The doorway suddenly flashed with silver fire, so brightly that I had to shield my eye
s once more.
And when I looked again, a woman stood there.
A woman I knew.
She looked little different than the last time I had seen her. Long, golden blonde hair rippled almost down to her feet, unbound and beautiful. Her face was sweet, charming and as pale as the moon. Her dress was ludicrously fine for such a venue, with a pure white under gown in gossamer silk, and a silver overtunic of the same length, round necked and loose fitting, and made entirely of embroidery in a loose weave that showed the silk through the gaps.
Efridis. I felt my lips form the word, the name of Aeslinn’s dead queen, but no sound came out. She was haloed by a wash of silvery light so bright that, for a moment, I thought that perhaps I was looking at a ghost. But then she stepped forward, dragging the trailing hem of her gown through a muddy puddle of water, and I frowned.
Ghosts did not get dirty. But if she was not a ghost, what was she? I had seen her die.
She came another few steps closer, but then stopped. “We both want Aeslinn dead,” she said simply.
Nimue, who had been so agitated a moment ago, was suddenly calm. And more regal than I had seen her since that moment on the river. Filthy rags, lined face, frazzled hair and all, yet she was every inch a queen.
“Yes, we both want that,” she said, her lips quirking slightly. “But tell me, cousin,” and in her mouth, that simple word was obscene. “Will you give me back my ravaged soul, once you kill him? Will you return my power to me?”
Efridis laughed. “I am afraid it does not work that way.”
“No, I don’t suppose so. You’d put yourself in his place, wouldn’t you? That’s what you’ve always wanted—”
“What I deserve!” Efridis’ eyes flashed silver fire. “My brother now rules two kingdoms; I have yet to hold one. Yet my abilities are as great as his.”
“Not quite as great,” Nimue said, “or you’d have defeated your husband ere this.”
“You know why I did not—why I could not!”
“Yes, and now you would emulate him. Do you think it will not change you? Do you think you will not end up just like him?”
“I am nothing like him!”
“Not yet.” And once again, Nimue changed. From imperious queen to something kinder, gentler, almost motherly. “You can still choose. He is too far gone in his delusion, but you . . . there is hope for you.”
“What hope do you think there is?” Efridis strode back and forth, until the trailing hem of her lovely gown was almost black. “For me to slink home to my brother, beg his forgiveness, end my days in seclusion at court, shunned by all, paying for my sins? All hope of power—gone, glory—gone, renown—”
“Hope that you won’t end up like me!” Nimue cut in, spreading her arms. “Look at me! See what I have become. You think it is because of what was stolen from me, what your husband did?” She shook her head. “No. I would like to think so, but years alone have forced me to face the truth, a truth I would not have you bear.”
“And what truth is that?” Efridis asked, impatiently.
“That something ate my soul long before your husband came to take it. I was like you once; I wanted all the things you mention, not just for me, but for my people as well. I told myself that every compromise I made, every little cut I took to my honor, would all be worth it, someday . . .
“But instead, one compromise became a hundred, one cut a thousand. Until I knew nothing but compromise and my honor was in tatters. I hurt so many, telling myself that it was needful, asking myself what would happen otherwise to all those who depended on me, all those eyes constantly looking to me?”
“They would have died,” Efridis said bluntly. “Some of them, possibly all of them—”
“And perhaps that would have been better. Look at them now. Enslaving thousands, butchering millions—”
Efridis rolled her eyes. “Of dark fey. Those abominations—”
“And we’re so much better? What Aeslinn did, in order to beat me; what you’ll do, in order to beat him.” Nimue suddenly looked at me, and her eyes were sorrowful. “What you’ll do to her.”
Efridis suddenly laughed, a startled, genuinely amused sound. “Look at this,” she said, her voice marveling. “Look at this. I wish someone were here with me to see it, truly I do. The great Nimue, feared guardian of her people, the ruthless one, the vindictive one, the strong—”
“Those things didn’t make me strong, any more than they will you,” Nimue said, sitting on a rock.
“Oh, but you’re wrong. There was a time I couldn’t have touched you, a time when even Aeslinn feared you. And look at you now. Old, broken, weak, mewling over some abomination—”