At the Bottom of This Chapter:
Author's Note
Concerning the Chapter Title
References Made in This Chapter
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Author's Note: okay, I am seriously concerned, you guys. Why do I keep getting reviews saying, "Please don't hate me?" Why would you guys think I'd hate you? I mean, are you guys really concerned that I'm going to be mad about reception that's less than 100% super-duper ultra-positive, or are we playing? I can't really tell, and I'm a bit worried that I've said or done anything to make any of you think I'd ever be upset with you just for being politely honest. So just so we're clear, I love all of you, I am truly grateful for all of you, I consider myself blessed that you would write to me as you do, and I don't hate you. Okay? So can we stop saying, "Please don't hate me" or "don't take it personal," 'cause I totally don't and I worry that you guys think I would and I worry I've offended you all somehow. So hugs for everybody? *holds out hugs with other nice stuff, like cupcakes*
Okay, there's some stuff in this chapter to explain/remind people of stuff that popped up and/or was explained a while ago and has been forgotten/never explained to the readers' satisfaction, so please bear with me. And of course, our favorite cave troll returns. And some important questions are answered. And of course, due to the title, some rumors pop up. Good or bad? You decide. More hugs for everybody!
- LA
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Chapter Seventy-Five
Rumor Has It
that is
A Short Tale of a Reunion, Introductions, Mind-Healing, Confessions, Approval, Bearing an Heir, Chances, Family Time, a Potion, and Cíaran's Discovery
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At the doors to the Lesser Receiving Hall, Nuada took a moment to breathe. He had raced to the Hall as quickly as he could with Dylan in tow. Now he paused to consider what might await him beyond the carved rowan doors looming over his head. His father, according to Dylan, was not responsible for the Butchers' attack on Wink at Midnight Fest. Would the silver cave troll believe that? And what did that mean regarding his father's reception of the prince's vassal? Had the king believed Dylan when she'd told him Nuada had had nothing to do with the attack on the Butchers, either?
"You okay?" Dylan murmured, laying her hand on his arm. "Should I stay out here?"
He shook his head. "No. I want Wink to see..." The ring on Dylan's finger. Nuada needed to know his brother-in-soul's reaction to what the sapphire ring's presence on Dylan's heart-finger meant. "He'll want to see you. And I need to speak to my father about you, anyway, if he is within. Come." He offered his arm. She took it without hesitation, and Uaithne and Fionnlagh pulled open the double doors. The crown prince and future princess strode into the room.
The first thing Dylan noticed was that the king wasn't in the room. The first person Dylan noticed was the one-eyed, gray-skinned behemoth standing near a large, round wooden table in the center of the small receiving hall. She noticed him because, upon seeing the Elven warrior and the mortal woman, Wink roared a troll greeting. Nuada picked up his pace.
Troll and Elf met each other halfway. Wink clapped Nuada hard on the shoulder. The prince, in turn, grasped Wink's forearm and clapped him on one great shoulder with his other hand. For the first time in a while, an unshadowed grin spread across Nuada's face as golden eyes took in the towering troll warrior before him.
"It is good to see you, old friend," the prince said. "You are most welcome."
"Thought you might need me to dig you out of trouble," the troll grumbled good-naturedly. "Although, you have the lassling for that, don't you?" And then Wink turned to Dylan and grasped her shoulders with both hands. His single eye studied her for a long moment before he turned to look at Nuada. In the troll tongue, he asked softly, "How bad are things?"
"Not as bad as they could be," the prince replied in the same language, wondering what Wink had seen in his truelove's face to make the troll ask. Dylan's brow furrowed. Nuada knew she was trying to make sense of what they were saying using the few words in Troll she actually knew. Ignoring her for the moment, the Elf quickly explained nearly all that had happened since the last time he'd seen his vassal. He left out only one thing - the events of the previous night. There would be time for that explanation later, away from potential prying eyes and ears.
Wink sighed. "You always were one for trouble, my prince, even as a lad. Speaking of trouble, we've ignored it long enough, I think." With a grin, Wink turned a little to gesture to the two fae that had accompanied him to Findias. "Has the lassling met Erik yet?"
Nuada smiled. "Not yet." To Dylan, he said, "Come and meet a friend of mine, mo duinne. And reacquaint yourself with an old friend of mine, as well."
Erik Ashkeson offered a charming smile and bowed over Dylan's hand, kissing the air just above her knuckles. His long black hair hung in a horsetail that fell over his shoulder as he did so. "Milady," the dökkálfr murmured in a low, rough voice, "it is an honor for a simple blacksmith to at last meet Hátign Þína Prins Nuada's fair and most esteemed lady. I have heard much of you from Hátign Þína. I can see for myself it was all true. You are a vision of loveliness."
The Elf prince cleared his throat. "Remember that you are married, blacksmith," Nuada mock-grumbled. "I'll not have your wife coming for my blood - or my manhood - because you complimented my lady too freely."
A smile spread across the pale Nordic Elf's face. His garnet eyes twinkled. "Prins Nuada is mortally afraid of my lovely Brünnhilde." Dylan grinned before she'd even thought about it. "I beg your indulgence, milady. Among the álfar, my people, a woman with scars is considered a rare beauty."
She blinked. "Oh. Thank you." Well, that explained Prince Askel's compliments at the banquet during the dancing.
"Forgive us, Lorelei, for ignoring you until now," Nuada said suddenly. Dylan looked away from the charming dökkálfr to see the ivory-skinned, midnight-haired water faerie smile at the Elven warrior, revealing the delicate points of her rather sharp teeth, so white against her blood-red lips. Nuada gestured to Dylan. "You of course have met my lady, Dylan of Central Park. My lady Dylan, allow me to reacquaint you with Lorelei von der Strom."
"Of course I remember her, Eure Hoheit," the rhinemaiden replied with an even wider smile. She inclined her head and her ebony hair fell around her like a curtain of midnight silk. The river maid held out her left hand to shake. Her fox-like smile invited Dylan to play along, as if the two of them had not spoken less than twelve hours ago. "Lady Dylan."
Dylan took the proffered hand with her own left hand. "Lady Lorelei."
"No lady of the fae courts am I, Lady Dylan. I am simply Lorelei."
"Does that mean I can get you to call me 'Dylan' instead of 'Lady Dylan?'" The mortal asked. "So far the only people who do that are Her Highness and Moundshroud."
Jet-black brows winged upward at the mention of the Keeper of the Samhain Tree, but Lorelei said nothing to that. Only canted her head again. "Dylan, then." Eyes gleaming like newly-minted coins fixed on Dylan's captive hand. "That is a very lovely ring. We daughters of the River Rhine have an eye for such things. It is Iaran, isn't it? Wherever did you get it?"
Those eyes of dragon's gold noted Erik's professional interest in the silver-and-sapphire ring on the mortal's heart-finger. Noted when realization filled his scarlet eyes. More importantly, she noticed both Nuada and Wink stiffen behind the human woman. Face carefully expressionless, Nuada turned his head just enough to attempt to read Wink's expression - which was also deliberately blank. Reaching out with her empathic abilities, Lorelei let the feel of the tangle of emotions wash over her like surf surging over a seashore.
From Wink, there was confusion and surprise and uncertainty, a hesitancy to jump to whatever conclusion his mind was attempting to form for him. Razor threads of sharp concern that reached out to both the Elven prince and the mortal woman. But also, beneath it all, hope smoldered like the banked coals of a fire being coaxed back to life. From the Elven warrior came unease aimed at Wink, forlorn hope that was so at odds with what the rhinemaiden knew of her old friend, and an almost defiant pride and happiness extending toward the human woman. Underneath all of that was the usual tangle Lorelei always picked up from the prince when she attempted a cursory reading of his emotions, though one thing stuck out as so very, very new.
Love. What the prince felt for the mortal in front of him burned in his heart, nurtured by softer emotions such as joy, hope, tenderness, affection, concern. Desire was there as well, hot and golden. It was there in both of them. Yet eclipsing the desire and any dark emotions from the prince was that love, glowing bright as a star and smoldering like the embers of a never-dying fire. And the love the mortal bore for the prince shone just as brightly. Lorelei smiled.
