Marcus drew up beside him, his sword already out of its scabbard. Edward, now robed in his full regalia, the bull's-head mask pulled down low over his forehead, stood and held up his hands.

"Oh, Great God Mithras. Send your favor onto one of these men. Prove the righteousness of my cause!"

There was some muttering at such a one-sided prayer, but it soon subsided. Marcus stepped back a sword's length and bowed to Christopher. "May the best man win."

Christopher bowed as well. "I will, because unlike you and my uncle, I have right on my side, not the lust for personal power."

Marcus grunted and lunged at Christopher, his right arm swinging wide like a man scything a field of corn. Christopher easily avoided the heavy-handed blow, and struck back, his sword glancing off the leather of Marcus's jerkin. Marcus parried again, and this time Christopher caught the edge of the blow on the side of his sword. He felt the dull ache of it reverberate up his arm.

He stepped back and studied his opponent's wild blond hair and narrowed eyes. Marcus looked like the Viking berserkers he was descended from. But men in the grip of bloodlust could make mistakes and commit acts of pure folly. That was why they rarely survived for long. And Marcus had no idea how much sword practice Christopher had put in killing Vampires over the past year.

Christopher settled back to play the dangerous game of taunting a berserker, to force him into an error, to make his temper boil over and forget reason.

For a little while, there was nothing in Christopher's world but the grunts of effort Marcus made and his answering parries, the slide of their feet in the sand and the collective reaction of their audience. Blood trickled down Christopher's left arm from one of Marcus's lucky thrusts, but he didn't have time to staunch the flow.

Marcus advanced again and Christopher braced himself for another brutal attack. His breath hissed out, and Marcus caught him off-balance, his sword raised at an awkward angle, his feet struggling to maintain his stance. The shock of the blow made him bite his tongue, but he still pushed back, the tip of his blade nicking the underside of Marcus's arm and drawing a sudden flash of red.

"Christopher, call his blood to you."

For a second, Christopher almost faltered, until he realized it was Olivia speaking to him in his head. He backed off and circled his opponent again, using the small reprieve to formulate his reply.

"I don't know how to do that."

"I know. If you want to win, let me do it through you. This man does not deserve to live."

Christopher ducked to avoid a blow that would've separated his head from his body and managed to shove Marcus back again. He was aware that his strength was waning, while Marcus seemed unstoppable.

"Christopher. Let me help you!"

Was it honorable to accept her help? He was no longer sure if he cared. Marcus had killed an innocent monk and deserved a long sojourn in hell. He opened his mind to Olivia and allowed her dark magic to sweep through him and outward. In an instant, Marcus's expression changed as the cut on his upper arm began to bleed profusely.

Marcus shifted his bloody grip on his sword and groaned.

Christopher pressed his advantage, swung his blade hard and fast at Marcus's chest, saw the man's slow reaction and met, not the answering bite of a sword, but cloth, and skin, and finally jarring bone. He pulled back and watched Marcus fall to his knees, blood pouring now from the dual wounds, his eyes wide and stunned, and his sword falling from his hand into the sand of the arena.

Finally, Marcus toppled forward and went still. Christopher dropped to one knee and pushed him onto his back. He checked the man's lifeless eyes and felt for his heart, which was mercifully stilled. Christopher stood and sheathed his sword, then walked forward to the Mithras Cult council. He managed to bow.

"I have won, Pater Heliodromus. You are safe."

Edward bowed back, his expression triumphant. "We thank you. Please take a moment to clean yourself up for your trial."

Christopher nodded at the council and retreated to the same room where they had confined him earlier. After a little while, a man brought him a bowl of water, some coarse soap, and a rag. Christopher remained sitting on the bench, his hands clasped around the hilt of his bloodied sword and his mind in turmoil.

He sensed a presence in the room and inhaled the now-familiar scent of orange blossom. Olivia crouched down by his side, her nostrils flaring as she breathed in the smell of his and Marcus's blood. Christopher leaned his sword against the bench, got to his feet, and started to wash his hands. He wondered if this was how Judas Iscariot had felt after he had betrayed his friend and savior.

"You did not betray anyone, Christopher. Marcus wanted to kill you and you were defending yourself."

