"You know him so well, do you?"
"Better than you do, Tristan."
That, Tristan thought, was painfully obvious.
"One hundred men." Bridin sat with her back braced against the cool stone wall of the cave, staring into the firelight without really seeing it.
"One hundred men, Pog. Gods forgive me, what have I done?"
"Ninety-eight, my lady," Pog said, and he poured her some of the soothing herbal brews that the Wood Nymph Marinda was so talented at concocting. He hung the pot over the fire again and brought the mug to Bridin, pushing it into her cold, bloodstained hands.
All through the long day she'd been working in the makeshift hospital, which was really no more than a large, hidden cave with supplies of bandages and healing herbs and spring water. And volunteers. Plenty of those. Some had managed to escape the slaughter that had taken place in the courtyard this dawn. But most of those who had were injured. Senselessly.
"And what you have done is precisely what your followers have been clamoring for you to do. You led them into battle in an effort to reclaim the kingdom. 'Tis what they wished."
"But I failed." Her head fell forward, shoulders sagging under the incredible weight she felt pressing them down. "All those lives were lost because I failed."
Pog paced back and forth slowly, the small fire between them. " 'Tis quite obvious to me, Your Highness, that the Sharans knew we were coming. We walked right into a trap," he said. "And that means that we were betrayed. Someone told of our plans. Our attack was doomed from the start. It was not you who failed, Bridin, but the one who betrayed us to them."
She closed her eyes tightly, recalling the pain she'd seen and heard and smelled in that courtyard, and shuddering. "I'd never have believed him to be so utterly ruthless," she whispered. "To take us all prisoner, yes, but not to butcher so many men that way. By the gods, once his troops had mine surrounded, there was no reason. He could have ordered us to lay down our weapons, and we'd have had no choice. But this..."
To her surprise, a tear rolled down her cheek. Her heart felt heavy with a disappointment she could not explain. Not so much at losing the battle, though that ate at her too, but at what felt oddly like betrayal. Betrayed by her archenemy. And how much sense did that make?
"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, though," she whispered, thinking out loud. "It was he who arranged for the car accident that took my adopted mortal parents when I was little more than a child. Why should I be shocked by the depths he'd sink to now?"
"It makes little difference, Bridin, at this point. Doesn't matter anymore just what Tristan of Shara is capable of."
"Of course it matters!" Her head came up fast, eyes focusing for the first time on Pog, but her mind was far away. In that little room. Tristan, no matter how ruthless she knew him to be, had stepped between his brother's blade and her own neck. He'd saved her life.
She recalled very briefly the hatred she'd seen flashing in Vincent's eyes when he hit Tristan. But shook her head against the memory. Surely that blow cutting Tristan to the bone had been an accident. He'd lunged in front of her too quickly, and his brother hadn't had time to pull back. There was no more to it than that.
"When I see him again," Bridin said, putting his heroism out of her mind because of the odd feelings it invoked, and thinking instead on his savage butchery of her loyal ones, "I'll ask him why he found it necessary to be so merciless. I'll make him tell me how he rationalizes such brutality, how he manages to sleep at night with so much blood on his hands, how he—"
"No, my lady. I'm afraid you won't."
She blinked at Pog over the yellow-orange dancing flames, sending him a silent question with her eyes.
"We had word an hour ago, Bridin." He came around the fire and dropped to his knees in front of her. With his slender, graceful hands he took the untouched broth from her, set it aside, and then held both of her hands in his. She frowned, trepidation sending chills up her spine. "This will not be easy for you to hear, I know. But... Vincent made a public address tonight. He said... he said that Tristan is dead."
Her heart seemed to halt abruptly as her mind absorbed those words. The entire world ground to a stop, and she felt dizzy, as shocked as if he'd struck her. "Dead?" she said, when she could finally speak again. "No. No, he isn't dead, Pog. I'd know if he were." Pog looked at her, cocking one brow. She went on. "I mean... I saw him, Pog. You were there. It was only a blow to the shoulder."
"Which cut clean to the bone, lady. He'd nearly bled out before we even made our escape."
