Once Upon a Time

by LA Knight

Wolves in human skin. A Beast and a lost maiden. A sanctuary in a storm. A prince of Elven blood. Sacrifices, debts, honor, & oaths. Ten long, beautiful years, and all the stories that fall within. A collected fic series; currently on book 13. Updates when I can because hey it's a pandemic. Early access available on Patreon.

40. I Know Him So Well

At the Bottom of This Chapter

Author's Note
Mythological Being of the Day
I Talk So Much, Curb, I'm Sorry =D
Concerning the Chapter Title
References Made in This Chapter

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Author's Note: So I'll be honest. One, this chapter is kind of short (for me). Two, a big part of the first scene with Nuada is pure fetish for me. I wanted to explore the Troll Market a little. Like, a lot. I wanted to really explore what it would be like to walk through a magical faerie bazaar. So we see flower sellers (hi, Yang), and blacksmiths, street dancers, musicians, clothing stores, food vendors, all that stuff; and we explore the interaction of cultures from the different faerie kingdoms and such, and also explore just what all you might be able to buy at a faerie market (cuz think about the possibilities).

So there's this, like, 5000-word scene with Nuada shopping just because I wanted to write about the Troll Market and it's awesomeness. I also want to just show Nuada interacting with faeries from other cultures and members of other Elf kingdoms (like the African kingdom of Nyame and the Viking-esque kingdom of Álfar). Although I'm also trying to build the mystery of what Nuada's actually buying because I keep some of it mysterious and stuff and I think you guys will like what all it is (to be revealed in chapter 41).

Also, originally Nuada's letter was supposed to be in this chapter, but the chapter was going to end up being WAY too long, so I broke it off early. So we may or may not get 2 chapters on Halloween because you get 2 chapters today. Well actually, since it's after 6am and I can't write an entire chapter in 3 hours, you get 1 chapter this morning/afternoon and hopefully a 2nd one later tonight, but if not then it will arrive tomorrow because I did promise the letter in this chapter and it's not here.

Three Necessary Translation:Denka is (according to Google Translate) the Japanese word for "Your Highness." Arigato is Japanese for "thank you." Hátign Þína is Iclandic for "Your Highness" and Prins is Iclandic for "Prince." Wako Mtukufu is "Your Highness" and yangu mkuu is "my prince" in Swahili. Wait, why do we need to know Swahili? Hmmmm...

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Chapter Forty

I Know Him So Well

that is

A Short Tale of a Baby, the Troll Market (and an Ancient Trap), Days Gone By, Three Rings, an Apology, and a Brief Note

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Siobhan Dubh clucked soothingly to the wailing infant in her arms, and shot Jenny Hob a worried look. The head housekeeper of the palace of Findias watched the sidhe woman walk back and forth across the nursery with the sobbing bairn.

It had been more than two weeks since the little halfling child had taken so sick. Siobhan's earth magic, a common gift among those sidhe who acted as faerie godparents or nursemaids, had seemed to completely cure the babe after only a few days, but the child had remained fussy and weak. Now the fever had returned. It was much milder than before, but now came with a cough.

Shoving wisps of her dark hair from her sweat-dampened face, the plump faerie woman shushed and crooned to the red-faced baby, who continued to wail pitifully and weakly wave pudgy fists back and forth. Every few minutes the crying would be interrupted by a choked coughing.

"Have you contacted the prince?" Siobhan demanded of the hob woman. "Does he know the halfling babe is ill again?"

"We cannot find him," Jenny replied. "Nor Mr. Wink, either." Jenny pursed her lips as the baby's fat fist smacked Siobhan in the cheek. "Have you any idea what could be causing this?" The sidhe woman shook her head. "What of the other children? Are any of them ill?"

"No, ma'am, but the older ones don't deal much with the babies. We usually have so few of the really little ones that I can handle them on my own."

If the formidable Jenny Hob had been a woman of lesser self-control, she might have uttered a curse just then. Princess Nuala had been appraised of the child's worsened condition, and had promptly sent one of the Elven healers to see to the babe. Of course, once the healer saw the little one was half-human, the Elf had insisted that sometimes halfling children took such illnesses and there was naught to be done about it but wait for it to pass.

Jenny knew such attitudes in the highborn healers. It was true that often the children of a faerie and a mortal were sickly when young - the traces of iron in their half-human blood saw to that. But such childhood illnesses looked nothing like this scorching fever that refused to abate for longer than a day or three at a time. Even Jenny, who was no healer, knew enough about child-rearing to know that. But Her Highness was satisfied with the royal healer's diagnosis.

But Jenny wasn't, and Siobhan wasn't. The two fae women had hoped that perhaps this was a passing sickness that would spread among the children like a natural thing. Then, at least, they would know what they were dealing with. But it hadn't. Siobhan had even gone to the herbwoman and midwife in Findias township, and she had no idea what could be the matter with the child either. They'd tried everything the three women could think of, with no noticeable result. The coughing continued, and though this new fever had begun breaking, what progress that was made against it came at a snail's pace.

The prince, however...

All knew Prince Nuada had traveled the world many times over in his exile from Faerie and its courts. Perhaps he had seen something, or knew something that could help the bairn. Because without help, if this didn't stop - or even if it did, and the child took sick again - eventually Siobhan's earth magic would exhaust itself, and there would be nothing standing between the wee one and the sickness that racked its tiny body. And the child was slowly but surely growing weaker.

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"Are you still mad at me?"

Dylan glanced at her brother from where she sat on her bed, noting the way he kept his eyes on the carpet. If he'd been younger (and if she wouldn't have killed him for messing up her rug), John probably would've been scuffing his shoe on the floor like a little boy. She sighed. They hadn't really spoken of what had happened between her brother and the Elf prince several days ago, after the initial patch-up and smack-down. Apparently her twin needed to talk about it now.

"I'm not mad," she said softly. "At least, I don't think I am. I don't... really know what I am right now. How could you say all that to him, John? What got into you?"

"The Devil," her twin muttered, then sighed and raked his hands through his hair. "I don't know, D - I don't know. I'm really sorry." John trudged over and slumped onto the cushy bed before flopping back onto the comforter. "I was just so... just so angry. And I'm worried and I'm scared for you and he's got you wrapped around his finger and you don't even see it-"

"Yes, I do," Dylan replied. She marked her place in the Book of Ether with a bookmark and closed her scriptures, setting them on her pillow before turning to her twin. She studied John for a long moment. He looked exhausted. "I know I'm stupid in love with him, John. I know. Don't worry, though. It's not like we're gonna get married and have two-point-five kids and move into a little house with a white picket fence. I know better."

He rolled onto his side to study her face. She hadn't sounded bitter just now. Merely melancholy. So why did the words give him an icy chill down his spine? "Dylan, I want you to be happy. If this guy made you happy I wouldn't care, but he's breaking your heart. I mean... how much can you take? This is the first time you've ever been in love, and the first time always hurts the worst. I don't want you to get hurt."

His twin gave him a look heavy with self-mockery and shrugged. "Too late. But I keep telling you there's nothing to worry about. I'm not going to do anything foolish, I promise. Besides, I have other people to live for besides Nuada - like you and the girls, my patients, the fae. And most importantly, Heavenly Father. I know He'd be pretty annoyed if I decided to call this life quits because I got dumped. I'm fine, John-boy. Really. Or I will be. It's all fine."

John's worried eyes studied her for a long moment; Dylan could tell he didn't believe her. But instead of arguing, he said in a faux-irritated voice, "You know, I had to go to work like this." He held up both hands and she couldn't stop the laugh that huffed out of her. Silvery sparkles against royal blue nail polish glittered at her from her twin brother's fingernails. The torture session had occurred the day before. "Had to wear gloves all shift. A guy on the street called me a fag-hag. I don't even know what that means, but it's probably bad. And this isn't even my color. You could've gone with the lime-green with the gold sparkles, ya know. At least the green would've matched my new shoes."

"Your shoes are black, John," his sister reminded him. "Black goes with everything."

Affecting his snootiest voice, the twenty-one-year-old haughtily informed his twin, "Excuse me, Missy, but my shoes happened to be moon-washed charcoal. They are not black. Of course," he added with a sniff like a Marie Claire Magazine hog, making up random junk as he went in the hopes of making her laugh, "I wouldn't expect a street urchin like yourself to understand the subtle differences in texture and shading that make up the... how dare you laugh at me. I'll have you know this is poetry here. I am a poet of fashion!"

Through her laughter, she managed to gasp out, "You might be a poet but you sound like an idiot."

"Well," he replied in his regular voice, "whatever it takes to make you smile."

"Oh," she grumbled, then threw herself at him and hugged him tightly. "I love you, John-boy. Even if you do sound like an idiot sometimes. You're the best brother and I'm so glad you're my twin. You know that, right?"

John tugged her ponytail sharply enough to make her squeak. She punched him in the chest, colliding with one of his fae-inflicted, slowly-healing bruises. He grunted at the throbbing pain. Wrapped her in his arms until she couldn't escape and used the tip of her ponytail to tickle her face with until she squealed and flailed in an attempt to escape the "torture." John laughed as Dylan pummeled him in retaliation. When the sibling fun had finally subsided, he asked, "So, you're glad I'm your twin brother even when I'm shooting vicious random stuff at your Elven boyfriend? Ow."

He said "ow" because she'd punched him in the chest again.

"He's not my boyfriend. Even if we were together, he still wouldn't be my boyfriend because he's a prince and a faerie. They have this other word for it. Not the point. Yes, I'm glad you're my brother even when you're being a jerk to one of the most important people in my life." She thwacked him again. "You owe the prince an apology, John. I can't believe you said those things to him. Nuada would never just stand by and let someone hurt me. He nearly died protecting me more than once. You seriously owe him."

"I know," her twin replied, and pulled a crumpled envelope out of his pants pocket. He held it out to her. After flicking him a puzzled glance, she took it from him. "If you want to read it, it's not sealed. I did it at work."

