A/N: I had a lot of trouble with this chapter. I'm still not all that happy with it, but it wasn't getting any better, so I'm posting it as is.

Thanks for all the reviews:)

Tawnykit -- I did consider that option. I didn't think Daine would want that on her conscience, though, and you're right, it's worse for him to contemplate the humiliation of standing trial. See below ;). RE: animal names, I borrowed the names of Etan and Ajia from those of a pair of lionesses at a zoo in Wisconsin, Etana and Ajia, which mean "Strong One" and "Quick One" in Swahili. (The Hebrew name "Eitan" also means "strong.") "Badak" means "rhinoceros" in Malay. "Khaja" I just made up. I am considering a sort-of-sequel, a shorter, less dramatic (possibly humourous) piece set in the same AU.

Alanna22039 -- Yes, sorry, this is almost the end ... I have written lots more DN things that you can read, if you want (in fact, that's pretty much all I have written, in the fanfic department) ...

mistywabbit -- thanks! Yes, I love to do research. (I'm not actually very good at writing fantasy, b/c I like to know how things actually work before I write about them. Playing around in someone else's fantasy world is much easier!) Glad you liked the convertible bit. I also live in a climate where convertibles are totally impractical, as it snows and/or rains at least 8 months of the year, but loads of people still drive them, just 'cos we do have those 2-3 months when it's insanely hot ...

Daine's Twin -- Thanks :) I can't really see a way to work Kallydar into this scenario, I'm afraid. But I guess you never know. There will be a little bit of fluffyness in the next two chapters, but if you really want fluff I'd advise re-reading chapter 12 ;).

Anonymous -- Yeah, it does seem like that. It sort of works, though, if you consider (a) that the hotel and the palace are actually quite close together, and (b) that Varice is working for Ozorne, so she has a car and driver at her disposal at this point ;). First Ozorne wants to see her so he can send her to work on Numair while Daine is out of the way; this needn't take more than a couple of minutes, probably not as long as it takes for Kaddar and Daine to change clothes. Then she drives to the hotel (10-15 minutes), accosts Numair in the pool, and Numair immediately suggests that they go do something less, er, naked ;). They drive over to the zoo (another 10-15 minutes), where Daine and Kaddar have already been wandering around for quite a while, because (a) there's a lot to see, including Daine doing her thing with the lions, and (b) it's dreadfully hot, so they're not walking very fast. Then they find D & K pretty quickly, but that's Numair's idea, not Varice's. See? ;) (So, OK, it's not perfect ... this is a first draft, really, so that's gonna be my excuse!)

random pineappleness -- thanks:) I'm glad you're still reading. I'm honestly quite surprised by how well this fic has gone so far, considering that, in a story based on The Immortals, I handicapped myself by eliminating not only the Gift and wild magic but also the immortals themselves ...

Disclaimer: Anything/Anybody you recognize is Tamora Pierce's invention. Mahal, Sayed, and the head nurse are mine. The plot ... well, you figure it out ;)


14: Resolve

Alanna took over, barking orders, to everyone else's relief. Zaimid she dispatched to summon an ambulance, or whatever speedy conveyance could be mustered; two of Kaddar's soldiers were sent to fetch whoever they could find from the Royal Zoo and bring them back to deal with the animals, which seemed friendly enough at the moment but, with their intense focus on Daine, were beginning to make everyone nervous.

Kaddar himself was assigned to keep Numair away from Daine and to prevent him from injuring himself further. He soon began to suspect that the only way to do this would be to drag Numair bodily out of the room and sit on him.

"What has happened?" he whispered urgently to Alanna.

"Her heart's stopped," was the terse reply. Alanna was on her knees at Daine's side, counting chest compressions, and had little breath to spare for conversation.

Zaimid hurtled back into the room, panting. "My hospital is sending an ambulance," he announced. "Usually it could be here in five minutes, but they tell me the streets are blocked by demonstrators …"

"We'll take what we can get," said Alanna shortly. "Take over for a few minutes, please. I need to talk to Numair."

