roman rules, to outwit them – to be more Roman than the Romans. And to wait. To be as steady and patient as the oak trees on Mona, to dig in deep to the soil, and wait until the power of the Roman government faltered and crumbled. That was all well and good for Britannia as the centuries passed – how could the Iceni weather the storm of Prasutagus' passing? Ansgar tried to concentrate on those concerns to push Casida and her deception from his mind. He couldn’t evict her from his heart. He woke from dreams of her, pressed warm and soft and fragrant against him, and reached for her before he remembered she was no longer there. A

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dozen times a day, he turned to tell her something. And he remembered. How could he have seen all the signs, heard all she told Bram and the Inner Circle, and not known what she was? Had the Druids known the truth, and chose not to tell him? How could they all have been so blind? He asked himself that every time he thought he could drive his knife through Casida's heart in fury. Each time, his anger became the chill of tears filling his heart. * * * * * The ride home to the Kreefa village passed in a blur of misery and second-guessing. The Hunt left Casida alone and she was grateful. She filled her mind with plans to handle the hunt for the man-wolves. Still, Ansgar haunted her at night. If she didn’t dream of him slashing at her with the silver blade, she dreamed of him chasing her through a landscape wreathed in black mist, weeping, begging her to come back to him. When she didn’t dream of Ansgar, she dreamed of Huon, staring at her, pleading silently from his prison in the darkness. The rock where he was chained slowly encased his arms and legs. She wondered how long she could dream of him before the rock suffocated him entirely. Hoel refused to believe that Daman was alive and serving evil, but Briant and others had seen the black wolf and his torn ear and verified Casida’s tale. The older man constantly smelled of anger when Casida went near him, so she avoided him. She wondered sometimes why she or her father had ever trusted him. What had happened to the wise counselor, the careful thinker, the leader of a band of forty Lost Ones who had seen the wisdom of allying with the Red Queen’s people? The first moon after returning to their village kept Casida busy. They scattered Devona’s ashes in the forest where she had loved to wander and dream. Casida sent messengers to the traveling merchants and those who hunted for Lost Ones, warning them that the tribe would leave Britannia. They had friends among the Bedouin tribes of the sandy wastes, because of their horse breeding, and Casida decided the tribe would go there for a decade or two. She sent most of the Elders there to prepare the way. Hoel didn’t want to go. His scent held so many mixed, unpleasant emotions, Casida couldn’t untangle them all. That more than the child growing in her belly made her ill. In the end, she prevailed and Hoel went with the Elders. Spring crept grudgingly toward them and Casida knew she couldn’t delay any longer. With the coming of gentler weather, the man-wolves would be more active and people would be

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more prone to wander after dark, tending to animals and affairs of the heart. Despite her own wounded heart, she knew it was the duty of the Kreefa to settle the matter. So she sent Briant with their twin cousins, Cynyr and Cullen, and Druce, to spy out the situation, make contact with the Druids, and plan what to do now. Then, she had nothing to do but wait and pray and think about the child inside her. Casida wondered if something was wrong with her. Three moons gone with child, her belly grew firm but didn’t show her condition – and she worried about it. The longer she had to wait until her people knew her foolishness, the happier she would be. Why worry that she didn't look pregnant? She should have been relieved that she didn’t show. If she had still been riding with Ansgar, she would have been delirious with relief. He would have demanded that she become his wife permanently, if he knew about the child. She dreamed that he came after her, raging, spewing hatred for her as a monster, a beast of evil magic – or a faithless slut who abandoned her marriage vows, however temporary they were, and stole his child from him. It didn't matter that Ansgar had turned his back on her, that he loathed her, that he would likely try to kill her the next time he saw her. Casida knew how Human males thought. Women were property, and when there was trouble in a marriage, the woman was always at fault. When her dreams changed with the warming of the weather and she dreamed of Daman prowling on the edges of her thoughts, Casida was almost relieved. Better an enemy whom she knew was death and hatred, than the enemy who made her melt and weep for hunger and loneliness. One night, the dream shifted to darkness that pressed on her as if she were buried alive. She heard the rushing and roaring of waters that screamed for release. Malevolent magic held back the waters from their natural course and flow. The force of the water, the weight, the lifegiving power had been held back so long, when the waters broke free they would destroy everything in their path. Casida woke to the scent of damp stone in the air. She lay still for a long time, staring into the darkness of her lonely hut, and imagined she was back in Bricriu’s stronghold. She felt the waters rumbling in the bedrock below the stronghold. “Reason enough to stay away from Semer forever,” she whispered. If she had her way, she would never go south past Hadrian’s Wall, ever again.

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She had become pregnant on Semer land. Despite the failure of the Hunt to find Huon’s prison cave, Casida was sure somehow Semer was tied into Daman and the man-wolves and the magician. Semer was danger, despite harmless, silly Bricriu and the richness of the hidden valleys. Perhaps these dreams were portents, and her precious child, her heir, was tied to the darkness. As a Halfling, would her daughter be a danger, or did all the darkness and malevolence that threatened Britannia focus on her child? Casida curled up in her bed furs and clenched her eyes closed against tears. She wanted Ansgar to hold her, to stroke her hair and twine his legs with hers and soothe her fears. But he wasn't there. He would never be there again. He loathed her. If he knew she carried his Halfling child, he would attack her with the silver blade. * * * * * Briant returned shortly before equinox, leaving Druce with the Druids, and the twins to continue spying. Casida nearly wept with relief when she caught her brother’s scent in the first warming breeze of spring. She was washing clothes in the stream on the far side of the village from the horse pens and meadow, and lifted her voice in a howl to call him to her. Briant laughed and howled back, warbling in the pattern they had used since childhood. Casida slopped her wet clothes into her basket and got up to go meet him. “Sister?” Briant stopped short at the top of the slope leading down to the stream. The damp wind yanked on Casida’s dress, turning it in three different directions. His eyes widened and he frowned, staring at her. “What's wrong?” Casida put down the basket and reached for her brother. “I should ask you.” He hurried the last few steps to meet her, hooked his arm through hers, and led her back to the rocks. He glanced over his shoulder, ensuring no one followed them or was close enough to hear. “Briant?” “Are you breeding?” he growled beneath his breath. Casida stumbled. Briant wrapped his arm around her waist and set her hard onto the nearest rock tall enough for a seat. “You're getting fat, little sister. Maybe those who have seen you daily don’t notice, but I do.” Briant stood back. “Bricriu fosters tales that you consider him as your next husband, and

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you will bring the Kreefa to Semer. Does he have reason to think this?” “He said several times he had the best pasture for our horses, and he would make a better husband … but he’s Ansgar’s friend. Ansgar was there when he said it. He was joking!” Casida shuddered, thinking of Ansgar’s reaction to those rumors. Why should she care? He didn’t love her. He would be hurt. “Please don't tell me the baby is Bricriu's. You have too much sense for that, even if you did drive Ansgar away.” “I didn't drive him away!” Casida dug her fingertips into the rock to keep from launching herself at her brother, teeth bared and claws sliding out at her fingertips. She took a deep breath, fighting the tears that seemed to want to emerge every other moment. “I thought you hated Ansgar.” “I … I'm angry at him for hurting you. I don't hate him.” He let out a long breath and settled down on the rock next to her. “If he were Kreefa, he would be the perfect mate for you.” “If he were Kreefa, he would be here. He wouldn’t try to seduce me into staying, when Britannia is dangerous for us.” “Oh. So that's the problem, is it? Not because we wear fur and even though half the Druids knew, he couldn’t see what was right underneath his … nose.” Briant smirked at her. Casida gasped, half-sob and half-laughter. “You love Ansgar, don't you?” He groaned and dropped to his knees in front of her as she burst into tears. He gathered her into his arms and pulled her down onto his lap, as he had done since they were children when she needed comforting. “I dream of him, when I don't dream of Huon. Hating me. Wanting me and disgusted by me. Sometimes he attacks me with that wretched silver blade. Other times he calls to me and when I refuse to answer … he slices his own throat.” She tried to catch her breath and halt the embarrassing torrent of words. “I know when I have visionary dreams … and sometimes Ansgar is in them. As if we share our dreams. But that can't be possible. Can it?” “Two souls joined as one,” Briant murmured. He yanked on the corner of his cloak and mopped at her face. “It's the dream of all Kreefa. It's what our parents had. But how?” “Devona said the blood kiss was the key. She and Druce became one, the day they married.”

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“The blood in their marriage cup. A bond forms when a man spills his mate’s virgin blood.” Casida gasped. The night of Devona’s marriage came clearly to her mind, the scent of Ansgar’s hunger for her, the stirring in her belly, the heat that went beyond anything she had ever felt in the Fever. And the warm, salty taste of his blood as they pledged their friendship. “We made a blood vow … and then suddenly I was in his thoughts, feeling what he felt. Only for a heartbeat or two, but it fired my hunger for him beyond control. If we are one, bound together … Briant, what am I to do?” “Tell him about his child, before the entire world knows and he thinks the wrong thing.” “What wrong thing? I have never been alone with Bricriu. Even if I went to him after Ansgar turned from me … no one would believe it. Even if Bricriu swore it.” “How long has it been since your mate left you?” “My mate.” She tasted the word, and it wasn't as bitter as it had been. “What am I to do?” “Face him. Knowing he gave you a child might convince him we aren’t monsters. Perhaps by now Bram has talked sense to him.” “Face him. Easier to advise than to do. And yet … my dreams say we must go back. To learn the truth of Huon and Daman. My dreams say Semer is part of it. No one has had the dreams but me. I’m afraid I must lead the Hunt in this.” “It’s too soon for that drastic step. Send more of the Hunt back with me. They are invisible – the Red Queen is not.” He managed a crooked smile, and tugged on her brilliant curls. “With your power as the Red Queen you can call the Hunt with your soul and direct them from a distance. If you will not tell Ansgar of his child, then make sure no one else knows, either. If you must come south again, wait until the baby is born and leave him with a wet nurse.” “Her. Devona said Ansgar would give me my heir.” “Your heir.” Briant smiled as he set her back on the rock and stayed kneeling at her feet. “I'm glad I'm the first to know, little sister. But your mate should have known before me.” “I know. He might learn the truth, if I have to go back. I don’t know what to do!” “Even the Red Queen isn't free from the soul maladies that plague breeding women.” Her brother smiled as he said it. She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. “Whoever our enemy is, I sense him

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growing stronger, hidden and laughing at us. In the black clouds that surround Semer,” she whispered. “The what?” “I dreamed of a storm waiting to break, to deluge the valleys and strip away the riches. Huon is trapped in the place where the storm waits.” She stood up abruptly. “Maybe I'm only maundering.” “Maybe.” He stood and wrapped his arm around her waist. “Consider this, Sister. If you find Huon still alive, you must decide who is truly your mate. The man our Father and the Elders chose to help you lead us, or the man bound to your soul, who gave you your heir.” “Perhaps it will all end in disaster and I won’t have to decide,” she murmured, then burst into tears in Briant’s arms. While she wept and fought for breath, Casida wished Ansgar held her, instead. * * * * * Bram had scolded Ansgar for leaving his wife without settling matters between them. His grandfather likely knew far more than he told, but the exasperating old man chose to hint and prod and finally send him out to continue hunting signs of the man-wolves and their lair. He never asked outright, never said what Ansgar should do or shouldn't have done. He passed no judgment on who was right or wrong, and that irked Ansgar. He suspected he had done wrong, but he tried not to think about it. Listing his grievances against Casida kept him warm at night – because she wasn't there to keep him warm. Ansgar rode through the late winter rains that gave cold promise of coming spring, and welcomed the isolation. The chill wind penetrated straight to his chest, digging him hollow, as sharp as the aching certainty Casida had abandoned him and her vows to help Britannia against the man-wolves. Despite the fury he still felt at her deception, he couldn't imagine Casida negating her vows of honor to help the Britons. So why, his seething, wounded heart asked, did he find it so easy to imagine she would abandon her vows to him? “Because, you drooling fool, you abandoned her,” he snarled. His horse's ears twitched, but that was the only response he got from the icy day.

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He had faced down Bricriu weeks ago, the first time he heard the rumors that Casida had promised to return and be Semer’s lady. Bricriu had cowered before Ansgar’s rage. He hadn’t had the wit to deny that he wanted Casida or to stop before telling Ansgar what a fool he had been to let Casida go. Even knowing Casida would never give herself to Bricriu, Ansgar ached at the thought. He vowed that she was still his wife, for a year and a day. He refused to make it easy for her to break free of him. He would make her come to him, begging for her freedom. He would humble her and rub her face in the filth of her crimes against him. He would make her beg his forgiveness and beg him to take her back. Despite everything, he still wanted her. Still needed her. Still ached for her when he reached for her in his sleep and woke up with empty arms. His weary imagination attacked him through the night. Casida, clothed only in her flaming hair, writhed under Bricriu. Shrieked his name in her moment of release. He hunted for Casida and her people when he hunted the man-wolves. Everything indicated that they had indeed left Britannia. Then Druce met Ansgar on the road, halfway between Mona and the Iceni. The young Druid had aged in the moons since Devona’s death. Ansgar almost didn’t recognize him. His heart leaped painfully in his chest when he realized that Druce’s reappearance meant Casida had returned. Ansgar dug his heels into his horse’s sides and hurried to reach Druce. “No sign of the magician?” Druce said, before Ansgar could greet him. “The Hunt has returned. The Red Queen keeps her promise, even if others don’t.” He fixed Ansgar with a stern look worthy of Bram. “Casida says to tell you that she honors her promise, and her best warriors will remain in Britannia until the magician and his creatures are found and destroyed.” “What about her promise to me?” Ansgar snapped. “You made it clear you hate her. She left for fear of her life.” A snort escaped Druce when Ansgar couldn’t refute that. Ansgar felt as if he had been dropped through broken ice into a raging stream. Casida – afraid of him? He would never hurt her. She was too precious to him. Then he thought of all the times he had vowed to destroy every man-wolf that lived. He remembered his angry words and knew the fury that had twisted his features after the battle where Devona died. Only a fool would believe those threats didn’t apply to the Kreefa, and

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Casida had never been a fool. “When are you going back to her?” Ansgar managed to say. “Not for moons. I will work with the Druids who spy, to tell her what they have found. Or haven’t found.” “When you go … I will ride with you.” “To kill her or to reconcile? Casida is my sister now,” Druce hurried to add, when Ansgar inhaled to angrily protest his choice of words. “Devona and I were one person, so I am of the Kreefa now. We defend our queen. There are already many who want you dead because you brought her to tears.” “She cried – for me?” Ansgar knew he looked like an idiot with that smile breaking across his face. “A waste of tears,” the young Druid growled, but laughter put sparks into his eyes. “You’re both idiots. I’ll tell you when I’m ready to return. Be ready to beg her forgiveness on your knees, if you have any wisdom at all.” * * * * * Ansgar rode through the evening, five days after meeting up with Druce, trying to evade the worst of the persistent storms. He thought about his future reunion with Casida and grew agitated enough to saw the bit in his horse's mouth until the beast snorted and tossed its head in rebuke. He should have comforted Casida when she lost Devona. He should have held her in his arms and shared her grief. He wondered if she had paused in Semer on her flight north, and Bricriu had tried to comfort her. Casida was his wife, but only bound to him with fragile ties. Despite the pain he had inflicted on her, that day they parted, she hadn’t renounced her vows. “Can beasts feel pain of the heart?” Ansgar asked the chill winds that buffeted him from all sides. His horse snorted in answer, shaking its head as if it didn't like the dark, creaking forest any better than he did. His mouth burned from those words. Casida was no beast. He knew in his heart, in his soul, that he had held a woman in his arms while he slept. He had made love to a woman. It hadn't been a beast crying out in pleasure under him, or a beast who had laughed and teased with him as they traveled or lay talking late into the night in the privacy of their bed.

