“You forget yourself, Cadan.” She shook him off. “I lead this army and will not stay behind.”
They’d fought over this for months. She had rallied the troops, led them in battle, but once Cadan had lost his heart to her, he’d fought her before battle every time, attempting to get her to stay behind in a position of safety. He’d not cared that she was his queen, that she fought for something other than duty. That her fight was her everything.
Unable to look at him, she turned, never imagining that to do so would be her doom. He was on her before she could scream, had gagged her and bound her and tossed her into the hut that had haunted her dreams. The scenes before Diana’s eyes and the dreams that had plagued her began to combine into one memory.
She escaped the hut and fought at the head of her people with single minded intent. Though she found her prey, had taken his head and that of the one he loved most, it had done no good. Her rage had remained unabated. The sense of loss and failure that had haunted her these last months did not lessen. As she’d lost her daughters, she stood to lose the battle as well. Her troops were outnumbered by the Romans, their position one of weakness. Defeat was inevitable.
She stood then, on the battlefield, surrounded by the bodies of her people, and realized that it was over. With her army decimated, they had no hope of routing the Romans. As their sole leader, a woman whose name had spread across the continent, she would be hunted as a dog and taken to Rome as a symbol of Celtic barbarism. At best they would drag her through the streets and behead her, mounting her head on a spike. At worst they would use her as leverage against her people, holding their hero hostage in return for something they couldn’t afford to pay.
With her daughters dead and her people scattered, and Cadan’s betrayal burning in her breast, there was only one option. She didn’t want to fight anymore and at least she could take the honorable way out.
Cadan had found her there, in the hut where he’d imprisoned her the previous night. She shouldn’t have returned; she could have finished it on the battlefield. But she hadn’t been able to fight the part of herself that hoped to see him one last time.
And then it was over, the last of her blood dripping onto the floor. His face, that of her betrayer and her lover, was the last thing she saw.
In the attic, Diana’s hand tightened once again on the hilt of the sword. Her sword. This had been her sword. She had been Boudica, Celtic Queen of the Iceni, and Cadan the betrayer from her dream. She had wielded this blade in battle two thousand years ago and she would wield it again.
The attic floor was cold and hard beneath her. She lay, so emotionally and physically exhausted that she could barely move. But she had to move.
Sick with grief, she pushed herself upright, her muscles screaming in protest. Focus, Diana. You have to get out of here. She couldn’t trust Cadan, had never been able to, apparently. When she’d been Boudica, he’d tried to take the most important thing she had: vengeance for her daughters and her clan. She’d needed it.
She crawled toward the chest, debris from the floor cutting into her palms. With the sword still gripped in her fist, she withdrew the remaining contents of the chest. A brooch and a thick gold necklace gleamed dully in her palms. The gold collar would have rested upon her collarbone. A torc. The quintessential Celtic jewelry. The heavy brooch would have fastened her cloak.
They had belonged to her, and Cadan had saved them all these years. Mourning her. She steeled her heart against the thought. Between hiding books and lying about Verulamium, he’d been hiding her past from her. He’d taken the decision from her, just as he had last time.
He left me locked up. I’ll leave him locked up.
She rose shakily to her feet, her memories finally intact. She called Esha as soon as she reached her room, having to dial the numbers twice because her hands shook so badly. She’d barely begun throwing her clothes into a bag when the soulceress appeared.
“Damn,” said Esha, her voice low. “You look like hell.”
“I feel like it.” Diana stuffed the rest of her clothes into her bag. “We need to get out of here. I know who I was, and I can’t trust Cadan
.” As I’d feared. Why had she ignored that?
“Shouldn’t we be quieter?” Esha whispered. “Don’t want to wake the beast.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Diana wished she could go over there and give him a good kick.
“So he gave it up?” Esha gave her an appraising look, raising her eyebrows.
“No. He had a key around his neck that unlocked a chest full of my old belongings. I found my old sword. Touching something that had belonged to me must have triggered my memories.”
“Why would he have your old stuff?”
“We knew each other in my first life. I had my suspicions, but I didn’t know for sure until now.”
“Well fuck me, you must be pissed.”
“You don’t know the half of it.” She was still shaking and just wanted to scream at Cadan until she was hoarse. “Actually, can you hang out here a second?” she asked Esha. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea with her mind in turmoil, still split between two selves. Boudica’s rage was influencing her, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.
“Um, sure.”
Diana stormed off toward Cadan’s room, her footsteps echoing in the hallway. Scenes from her past played in her mind, fueling her rage until she didn’t quite feel like herself. She had the same rage and energy running through her veins that she got when she was fighting demons and her body remembered Boudica.
“Diana!” Cadan roared, clearly able to hear her coming and probably wondering why she’d left him tied up.
She entered the room, dimly aware that she was herself, but not. She was something different. Something more.