Afterward, as we washed the blood from our arms and hands, I thought about that buck. How no matter the thrashing and struggling it had done, it only managed to worsen its condition. Any hunters less compassionate and wise than my father would have made short work of it, I knew. But my father knew better, as always.
Now, years later, I understood the way that buck must have felt. I had thrashed and struggled, but had gotten no closer to a solution to our grave problem than a buck with its antlers entangled in a thorn bush. And beside me stood Arthur; rather than being merciful and dispatching me quickly, or working to free me, he was waiting for me to suffer as much as possible … until I tired myself thoroughly. Then he planned to kill me.
"My son," Rhiannon said softly. "How long until you face him?"
I shrugged. "I know not. I only know that he is coming. He should be here soon."
"Are you ready for him?"
"As ready as I'll ever be," I told her. I knew that telling her about the information I had uncovered in the library would do no good. She had already suffered enough, and didn't need to know the truth of what had really happened to not only my father but to the entire line of dragons that came before him. I still hadn't the first idea of how I would defend myself against Arthur; I had charmed armor and weapons, the same as my men had been given with which to fight Arthur's army. But I had a sinking feeling that these weapons would do no more for me than would a child's toy against a giant.
It seemed as though Arthur had known of the pride of all the many dragons before me when he used the Heart as the weapon of their destruction. Royalty tend to rely greatly on tradition and legend, and the Heart had all of the lore of centuries of ruling dragons behind it. He knew, somehow, that the necklace and its legendary reputation would be attractive to the rulers of County Cork. It was the perfect weapon. And somehow, no one had ever realized the truth.
I looked over to where Rhiannon sat. "Mother, do you believe Father ever learned how to control his dragon self?"
She stared off into the distance, considering my question. "I believe that he came to have better control over that part of his self. Even when we were wed, well after his twenty-third birthday, he had some difficulty in keeping his temper from sending him into a shift. Many times our natures collided and, I admit, I was the reason his temper flared as it did. But as he matured further, and as we learned to live together as mates, he did develop better control. Why do you ask, my son?"
"I wondered whether you knew if he ever felt as though he was truly in control of his emotions. I know that I need to gain better control of myself; Arthur is counting on my youth and my grief over what he's done to Anabelle to upset me so that I cannot center myself and focus on the battle I'll surely face with him.
I must set all of this aside in the face of a greater cause. This is not just me I'm fighting for. It is all of the Celtic dragons, before and after me. It is my brother, and my child. And, of course, the kingdom. There is far too much at stake for me to allow my feelings to undermine my strength."
Rhiannon nodded. "What you say is very sensible, of course. However, you must remember that your feelings can be your strength, too."
"What does that mean?"
"It means that the force of your feelings – your rage, your fear, your frustration, your hatred – they can energize and focus you just as they can undermine you. I believe that if you use them to your advantage and allow them to power you, rather than trying to deny them or force them back, it will be easier to keep them under control."
I sighed, and looked at my Queen as she slept her frozen slumber. "I wish there was a way to know that I'm doing the right thing," I said.
My mother spoke once again. "Your feelings will always steer you correctly. No one can do this for you except you, yourself. But I know of no one better suited to the task. I am certain that you will emerge victorious from this fight, my son. Arthur's message to you was wrong. He has not taken your heart."
I reflected on this, and remembered the moment when the old beggar had repeated Arthur's message.
Suddenly, something of drastic importance occurred to me.
"Mother," I said quietly, so as not to alert any of the handmaidens and other servants who were also paying silent and affectionate vigil to my Queen, "I just remembered something about the old man's story. He told me that he had come across Arthur while he was on the road, on his way here to the kingdom."
"Yes?" Rhiannon prompted, speaking just as softly as I had.
"And yet when Gaeth and Syeira told me of what they've seen and felt in regards to Arthur's whereabouts, they've both stated that he was far away and heading toward the kingdom. Isn't that right?"
"Yes," she replied. "I have felt the same, in fact."
I thought about this. "Then how did the beggar come across him on the road? How long would it take for a beggar to get here on foot, after all? If Arthur were really as far away as he is thought to be, how long ago must the beggar have met with him? Would Arthur have waited for such a long time for his message to be delivered? And would he have taken such a chance, giving that damned stone to an elderly man who might easily die on his way to me?"
I looked across the bed to where Rhiannon sat. She was trembling. I could see from the look in her eyes that she understood exactly the point I was making.
I motioned to one of the guards standing by the door. When he reached my side, I murmured, "Riley, have a team of horses follow the main road in both directions. I want them to track down the old beggar who visited me here four nights ago. I want him brought back to me for additional questioning. And be discreet about this. Make sure no one else knows."
Riley left to carry my message to the others. "My son," Rhiannon said quietly, "there is a chance that the beggar is no longer alive; Arthur might have killed him immediately after he left the gates."
I never took my eyes from Anabelle's face. I had no idea when I'd see her next; in fact, I wondered if I'd ever see her again.
"My mother," I whispered. "I do not believe that the old man ever existed; if he did, he was dead by the time I was given the stone to wear. Arthur had already killed him."
I allowed my words to sink in, and moments later Rhiannon gasped softly. "Do you mean … "
"Yes. I believe that I've already met Arthur. He stood before me just days ago."
"But, my son!" she whispered, urgently. I took my eyes from Anabelle's beautiful face only long enough to shoot my mother a look of warning. "My son," she murmured, quietly this time. "He could have attacked you then and there. Why did he not?"
"He's been toying with me all along," I whispered. My eyes caressed Anabelle's face, just as I wished my hands could caress her body one more time. "Had he attacked me then and there he would not have had the satisfaction of tormenting me like this."
"How did we not know?" Rhiannon whispered, and I knew she meant both herself and the wise ones on whom I had been relying.
I shook my head. "He must have foreseen it all; perhaps he has that gift as well, the ability to see into the future. He saw that we would be preparing for him, that I'd be relying on the wise ones to cast the spells. He used his own magic to make us believe him to be far away. And again, had I only been paying attention instead of focusing on having the stone returned to me, I might have seen the hole in his story much sooner than now. Once again … he knew me far too well."
"If you believe that there is no beggar, why do you send horses and men to find him?"
"As a diversion; I'm hoping that Gaeth's spell is still clouding our activity, and that should Arthur see the teams searching for the beggar, he'll think I still believe his ruse. It will buy a bit more time, I hope. In the meantime, the men must be warned that they could be marching out at any moment. If only I knew where to send them," I said.
"I'm sure that Arthur will meet your men wherever they happen to be," Rhiannon said. I saw the sense in her statement and knew it to be true. Arthur would meet us, not the other way around.
The guard to whom I'd given the task of sending out the horses returned. "Sire," he said quietly, "there is no use in searching for the beggar on the road."
"Why is that?" I asked, rising from my seat.
"Because he did not leave," the guard explained. Rhiannon gasped, audibly this time, and also rose. "The men were about to see him out of the gates, as you ordered, but they were never seen at the gate that night. It was assumed by the guards at the gate that you bade the beggar stay. There has been no word of the men who escorted him since then."