His mouth tightened. “Aye, it was. It is. She was a princess of Mir whose first allegiance remained with Mir. It was she who raised the rebellion against me and consorted with the Tineroth mages. Her sorcery and theirs made Tineroth as you see it now and imprisoned me here. The others were the women of her court and their children.”

“And the soldiers?”

“Those who cut them down. They followed me into Mir and did my bidding. They remain in Tineroth, restless spirits who still do my bidding.”

Tineroth, broken and but not entirely abandoned, only haunted. “Why do they linger here?” She scowled. “Did you raise some spell to trap their spirits?”

He matched her scowl with one of his own. “No. Before she died, Gruah cursed us all. The men loyal to me will find no rest until I do.” He sighed. “But a curse demands a sacrifice of its wielder. Gruah remains with me as well, as do the women and their children who died beside her. A bargain made to insure I’d never forget what I once did.”

The revulsion and horror that had consumed her earlier lessened. Cededa’s light eyes almost glowed in the night’s gloom. Dispassionate before, his expression was now one of abiding sorrow and regret, acknowledgement of an act that left a permanent stain on his soul. Sudden insight made her heartbeat stutter.

“My bane. You draw it from me as poison from a wound and take it onto yourself.” Her eyes narrowed. “You aren’t immune as you say.”

His soft chuckle lacked any humor. “I didn’t say that, Imogen. You did.” He crossed his arms. “No, I’m not immune, only resistant and only by the Waters’ grace. I die a little more each time you touch me.”

“You bastard,” she whispered. “You would make me your redeemer.”

He’d likely been called names far fouler than “bastard” in his long life and in circumstances far more hostile, but he flinched for a moment at her insult, or maybe the betrayal in her voice. An echo of all the betrayals he participated in over the years.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Imogen,” he snapped. “No man, woman or god can redeem me now. Even if I’m to die, it will simply be to escape the prison of Tineroth. However, the wraiths who wait in twilight with me will find peace once I’m dead.”

Imogen rubbed her eyes and looked to where the mist hovered nearby. She remembered Niamh, the silent pleading in her eyes that Imogen end her suffering with a merciful yet fatal touch. Was this so different?

She stared at Cededa, a king immortal but not invincible. A flawed, weary man. A man she loved despite all she’d just learned. “I want to go to my rooms.” He stood and bowed as she passed. The weight of his gaze rested on her back long after she left him on the steps.