Morgan was silent, just watching her from the water with a deep sadness in her eyes that Nimuë could hardly bear to look at.
“I imagine they will go to Gloucester,” Nimuë said, answering her own question. “I will look for them there. One down, two to go.”
“I would not be so sure, if I were you,” Morgan said, and then shimmered away in the water.
“Now, what did that mean?” Nimuë asked, scowling at the empty water. Had that been a slight smile on her sister’s face before she had disappeared? No! She would not have smiled knowing that Scai was dead, and the child must be gone by now. Nimuë had hit her with a very strong ball of magic. No one, not even the strongest Vallen, would be able to survive that for long.
I do not have time for this nonsense, Nimuë thought, suddenly irritated. She had planning to do. She needed to get to Gloucester before the children and Sir Dagonet got there to bury Scai.
Two more to go. The thought was not as cheering as it should have been. But clearly being on the offensive was the right tack. She would surprise them in their grief, and perhaps she would finish the other two off at one go. Get the messiness over with quickly. And then…
And then what? Nimuë stopped. She had not thought beyond killing the children. Now that one of them was gone, the other two would be dispatched quickly, and then what? She would have to consolidate her power quickly.
She was already in complete control of the king, but that was not enough. She needed to control all of the noblemen. She needed… she needed an army.
A smile slowly spread across Nimuë’s face. Of course. An army. How lucky for her that she already had one waiting for her in Saerdbury. She had known it would be a good idea to stop killing the “witches.”
But she would need more. More Vallen. A bigger army. And for that she would need more men to gather them.
Yes, she needed more men.
Chapter Three
“No!” The word was torn from my heart.
“Bridget, do something,” Dylan shouted at the same time.
Immediately, I placed my hands over Scai’s heart and pressed, pumping my sister’s heart for her. I’d seen this done before. Now I prayed it worked.
Anger and despair burst through with a heat that surprised even me. I didn’t waste the emotions though. I used them to power my magic, which I pressed into my sister. I pressed love and desperation. I pressed frustration and confusion. I pressed beat after beat. Live. Live. Live.
Scai had to live! She had to. I had never lost a patient, and my very own sister was not going to be my first. Frustration pounded in my ears.
“I don’t know what to do,” I cried, continuing to pump.
“Do something. Do anything,” Dylan answered, his voice sounding like he was on the verge of tears as well.
And so I did. Closing my eyes, I focused inward, calling on my strongest magic, pulling it from every part of my body. I felt the burning heat of it and wanted more. I reached outside of myself to the fire in the hearth, to the heat created by my friends, to what little warmth there was in the air—everywhere I could find energy, I pulled it to me. Gathering it all together in my core, I held on to it for the briefest moment and then shot it like a bolt of lightning into Scai. I didn’t want to hurt my sister, but I had to bring her back.
Scai’s body jumped with jolt, her heart and breathing starting on their own once again.
A sob broke from me and I laid my head gratefully on my sister’s chest. But this wasn’t over yet.
Ignoring the tears streaming down my face, and the chill I felt creeping through my body, I kept concentrating and pouring my magic into Scai. It was nearly gone in that one shot, but I kept pulling at it, finding it I knew not where. I could barely lift my head, but I kept one hand over Scai’s heart, and moved the other onto her forehead.
I had to heal her. I would heal her no matter what. All of the joy and wonder at finding out that I had a sister burned through me. How many times had I longed to have a sister when I was growing up surrounded by boys? How many times had I looked over at Scai during this miraculous, horrendous, trying, terrifying journey and been amazed and grateful that she was related to me. I had a sister! And she would not die on me now.
I kept the flow of healing magic burning into my sister, but didn’t know how long I could do this. My entire being was nearly trembling with exhaustion, but I couldn’t risk letting go. I pushed my magic into her even harder, giving her everything I had. Yes, I would die for Scai if that were needed.
“Why is it suddenly cold in here?” Aron whispered.
“It’s Bridget taking the energy she needs to heal Scai,” Dylan answered, his words clipped with impatience.
“She needs heat?”
“Yes.”
“It’s where she gets her magic, don’t you know?” Sir Dagonet said quietly.
A large, warm body came from behind and wrapped itself around me. “Take my heat,” Aron’s gentle voice whispered into my hair, as he laid his cheek against my head. Strong arms circled me, a muscled chest pressed into my back, and the sweet musk of man filled my nose. I took a deep breath in reveling in the feel of him.
An entirely different feeling began burning through me. It was a sort of heat I’d never experienced before. It scorched my skin, bringing a fire to my most intimate places. I fought the urge to let go of Scai and turn around to wrap myself within Aron’s embrace. Instead, I focused on the heat he brought me and used it to heal my sister.
This was just what I needed and I nearly cried at his generosity. I doubled my concentration and forced myself to focus on healing and not how good Aron’s body felt against mine.
“Bridget.” Scai’s voice was rough as it vibrated through her chest against my ear.
I stifled a sob of relief. Aron’s heat had done the trick. I lifted my head slowly, not wanting to dislodge Aron, but he’d begun moving away at the sound of Scai’s voice. I began to lower the level of magic I was pumping into my sister, letting it slowly fade to a trickle while gathering what I could inside to be ready to surge back the moment Scai showed signs of falling unconscious again.
