Children of Enchantment (44 page)

“No help,” rasped Nydia. “No help for me.”

“You used the Magic to help us,” Annandale said. Tears rolled down her face unheeded as she tried to gather her mother’s bulk
in her arms.

“Leave me, child.” Nydia turned her head away. “Take me out to the woods—“

“No,” cried Annandale. “Not this time. Mother, let me help.” She reached beneath the wrappings, exposing the ugly snout, and
Roderic shuddered in spite of himself. But Annandale ignored him. A thin blue light flared, bright and pure, and Roderic felt
something pass through him: some energy, some force. He waited, expecting Nydia’s face to change, for the horrible, terrible
disfigurement to appear on Annandale’s lovely face, but nothing happened. The creature only sighed, shut her eyes. Her head
fell back with a little sigh.

Nydia was dead.

A breeze swept through the garden, sweet with the scent of apple blossoms. Roderic blinked away tears. Annandale got to her
feet and held out her hand. Something older and sadder looked out of her eyes, something he didn’t recognize, but he took
her hand and pulled her close against his chest.

He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly, his fingers twined in the dark mass of her curls. “By the One, I swear
I’ll never leave you. Never. Forgive me. I—“

She pulled back, looked up at him and touched one finger to his lips. “You did what you believed you had to do. And you came.
I knew you would.”

He tugged at the leather cord around his neck. The knot loosened and the ring came free. He took her hand, and pushed the
silver band down her finger, raised her hand and kissed it. They might have been alone in the garden, for the look which passed
between them said more than words ever could. He raised her chin with the tip of one finger, and would have kissed her mouth
but for Deirdre’s shout that broke the moment.

“Lord Prince!” There was an odd, strained tone to Deirdre’s voice. “He lives.”

Deirdre knelt over Amanander. His prone body was twisted and curled upon itself. As Roderic met Deirdre’s stricken look, he
heard Vere and Alexander call his name, and Tavia cried, “Annandale!”

As the women embraced, the men gathered around Deirdre. Alexander dropped on one knee beside his twin and bowed his head.

“What are you waiting for, Roderic?” asked Tavia behind him, her arm around Annandale’s waist. “Kill him.”

Roderic sucked in his breath. He looked at Vere. Alexander turned around, aghast.

“No, Roderic!” he cried. “Please, don’t kill him. That’s not the King’s justice. Let him answer for his crimes before the
Congress—you know they’ll condemn him.”

“So kill him now and save them the trouble,” said Tavia.

Roderic hesitated. He looked at Annandale, then Vere, as though searching for an answer. Neither said a word.

“Please, I beg you.” Alexander put his hand on Roderic’s arm. “He’s my brother, don’t kill him in cold blood. There’s been
enough killing today. Let him stand trial. I’ll not speak for him, if that’s what you think. But don’t kill him.”

“Roderic,” hissed Tavia. “He’s no brother. He’s a monster. Kill him.”

“Annandale,” Roderic said. She met his eyes evenly. “Can you—can you heal him? Bring him back to answer as a man?”

She went rigid, her mouth quivering, and Roderic thought for a moment she might weep. She glanced around at the faces standing
gathered over Amanander’s body.

“How can you ask that of her?” Tavia cried. “Have you no idea what he is?”

“I do,” said Roderic. “But can I kill someone lying helpless as an infant—“

“He would have killed your infant,” spat Tavia, “with no more thought than he would a flea. He’s a viper. He deserves to die.”

Annandale held up her hand. “Hush, Tavvy. Roderic is right.” She knelt in one graceful sweep and touched Amanander’s forehead
with her fingertips. She shut her eyes. Roderic drew back, expecting to see the healing light flare blue and bright.

But nothing happened, and Annandale drew back with a puzzled frown. “He’s beyond my reach,” she said, looking up at Roderic.
“I can’t touch him—it’s not his body, it’s his mind that’s gone. In this state, he’s no danger to anyone.”

Roderic nodded and helped Annandale to her feet, drawing her close beside him. He drew a deep breath. “We’ll take him back
to Ahga. He will answer to us all, if he wakes. But I’d say his state is like a living death.” He pressed Annandale hard against
his side. “Come, lady. Let’s leave this accursed place. The forest is cleaner.”

