Morgana, Hunith, Beth, and the other women pulled up the flax and hemp plants, roots and all, and the children carried them to where Olwen, Helen, and Sandy laid the plants in the sun to dry. They had been working all morning, but they were nearly done, then Morgana and Hunith planned to check on Tom, whose foot was healing though he would never walk on it again. Morgana intended to continue on to the cave afterward to visit Aithusa.

There had been talk of dragon sightings in the hills, so rather than play in the clearing or the woods where she could be seen when flying, she and Aithusa had explored other caves. Morgana had been worried about getting lost in the complex maze, but Aithusa seemed familiar with the network of tunnels and always led them back out.

Morgana hefted an armful of flax, blossoms drooping to the ground on one side and dirt-crusted roots on the other, and handed her bundle to Olwen. Enid and Elaine scooped up the pile of hemp.

"That's the last of it," Morgana said.

She pushed aside sweaty strands of hair stuck to her brow, heedless of the dry dirt packed beneath her fingernails. Despite having passed midsummer, the heat continued to build.

Olwen smiled. "It helps to have an extra pair of hands." She winked at Morgana and carried the bundle to where Helen was spreading the rest out on the ground.

Morgana shook out her skirt. The hem needed mending and it was mud-caked where she had knelt in the field. It needed a good brushing after she washed her undergarments tonight.

"Lady Morgana." Beth bit her lip shyly. "We had a length of woollen cloth left over after we made new tunics for the girls this year. I could sew another dress for you. Yours is pretty," she rushed to add. "But I thought maybe you might want a second one and I could dye it blue for you."

Taking time to dye the cloth blue, a rare and beautiful colour, and sew the garment was a sweet gesture, especially since Morgana would then have two tunics when most of the women here had just one.

"Thank you, that would be lovely." It was ironic that she would feel wealthy with two dresses when at one time Morgana had more gowns, let alone riding clothes and nightdresses, than the entire village had of all types of clothing combined.

At Morgana's smile, Beth's face shone with pride. "I'll get started this afternoon."

"I can't wait to see it."

Beth nodded and hurried away, calling Enid and Elaine to watch the younger children.

For a moment, Morgana watched her go, remembering the wealth of gifts she had received in the past and how little she treasured any of them.

Hunith came up beside her. "Ready to go?"

Morgana nodded and the two of them started up a well-worn path that led to Tom's hut near the pig yards. The stink grew steadily worse and Morgana was relieved she was not staying long.

As they passed the scattered herd? flock? she wrinkled her nose and tried to breathe shallowly.

Hunith lifted a hand to the red-haired swineherd and called out. Caleb returned her greeting, but when Morgana did the same, he turned away quickly.

When they had gone far enough to be out of sight, Morgana whispered to Hunith, "I don't think he likes me."

Hunith gave her an odd look, but continued into the wooded hills.

"Was it something he heard about me?" So far, the villagers had treated her like the woman they had met years ago, and no one seemed interested in the goings-on in Camelot. Even Rolf had apparently accepted that she would not deliberately bring trouble here.

"Caleb was a Southron soldier."

Shocked, Morgana stopped walking. How did one of Helios's soldiers end up living in Ealdor? Though she had not given them a thought since Camelot was retaken, she assumed they had all been killed or returned to the south. "How did he end up here?"

Hunith paused to look over her shoulder. "He was one of those sent here to capture Arthur."

Guilt pricked Morgana's conscience at the memory that she had sent soldiers here, fully aware the villagers may be caught in the crossfire.

The stern expression on Hunith's face exacerbated her shame. "Caleb's village was raided, his family murdered, and he and the other boys taken to train as soldiers."

That must have been how Helios had strengthened his forces; Morgana had not asked where he was recruiting fighters assuming he meant soldiers for hire. Perhaps not as many had been willing to fight Camelot knights for pay as she thought.

"Several of those that survived the dragon's attack passed through Ealdor on their way south after the battle was lost. Caleb had no home to return to, so he chose to remain here."

