Author's Note: hey, guys, thanks for your patience! I had…a lot of health issues this month, and so did my beta. So we didn't finish the chapter until a week ago and of course, because this is what they pay for, my Patrons get the chapter a week in advance. But here it is now! And we're only a couple chapters (counting this one) away from getting out of Lallybroch and moving on to the next village (which will take considerably less text time, I promise). In the meantime, I hope you guys enjoy the chapter.
I know finals are coming up! For those of you in school, good luck! You've got this. Remember to take breaks, eat, hydrate, and get at least a little rest, okay?
I LOVE YOU GUYS!
PS – the chapter title comes from a line in the song "Castle" by Halsey
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Once Upon a Time
Chapter One-Hundred-Twenty-Nine
An Old Man Sitting on a Throne
that is
A Short Tale of Eyes, Insults, Threats, Death, Sacrifice, Loss, Cousins, Service, Monsters, the Moon, Winter's Chill, Regret, a Dress, Candor, Preparations, Fealty, and Punishment
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Outside the door to the king's room, Nuada and Dylan exchanged a glance. Dylan swallowed, and the Elven warrior could see the fear shimmering in her silvery blue eyes. Nuada brushed the tips of his fingers against the back of her hand once in quick, silent reassurance. Then he knocked once, sharply, on the oak slab of the door before opening it. He walked into the room, well aware of the eyes on his back: the eyes of Uilliam McBás and his lieutenants, Dylan's brother and sisters, Zhenjin and his brothers, Wink, Lorelei, Erik, Prince Dastan, Prince Taran, Princess Kamaria, Prince Günther, the blue-skinned boy named Maurice and the two "monsters" who'd come with him, Becan Brownie, Tsu's'di, and the little bean sídhe girl, Siobhan. He felt their gazes even after Dylan shut the door behind them.
The tavern owners had offered up every luxury to their king. Cushions festooned the chairs and couch, more candles than the owners could likely afford for one room lit up the dimness, and applewood logs crackled on the hearth, filling the room with the sweet scent of the fruit trees. Balor stood before the fireplace, his back to them. Sáruit, captain of his guard, stood between the old king and the prince, one black-gloved hand on her massive, iron claymore. An inch of the ensorcelled iron showed above the top of the sheath; the warning was clear. If the prince came too close, Sáruit would take it as a threat.
Nuada kept well back. No point in antagonizing his father before it became necessary. He would keep his temper. He would speak calmly, rationally. Lay out his defense in a logical pattern that even a blind fool could not overlook.
He would not think of Sréng's words. Of Balor's claim that they had been…like brothers. Brothers like Nuada himself and Zhenjin, like Nuada and Wink? The thought made his belly churn. The crown prince would not think of how his father had so foolishly gifted a madman with true, unending immortality and then unleashed him upon their people. He would think of it not at all.
"You asked to see us, Your Majesty," he said. His voice held no hint of emotion, no fire or ice. Yet still Balor sighed as he turned to them.
"Are those two…children truly husband and wife?"
Nuada hesitated. "As good as. They have been betrothed for some months. Master Uí Neill has given his name and protection to Mistress Iúile's child and claimed the baby as his own daughter—"
Balor waved that away. "They are not married yet. They are both young. Too young to know what is best for themselves. And for a baby? Who gave that girl permission to keep a child at her age?"
Beside Nuada, a stunned Dylan spluttered something incomprehensible, trying to get her mouth to work around her shock. Nuada bit back a growl and said only, "She carried the babe and birthed it. What happens to the little one, so long as it comes to no harm, is of her concern alone, Father. Mistress Iúile is the child's mother."
The king scoffed. "She's practically a child herself." He held up a hand when Dylan made a noise, the gesture icily dismissive. "Why did you take away the father's rights gifted by paternity? He clearly loves the child, clearly seeks to keep her safe—"
"He kept her safe," Nuada interrupted coolly, "by locking her in a single room on the third floor, barring the windows, and refusing to let her speak to another living being for more than half a year. She was sickly, malnourished, and near to taking her own life in desperation when Lady Dylan found her. When my lady and I released her and allowed her to reunite with her betrothed, the father offered insult to me, my lady, and Mistress Iúile."