Zaimid blanched at the sight of Daine, unconscious, with the front of her t-shirt torn open, but hesitated not at all.

"Numair!" Alanna grabbed her friend's chin and twisted his head around to face her. He blinked at her, trying to focus, and she sighed. "The drug he was giving her—did you manage to find out what it was?"

He shook his head, then winced at the pain this caused. "No," he said. "I know what it does, but not what it is—"

"Tell me that, then," Alanna cut him off. "Give me something to go on, dammit."

As she was speaking, Numair shut his eyes tightly and pulled on the end of his still-bleeding nose. "'It harnesses the warring effects of adrenaline—fight and flight—and makes the subject incapable of responding to either, instead holding him immobilized between the two, and thus entirely open to command,'" he recited.

"Right," said Alanna. "Okay. I never thought I'd be so grateful for that photographic memory of yours."

Kaddar was looking anxiously from one of them to the other. "What does that mean?" he demanded. "What will happen to Daine?"

"I'm not sure," Alanna admitted, running a hand through her flaming hair. "I think …" there was a pause. "Do you think he was dosing her continuously?" she asked Numair.

He shook his head again. "I don't know," he said. "My guess is not, since it seems she managed at least one escape attempt before he chained her up. But he also said she had 'a higher tolerance than others of her size,' which likely means he gave her more and more each time. I also believe she was given some sort of sedative or … or soporific at other times. She certainly was not sleeping naturally when I saw her."

"We will run a toxicology screen at the hospital," Zaimid panted, drawing all eyes to him and his desperate task.

"I doubt it'll find anything," Alanna said, "but yes, do that—"

"I have a theory," Numair said. He touched the back of his head gingerly; Alanna yanked his arm down. "I believe Ozorne's drug would have forced her body to over-produce adrenaline, which presumably explains how, despite having been beaten and starved half to death—"

Alanna squeezed his shoulder. "Focus on the problem at hand," she whispered.

"I think," Numair went on, "that she was functioning on adrenaline alone, and when the crisis passed …"

"You think all that artificial stimulation put a strain on her heart," Alanna nodded, "and when the stimulus was removed, the result was some kind of arrhythmia."

Numair had seemed almost like himself while theorizing, but now he was staring at his unconscious wife, his dark eyes swimming with unshed tears. Alanna had to look away from the naked desperation in his face. "Once we're out of this dungeon, I'll ring Baird," she said. "You know Baird Queenscove, don't you? This sort of thing is his speciality."

She heaved herself to her feet. "Take a rest, Zaimid," she said. "I'll relieve you."


"I will come with you," Kaddar said firmly.

"You heard what Zaimid said," Alanna countered. "There are people marching in the streets. This country needs a leader, your highness¸ and you're it."

"She speaks the truth, your highness," added one of the soldiers who had accompanied them outside. "Once you begin a revolution, it is important to carry it through."

Kaddar sighed. "I will join you later," he said. "Let me know at once if … if anything changes, yes?"

Alanna nodded. Then Kaddar slammed the rear doors of the ambulance on Alanna, Numair and a paramedic in a white overall and watched it hare off toward the King Muhassin Hospital, hard on the heels of the one carrying Zaimid and Daine.

Then he squared his shoulders, took a deep breath, and turned to the nearest man under his command. "Find me all the media people you can," he said. "There are some things I need to say."


Alianne Cooper puts down an empty bucket and strips off her work gloves to wash her hands in the large utility sink. "Aunt Daine," she says diffidently, "can I ask you a question?"

"Of course, Aly," says her companion, stepping up to the sink to wash her own hands. It is late on Thursday afternoon, and Aly is finishing her weekly volunteer shift with the Big Cat Rescue, Daine's pet project at the Zoo. Her brothers and most of her Conté "cousins" also volunteer from time to time, or have done, but fourteen-year-old Aly is Daine's most faithful helper; she loves Aunt Daine, who is interesting and clever but never stuffy or preachy, and the lure of spending a few hours each week with actual wild animals is equally irresistible.