Dylan frowned and flipped the envelope open. Pulled out the little piece of paper and scanned the words her twin had written. She knew at a glance that John had used his best handwriting. Usually anything he wrote was hideously illegible. The note was short but sincere. She looked up at John, opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out. Her twin shrugged.

"You're right. I was way out of line. I'd tell him in person but he'd properly try to break my arm again. Can Becan get that to him?"

"I... I think so. If not, we'll figure something else out." She slipped the paper back into the envelope and folded the flap down again. Her fingers were light when they touched his hand. "Thank you, John. Really; thank you."

He tugged on her ponytail again as he got up from the bed to go park himself on her sofa. "No problem, Sis. As long as I don't have to lick his boots or whatever." Gratified when she laughed softly, John walked out as Becan came in. Dylan pulled the paper out again and scribbled something on the back with one of her scripture pencils. Then Dylan gave Becan the little letter to the prince with instructions to deliver it that night. The brownie bowed to his mistress, wished her a gentle goodnight, shoved the cat into the bedroom, and left to do as she bid. His mistress went back to reading her scriptures.

Several minutes later, Dylan closed the thick, leather-bound tome that was the personalized copy of her scriptures and laid them on her nightstand. Kneeling beside her bed and reverently bowing her head, she closed her eyes. Bat promptly climbed onto her shoulders and stretched out across the back of her neck. Since he wasn't being distracting, his human left him where he was.

"Dear Heavenly Father, I want to thank You for..." Dylan cast her memory back through the day and began to talk to her Heavenly Father about the wonderful things that happened: getting the official phonecall from Peabody saying that the psychiatrist was back on retainer for the police; painting John's nails while he pretended to writhe in agony at the merest touch of the brush; the hilarity of kitty-cat antics; the progress she'd made with Kate and the fun of watching the human changeling with the sidhe changeling boy she loved so much; getting to spend time throughout the week with Lisa, Tiana, Anya, Ariel, John, Kaye and Peri; finally having the time to set up another support-group session with her Sight kids; John being willing to apologize to Nuada (in writing, which meant there would be tangible proof later).

She talked to God about her plans for the next few days (work, mostly, but also spending more time with Kaye, Peri, and the changeling children, because it kept her busy and was one of the rare activities that still had the power to make her smile. Also, working on her lesson for Nursery next week). Asked Him to help her stay on track with everything she was supposed to be doing in her life, be it church or work or personal. She prayed for her Sight kids, for the toddlers in Nursery and their families, for her patients and her own sibling. Finally, she prayed for the one person of her acquaintance who she thought probably needed it the most.

"Please, Heavenly Father, take care of Nuada. He probably won't take care of himself - he can be kind of stubborn about that kind of thing - and I don't want him to get hurt. He's already been hurt so much. Please bless him in whatever things he stands in need of. Protect him. Comfort him. I know he needs comfort, even if he won't admit it to himself. I'm just... I'm really, really worried about him. There are so many people who want to hurt him in some way. Please protect him. Please. And if it be Your will... please bring him back to me safely. If it isn't Your will then please help me reconcile myself to that. But I really, really hope that's not Your plan."

Dylan drew a deep breath, meaning to finish the prayer there, but something stopped her. A warmth and a gentle pressure against her back and sides, as if someone - or Someone - were embracing her. An ember began to smolder in her chest and a sense of comfort, of soft peace and safety, spread through her. So she drew another breath and said what she hadn't really let herself think about for the last week or more.

"We had a fight. Not even a fight, more like... jeez, it feels like he dumped me. I feel really stupid for being so upset because I'm a grown woman and I shouldn't need a guy to make me feel good about myself. But it's not that. It's not that he's mad at me and so I'm depressed 'cause my life is over or whatnot. I'm upset because he's mad at me and I most likely deserve it but at the same time I..."

She gritted her teeth and let her forehead drop to the softness of the comforter on the bed. She hadn't wanted to feel like this; hadn't wanted to admit she could feel like this about someone she loved, but there was no help for it.

"At the same time I just wanna punch him. I mean, really punch him, right in the face. Although that would probably hurt since I'm mortal and he's... not. And I'd feel really bad about it later. But I kind of just wanna give him a piece of my mind for yelling at me and being so mean and unfair about all of this. For hurting John, though John probably deserved it. He's just being a complete and total jerk. Okay," she added when a warning twinge of coolness slithered down her spine. "Not a jerk. I just don't think he's being fair. I didn't mean to lie to him. I wasn't thinking - which, I know, I can't afford to not think when it comes to anything, much less the Hidden Folk. But how can he not see that I'd do anything for him? How can he not know how important he is to me? I've told him. Maybe not... not all of it, but still. I have told him. And he won't even talk to me about it. What am I supposed to do?"

She talked about the fistfight between the Elf prince and John, how she'd been doing okay until that moment when she'd seen the fury in Nuada's eyes and the world had suddenly vanished around her, leaving her to plummet into this abyssal space she recognized too well from other dark moments in her life. The panic and the anger and fear and the suddenly brutal exhaustion. "I'm too old for this, Heavenly Father. I'm too old to feel like this over a crush. I'm going to be thirty in a month - I'm not a thirteen-year-old girl. But I feel like I'm breaking apart. What's wrong with me?"

There was, of course, no audible answer. Only the warmth and comfort of the Holy Ghost like an embrace as she closed her prayer and climbed into bed. Bat, who'd been dislodged when Dylan got stiffly to her feet, hopped up on the bed and curled up on a pillow so that he looked like a fuzzy black donut with a furry question-mark sticking out of one side. When his human began rubbing his belly, the kitten purred appreciatively and stretched. But his golden eyes were clearly worried as he stared unblinkingly at his human and licked her wrist with a rasping tongue.

"Don't worry about me," Dylan murmured, laying her cheek against the sleek, black pelt. Bat stroked her cheek with a velvet-soft paw and purred the way adult cats purred to comfort frightened kittens. "Don't worry. We're okay."

But after two hours of nuzzling kitty fur and listening to Bat's purr rumbling from his pudgy body, she still hadn't fallen asleep. A sudden thought made her grab her phone from her nightstand where it sat beside her scriptures. Flipping through her apps, she found her music playlists. Found the one named "Sleepy Time." Putting it on shuffle, Dylan settled back against her pillow again. The cat wriggled into place against her chest. Soft music whispered from the tiny phone speaker. After two or three songs, Dylan began to slowly drift off.

"Late at night when all the world is sleeping, I stay up and think of you," the phone suddenly crooned, and Dylan's eyes snapped open. She knew this song. "Dreaming of You" by Selena. She'd forgotten it was on this playlist. Forgotten. Would never have played this if she'd remembered because...

"And I wish on a star
That somewhere you are
Thinking of me too.

"'Cause I'm dreamin' of you tonight,
Till tomorrow, I'll be holding you tight.
And there's nowhere in the world I'd rather be
Than here in my room
Dreamin' about you and me."

Nuada wasn't thinking of her. Or if he was, he was thinking things she didn't want to know. But she wasn't going to think about that. She had more important things to think about than how furious the Elf prince still was at her. Even if he didn't hate her anymore - which Dylan wasn't entirely sure about despite his assurance because he'd sounded so cold then - she didn't want to think about his anger.

In fact, she didn't want to think about him at all. Instead, she changed the song and resolutely closed her eyes. Bat butted his head against her chin. She would sleep now. Sleep, and not think about anything else until it was time to get up in the morning.

Except the fact that her cat's breath smelled like rancid tuna and he was breathing in her face. That she couldn't ignore, so she stuffed him under the blanket, where he promptly curled up against her belly and went to sleep.

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The Troll Market beneath the Brooklyn Bridge held shops and stalls owned by fae from all over the world, not just the kingdom of Bethmoora. A goblin of Annwn hocked stolen and altered human gadgets from a tiny wooden stall near the outskirts of the Market. Tiny hammers clanged from a forge where two handfuls of diminutive Greek dactyls fashioned a myriad of blades from titanium, Elven silver, gleaming goblin bronze, and even dwarven gold. Several clurichauns knocked back mugs of dandelion ale at an outdoor bar. The eerie mixture of rushlight and faerie glow that always illuminated the Troll Market glinted off the jewel-like markings of several scitalis dancers, their breathtaking serpentine markings rippling as the snake-shifters danced on a small wooden stage. The air carried the perfume of women and flowers, the mouthwatering scents of various things roasting or baking, the spice of herbs, and the slightly dank smell of steam and condensation from the pipes all around.

Nuada smiled when Yang caught his eye from the magically warded "street" corner where her natural, glass and crystal flowers were spread out on gold-embroidered white silk for customers to admire. Some of the finely-crafted glass blossoms contained the essence of the elements - water or fire or even lightning. Some glittered with an inner light that betokened some form of inherent magic beneath the surface. Others crooned gentle lullabies or whispered in the quiet way of flowers telling each other the secrets of the wild. And then there were the blooms that Yang cultivated naturally, more beautiful than any that grew in the wilderness.

"Good evening, Denka," Yang murmured, placing her palms flat to the ground and bowing low from where she sat. The silk of her kimono rippled with all the colors of the ocean under moonlit darkness. When the shōjō straightened from her bow she smiled at the prince. "May I offer you some tea?"

The Elf prince inclined his head graciously and took the proffered brocade cushion on the plain of white silk across from the Japanese sea sprite. Wink, grumbling about feeling like a bull in a china shop, managed to settle himself at a corner. He held himself very carefully to avoid crushing any of the delicate porcelain, crystal, and glass blooms. Yang glanced to one side and clapped her tomato-red hands together sharply, once.

"Morinji," she said, and a fat racoon-dog faerie waddled over. "Chrysanthemum tea for the prince, please. And for Wink-san?" The shōjō peered at the silver cave troll through the thick curtain of her auburn hair woven with dark jade seaweed. Her smile seemed to invite the troll to share in a joke. "You still enjoy laced sakurayu, do you not? With a twist of lemon?"

