Author's Note: hey, everybody! So after two months on hiatus because of the newish job and moving into a new place, we're finally back with the next chapter! Wrapping up the Christmas Arc last chapter, we're moving on (finally!) to the Northern Villages Arc. I'm pretty sure I'll be able to update once a month again now that things have settled down. I also plan on taking up my Avengers fics again, but those will come a little later in the month. So let me know what you guys think, and I hope you enjoy the chapter. Bye!
PS — Important news, guys! Pretty soon (like, before the end of the month) Once Upon a Time will be available on audio on Youtube! Not the whole thing because, let's face it, I can't transfer one-million-plus words to audio in such a short time, but hopefully at least the first few chapters will be available by June 30. So keep an eye out!
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Book 12: Shadows of the Past
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Chapter One-Hundred-Six
Desolation
that is
A Short Story of Princes, Hope for Reform, a Mid-Day Meal, a Whisper of Dread, an Abomination, What A'du Found Amidst the Slaughter, and a Candle on the Water
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Dylan laid her forehead against the gently-bouncing window frame of the royal carriage. The ewah cubs curled up on the opposite bench, purring in their sleep as they cuddled each other like kittens. Getting up this early was hard on them; they'd dozed off after only an hour on the road. Dylan had simply sat, watching the sun rise in a slow, golden spread from the tops of the trees in the Royal Forest…and watching her prince. He rose beside the carriage on Lòman, the arion stallion, and in the gloaming before dawn took full possession of the world, the fae steed and the Elven prince moved like a single being cut from living night. Only the starry silver-gold of Nuada's hair and his moon-pale face relieved the blackness.
She'd been watching him for the last ten minutes; surprisingly, he hadn't noticed yet. He always seemed so aware of her…but not now. Now he stared out at the road ahead, brow furrowed. The deepening darkness around his mouth and eyes also told the mortal that something bothered him. She wondered how in blazes she was supposed to wiggle it out of him when they were surrounded by people.
When they were alone, normally he could simply be himself. Simply be Nuada. But with other people around? He was ever and always the crown prince of Bethmoora. And as prince of Bethmoora, he needed to talk to her about what Bres had said earlier.
Prince Bres had requested a brief, semi-private audience with her just before the relief caravan had set out from Findias. At the prompting of the Spirit, Dylan had allowed it. Whatever Bres wanted, Dylan needed to hear him out. Nuada hadn't liked it—and neither had she; Bres gave her the screaming willies, and he was as rotten as a wormy apple—but she'd agreed. Her prince hadn't yet asked her what the Fomorian heir had wanted, but he would. How was she supposed to explain their conversation? She didn't quite understand what had happened herself.
Why are you doing this? Bres had asked. Why are you helping the northern villages? You have no reason to concern yourself with them. Nuada would marry you regardless. What are you planning, Lady Dylan?
I only want to help them and my prince, Dylan had replied, trying not to shake at the shards of ice biting into her skin from Bres' nearness. Every instinct had screamed at her to draw her dirk, scramble out of the carriage, and run. She'd held her ground. Why do you care?
Is this how you squirmed your way into his bed? Offering aid to his people? There had been an odd note of hope in the Fomorian's voice, a flicker of something in his sapphire eyes.
Dylan had shaken her head. I've already told you the truth about that, Your Highness. Nuada's people are now my people. They need help, so I'll do what I can. And before my place as a noblewoman of Bethmoora, before being Nuada's lady, before anything else, I'm a healer. I swore an oath to help those in need. That's one of the reasons why Nuada loves me, and that's why I am going to the north now. I have to go. Does that surprise you?
Bres had stared at her, obviously disconcerted, for several seconds in silence. Golden brows had twisted together. He'd looked almost as if he were in pain. At last, he'd shaken his head.
You're not lying…are you? I can see it in your face. He'd turned away, only to turn back at the last second. Then I must say…may the gods be with you on your journey. I hope you can help the people of Bethmoora and perhaps remedy the harm caused by King Balor's folly.
So do I.
It had been the only time since she'd met Bres that he hadn't scared the living daylights out of her. He still frightened her, but for just a split second she'd seen the man who had been Nuada's friend once upon a time, the man who'd inspired her prince's loyalty to the point that he'd briefly doubted her testimony of Bres' cruelty, the man who'd begun making Princess Nuala fall in love with him. It had been…weird. Even weirder had been the respectful nod the Fomorian prince had directed her way just before the caravan had left.
Is there a chance, maybe, that Bres could be fixed? She wondered, watching the lines of strain around Nuada's mouth and eyes deepen. Is there any possible chance, Heavenly Father, that Nuada could have his friend back? Could we make him understand?
But there was no answer. Usually that meant one of two things—either she already knew the answer and didn't need to ask, or she needed to find out for herself.
Well…if they were to try and make Bres understand, a lot had to be considered. Had he known about Nuada's plan for the Golden Army? She hadn't asked. If he knew, had he agreed with Nuada about the terrible burden of so much death, or had he relished the idea of butchering the humans he despised? How much effort would it take to show him, as she'd shown Nuada, that not all humans were the enemy?
Dylan suddenly wished for Zhenjin. The Dilong prince would've been able to talk to Bres. Zhenjin had a charm, a way about him; he could talk to anyone and everyone. He would've been able to make Bres see. Or had he already tried and failed? Nuada had been so betrayed by his new knowledge of his old friend, Dylan hadn't wanted to pry much further past his agreement to protect her, cut ties with him, and try to break Bres' betrothal to Nuala.
I'm sorry, mo airgeadach, my silver one, she thought with a small sigh. I've really screwed up your life, haven't I?
As if he'd heard her thoughts, Nuada turned toward her. Dylan straightened from her slump against the carriage window-frame as dark lips twitched into a semblance of a smile. Some of the tension pulsing through the human's body eased as her prince murmured to Lòman and the arion trotted over to the carriage.
"Mo mhuire," the prince said softly when he was close enough that Lòman's hip almost brushed the carriage as he walked.
Dylan smiled. "Mo phrionsa."
Pitching his voice low, Nuada asked, "Are you well, my love?" Dylan nodded, stifling a small yawn. "You can sleep if you like."
She shrugged. "I want to see the forest. It's beautiful. Though it's kind of weird how there's snow on the road but flowers and grass and stuff beyond the road. That's so weird."
"The Forest Road isn't actually a part of the Royal Forest. The presence of the unicorn glories keeps the forest in eternal spring, but it doesn't extend to the road. Too many travelers. The roads—especially this one, one of the few paved roads leading from the capital—are the only part of the forest where any may walk, even without the king's leave. But because of this, the magics within the forest don't affect it. You'll see that the snow spreads and thins out before disappearing the further one gets from the road."
After a few moments, she said with a smile, "And now my head hurts. The magic of Faerie?"