It took a lot more effort than I anticipated, but I managed to sit up. “How do you feel?”
Scai gave me a little smile. “Hurt, but getting better.”
Shouts of joy swirled around us both and I could hear backslapping. A hand grabbed on to my shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze, not wanting to disturb my work, but showing appreciation. I smiled as I continued concentrating on finding all the healing heat I could and keeping it flowing into my sister.
I turned my head around to see Dylan smiling at us. Tears flowed unchecked down his cheeks. “Thank you.”
I nodded. I still wasn’t sure what I had done or how I’d done it, but I was grateful it had worked. “She’s going to be all right, aren’t you, Scai?” I said.
Her smile was as weak as I felt my own was, but it was there and that was all that mattered.
I could have collapsed with exhaustion back on to my sister’s chest, but instead I stiffened my spine and kept the magic flowing.
“Bridget, are you all right?” It was Aron. I could hear the worry in his voice. His hand soothed its way down my back.
“Exhausted,” Sir Dagonet said.
“It’s still cold in here,” Lord Merwyd complained from by the fireplace.
“Still drawing on that energy,” Sir Dagonet offered.
Another hand pushed back my hair from my face. When had my eyes closed? I opened them. Scai was smiling at me. “I think it might be all right to stop the flow of magic. I’m truly feeling much better.”
“Are you sure?”
She nodded.
With a sigh of relief, I pulled back and very slowly stopped the magic altogether just in case I needed it back in a hurry. I waited a minute to see how Scai reacted and then breathed again as I removed my hands from her body.
Aron’s strong hands gently guided me to lean back against him. Once again
his warmth melted its way through me. “What you did was nothing short of amazing.”
“Absolutely!” Lord Merwyd and Dylan said in unison.
“I honestly wouldn’t have believed she could do it, if I hadn’t seen it for myself,” Lord Merwyd added.
“We know.” Dylan’s voice held a tinge of anger, which surprised me. I didn’t think he’d ever defended me more strongly than he had this evening. Maybe things would get better between us.
“Don’t realize how powerful these kids are, wot, wot?” Sir Dagonet said.
“What!” Lord Merwyd agreed. Everyone, even Scai, laughed at that.
“I think we should let both girls rest,” Sir Merwyd said, when we’d all quieted down. “I don’t mind sleeping on the floor for the night.”
I smiled up at Aron and then the others. “Thank you.”
“We’ll be going to Gloucester at first light, so we should all get a good night’s sleep,” Sir Dagonet said.
We all turned toward the old knight.
“Sir?” Dylan said, clearly asking about his desire to get to Saerdbury.
“Got a feeling, Dylan,” Sir Dagonet said, rubbing at his wrist as he always did when he was feeling nervous or worried about something.
“Is it the nectere?” Scai asked. Her voice was weak, but the fact that she could participate in the conversation at all made me pleased—and not a little amazed.
“Emotions from Lady Nimuë? No, no. Just a, a feeling, don’t you know.” He pushed his sleeve down, hiding the bracelet that linked him to Nimuë.
“Anything you’d care to share with us, sir?” Dylan asked, clearly wanting to know more about this strange feeling.
“Wish I knew more, wot, wot? Just have a feeling we need to go to Gloucester. And it’ll be better for the girls to recuperate there, don’t you know, in their own home.”
“I agree with that,” I said. I didn’t want to antagonize Dylan into fighting with me again—I just didn’t have the strength for it right now—but I had to put in a word of support.
Dylan didn’t look happy.
“Just for a day or two,” Scai said, reaching out her hand to him.
He moved next to Aron, taking her hand in both of his. “If it will make you better faster, then we’ll go.”
Scai gave him a little smile even as her eyes fluttered closed.
Dylan looked worried for a moment, but then the sound of her heavy breathing as she slept had him sighing in relief. He gently placed her hand on her stomach and moved away. “Well, then, I suppose we should all get some sleep.”
I didn’t need to be told again. I curled myself up next to my sister and was fast asleep within moments.
Chapter Four
Nimuë, in her guise as Father du Lac, paced back and forth in his majesty’s personal chamber. She hated waiting.
A door opened. As she turned to face it, she placed a serene and happy expression on the withered old face of the priest.
The nobleman in charge of the king’s person smiled at Father du Lac. “The king will be with you in a just a moment, Father. He appreciates your patience but needs to take care of a little business dealing with today’s battle before he can see you. Happily, it is the gratifying business of giving out honors.”
“You must all be very proud and happy, my lord,” Father du Lac said, his voice gentle and warm.
“Naturally. We won.” The man gave a laugh. He made her a small bow and then returned to the king.
Nimuë resumed her pacing.
The twit had the nerve to keep her waiting for another fifteen minutes before he had the grace to come to her. When he did enter the room, he was all smiles and laughter, which, naturally, she had to be as well. With every smile and word of praise, her anger at being treated so dismissively burned hotter.
“Your majesty,” Father du Lac said, when there was finally a pause in the king’s constant stream of recollections from the day’s battle.
