Author's Note: Merry Christmas, everyone! As promised, here's the next chapter of One! Don't worry, we'll be getting to the northern villages arc soon. Anyway, hope you enjoy the chapter AND your holiday, and let me know what you think, yeah?

.

.

Chapter One-Hundred-Two

What Happened in the Gardens

that is

A Short Tale of Young Love, Defending a Damsel in Distress, Two Ladies Intervene, the Stench of Rot, the Ring of Fire, a Madman on the Wall, Francesca's Penchant for Tasering Things, a Deadly Game of Cat and Mouse, a Hostage Situation, and Master Collin

.

.

Tsu's'di Kata strolled through one of the Royal Gardens open to the public, enjoying the night: the muffled crunch of ice-crusted snow under his new leather boots, the crisp chill of the winter air, the way the faintest icy breeze brought the myriad scents of the night to his nose.

But most of all, he was enjoying the cold. He was enjoying the cold because unlike the Native American cougar fae, Isibéal ingen Cabhán didn't have fur. She only had her wool coat. Because he had fur, because his body was warm despite the cold night, Isibéal had both arms wrapped tightly around him. Her cheek was cool where it pressed against him. Her hair, which smelled faintly of flowers, whispered against Tsu's'di's neck. He kept one arm around her shoulders—to help keep her warm, of course.

"How did you convince His Highness to let me come with you tonight?" Isibéal asked softly, cuddling close.

She looked up at him, and Tsu's'di couldn't look away from her eyes like gold coins. Bethmooran Elves had the coolest eyes. But there was something different about Isibéal. She kept her hair fairly short, for one thing—shorter than his own. Bethmooran tradition dictated an Elven woman have long hair; he'd found that out from the prince. And her hair wasn't silky-smooth and star-blond like most Elves. It was thick, a bit shaggy, and fine as deer hide, with a thousand different shades of silver and gold and even white mixed in. And her eyes had a beast-like quality, a habit of picking up eye-shine in the dark from the light of the moon or a torch. Elves didn't do that. But Isibéal did. She was the most…interesting, incredible girl he'd ever known.

Then he realized she'd asked him a question. He racked his brain, trying to remember what it was. Oh, right. Tsu's'di shrugged. "When he told me what was going on tonight, I told him we'd had plans and I needed to let you know I had to work. He told me it was bad form to disappoint a lady, and to just bring you with me." He smiled down at her. "My lucky night, I guess."

Isibéal grinned. "I'm glad I could come. It was marvelous. Her Ladyship is…not what I expected."

"A'ge'lv Dylan? Yeah, she's…different."

Warmth flooded his chest as he thought about the mortal woman who'd inexplicably jumped in once upon a time to save 'Sa'ti's life, even though she'd been going up against two wolf-shifters out for blood. He thought of how after that day, he and his siblings hadn't had to scrounge for food in dumpsters anymore, how they hadn't had to live in a literal hole in the wall in order to keep relatively safe, how it was so great to see A'du and 'Sa'ti wearing clean clothes with no holes that actually fit and having baths when they needed them, blankets to sleep under, a real roof over their heads.

"She's like my mom, you know? Always trying to look out for us. My little brother and sister are crazy about her."

"You love her very much," Isibéal murmured. Tsu's'di nodded. "What happened to your parents?"

He tensed, tried to relax. He swallowed. His fur bristled with agitation, but Isibéal just stroked a hand down his arm like she was soothing an upset cat. It helped. Tsu's'di cleared his throat. "Human hunters killed my e'do'da, my father, about thirty years ago, when my e'tsi, my mother, was pregnant with my sister. They thought he was a regular cougar, I guess."

"And your mother?" Isibéal asked gently.

"After 'Sa'ti was born, E'tsi just…gave up. You know? Stopped wanting to live. I guess we weren't enough of a reason to stick around," he added bitterly, a slight growl beneath the words. When Isibéal said nothing, he grimaced. "Sorry."

"My Máthair died, too," Isibéal said. Tsu's'di's brows shot up. She was careful not to look at him as she said, "It is part of the history of my family. My great-grandfather fell in love with my great-grandmother, but another man loved her, and turned her into a white doe for refusing him. The curse was broken, but every woman in my family carries the mark of it."

"Your hair," Tsu's'di realized. He'd compared it to deer hide before. He'd been right. "And your eyes."

"Mmm-hmmm. Well, my mother had gone to visit a friend in Cíocal when I was little and a Fomorian lord saw her. Some said he was Elatha Redtongue in disguise, but I don't know about that. Since I only have sisters, you would think Elatha would have been uninterested."

"Who's Elatha Redtongue?"

Isibéal shot him a startled look. "King Elatha mac Dalbaech, the king of Cíocal, to the south. He is known for choosing his women from uncommonly pretty folk without rank or title to protect them."

Suddenly Tsu's'di remembered a day a few weeks ago, when A'ge'lv Dylan had had a dance lesson with Princess Nuala. His Highness was supposed to have been there, but something between the two adults had left them both trying to avoid each other. Tsu's'di had accompanied his mistress, along with A'du and 'Sa'ti.

And when they'd arrived, Princess Nuala had been in the company of three people. One of them, a beautiful redheaded woman with emerald eyes, had made him strangely nervous. He hadn't had time to think about it, though, because A'du had muttered something about the woman smelling bad and he'd had to deal with his little brother and his little brother's big mouth. Prince Bres had been there, too, which had made the a'ge'lv nervous—she'd said the day before that the prince of Cíocal made her uncomfortable—but it had been the third man, the man with black hair and eyes that were such a dark green they were nearly black too, who'd frightened her to the point that Tsu's'di had abandoned his post and run to get the prince.

The people of Cíocal, it seemed, were no one's favorites. The prince made A'ge'lv Dylan nervous, Lord Cíaran scared the daylights out of her, and she didn't seem to like the redheaded woman, either. And now Isibéal whispered the Fomorian king's name as if he might pop out at any second and yell, "Boo!"

"Why do they call him Elatha Redtongue?" Tsu's'di asked.

Isibéal shivered. He tightened his one-armed grip in an attempt to comfort her. "It is tradition in Cíocal for the scions of the royal house to try to kill each other."

"Are you serious?" He stared at her, shook his head. "That's…nuts."

She nodded. "Out of all who are eligible for the throne, only one may take it—the last one left alive. It has been that way as far back as anyone can remember. And they say—this is merely gossip, mind—that when each of his children was killed, King Elatha was presented with their corpse and a goblet of their blood, and he…he would…" She trailed off, covering her mouth with a trembling hand. "My mother thought it might be him. She was afraid of the lord that approached her, but she was married, and she loved my father, so she refused him. So…he killed her."

Tsu's'di stopped short. He stared at Isibéal for a long moment in silence. They'd been friends ever since Tsu's'di's arrival in Findias more than five weeks ago. He'd never felt like he could talk to someone the way he talked to the Elven girl. She listened to him; more than that, she understood him. They'd talked about so much—how her village had been attacked by human bandits when she was little; how he'd had to support his family ever since 'Sa'ti was a mere kitten-cub, her eyes not even open yet—but somehow parents had been a restricted topic…until now. And now Isibéal was telling him that her mom had been murdered because she'd refused to sleep with some Elven lord?

"He wanted her because she was…exotic," Isibéal added softly. "Our hair, you know. Most Elves don't have hair like this. And our eyes. Any non-pureblooded Elf, noble or common, is considered quite the prize to many of the young lords. Lady Jocasta, of Reedus, has had her share of trouble. She is half-Alakan, on her mother's side."

The ewah youth frowned at this. He'd heard of Lady Jocasta. A'ge'lv Dylan had said the half-Indian, half-Irish Elven noblewoman was a strong supporter of peace between humans and fae, and was one of the highest-ranking nobles at court. His Highness didn't like her, but Lady Jocasta had been nice to A'ge'lv Dylan. If she had problems with stupid jerks coming after her because she was hot, then did Isibéal…?

"Does anyone bother you?" Tsu's'di growled softly. Isibéal shot him a wild-shy look, then cast her eyes to the snow underfoot. "Isibéal?"

She shrugged. "I work in the kitchens. I'm just a servant." When he didn't say anything, the Elven girl added with more than a little bitterness, "It is not my place to gainsay my betters."

"That's a load of bull," Tsu's'di snapped. "Who's been bothering you? Did you tell Master Caspar?"

Isibéal sighed. "It is being handled, Tsu's'di."

"Handled how?" He snarled, fur bristling. "Is the guy still bothering you?" When Isibéal only glared at the snow, he added, "I bet you anything if you tell His Highness, he'll do something about it. Who is it? It's not that douche, Lord Galen the Younger, is it?" He'd heard from the stable-hands that Lord Galen and his friends liked messing with the servant girls.

