“I’d assumed it was an exercise in malice—not that you need the practice,” Ian replied.

They had reached the edge of the clearing, and Ian stopped in front of her, leaned lazily against a tree trunk, arms folded across his chest. “Of course, Morgan—he does present a special challenge, doesn’t he, my pet? Alaric Anthony Morgan. Duke of Corwyn, Lord General of His Majesty’s armies—and a half-breed Deryni who is accepted among humans, or was accepted. I sometimes think that bothers you most of all.”

“Tread softly, Ian,” she warned.

“Oh, I do beg your ladyship’s pardon!” he demurred, raising a hand in feigned conciliation. “There is a slight matter of a murder, too, isn’t there? Or was it an execution? I tend to forget.”

“That is one thing you would do well not to forget,” Charissa replied icily. “Morgan killed my father fifteen years ago, as you well know. We were both hardly more than children then—he but fourteen, I a few years younger—but I can never forgive what he did.”

Her voice dropped an octave, hushed to a harsh whisper as she remembered. “He betrayed his Deryni blood and allied himself with Brion Haldane instead of us, defied the Camberian Council to side with a mortal. I watched them slay my father, Marluk, and strip him of his powers. And it was Morgan, with his Deryni cunning, who showed Brion the way. Never forget that!”

Ian shrugged noncommittally. “Don’t worry. I have my own reasons for wanting Morgan dead, remember? The Duchy of Corwyn borders my Eastmarch. I merely wonder how long you intend to let Morgan live.”

“He has a few weeks at best,” Charissa stated. “And I intend to see that he suffers in the time remaining. Today, Brion will die by Deryni magic, and Morgan will know that it was I. That, in itself, will hurt Morgan more than any other single thing I could do. And then I’ll proceed to destroy the others he holds dear.”

“And Prince Kelson?” Ian queried.

“Don’t be greedy, Ian,” she answered, smiling with vicious anticipation. “You shall have your precious Corwyn, all in due time. And I shall rule Gwynedd as my ancestors did. You’ll see.”

She turned on her heel and crossed the clearing, gestured imperiously to Mustafa, who pulled aside the dense foliage to disclose a break in the underbrush. Beyond and down a gentle slope stretched a wide green meadow, still damp and silent in the weak, late-morning sun.

After a pause, Ian joined Charissa and peered briefly through the opening, then put his arm lightly around her shoulders.

“I must confess, I rather like your little plan, my pet,” he murmured. “The cunning of your lovely mind never fails to intrigue me.” He glanced down at her thoughtfully through long, dark lashes. “Are you certain no one besides Morgan will suspect, though? I mean, suppose Brion should detect you.”