At the Bottom of This Chapter:
Author's Note
References Made in This Chapter
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Author's Note: this chapter is up for Silver-Angelic-Lilly, who just turned 17 yesterday! So happy birthday to you! And because I'm rushing, I'm being lazy on my author's notes, because I've got work today. But I wanted to post this for you, Lilly! Happy belated birthday!
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Chapter Eighty-One
Birthday (Pt. 3)
that is
A Short Tale of Sisters, an Interrogation, Dylan's Temper, Apologies, Birthday Gifts, a Truth Revealed, Melancholy, Dancing, and a Letter
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Dylan's pulse spiked immediately when she heard the familiar delighted shriek that heralded Francesca's approach. Bracing herself, she opened her arms to her sister. Francesca smashed into the youngest Myers sister and proceeded to squeeze the breath out of her. Bat, mewing plaintively, twisted around Francesca and Dylan's legs like a sleek black ribbon.
"Oh, my gosh, you're thirty! Are you excited? It's your birthday! Be excited!"
"Cesca, I can't breathe," Dylan gasped. The other woman barely loosened her hold. "Yes, I'm excited it's my birthday. What are you doing here?"
"Dropping off presents for the birthday girl," said a familiar voice. Dylan peeked over Francesca's shoulder to see Victoria, Francesca's identical twin, tall and slim with tumbling black curls, standing at the end of the front hallway. "And admiring your house. It's cool; you know we've always thought so."
"And admiring the new stud," Francesca breathed, pulling back from her little sister to gaze in surprise and feminine appreciation at the tall, muscular man standing beside Dylan. He had long golden blond hair that fell at least past his shoulders, tied back in a horsetail. Fair-skinned, with golden-brown eyes and a thin scar carving across the breadth of his face, he looked like one of those bigshot multi-millionaires she'd read about in her romance novels. Was he wearing Armani? "Hey, there, Handsome." To Dylan, "Friend of yours, sweets?"
Her sister's face blazed like a neon sign. "Um... you could say that."
Francesca's eyes widened. "Wait. Wait, wait, wait. No. No way. Oh wow. You... this... he's..." A grin spread across Francesca's face and she gave a little bounce more suited to a thirteen-year-old than a thirty-one-year-old. "He's the hunk? Him?" She squealed, ignorant of the wince her sound effects induced in her sister's "hunk." Francesca bounced again. "He is so! Hot! Where have you been hiding him, you lucky duck?"
Dylan smiled. "Under my bed."
"Oooh. I know what you guys have been up to," Cesca replied, poking Dylan in the ribs. "But you're supposed to do that on top of the bed, sweetie, not under it."
Victoria rolled her eyes. "Cesca, there's no way Dylan's tapping that."
Nuada, resolutely pretending the situation was not happening, noticed the shadow of hurt on his truelove's face before she pasted on a smile. Fury was a seductive whisper as he considered all the ways these sisters of Dylan's had hurt her in the past. Then Dylan said, "Um, actually... let's start over. Tori, Cesca, this is Nuada. He's my-"
The Elven prince caught Dylan's left hand in his and raised it to his lips. Some of the tension eased out of her. "Betrothed," Nuada murmured, willing her to see the warmth in his eyes. Her smile became more genuine. "Dylan has bestowed upon me the great honor of agreeing to be my wife."
He was given the pleasure of seeing both harpy-shrews' mouths drop open in shock.
"What?" A sharp voice demanded from the living room. With a rustle and a scramble, two more women appeared in the hallway from the direction of the living room. The first woman, slender as a dancer, shoved her chin-length hair out of her face and stared at Nuada and Dylan with the same silvery-blue eyes as Dylan. The second human had the same eyes, as well, but her hair was in a long braid over one shoulder.
Nuada wasn't oblivious to the way Dylan actually shrank back a little from the appearance of the two women and pressed against him, clutching his hand. John squeezed in on Dylan's other side.
"Hey, Mary," the whelp said cheerfully, as if there was nothing amiss. "Hey, Petra. Dylan's back."
"Where have you been?" The woman with the braid demanded. "Since when are you not home on Sunday evenings?"
"And what's this about you being engaged?" The slender woman drawled, leaning against the wall with her arms folded. "Don't tell me it's to that guy."
Dylan flushed. "And what, exactly, is wrong with him, Mary?"
"He's hot," Mary replied, as if that explained everything. The other three Myers sisters turned to her and snapped her name in irate unison. Nuada ignored them in favor of Dylan, who turned her face slightly as if to press her cheek to his shoulder. "I'm just saying," Mary added defensively. "He's hot, he's obviously rich. I mean, this isn't Pretty Woman, you guys. It's not like princes grow on trees."
"Mary," John muttered. "Shut up."
The Elven warrior watched Dylan's face. The happy glow from before had faded away completely by now, and she looked as if she'd rather have been anywhere else but her own cottage. Nuada's fury sent vicious cold frosting his blood. His eyes chilled to glacial topaz. Drawing Dylan more tightly against his side, he said icily, "Come, my love. You need not endure such slander, especially today of all days. I will take you somewhere you can actually enjoy your birthday."
"We should probably go," Dylan concurred in a soft voice. "Later, you guys. Thanks for stopping by-"
"But wait," Francesca protested. "What about your presents? Aren't you going to open them?"