Nuada asked, "Has the king ordered you to remain here? Has he been to see you?"
Wink nodded. "Yes. He welcomed me back as if nothing whatsoever had occurred since last we saw each other." Anger growled beneath the troll's words. "Said that as soon as you arrived, I was free to do whatever you would command of me." Softly, he added, "I brought Erik as a guard for you. One that could be trusted not to put a knife through your back at the king's command. Lorelei is here for Dylan as much as for me if you feel the lassling needs another guardian."
Nuada considered. "Actually... if she's willing, I'd like her to train my lady's young guard, Tsu's'di, in sword-work; you remember the youth?" The troll nodded. "I have not had the time of late and he does need more training, but I would just as soon not alert the Butchers to any of his weaknesses."
The troll nodded thoughtfully. "I shall speak to her. And then, my prince, we shall talk, you and I."
The Elven warrior canted his head. "As you wish, old friend. I need speak with my lady for a moment." While Wink spoke with Lorelei about possibly acting as tutor for the ewah youth, Nuada pulled Dylan aside and leaned in. "I need to speak with Wink, mo duinne. About many things."
She nodded. "I should go talk to Healer Lóegaire, then, unless you need me for something."
Hesitation kept him from merely sending her on her way to do just that. "Will you be all right?"
"I think so." She would have to be, Dylan reflected. She couldn't afford to not be right now. The human psychiatrist knew she basically had until Monday to get her act at least partially together in time for the Midwinter Ball. "Don't worry, Nuada. I'll be okay."
Her smile was bright and cheerful, and just a trifle false. Because of that, despite the presence of the Butcher Guards, Erik, Lorelei, and - most importantly - Wink, Nuada leaned forward to press a kiss against Dylan's forehead. He caught a breath of scent from her hair, lilacs and vanilla. "Send for me if you need me, mo duinne."
"I will."
Nuada offered a fleeting smile before turning to the troll. "Come, then, Wink. We have much to speak of, you and I."
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They parted ways at the doors of the receiving hall. Lorelei was escorted to the rooms she would share with Wink by an exhausted-looking hob maid with curly brown hair who bobbed an awkward curtsy and introduced herself as Fiona. Later in the day, the rhinemaiden would meet Tsu's'di. Nuada snagged a page just outside the hall and whispered instructions in the boy's ear regarding refreshments for the prince and his large guest. The Elven page scampered off to obey. Erik and Wink then followed Nuada and his retinue of babysitters back to the royal apartments. Dylan's guards escorted her to the Healers' Wing.
One of the novice healers, discernible by their robes of pine green trimmed with white at the sleeves and collar, showed the mortal and her guards to the workroom of Healer Lóegaire. On the way they passed one of the maids that Dylan recognized as Fiona Hob. The mortal waved to the hob chambermaid. Fiona bobbed a curtsy and smiled. Although the smile was bright and the chambermaid looked genuinely pleased to see the human woman, a faint unease shivered down Dylan's spine as she passed Fiona.
Once at Lóegaire's, Dylan asked her guards to stay in the hall. After a hasty conference between Uaithne and Fionnlagh, the Butchers reluctantly acquiesced. Then the human woman rapped on the door.
It swung open to reveal an Elven woman who had to be nearly as old as King Balor, in the robes of a healer. Unlike the white-trimmed robes of the novices or the plain clothes of the fully-trained healers, however, this woman's robe was a soft seafoam green, almost like a monk's habit, tied about the waist with a woven heather-blue belt. Her moon-pale face sported the tiniest lines, so that her face resembled very old parchment. A grandmotherly glow painted the apples of her cheeks with a soft golden blush. She had a mouth thinned by age and framed with wrinkles that made Dylan think she smiled more often than she frowned. Unlike every other Bethmooran Elf Dylan had ever seen, she had loosely curled hair as white as snow tied into a very loose braid over one shoulder.
Dylan swallowed. It felt like she'd swallowed a cup of sand. "Are you Healer Lóegaire?"
The old Elven woman blinked. "Oh. Why yes, I am. Hmmm. Scars and blue eyes, and you're mortal, so you must be His Highness's truelove. I've been expecting you. What can I do for you, my lady?" When Dylan could only try to speak, failing to produce a sound, the woman frowned slightly. A tendril of Elven power whispered between the mortal and the Elven healer. "Come inside, child. Come, come." Lóegaire guided Dylan into the workroom and closed the door behind her. She ushered the human to a comfortable sofa. "Sit down, child. There now."
Lóegaire sat in a well-worn leather armchair beside a small wooden table. She waited patiently while Dylan glanced almost helplessly around the room. There wasn't much in the mind-healer's "workroom." Only the chair for herself, the sofa for whomever required her services, and two small goldenwood tables carved with symbols from the tongue of the red mountain trolls. A pale green music crystal gleamed on a marble stand on the table beside her chair, and a handful more of the dwarf-made crystals were nestled in a velvet-lined wooden box beside the stand. A pitcher of sweet cider and two cups of fine Annwn porcelain waited on the other small table. Bookcases lined two of the four walls. There was a window, but of the ensorcelled type. Currently the window showed a wintry sunset, the golden light setting the snow to sparkling like diamonds. A cheerful little fire crackled in the fireplace that took up the entirety of a third wall. The faint wisps of smoke smelled of applewood.
When Dylan finally looked at Lóegaire again, the old woman sat back in her chair. "Now, my dear, why don't you tell me what I can do for you? I've no obligations for several hours, so I am at the service of His Highness's lady."
In a rush, the mortal blurted, "Prince Nuada wanted me to talk to you."
The healer's brows rose. "I see." In truth, she'd known that already. A message had come to her perhaps a couple hours before saying exactly that. Lóegaire had made sure she would be available to the king's son and his lady. "He wished for you to speak to me about... something that ails you. Something beyond the physical." The mortal nodded. "How you got those scars, perhaps?" Lóegaire was surprised when the prince's lady shook her head. "Oh?"
"Not these," she murmured, gesturing vaguely to her face. "These." Extending her arm, she rolled up her sleeve. The razor-thin silvery lines criss-crossing her forearm caught the light. So did the mound of white scar tissue at the bend of her elbow. "I... I don't really know where to start. I've been seeing a mind-healer in the mortal world, but Nu- the prince doesn't trust human healers. So I agreed to talk to you today. He wants me to tell you... everything."
"And do you want to tell me?" Lóegaire asked gently. After a moment, the human nodded. "Well, in that case, do you mind, child, if I play some music? I've found it soothes some of the initial uneasiness and can make such things easier to speak of."
At Dylan's nod of acquiescence, Lóegaire put the music crystal on the table back in its box and pulled out another, this one of soft blue banded with stripes of sandy gray and sparkling in its depths with glittering mica. She set the crystal on the marble stand and whispered in Gaelic, "Sing." At first, there was no music. Only the sudden soft shush of ocean waves lapping at a beach. The whisper of the wind. And then Dylan heard the faintest chime of crystal and silver, the hum of a plucked harp string, and the croon of a driftwood flute. Every tense muscle in her body relaxed, once by one.
"Now," said Lóegaire. "Where would you like to start? Do not worry if you have no words yet. Silence has its own voice, you know."
Dylan swallowed. "Yeah. I know." She took a deep breath. Opened her mouth again and, finding the words suddenly on the tip of her tongue, began to speak.
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Only the troll followed Nuada into the Elven prince's study. The page Nuada had spoken to had managed to fulfill his orders before the prince's arrival, so that when Elf and troll walked into the study, a small cask of Elven ale and two steins waited on Nuada's desk. The fae warrior took a seat in his own chair. The page had also brought a reinforced chair for the troll. Wink sank into it. Nuada filled both mugs with the strong, dark Elven ale. Offered one to Wink. The troll took it. Both fae touched their steins in a silent toast and took a long drink.
After an interminable silence, Wink sighed. "So... you're betrothed, then."
Nuada seemed to contemplate the candlelight reflected in the surface of his drink. Finally, aurulent eyes met Wink's gaze. "We are."