Isibéal nodded. Tsu's'di bit back a rumbling yowling cry, the same infuriated shriek a puma gave when it spotted prey or fought a challenger. He took a breath. Forced himself to calm down. Lord Galen the Younger of Óic Bethrá had already tried to assault A'ge'lv Dylan a couple weeks back. Only Prince Zhenjin's interference had kept her from getting hurt. And Galen was at least two-thousand years old. He was basically at least twenty; Isibéal was only fifteen. What a creep.

Now that Tsu's'di was thinking about Lord Galen, he remembered that Galen's younger brother Lord Hamish had been the one to kick Tsu's'di's little sister in the face after stealing her doll. 'Sa'ti had pointed out Prince Llŷr, the Welsh prince who'd socked the kid and gotten the doll back, at the snowball fight in the a'ge'lv's garden.

Gritting his teeth, the cougar fae hissed, "We'll talk to Prince Nuada. He'll protect you, Isibéal. He will. What did the jerk do to you?"

She shook her head, running a hand through her thick hair. "Tsu's'di, it is being taken care of. Really. And it was just a few kisses; he has not pressed me for—"

"He kissed you?" Tsu's'di demanded. They stopped walking and he turned to her. "That jerk tried to kiss you? Did you fight back?" She nodded, trying to avoid his gaze. "What happened?" He scanned her face when she didn't answer. She'd turned even paler in the face of his anger. He tried to keep his voice calm and even when he demanded, "Are you okay? Do I need to go rip this guy to shreds or what?"

Lord Galen had tried to hit A'ge'lv Dylan, he remembered. Tried to fight Prince Zhenjin. And Prince Nuada was of the opinion that, had Dylan been alone, the Elven lord might have tried to rape her, to "see what all the fuss was about," as Lord Galen had put it.

"I am fine," Isibéal insisted. "Truly. The bruises faded after a couple of days and I told Iubdan, the cook—"

"Wait, back up. What?" The thought of anyone hurting a girl like that left him fuming. "So he tried to hit you?" Isibéal opened her mouth, closed it. Looked away. "He hit you. That douche bag actually hit you. Why didn't you say anything? Why didn't you tell anyone else?"

"I have told Iubdan and Master Caspar. There is a way we do things here; it is not as if I can run off to the king and beg an audience with him. It will be taken care of. I trust Master Caspar."

"Except it hasn't been handled yet. Did you tell anyone else? Someone who outranks this creep?"

She shrugged helplessly. "I am a servant, Tsu's'di. I'm a kitchen maid, for the stars' sake. Most likely I would not be allowed to talk to anyone who outranks Lord Galen, and if I was, I doubt they would believe me, or care if they did believe."

He narrowed his eyes. "The prince would care. A'ge'lv Dylan would care."

"Yes, but I have already—"

"And I care. You're my friend, and I…I really like you. A lot." The surprise in her golden eyes irritated him. "What?"

Isibéal brushed the hair out of her face. "Nothing. Just…you are a guard. A personal guard to the prince's betrothed. I'm just a kitchen maid."

"So? Who cares? You're smart and funny and beautiful and nice and…and fun. And you deserve way better than to have that jerk coming after you, bothering you, because he thinks you're 'exotic' or whatever. And I don't care if you're a kitchen maid. You can kick my butt at Scáith. And you got Wink in the face like, three times with a snowball. How epic is that? I don't care if you're a maid. I like you."

And because of the way she was looking at him now, her eyes kind of wide and soft, a little smile on her face, he really wanted to kiss her. But not after what she'd just said. Not after finding out that that creep, Lord Galen, had kissed her without her permission. So instead, Tsu's'di carefully leaned down, touching his cheek and the edges of his whiskers against the softness of Isibéal's skin.

She went very still as he slowly rubbed his cheek against hers. It was an ewah thing, he'd told her about it, almost like a kiss, but not quite. Tsu's'di let a purr rumble in his chest as he brushed his cheek back and forth against Isibéal's face. He could smell her skin, the faint fragrance of perfume and innate Elven magic. Her breath was warm against his jaw, ruffling his fur. He flexed his fingers against her shoulders, but was careful to keep his hands someplace innocuous. He didn't pull back until he felt Isibéal's lips brush his cheek. A jolt of electricity shot through him from ear-tips to the end of his tail. He leaned back to look down at her.

"Tsu's'di," Isibéal whispered. She swallowed. "I really, really like you."

He nodded, a bit dazed. He could still feel the kiss she'd pressed to his cheek. "Yeah. I…I really like you, Isibéal." Unfortunately, he sounded like an idiot. He had to be able to do better than that. Say something else, he growled at himself. Come on, say something. Anything. "I…um…you're u'wo'du'hi," he blurted, then had to bite back a grimace when he realized he'd switched from English to Cherokee, his native language.

"Ooh-woh…what?" Isibéal asked with a smile.

"Beautiful," he murmured. And I'm a loser.

But her eyes widened and she blushed. "Thank you." A little self-consciously, she brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. "I wrote to my Áta about you."

A cool sort of nervousness bubbled up in Tsu's'di's stomach and into his chest like icy heartburn. She'd written to her dad about him? He knew Isibéal's father, Cabhán mac Oísin, was part of the roaming warrior band known as the Fianna. She saw him maybe once or twice a year. But they wrote to each other all the time, she'd told him. So what had she said about him to Cabhan?

"Yeah?" He said, trying not to sweat. "What'd you say?"

Isibéal hesitated. "That you seemed interested in courting me, but you didn't know our ways. I asked if he would mind so much, me being courted by a fae from Elphame." She smiled shyly. "He said you seemed like an honorable young man, and that if the prince vouched for you, he saw no reason why we couldn't court."

Court. Basically, he had permission from her dad to date her. Now all he had to do was actually petition the prince, since Tsu's'di was a vassal and His Highness was Tsu's'di's liege lord. The ewah youth grinned. "So that would make you my tsu'na'da'da'tlu'gi."

"I cannot even pronounce that," she said, laughing.

He grinned. "My girlfriend," he murmured. Isibéal bit her lip, smiling still, and dropped her gaze. Tsu's'di touched her cheek with gentle fingers. "You're not going to get shy on me all of a sudden, are you?"

"Well is this not simply the sweetest thing you ever did see?" A slurring, angry voice snarked from the shadows. Tsu's'di jolted, realizing he hadn't been paying attention to the world around him ever since Isibéal had revealed what Lord Galen had done to her. He immediately swept Isibéal behind him, facing the new threat as it emerged from the shadows of the garden path ahead. Recognition filled Tsu's'di with a sudden, staggering fury.

"M-my lord Galen," Isibéal stammered.

Lord Galen mac Galen of Óic Bethrá leered at the kitchen maid as he took in the image of her standing behind Tsu's'di. "Evening, sweetest. Who's this?" The Elven lord demanded. Tsu's'di watched him stagger a couple of feet. He was obviously drunk. Prince Nuada had warned him that it was when Lord Galen was drunk that he was most dangerous, because when he was drunk, he lost what little sense he had.

Isibéal trembled behind Tsu's'di. Swallowing hard, she replied tremulously, "M-My lord, th-this is—"

"Tsu's'di Kata," the cougar replied coldly, adding at the very last second, "Milord. I am one of Lady Dylan's guardsmen."

Lord Galen spat on the snow. "Do not use that whore's name in my presence."

Fur bristling, ears flattened against his skull, tail lashing, Tsu's'di hissed, "How dare you insult my lady. If you weren't completely snockered, you'd be picking your teeth up off the ground."

"Tsu's'di," Isibéal gasped in a whisper. "He's a lord! You cannot threaten him!"

"Better listen to the little slut, cat-boy," Lord Galen sneered. "The day I show respect to a mortal harlot is the day I give up my title as heir to Óic Bethrá. Now, Isibéal. Sweeting. Come away from that feckless boy. I've been so lonely."

Tsu's'di felt Isibéal tremble harder as Galen took another step. The cougar fae shot an arm in front of Isibéal, as if barring the way. He practically growled, "Do not come one step closer. Leave her be."

The leer slid off Galen's face like slime, replaced by a look of cold contempt. "Boy, you had better get out of my way. That one is mine."

A smoky blue eye landed on Isibéal. "Do you really want to go with him?" From the sound of it, Lord Galen was going to drag Isibéal off to his bedroom. The thought had bile rising in Tsu's'di's throat. Isibéal had said it was only a few unwilling kisses. He didn't know if she'd ever slept with anyone—it wasn't his business anyway—but he wasn't going to just stand there and let this jerk practically kidnap and rape her just because he thought being a lord meant he could do whatever he wanted.

Isibéal shook her head, her eyes wide and shining with fear. Tsu's'di could smell her fear, an acrid scent that made his nose wrinkle and his whiskers twitch. She gripped the sleeve of his gray coat so hard her knuckles turned white. "But…but he's a lord," she whispered. "If you fight him, you could be arrested!"

