They rode like the wind, Liath Macha a few paces behind Dub Saingleand, who led the way. Even Emery's desperate ride the evening she'd mistakenly thought Cullen had died felt slow in comparison. The horses seemed to have an otherworldly ability to press on without fatigue. She didn't know where they were going, but she figured Cullen did, so she galloped on without asking any questions. Charlie kept his arms around her, pressed a little too close at her back for comfort, and occasionally said things, but his words were always lost to the rush. She hated that she had to share Liath Macha with him.

The hours were long, and the girl was not aided by the fact that her body flushed with heat and her head ached for most of the ride. If Charlie's arms hadn't been on either side of her, she may very well have fallen off. She desperately wanted to rest, but she knew she couldn't allow herself to sleep, not just because she had to get to Deirdre but also because sleep surely meant another visit from Bres. Though Cullen did ask more than once if she needed to stop, she was adamant about continuing, and at last, just as a pale green line of light limed the horizon, a sea-saltiness crept into the air, and before Emery quite understood why, they'd reached the coast. She should've realized they were nearing the sea; the relatively low hills had steadily peaked into crags, the bracken and brush of the midlands replaced with rock and mossy grasses.

They slowed their horses to converse, but just as Cullen turned to Emery to mention they were soon to overtake the others, the girl was overwhelmed with the shadows she'd been trying to avoid, as if they'd finally managed to catch up to her, and the world around her began to spin as she fell from Liath Macha.

Emery immediately knew where she was, this time, no guessing necessary, and she was angry to be there, though at least now she stood rather than lay upon that altar. Everything was the same as before, the stones aglow with ogham markings, the sky above a prismatic display of dark color punctuated with bits of star. Her awareness told her that she was gaining some autonomy, though; in her previous two encounters with Bres, she'd felt as if she were in a dream, but this was more real. The coolness of the night air against her skin prickled the hairs on her arms and the back of her neck. The odor of damp forest, of moist decay, was prominent, and she knew, standing there, that this wasn't where she actually was. She knew her body was by the coast and that this wasn't physically real.

"How do you like it?"

She spun to find Bres behind her. Whether he'd approached from beyond the stones or had just appeared out of nowhere, she didn't know, but there he was, striking features more pronounced in the counterplay of shadow and moonlight.

Emery's eyes were wide, but she tried not to be obvious in her fear. He wouldn't hurt her, surely. He hadn't yet. "Like what?"

Bres drew near, and in spite of the new freedom she felt in this dream, Emery found her feet rooted. The man scrutinized her as if attempting to find fault in her question, but his thin lips tipped up at one corner. "The more you use it, the closer we become."

She'd begun to sense as much. "Then I won't use any more."

"If you don't use it, then it will use you." He tipped his head back slightly, as if asserting his authority. Then he held up his wrist, revealing a scar where he'd torn his own flesh that night. "We're alike, you and I. We've created destiny."

Emery had begun to breathe heavily. His arrogance alone disgusted her. She had nothing to say to him.

Bres's vacant eyes, clear discs dotted with their tiny black pupils, seemed to penetrate her lies, her dissemblance, to what she was sure was the inadequate creature within. "Show Fear Doirich he cannot touch you. And your foolish Cuchulain. Hurt him. Hurt all of them." He shook his gleaming hair. "Make yourself worthy of us." Bres ran his eyes over her from head to toe, slowly, causing her more discomfort than if he'd actually touched her, and then he turned on his heel and left her standing, alone, in the temple.

The silence was . . . different. Odd. Because she knew, now, that this was a meeting place, and the meeting seemed to be done. So, why wasn't she waking up? The stones continued to glow; in the gaps between them grew the dead meadow, gray and black with strange flowers in dark blue and white, and as she stared out into it, there were the familiar tiny flecks of aqua light flaring in and out, that had seemed to follow her across these dreams. What were they? She'd always wondered but then forgotten about them. Could she touch them, now? And beyond them, the faint white shape, again. Perhaps if she could only go a little closer, she'd be able to make out its form.

Her feet suddenly free, Emery began to step toward the stones, whose glowing marks brightened and then dimmed until they went out entirely. But the moment Emery put her hands to them, made to pass through . . .

. . . she woke.

There was so little warning that the jarring return to reality nauseated her, and she turned aside in fear of throwing up. Fortunately, there was so little in her stomach that she managed to control it.

"Stay back," Cullen's deep voice demanded, and she realized it was his arm around her and that he was speaking across her, to Charlie.