"He is not dead!" She got to her feet, began pacing, and automatically reached up for her pendants. When nervous, she was forever sliding them back and forth on their chains. But this time she found nothing there, and blinked down in shock. And then the memory came. Tristan lying on the floor. Tristan closing his hands around her pendants in that pool of his blood. Meeting her eyes, his own dulling already, and whispering at her to run.
Slowly she lowered her hand from her throat. "He can't be dead," she whispered. "He has the pendants. You know full well the strength of their healing power."
"Only for one who knows how to use them, my princess," Pog said softly, rising and standing before her, facing her with solemn eyes. "Tristan wouldn't give up the kingdom, Bridin. You know that. Not for anything."
"Of course I know that. That's what drove me to this foolish attack."
"Well, he's given it up now. His brother claimed the throne of Rush... the Rush they call Shara... today. He's ruling now. And Tristan... Tristan is gone."
She met Pog's eyes, and felt her own begin to burn and sting. Nothing else would have convinced her... but this... What more evidence was needed? Tristan wouldn't give his throne to his brother, not voluntarily. It must be true. He must be...
"Gods, Pog, do you realize the implications? That blow Vincent struck his brother... It might not have been accidental at all!"
Pog lowered his head. "There have been rumors, my lady. Rumors of Vincent hungering for the throne, and plotting against his brother. Tristan refused to believe them, I'm told."
Bridin tried to remain rigid. Stoic. But failed, and finally sank to her knees, buried her face in her hands, and sobbed with such intensity, it felt as if her body were being torn apart.
Pog let her cry for a short time. Then he knelt in front of her, slid his arms around her, held her tight. "There, now. I know, darling. I know you loved him."
She snapped her head up hard and fast. "Loved him! I hated him, hated him with everything in me, Pog, and for most of my life. And I always would have."
Pog lowered his eyes, not commenting.
"It's unfair, that's why I weep! Unfair that the man I so enjoyed hating has been taken from me. Unfair that I've been denied the chance to beat him fairly in this battle for Rush. And utterly unfair for anyone, even the devil himself, to be so thoroughly betrayed by his own brother. That's why I cry, Pog. And for no other reason!"
Pog nodded.
"But now... now, this Vincent. He must be exposed for the traitor that he is, Pog. Tristan's death must be avenged, and by the gods, I'll be the one to do it!"
"No."
She blinked twice, and stared at him. "What do you mean, no?"
"I mean no. Bridin, you are our princess, our leader, and we love you."
"Why are you speaking in the plural, Pog?" She looked around him, seeing no one.
"Because this is not my decision, my lady, but one reached by all of us. Vincent is vicious. Tristan never would have harmed you. Never. We all knew that. But Vincent... Gods, lady, he murdered his own brother for the crown. And now he'll hunt you down like a rabbit."
Bridin narrowed her eyes. "Let him try," she whispered.
"No, Bridin. We're not going to let him try."
She shook her head.
"There's no time to argue. Tristan knew where these catacombs of ours were. He'd known for weeks."
"He...?"
"He wouldn't mount a raid, nor wou
ld he allow anyone else to do so, because he knew the danger to you in such an effort."
She rolled her eyes. "You give him more honor than he ever possessed, Pog."
"Nonetheless, we have no way of telling who else he shared this information with. If Vincent knows, we can expect a raid at any moment. And that's not a risk we're willing to take."
"So we'll move. Deep into the forest. We'll regroup, heal our wounded, build more weapons—"
"Before your dear mother died, Bridin, she knew you'd need help one day. And she made me give my vow to protect you when you returned here. Even if it meant disobeying your direct orders. I swore I would do so, and that's what I'm doing now."
Bridin took a single step backwards. "What are you saying, Pog?"
He drew a deep breath, squared his shoulders. "Come in here, please, Marinda," he said loudly.
Stiffening in shock, Bridin whirled to see what appeared at first to be a little girl, slowly entering the cave. But she wasn't a little girl at all. With long, dark curls and huge brown eyes, smooth skin, and slight stature, she was a Wood Nymph. The one so skilled at making healing potions and brews. One of the ever-young creatures of the forest, the most highly psychic beings in the universe.