Tsu's'di turned back to Galen, though he spoke to Isibéal as he shrugged out of his coat. "Don't care." Fur bristling until he seemed almost twice his normal size, he squared his shoulders. He wouldn't draw a weapon. Not yet. This guy was a lord, and Tsu's'di wasn't stupid. But he quickly pulled off his gloves, stuffing them in his coat pocket, and unsheathed the claws that could rip open a human leg from hip to ankle all the way to the bone. He handed Isibéal the gray lamb's-wool coat. "I've been arrested before. And just because he's a lord, that doesn't mean he can do whatever he wants."

"That is exactly what it means, boy," another voice snarled from the shadows. A fork in the path beyond Lord Galen led in three directions—left, right, and straight ahead. Lord Galen had come from the left-hand path. Now from the right-hand pathway stepped two men. Elves. Dressed in noblemen's clothes, they didn't move like they were drunk. They moved like men who enjoyed hurting people smaller and weaker than them.

His heart kicked into a gallop. He considered shifting. In cougar form, where he was twice the size of a mortal mountain lion, he could easily kill the three men. Not yet, though. Not just yet. Killing three Elven lords over a servant girl…Tsu's'di knew the prince would back him up when he told the Silverlance that Galen basically intended to rape a girl, but it would still cause a lot of problems. The prince and the a'ge'lv didn't need problems right now. And shifting could galvanize these guys into attacking.

"That's Lord Finbarr," Isibéal whispered. She clutched Tsu's'di's coat to her chest. "The man with him is Lord Dougall of Cromm Crúaich. Tsu's'di, you should just go. Lord Galen's family is very powerful. So is Lord Dougall's. They're dangerous, Tsu's'di."

He ignored her, focusing on the three men. What had the prince told him to do in a situation like this? There was something he was supposed to say, to cover his bases. Right, he remembered. "Mistress Isibéal ingen Cabhán is under my protection. You will leave her be."

The two new men chuckled. "D'you hear the boy?" The man on the left, a stocky older man with a few wrinkled around his golden eyes, grinned openly. "Placing the girl under his protection. How gallant of you, lad. Very brave."

"Let's see how brave the cub is with a pair of broken ribs," Lord Finbarr replied.

Tsu's'di braced himself. Flexed his claws. The honor of the ewah dictated that he protect a girl in trouble, and these three were most definitely that. And Prince Nuada had warned him that corruption had seeped into the Golden Court. Here it was.

"Stand back, Isibéal," he ordered softly as Lord Dougall drew a wicked-looking dirk. She backed up, still clutching his coat. In a louder voice, he called, "I am Tsu's'di Kata of the Children of the Cougar. I am vassal to His Highness Crown Prince Nuada Silverlance and his betrothed, Lady Dylan. An attack on me constitutes an attack on them, too."

"An attack? We're not going to hurt you, boy," Lord Dougall replied. He turned the knife, letting the blade catch the light. "We're simply going to teach you better manners. We're lords of Bethmoora, descended from ancient noble lines. What are you? A bastard street urchin licking the human harlot's boots?"

Galen spat again. "Give us the girl and we shall call it even, eh?"

Tsu's'di didn't reply. He only hissed like an enraged cat and lashed out with one hand as Galen rushed him. His claws opened up deep furrows in the Elven lord's shoulder, driving him back. Blood immediately spilled onto the snow, almost black in the poor light, steaming in the cold. Isibéal squeaked and drew back even further. Galen howled and staggered away from the cougar youth, clutching his bleeding shoulder.

"You'll pay for that, you little bast—"

"My lords," a voice with all the warmth of a glacier sliced through the tension between the four combatants. Tsu's'di recognized that voice—Princess Nuala's lady-in-waiting, Ledi Polunochnaya iz Lysaya Gora. The Elf of Zwezda, a Child of the Stars. "What seems to be the trouble?"

Lord Galen opened his mouth to accuse Tsu's'di of something, but just then a great rushing sound, a beating of wings, filled the air. A shadow passed over the moon above. The men instinctively ducked. The cougar youth twisted to get a glimpse of whatever soared above him. Every instinct screamed predator, and he knew when he saw the creature overhead that he'd been right.

A massive bird, dark as obsidian against the midnight blue velvet of the night sky, dove for the space between the Elven lords and the ewah bodyguard. Tsu's'di had a moment to see jagged white teeth glowing electric yellow inside a vicious raptor's hooked beak and a pair of ivory horns thrusting up through the dark feathers, as two twisting writhing things like living lightning bolts, before the ebony bird melted and shifted as it hit the snow, transforming into the image of a tall woman with coppery skin and long sweeping feathers where her hair should have been. She wore plain leather breeches and a long, white tunic that seemed to glow with the faint smoky ambience of a lightning bolt. Her fingers ended in sharp, dark talons instead of humanoid fingernails. Two sinuous black marks slithered over her skin as if they were alive—and maybe they were. When Ledi Polunochnaya came to stand beside the woman, Tsu's'di knew exactly who she was: A'ge'lv Na'ko'ma, the thunderbird, and Princess Nuala's other lady-in-waiting.

The three Elven lords bowed. Lord Dougall stepped forward. "My ladies, this upstart bratling—"

"Silence!" Na'ko'ma snapped, a command echoed by a rumble of thunder overhead, though the night was clear.

Ledi Polunochnaya turned a little to regard the other woman. "You have been watching?"

"I have," A'ge'lv Na'ko'ma said. "These men seek to enjoy the girl. The young guardsman seeks to protect her."

The Elf of Zwezda turned to Tsu's'di. "You are in service to His Highness, are you not?" He nodded. "You have honor, as well as courage. Though he likely already knows that, I will tell His Highness when I see him next. And you, my dear? This boy is your protector?" After a moment, Isibéal nodded. "Good. As for you, my lords." She swiveled back to the three Elves. "Such acts are forbidden in this kingdom. We will speak to the king about this. And if any harm comes to this youth or this maiden before that time, we will come looking for you."

Na'ko'ma held up one hand and flexed her long fingers so that the talons caught the light from the torches. Her voice was a silky purr when she added, "Oh, yes, we will come looking. And when we are done with you, we will give you to the Silverlance." Overhead, thunder rumbled again. "Now begone."

With mumbled apologies and truncated bows, the three Elven lords fled. Tsu's'di sheathed his claws and lifted his ears from his head. He opened his mouth to thank the two women as Isibéal drew near him again, but before he could, A'ge'lv Na'ko'ma turned and pinned him with a cold, dark stare. He thought he saw lightning spark in her eyes.

"You are very foolish," she hissed. Tsu's'di automatically bristled, but then the thunderbird smiled. "And you are also very brave. Three grown men, warriors all, and Elves at that? Your loyalty is a valuable asset to any who call you friend."

Ledi Polunochnaya nudged her in the ribs. "Leave the poor boy alone, 'Ko. He did just what Prince Nuada would have, you know that."

"Hmmm." Na'ko'ma raised a feathery black brow before adding, "Well, we of the People must stand beside one another, of course." Tsu's'di smiled and bowed. "You are lucky we were out walking, Ledi Naya and I. For the foreseeable future, you must watch yourself, young Smoke Eyes."

He started a little at being addressed that way. The name Tsu's'di Kata meant "Smoke Eyes" in English, but he'd gotten so used to people not knowing that…it had been a long time since he'd lived among ewah or other fae of the People. He nodded to A'ge'lv Na'ko'ma. "Thank you, A'ge'lv. Ledi Polunochnaya." He bowed to the pale, silver-eyed woman. "Thank you. I…"

As he'd been speaking, the wind had shifted. Suddenly his whiskers stood on end, his fur fluffed out to its fullest, and his ears flattened to his skull again. He looked around, breathing in the fresh scents of the night. His tail lashed madly. A'ge'lv Na'ko'ma stepped forward.

"What is it? What do you smell?"

"Death," he hissed, trying not to gag at the stench of rotting meat, blood, and burning flesh. "Death is on the wind." He turned in a slow circle, tasting the currents on the air. He wished his little brother hadn't gone to bed. A'du had a gift for scenting things. A magical talent. He would've known where the stink came from. Of course, then Tsu's'di would've had his hands full keeping the little pain from getting into trouble.

But he knew this stench. A'du had described it to him once before. A shoggoth had attacked A'ge'lv Dylan and Prince Nuada in the plum orchards a few weeks past after a botched assassination attempt by some rogue Téngshé. Only A'du'la'di's half-suicidal interference had kept their mistress from probably being murdered. A'du had suffered a broken hand, two deep slash wounds to his arm and side, as well as a fractured skull. And during his recovery, he'd told Tsu's'di about the garbage-reek of the gelatinous monster that had eaten two of the dead assassins.

