After the longship sailed there was nothing to do but wait.
Carse was never alone. He was given three small rooms in a disused part of the palace and guards were with him always.
A corroding fear crept in his mind, no matter how he fought it down. He caught himself listening for an inner voice to speak, watching for some small sign or gesture that was not his own. The horror of the ordeal in the place of the Wise Ones had left its mark. He knew now. And, knowing, he could never for one moment forget.
It was not fear of death that oppressed him, though he was human and did not want to die. It was dread of living again through that moment when he had ceased to be himself, when his mind and body were possessed in every cell by the invader. Worse than the dread of madness was the uncanny fear of Rhiannon’s domination.
Emer came again and again to talk with him and study him. He knew she was watching him for signs of Rhiannon’s resurgence. But as long as she smiled he knew that he was safe.
She would not look into his mind again. But she referred once to what she had seen there.
“You come from another world,” she said with quiet sureness. “I think I knew that when I first saw you. The memories of it were in your mind—a desolate, desert place, very strange and sad.”
They were on his tiny balcony, high under the crest of the rock, and the wind blew clean and strong down from the green forests.
Carse nodded. “A bitter world. But it had its own beauty.”
“There is beauty even in death,” said Emer, “but I am glad to be alive.”