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Casida should have known that he hadn't turned away in loathing, but in confusion and fear and a sense of betrayal. Still, what reason did she have to stay? If they had conceived a child, he could claim responsibility as the child's father, to force Casida to listen to him. To give him time to find the words, to understand what he felt and feared. Seasonal marriages became permanent with a child. The thought of Casida carrying his child sent a sword of ice through his gut. He remembered Bram's words, when the Phantarch first sent him to hunt the woman of fire and warned the enemy might use her to birth an abomination to destroy Britannia. No. Ansgar refused to believe Casida's child could be an abomination. Casida was a triumph of good over evil, of the Human soul over the beast. A child of hers would be a gift to the world, a bright sword against the evil forces of darkness. Ansgar smiled into the wind whipping bits of icy wet in his face. He imagined their child. A daughter. She would be beautiful, her mother's mirror image. A fierce warrior. She would laugh at lightning and dance through fires and dare the most killing storms to batter her. What kind of world would a child of his, part wolf, belong in? That thought stole his smile and blinded him to the worsening storm. Would the Kreefa ever be accepted among the Britons, if their dual nature became known? They would be worshipped or feared, but they would never be accepted. He told himself to be glad no child grew in Casida's womb, but the emptiness in the center of him cried out in grief. He had no hold on her, no hope of keeping her with him, without a child. What would it take to claim Casida as his wife, forever? “We would have to make a world of our own,” he told the howling storm. “We would have to go where no one would worship or fear or –” He choked. “Or loathe us. A new world.” Ansgar snorted at his own flight of fancy. The Romans were making a new world in their regulated image. He wanted no part of it, and yet there was nowhere he could go where the Romans didn't reach. Casida's people had roamed all over the world, judging by the stories she had told him in the quiet of the night. There were places where the Romans did not rule, places they hadn't even heard of yet. He could take her there.

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What was he thinking? He couldn't forsake his duties. He certainly couldn't take all the Britons with him. They wouldn't leave. Even the Druids, living under Nero's threat, would not leave. And that meant Ansgar could not leave, either. A branch thudded to the trail in front of him. Ansgar yanked on the reins, making the horse snort and toss its head. With the rain driving into his eyes, he could hardly see ten paces in front of the horse's nose. Shaking his head, Ansgar nudged his horse to keep moving. His face ached from the cold and from clenching his jaw in concentration. He wiped icy wet from his face with a cold, aching hand. Ansgar bent nearly double at an enormous weight that slammed into his back. A sharp edge slashed at his face. He turned, pushed off balance by an enormous limb falling from a tree directly above him. Branches snagged his cloak and yanked him from his saddle.

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Chapter Eleven

His horse screamed and reared. He grappled for the horse's reins too late. Ansgar went head over heels and stretched out his arms to catch himself, to ward off the trees reaching for him. More branches fell. Lightning burst in front of his eyes. Thunder deafened him. The wind battered his face. He landed hard on his back on a tangle of roots. Ansgar gasped, the breath knocked out of him, and new pain shot up his spine and wrapped around his ribs. His horse screamed again and he turned toward the sound. The world spun dizzily and he staggered back against a tree that reached to embrace him. Every movement shot aches through his body. Warmth trickled down his neck, into his shirt. Salty heat dripped into his left eye, blinding him. Ansgar kept his back pressed hard against the tree and used it as his anchor. When the world tried to spin him around, he trusted the solid feel of ground under his feet and the tree at his back. Despite his efforts, his body betrayed him. His knees folded. Blood streamed into his eyes faster than the rain could wash it away. His head swam and the world spun dizzily around him. Ansgar fought the blackness as he sank to his knees. And lost. * * * * * Casida woke, gasping. Outside her hut, a warm spring night rang with the sounds of crickets. Inside her head, she stumbled through a drenched forest that heaved like the waves on the sea. She had been with Ansgar, crumpling before a pain that tried to separate their heads from their shoulders. She pressed her hand to her mouth, biting her knuckles to keep from sobbing aloud. Everyone was too careful of her since her belly started to show and she wanted no one to intrude

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until she had her scent and body, thoughts and heart under control. Casida buried her face in her blanket. The tears came and great, wracking sobs. Ansgar! Hear me, I beg you. Fight this. Fight to live. Live for me. You are my first and only love. My soul. You are my life. My love, do not die. Casida wore herself out with silent begging, reaching with her soul for the flickering spark that was Ansgar. Sleep came like a soft, spring mist, creeping up on her. She slid into slumber, curled up in the tear-dampened bed. In her dream, she reached for Ansgar's hand and he appeared, smiling, and enfolded her in his arms. They floated in the misty gray that was neither nightfall nor daybreak, and she felt the seeping wound deep inside her soul begin to close and heal. Ansgar's arms were warm, strong, and her body tingled where it pressed tight against him. Neither said a word, but they melted into each other's gazes and she knew somehow, a silent promise had been made and sealed between them. Casida woke in the quiet hours before dawn and lay still, listening to the song of the night, drowsing in the comfort of her dream. She rested a hand on the warm mound of the child in her belly, and no bitterness tainted the sweet promise. Casida knew there was no future for her and Ansgar, and yet, she carried a warm spark of hope. Perhaps this feeling only rested in her weariness. Perhaps it only rested in the liberated feeling that came from confessing her heart. She didn't care. She would enjoy the sweetness of the moment, and treat it as if it would last forever. * * * * * Ansgar woke to the blurred silver of the moon shining in his eyes. The wind rattled branches but didn't moan like a ravening beast. His vision slowly cleared. He smelled his own blood, felt it sticky and cold on his face when he lifted a hand to assess the damage. He bled from cuts on the back of his head, and found a swollen knot the size of his fist at the base of his skull. When he unwisely pressed it, flames exploded in a multitude of agonized colors behind his eyes. He groaned, and the sound of his voice sent more sharp stabs through his head. Holding his breath, Ansgar closed his eyes and waited for the echoes to fade. It was hard to think, hard to push his thoughts beyond his bruised body. He had lost more blood with deeper wounds -- he would survive this, no matter how long

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he had lain bleeding in the storm. At least the storm had died down. Ansgar took a deep breath. When that didn't make the ground roll like the sea under him, he moved his arms up under himself, to lever himself off the ground. The effort cost him blinding pain, but he eventually sat upright against a tree. He should have died, he knew. Ansgar rested his head in his hands and closed his eyes, and the throbbing softened. He remembered hearing Casida call him. Her voice had pushed aside the smothering walls of pain that tried to crush him. “Love,” he whispered, and the sound of his voice sent a whipcrack of pain through his head. It couldn't erase the memory – if memory it was. Ansgar was sure Casida had said she loved him. She had begged him to hold on, to fight, to refuse to die. She said she loved him. Ansgar vowed he would hunt down Casida and make her say the words to him. No matter what it cost. The moonlight faded as it dropped to the horizon. Ansgar watched it go until it vanished behind the bare branches of the trees. Something moved in the deeper shadows. Soft clopping sounds kept time with the beating of his heart. Ansgar moved slowly, careful of his head so it didn't break off the stem of his neck. He took a deeper breath. Did he smell horse? He pursed his lips, daring to hope for another gift from the gods. When he whistled, a horse snorted and emerged from the darkness. A wide grin caused some of his deeper cuts to bleed again. His horse had returned. He nearly broke down crying at the wonder of it. Holding out his hand, he waited until the well-trained creature snuffled at his dirty, bloody fingers, then finally came close enough for him to grab hold of the reins. Ansgar pulled himself to his feet with the help of the horse, climbing up its body. He snagged hold of the mane, then the saddle pad. Casida had given him this horse. Ansgar gritted his teeth as he hoisted himself up onto its back, and vowed that he would return to Casida, just as the horse had returned to him. It was a sign, a command from the gods. He would take her back, make her his wife fully and completely and for all time, and make her confess her love for him.

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* * * * * Ansgar stumbled through his delirium and pain, into Boudicca's hall, arriving in the gloomy gray hours of a rainy morning three days later. Bram's face was the first one he saw when he woke, hungry and lucid, warm and clean for the first time in an eternity. Bram smiled wearily at him and patted his hand, as he had done when Ansgar was a young boy and had knocked himself witless in some foolish escapade. His grandfather helped him sit up so he could check the poultice on the back of his head. The herbal wash used on his cuts stank more than they stung, so Ansgar knew those wounds were nearly healed. He smiled, despite the throbbing at the back of his head, when his grandfather finished tending him. “How long have I been here?” “Oh, tomorrow will make a week.” Bram settled back in his chair. His tone of voice indicated the lapse of time meant little, but Ansgar cringed. A week? How much time had he lost? Slowly, feeling as if the words drew blood, Ansgar told his grandfather the entire truth about his separation from Casida and the reason she had gone north and not returned. The old man nodded and murmured but made no comments, other than to ask questions to get more details. “She is a woman of great honor,” Bram said. “Otherwise, we'd be abandoned by now. Weren't you listening, boy, when we talked about the Kreefa? The truth was there, clear to see.” “I heard.” Ansgar sighed and closed his eyes. It wasn't his head that hurt now. “Do you hate her?” “No!” He hissed as the force of his retort slashed his head. “When you're whole again, go get her. Claim her as your wife or all Britannia will suffer. Dark clouds are everywhere. We must stop the man-wolves soon. Portents say catastrophe looms over our land. We can take no chances.” Bram chewed on his bottom lip as he stared off into some distant place. “Here is what you must do, for yourself, Casida, and all of us. Go to Mona. Tell Bowyn to prepare the Sacred Nine for you, and to stand guard over your dreaming. The gods must guide us now.” “Yes, Grandfather.” Ansgar trembled at the thought of taking the potion. He would travel the Otherworld, seeking guidance. Only Druids knew the secret for making the potion so they did

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not die, and few outside the Druids dared drink it. For the safety and salvation of Britannia – and to win back Casida – he would risk it. And more. * * * * * Casida slept better when she sensed Ansgar was out of danger. Still as the days passed, she knew she had to find the place she had dreamed, where Huon and their enemy’s power waited in the darkness. If she was the only one to dream the dreams, then perhaps she was the only one to find the place. But she was afraid. Her belly could still be hidden under flowing shirts and gowns, but for how long? Did she dare risk her child's life, for the sake of her dreams and this blood-debt? * * * * * “I am not easy with this,” Bowyn said. “You're not the one at risk.” Ansgar tried to smile. Casida would know with just one sniff that he was scared spitless. His show of calm good humor wouldn't fool her for a moment. The two walked through the twilight, toward the sheltered meadow where Ansgar would dream -- Druid and warrior, friends, teacher and pupil since Ansgar first came to the island as a boy. “Your head still pains you. Even strong, whole men have died of the Sacred Nine.” “The gods will have mercy because the need is great.” “Perhaps. They are not always merciful. Even wise Druids have misread the signs and made choices that angered the gods, and no explanation has ever been given.” “Maybe no one ever asked the right question.” Ansgar tugged his cloak tighter around himself as they stepped from the trees into the meadow, lush with calf-high grass. Ansgar wondered if he should have addressed his prayers to Verdidan, whom Casida served. He had felt both envy and disbelief when she told him of her merciful, caring god. Right now, he was willing to pledge all to Verdidan if this god above all gods would guide and help him protect Britannia and Casida. Ansgar spread his cloak where he could see the stars unobstructed and sat down on it. Bowyn emptied a skin bottle into a wooden bowl, raised it above his head and chanted an invocation, requesting wisdom, insight and safe passage through the Otherworld. He lowered it

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and held it for Ansgar, until the warrior had drained the bowl of every murky drop. It was bitter in his mouth, stung his tongue until it finally began to numb, and gurgled in his stomach. Ansgar lay down and watched the stars as he waited for the potion to take effect. Bowyn walked around him slowly, his robe swishing softly across the grass as he kept vigil over Ansgar's body. The stars began to spin. Ansgar grinned, wanting to laugh aloud, but found it hard to breathe. The world pressed down on his chest, but it wasn't unpleasant. He watched the stars spin faster, each one twirling on its own axis. They blurred for a heartbeat – then dove at him. Ansgar gasped and tried to raise his arms to shield himself, but he couldn't move. Unidentifiable land rushed past below him, rough with mountains and forests, gashed by stony rivers. He flew over the ground at the height of the treetops. Where was he going? Where had the moon gone? How could he find Casida? Perhaps he wasn't meant to find her, only see what would happen to Britannia? “Casida!” He found the breath to call, though it was an effort. The air had turned to cold wax in his lungs. Light gleamed from the shadow-streaked blackness below him. Ansgar stared at that point of light, and the rushing movement halted. He stood in a bowl scooped from the darkness. The light grew closer, but no brighter. Casida stepped from the light and it vanished. She floated above the darkness. Ansgar tried to catch and embrace her before she passed him. He couldn't move. He couldn't speak. In another moment, she would float away. A cry of anguish tore out of him. It rumbled through the ground and trembled in the air. Casida turned, slowly, her hair dancing around her head as if in water. Her eyes went wide – and then she smiled. She spoke. He knew she said his name, but he heard nothing. Casida reached for him. Their hands met. He felt the smooth, warm strength of her hand. Sparks trailed up his arm. He twined his fingers through hers, determined to hold on forever. He held on even when she vanished, and he still felt the warmth of her hand. Ansgar hung in mid-air above all the valleys and hills of Semer. He saw the stone ruins of some ancient temple, which hid the secret passageway to the caverns below Semer’s stronghold.

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He and Bricriu had explored there many times as foolish boys, braving the icy chill of the underground river. Thunderheads rumbled and rolled across the rich, green landscape. Black walls of shimmering mist held back a storm. The rumbling of the waiting deluge changed cadence and became the merciless tread of a Roman army on the march. Ansgar watched the landscape turn beneath him. He stood in the middle of a Roman-built road, and a legion marched past him. Blood welled up from the ground with every step the soldiers took. The Great Hall of Boudicca's house emerged from the black ground like a stalk of wheat. It shone golden, quivering with light and life. The soldiers marched through the walls. The moment they vanished from his view, blood gushed from under the closed doors. Ansgar roared and sat up, to stare at the starry sky. Bowyn knelt on the edge of Ansgar's cloak. “Where?” he asked. “The Iceni.”

Ansgar's throat felt as if he had swallowed broken pottery shards.

“Grandfather is there ….” * * * * * The fields and forests and village surrounding Boudicca's house were quiet. Ansgar wondered if traces of the potion lingered in his blood, affecting how he sensed the world. He smelled no blood, no smoke, heard no wailing of mourning women. The few farmers he saw in the fields went about their business of plowing and sowing as if nothing had happened. Ansgar dared to hope he was in time to warn Boudicca. Warn her of what? If Romans marched to attack and slaughter all in her household, what could she do? There wasn't enough time to call all the warriors within a day's ride, to come and stand to defend her. If he could contact them all, how many would come? How many would refuse for fear of the Romans punishing their tribes? Even if all the tribes came at Boudicca's call, what good would it do? As in the days of the first invasion, the Britons would crash against Roman shields, inflict great damage, and then stumble to a halt, to be trampled underfoot. The only defense Ansgar could see was to evacuate Boudicca's household, the village, perhaps even the entire tribe. And flee. His grandfather was there. Bram would help the grieving, Roman-hating queen to see

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reason. Villagers stared at Ansgar with pale faces and wide eyes as he rode down the wide, muddy road to Boudicca's gates. He saw a few with bandages on their heads, arms or legs. If there had been a battle, why weren't the Romans still there? Why hadn't the huts been burned, the cattle driven off, the orchards razed? The road looked more trampled than usual for this time of year. The gates to Boudicca's household hung open. Warriors armed with spears stood as sentries. A chill ran up Ansgar's back and he felt the nagging residue of a headache burst at the base of his skull. Whatever he had dreamed, it had already happened. Blood flowing out from under the doors of Boudicca's household didn't necessarily mean the royal line and nobles and half the tribe had been slaughtered. Ansgar didn't know the men guarding the gate, but they obviously knew him. They nodded in grim greeting and gestured for him to pass through. He nodded salute to them, and dismounted halfway between the gates and the steps to the Great Hall. The wide doors stood halfway open. Ansgar handed the reins of his horse to a servant boy. The wind changed as he reached the top step. The stench of blood slipped out from the darkness inside and wrapped around his head. He stood again on that dark plain, watching blood gush out from under these doors. Ansgar fought the panic and anger that demanded he race inside. Instead, he checked that his sword was ready, grasped one of the door handles, and tugged slowly. Bodies lay in neat rows to the right of the door. Torn banners and cloaks and blankets spotted with blood covered them. Women worked quietly, scrubbing dark stains on the floor. Half the tables were missing. Ansgar saw their shattered remains in a pile beyond the bodies. He stood for what seemed an eternity in the doorway, studying the signs of contained destruction. A Roman axe hung from a ceiling beam, lodged there probably so tightly its owner couldn't pull it out. Had the Romans fled quickly, or had the axe been left there in arrogance, daring someone to take it? All he could feel, for many long, aching heartbeats, was relief that Casida had not been here with Boudicca. Bram had been here, though. Where was his grandfather?

