How could it have happened? It seemed beyond all comprehension. He could still scarcely believe it, yet he had seen what had come clawing out of her womb, killing her as it was born. The empress had given birth to an abomination. An awnshegh.
A gorgon.
It seemed impossible. Faelina was a virgin when she went to Michael’s bed. Ariel had assured him of that, and he saw no reason to disbelieve her. He simply could not accept the alternative. Faelina had never left her father’s estate. She had grown up there, had lived there all her life. Her trip to Anuire was the first time she had ever left home in Aerenwe. How could she possibly have lain with …
No, it was unthinkable. And yet, what other explanation could there be?
He could not believe it was Michael’s seed that had produced that …
thing.
Unless, perhaps …
He moistened his lips as the serving wench brought him another drink.
It was late, and the small tavern was nearly empty. Tomorrow night, it would be full as people met to discuss what they would doubtless have heard by then.
Had the gods cursed Michael? Had Haelyn punished him? For what? What offense could have been so horrible as to deserve a penalty like that?
Michael had been driven to expand the empire and secure its borders.
In so doing, he had fought one campaign after another, and the losses had been very high.
Had the gods punished him for his arrogant pride and ambition, which had cost so many lives? Why
then did Faelina deserve to suffer as she had?
He had known she was dead the moment he entered the room. No one could have survived such terrible wounds. There had been so much blood….
He had felt shocked, horrified, and painfully helpless. He had the blood abilities of healing and regeneration, but he could not reanimate the dead.
Michael had known it, too.
He had changed after he met Faelina. The marriage had been so good for him. They were perfectly suited to each other, and they had both recognized that from the moment they met. Michael had doted on her.
He had become a different man. Still mindful of the goals he wanted to accomplish, but no longer so driven or possessed. What would become of him now?
Aedan drained the goblet and signaled for another. There would be many more to follow, but he did not think there was enough drink in all the world to numb what he was feeling.
“Lord Aedan?”
He glanced up. A cloaked and hooded figure had approached his table.
It was a woman’s voice, and it sounded vaguely familiar. She sat down across from him and pulled her hood back slightly.
“It is Gella, my lord. Perhaps you may recall me.”
The memory clicked. “Oh, yes,” he said tonelessly.
“You served the empress.”
“I fear I served her very poorly, my lord. Forgive me, but I must speak with you. There is something you must know. It concerns the empress.”
he is past all concern now, thought Aedan, looking down into his drink.
Clearly, Gella was ignorant of what had happened.
47?
“And it concerns Duchess Laera, too. It is she who is behind it all.”
Aedan glanced up sharply “What do you mean?
Behind what?”
The girl leaned forward, speaking in a low voice as if afraid she might be overheard, though there was hardly anyone in the tavern-only a few old men deep in their cups. “I had to flee the castle, my lord, or else she would have killed me. I know this beyond all doubt. I hid outside the walls, waiting for someone I could tell this to, someone who might believe me, but I did not know who that might be.
And yet, I had to tell. I had to. When I saw you, I thought you were the only one who might listen to my words and not dismiss them out of hand. You are known to be a fair and honest man. And I … I am but a lowly thief. Still, I swear to you, I swear upon my life, I am telling you the truth.”
“Wait, wait,” said Aedan. “Calm yourself and speak slowly. What are you talking about?”
“Duchess Laera is a sorceress, my lord.”
“A sorceress! Ridiculous. Laera may be many things, and most of them unsavory, but she has never studied sorcery.”
“I tell you she has, my lord. She is well versed in the art. My mother, rest her poor soul, was a witch, and she had taught me a few things before she died.
I know a sorceress when I see one. Especially when she takes a token of my hair to use against me in a spell if I should fail to do her bidding.”
“A token?” Aedan knew something about sorcery.
His old teacher, after all, had been the librarian at the College of Sorcery in Anuire.
“She kept it in a locket, which she had hidden in a secret drawer inside her jewelry box,” said Gella.
“This locket.”
She held it out, dangling it from its chain.
“She likewise had another, which I stole from her as well.” She took the second locket out and showed it to him. “I cannot say for certain, but I believe this is a token of the wizard who comes to see her in her bedchamber at night. She thought I did not know, but I spied on her and saw him. I think it must be the wizard who instructed her, and she had turned the tables on him, so the student became the master.”
“Hold on,” said Aedan, trying to take it all in.
“Who was this wizard? What did he look like?
“He was a wizened old man,” said Gella, “very old, with a bald pate.
She called him Callador.”
“Callador!” Aedan no longer doubted the