The cave troll nodded, grinning at the brief flash of distaste on the Elf prince's face. Tea steeped from pickled cherry blossom petals and mixed with rice wine sounded very good just then. And Yang's teas always carried the sharp taste of salty ocean brine and an undercurrent of kelp.

Morinji, Yang's tanuki servant, poured out and handed the cups to his mistress, the prince, and the bodyguard before scuttling back to his resting place near the edge of the ten-by-ten-pace corner the shōjō had secured for herself. Nuada politely sipped the strong, dark tea and wished the fae of Onibi believed in drinking something other than tea or rice wine. He'd have preferred ale or even Elven wine, but graciousness to a host had been drilled into his head since early childhood. He wasn't about to shuck nearly forty centuries of habit just because chrysanthemum tea tasted like far-too-strong rose water.

At least it wasn't sakurayu. The smell of sea water reeked from Wink's teacup. Nuada was torn between an inward grimace at the smell, or an outward grin at the incongruous, risible image of the massive cave troll carefully cradling the tiny, primrose-pink porcelain teacup in his meaty hands.

"Now, Denka," the shōjō murmured after she'd sipped daintily from her own handle-less porcelain cup. "What may I do for you?"

Nuada slanted a warning glance at Wink. The silver troll hadn't said anything, but the Elf knew his friend. Knew him well enough to know that behind those craggy and carefully blank features, using the tiny pink porcelain cup as a miniscule shield, the troll was fighting a smile because how long had it been since Nuada had bought such things for a lady and how ironic that it was for a human woman? Firegold eyes raked over Wink's face, trying to discern the troll's thoughts. The silver troll carefully avoided catching his prince's eye.

Nuada bit back a sigh and pulled a small sheet of paper from his pocket. He handed it to the shōjō. "Everything on that list, I need."

She studied the list. There were perhaps eleven or twelve items on it. "Natural or synthetic?"

"Synthetic. Preferably of the rai variety if you have such." At Nuada's words, Wink made a choked sound that made the cherry-blossom tea bubble in his cup. The prince shot Wink another look. The troll raised his massive shoulders in an innocent shrug. Well, what did he know about the human that his prince did not, the troll seemed to say? If she wanted magically-contained lightning, who was he to argue? And the troll had picked out the basics on the list to begin with, at the prince's request.

Nuada frowned, guessing his old friend's thoughts, but said nothing. Only remembered Dylan's brother's words: She's had to sleep with all the lights on because of the nightmares and they still keep coming... He shook off the fury at the human male that rippled through him and focused on the present moment. Rai was best for what he wanted.

"If I may, Your Highness..." Yang pursed her dark cerise lips as she studied the list. "Most of these would appear to best effect if made of goblin crystal in the rai style. Except these." She indicated a few of the listed items. "Because of the colors. Perhaps you might try the fūjin style for those. The price is the same for wind or lightning, either way. And this one would be best in perhaps diamond, because of the composition. If I might make a few suggestions about sound and color?"

The Elf and the shōjō quietly discussed a few changes to the items on the list as well as a few additions. In the end, the prince was satisfied with the changes and handed over Yang's surprisingly reasonable price in exchange for most of her wares. The fūjin pieces would have to be picked up in the morning. The silk bag that shimmered and shifted like ocean water was just big enough to carry everything.

Wink snickered and made a snide comment in Trollish about Elves and their skills with accessorizing with handbags. Glacial topaz eyes shot the troll a dirty look. Nuada made Wink hold the bag, which left the troll's back-spines drooping. The corners of Yang's eyes crinkled in the typical Onibi "smile" of one who did not wish to be rude by smiling openly.

At least, the prince thought as he got to his feet and bowed to the shōjō, this was not the hard part. Nuada decided he'd do that part last. He knew Wink would find much entertainment then. For now, he had to find someone skilled in leatherworking.

Before the pair moved on, Wink murmured something to the shōjō that made her smile more openly and nod. The troll inclined his head and followed Nuada.

"What was that about?" The prince asked as they wove through the crowd.

His vassal looked almost embarrassed when he shrugged. He scratched absently at the spur of broken tusk. "It is difficult to find a certain item in the city. Yang knows where I can come by it." The silver troll noticed Nuada's inquiring look and sighed. "She has a wide selection of water lilies, if you must know. They are Lorelei's favorite."

One knife-thin golden brow winged upward. "Indeed?"

"Ah, strix on a stick!" Wink grabbed a large drumstick from a vendor selling the fried, bloodsucking faerie bird and tossed a coin to the cave troll tending the food stall. He took a large bite to avoid having to answer anymore questions. Nuada eyed the greasy joint of meat, hoping that Wink would have a care that none of the orange grease would touch the silk bag he carried. Wink noticed his look and merriment twinkled in his one good eye. Time for some payback.

The prince scowled. He had the uncomfortable feeling his vassal was laughing at him. "May I ask what is so amusing?"

"Amusing, my prince?" The troll kept his face carefully straight. "I do not believe I laughed. Nor did I smile." At Nuada's sharp look, Wink allowed his grin to unfurl. "I will be honest, then, Your Highness. Do you know the last time you took such care selecting a gift for anyone?" Wink's grin mellowed to a gentle, almost sad smile as he and Nuada stopped halfway inside an alley. "I have never seen it, but your father used to speak of the care you took in buying or making gifts for your mother. With your sister, you never needed to take care - the two of you are linked. You know what the princess prefers.

"And yet now you have taken great pains to make sure this token for your mortal lady is perfect for her. I do not approve of or understand most of your choices, but you don't need my opinions. Still, I'll offer you this one: if your mother were alive, I believe the word she would use for this is... ah. Admirable. Also adorable."

Nuada's mouth had been slowly curving upward into a smile as he thought of his mother and sister, but now he scowled. Adorable? He was Crown Prince Nuada Silverlance, heir to the Golden Throne of Bethmoora, a skilled warrior and a man grown. He was most certainly nothing even close to adorable.

"I am going to pretend," the prince replied through gritted teeth, "that you did not say that, so long as that word does not pass your lips again."

"As you command, Your Highness," Wink said tonelessly, and they moved out of the alley. Wink was careful to walk behind Nuada, on the off chance his lips twitched a little at the prince's indignation.

As Nuada and Wink wove expertly through the crowd, the troll caught sight of a familiar head of sleek, midnight dark hair. He tapped Nuada's shoulder and gestured to a brewery where a slender, golden-eyed figure stood talking with a turbaned, glassy-eyed djinn - drunk or besotted, neither warrior could figure. They went over.

"Lorelei," the Elf prince said, his voice just loud enough to carry over the noise of the Market. The rhinemaiden whirled and her eyes widened in sincere pleasure at the sight of the feral-eyed warrior. Then, when those eyes like antique gold coins slid over Wink like a caress, something flickered in the depths of her gaze - just for an instant. Her gaze, usually hard and cold as dragon's gold, softened and melted as it brushed over the troll's face.

Wink rumbled something almost unintelligible and looked down at the damp ground. Nuada fought not to do a double-take. Was the troll blushing?

"Good evening, Eure Hoheit," the Germanic water faerie said. More softly, her voice like the night wind singing over water, she added, "Wink."

"My lady," the troll rumbled, bowing his head slightly.

Lorelei's darkly red lips slipped into a smile, revealing slightly pointed, pearl-white teeth so stark against the wine-red. Wink, on impulse, held out one rough hand to the river maiden. Time hung suspended between them, a heartbeat that lasted an eternity as he waited either for rejection at his boldness, or the soft-as-a-snowflake touch of her hand. She reached out. Her fingertips brushed as softly as a goodnight kiss over the rough troll hide. Then Lorelei slipped her pale hand into Wink's and his fingers curled around it like an embrace. His thumb lightly traced a slow half-circle over pale knuckles. The rhinemaiden shivered.

Nuada resisted the urge to roll his eyes at his friend. The troll's one good eye was locked on Lorelei's ivory face, constantly moving over the fine-boned features, as if drinking her in with his gaze. The Elf prince lost the battle and rolled his eyes.

"Wink. Meet me at the cordwainer's in twenty minutes." His vassal would be good for little for the next several minutes if not left alone with the lovely rhinemaiden for a few moments. Nuada could recognize infatuation when he saw it.

The troll made a noise that roughly translated as "hn."

The Elf cocked his head. Were either of them even listening to him? He suppressed a swift surge of irritation and envy. He and Dylan never behaved so... besottedly with each other. Even during those hours that single night at court, he'd been careful to make absolutely certain the crown prince of Bethmoora did not look like an addle-pated mooncalf over a human. Of course, the human woman wasn't one of the seductive faerie women of the River Rhine, either. And why should he be so besotted with a simple mortal? Why should he be so besotted with anyone? The prince knew he lacked the freedom to give into such emotions; his life was not his own. Infatuation - or love - was proscribed by his duty to his people.

Love was for the free. He was not free to love anyone as he wished.

Feral eyes blinked and sliced to the oblivious pair. The intent focus in his vassal's single good eye as the troll studied the rhinemaiden's face - now kissed with the faintest amber blush at Wink's scrutiny - nearly threatened to make Nuada ill. It reminded him too much of the way faint color swirled across Dylan's cheeks whenever he spoke of seduction or deliberately tried to be charming. The Elf whapped his oldest friend on the shoulder. "Wink."

The troll dropped Lorelei's hand as if he'd been burned. "My prince."

Grasping for patience - or perhaps the self-control not to laugh, as his friend's embarrassment was both obvious and amusing - the Elf prince repeated, "Meet me at the cordwainer's in twenty minutes. You know the one; the leprechaun's establishment." To ensure that the details of his command had penetrated the ridiculous fog of romance surrounding the pair, the prince reiterated, "Twenty minutes. The cordwainer's."

"You do not wish me to accompany you now?"