"It can wait," Dylan said. "You know I'm not big on the material things-"
Mary's voice dripped toxic sarcasm when she drawled, "Really? So the bling on your finger and around your neck is, what? Costume jewelry?"
Dylan's free hand flew up to cover the necklace Nuada had given her earlier that evening. Irritation and hurt twined together and sharpened her voice when she snapped, "It was a gift."
Her sister's brow lifted. "From Mr. Money-Bags here?"
Petra's voice snapped out like the crack of a whip. "Mary, enough! It's Dylan's birthday, for the love of G-" She cut herself off with a flick of her eyes toward her youngest sister. "It's Dylan's birthday," she amended. "We're in Dylan's house. You will not hassle her in her own house on her birthday, do you understand me? I don't care about your opinions on her love life right now." With a sharp hmph, Petra turned to her baby sister. "Don't go. For one thing, this is your house. If anyone should leave, it's us. But we haven't seen you in a while - or at least I haven't - so can we visit for a bit, maybe?"
Dylan still held Nuada's hand. Silently, she asked, Do you want us to leave?
Yes, he replied promptly. However, I also want them gone so I might enjoy what I had planned for us here. And unfortunately, we do need to... how do you humans say it? "Make nice" with your sisters, if we are ever to have hopes of introducing them to the world of Faerie. So we will let them stay. For now. But if they cause you one more flicker of distress, I shall not be held responsible for my actions. And we will make this quick.
"Sure," Dylan said to her eldest sister. "Let's visit. The den has more places for everyone to sit."
"I'll go get the presents," Francesca piped up. "Mary," she added firmly. "How about you come and help me?" Without waiting for an agreement, Francesca grabbed her older sister's arm and dragged her back into the living room.
Gritting his teeth, Nuada escorted Dylan to the den, trailed by the whelp and two of the shrews.
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They had only just sat down - Nuada and Dylan alone, thank the Fates, on the loveseat - when the other two shrews appeared in the doorway with brightly wrapped parcels. Francesca actually took a seat on the floor near Dylan's feet and handed her an oddly-shaped item swaddled in pale green paper.
"That one's from Mary," Francesca said. "Now guess what it is."
Nuada gave Dylan a puzzled look. She smiled. "It's a tradition in our family to try and figure out what a gift is before you open it. It started out as sort of a test by our parents, figuring out how extensive our twin-connections were."
"Took Mom and Dad forever to figure out we weren't using any weird powers to guess," Victoria added with a grin. "Just us being clever."
"D's always been the best at it, though," Mary conceded, dropping into a chair. "Half the time, we always got impatient and ripped off the paper before we'd finished guessing. Though before the game starts, Mister... Nuada, was it?" The Elf stiffened at being addressed by the vile human woman. "Is there a last name that goes with that?"
Dylan opened her mouth, but before she could think of anything to say, her prince replied in that same frigid tone he'd used before, "Nuada McAirgetlámh."
Mary made an impressed face. "Sounds foreign."
"It is Irish," he replied with chilly politeness.
"You don't have much of an accent."
Nuada narrowed his eyes. "I have lived in New York City for a very long time."
"Uh-huh. And where'd you live before that?"
"Japan," he said. Dylan blinked, the only outward sign of her surprise that he'd actually answered the question. "I have lived in many places in my life."
Dylan's sister nodded. "Cool. And where's home now? Still New York, or-"
"Home," Nuada said in a tone that made it clear that would be the end of the discussion on this particular subject, "is wherever Dylan is."
Mary blinked rapidly for a minute, clearly taken aback. Petra raised her eyebrows. John simply rolled his eyes. Victoria and Francesca, however, looked at each other before turning back to Nuada and their sister with dreamy looks on their faces.
"Awwww!" Francesca cooed. Nuada thought he might be sick. "That is so romantic!"
"Yeah," Victoria murmured. "He's great, Dylan. Oh, can we see your ring?"
"Oh, yeah!" Cesca echoed. "Please? Lemme see!"
The sudden violent revulsion Nuada felt at the idea of these... vermin touching his mother's ring nearly made him ill. Dylan felt the sudden tension spike through him, and she laid her head on his shoulder. He forced himself to relax. Or at least relax enough that his muscles didn't feel taut enough to snap. This was for Dylan. She wanted her family to be part of her life. Of their life together. He'd given his word that he would do what he could. He gave his lady a strained smile. Canted his head. Dylan held out her hand and all four sisters exclaimed over the sapphires and the sheen to the white-gold band.
"Holy crap," Mary muttered. She grasped Dylan's hand and turned it over, then turned it back again. "Are those rocks real?"
Nuada said stiffly, "They are - as you see."
"Where'd you get such a beautiful ring?"
It was Petra who asked this, rather softly. There was something in the human's voice that made Nuada give her a considering look before he answered, "It belonged to my mother."
Mary offered him a patronizing look. "So..." She scoffed. "It's used. Nice."
"All right," Dylan said suddenly, cheeks flushed with anger. She yanked her hand back. "That's it! I've had enough. Mary, get out."
