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The Hundred-Handed are slaves to their system every bit as much as we are, Swarbric had said.

For three centuries, the Hundred-Handed have provided spiritual guidance for small, isolated communities who rely on this forest for their very survival This time the words were Orbilio's. In leading by example, the priestesses set high moral standards Poor Beth.

I am not against love, how could I be? Love is the pivot upon which the world turns.

Claudia had been thinking in terms of marriage, of couples, of men kicked out at forty to start afresh, when Beth had been referring to an altogether different kind of love. That of a mother for her own child.

The Hundred-Handed do care, she realized. But they were born into a society that valued others higher than themselves, and Swarbric was wrong. They weren't in thrall to their own system. They selflessly dedicated themselves to those who looked to them for spiritual guidance.

Our system is far from ideal, Beth had said, adding that she would lay down her life to preserve it, flaws and all, in order to retain the respect of the people they served. We cannot teach them that nature is constant if the very College that serves it keeps changing.

Except Beth had had to sacrifice more than her life. She'd had to sell her own son and endure the worst pain any woman could suffer. Every day, she would wake, fearing for his welfare. Was he eating enough? Was he sick? Did his new family love him like she would have done? Did they beat him? Every single day, she'd have lived with this ache in her heart.

Only to have her worst fears realized.

Bitter at being abandoned, Ptian grew up hating women and she was responsible for making him the monster he was, at least that's the guilt that she carried. And at last Claudia understood why Beth allowed Gurdo to keep Pod. Pod symbolized the son she'd been forced to sell and by letting the Guardian of the Spring keep his mysterious foundling, she might, in some small way, make reparation. It was the same reason that she'd kept Clytie's death secret 'Right on time,' a voice said from the darkness, and Claudia smelled nutmeg even through the torrential rain, and twin points of lightning flashed in eyes that were neither blue nor green.

'For what?' she retorted. 'Rebellion?'

'No,' he corrected, with a broad grin. 'Victory.'

He stepped out from the shelter of an overhang of rock. 'How well do you know your own history, Claudia?'

So calm, she thought. So bloody confident. And that was the thing. The Scorpion trusted his own confidence and success. Big mistake.

'Me,' he said, 'I've read a lot about Rome and its conquests lately. There was so much to learn, too.' His smile widened. 'How three generations of civil war ripped it apart, yet through all that scheming and backbiting, Julius Caesar still managed to conquer most of Gaul.'

She said nothing.

'Then, after his assassination when the rifts ran even deeper, I read how Rome went on to conquer Egypt.'

'And Spain, and Galatia, and Raetia.'

'My point exactly,' he said evenly. 'Which is why I want what is best for my people.'

'Oh, you'll feel victory, Manion. You'll feel it slice through your belly in the form of cold steel, slow, agonizing, it'll take you three days to die.'

He moved closer, and his seascape eyes danced. 'Surely, after all the confidences we've shared,' he whispered, 'you wouldn't allow that to happen?'

'No.' Claudia's smile was as cold as the Arctic. 'I have herbs that'll stretch it to four.'

Without hesitation, her knife plunged into his heart.

Twenty-Nine

The track to the pit was slippery from mud and hazardous with stones loosened by rain. Claudia noticed none of these things. All she could think was, He'll be all right. Manion was dead, his battle cry died with him, and with neither leader nor deputy, rebellion stood no chance. The monster was nothing without its head.

'I'm here,' she shouted over the storm. 'Orbilio, can you hear me, it's over!'

Now she'd seen the true picture, Beth could raise no objection to him leaving the Pit. Nothing stood in his way.

'It's just a question of finding a rope long enough, and it may be tomorrow, it may be the next day, but I'll send down some food and… Marcus?'

'C–Claudia?'

The voice was faint. She could hardly hear it. More a rasp, a rattle Oh, god.

'Marcus, are you all right?'

A low groan was all that came back. Sweet Janus, no. No. Not after all this…

'Marcus, hold on.' She tried not to let panic affect her voice. 'I'm going to fetch help.'

'Too… late,' he wheezed.

'No, no, Gurdo has herbs, he'll be able to treat you, we'll have you out of there in a jiffy.'

'Can't,' he rasped. 'Compli — ah — cations.'

She wanted to scream.

She wanted to die.

She would follow him even to Hades.

And around the abyss, the storm crackled and howled, and trees bent in the wind.

'Marcus! Marcus, you can't leave me now, do you hear? I won't let you go, I love you too much.'

'Say… say again. Let me hear it before I… before I…'

No, you can't bloody die. I won't let you.

'I said I love you, you fool, I've always loved you.' Rain mixed with the tears. 'Manion was right, I wouldn't let you in, because everyone close to me left and the hurt of rejection was too much to go through again. But I understand now. Clytie's death showed me that. Oh, darling, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, but hold on! You must! I'll go and fetch help-'

'Don't go! P-please." The pause was agonizing. 'What… what did Clytie's death tell you?' he wheezed.

'Everything,' she cried, and suddenly it all came tumbling out. A twelve-year-old girl dies on the spring equinox from wrists that had been slashed on the very rock where she played with her friends…

'You were right about motive being the key,' she sobbed.

First, one had to get inside the skin of the victim. A selfrighteous little prig, Gurdo had called her, adding that she was a pain in the arse. Even Sarra, as gentle and sweet as she was, felt that Clytie put her in a difficult position.

Because she didn't share her friends 'desire to climb rocks, swing from ropes or go poking around in caves and things, she ^y d come to me ostensibly to get thread to sew up a tear in Aridella's robe or a new ribbon because Lin had lost hers, but basically Clytie was lonely and wanted someone to talk to, she said.

The clue lay in the word ostensibly.

At some point in the conversation it would slip out why she wanted these things — and once that happened, I was duty bound to put the girls on report.

Clytie was lonely, indeed she was…

At the Disciplinary, she would rush forward and speak up for her friends, apologizing for landing them in it, but the trouble was, the damage was already done and Beth was left with no choice. She had to punish the girls.

Clytie was the neatest, the tidiest, the cleanest, the cleverest of the four novices, but none of this seemed to matter. It was the flaxen-haired tomboys who were the priestesses' darlings. They would happily turn a blind eye to their scrapes and beside them, Clytie was invisible.

'It wasn't accidental that she "let drop" their escapades.'

She deliberately told tales on her friends, knowing they'd be reported to Beth, but hey presto, this was her chance to shine. She would vouch for her friends! Throw herself at their mercy! Clytie the Heroine would ride to the rescue!

Except there was no rescue. Nothing changed. The flaxenhaired trio did not alter their ways, they were too full of life to cow down. Instead, they resented her tittle-tattling. Perhaps they argued? Perhaps they pretended to shun her, to teach her a lesson? Whatever happened between them, it came to a head on the spring equinox.