A/N: This fic just keeps getting longer and longer (it was originally supposed to be about 8 chapters -- so much for that!). This chapter seems like it might be the end, but it isn't. I think there is just one more real chapter to come, plus an epilogue, but I've been wrong before ...

Please note that everywhere in the text, but particularly in this chapter, when you see Kaddar, Zaimid, et al. speaking in a more fluent or colloquial way, that almost certainly means they're speaking Arabic instead of English. It got awkward writing "in Arabic" or "in English" every time, so I decided not to bother.

Thanks for all the reviews:)

Alanna22039 -- There won't be a sequel in the sense of another long, adventury story like this; this Daine and Numair don't actually have that exciting a life, and this little incident will be enough excitement to last them for a looong time. I have been toying with the idea of a shorter fic, maybe just a one-shot, set in this AU. I'll see what happens with that idea, if it works or not.

Dolphindreamer -- Thanks! I really appreciate it! I agree that Numair would have made a good actor. I've also given him a photographic memory in this AU, because that seems to me like the kind of thing he would have (maybe he actually does, it's just not expressed that way in canon). It's funny how when you quote your favourite lines, they're almost always some of my favourites, too:)

mistywabbit -- that's so great to hear! I guess it just goes to show, if you do good research and use the results in a judicious way, you can really be convincing. I did wonder about the "radioactive beach" comment ... I just remember the beaches I went to in Aberdeen being really, really, appallingly cold! Now that you have confirmed there really are houses such as the one I had envisioned, maybe I will add that little detail in a subsequent edit ;). I really, really identify with Daine. Can you tell? ;)

Daine's daughter -- Thanks! I will do my best :)

jessica.schultz -- Thanks :) I'm kind of addicted to flashbacks ...

Tawnykit -- Yeah, this is one of those stories where everything gets a lot worse before it gets better. the confession going awry is totally Ozorne's fault; if he hadn't been needlessly cruel to his prisoner (who was perfectly willing to confess, remember!), that wouldn't have happened. Not that anyone would have believed it anyway, of course. I wasn't going to put Zek in, but then I thought, wait -- I love Zek, and he wants to be in the story! Don't worry, I am not planning to kill off anyone we like.

Disclaimer: Major characters (anybody you recognize) belong to Tamora Pierce. I invented Selim and Fouad. The plot also remains inspired by The Immortals (and a bit of PotS and TC/TQ), though at this point some of it is my own invention.


13: Revolution

His Highness, Crown Prince Kaddar Gazanoi Iliniat, was upset.

Things had gone so well, for a while. His frontal assault on the Royal Palace had been spectacularly successful (thanks in large part, it must be said, to Zaimid Hetnim's inspired theft of the Royal University's entire stock of Salmonella enteridis cultures, which Kaddar had then arranged to have delivered to the palace kitchens just in time for breakfast); there had been much less violence and bloodshed than he had feared—only a few deaths, and no more than a dozen serious casualties—and those of the palace's denizens who had not greeted the invaders joyfully and hurried to join their ranks were now safely under guard, having their wounds treated by Zaimid and Alanna; his forces were reporting from every wing of the vast palace complex that they had their designated areas secure. All in all, a very successful mission.

Except that the whole point had been to rescue Daine and Numair and to capture King Ozorne. The former they couldn't find; the latter, they couldn't get to. That preposterous television broadcast had told Kaddar immediately where his uncle and Numair must be, and he had taken a dozen men down to the door of the laboratory wing with all possible speed, in hopes that somehow the door might have been left open; but of course it had been locked, as always. Efforts to open it by force had failed. Then there had been the triumphant, inspiring moment when a thirteenth man, an "insider" in kitchen whites, had approached, breathless and grinning, to present Kaddar with a perfect replica of the king's right thumb. He had thought, then, that the battle was nearly over.

When it had turned out that the lock demanded both thumbprints, the prince had generously shared with his men all the inventive bad language he had recently learned from Alanna.

