“If I’d known the way to your domain . . .” Maximus spoke between gritted teeth as if Morwyn’s question, or his muscle weakness—probably both—irritated him. “I wouldn’t have been searching for it.”
The pressure against her shoulders eased a little more. Thank goddess, he appeared to be regaining his strength. Just a few more steps and they’d reach the mouth of the mound. Don’t let Aeron return yet.
Morwyn gave a derisive snort. “You may have found us. But rest assured, none of us will allow you to leave.”
Maximus gave a humorless laugh. “I don’t require your permission, lady.” His steps became surer. “How many of you are there?”
“Enough.” Morwyn stamped toward the opening and then stopped dead.
“What is it?” Carys stiffened as Morwyn sank against the wall of the mound and motioned for them to keep back.
“Aeron’s approaching the altar.” Morwyn’s voice was low. “But Druantia’s with him.”
Alarm prickled over her skin. “Aeron’s never required Druantia’s assistance before.”
Maximus left her side and took up position on the opposite side of Morwyn. Carys saw him stiffen, and his fingers tightened around the dagger he held. Hastily she followed him, and held on to his arm in case he had the insane notion to race outside and attack Aeron.
“A Druid’s temple.” It was a statement, and as her heart catapulted against her ribs, her breath shortened with nervous anticipation as to his inevitable question.
She couldn’t lie to him. She was a Druid and always would be, and he had to know that. But still her palms grew sweaty and her mind trembled at the confession she was about to give.
He didn’t turn to her. His gaze was fixed on the altar, on the two people who approached their way.
“That’s Aeron.” Another statement. “Your High Priest.”
“Yes.” Her fingers clutched around his muscular biceps, as if she could somehow deflect the fury she could feel radiating from every pore. “Maximus, please. Listen to me.”
He ignored her cajoling whisper. “You know him.” There was a chilling tone in his voice and she shivered, unsure how best to answer him.
“All my life.” She wouldn’t hide the truth from him anymore behind obfuscation and omission. She knew Morwyn was glaring at her, but what did it matter now what she told Maximus?
He’d found them out.
Tension vibrated from him, as if he held on to his temper by the slenderest of threads.
“Your High Priest, the man you’ve known all your life.” He hissed the words over his shoulder while still staring outside. “That’s the one I caught at your Cauldron, Carys. The one who’d ripped your gown from your breasts and was about to rape you.”
Chapter Thirty-three
Shock punched her gut, sucked the air from her lungs. “Aeron?” Surely she had misunderstood him. “But that’s not possible.”
“Not possible?” Morwyn darted across the mouth of the mound and flattened herself against the wall behind Carys. “Of course it’s not possible. The High Druid would never do such a thing. Your beloved Roman spews lies with every breath he takes.”
Maximus never took his eyes from Aeron, and an uncanny shiver raced over her arms. He must have been mistaken. Morwyn was right. Aeron would never do such a thing.
“He has silver eyes, as cold as a frozen river at midwinter.”
Nausea washed through her, congealing in the pit of her stomach. She recalled the way Aeron had looked at her yesterday, as if she were a spirit from the Otherworld, and the way he’d spoken to her, as if the inherent respect he’d always afforded her had been obliterated.
She remembered Maximus’s words as he’d tried to comfort her when she awoke in his quarters; the barbarian who attacked you, and in her confusion she thought he referred to his own country-man. His legionary. But he would never call another Roman such.
And in that moment she knew Maximus hadn’t been mistaken. Aeron had come upon her while she was in the throes of a horrific vision, and, instead of trying to assist her, he’d violated her.
Her world, everything she valued, trembled on a precipice of doubt. How had he thought to get away with such a crime? Sweet goddess, it had been foul enough when she’d imagined a Roman barbarian had attacked her. But one of her own? A Druid?
The High Druid himself?
“See how he corrupts your mind and integrity with a few choice words?” Morwyn’s whisper bit into her stupor. “I’ll not hide here any longer, Carys. I’ve done nothing wrong.”
Without thinking, Carys grabbed her arm. “Wait, Morwyn.” But she could think of nothing to persuade the other woman to stay, to hold her tongue, to allow them time so she could somehow smuggle Maximus back to the Cauldron.
