I watched until I could no longer bear it.

"Make it stop." I raised my voice. "Make it stop!"

Morwen released my hands with limp, sticky fingers. The visions faded, although the world was still strange and pulsing. I felt sick and disoriented.

"Your son is a monster, Imriel," Morwen said quietly.

"You don't know it's true!" My voice was thick.

"I do." She sat quiet and still, her hands resting atop the boulder in a puddle of her own blood. A lot of blood. "There were other visions around you, before; a confusion of them. At first you departed and he wasn't there. Then there was our daughter to balance him. But one by one, they all went away. This is all that's left."

"Why? " I whispered.

"I don't know." She sounded sad. "It seems his mother lost a second child before term and died. What happened to you, I cannot say, save that you never set foot on Alban soil again. And it seems your son conceived a powerful hatred of the Maghuin Dhonn."

A mad laugh bubbled out of me. "And why do you think that might be, woman!" I shouted at her. "Name of Elua! You've done naught but plague and torment me since I came to Alba! Elua!" I ran my hands over my face, forgetting they were sticky with her blood. "Did you ever think," I said bitterly, "that mayhap if you hadn't meddled in our lives in the first place, none of this would come to pass?"

"Yes." Morwen gave me a terrible smile. "I did."

I stared at her in horror. Somewhere, there were horns sounding. The air between us pulsed, filled with twisting runes and symbols. I waved my hand before me, trying to make them vanish. I couldn't see right, couldn't think right. But I was free and unbound and I could see one thing. A fault-line on her soul, a deep and awful secret.

Horns.

Clunderry.

"You lied," I said simply.

She lifted her hands feebly. Blood ran down her forearms. A lot of blood. The stone knife had cut deeper than I reckoned. "The Maghuin Dhonn have kept their oath," Morwen said. "You are unharmed. It is only I that am forsworn. I am a sacrifice."

After that, I went mad.

There are large parts of that terrible night I do not remember.

I remember stumbling from the stone circle, barefoot and blood-streaked, shouting for Urist. I do not remember putting on my sword-belt, although I did. I remember bits and pieces of racing through the darkling woods, thinking that the very trees despised me.

I remember seeing the castle gate open.

I remember screaming.

And the bear.

And Dorelei.

I didn't see her until later. And I didn't understand until later that the castle gate was open because Leodan of Briclaedh had staged his retaliatory cattle-raid that night, having received word that Clunderry's garrison would be short-handed the night of the full moon, and no one had remembered to close it when the garrison raced out in response.

The bear...

For a time, Kinadius and a handful of men who had managed to double back held it at bay in the courtyard, shooting at it with hunting bows, but it was hard to aim in the moonlight and it takes a lot to kill a bear. A big bear, as big as Berlik of the Maghuin Dhonn was for a man. It burst through their line just as we arrived, killing Uven, roaring toward the castle gate.

I remember Urist behind me shouting, "Spread out!"

I ran straight for the bear, racing through the open gate, holding my sword point-outward in a two-handed grip. Fast; faster than I'd ever run. I screamed. The bear roared. I could smell it, rank and musky. Fermented berries. It swatted at me, knocking the blade from my hand and sending me tumbling. Kinadius and his men shot arrows at it from behind. It roared. I picked myself up, picked up my sword. I heard my own voice shouting, "Close the gate!"

I stood in front of the gate.

The bear charged me. It was like a wave, like a great dark wave breaking over me. I swung my blade, aiming for its eyes. Its sad, pale eyes; Berlik's eyes. It rose up then; blotting out the stars. It roared. Red maw, white teeth. Black claws. I stepped inside its guard, jabbing for its guts.

It struck before my blow landed.

I didn't feel the wounds, not right away. Just the blow; a vast, inconceivable impact. I lay on my back, staring at the moon and stars, wetness spreading over my chest. If I could have laughed, I would have. "Forsworn," I whispered. "All of you."

Blackness.

The next time I opened my eyes, I was in the great hall. There were a great many people around, talking and weeping. Some of them were hovering over me, asking me things. I was on a table. I turned my head. There was another table. Dorelei lay on it. Her head was turned toward me at an unnatural angle. Her eyes were empty and open. There was a cloak draped over her, over the swollen mound of her belly. It was sodden with blood.

I wept.

Blackness.

Chapter Thirty-Seven.

Where do we GO when we vanish deep inside ourselves? I do not know, but I went there for a long, long time. Alais told me later that they weren't sure if I would live or die. If anyone had asked me my preference in the matter, I'm not sure which I would have chosen. I was very badly injured and out of my mind with horror, grief, and guilt.I recall almost nothing of the days following the attack. Most of the time, I was unconscious; when I wasn't, Alais said I raved and babbled about moving stones and blood and the Maghuin Dhonn.