"It's about boys," Aly says awkwardly, as they trudge into the staff cloakroom to change clothes. "And love, and that."

Aunt Daine raises an eyebrow, and Aly giggles because the gesture is so like Uncle Numair's. "Are you sure it's me you should be asking?" she says dubiously. "I haven't much experience, you know."

"But you've got Uncle 'Mair." Aly is puzzled. "And you're married an' all."

"I am that," Aunt Daine acknowledges with a grin. "But I'd also never kissed a boy till I was nearly eighteen. Are you sure you hadn't rather ask someone with more … well, I don't know … like your mum?"

Aly shudders at the very thought. "I don't think you understand what it's like to have a mum like mine—" she begins, and then, remembering, stops abruptly and stammers, "I'm sorry, Aunt Daine, I didn't mean …"

"Not to worry, love."

"It's just …" Aly tries again. "How do you know … well … the difference between liking someone, and liking them, and really being in love? How do you know when you've found the right person?"

Aunt Daine looks thoughtful. "All good questions," she says. "I'm not sure I can really answer any of them, though."

"Well, just tell me how you knew, then," Aly persists. They are walking their bikes across the Zoo grounds, now, heading for the main gates.

The older woman smiles a little, as though at a private joke. "Now there's a question I really can't answer," she says. "You might as well ask how I know the sky is blue, or how I know how to breathe."

Aly sighs, and her aunt puts an arm around her shoulders. "The right person's out there somewhere, Aly. You'll know."


"I understand how unexpected and frightening the past two days have been," Kaddar said. He had been speaking, and answering questions, for nearly half an hour; there were only a few things left to say, but they were vital ones. "I'm not sure yet exactly what has happened, or why, or how, but a full investigation of yesterday's attack will begin immediately, and when I know, you will know. As I have already said, my uncle will stand trial for his actions, and the trial will be open and public."

He paused. "I will do my best to be a good, fair, and just ruler of this country. I appeal to every citizen, male and female, young and old, to help me rebuild what has been damaged and destroyed, for all our sakes."

"Long live King Kaddar!" yelled someone in the crowd, and other voices took up the cry until the whole palace forecourt rang with it.

"Please don't," he said. "I haven't done anything yet. I'm not even king yet."

But, out in the courtyard, no one heard him.


"George, you should have seen it," Alanna said. She was curled comfortably in a padded chair, strategically placed just outside the door of Numair's hospital room, where she would hear him if he woke. Lindhall, who had taken the last shift, sprawled along a sofa across the hall, snoring slightly.

"I did see it, lass," her husband reminded her. "Most of the world did."

"Not the way I saw it," she retorted. "Not to mention smelled it. Wild beasts all over the shop, George, and—"

"And riotin' in the streets," George said. "Your young prince gave a very inspirin' speech, or so they tell me—Arabic not bein' one of my languages. There's talk at Number 10 of restoring diplomatic relations. How are our two? Wee Aly's right worried about all of you, you know," he added, a little reproachfully.

Alanna sighed. "I'm fine. Numair's fine—dehydrated, and took some nasty knocks to the head, but nothing that won't mend. He's sleeping. Daine … I'm a bit concerned about Daine," she confessed.

George heard the worry in her voice—and the utter exhaustion. "Get some sleep, lass," he advised. "You can get back to savin' the world in the mornin'."


The College of Medicine and Veterinary Medicine hosts a gala Christmas party for all its staff, academic and otherwise, and Daine (who doesn't want to go at all) reluctantly allows Lady Thayet, her self-appointed patroness, to persuade her into an elegant frock. She is feelings like a gawky child in fancy dress when Numair, stopping to speak to her on his way from dance floor to buffet table, looks at her with eyebrows raised and says, "You look very pretty!"

"Me?" she protests, disbelieving. "You're putting me on."