His smiled widened briefly. "The magic of Faerie. Even I don't know all its secrets. Imagine how dreary my world would be if I did. Even after all my centuries, there is still some wonder and…beauty left in the universe." His gaze brushed like a caress over Dylan's skin and she blushed.
Some time passed in silence as birds began chirping from the verdant foliage at the edges of the road. Somewhere in the brush, a white-tipped bit of rusty fur flitted through the bushes, and Dylan recognized a soft chirruping noise as the sound of a vixen calling to her kits. Finally, Nuada spoke again, sotto voce.
"What did Bres say to you?" He asked. She told him just as quietly, and when she was done, he pursed his lips and stared at a space between Lòman's ears. He sighed. "I hate politics. If he wasn't a prince, I'd just kill him and have done."
"No, you wouldn't. He's your friend."
"Was," Nuada said sharply. "I've forsaken him because of the evil you've revealed to me—"
"But," Dylan interrupted in a voice firm for all its gentleness, "you still love him." Nuada flicked his gaze to her and away. "He was your friend a lot longer than he's been your enemy. Like your brother, you said. It makes sense that you would struggle with this transition. I'd be worried if you didn't. And maybe I made some headway with him. Maybe…maybe we can fix him. You know?"
He shook his head. "Dylan, Bres hates humans just as much as I, and with good reason. It would not be the same as with…as with Zhenjin, who disdained you simply for your humanity. Bres' objection to you cannot stem from that prejudice; it has to come from that darkness you revealed to me, and so it cannot be fixed by showing him his error, because no reason can touch that darkness as we touched and changed Zhenjin's prejudice. You cannot fix that which isn't broken."
She propped her chin on her hand, intrigued. "What makes you say that? That Bres' objection to me isn't because of my humanity?"
"You said so yourself."
"No, I said that he's taking your choice of me, a human, as a personal insult that I'm somehow responsible for. I just don't know why it's so personal to him. Where does this darkness come from, Nuada? If I knew, maybe we could rehabilitate him. I know you love him."
But her prince simply shook his head. "It doesn't matter, Dylan. I have lost friends before; I will again. This loss is bearable."
Is it? She wondered. She'd already come between Nuada and Zhenjin, as well as Nuada and a few of his other friends. Now Bres had turned against Nuada because of her, too. When would it stop? How many others in her prince's life would she alienate? And would the rift between the Fomorian and Tuathan princes also widen the gulf between Nuada and Nuala when Nuada succeeded in breaking her betrothal?
Dylan didn't ask, and Nuada said nothing more. Nudging Lòman with his heels, he surged forward to ride beside Wink on his massive bull-like mount. Erik Ashkeson, the dökkálfr blacksmith, drew close on his shaggy wolf-horse to the prince he called friend. Dylan sighed and leaned back against the carriage seat, still keeping an eye on Nuada. The loss of yet another friend might have been bearable, but she knew it was hurting him, too, and she hated that.
There just wasn't anything she could do for him except offer support.
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The supply caravan stopped at midday to make camp and eat. The cubs rocketed out of the carriage the moment it came to a stop, whooping and jumping. 'Sa'ti threw herself down on the snow and cried, "Free! We're free!" A'du yelled, "Prison break!" The adults just laughed; they didn't chastise the ewah children because, after only a few moments of mad exuberance, they settled on their own and returned to their mistress's side without complaint.
"You've trained them very well, Your Highness," Guardsman Lorcc murmured as Lady Dylan's black and white hounds pressed up against the cubs and 'Sa'ti laid a hand on Sétanta's head. "Young as they are, you'd think they'd be running wild."
"They'll stick close to Her Ladyship until she lets them off their leash," Guardswoman Scathach replied before the prince could speak. "They're good children. Begging Your Highness's pardon," she added.
"That they are," Nuada said without a blink.
With one hand on Lòman's warm neck, the Elven prince approached the caravan master, Iubdan, and spoke with him regarding the midday meal. An ugly, dark brown scar running down the barrel-chested Elf's face wrinkled when he smiled and nodded at Dylan. His voice grated like rocks crunching as he asked, "Your lady follows the Star Kindler, no?" After a moment, the prince nodded. The caravan master rubbed his thick neck. Nuada caught a glimpse of another scar carving across his throat. "Always been fond of them. They're good folks. I'll see to it she has something hot to drink that doesn't violate her oaths."
The caravan master shuffled off as Nuada went to his mortal, who stood with one of the workers known as waggoners holding a shovel. The cubs grinned at whatever their mistress was saying. The waggoner clutched his shovel and glanced around in a panic. Relief spread across his face when he caught sight of the approaching prince. Knowing Dylan as he did, Nuada forced back an exasperated sigh—and a fond smile—and moved faster.
"Lady Dylan," the prince said when he was within earshot. "What are you doing?"
Dylan turned to him with a mildly annoyed look on her scarred face. "Helping," she said in Gaelic, ensuring the waggoner understood. "I'm not going to just sit around while everyone else does all the work. It's not fair; you don't do that."
He didn't bother asking who had told her that little secret. She knew him well enough, she'd probably figured it out on her own, and it was generally frowned upon to a lesser degree in a setting like this where there were few other nobles. But he only said, "What are you trying to help with?"
"Digging the fire-pit. I figure it's not so complicated that I'll mess up, but it's something I can help with."
The waggoner shot a pathetic glance at the prince. "Your Highness…a noblewoman of her stature should not lower herself to…" He trailed off when Nuada offered him a pitying look.
"You will not win this argument," Nuada said. "Her Ladyship can be quite stubborn, and believes in everyone doing their part, regardless of status. If she wishes to help, it would be most disrespectful to refuse a noble of her standing. And as you know, on such missions, everyone does their part—my lady included." Then he looked to Dylan. "My lady, try not to shatter their delicate worldview too often on this trip." She inclined her head with a small smile. In English, he added, "And remember who you are now."
Dylan's smile melted into a serious expression. "Of course, Your Highness. I will." Her mouth quirked impishly. "I have the perfect model for noble behavior, after all."
Nuada didn't know whether to laugh or curse. So he merely nodded to her and went to speak to Guardsman Uaithne about security for the time they would be camped. While the Royal Forest was supposed to be one of the safest places in all of Bethmoora, Nuada had nearly died here as the result of being too lax once before, and nearly lost Dylan as well. He wasn't going to risk her or the children's safety again.
The workers noticed the prince's half-rueful, half-foolish smile and nodded to themselves. So it was true; his lady really had had a good effect on him. Miracles happened every day, it seemed.
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Dylan flexed her hands and tried to work some feeling back into her stiff fingers. Digging a fire-pit in ground half frozen by winter and spring warring for supremacy wasn't the easiest thing in the world. If not for her gloves, she'd have had plenty of blisters. But her arms and shoulders ached pleasantly and she was finally warm after all the exertion. Even better, it was time to eat.