Morgana bent over, one arm pressing on the pain in her chest. The villagers had taken care of fighters sent to attack them when she, for whom they had been fighting, did not give them a thought? They had nearly died carrying out her orders. Remorse curdled in the back of her throat. The boy was right to abhor her, she was responsible for the deaths of his family, the destruction of his home, and now she was here, in his new home, acting as if she belonged. He should have put a dagger in her back while she slept.

"Morgana, do you want to return home? I can look after Tom on my own."

The undeserved concern in Hunith's tone worsened the sick feeling in the pit of Morgana's stomach. Ealdor was not her home, should not be her home. She had not earned these people's kindness. She turned, not certain where to go.

"Morgana."

She looked down. There was a warm hand on her arm; a hand rough and sun-browned. She looked up. Hunith's blue eyes were tender, the way Morgana imagined her mother's eyes might have been if she could remember.

She shook off the hand. "I should go."

"Morgana." Hunith sounded exasperated.

Morgana frowned. Perhaps the dragon would show her another place to stay, a place further away. These people would realize soon enough that she was a fraud, that she was no longer their champion and they would want her to leave and not return. Hunith would be better off if Morgana never came back from the hills.

Hunith gentled her tone, though an edge of impatience remained. "I understand you have some thinking to do, and I hope you reflect on your actions that were perhaps done without consideration of consequences, but when you're done thinking, I'll have supper waiting for you."

A little ashamed of how grateful she was to know a safe place waited, Morgana nodded.

"I'll see you later, then." Hunith patted Morgana's shoulder, then continued on her way.

Morgana watched her go, then looked up the hillside toward Aithusa's cave. A flock of crows rose up, screeching. She headed in that direction.

When she reached a clearing, there was a welcoming squawk, then luminescent wings flashed in a ray of sun as the dragon settled to the grass in front of her. She halted, not sure if she still wanted to explore the caves. The dragon squawked again, standing up on her hind legs and flapping her wings in a bid for attention before she spiralled into the air and began a series of loops and dives that usually won a laugh from Morgana. She smiled faintly at the little creature's efforts to cheer her. She summoned the energy to clap, then dropped onto a pile of leaves with her back to a tree trunk and pulled her knees to her chest.

A beetle made its way through the bracken on a mission to accomplish some purpose of its own. She watched it crawl under a stick, over a leaf, and around a half-buried stone. Aithusa landed beside her, then rested her jaw on her forelegs. The beetle disappeared into a pile of dead leaves. Dread and determination pierced Morgana simultaneously. She leapt to her feet, knowing exactly where she wanted to go.

She headed north but higher into the hills rather than down toward Ealdor, looking for the blackened treetops that marked the scorched clearing she had seen when she first arrived. It was not difficult to find, even among the thick cover of the forested hillside.

The scent of char and ash had washed away, and young growth was already sprouting at the outer edge of the burned area, but the bodies remained. They barely appeared human. She forced herself to look down, into what had been a face. The remains of a full beard attested that this one had been at least old enough to have facial hair; many of the boys in their black head wraps had been young, their arms barely muscled enough for the weapons they carried.

Her gaze scanned the clearing. Scores had died here, plus many more of her troops had been cut down in Camelot, first to take the city and then to hold it. How many had been like Caleb? And what of the citizens who had been in their path? How many of those burned from their homes when the city was torched, raped by the conquering troops, and then starved when she ordered their crops burnt had been people like Beth and Olwen and Hunith and their children? At the time, it had seemed an acceptable price to pay to free the kingdom from tyranny, but the cost seemed suddenly exorbitant. Wherever her sister was beyond the veil, did Morgause still believe the sacrifice was justified? She had given her own life, so perhaps she did. Perhaps it was disloyal to put the welfare of peasants and soldiers ahead of their own kind who had been persecuted and slaughtered for over twenty years.

She scrubbed the back of her hand across her eyes, trying to ease the ache in her temples. She had always been so sure, always certain she was right, now she was overwhelmed with doubt, questioning truths she had sworn were absolute.

