"What are you up to, whore?" she asked aloud.
Deciding she should find out, Glade's Lady-wife snatched up her hooded cape and headed for the door. As she opened it, she was surprised to find one of her equally detested sisters-in-law standing in the corridor, preparing to knock.
"What do you want?" Rolanda demanded.
"I want Gladeson Aeolian brought to his knees," Meadow stated.
Rolanda's eyebrows shot up and she stepped back as her sister-in-law pushed her way into the room.
"Close the door and let's talk," Meadow demanded.
Doing as she was told, Rolanda turned around to face the woman who was now pacing back and forth across the luxurious carpeting, curious to hear what Meadow had to say.
"He gave his power to the Bandar whore and that is lost to you forever," Meadow said, "but you can have your revenge on him for the being the cause of your lover's demise."
Rolanda shrugged carelessly, draping her cape over the back of a chair. "The Earl of Dorchestraith, was a pleasant enough diversion but I hardly mourn his death."
"He spawns death and destruction wherever he goes," Meadow said, not listening. "He must be made to atone for his crimes."
"And how, pray tell, do you intend to see he does that?"
"I have a blade," Meadow said. "And a vial of wolfsbane."
Rolanda blinked. "You intend to kill him?"
"That is the only way to be rid of the taint he has brought to my clan," his sister replied.
"I'll be no part of that, Meadow," she said. "I have no desire to lay my head on a chopping block!"
"No one need know you had a hand in it," Meadow told her.
"If you are caught, you will spend the remainder of your days in wolf form," Rolanda reminded her sister-in-law. "He isn't worth that kind of hell is he?"
"To see him in his grave, I would gladly howl at the moon every night for the rest of my life!" Meadow swore.
"No," Rolanda said, shaking her head. "I will not be a part of that."
Meadow's upper lip cocked. "Coward," she said. "You want him dead as much as I do."
"I'd be free of him, aye, but I'll not put my life in jeopardy to be rid of the bond."
"What kind of idiot do you take me for? You tried to kill him at Blaithmoor!" Meadow accused.
"No, I did not. I tried to drive him into madness. 'Tis a different thing altogether. I thought once he was driven insane he would have no defense against my asking for his power. I believed he would give it to me because he would know no better, be unaware he was bestowing it."
"Stupid fool!" Meadow labeled her sister-in-law. "Why do I even bother with you?"
Meadow stormed to the door and jerked it open, striding briskly down the corridor, mumbling to herself as she went.
"Crazy cunt," Rolanda snapped and took up her cape once more, setting a course for the stable.
Sagira Kaikias had powers of her own that had come to her as a commanding adept of the ninth degree within the Order of the Celestial Descendency. She had gleaned much of her abilities at the Abbey of Marpesia in Bandar where she had spent nearly twenty years of her life after her warrior days were done. As she waited in the stable for the arrival of the one sought, the old woman thought back on her days as a Hell Hag and how much she had enjoyed a soldier's life.
"Those were the days of greatness," she said with a sigh, stroking the neck of the stallion she had saddled with the ease of a woman fifty years her junior. "I miss those times."
A furtive sound at the entrance to the stable silenced Sagira. She grinned then leapt into the saddle as she would have when she was a warrior in her prime. Putting heel to the mount's flanks, she raced the beast from the stable and past the surprised woman who had to jump back lest she be trampled by the flying hooves.
Rolanda stared after the horse and rider for a moment then her eyes narrowed. "If that's the way you want to play, then so be it!"
Asking no one's permission to take a horse, disdaining the use of a saddle, Rolanda pulled a mare that looked docile enough from its stall and swung aboard, grunting with the effort but managing to get herself on the back of the little animal. With her fingers wrapped in the mare's mane, she urged it after the larger, faster horse, wondering why no one was about to call out to her or the other woman, no one there to stop them.
Clattering over the lowered drawbridge, no one seemed to notice the two women as they raced out of the fortress. Eyes were turned elsewhere and ears were blocked from hearing the pounding hooves as the beasts raced toward the sea.