She tried not to blush when the waggoners who worked for the caravan master gestured her to the head of the food line. Nuada had already gotten his own meal—simple sandwiches of sourdough rolls, smoked ham slices, some soft cheese, and winter greens—but he hadn't grabbed anything to drink. He sat by the fire nearest the carriages, chewing thoughtfully, ignoring everything around him. The waggoners and Dylan's siblings gave him a wide berth. The waggoners insisted on her siblings stepping to the front with her, which made things a little less awkward. She tried to smile at everyone she passed, wondering if she looked benevolent or like she was gloating.
Accepting her sandwiches from the smiling quartermaster, who touched his winter cap and murmured, "Milady," she moved to step out of line when from the rows of tin cups filled with hot tea and mulled wine, the quartermaster pulled a simple wooden cup of ivory liquid giving off wafts of silvery steam. He offered it to her with wink. "Milady."
"Oh! What's this?"
"It be milk, milady," the quartermaster replied. "Caravan Master Iubdan's own private stock. Keeps well in winter. He's not one for tea himself, and wine…well. He heard you was of the Star Kindler's children, so he knew you'd be wishing for something else, even if you were too polite to say so. There's some for your little servants, too. Warming spells have been put into the cups; it's terribly cold today."
Wondering why her eyes were stinging, Dylan beamed at the Elf. "Thank you. And please, thank Master Iubdan as well." She took a few seconds to make sure the children weren't going to drop their food, then went and set her sandwiches—wrapped in a bit of cloth—down on the massive, snow-free boulder Nuada had taken as an impromptu throne. There was just enough room for Dylan to sit, too. She darted a quick glance at her prince, who offered a smile—one that hinted at long, sleepless nights filled with more worries than one man should be forced to shoulder. He wasn't wearing his gloves; his fingers and fingernails had turned a dull, purplish-brown from the cold. After that first brief, sad smile, Nuada turned inward again. He chewed his food mechanically; it might as well have been sawdust.
Dylan sucked on her bottom lip for a second, her new alternative to biting her lips until they bled. "I'll be right back," she murmured to Nuada. To the children she added, "Behave for the prince."
Moving with surprising ease back to the motionless carriage, she ducked inside to grab something. Her siblings—arranged around the same fire as Nuada, the children, Wink, Lorelei, and Erik—watched her without a word. The cold had seemed to sap their natural exuberance for the strange, new things they'd experienced over the last thirty-six hours. With her precious something tucked into the pocket of her fur-lined cloak, Dylan headed for the quartermaster. Dodging the line of men waiting for lunch, she went to stand just at the head of the meal-wagon. Grumbles went up from the Elves in line. Dylan even heard a few muttered words, like "lazy," "greedy," and "whore." She ignored them.
"Did His Highness get anything hot to drink like the rest of the men?" She asked in Gaelic. "I don't think he did. It's pretty cold and you probably know how he can be, always putting others' well-being ahead of his own. I thought I could bring him something."
Behind her, the grumbling slowly fell silent.
The quartermaster frowned, sighed. "It's true enough he's a mite distracted. Here, milady. This should suffice him." He offered her a mug hewn of the same rough wood as her own, but slightly bigger, filled with steaming liquid. "Hot mint tea; that will chase the winter from His Highness, no question." Dylan nodded and thanked him. "Bah, don't thank me, milady. You're a kind one, looking after the prince. Thank you."
Approaching Nuada again, Dylan held out the mug to him and delicately cleared her throat. Startled, the Elven prince glanced up. His eyes widened when he saw the mug of steaming tea. He took it from her, sipped. Made a sound of appreciation that was almost a groan.
"Mint tea," he murmured as Dylan took her spot beside him and started in on her ham and cheese sandwiches. "Thank you, mo duinne, but…I thought the Star Kindler's children did not approve of the drinking of tea."
She shrugged. "That's more like a mint tisane, first of all, instead of black tea with mint in it…but on top of that, you have enough to worry about without me nagging you. Besides, if I was going to nag you about anything, it wouldn't be that."
Nuada raised an eyebrow and took a swallow of hot mint. "And what would you 'nag' me about?"
Dylan reached into her pocket and yanked out the thing she'd retrieved from the carriage. "How did these end up in the carriage instead of on your hands? You're going to get frostbite." She offered him the leather riding gloves she'd gifted him for Midwinter.
"Oh?" He shot her a smile just as impish as hers had been an hour earlier. "Are my hands cold?" His hand shot out and four bars of ice made contact with her cheek as he laid his fingers against her skin. Dylan yelped, half laughing and half gasping in outrage.
"Cold! Cold! No touching!" She jerked back. "Nooo! Why?"
The prince laughed. "My fingers are so very cold, and your skin is nearly as hot as a furnace." He held out his hand. In a voice that was almost a purr, speaking low enough that no one else could hear, he whispered, "Won't you warm me, Dylan? Or must I force myself to endure the cold until the night of the Frost Moon?"
Fire flashed across her cheeks and there was suddenly a roaring in her ears. "Ohhh, boy." She stuffed a bite of sandwich in her mouth, chewed furiously, and swallowed. "Stop that, you scoundrel," she mumbled. "Put on your gloves."
A rich, rumbling laugh didn't help her stop blushing, despite Nuada's obedience. Her blush eventually faded, but the heat reignited in her cheeks when she realized several of the waggoners were eyeing the Elven prince and mortal noblewoman with indulgent smiles and twinkling eyes. At least they thought she and Nuada made a cute couple…but they were still staring, and it was still embarrassing.
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No one wanted to linger over their food with the cold gnawing at fingers and toes and biting even through winter clothes. Nuada and Dylan finished eating about the same time and helped break the quickly-made camp. At one point A'du'la'di tugged on Nuada's sleeve, rose up on tiptoe, and whispered something in his ear. They were too far away for Dylan to make out whatever Nuada told the little boy, but A'du pointed at 'Sa'ti, and Nuada nodded. His sharp whistle split the air, and Sétanta trotted over from the dead fire-pit he'd been inspecting to stand with the ewah cubs. With one hand each on the wolfhound's back, the three disappeared into the woods with Tsu's'di at their back. Dylan realized A'du and 'Sa'ti probably had to go to the bathroom.
About ten minutes later, just when Nuada was starting to eye the tree-line, sudden dread trickled down Dylan's spine. Her head whipped around toward the woods, but she didn't lunge into motion. It wasn't fear or a sense of danger, nothing like anything she'd ever experienced before. Not so much a warning as a bracing, a shoring up before a dark tidal wave. The children weren't in danger. That wasn't a concern. But something was about to be uncovered—perhaps even by the cubs—that would change things.