Tsu's'di drew a breath. "A shoggoth. Possibly more than one. They're…" He tried to pinpoint where the stink was coming from. Turning a little to the left, feet shuffling over the snow, he closed his eyes. Breathed deep. His eyes snapped open. "There. That way. Toward…" Horror stole his voice. The smell came from the path to A'ge'lv Dylan's garden. Without thinking, Tsu's'di cried, "The prince and A'ge'lv Dylan are in danger!" Then he paused. Frowned. "I mean…"

The three women stared at him. "Why do you say that, Tsu's'di Kata?" Na'ko'ma asked.

Immediately a burst of urgent heat flooded his chest. He blinked, remembering this feeling from his time attending church. He knew exactly what it was because his mortal mistress and other Latter-Day Saints had told him of it: the Holy Ghost could and often did warn someone of danger. People called it intuition, hunches, psychic gifts. A'ge'lv Dylan and the others at church knew it for the Spirit.

"Because I know," Tsu's'di said. He turned to Isibéal. "Isibéal, go back to the castle. Be careful on the way. There might be something lurking. I have to go make sure A'ge'lv Dylan's okay."

She opened her mouth as if to protest, closed it. Nodded. "Be careful."

"'Careful' is my middle name," he said, grinning. He'd always wanted to say that. He turned to the two noblewomen. "Uh, my ladies—"

Ledi Polunochnaya held up one finger and turned to A'ge'lv Na'ko'ma. "'Ko, you fly faster than I can run. Tell the Butchers there may be shoggoths in the Royal Gardens."

Na'ko'ma frowned. "Where will you be, Naya? With Tsu's'di?"

The Elf of Zwezda looked to the young guardsman, who tried his best not to show his impatience or his sudden panic at the thought of having the princess's lady-in-waiting tagging after him. What if they were attacked and he had to protect her? What if he failed? What would Princess Nuala do to him? And Prince Nuada really cared about Ledi Polunochnaya, too.

But the star-Elf said, "No. I will awaken Collin…and the Lord Chamberlain."

"Are you certain that is wise?" Na'ko'ma demanded. "If you awaken Lord Iríall tonight…Naya, the moon! It is waning, he will—"

"If someone is after His Highness, we will need Lord Iríall in a temper. Now go! Fetch the Guards! And you, Tsu's'di Kata! Go now to your lady! Go! Little Isibéal, I will go part of the way with you to the castle. Come."

Tsu's'di didn't wait around. With Isibéal safe with Ledi Polunochnaya and A'ge'lv Na'ko'ma on the way to get the Butchers, he took off running, shifting on the fly.

.

Dylan gritted her teeth against the scream rising in her throat as the shoggoths slithered closer. Her back hit icy stone. Scrunching her eyes shut, she tried to think. What to do? What to do? She couldn't get past them. Couldn't fight them off with just her dirk and twin-knives. The things ate everything. They would eat her weapons, just as they'd eaten Onóra's claymore and Mahon and Lorcc's throwing knives. Her guards and Nuada's couldn't get through to her, either. The shoggoths held them back. She had to think.

An idea came to her. She couldn't fight them, couldn't kill them, but maybe she could hold them off long enough for someone to get to her. Sheathing her dirk, she turned and reached up to the torch in its bracket on the wall lining the garden path. Most of the plants out here weren't dead, but they weren't exactly fresh and wet and green, either. They would burn. And the pathway here had been cleared of snow. There wasn't even any ice, which was just as well, because she would have most likely slipped on the slick ice by now and wrenched her knee.

So she lifted the heavy torch, reached down to the fireweed bushes lining the pathway, and grabbed a handful of twigs and dried leaves. In about sixty seconds she'd managed to make a little semi-circle around herself, perhaps three feet away from the wall, of dried plant matter. With trembling hands, she touched the torch to the three-inch thick barrier.

The leaves and sticks caught quickly, and a ring of short flames zipped around her, hemming her in. The shoggoths' high-pitched whistling shrilled on the air as the heat from the flames drove them back a few inches. Their tentacles waved and flailed as the dried leaves burned.

But Dylan knew she had maybe a minute before the flames went out. That wasn't enough time. Where was Nuada? Where were her guards? She'd seen Nuada and Bres get picked up and slammed into each other by the biggest of the eldritch creatures, before being flung to the ground. What if Nuada was unconscious? What if a shoggoth, drawn to fresh meat, had already started to…?

No. No, she couldn't think like that. She had to focus, darn it. Looking around, she realized she really didn't have many options. But she also noticed that the wall was only perhaps ten or twelve feet high, and that some of the stone blocks stuck out from the smooth surface of the wall. The wall separating the public pathways from the private garden beyond was more than a foot wide, as well. She knew then what she'd have to do. She just didn't know if she could do it.

She wedged the torch into one of the bushes. Immediately the leaves started to curl and blacken. They'd catch fire fairly quickly. Clenching her jaw and hiking up her skirt, she set her left foot on the first outcropping stone. Her right knee twinged. She ignored it. Reaching for another wide, protruding stone, she hauled herself up.

It was slow going, and agonizing. Sweat dripped off her forehead and temples to freeze against her cheeks and the side of her neck. The breath rasped in her chest. Her leg began screaming after only a minute of climbing. Her knee trembled, and terror coursed like icy poison through her veins when she thought that her leg might not hold her. But somehow she managed to get a handhold at the top of the wall and climb laboriously up onto the flat, wide stone. She lay there, cheek against the frigid stone, and panted for breath.

Below her, the bushes blazed. She hoped the Master Gardener, Collin, wouldn't hold a grudge. The flames kept the shoggoths back, though. She flexed her fingers, which were stiff from cold and from clinging to the stone blocks. Her fingertips had been scraped raw. Blood seeped from the abraded skin, steaming in the cold. Shoving herself into a sitting position, legs straddling the cold stone wall, she looked around for Nuada.

There! He lay on the pathway, eyes closed. But were his lashes fluttering? Yes! He was starting to wake up. Beside him, Prince Bres twitched. Rolled slightly to one side before rolling the other way. She had to get to them. Had to—

"My, my. My spies were right about you. You are resourceful! Who's a resourceful girl?"

The chipper, warm voice spoke in distinctly Chinese-accented English. Dylan's head whipped frantically around, but she saw no one. When she turned back around, she jerked back and half-screamed at the sight of a pair of gleaming, crimson, snakeskin boots not three feet in front of her. Her eyes shot up over the form clad in a black tunic and trews of some glossy, silken material before fixing on a face that was horrifying in its familiarity. For a moment she thought she looked at Zhenjin. The man in front of her had Zhenjin's face, but as she stared at him, Dylan realized his face was broader, the nose a bit crooked, the skin somewhat paler than the Dilong prince's healthy copper. When he smiled, he revealed the poisonous fangs the mortal had seen Zhenjin flash only once before.

But if nothing else, his eyes told her that this was not Zhenjin. The slanted eyes were a metallic bronze, very similar to the color Nuada's eyes became when he grew enraged. The vertically slit pupils reminded Dylan of a venomous snake. She swallowed back another scream, knowing in her heart just who this man was.

"I couldn't help noticing you admiring my boots," he said, still in that warm voice. He crouched on the wall, bracing his forearms on his knees, still smiling. "They are magnificent, aren't they? Dragon-hide. My fourth wife's." He sighed dreamily and stroked the crimson material. "She had such lovely scales. A pity she had to die, really. But what can a prince do when the xiao jiāng shī kept birthing girls?" He sighed again. "Such lovely scales. And lovely hair, too. You have lovely hair. Perhaps I shall keep some after I kill you."

Dylan gulped air, trying to keep from passing out from pain, from sudden overwhelming fear. How could he talk about killing so cheerfully? Even Bres, evil as he was, had sounded angry when he spoke of how the Fair Folk would kill her. "You're Prince Shaohao."

He grinned, flashing those fangs. "Who's a smart girl? And they say humans are stupid. Yes, I am Crown Prince Shaohao Azurefire of Dilong, the real Jade Warlord—noble eldest son of His Imperial Majesty Huizong Tilung, the Dragon Emperor, and Her Imperial Majesty Yeh-Shen Fenghuang the Serpent Empress—and the rightful heir to the Jade Dragon Throne of the Lóng De Chuán Rén." Dylan just stared at him. She couldn't seem to move. "I am Zhenjin's older brother. How is my Zhen-Zhen, anyway?"

Zhen-Zhen, Dylan thought. Why does he call him that? She cleared her throat. "He…he knows you tried to have us killed."

"No, no, no, my dear. Tsk-tsk-tsk. I tried to have you killed. Those wretches were to leave my brother alone." Though Shaohao continued to smile so brightly, though his voice remained warm, a hard edge came into his eyes that sent terror winging through Dylan like a flying snake. "They are so lucky old One-Arm had them executed, or I would have done it myself. Imagine, hurting my Zhen-Zhen. Now, tell me, my dear—have you ever been impaled through every limb by sharpened bamboo stakes? If you have, I don't want to do that to you. I want to be original."

