One of the Galles—de Rohan—tried to take the King’s reins. “You must not speak to her,” de Rohan insisted. “She is a criminal and a heretic.”

The King jerked his reins expertly from the other man’s grasp, and just for a moment the Queen was reminded of who he truly was—or had been. The best knight.

The Queen rose, made a curtsey. “A boon, your grace!” she called. Again, her voice was as clear as a perfect spring day.

He nodded. He closed his eyes—as if he had to concentrate to hear her.

It came to her that he was drugged. Or crazed.

“Save our son,” she said.

The archbishop laughed mockingly. “Save your bastard?” He shook his head. “You—”

The King raised a hand for silence.

But the archbishop leaned down from his horse. “Shut her up,” he said. “Your bastard goes to the fire with you.”

“This is your God of mercy, my lord?” Desiderata asked, her voice gentle. “To kill the child with the mother? The innocent child? The heir of Alba?”

“God will know his own,” the archbishop spat.

The King was having trouble remaining mounted. A pair of guardsmen came and supported him. He tried to speak, but de Rohan waved, and the men-at-arms led his horse towards the Royal Pavilion.

De Rohan lingered. “Count your remaining breaths,” he said. He smiled.

Desiderata felt liberated. She’d seldom been so calm—so strong. “You enjoy making hell come to earth, do you not?”

De Rohan’s smile, if anything, grew. “It is all shit,” he said. “Don’t blame me for it.” He breathed on his vambrace and polished it on his white surcoat.

She met his smile with one of her own. “It must be terrible,” she said with the clarity of the edge of death. “To be both selfish and impotent. How I pity you.” She reached out a hand—not in anger, but in sorrow.

He flinched. “Don’t touch me, witch!”

She sighed. “I could heal you, if you gave me the time.”

“There’s nothing to heal!” he spat. “I see through the lies to the truth. It is all shit.”

“And yet from your shit grow roses,” she said. “Burn me, and see what grows.”

Now he backed his horse away. “No one will save you,” he said.

She smiled. Her smile was steady and strong, and utterly belied the fatigue graven into her face. “I am already saved,” she said.

Chapter Four

The Wild