Sharp golden eyes shot to Dylan as the mortal rose slowly to her feet, vibrating with suppressed motion. Her fingers twisted, hands clenching and unclenching, before she murmured, "Nuada…something's wrong. No enemies," she added hastily when he reached for the Silverlance, "but something…I don't know…there's just something…"
Eimh suddenly perked up from where she lay almost invisible underneath the carriage. With a muffled yelp, she scrambled out into the open. Nuada stopped to stare at her; Dylan turned away from the tree-line to look too. The white hound trembled, hackles raised, tail tucked between her legs. She whimpered and lowered her belly to the snow.
"Eimh?" Nuada called sharply. The hound darted her eyes to her master and whined. "Eimh, what's wrong?"
*Horrible,* the puppy whispered, the word soaked with poisonous grief edged with shards of fear. *Oh, Master…Master, it's horrible. Sétanta…Sétanta says…he says…Oh, Master, Mistress! Horrible, horrible!*
"Is it an enemy?" Dylan demanded as Nuada's hand went to the haft of his lance. The spear slid from its sheath on his back with a deadly whisper. "Eimh, what is it?" She'd never seen the dog react to danger like this before. But she didn't sense an enemy, only that terrible dread like grief inching slowly toward them…
*No,* Eimh whispered. *It is…nothing. No danger. It is ended now. Nothing can stop it. Nothing can make it go away. Horrible…the screaming…it echoes on and on and…Sétanta…brother…*
Nuada and Dylan exchanged a glance. What screaming? The woods were silent.
The woods were suddenly, strangely silent…
And then a terrible cry of anguish and terror ripped through the forest, a living thing of horrifying despair that should have left a black stain across the white snow, should have withered the trees caught between winter and spring on the edges of the Forest Road…and Dylan recognized the sound as Sétanta howling.
Dylan's sisters and John lurched to their feet; Wink surged to his, metal hand clenching; Erik and Lorelei, fey and graceful, drew their blades; the waggoners all reached for their weapons and made to race toward the howl.
But Nuada and Dylan were in front of them, Nuada with spear unsheathed and gleaming deadly silver against ivory snow, Dylan with her dirk out and clenched in her fist so tight her knuckles ached. They would have torn through the woods toward the hound and the three children—suddenly neither of them could think of Tsu's'di as anything but a child; a warrior, yes, but so young; and so vulnerable with his brother and sister to look after—but two small figures stumbling out of the trees halted the adults' steps.
'Sa'ti staggered through the snow toward her mistress and the prince, A'du holding her upright as he trudged next to her. Both children were white as ghosts. Tears had frozen to diamond-ice on the tips of their cheek-fur. The moment Dylan came close enough, 'Sa'ti threw herself at the human, clinging to her legs with trembling strength. Claws pricked through leather, but didn't break the skin. The little girl gasped for breath, sobbing without sound as she pressed her face into Dylan's stomach, fur bristling with terror. A'du, dull-eyed with something too dark and terrible to ever belong in the eyes of a child so young, went to Nuada, who watched him come with something like sick misery twisting in his belly at the sight of the little boy.
"Your Highness," A'du whispered. He tried to lift his gaze to the prince's face but couldn't seem to manage it. He dropped his eyes to the snow and sucked in a breath. Cleared his throat. Swallowed. "There's…there's…something…"
Dylan scanned the trees while stroking 'Sa'ti's mane. Whatever had happened, it had to have come and gone already; that was why there was no pressing sense of danger, only something vague and awful. What could it have been, that it would shatter the children so? And where was Tsu's'di? Sétanta was still howling, an agonized lament.
Nuada knelt in front of the ewah boy and gripped his shoulder. "What happened? Where is your brother?"
A'du swallowed again, his throat working convulsively. "He's sick. In the woods. He saw…" The boy choked on a sob. His whiskers quivered and his ears flattened against his skull. "He saw it. It made him sick."
"Saw what, A'du'la'di?" Nuada demanded, though he kept his voice gentle. "What did you see?"
"They…" His mouth trembled and he squeezed his eyes shut. "They…they're all…they're all dead. All of them. There's blood…we didn't…we didn't know they were there."
Dylan's mouth fell open and soft sound of protest escaped Nuada. They locked eyes as they realized what had happened: the children had found a group—a camp? Refugees? A small caravan?—of murdered fae. How terrible was the butchery? Terrible enough, if Sétanta howled such a dirge and Tsu's'di had been sick enough that he didn't follow his brother and sister back to the supply caravan. But the Royal Forest should have been safe under the power of the unicorn glories. How had the human bandits been able to catch any prey among the trees?
A'du hiccupped. "We didn't know…"
And Nuada pulled the child into his arms for a moment. A'du'la'di gasped and burrowed against the prince, crying now as his sister cried, and the prince held him, trying to gather up his own composure for a moment. The child was brave, Nuada thought. He'd always known that. But for him to have to see something so terrible so young…
"It's all right," Nuada murmured, understanding the confusion and guilt and sadness and so-very-adult anger burning through the cougar boy. "You did a good thing, A'du, coming to find us as you did. You did nothing wrong. It's all right. We will take care of them now."
The cub drew back and swiped at his face with his sleeve. "I should help." He sounded more frightened than resigned to or eager for the prospect. "'Cause I'm a warrior."
But Nuada shook his head. "I need you to stay with your sister. She's very upset. She needs you." Nuada rose to his feet and set his hand on the child's head. "You did a good, brave, honorable thing, A'du'la'di Ewah, telling us what happened. I am very proud of you." Turning to his lady, he said, "You should stay here with the children. The enemy has come and gone, it seems. I will take some of my men and see what is to be done."
Dylan nodded and took A'du from Nuada. 'Sa'ti latched onto her brother like a hungry lamprey and didn't let go as Nuada and a group of fifteen fae, including Erik and Wink, strode into the forest. The shadows of the trees swallowed them quickly. Dylan let out a pent-up breath and focused on the cubs. Petra and Pauline, maternal instincts blaring like claxons, came over to help.
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Nuada moved quickly through the foliage, dread crawling up and down his spine like skittering insects. This felt wrong. Only very strong, very dark magic could have broken through the protections laid by the various glories of unicorns living in the Royal Forest. The human bandits had nothing of the kind. What fae would help them?
Wink drew abreast of him. "Your lady had no warning of this," the silver troll rumbled. Nuada shook his head. "Could she have made a mistake? Could that warning system of hers be failing?"
"I sincerely doubt it," Nuada replied, remembering that Being who spoke to Dylan and—if she could be believed, and he was starting to believe this incredible fact because she had never yet led him wrong—all the Star Kindler's true children. "She felt something, a shadow of fear or horror. I noticed her react to it just before Eimh did. She received no warning of the attack itself, but that is no doubt because she could have done nothing to prevent it. But she knew. I saw it in her eyes when the warning came."