Looking behind her to make sure the younger woman was following, Sagira laughed aloud, the wind whipping her hair about her head as the stallion stretched its long, lean body into the run. It felt wonderful to be astride a beast of merit, the sure, strong back cupped lovingly between her thighs, the heaving sides rubbing against her bare calves for her skirts were hiked up to her knees.
Down the serpentine road that led to the quay, to the glistening waters of the Sea of D'athraigh the two women journeyed. One horse flew like the wind with plumes of dust boiling from its heels and the other horse plodded along at a much slower pace, jouncing the rider unmercifully. By the time the first horse reached the shore with energy to spare, the other was becoming winded.
Sagira threw a leg over the head of her mount and slid gracefully to the ground. There was no one near the quay for she had willed it so and only two rowboats tied to the long pier that jutted out into the rolling waves. Picking the closer of the two, she climbed aboard and sat down, using borrowed strength to pull on the oars, the little boat gliding smoothly across the water.
"Where the hell is she going?" Rolanda asked as the little mare--its sides heaving--brought her to the quay. She looked out over the water and had the answer to her question. The Isle of Cinnteacht had been forbidden to the clan of Faolchúnna for as long as could be remembered. To go there was to incur a death sentence but she was only technically of the Faolchúnna so she reasoned the restriction did not apply to her. Besides, no one had to know she had followed the Bandar whore across the waves.
It never occurred to Rolanda not to follow her quarry. She dismounted and ran to the remaining rowboat and untied the hitch, climbing onto the wobbly craft and pushing away from the pier with one of the oars. With her teeth gritted, she set out after the other woman.
Sagira glanced behind her to make sure Rolanda was in pursuit. Though the old woman had garnered immense powers, it was taking a lot of energy to continue the illusion she had fostered. Combining that with the physical action, her powers were beginning to slip, her body to tire, and she cursed the old age that was bringing such feebleness with it.
"Only a little while longer," she said. "Hold out just a little while longer, Sagira."
A mile from the quay, the emerald green Isle of Cinnteacht lay like a shimmering jewel on a sea of dark blue-green velvet. Its white sand beaches were pristine--almost as though they had never been trod upon with human feet. There was a sweet smell of lavender drifting from the island and it was enticing, its siren call commanding so that one wished to lie beneath the vivid blue sky and breathe deeply of Cinnteacht's soothing perfume.
The closer Rolanda rowed to the island, the less attuned to reality she became. She was lost in a world created for her in which all thoughts left her mind except the desire to catch the woman who had stolen her husband from her and punish the whore. Vengeance was seething in the young woman's soul so that no thought at all of the legend of this mysterious isle passed through her mind. No concern for what quite possibly might reside there even registered.
"That's it, dearie," Sagira said as she brought the rowboat as close to the shore as she could. With her failing strength, she climbed out into the shallows but didn't bother to anchor the boat. She would not need it again. With her skirts hiked up, she waded to shore and struck out for the verdant growth beyond.
"Where are you going?" Rolanda asked again, pulling vigorously on the oars. "Are you meeting a lover h
ere, bitch?"
By the time Glade's Lady-wife put foot to shore, her quarry had vanished into the thick jungle. She ran through the ultra-white sand, her feet digging into the thickness, heading for the spot where she had seen the other woman disappear.
Sagira was panting by the time she found what she was searching for in a clearing beyond the dense growth of palm trees and lush ferns. The clearing was just ahead of her, the black granite castle sparkling in the early afternoon sun. With her sharpened hearing, she detected the one tracking her crashing mindlessly behind her. Sweat was pouring from Sagira and she was trembling, her footsteps lagging as she set off across the clearing toward the soaring towers with their conical spires of purest gold, toward the golden pennants snapping in the breeze and the majestic keep that soared up from the center of the keep.
Rolanda skidded to a stop, reaching out for a low-hanging branch to keep from falling as she took in the clearing ahead of her. Her jaw sagged and her eyes widened.
"What a beautiful castle," she breathed.
