by Hall, Linsey
“No, my queen.” He shook his head slowly, white hair flowing around his shoulders. “You are brave and wise, but in this you are wrong. My daughters will succeed me on the throne. The Roman emperor will be satisfied to be co-heir. They are so far away.”
“No! Rome encroaches farther every year. We agreed to their terms when they came to our borders the first time, as did the neighboring kingdoms. Our line shall hold only until your death, then our kingdom is Rome’s. By law, the emperor becomes your heir. They will not accept this move and will come down upon our heads.” She shook him to make her point, glancing at her daughters to see if they noticed. “We must attack first, and drive them from Britain. It is our only hope. Or remove our daughters as co-heir to the throne so that Rome will not atta—”
Diana realized that the scene had moved forward when a shadow of pain lashed across her back. Roman legionnaires held her by the arms, pinned to the ground in front of her people, as their leader swung a whip at her back. Her husband was dead of old age, and the Romans were at their doorstep intent on collecting on her husband’s debt.
She heard her daughters’ screams, and strain as she might, all she could see were the feet of the bastards who held her to the ground. Though the pain burned through her, she fought to hear her daughters, to know they were alive. But when their screams stopped abruptly and the Roman legion cheered, she knew.
Dead.
Diana curled onto her side in the dusty attic and vomited. Dry heaves wracked her body and tried to pull her soul from her. She’d never felt such pain. It was as if her heart were a glass bottle smashed to bits.
She lay, curled on her side in the attic, tears streaking down her face and into her hair, as memories continued to flash in front of her near-comatose eyes. The Romans departed, retreated after making an example of the Iceni by killing her daughters, the illegal heirs to the throne, and left her in the mud with the bodies of her children and the ruins of her tribe.
But they had erred. Diana’s hand tightened unconsciously around the hilt of the sword. Oh, how they had erred.
She’d risen that day, with nothing left to lose and the burn of rage in her soul, to exact her vengeance upon the dogs who had dared trespass upon what was hers. Had taken what was hers.
The woman she had been—mother, wife—was no more. That woman had burned to ash in Rome’s fires, but had not risen as a phoenix. Instead, she had risen as destruction, bent on vengeance. The man responsible would die by her hand alone. Rome’s efforts in Britain would be crushed. Her people would have their freedom back. She rallied the neighboring Celtic kingdoms and, with her army, cut a swath of destruction through the Roman cities and legions of southern Britain.
It was then, during the months of the deadly and mobile revolt, that she had met Cadan of the Trinovantes, the son of the king of a southern tribe and a general in his army. A general in her army.
Diana curled in on herself and a cry tore from her throat as she was hit by memories of Cadan.
He had loved her, in his way. Though she’d had no love left in her heart, she’d trusted him above all others. He’d become her rock.
Their army had struck strong and true, driving the Romans back until everything depended on one battle. The man whose death she sought, their leader, was amongst them. The scene that coalesced before Diana’s eyes was fraught with tension. She and Cadan stood over a table of maps within a large tent, arguing. The next day’s battle would determine whether the Celts of Britain lived free or beneath the yoke of Rome.
“You will lead the Trinovantes from the south at dawn.” The words scratched at her throat, stress and exhaustion her constant companions. “I shall take the rest from the north.”
Cadan gripped the back of her head and glared into her eyes. “No. You will stay behind the front lines. Have Bran lead from the north.”
“You forget yourself, Cadan.” She shook him off. “I lead this army and will not stay behind.”
They’d fought over this for months. She had rallied the troops, led them in battle, but once Cadan had lost his heart to her, he’d fought her before battle every time, attempting to get her to stay behind in a position of safety. He’d not cared that she was his queen, that she fought for something other than duty. That her fight was her everything.
Unable to look at him, she turned, never imagining that to do so would be her doom. He was on her before she could scream, had gagged her and bound her and tossed her into the hut that had haunted her dreams. The scenes before Diana’s eyes and the dreams that had plagued her began to combine into one memory.
She escaped the hut and fought at the head of her people with single minded intent. Though she found her prey, had taken his head and that of the one he loved most, it had done no good. Her rage had remained unabated. The sense of loss and failure that had haunted her these last months did not lessen. As she’d lost her daughters, she stood to lose the battle as well. Her troops were outnumbered by the Romans, their position one of weakness. Defeat was inevitable.
She stood then, on the battlefield, surrounded by the bodies of her people, and realized that it was over. With her army decimated, they had no hope of routing the Romans. As their sole leader, a woman whose name had spread across the continent, she would be hunted as a dog and taken to Rome as a symbol of Celtic barbarism. At best they would drag her through the streets and behead her, mounting her head on a spike. At worst they would use her as leverage against her people, holding their hero hostage in return for something they couldn’t afford to pay.
With her daughters dead and her people scattered, and Cadan’s betrayal burning in her breast, there was only one option. She didn’t want to fight anymore and at least she could take the honorable way out.
Cadan had found her there, in the hut where he’d imprisoned her the previous night. She shouldn’t have returned; she could have finished it on the battlefield. But she hadn’t been able to fight the part of herself that hoped to see him one last time.
