I can explain.

Could she? Rhiannon stared at Baudwin's tense face. Judging from the vein throbbing at his temple, he already knew some and didn't appreciate it. Not that she could blame him. She'd kept a lot from him. Turning her head towards the two sorcerers standing on the other side of the room, she nodded in greeting.

"Isobel. Wray."

The blonde sorceress flashed a quick, uneasy smile. "Mairin." Flinching at the automatic use of the old moniker, she corrected herself, "I mean, Queen Rhiannon."

"What is going on?" Baudwin repeated, his voice louder than necessary. Throwing an arm out towards the upended room, he seemed on edge. Like he might fall over that edge at any moment. "What happened here?"

"Ailla attacked me."

His brows furrowed as he processed her words. "Ailla attacked..." He shook his head as if the words made little sense. "Why?"

"She works for Son of Deva and has been here to control me."

Her admission caused everyone in the room to burst into surprised exclamations and questions, too many and too rapid to understand. The events of the evening had drained her. She was cold and wet, and her arm was aching where Ailla had sliced her with the dagger. The velvet dress clung heavily to her, weighing her down. Or perhaps it was the weight of her guilt.

Wearily, she ran a hand over her face, wiping away a few drops of water. "Please," she said. "You're all talking over one another, I can't hear you."

She took a step into the room, but staggered. Maybe she was more tired than she realised. Another step, but the room suddenly seemed to spin, and she had to stop, swaying lightly on her feet.

"Help her sit down," she heard Isobel say. "She's fatigued. Wherever she's been, she's been using her magic to the point of exhaustion."

"Not that much." Rhiannon frowned. "Maybe I'm out of practice."

Everything seemed blurry, as if she was watching the room through water, but she could feel someone's hand on her elbow, tugging her forwards and nudging her to sit on a chair. As her head kept spinning, it reminded her of the one time she'd drunk too much wine as a teen.

"She's injured." Wryn must be referring to her arm. It wasn't much more than a graze, really.

"Check it," Isobel ordered. "Son of Deva's followers are fond of poisons."

Oh, that makes sense. She felt more than saw that someone tore the sleeve off her dress. Part of her wished they would remove the whole thing as it felt too wet and heavy.

"Definitely poison." Isobel sounded matter-of-fact. Couldn't she sound at least a little sad? No, she didn't deserve that. The sorcerers should all shun her. "It's not orc's blood, so that's positive. I'm not sure what it is though, poisons were never my forte."

Wait. This was something she was good at. Forcing herself to focus, Rhiannon turned her head to look at the exposed flesh. A thin wound cut across her lower arm, the edges tinted green. I know this. If only her brain would cooperate. The words were at the tip of her tongue, but getting it to cooperate was difficult.

"Silverweed."

Sorcerer Wray frowned at her. "You're poisoned with silverweed?"

She shook her head. "Antidote. Chew." Putting her fingers to her mouth as if she was taking a bite of something, she enacted the chewing. Just to make sure she was being clear. She wasn't even sure she was saying the words aloud. "Also crushed leaves and water on the wound."

Before she could enact this too, everything went dark.

The unmistakable bitter taste of silverweed on her tongue was the first thing she noticed as the world came back into focus. It took another moment for her other senses to kick in, and she realised she was lying on the bed in her room. Opening her eyes, she found the room dusky, but a quick look outside confirmed that the first hesitant rays of the sun were coming up over the horizon. Embers of a fire still burned in the fireplace, but the room still felt chilly.

Sitting up, she groaned as her head felt as if someone had spent the night squeezing it in a vice. The sound woke Baudwin, who'd been snoozing in a chair by the bottom of the bed. His chestnut-brown hair stood on end, and there were dark circles under his eyes. She wanted to reach her hand out to him, but there was a distance between them that hadn't been there before. A distance that was her doing. Her and her lies.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice still husky from sleep.

"Better." Someone had bandaged her lower arm, and she assumed they had put the concoction she'd described on her wound underneath it. From the taste in her mouth, she could tell they'd got her to chew the silverweed. Someone had undressed her, getting her out of her wet clothes, and into a white nightgown.