Her siblings stared at her in wide-eyed shock. Dylan - soft-spoken, easygoing, let-people-walk-all-over-her Dylan - was throwing someone out of her cottage? Mary's mouth opened and closed soundlessly as she stared at her youngest sister. Dylan kept her eyes fixed on the older woman's face. It was clear to all of them that Dylan wasn't going to sit back and allow anyone to besmirch the man at her side.
Mary swallowed. "I'm sorry," she said to her sister. Then, to the boyfriend or betrothed or whoever he was, she added, "I am sorry. That was uncalled for." Glancing at her sister, she added, "C'mon, Dylan. Can't I have one more shot?"
Dylan blew a lock of hair out of her face. "Fine. One chance. But one more shot at Nuada and you're gone, got it?"
Mary nodded. "So... you gonna open your present?"
After a long moment of consideration, Dylan looked down at the gift in her hands. Questing fingertips explored the well-defined edges and sides of the package. It was flat and broad at the bottom, and flat and about half the size at the top. It was hard, whatever it was, with no give to it except on the slanting sides. After a minute, she smiled. "I'm thinking... children's book on the bottom and something else on top." Careful not to cut herself, she neatly unwrapped the gift. Her mouth fell open.
Her sister, looking surprisingly unsure, hastened to say, "I remembered when we were kids you used to ask Mom to read those to you all the time. And we loved the movie, so... I thought you'd like it. John said you didn't have it. You don't, do you?"
Dylan shook her head without taking her eyes from the two books she held. Nuada, curious, studied the volumes in her lap. One was thin and rectangular. He recognized the composition of what Dylan called a "pasteboard picture book," such as the ones she sometimes bought for the children. On the cover was an illustration of a small orange creature with sad, solemn eyes and a droopy yellow mustache. The other book was thicker and shorter, hardbacked, with an amateurish drawing - a human boy and a dog with a clock-face where its belly should've been - on the cover.
"What are these?" Nuada asked softly in Dylan's ear, pleased by the happiness on her face.
She held up the thicker book first. "The Phantom Tollbooth," she said, as if those words meant the world to her. "I loved this book when I was a little girl. And this is The Lorax." She held up the picture book. Turning to her twin, Dylan added, "Remember, John? 'I am the Lorax, and-'"
"'And I speak for the trees,'" John concluded. "Yeah, I remember."
Actually excited about opening presents now, Dylan accepted the next parcel, which came from Petra: several instrumental CDs, selected with John's help. From the absent Pauline, a thirty-dollar giftcard to Cold Stone Creamery.
Dylan grinned. "You guys are trying to make me fat," she said to Petra, who grinned back.
From Simone and Gardenia, also absent, came more books. Nuada didn't recognize them, of course, but Dylan explained that the ones from Simone were different variations of a book she loved very much called Pride and Prejudice. She seemed happy with them, so Nuada made no comment. From Gardenia came seven hardback books. When Dylan saw them, she gasped and hugged them to her chest. The Elven prince glimpsed the word Narnia on one of the book spines.
Victoria informed her sister she'd made Dylan a cake, which was currently sitting in her refrigerator. "Vanilla cake," Tori added, "with buttercream frosting and lemon filling. Your favorite. And I brought you this." She held up a small cream-filled sandwich with the words Happy Birthday written in frosting across the top, set on a small decorative plate. "A lemon whoopie pie." These words were met with a squeal and an enthusiastic hug.
Francesca offered Dylan a package which, when opened, revealed even more books. Dylan cocked her head, surprised. She hadn't asked for any of the books her sister had given her. The covers were lovely, however. Special editions - Dylan adored special editions. One was bound in soft white leather with gold-gilt pages, the title Sun and Moon, Ice and Snow embroidered in gleaming blue and red. Another was bound in a silky black material sprinkled with sparkling jewels like the night sky. Silver thread spelled out Princess of the Midnight Ball. The second was what felt like silver-painted wood covered by a diaphanous material. Crystalline beads and silver embroidery displayed the title: Princess of Glass. And the final book, the title also done in silver against a crimson velvet binding, read Princess of the Silver Wood.
"They're fairy tales," Francesca hastened to explain. "Er, redone fairy tales? You know, like those books you like. I know you didn't ask for these, but I thought you'd like them. I was shopping at the LDS Cottage - you know, that church bookstore you go to all the time - and I saw them, and I thought you'd like them, but those were the normal ones. So I went online to see if they had any special editions because I know you're into that kind of thing. You like them, right?"
Dylan smiled fondly at her sister. "I absolutely love them. They're beautiful." She caressed the scarlet velvet. Probably a "Little Red Riding Hood" story, she thought, her smile widening. And by an LDS author. Awesome. "Thank you, Cesca. Thank you so much."
"Okay, my turn!" John announced, picking up a medium-sized box that was much too big to hold books. "In keeping with tradition," he added, handing the black-wrapped box to his twin. Dylan carefully unwrapped her brother's gift, already knowing what she would find. Peeling back the black paper revealed a gray box. Dylan popped the lid. Lifted out the styrofoam-cushioned item that was inside. Pulling off the white packaging, she smiled.
It was a water globe. Inside, a girl curled up asleep on a bed, clutching a book to her chest. At the foot of her bed stood a pointy-eared, wild-haired youth clad in green. Floating amidst the water within the globe were a few silver and gold pixie shapes along with iridescent glitter. She flipped the globe upside down to see the bottom. Sure enough, the globe played music. "Fairy Dance" from Peter Pan. She wound it just a little. The slow melody chimed sweetly from the water globe.