The troll rumbled thoughtfully to himself, a sound like gravel crunching. He scratched his broken tusk. Eyed his prince. But he said nothing more, only accepted his liege's explanation with a tilt of his head.
Yet the sense of wrongness persisted. Nuada wasn't certain why, but his instincts bristled the further into the thick woods they went.
Then the wind shifted, bringing the scents of the woods to the party of Fair Folk: evergreens, spring dew, mist, loam, new plants…and ever so subtle, the stench of rot. As the prince had thought—whoever had killed the fae had come and gone some time ago, because the bodies had had time to decompose. Nuada thought of what 'Sa'ti and A'du must have seen and forced back a shudder. What sort of scars had this left on their hearts?
And then they found Tsu's'di, hunched pale and shivering on the ground. Sétanta nuzzled his shoulder, whining softly. When Nuada stepped into view, the hound bellied over to his master, whimpering. Nuada knelt and laid a hand on the trembling beast. Then he looked at Tsu's'di.
"Report, Guardsman Tsu's'di," he commanded, but gently.
Tsu's'di's eyes lifted to Nuada's face, glassy with a terrible sort of shock. He swallowed. "A'du and 'Sa'ti found them. We didn't even smell them until the wind shifted, and by then they'd already found the grove."
Nuada frowned. "Grove?" He turned to the trees beyond Tsu's'di, the rot-stench crawling through the tangled branches like maggots. Vines with silver and white flowers encircled the trees, twining thick to block the eye beyond the next handful of paces. But that didn't make sense. Those blossoms only grew on the trees surrounding the sacred groves. No fae would camp there without permission…
A cold, poisonous thought whispered through Nuada's head, slicing across his heart, needling through his soul. But no. No, it couldn't be…couldn't possibly be what he was suddenly so very afraid it was. No one could be so evil. No one could be so…soulless.
He rose to his feet. Vaguely realized he was trembling, and couldn't find it in himself to care or to force himself to stop. Not when the thought was swimming through his skull now like a bloodthirsty shark, gnawing on his bones. The thought had taken root, a cancerous weed, and was now slowly spreading its tendrils all through him, so that he couldn't deny, couldn't push away the terrible possibility that it wasn't his people who were dead, whose butchered corpses had been left to rot, but…
Sétanta whined softly. Nuada took a breath that threatened to strangle him. He reached out, laid a hand on the trunk of one of the trees, and flexed his power, a gentle push to spread the vines and untangle the branches and allow him to see. The forest obeyed, but reluctantly; as if it, too, was desperate to deny the possibility beyond the trees lining the violated grove.
Nuada saw, and a part of him went cold and hollow at the sight burned into his eyes. He staggered back, gasping, choking on the scream in his throat—the same sort of scream Sétanta had uttered in an ululating howl—but eventually the anguish escaped as he fell to his knees.
.
The scream shattered the stillness that had descended across the supply caravan's impromptu camp, coming with the shift of the wind. Petra, sitting with the rest of her sisters and her brother, jerked at the ragged wound of sound scraping the air. Her cup of tea slipped from her trembling hands to splash the snow, which puddled into steaming, brown slush at her feet. John muttered something obscene under his breath. The two cat-children clutched at Pauline, who sat between them. The white dog that apparently could talk hunched down, whimpering.
Petra barely noticed. Her attention latched onto her youngest sister as Dylan went stark white. Her lips parted in a silent cry before shaping a soundless word. No, Petra realized. Not a word. A name.
Nuada.
Suddenly Dylan was on her feet and racing for the woods as fast as she could, Eimh scrambling to catch up. Petra leapt up and raced after her, John at her heels, because if someone was making a noise like that, Dylan needed to stay far away. But somehow, despite Dylan's bad knee, she managed to put a sizeable chunk of distance between herself and her oldest sister and twin brother. Petra ran harder, managing to catch her sister seconds before they stumbled into the group of waggoners and royal guards.
John nearly face-planted into a tree. Petra stumbled to a halt because apparently no one was being attacked and she was seconds away from cardiac arrest. Bending in half, hands on her knees, she gasped for air as her sister staggered to a guy slumped on his knees on the ground, staring at a gap between two thick trees. Petra only realized it was the prince when Dylan dropped painfully to the ground and threw her arms around him, clutching at his shoulders and forcing him to turn and look at her. The prince was so gray he looked almost bluish and he stared at Dylan as if he didn't recognize her. Dylan whispered something Petra couldn't hear, but Nuada only turned back to the view between those trees.
What was so freaking fascinating? And where was that rotten meat smell coming from? Were there wolves nearby? What had the children seen that was so bad? She didn't see any dead bodies around, so…
Forcing herself upright, Petra walked toward the prince and Dylan. She was about two feet away when Dylan, who'd turned to study the scene in front of them, clapped a hand to her mouth to stifle a scream. Petra jumped. Stared at her little sister before staring at the snowy grove in front of them.
Wait…hadn't Nuada said something about how the road would have snow, but the magic of the forest would keep the actual tree-part green and bright? But now that she thought of it, there had been snow trailing back all the way to the road. Not heavy winter snow like back at camp, but snow like the pathetic and irritating slush that attacked the world in the last dregs of the cold part of spring. Was there supposed to be any snow here?
Putting that aside, she peered beyond the trees. Frowned. What was everyone looking at? Why did they look so horrified? All Petra could see was snow, a deep blanket of white covered in hillock-like drifts spreading across the tree-ringed grove in front of her. And was that water? Something glittered like sunlight on water…except the sun was trapped behind dove-gray clouds. So what…?
Silver. Quicksilver streams meandered across the snow and made tiny pools next to the snowdrifts. But the snow didn't steam from the touch of molten metal. Mercury, then? No. No, because mercury didn't behave that way, staying stagnant in its place. It would flow across inclines to meet up with bigger pools of mercury, not remain in glittering splashes atop those hillocks. She noticed something like rivers of pearl, and iridescent shimmers across the snow, the silver and pearl and gossamer gleam all mixed together against the white.
Then the wind shifted again, and the stench hit hard like a fist in the pit of her stomach, and it took everything she had not to throw up. She clapped a hand over her mouth. Where was that coming from?
She realized belatedly that the scream that had brought them all running hadn't sounded like the prince. Maybe that was why all of his guards were staring at a female guard with a dozen braids hanging down her back. Had that raw, shattered cry come from her? Where was the stench coming from? What was going on? What…
White hillocks dusted with snow. Splashes of silver, glistening pearlescence, and slick rainbow sheen like fairy wings: all of them liquid but holding as still as corpses, no longer flowing.