"You gave us all a fright when you fainted."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

A flash of humour across his face at the silly apology made him feel closer for a moment, before his eyes shuttered again. "I think we need to talk," he said, his voice serious.

She nodded. "We do."

"The sorcerers would like to talk to you as well," he continued. "Especially about Ailla and Son of Deva."

Uncertain of what to say, she nodded again, and he walked towards the door before stopping and turning around. The hurt look in his hazel eyes pierced her bleak heart.

"You lied to me." He shook his head. "Even if no direct lies, you kept so many secrets. I don't know who you are anymore."

She looked down at her hands resting limply in her lap. "I know. I'm sorry."

"I'm not sure that's enough."

With those words he left, and with his absence came a crushing loneliness she'd never felt before. All the years living by herself in the swamp, she'd never feared being alone. But the thought of losing Baudwin was more painful than anything she could remember. Pressing fists against her burning eyes, she reminded herself that Swamp Witches didn't cry. And she certainly didn't deserve to. This was all her own doing.

When Baudwin returned with the two sorcerers, she had composed herself and sat propped up against the pillows in the bed. She hated having to do this sitting, but she was still weak from the poison, her limbs feeling as if weighed down by lead. It was strange having the people from her past in her present. She had not seen Isobel since before Deva took Messina, and Wray she'd only seen glimpses of during their imprisonment in Highglaive. The two men sat down in two chairs while Isobel flitted about the room in nervous energy.

"I believe it's about time you tell us everything," Wray said, not meeting her eyes, his gaze locked on her pendant as if he could not bear to look at her.

"Yes." She clasped her hands in her lap, not knowing what to do with them. "I don't know where to begin."

"What about your name?" Isobel asked, sitting down at the bottom of the bed. "Why did you lie to us about your name?"

Grateful to start with something easy, she nodded. "I had run away from home after an... altercation with my stepfather. The last thing I wanted was for him to find me. So I made up a name when I reached Highglaive."

Everyone was silent for a moment. No one seemed to dare ask the next question until Wray abruptly stood from his chair with suppressed anger. "What happened in Highglaive? I saw you walk around freely while the rest of us remained locked up."

It was her turn to look away, a mantle of guilt weighing heavily upon her shoulders. "They captured me with everyone else," she said slowly, remembering the early days of their imprisonment. "You know what we endured, so I won't go into details... But there was a young man, I thought he was one of Deva's soldiers or henchmen. He was kind to me. A bright light in the darkness of our existence."

She remembered how he'd given her some herbs to create a healing ointment for some wounds inflicted by Deva's interrogators. Another time, some sweetmeats as a little treat. And he'd spoken to her like she was a human, not a creature to break.

"I didn't know who he was," she continued. "I grew fond of him. Sometimes he would come and sit with me, and we would talk. Just talk. I was a fool, of course. It wasn't until much later I realised he relayed what I told him to the interrogators." Tears pooling in her eyes, she looked up at the sorcerer. "I am so sorry, Wray. I didn't know."

He shook his head, dragging a hand through his dark hair. "The visions became so much worse after that," he told her honestly. "They knew what would hurt us the most."

"I know that now." She wiped away the hot tears, determined to continue. "I wish I could make it up to you, but I know I never can."

"And your freedom?"

"He said he loved me. Promised me the world. I was stupid enough to believe him by then. Whether it was to escape the interrogators or that I truly believed myself in love with him, I don't know. But he convinced Deva I was on their side, and they released me. He told me that the Dark God had been imprisoned unfairly. That they were only trying to right a wrong. That the sorcerers and Gods try to limit the magic in the world, wanting it all for themselves. I was being controlled as an adept, and would never be truly free to see my potential. He would teach me to unlock magical power the sorcerers could only dream of." She sighed. "I was such a fool."

"When we took Messina back, you were not in Highglaive." Isobel, at least, seemed to have no problems meeting her gaze. The sorceress's deep-blue eyes seemed more interested than accusatory, which made it easier to keep talking.