She wore a leaf green tunic and hose, like everyone else, for camouflage. In her small hands she carried a smooth, round ball of quartz crystal. The fire leapt and danced its reflection in the clear stone, and sparkled on the fissures and facets inside it.
Marinda bowed deeply. "Your Highness," she said. "I have a message for you. It comes from your sweet mother, Maire, whose beautiful face I have seen here in this scrying crystal. And you must heed her words, my princess. She's very emphatic about that."
Bridin's hands touched her cheeks. "My mother? You've spoken to my mother?"
"It's she who has spoken to me, my lady Bridin. Or rather, her magic. She infused this stone with her magic when she was still with us. And it's that magic that speaks to you now. In her stead, because she can't be here to advise you herself."
Bridin rushed forward, dropping to her knees in front of the childlike woman, taking the crystal ball from her hands and searching its depths. "Mother! Are you there? Can you hear me? Mother, please, tell me the truth. Tell me... is Tristan truly dead? Can it be true? Is he really gone?" She shook the thing and stared some more.
"My lady, please. You must understand, your mother isn't living inside this crystal. But the ball is simply a conduit through which I can communicate with her essence... that part of her she left behind when she empowered this stone." The Wood Nymph held out her hands, smiling gently. Closing her eyes to hide her tears, Bridin returned the ball to her.
Walking in tiny steps, Marinda moved past her to set the ball on a flat stone, near the fire. Then she sat down on the other side of it, and Bridin went closer to look over her shoulder. The way the firelight illuminated the crystal was a form of magic in itself.
Marinda stared for a long time, and then nodded. "Your mother's magic says it is true, my lady. She says, 'The Tristan you knew is gone.' "
No doubt. Not anymore. Bridin's knees buckled and she sank to the floor. She couldn't stop the tears this time, so she didn't even bother to try.
Bridin. Do not weep, my beloved daughter.
Her head came up sharply. That was the voice of her mother. She knew it was, somewhere deep inside her. And as she looked, she saw a face, hazy, but there, wild red hair and blue, blue eyes, and a gentle smile, deep inside the ball.
"Mamma?"
She looked at Pog, but he seemed to have frozen in time, sitting utterly still on the far side of the fire. And Marinda, too, had become a tiny statue.
Bridin's gaze returned to the crystal, to her mother. "Mamma, what should I do? I feel... Gods, Mamma, it's so confusing."
I know, darling. That is why I've come to you now. Heed my words, Bridin. Do as I say and do not let your pride prevent your obedience. For I am your mother, as well as your queen.
"I'll listen, Mamma. I promise."
You must go now. Return to the other side, the world without magic, the mortal realm, my Bridin. And there you must remain.
"But I can't! I only just came back, Mamma, and the people... they need me."
They need you alive, my child. And the evil Vincent will see to it you are not, if you remain. You cannot retake the kingdom alone. There is someone awaiting you.
"Who? I don't understand."
A man, Bridin. A man who will return with you, and who will fight for Rush alongside you, and who will rule by your side. You must return to the mortal realm and wait for him. When you find him, you will know. Marry him, Bridin. Be his queen. Make him your king. And return triumphant to the thrones of Rush.
Bridin lowered her head, shook it. "I need no man's help, Mamma. I can retake the kingdom on my own, and I will."
No, my darling. That I cannot allow. Pog is under my command. The magic I left behind, that which speaks to you now, guides his actions, though he knows it not. And he will force you bodily through the doorway and into the world beyond, if I will it.
"But, Mamma, I must stay."
No, Bridin. You must go.
"How will I get back?" she cried. "Mamma, I cannot come back without my pendants! And I don't have them anymore! Mamma! Wait!"
But the image of her mother faded from the crystal ball, and Bridin was left more confused than ever before. Pog seemed to rouse from his frozen state, and so did Marinda. She rose, and turned, her ball once again in her hands. "For you, my lady," she said, bowing her head and extending her hands toward Bridin. "Take it with you, and my blessing with it."