She couldn't move. Why couldn't she move? She swallowed, tried to work up enough saliva in her fear-dry mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Shaohao took two scuttling, crab-like steps and grinned at her when she flinched.

"Have you ever had acid thrown in your face? No?"

His hand lashed out like a striking cobra, wrapping around her throat. He rose, hauling her up so that her toes just brushed the stone wall's top. She gurgled, choked. Her hands scrabbled against the impersonal hand gripping her neck; her nails raked his hand, drawing amber blood that pit-patted on the stone. Shaohao's grin widened.

"Have you ever been bitten by…a poisssonousss…sssnake?" He dragged her closer. Leaned in as if he meant to smell her. His tongue flicked out and licked the side of her face. She gasped out a scream. "I can smell your fear, you know. But there's nothing to be afraid of, my dear. Honestly." He lifted her higher, so that her legs swung uselessly beneath her, more than a foot off the ground. She choked, struggling for air, struggling to breathe. He leaned in toward her chest.

"One scrape of my fangs and you die in agony. It will be so entertaining to watch. Oh, but I forgot to bring pork dumplings. I adore pork dumplings, you know. Ask Zhen-Zhen. Ah, well. I can enjoy the show without my food if I must. Hold still, now." He opened his mouth wide. His venom-slicked fangs gleamed as they arrowed in toward the slope of her breast, the white scar spreading across the flesh over her heart.

"Just…one…little…nip…"

The tips of his fangs touched her skin. The flesh dimpled under the pressure as he slowly bore down.

"Shaohao!" A familiar voice roared, and the mad Dilong prince jerked back from Dylan. He looked around, his expression one of mild puzzlement, before he broke out in a wide, welcoming smile.

"Zhen-Zhen! My, how you have grown these past three centuries. My di-di all grown up. But Bethmooran clothes? Zhen-Zhen." Shaohao shook his head and clucked his tongue in disapproval. "I have told you and told you, di-di, you mustn't be ashamed of our heritage. Flaunt your Dilong blood. We are the Children of the Dragon. Be proud of that."

Dylan couldn't see past the spots dancing across her vision. Everything was fading out, dimming. Her fingers had gone numb. Her arms seemed so heavy. She didn't think she could lift her arms anymore to struggle. Somehow she managed to force her tingling lips to form the name, "Zhenjin."

"Let her go, Shaohao!"

"Oh, you spoil everything, di-di. First you want me to spare the pestilent little weed, and now you want me to let the human go. Now why should I do that? Hmmm? What have you done for me in the last three centuries besides have me arrested? I'll tell you—nothing. That is gratitude for you, my dear," Shaohao added, and Dylan realized in a vague, air-deprived way that he was talking to her. "Little brothers are always doing that. Spoiling the fun. Do you have any brothers?"

A strangled gurgle was the only reply.

To Zhenjin, Shaohao added, "The poor thing's not much of a conversationalist. Whatever do you want her for, Brother? Is she a pet of yours? If so, I shall buy you a cat when I am finished with her. A nice fluffy cat. Will that please you? And why are you speaking Eathesburian? For her benefit? Ah, well, I shall indulge you."

Dylan's eyes drifted shut as consciousness began to slide away. Her body went limp. From a very long way off, she heard Zhenjin almost scream, "Let her go, damn you! Dylan!"

An aggrieved sigh. "Oh, very well. Ungrateful wretch. But only because you are my favorite brother. Here, catch."

Suddenly the hand dragged Dylan to the right, to the side of the wall without any shoggoths, and the cold merciless fingers wrapped around her throat abruptly released her. Wind rushed by as she fell toward the ground, only to be caught at the last second by strong arms. She gulped air, great lung-fulls, as every limb tingled with a fresh flood of long-denied oxygen.

Green, reptilian eyes materialized above her face, and Zhenjin cried, "Dylan! Are you all right? Please, gods, say something."

She coughed, sucked in air. Managed to croak, "Hi."

Zhenjin crushed her against him, pressing his lips to her forehead. "Gods, for a moment I thought…Did he bite you?" Looking up at Shaohao, Zhenjin snarled, "If you've bitten her, Shaohao, I will kill you. Dylan, can you stand?"

Somehow she managed a nod. Then she grabbed Zhenjin's sleeve as the most important thing pulsed through her brain. "Nuada! He's down, and there are shoggoths!"

"Oh, yes!" Shaohao cried, actually clapping his hands together like a gleeful child. "Aren't they simply magnificent? Masses of malevolent black rot, insatiable, indestructible, completely unstoppable. Except of course by Father, but he is so old now, I doubt he has the strength to stop them all. And…" Shaohao twisted around, peering over his shoulder at the garden pathways behind him. "Oh, dear. I think they've decided to eat the Bethmooran heir. Friend of yours, wasn't he? Oops. Well, nothing to do about it now. I do hope he doesn't give them indigestion."

Dylan launched herself out of Zhenjin's arms, screaming Nuada's name even as she stumbled and nearly fell. She slammed against the stone wall, screaming, "Nuada! Nuada! Wake up! Get away from them! Nuada! Uaithne, help Nuada!"

"Shaohao, call them off!" Zhenjin roared.

The mad prince pursed his lips and tapped a finger against his chin. "Erm…no. You see, your arrival has interfered with my plan to retrieve something I left unfinished." He laughed when Zhenjin's eyes widened. "Hmmm, yes. The poisonous little nightshade flower. You do not see it, Zhen-Zhen, but the little fungus has turned Father against us. It must die. For the good of the kingdom. For the sake of our family."

The fierce rasp of Dilong bronze against leather sounded in Dylan's ears as Zhenjin drew his chokutō. "I will not let you harm Mïng Xiân."

Any trace of a smile fled from Shaohao's face. "So you will fight me again? I do not wish this, Zhenjin."

"I have never wished this," Zhenjin murmured, but his sword never wavered or lowered even a hair. "Call off the shoggoths. Leave this place. Stop this quest against Mïng Xiân. I will let you have your life if you do this for me." Zhenjin swallowed. "Do not make me tell our mother I had to kill you, Shaohao."

Shaohao sighed. "Oh, di-di. As if you could ever kill me. I have always been the better fighter. Remember, your guard is weak on your left side. That has not changed in three centuries. Now, you may go rescue the Tuathan prince while I rip up the delicate little weed by its sickly roots and put an end to it once and for all. Farewell, Zhenjin."

Shaohao turned to leave. Zhenjin took a step, roaring his name, but the other prince ignored him, striding along the wall toward the palace of Findias—almost skipping. Zhenjin looked to Dylan, clearly torn between helping Nuada and saving his sister, when a fierce feline scream split the night and Shaohao cursed, falling from the top of the wall as something massive hurtled through the air and slammed into him.

Without waiting to see what had happened, Zhenjin grabbed Dylan around the waist. "Hold onto me," he growled. She grabbed on tightly as he took a single step and leapt. One hand flashed out to smack against the top of the wall, propelling him high enough that he could land atop the stones, still holding Dylan.

Dylan pointed. "Zhenjin! Look!"

Shaohao tried to dance and dodge away from a massive, snarling animal half-hidden in the shadows. Torchlight shone eerily from its eyes as it swung out with massive paws at the Dilong prince. A flash of claws, and blood spilled from a savage rake in Shaohao's thigh. Another swipe of those giant claws opened the prince's shoulder. Shaohao stumbled back, savage hatred twisting his features.

"Beast!" The word, spat like the foulest curse, was met by another primal scream. The shriek of an enraged mountain lion. Suddenly Dylan knew who it was.

"Oh, my g—that's Tsu's'di!" Then her eyes slid to where her prince lay struggling to get up as the roiling sable monstrosities oozed toward him. A small sound of horror caught in Dylan's throat. She lunged for Nuada, only to be brought up short by Zhenjin's arm around her. "Let me go!"

"You will only get yourself killed!" He yanked her back, grabbed her chin in a grip just shy of bruising to force her to look at him. "If you die, Dylan, Nuada will follow you. He will abandon his kingdom, his people, and kill himself to be with you. He has lost the woman he loved to death once before, and it nearly destroyed him. Do not throw your life away. Do not shatter his heart. I will get him! I can hold the creatures at bay. You will stay here, do you understand? Swear to me!"

After a tense moment as everything he'd said ricocheted around inside her skull, Dylan nodded, licked dry lips. "I swear I'll stay up here…unless he needs me. Go get him, Zhenjin. Please. And if Tsu's'di needs help, help him."

Zhenjin let her go. "Good enough. Now sit there and stay," he commanded. She sat, more to avoid falling than because of Zhenjin. "I will help Nuada and the boy."

Without another word, the Dilong prince leapt down from the wall, launching himself toward the shoggoths. Hefting his chokutō, he barked a word in Chinese, and to Dylan's utter astonishment, the blade of Elven bronze burst into emerald flame. Zhenjin slashed down at the nearest shoggoth. The fiery blade ripped a gaping wound in the creature's side and left the flesh steaming. The stench of rancid burning meat filled the air. Dylan hastily covered her mouth in an effort to keep from throwing up.