It was an imposing structure, the largest she'd ever seen. Perched upon lush green banks it rose high into the air. The black crenulations along the curtain walls were capped with gold and shone brightly in the sunlight. Stain glass sparkled in the towers and keep. The moat that ran around the massive structure held waters the color of rich turquoise and was edged with roses of every hue. Weeping willows tumbled their lacy branches into the water on the castle side. The drawbridge was a huge expanse of polished wooden planks held in place by ropes as thick around as her body and the ropes ran through metal fasteners that gleamed. The drawbridge was done, the golden portcullis raised and crossing the bridge she saw the one she'd been trailing.
"I will be mistress here!" Rolanda said with supreme confidence and let go of the branch.
Sagira was winded by the time she reached the entrance to the barbican. She could see straight through that building, past the fixed bridge, and into the lower bailey. Pausing with her hand to the black marble wall beside her, it was all she could do to smile as the mistress of the keep came toward her.
"Welcome, Sagira Kaikias," came the melodic voice of the beautiful woman who stopped just beyond the raised portcullis.
"Is she behind me?" Sagira asked, her heart pounding from the exertion that had taken its toll on her aging body.
"She is." The woman in the flowing blue gown held out her hand. "Will you join me?"
Sagira nodded, nearly all her strength gone. So weak she could not open her mouth to reply. She took a deep breath and passed beneath the portcullis, reaching for the slender hand of the black haired beauty whose smile was brighter than the sun.
Drawing the Ancient One into her keep, Raphaella Chastayne--the woman known as the Windweaver, the Keeper of the Loom, closed her slender arms around the old woman and held her close.
"Your race is done, my friend, and it is time to reap your reward," Raphaella said softly.
"She will come after me?" Sagira asked for in this lovely place her strength and stamina was returning.
"She will and she will reap her own brand of reward," the mistress of the keep promised.
Rolanda ran over the drawbridge, worried the portcullis would lower before she could enter the magnificent castle. She saw the woman she'd been following moving through the barbican, saw her silhouetted against the light of the lower bailey as she stepped out into the sun. She hated the sight of the curvaceous figure, the long flowing hair and slender limbs of her rival.
Glancing up at the sharp points of the portcullis as she came to stand beneath it, Glade's Lady-wife shuddered hard. For one brief moment she hesitated, feeling fear flooding her entire body and her heart beginning to pound, she considered turning back, not entering this splendid place. She clenched her hands into fists at her sides and drew her bottom lip between her teeth. She looked behind her at the lush jungle and almost retreated but then she heard a gay feminine laugh and then a booming male one answering and her resolve strengthened. She passed beneath the portcullis and into the cool interior of the barbican.
"Welcome, Rolanda des Grieves," a lyrical voice said.
Rolanda looked to her right to find the most beautiful woman she'd ever seen standing in the shadows. The woman was clad in a gown the shade of periwinkle and her glossy black hair was unbound, hanging to her hips.
"Who are you?" Rolanda asked and once again heard laughter. She looked out into the lower bailey and saw the woman she'd been following standing there but as that woman turned to face her, it was not the Bandar whore Rolanda saw but the ancient crone who had been her mother's maid. There was spite on the lined face, a wide grin of mocking, and even as Rolanda watched, the stooped body began to change again--to revert into what the old one must have been in her youth.
"I am Raphaella," the woman beside Rolanda said. "The mistress here."
Sudden understand shot over Rolanda and she shrieked, spinning around like a top to exit this accursed place.
But the portcullis was gone. Where there had been an opening there was now a solid wall of rock that soared high into the air. Turning around and around, that was all Rolanda could see--a solid ring of stone for as far as the eye beheld. Gone was the beautiful keep, the laughter, and in its place was the wail of tormented souls.
"No!" Rolanda screamed, eyes bulging out of their sockets, and slapped her palms at the rock, dug her nails into the mortar in frenzy.
"Welcome," the lovely woman said again. "Welcome to World's End."