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“Where is the Queen?” He addressed all the women, unwilling to address any one individual. The anger, the grief, the horror of what had happened here hung in the air like a thick, bitter mist. His voice reverberated strangely through the long hall. Two women turned to look at him, their faces ravaged with tears and smoke. One went through the doors at the back of the hall, leading outside. Ansgar stared at the long row of bodies. By the exposed legs and arms, he could see they were all men. “Did your vision show you this?” Boudicca asked. She wore a grim smile, when Ansgar turned to face her. Grief and rage had carved lines around her mouth and eyes, smearing shadows of pain. Her eyes burned, so her flaming hair seemed lifeless by comparison. She didn't wear her habitual multi-colored breeks, high boots and long, flowing, checked tunic. Ansgar trembled when he saw she wore ragged, blood and smoke stained breeks and held a thin blanket wrapped loosely around her shoulders, like a cloak. “Bram told me he had sent you to Mona, to seek a vision to guide you. Did you see this?” She gestured around the hall. “I saw blood flow like a furious river from under the doors of your hall.” “Blood will flow, from this hall,” the Queen of the Iceni whispered. She nodded, and let the blanket drop. Boudicca was bare from the waist up. She turned as the blanket fell, to reveal long, seeping, raw lash marks across her back. They extended down below the waistband of her breeks, and he saw scabs on her exposed calves and ankles. Ansgar knew then that his grandfather was dead. Bram never would have allowed anyone, even an entire legion of brutal Romans, to touch Boudicca while he still breathed. “My Queen, tell me how I can serve you.” Ansgar bowed to her, picked up the blanket, and kept his eyes averted in respect until she had wrapped it around herself again. The Romans came only two days before, to express Rome's grief at the death of King Prasutagus. Procurator Catus Decianius led them. Ansgar shuddered when he heard the man's name.

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“You know him?” Boudicca asked, stopping her emotionless narrative. “I know of him.” “Bram counseled me to send away all my serving girls, the nobles' wives, my daughters.” Her voice broke, but her face betrayed nothing beyond cold anger. “It was too late. My daughters stood with me in the doorway. Lucius Marcellus would have brought them to Decianius' attention even if I had hidden them from the start.” “So he finally came back.” Ansgar fought an urge to spit. “With a document signed by Prasutagus, giving half his wealth to Nero.” “That's a lie!” Ansgar shuddered, clearly visualizing the cold arrogance of the Romans and the futile Iceni protests. Boudicca had pronounced the will a forgery. Marcellus claimed Prasutagus had begged him to rewrite the will and earn him Nero's friendship. Then the Procurator struck. Decianius declared that because Prasutagus had no heirs, the Iceni royal line had ended. The tribe would be scattered among tribes loyal to Rome. When Boudicca declared Ardra and Neala were Prasutagus' heirs, and she spoke for them, Decianius sent a servant to slap her for contradicting his decrees. Bram stood to defend his queen and the servant struck him. Nobles from every side raced to defend their queen and the Phantarch. The Romans were armed. The Iceni nobles had no weapons but their eating knives and their fists. Catus Decianius ordered Boudicca stripped, hung from the ceiling, and flogged. Then he announced that he had reconsidered the girls' place as Prasutagus' heirs. He would make both girls his wives, and rule the Iceni. His soldiers stripped the princesses, held them down on the High Table and the Procurator raped them. Bram and others broke free and fought, and they died, while the royal daughters screamed. Decianius made a gift of their estate to Nero, in his authority as their husband, then he invited his officers to share his 'wives.' Boudicca was beaten every time she tried to close her eyes and not see their torment. “He spent the night in Prasutagus' bed, and I hung here. In the morning, Decianius declared he was displeased with his new wives and divorced them. Their estate was the property

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of Caesar and could not be returned. My people didn't dare cut me down until the Romans were long gone.” “You prepare for war.” Ansgar heard the blood hunger in Boudicca's cold, even tones. Though he didn't look toward the rows of bodies, he felt Bram’s presence and the call of his spilled blood. * * * * * The dream Casida had shared with Ansgar filled her mind so vividly, she could still smell the blood that flowed from Boudicca's hall a full week after she headed south. Her sense of honor, of outrage and fear for Ansgar overrode the considerations that had allowed her to hide in the village so long. Casida admitted freely that she had been hiding. Curled up in her den and licking her wounds. Avoiding the painful necessities that had been born to her with her red hair and powers of the mind. Her heart cried out to face down Ansgar and destroy the poison that still festered between them. She wanted to hunt him down immediately, seduce him if necessary, to make him listen. Beg for his love, if that was what it took. Somehow, find a way to make a life together possible. She thought of how her father had faded, day by day worn away by his loss of Alastrina. Casida knew that fading and slow torment awaited her if she didn't heal the rift between her and Ansgar. Their souls were bound together, evidenced by the dreams they shared. They could have so much more, and she would fight for it. Ansgar might look at her, realize she carried his child, and vow his life to her. Or he might turn away in loathing. Casida didn't want him to come to her only for the sake of the child, and she berated herself for that silly lash of pride. Still, there was nothing she could do about it. Ansgar would take one look at her and know. His reaction would seal their destiny. Her vows to work with the Druids and cleanse Britannia of the Changelings had precedence over her aching heart. Casida couldn't spare the time to hunt for Ansgar and confront him. She had to strike where she thought the Changelings laired, before the enemy could guess that she had found his trail and his scent. So she went to Semer. * * * * *

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Bricriu met her more than a day away from Semer. He had been meeting with the king of the Parisi, discussing Boudicca’s call for all Britons to rise up against Rome. He refused to talk about such serious things and concentrated only on Casida. She laughed at Bricriu's flattery and played coy when he tried to learn where she had been. She wondered if Ansgar had come back to Semer to look for her, but she refused to ask. If Bricriu wasn’t the fool he appeared, and working in league with the enemy – with Daman – Casida could give him no reason to doubt her friendship. Still, it was pleasant to ride through Semer with Bricriu and banter with him. He was like a naughty boy, too charming for his own good. Bricriu made her feel good, despite her suspicions of him. He knew how to make her laugh. She needed to laugh. It felt like years since she had smiled. Bricriu was proud of his rich, lush valley, and rightly so. He pointed out the streams, thick with fish and the clusters of brambles that would yield sweet berries, the orchards and the mines where his people extracted tin and silver, copper and gold. Casida remembered that long-ago ride with Ansgar, into the teeth of a storm, and how they had stood on that high ridge and looked out over Bricriu's domain. She had felt so sure this place was doomed. Here, she saw only bright sunshine, heavy and warm with spring. No cloud of doom, no oppressive feeling of secrets. What if she were wrong? What if her wounded heart, her fears, the changes in her pregnant body, all conspired to delude her? What if her suspicions of Bricriu were mistakes? Casida shook her head to rid herself of her doubts the way her horse ridded itself of gadflies. She had work to do. She knew her dreams did not lie. She would worry about her aching heart when this work was over. Nothing else mattered until then. Casida looked back the way they had come. The twists and turns of the trail, the ups and downs and shadows gave an illusion of great distance. Semer was really a small place, but as deep as the sea. Again, the vision of all this being covered with stormy, dark, cold water filled her imagination. “You are troubled.” Riding beside her, Bricriu smiled gently, with a warmth Casida sorely missed from another handsome face. “Let me help you. Let me shelter you and devote all my strength and riches to your comfort and healing.” “There is already too much trouble in the land. I cannot burden you with my duties.”

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“Oh, but you must, Lady.” Bricriu held up his hand in pledge. “All that I am, all that I have, I bind to you. I adore you, your beauty and wit and intelligence and strength.” “You know nothing about the Kreefa.” “I worship you as a goddess, my lovely Red Queen. I know that I reach too far above my station, but I still wish to bind my life to yours.” Casida would have laughed, if there had been anything warm inside herself. Ansgar had wrapped himself around her in the night and filled her body. He made her laugh and moan and hunger for him with the slightest touch or look. He had seen her battle in the darkness and shadows, and had turned away in disgust. If she was right and Bricriu allied with her enemy, then he knew exactly what she was. Were his sweet words lies, or did he desire her all the more because he knew the truth? She fended off his flattery, his cajolery and more blatant innuendoes as they reached the stronghold. It was a relief to let the steward lead her and Briant and the twins to their rooms, so she could rest and gather her thoughts. The rest of the Hunt – those who hadn’t returned yet from contacting the Kreefa’s merchants and explorers – had already scattered across the land. They awaited Casida’s orders, poised to explore Semer. The danger was here. “I think he would like to claim place as your mate,” Tyra said, coming into Casida’s room. “I have a mate.” “A temporary mate who has abandoned you in disgust. These are strange people, who think marriages can be made and broken as easily as clay pots.” “Do you counsel me to let him go and find another?” Her hand rested on her belly, seeking the presence of her daughter. “I counsel you to find balance between the demands of your duty as Red Queen, and the needs of your heart. Ignore one for the benefit of the other and the entire tribe suffers.” “He loathes me. He loathes what we are. I could tell by his scent, I sicken him.” Casida sat down on the edge of her bed and dug her fingers into the hard wood board, to fight the urge to burst into tears again. “Your grandmother taught me, we must choose to be happy, in our duty and in our mates. We are not swept along like seeds in the storm winds.” Tyra sat next to her and brushed strands

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of hair back from Casida's face, with a touch as gentle as her mother's had been. That almost drove tears to her eyes. “You must choose to be happy. Choose the trail, the hunt you will follow. Let nothing distract you, for you are the Red Queen. We live for you, and we can only live by you.” “Choose?” Casida whispered. “It sounds too easy.” “And yet the hardest task you will ever set yourself.” She caressed one more strand back from the younger woman's face, then slipped away. Casida brushed out her hair and braided it. She sat long on the edge of the bed, thinking, and yet when it came time to join Bricriu for the evening meal, she had no idea what she had thought.

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Chapter Twelve

“Stay here. Make my stronghold your headquarters. Don’t risk illness and injury or worse,” Bricriu urged Casida, when the noise of the feasters in his Great Hall was loud enough to give them privacy. “Danger fills Britannia now. Not just from the man-wolves, but from Rome and the enraged Iceni. Let me take care of you. Let me treat you as a queen deserves.” Casida was tempted. She knew better, however, than to allow herself to get used to Bricriu’s luxuries. It would be too easy to curl up on herself and hide from the world, from her pain, from her duty. It would be too easy to slide into a dream life and let Bricriu attend to her every need, flatter her, lust after her. She would become a trophy among the riches he hoarded. She wouldn't be the Red Queen. She would no longer be Kreefa. “Thank you, dear friend.” She nearly laughed when Bricriu's eyes lit up at the address. “I have a duty to perform.” “Then let me go with you. I will surround us with all my best warriors.” “No. But I thank you. This is something I must do with stealth. A few, riding swiftly and in the shadows, are hard to trail. You must admit that.” “Yes, unfortunately.” A teasing light filled his eyes. “I wanted you in my bed, from the moment I first saw you. Now, I want you at my side, advising me in war and every part of my life. When will you grow tired of Ansgar's neglect and come into my adoring arms?” “Will you ride with the Kreefa, when we go home?” Casida's throat ached with the effort to keep her voice steady. “Why leave? There is more than enough land in Semer for your people.” “Let me tend to one duty at a time. When I am sure my own people are well and safe, then I will think about other things.”

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“Think of me, my Queen. Longing for you, eager to please you.” Bricriu caught up her hand and pressed it to his lips. This close to her, the scent of his lust filled her head like pungent spices. Her skin tingled where his lips touched, and tiny threads of fire raced up her arm, to her head. Casida freed her hand and forced herself to smile, to make small talk, to tell him nothing. That half-forgotten melting between her hips returned. Ridiculous! she scolded herself. Silly fool. It isn't even the full moon, but you act like a girl in her first Fever. Was it only loneliness, her anger at Ansgar, the ache she couldn't banish no matter how she tried? Did that make her want to fall into Bricriu's arms, to feel his hands on her skin? Casida refused to be a fool or listen to her aching heart when there was work to do, Changelings and Rebels to punish and stop, and a magician to destroy. She called the Hunt that night with the power of her mind, learning what they had discovered during their day of exploration and passing it on to the others. When she slept, she woke constantly from dreams of raging black water and the moon falling on her, so that her belly burst open and her baby died in a gush of black corruption. The next morning, she sent Briant to Mona, to meet with Druce, and Bram if he was there. She avoided Bricriu and spent her day exploring the stronghold. That evening’s meal was a repeat of the one before. It amused her a little to realize that despite the lustful way Bricriu’s gaze raked over her, he never seemed to notice her growing fat with child. * * * * * Ansgar dreamed of Casida roaming Semer’s stronghold. He watched her, searching the shadows, intent on the hunt – but with tears on her face. Did he dare hope she wept for him? Then Casida stepped from the shadows into a blaze of light, and Ansgar saw she stood in Bricriu’s Great Hall. The light of the fire caressed Casida’s shape. He sighed in satisfaction, letting his gaze roam over her profile, remembering what lay under those delicate folds of cloth. All his, once – and would be his again. His heart lurched to a stop, just as his gaze lurched to a stop on the enlarged curve of her belly.

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Casida turned, raising her head to meet his gaze. One hand traced lightly over the obvious burden of the child within her. She watched him. Ansgar swallowed, unsure if that thickness rising in his throat were anger, surprise, sorrow, or something he had never felt before. That was his child, making her belly swell but never stealing from her grace. It was too early for her to carry Bricriu's child and show it, even if she had jumped into his bed the day she left Fenella's gates. Ansgar would never believe that was Bricriu's child, even if his rival told him so before a hall of witnesses. Casida carried his child. Why hadn't she told him? Because, you great, staggering fool, she thinks you loathe her, his conscience scolded. She thinks you’ll kill her. Because someday, she'll leave and she knows you won't go with her. Why couldn't Casida stay with him? Ansgar's heart squeezed with longing. He knew why she couldn't stay. For the same reason no child of theirs would be welcome and accepted in Britannia. First, though, he had to be sure his dream was true. He would look for Casida in Semer. He had been traveling with a band of warriors, spying on the Romans and carrying messages for Boudicca, to rally the tribes to her cause. Ansgar rose before dawn the next morning and told the sentry that he would catch up with them. He knew the other warriors wouldn’t question or doubt him. As the Druids’ warrior, no one questioned him. Only Casida had ever questioned him. She never looked at him with fear or wonder. She had accepted him as a man. It struck Ansgar with actual physical pain, to realize that he had never truly accepted Casida simply as a woman. His woman. By the law of the handfasting, a child made their marriage permanent. By the lonely ache inside him, Ansgar knew he wanted her – but would she want him? He decided to enter Bricriu’s stronghold secretly, going in the hidden entrance at the ruins of the ancient temple that sat outside Semer’s boundaries. If Casida wasn’t there, if his dream had lied, Ansgar refused to give Bricriu reason to mock him. He traveled the dark, twisting tunnels that had been a playground when he and Bricriu were foolhardy boys. Memory guided him, and memories of Casida filled his head, so that he was

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almost at the bottom of the wooden stairs under Bricriu’s council chamber when he became conscious of the changes. The echoes rang louder, not muffled by the underground rivers and pools that filled the caverns under Semer. The air had a bitter tang, like something had burned there. He smelled metal and dirty sweat and excrement. Had Bricriu turned these dark caverns and tunnels into a storage area, even living quarters for his soldiers? Ansgar didn’t like the prickle of apprehension that traveled his back at that particular thought. It implied Bricriu had secret plans, and that didn’t fit with the careless young nobleman Ansgar knew. Investigating the changes in the caverns could wait until after he had seen Casida. Ansgar climbed the stairs that he and Bricriu had built as boys, to the door hidden behind the tapestry in Bricriu’s council chamber. It was a matter of moments to discern that no one was there. Grinning in relief, he opened the door, pulling it into the passage, then slid the tapestry aside. If his dream was right, he knew where to find Casida. * * * * * Casida sat alone by the fire in the Great Hall when Ansgar stepped into the room. His presence reverberated from the ceiling and floor. It started something vibrating inside her chest. Casida pressed one hand over her belly, and chose not to stand to face him as he approached. His face seemed browner, weathered from living on the road, rallying Britons to Boudicca’s vengeance quest. His hair was longer, and Casida detected silver among the black. Lines around his eyes made him look weary. She said nothing. She could think of nothing to say, neither anger, sorrow nor welcome. The air currents moved toward him, so she had scant clue to his emotions, his thoughts. “Why are you here, Casida?” His voice was flat, touched with weariness. His eyes drooped, hiding the spark she had loved to see. She wondered if he slept as little as she did. “Waiting for the Hunt to report.” Her crest fur stiffened. Did he criticize her? How dare he? “Semer is your headquarters?” “Semer is a friend who offers hospitality. Nothing more. We vowed to protect Britannia, and we do. Why are you here?” “Following my duty to protect Britannia.” Ansgar frowned, as if her words confused him. “Then go hunt down the beasts.”

