Hello everyone! I am soooo so sorry that it's taken me forever to update. The semester is coming to an end, though, and I'll have more writing time.

Again, I just wanted to thank everyone for reading and for your comments! I really appreciate the feedback. You guys are great! I'll try to keep the updates coming faster.

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Tristan had not had time to formulate any sort of plan or course of action, but knew only that he had to get to Jade as quickly as possible—before anything happened to her. So he did the only thing he could think of and picked a fight with a group of the bishop's guards, feigning inadequacy and purposely falling into the hands of the enemy. It would be the fastest and most direct route to Germanius.

His eagerness to rush to Jade's rescue perhaps came as a bit unexpected, even to himself, especially considering how they had left things the night before. None of it mattered now, though. She could hate him forever for all he cared, but let her live to hate him. At least let her live.

But didn't that count for anything? It was true that he was not sorry for killing her mother. In fact, even now, knowing all that he did, he probably still would have done it. He couldn't be made to feel remorse for killing his enemy no matter who they turned out to be. He couldn't be made to care. In fact, he'd gladly kill the woman again just for coming between him and Jade.

But he did care about Jade and wanted to save her. Yes, with all of his supposedly cold and unfeeling heart, he wanted to save her. He only hoped with the utmost desperation that he would be in time.

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Jade did not see the object that was dropped at Germanius' feet. Blood was pouring out of the lacerations on her back now and her head was floating off into the clouds. The binds at her wrists were all that held her upright. Her expression seemed almost serene as her head rocked back, lifting her chin towards the sky.

If these were, in fact, her last breaths, she had no reason to resist them or to fear them or to trouble herself over them at all, really. The scroll was still safely hidden, her final act of loyalty to the wishes of her father. And to the memory, or rather to the dream, of her mother she had also remained faithful. After all, how could she have, even at her weakest of moments, chosen to stay with the very person who had ended her mother's life? What kind of person, she thought, would that have made her?

Jade had felt her mother's presence more and more since her arrival in this country. The smell of the forest rain had aroused in her memories she did not even know she had. Malaela, the wind had whispered, Malaela. And Jade had recognized the name of her mother. And she could almost make out the curves of Malaela's face, smiling down at the small, infant body cradled in her arms. Jade might have seen that face again if only…

But such thoughts were hateful, and she did not feel hateful—not really. Only sad. It was a simple word, but it was how she felt: simply sad. It was not a profound sadness, but the sort of curious sadness that is almost shocked at its own nature and says: So, this is sorrow.

Tristan would be fine. He and Jade just weren't meant to be, that was all. He would go home and he would find happiness and peace and someone else to love. And he would be fine. And as for Jade, she would—well, what would become of her?

"Bring him forward," Bishop Germanius growled.

Jades eyes came into focus, fixing themselves directly ahead of her at the figure of Tristan who was held at each arm by two Roman soldiers. He did not struggle or try to break free from their grasp, but instead stood very still with eerie composure. His body was slack and his arms hung loosely in the unyielding grip of his captors. In fact, he almost looked amused.

But when his glance met Jade's, his face went flat and any sign of amusement that had passed over his ever-cryptic face had quickly dissipated. Locking his eyes firmly onto hers, he appeared to be communing with her nonverbally.

I came, he seemed to say. Despite everything, I came for you.

Her eyes did not respond, however. Paled from the loss of blood, her face held only a blank, almost stupefied expression.

Germanius' lips were moving, but Jade could not make out the words he was speaking. Training her ears on his voice, she focused to make sense of his speech. "And what have we here? A Sarmatian Knight?" Germanius was saying to Tristan. "What brings the scout all this way into the forest?"

"I might ask you the same question," Tristan replied.

"Our business is no concern of yours," Germanius hissed.

"Then release me," Tristan said simply, knowing the proposition would carry no weight.

Germanius laughed. "I'm afraid it is your misfortune to have witnessed a little too much for us to just let you go," he said. "But perhaps we may find some other use for you."

Tristan narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

"You see," continued Germanius, grabbing Jade's chin and forcing her to face him, "Our lady here has information that we want—and she simply will not give it to us!" He took the whip in his hands once more and cracked it against her back. "Will you?"

Jade did not respond.

Tristan jerked forward, enraged by the abuse shown to her, but the two guards held him back. Germanius apprised the situation with satisfaction. His little plan might just work after all.

"And so, my lady," he said, "Since it appears you do not value your own life enough to give up the scroll, we shall have to resort to alternative methods. Petrus."

Germanius motioned to the soldier on Tristan's right who promptly drew his sword and placed it at the scout's neck. There was a brief, fleeting instant in which Tristan looked questioningly at Jade, wondering what she would do, what she would choose. But it passed quickly as there was not a moment's hesitation on Jade's part.

"It's in my boot," she said quite plainly. "You'll find the scroll inside my left boot." Looking at Tristan, her eyes sobered and seemed to speak to him: Did you really doubt me?