Balor rubbed his chin, clearly troubled. Nuada thought that surely, this time, his king would side with him. What would his father have done if it had been Nuala? For of course the old king couldn't be bothered to sympathize with another being unless he could project the problem onto his own family. But had it been Nuala, surely Balor would have punished anyone who would dare to treat her so?
"Iúile doesn't want to see him again," Dylan added softly.
The king sighed. "I can understand her feelings, of course. But she is young, and under a great strain now with a new child. She does not know her own mind. She is too young to know her own mind. Fathers make mistakes."
If he ground his teeth any harder, Nuada realized, he was in danger of cracking one of his molars. Fathers made mistakes? Was this about the Elven girl and her gancanaugh beloved, or was this about what Dylan and Nuada had uncovered out there in the snow? But he didn't ask. Silence was a weapon sharp enough to bleed the air, and the Elven warrior had long ago learned to wield it well. He'd been off-balance after discovering these long-buried secrets about the king, but he'd recovered himself thanks to Dylan's care. He would wage this battle as well as he once might have.
Eventually, the king sighed and shook his head, slumping into a well-cushioned chair. With a wave of one hand, he said, "I will think on that at another time. I would hear the father's testimony before I pass judgment."
"Nuada already passed judgment," Dylan said from her chair. She'd found her tongue at last. To the prince's relief, she kept the sharp edge turned from the king…for now. She, too, understood the folly in provoking him.
Balor nodded. "I know." He said nothing more for a moment. Nuada took the insult, swallowed the bitterness, and kept silent. If his father wanted a reaction, a tantrum, he would get nothing. "We have other matters to see to this night. Lady Dylan." Behind Nuada, Dylan stiffened as if someone had shoved an iron rod into her spine. "Your young guardsman. The cat-boy."
In a voice any queen might envy, Dylan asked, "What about him?"
"My guards say he killed two humans since you've come to this village. Did you intend to punish him?"
"I intended to do what was right, Your Majesty."
"May I remind you, Lady Dylan," the king said, biting into each word like a ravenous tooth faerie, "that when I elevated you to peerage, you swore to uphold the laws of Bethmoora?"
From the corner of his eye, Nuada saw Dylan cant her head. If anyone but him had seen her then, they wouldn't have known she was beginning to sweat—just a little. She had sworn such an oath. Breaking it was treason. She was human, so the king could not execute her. What would he do, then?
Nothing, Nuada thought. He will do nothing to her, or I will kill him. Enough is enough. No one I love, no one under my protection, is going to die tonight.
"I will do what is right, Majesty. I will uphold the laws, of course. But the laws do not require death as a punishment for breaking the treaty. Besides, Tsu's'di didn't know the treaty applied to him as my servant—"
"That is no excuse, Lady Dylan. The boy must die."
No one spoke for a long, long moment. Ice began to creep along Nuada's veins, crystallize in his marrow. Frost coated the inside of his mouth. So, it came down to this. All night, they had brushed against the possibility of the king's death, Nuada's ascension to the throne on the point of a sword. If he were to do it now, it would be easiest. He would cut Sáruit down, and as she died in a pool of her own blood, Nuada would plunge his sword or his spear into the king's chest and then…
And then watch, as he had watched in that nightmare in Roiben Darktithe's sithen, as his father died cursing his name. He would wear the crown, sit the throne. His father's blood would stain his hands and his sister would despise him forever after.
And yet…Tsu's'di. He had made oaths to the boy, to the boy's brother and sister. To Dylan about the children. He was their shield, their defense. And the king would slay the lad, a youth barely old enough to wed or take a profession or father a child or enlist in the guard…slay a young man who sought only to protect his brother and another child…
Nuada felt more than saw Dylan rise slowly from her chair and step to him, keeping to his right side so that he might draw his lance or his sword easily. She knew. She knew his thoughts, even without the link that bound their souls. The link Shaohao had shattered. Even without it, his beloved knew what was in his heart.