She couldn't see it at first. Her mind wouldn't let her see it. But after a few agonizing, split-second eternities, it clicked into place and she fell to her knees next to her sister, next to the prince, next to everyone who'd understood from the first what had happened in this place, what terrible evil had scarred the world here. Not hillocks covered in snow. Not silver and pearl and ivory.
Unicorns.
Elegance shattered, beauty ripped away, power snuffed out like cruel fingers to a thousand candle flames. Bodies hacked to pieces, scattered across the grove like so much worthless meat. Blood spilled in a thousand shades of silver and white, glistening still with the shimmer of power despite how it had frozen with the coming of the spring snows. Hooves showed argent crescents against the snow that covered them, horns lay cracked or shattered or splashed with blood.
A terrible thing, such desecration of glory, such total desolation of purity, such mindless slaughter of innocence.
All her life, Petra had resented her youngest sister for telling stories about fairies, about elves and goblins, mermaids and unicorns. Part of it was because it always made their parents so angry, and so scared. Who was Dylan, so small and insignificant and young, to scare their parents that way? But part of it was—had always been—jealousy, because it wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that Dylan found so much wonder in a world that sucked so much. Dylan was little. She didn't need wonder, she could imagine stuff. Why did she get to see—or pretend to see—all the wonderful things she talked about, but Petra didn't?
Unicorns. Petra had always wanted to see a unicorn. Dylan had talked about unicorns all the time. She'd claimed she'd never seen one in real life, just seen paintings and heard stories from her fairies, but young Petra had always thought her sister was lying to try and make her feel better. Later on, grown-up Petra had known none of it was real anyway.
Except it was real. Had always been real. And now she not only knew, but truly understood, that of course Dylan's world held such wonder, just like she'd always thought…but it held terrible things, as well.
Petra realized she was sobbing, the tears burning her cheeks with flashes of heat before they chilled to ice on her skin. Sétanta and Eimh, huddled together and shaking yet, tipped back their heads and howled anew.
And then Dylan broke their song with incomprehensible words. In a voice that was barely recognizable as human, choked as it was with sick grief, Dylan commanded, "Go get A'du'la'di."
.
Sétanta pressed against his mistress's cat-boy-puppy as A'du'la'di made his way back through the brush. The faerie hound felt him trembling. Whining low in his throat, the hound pushed his nose into the two-legger's hand.
Sétanta was a young dog, but he knew he was smart. A'du was young, too. Younger even than Sétanta, if Sétanta had been a two-legger or A'du a hound pup. A'du was smart. Whatever Mistress wanted him for, it was something only he could do. A'du had figured that out without anyone telling him when Sétanta had come to bring him to the adult two-leggers in the woods. The cat-boy-puppy didn't want to go back into the forest still echoing with ghost-screams and reeking of death and fear, but he wasn't just smart and young. He was brave. He would go, and Sétanta would be right next to him.
Mistress's sadness was a sharp, heavy thing when she hugged A'du'la'di and kissed his forehead. A'du sniffled once, and Sétanta wondered if he would cry because he was sad and scared, too…but he didn't. He just looked at Mistress.
"I am so sorry, honey," she whispered, grasping his shoulders. "I know you don't want to be here. I know. But the Spirit is telling me that there's something here we need you to find."
Sétanta's head shot up and his ears pricked. Something to find? He was not a scent hound, so even though his nose was good for smelling, it wasn't as good as Mistress might need. Any scents beyond forest and death failed to reach his hound's nose. Could A'du smell things better than a hound?
*Master says A'du has a good nose,* Eimh said. Sétanta glanced at his littermate. She shivered, but not because her paws were cold from the snow or her ears frozen by the wintry wind. She trudged over and pushed her face into Sétanta's chest. He laid his chin on her head and tried to warm away the cold in her heart. *It is his special magic.*
The two-legger boy took a deep breath. Swallowed loud enough even a human could've heard. He raked his claws through his tufty mane, making it stand on end. He glanced at Master, then Mistress. Master and all the rest of the two-leggers stared at Mistress.
"What is it?" A'du asked finally.
Mistress bit her lip, then blew out a breath in a silvery cloud. "I'm pretty sure that there's someone here," she said.
"Bad guys?" A'du asked.
She shook her head. "Survivors."
.
Nuada watched his lady's pageboy square his shoulders, stiffen his spine, and step through the tree-line into the grove. The prince was fairly certain he would never be able to think of the ewah youngster as a child again after this. No child could see such carnage and walk away with his innocence intact.
A'du'la'di opened his mouth, wrinkling his feline nose. He flattened his ears to his skull, the fur bristling with agitation, but he kept moving, his boots sinking into the deepening snow. Sétanta kept pace with him, hackles raised, lips peeled back in a grimace as the stench hit him. Neither Dylan nor Nuada had ordered the hound to go with the cougar-shifter, but Sétanta had said in an eerily toneless voice that he would go into the grove, too. No one had had the wherewithal to contradict him.
Survivors? Who could have survived this massacre? If there were survivors, the winter shouldn't have set in so quickly in this part of the forest. A mature unicorn's magic, even a single unicorn without aid from its kin, could keep spring in place.
If there were survivors, why didn't they cry out for help?
Nuada turned to Dylan as the two of them paused just inside the grove. A'du and Sétanta were barely three feet in front of them. The Elven warrior's eyes burned with questions. Doubts. How could there be survivors? Why didn't they call out?
"Don't ask me," she whispered. "Please don't. I don't want to say it. The answer's making me really sick."
"Dylan…" If the wounded were so badly hurt they couldn't call out, was it worth it to find them? How could anyone bring themselves to deliver a mercy stroke to a unicorn? And how could anyone bear not to?
She sighed. "I don't know how much you know about human history," Dylan whispered, "but India was once a colony of Britain. During their fight for independence, an English officer—a general I think, but I could be wrong—opened fire with machine guns on a civilian gathering. Hundreds if not thousands of people were killed. When he was prosecuted, he claimed that anyone who wanted to surrender or ask for medical attention after the massacre could do so. And they asked him, 'How does a child, in a situation like that…ask for help?'"
He nearly retched. His stomach twisted so viciously, he had to cover his mouth to keep from being sick. Acid burned the back of his throat. How does a child…how does a child…For the gods' pity, no. Children had survived this place?
And in that moment he understood why A'du'la'di was needed—not just to find the survivors, but to coax them out. He had a way about him; Nuada had seen it when the boy interacted with such shy, even timid children like Princess Abigail, Princess Shāuddo, and Prince Llŷr. A'du'la'di was a natural leader. He—
"Your Highness," the ewah called from several feet away. He stood near a cluster of boulders covered in snow and splashes of silver and iridescent blood. "Don't come over. You neither, A'ge'lv."
"A'du," Dylan called softly, gently. "Did you find something?"