Zhenjin hacked and slashed at the shoggoths; there was no elegance, no grace to this. This was a butcher at work. Dylan watched with wide eyes as the Dilong prince cut a swath through the ravenous monsters toward Nuada and Bres, both of whom were struggling to their feet. Their swords trembled in their hands. In the dim light, Dylan thought she saw blood tricking along the Tuathan prince's jaw and down his neck; did he have a concussion? Nuada took a step, staggered. Went down on one knee.

Dylan saw a tentacle heading for him. Without even stopping to think, she yanked out one of the heavy diamond hairpins that weighed as much as a small stone and chucked it at the shoggoth. It was a good throw, but she knew it wouldn't hurt the thing. She didn't care. She just wanted to distract it from her prince. The pin hit the monster and stuck in its gelatinous bulk. The tentacle swiveled toward Dylan, sprouting what looked like an eye to get a better look at her.

It started oozing her way.

"Oh, boy," she muttered, looking around. Where to go? Where to go? The eldritch creatures had already proven they could climb walls. Higher ground didn't necessarily mean safety. "Crud, crud, crud," she yelped as the thing came closer. What was she supposed to—

"Dylan!" She whipped around at the sound of her name, nearly losing her balance. Francesca, now in jeans and a coat, moved cautiously along the ground toward her. The waitress called, "Hang on. The bird-lady roused the whole castle. Help's on the way. John and Tori should be here soon, too. John went to go get his gun. Here; I brought you a present. Catch." Cesca tossed Dylan something black and heavy; she had to catch it two-handed. Her fingers curled around the heavy plastic Taser.

"What am I supposed to do with this?"

"Taser the freaky blobby thingy!"

"How will that help?"

"Didn't you take chemistry in high school?" Cesca demanded. "For Pete's sake. Watch!"

Francesca leveled her own Taser at the nearest shoggoth and squeezed the trigger. Two metal prongs crackling with electricity pierced the thing's blubbery hide. There was a viciously loud snap-crackle-pop the made Dylan jump, and Dylan watched wide-eyed as the area around the Taser wound began to sizzle and steam, then bubble. The black flesh began to glow a dull, angry crimson.

The shoggoth went mad, flexing its tentacles and shrieking in agony as the bubbling spread across the surface of its body, but it seemed the electrical current held the thing mostly paralyzed. That vermillion glow spread as well as the shoggoth's body pulsed once, twice, three times, growing slightly larger with each pulse. Dylan began to shimmy down the wall, ignoring the pain in her leg as she fought to reach her sister.

"Here it comes," Francesca called, grinning like an escapee from an insane asylum. "Keep your mouth closed. Just in case."

"In case of what?" Dylan demanded right before the shoggoth swelled up like a toad and then popped like a big, black balloon. A noxious stench rose from the ruptured carcass. Pieces of shoggoth splatted against the snow and the wall. Luckily, none of it touched Dylan, though some spattered her sister. "Oh. Oh, ugh. That's disgusting. How…?"

Cesca grinned and blew on her Taser as if she was in an old western film. "Eleventh grade chemistry. Ever made a potato bomb?"

Dylan stared at her as she dropped to the ground. "No."

Her sister shrugged. "Same principle. Hey, look, another one! Shoot 'em with me."

The mortal psychiatrist aimed her Taser at another of the shoggoths drawing closer. Holding the mortal weapon with one hand, she covered her mouth and nose with her arm as the stench increased to almost toxic levels. "Why is this working? This thing doesn't have enough amp—"

"Stainless steel and modern electricity against masses of noxious blubber," Francesca said, aiming as Dylan's shoggoth popped, splattering slime on the hem of her gown. "Don't you read Lovecraft? You're the one who went to college. Slacker." She fired, popping a smaller shoggoth slurping toward them along the wall. "I looked it up online. Tesla had this thing. You know Tesla, right, Miss Doctor? Anyway, apparently he figured out something about electricity versus elder…things. Like this big ugly thing here. It doesn't kill them, boo, but it incapacitates them while they heal from being splatted open. I looked it up online."

"Yeah, you said that," Dylan replied. "Ugh, these things stink. We gotta keep them away from the guys."

"On it," Cesca said, making her way closer to Nuada and Bres. "Haha. Score one for modern science versus sparkly fairy stuff. Ew, slime! Yuck! Death to slime!" She shot another shoggoth. It bubbled, hissed, and ruptured with a sickly wet pop! That left only a handful more of the creatures. One of them sludged toward the wall, gurgling hungrily as it began oozing along the stones, reaching for the two women. "Oh, ew. Dylan, kill it! I'm not close enough!"

Dylan's Taser prongs pierced the scabbed, slimy carcass and set it boiling. The shoggoth writhed and screamed before it ruptured and died. "Nuada!" She called, seeing her prince finally stagger to his feet, leaning heavily against the wall. He jerked his head up, winced. "Nuada, are you okay?"

He lifted a hand to her, and the tight band of fear constricting her chest loosened. He was okay. He hadn't been bitten, and he hadn't received any life-threatening injuries. He was okay. He was—

"Dylan!"

"Cesca!" Dylan tried to grab her sister just as someone's hand had wrapped tight around Francesca's arm, yanking on her. Dylan looked over into the face of Ian Malcolm, the assassin she had questioned and released only two days ago. How had he gotten onto the palace grounds again? How had he found them out here among the gardens? Why didn't he seem to care that the flesh-eating, corpse-devouring shoggoths were inching toward him? Her sister twisted and struggled. Why not Taser him? But no, he was touching her. Anyone he touched would be electrocuted as well.

Through gritted teeth, Ian snarled, "You made me betray my master, you filthy bitch! I have one last chance to redeem myself!" He wrapped his hand more tightly around Francesca's arm to get a better grip, but with a well-aimed stomp to his instep, she slipped free. Dylan had enough time to wonder why he didn't use both hands—he was holding something, something that squirmed and sobbed, struggling to get away—before her sister turned, Taser up, ready to shoot. Then she froze.

"Cesca?" Dylan yelled. "What's wrong?"

The breath clutched in her throat when she heard a small, terrified voice cry, "A'ge'lv! A'ge'lv!" She focused with suddenly furious eyes on Ian Malcolm, who held a crying, struggling 'Sa'ti by one arm.

How had he gotten 'Sa'ti? She should have been asleep, in bed. How had he gotten into the castle to get her? How—

"Ohmigawd, 'Sa'ti, I can't shock the sucker, I'll hurt you! You dick," Francesca yelped at Ian, rocking forward as if desperate to rip him apart. "She's a little kid!"

"Let her go!" Dylan snapped. "Now!" Her eyes darted to the remaining shoggoths, which Zhenjin was slicing through with his fiery sword. Nuada staggered a few steps toward Dylan and Francesca, then his eyes landed on 'Sa'ti. The glacial topaz of his eyes heated to molten bronze as rage twisted his features. Ignoring the Dilong prince hacking at the shoggoths, ignoring Tsu's'di still savaging Shaohao somewhere nearby like a cat with a mouse, Nuada lunged forward.

Ian grabbed 'Sa'ti, hoisting her up, and a knife flashed at her throat. She yowled when the blade nicked her skin. Nuada froze, perhaps twenty paces away from the human assassin and the little girl. Dylan unsheathed her dirk. Francesca leveled her Taser. The Butcher Guards, finally making their appearance—and looking beat half-to-death, all of them bleeding and a few of them missing their helmets—surged forward. Bres, on his feet once more, slashed at a shoggoth before focusing on the mortal holding a fae child hostage. He drew abreast of Nuada.

"One more step, Silverlance," Ian Malcolm hissed in Gaelic. His arm—which held Sa'ti's arms pinned tight to her sides—tightened across her chest. She gasped through her tears. "Come on, one more step. Give me a reason to cut the little brat's throat." Nuada tensed further, eyes never leaving the mortal holding the little girl captive. "You brought this on her," Ian added. "Your evil, your sickness, is why she has to die."

In a voice carved from jagged ice, Nuada said, "If you hurt that child, there will be nowhere in this realm or the other that you will be safe from me. Let her go, and I may yet grant you your life."

'Sa'ti, voice thick with tears, sobbed, "Your Highness! Tsu's'di!"

Tsu's'di, Dylan thought. Where was Tsu's'di?

.

From where he leapt and danced around the mad Dilong prince several yards away, the cougar youth heard 'Sa'ti scream for him and faltered, turning toward the sound of his little sister's voice. That was all the distraction Shaohao needed. One foot lashed out, catching Tsu's'di in the jaw. The massive wampus cat slammed into the wall surrounding a private garden. His head cracked against the stone. He hit the ground, somehow managed to struggle to all four paws again. He screamed a cougar's challenge.