Nuada curled his fingers into a loose fist as Sáruit's blade caught the light, tiny flames reflected on the sharpened iron. Her helmet would make it difficult to decapitate her, but his sword through her chest should serve well enough, and he could spin away before her twitching muscles had the power to lash out at him in her death throes.
"Nuada?" Balor asked softly. "Did you hear me? The boy must be punished."
"Murdered, you mean," Nuada said.
Balor huffed a breath saturated with exasperation. Nuada's fingers twitched. The king said, "It is not murder; stop acting like a hysterical maiden. It is the law. The boy murdered humans. He must die."
"It was not murder," the prince said. "He was defending himself and two children against attackers who had made their intentions clear. They would have killed the children—"
"You know it doesn't matter. The treaty stands. Will you execute the boy, or must I do it myself?"
"You think you can?" Dylan's voice trembled a little. "You think you can murder an innocent teenager in cold blood? Or did you plan on having her do it?" The contempt lashed out like a whip to slap at Sáruit, but the Butcher captain ignored the mortal in favor of the prince. "You can't have him," Dylan added.
Balor frowned. "Prince Nuada, control your lady."
"I am afraid I cannot do that, Majesty." Nuada was so cold. His hands were numb. The tips of his ears were numb. His lips were numb. Somehow he managed to speak anyway. "I will not punish my lady or silence her when she speaks for us both. I will not let you murder Tsu's'di Ka'ta. The boy is under my protection. You will not kill him. I will not allow it."
The old king stared at his son for far too long, the only sound the crackling of the applewood fire and Sáruit's breathing echoing in her helmet.
"You would kill me, Nuada?" Balor asked at last. "Over a servant? A mere commoner your mortal picked up off the street?" Nuada said nothing. "I am your king, Silverlance," Balor added, but his voice held no venom, no anger. It was a reminder, and a question.
Nuada swallowed hard. "And my father. But you taught me it is better to break your own heart than to break your honor. I will not let you break my honor, Áthair. This boy is my vassal, my lady's vassal. I am responsible for him. I will not let you kill him."
"And if I command it?"
Another swallow. Nuada's mouth was desert dry, salt dry. "I will not obey."
Balor's gaze slid to Dylan. "And you, Lady? Will you obey?"
Dylan shook her head. "No, Your Majesty. Not this time."
"And you will not stop your prince, your truelove, from murdering his own father, daughter of the High King? Surely your god frowns on patricide."
"My God frowns on nearly everything that has been happening in this village, Your Majesty. And He will mourn that disobeying you here and now brings sorrow to my prince's heart," she said softly. "The Star Kindler mourns the pain of all of His children. He will mourn this one, too." Dylan hesitated, then added, "Majesty, Nuada is offering you no threat of violence."
Bitterness and rue tinged Balor's laugh. "Is he not?" The old king shook his head wearily, rubbing his left shoulder as if it ached. Something about the gesture made Nuada uneasy. "He breaks the treaty, disobeys his king, refuses to bow to my commands, chooses a commoner over his sovereign, has turned everyone in this village against me…and he offers me no threat of violence?" Those aged amber eyes locked with the prince's carefully blank gaze. "It would be easy, would it not, my son? To kill me here, with only my guard captain to defend me?"
Nuada shook his head. "That is not what I want, Father."
Balor sighed. "The boy broke the treaty, Nuada. What would you have me do? If I allow him pardon, what then? What shall I do to the next criminal who breaks the treaty? I have already agreed to spare the bean sídhe child's life—"
"Her punishment," Nuada said suddenly. A glimmer of hope hung on a thread, almost but not quite out of reach. The bean sídhe child. What if…? "Punish Tsu's'di as you would punish the girl. You are not going to kill her."
"Only because that upstart Lord of the Night dared to intervene. You," he focused on Dylan, who lifted her chin, "have interesting friends. Do not give my son to that monster."
Dylan's breath hissed through her teeth. "I would never. I wouldn't offer a dog I didn't like to him."
