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trailing through her mother's bed chamber, and writhed with disgust. Not one of those knights had been worth the time of day.
    And now Marhaus, Mother
—
    What has Marhaus done?
    The room was as dark as a midnight cave. A lone torch sulked and sputtered against the wall. Slowly Isolde made out the tall figure face down on the bed, abandoned to her grief. The Queen's chamber robes were as dusky as the shadows all around, and her hair lay tumbled in a cloud of amber and plum.
    Isolde moved forward to take her mother's hand. Instantly she was a child again, betrayed by the familiar scent of bergamot, her mother's musky fragrance from the East.
    Mother, you love all these men, why don't you love me?
    I always love you, little one.
    Why do you always leave me, then, to he with them?
    There had been no answer then, and there would be none now. She forced herself to go on.
    "Madam, come," she said strongly. "You are the Queen, the lady of the land. We all depend on you."
    The Queen turned, anguished afresh to see her daughter's clear blue-green gaze and skin like a wild rose.
    "Isolde, you don't know…" She fell back, clutching at her heart. "Goddess, Mother," she cried, "I can't bear this! Oh—oh, my love—"
    Isolde took in the haggard, tear stained face and drew a breath.
This is the moment. Speak
! "Madam, it's said you will advance Sir Marhaus—send him to Cornwall—"
    "Curses on Brangwain for betraying me!" the Queen cried, rearing up. "They warned me that all those from the Welshlands are Merlin's kin. Take her, then, let her serve you, I want her no more!"
    "I shall be glad to take Brangwain as my maid," Isolde said firmly. "But Sir Marhaus—"
    "What?"
    "Why should he go to Cornwall? if you send him to make war, we offend the Old Ones, the Otherworldly keepers of the land."
    "Wrong, Isolde!" The Queen threw her long legs to the floor and paced away furiously into the gloom. "We offend them far more if we keep our men idle here at home."
    Isolde followed. "But why should we make new enemies, when we have old ones across the sea?"
    "The wretched Picts?" The Queen gave a dismissive laugh. "Marhaus says their King is failing, and their Prince is a boy. We have nothing to fear from them."
    "Mother, even the Romans feared the Painted Ones!"
    "Listen to the child!" The Queen turned on her with alarming suddenness, then her snapping black eyes softened and she brought a tender hand to Isolde's cheek. "Little one," she said intently, "you must leave this to me." A pageant of emotions played over her long, mobile face. "One day you will be Queen here, the spirit of sovereignty and the mother of the land. Then you will know when to strike." Her voice hardened as her mood swung again. "And then you'll know that it's better to instill fear in others than to suffer it ourselves!"
    Oh, Mother, Mother
—"You sent me to Avalon to learn the faith of love, not fear."
    The Queen wheeled around on her again. "Isolde, do you talk to me of love?" she cried furiously. "A miserable virgin—a girl who denies all the joy the Goddess gives?"
    Isolde flushed with anger. "Mother, have a care—"
    But the Queen raged on. "Gods above, every girl of your age on the island has seen her first Beltain by now! Every one has danced at the feast and lain down among the fires, watching and waiting for the stranger she can love."
    Isolde's temper flared. "You call it love? Creeping to a bed on the bare hillside to lie with a man she has never seen before?" Her voice deepened. "You rule your body, Mother—I rule mine!"
    The Queen's eyes glowed with an unearthly fire. "But, Isolde, to wake in the bracken with the man of the dream—a man from another country, tall and unsmiling in the dark. Maybe not even a mortal, but one of the Fair Ones themselves, hungry for mortal love. At Beltain, the doors of the Otherworld stand open, and the Fair Ones long to enter the circle of the Goddess as we do. And we creatures of earth add our vigor to Her struggles, as the