A little after noon, the first signs of Ullsaard's army could be seen; pickets on kolubrids moved down through the foothills. Within a mile, columns of legionnaires were on the road, heading hotwards down the valley. Company after company marched past as the two wagons juddered up the rough trail, Allenya and Meliu in the back of one, next to the comatose Noran. Meliu tended to him with a moistened flannel as she patted affectionately at fever soaked clothes.

  "Where do you think they are all going?" Meliu asked, looking at the thousands of legionnaires.

  "Magilnada," replied Allenya.

  While she watched the army marching past, she felt some satisfaction. She had not felt Anglhan's threats in person, but what he had done appalled her in a way she could barely articulate. Above everything, it was the betrayal of Ullsaard that angered her; the governor was ingratitude incarnate. She did not care that he had turned on Askh and its king, but she deeply resented the treachery towards her husband; a man who had given Anglhan every opportunity and considerable power in return for his help. To throw away such gifts was a selfish stupidity that Allenya abhorred, and she hoped that when Anglhan was taken she would be there to see his punishment. Had Anglhan spent the entire time with a knife held at her throat she would have felt less repulsion, but he had not even the courage to openly threaten her family.

  She wanted to see Anglhan bloodied and broken, begging for mercy for what he had done.

  These thoughts of justice gave way to expectation as the tops of pavilions came into view at the head of the pass. Ullsaard was so close now she could feel him, like a presence in her breast beside her quickening heart. There had been times she had hated him, staring out of her window at the winter skies wondering why he had deserted her. She had spent hours crying in her bed, cursing herself for marrying a soldier, sobbing at the injustice of being kept apart from a man who was the most powerful in an entire empire. She had wondered if he chose to be away, remembering the manner of their parting and his aversion to her.

  Not now those dark thoughts. Seasons of longing welled up inside, tightening her chest, a flush of heat coursing through her body. She wanted to see him, touch him with her hands, assure herself that he was real.

  Meliu mast have noticed the change, for she reached over Noran and laid her hand upon Allenya's knee.

  "It is fine, sister," she said. "He sent Noran for you so that you could be together."

  Allenya opened her mouth to reply but instead a sob of happiness engulfed her at the thought. Meliu clambered across the rocking cart and hugged her as the tears came again; tears of joy and relief rather than grief.

  It was in each other's arms that the two sisters passed into the camp. Allenya looked up, wondering which was Ullsaard's tent, straining for that first sight of him. Excitement bordered on desperation and she stood up, fighting to keep balance as the wagon bumped over the uneven ground.

  Two of the soldiers ran ahead from the group, heading towards the centre of the camp. Allenya wanted to run with them, but Meliu saw what was going to happen and dragged her back to the boards of the wagon by her skirt.

  "Come now, sister, and remember yourself," she said. "You wear a servant's dress and your hair is in total disarray. The last thing Ullsaard needs to see on top of that is red eyes and tear streaks."

  Allenya allowed Meliu to fuss at her appearance, using her fingers to comb some sense into her hair, and the hem of her skirt to dab the tears from her face. The fluttering acted to calm Allenya, who wiped her nose with the cuff of her dress and took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. Meliu stroked a hand down Allenya's arm and kissed her lightly on the cheek before sitting back.

  "See now?" said Meliu with a laugh. "At least you look like a queen in a commoner's dress, and nothing worse."

  Allenya smiled and patted Meliu's hand in thanks. Feeling a little more herself, she looked again at the camp, trying to judge its size. It was not quite as big as the one she had been in before, but certainly larger than a single legion. She moved to the front of the wagon to talk to the driver.

  "How large is my husband's army?" she asked the man.

  "Three legions, queen," he said.

  It was then she saw the flag of Askhos flying from the pole of a nearby tent. She was on her feet even as the driver brought the abada to a halt; and over the side without waiting for help. She ran through the mud, dress flapping at her legs, and dashed past the startled sentries at the door to the pavilion.

  They lunged after her, but were too slow.

  Inside, she saw Ullsaard standing at a map table, two men in the finery of first captains with him. There was a shout from the guards that alerted all three, who turned just as Allenya reached them. The king's eyes widened in shock a moment before Allenya launched at him, throwing her arms around his neck, her lips seeking his as sure as any hunter's arrow.