"I will make you a deal, young guardsman," Shaohao panted. "I have no interest in fighting you. I will go on my way, and I will let you live. You can even go rescue the little kitten. Would you like that? Is that not the more civilized means of doing things?"

Tsu's'di lashed out with one giant paw, his claws slicing the air mere millimeters from Shaohao's body. The Dilong prince sighed.

"Very well," he muttered. "The hard way it is, then. I am so glad I wore black tonight. Getting bloodstains out of silk is an absolute nightmare. My mother gave me this tunic." With a tight smile, he launched himself at Tsu's'di. The ewah youth prepared to strike back…when Shaohao vanished.

What the…? Tsu's'di wondered right before something punched him in the side. Red-hot pain knifed through him. He smelled hot, fresh blood. His legs suddenly folded beneath him and he fell on his belly to the snow. What? What…? That same sharp something connected with his side again. More blood. He realized Shaohao had glamoured himself, dodged the cougar's attack, and stabbed him. Twice.

Oh, crap, Tsu's'di thought as dizziness swept over him. He heaved himself to his feet again, took a step away from the wall. Something that felt like a ten-ton hammer smashed into the side of his face, knocking him flat again. He hit the snow, tried to get up. Tried to shift back into humanoid form, only to realize he had a better chance of surviving if he stayed cougar.

But 'Sa'ti…'Sa'ti was in trouble. The prince was hurt. A'ge'lv Dylan needed help. He had to get up. He had to…

Then he smelled it. Past the stench of burning flesh, the reek of the shoggoths, the sting of blood and the bite of winter, he smelled a familiar scent. Human. Male. The a'ge'lv's brother. Master John. And a human woman's scent. Like Mistress Francesca, but…but not her. The twin, the sister. Mistress Victoria.

Tsu's'di growled low in his throat as he shoved to his feet again. He was an ewah, a Child of the Cougar. He was one of the People. He was guardsman to A'ge'lv Dylan, vassal to Prince Nuada Silverlance. His sister needed him. His mistress needed him. He had to get up. He would get up.

"Well, boy, I must admit I am very impressed," that cheery voice said, penetrating the haze of pain and determination. Shaohao shimmered back into view. "Still on your feet. I might need to use poison…but you're such a handsome creature, I would hate to have to kill you. Why not stay down like a good little kitty and just let me skip along on my merry little way, hmmm? What do you owe the noxious little hemlock blossom, anyway? Nothing. Be a good kitty and lie down, now. There's a good boy."

The ewah guard took a step forward. Another step. He had at least two more leaps in him. He did. He could feel that. He just needed to take this guy by surprise. He wasn't a hundred percent sure who the "noxious blossom" was, but considering what Prince Nuada had briefed him on, he figured the jerk was talking about Princess Mïng Xiân. Tsu's'di had seen her. She was a toddler, for crying out loud. This guy wanted to kill a toddler? No. No way. Not while he could still get up, still move. Tsu's'di peeled his lips back from his sharp, feline teeth and growled.

"Very stupid, kitty cat," the Dilong prince said softly. "Well, you can't say I failed to warn you." Shaohao lunged at him.

Powerful hindquarters rippling and coiling, Tsu's'di leapt, clearing Shaohao's head as the Elven prince took a stab at him. Twisting in midair, pain flaring across his side, the cougar snapped out with both front paws, raking down the Chinese Elf's back. He felt his claws catch, then scrape, against vertebrae. Shaohao howled at the brutal pain. He turned to slice wildly at Tsu's'di, who twisted again, clawing mercilessly at Shaohao's thighs as he fell to the snow.

The scent of blood, of wounded prey, galvanized him. Screaming in pain and challenge, the cougar surged to his feet, lashing out again. His claws tore into calf muscles, ripped through tendon. Shaohao fell to the snow. Tsu's'di lunged for him, teeth opened wide and heading for Shaohao's vulnerable throat.

A burning slice seared the side of Tsu's'di's face, dangerously close to his eye. The cougar screamed again, clawing and snapping as the blade that had cut his face buried itself in his shoulder. Tsu's'di wrenched away, and then drove back in with bared teeth. Opening his mouth, he snapped those dagger-like teeth down hard on the Dilong prince's wrist, crushing bones in his powerful jaws. Shaohao screamed in agony and dropped his blade.

Flailing madly, the prince drove his other fist into the stab wound in Tsu's'di's side. White agony blazed through the young man's body. Muscles spasming, he fell to the snow again, struggling to get up. Shaohao scrambled to his feet, swearing in Chinese, and hit Tsu's'di in the side. Ribs snapped. The cougar screamed weakly.

"You miserable wretch!" Shaohao roared. "Mangy beast! The little rot-flower can wait until I kill you! And it will not be quick, or clean."

He hit Tsu's'di in the face. The cougar groaned, but couldn't get up.

.

"Your Highness!" 'Sa'ti cried again when the knife blade pressed harder against her skin. "A'ge'lv!"

"Hang on, honey," Dylan called. "Just hang on. Don't be scared. We're right here."

"It will be all right, 'Sa'ti," Nuada said. "Be brave. It will be all right." He shifted his weight forward just a little. "Give her to me, and I will let you live."

Ian sneered. "Fond of her, are you? And you, traitor?" He added to Dylan, who'd crept the smallest bit toward him. "Are you fond of the little brat? A shame, then, that your choices led those you claim to love into danger."

Dylan lifted her dirk. "If you hurt her, I'll kill you myself. Let her go." When Ian merely smiled coldly, Dylan cried, "She's just a baby! You monster, she's just a baby!"

The assassin made a mock-sad face. "Such a shame."

Nuada took a single step. Ian jerked back, glaring. Nuada hissed, "I swear to you, on the Darkness That Eats All Things, that if you do not let her go, I will see you dead, Ian Malcolm. Even if I have to rip out your throat with my bare hands."

"Very scary, Silverlance, but I…what?" Ian stared at Dylan, watching her. Dylan's eyes had darted to something behind and a little ways to the right of him before darting back again. "What are you looking at? What is it?" She could see the need to turn around warring with the need to keep an eye on Nuada in Ian's gaze. "What are you staring at? What?"

Dylan shifted her gaze again. "You know, part of me feels like I should be sorry about this, but you had your chance."

"Sorry about what?" Ian snarled, starting to turn.

Bang!

'Sa'ti screamed. Dylan couldn't help jumping at the echoing retort; Francesca almost dropped her Taser. The assassin dropped 'Sa'ti, dropped the knife—which fell to the snow—and then he dropped to the ground. Blood trickled from the back of Ian Malcolm's head to stain the white snow dark. Dylan glanced briefly at the body before looking at John standing with his feet spread several paces away, gun drawn and held firm in both hands, staring at the dead killer. Then she rushed to 'Sa'ti and gathered the sobbing little girl in her arms.

"It's all right now, baby," she crooned as 'Sa'ti buried her face against Dylan's neck. "It's all right. Shhh. You're safe now. It's all right. I'm here. It's okay, baby. Shhh. I've got you."

Nuada hastened toward them, dropping to one knee beside Dylan. He gently touched 'Sa'ti's mane. "Little one," he murmured. "Are you all right?" 'Sa'ti launched herself at Nuada, wrapping her arms around his neck in a strangling grip. After only a moment's hesitation, the prince enfolded her in his arms. "You were very brave, little one," he said softly. "We are both very proud of you. You are safe now. Do not cry."

Bres groaned and sank back against the nearby wall as Zhenjin finished off the last shoggoth. Zhenjin glanced at the Fomorian prince before focusing on Francesca. "My thanks, Lady Francesca, for your aid. My thanks to Dylan as well."

Cesca shrugged. "No problem, Your Royal Hotness. Any friend of Dylan's is a friend of mine. So…has anybody seen the kid?"

The Bethmooran prince, distracted by this, turned to his lady's sister. "What 'kid' do you refer to?"

"The teenager. Tsu's'di, right? He was here a few minutes ago."

Zhenjin's eyes snapped wide. "He was fighting Shaohao. I lost track of them! Where are—"

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Gunshots echoed from several dozen yards away. Dylan glanced at John and saw his weapon was still drawn as he headed toward the origin of fire. Dylan lurched to her feet. Sheets of flame ripped through her bad leg as she staggered toward the sound, but there was no time to deal with that now.

Leaving Bres sweating and wheezing on the ground, Dylan, Nuada, John, Zhenjin, and Francesca headed for the sound of the gunshots. Dylan's guards followed, save Ailbho, whom Nuada ordered to take 'Sa'ti back to the castle, and Onóra, who was to stay with Prince Bres until help arrived. Onóra took up her post beside the Fomorian. Young guardsman Ailbho approached the still-trembling little girl and crouched down beside her.

"Come here, peata," Ailbho murmured.