And my son, the boy who became a monster.

There is a mercy in madness and forgetting.

I don't think I could have borne those days.

I had a few vague memories. Lady Breidaia, weeping as though her heart would break. Talorcan, shouting in fury. Drustan. Later, I learned that Hyacinthe had kept his promise. He'd caught a glimpse of Morwen and Berlik in his sea-mirror and sent a pair of swift couriers.

Too late.

The Maghuin Dhonn had struck more swiftly.

I remember Firdha speaking ritual words, and a sense of terrible loss. And I remember a jolting wagon and a great deal of pain. Someone cursing at the Bastard. Sweating and shivering. Anxious faces. Alais, placing a cool, damp cloth on my brow, begging me not to die.

For a long time, nothing more.

When at last I came to myself, I was in a strange place. It was bright with sunlight and there was birdsong. I was lying in a bed with cool, clean sheets. My mouth was parched and my eyelids felt heavy and crusted. When I cracked them open and squinted, I could make out a small figure with black curls sitting in a figure and reading a book.

A rush of indescribable relief washed over me. A dream, I thought; a fever-dream. I'd been sick, as sick as I'd been after the first time I'd kept Elua's vigil with Joscelin on the Longest Night. I was sick, and Ysandre had ordered me brought to the Palace.

I tried to laugh and made a croaking sound.

"Imri?" Alais' head lifted. "Imri?" She dropped her book and hurried to kneel at my bedside. I tried to sit up and discovered I couldn't. My entire torso was swaddled in thick bandages and it hurt unbearably. I rested my head on the pillow and gazed at Alais, watching her violet eyes fill with tears.

No dream. It was real, all real.

"Can you hear me?" Alais asked softly. "Imri, do you understand?"

"Ye-" The word stuck. I tried to moisten my stiff, dry tongue. "Yes."

"Oh gods!" she breathed. "Elua be praised! Here." She cradled my head and put a clay cup to my lips. It felt cool and soothing, and that first sip of water was better than the best thing I'd ever tasted. Alais gave me several more sips, then rose. "I'll get the chirurgeon."

"Where am I?" I whispered.

"Bryn Gorrydum," she said. "The Temple of Elua and his Companions."

She hurried out and returned shortly with the chirurgeon, a young man named Girard, sworn to Eisheth's service. He placed a hand on my brow, lifted my lids to peer at my eyes, and bade me stick out my tongue. "The fever's broken," he confirmed. "How do you feel, your highness?"

I tried to answer and began to cry.

"It's all right, my lord." Girard stroked my hand. "There's healing in tears."

"Not enough tears," I choked. "Not for this."

"No," he said softly. The chirurgeon had sea-grey eyes, warm with compassion. "I don't imagine there are. But weep them anyway, my lord, and try to stay with us for the sake of the living." He rose. "I'll send word to the Cruarch. And I'll send for broth and a tincture of opium for the pain."

I shook my head. "No opium."

Girard paused. "As you wish, my lord."

I rested my head on the pillow, exhausted. Alais returned to kneel beside me. For a long time, neither of us spoke. "Promise me you won't die, Imri," she said at length, her voice sounding small and lost. "I don't want to lose you, too."

"Oh, Alais." I couldn't. "It hurts!'

"I know." Her eyes welled again She laid her hand on mine. "Please?"

"I'll try." I glanced over and saw that there was red yarn tied around my wrist. My right wrist. I remembered the stone knife. Freedom. Firdha, and a sense of loss. "Alais, why am I bound again?"

She dashed away tears. "For safety."

"But the mannekin ..." I stopped. I had no memory of what had become of the leather bag containing it. I'd put it in my lap when Morwen bade me take her hands. "Lost?" Alais nodded somberly. "Ah, Elua!" A bitter laugh escaped me. It felt like something stretched and tore in my chest, but I welcomed the pain. "Surely, I must be cursed!"

"Don't say that, Imri," Alais begged. "Don't!"

I closed my eyes. "Tell me what else I've missed."

Bit by bit, she did. An acolyte arrived with a steaming bowl of beef broth. Because it hurt too much to lift my arms, Alais fed it to me with a spoon and told me that I'd been unconscious or raving for ten days. The bear had wounded me badly, laying me open from shoulder to hip. At Clunderry, the wounds had begun to fester and I'd developed a raging fever. It was Drustan-I'd remembered aright, he and Talorcan and an armed escort had arrived on the heels of the horror, alarmed by Hyacinthe's message-who had made the decision to have me moved to the temple in Bryn Gorrydum, which had recently been joined by a young priest of Eisheth trained as a chirurgeon.

