Author's Note: %-- Sorry for such a short chapter last time! Hope you like this one!

'How did this happen?' Lirael was staring blankly at her nephew, Sameth. His eyes were staring through her, not looking at anything really.

Lirael sighed, exhaustion still coursing through her from last night's torment. Both Sabriel and Ellimere had become lifeless and still, neither would speak. Sameth hardly spoke either and the little words that she could coax from him were confused and disconnected. The only person she really could talk to was Nick.

She and Nick were sitting with Sam while Lirael tried to pry the story from them both.

'An attack.' Nick muttered listlessly.

Lirael sighed. 'I got that much.' She said quietly.

Nick looked at her, brown eyes searching. 'I'm sorry.' He said quietly.

Lirael shook her head. 'It's fine.' She mumbled. She felt weary and glum, and her head spiralled uncontrollably every time she tried to acknowledge that Touchstone really was dead. It wasn't right. That part of the puzzle didn't fit.

            Here, she thought she had found that family she had always lacked as a daughter of the Clayr, only to have one member struck off.

She glanced at Nick, who was staring vacantly into space.

What I am I doing here? She thought, suddenly. Why I am I here? Why am I Abhorsen? What am I doing without the Disreputable Dog? I want her! I need her.

It was then that she spotted the tiny tooth marks from where the Disreputable Dog had bitten her in her moments of wallowing self-pity. She smiled then. Through her grief and pain, a smile was pushed onto her face and she let out a small laugh.

That certainly awoke both men from their grief-ridden stupor.

'Sorry.' Lirael coughed. 'The Dog… I…'

She stopped, as she saw Sam frown in disgust and look away. Lirael wasn't used to that behaviour yet, and wasn't entirely sure how to deal with it. Her natural instinct as a recluse was to draw into herself and not talk, but of course, that wasn't possible anymore.

It was almost like being a hedgehog that finds curling into a ball most comfortable and then finding that the act discomforts them and those around them.

That was how it felt to Lirael, at least. She felt rather prickly as Sam turned away from her, looking out of the palace windows.

It was this irritability perhaps that made her snap at the servant's head that poked round the door with a swift knock.

'Beg your pardon Abhorsen, ma'am, Lord Sayre, and Your Highness. But there's someone at the door… says they want to talk to ye, Abhorsen.'

'Fine.' Lirael growled, 'Is that all?'

The servant, looking rather shocked nodded meekly and disappeared.

Lirael felt a pang of guilt in her stomach but she pushed it aside hastily. Sighing, she levered herself up and said quietly, 'I need to know what happened Nick.'

Nick nodded numbly. 'Nothing in particular really… just a bunch of (here Nicholas swore fruitfully) who once followed Kerrigor. They wanted to see his brother dead. They felt vengeful after he helped Sabriel defeat him… and of course, Touchstone not being quite the Charter Mage Sabriel is…he was a little too late to defend himself in time… somehow they froze Sabriel and left Sam for dead… he was protecting her to the end. That was when they planted the Mordaut in me. I was hiding in the kitchens, but they found me. I don't quite know how but…' he trailed off.

'How did you find me?' Lirael asked, her eyes wide, mouth half- agape.

Nick shrugged. 'I flew a Paperwing half way to where I found you… I don't really remember much other than I found it a bit like when I had a piece of Orannis in me… it was like resisting him, only this Mordaut was weaker. I didn't know who I was half the time, but I remembered you… I thought of what you told me about resisting and I did. I just thought of you and everything became a little better for my part…'

He blushed when he realised what he was saying, and Lirael adopted her old incorrigible habit of hiding under her hair she shade herself from further embarrassment.

Under her silky black curtain of hair she blushed scarlet.

'Oh.' She mumbled, rather surprised a very flattered, 'Right. Well. I ought to…see the man… you know.'

Dim-wittedly she stumbled from the room, pulled open the door and swiftly pushed it shut behind her.

What was she doing? How inconvenient could things get? Were those butterflies in her stomach something to do with the fawn eyes of Nicholas Sayre?

She dismissed the thought crossly as she marched down the corridor, muttering 'Ridiculous!'

Lirael emerged into the entrance hall, which was unusually vacant of servants.