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“We are to hunt together. This evil concerns us both.” He took a step closer. Just one more step and he could touch her. Casida turned away, aching to feel his arms around her. The next time he did touch her, would it be in anger? To strangle her? To slide the silver blade into her chest, like Evan? “We are more effective traveling separately,” she said to the embers next to her. “Casida … I know you're grieving. I grieve too.” He stepped close enough his boot caught on the trailing edge of her skirt. “I’m sorry about Bram.” She stood, stepping away to yank her skirt free. “I liked him. He accepted us.” “You lied –” Ansgar sighed. “You didn’t lie, but you didn’t tell the entire truth, either. I understand your fear now.” “Fear.” She choked on something that might have been bitter laughter. She felt his gaze rest heavy on her. Did he see the bulge of her belly where his child grew? How could he miss it? Why didn’t he say anything? “When the magician is dead, will you hunt my people?” “What?” “Who will you have to hate and blame for Britannia's troubles? The Romans are too strong, but the Kreefa are small in number. We are not people, but beasts. You loathe us.” “I don't loathe you!” He caught her shoulders in his hands, gripping hard enough to make her gasp. Ansgar loosened his grip, but he didn't release her. “When you come to kill us, remember this: We will be people, when we are dead. That is what we are. People who have a second body. We are not wolves. We have souls.” She twisted free of him and stalked away, putting five paces between them. Ansgar didn't follow her. Inside, she began to silently wail. “At least Daman wanted Devona for her power, not just to keep his blankets warm.” “We have more than that, Casida.” He clenched his fists and his mouth worked as if he wanted to say much more. “Do we have anything? You rejected me.” “And you left me.” “I had to tend to my sister. I had duties to my tribe.” “And I have work to do. My duties are to all the Britons, to the Druids.”

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“And for the sake of duty, you bedded me. Does it make your skin crawl, thinking of what you held in your arms?” She inhaled deeply. The swirling contradictions in Ansgar's scent made her stomach twist. “From your scent, you are angry. You want me. But you are disgusted. Afraid. Ashamed. I hear there are men who take their pleasure with sheep. You have no desire to be one of them?” “You are no beast,” he growled. “You can’t be a beast when you carry my child.” “How do you know it’s yours?” She thought her heart had stopped beating. “I dreamed it. I see you in my dreams, Casida. You met me in dreams when I saw the soldiers marching to attack Boudicca.” Casida’s throat closed so she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak, couldn’t swallow. What more proof did she need that she and Ansgar were one soul? But what good did it do them? “Did you plan to keep my child from me?” he whispered. “You don’t want me. Why would you want a child that will be a monster just like me?” How easily the words slipped out, greased with bitterness and tears. “I wanted you from the first moment I saw you. Did you give me anything but your body?” “What else can I give you, when you think I have no soul?” Ansgar glared at her, looked away. Straightened his shoulders, scuffed his boot on the stone floor. Looked at her, looked away. He checked the long knife in the sheath at his hip, looked at her again, and sighed. “Are you afraid of the truth?” “What is the truth, Casida?” He sounded as tired as if he had ridden the breadth of Britannia without stopping. “The truth is that I was a fool to agree to a temporary marriage. The Kreefa mate for life, joining souls and hearts as well as bodies. The truth is that I was a fool to think there was more between us than the Fever in our blankets.” Ansgar raised his head with a sharp jerk, and for a moment something bright gleamed in his eyes. A clean, almost sweet scent cut through the bitter, cold maelstrom surrounding him. “Did you tell Bricriu the truth before you spread your legs for him?” Casida snarled and leaped the gap between them. She knocked him flat on his back before

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he could tighten his hand on the handle of his knife. For two heartbeats, she perched on his chest, her hand on his throat. Nausea choked her, and the certainty she would burst into tears if she looked into his bottomless black eyes for a moment longer. She lunged off him and staggered away, putting her back to him. “Casida –” He sighed and his voice cracked. “That was unworthy. Wrong of me.” “Yes, it was!” She wrapped her arms hard around herself, fighting not to even breathe, or he would hear her heartache in her gasps. She listened to him drag himself to his feet. Why hadn't he drawn his knife? Why hadn't he defended himself? She knew he was fast as thought, had seen him throw a knife, or nock, aim and shoot an arrow with lightning speed. He saw her coming, but did nothing. “Bricriu has always wanted you.” “I have never wanted him.” She wished she could laugh or scream or do something to ease the pressure growing inside. “I have not slept with him and will not. I was wrong to take my pleasure with you while my duties were unfulfilled.” Please, please, ask me to come with you. Tell me you were wrong. Tell me you don't loathe me. Tell me you were surprised. Tell me you know you were a fool. Tell me you want me. Ask me to stay with you. She pressed her knuckles to her lips, stifling a sob, unable to stop the wish in her heart. Tell me you love me, Ansgar. Tell me you want my heart and soul as well as my body. “Our duties. A partnership, Casida. Do you remember that?” He stepped up behind her and she flinched, wanting and yet dreading the touch of his hands on her shoulders. “I will not abandon the hunt until the Changelings and the magician are destroyed. I swear on my mother's blood.” “You are my wife.” “I was never your wife, even when you were inside me.” “Casida.” He grasped her shoulders and turned her, so swiftly she nearly lost her balance. For a moment, she pressed her hand against his chest and the heat of him, the racing of his pulse, shot through her like an arrow of fire. “I was blind. I was a fool. My grandfather is dead. Britannia will change forever, when Boudicca raises the flag of war. I have nothing left but you, and our child.” “Our child.” She nearly choked on the bitterness in words that should have tasted so sweet

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on her lips. “If there was no child?” She saw the answer in his eyes even before he opened his mouth and her heart soared. And then plummeted a moment later when she remembered all the things to keep them apart. She stepped away and swallowed down a sob when Ansgar reached for her, then let his hands fall to his sides. “If Daman serves our enemy, and my dreams are true, Huon is also alive. While Huon lives, I am his mate, first.” “Our marriage means nothing.” His mouth wrinkled up in that painful kind of smile men wore to keep from tearing something to shreds with their bare hands. “There was nothing but our duty to bind us together, Ansgar. We knew that when we vowed. When the Changelings are gone, you will be free to find one who suits you better.” “No one has ever suited me better than you.” But that doesn't mean you love me. I think you will always hold my heart, but you don't want it. Who is the greater fool? Casida stared into his eyes, memorizing the pain she saw there. He missed her, but that wasn't enough. She wouldn't demean her heritage by begging for what he wouldn't and couldn't give. “When I have news, I will send Briant to you.” “I honor your strength and wisdom. You will become a legend, for holding your duty above all other considerations. No matter what it costs you.” He stepped back and bowed. “I'm sorry, Ansgar. We were … pleasant together.” “Pleasant.” His mouth flattened for a moment and he looked away. “Be careful, Casida. Send for me when you need me.” Casida waited until his footsteps vanished in the other noises of the stronghold. She waited until his scent faded, then she hurried to her sleeping room. She needed to regain her control before Briant and the others appeared, or all the Kreefa would know her pain in an instant. * * * * * Ansgar almost forgot his plan to investigate the changes in the caverns under Semer. He gladly shoved away his fury, the ache that squeezed his mind and heart, to concentrate on the changes in what had once been familiar. Bricriu’s grandfather had built the stronghold over a

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crevice that led into the caverns. A hole now punctured a wall that once seeped and glistened with water. Ansgar followed it down a long, steep passage, into a winding passage sparsely lit by oil lamps. The smoothness of the walls showed the river had once flowed here. He smelled the water that once filled the damp tunnels. Ansgar couldn’t imagine where the water had gone – but he could imagine these tunnels filling suddenly with water, gushing up through the crevice, flinging the stronghold into the air. The image of Bricriu trapped inside, thrown high into the sky and squawking, cheered him. A chuckle escaped his tight throat. “Who's there?” a man asked out of the dank darkness. Ansgar gripped his short sword and followed the echoes down another passage. The smell of metal grew stronger, and the stink of pain, dirty sweat, excrement, and unwashed clothes. He stepped into another chamber and found a man sitting in a shallow cave. Silver gleaming bars held him penned inside. He had room enough to pace several steps in each direction. He had a straw pallet, a brazier filled with glowing peat, a bucket of water and a second, covered bucket. A comfortable enough prison, Ansgar supposed, but one glance at the prisoner told him this man’s spirit screamed. He was long and lean, built for speed, for running. He looked like a Kreefa, Ansgar realized. It jolted him that he had never noticed how they all had the build of the foot messengers employed by the tribal kings. “Hello … Ansgar?” A bitter smile twisted the man’s long face, through his tangled, goldenbrown beard. “I’ve touched Casida’s dreams often enough, I thought I’d recognize you if we ever met face to face.” “Dreams.” Ansgar didn’t want to admit the suspicion that expanded and grew heavy in his chest. “Silver imprisons me.” He gestured at the bars. “It keeps me from speaking through the dreams, but I can still see well enough. Do you know your soul is bound to hers because of the blood you shared? She wouldn’t tell you that, would she? Do you hate her, or love her? Or don’t you know?” “Who are you?” “Someone who’s had long enough to think and regret.” A sighing chuckle escaped the man. He raked thin fingers through his tangled hair and leaned back against the wall of his cell.

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“I never deserved her, you know. She didn’t love me, I didn’t love her. She loves you, though. We’ve done her enough harm, my father and brother and I, that I don’t hate you for stealing my mate.” “Huon.” Ansgar felt like a fool. “I took her virgin blood, and that bound us. That’s the way it works among the Kreefa. But I didn’t give her my blood. You’re the one she wants. I wouldn’t blame you if you killed me right now, to clear the way to have her. She’d never know, would she?” “She would.” He hated the sudden jolt in his chest, the relief – the guilt at knowing he would gladly kill an innocent man to have Casida. That told him just how much he wanted her. “You can’t kill me, Ansgar, warrior of the Druids. You need me to stop Daman, and our father.” “Your father.” Ansgar thought of Hoel, the quiet, respected Elder. Hoel had been angry, when the other Elders only showed doubt over Casida’s marriage of a year and a day. If Hoel knew both his sons were alive, no wonder he would be angry that his son’s mate took another. Even temporarily. “Hoel is the magician,” he whispered, and nearly staggered at the image that burst into life in his mind. “He turned blessed silver into a curse and stole the magic of our second natures from our blood. There’s a stronghold out on the moors where Daman and his followers take their Changelings. They enslave them and teach them to control the change, so they don’t destroy everything and everyone at the full moon. Father wanted to use me and Daman to take over the tribe. He intends to rule Britannia by saving the land from the Romans.” “With man-wolves.” Ansgar nodded. He could almost admire the genius of the plan, if he hadn’t seen the suffering Hoel’s plan caused. He could still hear Innis’ screams, and the pitiful smile of gratitude as he died with Ansgar’s arrow in his throat. “I wanted Devona, but Father made me take Casida because she refused Daman.” A bitter smile curved his lips again. “It turned out better, I suppose.” “Daman killed Devona.” “I know. They don’t let me out any longer because I swore I’d kill Daman – and Father. Are you going to kill Bricriu?”

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“Was he willing, or a dupe?” “He wants Casida. He wanted the Iceni princesses, until she arrived. He wants to be a hero and for the Druids to consult him. He thought of the poison that the Roman fed to the Iceni king. He’s not innocent. No one is innocent.” He gestured at the silver-coated bars. “Are you going to free me or use that silver blade of yours?” “You know everything, don’t you?” Ansgar pulled out his sword and stepped closer, eyeing the places where the bars were connected together. It looked like simple rope – but coated with silver. Huon couldn’t grasp the bars to break free, no matter how flimsily the barrier was constructed. “If I knew everything, I could have prevented all this. Regrets and solitude make a man wise.” * * * * * “Sister.” Briant leaned into the door of Casida’s room. His eyes sparkled and his grin bared his teeth. He was all wolf, despite his Human shape. She smelled the excitement in his scent. “I have a gift for you.” “A gift.” She held back the words she wanted to say – the only gift she wanted was a second turn at her conversation with Ansgar. “We found a Roman pig trying to flee to the coast.” Casida’s heart leaped in her chest, so she could hardly breathe for a moment. Her smile widened to match Briant’s. “The Hunt waits for your pleasure.” Her brother bowed, gesturing for her to go through the door ahead of him. Two hours of fast riding took them to a clearing falling into darkness. Six members of the Hunt kept the fat, shuddering Procurator Catus Decianius prisoner. The stink of death and drying blood made the air thick, coming from the four guards and the baggage mules, slaughtered and left lying where they fell. The Roman huddled in a puddle of sweat, whimpering every time one of the circling wolves bared teeth at him. Casida dismounted her horse. Briant stayed mounted, chuckling. The Procurator’s fear filled the air with a sweet perfume. Casida wished Boudicca could be here to see the welldeserved end of the man who had raped her daughters.

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“Have a care, woman!” the Roman wheezed. “The beasts will kill you. Run, now! Find soldiers to rescue me. I'll free your family from taxes for the rest of your life.” Casida laughed, held out a hand and the six wolves came to gather around her. The Roman whimpered and his fear grew thicker in the air. “You don't recognize me, do you?” she said. “Last summer, you sent your men to fetch me for your pleasure. They never came back.” She bared her teeth and growled, and the man moaned. “When I was a child, a Roman tried to rape my mother. All his men died for his arrogance.” Casida brushed her hand over the bulge of her baby and a chill raced over her. A little more than three moons until her child was born. She was so close to where her mother had been. Had history been reborn? No. She refused to allow anything to happen to this baby. She refused to let anything go wrong. She gestured. The six wolves shifted to Human and the Procurator screamed. He screamed louder, shriller, when they tore his blood-stained robes off him and held him down by his arms and legs. He foamed at the mouth when Casida knelt over him and drew her knife and held it up to the rising moon as an invocation. His screams ended in a tiny yip as she took his flabby, misshapen genitals in her hand. No wonder he resorted to force. No decent woman would take him, otherwise. “It's easier –” Decianius swallowed hard and attempted to smile. Lust began to overtake the stink of his fear and Casida fought not to vomit. “If you kneel for me, it's easier. With a belly full of child.” He swallowed again, and the sweat glistened on his fat face. “You like pain, too? We'll have great fun together. You make me scream, then I'll make you scream.” “We're nothing alike,” Casida whispered. She yanked hard, making him squeak and gasp, and gelded him. They left Procurator Catus Decianius staked to the ground, whimpering and bleeding, his testicles stuffed in his mouth, with the dead bodies to attract every predator. Casida took the bags and baskets of treasure the Roman had stolen from the Britons and scattered it like seed in the spring, to attract other predators.

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Chapter Thirteen

Huon trembled as the first gentle breeze touched his skin. Full night had fallen by the time he and Ansgar emerged from the ruined temple outside the boundaries of Semer. Ansgar smiled despite the turmoil that made his head ache, when the freed man took a few running step and shifted to wolf. He ran, stretching out his body in a low, sleek lope. The hunger for freedom, the pain that had cloaked him in a cloud, evaporated. Ansgar wondered at how easily he accepted Huon as an ally, and his wolf nature as something good. Maybe because he had finally accepted Casida and all the Kreefa as people, rather than beasts and abominations. Huon-wolf loped in a wide circle and came back to Ansgar. He frisked like a puppy, then shifted back to Human. He pointed the way back toward Semer. Ansgar remembered the rocky overlook where he and Casida had found shelter and made love. He wondered if Huon would be able to smell Casida’s lingering presence and their passion, after all this time. Ansgar nodded and followed the other man. They had agreed on silence until they were far from this vulnerable entrance. Who knew when Hoel and Daman and the other traitorous members of the Queen’s Hunt would return? Ansgar reached for the silver blade without thinking, when shadows melted out of the moonlit darkness more than an hour later. He glanced to his right. Huon grinned and nodded. Cynyr and Cullen, twin cousins to Briant and Casida walked with him. Ansgar glanced to his left. Briant walked at his side. “All well,” Briant said, nodding to Huon. He clasped Ansgar’s shoulder in a salute of respect as they continued walking. “You have done a great and good thing for us.” “Is the battle with the Changelings almost done?” Ansgar had to ask.