Knowing he was being a bit cruel - and considering that he loved Wink as a brother, and that Wink had called him... adorable... the prince also knew he was entitled to inflict such fraternal torments - Nuada replied in a mock-mournful voice, "No, my friend. I fear you have fallen into an ancient and inescapable trap and now other, far more beguiling things than your sworn duty to your liege lord have ensnared your attention."

Wink scowled at him when Lorelei laughed.

Over his shoulder as he walked away, Nuada added, "Enjoy your lady's charms, my friend."

The troll glowered after his prince and friend, knowing the Elven warrior was teasing him. A gentle hand on the rough hide of his arm brought his attention back to cream-pale skin, eyes like dragon's gold, and lips as red as garnets. One slender obsidian brow winged upward. "Twenty minutes. Think we can manage to have a simple conversation and a drink in that time? Or do you intend to follow after him and break my maiden heart?"

Wink's eye widened as Lorelei, with a single scorching look that turned the troll's blood to molten gold, beckoned him toward a tavern he vaguely recognized as the Black Manticore. The massive troll, one of the greatest warriors in Faerie, followed after the slender rhinemaiden like a lovesick puppy.

.

Nuada spoke to a leprechaun in a quaint little shop that for the most part specialized in shoes. However, the cordwainer's wife had a rather deft hand with an embroidery needle and, from what Nuada could see of the samples displayed in the shop windows, did beautiful work with leather crafting. The prince pulled out another little sheet of paper. This one bore a charcoal sketch. The cordwainer's wife accepted the task, the coin, and the sketch and promised to have the work finished by the afternoon after next. Nuada doubled the price he was willing to pay if she could have it finished by tomorrow. She accepted.

He left the little shop and stepped back out into the hustle of the Troll Market at night, where Wink waited for him. The troll looked more than a little out of sorts. There was a faint smudge of wine-red color, stark cerise against the bone-whiteness of his broken tusk. Tensing his jaw and trying to ignore a twinge of embarrassment, Nuada surreptitiously indicated the spot and Wink hastily wiped the cosmetic residue away. When the troll opened his mouth, as if to explain, Nuada held up a staying hand.

"I do not want to know." Forcing the discomfitting image of lush lips brushing against troll tusks from his mind, the prince added, "Ever."

Wink mumbled an acknowledgement that this was probably best, and the pair melted into the crowd of the Market.

Somewhere against the backdrop of the sounds of the faerie Market came the resonating melody of a hardingfele and the eerie tune of a seljefløyte. As the Elf prince and the troll strolled among the Fair Folk, Nuada caught a glimpse of two moon-pale rusalka maidens who played the haunting music with twelve-stringed fiddle and willow flute. The pair of water nymphs kept their glowing, sea-green eyes on the other Pobel Vean that congregated to their corner to hear the music.

Wink glanced at Nuada and frowned. "My prince? You seem troubled."

The topaz-eyed Elf prince was studying the two rusalki. He ignored the waterfalls of golden hair tinged with the faint green of deep water, ignored the moonbeam skin and pupil-less eyes that glowed with all the ethereal burn of Saint Elmo's fire. Even ignored the shadowed curve of sinuous fae bodies beneath nearly translucent silks the color of thundering waterfall as the faerie maidens swayed to their fey music. All these things were easy to ignore. He'd sported with rusalki ere now. That wasn't what held his attention. It was the music... and the thought it stirred.

Dylan loved music. She sang even though she, as she'd told him once, "couldn't carry a tune in a bucket with the lid nailed down." She sang along to the radio. Hummed under her breath when she cooked, cleaned, worked on whatever odds or ends that needed taking care of. How much would she enjoy hearing the music of the fae, here in the Troll Market? He knew that though Becan sometimes shopped here for her, she rarely if ever came herself. Too dangerous for a lone human amongst so many Gentry of dangerous persuasions. But she would be safe if... if he brought her. If he stayed by her side while they wandered the Troll Market together. Dylan could listen to the high, crystal-clear notes of a willow-carved faerie pipe or the mournful croon of a silver-strung Norwegian fiddle. And Nuada knew she would love it.

"Your Highness?"

With effort, Nuada pulled his thoughts away from immortal melody and mortal joy. He and Wink had places still yet to go, things to do. So he turned to the silver cave troll with carefully blank eyes and a negligent shrug. "It is nothing, my friend," the prince told the troll. "Come."

The Elf and the troll walked into the smithyard of a dökkálfr on the outskirts of the Troll Market. The dust had long-ago been pounded flat by the feet of hundreds of fayre. The air was heavy with the heat of a forge and rang with the bell-like silver tolling of a hammer against an anvil. Nuada didn't bother fighting the grin that stretched across his face. He'd been coming for years to this place to talk to the Elf of Álfar that now sweated over the cherry-red piece of metal on the anvil. He and Erik were not quite friends... but Nuada had been known to knock back a few mugs of ale with the dökkálfr over the centuries, and Erik had been the one to teach him the finer aspects of smithing and even jewelry-making (when Nuada had been of a mind to handmake a gift for his twin).

And it was Erik and Nuada together who had fashioned Wink's hand and arm of Elven bronze centuries ago.

Now the Bethmoora Elf strode across the dust to the pale dökkálfr, who looked up and wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his arm. "Hail and well met, Prins Nuada Silverlance." The dökkálfr nodded to the troll at Nuada's side with a sardonic half-smile. "And Wink Ironfist." Wink raised the fist of Elven bronze in a casual salute to the Nordic Elf. "What can I have the pleasure of doing for you?"

"Are you nearly finished with that?" Nuada gestured to the sheet of crimson metal on Erik's anvil. The Elf of Álfar tossed back his mane of black braids and shrugged. Ruby-red eyes glittered in the light of the forge fire.

"Beezle can tend it for me," Erik replied, and one of the yellow-skinned Bethmoora goblin youths the dökkálfr kept as apprentices scuttled forward to take the hammer from his master. "Don't stop pounding. Keep it in time with your heartbeat. I'll be back out in a bit." The apprentice nodded quickly and obeyed. Erik turned to the Elf prince. "I'll take you inside to the shop after I wash up, Hátign Þína." At Nuada's raised eyebrow, Erik added ruefully, "I have to wash away the sweat and ash before going inside or my lovely but terrifying wife has threatened to beat me."

Inside, the shop was tended by a ljósálfr that was slim as a sword, with a river of molten gold hair and eyes like red jasper. Brünnhilde, Erik's inestimable Valkyrie of a wife. When Wink caught sight of those glittering garnet eyes, he actually stepped behind Nuada. The Elf prince shot his oldest friend a withering look over one shoulder, but didn't force him out from behind the safety of his prince to deal with the Nordic Elf woman. The prince merely faced Brünnhilde with equanimity.

"I suppose you want something, Silverlance," Brünnhilde said coolly. Nuada wondered if she perfected that disapproving expression by sucking lemons. "What is it?"

In an equally cool voice, Nuada replied, "I need a cairngorm stone, this big." He indicated the proper size. "Three uncut rubies, and half a pound of pure Bethmoora gold." In his mind, the Elf recalled Dylan's words. My patients need me. Well and good, but he also needed her. Needed her at his side for... for more reasons than one. What those other reasons were, besides his father's decree, he wouldn't think about now. But this was the only way to make it all work without forcing her to his side, without breaking her so cruelly by making her choose between her loyalties.

And then the prince thought of ice frosting the ground. Thought of snow falling in the dark, and the nights growing longer. Remembered human mortality and the passing of the seasons. A swift plan and an even swifter picture unfurled in his mind. It was... perfectly acceptable to follow such a plan. She was his lady, by his father's command. It would be the expected thing for him to do.

"I also need a pound of Nyame silver, and if you have them, these stones from the kingdom of Iara." He quickly made a short list of the stones from the Elven kingdom on the continent the humans called South America. "These cuts, with a care for the clarity. No inclusions. As perfect as possible. Do you have such things?"

"Of course we do, Hátign Þína," Brünnhilde said. "For your current leman?" The scorn in her voice was as obvious as a campfire in the dark. The only thing that changed as the door to the shop opened and closed was the Elf woman's eyes - they lit up for a brief moment as Erik came to stand at Nuada's side, and the feral-eyed prince was reminded why the dökkálfr had married the often-shrewish ljósálfr.

"I have no mistress at the moment," the Elf prince replied with cool civility. "Not that it is any concern of yours. These things are for my lady."

"It's true, then?" Erik asked, moving behind the shop counter. He went into the back room, but his voice carried through the open doorway. "I've heard rumors, but I didn't believe them. The faerie markets have been abuzz with the gossip - Silverlance courts a human. Is it true?"

Nuada forced the words out. "It is."

Erik came back out with the things Nuada had asked for, including the Iaran stones in a small titanium case lined with black velvet. As Brünnhilde tallied up the cost, the dökkálfr blacksmith folded his arms against the countertop. "Public opinion is pretty torn between whether the people are happy for you, shocked by the choice you've made, or disgusted by the whole idea." Noticing the sudden tightness around Nuada's mouth, the dökkálfr added to distract the prince from his people's potential disgust, "So, what is she like, this human lady that has managed to snare your heart? I thought you despised the Children of Adam."

It had been one of the few things that the Elf prince and the blacksmith had actively disagreed on - Erik was indifferent to humans so long as they left him and his alone. Prince Nuada, of course, wanted them all dead.

"I still do," the prince muttered, and studied the price slip when the ljósálfr woman handed it to him. It was a bit steep, but then, Brünnhilde didn't like him. He'd never been able to figure out why. Had not bothered to ask, either. Why should it matter to him why the common-born ljósálfr disliked him? He sighed and forked over the coin she wanted. Erik frowned at his wife, but said nothing. Knowing the blacksmith still wanted an answer to his question about the prince's lady, Nuada added, "As for my lady, she is... unique."

Erik arched a sooty eyebrow. Wink nudged his prince. Nuada fought not to grit his teeth. A reluctance to speak of the lady he supposedly loved to distraction would cause more gossip than already existed. He cast about for something to say.

