Pain from such an unexpected quarter roused Gemma from her brief respite between the shuddering contractions that seized her at shorter and shorter intervals. Blinking sweat from her eyes, she focused desperately on Lessa’s face.

“What have I done to you?” she gasped.

“Done? I had Ruatha almost within my grasp again when you uttered your false cry,” Lessa said, her head bent so that not even the birthing-woman at the foot of the bed could hear them. She was so angry that she had lost all discretion, but it would not matter, for this woman was close to death.

The Lady Gemma’s eyes widened. “But . . . the dragonman . . . Fax cannot kill the dragonman. There are so few bronze riders. They are all needed. And the old tales . . . the star . . . star . . .” She could not continue, for a massive contraction shook her. The heavy rings on her fingers bit into Lessa’s hands as she clung to the girl.

“What do you mean?” Lessa demanded in a hoarse whisper.

But the woman’s agony was so intense that she could scarcely breathe. Her eyes seemed to start from her head. Lessa, hardened though she had become to all emotion save that of revenge, was shocked to the deeper feminine instinct of easing a woman’s pain in her extremity. Even so, the Lady Gemma’s words rang through her mind. The woman had not, then, protected Fax, but the dragonman. The star? Did she mean the Red Star? Which old tales?

The birthing-woman had both hands on Gemma’s belly, pressing downward, chanting advice to a woman too far gone in pain to hear. The twisting body gave a convulsive heave, lifting from the bed. As Lessa tried to support her, Lady Gemma opened her eyes wide, her expression one of incredulous relief. She collapsed into Lessa’s arms and lay still.

“She’s dead!” shrieked one of the women. She flew, screaming, from the chamber. Her voice reverberated down the rock halls. “Dead . . . ead . . . ead . . . ddddd,” echoed back to the dazed women, who stood motionless in shock.

Lessa laid the woman down on the bed, staring amazed at the oddly triumphant smile on Gemma’s face. She retreated into the shadows, far more shaken than anyone else. She who had never hesitated to do anything that would thwart Fax or beggar Ruatha further was trembling with remorse. She had forgotten in her single-mindedness that there might be others motivated by a hatred of Fax. The Lady Gemma was one, and one who had suffered far more subjective brutalities and indignities than Lessa had. Yet Lessa had hated Gemma, had poured out that hatred on a woman who had deserved her respect and support rather than her condemnation.

Lessa shook her head to dispel the aura of tragedy and self-revulsion that threatened to overwhelm her. She had no time for regret or contrition. Not now. Not when, by affecting Fax’s death, she could avenge not only her own wrongs but Gemma’s!