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“When we find and free the prisoners and destroy the Rebels, yes.” He looked at Huon, who was deep in whispered conversation with the twins. “Once he was free of the silver, Huon was able to call the Hunt. We all know what was done, and who our enemies are. We will ride to the prison on the moors and do battle.” “It won’t be over if Hoel and Daman aren’t there. They could start this all over again.” “True. And there is still the matter of you and Casida to resolve. Her mate lives.” “If I asked him to free her, would he? Would Casida take me over Huon?” “Why should she, if you stay here and she leaves Britannia?” “Everything is changing. Nothing and no one holds me here any longer. If we live past this battle Boudicca desires.” He found it hard to force the words to his lips. “Casida carries my child. If Huon reclaims his rights as her mate, how can I help raise my child?” “Do you want to? It doesn't sicken you to think a child of your blood is part wolf?” “That's a just question.” “It deserves a just answer.” Briant stared him down. “How can you be a father to this child if you stay here in Britannia?” “My grandfather is dead, and when Boudicca's revolt is over, no matter who the winner, there will be no need for me.” “So you will ride with us?” “Will she let me? If Huon is alive? My child inside her makes ours a lifetime marriage. But how, if he's alive?” Briant shrugged. “Until the questions are resolved, you have greater claim as my sister's mate. You haven't yet earned your place as Hunt Leader – maybe you should start,” he added with a crooked grin. “As the Red Queen's brother, what do you say I should do?” * * * * * Casida’s mind still spun, more than an hour after hearing Huon’s call to the Hunt. And then the hurricane-speed progression of images and explanations that answered so many questions. It took all her discipline to force down the trembling, the nauseating mixture of relief, fury and regrets, and give orders. She sent Briant and their cousins to meet Huon and Ansgar – how had he found Huon’s prison when no one else could? Then she and the remainder of the

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Hunt rode to Semer, to pack and give plausible excuses to Bricriu, and leave. Semer was a tainted place, allied with Rebels and evil magic and death. She thought of her innocent child, conceived on Semer’s lands and prayed Bricriu and Hoel hadn’t found a way to lay claim to her child and turn her to evil before her birth. To her relief, Bricriu had left on an overnight trip, according to the steward. Casida wondered if he was heading to the Changelings’ prison. She almost wanted it, so the Hunt could punish him with death and have one less debt to pay. She sent three of the Hunt running north to the Kreefa village, to give them the news and to start the search for Hoel. Casida doubted Hoel had gone on the errands she had given him, which meant either the Kreefa who accompanied him were dead, or they were Rebels as well. The problem with having so many mysteries resolved, she mused, was that so many new, vicious problems came to light. The waning moon still climbed toward midnight, when she and the remainder of her Hunt left Semer for the last time. Casida swallowed down the aching need to howl in pure relief – and fury. She settled for urging her horse to go as fast as it could up the long, sloping road out of the twisted, shadow-filled valleys, onto higher ground where the air smelled clean and healthy. Huon dropped to his knees and bowed his head when Casida rode into the clearing where Briant and the rest waited. She barely noticed him, because Ansgar stood on the edge of moonlight and shadow, watching her. “I am unworthy, Red Queen, to be Hunt Leader and Consort. I took you as my mate under a lie, and I kept silent when I knew evil plans against you,” Huon said. He kept his head bowed. “My blood is yours to spill, to serve the tribe.” “Who stands for you?” Casida’s knees tried to fold when she slid off her horse. She was grateful for the ritual words, and grateful Huon had taken this first meeting out of her hands. “I stand for him,” Briant said. “Huon, son of Hoel, has suffered for trying to stop our enemies. He has chosen the Red Queen and the tribe over his own blood-kin. I ask that you forgive him and let his fangs and claws serve the tribe again.” “Granted.” She swallowed, her mouth dry. She glanced at Ansgar, who still waited. “Huon –” “Your mate waits for you, Lady.” Huon raised his head and met her gaze for the first time.

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He looked as pale and worn thin as he had in her dreams, but she could see where his ordeal had made him stronger. She mourned the sweet boy she had mated. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “You live for the tribe, and you took me for the sake of the tribe. When will you take something for yourself?” He gestured at Ansgar, who moved toward them now. Behind him, Briant and the twins chuckled. Casida’s face began to burn. “You and I must talk, wife.” Ansgar held out a hand. He didn't smile, didn't frown, just watched her. She gave her hand into his and let him lead her into the forest. They didn't go far, and she was grateful. Casida had a vision of needing to run or even call for help. Or would she want privacy, instead? She had no idea what was uppermost in her mind or heart. She only knew her hand buzzed pleasantly where her flesh met his. It seemed like a lifetime had passed since she had curled up warm next to him. So long ago, perhaps they had been two completely different people. “Tell me something,” Ansgar said, after they stared at each other in the leaf-speckled moonlight for many long, bitter-sweet moments. “Do you intend to raise our child without me? Did you think I’d neglect our child?” “No child is neglected among the Kreefa. All children are precious. When we leave and you are not there –” She gasped when he caught her by her arms and pressed her back against a tree. “I have to protect my people. No matter how much I want to stay with you, I can't.” “So …” He grinned, lips trembling. Ansgar blew out a deep sigh. “So, ask me to come with you.” Casida was glad he held her up. Her legs went boneless and she stared at him, positive she would fall in another moment. “You would come?” she whispered. “Do you want me to?” He laughed when she could only nod. “Why do you want me to come with you?” “This isn't reason enough?” She smoothed one hand over the swell of their child inside her. “Needing me there is different from wanting me there. Do you want me, Casida?” His whisper vibrated in her bones.

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She whimpered as he lowered his head, brushing his lips over her cheek, her ear, down her neck. Casida clutched at the front of his shirt with one hand. She wove her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck and moved his head so she could kiss him. Ansgar held still for one long, painful second, then he claimed her mouth with near-bruising force. A cold core that had resided inside her for moons now melted. Tears flowed as she put all her passion into her kisses. “Say it,” Ansgar whispered, when they both had to stop and gasp for breath. He wrapped his arms tight around her, and had to adjust his stance because her belly got in the way. “Say?” She dug her fingers into the sleeves of his shirt, inhaled deeply of his long-absent scent, pressed her face into the smooth skin at the base of his collarbone. “You said it when we met in that dream. Say you love me.” “Why do I need to say it, if you already heard it?” Casida tightened her hold when he tried to lean back to see her face. “I need to hear it with my ears, not my heart.” “Isn't your heart more reliable?” It was hard not to laugh. “Casida.” He growled and held her at arm's length. He shook her a little and they grinned. “Just say it. It's all I've been able to think about for weeks.” Why did the words stick in her throat? She had already admitted she loved him. She knew he loved her. She could smell his clean, sweet passion in his scent, so very different from lust. He was leaving his people, his land, giving it all up for the sake of her and their child. That was love, wasn't it? She wondered how long Ansgar had been serving the Druids and Britannia, with nothing for himself. For the first time, she wondered if she was enough to make him happy. Ansgar would be a good Hunt Leader. A good Consort. Would he be happy among her people, or would he always be a foreigner, an outsider, trapped by events beyond his control? Would the life she offered him be enough? She knew how miserable, how half-alive she had been in the moons since they parted. She needed Ansgar, but she refused to make him a prisoner for the rest of his life. According to Devona, they were already bound together in their souls, yet the oneness Casida desired was not an instantaneous thing. They had planted the seeds when they tasted each other’s blood. Now they both had to work to make the vines of unity flourish.

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She had to convince him he had gained more than he lost. Leading the tribe in safety and providing for their needs was easy, compared to satisfying a man's heart. She slid her arms around his shoulders and pressed as close to him as her belly allowed. He gently stroked his hands down her back, easing away all the aches that came from the burden of her growing belly. Casida sighed as his warmth seeped into her. “You take away all the little aches and weariness,” she murmured. “That's my duty, isn't it? To serve and protect the Red Queen.” “Ansgar –” “I'm not angry. There's far more to this than I ever thought, but I'm not angry.” “We were wrong.” “About what?” “We never should have agreed to a seasonal marriage. The Kreefa mate for life –” “I know. I've driven your brother half-mad with questions.” He kissed her neck, up to her ear, and whispered, “I want to be your mate. For life.” “Seasonal marriage is a foolish, wicked idea. How can your people stand it? To make love and then walk away if you argue too much or if marriage is too much trouble.” “Seasonal marriages are intended to become permanent. But only if a child is conceived.” His smiled widened into a white slash in the shadows, and he looked down at her belly. He freed one hand, to reverently smooth it over the top of her belly. Casida gasped, feeling the child stir inside her. Ansgar's hand paused and his mouth dropped open. He bent his head down so their foreheads touched, and he laughed. The sound reverberated in them both, soft and sweet. “After Devona’s wedding, Grandfather told me … I think he gave me permission, ordered me, to leave. To go with you. He knew this sorrow would come on Britannia, and he wanted me to live.” “You aren't angry with me? I didn't lie to you, but neither did I make sure you understood. Your face, your voice, your scent that night Fenella's hall was attacked …” She shivered. “I thought the next time I saw you, you would try to kill me.” “Never. I was an idiot. I listened to fear instead of my heart.” Ansgar shifted his arms around her, bending his body so they could embrace tight together. “My life is only where you

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are.” He kissed her, softly, lingering, making her moan in longing for deeper passion. “I swear the Soul Song will be ours,” he whispered. “Tell me you love me, Casida.” “Ansgar –” “Tell me you love me as much as I love you.” All the world went still. Slowly, she opened her eyes. Ansgar watched her, the fire in his eyes poised on the knife's edge between joy and grief. She slid her arms up around his neck, drawing him down to her again. “My first love, my only love,” she murmured against his lips, so the sound tickled their mouths. “All I am is yours. My soul, my body, my heart.” “Does that mean you love me?” He laughed when she growled in mock frustration and raised her hand to slap him. Ansgar caught her hand and brought it up to his lips. He kissed her fingertips, her palm, then guided her hand up around his neck again. “I love you,” he said, with kisses between each word. Sparks swirled behind her closed eyelids. Casida clung to him, answering each demanding movement of his mouth and tongue with demands of her own. Soon, their breaths came heavy and fast as their hands learned the familiar caresses again. Ansgar stroked and teased whimpers from her. “So beautiful.” He paused, one hand gently caressing her belly. “So beautiful. My wife. Our child.” He pressed his lips where his hand had been. He caressed her breasts, her belly, with gentle, warm touches that held no sensuality but reverential awe. “Please,” Casida whispered. “Can we? I don't want to hurt you.” “It hurts already, wanting you.” Ansgar groaned. “The time we've wasted! Is it safe? I ache for you, but I won't risk harming you.” She wanted to scream. She wanted to howl fury. She had made sure how long she could shift to wolf without harming her baby, but making love to her mate hadn't mattered. She had thought she would never see Ansgar again. Why had she never asked anyone before? Casida had no idea how late into her pregnancy she could make love to her mate, and how to do it properly. “Sshhh, love,” Ansgar drew her close, guiding her head to rest on his shoulder. “This isn't

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the right time or place, much as I want you. We have to ride out soon. I’m surprised Briant hasn’t come to drag us back to join the others already.” He sighed and the sound turned to a chuckle. “I swore, the next time we made love, I would keep you in bed for an entire week.” “Don't torment me.” She had to laugh, despite the ache working up through her at the mere thought of loving Ansgar without stopping. * * * * * “The change becomes easier every time it happens,” Huon told them, when they stopped to make camp at dawn. Until they had freed the Changelings and destroyed the Rebels and reached freedom in the north, they would live as creatures of the night. “After Father and Bricriu worked their magic, they threw five slave boys into a pit with Daman at the full moon. Daman was mad with Fever and killed two before he could be drugged calm. The other three still suffer pain, but they retain their sanity now. Or maybe not. They’re proud of what they are. They enjoy killing and terrorizing the innocent.” “Then there is hope for the Changelings.” Briant nodded. “We don't have to kill them all, just the ones we can't control.” “Kill them?” Ansgar blurted. “Is that the only solution?” “You told us about Innis, how he suffered before he died. How long must they suffer and be a danger?” Casida shook her head, hating the guilt that grew when she looked into his disbelieving eyes.

She felt as if she had betrayed Ansgar because she couldn't cure the

Changelings. “Killing Bricriu might kill his magic,” Cynyr offered. “That would be a blessing.” Ansgar nodded. “But as a boy, I listened to Grandfather and his friends, talking about forbidden magic. It never works as we would like it to. We have to consider that it might make things worse, when we kill Bricriu.” * * * * * The Changelings' prison lay on a narrow slab of solid ground in the middle of a marshy moor. The combined stench of cesspits, unwashed bodies and marsh gases kept away the curious. Casida pitied the Changelings with their heightened senses, imprisoned in the reeking, damp place. She said silent thanks that she had a steady stomach.

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The new moon had passed, the full moon nearly a fortnight away. The guards would be relaxed, with no maddened prisoners to whip into submission or calming potions to dispense. “I'm worried how we will all react at the full moon,” Huon said. The Hunt came to rest within sight of the torches on the walls of the wooden enclosure. “The magic destroyed your control?” Briant guessed. “Like peeling layers from an onion, Father and Bricriu tried to peel away our souls.” He glanced at the others, waiting and watching in the boggy low spots, hidden by high grass. “Do you think I was a coward not to kill myself, Consort?” “It is harder, braver, to live and to continue fighting.” Ansgar met Huon's gaze without blinking or glancing away. Casida wondered how long it would take before the two men no longer felt it necessary to prove their strength, endurance and bravery. Did Huon feel jealous after all? Did Ansgar think her former mate would change his mind and challenge him? Casida knew better than to try to mediate. Huon and Ansgar had to become friends in their own way and time. “When the full moon comes, Casida will battle harder than she ever has, to control them.” Huon tilted his head back to look up at the moon. “Still, it is better to face the fire in your veins than to live in eternal darkness.” * * * * * From where he lay in a low spot in the damp moor, cushioned in thick heather, Ansgar couldn't see more than the top of the wooden prison wall. He saw the watchmen’s torches move. The sliver of moon began to drop toward the horizon, its light blurred by clouds and shadows. This part of the night, when watchmen were weary and nothing seemed real, was the perfect time to attack. A wolf howled. Another answered. Then another. Ansgar grinned and got up on his hands and knees, ready to join the attack when his signal came. Half the Changelings inside that prison were Hoel's loyal men, willing to endure pain and madness to wear wolf shape two nights every moon. However, they couldn't shift shape without the full moon, and now they would face Kreefa, born to their wolf bodies, warriors trained and sworn to serve the Red Queen. The Red Queen had decreed this prison must burn, the prisoners set free and the jailers killed for their crimes against all that was right and good. The Hunt would obey.

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The fourth wolf howled, meaning the Hunt moved. Ansgar got to his feet and charged down the last slope, toward the open gates. Dark, sleek shapes flew through the moonlight. They took down the five men carrying torches before they could draw their swords or bows. They slipped through the open gates, at the throats of the men who came running to close the gates. Casida screamed, the sound turning to a howl, as she lunged at a prison guard and killed him with her knife. It stayed in his chest. She leaped over him. The silver Druid blade Ansgar had given to her gleamed in her hand a moment later. Ansgar reached the prison and ran past the battling men and wolves. He saw Casida duck low under a swinging cudgel and slash at another man. She caught him across the chest. The man shouted, then the sound turned to a wail. Ansgar ran, intent on protecting Casida. His stomach turned over when he saw the bright gush of red blood turn black. “Changeling,” Casida gasped, and twisted sideways as the man dropped his cudgel and staggered toward her. “Help me,” he begged, before he dropped to his knees, retching. Black ooze trickled from the corners of his mouth. Ansgar caught Casida by the arm and turned her to the long line of barred doors, where pale faces peered out narrow windows. He couldn't let her think about the death she had just dealt, or let her watch the man suffer and die. Rescue now – mourn later. The Changelings were cowards when they faced real wolves. They screamed like ordinary men and tried to flee until forced to fight. Ansgar heard the desperation in their voices. They knew what efficient killers they faced. Heartbeat by heartbeat, bite by slash by brutal charge, the Hunt decimated their enemies. The tide turned when Ansgar and Casida freed the first prisoners. The men charged out to grab up anything that could be used as a weapon, and jumped in to battle their jailers. The moon had barely touched the horizon when the battle ended. The Hunt shifted to Human and searched the prisoners for weapons after they bound them. They ripped shirts off all their backs, searching for the telltale crest fur, to find Lost Ones who had joined forces with Bricriu. “Your lives are changed now,” Casida said. She stood between the released prisoners and their guards. “Until the magic has been broken, you will still suffer at the full moon. If you come

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with us, we will help you. I am the Red Queen, born to protect you from the Fever. If you stay here, you will pass on the madness. Choose. Go with us, or stay.” Ansgar admired her for understanding that the pretense of having a choice made a world of difference for these men. They all chose to go with the Kreefa – they were no fools. Casida stayed behind with her brother and Huon, when the prisoners walked out the gates. Ansgar waited, wondering what she intended. He knew those men who had served Hoel and Daman and Bricriu could not simply be left behind. The silver blade gleamed in her hand, as Casida walked up to the first man. He watched her, eyes wide, face pale under his ruddy whiskers. Sweat streamed down his face, through his ragged beard, down his bared chest. Ansgar left the gate and walked over to watch and listen. He knew, as if he could look into her heart, that she would cry and be sick later, but she was the Red Queen and she would do what she had to do. “Are you Human or Changeling?” Casida asked each man, pointing the silver blade at their throats as she went down the long line of prisoners. From their answers, they were divided into two groups. When that was finished, the Hunt returned, stepped up behind each of the fifteen unchanged men and strangled them all at one time. Their struggles seemed to last forever, yet Ansgar knew it had been done with speed, efficiency and mercy. “You are fools. Traitors to your own tribes,” Casida said, turning to the eight Changelings who remained. “Do you willingly serve? Or does he threaten those you love? Answer me!” No one spoke. Some glared at her. Ansgar heard a few mutter threats and obscenities. He imagined Casida smelled their hatred and fear. She walked up to the largest man, who snarled at her and spat when she stopped in front of him. Casida didn't flinch, though his spittle hit her cheek. Ansgar stalked forward and backhanded the man. “Beg for mercy,” he growled. He grabbed the fallen man by the long, matted hair at the back of his head and jerked him to his feet. “Do you willingly serve?” Casida asked in a quiet voice that sent chills down Ansgar's back. She pressed the tip of the knife against the man's biceps. He flinched. Ansgar imagined the touch of silver burned. “Answer the Red Queen,” Briant snarled from her left.