"She is a healer of the heart and soul among her people, and a follower of the High King of the World. She can be... difficult to understand. She is kind. I have never found a human or fae so kind. And she is brave, but she can be reckless. Often times infuriating." Dark lips quirked against the Bethmoora Elf's will. "She is... not what I would have chosen for myself if given a choice," and that was true enough. Still, knowing what he knew now, feeling as he did... if she were a denizen of twilight instead of mortal, what a glorious choice she would have been. Yet if she'd been fae instead of human, would she be as she was now? He didn't know.

Yet of all the things he regretted in his life, with Dylan there were only two: the pain he had caused her, and the mortality in her blood. "But I find there is little regret in the choice my heart has made. She would do anything for me, and of course I would do nearly anything for her. And yet she... she manages to drive me mad as if it were the easiest thing in the world for her to do."

"My, my," Erik murmured. He gave his wife a fond look. "Now who does that remind you of?" Brünnhilde smacked him on the shoulder, but she was smiling now. It was an expression few were ever privileged to see. The ljósálfr brought out a bag to hold the things Nuada had purchased. The coldness was gone from her eyes now, too.

Brünnhilde sighed as she packed the leather satchel that held the prince's things. "Men will never understand women, Hátign Þína. But we understand all of you." She handed him the bag. "Don't let it trouble you. So long as you love her, she'll always have the power to drive you mad." Was that a glint of sympathy in her garnet eyes? Or a woman's unholy amusement?

He wasn't sure, so all he said was, "Splendid. Just what I wanted to hear."

After leaving Erik's forge, Nuada went to the last place on his mental list: to Aso the Mfumaji - the Weaver.

This was neither a stall nor a shop. Aso's establishment was a plain canvas tent without sign or advertisement. She didn't need it. The Elves of Nyame were among the best seamstresses and weavers in Faerie. Aso Assase Ya was one of the best at her trade in all the faerie markets across America.

As he walked in, Nuada noticed the ebony-skinned Elf plying needle and thread to a dress-form swathed in bronze silk. Dreadlocks tied back with a long scrap of amber fabric hung nearly to her waist. When she straightened, the Elf prince caught the greenish glint of rushlight on an obsidian hourglass pendant around her neck on a golden chain - the pendant that marked this Elf as a former member of Anansi, the royal guard of Nyame.

Nuada had known Aso since the first war with the humans. Before she became a royal guard, back when she was only a seasoned warrior woman. He remembered that she'd been wasted on the battlefield. Bloodshed had been her mission then. She'd been very good at it. It was what had earned her that pendant in the first place. Yet Aso had given it all up to become a weaver and seamstress after the truce was called between the humans and the fae. The loom and the needle were where her talents had always truly lain.

"Hail and well met, Mkuu Nuada." She had a voice like gravel crunching beneath a centaur's hooves. It had sounded that way when she'd been a young soldier of eighteen centuries and it sounded that way now, when she was nearly six thousand years old. The voice of a drill sergeant, Wink had always said.

"Aso," the prince said, nodding in acknowledgment. This was no doubt going to be difficult. She possessed a wicked sense of humor. "I need a favor."

One dark brow arched and she stowed her needle in the sleeve of her white tunic. "A favor, Wako Mtukufu? For who? The green princeling I once knew on a bloody battlefield?" The dark-skinned Elf asked, sliding her hands into the deep pockets of her white leather breeches. Rushlight gleamed like bronze blood off the three strings of copper beads around her neck. The razor-edged beast teeth of kishi faeries that jangled against the beads glinted in the unearthly glow. "Or a favor for the crown prince of Bethmoora?"

"Neither," he replied. "A favor for a friend. I ask only for your silence," he said, trying not to grit his teeth.

And that you donot laugh when I give you this list, he wanted to say, but didn't. He wouldn't allow himself the weakness of begging to escape her or anyone else's ridicule. Even though Wink's comment still echoed in his mind. Adorable.

Dark eyes studied him. White teeth flashed when the Nyame Elf smirked. "I see." She laughed and moved to the counter and the notepad where she recorded commissions. "Let me hazard a guess. The whole world knows you have a new mpenzi - a lover. I take it you're here to buy her a gift." Her smirk widened into a grin when Nuada scowled.

"She is not my lover."

"Your current favorite whore, then?"

The sudden fury in molten bronze eyes startled the weaver. Nuada growled, "No."

"Oh?" Aso frowned. Eyes like gleaming jet studied the prince's face for a long moment. Then her brilliant white teeth flashed in a wide smile and she leaned forward on the counter. "I see. Not whore or lover, but upendo wa kweli - truelove. So the rumors are true, then - you court a woman in earnest." She cocked her head. "Are you... content with her? Many fae claim humans give the best sport in the bedroom." She laughed when he gave her a look that, from another man, would have been a pained grimace. "All right, all right, I will be nice. You were always so touchy about your precious privacy when you were younger, Wako Mtukufu. All Bethmoora Elves are like that. So... what is it you wish of me?"

Nuada handed his old comrade another slip of paper, another list. Aso's eyebrows slowly inched toward her hairline as jet-black eyes slowly scanned the words printed there. Near the bottom, her mouth dropped open and she made a choked sound halfway between a laugh and a gasp. Nuada growled. This was what he'd been dreading all night.

Aso looked back up at him. "Forgive me, but... penguins, Wako Mtukufu?"

Wink choked. Nuada shot him a filthy look, but the silver cave troll was so stunned by Aso's words that he couldn't even pretend to feel chastened. Nuada hadn't allowed him to see any of the lists he'd brought to give to the select merchants of the Troll Market. Now the silver troll mouthed at the prince, Penguins?

If the feral-eyed Elf prince scowled or glared any more fiercely, Wink was sure he'd end up scaring any nearby children or Wee Folk who might have the misfortune to draw his gaze.

"Yes," the Elf growled from between clenched teeth. "Penguins." He gestured to the paper Aso held in one hand. "Can you make all of those?"

"Oh, don't be insulting. Of course I can. They should be ready the day after tomorrow." Dark eyes glinted with wicked humor as the Nyame Elf added, "Although I can honestly say I've never heard of a man buying..." She glanced back at the list. "Such interesting apparel for his lady." Nuada rolled his eyes and Aso grinned. "Well, far be it from me to question a prince's command to a lowly weaver. As long as your lady is happy."

Nuada turned to leave when Wink reached past him and plucked the scrap of paper out of the dark-skinned Elf's hand. The troll's single eye roved over the long list. Wink's jaw dropped as he took in the lines the prince had hastily scratched onto the little paper. He hadn't seen this list. Wink locked eyes with the Elf.

"My prince-"

"I do not wish to speak of it," the Elven warrior said sharply. "Or hear anymore about it. Is that understood? And I must ask again, Aso, for your silence."

"By your command, Wako Mtukufu."

He'd been right; this was excruciatingly embarrassing. Nuada kept his teeth clenched as he walked out of the weaver's tent. He would send Wink back for the pieces he'd commissioned as they became available. And if Wink said even one more word about penguins, or anything else on that list, there would be bloodshed. Or at least a sound trouncing for his vassal.

.

Tuesday night, Dylan watched Bean haul Kate up the slide on the playground, smiling as the sidhe boy cried, "Don't worry, Kate! I'll save you from the quicksand!" The psychiatrist, the pixie, and the little boy's mother grinned as the little boy strained to pull the changeling girl out of "danger." Peri laughed when Kate "accidentally" slipped further down the slide. Bean scrambled to get a better grip on her.

"Bean!" Kate pushed against the slide with her tennis shoes, trying to find purchase. The fear in her voice was fake, even to Dylan's ears. "I'm slipping!"

"They've got such imaginations," Peri murmured from where the three women sat on the balance beam watching the children. "Did you ever pretend you were going to fall to a brutal and agonizing death in quicksand or hot lava when you were a kid?"

"Not that I remember," Kaye replied, grinning when her "little sister" slipped to the aforementioned agonizing death by slow suffocation in pretend quicksand. Kate died with much theatrical groaning and melodrama while Bean bewailed her terrible fate. "What about you, Dylan?"

"Yeah. John used to 'rescue' me all the time." She smiled at the memories of faux-frantic pretend rescue attempts on various playground equipment. The hardest had been when they'd been goofing off on the monkey bars. One time they'd both slipped. She'd fractured her wrist. John had broken his arm. Their parents had been furious and terrified. They'd gotten a spanking each and been grounded for three weeks from going to the playground. They'd been four at the time. "All of us did it. It was one of the rare times when nearly all of us were getting along for extended periods of time all together."

"How are things?" Kaye asked suddenly. "With the Silver Lance?" Dylan glanced away from the pixie and studied the two children giggling together while Kate scrambled across the snow to avoid standing on the "quicksand" long enough to "die." Kaye studied the human woman with solid black eyes that were oddly sympathetic for all their darkness. "It's not going so hot, is it?" She slipped an arm around the mortal's shoulders and squeezed. "Do you want me to... I don't know, have Roiben talk to him?"

"Politically," Peri interrupted the pixie, "that's a bad maneuver, girlfriend. The king of the Unseelie and Seelie Courts of New York and New Jersey paying a call to the Exiled Prince of Bethmoora to tell him to pull his head out of his royal butt and play nice with the human? Not a good idea."

"Well, they're friends, aren't they?" Kaye snapped. "Roiben and Prince Nuada? I mean, they went to war together and all that stuff. And their mothers were friends." Dylan blinked. She hadn't known that. But of course not. Why would the Elven prince share something like that with her? The pixie added, "And Roiben talks about Nuada a lot."