"Devin, that's his name, and I fled during the battle. By the time you attacked, Deva knew he didn't have the power necessary to open the portal to the Nether Realm and free the Dark God. He had one Godstone, but he had realised he needs several, if not all. Every God helped seal that portal, and he needs the power from each, imbued in those stones, to unlock it. He'd run out of time trying to find them, so he gave the Godstone to Devin and sent us away."

"I knew he had a Godstone!" Isobel whooped, then looked somewhat embarrassed when everyone stared at her. "Sorry. I mean, I always suspected that he did, but when we defeated him without finding one, I wasn't so sure."

"He wanted Devin to keep it and find the others. Then they could finally free the Dark God." Rhiannon rubbed her temples, hoping to relieve the throbbing headache that refused to relinquish its hold.

"If Son of Deva—Devin—has a Godstone, that makes him even more dangerous than we initially thought," Isobel said thoughtfully.

"He doesn't have it anymore. I do."

Three sets of eyes stared at her, and she subconsciously touched the pendant around her neck. "I stole it from him before I fled. Once I realised who he truly was. That what he'd told me was all lies. I took the stone, and I ran. I've been hiding ever since."

"You have a Godstone?" Isobel looked excited, like a child finding out her favourite fairy tale was true.

"I do." Not quite ready to tell where she kept it, she forced herself to stop touching the silver locket. It didn't escape her notice that Wray was staring at it again. Had he realised that's where it was hidden?

"What about Ailla attacking you?" Baudwin asked. It was his first question, and she turned her head to look at him, the pain in her heart increasing. He still sat in his chair, leaned back as if uninterested, but she could tell from the stiffness of his posture that he was listening intently.

"She works for Devin. She and another follower of his were waiting for me at my stepfather's home. When you brought me back, they confronted me. Threatened to tell the world where I was unless I did as they asked."

"And what did they ask?" His voice was tight, and she had to look away, or she wouldn't be able to continue.

"They wanted the Godstone. Obviously. But they also wanted me to marry you, to spy on you. And eventually... Kill you."

"Kill me?" Without looking, she could hear the consternation in his voice. "Why would the Son of Deva want me dead?"

"Because you've seen him."

"I'm pretty sure I haven't. No one has." He added dryly, "Except you."

She closed her eyes for a moment, gaining the courage to tell him the next part. "You have," she said slowly, forcing herself to meet his hazel eyes. "You just didn't know who he was. To you, he would have looked like a random enemy soldier. We... We ran into you and your group of soldiers during the battle. Devin fought you and another knight."

Baudwin's brow knotted as he thought back to the battle, trying to place the events she was describing. She continued, "You never saw me, but I was there too. Watching as you nearly defeated Devin. He screamed at me to do something and I... I panicked. I knocked over the tower, hoping to distract everyone enough to allow him to escape, but..."

She fell silent as Baudwin's eyes widened, and he sat up straight in the chair.

"You..." He shook his head as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You're the reason the tower fell?"

Her eyes were burning, and she couldn't keep the hot tears from falling. Apparently, Swamp Witches did cry. She nodded.

"Yes." She sniffled. "I didn't mean to hurt anyone. But that knight didn't move out of the way in time, and then you pushed him and..."

There was no need for any more words. She was the reason he had lost the full use of his leg. The reason he had been living with constant pain for four years.

He stood up, still shaking his head. Her tears were running in earnest now. She wanted to go to him, but she was too weak and he didn't look like he would have wanted her to touch him.

"I'm so sorry," she cried. "I wanted to stay. I wanted to help you... But Devin dragged me away."

"It probably wouldn't have mattered," he muttered, still looking shocked by her admission.

Wray cleared his throat. "Actually," he said. "Rhiannon is probably the only one who could have made a difference. Her magical affinity is one of the rarest. She's a true healer."

The look on Baudwin's face as the realisation hit him, might be etched in her memory for eternity. He stared at her, and she could almost see his love for her dissipate in the light of the truth. Then he spun around on his heel and left the room while she buried her face in her hands, her shoulders heaving with desperate sobs.

~~~~~~