The troll nodded. Sipped his ale. "That was your mother's ring I saw on the lassling's finger, wasn't it?" Nuada canted his head. "Not just betrothed, then." Wink heaved a sigh. "You're in love with her, aren't you?"
Golden eyes slid closed. There was no inflection in Wink's voice. No hint as to the prince's oldest and dearest friend's thoughts. "I have not forgotten the plight of the fae. I still have my agents searching for the third Golden Crown piece. I still anticipate a war with the humans and I mean to fight to reclaim what we've lost. I have not betrayed our people."
"That is not what I asked you, Nuada." Wink set his drink on the desk and fixed his prince with a fathomless look. "You're in love with Dylan, aren't you?"
They regarded each other across the ebony desk. Brothers-in-soul, comrades-in-arms. To Nuada, Wink was father, brother, and truest friend. To Wink, Nuada was his son and brother, his friend and his liege lord. The troll watched the internal struggle in the prince's golden eyes. Watched Nuada come to some sort of decision.
Without looking away from the troll warrior's gaze, Nuada said, "I love her with all my heart and soul. Condemn me for that if you deem it just but I cannot change what is. Nor would I wish to. If that makes me a traitor, then..." He drew a sharp breath. Exhaled. "Then so be it."
To Nuada's complete and utter shock, Wink grinned. "By the gods, it's about time you realized it. I did not think you would before I died of old age."
"What?" The Elf sputtered. "You knew? How? For how long?"
"The socks gave you away, my prince. Not only that you knew she would love them as she did, but that you bought her so many, and they were nearly all so very ridiculous. And the penguin socks... show a little faith in my intelligence, puppy. You would not humiliate yourself by purchasing such a thing for someone you did not love. You certainly would not brave Aso's sharp tongue. Though I realized how much you loved her when you gave her the book. It was one of your most treasured possessions, after all."
"But... then... then you approve?"
"Approve?" Wink rumbled. "Of course I approve. The lassling's been in love with you for months. Poor girl; I thought for certain that I would have to dent that thick Elven skull of yours with a stick eventually. How long have you known she loved you? Tell me you knew before you proposed to her."
Affronted, feeling as if someone had turned the entire planet upside-down without even warning him first, Nuada said, "Of course I knew before I proposed. I am not a complete fool."
"Debatable," the troll replied. "I'd wager an entire case of troll beer she had to tell you she was in love with you." Nuada opened his mouth, then closed it with an audible click of teeth. Wink grinned in smug satisfaction. "I'll have Lorelei put it on your tab, Your Highness. Though I cannot help but ask, how did you not know she was in love with you all this time? How did you not see it?"
"How did you manage to see it? Did she tell you?"
The troll rolled his eye. "Of course not. I realized it the day I went to see her, after you told me she'd betrayed you. I could tell simply by how very heartbroken she was over the fact that you would think she would ever turn against you. 'Magic,' she called you. 'Extraordinary.' The look in her eyes when she spoke of you said it all." When he noticed the somewhat sappy look on his prince's face, Wink added, "Though I will admit... I am surprised you asked her to marry you."
Nuada sighed. Took a long draught from his mug of ale. "It is by my father's order. I am happy for it, and she seems to be, yet I know it will cause much contention among the nobles. I fear for Dylan's safety. Her... her sanity." Nuada passed a hand over his face, and Wink noted the lines of strain and tiredness around his eyes. "My friend, I... I have things of great import to tell you."
Over the next few hours, the prince related the previous night's events to his oldest friend. Explained, with as little detail as possible, Dylan's relevant history and why the prince was so concerned about her mental state.
"My prince... Nuada." Wink's tone was sympathetic, but firm. "Madness like that must be gotten in hand quickly, or things may become even more dangerous than they are now. Such a weakness can be used against both of you. You know you cannot wed her if she does not at least begin to control-"
"I know, Wink," the Elf snapped. Closed his eyes. "I know. She is with Healer Lóegaire now. It will be taken care of."
"And if it is not? If the damage runs too deep?" Nuada's eyes flashed copper, but Wink's expression was kind when he added, "What will you do then, my prince? Abdicate? Others have done so for lovers considered unacceptable by the Crown."
Nuada shook his head. "No, I... no. I cannot abandon my people. My kingdom. I love my sister, but she is not fit to take my father's place and be queen." He sighed. "No. It will be taken care of, Wink. I'll not allow for failure. I shall do what is necessary to ensure Dylan and I can marry a year and a day from Midwinter." Tired golden eyes met the troll's gaze. A great weight had lifted from Nuada's shoulders with the simple words of course I approve. Now he could speak plainly to his brother-in-soul. "I want her, Wink. I want a life with her. I want..." A family with her, he'd been about to say, but bit back the words.
Wink poured himself another mug of ale. Sipped meditatively for a moment. "You're concerned about something else," the troll said. "What is it?"
"You once asked me if I really expected her to give up her whole life to be with me," Nuada murmured. "I know now that even though I do not expect such a thing, Dylan will give up her life in every sense of the phrase, whether I should desire her to or not. But…" He sighed and took another long quaff of his ale. "In marrying me, she gives up more than her life. She surrenders every last hope of having the family that has always been denied her."
"Why?"
Nuada tore his gaze away from his mug and looked at his friend. "What?"
"Why does marrying you mean she will not have a family?"
The Elf prince fixed him with a gaze that clearly indicated that he believed the troll was perhaps more affected by the alcohol than either of them would have thought or Wink would have admitted. Otherwise why ask such an obvious question?
"She wishes to have a child," Nuada said. "And why should she not? She would be an excellent mother. I have seen her with 'Sa'ti and A'du, and other children. She wants to be a mother desperately. Wants so much to have a child of her own. But I cannot give it to her." He stared into his mug, as if the answers to all his questions were to be found in its depths. "I would give her a child," he said softly, more to himself than to Wink. "I wish I could. Nearly more than I've ever wished for anything for myself. But I will be king, and I will need an heir for the throne. I cannot risk the safety and well-being of the kingdom by siring a child weakened by mortal blood."
At that, Wink snorted, drawing Nuada out of his brooding.
"You listen to me, puppy," Wink growled, setting down his mug so he could look his prince in the eye. "You give Lady Dylan far too little credit. Mortal she may be, but you can bet your lily-white arse that, while any child that comes from her will be a great many things - including trouble, just as you were," here Nuada smiled, "it will not be weak." Wink picked up his ale again. Drained it to the dregs. "Heal her mind, and the rest will fall into place."
"You think so?"
The troll nodded. "I absolutely believe it. She would do practically anything for you, Nuada. Even if it killed her. She'll heal herself because you need her to. And once she's healed, though she'll always bear scars, she'll be strong enough to stand at your side as your princess."
Wink refilled his mug again. Nuada shook his head almost imperceptibly in exasperation and sipped his own ale. He was only on his second mug. Wink was on his fourth. Of course, the troll warrior was also three times the Elven warrior's size.
"She'd make a better princess than that sister of yours," Wink said over the rim of his mug. "Just between you and me."
Nuada sighed. "Wink."
"Merely an observation, Your Highness. So, the king. Is he our enemy, or is someone else pulling the Butchers' strings? And was he responsible for last night's fiasco?"
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Far off and away in the Healers' Wing, Dylan brushed back her hair and met Lóegaire's kind amber eyes. The Elven mind-healer smiled.
"Well, dear. We have made quite a bit of progress today." She sipped from what had to be her tenth glass of cider and glanced out the window. Night had fallen long ago beyond the ensorcelled window, but in the real world of Faerie, twilight was only just deepening to the velvet dark of night.
This initial session had lasted nearly four hours. The final hour had involved the mind-healer giving Dylan some advice on how to begin healing - meditation and calming techniques, as well as discussing ways to help the mortal get more rest. Exhaustion would aggravate battle-haunts and other such things like salt in a wound. They'd eventually decided on a sleeping potion, just on a trial basis.
And Lóegaire had been able to detect - and effectively shatter - the spell Nuada had thought was winding around the vulnerable mortal woman. When that spell had broken, Dylan had suddenly felt exponentially better.