"Oh, Johnny." She smiled at her brother as she set the water globe down. "Thank you."
He grinned at her. "I've got something else for you, too. Catch." The now-twenty-two-year-old tossed her a small, black velvet drawstring bag. Dylan barely managed to catch it. Curious, she opened the bag and upended the contents into her palm.
Out spilled a charm bracelet. Dylan had to laugh as she looked at the nine charms jingling against the sterling silver bracelet: a sparkling auburn maple leaf, a glittering white snowflake, a four-leaf clover, a rosebud charm of pink quartz, a golden crown, a royally appointed carriage, a silver apple engraved with the letters NY, a golden seashell, and a tiny silver fairy.
How ironically appropriate, she thought, looking at the crown, carriage, four-leaf clover, and the fairy. Since I'm going to be marrying Irish fae royalty.
"I love you, John-Boy."
"Yeah, I love you, too. You're my favorite twin."
"I'm your only twin, John," Dylan informed him. John waved that away as inconsequential to the sentiment.
"Okay," Francesca chimed in. "Presents have been opened and appreciated. Now spill the deets!" She grabbed Dylan's hand as if to prevent any attempts at escaping the coming interrogation. "So how long have you known each other? When are you guys getting married? When did you get engaged? How did you meet? What does-"
Victoria cut her twin off in the most expedient way possible - putting her hand over Francesca's mouth. "Quick, Dylan, you've got sixty seconds before she starts talking again," she said with a laugh.
Dylan glanced at Nuada with wide eyes, as if to say, Help! The Elven warrior offered a negligent shrug, though in truth every instinct rebelled against the idea of sharing anything about himself or his truelove with these... humans. He ground his teeth to keep from leaping to his feet and dragging Dylan out of the cottage. His skin crawled just to have them so near to him. His lady turned back to his sisters.
"Um, well, we've known each other a little over a year now," Dylan murmured. "We got engaged... this past Thursday, right?" She asked Nuada, who offered a curt nod. "We met... in the subway."
Petra, who'd been slouching in her chair, straightened. "The subway?" She demanded. "You never use the subway, not since..." Petra trailed off, realizing her little sister's attack and subsequent disappearance had happened over a year ago, now. "Did you meet him before you were... does he know about..." She paused, unsure how to ask without tipping off this fiancé if he didn't know about Dylan's three-month vanishing act the previous year.
Dylan's gaze went to her knees. "Nuada knows about what happened last year. I..."
She flicked a glance to Nuada, who gazed down at her with a softness that surprised her sisters. Until that point, he'd looked like someone had been jabbing him with a needle. As if even sitting in the same room with the six Myers siblings was a particularly brutal form of torture. Yet now, Petra saw a wealth of tenderness in that single shared look between Dylan and her fiancé. Mary didn't miss the way Nuada pressed her little sister's fingers in reassurance. Dylan drew a deep breath.
"I met him the night I was attacked."
Petra's eyes blew wide. "He... did he..." She turned to Nuada. In a voice thick with emotion, she demanded, "Were you the one who saved her?"
After a long silence, Nuada admitted, "I was."
The eldest Myers sibling stared at him for several heartbeats in silence. Then, swallowing hard to suppress the sudden tears rising in her throat and stinging her eyes, Petra murmured, "Thank you. Thank you so much for saving her. You have no idea... you've no idea how much that means to us."
Discomfitted by the display of mortal emotion, Nuada replied stiffly, "I did not do it for thanks. My honor demanded it."
Mary frowned. Ignoring the comment about honor, she said, "Dylan was missing for almost three months. Was she with you that whole time?"
"She was," he replied coolly.
This clearly startled all of her sisters. Victoria ran a hand through her curly black hair and demanded, "Why didn't you contact us, Dylan? If you weren't being held prisoner or anything, which is what we thought, why didn't you call us, let us know you were okay?"
"Oh, Tori," Dylan murmured. "I couldn't. My phone was dead, for one thing."
"And he doesn't have a phone?" Victoria snapped, gesturing to Nuada.
"Actually," the Elven warrior replied, his voice once again holding all the warmth of deepest winter, "I do not. Nor do I have a computer with which Dylan could send email. The place we were staying had no electricity, so she could not recharge the battery on her phone, either."
Petra crossed her arms. "And you couldn't take her to the hospital because?"
"It was not possible."
"Why not?" Francesca sniped, glaring at him suspiciously.
"Because she would have died," Nuada snapped, his patience exhausted. Dylan laid a hand on his arm. He shook it off. "There was no time. I knew of a secluded place I could take her where we would be safe from the monsters who'd attacked her, but once we arrived, her condition and mine deteriorated too rapidly to seek outside aid. I had no choice but to keep her there. Believe me, if there had been another option, I would have most certainly taken it."
Mary demanded, "So you kept her there for three months? She was only in the hospital for two or three weeks. What took so long for you to let her go? And how did she get hurt again? Did you hurt-"
"Stop!" Dylan shouted, holding up both hands. "Stop. No, Nuada did not hurt me, Mary. It took three months because Nuada had been shot several times trying to save me from the men who attacked me. It took him three months to recover enough that I felt okay with leaving him. All right? I'm sorry I didn't contact you guys during that time, I'm sorry I was gone so long, but the man who'd saved my life needed my help. Okay?"
