He knew that she was not afraid of death but was merely using that argument to sway him.
And yet the argument was true.
“Could you be happy,” he asked, “with the memory of your own world haunting you at every step?”
“I have never been happy,” she answered, “and therefore I shall not miss it.” She looked at him fairly. “I will take the risk. Will you?”
His fingers tightened. “Yes,” he said huskily. “Yes, I will.”
He took her in his arms and kissed her and when she drew back she whispered, with a shyness utterly new in her, “The ‘Lord Rhiannon’ spoke truly when he taunted me concerning the barbarian.” She was silent a moment, then added, “I think which world we dwell in will not matter much, as long as we are together in it.”
Days later the black galley pulled into Jekkara harbor, finishing her last voyage under the ensign of Ywain of Sark.
It was a strange greeting she and Carse received there, where the whole city had gathered to see the stranger, who was also the Cursed One, and the Sovereign Lady of Sark, who was no more a sovereign. The crowd kept back at a respectful distance and they cheered the destruction of Caer Dhu and the death of the Serpent. But for Ywain they had no welcome.
Only one man stood on the quay to meet them. It was Boghaz—a very splendid Boghaz, robed in velvet and loaded down with jewels, wearing a golden circlet on his head.
He had vanished out of Sark on the day of the parley on some mission of his own and it seemed that he had succeeded.