The Elven woman had also swept away the remnants of the dark magic that the king had broken asunder and removed from Nuada, but not from Dylan, the night before. That spell, rooted within the Elf prince, had only needed to be broken at its source to end its direct influence. The crown prince's own innate magic had rid his body of any remnants of the enchantment. That hadn't been true for Dylan, though no one had realized it at the time. Only Lóegaire's sharp magical senses and healing ability had purged the spell fragments from the human woman. Dylan hadn't realized until that moment how much weight she'd been carrying around simply because of the dark enchantments.
"It was brave of you to come to me," Lóegaire added with that same gentle smile. "I know you did it for His Highness's sake; that is even braver, as I know it is often easier to simply suppress the shadows and ignore how they deepen instead of shining light upon them. Will you come see me the day after tomorrow?"
The mortal blinked. "The day after tomorrow? I... well..."
"I would like to see how the mortal medicines affect your mental and emotional state, my dear. I would also like to see how effective the sleeping potion I am going to prescribe for you will be. It will not react with the human medicines, I promise you, and it will help with your nightmares. And I want to see how you're doing with the meditations for handling your fear that we talked about today. Will you come back the day after tomorrow, Dylan?"
She nodded. "Yeah. Thank you, Lóegaire."
"Anytime at all, my lady."
"Lóegaire? I have a question about... about mind-healing, as the Elves do it." Seeing she had the older woman's attention, Dylan explained, "His Highness did a soul-purging for me around three weeks ago. He rid my memories and my psyche of the... I suppose the mental rot that had accumulated around them. All the suppressed, condensed hate and anger and everything. So why am I still so... so..."
"Fragile?" The mind-healer supplied. Dylan nodded. "My dear, you are yourself a healer of the body, are you not?" The mortal nodded again. "Imagine there is putrefaction in a broken bone. Fluid and swelling surround the break, the body's natural reaction in order to protect the damaged bone, but the putrefaction remains, rooted in the marrow, unable to be accessed due to the shields the body has already erected. What is the first step of healing such an injury?"
Dylan said softly, "Reduce the swelling and drain the fluid around the break, to give yourself room to work."
Lóegaire smiled. "You are a healer. Once the shields the body has put in place are taken down and the rot in the bone is cleansed, the injury is not healed. The bone is still broken, is it not? Not only that, but it is even more raw than it was, aggravated by the putrefaction and the cleansing. And it is more delicate, less stable, lacking the stabilizing protections the body has placed around it. The pain is far worse."
Confusion clouded Dylan's features. Feeling like a dunce, she said, "I'm sorry, I... I don't understand."
"The Zwezda Elf, Eamonn, punched through the shields you'd spent years erecting around the wounds in your mind. This mortal Westenra ripped away the shreds, leaving you with tattered pieces. And when His Highness forced you to confront a few of your memories before the purging, it swept away everything that was left. This left your mind open, both to the rot and to the memories. When His Highness performed the soul-purging, he stripped away the rot as well, leaving only the wounds themselves.
"It is similar to extracting the decay out of a rotten tooth, exposing the raw nerve. With the rot, the nerve is being damaged, but the damage can rarely be felt until things begin to come to a head. Without that rot, that final layer of flawed protection is gone. You are left with nothing, and thus are left vulnerable to everything."
"But then... why did he do it?"
The elderly Elven woman sighed. "His Highness is a good man, and all can see that he loves you very much. All Elves with a strong gift for mind-touch are trained to do such things as soul-purging - more to avoid entangling one's self by accident than anything else. Only mind-healers are taught how to heal broken minds. What should have happened if you were Elven was that, with proper rest and relaxation, your mind would have begun to heal itself over time - a year, perhaps, or two. There would be scars, but the wounds would heal. This process would have been sped up with the help of a mind-healer.
"But you are not Elven. You are mortal, and your mind is very different from a fae mind. And instead of resting, you came back to Findias, with very little time to recover even somewhat from the ordeal, and have had no peace since before your arrival. That raw nerve is being pricked by a needle, scraping away more and more at the wounds you already bear, widening and deepening them. The magic I stripped from you was only making it worse. But there was no way the prince could have known such things would happen - I do not think a soul-purging has ever been done to a human before. And I would be willing to hazard a guess that he was afraid for you. Afraid that without such a thing, your sanity wouldn't hold. He was trying to help you, Dylan. He certainly did not mean to make things worse."
She nodded. "I know he didn't. So it's just bad timing?" Lóegaire inclined her head. "I see. But if I see you and my own psychiatrist and start taking my meds, things will be okay?" The older woman smiled and nodded. "Okay, then. That works."
"You think you can do it?"
"Well, I kinda have to, don't I? If I'm going to be a princess, I can't break down all the time."
Lóegaire's smile widened. "True enough, my lady. Now, anymore questions?" Dylan shook her head. "Well, then, you need to see Healer Táebfada, don't you?" A nod. "By the time you reach her, she will have a week's worth of the sleeping potion ready for you. And remember, Dylan - no matter what happens, there is always hope. Do you believe that?"
"I try to," Dylan said. "All the time."
Lóegaire smiled so that a dimple appeared in her cheek. "Good. Now, Táebfada is waiting for you. I shall see you in two days."
.
Uaithne and the other Butchers in Dylan's retinue were waiting in the hallway on chairs provided by some of the younger novice healers. When the door opened and the mortal stepped out, the guards rose to their feet. Uaithne studied his mortal charge. She'd been a bit pale when entering the Elven mind-healer's workroom, but now she seemed... different. Lighter. Easier. She still seemed a touch nervous about something, but the dread that had been in her eyes was gone now.
The leader of the six Butcher Guards offered the human the standard fist-to-chest salute and asked, "Do we go now to Táebfada's, milady?" The prince's truelove nodded. Smiled. "And then where would you have us escort you?" Uaithne asked.
"Depending on how late it is and if he's available, back to Prince Nuada."
Táebfada, as one of the senior healers in Findias, also had a workroom. This one, however, was more recognizeable as a healer's work space. There was a somewhat low wooden table for basic examinations, complete with a small black pillow if lying down was necessary. Táebfada sat at an elegant, polished mahogany desk boasting several drawers, one of which was open and showed a stack of black ledgers. A trio of comfortable-looking wooden chairs that matched the desk lined one wall. Against the opposite wall stood a small bookcase stuffed with various leather-bound tomes. A full-sized scale stood in one corner. In the opposite corner stood a silk dressing screen painted with a soothing mural of a lakeshore decorated by cattails and reeds, the lake playing host to a few swans and other waterfowl.
The slender Elven healer glanced up from the two glass vessels she'd been eyeing and offered Dylan a smile. "Lady Dylan. It is good to see you up and about this evening. Are you feeling better, then?" Táebfada tilted one of the glass containers so that the thick red juice inside dripped into a translucent flask. Satisfied with the amount in the flask, she capped it and set it aside. "Your sleeping potion. Now, Lóegaire said you wished to speak to me about something important."
"Um... yeah. So..." Dylan trailed off, unsure of how to explain. Straight-forward is probably best, she thought. "Prince Nuada and I are engaged."
Golden eyes widened and a smile crossed the Elf's face. "Oh, but that is wonderful! But why... ah." Understanding filled the topaz eyes. "You need to be certain of your fertility before the betrothal can become official. Is that not so?" Dylan nodded. Táebfada gestured to the table. "Have a seat there, my lady. This will not take long."
Dylan hoisted herself up onto the examination table and tried not to fidget. She wished she'd asked Nuada to come with her, but... But I don't need Nuada to be with me and hold my hand for every little thing. Or even every big thing. I'm a big girl. I can handle this. She straightened and met Táebfada's eyes. "So, what do I do?"
Táebfada came up and placed one hand on Dylan's upper back. The Elf's touch was gentle. Dylan barely felt it through her tunic. The healer placed another hand against Dylan's stomach. "This might feel a bit strange to you. I am going to use my power to examine you internally. You will feel a warmth in your body, followed by a tingling sensation. You might become a little disoriented. Do not be alarmed. It is merely my magic passing through your body. It may help to close your eyes."