"She's perfectly fine," Charlie drawled. "She doesn't need you to play hero."

Cullen ignored him and looked down at Emery, whose eyes opened to meet the concern in his. "You are burning, Emery. Why did you not say something?" He got to his feet, lifting her in his arms as easily as if he held a child. "You will ride with me. I cannot heal you; we must reach the druid. He is near."

"No--" she tried, weakly.

"I will brook no argument." He managed to boost her up onto Dub Saingleand and climb up behind her, folding her against his chest.

"Cha-Charlie--" she insisted, trying to push away, to find the one she named. "I can't leave him. Please--I can't--"

"Go on, then!" Cullen growled over her. "You're fortunate she speaks for you. Liath Macha, you heed your rider, as fiendish as he is."

And presumably, Charlie managed to ride and keep up on his own, for they were off before Emery could attempt any more conversation, and though she felt tingling from time to time, as if her limbs were falling asleep, the discomfort never escalated into pain. She did feel rather ill, though, feverish again, headachy again, so she allowed herself to take comfort against Cullen, never having felt more at home than in the strength of his arms.

Another twenty minutes of riding along the coast, most of it a canter, and the sun began to rise in full. Emery had passed in and out of wakefulness, each time she became cognizant remembering where she was and cherishing the relief he brought her. But when they reached their destination, when she woke more fully at being lifted from the horse and helped into a makeshift tent, made to lie down, fussed over, she tried to push Cathbad away.

"No, no! I'm fine! Where's Deirdre? Where's my sister?"

The druid didn't need to force her back down; Emery was too nauseated to sit up properly. But she wanted answers and wouldn't stop her questions. "Lady, please! We can speak of all of this after you recover."

"No! There's no time!" Emery tried, frustrated at her impotence. Why was her body so weak when she needed it to be strong?

"There is, Emery!" Cathbad insisted, his words taking on a weariness as he added, "There is time. Much time, now. Your rushing about to the point of delirium will aid no one."

His tone frightened her, and she found she didn't want to ask any more questions. Exhaustion set in. She allowed Cathbad to doctor her, accepting whatever he gave her to drink, telling him only that it was imperative Charlie keep near her. The druid would not allow him in the tent, though, and so he sat outside. Emery felt Cathbad pull back her hair and turn down her collar to put some sort of ointment under her chin and behind her ears. He also inspected her and came across her bandaged wrist. Though Emery was drifting in and out of sleep at that point, she did sense that he unwrapped the wound, but whatever he saw caused him to re-dress it.

Then he was gone, and Emery knew only because she sensed Charlie was closer once more.

When she woke--really woke--at last, the sun was high in the sky. It was well past noon. That was the first thing she noticed. The second thing she noticed was that she was still lying in a tent, and the third thing she noticed was that she felt disgusting. She smelled like horse and sweat, Cathbad had smudged some greasy medication around her head, and her hair was a poofy mess from the ride and her subsequent flailing about in illness. She sat up. There was some noise beyond the tent, but it was subdued, and she couldn't make out much of it. Charlie wasn't actually in the tent with her, which surprised her a little, but before she could peek out, Tess was peeking in.

"Oh good! I'm beginning to feel like all I do is check in on you to make sure you're still alive. Are you better, now?"

Emery frowned. "Enough." She was embarrassed. "I'm sorry I've been sick so much."

Tess looked hard at her friend, then shook her head. "Don't be sorry. Nobody wants to be sick."

"Is--is Cullen out there?" Vain as she knew it was, she didn't want him to see her in her current state.

"No." Tess, who'd been standing, sat and crossed her legs as best she could in her long dress. She became even more serious, funereal almost. "Listen, Em . . . we tried. We tried to help what was happening. But, I have some difficult news." She closed her eyes, took a big breath, prepared herself for what she had to say.

Emery stopped her. "Wait. It--it's Deirdre, isn't it"

Tess nodded, her features dropping more.

"Conchobar . . . does he still have her?"

This time, Tess shook her head "no."

"But that's good!" Emery cried, only to feel her heart fall when she realized Tess was still shaking her head, tears beginning to form paths down her cheeks. Emery understood. She'd as much sensed it in Cathbad's tone when he'd begged her to be quiet. "Deirdre--she's--she's dead, isn't she?"