The page held up a hand to keep her back. "Stay there. Just a second." He took two steps toward the cluster of boulders. Nuada caught a shift of shadows in what basically amounted to a shallow cave. He realized no snow had fallen in just that spot. A'du'la'di didn't look at his mistress or his prince. He kept his gaze on the boulders. He leaned forward. "It's okay," he murmured to whatever moved in the shadows. "You don't have to be scared. I'm nice."
Beside Nuada, Dylan stiffened, covering her mouth with a shaking hand. A tear spilled from the corner of her eye. Nuada's own eyes burned. A foal. A'du'la'di had found a unicorn foal. By the stars…
The boy leaned in closer. "It's okay. I won't hurt you. I won't let anything hurt you, okay? I promise, and a warrior always keeps his promises." He crouched down, still careful to avoid the blood. "I'm A'du. What's your name?"
*Go away!* A very young voice—A'du'la'di's age or perhaps a touch younger—screamed, a colt trying to imitate a stallion's challenging bugle. *You bring humans with you! Go away!*
"They're nice humans," A'du insisted. "Honest. That's the a'ge'lv. She's really nice. She'll help you. She'll check you out and heal you, too. She'll make you feel better."
*Duskshine,* a timid, teary voice whispered, and Nuada's heart cracked in half. Not a foal. More than one. How many were hidden there? That explained the snow; these foals were too young to glamour themselves invisible and keep the winter away. They had to be freezing without their mothers to keep them warm. The tearful voice—a filly, the prince thought, barely a yearling—continued, *Duskshine, maybe they can help.*
*They're humans! They'll hurt us, just like…* The colt, Duskshine, trailed off. *Please,* he said. *Please just go away!*
A'du shook his head. "They will not hurt you or do anything bad. I promise on the Darkness That Eats All Things." Nuada stiffened; he was too young to make such a promise. But the cub continued, "Please come out. Aren't you cold? I'm cold."
*Duskshine,* the filly pleaded. *Shimmer needs to get warm. It's too cold for her without her dam. Please!* When the colt said nothing, she added, *He swore on the Darkness. They're safe. Please, Shimmer's light is going out.*
Dylan nudged Nuada. "What does that mean?"
"You remember how they seemed to glow when you saw them?" The prince asked under his breath. She nodded. "That is their magic. If this Shimmer's magic is growing dim, it means she hasn't much time. She must be very young or very sick, for the cold to affect her so badly. Perhaps both, since they spoke of her dam—her mother."
*I go first,* Duskshine said. To Nuada's ears, he sounded like a boy pretending at being a man, pretending at courage and strength when his legs were actually about to give out beneath him. Just like a little Elven princeling who'd tried to stand defiant against the men who meant to rape and murder his mother. Then the colt stepped out of the shadows and dropped his glamour.
He was two, perhaps three centuries old—barely beyond foalhood. His mane and tail, once twin banners of white gold, now hung limp and dirty with blood. He favored one leg; with his knowledge of horses, Nuada thought the colt might've strained a hock. A slash across his withers bled sluggish, pearlescent blood. A chunk was missing from the base of his spiraling horn. But in his violet eyes, the color of descending twilight, defiance still burned like hellfire. He would protect the group he'd managed to get to safety. How had they survived? How had they escaped the blades of their would-be-killers?
Behind him, a cream-colored filly with soft green eyes, perhaps a century younger than Duskshine, gently nudged a sleepy, spindly-legged foal with her nose. The foal had the same creamy coat, but its mane shone with strands of yellow gold woven in with the pearl. Unusual for a unicorn. The foal, who had to be little Shimmer, gave off hardly any of the soft light of the two older unicorns. She stumbled, and it wasn't until she drew closer to A'du'la'di that Nuada realized the truth.
Shimmer had only been born perhaps a day or two before. A baby. She was only a baby.
Nuada swallowed hard. He would not shame himself with tears now. Not now. The survivors had to be tended, the dead dealt with, before he could let grief take him in any measure.
"We'll take care of you," A'du said gently to the filly. To Duskshine he said, "Don't worry. I'll help you protect 'em. Okay?"
After an interminable silence, where the colt eyed Dylan with too-adult anger and even more fear, he nodded. *Thank you.* He glanced at Dylan again. *You wear the Star Kindler's medallion.*
The mortal's hand stole to the necklace she wore. "Yes."
Duskshine glanced at the filly and Shimmer. Then he looked back at Dylan. *We will trust you.*
A'du asked the filly, "So…what's your name?"
The filly ducked her head and whispered something barely audible.
"Huh?"
The filly's ears drooped. She whispered, *I'm…Flutt…shy.*
"You're really quiet, huh?"
She ducked her head, her nose almost touching the snow. In a voice barely above a breath, she whispered, *I'm…F-F-Fluttershy.*
"Oh." A'du smiled. It looked as if it hurt him, but he managed it. "You don't have to be scared of me, Fluttershy. I'm your friend. We'll look after you, okay? Don't worry. The a'ge'lv will take good care of you, okay?"
*Oh…okay.*
Dylan cleared her throat; it shattered the tension that had settled over the grove. Offering the four children—because they were children, really, even though Nuada had to think of A'du as a warrior in this moment, on this battlefield—a gentle smile, she held out a hand, gesturing toward the trees. "Let's get you three checked out, huh?" There were enough medical supplies and at least a horse leech or two among the waggoners. The foals would be looked after.
And Nuada and his men would take care of the dead.
.
That night, Dylan watched A'du and 'Sa'ti where they curled up with the three young unicorns. She wanted to go to them, hold them, comfort them…but her presence would only upset the unicorns who'd survived the terrible slaughter of their entire glory. They wanted no humans near them now that they'd been patched up, and so far, no adults periods. Only A'du and 'Sa'ti. So instead, Dylan went in search of her prince.
She found Nuada, as she knew she would, at the edge of the grove. The funeral pyre that had raged so hot earlier in the afternoon and evening had now dwindled to glowing embers and fluttering ash, casting the whole grove into a phantom play of abyssal light and shadow. His eyes never wavered from the smoldering pyre. She wondered if she should reach out to him. She wondered if she dared to. He looked more alien in that moment than he ever had before, a cruel statue carved from midnight stone.
Then he turned to her and he was once again Nuada, heartsick and exhausted. Dylan snagged his hand and squeezed once. A shudder rippled through him. He turned back to the glowing coals.
"Even during the wars between my people and yours, no one dared touch the unicorn glories." His words dropped into the dark like stones into a pool of water. "To harm such purity…such beauty…We never even thought the glories could be in danger, they were so revered by all who saw them. How could they do this, Dylan?" He clutched her hand hard enough to make it ache, but she didn't pull away. "How could anyone do something like this?"