Dylan obeyed. After a moment, a soft warmth began to build deep in the pit of her stomach. It was like feeling the sun on her skin, except inside, as if she'd swallowed sunshine. It grew steadily, but never reached the point of discomfort. A faint pins-and-needles feeling tingled down her spine and across the surface of her stomach.
Then it was over. Dylan's eyes snapped open as the feeling abruptly faded. She met Táebfada's golden stare. There was a wealth of sympathy in that ethereal gaze.
"W-well?" Dylan whispered. She cleared her throat and attempted to smile. "What's the verdict?"
The Elven healer sighed and drew her hands back. "There is a great deal of internal scarring, milady. It would make conceiving a child difficult." Dylan's eyes widened, then slid closed. Her mouth trembled. "However, having difficulty conceiving and being barren are not the same thing."
Blue eyes like autumn rain locked with Táebfada's as hope lanced the mortal's chest. "They... they're not?"
"Those scars do not affect your actual fertility. There would be no negative impact on the kingdom if you were to marry the prince and one day become queen. If you were barren, there is a risk your infertility would infect the kingdom and its people. Even the land would suffer. But you are not barren. Conceiving an heir for the prince would be difficult, but with time, I may be able to reduce the scarring inside you so that you would not have such difficulty. I could also do the same for the scars on your face."
Dylan started to bite her lip, but managed to stop just before her teeth touched it. "I'll... think about my face later. But I thought a half-mortal child couldn't sit on a fae throne. Wouldn't that hurt the kingdom or something? Potentially infect the rest of that country's population with mortality or something like that? That's what I've always heard."
Táebfada shook her head. "Only if the child is less than full-blooded fae and more than mortal. It is even-odds as to whether your child would be fully fae or not. Fifty-percent likely that the faerie blood would breed true; a one-in-four chance that your child would be half-Elven; or one-in-four chance that your child would be mortal with some very powerful magic. Faerie blood is strange that way."
The mortal woman thought of Ravus the Apothecary, who'd had an ice troll for a mother and a mortal man for a father, yet was a full-blooded troll. She thought of Aoife Grayson and Dean Nails, both of whom were half-human and who possessed the strengths of their human fathers and the weaknesses of their fae mothers. Dylan realized that she had a fifty-percent chance of giving birth to a fully Elven child... a child that would age one year for every century of its life. Even if she did have Nuada's child, and it was Elven - and thus eligible for the throne - she would die while it was still an infant. Would it even remember her?
"So..." Trying to marshal her thoughts, the human asked, "What would happen if my child was half-Elven? How do they age, anyway? I know for an Elf it's one year of physical maturity for a chronological mortal century."
"Half-Elves age one year for anywhere between thirty and fifty chronological mortal years, depending, my lady," the healer replied gently. "As for your child being half-Elven... it would be another fifty-fifty chance that your child have the necessary magic to be the heir in the first place. It is not given to the eldest child automatically. It is earned by power. They must have that connection to the land. It simply happens that Prince Nuada possesses the magic needed to hold the title of heir to the throne. A half-Elf with the power of an heir, however, could negatively impact the kingdom, yes."
"And what if my child were mortal but with strong magic?"
"They would age as a mortal would, and he or she could never be heir to the throne," Táebfada replied. "There is no magic strong enough to form the requisite bond with the land that can reside in a human child without driving them mad, and such instances have only occurred with very powerful fae parentage. Fae with the strength of Master Moundshroud of Samhain, for example. A Bethmooran prince siring such a babe? Impossible."
As she was getting down from the examination table, Dylan asked, "Táebfada... is there a way to make a human immortal? And would that alter a child?"
The healer was quiet for a very long time, as if considering the psychiatrist's question. Finally, she nodded. "There are ways to make humans immortal. Many of them are very, very dangerous. The most common I know of is to simply fill them with pure, undiluted wild magic, but the results are... unpredictable. Humans have died in the attempt. There are less dangerous ways - swanmane coats, selkie skins, werewolf fur. All of them come with great risk or consequence. And then there is..."
"What?" Dylan demanded, eyes wide. "Then there is what?"
Táebfada murmured, "With the permission and aid of the faerie kings of Eirc, Ciocal, or Bethmoora... or perhaps all three, I am not certain, for great magic is needed to make this quest... a mortal may journey to the island of Mag Mell. The two fae who are twin kings there are said to know a way to make a human woman into an immortal, as like unto the Fair Folk as if she had been born. She would have no magic, no powers, nor even glamor of her own. But nothing would stand in the way of her bearing the children of the Elven prince she loved."
Seeing the look on Dylan's face, Táebfada added, "But I warn you, my lady - great and terrible is the price demanded by King Tethra and King Manannan. And the price would not be asked of you, but of one whom you loved dearly." She watched the import of her words sink in. "Do you understand?"
"I understand. Th-thank you, Táebfada."
The healer bowed slightly. "My lady."
.
With the instructions for the sleeping potion written out on a slip of paper tucked into the pocket of Dylan's jeans, and the flask of potion guarded by Ailbho, Dylan made her way back to the floor containing the royal apartments. She knew it wasn't too late - maybe seven or eight in the evening - and that, since Balor had given them the next few days off, she could probably have dinner with Nuada in his study if she wanted. But her mind whirled, the thoughts tumbling too quickly for her to do anything but lay down on her bed and try to sort them.
Two-in-four chances I'll have an Elven child that can be the heir to the throne and won't hurt Nuada or the kingdom in any way, but I'll probably die before I ever hear them say "Mama," she thought, sinking onto her gargantuan four-poster. One-in-four chances I'll have a half-mortal, half-Elven child, which would infuriate the nobles of the court and possibly start a civil war because there's a fifty-percent chance my child could be the heir and thus has the power to destroy the kingdom. And though I might get to hear my child call me "Mama," and Nuada, "Daddy," I'll die before they'll be old enough to really remember me. Or I could have a mortal child, and they would die so quickly compared to the faerie courts. What would that do to Nuada? Losing me, and then losing our child?
She closed her eyes and shook her head. Rolled onto her side. It doesn't matter. I knew when I signed up for this that we couldn't have kids. I'm not going to let my hopes get crushed all over again. I'm not barren - and isn't that a miracle? I'll be able to marry Nuada. I will only think about that, and be happy for it. And I have A'du and 'Sa'ti and Tsu's'di. Three children who need me. I will be happy for that.
Resolved, Dylan sat up and slid off the bed. She'd wallowed in doubt and unhappiness for far too long, at the expense of the children who depended on her. She would go see them now, and spend some time with them. It was probably almost their bedtime, anyway. Almost time for the stories, family prayer, and the lullaby.
A smile spread across her face as she stepped into the warmth of the sitting room. Her smile only widened when she found Nuada seated in an armchair, staring into the fire, while 'Sa'ti stretched out on the floor at his feet, reading haltingly but determinedly from an orange pasteboard book. Dylan recognized the book as the Strawberry Shortcake book she'd bought during her outing to Threads-N-Things with Francesca a couple weeks prior. The mortal had the feeling the prince wasn't even actually listening to the cougar girl reading about how Raspberry Tart kept trying to set up hang-out dates with her friends only to be rebuffed (due to their being busy planning Raspberry Tart's surprise birthday party), but his presence in the room was enough for 'Sa'ti.
A'du'la'di was apparently arm-wrestling with one of Nuada's guards. Dylan recognized young Guardsman Lorcc, the friendly junior guardsman paired up with the taciturn Gaurdsman Mahon. Dylan grinned as the cougar child, pressing on the guard's hand with both paws, stood up to put all of his body's weight behind him. Lorcc grunted, "Ah, ah. I think I am done for! T'is no use! No Butcher can stand against such might! Ah!" A'du "forced" the guard's hand flat to the table. The Butcher cried, "Alas! I am defeated by this mere cub!"
The ewah boy jumped up and down, fists pumping in the air. "Yeah! Oh, yeah! I'm cool!"