With a sigh, she looked around for a rocky area. There was a squawk from above. She shaded her eyes and looked up to see Aithusa heading toward a large tunnel opening not far above the site of the dragon attack. It was probably the place Arthur and his cronies had fled, or possibly where her fallen soldiers tried to shelter from the dragonfire. The tunnels probably went right through the hill. She skirted the burned clearing and headed toward the nearest cave entrance.

The ground grew rockier around the opening. She bent down and gathered an armful of stones, the largest she could find. If she had magic, this would be easier but it was too painful to try and fail, and she feared if her power deserted her one more time she would never summon the courage to make another attempt, so she carried the rocks by hand to the edge of the clearing and began stacking them. How many lives had been sacrificed? More than she could count. She went back for another armful of stones and added them to the pile.

By the time the cairn was as high as her waist, only small stones remained scattered near the tunnel entrance. Her arms were stiff, her fingers dry with dust, and her back ached from bending over. She could feel warmth in her face and the back of her neck that suggested sunburn. One of the small rocks from the pile slid down, and she picked it up, placing it at the very peak of the burial mound. Then she stepped back to raise her hands to the sky. She hoped these soldiers and all those who had fallen in the battles found peace beyond the veil. She hoped when the time came for her to join them in the next world, they would welcome her.

She should be with them now. When that knight's sword pierced her side, her protective enchantments gone with her power, she had accepted that she was about to die. Of all the times that event seemed imminent, even when she gasped her last breath in Merlin's arms, this most recent moment had felt truly final. She had resolved to go down fighting, but Emrys had stolen even that. All she could do was choose the place of her death and she had chosen the woods beyond the city, the place she and Morgause had met so often, as the place she would cross to the other world and they would be reunited.

Aithusa settled to the ground beside her, head cocked. She wondered if dragons moved on to the next world with humans, or if they returned to that alien place they had come from.

"Why did you save me?"

Aithusa chittered and leapt into the air.

It was not an answer. Why was Morgana still alive? Was it to fulfil the destiny Morgause had laid out for her, or another purpose? Was it as simple as Hunith believed, to live and to help others?

She watched the dragon fly toward the tunnel entrance. With a final goodbye to the fallen, she followed. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness in the cave, though the coolness was a relief to her sunburned skin. Something rolled away from the toe of her boot, and she squinted down at the dimly-lit sand, then bent down to pick up a guttered torch. The village children carried rushlights during their explorations, nothing as extravagant as this, so one of her soldiers had made it this far, probably at a run if they dropped the torch and continued on.

She reached for her pouch to retrieve her flint, when a rush of fiery breath set the torch alight. She flinched and nearly dropped the flame before she recovered. "Thank you, Aithusa."

The dragon chittered and scampered deeper into the tunnel. Morgana lifted the torch, careful of the uneven ground and irregular outcroppings as she made her way further into the depths of the hill. This tunnel was one of the largest she had seen, with branching corridors leading up, down, east, and west. She wondered which turnings the Southrons who made it to safety here had taken. Had Caleb been one of them?

The floor seemed to slant upward and become drier. They must be deep into the hillside now. While Aithusa continued, Morgana paused to look around a fold of rock. The tunnel roof dropped steeply, meeting the floor a few steps in to create a tiny room like a closet beneath a steeple. Behind her, Aithusa squawked. Morgana followed in the direction the dragon had gone, pausing at each turnoff. Some rooms were too small to squeeze into, some corridors disappeared into darkness.

When she caught up to the white dragon, Aithusa was crouched on the sandy floor of a dead end, head cocked and eyes forward. Morgana held her torch higher, wondering if they had found one of the cave's occupants, though there had been no sign of animals up to now. It was one of the larger rooms, with outcroppings of rock sticking up from the floor. There was another guttered torch at her feet, and a smear of dried brown that may have been blood on the sharp edge of one the jutting rocks. Further inside, something metal flashed as light from her flame passed over.

She moved closer, drawn to investigate whatever had captured the dragon's attention. Her heart stopped when the torch's glow was reflected back from a cloak pin with the de Bois sigil. She took a tentative step forward, hoping that perhaps the pin had been discarded or lost or... The light from her torch showed the pin still clasping Agravaine's brown travelling cloak around his shoulders, gloved hands limp at his sides, a dagger not far from his left hand. His body lay on its back, eye sockets staring upward.