In a voice as dark and cold as a winter night, Nuada said, "Dylan, you don't owe these... people any explanation. Nor do you deserve their censure. Forget them. If they cannot appreciate what you went through and all that it cost, then-"
"Hey, listen, buster!" Petra snapped, getting to her feet. "You have no idea what Dylan's put this family through! She..." The eldest Myers sister trailed away, eyes widening in sudden inexplicable fear, as Nuada rose to his feet with all the menace of a lethal predator. The pure loathing in his eyes snatched the words from Petra's mouth.
"No idea what she has put you through? How dare you. You have no possible understanding of what you have put her through-"
"Stop!" Dylan was on her feet now, as well. She placed herself between her sister and her prince, one hand outstretched to each of them. "Stop it. We are not doing this. Not today. Please."
"Dylan," Nuada began, fury smoldering beneath the words. Dylan just looked at him. It was a look of potent pleading, and though it didn't quell his rage completely, it allowed him to set it aside. He inclined his head. "As you wish."
Petra glared at them both. "Did you know Dylan spent eleven years in a mental institution?" She demanded suddenly. Shame lashed her when she saw Dylan flinch, but she was still too angry to stop herself. "And she's still on anti-psychotic medication. Did she tell you?"
She'd expected her sister's fiancé to be surprised by this information. Her sister was a very private person, and understandably ashamed of her past. So when Nuada didn't react to this news, Petra frowned. She noticed Mary, Victoria, and Francesca had moved away from the argument, showing they were taking no sides. John surprisingly stood a little ways to Nuada's right.
Nuada drew Dylan away from Petra, against his side. John moved closer. The look her little brother gave her made Petra feel like a world-class witch, but it was the utter hatred in the fiancé's face that snared her attention. Tonelessly, Nuada murmured, "I know. Of course I know. Why do you think I despise you and your pathetic family with everything I am?"
"Nuada," Dylan said, "please. Stop it."
"No, I wanna hear this," Petra said waspishly. "I want to hear what reasons your fiancé has for hating your entire family when he doesn't even know us."
The Elven warrior opened his mouth to speak when, to his surprise, Mary stepped in.
"No, Petra. You said it yourself - this is Dylan's birthday. Are we really gonna do this on her birthday? Really? Just let it go for now. If he doesn't like us, then he doesn't like us. What does it matter? He obviously loves her. Leave them alone." Petra opened her mouth, and Mary snapped, "She's about to start crying, okay? So will you just stop?"
The eldest Myers sister glanced at the youngest. Her expression immediately softened. "Dylan... honey. We're just worried about you. You know we worry about you. And this whole thing, finding out you're engaged and that you've been keeping stuff like this from us, it's a shock. I'm sorry. Don't cry."
Dylan stepped away from Nuada toward her sister. He resisted the urge to yank her back. Instead, he watched as Petra and Dylan embraced.
Petra murmured, "I'm sorry, honey. I know I can be kind of a bit- harpy. Kind of a harpy sometimes. I just worry about you." After a minute, the other three women approached and joined in the hug. When they released each other, all five women looked much calmer. Petra brushed a lock of hair from Dylan's face and asked, "Y'okay?"
Dylan nodded. "Yeah, I'm okay."
"I'm really sorry, hon. We should probably go, huh? Maybe let you enjoy some cuddle time with your guy. I just have a quick question and then we'll head out, okay?" When her little sister nodded again, Petra asked, "When are you getting married?"
"February seventh," Dylan murmured.
Francesca's eyes nearly bugged out of her head. "This coming February?" Her little sister nodded. "That doesn't give you time to plan anything!"
"We have a wedding planner," Dylan replied. Then she frowned and looked back at Nuada. "Don't we?" He canted his head. "Yeah," Dylan said. "We have a wedding planner. Someone who works for Nuada's father," she added, anticipating Cesca's next question.
"And we're invited... right?" Victoria asked.
Dylan smiled. "Of course you guys are invited."
Petra glanced at the fiancé. His expression spoke volumes. They were invited to the wedding against his wishes, because Dylan wanted them there, and whatever Dylan wanted, Nuada would give her, if it was humanly possible. But if he detected even a fraction of distress from his future bride because of her family, he would have them thrown out. Mimicking the gesture she'd seen him do when deferring to Dylan, she inclined her head to him. His face twisted into a sneer and he looked away, as if the sight of her made him physically ill.
"Why so soon, though?" Francesca asked, a teasing smile playing about her mouth. "You're not pregnant, are you? Oh, my gosh! You are, aren't... you..." She trailed off, seeing the heartbreak like a whispered lament in her younger sister's eyes. Francesca flicked her gaze to Nuada in time to see that same abyssal hatred he'd leveled at Petra and Mary smoldering in his eyes. The thirty-one-year-old fought the urge to smack herself in the forehead. "Never mind, Dylan. I was just kidding. Okay? Just joking."
Dylan forced a smile. "I know, Cesca. No big deal."