I laughed bitterly and wept when I heard it. "I told her. I told her she needed a proper chirurgeon to attend her!"

"Dorelei?" Alais asked softly, dabbing at my tears with a kerchief.

I nodded. "She died," I whispered. "In the future I saw. Carrying a child, another child. And I left, and never came back. I left our son."

Alais frowned. "Why?"

I turned my head away "I don't know. What else?"

She told me that Dorelei was dead, which I knew. In a toneless voice, she told me that the bear had broken Dorelei's neck with a single swipe before savaging her belly. That the babe was dead, too. And that Talorcan had gone nearly as mad as I had, driven by rage at the murder of his sister and his sister's child. That he had ordered Morwen's lifeless body retrieved from the stone circle so it could be buried beneath Dorelei's feet. That he had sworn an oath of vengeance, and half the men of Clunderry had sworn it with him. They'd ridden out in pursuit of Berlik and his folk. All across Alba, the Maghuin Dhonn were hunted. Even the Lady of the Dalriada had pledged her assistance, and Eamonn had taken up the hunt himself. I thought about his brother Conor and shuddered.

"Have they found them?" I asked.

Alais hesitated. "Some. Not the magician."

I stared at the ceiling. "Send for your father. I need to speak with him."

The Cruarch of Alba came to visit me on the morrow.

I'd slept through the night, albeit fitfully. The pain kept me awake. In the morning, the Eisandine chirurgeon Girard came to examine my wounds. A pair of acolytes gently propped me half upright as he unwound the bandages. I'd an idea they'd done it before, though I remembered naught of it. Girard unwound long lengths of clean linen, then carefully peeled away a layer of cotton padding.

I looked down at myself and hissed through my teeth.

Four raking, parallel gouges ran the length of my torso, angling from my right shoulder to my left hip. Around the furrows, my flesh was raised and swollen and inflamed; tending toward pink in a few places, reddish in others, seeping a yellowish, crusty matter.

"You should have seen it three days ago, your highness," Girard said calmly. "Believe it or not, it's beginning to knit. 'Tis a mercy no vitals were pierced."

He bathed my wounds with an infusion of lavender; a scent of home, a scent that brought new tears to my eyes. And then he applied a poultice of comfrey and agrimony, and rebandaged my injuries with gentle hands.

Thus did I receive Drustan mab Necthana.

A day's lucidity and a diet of beef broth had restored a measure of strength to me. I was able to receive him sitting, propped on pillows. As he entered my bedchamber, it struck me for the first time; Drustan looked old, his face worn with sorrow beneath its tattoos. "I'm so glad you're alive, Imriel," he said in a direct, earnest tone.

Whatever words I'd meant to say caught in my throat. The loss of Dorelei and our son struck me anew, and my eyes burned with tears. "Forgive me, my lord."

He pulled over the room's single chair. "There is no need. I failed you."

"No." I took a deep, experimental breath, pressing my hand to my chest. Nothing fell out, so I tried another. "We all did. We all failed one another."

"I don't understand," Drustan said quietly.

"Doesn't matter." I shook my head. "Just...don't punish them all, my lord. All of the Maghuin Dhonn." His eyes widened. "They saw what they saw. I saw it, too. I saw my son, my lord; our son. Dorelei's and mine. Aniel. We would have named him Aniel." I drew another ragged breath. "Something happened. He grew up wrong. Bitter, angry. He would have done very bad things."

Drustan regarded me in silence for a moment. "And for that, you forgive them?"

His voice was low and deadly. I wanted to shout or cry, I didn't know which. "No!" I found the strength to raise my arms, to press the heels of my hands against my eyes. I rocked, trying to blot out the visions. Burning groves, toppling stones. People, hunted, eyes stretched wide with terror. "Don't kill them all, my lord. Don't. They are forsworn, their strength is broken. I don't think most of them knew."

"The magicians did," he said.

"Yes." I lifted my face from my hands. "And one is dead, and the other ...yes. His name is Berlik." Something cold and hard settled into place inside me. "As I am Kushiel's scion, my lord, let mighty Kushiel bear witness. I swear to you, I will see Kushiel's justice done. I claim Berlik's death for myself. If Talorcan finds him, I beg leave to wield the blade that kills him. If Talorcan cannot find him, I will. I will not rest until he is dead."