She dropped the torch. It sputtered on the rocky ground, light flickering across the buckles on Agravaine's clothing and boots and glinting on the blade of his dagger. She covered her mouth with both hands and fell to her knees, staring in horror at what was left of her former ally, his last words to her echoing in her ears: I am your one true ally, my lady. I am your one true friend. I would do anything for you.

He had meant those words, but she fobbed him off with empty promises. Bile burned her throat and she bent over, retching. Aithusa whimpered but her gaze was fastened again on Agravaine's remains. She remembered watching him leave that last time; he had spoken with such heartfelt passion her attention had been drawn from the urgent plans on her desk. His eyes had held such earnestness, she had believed, at least in that moment, that his affection was genuine, more than simply allies, despite her constant rebuffs and criticism. She had led him on, trying to be strong the way Morgause had so easily led Centred and many others to do her bidding. Morgana had never seriously considered him a suitor, though she would have married him if it helped her win. When she had not seen his body with the other soldiers, she had doubted him. Another disloyal person who claimed love and then abandoned her. But he had not betrayed her; he had died in her service. He had braved a dragon to pursue her enemy into these twisting tunnels. Maybe he had done it because he hated Arthur with the same passion she felt; it was, after all, the shared goal that had brought them together. But he had not gone to these lengths solely for revenge. He had pursued Arthur into these hills for her, to please her, to win her approval. Because she promised he could remain by her side if he accomplished this one task.

Would she have kept her promise?

Morgana wiped her sleeve across her mouth to remove the bile from her chin. She forced herself to move, to crawl closer to the body. His clothes had begun to sink and his boots were lopsided as the body that had occupied them liquefied.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

Was he watching her from beyond the veil? Did he know she was truly sorry? That she finally understood his sacrifice and the depth of his love?

Aithusa's broad snout rubbed against her arm. Blinking tears from her eyes, she reached over and touched the dragon's shimmering scales. The dragon was a true friend. Agravaine had been a true friend. Hunith and the women of Ealdor, who knew what she was and even a little of what she had done but accepted her anyway, were truly friends. She commanded more loyalty than she had understood. A niggling fear stung her conscience, that others had perhaps been more loyal than she believed, but it was too much to consider now.

Morgana reached out slowly and pulled the cloak pin from the sunken fabric beneath the corpse's chin. She rubbed her thumb across the sigil: a bird in criss-crossing lines. She fastened the pin to her cuff, then bowed her head. She hoped Agravaine saw and that he knew her mourning was real. Then she stood. She collected her torch, pausing for a moment longer before lighting the body's clothes on fire. When Aithusa saw what she had done, the dragon added her flaming breath to the smoldering pyre. They watched in silence as the body was reduced to ash.

"Thank you, Aithusa." She laid a hand on the dragon's scaly head, then she turned and started back the way they had come.

Near the tunnel's entryway, she laid aside the torch and bent down to lift a stone the size of a loaf of bread. Her tired arms protested, but she hefted its weight higher to carry it outside. The stone was too heavy to lift on top of the cairn she had built earlier, so she placed it at the base of the pile. Then she started back down the hillside toward the village shrouded in dusk.

#

Hunith walked slowly home in the twilight. Tom's injured foot had healed as well as could be expected, and he and his wife had been glad for his recovery despite a permanent limp. She was more concerned about Morgana, who had not returned to the village for supper.

Beth, Olwen, and Helen had all asked if Morgana was well. Hunith had assured them the young woman was fine, merely tired and in need of rest, but the brave face she had used to assuage their worries quickly faded as she returned to her hut to find it still empty. Hunith lifted the blanket that kept out the dust and breeze and peered into the blackening night, scanning the forested hillsides to the south and east, hoping to spot a flame or curl of smoke that would indicate Morgana's location, but there was none.

Inside, Hunith hugged her arms and looked at the empty bed in the corner. Then the sound of footsteps on the packed dirt outside made her spin around again to find Morgana on her doorstep. There was a lost look about her, even in the twilight, and Hunith saw the telltale redness of tears, but otherwise she appeared well.