Maximus raised his arm in a warning gesture, and Morwyn bristled with affront. But before she could say anything, he shot them a penetrating look.
“Is this how your High Druid treats your elders?”
Still holding on to Morwyn’s arm, Carys frowned as she peered outside. Aeron grasped Druantia’s elbow and appeared to be pushing her toward the stone altar. But that couldn’t be so; he would never manhandle their ancient queen. It had to be the gathering dusk playing tricks with her eyes.
And yet Aeron had tried to rape her while she was insensible to the mortal realm.
Morwyn sucked in a shocked breath. “What’s he doing? Druantia will fall. She’ll break her bones. Goddess, is he mad?”
As if by unspoken command, they all sank back against the wall of the mound. Morwyn no longer appeared inclined to reveal herself to Aeron, and instead gripped Carys’s arm in obvious confusion.
“I see no other Druids here, Aeron.” Druantia’s voice came to them clearly, as she and Aeron halted by the stone altar, a mere stone’s throw from the mouth of the mound.
“They’ll be here in time for the Renewal.” The chilly smile he sent Druantia caused shivers to race over Carys’s arms.
“As would I, my son.” Druantia placed one hand on the stone altar, as if steadying herself. “And yet you were most insistent I come with you now, to meet with the other Chief Druids.”
Carys dug her fingers into Maximus’s arm as a terrible foreboding crawled over her scalp. His muscles tensed, as if he didn’t appreciate her touch, but she didn’t let go. Whatever he thought of her now, his presence gave her comfort, and she’d take that comfort for as long as she possibly could.
Aeron didn’t answer, but instead knelt and removed a bowl from his sacred cache beneath the altar before placing it in the center of the pentagram.
But that didn’t make sense. That was reserved for the blood of the sacrifice, and Aeron hadn’t yet made his sacrifice. And he never would. She’d plunge her dagger into his evil heart before she’d allow him to take Maximus.
“Are you still planning to obliterate the Roman Legion this eve?” Druantia shifted, as if her bones ached.
“So you know about that.” Aeron sounded amused, although Carys couldn’t think why. And how much longer could they hide here, without being discovered?
“I know many things, Aeron.”
“Ah, yes. Because of your long and illustrious bloodline that you can trace back to the Morrigan herself.” He sounded scathing, and Carys felt Morwyn shiver, as if spirits from the Otherworld brushed through her soul.
“The Morrigan is concerned about you, my son.”
Aeron placed a second bowl on the altar, by the torch signifying Earth. “There are two things I want you to know, Druantia.” It was as if he spoke of the weather. “Firstly, I’m not your son. And secondly, I don’t and never have given a fuck what the Morrigan thinks.”
Carys’s breath hitched in horrified disbelief, and as Morwyn pressed against her back in clear terror, she took the other woman’s hand, the handle of her dagger clasped between them.
Druantia pushed herself from the altar and stepped toward Aeron. “The Morrigan chose you when you were but a child. The vision she gave
you allowed you to be welcomed into our hallowed circle, to be—”
“The Morrigan?” He laughed as if he thought Druantia’s words genuinely amusing. “That bitch gave me nothing. She plunged me into a bloodied vision and left me there, not caring if I survived or died. And I would have died, Druantia, if Gwydion hadn’t pulled me from the carnage.”
Carys knew of Aeron’s childhood vision, but where did the magician god come into it? She’d never before heard of Gwydion involving himself in such matters—yet he was the one who’d saved Aeron?
“Gwydion?” Druantia’s shock was clear. “You’ve never before spoken of that, Aeron.”
Aeron gave another of his chilling smiles. “Of course not. It was a secret between me and the god of illusion. Because before he pulled me out, Gwydion showed me the end of that vision. The end that, as you’ll see, I have also never shared with you.”
Druantia straightened. Carys knew how such an action pained her, and yet she stood tall and proud and forced Aeron to make eye contact. “Share it with me now.”