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“He serves me!” a man called from the gates. Ansgar turned as a lean, dark shape stepped into view. Two more steps and he emerged into the torchlight inside the prison walls. Bearded, clad in black leggings and vest, with his long, blue-black hair tied back, he was a creature of the night. “Daman?” Ansgar asked under his breath. Casida nodded. She frowned when he held out his hand, gesturing for the silver knife. “This is my fight, wife.” “Ansgar, he has the power to make you a Changeling.” “It isn't the full moon.” Briant nodded to Ansgar. “It is his right, and his duty.” “He knows nothing of the Kreefa ways of battle.” Casida stared into Ansgar's eyes and slowly gave over the knife. “That will be to his advantage.” Briant turned and walked out to meet Daman, who continued to advance. Daman turned wolf and lunged at Briant. Ansgar clutched the silver knife and attacked. He silently vowed his life to Verdidan and dropped to his knees a heartbeat before Daman leaped for his throat. He slashed upwards with the knife. He felt hot fur rasp his knuckles but the knife didn't pierce flesh. Briant rolled out of the way and shifted to wolf before he got to his feet. He stayed out of the battle, and Ansgar was grateful. He didn't want to kill the wrong black wolf. He wanted Briant between Daman and Casida, if he failed. Daman leaped, fangs bared and dripping. Ansgar spun, savagely twisting his leg and back to evade those fangs and claws. The next moment, he yanked himself backwards, tumbling heels over head. Daman twisted in mid-air, missing a slash at Ansgar's belly. He dug up the packed dirt of the prison yard as he landed, turned and lunged at Ansgar, teeth bared, while the man was still flat on his back. Ansgar swung his left arm up hard, slamming his wrist straight into Daman's open jaws. The copper and leather bands of the bowstring guard creaked and scraped under the onslaught of the wolf's fangs. Ansgar jerked up hard with his left knee. The wolf grunted and bit harder, saliva dripping on Ansgar's face and soaking the leather. His eyes gleamed red with bloodlust. “For Devona,” Ansgar snarled, and swung his right arm up and around and down in an

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arch that slammed the silver knife to the hilt into Daman's neck. The black wolf howled and twisted free, and all four sets of claws scraped and slashed at Ansgar before he could roll away. The howl changed to a shriek, then to a thick gargling. The black wolf writhed and tumbled across the torn dirt of the prison yard, spouting red blood, then black slime. The silver knife tumbled free and the blood left on its blade hissed and turned black. Ansgar lay still, listening to the sounds of death. He didn't move until all was silent. He kept his face turned away from his enemy and got up onto his knees. “Ansgar?” Casida dropped to her knees and flung her arms tight and hard around him. She shuddered and her fingers dug into his arms hard enough to feel like claws. Incredibly, Ansgar felt like laughing. He held back the sound, knowing he would vomit if he did anything but hold Casida and listen to his heart slow to a normal pace and silently thank Verdidan, the Fates, any gods who listened. * * * * * Casida questioned the Changeling guards, once Ansgar's cuts had been cleaned and bandaged. Several glared their hatred, but none dared to lie or defy her. She held the silver knife to their throats, and questioned them in front of the puddle that remained of Daman. Those who would not swear loyalty were killed, their throats slit, giving them a clean, quick death. “Husband.” Casida held out the knife when that was over. “I entrust this to you. Everyone else here will fear it.” “You should carry it. Why should they trust me, since I'm not Kreefa?” Ansgar responded. “You are Queen's Consort,” Huon said. “You have proven yourself. We honor you.” He bowed his head once. Ansgar felt cold as he held out his hand for the silver knife. The Hunt bowed their heads in salute to him. The freed prisoners watched, wide-eyed and pale. Their last task was to set fire to the enclosure. The dead were laid out along the wall, and it fell down on them, burning them to ash. Their band rode all through the night. Casida rode in front of Ansgar, wrapped tightly in his arms. She shivered despite the warmth under their shared cloaks and whimpered softly long before she could weep. Then, the tears streamed for nearly an hour. She clung to him, her fingers leaving bruises. He was glad for the pain, grateful to this

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Verdidan she served, that he could be there to comfort her. At noon, the last members of the Hunt caught up with them with news. Governor Seutonius Paulinus marched toward Mona with two legions of soldiers. Nero’s hunger to exterminate all Druids was about to be satisfied. “Go,” Casida whispered, before he could even think of what to say. “Druce is there. He is all we have left of Devona. For Bram’s memory. You still have a duty to the Druids. Go.” “Come to me in my dreams,” he demanded, when they had kissed farewell until their mouths ached. “Go north to safety, and guide me to you in my dreams.”

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Chapter Fourteen

Ansgar rode hard, due west to the Isle of Mona, and blessed the endurance bred into the Kreefa horse. He prayed to Verdidan that he had enough time to convince the Druid council they were indeed in danger. Near midnight the following night, Ansgar thought he heard a man speaking, and brought his horse to a halt. The night air near the coast carried sound well. He dismounted, leaving his horse loosely tied to the branches of the nearest tree, and continued forward on foot. He walked until he smelled cooking fires and the distinctive damp mineral and loam scent of recently disturbed earth. His hand rested on his sword and he walked softly, slowly, gliding between branches without disturbing them. Ansgar emerged from a thin haze of night mist, onto a ridge of land, to look down on a Roman encampment. The smell came from their neatly dug trenches and embankments. He crouched on the hillside, trusting in the dark of his cloak and hair and the swirling wreaths of mist to hide him, despite the waxing moon. Ansgar studied the lines of tents, supply wagons, the long line of latrine trenches and cook fires and horse pickets. Two full legions. That flag flying above the double tent in the center of the camp belonged to the military governor, Seutonius Paulinus. The Romans were only half a day away from Mona. Ansgar gritted his teeth to fight a snarl of frustration. He crept backwards, watching the Roman camp, until he reached the safety of the trees again. Once more, a sentry called to another. Ansgar whispered apology to his horse. An hour of rest wasn't nearly enough, but he couldn't spare the beast now. He had to convince the Druids to leave immediately, and somehow get them far enough away from Mona that the Romans couldn't follow. He reached the place where he should have smelled the sea, and his throat grew tight until

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he thought he would choke. The stink of burned thatch and scorched flesh filled the air. Under that reek lay the stench of rotting flesh. Ansgar rode on. He had to prove himself wrong, that he only imagined carnage and destruction, that his senses were over-tired and deceived him. He came out onto the coast, nearly opposite the shore of Mona. The island lay lower in the sea -- all the tall, proud oaks of the sacred groves, which had crowned the island, had vanished. Smoke rose in ribbons everywhere. Boats lay slashed and scattered across the shores on both sides, mute testimony to how the Romans had crossed in massive numbers for the slaughter. Bodies littered the island shore, dark with dried gore. Ansgar knelt on the pebbly shore on his side of the narrow channel, willing one silent form to roll over, sit up, something to show that not every speck of life had been crushed. When his nose had grown numb to the stench, he mounted his horse and urged the beast into the water. It fought him for only a few steps, then snorted and started across. Midway, Ansgar had to slide from the saddle and hold on to let the horse swim through water over their heads. On the other shore, he looked at every bloated, hacked, bloody face, and made silent tally of the dead in the moonlight. Gray-haired Druids, male and female, and their young apprentices lay side-by-side in brutal death. Warriors, men and women alike, with their hair limed and their faces and bodies painted with woad for protection, were scattered thickly among the scholars and bards and teachers. The sand, the rocks, the moss and grass were all clotted with dried blood. Ansgar followed the trail beaten by Roman boots, across the island, to every spot where the inhabitants had thrown themselves at the merciless wall of death. There were Roman bodies scattered among the dead, but not enough. Ansgar found Druce at Bram's half-burned hut. The young Druid clutched the old man's harp. He lay on his back, with Roman arrows filling his body. Strangely, his face was peaceful. Ansgar hoped he had seen Devona waiting for him in the Otherworld. Every door was shattered, every house burned. Nothing that remained on the island was alive or whole. There were many faces he didn't see among the dead, and Ansgar dared to hope some friends had escaped.

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He swam the passage, daring the current to sweep him out to sea. He pushed his trembling, weary horse for another hour, until the wind no longer brought him the stench of death. Then he made a fire and warmed himself. He wasn't hungry, but he ate, knowing he would need all his strength for the long, grueling journey ahead. Boudicca and her allies needed to know what had happened. They needed to be ready to use the news that could destroy the spirit of their combined armies, or fan the flames of hatred into cleansing fire. When he fell asleep, he could never be sure. Ansgar only knew that one moment he leaned back against a slab of rock, staring into the fire. The next moment, Casida stood before him, holding out her hands, and tears made her face shine. I was too late. They were warned, love. Don't blame yourself, or you will only cripple yourself. Boudicca needs you. She needs to know what has happened. Casida's face twisted in a spasm of pain. They deserve to die. For this. For my mother. For all the innocents. Rome has no right! Power must be used to serve, not to dominate! The Kreefa could have been gods, but we knew better. Will we win? I am no seer. Tears gleamed in her eyes and her righteous fire began to fade. She slumped to her knees. Ansgar, go to Boudicca and tell her this. And then come to me. Druce is dead. There is nothing left of Devona. I can't lose you, too. I'll come. I promise. Death won't keep me away -- Romans won't touch me. He held up his hand in pledge. He woke himself by raising his arm in the air. Ansgar blinked hard, trying to focus his eyes on the starry sky. Before dawn sent scarlet streaks across the landscape, he mounted his halfrested horse and turned east and south to Iceni lands. * * * * * The tribes and kings who answered Boudicca's call to arms gathered slowly, moved stealthily. They sent messengers in the dark of the night to confer. The spring plowing and planting was neglected for the sake of spying on the Romans. Blacksmiths forged new weapons

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and sharpened swords and spears that had been buried to avoid Roman confiscation. They neglected plowshares and other tools and the farmers neglected their farms. When they destroyed the Romans, the Britons would have all their food and riches to carry them through the fall and winter, and they would worry about farming next spring. Ansgar knew his grandfather would counsel against such thinking. Perhaps Bram would even try to calm the furious hunger for vengeance and cool the hot tempers. The Romans had done more damage than they thought when they struck down an elderly bard in Boudicca's hall that day. Ansgar tried to speak the words he knew his grandfather would say, and no one listened. He had never felt so useless in all his life. What good were the sacrifices he had made for Britannia, if no one benefited? * * * * * By riding hard and long, Casida, the Hunt and Changelings reached the Kreefa village a day before the full moon. Huon immediately left to hunt down his father. Only when Hoel was dead, and Bricriu with him, could they have any hope that the magic would end. Casida remembered Ansgar’s words of warning but chose not to speak them and destroy what little hope the Changelings had. She had entrusted the silver blade to Ansgar when he rode to Mona, to kill any Changelings or Rebels who might attack him. She could smell the silver blade in her dreams and it seemed that her nose burned from the scent. That tingling, the burning sensation came from the magic alone, didn't it? Casida prayed so. She wore all her rings for good luck, for safety and healing. Learn from this, my daughter, she silently told the baby. For the sake of the tribe, for the sake of honor and what is right, sometimes you must risk even those most precious to you. Sometimes you must risk your own life. What is this you ask me? How can I dare risk my own life for the sake of the tribe, if I must live for the sake of the tribe? Ah, you are wise. This is something you must explain to me. She smiled at her momentary flight of fancy. Her smiles didn’t last long, even within the safety of the village – because how could they be sure the magic hadn’t followed them? At sunset, the first night of the full moon, Casida had the Changelings sit in a circle around her in the center of the village. She knelt and sent up her soul in prayer to Verdidan, for the power and strength to control and comfort and calm these men. Tyra and Elda and the other women

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with any healing talent surrounded the men, to add their strength to Casida’s. The last streaks of color left the sky and Casida closed her eyes, reaching out with her spirit to every soul, every body. The wind was her ally, sending her calming scent out to the men, who concentrated on her as if she were an island in the midst of a violent sea. * * * * * Ansgar jerked awake with his wrist on fire. He was on his knees before he opened his eyes. The moon burned, pouring silver fire into his eyes, into his soul. Choking down the cry that threatened to erupt from deep inside, he staggered out of the camp. The sentries turned to watch him flee into the darkness of the woods. In two days, Boudicca's forces would fall on Camulodunium. All was in readiness. Ansgar led a team of spies and couriers, watching for Roman activity. This quiet night had been a blessing, a chance to rest and hoard their strength for the first brutal charge. Ansgar scratched at his wrist and cursed whatever illness or malady had struck to steal his sleep. Perhaps an enemy with magic at his disposal? He leaned against a tree when his knees threatened to fold underneath him. His hands shook so badly he couldn't hold his wrist steady enough to remove the metal and leather wrist guard. Ansgar hissed when it came off, disturbing the last of the healing scratches from Daman's claws. He held out his wrist and turned it slowly, until a red puncture showed on the outside of his arm, along the bone. It seemed to pulse, growing darker. Spreading. His skin rippled like a horse shuddering away a fly. His fingertips itched, then burned. Then bled. Ansgar forgot to breathe as he watched his fingernails thicken and shift in his fingers, and the joints thickened and his bones shortened. Then the pain drove him to his knees. Changeling. Memories of Innis' torment swam through his mind. Ansgar fumbled for the silver knife at his belt. He wondered if his grandfather had known this would happen when he had it crafted and chose Ansgar to wield it. Fury cut through the pain, the terror-raised visions of what he would become. Ansgar

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knew he had to stop himself before he killed or passed on the curse. No one could stop him but Casida, and she was days away. He would never see Casida again. He would never see their child. Hoel and Bricriu would win. Casida …. Ansgar slid the silver blade free of the sheath while he still had control over his fingers. He moaned and his gorge rose as he felt his finger bones splinter and reform under the guiding of an unkind hand. Forgive me, love. He closed his eyes and fumbled with both hands to shift the knife and prepare it to plunge into his chest. He had to try to reach her through this strange, magic bond they had discovered, to say good-bye. Would she hear him? He had to believe that she would, with all her powers and strength called up tonight to help the Changelings battle the Fever. * * * * * Casida didn't believe it when she heard Ansgar's voice. She opened her eyes and looked around the circle of Changelings. The men whimpered and several lay on their sides, writhing in pain. Half had turned to wolves already, but the madness hadn't taken them, tearing them free to run wild and spread the curse. She gauged the length of the battle by the moon's proximity to the zenith. Soon, she hoped, the battle would grow easier. If Hoel didn't attack them with magic. Was it malevolent magic, trying to distract her, or had her mate tried to reach her? My love? She opened her mind to that constant sense of Ansgar, hovering at the edges of her soul. Casida screamed. Through the net of fire that wrapped around her body and tore her flesh from her bones, she felt Briant leap through the ring of Changelings and wrap himself around her. The fire reached inside her and pulled her wolf shape forward. But it was all wrong. The strangeness was shock enough to help her find her anchor and regain calm and control in the center of the fire. The fire tried to wring a wolf shape from her body without touching her inborn wolf nature and shape. Ansgar! Forgive me. His voice undulated with pain, cracked with shame. She felt Fever pour