"Don't worry about it, Kaye." Dylan propped her elbows on her bent knees and watched Bean position himself behind Kate and slip his arms around her thin waist. Kate covered his hands with hers where they rested against her middle. Even as Dylan watched, the little girl settled herself against the boy who held her. There was such trust in the changeling girl's face. Dylan suddenly wondered, if she and Nuada had been children when they met, if they would've been closer. If she would've let him hold her the way Bean held Kate now. If he would've wanted to. Rainswept blue eyes watched the two children push off together and race down the slide. Kate whooped and Bean laughed.

They were in love, those two. In love the way young children loved each other - innocently, completely, as best friends did, without all the muck of politics and racial history and hormones and all the things that could ruin the bond between them. She wondered how long that would last.

Watching the two of them, Dylan wished for two things.

She wished she'd known Nuada when he was young, before the hate and anger had seeped into him like poison. Wished she'd known the Silver Lance as the boy who'd written a lullaby for his frightened sister; the young man who'd saved Arawn Death-Lord, the king of Anwnn, from a venomous faerie boar armed only with a knife; the young prince that she'd managed to catch a brief glimpse of every so often when the walls came down a little.

And she wished for children like Kate and Bean. Maybe not so wild - changelings were nearly always wild and frenetic; it was in their nature - but children she could be a mother to. Children she could love who were her own. Mothers had so many things she wanted. Laughter in her home. Delight in the simplest things, like how quickly they could race across the snow from the slide to the metal steps leading back to the slide. Trust.

An image came to her mind, the briefest flick of memory: a tulip that had yet to wither, lying on her nightstand. Its petals were bright as blood and soft as silk. In hanakatoba, the language of flowers in Japan, red tulips meant trust. Outside of Asia the red tulip was a declaration of love. Trust from him. Love from her. She couldn't bear to throw the tulip away. Instead she waited for the scarlet flower to wilt, to wither and die.

So far it hadn't. Every morning, she touched the silky petals to her lips, as she'd done as a child with any flower she found. Each morning, the petals were just as smooth and unblemished, the scent just as sweet. She wasn't sure if that meant anything, or if she just wanted it to.

From Wednesday to Friday, Dylan went to work as usual. She checked in via phone with Lisa and Tiana on Thursday. Reminded Ceśar Martinez's mother that her younger son, Miguel, had an appointment the Saturday after Thanksgiving. Double-checked with Victoria to make sure Francesca had gone to the hospital to take care of her broken wrist like Dylan told her to (she had). Finished the blue and black quilt. Made a track list for "Red's Remix," the mix-CD Rafael had made for Lisa the Friday before he died, and slipped it inside the red-jewel CD case. Prepared the Nursery lesson for the coming Sunday. Went to physical therapy and her therapy session at LDS Family Services. Tried to ignore the strange, rundown feeling shuddering through her with every passing hour.

Friday, she held the semi-weekly session with her Sight kids that she'd been neglecting for a while in favor of the situation with a certain Elf prince. Everyone showed up and Dylan found out Mallory Grace had not only placed second in a national fencing competition, but was currently taking swordmanship lessons from Ravus the troll and had been selected by Kaye to accompany her to the Midwinter festivities in Faerie as bodyguard to her and Val, Ravus' human lady. Mallory demonstrated some of the moves she'd learned from the subway-dwelling troll to the other children, and the support group for kids with faerie Sight turned into a last-minute lesson in old-style self-defense, courtesy of Val, Mallory, and her Sight-possessing friend, Clary.

Dylan was not looking forward to Saturday; a whole day of absolutely nothing to do but sit around her cottage and rot. Anya had called to ask if she wanted to go to another movie, but she was movied-out. And seeing Tiana again, so soon... she wasn't sure she could handle it. She'd just been so tired the last few days.

Donovan called to invite her to watch the hockey game at TGI Friday's. He'd even promised free beer, which Dylan had laughingly declined. She wasn't much of a hockey fan, anyway. Bunch of guys in wussy armor beating the stuffing out of each other with sticks on an ice rink. Whoopee. And beer... no thanks. Even if she hadn't been LDS, drinking something that was "an acquired taste" (as many of her friends described most types of alcohol) didn't really strike her fancy.

Instead of doing much of anything Saturday, Dylan got out of bed, got in the shower, and as soon as she was out of the shower and dried off, went back to bed, feeling like refried dirt. She fell asleep shivering beneath her blankets despite the warming spells Becan laid on the bedding.

Her cell phone going off woke her several hours later. Tiny darts of red-hot pain gnawed at her temples. Her skull felt far too small to adequately contain all of her brain and the sheen of sweat slicking her skin felt like ice water - the two biggest signs of a fever. Every time she shifted her weight, aches tingled across her body. When she tried to answer her phone, Dylan's voice croaked out in a wave of pain that scorched from the back of her mouth to the bottom of her sternum.

"D?" John's voice came over the line. "You okay?"

"Hn-nnhn," she mumbled, and suddenly got hit with a fit of coughing that threatened to squeeze her lungs (and the top half of her ribcage) into pulp. When it passed, she managed to gasp, "Ow. John..."

"Are you sick?" Her twin demanded.

It hurt just to even mumble, "Mmm-hmm."

"I'll be right there." The phone disconnected, and in another five minutes Dylan had slipped back into the restless half-sleep of the feverishly ill.

.

Nuada polished the smallest of the three rubies he'd purchased from Erik and Brünnhilde. He'd asked for uncut stones because the three rings he'd recently finished were all of different sizes. The Elf prince had cut the crimson jewels himself after pouring the molten gold into the molds for the rings. Fire- and candlelight glinted off the brilliant yellow gold of the three rings that sat cooling on a stone shelf. Once cool enough, Nuada could easily set the dark red jewels in the golden bands.

"How goes it?" Wink asked, watching his prince handle the gem-cutting tools with ease. The air in the room swirled with the heat from Nuada's forge and the wet-silk shimmer of magic. Sweat dampened the Elven warrior's undyed linen shirt from the heat that still permeated the workroom.

"Slowly," the prince replied, and took up a diamond-tipped instrument for etching images onto gemstones. Feral amber eyes narrowed in concentration as the Elf began to trace the proper symbol - his personal crest, circled with a spell-knot - on the back of the tiny jewel as red as mortal blood. "But I am making progress."

Progress on the stones, at least. There was one thing, however, that still held him up, though it wasn't related to any gifts. It was related to Dylan's infuriating twin brother. It was related to the missive Becan had brought a handful of days ago from the human male. Nuada didn't know what the letter said. Wasn't sure he wanted to even bother reading it. But the brownie had said that the letter was there "at Master John's request, and milady's." So Dylan wanted Nuada to read it.

Just because she wants something does not mean I am obligated to give it to her, the prince reminded himself. Truthfully, he meant to read the missive - eventually, at any rate. The only reason Nuada had put it off so far was because Becan had said it required no response. That, and because the Elven warrior had been busy these last days with more important things. Still... his curiosity had been pricking him more and more sharply as the days had gone by. Perhaps, once he finished laying the spell within the tiny stone he was currently hunched over, the prince would read the human's letter.

Wink, oblivious to his prince's thoughts, ambled over to where the three golden rings rested on the little stone shelf. Each was a different size and style: a wide-banded man's ring, a slender woman's ring, and a ring so small even a child could not wear it. Perhaps Nuada meant it for one of the Wee Folk. But why? Even the troll warrior didn't know what the third ring was for. None of the rings were intended for the large, blue velvet box on the table in the main chamber; the box that Wink himself would deliver, along with Nuada's letter, to Dylan in a couple days, when Nuada decided everything was ready. What spells was the Elf laying within the refined gold and blood-red gems? All Wink knew was that whatever they were, the magic in them made his back-bristles itch. Elven magic and troll magic tended to clash, especially when forcibly brought into contact with one another.

The silver cave troll glanced at his prince, hard at work, and thought about asking him about the rings. Ask him, also, about the items he'd commissioned from Aso the Weaver. Wink had taken a quick peek at the contents of the linen bag the Elf of Nyame had handed him when the troll had returned for Nuada's many purchases from the Troll Market. Even after viewing the list the prince had given the weaver, the items still puzzled him. Surely Nuada didn't think such a thing was... well... entirely proper for an apology gift?

"I know what you're thinking, old friend," Nuada said in the near-silence. Wink blinked and raised an eyebrow. "You're thinking about my gift for Dylan."

"The, uh... main component of it, yes," the troll replied.

"You don't believe it's appropriate." Not a trace of condemnation or even annoyance in the words. Just the toneless, distracted tone that Nuada always used when focusing intently on some new metalworking project or piece of goblin clockwork. When Wink did not reply, however, Nuada deigned to raise his glance from the miniscule ruby and arch a brow. "Wink?"

"Won't she be offended by such a thing?"

"No," Nuada said nonchalantly, returning to the task at hand. "She won't." Deft hands traced and retraced the symbol slowly emerging from the back of the little ruby, locking the image - and the magic it carried - more firmly in the crimson stone with each stroke. "You were the one who taught me how best to please women, Wink - in and out of the bedroom. I know what I am doing."

"I mean no disrespect, Sire," Nuada's vassal replied with an easy shrug. "And I do not mean to question you. It is only..."

Glacial amber eyes sliced from the sanguine jewel to the troll's face. "You think, now that you know exactly what I intend to gift her with, that I do not put enough effort into this apology. You think perhaps that because Dylan is human, I will not take this task as seriously as I would if she were Elf-kind or some other type of faerie. But I know what pleases her, Wink."

A brief flash of memory like a knife in his chest, of scarred mortal lips curving up at the corners as something he said made her laugh. The Elven warrior quickly shoved the memory aside. He couldn't let such things affect him. Not if he was going to expunge this poison in his heart.

Feigning indifference, Nuada added, "It will suffice."

"She may come to the conclusion that you're trying to buy her off, my prince. To bribe her or buy her affections instead of wooing them from her properly. Women do not like that."