Tess bit her lips, held back a sob, and nodded. Then she covered her face with her hands, allowed herself a moment, and pulled it together enough to speak. "We--we were in the hall, when Charlie just disappeared with you. There was no time to think about it; the Knights burst in and gathered weapons, and then they rushed back out, and Cat went with them, telling me and Deirdre to wait. But we shouldn't have; we should've run, Em, because within minutes, that man with the eye patch, he came in and told us Naoise was dead. That he'd killed him. And she--she lost it. She just started screaming, and she couldn't stand anymore, and . . ." Tess shuddered. "He came over, that man, and he--he hit her, so she quieted, and then he just picked her up and took her, and I couldn't stop him. I tried, but I--I couldn't. I ran outside after them, and the King, he and that man and some others, they rode off. I ran a little ways toward the gates, but then I realized how crazy that was, and then the Red Branch and Cat came out of the hall, all bloody--I was so afraid they'd all be killed. But they were all right, and we got our horses and went after them.

"Half the night we chased them, Cat using his raven to tell us the direction, but they always seemed just ahead. We finally made it all the way here, only to find the King and his men standing back . . . around Deirdre. She was--she was dead by the time we reached her, Em. They said . . . they said Conchobar had been riding with her, and she just, when she got a chance . . . she just jumped off the horse, when it was running, and she . . . was caught up under the others behind."

Emery closed her eyes, pressed her face against her hands. She was too sad, too angry to cry. "I did this to her, Tess," she said in a small, pitiful voice. "If I'd not told Conchobar--"

"No, Emery. They did it. They hurt her. Not you."

"But if I'd never said anything--"

"Conchobar would've figured it out, anyway, and called Naoise on his oath. It was only a matter of time."

"They might have had a little longer together, though, if only a few weeks. And--"

"Stop, Em. I won't let you blame yourself. She was your sister. You loved her, even if she couldn't remember you, and you were trying to help. I would've done the same thing. How were you supposed to know how terrible the King would act?"

Emery looked at the ground. "I should've known because we've seen it, Tess. Remember Cú Roí? And Bláthíne?" Her voice caught. "I should've known." She buried her face in her arms.

Tess leaned over and wrapped Emery in her arms, rubbed her back. "It's not your fault. These times are hard for women. Men can be terrible." She sniffed. "We're so lucky to have Cat and Cuchulain."

"I don't, Tess. I don't have him. I've hurt him, and I'm only going to keep on hurting him. I deserve to be alone--after what I've done. I've done nothing right since I came here. Whenever Forgall cursed me, he cursed me for life, and he cursed everyone around me, as well."

Most of what Emery said was mumbled into her friend's shoulder, but Tess understood the sentiments, even if she couldn't quite understand all the words. Tess knew there was much Emery hadn't told her, that Emery held painful secrets that, for whatever reason, she felt she had to keep. And Tess knew, too, that something dangerous caused her friend's illnesses. But Tess was consoled by the fact that her questions and worries would be addressed soon enough. So she just held Emery and let her cry, let herself cry, as well. Then the two parted, and Tess dried Emery's face with her sleeve. "There's a pool nearby, where the ocean comes up into a small cove. It's probably freezing, but we can go wash up there, all right? I'm sure we could both use it after riding all night. As long as you're feeling better, I mean, and up to it."

Emery nodded. She got to her feet, achy all over from lying still and from her fever. But she was glad to move. Tess picked up a cloak that Emery had been lying on and wrapped it around her friend; Emery saw that it was Cullen's and felt sad at that, for some reason. "Where did they go, Cullen and Cat and the others?"

"I--I think different ways," Tess responded, and Emery got the distinct impression she was evading the answer.

The sunlight was almost too bright for Emery when they left the tent, and she saw there were a few others wandering about, some random soldiers probably left over from Conchobar's people, maybe realizing their King was a horrible human, and Bricriu, who sat a ways off near a fire and waved at them. Charlie, whom Emery had again almost forgotten, was seated outside her tent and called to her when she exited. Spirits dropping even more, Emery broke away from Tess to speak to him. "I really hate asking this, but can you please come with us? I want to wash off. Tess says there's a pond."

Charlie stood up, crossed his arms in nonchalance. "Doesn't it look a little strange if I come along?"

"Yes. But that hasn't seemed to stop you so far."

He narrowed his eyes at her, whipped out a hand and grabbed her. "You know, now that you're feeling better, we should get going." Emery tried to wrench free, but he held her fast, and the last thing she wanted to do was try to use her own magic, now that she knew the consequences of it. She was tired of being sick. "Your hero isn't here to stop me with his magical sword, is he?" Charlie mocked.

"No," came a familiar voice from out of the air next to them, "but I am."