He laughed again, as if the queen’s command delighted him. “I intend to. I’ve waited for this moment for too many years. But now the time is upon us.” He advanced toward Druantia. “The time when all the fucking goddesses will be crushed into dust, when your precious matrilineal heritage will be wiped from the memories of mankind.”
“No.” Druantia’s voice was whispery, as if Aeron’s words shook her to the core of her being. Pain carved through Carys’s heart at the stricken look on her face, and Morwyn gave a strangled gasp of escalating terror.
“Yes. My vision, thrust upon me on the longest day twenty-five years ago, is finally coming to pass.” He gripped Druantia’s arm. “It all ends with you, Druantia. Gwydion showed me how it must be. For my lineage to survive, yours must end.”
Maximus pulled from her grasp and strode through the mouth, but before she could drag him back to safety, Aeron flung back the wrap hanging from his waist and brandished a Roman gladius.
Carys pushed Morwyn back and ran after Maximus, heart ricocheting as a terrible certainty drenched her. As if in slow motion, she saw Aeron plunge the gladius into Druantia, saw scarlet blood, saw Maximus wrench Aeron back, saw Druantia crumple onto the ground.
Chapter Thirty-four
Maximus flung Aeron onto the ground, and vertigo rushed through his head, causing him to reel. The poison was still in his system, tainting his blood, weakening his muscles, but he could sooner cut off his right hand than stand by and watch a defenseless old woman murdered.
Even if she was a Druid.
Mars take him, he was surrounded by cursed Druids, standing in the heart of the Druid enclave he and his compatriots had been searching for, for seven fruitless months.
Aeron, half naked and daubed with strange blue markings, regained his balance within the blink of an eye, and his own gladius mocked him in the hands of Rome’s bitterest enemy.
From the corner of his eye he saw Carys and Morwyn kneeling by Druantia, but kept his focus on Aeron, who had a mad gleam in his eerie, soulless eyes.
“Sweet Goddess, you’ve killed our queen.” Morwyn sounded on the verge of hysterics.
“She’s not dead.” Carys—his Carys, a fucking Druid, and the one thing he’d refused to allow his mind to dwell upon whenever he’d wondered about her strange Celtic ways—pulled her embroidered bag over her head.
“You won’t save her.” Aeron didn’t take his gaze from him as he spoke to Carys. “Don’t even try. Otherwise I’ll prolong this Roman’s death agony until you beg me to mercifully end his miserable existence.”
Unbelievably, Carys hesitated. Maximus gritted his teeth. “Do what you can for her. This Druid bastard is drawing his last breaths.”
In his peripheral vision he saw Carys trying to stem the blood, feverishly pulling strange packages and wraps from her mysterious bag. But the wound was deep; the woman was ancient. She had no hope of surviving.
“I thought the Morrigan wanted you to lead us into the new future, Carys.” Druantia’s hoarse whisper hovered in the blood-drenched air. “It’s what she foresaw the night of your conception. But I was wrong, my child. The Great Goddess herself was wrong.”
“Don’t speak.” Carys tenderly cradled the old woman’s cheek. “Conserve your strength.”
Her aged fingers clutched Carys’s arm. “She saw your light in the darkness. But it wasn’t for her.” She coughed wetly, and from the corner of his eye Maximus saw the scarlet stain her lips and chin.
“What’s possessed you, Aeron?” Morwyn said as she cradled Druantia’s head on her lap. “You’ll die for this outrage. You’ll—”
Aeron tossed the gladius from hand to hand, his eyes never leaving Maximus’s. “Our queen murdered by Roman scum, by Roman sword. When I have his head, I’ll be invincible to my people.”
Maximus tightened his grip on the puny dagger. It was no match for his gladius. And he was no match for any man in his current weakened state.
Carys rose to her feet. Blood stained her gown and hands, and despite wanting to thrust his dagger through her heart for lying to him, for not telling him what she truly was, his own heart twisted with the absolute knowledge that he would sooner drive the dagger into his own chest than allow any harm to befall her.
“You treacherous murderer.” Her voice shook. He had the insane urge to go to her, comfort her, to reassure her all would be well.
He remained where he was, focused on the male Druid.
“We’ll string your steaming guts up for the crows, you filthy bastard.”
