"You can't take it all on yourself."

"Oh, but I can," Anne said. "I must. I went there there again, Austra. I saw the fourth Faith, and she told me that my mother has been imprisoned and my father's throne usurped. That's why we're leaving here tomorrow." again, Austra. I saw the fourth Faith, and she told me that my mother has been imprisoned and my father's throne usurped. That's why we're leaving here tomorrow."

"That can't be true," Austra said.

"I believe it," Anne replied. "First they kill half of us and then they take our throne. That seems like a pretty logical course of events. But they missed me, and they're going to regret that."

Austra regarded her for a long moment. "I believe they will," she said. She started to say something else, but seemed to struggle for a moment. "I'm sorry I disobeyed you," she said finally.

Anne looked frankly at her. "Austra, you are truly the only person I can claim to love. I know that now. I can't even say that about my mother or Charles, not honestly. You are the only one I love."

"I love you, too," Austra said.

"But you can't disobey me again," Anne said, taking her hand. "Ever. I might be right, and I might be wrong, and you may try to convince me when you think I'm wrong, but once my word is spoken, it is your your word, too." word, too."

"Because you're the princess and I'm a servant?" Austra murmured.

"Yes," Anne replied.

They set out the next morning-Anne, Austra, Winna, Aspar, Neil, Cazio, and twenty horsemen from Dunmrogh. The clouds were back, and a midday snow began to fall, the first snow of winter. It was Yule; from now on, the days would only get longer.

EPILOGUE.

RESACARATUM.

LEOFF GLANCED UP AS the praifec entered the little room that had been his home for the past two days. There wasn't much to it, the room-a table, a few candles, and no window at all. Of course, there wouldn't be, this deep underground. the praifec entered the little room that had been his home for the past two days. There wasn't much to it, the room-a table, a few candles, and no window at all. Of course, there wouldn't be, this deep underground.

"You're a very clever man," the praifec said after a moment. "And far more political than I would have imagined."

"I told you it would be magnificent," Leoff said, trying to sound brave.

"Oh, yes, and so it was," Hespero agreed. "Even I was moved by it-moved as if by shinecraft, in fact."

"It was music, not shinecraft," Leoff insisted. "All music is magical. You can't artificially separate-"

"Oh, I most certainly can," the praifec replied. "And I'm afraid the council of praifecs agrees with me. Leovigild Ackenzal, you are here convicted of shinecraft and high treason."

He stepped closer and rested a hand on Leoff's shoulder. The touch made the composer's skin crawl.

"No, my friend," the praifec said in his most avuncular tones, "enjoy your small triumph. It will have to last you the rest of your life."

Leoff held his chin high. "I'm not afraid to die," he said.

The praifec shrugged. "I'm not going to kill you," he said. "But in a moment, I will leave this room, and so will you, and you will be taken to a place place." He put his hands behind his back. "Fralet Ackenzal, do you know the meaning of Resacaratum Resacaratum?"

"It means a reconsecration-to make holy again."

"Indeed. The world has become an unholy place, Fralet Ackenzal, I think you will agree. War threatens everywhere; terrible monsters wander about-why you've met one yourself, yes?"

"Yes," Leoff said.

"Yes. The world is in need of purification, and when that need arises, the Church is at hand. It's beginning now, in every country, every village, every house. The Resacaratum Resacaratum has begun. And you have the honor of being one of its first-examples." has begun. And you have the honor of being one of its first-examples."

"What do you mean?" Leoff asked, the hair on the back of his neck pricking up.

"You will be lustrated, Fralet-made pure. I fear the process may be painful, but redemption rarely comes without cost."

He gave Leoff's shoulder a friendly squeeze and left. And as he promised, someone came and took Leoff to a place.

He tried to be brave, but Leoff was not made for pain, and after a time he screamed, and cried, and begged for an end to it.

But it did not end.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS.

A special thanks to Terry Brooks for his support and encouragement. Thanks also to Elizabeth Haydon, Melanie Rawn, Katherine Kurtz, Robin Hobb, John Maddox Roberts, and Charles de Lint for their kind words about The Briar King. The Briar King.

Thanks to my readers: T. Karen Anderson, Nancy Baker, Kris Boldis, Marshal Hibnes, Chris Hodgkins, Lanelle Keyes, Eugenia Mansfield, Charlie Sheffer, and Nancy Vega.

Thanks to Jack Simmons, Ph.D., for his help with matters nautical. Any mistakes in such matters don't originate with him.

As always, thanks to my editor, Steve Saffel; editor in chief, Betsy Mitchell; and managing editor, Nancy Delia. Thanks to Eliani Torres for wading through my misspellings and other mistakes. Thanks also to editorial assistant Keith Clayton for tons of hard work.

Thanks to Kirk Caldwell for more beautiful maps, Stephen Youll for the cover art, and Dave Stevenson for putting it all together.

Thanks to Colleen Lindsay and Christine Cabello for putting me out there, in three dimensions and in cyberspace. Sorry I ruined a perfectly good assistant, Colleen, even if only for a day or two.

Thanks to Mark Maguire for managing production.

Across the pond, many thanks to Stefanie Bierworth and Peter Lavery, not only for publishing this book in Britain, but for their hospitality-especially Peter, who put up with me as a houseguest.

Thanks to Dave Gross for his perpetual support and for being best man at my most recent wedding.

Belated thanks to Jacques Chambon, who edited my first books published in French. The world is a lesser place without you, Jacques.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR.

GREG K KEYES was born in Meridian, Mississippi, to a large, diverse, storytelling family. He received degrees in anthropology from Mississippi State and the University of Georgia before becoming a full-time writer. He is the author of was born in Meridian, Mississippi, to a large, diverse, storytelling family. He received degrees in anthropology from Mississippi State and the University of Georgia before becoming a full-time writer. He is the author of The Briar King The Briar King and the Age of Unreason tetralogy, as well as and the Age of Unreason tetralogy, as well as The Waterborn The Waterborn, The Blackgod The Blackgod, and the Star Wars Star Wars New Jedi Order novels New Jedi Order novels Edge of Victory I: Conquest Edge of Victory I: Conquest, Edge of Victory II: Rebirth Edge of Victory II: Rebirth, and The Final Prophecy The Final Prophecy. He lives in Savannah, Georgia.

By Greg KeyesThe Chosen of the ChangelingTHE WATERBORNTHE BLACKGODThe Age of UnreasonNEWTON'S CANNONA CALCULUS OF ANGELSEMPIRE OF UNREASONTHE SHADOWS OF GODThe Psi Corps TrilogyBABYLON 5: DARK GENESISBABYLON 5: DEADLY RELATIONSBABYLON 5: FINAL RECKONINGStar Wars: The New Jedi OrderEDGE OF VICTORY: CONQUESTEDGE OF VICTORY: REBIRTHTHE FINAL PROPHECYThe Kingdoms of Thorn and BoneTHE BRIAR KINGTHE CHARNEL PRINCE

The Charnel Prince is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.