Morgana feigned sleep when the door opened and quiet footsteps approached the bed. A familiar scent hung in the air- musky and male, with traces of leather, sweat, and horse. She sighed and reconciled herself to putting up with him. Just now, she wanted to be alone but then, Accolon did have a way of making it worth her while. "Morgana?" he whispered, his weight settling onto the bed next to her. She opened her eyes, drinking in the depths of his brown eyes, finally giving him the faintest of smiles when his hand closed over hers. "Are you all right?"

"No," she sulked. "I've lost everything. Pynell sits in my home, and my men are dead or scattered. Arthur still sits upon my throne, and Merlin still lives. The Sarrum- that fool- I handed him Blackheath on a silver platter, gave him one of Arthur's weak points when I captured Merlin and he- he wasted it all." She slipped off the bed and stalked toward the window. "They could have kept him alive for weeks, taking him apart piece by piece and letting Arthur stew in his own guilt but they just had to have a show. They could have just cut off Merlin's head and mounted it on a spike. It would have had the same effect on Arthur. But the Sarrum couldn't resist making a spectacle."

"And he died for it. Along with many of his men," Accolon said, rising to join her by the window, his hands brushing along her hips to rest at her waist. Though sweet, the kisses he laid upon her neck were not enough to mollify her.

"He deserved it. And much more than that." She thought of pulling away from him, to give into the impulse to stalk away angrily, but . . . He was so warm, and his arms so inviting. Accolon may not have been the brightest man to catch her eye but he was strong and generous, in an earthy sort of way. She melted against him. They stood quietly for a while, watching rain spatter against the window. Uriens's castle in Rheged had not been her first choice for a refuge, but it had been expedient.

The fire popped in the hearth, strangely reminding her of Blackheath and that dark cell where they had put Merlin. She had felt such triumph then, to see him chained and his magic bound by the power of the Deiradh Chroí. Finally, she had the chance to confront him about all the things he had done to her, his sins, his crimes against their kind. She could have . . .

She shouldn't have touched him. She shouldn't have given in to the impulse to touch that face again, to admit that once upon a time they might have loved each other. Might have been something far more than mere friends. He admitted the same.

He said he could have loved her, once. Then he refused her, the softness turning to pity in his eyes. Both points wounded her pride more than she cared to admit. Only the thinnest of lines separate love and hate, and she had set such a fire to that line, turning what had been a dull, pulsing anger into a roiling hatred. How quickly things changed. In one moment, she had been ready to take him away from there, the next, she wanted him to die. Morgana had had no regrets when she turned him over to the Sarrum's torturers. She only wished now that the Amatans had been more patient.

Accolon shifted, bringing his hands up to her shoulders and languidly trailing his fingertips down her arms, lightly brushing over the embroidery of her sleeves and catching on Morgause's healing bracelet before twining his hands with hers. "Morgana?" he whispered.

"Hmmm?" She was barely paying attention to him. Morgause . . . What would her sister have counseled in this matter? Vengeance, certainly. No one knew how to play that game better than Morgause had. Never direct, never from the direction the quarry suspected, and always to make him hurt the most. "I still have his blood on that cloth. I could hurt him, and keep hurting him until I killed him . . ." But. . . no.Death wasn't the worst fate. Sometimes, life itself could be the worst punishment.

"What are you thinking about?"

"The future," she replied. Morgana opened her eyes, lithely twisting in his grasp, her pale eyes heavy-lidded. Cat-like. "Do you love me, Accolon?"

He smiled and tucked a lock of her night-dark hair behind her ears. "More than anything."

"And if I asked you to kill someone, would you do it?" She pressed against him, her fingers brushing gentle lines on his linen shirt.

"Just give me the name, My Lady." He wrapped his arms around her waist, his breath quickening.

"In good time." She pulled at the laces of his shirt. "Patience is a virtue."

He laughed. "I'm not a virtuous man."

"So much the better," she whispered, winding her fingers into his hair and pulling his head down just enough to kiss him, a long, languorous embrace filled with promises of more to come. She broke away, smiling at his frustrated groan. "It's just one little name. It won't even be a challenge for you. A quick ride there and back again. Hardly even worth mentioning."

"Morgana . . . " he said, his eyes dark as he cupped her face with his hands, "What is it you want?"

"Ashes," she said, "I want ashes."