  For a heartbeat, Ullsaard was stunned; hot tears washed down Allenya's face again. Then his arms encircled her and she felt her heart would burst at his embrace. He returned the kiss, beard tickling her face, strong arms pulling her so tight for a moment he might crush her. Her hands gripped his hair, not letting him move a fraction as the taste and smell of him washed over her. Her legs buckled and only then did she relinquish her grip, her cheek falling to his chest, hands clasped behind his neck.

  "Hello, wife," he said.

  The sound of his voice started Allenya crying again and she could not speak. She dimly sensed the other men moving away, but her every sense was focussed on the two of them, reunited.

  Suddenly she felt guilty at causing such a scene. She wriggled from his arms, hands stroking the back of his as they parted. Wiping away her tears, she tried to restore some semblance of decency, hands held to her waist.

  "It is good to see you again, husband," she managed to say.

  Confused by her change, Ullsaard blinked rapidly, his eyes moist.

  "And it is good to see you too," he replied uncertainly.

  He took a step, hesitated, and then engulfed her again with his arms, kissing her on the neck and through her hair, over and over. All thought of propriety and appearance washed away and Allenya gripped his shirt in her fists, moving her face so that his kisses fell upon her lips.

  She had no idea how long they spent in this way, and wished for it to last forever. Her hands and eyes explored every part of his face, and she felt a flutter of fear as they encountered bandages across his chest and shoulder, and saw a fresh scar above his right eye.

  "You have been fighting," she said in a scolding tone. His expression of hurt dignity caused her to laugh out loud.

  "I may have been in a few battles," Ullsaard said with a smile. The smile faded and he looked away. "I am so sorry for leaving you. I have been such a poor husband too you."

  "Never say that!" The thought that Ullsaard blamed himself for what Anglhan had done fired her anger. "Never! I would never wish to be married to another man."

  His eyes strayed and widened. Looking around, Allenya saw Meliu poking her head through the door of the tent.

  "I would like to greet my husband, if he would welcome me," she said.

  Ullsaard looked conflicted, happiness and confusion battling in his eyes. After the passing of two heartbeats he grinned and waved for her to enter.

  "Why would I not welcome you?" he said, but Allenya felt the jollity a little forced.

  It made no difference to Meliu. She hurried across the rugs and under Ullsaard's arm, wrapping herself about his waist. With his free hand, the king pulled Allenya into the embrace.

  After a time, they parted. Recovered from the surge of emotion that had enthralled her, Allenya's mind filled with questions. Her thoughts turned to another whom she had missed dearly.

  "What of Jutaar?" she asked. "Is he with your army?"

  The look of pain that crossed her husband's face was like nothing she had seen in him before; she immediately knew the answer to her question and emptiness swallowed her from within.

  "What has happened?" she said before Ullsaard could speak.

  The agony in Ullsaard's face was replaced by the deepest of scowls.

  "Killed," he said between gritted teeth. "Killed by that traitor, Anglhan."

  Though Ullsaard's reaction had told Allenya everything, hearing the words made the realisation sink into her heart. The emptiness engulfed her, robbing her limbs of all strength. She felt herself sway a moment before she hit the rugs, overwhelmed. She heard Ullsaard and Meliu calling out in concern, felt their hands upon her, but as if from a distance.

  The world was unreal, a swirl of movement and colours; herself a vapour on the breeze. It was a dream, Allenya told herself. A nightmare visited upon her out of loneliness and desperation. She was in her bed, in that hollow house in Magilnada, and her dreams taunted her with joy and misery, giving life to the hopes and fears that had plagued her for so long. She could not feel her body, or the bed beneath her. It had to be a dream.

  It was a terrible dream and she wanted to wake up.

  Something cold and wet touched her lips and she swallowed out of instinct. Revived by the sensation, her eyes cleared and she found herself sat on the rugs, Ullsaard knelt behind her while Meliu held a cup to her mouth.

  "Still a dream," she murmured. She looked at her husband and sister, not really recognising either. "Just a bad dream."

  Ullsaard shifted and cradled her head in his lap, hands stroking her hair, face grim. Meliu was crying, the hand holding the cup shaking like a branch in a storm, water spilling to the rug.

  The thought that this was real emerged from the fog of Allenya's thoughts. The touch of Ullsaard's fingers, the tears dropping on to her leg from Meliu, both were real. And if that was real…

  She gave a groan of deep pain as the truth bit into her thoughts. Jutaar, her son, her wonderful son, was dead. The joy she had felt, the light that had filled her from Ullsaard, turned to grief, and to darkness, and she cried again, burying her face in her hands.