Startled, Christopher glanced up at Olivia, who held the washcloth out to him. He'd forgotten he'd given her access to his thoughts. He tried to shut the link down as quickly as possible before she settled in.

"I should have defeated him honorably."

Olivia sniffed. "You did. I hardly had to do anything to make matters worse. He was already bleeding to death when you struck that second blow."

Christopher wanted to believe that quite desperately. But he'd done what was necessary. Perhaps it was wrong to cavil at the means of achieving it. He let out a slow breath as the scent of blood mingled with lye soap caught in his throat. Still too close to the link with Olivia, the blood enticed him and made him hunger for more . . .

He shook off the sensation and concentrated on cleaning his skin. Olivia prodded his shoulder and he hissed out a curse. "You are still bleeding. Let me see."

"If you promise you'll not suck me dry."

She made a face at him and helped him out of his heavy jerkin and pulled up his sleeve. She untied the laces of his black undershirt to reveal his shoulder and the top of his arm. "You'll need to bind this."

He handed her his dagger, watching in some bemusement while she ripped off a strip of fabric from the hem of his undershirt and made a competent job of washing and binding his wounded left arm.

Just as he was about to commend her skill, she put her finger, stained with his blood, into her mouth. He caught her wrist. "I didn't give you leave to feast on my blood. What are you doing?"

"I'm just making sure I have your taste fresh in my mind. I know we are kin, but if anything goes wrong, this will help me find you more quickly."

He grunted. "What else can go wrong?"

"Nothing, I am sure. Now you just need to deal with your uncle. Let's hope that his gratitude for your saving his life will make him more amenable."

Christopher struggled to assemble his thoughts through the tug of pain that throbbed through his upper arm. "I don't know about that. He hates me."

Olivia stared at him. "But he is your kin."

"And I am contaminated with Vampire blood."

She rose to her feet and patted his good shoulder. "I am glad that you are who you are. I am proud to call you kin."

He managed to smile back, and then she suddenly disappeared, leaving the bloodied cloth she'd been holding to flutter to the ground. The door opened and his uncle appeared. Christopher stayed where he was and started to clean Marcus's blood off his sword.

Edward studied him for a long moment. "I'd rather hoped you would not survive."

"Thank you."

Edward sighed. "Because now I have to preside over your trial . . . and execution."

"How terrible for you."

"There is no need for levity, nephew. You are accused of the most heinous of crimes. I cannot be seen to be lenient toward you simply because you are my nephew and you just saved my life."

Christopher retied the loose neck of his black undershirt and grabbed for his heavy leather jerkin. It was an effort to get it on when his left shoulder hurt like the devil. "Shall we not compromise?"

"How so?"

"Just let me go free. I promise never to darken the doors of the Mithras Cult again."

"That will not suffice, Christopher."

"Are you sure about that? Because otherwise I must go into court and defend myself to the best of my ability, and you might not like the results."

Edward's smile was chilling. "You will not prevail, nephew. Whatever puny arguments you advance, you will die. Resign yourself to your fate, and I will make sure your death is quick and merciful."

Christopher got to his feet and steadied himself against the comforting bulk of the table. "Then let us go ahead."

He followed his uncle out into the main chamber for the third and hopefully final appearance before the cult. He had no idea what time it was in the outside world, and whether he had managed to live another day or was still trapped in the last disastrous one. It didn't matter now. He had one last chance to change his future, and he had to make it pay off.

As the clock struck twelve, Rosalind changed into her boy's clothes and headed down to the stable yard to meet Rhys. He was already there, his usually calm face drawn and tense.

"Has there been any word of Olivia and Elias?" Rosalind asked him.

"None," Rhys replied. "I am starting to worry."

Silently Rosalind considered Rhys. Surely they should know something by now. She tightened her grip on her dagger. Christopher couldn't be dead. She would know. It would feel as if she had lost half her soul.

"Elias and Olivia will come back, I'm sure of it. They are immortal, after all." But Christopher isn't, she didn't have to add. She started to walk out toward the apple orchard to begin her usual patrol.

Rhys fell into step beside her. "I'm sorry, cariad."

She wouldn't look at him, but she did manage to frame a reply. "There is nothing to be sorry about. Christopher is already dead to me. What he did to me-"

Rhys stopped walking and gripped her shoulder. "You have a right to be angry, Rosalind, but-"

"But what? Christopher has treated me abysmally, and I could not force my way into a meeting of the very men who want to kill me in order to save him from himself! Perhaps if he had told me what was going on, we might not have reached this point."