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through his veins and shred his flesh. Casida saw the silver blade poised in his warping hands. She relived that battle with Daman in his memories. Felt the Rebel's teeth scrape the wrist guard. Saw the swollen puncture from Daman's fang. Understood. And felt the strength of Ansgar's soul begin to shred, as his body submitted to the magic. You're fighting it, she shrieked to him. We are one. Hold to me. We will fight it! Do not leave me! Memory burst through her control, like boiling mud through the crust of the earth, and she stood again on the dusty road where the Romans had attacked the Kreefa. Casida was a child again. She watched Alastrina crumple, streaming blood, clutching her belly, and heard Caradoc beg his mate not to leave him. * * * * * Ansgar dropped the knife as a growl burst from his throat. Fury battled the pain and brought a strange, icy calm. Casida would die if he killed himself. The shock, combined with the battle she fought to protect the Changelings, would overwhelm her. She would go into early labor, weakened by the loss of him. She would die like her mother. That was the one thing she feared and refused to admit, and so opened herself to weakness. He understood, as if the Sacred Nine pulsed through his veins, and brought him all the wisdom of the Otherworld. Ansgar refused to let Casida die. We are one, he howled to the worlds of flesh and spirit. Ansgar dropped forward onto his forelegs and writhed as his clothes tore, his weapons clattered to the ground and fur covered his sleek new muscles. Hold to me, love. Don't let me go. We will fight this. Run. Casida's voice in his soul sounded breathless. Father taught the unmated men to run, to fight, to burn the fire from their blood. Run until you cannot move. Ansgar felt her soul wrap around his, like her body curved around his in sleep. He snarled and struggled free of his clothes and fled on legs that throbbed with every step. * * * * * When dawn came, the Changelings lived, exhausted but smiling in their weariness. They

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had transformed to wolves but they had harmed no one. They had run circles around the village until they collapsed. As Ansgar had done. As Casida had done in spirit, paired with him, step for step, heartbeat for heartbeat. Casida wept as she curled up on the ground, and smiled. “Sister?” Briant picked her up. She had dug holes in the ground with her fingers, and sweated until mud streaked her legs. “Ansgar is a Changeling,” she whispered. Casida choked on a single bark of laughter when her brother groaned. “No, he's all right. We fought the Fever together. He harmed no one.” He carried her to her hut. Tyra and Bricta hurried to help tend her. “Daman did bite him, not just scratch him?” “One single fang mark.” Casida felt as if she had run every step with every Changeling that night. The baby was quiet within her, exhausted, as if they had fought the battle together. You see, my daughter? That is the duty that awaits you. But what a proud thing it is. We stand between darkness and light. We are Verdidan's warriors. “How?” Briant snarled. “It wasn't the full moon when it happened.” “How could any of us have known the evil Daman was working?” She could barely open her eyes. A smile of weary triumph curved her lips. Casida supposed she looked frightening. The three filled the air with such worry that she almost choked on the bittersweet scent. “Ansgar told me that even the Druids could not understand all the ways of evil magic.” She curved both her hands over her belly. “All that matters is that Ansgar lives. We fought the curse together.” “Thank Verdidan, Hoel didn't attack while you battled,” her brother said. “He could tonight,” Tyra said. “Sleep, Red Queen. Another battle, just as bitter, waits with the night.” “Yes, but tonight we will be stronger. Every night that we battle the Fever and win, we are stronger and the curse is weaker.” She closed her eyes, too weary to eat the food they put in her hands. Ansgar. My love. Come quickly. * * * * * “Tonight ….” Ansgar sighed, the sound turning into a groan. He closed his eyes to the rising sun and lay back in the heather. He was at least a stadia from his camp, naked, aching in

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every bone, and his skin seemed to cringe at the touch of the sunlight. Every movement sent tremors through his regained body. But he was alive. “Tonight,” he whispered, and the ache in his jaw decreased with every throbbing heartbeat. “Tonight … I will protect my clothes.” A chuckle rasped like broken pottery in his throat. He managed to find his breeks with only a few tears in them, his wrist guard and the silver knife, and put them on before he reached camp. Ansgar laughed at the askance look his people gave his dirt-crusted hands and feet, his bare chest and the exhaustion that had carved lines in his face. “I was attacked by magic in the night. With the slaughter on Mona, evil has been allowed free reign in Britannia,” he told them. “But not for long,” Ansgar added on a growl. “Know this -Lord Bricriu helped to bring the man-wolves here. If you see him, kill him. Don’t hesitate. Your life could be forfeit if you do.” * * * * * Ansgar did not ride with Boudicca as the mighty, seething force of warriors surged out to strike at Camulodunium, the seat of the Roman government. He laughed at himself when he realized he had tasted all the battle he could stomach. This was the battle he had been longing for, all his life. A chance to slaughter Romans and drive them off the soil of Britannia, back to the shores, back to the sea. He no longer cared. Camulodunium lay in smoking ruins when Ansgar and his warrior spies reached the gates. The town had no chance. The ancient defensive earthworks had been half-dismantled by the Romans when they took it from the defeated Catavaulanni tribe. Ansgar lagged behind when his band shouted and urged their horses through the burned gates. He didn't need to ride through the blood-soaked streets to know what he would find. A few straggling survivors piteously begged for their lives. Warriors, so streaked with grime and gore that their woad tattoos no longer showed, still ran down the streets, slashing and hacking at anything that moved. A house that had been untouched erupted into flame, when someone found a burning brand and flung it onto the thatched roof. Girls and women, violated until they lost consciousness, would be waking now, those who hadn't had their throats slit or their bellies ripped open. Wails and screams and sobs rose into the air with the fall of night,

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carried on the wind that held the stench of blood and death. Britannia would never be the same proud land it had once been. In their rage, fueled by years of injustice, sparked by the brutality against the royal women and the destruction of Mona, the Britons had lowered themselves to the unfeeling cruelty of the Romans they loathed. * * * * * Boudicca smiled wearily when Ansgar finished his report, and glanced toward the curtained alcove where her daughters slept. She had only put in an appearance at the raucous celebration feast, to speak words of praise to the warchiefs and salute them with a horn of mead. Then she retired to this room away from the feasting hall of the confiscated Roman villa. “How are Ardra and Neala?” he asked. “My wife sends again her sorrow. If her sister still lived, Devona would have come with me, to tend to their hearts.” “I would have welcomed her. As I would have welcomed Queen Casida and her warriors.” Boudicca's weary smile turned to a frown, and years settled in the lines around her mouth and eyes. “It hurts me deeply, that my friend denies me the strength and skill of her warriors at this crucial time. I know her hatred for Rome. I know she is no coward. Why does she hold back?” “She carries our child.” “I heard she jumped into Bricriu's bed.” “You know that is a lie.” “True.” She nodded, gracing him with a humorless smile. “I have heard many things. I know Bricriu wants Casida. He spoke of watching our flank, then vanished. Do you know where he is?” “Hiding from me. I have learned he helped bring the man-wolves to our land.” Ansgar nodded when Boudicca flinched at that bit of news. He took a deep breath, bracing for her reaction when he told her everything he had learned. It was time now, while she was too weary to be angry. “He helped Lucius Marcellus poison King Prasutagus. He helped create the forged will. He wanted the kings and Romans to destroy each other, so that with his army of man-wolves, no one could stop him from ruling Britannia.” Silence rang through the room. He fancied he could hear the princesses breathing in their sleep.

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“Bricriu, whom we trusted?” Boudicca asked in a half-whisper. “Tell me everything.” Ansgar wished he could indeed tell her everything, but he had the Kreefa to protect. They were his people now. Ansgar told Boudicca all he could of Bricriu's treachery without betraying Casida and her tribe. “This one deserves to die,” Boudicca said, when the tale had ended. They sat in silence, listening to the rumbling of the last, stubborn celebrants in the hall beyond them. Ansgar looked at the queen, her red hair darkened by the shadows enclosing them. There were echoes of Casida in her. He knew he would see Casida everywhere he looked, everywhere he went. Was this what it meant to be bound in their souls? “Why do you smile?” Boudicca asked. “I was thinking of Casida.” “Your wife needs you. Duty has come between you too much as it is. Go to her, Ansgar. You have served me and Britannia truly and well, far beyond the calling of vows or honor.” “But has it been enough?” “It will never be enough. Even when we are both dead and turned to dust in our graves. But we must do all we can, or we will never be able to rest.” Boudicca sighed and held up a hand to stop him, when he opened his mouth to make his farewells. “I have one request. I cannot control these warriors. When they have a bellyful of killing and revenge, they will drift away. When their anger cools, washed with blood, our attack will falter.” She sighed. “My daughters are mere shadows of themselves. Destroying every Roman in Britannia will not heal them.” “They have healers among the Kreefa,” Ansgar ventured. “Yes. For the sake of the friendship Casida vowed to me, take Ardra and Neala with you. Take them to safety. If I fail here …” Boudicca summoned up a weary smile. “I shall die easier, knowing they are safe. Will you take and protect them?” “I will guard them as if they were my children. Casida will adopt them as her own sisters and they will hold a place of honor among the Kreefa.”

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Chapter Fifteen

Ansgar headed north after too long a delay. Every warchief and noble wanted to know what he had seen and what he knew of Seutonius Paulinus and his legions. Ansgar wondered what good it would do. The warchiefs might try to organize their warriors to stand against the relentless onward march of the Romans, but it was an exercise in futility. The Britons trusted in the massed rush of their forces to bowl over the enemy and frightening their enemy with war cries, limed hair and mystic designs painted in woad on their bodies. The Roman soldiers stood firm against the terrifying creatures swarming down on them, interlocking their shields, then flinging their spears and shooting their arrows on the orders of their leaders. Casida met him in his dreams the night he and the princesses began their journey. She was pale and bore dark smears of weariness under her eyes, but she smiled and held out her arms for him. He reached for her, but she always hovered just beyond his grasp. It was enough for Ansgar to see her, to know she waited for him. He told her what Boudicca asked and she promised to send the Hunt to meet them. When he woke, he studied the sky. While he was caught up in serving Boudicca, time had sped by. The moon had grown to the half. He didn’t want to be alone with the princesses at the full. “Wait for me, love,” he whispered. “It won't be long now, and we will be together forever.” * * * * * The full moon peered above the horizon, like an enemy sneaking through underbrush. Casida's fingers tingled, as if she had spattered them with acid. Magic moved, turning her silver rings to poison. She ignored the faint distraction, knowing if she faltered, many would suffer this night. Hoel and Bricriu had had an entire moon to rest, to gather their strength and plan their

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strategy. Distance had saved the Changelings and her tribe at the last full moon. She couldn’t depend on that now. The hunters she had sent had not reached Ansgar. He would face this full moon alone, again, with only the strength and control she could send him. “Blessed Verdidan,” she whispered. Casida's throat closed around the prayer. Briant and the Hunt circled the Changelings who gathered around her, to subdue anyone who became violent. Something nearby was rotten. She breathed through her mouth to avoid the stink of decaying, putrid flesh. She looked and all her muscles froze for two heartbeats. Tendrils of black mist crept along the ground, entwining the men seated around her. “Run! Don't let the black mist touch you!” she shrieked. Briant leaped in and yanked her to her feet. Around her, the men stirred sluggishly, as if waking from sleep. Casida reached for the closest man. Her fingers burned. She raised her hands to the moonlight and she saw black streaks of shifting mist cling to her rings. “Run!” She shook free of Briant's support, grabbed at the man closest to her and shook him. His eyes fluttered open and he looked around like a drunkard waking from a stupor. Mist erupted from the ground in front of him and wrapped around his chest, his neck. He shouted. The sound cut off and he collapsed backwards against the next man. Black streaks wove into nets to enfold him. He moaned and writhed, trying to break free. * * * * * Ansgar shuddered, wracked with the pain of transformation. Huon had said it tormented less each time it occurred. He felt no difference, other than decreasing horror. In years to come, he would grow used to it. In years to come, he would be with Casida. Casida wasn't here tonight. A low snarl escaped Ansgar's tight throat at that thought. He stepped through the forest on all fours, sleek and agile despite the pain that spiked his body with every movement. He could do what he wished tonight, now that the first torment and fire had run through his system. Casida would hold onto his soul and drain away the fire. He had left the princesses alone, surrounded by fire, with plenty of wood to keep the flames going, armed with swords. Ansgar didn’t want to attack them, but he refused to risk any mistakes tonight. He

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almost left the silver blade with them, but decided to keep it, hanging by a thong around his neck whether wolf or man. Ansgar’s sense of smell sharpened. He smelled pain and blood. Fresh blood. Along with other scents he couldn't interpret. In the years to come, Casida would teach him to understand. Fear and death and power trembled through the ground. A familiar scent bit at his nose and he raced to follow, flying on all fours before he consciously recognized it. Then Ansgar-wolf snarled and his eyes burned with furious joy. Bricriu had a favorite scent that he wore, which he claimed held magic properties. Cinnamon and aloe, imported from far away, were the main components. Ansgar knew from that scent, his enemy was close. He hoped the blood he smelled came from Bricriu. Ansgar came out on a steep shelf of rock, overlooking a rounded, sandy area that had once been a bend in a river. Bricriu strutted around its perimeter while Hoel knelt, adjusting stakes pounded into the ground that held a man tied down, spread-eagle. He stood and stepped back, and a growl rumbled in Ansgar’s throat when he saw the victim. Huon had indeed found his father. Naked, he was covered in bruises, half-congealed cuts and burn marks that looked as if he had been beaten with a burning log. “She is strong,” Bricriu said. “I need blood to strengthen the magic.” He handed a long knife to Hoel. “Kill him now.” Hoel snarled and backhanded Bricriu, so he went flying and lost his grip on the knife. “Not until the moon is at its highest,” he snarled. “At least give me some blood.” Bricriu scrambled back to his feet, but he stayed away from Hoel until the man nodded. Bricriu smiled like a mischievous boy when he knelt and gashed Huon’s leg. The prisoner didn’t make a sound. Bricriu caught the blood in a shallow bowl, then walked in a circle around Huon, spattering blood behind him and digging signs into the sand with a rowan staff ringed and tipped with silver. Ansgar bared his fangs as the scorching scent of the silver clawed at his nose, his lungs. Black streamers writhed through the air and vanished just before they touched the ground. Ansgar shuddered inside his wolf skin. Casida. He reached with his soul, opening wide the bond between their hearts. He needed

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more than her strength and cooling touch. Something was happening, and he feared the results circled her, not this place of death and evil. He saw through Casida’s eyes. In the center of the Kreefa village, men staggered, shouting in panic, in pain, trying to escape the black tendrils of mist. It vomited up from the ground like eyeless snakes and wrapped around the Changelings. It bit into their flesh, circled their necks and choked them. It invaded their mouths and noses and ears. Briant wrapped his arms around Casida to lead her away. She resisted. Her duty kept her there, to battle for their lives. Ansgar knew their hope rested on him. He crept down from the ledge, staying in the shadows at the edge of the sand. Hoel turned abruptly, his head tipped back as if testing the wind. The fur rose on Ansgar's neck. His enemy sensed him. The wolf inside him demanded action. Demanded that he leap and claw, bite and tear. The trained warrior refused, demanding that he wait until Hoel relaxed his vigilance. The wolf in him grew stronger with every heartbeat, every whiff of blood scorching the air, every throb of the pulse of the land as the moonlight poured down in a hot silver stream. Fury silenced him as he flew from the underbrush. Two bounds took him across the clearing, soaring high to crash into Bricriu's side. The rowan staff went flying, scattering sparks that glowed green with poison. The silver hit Ansgar on the rump and he yelped, scorched. He turned, feeling Hoel’s silent attack. “Which one are you?” Bricriu raised hands trailing black streamers. Ansgar dodged, going under Hoel’s leap. He slashed at Bricriu. The man screamed and the hot scent of blood filled the air. Ansgar saw a flash of silver and flinched away. Then he realized it was a knife. He ducked low, caught it in his mouth and turned to Huon. Hoel hit him hard in the side and the two wolves tumbled over and over. They landed on Huon, who gasped from the impact. Hoel’s teeth caught on the cord holding the knife. It snapped. Ansgar bit hard, catching the other wolf’s leg in his jaws. They continued rolling. They hit a tree stump, hidden in the shadows. Hoel was on the bottom and took most of the impact. Ansgar twisted his head down, snapping at the other wolf’s throat. Bricriu shrieked fury and Huon shouted Ansgar’s name. Black lightning flung Ansgar back, rolling nose over tail, then landing hard enough to knock the air from his lungs.