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The goodbyes at the front door weren't as awkward as the other five Myers siblings would've expected - but then, Dylan acted as if nothing had happened. She kissed her sisters' cheeks and hugged them, promising to keep them posted on wedding plans. Her cheerfulness eased the last remnants of uncertainty between the sisters. There would be more fights, they knew, but for now things were all right.
After Petra, Mary, Victoria and Francesca were gone, however, Dylan turned to John. Burrowing against him, she hid her face in his shirt and let him wrap the edges of his blazer around her. Nuada stepped back from the twins. He recognized his lady's need to be with her brother, even if the prince didn't like it.
"It wasn't as bad as it could've been," John said, trying to be cheerful. "It's okay, Sis. You're not crying, are you?"
"No," Dylan mumbled. "I'm just... tired. And scared."
"About what?" John asked, propping his chin on top of her head. "That Petra will put both feet in her mouth and His Highness will drop-kick her to Hell? I don't see that happening. He knows it would upset you."
She drew a shaky breath. "How am I going to tell them about Faerie?"
John froze. "Wait... what? You're gonna tell them? Dylan, you've tried to tell them! They'll think you're nuts."
"They already think I'm nuts," she muttered. "But John, they can't come to the wedding if they don't know about Faerie. The wedding's going to be in Faerie. There'll be foreign fae dignitaries and stuff. I can't just drag them there the day of and expect them to be okay."
Her brother blew out a breath. "You've got a point there. Well, good luck with that."
"Thanks, Johnny," she mumbled, thumping her head hard against his chest in retaliation for his sarcasm. "You're a huge help." Instead of replying, John just kissed his sister's forehead. After a couple more minutes of hugging, John made his farewells and left the cottage. Dylan closed the door after him and bolted it. Slumped against the cool granite.
Nuada, oddly uncertain in the face of Dylan's quiet, cleared his throat. "Are you all right?"
She shoved at her hair. Nodded. "I'm sorry Mary was so rude to you. And I'm sorry they all jumped down your throat."
"It isn't your fault."
"Yes, it is." She hugged herself. "I wanted you to meet them. I want them at the wedding. This whole sucky meeting was my fault. Part of me feels like I should be mad at you for getting upset, but that's just because I wanted tonight to go well and it didn't. I don't actually have a reason to be upset with you."
The candid confession surprised him. So did the sheer exhaustion in her eyes. "I am sorry that this didn't go as you'd hoped."
She sighed. "Maybe I'm fooling myself. Maybe this won't work." With another sigh, Dylan trudged past him to the living room and dropped into a chair. "Ignore me," she added when Nuada followed her. "I think I'm crashing off the meds again or something. Maybe. I don't know. I'm just really tired of all the drama. I'm too old for this stuff. Do you really hate them?" Dylan asked suddenly. She didn't look away from the fireplace, but Nuada could hear the tension in her voice. "Do you really?"
He took a moment to marshal his thoughts before replying. "Dylan, you cannot ask me to look with favor on anyone or anything that distresses you so much."
"They're my family, Nuada. They're part of me. They love me - doesn't that mean something?"
Dark lips pressed into a thin line. "I... do not wish to distress you further."
"So that's a 'no,' then." She didn't sound angry when she said this. Only tired. "Do you really not want them at the wedding?"
"What I wish in this instance is of no consequence. You asked for their attendance. I agreed. It's done."
"It's your wedding, too," Dylan murmured.
Nuada offered a negligent shrug. "You ask little of me. What you do ask, I shall endeavor to give you." Seeing the strangely empty expression on her exhausted face, he repeated, "It's done, Dylan."
"They don't have to come if you don't want them to."
"Dylan," he said, both exasperated and puzzled, "it is fine."
When she looked at him, there was a forlorn shadow in her gaze, and her smile trembled a little. "You're sweet. A terrible liar, but sweet. You ready to head back?"
He blinked. "I thought you meant to teach me to slow dance." Not that the Elven warrior particularly yearned for the experience. However, he didn't want his time with his truelove cut short, either.
Dylan shrugged. "I know you don't want to. It's not a big deal. Besides, it's late and I'm kinda tired. Can we go back?"
This was because of her wretched family, Nuada thought with venomous hate. She'd been so happy earlier in the evening. He remembered the delighted, laughing woman who had flitted around him like a butterfly as they walked through the snow toward what should've been their haven. Deliberately, he recalled her bright smile and the way she'd declared her love for him with such enthusiasm. Then Nuada knelt at Dylan's feet and took her hands in his.
"What's wrong?" He asked. "Tell me. What are you thinking right now?" She said nothing. Only looked away. "Your mouth is trembling," Nuada said gently. That was one of the signs he'd come to recognize as indicative of her unhappiness. Dylan bit her lip to make it stop quivering. "You're upset. Because of your sisters? Because we argued? Are you concerned over tomorrow night? Is it... about Dierdre?" Still she said nothing. "Dylan, what is it?"
"I don't know," she confessed in a rush. "Nothing. Everything. I don't know. I just... I don't know. I feel like I want to cry. I don't know why, I just do. Can't we just run off and elope or something? Forget politics. We can run away and join the circus. You could be a knife-thrower or something."
Nuada laughed. Dylan smiled wanly. The prince reached up and caressed her cheek with the backs of his fingers. "My glamour is strong enough, perhaps I could find work as an illusionist." Her smile brightened. "There," he said, tracing the fullness of her bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. "That's better. Now, my lady... unless I have offended you in some way, might I have the honor of a dance?"