Now he was seriously worried: though there was no television monitor where he stood, he knew from the reports of his various lieutenants that the "confession" had ended with Numair apparently losing consciousness (or worse), which made getting to him all the more urgent but none the less impossible, and there was still no sign of Daine. Kaddar had sent a group to check the detention wing; its leader reported (sounding more than a little frightened) empty cells, and chained prisoners cowering in the remains of their cells, and extensive destruction—but no five-foot-five-inch female prisoners with curly brown hair. The one bright spot was that it was still possible to monitor what was going on in the locked wing: Ozorne had forgotten to switch the camera off.


The lions and the female hyena rode forward scout. There was little to report, however: apart from the political prisoners in the cells, the lower region of the palace appeared to have been deserted wholesale. The rhino and the elephants pulled cell doors from their hinges and knocked holes in walls, providing ample points of escape, but many of the prisoners were chained, and, of those who were free, few seemed to want to brave a corridor full of escaped wild beasts.

Daine was anxious and impatient; she had no idea where they were going, and the time wasted in the search rubbed her nerves raw. The marmoset on her shoulder stroked her tangled hair with his tiny paw, trying to soothe her, but it did no good.

A muffled shriek up ahead made her jerk her head upright. "Stop! Come back!" she called to her scouts. "They might have guns. And I told you we don't want to hurt anyone."

There was a defiant roar, and then the three scouts came loping back—the lion looking annoyed, the hyena smug, the lioness relieved. Khaja the elephant lurched to a stop, and other beasts piled up behind her, squabbling.

"Who's there?" Daine shouted.

The reply was a barrage of Arabic in which she thought she could distinguish at least four separate voices. Then she had an idea. "Are you with Azan Fikret?" she called.

Silence from up ahead. Then, after a moment, a single, hesitant voice: "Yes. With Azan Fikret. Who is there?"

"The Beast Whisperer," Daine shouted back, on impulse. "Have you come to rescue me?"

There were hurried footsteps; two nervous-looking young men in ill-fitting Palace Guard uniforms put their heads and shoulders round the nearest corner, aiming rifles at her. The lioness snarled at them, and they jumped, one cracking his head against the other's rifle barrel.

"Stop that, Ajia," Daine scolded. "These are friends. I'd put the guns down, if I were you," she added, addressing the humans. "Ajia and Etan are a bit jumpy at the moment."


Running footsteps clattered toward Kaddar's group, and two breathless teenagers slid to a halt in front of him. "Report!" he barked, and they looked startled, stood to attention, and saluted.

Kaddar sighed. "Stop that," he said. "You aren't in the army now. Just tell me what's going on."

"We were checking the corridors between here and the cells—"

"We were attacked by lions and hyenas—"

"Not attacked, so much as—"

"There was a girl, a girl on an elephant—"

"Many wild beasts, and—"

"Quiet!" Kaddar held up a hand and fixed the babbling teenagers with his best stern, commanding gaze. "Selim: you first. Lions, hyenas, an elephant, and a girl, yes? What did this girl look like?"

"She looked ill, Your Highness. Very pale, and with hair …" Selim mimed hair sticking out in all directions. "She spoke in English, asking if we were with Azan Fikret. We told her, yes, and Fouad asked 'Who goes there?'"

"And what did she say?" Kaddar inquired, patiently.

Selim lowered his voice dramatically. "'The Beast Whisperer,'" he said, in English.

There were more footsteps—many of them, some slow, some quicker, some ponderously heavy. The marble floor began to shake slightly. "Daine?" Kaddar called. "Daine, is that you? Are you all right?"

Selim, Fouad, and the rest of the group shrank back against the far wall as two lions and a hyena stalked around a corner twenty feet away. These were followed by—exactly as advertised—a woman on an elephant, and then by a large assortment of other miscellaneous beasts.

The men gasped as Kaddar strode forward to meet them.

"Azan Fikret, at your service," he said, bowing low.

"Hang on," said Daine's voice, far above his head. "You're Azan Fikret?"

"I am." Kaddar grinned up at her, trying not to worry that three hyenas were sniffing him with great interest. "Would you come down from there? We need to talk."

Daine frowned. "We don't need to talk. We need to get in that door—" she gestured at it— "and rescue my husband from your barking mad uncle."