The great, sweeping ceiling and white washed walls looked even larger than usual without the presence of thirty or more bustling servants, guards or occasional visiting soldiers. The only person, save Lirael herself that was standing in the hall was a man, tall and grand and looking around in a rather high manner, as if he considered waiting for someone an act that was below him. He was tall and handsome, his hair straight and dark, falling over one eye mysteriously. His nose was slightly crooked and his mouth a mocking half-smile. He wore a black turtleneck, which discreetly showed bulging muscles beneath the tight fabric. His boots, laced to the knee were black too, and looked to be part of his trousers too, had Lirael not spotted the sheathed dagger that was slightly prominent from his thick muscled calf.

On thick fingers he wore an array of shining jewels and draped around his neck he wore a navy velvet cloak, fur-edged and tied to him with a blue cord.

            As Lirael approached, he looked upon her imperiously, and, to Lirael's horror she watched as his gaze took in her figure: slim and tall, not quite the hourglass beauty of her niece, but quite beautiful all the same. She felt the burn of self-consciousness as his eyes flicked to her neck, and to her breasts. Her heart gave a leap as he licked his lips approvingly, an obvious flirting move, which Lirael ignored imperiously, suddenly folding her arms over her chest.

The man smiled, and Lirael saw him swagger as he walked toward her as she walked to him.

'Hello.' He breathed, eyes flicking once more to her breasts. 'I'm looking for the Abhorsen, my dear. Have you seen her?' His eyes took her in a third time, and Lirael felt naked and nervous under his stare.

Did he not recognise her as one? Presumably, he had been told she would meet him here, but even so, she could not help feeling irritated, especially as his eyes kept on taking invasive glances upon her. True, she was not wearing the bells, nor her surcoat, a quartering of both Clayr stars and Abhorsen keys, and the long red tunic was not her usual attire, but Lirael had felt rather glorious as she stepped into it, a change from the armour she generally wore, reminding her a little of her librarian's waistcoat, and a different colour to the hated blue tunic she had worn at the Clayr's glacier.

'I am the Abhorsen.' Lirael pronounced coldly to the man, cutting into to the soft clicking of his tongue he used as a sound of appreciation.

The man frowned. 'You are not Sabriel.' He observed.

'Correct.' Lirael said crisply. 'I am Sabriel's sister, er… Lirael.'

'Right,' the man said, though still his eyes would cease their pervasive stares. 'Lirael.' He smiled, bowing graciously.

'Abhorsen.' Lirael corrected, holding him in the coldest gaze she could muster. Usually she insisted on being called by her true name, but this idiot was so inappropriate she could not help being blunt.

'Abhorsen.' The man agreed. 'Please forgive me, milady, I am Lord Cronwell and I come to speak with Lady Sabriel.'

'She isn't available.' Lirael sad, making up her mind not to let this "Cronwell" stay long.

'Really, milady Abhorsen, this is quite urgent, I must speak with her.'

'She isn't in.' Lirael said quickly. 'An urgent matter she couldn't help. I am here at the palace so what ever your concern is, Lord, I'm sure you can speak to me.'

Lord Cronwell looked stunted, and then a small smile creased the corners of his mouth. 'I was told The Lady Sabriel was in. It is quite impossible she can have left within the last three minutes.'

Lirael stumbled to find her next words of attack. 'Well you can't,' she said finally. 'And I don't know if you'll be able to for a while. Now, if you'll excuse me I have to…'

There was a wail from the end of the corridor, and Lirael whirled around to see Ellimere, looking quite a state, framed in a doorframe. In an instant, she ran forward, crying, 'Cronwell!'

Lirael had barely a moment to think what? Before Ellimere had flung herself into the arms of the Lord, who returned her embrace, pressing her face to his shoulder.

'I'm so glad you've come!' Ellimere gasped, letting go of Lord Cronwell before turning to Lirael.

'Oh, Lirael,' she said, her voice becoming sober,

'I'm glad you've met Lord Cronwell, a friend of mine you know… he's come to stay with us until my coronation. He's also the son of Mother's friend.'

'Oh.' Lirael said cut short by the look of satisfaction on Cronwell's face.

'Come on!' Ellimere said, her voice suddenly excited, 'I'll take you up to see mother, and I'm sure Sam'll be pleased to see you too…. Oh and I have to show you…'

Her voice trailed off as she led the Lord upstairs without a backward glance. 

Lirael was left staring disbelievingly after her niece, a frown of calculating suspicious upon her pale face. 

Hmmm. What's in for Lirael next? Is Touchstone truly dead and will the Disreputable Dog rise again? You will see, my pretties. Yes. You will see.

Wild Blood Rose