'Sa'ti looked up from her book. "Shhh! I'm reading to the prince."
A'du rolled his eyes. "Whatever. His Highness doesn't care about Blueberry Pie and Lemon Meringue and whatever they're doing."
"On the contrary," Nuada said, roused to look from the fire to the cougar child. "I am most interested in what your sister is reading to me." Dylan forced back her laughter. Somehow she sincerely doubted that. More likely, Nuada had been pestered into sitting down while 'Sa'ti read to him and was tuning her out while waiting for his mortal truelove to arrive and rescue him. "A warrior is always polite to a lady, A'du'la'di. When a lady speaks, it is the chivalrous thing to listen to her."
"Oh."
"And you should know better than to be anything less than on your best behavior in front of Lady Dylan," the prince added, glancing at the mortal leaning against the doorframe. "Good evening, milady."
Dylan inclined her head before stepping into the room. "Good evening, Your Highness. Hey, guys."
"A'ge'lv! A'ge'lv!" 'Sa'ti and A'du scurried over to her and clasped her hands. The two hounds in front of the hearth lifted their heads and whuffed softly in greeting before returning to their naps.
"Where have you been?" A'du demanded. "It's almost bedtime, and you didn't tell us about the banquet last night or bring us any treats or anything! And we made a friend today!"
"Did you?" Dylan sank onto the loveseat, leaning against the sofa arm so she was closer to the chair where Nuada sat. "Who?"
"This girl named Abigail," 'Sa'ti replied. "She can turn into a polar bear." Dylan's eyes widened in realization, but she just let the cougar girl continue with, "She's really nice. A'du helped her get apples out of the apple tree and we played stalk-and-pounce in the snow and Mistress Fitz let us wash potatoes, there is a lot of dirt on potatoes, did you know that?"
"And you have to wash it all off or the potatoes are crunchy," A'du informed her gravely. "Which is just gross."
"I'll bet." Dylan smiled and listened to the two cubs talk about the day they'd spent. Nuada watched the human and the ewah from the corner of his eye as he considered what he and Wink had discussed earlier that day.
Wink had, thank the stars, believed him about Dylan's innate warning system. Not at first, of course. Only once Nuada had told him about her warning just before the dipsa attack, as well as the other times she'd alerted him to danger, did Wink understand why his prince put such faith in the mortal's assurances. So now, Wink no longer suspected King Balor of trying to have him and Lorelei murdered.
The darker side of this news was that someone, somewhere, had influence over the Butcher Guards. The question was, had those Butcher companies been working against the royal family? Or had they been working under the mistaken belief that the king had ordered the attack? If the first, there was treason - possibly even revolt - brewing in the King's Elite and perhaps in the Golden Court itself. If the second... who among Balor's household had the power to give such orders and not be questioned? And who among them would do so?
There was the Lord Chamberlain, his father's closest and oldest friend and his most trusted servant; the Lord Steward, who held dominion over every aspect of castle life, the king's right-hand Elf, who commanded even the highest-ranking servants; the Lord Seneschal, who even Captain Phelan and Captain Sáruit of the Butcher Guards answered to; the Lord Provost, who kept a sharp watch on any crime in Findias and its township and worked often with the Butcher Captains and their underlings; and the Lord Chancellor, the king's most trusted advisor and his man on the Council. All five of them were powerful enough that they could have been behind the order... but they were also men Nuada had known all his life, men the king had known for many thousands of years.
Wink had gone back to speak to Lorelei on the matter. As a very observant empath, and someone Nuada trusted nearly as much as Wink - though not quite with everything - the prince and his vassal thought that perhaps the rhinemaiden might be able to pick up something pertinent to the situation during her stay in Findias.
Thoughts of the lovely river faerie reminded Nuada of Tsu's'di. As per the Elven prince's request, Lorelei had taken the youth aside and introduced him to one of her many talents - shortswords. Just as Wink had been leaving the prince's suite, Tsu's'di had stumbled down the corridor, moaning quietly about his various aches and pains. Lorelei had strode behind him, a dismissive half-smile curving her red mouth. Upon seeing Nuada, however, the boy had straightened up and stopped whining about his shoulders aching, and bowed to the rhinemaiden, thanking the river fae for the lesson.
"That youth," Wink had murmured so only Nuada could hear, "has one goal in mind when it comes to this and any other such lesson he might have with Lorelei."
Nuada had raised an eyebrow. "Oh? He is her type, but he's a bit young, is he not?"
The troll's chuckle had rumbled like rocks tumbling down a mountainside. "His aim is not to impress my lady, Your Highness. It's to impress you. He wants to make you proud of him. I recognize that determined look in his eyes."
"From where?"
Wink had chuckled again and clapped Nuada on the shoulder. "You used to look at your father - and me - in the exact same way when you were a lad. Did you forget?" To Tsu's'di, the troll had called, a laugh in the words, "Stretch and then soak out those aches in the tub, lad. Elsewise you'll be hurting sore in the morning."
Nuada had sent the boy to the servants' baths to soak. Now a knock sounded at the sitting room door and the ewah youth came into the sitting room. The youth looked much refreshed, in a clean shirt and trews, in boots not caked with dust, his hair still damp from the bath. When he saw Dylan seated on the loveseat, a grin broke out and his ears and whiskers pricked forward. Still, happy as he was to see his human mistress, he bowed to the prince first. "Your Highness."
"Guardsman Tsu's'di," Nuada said in acknowledgment, remembering Wink's earlier words.
Pride made Tsu's'di's smoky blue eyes brighten. Then he turned to Dylan and bowed once more. "A'ge'lv."
Smiling even wider, Dylan said, "Hey, Tsu's'di. Where've you been? How was your day?"
.
Later that night, after her typical "happy bath," saying her prayers, and finishing her nightly scripture study, Dylan sank onto the edge of her bed and stared at the translucent flask filled with the scarlet sleeping potion. She'd managed to avoid thinking about it all through talking with the children, getting them settled in their room, and the nightly ritual of stories, family prayer, and lullaby. Had only given it a passing thought while she and Nuada had enjoyed a quiet dinner in his study and discussed their plans for the next few days. In point of fact, Dylan had actually forgotten all about the potion... until now.
Ever since leaving Lóegaire's, she'd felt... different. Better. Stronger. Perhaps it had been the two spells twisting her up. Then again, she'd begun to feel better just after the first couple hours with the mind-healer. She hadn't realized how much strain not seeing her therapist had been putting on her. Dylan drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. Now if she could force herself to take the potion to help her sleep without dreaming...
"Are you well, my lady?"
Dylan glanced over to the door joining her bedroom to Nuada's. The prince stood there in dark sleeping clothes, the moonlight through the window soft and silver against his face, his starlight hair still slightly damp from the shower. She smiled at him. "You are not coming to bed with wet hair."
A smile curved dark lips. "As my lady wishes. We have things to speak of, anyway, do we not?" Nuada sat beside her on the edge of the bed and took her hand. His thumb brushed back and forth across her knuckles. "You went to see Lóegaire today." He knew without having to ask. He could see it in her, feel it. Deep shadows had haunted her for weeks, yet he had not seen them. Only now that they were gone did the Elf realize the difference. "Thank you."
She shrugged. "Don't thank me. I should have... I should've realized that neglecting myself to try to help you would only make me a liability. I've made a habit of trying to pretend I don't need anyone or anything to help with my problems over the years. It stops now."
"You have decided this for me?"
The mortal shook her head. Nuada noticed the way one damp tendril of hair curled darkly against the paleness of her throat. Even in one of those ridiculously large t-shirts he had a feeling she would insist on wearing to bed for the foreseeable future, she was so very beautiful.
"Not for you, exactly. Because of you. I didn't realize how bad it had gotten. How much I was letting slide. When I thought about it, when I realized how dangerous it was for both of us, I decided that was it. I needed to be an adult. I take care of everyone else, or try. I need to start taking care of myself, too, or soon I won't be able to help anyone. So therapy and meds it is, I guess."
He studied her for a moment. "You are frightened."