From the window of her room, Queen Adélie had watched Rolanda following who Glade's Lady-wife would have believed was Lauryl. Had not the Faolchúnna queen her Lauryl speaking to Moor but a moment before, she, too, would have taken the woman on horseback for her son's life-mate. But peering hard at the figure, Adélie had seen a shimmer of distortion, a slight wavering and in that brief moment realized it was the old Hell Hag who had used her magic to entice Rolanda.
"And I know precisely where you are leading the bitch," Adélie whispered. Her gaze went beyond the quay, out across the sea to the glittering island beyond and she smiled.
There was a light knock at her door but the Queen did not turn to greet her visitor as she bid that person enter. Instead, she stood watch as the one whose personification of Lauryl climbed into a rowboat and struck out upon the water.
"Do you have a moment, cousin?"
Adélie nodded. "I have something to show you, Augustine," she said.
The Marquise came to the window. "What is of such interest to you?" she inquired.
"Your daughter."
"There is a messenger for you," Glade told his lady when he found her in the solarium with his two younger sisters.
"Who?" Lauryl asked.
"A man from Nebullia," he said. "I believe he has an offer of a job for you."
Lauryl looked up at him. "Where is he?"
"I left him in the library," he replied.
"I'll see what he wants."
Moor pursed her lips and Dell looked as though she could slap her brother as Lauryl left the room. When he turned to his sisters, he raised his eyebrows.
"What have I done now?" he asked.
"You are going to allow her to still take jobs?" Dell queried.
"Aye," he said.
"Have you lost what little mind you had left?" Moor demanded.
Glade sighed. "Sit, dearlings, and let's discuss this," he told them.
"Glade?"
The warrior turned to find his twin standing in the doorway.
"Not now, Slade," Moor told him. "We are speaking of important…"
"Father sent me to fetch him," Slade interrupted. "He asked that he come straight away and I was not to return without him."
"Oh, poo!" Moor said. "Then go. We'll talk about this later."
"Has something happened?" Glade asked as he joined his brother and they started down the corridor.
"He didn't say but both Mother and the Marquise are in the throne room and the old harpy is
the color of old wax," Slade answered. "Ridge is there, as well."
"That doesn't bode well that our Heir-Apparent is attendance. Where's Rolanda?"
"I don't know and frankly I don't care," Slade snapped. "The less I see of that regal bitch, the better."
When the two young men entered the throne room, Slade was dismissed with a curt command to close the door behind his departure. He gave his twin an arched brow then did as he was ordered.
Glade looked from one face to the other, beginning his eldest brother's. He perceived differing emotions on those faces. On Ridge's there seemed to be relief. On his father's, smugness. His mother's face was beaming with undisguised happiness but the Marquise had obviously been crying and her face was drawn.
"Your Lady-wife has gone against the strictures of Faolchúnna law and journeyed to World's End," his father declared.
The news staggered Glade and he drew in a harsh breath. "By the gods!" he whispered. "Didn't she realize such a thing carries the death penalty? When she returns…"
"She won't be returning," the Marquise said, her voice breaking. "She entered the castle there and will never be able to leave."
"You don't know that, Your Grace," Glade said. "It is only a rumor…"
"Ask your life-mate if 'tis a rumor, Gladeson Aeolian!" the Marquise shouted. "World's End is as real as you or I!"
Glade looked from his mother to his father, seeking their help but neither offered. He looked back to his mother-in-law. "But even if it is a real place, you don't know that she has entered…"
"She was following a woman who looked like Lauryl," his mother cut in. "In actually it was the old one, the Hell Hag, who was impersonating your life-mate, luring Rolanda to that evil place."
"But why?" Glade asked. "Is that even possible?"
"She's a witch, you stupid boy!" the Marquise yelled again. "Hell Hags are witches of the first order." Her eyes were wild. "She cast a spell upon my child and led Rolanda to her doom." She pointed a long finger at him. "All because of you!"
"You can not blame Glade for Rolanda's actions," the Queen was quick to say. "Neither he nor Lauryl had a hand in this."
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