Once again, the crown prince had the idea that Dylan and his father both knew things about Azrharn that he himself did not. Not surprising; Balor was more than twice his age and Dylan was a favorite of Moundshroud. The bean sídhe girl was protected by Moundshroud's son, but Tsu's'di was not. However, it was still a neat little compromise. And while Balor would punish the child, it surely wouldn't be anything too terrible. The child was barely old enough to go berry picking by herself. Her head barely reached Nuada's waist.
"So you would have me publicly flog your young guardsman, then, my son," Balor said. Nuada stared at his father. "You asked for the same punishment as the bean sídhe. That is to be her punishment. Fifty lashes."
Behind him, Dylan whispered, "She's a little girl…"
"She broke the treaty!" Balor snarled, suddenly shoving to his feet. "Shades of Annwn, when will you both understand that? This treaty has been in effect for two-thousand years, you insufferable children! Everyone knows that it is a crime to offer harm to a mortal in this kingdom if you owe fealty to me!"
"She's a little girl!" Dylan repeated. "You're going to flog her? Publicly?"
"Do you prefer her blood sprinkle the snow in private, Lady Dylan? Will that soothe your conscience?" Balor demanded with a sneer. Dylan clenched her jaw and lifted her chin, daring the old Elf to mock her. The king scoffed. "Child or not, she knew better. She will be punished. And very well, I'll spare the cat-brat's life, as I am not blind. I see what you and your lady have wrought in this village, Crown Prince," he added to Nuada, nearly spitting with fury. "You seek to turn my people against me—"
"You're doing just fine by yourself, Your Majesty," Dylan growled. "Nuada has been defending you as well as he can."
"Indeed?" Balor scoffed again and Dylan had to fight not to scream at him. Nuada merely watched his father, centuries of experience and adamantine will keeping any and all expression from his face. The old king glared at his son, then sighed. "Very well. I shall pretend to believe you, and I will spare the boy's life as well, though he deserves it not. A flogging instead of an execution; will that suffice you? I am feeling generous because of my pity for you, Crown Prince."
Dylan sputtered something, but Nuada was riveted by the king's talk of pity. Time enough to argue for the children and their heartless punishments. But pity? Why?
"What reason have you to pity me, Majesty?" Balor had called Nuada only Crown Prince, so he would speak to the old Elf as king, not father.
"I will tell you after you agree that the youth will be flogged for his crimes."
"He has committed no crimes," Nuada said coolly.
Balor leveled a look at him that held nothing but ice. "Give me your answer. Flogging, or death?"
The word death hovered on the tip of Nuada's tongue. Not death for Tsu's'di, no. Nor little Siobhan. Death for the king. Balor was right; it would be so easy to do it now, here, in this room. But honor demanded he give some small warning, some moment for his father to understand how he had condemned himself. Fingers flexing against his thigh, the skin of his palm tingling with the phantom-feel of the leather haft of his spear, Nuada looked his father in the eye. Imprinted every detail of the picture to memory. If this was the last time he would see his father alive, as flesh, he wanted never to forget his father's face, weary and angry though it was.
Forgive me, Áthair, he thought. And Máthair…forgive me. Nuala…Nuala, I'm so sorry.
Distantly, his sister stirred against the barriers around his thoughts, the walls of ice and iron. Brother? Nuada?
Forgive me, my sister, he pleaded as his fingers drifted toward the hilt of his sword. Forgive me.
Nuada? Nuada, what are you doing? What have you done? He felt her pounding against the shields around his thoughts, but he would not let her through, would not let her see what he was about to do. Nuada!
The Elven prince opened his mouth, tasting the word death like iron and rowan berries on his tongue. Dylan held her breath. The prince's lips began to shape the frame of his choice as his fingertips brushed the pommel of his sword.
A hurried knock sounded at the door.