"I don't know what they'll turn me into," she mumbled. "The medication. I don't even know what I'll be taking. I'll have to tell my psychiatrist that I haven't been taking my meds and she'll have to re-prescribe me. I really hope she doesn't put me back on Ambien. I hate that stuff. It can cause hallucinations and amnesia, for crying out loud. And other things. Although they didn't know all of that back when I was taking the stuff. Now they moderate the dosages accordingly." She pushed her hair out of her face. "I can do it, though. I can."
"You are certain? Do you need me to go with you tomorrow?"
"Huh?" Blue eyes flicked from the sleeping potion to the prince's face. "Oh, no. No, I'll be fine. Really. I..." She got a good look at his face. "If I ask you to stay here, you're going to be fretting about me all day, aren't you?"
The legendary Silverlance lifted his chin and offered her a haughty look. "Begging my lady's pardon, but I am an Elven warrior and a prince. I do not fret."
She grinned. "Yeah, you don't fuss, either."
"Indeed." He lowered himself off his dignity enough to smile at her. Tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, letting his fingertip caress the rounded top of her ear, he added, "If you need me, Dylan, there is no shame in that. I will come with you if I must."
Dylan shivered. "You're under house-arrest, Your Royal Hotness. And stop molesting my ears. Unless you want some of what you're dishing out."
Nuada's blood caught fire at the mere thought of his truelove caressing the delicate Elven points of his ears. She'd done so before, by accident, on perhaps three or four occasions, but to have her do it deliberately... the brush of a fingertip, perhaps, or the warm whisper of her breath... He swallowed and shoved the thought away. "House-arrest or not, if you have need of me, I will come to you."
"You'd disobey your king for me?"
He lifted a shoulder in a negligent half-shrug. "You may have forgotten in light of our deeper feelings, but at the start of all of this, my father ordered me to court you in earnest. What manner of man would I be if I claimed to love you, only to abandon you when you had a need of me? Besides, tending to your sorrows is part of what courting you means. I'd be following my father's orders - technically."
She dropped her head onto his shoulder and hugged him. "I adore you, Nuada. Really. But I'll be okay. I'll meet you at the sanctuary and if I break down in floods of hysterical tears again, at least it'll be there, so it won't last very long. Technically you're not breaking house-arrest by going there, are you?"
"Technically? I am breaking the spirit of the punishment, yes." Seeing her eyes widen, he offered her a dark and feral smile. "However, it is still in Faerie. It is in Elphame, not Bethmoora, but I am not forbidden to go there. My father said I must have an armed escort of Butchers with me at all times save in my chambers. The sanctuary is one of my many homes away from home, which makes its rooms my chambers, as well. Now, are you staring at the potion hoping it will be absorbed into your body through osmosis?"
Dylan blinked up at him. "How the heck do you even know what osmosis means?"
One silver-blond brow quirked. "I am not a barbarian, mo duinne. Now take your medicine like a good girl."
She eyed him. "Are you baiting me on purpose?"
"I am." Quick flash of teeth in a mischievous little-boy grin. "Are you going to let me?"
The mortal couldn't help it. She laughed. "No, I'm not. So myeh." She stuck her tongue out at him before reaching for the flask. Lóegaire had said to pour the potion into the cap on the flask, and that would be one night's dose. Dylan followed the Elven mind-healer's instructions. Stared at the capful of gleaming liquid as dark as red wine. Sighed. "Sip it or shoot it?" She wondered aloud, then shrugged. "What the heck? Bottom's up." Closing her eyes, she knocked back the potion.
Its taste and its feel were so at odds she almost choked on it. It slid down her throat like a long, unpleasantly warm slug. Dylan grimaced at the sensation even as the somewhat tart, fruity taste blanketed her mouth. Her tongue felt fuzzy. Licking the roof of her mouth helped dispel the fuzziness.
"Blegh," she muttered. "That was weird. Whoa." She blinked as the world blurred for a moment, then focused once more. The human held her breath. When it didn't happen again, she nodded. "Okay. Bedtime for mortals who just took sleeping potions. I- hey!" Nuada slid an arm around her shoulders and another beneath her knees and scooped her up. "What are you doing?"
"You are on my side of the bed," he informed her, carrying her to the other side of the massive, silk-and-velvet-covered four-poster. With one foot he managed to shove back the black velvet coverlet on the freshly-made bed and laid his tired mortal lady on the cool fitted silk sheet beneath. He drew the covers over her.
"I can tuck myself in, you know, Your Highness," Dylan murmured, smiling.
Nuada shrugged. "Allow me to claim the privileges with which chivalry entitles me." Once he settled into bed, too many feet between him and his lady for his own wishes - how he longed to hold her, to fall asleep to the scent of her, the warmth - he added, "Good night, Dylan."
She snuggled down into the blankets. Already the potion was working on her, pulling her closer and closer to slumber. "Mmmm. Good night, my handsome prince."
Only when the Elf prince was certain she was asleep did he reach out and tenderly brush back that one rebellious curl that always fell across her forehead with gentle fingers. "Good night, my princess."
.
"Come now, love," Cíaran murmured in the hob maid's ear. His fingertips trailed lightly over her cheek, leaving sticky trails of gancanaugh venom. She stared into eyes of midnight jade as he caught a chestnut curl and twined it around his long, pale finger. "I know you had cleaning duty in the Healers' Wing this afternoon. And you want to tell me what you overheard, don't you?" He brushed his lips against hers and she gasped. "Be a good girl and tell me what you heard."
And so the hob maiden told the disguised gancanaugh that while she'd been cleaning one of the empty rooms in that part of the castle, she'd overheard a few of the Butcher Guards assigned to protect the prince's lady talking about the human and why she'd needed to see a female healer just now. One of them had mentioned they'd overheard Lady Dylan and King Balor speaking of the mortal bearing the prince's child. Overheard the prince the previous night saying something that had sounded an awful lot like, "I will give you a child." And neither prince nor mortal had risen for the day until past noon, and they'd spent the night in the same chamber - a first for them, apparently.
Cíaran continued to caress and pet, keeping the chambermaid focused on giving him every piece of information in exchange for soothing her with his poisonous and addictive touch. This hob, Fiona, was really becoming a favorite of his. She was so lovely, and she seemed to enjoy his company even more than he enjoyed hers. The gancanaugh nuzzled her cheek before pressing a kiss to her mouth.
"Stay here, poppet, and I'll be back shortly," he murmured.
"Don't go, my lord," she whispered, reaching for him as he stood up from the edge of the bed in his room. Yes, she was falling in love with him. Darling girl.
It happened everywhere he went. Expose a maid or other servant girl to the Tears secreted by every gancanaugh and after a few nights in Lord Cíaran's bed, the wench was willing to do anything he asked of her. Usually such favors did not involve gathering intelligence on a traitor and his whore, but when he'd playfully asked Fiona where she'd hidden herself away to all day and the maid had let it slip that she'd been in the Healers' Wing in the hopes of seeing the prince's lady or hearing more gossip from the human's guards, Cíaran had pounced on the information like a feral cat on a helpless bird.
Now Cíaran bent down and kissed her upturned mouth. "I'll not be long, sweeting. Be patient. And I'll have a gift for you when I return. Make yourself comfortable."
The gancanaugh slipped out of his bedroom to find Bres reclining on the long couch in the front room of the guest suite, his head in Dierdre's lap. Cíaran's sister ran her fingers through Bres's golden hair and she giggled over something the Fomorian prince had said. Cíaran barely managed to refrain from rolling his eyes.
Neither Dierdre nor Bres loved each other, but they were fond of another - Bres had once said Dierdre was the only woman he could stand to have in his bed for more than a week - and they both lusted after each other and enjoyed the dalliance. Dierdre's brother thought it was ridiculous. Take a mistress for a time, enjoy her charms, then rid yourself of her. No unnecessary attachments. And never make a mistress out of a friend; that always led to complications and risks. The biggest investment he ever made with any leman was in the traditional gifts, and cheap trinkets were enough for most of the servant girls he'd tumbled.