"Yes, you," he insists. "You may not look like a film star, Daine, but you do have your own … something. Before I know it, you'll be grown up and qualified and off to start a practice with some worthy young man in your year. In the mean time …" He grins suddenly, and gives her a courtly bow, which (as always) makes her giggle. "Would you care to dance, milady?"

Daine is about to refuse, to tell him that she doesn't know how to dance or that he doesn't want to be seen dancing with the likes of her, but he is holding out a hand and the band is playing something cheery by Noël Coward and before she can say anything at all she is, in fact, dancing with her teacher and friend, astonished to discover that it is great fun.

She grins up at Numair, and he smiles back, and at that moment she begins at last to shake the dust of Snowsdale from her feet.


"I want to see her."

"She's in Intensive Care. They don't allow visitors."

"I'm not a visitor, I'm her husband. I want to see her."

"I understand that, Numair. This isn't my hospital. I can't change the rules for you."

"Then find someone who can. I want—I need to see her. Please, Alanna."

"I really don't think—"

"Please."


"Numair, it's—"

"Leave me alone, Alanna. Just – go away."

Alanna fought the urge to slap her friend, hard, and instead took his arm firmly and pulled him around to face her, away from the window. "It's not as bad as it looks," she said.

"How—" Numair took a deep breath, visibly containing himself. "How exactly is it not as bad as it looks? It looks as though she's still unconscious after three days. It looks as though she's on life support. Do my eyes deceive me?"

"Well, no," Alanna admitted.

"And I'm supposed to stand out here and feel reassured?"

She winced at his tone. He'll be bursting into flame next.

"Look," she said. "We've done all we can for her. She's stable. Her heart is doing what it's meant to do, which is the main thing. I'm not shielding you from the truth, Numair, I'm telling you all I know. Her body's been assaulted and insulted, and it needs time to heal. You slept more than two days yourself, remember. You came out of it, and so will Daine."

As she spoke, Numair's anger had evaporated; now he slumped against the wall, looking miserable. "This is all my—"

"No more wallowing." Alanna cut him off in mid-sentence. "It won't help you and it certainly won't help Daine. Now, listen to me, my lad."

He assumed an attentive expression.

"I've persuaded the ward sister to let you in, on condition that you behave yourself and do exactly what the nice nurses and doctors tell you. You are not to pester the staff. You are not to climb onto the bed—" at his expression of injured dignity, she folded her arms and stared him down: "I know you, Numair. You are to eat and rest when told, and you are not to tell Daine anything that might upset her. If anyone catches you breaking any of those rules, you will be thrown out straight away and not allowed back in. Do I make myself clear?"

A nod of the bandaged head, then a wince: "I've got to stop doing that," he muttered. Then, more loudly: "Yes, Colonel Cooper. Crystal clear."

Satisfied, Alanna nodded at the ward sister, who had stood discreetly at the other end of the corridor throughout this exchange. This crisply white-clad personage approached silently, fixed Numair with a forbidding stare, and at last let them both into Daine's room.

Alanna watched from the doorway as Numair took the three steps to his wife's bedside on legs that still shook a little. Someone had thoughtfully placed a chair beside the bed, but instead of sitting in it he dropped to his knees, clasping Daine's hand in his and resting his other arm across her body and his head against her blanket-covered hip.

Fortunately for Numair, the whoosh of the ventilator and the steady blip of the cardiac monitor prevented Alanna from hearing his whispered words: "Don't you dare die on me, vetkin. If you do, I swear by all that's holy, I will drop you into the deepest crevasse in the biggest glacier in Norway and seal you in."


Kaddar, Zaimid, and a brace of sympathetic palace clerks had spent the better part of the night methodically ransacking their deposed king's files, paper and electronic, private and more private, and were growing weary of the exercise. Thus far they had found much that was unpleasant, frightening, or repellent, but nothing remotely useful to the two urgent matters at hand: which of the prisoners in the detention wing, if any, were genuinely dangerous and would need to be detained; and exactly what Ozorne had dosed Daine and the hotel guests with.