And then it was over, the last of her blood dripping onto the floor. His face, that of her betrayer and her lover, was the last thing she saw.
In the attic, Diana’s hand tightened once again on the hilt of the sword. Her sword. This had been her sword. She had been Boudica, Celtic Queen of the Iceni, and Cadan the betrayer from her dream. She had wielded this blade in battle two thousand years ago and she would wield it again.
The attic floor was cold and hard beneath her. She lay, so emotionally and physically exhausted that she could barely move. But she had to move.
Sick with grief, she pushed herself upright, her muscles screaming in protest. Focus, Diana. You have to get out of here. She couldn’t trust Cadan, had never been able to, apparently. When she’d been Boudica, he’d tried to take the most important thing she had: vengeance for her daughters and her clan. She’d needed it.
She crawled toward the chest, debris from the floor cutting into her palms. With the sword still gripped in her fist, she withdrew the remaining contents of the chest. A brooch and a thick gold necklace gleamed dully in her palms. The gold collar would have rested upon her collarbone. A torc. The quintessential Celtic jewelry. The heavy brooch would have fastened her cloak.
They had belonged to her, and Cadan had saved them all these years. Mourning her. She steeled her heart against the thought. Between hiding books and lying about Verulamium, he’d been hiding her past from her. He’d taken the decision from her, just as he had last time.
He left me locked up. I’ll leave him locked up.
She rose shakily to her feet, her memories finally intact. She called Esha as soon as she reached her room, having to dial the numbers twice because her hands shook so badly. She’d barely begun throwing her clothes into a bag when the soulceress appeared.
“Damn,” said Esha, her voice low. “You look like hell.”
“I feel like it.” Diana stuffed the rest of her clothes into her bag. “We need to get out of here. I know who I was, and I can’t trust Cadan
.” As I’d feared. Why had she ignored that?
“Shouldn’t we be quieter?” Esha whispered. “Don’t want to wake the beast.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Diana wished she could go over there and give him a good kick.
“So he gave it up?” Esha gave her an appraising look, raising her eyebrows.
“No. He had a key around his neck that unlocked a chest full of my old belongings. I found my old sword. Touching something that had belonged to me must have triggered my memories.”
“Why would he have your old stuff?”
“We knew each other in my first life. I had my suspicions, but I didn’t know for sure until now.”
“Well fuck me, you must be pissed.”
“You don’t know the half of it.” She was still shaking and just wanted to scream at Cadan until she was hoarse. “Actually, can you hang out here a second?” she asked Esha. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea with her mind in turmoil, still split between two selves. Boudica’s rage was influencing her, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.
“Um, sure.”
Diana stormed off toward Cadan’s room, her footsteps echoing in the hallway. Scenes from her past played in her mind, fueling her rage until she didn’t quite feel like herself. She had the same rage and energy running through her veins that she got when she was fighting demons and her body remembered Boudica.
“Diana!” Cadan roared, clearly able to hear her coming and probably wondering why she’d left him tied up.
She entered the room, dimly aware that she was herself, but not. She was something different. Something more.
“Release me!” His eyes blazed and the tendons stood out on his neck.
“Not a chance in hell. Why did you lie to me?” Her eyes stung even as her fists shook and her mind seethed with rage. She was being pulled in two directions—between Diana’s pain and Boudica’s fury.
“What the hell do you mean? Untie these bloody straps!”
She laughed, not surprised to hear the bite of craziness in her voice. “Why? So you can repeat yourself?”
“Stop talking in riddles, woman.”
“Don’t you mean Boudica?”
“What?” Cadan’s brow furrowed, but something lit in his eyes. A spark of recognition at the name. Or guilt?
“I know about my past, you bastard. And I know what you did. And you’re trying to do it again.”
“Who are you?” His eyes searched her face, no doubt looking for a change, something to tell him which woman he’d be screwing over this time around. “Diana? Or Boudica?”
“Diana. Why? Disappointed?” Her heart twisted at the idea, but her head continued to pound. She’d wondered if he was the man from her dreams, but she’d pushed it aside. Idiot. Of course he was.
“Nay.”
She wanted to believe sincerity shone in his eyes. She might have, if she had been just Diana. But she wasn’t just Diana. Not anymore. The control that her father had wrested from her in the beginning of this life had been wrested from her before in her past life, only worse. So much worse. And Cadan had been trying to do it again.
Cadan stared at the woman in front of him. It was Diana, but her eyes glowed with the fierceness and determination of Boudica. She vibrated with the rage that he only now realized had followed Boudica like a shadow. It had simmered beneath the surface, banked coals that waited. Waited for battle. Waited for vengeance.
“Why did you hide who you are?” she asked.
“I told you who I was. That I’d known you.”
“But you didn’t tell me who you were to me. I thought I could trust you. But you’re the one who betrayed me.”
“I couldn’t tell you.” The breath strangled in his throat.
“Why? So I wouldn’t figure out what you’d done to me?”
“What I’d done to you? All I did was try to protect you!”