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Tsu's'di Ka'ta had no idea what he was doing or why, only that he had to. Fur bristling, tail fluffed to three times its usual thickness and lashing back and forth, he swallowed the heartbeat pounding all the way up into his throat and knocked on the door to the private room where the prince, the a'ge'lv, and the king were in conference. Sa'ti and A'du, with the dullahan kid Amaryllis, huddled against Mistress Francesca's skirts while the adults muttered amongst themselves. Nobody liked what he was doing, but nobody had tried to stop him. How many of them knew what he'd done? Knew what the king was going to do to him?
Behind him, he heard Dylan's eldest sister say something, take a step. Someone grabbed her, and a man—one of the foreign princes—said, "Hold, Lady Petra. The lad knows what he is about, I think."
"Dastan! He's just a kid!"
Yeah, he was a kid, and no, he did not know what he was about. But he'd felt the sudden, overwhelming drive to go up to the door and knock. So here he was. He licked his lips and knocked again.
"Enter," a woman's voice—muffled, and one he didn't recognize—called. Tsu's'di swallowed hard, sucked in a deep breath, and stepped into the room, closing the door behind him.
Instinct—or something more than instinct—had him going to his knees once the door was shut. Bracing his hands on the wooden planks of the floor, he bowed his head. Waited.
"Tsu's'di," A'ge'lv Dylan whispered. "What are you doing?"
"I'm here," he said, not quite knowing where the words came from, "to speak to His Majesty, King Balor One-Arm of the Golden Throne of Bethmoora. I have a confession to make." Somehow he kept his voice from squeaking more than twice as he said this. Lady Dylan made a startled, terrified sound. Neither the king nor the prince said anything at all. When nobody told him to shut up, Tsu's'di continued, "Your Majesty, I killed two humans. It was in self-defense, and I didn't know it was against the law, but I know it now. So…so I'm here to say that," his throat felt like it was closing up, swelling shut, but he had to get the words out, had to fight back the rising tide of fear, "to say that if I have to be executed for my c-crime, then okay, but I'm asking you not to punish my brother or my sister. They didn't hurt anyone. And please don't punish the prince or A'ge'lv Dylan."
The silence was broken only by Dylan's breathless, "Tsu's'di…"
His heartbeat hammered impossibly loud in his ears. His skin twitched, desperate for a composure-washing, but the ewah youth didn't move a muscle. He fixed his gray gaze on a knothole in one of the planks and tried to keep his breathing even.
At last, King Balor said, in a voice that was terrible for all its softness, "Shame and disgrace to Prince Nuada Silverlance, that his common-born servant has more honor and courage than he."
At this, Tsu's'di lifted his head. Lady Dylan's eyes swam with panicked tears and she kept slashing her gaze between the prince and the king. Prince Nuada's entire focus was on King Balor, who glared at the crown prince with obvious disgust. Dylan took three quick, limping steps across the floor to stand in front of Tsu's'di. She threw her arms wide and lifted her chin as if daring anyone to take a step toward her.
"No. I won't let you kill him."
Tsu's'di got up. This was why instinct had practically dragged him into the room, he realized. She wouldn't let him be punished, and neither would the prince. They would try to protect him, but the king was here, and he would punish them all if Tsu's'di didn't do something. Sacrificing himself to prevent civil war, to protect the prince and the A'ge'lv… Well, protecting them was his job as a guardsman, wasn't it? So it was okay. They would see he wasn't scared—or think he wasn't, anyway—and it would be okay. They would be safe. There would still be someone to watch over A'du and 'Sa'ti.
"A'ge'lv," he murmured, laying a hand on her shoulder—gently, because she was still recovering from what the bandits had done and he didn't want to hurt her. "It's okay."
Dylan shook her head. "I won't let you. This isn't the law."
Gritting his teeth, the cougar youth shifted his gaze to the prince, caught the empty topaz eyes with his own. He stared into Prince Nuada's eyes for a split-second eternity, and the prince stared into him. Searching. Studying. Tsu's'di didn't know what his liege lord saw in his face or what the prince was thinking, but suddenly some of the tension drained out of the Elf and he nodded to Tsu's'di, once, a bare acknowledgment of…something.
"Your Majesty," Nuada said. "You offered to give the boy fifty lashes as punishment for his crime. Will you take back your word?"