She shrugged helplessly. "I don't know." The bigger question—although it was almost impossible to think of other questions, to think of the big picture, when the once nearly-sacred grove stank of rot and smoke—was not how they could bear to do it, but how it had been done. The power saturating the grove and the unicorns themselves should have kept them safe. Only powerful magic could've circumvented the glory's safeguards.
Which meant that if the human bandits were responsible—very likely—then they had had fey help. Very powerful fey help. A monarch could have done it easily, but Nuada had sworn none of the monarchs who'd challenged Bethmoora or the Silverlance in the past would ever commit such a heinous crime. A noble could've pulled it off as well, but it would've been difficult. There should've been traces of foreign magic swirling around the site of the massacre, but Nuada had found nothing—only rot and death.
"I would have waged war and wiped out your race to protect my own," Nuada whispered, shattering Dylan's thoughts. Her eyes sliced to his face. "I would have woken our deadliest warriors to eradicate the humans. Perhaps I should have," he added, chilling her to the core, "if they were capable of this…abomination. But my own people…" Another shudder racked him, harder than the first. "My own people…one of them committed this treachery." He bowed his head, silvery hair spilling around his face like a curtain of moonlight. "One of them dared to even think of murdering something so precious, let alone…" He lifted his head. Pinned his gaze on the smoking heap of unicorn corpses now seared to ash. "Is there any hope for the Fair Folk if they can do such as this?" He shook his head, and the air hitched in his chest. His gaze found hers, pleading. "What say you, Dylan?"
It moved her even now, that he would ask her, a human, about the fae. He still mistrusted humans; she knew that. That he asked told the mortal woman just how much her prince trusted her. Even after all of this. Humans had done this, and they had had the help of the Kindly Ones. What did that mean for the future? For any hope of reconciliation between the Twilight People and the children of Adam? She'd hoped that it would be possible for the two to come together in peace, to work together…but not like this. What to say?
"Things seem dark now," she murmured, drawing close to him. No warmth emanated from her prince. Winter held sway in this part of the forest now that the unicorns' protection had died. Did he feel the cold at all? "But you know that you can't let the dark take your heart. You can't let it…drag you into despair. What happened here is more than terrible. There are no words for this. But you can't give in to the idea that there is no light left in the world, even if it seems like it. Just as not all humans are evil, not all our people are evil. There are always those who are worth fighting for, worth protecting. You know that."
He scoffed, a sound rife with bitterness. "Oh? Do I?"
She moved in front of him, setting her hands on his shoulders. His eyes were bleak, xanthous gray in the smoky moonlight and sullen coal-glow, but she held his gaze. For an instant, it felt as if she held the broken pieces of him in her hands, fragile as a soap bubble, bruised with sorrow.
"You know it," she whispered. "When the wolves hunted me in the dark, you knew it. You found me, protected me, saved me, because you knew that sometimes, even when it is so hard to believe it, there is still some light in the world. You knew." Her hands glided over his shoulders, down his arms, her fingertips whispering over his sleeves before touching his hands, so cold without his gloves. She ignored the chill, taking his left hand—the hand that would bear his wedding ring come February—in both of hers and holding it to her heart. "Don't forget. Don't let them make you forget that there is still good in this world. In both worlds. Even now, it's there."
The forest dropped its silence between them, and Dylan wondered what she could say to give him some kind of hope. They would be walking into the aftermath of slaughters just like this one once they reached the northern villages. It would be two-legged fae instead of unicorns, but it would be excruciating nonetheless. What hope could she give him?
Only herself.
"When I was a little girl," she whispered, never letting go of his hand, "I was afraid of the dark. Even before the institution. And my mother would come into mine and John's room if we got scared. We didn't have nightlights—I wouldn't have them in my room, it made the fairies who visited me sick—so my mother would bring in her special candles." She felt a sliver of tension ease out of him, curiosity taking its place. "They were so pretty, shaped like roses and stars and little suns. They were very small, about the size of a quarter. And my mother would bring in a big glass bowl of water and set the candles on the surface, and when she lit them, they floated on the water, white roses and stars and suns. The flames reflected on the water looked like golden stars. They made us feel better. Held back the dark. And my mother kept them burning until we fell asleep again."
He didn't speak. Only stared at her, waiting for the light in this new darkness.
"Nuada," she whispered, cupping his cheek with her free hand. Her thumb glided across the royal scar carved deep across his cheekbone. He turned into her touch. "Mo ghrá, beidh mé a bheith do choinneal ar an uisce."
My love, I will be your candle on the water.
Nuada drew a breath so sharp and ragged it made Dylan's chest ache. He squeezed his eyes shut. His jaw flexed, and he bowed his head. The air escaped him in a slow, shuddering exhalation. He squeezed her hand hard, just shy of too hard, and took another breath. Let it out. Dragged in another. Let it out. A final shudder spread through him and he held onto her hand like a lifeline until it finally left him. He opened his eyes.
"You will light my way," he murmured, "as you always do. I love you."
"I love you, too. Now you should get some sleep if you can. If you need me at all tonight, it's okay to wake me up. Come find me if you need me. Okay?"
He touched his forehead to hers. "As you wish, mo choinneal."
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Author's Note: I've actually been planning the slaughter of at least one unicorn glory ever since they were introduced in chapter 53, "A Glory of Unicorns." Why? As a tool to show the fanatical madness of the person behind all of these court machinations, among other things. This is going to be one thing that fuels some of Nuada's actions in the events of the film. And the unicorns are going to be important in later chapters dealing with the villages. How? You'll see. So what did you guys think? I know it was so sad, but I tried to end it on a less depressing note. Share your thoughts! Reviews are awesome! Love you guys and hope you're having a great summer so far!
References Made in This Chapter:
— Fluttershy is the name of one of the "mane six" from My Little Ponies: Friendship Is Magic. However, she is a pegasus, not a unicorn. Her introduction to the show, however, is very similar to Fluttershy the Unicorn's introduction to A'du'la'di in this chapter.
— Duskshine is the fan-chosen name for the main character of MLP:FIM, Twilight Sparkle, if Twilight were changed into a boy. Apparently each of the "mane six" have male names: AJ instead of Applejack, Butterscotch instead of Fluttershy, Rainbow Blitz instead of Rainbow Dash, etc.
— The name Shimmer comes from the villain of the My Little Ponies film, Equestria Girls, Sunset Shimmer. There aren't many fandoms with unicorns in them that have viable unicorn names. Surprisingly, MLP is one. Another is The Unicorns of Balinor series (Sunchaser, for example). And then others, like The Unicorns of Luster, aren't really viable at all (Prince Lightfoot is a major supporting character).
— "I will be your candle on the water" is a line from the song "Candle on the Water" from Disney's Pete's Dragon. Nora sings it for her lost love. It was apparently also recorded by someone else around the same time for the radio.
— Mo choinneal means "my candle" in Gaelic. Not the most romantic nickname…except in this situation.