Which reminded him. Clearing his throat to announce his presence, he strode to mantel and picked up the small leather pouch he'd dropped there earlier that evening. At Bres's order, he'd gone down to the township to listen for any gossip concerning Silverlance and the harlot. While there, Cíaran had seen a ribbon-seller with bright blue satin ribbons for sale. On a whim he'd snagged a couple and tossed the woman the proper coin.
Now he untied the leather bag and withdrew the mazzarine hair ribbons. Well-made but surprisingly cheap, they were the appropriate first gift for a wench he was bedding.
"Before I return to my previous engagement," Cíaran said, drawing his sister and his prince's attention, "I've stumbled onto some very intriguing castle gossip you may find of interest, my prince. Sister. It seems Silverlance's slut went to the healers this afternoon."
"Oh, dear," his sister drawled, mock-sympathy dripping from the words. "I do hope she hasn't fallen ill. Perhaps someone took the initiative and poisoned her."
Cíaran shook his head. "That's not what her guards think." He waited, savoring the words heavy on his tongue. Finally, Bres ordered him to share whatever news he had or to be silent altogether and go back to his chambermaid. Grinning, Cíaran murmured, "Rumor has it Her Ladyship is with child by His Highness."
Silence descended. It was finally shattered by Dierdre's shriek of outrage.
"What?!"
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Author's Note: and if this were an anime, they'd do a zoomed-out shot of the castle shaking as Dierdre screams her head off, with the sounds of glass breaking and maybe some explosings in the background. Hehehe. You know, in some ways, Dierdre reminds me a bit of Marguerite in Ever After. I wonder if I'll have her throw a tantrum in front of a rosebush at some point and then claim there was a bee there. Hmmm. *ponders* Anyway, so in the next chapter, we get to see a bit of Nuada's spy network! Fun stuff! And more of his search for the Golden Crown, as well as dealing with the various murderous plots, and Becan and Bat return! Yay! Excitement! And Nuada asks Dylan a very important question. And there's Dierdre's revenge, of course. It won't be what you expect, I think, though. Well, I hope not, anyway. I want to take you guys by surprise, since you've all been so patient with me. I'm especially grateful because I've been going through just a seriously rough time lately. So hugs! I love you all! Laters!
And onto our review prompt!
1) Wink's back! Yay! Who's excited? And he brought friends! Where do we see this going? Who's glad Nuada has his troll buddy back?
2) Who thinks Lóegaire might be a bad guy? Who thinks Táebfada might be a bad guy?
3) Since I bring up Nuada's quest for the third Golden Crown piece in this chapter, how many of you guys think Nuada's going to tell Dylan about that before it actually gets found? Where do you see his quest going? How will it affect their relationship?
4) Wink and Nuada's talk - thoughts?
5) So I'm going for Dylan being more, "Okay, I have to do Thing-A and Thing-B, no matter what. Let's do it." What's the word for that? Stoic? I dunno. Anyway, but I'm trying to show her with a new resolve to do what needs to be done. How am I doing?
6) Dylan can have babies! Who's imagining Elf puppies in the future? AND Táebfada said she might be able to do something about Dylan's scars. Who thinks she should take Táebfada up on that? Who thinks no? Who thinks Táebfada's story of the Island of Mag Mell is a viable possibility? What do you think the price would be?
7) Who do you guys think is behind the Butcher Guard thing?
8) Of course, any favorites.
9) And of course... Dierdre. And rumors. And Ciaran. And the whole last scene. Thoughts?
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Concerning the Chapter Title: apparently there's a song called "Rumor Has It," by Adele. I only know about it because Glee did a mash-up of it with another song called "Someone Like You." Anyway, so that's where the title comes from, is that song.
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References Made in This Chapter:
- So I didn't do this on purpose, but after writing Nuada and Wink's reunion scene, I realized that "You are most welcome" was something Aragorn said to Haldir when the Elves show up at Helm's Deep in The Two Towers film. Didn't do it on purpose, but thought I'd mention it anyway, just to cover my bases.
- Erik is the awesome blacksmith from chapter 40 with the scary wife, lol. Sort-of friends with Nuada, but not trusted with information about the Golden Army, as Erik's policy on humans is "live and let live, forgive and forget" kind of deal, and so he would NOT approve of what Nuada's planning.
- Prince Askel is one of the princes Dylan danced with in chapter 71, who complimented her a LOT. He's about sixteen (hundred).
- Saying something is "Iaran" means it's basically South American, but faerie-style.
- I don't know if anyone remembered but Lorelei IS an empath (someone who can read emotions like telepaths read thoughts).
- I got the idea of music crystals from The Black Jewels Series and The Seventh Tower Series by Garth Nix (since magical people wouldn't have CDs).
- Nearly all the therapists I've had played "relaxing music" during our sessions. Generally something cool, with ocean waves or rain or something as a backdrop for the music. I have a lot of music like that on my computer. They do it not just to relax the person, but to prevent being overheard by people on the other side of the door.
- The song Lóegaire plays for Dylan is called "Dance of the Water Nymphs" by Ed Van Fleet. I have it on my computer, and you can probably find it on Youtube. =)
- Some other really good songs are by this guy who's name escapes me right now, but they're on Youtube, called "Morning Dew," "Evening Breeze," and "Night Mist." They rock. They're so beautiful and relaxing.
- "Silence has its own voice" is a quote from a very wise old man in the novel Shalador's Lady by Anne Bishop.
- The conversation with Dylan that Wink is referring to takes place in chapter 35, "Going Under."
- The part of Nuada and Wink's conversation where they talk about Dylan having Nuada's child and him needing an heir and stuff was written by the inestimable WhenNightmaresWalked, with only minor tweaking from me.
- So was the part where Wink says Dylan would make a better princess than Nuala.
- So I mentioned in chapter 48 that Dylan would be fragile after the soul-purging, but I guess everyone forgot? So I wanted to remind everyone, and explain why, which is why Dylan has that conversation with Lóegaire about how mind-healing is supposed to work. I figured the dental explanation (seeing as how I'm on such intimate terms with MY dentist that I invited her to my wedding, lol) would be the easiest to understand.
- In Valiant by Holly Black, Ravus mentions that while he had a human father, he and his siblings are full-blooded troll.
- Aoife Grayson from The Iron Thorn had a faerie mother, which opened Aoife up to iron sickness, but her human father gave her the ability to manipulate machinery (technopathy, for lack of a better word). While she's half-fae and half-human, she has none of the strengths of the fae and lacks any sort of magic.
- Dean from The Iron Thorn had an Erlkin mother and a human father, and while he has issues because of being half-Erlkin, he also possesses a couple weird talents inherited from his mother as well. Which just goes to show, between Ravus, Aoife, and Dean, that fae blood can affect you in bizarre ways.
- The idea of faerie magic (and other sorts of magic) driving someone mad has been explored in various works, including: The Black Jewels Series by Anne Bishop, The Gemma Doyle Trilogy by Libba Bray, and short stories like "Words Like Pale Stones" by... I forgot their name. I'll find it later.
- The idea of making someone fae by filling them with pure magic is from the Meredith Gentry Series by Laurell K. Hamilton, but the guy they did that to... eh. Wasn't what he expected. Didn't die, though! =)
- Dylan bought the Strawberry Shortcake book in chapter 64. I actually owned that book as a kid. But then I sold it like an idiot. *sob*
- I first heard the phrase "sip it or shoot it" from the television show True Blood. It means "sip the medicine, or just grit your teeth and swallow it in one go."
- So I found out from Ariana Lussier, author of "Orchid," who's a genius, that nobles who take commoner mistresses (usually from servants and pretty girls in town and such) usually give them presents, even if they don't love them. I was like, "What?" But apparently they do. And a common one is apparently ribbons. Ciaran views Fiona as a lover. Not a sweetheart, but like... "Hey, babe, you're hot. You, me, my place, let's do it, and I'll drop you like a hot potato in a few weeks or a month or two." He doesn't view what he does with the Tears as rape. To him, it's just another means of seduction. *shrug* Hence why he's "fond" of Fiona and bought her hair ribbons. And the poor girl is totally addicted to him now, too. *sigh*