Silently, they turned away and walked out of Minnis, arm in arm.

T
he night was cool. The silver light of the crescent moon filtered through the dark leaves of the great trees and the insects
whined in the stillness. Annandale heard Roderic give the orders for the watch and listen to the final reports of the duty
officer for the day.

She had bathed in the clear water of the nearest lake, and her hair was still damp. It lay coiled in a loose knot at the nape
of her neck, and the thin chemise she wore was one of Tavia’s. It was too big, but it didn’t matter, for the thought of putting
on anything which had been inside Minnis made her flesh crawl.

She sat on the low pile of blankets, spread with linens, which would serve them as a bed. He was shy with her, she knew; he
had sensed the changes in her. She stared at her hands, smooth skinned and rosy tipped as always. She was different. Amanander
had shown her things she had not wanted to believe existed. And part of her wanted to scream with Tavia to kill him. But the
other part, the part of her that was stronger and better, the part that all the suffering and pain had strengthened, knew
that such an act would have been wrong, would have violated some deep sense of right and would have changed Roderic forever,
even if he had not raised the sword to do the deed himself.

It had never occurred to Amanander that he had unwittingly strengthened her, that the very suffering he had forced her to
endure again and again had only toughened her, tempered her will like forged steel, even as her body weakened with the pain.

The tent flap opened and Roderic slipped inside. It was the first time they had been alone together in months. He paused,
looked as if he might say something, and then he flung himself into her arms. He wrapped his arms around her, clutching her
close, his head buried in her bosom. “Forgive me,” he murmured again and again. “I should never have left you. I was a fool
not to see his trap—it’s what he wanted, surely.”

“I don’t think he knew what he wanted,” she said, raising his head and gazing into his eyes. “Amanander only knew he wanted
power, wanted me because he saw me as the means to that power, wanted you dead because he thought you stood in his way. But
it doesn’t matter anymore. All that matters is that we are together.”

“I promised I’d keep you safe. I didn’t live up to my promise.”

“That’s not a promise you can keep.” She stroked his face, smoothing back the lock of hair off his brow. “We cannot keep each
other safe. We can only love each other.”

He drew her close to him, his gray eyes dark in the dim light, and kissed her, his mouth searching and warm. “I won’t let
you go,” he murmured against her mouth. “I’ll keep you with me, and I’ll die myself before anything happens to you.”

She let him pull the chemise off her shoulders, let him lay her down on the cool clean linen sheets, let him feast upon her
body, pulling him closer and deeper until they were once again one flesh. But in her mother’s dying moment, she had seen the
prophecy, had seen the faces of the three women who would die to give him his throne. Peregrine, and Nydia … and hers had
been the last.

Children of Enchantment
follows
Daughter of Prophecy
in the Power and the Pattern series by Anne Kelleher Bush. She holds a degree in medieval studies from Johns Hopkins University.
She lives with her four children in Bethlehem, PA.

“I
NTRIGUING
… B
USH DISPLAYS A VIVID IMAGINATION
.”—
Publishers Weekly

“F
ASCINATING
.”—Marion Zimmer Bradley

“O
UTSTANDING
.”—Andre Norton

I
n a shattered land of warring nobles and forbidden lore, age-old magic directs a fratricidal struggle for the crown, and
two young strangers discover that their destinies were decreed the night they were both conceived …

A
KING’S SINS SET THE FIRE
A
PRINCE’S TREASON WILL FUEL THE FLAME

P
RINCE
R
ODERIC
R
IDENAU
: Thrust into power by his father’s disappearance, he must seize a legacy of royal rivalries, family conspiracies, decades-old
secrets, and a sorcerous deathtrap …

A
NNANDALE
F
ARHALLEN
: Daughter of the Tower Witch, she is blessed with a godlike power to heal— and cursed with a power that can destroy the world…

T
he two have never met, but their love must come to pass. Yet when it does, the murderous magic will turn brother against
brother, lover against lover, and an empire against itself.

The sequel to the acclaimed novel
Daughter of Prophecy