For King and Country

Morgana sighed. None that would serve the purpose, no. The community, if one can call it that, has for centuries consisted of reclusive metallurgists and alchemists. They greeted Joseph of Arimethea sixty-three years after the Christ was born and helped him build his abbey, the first Christian church in Britain. And then quietly went about their business, paying open homage to the new God of the Abbey, while carrying on with the old ways at their iron forges, their goldsmithies and glassmakers' furnaces. They're a bit like my own family, in that regard, Morgana admitted, as we both hail from some of the greatest Druidic lines in Britain, craft masters and healers, poets and artists. Both our families started calling things by varying new names wherever and whenever expedient.

Her guest was impressed. As a survival strategy, it sounds fiendishly effective, Bre

Morgana frowned. Not as much as we should like. The Saxons have an eye to snapping up the finest items our British forges and glassworks and looms can provide, at the lowest possible cost—at the point of a sword, when artisans have refused insulting offers made for their wares.

There was no further opportunity for discussion, as Covia

"Ancelotis is resting quietly?" she asked, voice a low and sultry purr. It had not set well with her when Morgana had made it clear Covia

"He is," Morgana nodded. "It was fortunate they were so near Caer-Iudeu when the illness struck."

"Indeed," she smiled. "And fortunate to have such skilled healers to look after him."

Morgana bristled silently, more at the tone and the glance from under hooded lashes than the actual words spoken. Covia

Artorius stepped hurriedly into the conversation before Morgana could devise a rejoinder chilly enough to suit. "A gesture we all appreciate, Covia

"They are, and thank you for the asking." She glanced briefly at Morgana. "I offer regrets for your sorrow on behalf of my entire family, Morgana. You will ride to Council at Caerleul?"

Morgana inclined her head. "I will. My sons will join me there."

Covia

Considering the fool Emrys Myrddin had made of himself the last time Morgana had seen him in Covia

"I have not seen your nephew, Morgana," Covia

"Medraut? Indeed, he is."

Artorius put in, "I sent him with instructions to the officers of the cataphracti, to send for Morgana's sons."

"And is the son of Marguase as well as the last time I saw him?"

Morgana stiffened, so utterly infuriated she could not even draw breath to answer.

Artorius had gone white to the lips. "We will not speak of that poisoner in my presence!"

Covia

Artorius struggled visibly to control himself. "She was executed for good reason—and I am not a man given to speaking ill of kinfolk! I will not have her name uttered within my hearing, is that understood, Covia

Covia

"He is young still," Morgana said coldly. "But not so young as you might imagine, nor half so arrogant as his mother. I will thank you never to speak to him of my unlamented half sister."

Covia

She inclined her head to Artorius first, slighting Morgana with the gesture, then gathered up her skirts and strolled languidly through the doorway, once again drawing appreciative stares in her wake. Morgana held back a hiss of displeasure. Spend the whole, long ride to Caerleul in Covia

Artorius laid a hand on her shoulder. "Don't let her nettle you so, Morgana. She is envious—and has much to envy where you are concerned. Still and all... You know that I will allow no harm to befall you and yours?"

Quick tears prickled behind her eyelids. "Yes. And I thank you for it."

She hurried away before he—or anyone else—could see those unshed tears fall.