Nuada thought of the things he'd brought back from the Troll Market. Thought of the careful reasoning behind each purchase. Was he trying to erase the sins and trespasses between himself and the mortal woman with gaudy trinkets of little real value? To a human, magical things found in any faerie market had incredible worth, but the things he'd chosen were not truly that expensive. The most valuable thing, monetarily, had been the collection of clothing he'd bought from Aso, and this was only due to the sheer number of items.

Would Dylan equate the gift's value - or lack thereof - with the monetary value of the items and thus find his sincerity lacking? Or would she see beyond the surface to the reasons behind what he'd done?

He forced himself to think back to the night they'd sat on the rooftop in the East Village of Manhattan, watching the Night Parade go by. He remembered the delight in Dylan's fey-like blue eyes as the different magical races passed them. How she'd clasped her hands together and gasped aloud like a delighted young child when the sinuous serpentine Oriental dragons danced by with their jewel colors glittering under the light of the silvery moon. Her head on his shoulder and the warmth of her body pushing back the chill of the autumn night. The utter joy in her eyes turning that impossible blue to soft, sapphire-kissed moonglow when pale fingers tucked a bright red tulip into her hair. And he once again went through the list of things intended for the velvet box in the other room

To ease her fear of the darkness and to fight back her nightmares, as I should have done these last days. To make her smile. To ease the burden of divided loyalties and to bring her joy. She will see that.

"Such things do not worry me," Nuada replied as he finished the little red stone and set to work on the second, medium-sized one. "But there is one last thing. There is something from my rooms in Findias that I need. I wish to give it to her."

"What is it?" When Nuada told him, Wink nodded. Yes. That was a very good gift indeed. "I will bring it, then. But take a break for a minute."

Nuada looked up, then frowned when his vassal dropped the letter from Dylan's brother on the table in front of him. "Wink-"

"I think you'll be surprised, my prince. I'll return as swiftly as possible." And the troll ambled out of the workroom to retrieve the final piece of his prince's gift for his mortal lady. Nuada went back to the ruby... but the missive kept drawing his eye. Finally, the Elf growled to himself and grabbed the letter.

Feral eyes like molten bronze raked over the paper, racing through the short letter once. Twice. A third time. After the fourth time, the bronze of fury in his eyes began melting to firegold and the corner of Nuada's mouth twitched. Well. Perhaps this human was not as gutless and idiotic as the prince had first thought.

My sister told me I owed you an apology. After I thought about it, I knew she was right. So I'm apologizing. I accused you of some pretty vile stuff. I may not like you, but Dylan obviously loves and respects you and I (usually) trust her judgment. So I'm sorry for the things that I said. Dylan says she's not sure if you'll accept an apology from a human. If not, at least I tried. But if it means anything, I would really appreciate it if you would be a part of my sister's life again. She misses you, and she's been pretty miserable lately. Just please don't punish her for the things I said and did. - John Myers

Nuada studied the short letter. Despite the mortal origin and the brevity, the Elf prince knew - though he could not have explained how - that the words were sincere. Did this odd strain of fey-like humanity run in Dylan's family? No, because her sisters did not possess it. And Dylan would never speak to him as her brother had. Would never accuse him of...

Still, Nuada thought when he'd managed to unclench his teeth and relax his fisted hands, the human male wasn't asking for forgiveness. Merely asking that the Elf prince not punish Dylan for her brother's trespasses. As he would not have done so anyway, Nuada saw no harm in acquiescing.

She's been pretty miserable lately. The prince's eyes were drawn back to that line and one other. Dylan obviously loves and respects you. Love and respect. He dropped the paper on the table and dropped his head into one hand. When had things become so complicated? When had life gotten so... so hectic, to quote his impossible mortal lady? Since the day he'd met her, it seemed. Since the day she had saved his life, and he hers. Ever since then...

Everything was so complicated now. And he was so tired. Except for the night he'd ventured into Dylan's nightmares and taken her into his memories (and then woken with his head on her shoulder and the sweet scent of her all around him, soothing and comforting, and his fingers laced with hers and their clasped hands pressed to her heart), the Elf prince hadn't had a decent night's sleep in more than two weeks. Not since leaving Dylan's cottage that first night after, if her twin could be believed, breaking her heart.

Nuada thought of Wink. If the Elf prince had done to the silver troll what he had done to the human woman - hurled carefully aimed words meant to hurt his perceived enemy and appease his own rage; abandoned one that had sworn themselves to him; betrayed someone who trusted him absolutely - would his brother in all but blood feel the same way? Heartbroken?

The thought sent a lance of shame piercing through the Elf prince and made tension throb against his temples. Wink was right. He needed to take a break. Needed to sleep. Maybe if he managed to sleep, things would be less complicated when he awoke.

Something on the back of the slip of paper caught his eye. The prince flipped the missive over, and a weary smile spread across his face. There, in familiar handwriting, were a few simple lines written in pale blue pencil. Against his will, Nuada felt a soft pang of longing in his chest for the woman who'd written those words.

Knowing you, you haven't been getting enough rest. By the time you get this, it'll be fairly late.
Go to bed, Nuada. More than four or five hours, or I'll tell Wink and he'll sit on you.
Yours always, Dylan

She knew him so well. How could a mortal know him so well?

Yours always. His. Freely offered despite how he'd hurt her. His. If only. But no, it was wrong to make such a wish. Wrong to wish she could be more than just the mortal his father had foisted on him in an attempt to wrest away his court supporters. Yours always. She always knew what to say to him. Always knew just what to say.

Eyes the color of melting honey caressed those neatly penned words and Nuada did not even bother trying to suppress the tender thought, As you wish. Goodnight, a chumann, mo duinne. He wondered if he would dream of her. For the first time, he prayed that he would. Perhaps the dreams of her were nothing but vain Morphean fantasies fueled by his own weakness. If so, then he was disgustingly pathetic. But perhaps they were more. He'd walked her dreams before. Perhaps he did so now.

Either way, in those dreams, Dylan could actually safely belong to him, if only for a brief moment. Yours always.

Please, he prayed as he laid down to sleep. Please give me dreams of her again. A good dream this time. Please.

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Author's Note: Okay, I want to know, you guys - what do you think is going in that blue velvet box? I'm trying to build the suspense here, so I want to know what you think Nuada put in that box. Even if it's something random like chewing gum, I want to know. Okay?

Is Nuada a little less aggravating in this chapter, Ja Reedus? Yang and Ocean, did you guys like your cameos? Bleedingcrimson, your cameo will arrive sometime (once Midwinter rolls around). Oooh, I've suddenly got a headache. Ouch.

1) Who liked the Troll Market?

2) Who liked seeing/meeting new types of faeries?

3) Who liked Dylan and John's sibling moment?

4) Who loves Bat's tuna breath, lol?

5) And the baby! Poor baby! Are we worried about the baby or do we think LA is gonna pull a deus ex machina out of her black silk top hat and save the day using some toothpaste, a paper clip, and hand lotion (just like McGuyver)?

6) And since the three golden rings aren't going in the blue velvet box, what do we think they're for? Who are they for? Etc.

See ya later tonight (or tomorrow, not sure which). Loves!

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Mythological Being of the Day: In Norse mythology, dökkálfar (Old Norse "Dark Elves", singular dökkálfr) and ljósálfar (Old Norse "Light Elves", singular ljósálfr) are two contrasting types of elves; the prior dwell within the earth and are most swarthy, while the latter live in Álfheimr, located in heaven, and are "fairer than the sun to look at." The dökkálfar and the ljósálfar are solely attested in the Prose Edda, written in the 13th century by Snorri Sturluson. Scholars have produced theories about the origin and implications of the dualistic concept.

In the Prose Edda, the dökkálfar and the ljósálfar are attested in chapter 18 of the book Gylfaginning. In the chapter, it is said that there are many fine places in heaven, including a place called Álfheimr (Old Norse "Elf Home" or "Elf World"). The ljósálfar live in Álfheimr, while the dökkálfar dwell underground and lookand particularly behavequite unlike the Ljósálfar. The ljósálfar are described as "fairer than the sun to look at," while the dökkálfar are "blacker than pitch."

Here, regarding the concept of Light and Dark Elves, it merely refers to the distinction between their hair color: blond or black, and the race of Iclandic/Nordic Elves are referred to as the Elves of Álfar (in the same way that Nuada is referred to as an Elf of Bethmoora).

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I Talk So Much, Curb, I'm Sorry: Curb, I just have one question: Dylan's obviously mentally unstable? Really? I mean, to people who don't get narrative insights into her mind and thought processes? *bangs head on desk* Crap, crap, crap! She's not supposed to come off that way. How? How does she come across that way? Eek! *panics*

Oh, and I didn't read too much into your comment, lol - I just like to talk. Type? Whatever. =D And when I explain things I can get really wordy/rambly. Drives my husband nuts sometimes because I'll take 30 minutes to explain something that I could've explained in maybe 5 because I include all these details and reword my points and stuff and he's just like, "Why?"

Oh, I was wrong, I have 2 questions. Now what was my 2nd one? Hmmm... *ponders* Oh. I remember now! So, who's after Dylan specifically in all aspects of her life, other than Westenra? What I mean is, who besides Westenra (and his hobgoblins) are after Dylan for Dylan, and not because she's Nuada's girl?

And just FYI, I will never ever go... um... in our house, we call it B.S.-loco. So I will never go BS-loco on you for critiquing me (unless you cuss me out, and even then, I won't go nuts, I'll just get sad and possibly cry because cussing depresses me a lot).

Concerning the Chapter Title: "I Know Him So Well" is a song from a musical (though I can't remember which one) but it fit with how Nuada's so sure that Dylan will like the stuff he's getting her and she knows him so well with the little "go to bed" note.

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References Made In This Chapter:

- Earth magic is just something I made up. It's literally magic related to the earth in some way. In this instance, it's maternal magic (as typically, motherhood is associated with the element of earth).

- Marie Claire Magazine is a big, big fashion magazine. The editor (or former editor), Nina Garcia, is a judge on the reality television show Project Runway.