After a moment, she nodded. "Okay. Sure. I get to the pick the music, though, remember. You said so."
"Yes," he replied with no little asperity. "I remember."
They ended up dancing for quite awhile. The simple two-step of modern slow dancing put very little strain of Dylan's knee. Nuada found that, although he couldn't really call it dancing, he enjoyed himself anyway. There was something soothing about holding Dylan to him, one hand on her waist as if they meant to waltz while she rested her hand on his shoulder. Simply swaying in time with the music, her head on his chest and their hands clasped, eased some of the furious tension in him so that he was able to forget about her loathsome relatives. And the music she chose was tolerable, as well.
"I have died every day waiting for you.
Darling, don't be afraid.
I have loved you for ten thousand years.
I'll love you for ten thousand more.
"And all along I believed I would find you.
Time has brought my heart to me.
I have loved you for ten thousand years.
I'll love you for ten thousand more."
"This song is oddly appropriate," the prince murmured, his lips barely moving against Dylan's temple. "Are you sure a human wrote it?"
"Pretty sure," she replied, "seeing as it's for a movie based on a book written by a human."
His laugh was a slow, deep rumble in his chest. Dylan closed her eyes and just enjoyed being with him. She forced herself to forget about the confrontation with her sisters, forced herself to forget about the fact that she had meds to take when they went back to Findias, forget about King Balor announcing their engagement tomorrow night. Instead she breathed in the wildwood scent of forests and enjoyed the softness of Nuada's velvet tunic beneath her cheek.
Nuada brushed his lips against her temple. "Is it better now, mo cridh?" Dylan nodded, cuddling closer to him. "Dylan... I can make you no promises about your sisters. I cannot help but blame them for... for much that has been done to you in the past. Perhaps it's unjust of me to feel so, but that is how I feel. However," he added when she sighed ever so softly, "I can promise to attempt to be civil to them. So long as they don't upset you, they are welcome at our wedding. Consider it my wedding gift to you."
She pulled back to gaze up at him. "You don't have to," she murmured.
"I want to."
Her smile was bright as starlight. "Thank you. You're so wonderful, Nuada. I love you." She popped up to kiss the tip of his nose, startling a laugh out of him. She grinned. "Now, I've danced to a whole CD's worth of songs. I'm sleepy and it's almost eleven o'clock. That's when Mormon girls turn into pumpkins. Bedtime for humans."
"Well," he replied with a melodramatic sigh, "I should hate to have to plant you in the kitchen gardens and ruin your lovely dress with all that dirt."
Dylan nodded, forcing her face into a semblance of seriousness. "That would be a shame."
He pressed his lips to Dylan's forehead. If she could jest, she was all right. They were all right. Those heartless, gutless harpies hadn't hurt her too badly. "Come along, then, Lady Pumpkin, and we shall return to the castle."
.
It felt strange, Dylan reflected as she settled on her bed, to know that she was going to sleep without Nuada at her side tonight. She'd gotten used to him being there. Gotten used to falling asleep to the sound of his breathing. An odd heaviness settled over her as she thought about the way her prince had held her hand all through their first night sleeping chastely together. Dylan knew what it was - loneliness. A sense of something missing. She'd felt the same thing after Nuada had warmed her the night she'd gotten hypothermia. It would go away in a week or two. And the medicine would help.
As if the thought had conjured him, Nuada came in through the open door adjoining their bedrooms with a tall glass of water in hand. She held up her hand, palm-up. On her open palm were eight pills - two Rohypnol, two Ambien, two Valium, and two Vicodin. The sleeping potion gleamed like liquid rubies on her nightstand. Nuada handed her the glass. She quickly swallowed the medication, took her nightly dose of the sleeping draft, and then drained the glass of water.
She had maybe fifteen minutes of lucidity before the drugs knocked her out. Since she'd already put the children to bed, read her scriptures, and said her prayers, Dylan decided to make good use of that time by brushing her hair.
Reaching for her hairbrush on the bedside table, Dylan found that Nuada had gotten there first. He met her eyes. "May I?" He asked softly. "I find it soothes me."
Surprised, she nodded. Nuada sat beside her on the edge of the bed and deftly separated her hair into manageable sections. He then drew the brush gently through the first section. The rhythmic shush of the bristles against her hair served to help lull Dylan closer to sleep. Medicinal sleepiness lulled her further. It took her a minute to realize the Elven warrior was talking.
"...used to brush my sister's hair when we were children. After my mother died. Mathair used to do it for Nuala before we went to bed, but once she was gone, I found it soothed both Nuala and I for me to do it in her place. And sometimes, on very rare occasions before her death, my mother would allow me to brush her hair. Usually only if she planned on staying in the nursery until my sister and I had both fallen asleep." He paused for a moment, both in speech and movement, then murmured, "Her hair was curly like yours."
"What was she like, your mother?"
He began to brush again. "She was... like no one else in the world. When my father was unhappy or uncertain, it seemed she could always show him the proper route to take. When she laughed or smiled, it always lifted my spirits. She used to sing to me," he said suddenly. "I... I'd almost forgotten. Her voice was so lovely."