"Well, there is a problem with the door—"

"I thought the thumb was s'pposed to take care of that."

"We thought so also. Unfortunately, it seems that both thumbs are required."

"Oh. Well, no worries. Just stand back and leave it to us."

"Daine? What is—"

"Stand back, I said." Her voice was firm, though her face was deathly pale and her hands shook. Hurriedly, Kaddar joined his men along the wall farthest from the door.

"Your Highness, what is she going to do?" someone whispered nervously.

"I've no idea," Kaddar whispered back. "But I don't really feel like arguing with her, do you?"

"Badak, you'll take care of that door for me, won't you?" Daine had turned in her seat to address an animal behind her. "Khaja, let Badak through, please."

The elephant shuffled aside, and from the crowd there emerged an immense white rhinoceros, who favoured the cowering humans with a contemptuous glance before turning to study the offending portal.

Then he charged. Once, twice, and once again before the door at last gave way, triggering a tumult of alarm sirens.

When the dust had settled a little, Kaddar realized that Khaja the elephant was now riderless: Daine had slid down from her perch and, accompanied by most of the less bulky animals, darted through the now-gaping doorway. The prince and his companions collected themselves and charged in after them.


Daine is forty-five minutes late for their evening study session. Numair, immersed in a new issue of the Journal of Biological Chemistry, has scarcely noticed until he hears footsteps in the corridor and, looking up, sees a gaggle of graduate students leaving for the night. Even then he doesn't worry particularly; she has been late before.

When she does arrive, she is dirty, dishevelled, out of breath, and empty-handed: she has forgotten to bring her books. Numair looks up at her, and his lecture on punctuality and preparation dies on his lips when he sees her face.

"What is it?" he says instead, starting up from his seat and pulling out a chair for her, then pushing her gently into it. "Daine, you look – what's happened? Are you hurt?"

"Samson," she says at last, naming one of the horses she and Onua are responsible for. "A student took him out – there was a car, it was going too fast and he shied, and … we had all the Equine staff round, but—"

The tears spill over. Numair crouches in front of her chair and puts his arms around her, holding her tight as she quietly cries. When at last she stops, he hands her his handkerchief and perches on the edge of his desk while she blows her nose and wipes her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she says.

He shakes his head.

"It was so dreadful," she goes on. "All of us trying to help, and none of us could really do anything … even the real vets, they know so much, but none of them could help … and poor Padrach, he blamed himself, though it can't have been his fault …"

"Daine," he begins hesitantly. "I hope … there are always failures, you know. No doctor can save all her patients It doesn't make the lives you can save any less worthwhile. I hope you won't let this discourage you from—"

"No." She interrupts him, vehemently, and they both look startled at her rudeness. "No, I'm not discouraged. I'm going to study even harder, so I can be a better vet. Only … only not tonight, if you don't mind. I'm too tired and sad to think."

"Of course." He nods agreement. Then, looking at her, he smiles a little. "You'll be a credit to your profession one day, my little vetkin."

"Your little what?" she frowns at him, suspecting mockery. "What's a 'vetkin'?"

"Er … nothing," he says. "Well – 'little vet,' I suppose. That's what you are, or you will be."

"I'm not as little as all that," she grumbles, but she looks ever so slightly less miserable. "Numair … d'you mind if I just stay for a bit, while you're working?"

"Not at all," he says, and as he resumes his seat and pulls a stack of undergraduate papers toward him, she curls up in her chair, watching him intently with her chin on her drawn-up knees.

When he next looks up from his marking, he sees that she has fallen asleep.


Alanna's two-way radio crackled, and Kaddar's breathless voice said, "Dr Cooper, can you hear me?"

Finger on the button, she barked, "Yes. What?"

"What is the situation there?"

"Anything serious we've dealt with. The rest is minor, scrapes and bumps and bruises mostly."

"Can you see what is happening down here?"

Alanna looked up at the nearest monitor and swore loudly. "Yes," she said again. "Who's up here that can show me how to get to you?"