With the speed of lightning, Aeron pinned Carys against his body, the tip of the gladius against her throat. Maximus tensed, and rage flooded his system, injecting new strength into his limbs, into his muscles. Aeron flicked his dagger a glance and sneered, as if the weapon was too insignificant to seriously acknowledge.
“Morwyn, take the bowl from the altar and catch fresh blood from Druantia.”
“Don’t do it.” Carys’s command was cut off as Aeron increased the pressure around her neck, and pressed the blade against her flesh. Scarlet bloomed.
An iced calm bathed Maximus’s mind, channeling the rage into purpose as years of arduous training came to the fore.
“You’re no longer a princess of Cymru, whore,” Aeron said. “Keep my counsel and you keep your life. But no longer will you have the status of my lover. You’ll be my slave.”
A shaft of revulsion pierced his military discipline. This creature was Carys’s ex-lover?
He would doubly enjoy the moment he took the cretin’s life.
A shaking Morwyn obeyed Aeron’s command and placed the bowl, with Druantia’s blood, back on the heathen stone altar. Aeron relieved Carys of the gem-encrusted daggers at her waist before thrusting her aside with such force she lay gasping on the ground.
“A fitting sacrifice.” Aeron indicated the barbaric display on the stone with a wave of his hand. “Blood of a Roman to rid my land of your plague, and blood of the last direct descendant of a redundant goddess to wipe out the cursed matriarchy.”
Maximus tore one of the flaming torches from its mortise, and satisfaction flared at the surge of anger that flashed across Aeron’s features.
“You don’t have my blood, Druid.”
Aeron snatched up another torch and poised it over the bowl in the center. “I do have your blood, Roman. Caught from the clasp of your cursed brooch.”
His missing fibula. A chill slithered along his spine, but he allowed no emotion to show on his face. “A mere drop. It means nothing.”
“How do you think you found your way through the sacred spiral, Roman? You can’t see it, you can’t feel it, and yet you weren’t deterred from the area as all but Druids are.”
Another chill attacked his marrow as comprehension dawned. The spiral was the powerful magic that distorted the forest, confused his cartographers. The spiral was the reason the Druids had been able to conceal their presence from their conquero
rs, despite being under their very noses.
“Aeron.” Carys staggered to her feet, her face scratched and bleeding from where she’d fallen against broken stones. “No.”
Maximus didn’t know what she was talking about, but whatever it was appeared to terrify her.
Aeron lowered the torch toward the bowl. “Tell your lover to replace the sacred flame, Carys. You know what will happen if he doesn’t.”
“The fuck I’ll replace it.” He wiped the sweat from his eyes with his biceps. Gods, it was hot. Was this part of the heathen ceremony this madman planned?
Aeron dipped the torch lower, and Carys flung herself to her knees, clinging to his naked calf. “Please stop, Aeron.”
Rage pumped through Maximus, a sweltering counterpoint to his scorching flesh. “Get up, Carys.” It was an order. How dare she beg anything from this Druid?
The torch hovered inside the rim of the bowl. Where the fuck was all the air? He could scarcely draw enough breath to fill his lungs.
“Are you begging me, Carys?” The words were soft. Infuriated, Maximus lunged forward, and yet only managed to sway on his feet as acrid smoke filled his chest.
But there was no fire. Sweat dripped into his eyes, drenched his body, but still he couldn’t move, could scarcely think, yet all the while his skin burned as if jabbed with a thousand candles.
“Yes.” Her voice was strong, sure. “I’ll replace the torch for you, if you replace yours.”
Aeron gave a short laugh. “You must learn your new place, Carys. Slaves don’t make bargains with their masters. If you want to save this Roman from frying, then you must show due respect.”
Carys shot him an agonized glance before returning her attention to Aeron. “I do respect you.” She didn’t sound convincing.
Maximus expelled a breath that seared his lungs and rasped his throat. Jupiter, he felt as if he was being roasted alive.
A dread suspicion sliced through his brain. He shot a glance to the torch dipping inside the bowl, and his guts roiled. The Druid possessed his blood. And was using his heathen magic to burn him alive.
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