Germanius grinned with wicked glee as he stooped down towards her feet like a spoiled child once again getting exactly what he wanted. With all the attention directed at Germanius, Tristan saw his chance and snatched the sword from Petrus' hands, striking the two soldiers down where they stood. The rest he did easily, hacking down any soldier that came at him, whirling his sword as if it were yet another extremity powered at his will. He spun and jabbed and sliced and it wasn't until the last body had collapsed to the ground that he noticed Germanius with a dagger at Jade's neck. Tristan paused, his face splattered with blood, his mouth hanging downward, his eyes on fire.

"Let her go."

"You won't kill me," Germanius seethed. "The Pope will send an entire army for your head."

Tristan looked at Jade. Her eyes held hopelessness and regret.

"I never meant it—" she said, "Any of it—"

I never meant those words I said to you last night, she wanted to say. I never meant for you to go, for us to part. Because, you see, I forgave you—I forgave you for what was never really your fault to begin with—from the very instant that I learned the truth. I took my silly notion of family and fidelity and used it as a blade, wrung it through your heart. And I'm sorry—because I love you. And I have never meant—nor will ever mean—anything otherwise.

These words, however, were stolen from her throat as Germanius slid his knife across her neck. Her eyes widened momentarily and then fluttered shut as her body slumped against the binds that held her.

Tristan leapt like a lightning bolt from the sky onto the bishop and bared his teeth like a wild animal. He lifted his blade.

"No!" Germanius cried, "You cannot—"

But the words followed his severed head and rolled away from the rest of his body. That was the only head the Pope would get.

Tristan did not waste time wiping the bishop's blood from his sword, but rushed quickly to where Jade's motionless body still hung by the arms to a tree branch. He thought her dead, saw it in the stillness of her shape and the blood running down her front. Nevertheless, he cut through her binds and gathered her in his arms, believing he held her corpse.

But her heart beat! It was faint, but he could hear its whisper in her chest. Quickly he tore a strip of cloth for a bandage and tied it securely around her neck, hoping to stop the bleeding. Not knowing what else to do, he whistled for his horse and, with Jade in tow, raced into the forest.

He held her body close to his chest, his heart beating frantically for the both of them. Stay with me, he thought. Stay with me. But she was growing colder every second and he knew that he was running out of time fast. He would never make it to Hadrian's Wall in time.

Up ahead, he saw the familiar figures of blue creatures gathered around a funeral pyre and urged his horse forward. The battle must have been over because the Woads were throwing their dead into the fire as was their custom. It also appeared the Saxons had been defeated because the Woads chanted their victory hymns as Merlin presided over the festivities.

Tristan did not care about any of this, however, as he rode over to them and quickly dismounted with the unconscious Jade in his arms. The Woads paused in their chanting and stared at him dumbfounded as he approached. Their immobility perturbed him. Couldn't they see their help was needed?

He glared at Merlin, holding out the injured bundle in his arms. "You claimed her as one of you, but now you refuse her aid?"

Merlin nodded in compliance and, in his native tongue, quickly gave orders to two of his men. They hurriedly led Tristan into a nearby shelter that had been built not too far from the funeral pyre. Merlin already waited inside, rummaging through sacks filled with various herbs and remedies.

"I hope you have no objections to my dark magic," said Merlin.

Tristan grunted in the negative as he laid Jade down on the bed in the corner. He had heard stories about Merlin's so-called dark magic and hoped only that there was at least a seed of truth in the tales so that Jade might live by some miracle rendered by the old wizard. Let him use whatever powers he saw fit, only let those powers save her life. What had she spoken of when she had said she did not mean it? What hadn't she meant? The words she had said to him the night before—or the love she had made with him the night before that? The question tormented him.

Merlin was presently examining Jade and fiddling with the impromptu bandage around her neck. The lines on his face appeared creased with worry.

"She has lost a lot of blood," he muttered.

"Will she be okay?" Tristan asked.

Merlin shook his head. "Too soon to tell," he said. "Too soon to tell."

This was not the answer Tristan wanted to hear. "Then do something," he growled, grabbing Merlin by the shoulder.

The magician sighed. "I will if you let me," he said calmly, glancing down at the hand that was still clamped onto him.

Tristan released the old man from his grip, and he turned his attention back to Jade.

"She is fortunate the blade did not cut any deeper into her neck," Merlin noted, "or she would have drowned in her own blood."

Tristan nodded.

"I'm going to give her an herbal medicine," Merlin continued, smearing a green concoction over the wound. "If this remains green throughout the night, then she will heal. If it turns black…"

"Then what?"

"It means the wound has become infected," he replied. "And there's nothing more I can do."

Tristan gritted his teeth and stared down at the green herbs that were smothered over Jade's throat. She looked so very pale and fragile. "Is there nothing else you can do for her?" he asked.

"No," Merlin said, "But perhaps there is something you can do."

"What is that?"

"Guard her from the death spirits," the magician replied. "Keep them from stealing her away."

"Don't confound me with your riddles, old man," Tristan said.

Merlin shook his head. "No riddles," he said. "Only the truth that if she wants to die, if those that have gone before her call to her, she may be tempted to join them. Make her want to stay."

"I don't know how."

"I think you do."