“By locking me up on the eve of our final battle? I was fighting for my daughters. Their murderer was out there. After they were killed, that’s all I lived for. You would have kept me from that?” Her eyes glittered with angry tears. “I was your queen. It wasn’t your place to make that decision, especially when your reasoning was ridiculous.”
His skin grew tight at the memory. “We knew we were outmanned. If you were at the front you’d have been a fucking beacon. They’d have gone for you right away. You’d never have survived. As it was, you fought your battle. And died anyway.”
“By my choice. I knew that we were walking into possible slaughter, but it was the choice I made when I sent our warriors to their deaths. I was our symbol, our leader.” She pounded a fist on her chest. “It was my place to go with them. What would I be if I were too cowardly to lead from the front?”
“You should have let me go instead! I couldn’t lose you—I had to protect you.” A beast raged within him. Anger, hurt, confusion all fought to be the victor. How could she not understand this voracious need to protect her?
“That? That is supposed to make me feel better? That you wanted to protect me?” she shrieked. Her face suffused with color and she trembled with rage. “The reason you did it doesn’t make it right. It was my choice to risk my life in battle, my choice to die if that’s what it called for, my choice to fight for my daughters. You tried to steal that from me. You say you loved me, but you didn’t know me at all.”
“Of course I loved you. I’d have done anything to protect you.” The words were torn from his throat. He’d have done anything to keep from losing her.
“I didn’t want you to protect me. I wanted you to love me. That’s all.” She slashed the air with her hand. “I wanted, and still want, to be able to make my own decisions! And you weren’t trying to protect me—you were trying to protect yourself. You were too afraid to lose her!”
“That’s no’—”
She whirled and stalked from the room before he could finish.
It wasn’t true. That was ridiculous. Of course it was.
But something at the back of his mind wondered.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Diana woke that evening feeling groggy and disoriented.
“Hey, sleepyhead.”
She turned her head toward the voice, blinking blindly at Esha, who stood next to the island counter that separated the kitchen from the living space. Her fluffy black cat sat next to her. Oh, right. After her confrontation with Cadan, which had been fueled by an unnatural rage that was still giving her a headache, Esha had aetherwalked them to her flat at the Immortal University. They’d arrived mere seconds after departing Mull in the early morning hours. The trip had sapped Diana’s adrenaline-fueled energy and she’d collapsed onto the couch with barely a word.
She yawned and stretched. “What time is it?”
“Nearly nine—p.m., that is. You’ve been asleep since we got here twelve hours ago.”
Diana sat up and rubbed her eyes. Most of the rage she’d felt the previous night was gone. Even the memories of her distant past had faded some. Though they would still be there if she called them up, she felt more like herself.
“Want coffee?” Esha gestured vaguely to the kitchen behind her. “I don’t usually have guests, so the pantry is a little bare, but I’m sure we can find something.”
“Yeah, that’d be great.” She stumbled over to the big kitchen island and settled onto a barstool.
Esha put the kettle on for instant coffee, then rooted around in the fridge for milk. Diana caught sight of a multitude of strange glass jars jumbled on the shelves.
“For charms,” Esha explained when she caught Diana’s curious gaze. “Though most of those ingredients are expired. Charms aren’t really my bag.”
“No?”
Esha shook her head. “A hobby, mostly, since my power allows me to manifest my desires without aids.”
That would be handy. Diana looked around the space. She was so on edge that she felt like someone might jump out at her at any moment, which made her want to search all the corners in
the room. But the room had no corners. Large and round, the combined living room, dining room, and kitchen space had many windows.
“What is this place?” she asked.
“My flat, in a tower on the campus of the Immortal University.” The round space was decorated sparsely, with a few pieces of simple, high-quality furniture that suited Esha’s minimalist style.
Diana gratefully accepted the cup of coffee that Esha handed her and sipped, wrinkling her nose when it burned her tongue. She didn’t slow down, though. She needed a clear head more than she needed working taste buds right now.
“How do I get to Vivienne?”
“Can you tell me who you were?”
Diana swallowed hard and stared down into the rapidly cooling coffee in her mug. “I was Boudica.”
“No shit?” Esha looked Diana up and down with an expression of impressed respect.
Diana wished she could appreciate it, but it wasn’t making a dent right now.
“That is badass. You are like the original badass. Cheers to you.” Esha raised her coffee.
Diana raised her mug and cast Esha a strained smile. Sure, Boudica had been a renowned badass, but it had come at a cost. The title was little consolation, really.
“Oh, sorry.” Esha grimaced. “Yeah, it didn’t end so well for you.”
“Nope. Pretty shit end.”
“So, um, what’s it like?”
Diana knew what she meant. What’s it like to remember all the really terrible stuff that happened to you in the past that led you to suicide? “It sucks.”
“Um, can I ask, how did it end?”
Oh, right. Historians still didn’t know whether or not Boudica had died of illness or killed herself.
“I did it. There wasn’t any other choice.”
“Yep,” she agreed, her brow wrinkled. “You’d have ended up like Vercingetorix, or worse.”
Diana winced at the fate of France’s greatest Celtic hero. He’d ended up on a pike in Rome, and that would have been the best she could have hoped for.
Esha paled, then set down her mug “Oh, Diana. What about your daughters?”