At roughly two o'clock in the morning, one of the clerks, Mahal, finished decrypting a very large file and, when text and images began filling the computer screen in front of him, sat back with a gasp. "Your high—your majesty," he said, "I think you'd better come see this."

Kaddar read over Mahal's shoulder with growing disbelief. When, after several minutes, he began to laugh, the other three men looked at him as though he had grown an extra head.

"With respect, your majesty …" said Mahal.

"Care to share the joke?" Zaimid asked, from across the room, where he was half hidden by ribbon-bound file boxes.

"My uncle," Kaddar replied, eyes glinting with suppressed mirth, "has been keeping a whole file on my subversive activities. He was planning to have me arrested and charged with conspiring against him."

"I fail to see the humour in that," said his friend dryly, "since in fact that's exactly what you were doing."

"Well, come and read for yourself," Kaddar invited. "Once you've seen the details, I'm sure you'll see what I mean."

Frowning, Zaimid made his way over to Mahal's monitor; Sayed, the other clerk, abandoned his laptop to trail after him. The four of them read on, in silence punctuated by snorts of amusement, for several more minutes before Zaimid, shaking his head, looked at Kaddar and said, "He had no idea."

"Exactly," Kaddar grinned. "Everything in this file is a figment of his imagination, and he got all of it wrong. I mean, look at this, Zaimid. Bribing members of the Army officer corps with illegally obtained American dollars? Trying to buy weapons from—what does that say—Uzbekistan? Oh, and this is the best bit." He had had very little sleep in the last twenty-four hours, and was beginning to feel giddy. "I'm supposed to have been plotting that mess at the hotel with 'Arram Draper' for the past year. Let me guess—" He rummaged in a pocket and extracted a crumpled, blood-spattered sheaf of papers, which he studied for a moment. "Yes, there it is. Numair was supposed to implicate me as part of his confession. It must have boggled his mind to discover that I actually was conspiring against him."

"Kaddar," Zaimid said soberly, "you do realize what this means, don't you? After he executed Professor Salmalín, you were going to be next."

The prince—the king—looked at his oldest friend and nodded. "I have Daine and her friends to thank that I'm still alive," he said. "Don't worry—I'm in no danger of forgetting it." He sighed, rubbed a hand across his bleary eyes, looked around at his confederates. "Let's keep looking."

Fifteen minutes later, the four of them looked up, startled and shaken, at the sound of a muffled explosion somewhere beneath their feet.


They waded through the rubble, arms across their faces in a vain effort to keep the choking dust out of their lungs—Kaddar in the lead, Zaimid a few steps behind him. They had been unable to get any coherent account of events from the variety half-hysterical soldiers and erstwhile prisoners they had encountered on the way here; the only thing to do, clearly, was to go and see for themselves.

There was very little left to see.

"How," Kaddar demanded, his voice muffled by his sleeve, "how the hell did he manage to do this?"

"Maybe it wasn't him," Zaimid suggested reasonably. "Any number of people might have wanted to blow him up."

"Look around you. Obviously the blasts were centred inside the cells."

"Oh." Looking around, taking in the vaguely discernible pattern of the debris. "Right."

Going more cautiously as they neared their goal, they smelled the charred fragments of flesh and bone before they saw them. Soon they were everywhere, and the two friends had to halt to avoid treading on the remains of their former king. "He couldn't just poison himself," Kaddar complained, his voice shaking.

"At least he didn't manage to take anyone else with him," Zaimid pointed out, "though I can't say he didn't try. Come on—there's nothing we can do here. We'd better go and try to calm them all down."

Much later, during the process of renovating the detention wing of the palace to house more voluntary guests, Kaddar's construction crews would discover the small explosive charges embedded in the walls of every cell, wired for a remote trigger that, according to his personal journal, King Ozorne had carried with him at all times.