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But his mouth was full of Hoel’s fur and blood. “Ansgar!” Huon shouted again. He looked, and Huon had freed himself. He held the silver knife. Even through the drumming of pain in his ears, Ansgar heard the sizzling of Huon’s flesh against the silver blade. His gaze shifted and he saw Bricriu turn to direct his magic at Huon. Ansgar dredged up the strength to rise. Huon shouted and lunged at Bricriu. The burst of black lighting hit the silver blade – and had no effect. Huon drove the silver blade into Bricriu’s chest. Bricriu screamed and tried to yank the knife free. Ansgar hit him, jaws clamping around his hand. The three went down, rolling. Silver and black fire crackled, searing Ansgar’s fur at its roots. A black burst of lighting picked them all up and flung them against the surrounding trees and boulders as if they were a child’s dolls. * * * * * “Ansgar!” Casida screamed, writhing in their shared agony. She raised her hands to the moon and it seemed she dragged clouds and blackness up across it with her hands. Briant swore and raced forward to catch her as she fell. The earth rumbled beneath her, a cataclysm she sensed with soul rather than flesh. Shuddering, she crumpled to the ground, curling into a ball around the precious life inside her. * * * * * Days to the south, men and beasts screamed and fled for their lives as the ground opened in massive crevices and trees burst into flames and the clear skies grew black and boiled with clouds. Lightning flashed repeatedly until some thought daylight had come.

Thunder crashed,

deafening, until the roar of the deluge fell from the skies. Ansgar lay still, on his side, whimpers of agony escaping his furred and fanged jaws. Despite the solid wall of rain beating down on him, he smelled flesh burning. He lay still, letting the rain soak into his battered body, filling his fur until the weight of it nearly crushed his bruised ribs. The chill eased some of his pain. The burning was in his own flesh. Moaning, he rolled onto his stomach. He shuddered as the rain touched his semi-dry fur. The cold drove away the burning in his side and he blinked hard, peering with superior wolf sight into the black-on-silver of the continuing lightning strikes.

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Silver flashed in the mud and rising water. The silver knife. It had been lodged in Bricriu's chest. Where was Bricriu? If there was any justice, the magician had died in agony and black corruption. This knife was a precious thing. His continued wolf shape proved the curse of the Changelings had not ended with Bricriu's death. Casida would need the knife in the years to come. Their daughter, the next Red Queen, would need the knife, to deal with Changelings. Ansgar held back his groans as he maneuvered to his feet. His neck ached, as if he had shattered bones, but he bowed his head, caught the stone handle in his teeth, and carried away the knife until he found some sparse shelter. * * * * * Casida huddled in a nest of blankets in her hut, stunned by the strange, sudden end to her battle. She curved her hands over her belly, soothing the baby inside her, praying so deeply inside her soul she didn't know what she prayed. She smelled death and the stink of the black corruption, but she knew only a few of the Changelings had died. Ansgar had saved them. Ansgar lived. Casida lacked the strength to reach through their bond and find him, feel his soul and his wounds. She only knew he lived. If he had died she would have gone into the Otherworld with him. She lacked the strength to sit up on her own, let alone fight the agony if she had lost him. Knowing Ansgar lived was enough for now. He had triumphed. He had saved them. She had held back the Fever and he had destroyed their enemy. “Come to me, love,” she whispered. The effort of speaking made her head light. She closed her eyes and felt the simmering power of the moon washing over her. Everyone was too weary to feel the Fever. They were safe for tonight. * * * * * The hunters sent to escort Ansgar and the princesses found the girls first, just before dawn. They found Ansgar as he struggled into his clothes, which had been nearly washed out of their hiding place in the storm. They found Hoel, his throat torn out. There was no sign of Huon or Bricriu. Ansgar knew they had both vanished, destroyed. He felt nothing for Bricriu, who had been his friend. He regretted the lost of Huon, who could have been his friend if things had

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turned out differently. Prodded by curiosity, Ansgar persuaded the hunters to take a detour and ride south, to Semer before they went to the Kreefa village. When they reached the place where lush green valleys once sloped down into mist, they found all changed. The moon gleamed on a rolling surface and the smell of water-rotted wood, mud and decaying flesh filled the air. Black water lapped against the edge of the rocky outcropping where Ansgar had once stood with Casida on a stormy day. As far as the eye could see, water covered the rich valleys. Ansgar imagined underground rivers bursting out of their restraints and reaching to the sky. Magic had held back the water that once flowed through those stone caverns. When magic shattered, so had those restraints, and the water had come up to claim more than its own territory. * * * * * On the night of the half moon, Casida woke gasping and gagging as her stomach tried to empty itself. She staggered out of her hut, took four steps, fell to her knees, and lost the remnants of her dinner. Shuddering, she reached the stream and scooped up water in both hands to bathe her face and rinse out her mouth. “It's not the babe this time either, is it?” Tyra said. Casida muffled a groan of mixed shame and disgust. She should have known the healer would be listening, ever watchful over her. Would she be able to be sick in peace once Ansgar joined them? Would her nightmares and fears stop once her mate was here, holding her in his arms in the cool summer nights? Tonight, black mist had writhed in snake-like tendrils, reaching for her. It penetrated her belly and yanked her baby from her womb. Casida had awakened, choking on a scream, an image filling her eyes -- her child corrupted into black ooze. Even now, she could hear Bricriu laugh from the grave. “No,” she finally said in answer to the healer's question. “Bricriu's ghost hunts me through my dreams.” Casida scrubbed sweat from her face and wiped her sour mouth on her sleeve. She sat back on her heels and looked at the sky. “I thought I could sleep tonight, at least.” Tyra settled down next to her and sat cross-legged, head tilted up to study the sky as well.

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“You fear what the full moon will bring, even though Bricriu, Hoel and Daman are dead. It is strange, isn't it, that we are creatures of magic, yet we know so little of it? We don't know its rules or limitations or how to defend against it.” “The temptations to use magic for evil are too great. Our ancestors chose to walk away from magic that does not deal directly with the Kreefa. We have healing gifts, and we have the power of the mind, gifted from Mother Anstice. That is more than enough responsibility.” “Do you refuse to teach a child to use a sword because he could turn it on other people and steal from them?” “Perhaps we should,” Casida whispered. She opened her eyes again and exchanged smiles with Tyra. It was an old debate that went around and around among the Elders, generation to generation. The two women sat in silence. Casida inhaled deeply, slowly, willing the peace and cool serenity of the night into her body. When Tyra asked her what she had dreamed, she only hesitated a moment. She knew if Devona had been here, her sister would have asked her. She compared it to Tyra's practice of opening wounds that had gone bad. Keeping the poison inside would do far greater harm than cutting the sealed flesh. She described her dream. “Is it a warning or just my fears speaking in my head?” “It doesn't matter, at this point.” Tyra gnawed on her bottom lip. “More than a dozen of our people have come to me with burns and seeping wounds where they have worn silver.” “We brought the curse with us.” “Hoel brought it to us. This magic only needed time to spread. Our men have a harder time resisting the Fever. It has been growing on us all gradually.” The old healer clasped Casida's cold hands. “Do not blame yourself. You have always tried to do what is right and good. You have always faced your responsibility. If anyone is to be blamed for betraying us or bringing ill on the tribe, we should blame Hoel and Daman.” “They have paid for their crimes.” “Not nearly enough. Their kin suffer with us, but they never thought of that when they allied with Bricriu.” “I'm afraid, Tyra,” Casida whispered. “Fear is a friend, if it warns but does not control us.”

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“You sound like Father!” She managed a weak chuckle. “Your father was a great and worthy man. Your mother chose well when she made him her mate and Consort. You are a tribute to them both. Don't doubt yourself or your training or your heart, Red Queen.” “I doubt the wisdom of everything I have ever done. Tyra, what do we do if this Changeling curse resides in all of us?” She sighed and stroked both hands over her swollen belly. “Every day I ask myself what I could have done differently.” “And that is why you have dreams that make you ill. Consider that if Hoel had not joined with us, he still would have allied with Bricriu to create Changelings. History repeats itself, no matter what wisdom we learn. Hoel did not learn from Kratos’ evil when he allied with Lycaon. But be proud of what you have done. You and Ansgar have destroyed those evil three, and many innocents were rescued. Changelings will not die, and will not suffer, because of you.” “Are their lives that much better?” “They live free, and they will be protected. You would not have this treasure, if you had not hunted the Changelings.” Tyra rested her gentle hand over Casida's, covering the child within. “Verdidan always brings blessings on us, even in the midst of tragedy and evil, if we obey and hold to the path set before us.” Casida nodded. She closed her eyes so the woman wouldn't see the tears pressing to escape. In the silence, she heard the steady, slow beating of horses’ hooves approaching the village. * * * * * Ansgar and the princesses rode into the village just before dawn. Cullen and Cynyr led the procession, with the other five hunters following. Cullen leaped from his horse and let out a howl of pure exhilaration and foolery. As Kreefa came running from their huts, Ansgar looked around and marveled that the Kreefa village looked like any other in Britannia. A massive fire ring made up the center of the village, with a well nearby. Long, thatched buildings of stone housed families and smaller ones served to shelter unmarried men or protected the village stores. Looms sat outside, under thatched awnings, now that the warmer weather had come. There were pens for chickens and pigs between the buildings. The meadow and corrals for the horses sat just where Casida had described them to him. A stream glimmered in the fading

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starlight, showing where the villagers washed their clothes and bathed. Then he saw Casida, coming through the gathering crowd. Ansgar left the princesses in the twins’ care and slid down from the horse and ran to meet her. The sight of her pregnancy-swollen belly struck him anew with wonder. She was too enormous with child to move so lightly or so quickly, and yet she did. He stopped and scooped her up in his arms. They kissed until they were breathless. Ansgar heard a few girls giggling behind him and he didn't care. This was his home, and these were his people, and this was his wife in his arms and their child kicking in her belly. This moment could not have been more perfect, unless he knew the way to the peaceful island kingdom where the Kreefa could live in secrecy and safety. Ansgar swore in that moment, he would make it his life’s work to find that place. If not us, Casida spoke into his soul, then our children. * * * * * “It’s all right, love,” Casida whispered. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather face the full moon for an entire moon.” Ansgar knelt supporting Casida, who reclined against him. Tyra knelt between Casida’s legs, one hand resting on her swollen belly. The healer woman kept her eyes closed, using her healing magic to follow the progress of the child. Casida had been in labor for ten hours now. That was nine hours too long for Ansgar. Despite her sweaty, flushed face and bitten lips and the tiny whimpers that escaped her iron control, she laughed at his words. “Little Sister?” Briant pushed aside the blanket hanging over the door and came into the hut. “How is she? Can you do anything?” He glared at Ansgar, as if this was all his fault. Ansgar glared back – he felt like this was all his fault. “She simply needs to rest,” Tyra said. “If it's any comfort, first births sometimes take a day, or more.” “That's no comfort at all,” Briant growled. He lifted Casida's hand to his cheek. “Don't be frightened, little one,” he whispered. “I won't let anything hurt you.” “Then tell your niece to be careful,” Casida said. She gasped as another labor pain rippled visibly through her belly.

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Ansgar wove his fingers through her damp, tangled hair, holding her head still. He bent over, touching his forehead to hers. It took all his strength not to weep or burst into a rage. He had never felt so terrified in his life, yet Casida smiled. She was radiant with joy, despite her pain. “Men.” Tyra snorted. “If birthing babies were left in your hands, there would be no babies. Let her rest.” Ansgar closed his eyes, concentrating with all he had inside him, reaching out to Casida as he had reached for her in his dreams. A moan escaped Casida as her eyes flew open. She clutched at the blankets covering her and her back arched. Ansgar scrambled to grasp her hands. She bit her lip, then sighed and relaxed back into the blankets. Tyra lifted the blankets covering Casida's naked body and smoothed both hands over her rippling belly. Ansgar ignored the pain as Casida dug her fingernails into his hands. Her grip threatened his finger bones. He endured, willing all his strength into her, gladly taking every bit of pain in the hopes he could take some of hers away. Tyra muttered under her breath while she felt Casida's belly and spread her legs and eased her through her pains. Briant turned white and fled the hut. She met Ansgar's gaze and smiled. “Soon, child. Very soon.” “Not soon enough,” Casida grunted. She arched up, squeezing Ansgar's hands hard enough to make his fingers go numb. A choked shout of pain tore through her. “There's the head,” the healer crooned. Casida wept, breathless. She closed her eyes and struggled, straining, her face red with effort. Ansgar bent his head and kissed her eyes, brushing away her tears with his cheeks because he couldn't free his hands. At the back of his mind, he knew someday they might find this amusing. He felt nothing now but eagerness to have it all finished. Tyra let out a shout of triumph. Ansgar lifted his head and stared at the tiny, wriggling, pale form in the healer's hands. Those hands worked with blinding speed, tying and cutting and cleaning. He jumped when a squall erupted from that tiny body, and pale flesh turned ruddy. “You have a son.” “But –” Casida gasped, struggling to sit up. She held out trembling hands. “Devona said Ansgar would give me my heir.”

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“There is plenty of time for other children.” The healer chuckled as she slid the naked, protesting little body into his mother's arms. Ansgar stared, but he couldn't make himself see, make himself comprehend, for many long heartbeats. He held Casida, helping her sit up, his arms wrapped firmly around her. It was enough to listen to her coo, to see her fingers move over their son and examine the little body. They had a son! Slowly, details sank in, as the tiny boy stopped struggling and snuggled into the warmth of Casida's arms. Their son had black hair, an amazing amount of it for one so tiny. Ansgar wasn't sure, but he thought all ten fingers and ten toes were in their proper places. From his struggles, their son would be a strong, determined man. “He's perfect,” Casida whispered. Gingerly, she shifted the boy, turning him onto his side. A delicate streak of black fur ran down his spine. She traced it with one fingertip. The boy sighed and collapsed into sleep. “Perfect.” Ansgar realized, with a jolt of amusement, that he was proud his son was fully Kreefa. “Give him over,” Tyra said. “It's time he met his tribe. I'm surprised Briant isn't tearing down the walls to see him.” She cooed to the sleeping boy as she wrapped him in a blanket and then held him out again. She chuckled when Ansgar just stared stupidly at her. “Get up, man. Casida's in no shape to go anywhere. It's your duty to show your son to the tribe.” Ansgar hadn't felt this fearful, this unworthy, since he knelt to pledge his service to the Druids. The bundle of baby barely fit into the crook of one arm. His legs shook when he stood, as if he carried the entire world. Casida smiled, tears bright in her eyes, and nodded for him to go. She closed her eyes and relaxed back into her sweaty, rumpled blankets. Briant waited, pale and wide-eyed, when Ansgar stepped through the hut door. His hand shook when he reached to tug back a flap of blanket and see the sleeping boy. “Can't do anything right, can you?” he grumbled. “Don't you know the firstborn is supposed to be a girl?” Ansgar didn't have the breath to laugh. The two men shared wide, weary grins. Then he turned to present his son to the Elders, who had assembled before the hut. “Ansgar!” Tyra called, before he reached the last Elder. “Casida needs you. Now.” The

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healer stuck her head out through the blanket covering the door. Tears streaked her smiling face. “There's another one!” “Twins?” Ansgar nearly dropped the boy. Then Briant tugged the tiny bundle from his arms and gave him a shove, back into the hut. Laughter rippled through the village as Ansgar went back to his knees to support Casida. Their daughter was born within half an hour, wailing and flailing as strongly as her brother. Dark red curls dusted her head and a red streak covered her spine. A shout went up from the waiting, eager Elders when Ansgar stepped outside with his daughter nestled in his arms. A howl of wonder and triumph tried to burst from his chest as he took the boy from Briant and cradled the twins close, holding them for the Elders to see.

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Epilogue:

Verulamium and Londinium were sacked and burned, the citizens tortured, just as Camulodunium had been. Seutonius Paulinus evacuated his people and his troops from Londinium, knowing the town was indefensible. Near the end of the summer, he met Boudicca's forces in a long field north and west of Verulamium, and there the Roman legions established their impenetrable wall of shields and spears and waited for the Britons to crash uselessly against them. Casida nursed the twins, Gwenith and Cathal, listened to the stories that filtered north, and let the Elders discuss the news and the implications. Soon, the tribe would travel far to the east, to avoid the reach of Rome. Everyone who might have made Ansgar regret leaving Britannia was gone. She ached for her mate, even knowing he held no regrets. She ached for her daughter, who would someday use the silver blade against all Changelings who would not follow the Red Queen. Only the Red Queen’s bloodline was immune to the poison of silver, now. It was a sure sign of the duty that would be passed down, mother to daughter. But for now, despite their sorrows, the Kreefa were safe and strong. Casida trusted Verdidan to guard them in the years to come. Everything was possible – hadn’t she found the impossible, the mate who touched her soul? END