"Men think differently about these things. Perhaps he thought he was protecting you."

"That would indeed be quite like him." Rosalind stared out into the darkness, her senses kicking up as she smelled Vampire. "But he promised me the truth."

"And he told you many times that he had also made vows to protect others."

"Oh, for goodness' sake, Rhys. Why are you defending him?"

"Because you cannot, and I think it is tearing you apart," he said softly.

Tears blurred her vision, and she angrily pushed them away. "Don't say that. Don't make me want to give in to these feelings again."

"Sometimes we have to give in, Rosalind. It's called loving someone else more than we love ourselves. I had to give you up. I thought I'd never survive it, but I did."

"Then you should understand why I am giving Christopher Ellis up, for good this time."

He chuckled. "You can't. That's the problem. He is part of you. If you could forget him, you would've done it a long time ago. As you told me, Rosalind, we can't choose who we love. And now you are married to him, for better or worse."

Rosalind drew her dagger as the smell of Vampire grew stronger. "I have no time for this now, Rhys. There are Vampires about."

He tensed as a lone figure broke through the trees and strolled toward them, his hands raised in the air. To Rosalind, the young man smelled like a vole, an earthy feral scent that curdled her stomach.

"What do you want?" Rosalind asked, her dagger on display, even if his wasn't.

"I have a message for you." The man bowed. "Your presence is required at the Druid stone circle."

"Why would a Vampire be entrusted with such a message?" Rhys said.

"I know not. I was simply told to tell you Master Warner needs your help, and that if you wish to save him, you should go to the circle."

"Told by whom?"

"Lord George Boleyn, Viscount Rochford."

Rosalind and Rhys exchanged a glance before bidding the Vampire a curt good-bye. Rhys waited until the man had disappeared into the trees before turning to Rosalind.

"Do you think it is a trap?"

"I'm sure it is, but if Elias is in danger, we cannot leave him there with George."

Rhys made a face. "Are you sure about that?"

"Elias has been more than helpful to us."

"For his own good reasons."

"That is true. But I believe he has come to think of us as his friends and, as his friends, we are going to help him."

Rhys sighed. "I knew you were going to say that. But how did Elias end up with George if he was supposed to be saving Lord Christopher?"

"That is another good question." Rosalind started to walk back toward the stables, her stomach churning. "Perhaps when we save Elias, he will be able to give us some answers."

Christopher waited in the center of the newly cleaned circle as his uncle and the council filed in. Since defeating Marcus, he'd lost all sense of fear and was filled with a calm certainty that his cause was right and that the Mithras Cult members would have to recognize it.

Edward stood and held his hands upward. "By the power vested in me by the holy God Mithras, I call this court to order. Before us stands a man accused of the most hideous crime of aiding and abetting our enemies, the Druids."

A low rumbling filled the space, but Christopher didn't let it worry him.

His uncle continued. "The keeper of the Mithras Cult records will defend us, while the accused has decided to defend himself. Brother Cedric, please read out the charge."

Brother Cedric stood and cast an apologetic glance at Christopher before clearing his throat. "Lord Christopher Ellis is charged with allying himself to Lady Rosalind Llewellyn, a member of one of the highest-ranking Druid families in the kingdom. Can you deny that association, Lord Christopher?"

"I cannot. The king forced me to become betrothed to Lady Rosalind, and all my efforts to break that betrothal have been fruitless. What is curious is that my family has made no such efforts to change the king's mind."

Brother Cedric frowned. "Are you suggesting that this association was somehow sanctioned by the cult, Lord Christopher?"

Christopher met his uncle's furious gaze. "Indeed I am. Ask my uncle."

"I am not on trial, here," Edward snapped. "I do not need to answer to anyone."

"The facts are the facts. This 'association' began when you commanded me to swive Rosalind Llewellyn, and despite being stripped of full membership and banned from our sacred ceremonies, I did your bidding. Surely I am to be commended rather than condemned?"

Christopher walked over to Brother Cedric. "You must have a record of my name being struck from the rolls about six years ago. Would you like to confirm that for the council?"