There was a burst of static before Kaddar spoke again. "I am sending someone up to guide you," he said. "Bring Zaimid with you, and ask Professor Reed to take charge of the first-aid station for the moment. Please hurry. I think you will be needed here very soon."


Daine stopped dead, staring up and down the long white corridor, and almost wept with frustration. There were (as she remembered, now) more than a dozen doors in each direction, and all of them were exactly the same. Worse, they were all thumbprint-locked, too, and without Badak and the elephants, what chance did she have of opening any of them?

She heard noises behind her; Kaddar, then several of his cohorts, cannoned into her from behind, to a general disgruntled growling. "What is it?" Kaddar asked her.

"I don't—" she began, but then another noise, far to the left, caught her attention, and she turned and ran, men and beasts on her heels.

Ozorne had opened the door only a fraction, and only for a moment; but it was enough. The faster of the beasts streaked past Daine and were on him before he could shut them out, leaning their weight against the door and forcing their way in.

Daine was halfway to the door when she heard it: a shout, a roar, a terrified shriek, the shockingly loud report of a firearm: Crack. Crack.

"No!" she screamed, flinging herself forward.


"Daine, wait! Stay back!" Kaddar bellowed, but to no avail. Sprinting, he reached the threshold just seconds after his quarry. There he paused for an endless five seconds to survey the scene within.

It was a nightmare. The room was full of angry animals; in one corner a wild-eyed Ozorne, revolver in hand, struggled to extricate himself from (Kaddar shuddered) the huge, limp body of the lion; the lioness and the three hyenas, unlikely allies, surrounded the frantic king, snarling menacingly and evidently undaunted by the revolver in his hand. In the centre of the room Daine stood clutching the back of a wooden chair, weeping and hurling imprecations. In another corner, bizarrely attended by a worried-looking orang-utan, lay Numair, curled on his side as he must have fallen, blood still dripping from his nose onto the sleeve of his crimson-stained shirt. Does that mean he's still alive? Kaddar wondered, then, Does Daine know? Then he shoved these questions to the back of his mind, to be dealt with later.

Kaddar motioned to his companions to stay back, deciding that the last thing this situation needed was more spectators. He stepped forward far enough to put a hand on Daine's arm. Then, coolly, he addressed the king: "It's over, Uncle. It's over, and you've lost. Put the gun down and come quietly, and I'll ask Daine to call off the hyenas."

"Never!" Ozorne made a feeble attempt to aim the revolver at his nephew; the beasts surrounding him lunged and snarled, and he shrank back into his corner.

Kaddar sighed. "If you'd prefer I leave you to the mercy of the animals …"

"I won't call them off," Daine said suddenly. She was breathing hard, and the pulse point at her elbow hammered under Kaddar's restraining hand.

"What?" the prince turned to her, startled; she didn't speak Arabic, did she?

"That's what you told him, isn't it? That I'll call them off if he surrenders?" Close to, she looked appallingly ill—face white, eyes bruised and fever-bright, perspiration beading her forehead—but she spoke defiantly. "Well, I won't. They can do what they like with him, as far as I'm concerned—he deserves it. Etan was my friend, you vicious bastard!" Tears ran unheeded down her battered face.

As if in reaction to her words, the lioness surged forward and, with one huge forepaw, batted the revolver out of the king's hand. His eyes bulged with terror; for a moment Kaddar felt almost sorry for him. Then Ozorne pointed a trembling finger at Daine and grated, "You dare to call me that, you—you misbegotten whore?"

The moment passed.

Kaddar raised his voice slightly to order four of his men into the room; they took charge of their erstwhile king, and if they seemed to be enjoying themselves a little too much, Kaddar couldn't find it in his heart to reprimand them. "Find a cell the animals haven't been at," he said instead. "Lock him up good and tight. And don't forget to feed him. He'll need his strength for his trial."

The hyenas looked disappointed, and the prince found himself directing at them an apologetic shrug.


Numair is waiting for Daine when she steps down onto the platform at Waverley Station, and she greets him as she always does: by dropping her belongings and hurling herself into his arms. People chuckle, and as usual someone in the crowd mocks them with a wolf-whistle, but, as usual, they don't notice.