'Sa'ti thought about how Ailbho, the youngest of A'ge'lv Dylan's guards, and his partner Uaithne always brought her treats from the kitchens; always helped her sound out a word from her books when she got stuck; always helped her down off the fence when she was near the stables. How Ailbho would pluck the apples 'Sa'ti couldn't reach from the trees when they were out with the a'ge'lv on the grounds; how he would tell funny stories with silly voices when she was sad; how he and Uaithne always kept the bullies from bothering her when she was with them and the a'ge'lv. And she thought of how she'd stopped on her way back to the castle to look at some pretty flowers made of ice when the bad man had grabbed her.

With a wordless cry that was one-third yowl, one-third sob, and one-third whimper, 'Sa'ti flung herself into Ailbho's arms. The young Butcher Guard stood up, holding her the way he held his own little sisters when they were upset, and carried her toward the palace.

.

Dylan and the others stopped short at the sight of Victoria, a gun dark on the snow beside her knees, frantically pressing her hands against the still form of a massive cougar lying prostrate on the snow. Dylan's heart seized in her chest when she realized it was Tsu's'di, and that the snow was spattered with amber blood. Victoria pressed against a gushing wound, desperately trying to stop the flow of blood. Behind her, the shadows shifted as a few injured Butcher Guards raced toward them.

Nuada strode forward, muttering to himself as he approached. "The gunshots," he said tersely, dropping down next to Victoria, ignoring the guards. John went to go brief them on what had happened—as much as he knew, at any rate. Nuada added, "That was you?" Tori nodded. "Who were you shooting at?"

"This Chinese guy, he was beating the crap out of Tsu's'di. The kid was already down, there was a lot of blood, and he kept saying how he was going to kill Tsu's'di and then go after this flower." Zhenjin made an inarticulate sound of denial, but Victoria added, "I shot the guy. Hit him twice in the shoulder, once in the stomach. I tried for a headshot, but I missed—I only go down to the range with John every other weekend or whatever. But I couldn't just stand there."

In a matter of seconds, Dylan was beside Nuada and Victoria, trying to examine the cougar boy bleeding on the snow. Francesca fished a flashlight out of her pocket, switched it on, and held it aloft so her sister could see.

Zhenjin demanded, "Where is the man you shot?"

"Some tall, pasty…thing came and carried him off. That way," she said, pointing away from the castle, away from the township, toward the forest. "I didn't see much, it blended in really well. It looked…weird. I mean, weirder than anything else I've seen so far."

"Why weren't you with John?" Dylan demanded, the question sharper than she'd intended. Tsu's'di's pulse was weak, thready. He'd lost so much blood already. If they didn't get him to a healer…but he was so large in this form, how could they move him? Wink wasn't there, and none of the guards could lift the cougar boy. He had to weigh at least nine-hundred pounds. But they had to get him help. They had to stop the bleeding or he wasn't going to make it.

Tori replied, "I heard struggles and told John to go ahead without me. We came ahead because we ran into one of those blob things. It was huge. That's what slowed the guards down. They had these clay balls of…jelly? I dunno, but when they cracked 'em open and set the stuff on fire, it caught real quick, though the thing was so massive it didn't wipe it out in a blink like I expected. The rest of the guards should be here in like, ten minutes, though."

Nuada shook his head. "That is too long. He will not survive that long. Tsu's'di," the prince added, voice regal. "Tsu's'di Kata, hear me. Wake up, my lad." Nuada gripped Tsu's'di's head in his hands, peeled back one eyelid. The pupil in the smoky turquoise eye contracted. "Tsu's'di, you must wake. Come on."

The cougar groaned, twitched. *Your Highness…?*

A relieved, half-hysterical laugh hiccupped in Dylan's throat. "Tsu's'di! Open your eyes, okay? You've lost a lot of blood. I need you to wake up. Can you shapeshift?"

Thin, feline lips curled, baring one long canine. *Die…faster…that way. 'Sa'ti. Is she…okay?*

"She's fine," Dylan replied, stroking the fur between his ears as she applied pressure to a small but very deep stab wound with her other hand. "She's just fine. My brother took care of everything." To Nuada she whispered, "We have to do something."

"Perhaps I can be of assistance," a young voice said. Dylan turned to see a young man, maybe thirteen or fourteen years old, with thick brown hair that just brushed the collar of his homespun white shirt. He ran long, elegant fingers through his hair before hooking his thumbs in the straps of his dark suspenders. He took a step forward. The dim torchlight caught and reflected in his twinkling, sloe-black eyes, framed by impossibly long lashes. "Prince Nuada?"

"Collin," Nuada breathed. "Yes. You have a healing gift. My vassal is severely wounded. Please, can you help him?"

Collin Mistlethwaite, Master Gardener of Findias, came to crouch beside Tsu's'di. The puck's long fingers whispered over the short, blood-spotted fur. Tsu's'di's harsh breathing eased. Collin pursed his lips. "This is bad," he muttered. Dylan made a small sound and the puck gave her a reassuring smile. "But I have seen worse, milady. This will be difficult because it is winter—spring is more my season, my element—but I can mend these hurts enough that he can be safely taken to the castle at least. You are lucky that Ledi Naya came to fetch me when the youth warned her of the danger."

Nuada frowned. "Naya sent for you?"

Collin nodded, drawing a thin knife from inside his brown boot. "Said there were fell creatures in my gardens. I have tended these gardens for nearly six thousand years," the puck added, and his voice somehow deepened, became richer, older. Dylan heard the creak of old trees and the heartbeat of the earth, the cracking of stone and the wind rushing through rowan boughs. "Sixty centuries, six thousand years, I have tended these gardens for Cethlenn ingen Ethliu, and now these creatures desecrate this sacred place. I will not have it."

Without warning, Collin pressed the silver blade to the palm of his hand and slashed. Emerald blood, glinting like liquid jewels, welled up and spilled onto the snow. Collin pressed his hand to the snow, shoving down through the packed whiteness until his blood touched soil.

The earth heaved and rolled beneath the group. The Butcher Guards staggered. Francesca fell on her butt. Dylan nearly pitched into Nuada, who shot out an arm to steady her. He hissed in pain when her body hit his side, and Dylan remembered how he'd been body-slammed into Bres by a shoggoth. But Dylan forgot about all of that nearly the next second when tiny green threads crept out of the snow, whispering over Tsu's'di's body. The verdant threads spilled into the open wounds in the youth's side and shoulder, and even the long gash across his face, weaving across the open wounds, forming tiny patches of jade. When Dylan peered at them, she realized they were little vines. The flow of blood slowed to a trickle before stopping altogether.

Collin was sweating profusely, Dylan saw. He wiped his forehead with the back of his arm and ran a hand through his hair again. Emerald sparks crackled like static electricity where his fingers touched his hair. The sparks shot to the ground, and small patches of winter flowers sprouted, white poppies and snowdrops. Dylan's mouth fell open.

"That is the best I can do for now, Prince Nuada. He'll not bleed out this night, at least. But I have spent much of my magic already, awakening the woses, the boruta, and the randandar. If aught of these encroachers remains in these gardens, my tree-folk will find them."

Abruptly Collin fell back onto the snow, barely managing to stay upright. Nuada held out a hand to steady him. "Are you well, old friend?"

The puck nodded. "Aye. I will be fine. And everything has been seen to now, I believe. The boy has more time, you and your lady are safe, the Butchers have been alerted, and the king knows what has transpired, for after fetching me, Ledi Naya sought Lord Iríall."

Ah, Dylan thought. The chamberlain, Lord Box-Head of the Creepy Worm-Fingers. The fear gortach. He'd make sure the king knew everything. Good. Adrenaline ebbing now, the pain of her injuries began surging to the fore, no longer able to be denied. Nuada must have been feeling the same thing, because he leaned back against the wall and groaned softly.

"You're getting old, Silverlance," Zhenjin murmured, going to his side. "You need a healer for every little scratch."

"It requires too much effort to get up and hit you, Azurefire," Nuada muttered, but he smiled when he added, "Be quiet."

Zhenjin smiled. Turning to Dylan, he said, "Are you all right, Dylan?"

Suddenly Dylan remembered how Zhenjin had fervently kissed her forehead after catching her, once he'd realized she was relatively unharmed. For some reason she couldn't quite fathom, a blush flooded her cheeks. She nodded. "Yeah. Are you?"

"Fine. But Shaohao has slipped through my fingers. That worries me. I will have to tell my father about this when we return to the castle. Forgive me for not simply attacking him when he held you, Dylan," he added, reaching out to touch her arm. "He was right when he said he was the better fighter," Zhenjin continued. "He would have simply killed you if I had tried to attack him. And I cannot imagine what that creature might have been that helped him."

Dylan didn't know, but somehow she sensed that the identity of Shaohao's accomplice had everything to do with the attack tonight, the assassination attempt at Midwinter, and with the bandit raids on the northern villages. She just didn't know how. But once she and Nuada had a moment to breathe, they were going to do their best to figure it all out.