The Witch Queen's Secret by Anna Elliott Page A

that’s what
you want. And I won’t try to stop you if you want to make a run for
it on your own. But I need to get word to King Madoc. It was true
what you said? He’s on Ynys Mon?”
    Dera
swallowed again, then nodded. Then managed to get her thoughts
enough in order to say, “I have a message for him. From Lady
Isolde—it’s stamped with her own seal and everything. Because she
knew he wouldn’t trust a message from just anyone. Lady Isolde said if only we
could hold out until he and his warriors could get here, they’d be
able to drive back Marche’s men.” Dera touched her ribs, where the
oilskin packet brushed against her skin with every
movement.
    The blue-eyed man stared at her. “You have
this message? From … Lady Isolde.” She thought his voice changed
just a bit as he said the name. But then he said, quick-like, “Let
me have it. Please.”
    Maybe she was a fool to trust him. But you
had to trust someone, sometime. Mam had always said that, too. Dera
reached down into her bodice and ripped the few stitches that had
held the packet in place. “Here it is. But you’d still have to get
it—”
    “ That’s
all right.” The man’s fingers closed round the packet, and then he
gave a queer sort of whistle—too short trills, and then a longer
one. And before the sound of it had even died away, another man
stepped out of the trees onto the path.
    Dera
didn’t seem to be able to feel any more shock or surprise. If one
of the great enchanter Merlin’s dragons had stepped out onto the
path, she’d probably have just nodded and asked him How d’you
do . And now she stood,
staring, while the blue-eyed man talked to the newcomer. Though
‘talked’ wasn’t quite the word.
    The second man was huge—broad-built and tall,
with corn-colored hair that fell to his shoulders, and a long, fair
beard. A Saxon-born, plain as the nose on his face. And he didn’t
talk in words. The blue-eyed man was giving him instructions,
telling him he’d got to get this packet and the letter inside to
King Madoc, who was with his warriors on Ynys Mon. He wasn’t to
stop for anything—even an hour’s delay was too long. And the big
Saxon man was answering in some kind of finger-talk. Moving his
hands in a way that must have meant something, because the
blue-eyed one was nodding and answering like the Saxon had actually
spoken.
    Then, finally, the Saxon man nodded, clasped
wrists with the serving man, and turned away, vanishing into the
trees.
    The blue-eyed man came back to Dera. “He’ll
see King Madoc gets the message. Now”—he held out a hand— “let’s
get you back to Dinas Emrys.”
    Dera stared at his hand. The fingers were a
bit crooked, like they’d been broken once, years ago. And she could
see a pattern of scars on the back, all the way up to the leather
guard he wore on his wrist. She took a breath, then she put her
hand into his and let him pull her to her feet.

PART IV

    “ AND HERE
I AM.” Dera stopped to take a breath. She’d managed to keep her
voice from shaking while she’d told the story. Though maybe that
was because it still didn’t seem quite real. Back here, in Lady
Isolde’s workroom, with the dried herbs rustling in the rafters,
and the big dog Cabal snoring in a corner, the whole of the night
she’d spent out in the woods could have been just a bad
dream.
    Lady Isolde hugged her again. “And thank the
goddess you are here, safe and unharmed.”
    They were all safe. That was another part of
all this that didn’t seem quite real. Dera had been asleep on her
feet by the time the blue-eyed serving man had left her at the
outer ramparts of Dinas Emrys. But she’d gone straight to where
Jory had been having his afternoon nap on the pallet in Lady
Isolde’s workroom—and then she’d crawled right in next to him and
gone to sleep herself.
    She
hadn’t meant to, but she must have slept right through the night.
Because when she’d woken, morning light had been coming in through
the