He is holding her a foot off the ground, face buried in the soft, faintly musky scent of her hair, when she abruptly puts both hands on his shoulders and pushes herself back. "You smell wrong," she accuses.

"What?" he is startled. There are many joys in loving a woman who (he sometimes thinks) has more than a little of the wilds in her; but there are pitfalls, too, and it looks as though he has just found another of them.

"You smell wrong," she repeats. She looks at him with her head on one side, suspicious but very, very vulnerable.

"Oh." His mind runs rapidly over the possibilities, but misses the obvious one. "Perhaps the washing machine did something odd to my shirt, or I used your shampoo instead of mine, or …"

"It isn't that," she says. "It's something else. But never mind," she goes on, fetching a sigh. "Maybe it's just me."

Still, when they have collected her luggage and he slings an arm across her shoulders, she is stiff and tense.

"Where's the car?" she asks, puzzled, when at last they reach the car park. Usually the bright-red Mini is easy to spot, but tonight it is nowhere in evidence.

Numair laughs and shakes his head at his own stupidity. "I completely forgot to tell you," he says. "I've brought you a surprise."

And he leads the way to it: a second-hand black Saab convertible with the top down. "I thought you might like this one better," he explains.

She stares at it open-mouthed. "You mean," she says, after a moment, "you bought a new car because …"

"I needed a new one anyway," he says hastily, as he stows her things in the boot. "This one's got more leg room in the driving seat. And bright red is so … well, I decided it was time for a change. And I thought, maybe, you might let me teach you how to drive this one."

Daine is still staring. "It must have cost the earth," she says. "How did you—"

"It didn't, actually," he reassures her. "The bloke who owned it had been trying to sell it for ages, and he'd brought his asking price a long way down. He couldn't believe he'd found someone who actually wanted to drive round Scotland in a convertible." He looks at her hesitantly, unsure, now, whether surprising her was such a good idea. "Do you like it, vetkin?"

She walks all round the car, her hands clasped behind her back, examining it. Then, slowly and deliberately, she opens the left-hand door and gets in. She looks back at him and grins.

Daine has made great progress in managing her claustrophobia, but this is the first time Numair has ever seen her get into a car and look happy about it. "I love it," she says.

Grinning back, he opens the driving-side door and climbs in next to her; she leans over the gearbox to throw her arms around him. After a moment she raises her head, her eyes dancing. "It's the car," she says. "You smell like the car."

Then she closes the distance to kiss him, and they forget they are in a car until someone honks at them ten minutes later, wanting their parking space.


Daine had lost her grip on her chair and sunk to the floor, where she curled in a heap, sobbing. Kaddar approached her cautiously, wanting to offer comfort but unsure what comfort there was to be had.

Around them, and out in the corridor, animals bayed and howled and roared their distress.

"Daine." The voice came from behind them; Kaddar rose and turned to look, but Daine, it seemed, was too lost in her grief to hear.

Numair struggled forward, nearly falling, with an ape supporting him on either side. Only a few steps separated him from his wife, but it seemed to take an age for him to take them. "Daine," he said again, softly, as he approached her. "Sweetheart …"

She raised her head and turned to face him, now, her blue-grey eyes wide with shock. "Numair," she whispered. She put out a hand to touch him, then yanked it back as though afraid of what she would find. "I thought … I thought you were …"

"It's all right," he said, in despite of all the evidence to the contrary. "I'm fine, sweetheart. That is, I will be. Your friend … your friend took a bullet for me, vetkin. I'm so sorry."

Daine staggered to her feet. "You … you don't look dead anymore," she said, with the ghost of a smile.

"You don't either." Numair lifted a shaking hand to stroke her cheek.

Kaddar was feeling distinctly surplus to requirements.

"No, I can't be dead," Daine was saying. Her voice sounded odd. "I hurt … too much … to be …" she was gasping for breath, and her lips were blue; Numair and Kaddar both stepped toward her, hands outstretched. She collapsed against her husband's chest, and the two men exchanged horrified glances over her head.

The animals' noise redoubled.

"What the bloody hell is going on in here?" said Alanna.