He stopped, looking at his confessor, the grin still bright on his young face.
“I am afraid I must remind you of your promise to me,” the priest said, with a small smile and a reprimanding tilt of his head.
“My promise? What promise?” Now the boy was confused. His mind clearly still in the fight.
“That you would give me more knights for the witch hunt after this battle.”
“Did I say that?” he asked.
Nimuë stifled a curse. Was he going to cause her trouble? She heightened her power just a touch. “Yes, you did, sire.”
He narrowed his eyes in thought. “I don’t remember doing so. No, I don’t believe I did. Why would I have done that when I need my men here?” He turned to her. “I don’t trust those Danes, Father. They may have lost the day and their leader, but they’ll be back. I honestly don’t think I could spare one man just now.”
Father du Lac closed his eyes for a moment and prayed for patience. “Sire, you promised you would give me knights to search out the witches in the land.”
“And I did.”
“But I need more. This is a very large country. I need more men or else we’ll be doing this for a very long time to come.”
“What are you doing with all these people you’re rounding up, Father?” the king asked, crossing his arms in front of him, cutting in half the great, golden rearing lion decorating his tunic.
This must have been an idea implanted in his head by one of his noblemen. The king had never questioned her before. Nimuë did not like it. She increased the level of power she was directing at him
Father du Lac broadened his smile and opened his hands. “I am going to save them, Your Majesty. I am going to show them the errors of their ways and allow God to refill their souls. It is so much better than just killing them as was being done before, do not you think so?”
“They were being killed?”
“Yes, sire. But now we are saving them. This is why I need your knights, Your Majesty. We must save as many souls as possible. We cannot allow the devil to win this day.” He gentled his voice from the anger that was struggling to get out. Heightening her power once again, she added, “Just as you won your battle today, sire, so do I anticipate winning mine.”
The king shook his head as if trying to shake free the suggestion Nimuë was trying to implant in it. “I don’t know, Father.”
He didn’t know? How could he not know? She was putting the idea into his head. What did he… Nimuë nearly gasped out loud. Could it possibly be that he was becoming resistant to her magic? Was his mind growing so strong that he could not be affected by her suggestions?
The thought shook her to the core. If that were the case… She had to capture Bridget and Dylan. Take care of them once and for all before her hold on the king became too weak. She didn’t know how much longer she could count on his doing her bidding.
Her anger spiked inward. For too long, far too long she had controlled this boy. It was her own fault. She had forced him to grow stronger, forced him to grow resistant to her magic and, damn him, he had done so.
“Sire, it is for two weeks. Two weeks only, I promise you.” She was now reduced to begging!
“You will use the men I have given you—”
“And more. I need more if I am to get this done so quickly,” the priest added.
The king nodded. “And a few more, and then you will return them all to me within a fortnight.”
Father du Lac looked closely at the king. She did not dare raise her power for fear that he would throw off all that she had implanted in his head. The old priest nodded his head slowly in defeat. “Yes, sire. I will return most of your men within a fortnight.”
“Most?”
She swallowed. “I will need some to protect those I have captured, sire.”
“You have captured these witches?”
“Well, captured is perhaps too strong a word. We have been rounding up the witches and bringing them to Saerdbury.”
“And what are you doing with them there?”<
br />
Nimuë nearly growled in frustration. This had to be his own mind asserting itself. Either that, or the other lords. She did not like this close questioning. When had this boy matured so?
“Until we round up all the witches in the kingdom, they are simply being held there. Then, I will meet with them, personally, to teach them the errors of their ways.”
“That sounds like a very long process if you’ve got to teach them about God, the evil of Satan, and”—he motioned in the air with his hand—“whatever else you need to teach them.”
“It should not take too long, my king. Once I have them all together in Saerdbury, I will begin to hold mass for them where they will learn, all together, the benefits of walking with our Lord.”
“Hmm,” he said, perhaps not fully convinced. “All right, then. So, you will return my knights to me once the witches are all gathered in Saerdbury.”
“Except for a few,” Father du Lac corrected.
The king just nodded. “I will give you another fifty knights and you will return them, and all but twenty, to me within two weeks.” He turned his back, clearly dismissing her.
“Fifty?” Had he not heard what she had just said? “Please, sire, with so few I’ll need them for a month or more! Make it one hundred. Ours is a large country and they must travel to every single little village questioning people, and searching out these witches.”
“Fifty and not a man more,” he said, his voice raised. Nimuë knew that his patience was at an end. Hers was nearly there as well.
Father du Lac bowed in defeat to his king, seething inside.
“Good. Now I shall go and enjoy dinner with my men.”
Father du Lac bowed again as the king strode past her and out the door. Still staring at the closed door, she knew she was in trouble. Scai was taken care of, but she still had to get Dylan and Bridget. She had to get them now. She wondered how long it would take to round up ten of these men, she wanted to reach Gloucester well before the children.
<><><>
After an hour or so on the road, Scai was dragging. I couldn’t say that I was doing much better. Why had I insisted that we leave that morning? Had I insisted? Something nagging in the back of my sluggish mind made me think that perhaps it had been Sir Dagonet who’d pushed us out the door, but honestly I wasn’t certain.
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