- "You might be a poet but you sound like an idiot" is taken from A Knight's Tale. One of the best scenes ever is when the MC is talking to his friend Roland, and the MC says, "She makes me feel like a poet." And his best friend says, "You might feel like a poet but you sound like an idiot." Love that part.

- A scripture pencil is a soft-tipped pencil specifically made to highlight/underline stuff in scriptures (the pages of scriptures being so incredibly delicate and thin).

- Bat's lying on Dylan's shoulders during her prayers is something MY cats do to me a lot.

- n Greek mythology, the Dactyls (from Greek ｢άﾈﾑﾒﾉﾍﾇ "fingers") were the archaic mythical race of small phallic male beings associated with the Great Mother, whether as Cybele or Rhea. Their numbers vary, but often they were ten spirit-men. The Dactyls were both ancient smiths and healing magicians. In some myths, they are in Hephaestus' employ (Greek god of smithing and metal-working), and they taught metalworking, mathematics, and the alphabet to humans.

- The clurichaun is an Irish fairy which resembles the leprechaun. Some folklorists describe the clurichaun as a night "form" of the leprechaun, who goes out to drink after finishing his daily chores. Others regard them as regional variations on the same creature. Clurichauns are said to always be drunk. However, unlike their cousins, they are surly. Many fables conclude clurichauns enjoy riding sheep and dogs at night. If you treat them well they will protect your wine cellar, and if mistreated, they will wreak havoc on your home and spoil your wine stock. In some tales, they act as buttery spirits, plaguing drunkards or dishonest servants who steal wine; if the victim attempts to move away from their tormentor, the clurichaun will hop into a cask to accompany them.

- The real scitalis or scytale is a serpent from Medieval bestiaries with such marvelous markings on its back that its appearance would stun the viewer, slowing the person down so that they could be caught. Its bodily heat was so great that it shed its skin even in the winter. In this fic, scitalis are snake-shifters with similar stunning markings (though not quite that stunning). They have a great affection and reverence for dancing, which is inspired by the serpiente shifters in Amelia Atwater-Rhodes' Kiesha'ra quintet.

- Chrysanthemum tea and sakurayu are real types of tea. Yeah, I know - gross.

- "Morinji" is actually short for Morinji-no-kama, another name for Bunbuku Chagama, the tanuki teakettle (a racoon-dog faerie that turned itself into a teapot to help a mortal man in a famous Japanese faerie tale).

- Rai is the Japanese word for "thunder." Those of you who play Mortal Kombat might draw a parallel to the name Raiden, the thunder god in that series.

- Fūjin is the Japanese word for "wind."

- Strix are a type of vampiric demon bird found in Roman mythology. I figured it was something Wink would enjoy eating. He strikes me as very much the carnivore.

- A cordwainer is a shoemaker (cobblers historically being those who repair shoes, not make them).

- Random fact about leprechauns: they're main forte is shoemaking. Yep.

- In Slavic mythology, a rusalka (plural: rusalki or rusalky) was a female ghost, water nymph, succubus or mermaid-like demon that dwelled in a waterway. According to most traditions, the rusalki were fish-women, who lived at the bottom of rivers. In the middle of the night, they would walk out to the bank and dance in meadows. If they saw handsome men, they would fascinate them with songs and dancing, mesmerize them, then lead the man away to the river floor to his death. While her primary dwelling place was the body of water in which she died, the rusalka could come out of the water at night, climb a tree, and sit there singing songs, sit on a dock and comb her hair, or join other rusalki in circle dances in the field.

Though in some versions of the myth, the eyes shine like green fire, others describe them with extremely pale and translucent skin, and no visible pupils. Her hair is sometimes depicted as green or golden, and often perpetually wet. The rusalka could not live long on dry land, but with her comb she was always safe, for it gave her the power to conjure water when she needed it. According to some legends, should the rusalka's hair dry out, she will die. Rusalki like to have men and children join in their games. They can do so by enticing men with their singing and then drowning them, while the children were often lured with baskets of fruit. Men seduced by the rusalka could die in her arms, and in some versions hearing her laugh could also cause death. Alternatively, they would attract men, mainly bachelors, and tickle them to death.

- A hardingfele is a Hardanger fiddle, the traditional stringed instrument used originally to play the music of Norway. In modern designs, the instruments are very similar to the violin, though with eight or nine strings (rather than four as on a standard violin) and thinner wood. Four of the strings are strung and played like a violin, while the rest, aptly named understrings or sympathetic strings, resonate under the influence of the other four, providing a pleasant haunting, echo-like sound. The hardingfele is used mainly in the southwest part of Norway, whereas the ordinary violin is found elsewhere. The hardingfele is used for dancing, accompanied by rhythmic loud foot stomping. It was also traditional for the fiddler to lead the bridal procession to the church (obviously neither of those two things are used here because of the third paragraph below).

The instrument often is highly decorated, with a carved animal (usually a dragon or the Lion of Norway) or a carved woman's head as part of the scroll at the top of the pegbox, extensive mother of pearl inlay on the tailpiece and fingerboard, and black ink decorations called 'rosing' on the body of the instrument. Sometimes pieces of bone are used to decorate the pegs and the edges of the instrument. The earliest known example of the hardingfele is from 1651, made by Ole Jonsen Jaastad in Hardanger, Norway. Originally, the instrument had a rounder, narrower body. Around the year 1850, the modern layout with a body much like the violin became the norm.

For an example of what this instrument sounds like (as imagined for the Troll Market scene) listen to the hardingfele being played in a non-traditional manner in the soundtracks for the Two Towers and the Return of the King during the Rohirric tracks.

- Seljefløyte: The willow flute, also known as sallow flute (Norwegian: seljefløyte), is a Scandinavian folk flute, or whistle, consisting of a simple tube with a transverse fipple mouthpiece and no finger holes. The mouthpiece is typically constructed by inserting a grooved plug into one end of the tube, and cutting an edged opening in the tube a short distance away from the plug. The willow flute is a type of overtone flute. It is played by varying the force of the air blown into the mouthpiece, with the end of the tube being covered by the finger or left open. The tones produced are based on the harmonic series (I have no idea what that means, though). Playing the instrument with the end of the tube covered produces one fundamental and its overtones, playing it with the end of the tube left open produces another fundamental and series of overtones. Willow flutes cannot be tuned to an equal tempered scale. Modern willow flutes are typically made of plastic (PVC tubing is often used), but the original willow flutes were made from sections of bark cut from green willow branches. Willow flutes could only be made this way during the spring, and became unplayable when the bark dried out. Of course, since this is Faerie, anything's possible.

- "Can't carry a tune in a bucket with the lid nailed down" is from the show True Blood (Sookie says that to Eric Northman when he asks her if all humans can sing).

- Álfar is one of the 13 Elf Kingdoms invented for this fic (well, I didn't invent Bethmoora, but you know). Álfar is based on Viking culture. Typically, the Elves of Álfar are northmen-pale, with blond or black hair; unusually muscular/stocky for normally slender Elves; they have red eyes. The word "Álfar" is actually the plural form of the Nordic word for "Elf." In the Kingdom itself, the Elves refer to themselves in their native tongue as Álfar (Elves) or Álfr (Elf). The crest of the royal family of Álfar is a silver war-hammer crossed with a golden blacksmith's hammer. Their standard bears this crest against a white field edged in black.

- Nyame is another of the 13 Elf Kingdoms; the one that spans the continent of Africa. The name comes from Nyame, the Sky God in Ashanti mythology (father of Anansi the Spider). The crest of the royal family is a black spider with a white star on its abdomen; their standard bears this crest against a white-blue field edged in ivory. Their royal guard are called the Anansi (the Akan word for "spider").

- Iara is the South American Elven Kingdom. The Elves of Iara have "typical" Hispanic looks - dusky skin, dark hair, dark eyes. Said to be descended from mermaids; extraordinarily gifted with various types of water magic. Their standard bears the crest of a golden mermaid against a sea green field edged in gold. Iara, being in South America, has a lot of precious stones and metals such as gold, emeralds, sapphires, etc.

- The mythical creatures known as iara are Brazillian water sprites (a type of mermaid, I believe).

- Aso is the name of Anansi's wife in many stories (though she is also referred to as Miss Anansi or Mistress Anansi. In Curaçao, Aruba, and Bonaire, Anansi is known as Nanzi, and his wife as Shi Maria). Aso is the Weaver's first name.

- Assase Ya is the name of Anansi's mother and the wife (I believe) of the sky god Nyame. Here, it is merely Aso's surname.

- The pendant Aso is wearing is inspired by the hourglass pendants worn by the witches known as Black Widows in the Dark Jewels Series by Anne Bishop. In the Dark Jewels Series, the hourglass pendants have gold dust inside them. An apprentice Black Widow has her gold dust all trapped at the top; a journeymaid's is equally distributed between top and bottom; and a fully-trained Black Widow has all her gold dust at the bottom. The hourglasses that are worn by the Anansi have nothing inside them (unless the wearer is or was a captain); they are merely a stand-alone symbol of being part of the royal guard at one time or another.

- The teeth between the copper beads on Aso's necklace, it's mentioned in-text, belong to kishi. The kishi are a race of hill-dwelling creatures of Angola, and are usually malicious. They have two faces; the face usually shown is quite handsome and is used to seduce its prey. The rear face is usually hidden by long thick hair, and resembles the face of a hyena. It has long sharp teeth and jaws so strong they cannot be pulled off of anything it bites. The kishi seduces women with its handsome face and invites them to its lair for dinner, whereupon it devours its victims.

- Mallory Grace is the sister and oldest of the three Grace children in the Spiderwicke Chronicles by Holly Black.

- Ravus the Troll is the male lead in Holly Black's Valiant (and, along with being an alchemist/apothecary, makes great swords and is an expert swordsman). He is the love interest of Val, the titular character of Valiant.

- Clary refers to Clarissa "Clary" Fray, the MC of the Mortal Instruments series by Cassandra Clare.