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“You've been long enough coming,” growled Colan. “I was beginning to think you played me for a fool.”

“Never that, my young lord.” His voice was low and harsh. It was by the voice she knew this was Peran Treanhal. Lynet bit down on her tongue to hold in her gasp.

“So.” Colan folded his arms, looking the other man up and down. “What could not be said in daylight?”

“Well, now, my young lord.” Peran was trying to sound knowing and at ease, but it was a poor act. His shoulders hunched up as if to shield him from some expected blow, and every rasping word from him tight with tension. “I thought it be best that you and I discuss certain matters of weight without extra ears.”

Colan spat. “I am not here to be riddled, Peran. It's too damned cold.”

“It is that.” She could not see Peran's face, but she could see his resolve in the line of his body. His hunched shoulders settled themselves to straighten his back and reveal the carriage of a fighting man. “But I thought it would be best that your young lordship know that you and I share certain interests, and certain good friends.” Lynet heard the pain in his words; the physical pain of his burned throat, and the pain of his soul. What he said now cost him, and cost him dear.

Colan was silent for a long moment. “What friends might those be?” he asked so softly, Lynet could barely make out his words.

Peran hunched closer, all pretense at pride gone. “A lady of the north, for to start with.”

At this, Colan drew back. “What has she to do with this?”

She?
The cold inside Lynet deepened and she pressed against the wall to try to control the shivers. What lady of the north could Colan know? There was no queen, no ally in any of the outlying countries, all the way up into the west lands. Unless it was he meant …

Fear, cold and sudden as a blade stabbed through Lynet's heart.
Oh, no. No. It could not be. Mother of God, this man does not speak of Morgaine.

“It's a true thing that my enemy's enemy is my friend,” said Peran.

Colan rubbed his hands together hard. “A friend doesn't need to meet in shadows, Peran,” he said. “What would make me believe what you say?”

Lynet had the idea that Peran smiled at this, and she could only imagine it as the desperate leer of a wolf at bay. “Why mine own word, and your own good understanding, in which we place so much trust.” The words came out as a sneer. There was nothing of trust here, and much of contempt. Colan's chin lifted. He heard it too. But Peran was not yet done. “With this comes, say, fifty men with good arms when your time is chosen.”

Colan froze. Lynet's fingers clenched around each other so tightly, her nails dug into her flesh. “What did you say?” asked her brother.

“You have good ears, Lord Colan.” There was a smile in the harsh words. “I think you heard.”

“What would you know of my time?” demanded Colan.

Peran did not back away. “I told you, my lord. We share certain good friends you and I.”

Colan was breathing hard now, the clouds of steam rising in the moon's light. Lynet's heart hammered against her ribs. For all it was so cold, her face was flushed with a fever's heat.

“Hear me, Lord Colan.” Peran moved closer yet, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. “Mesek is a bloody-handed liar. Judge well, and you will know the reward of it.”

Say no. Do not trust this. Colan, do not do this! God, God, do not let him be this much the fool!

But her prayers went unanswered, and Colan said, “Do you swear it, Peran?”

Peran nodded slowly. “I do swear, my lord Colan.”

Colan's whole body relaxed then. He bowed a little. “Then I say you have nothing to fear for the morrow.” Lynet could easily picture the small smile that must now be on his face.

She slumped against the wall, grateful it was there to hold her up. She stared disbelieving at the dim shape that was her brother.
Traitor! Fool and traitor!
She wanted to scream, to wake the world, to have lights brought and this meeting exposed. But all she did do was stand where she was and hope she was not seen.

Peran bowed in answer, slowly, haltingly, like an ancient man. “I knew your mettle when I came here, Lord Colan, and I know too one day I will call you king.”

“I will not forget these words, Peran.” Colan's answer held promise that he would remember not only those words but their tone, and along with that which was not said. This was no pledge of loyalty, on Peran's part, and no wish of victory. It was a statement of fact, like storm and winter coming. “God send you good rest.”