"I wish I could sing," Dylan mumbled. I wish I had a voice that Nuada thought was lovely, instead of one that made him wince. I wish I could sing like Lorelei. Rhinemaidens have beautiful voices.
Almost as if he'd read her mind, Nuada said, "I am fond of your singing voice, but perhaps you might ask Lorelei to give you voice lessons."
"She's probably busy."
"Doubtful," the prince replied. "She is in Findias mostly for her protection, and to be with Wink. And to visit my sister. They're old friends as well." He continued to brush her hair in silence for a while. When he was finished, he set the brush aside. "Are you tired?"
She nodded. "A bit."
Nuada got to his feet. "Then you should sleep." He turned to go, then stopped. "Dylan... will you be all right?"
"Yeah, I'll be fine." She yawned. "Just really tired. I'm fine."
He nodded. Then, leaning down, he cupped her chin and tilted her face up to brush a chaste kiss across her forehead. "Good night, beloved."
Dylan caught his hand before he could walk away. "Thank you for today, Nuada. It was wonderful."
I love his smile, she thought when he turned it on her. Especially when it actually reaches his eyes. She smiled back at him before snuggling under her blankets. She was asleep before he'd left and before her guards came back into her bedroom.
.
Nuada slumped into his desk chair and drew out two sheets of his personal writing paper from a drawer. This letter would have to convey the depth of his need for Rennan's help. His friend, yet another comrade from the wars, had to help him. Elatha would no doubt refuse, and Bres could not be trusted to step in on Nuada's behalf; the Fomorian king could deliver a brutal punishment to his heir for such a seeming betrayal of their anti-human sentiments. And Nuada's own father... Balor had made it clear he wouldn't help the prince unless he forsook his people, and that he could never do.
The Elven prince took out a quill and dipped it into the inkwell on his desk. Set the point to the page.
Rennan,
I'm not writing this to you as the prince of Bethmoora to the king of Eirc.
I'm writing this to you as your friend, as a warrior who was once proud
to call you his shield-brother. I find myself in dire need of help that I fear
only you can give.
You've no doubt heard the rumors that I court a mortal woman. The
stories are true. To give you a full accounting of the details would no
doubt require a library's worth of paper, but you know me. You know I
loathe the children of Adam with everything I am. Yet this woman, my
lady, is so much more than I ever thought a human could be. Her blood
is mortal, but her heart is of the fae.
I mean to make her my wife. She has already accepted my proposal, and
the official announcement of our betrothal comes tomorrow night, the
night of the Winter Solstice. We mean to wed on the Frost Moon.
Consider this an early an invitation.
However, I cannot stand by and allow the woman I love more than my
own life to wither away and die beneath the weight of mortality's curse. I
search for a safe way to grant her immortality, though my quest has
currently proven fruitless. Desperation may prove me reckless enough to
risk a venture to the island of Mag Mell. My father withholds his aid in
such an endeavor. You know well Elatha's sentiments regarding humans,
so I shall not even attempt to seek help from him.
Yet you, Rennan, have never held an abiding hatred for the children of men.
If all else proves impossible, will you pledge me your help in seeking out
Tethra and Mannanan? I know it is a dangerous undertaking. I am not
insensible to the perils of such a quest. But I cannot stand idly by without
some attempt at saving my lady's life. I surrender my pride enough to beg
for your help.
Please do not leave me without some hope, for I don't know if I can make it
to Mag Mell without the aid of at least one of the three kings of Ireland, even
though I will be forced to make the attempt. I await your reply, Rennan.
Nuada
There. Did he sound like a desperate man? Probably. Did it matter? No, because he was desperate, loath as he was to admit it. Dylan was vulnerable to so many dangers as long as she remained mortal. Other threats loomed, of course, mortal or not. That was a part of any life, especially the life of a royal or future royal. But if he could find a way to make her even somewhat safer...
And then there was the discrepancy in their lifespans. Nuada knew he could not bear to watch his truelove fade away as the years passed, stealing her vitality bit by bit, while he remained as he was. Better for him to become mortal than that.
He folded the letter and slid it into an envelope. Silver wax, marked by his personal crest, sealed the missive. With just a touch of magic he summoned a will-o-the-wisp and gave the little fae the letter. The wisp zipped away like a firefly in the night. How the tiny messenger faeries passed through such obstacles as walls, Nuada didn't know. Nor did he care. He only cared what Rennan would say to his request. Nuada knew he asked a great deal of his friend.
But if it is the only way, I don't care, the Elven warrior thought, and went to bed.
End of
Once Upon a Time Book 9: A Lady of the Faerie Court
The story continues in
Book 10: All Is Fair, But Fair Is Foul
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Author's Note: and that's the end of our chapter. Sadly, no new chapters until Dec. 1st at least. I hope you guys enjoy, though! Love you!
Only two questions in our review prompt today:
1) The sister-meeting; thoughts?
2) Favorites, of course.
3) Do you think Rennan will agree to help Nuada?
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References Made in This Chapter:
- Only one for now, cuz I'm rushing. I changed the lyrics to the song "A Thousand Years" because Nuada's over 1000 yrs old, and the point of the song is that the singer has loved the other person before they were even born, and will love them even after they die. So I changed it to "ten thousand years." Just so you know.