"Come inside." Hunith took the young woman's arm and drew her across the threshold. "Are you hungry?"

Silently, Morgana shook her head.

"Sit down and I'll bring you a mug of rhubarb wine."

Morgana grabbed her wrist before she could turn away. "Thank you, Hunith. You're a good friend."

Touched by the earnestness in the young woman's tone, Hunith patted her hand. "You're welcome."

Hunith built up the fire in the hearth, more for light than warmth though the night's coolness was creeping in around the cloth-covered doorway, then fetched two mugs of wine. She handed one mug to Morgana and sat, cradling her own cup.

"Caleb bears you no ill will," Hunith said as they sat side by side on the single bench in the hut's dark interior, staring into the flames.

"I visited the place where the dragon attacked his troop," Morgana said, without turning her head.

Hunith had not been back there since the night they searched for survivors. She could, however, imagine the horror of that field of death.

"I built a cairn for them."

"The soldiers who fought for you would appreciate your mark of respect." The tales that called Morgana a heartless witch queen did not describe the woman Hunith knew, either in the past or the present.

"It wasn't just for them, it was for all the people who suffered; Caleb's family and the villages Helios raided, the people whose crops I ordered burned, the citizens of Camelot, all of them."

The depth of Morgana's remorse surprised Hunith. She knew the young woman capable of deep feeling as well as headstrong passion, but she had not expected a chance encounter with a former soldier to have inspired such introspection. She glanced sideways, studying Morgana's face. Emotional trauma had left its mark, but she appeared calm now, though one hand was clenched around a brooch Hunith did not recognize. She could not recall Morgana wearing jewellery when they met in the hills or any time since.

"What is that?"

Morgana looked down at her hand, as if unsure what Hunith referred to, then uncurled her fingers. It was a pin engraved with a bird sigil.

"I found Agravaine's body."

For a moment, Hunith frowned. The name was familiar, but not anyone she knew. Then she remembered Merlin speaking of him the night the village had been surrounded; it was the name of Arthur's uncle who had betrayed him to Morgana. Hunith wondered if the man had been more to Morgana than merely an ally. "Was he special to you?"

Morgana's snort was part laugh and part sob. "Not at the time. I thought he was another person who intended to use me and my power to get what he wanted and I intended to use him in turn. But now I think..."

Setting her cup between her knees, Hunith reached over to rub circles on Morgana's back.

"I think he loved me," Morgana finished in a whisper.

Hunith was unsure what to say, so she simply stroked the young woman's back and waited, prepared to listen if she had more to share. For a while, they merely sat in silence.

Then Morgana raised her green eyes to Hunith. "I burned his body, but I kept this. His family meant a lot to him, and this was his token of them." She brushed her fingers across the pin. Then her hand stilled. "Should I have burned it with him?"

"I'm certain he would be honoured that you kept it." If the man had been in love with her, it would be a comfort to his spirit that she wore his pin.

"I found his body in the tunnels."

Hunith was surprised. If he had made it to safe shelter, why had he not found his way out again like the other soldiers?

"I think he may have caught up to Arthur, and then was killed."

Dread stirred in the pit of Hunith's stomach. "Why do you think so?" She hoped her voice sounded less strained than it was.

"He was deep in the tunnels and there were no burn marks, but his dagger lay beside his left hand. He always carried a dagger concealed in his cloak, even though he was right-handed. He must have attempted to assassinate Arthur and died."

It may have happened that way. It was quite plausible, except Hunith knew what Caleb had described and she knew it had not been Arthur who killed Agravaine.

"I gave him a proper funeral rite. He deserved that much respect from me."

Hunith continued to rub Morgana's back, both of them staring into the fire once more. It was not a shock that her boy had been forced to kill, she knew he had been in many life-threatening situations despite how little he told her outright, but it was difficult to know he had used his magic to cause a man's death, even a man who had attempted to assassinate him. She silently whispered a prayer to the gods to give the man's soul peace despite his violent end.