“And you, my lord.” A deep weariness that had little to do with a long day's ride filled those words. Peran turned and left Colan there. One leg, Lynet now noticed, was stiffer than the other, giving him a slight limp. Was this from the fire that had worked such violence on him and his son? Her thoughts skittered over the trivial idea, refusing to think on what she had just heard. She'd been right. Colan did plan. He planned the overthrow of their father. Of their father.

And he spoke of Morgaine. Morgaine the Sleepless, Morgaine the Goddess, who held sway in shadows of her own, and who, as a little girl had lived in Cambryn, alongside Queen Guinevere.

Colan remained as he was for a while, rubbing his hands and looking up at the pattern of the clouds overhead. Reading the weather or the future there? Lynet's own teeth were bared now and anger flooded her blood, filling her with its heat and coloring the world red before her eyes. She longed to run out there, to confront her brother and demand to know what devil drove him to such treason. But she held her ground. She had never feared her brother before, but now fear of him and for him pressed against her breast like a stone, smothering the heat of her fury and holding her in place.

At last, Colan sauntered away, his boots crunching the old, dread grass, heading for the old hall. Lynet still stayed where she was until she could no longer hear any sound beyond the ringing in her ears and the pounding of her heart. Then, she gathered up her hems tightly in fingers aching with cold and made her slow stumbling way back to new hall, the stairs and her chamber.

Laurel had built up the fire and was sitting beside the hearth wrapped in layers of coverings. She rose at once as Lynet shuffled in, and flung a fur over her shoulders.

“What is it, Lynet? What happened?” Laurel lowered her into a chair.

Lynet swallowed several times, clutching at the fur over her shoulders. Her mouth had gone completely dry. A draft brushed her ankles, as if warning her of the presence of other ears. Laurel drew her chair close and took up Lynet's hand. “Tell me, Lynet.”

So, Lynet did, her words trembling and stumbling as her feet had in the darkness.

“We must send a messenger for father,” said Lynet when she had told everything else. “He must return with all speed.”

But Laurel just sat back, her jaw set and square. Lynet knew that attitude well. Laurel had seen a hard choice to be made and would make it now from a heart as hard and as steady as the granite beneath their feet. “No.”

“But …”

Laurel did not let her finish. “Who could we send in secret? If all is as you say, what would Colan do to us if he found we knew? No.” She shook her head. “We must wait for father to return, then we will tell him all we know.”

Lynet gaped at her.
Did you hear nothing at all?
She swallowed this angry report and tried to speak calmly. “But if we stand together, if we speak before witnesses, what could Colan do?”

Laurel simply cocked her head toward Lynet. “Who else knows of his plans against our father?”

Lynet closed her mouth. No answer came to her. “You don't know, and neither do I,” said Laurel. “What we do know for certain is that many of father's most trusted men are away with him at the coast.”

Lynet raked both hands through her hair, as if trying to comb out all the fear and fury welling up from her. “I cannot believe this of Colan. I cannot.”

“You doubt your own ears, Lynet?”

Lynet's hands stilled, and then fell into her lap, their strength utterly gone. “I wish that I did.”

“So do I,” Laurel whispered, and for the first time, Lynet heard how tired she also was. Lynet reached out and took her sister's hand. Laurel gripped her fingers tightly, gratitude plain in her eyes. “Whatever we may wish, Sister, we must not deny what is before us, or we will be in vastly greater danger than we are now.”

Their eyes met, and all the helpless fear Lynet had felt in the shadows returned, and redoubled. “Why is he doing this?” she asked plaintively.

Laurel was silent, but her hand tightened hard around Lynet's. “There are rumors in the countryside, sister. You have heard them as well as I have.”

Lynet felt her eyes widen. She had ears, and she knew the art that every high born lady mastered to some extent, of listening while pretending not to hear. Morgaine, and Morgaine again. She was stepping up her campaign against Arthur, bringing more folk under her wings, reaching out to other chieftains more openly. “But is it Morgaine that prods him, or he that reaches out to her?”

Laurel considered for a moment. “I am not certain it matters. This much we know. Cambryn is set between King Mark's land, and King Arthur's. Morgaine would surely love to make a wedge of her old home between these two.”