Bridin took the ball, handling it with great care and reverence. "Thank you, Marinda. But I'm not going anywhere."
"Yes, you are, my lady," Pog said, and Bridin felt a warning chill race into her nape as Marinda quickly scurried away.
"No, Pog," she said.
But Pog shouted all the same. "Men!"
And there was the thunder of booted feet, and within seconds Bridin was surrounded... by her own people. "You can't do this!" she shouted. "This is treason!"
"Forgive me, Bridin," Pog said, and his soft voice was actually wavering. "But somehow I am certain this is the only way. I love you, dear cousin. And I am also certain that one day you'll thank me for this rash action I now take." Then he nodded to the men who surrounded her. "For the princess's own protection, we must act. Take her, now, by force if necessary, to the portal deep in the forest..." He drew a deep breath and sighed. "And force her through to the other side."
Chapter Three
She tried to return through the portal, but it was no use. She was met with a solid wall of resistance, invisible but powerful, and put there by her mother for her own protection. She knew that, but felt far from grateful as she sank to the ground and closed her eyes in abject defeat. For all her life, she'd existed for the moment she would return to Rush. She'd plotted and planned for that day. And now she'd lost it. It was yanked from her grasp and smashed to bits. Her dearest enemy murdered by his own blood. And she was left with nothing. Nothing.
"My lady Bridin! Wait!"
Bridin's head came up sharply, just as the tiny Wood Nymph, Marinda, stumbled from beyond the invisible curtain, clutching the crystal ball in her arms as if she were carrying a baby. To most eyes it would seem she'd simply appeared there. And that shimmery veil in the air would seem no more than mist or heat waves or some mortal thing.
Marinda caught her balance and, wide-eyed, looked around her. They were in a tiny clearing, no more than a patch of forest grass big enough for a humble picnic. The cave stood at Bridin's back. She knew it well.
"My goodness," Marinda said softly. "The other side doesn't seem much different at all!"
"We're not on the other side, Marinda. Nor are we in Rush any longer. This is... It's nowhere, really. It's an in-between place."
Marinda's eyes narrowed as she scanned the ground. "It is a circle," she said softly, and clutching the cryst
al still, she walked the border of this nowhere place, her tiny feet moving through the deep blue-green grass. She moved along the inner edge of the shimmering, transparent veil. Only now did Bridin realize the portal was curved. A half circle made entirely of her mother's magic. It ended where the cave began, but the cave's entrance bowed inward, making the other half of Marinda's circle.
"There's no wind here, my lady Bridin. Have you noticed? Nor warmth, nor cold."
Bridin tilted her head to one side, studying the childlike creature curiously. She didn't see what difference it made whether this spot in between the worlds was circular. Yet she wasn't willing to discount Marinda's observations. The woman was too highly skilled in the mystical arts to be taken lightly. So she remained seated, and she remained silent, and she waited.
Marinda returned to the center of the clearing and lowered her crystal ball to the flat stone there, which looked to be some sort of marble, nearly overgrown now with grass and soil. Bridin hadn't even noticed it before. But Marinda had seemed to know it would be there without even looking for it. She just brushed the dirt and growth aside, and placed the crystal there as if it belonged. Then she rose again and pointed. "The stone face of that cave marks the northernmost point of the circle," she said very softly. And then she looked to her left, eyes narrowing as she bent forward to look closer. And then she nodded. "See there? That tiny spring of water bubbling from the earth at the west?" She pursed her lips and walked to the right, and then dropped to her knees, her hands feeling the ground. "If I'm right, then... Ah, yes!" She held up a feather she'd located, smiling brightly. It was bright yellow and seemed as light and fluffy as down. "A feather in the east. My lady, this is indeed a place of great power."
Bridin looked around. "I hadn't realized that, Marinda. But what are you—"
"The south, though," Marinda mused, pacing back to the exact point where she'd entered. "There ought to be fire in the south. Or... or something."
"It's fascinating, Marinda. But what are you doing here? Why did you come through after me? The other side is no place for a wood nymph."
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