“Mother of God.” Lynet crossed herself, but at the same time, hope flickered within her. “Could … could Colan be possessed? Could Morgaine have brought this about?” She let the words trail away.

Laurel was looking at the fire. Her sea green eyes shone in the golden light and the shadows made the fine bones of her pale face stand out sharply. “No,” she said at last. “It is his own heart that has done this to Colan.”

Lynet bowed her head, what little hope she held dying in an instant. She did not question Laurel. There were secrets Laurel held close in her own soul, and there were things she could bring to pass that neither of them spoke of openly.

“So, we wait?” Lynet watched her own hands marked with the red crescents where her own nails had cut her flesh earlier.

Laurel put her finger under Lynet's chin and lifted her face so that Lynet must look into her green eyes. The fire flickered in them and for a moment, Lynet was afraid of her sister as well.

“We wait,” said Laurel firmly. “We keep our tongues still, but our ears busy. If Colan comes to you again, put him off as best you can. Let him believe you are considering what he said before, but are afraid. Father will return soon. Sooner than Colan expects even, and we must be ready. Everything that we know will aid us in making our case.”

She was right, but Lynet found herself desperately wishing she was not. Laurel did not seem to require any answer. She just raised Lynet to her feet, leading her to the bed. “Rest you now, sister. I will keep watch a little while.”

Lynet made no protest. It was not the weariness that kept her silent while she shucked her dress and drew on the woolen robe for sleeping. It was the knowledge that the sooner sleep came, the sooner the thoughts roiling through her would be stilled. She laid herself down on the bed's feather mattress and let Laurel draw up the furs. Laurel planted a kiss on Lynet's forehead, as if Lynet was a child, and she managed a smile. Laurel smoothed her brow with one cool hand, humming tunelessly. Lynet's eyes grew heavy and she could not hold them open. Sleep covered her over and she sank deep beneath it.

Some time later, Lynet dreamed. She dreamed of her sister standing on the watchtower, tall and pale as a ghost in the wild night wind. She faced into that sea wind and it blew her shining white-gold hair out behind her. She did not speak, and yet in her dream Lynet knew something was said, and that something was a deep call, and it was heard and, more, it was answered, and Laurel smiled.

The morning came far too soon for Lynet's liking. She rubbed her eyes hard. She must rise and dress, and go out to the ovens to assist with the breakfast. The tables must be laid, the people must be fed. The tinners first of all so that they might be early to the streams.

It was then that Lynet realized Laurel was not in the bed.

She scrambled out from beneath the furs and coverlets. Her knobbly, scarred feet cringed at contact with the cold floor. She threw on her grey overdress and shoes and threw open the door. Comically, she almost collided with Laurel, who was reaching out to push the door open. Lynet gaped for a moment. Her sister was dishevelled and even more pale than was her wont. Laurel met Lynet's surprised gaze briefly, and then walked past her to take a seat in front of the banked fire.

“Mother of Mercy, Laurel!” exclaimed Lynet as soon as she found her voice. “Did you sleep at all?”

Laurel shook her head and reached for the poker. “It was better that there be ears, and eyes awake in the house with all that has come to us.” She stabbed at the ashes, looking for coals.

“You should have woken me!”

Laurel looked up at her. Shadows made her eyes seem sunken into her skull. “I see that now, sister,” she said in a tone that was both bland and over-serious.

Lynet firmly took the poker, stirred the coals, and laid more fuel on the fire. “By Heaven, Sister, you cosset me and exhaust yourself. There will be nothing left of any of us by the time this is done.”

As soon as the words left her, Lynet wished them back. But Laurel made no remark. She just squeezed Lynet's free hand briefly. They were both tired. They were both frightened. “You must play hostess this day. I fear I'm done in. Come for me when father returns.”

“Will it be today?” asked Lynet cautiously.

Laurel nodded, keeping her gaze turned toward the young fire. “And soon. We only need to keep our countenance a little longer.”

Lynet caught up her sister's hand. “Thank you, Laurel.”