A golden flush suffused the king's wrinkled face. "Unlike my heir, I am not without honor, Crown Prince. You accept the penalty of fifty lashes, boy?" He added to Tsu's'di. Slightly stunned, the cougar youth nodded. Fifty lashes? Not a beheading? To the prince, the king added, "I assume you accept it, Silverlance."
A muscle flexed in his jaw, but Nuada nodded. Tsu's'di noticed the king didn't even look at A'ge'lv Dylan.
Balor nodded once, decisively. "Very well. Tomorrow at dawn, boy, you will come to the village square and receive your punishment for your crimes. That punishment—fifty lashes—will be given by Prince Nuada himself."
The prince jolted. Opened his mouth as if to say something. Dylan started to snarl, "You heartle—" but Tsu's'di surprised her by grabbing her by the elbows and jerking her back as she tried to step forward. The prince closed his mouth. Stared into his father's cold, emotionless face. Nodded.
"The child, Majesty—"
Balor snarled, "I will hear no more of the bean sídhe brat, Crown Prince! I have made my decision! She, too, will receive fifty lashes at dawn, and you will be the one to lay them upon her back. Now be gone, all of you! I am weary to death of your whining, Prince Nuada. Be grateful I showed you mercy. And Lady Dylan!"
Dylan, who had started to drag Tsu's'di toward the door at Balor's dismissal, drew up sharply and whipped her head around to glare at him with undisguised fury. Balor's expression lacked her fire, but it held cold calculation instead.
"I will not forget this, mortal child."
Dylan lifted her chin. Glanced at Nuada. It was the prince who said icily, "Neither shall we, King Balor."
And the three of them left the room. As the door swung shut behind them, the latch clicking into place, the king snarled and something heavy flew into the door and shattered. Tsu's'di tasted the heaviness of royal magic and had to lean on the a'ge'lv as she helped him to a chair.
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Dylan fell into a chair beside Tsu's'di's as her sisters crowded around her, demanding to know what had happened, was she okay, why did she look like that? She only swallowed as bile seared the back of her throat. So close. They'd come so close to civil war, to killing the king. To possibly losing Tsu's'di.
Tsu's'di…
She turned to him and had to throttle back the urge to shake him. Instead she grabbed his shoulders and hissed, "What were you thinking?"
He shook his head helplessly. "I had to, A'ge'lv. I don't know why, but I did."
Dylan opened her mouth. Shut it again. Locked gazes with her prince. If Tsu's'di hadn't come into the room when he did, they both knew what would've happened. The king would've been dead and they would've had a war for the throne on their hands.
But Tsu's'di…Nuada was going to have to flog him. And little Siobhan…could a child that small even survive a flogging? Clearly Balor thought so, as he'd given his word to Azrharn that he would spare her life. Killing her, even indirectly, would bring down the Prince of Night and his threat of the blue-skinned plague queen who'd married his younger brother. But still…fifty lashes? The child was the same physical age as 'Sa'ti, how could Nuada bear to do that to someone, especially someone so young, so small?
Hadn't they all dealt with enough during their stay in Lallybroch?
Something about the question echoing in her head dragged Dylan's attention to a detail about the small crowd around her: Francesca and Davio weren't there. Dylan frowned.
"Where's Cesca?"
Tori bit her lip and then turned, gesturing behind her, saying nothing. Dylan looked past her to see Francesca holding a young man—not Davio, not even really a man, more of a boy—in her arms as he shook uncontrollably, his face pressed into her shoulder. It took Dylan a moment to realize it was Finbar, the son of the acting steward Master Gawain. Davio stood off to one side, looking sorry and tired. Francesca kissed the top of Finbar's head, which she cupped with one hand to keep it from tumbling to the floor, and rubbed the boy's back as he wept silently.
Master Gawain, Dylan remembered suddenly. The dullahan steward was dead. He'd taken an arrow to the eye and fallen in the last fight with the bandits. His wife had been murdered months ago, and now…now there was only Finbar, a boy younger than Tsu's'di, and his two little sisters, Amaryllis and the other one who never spoke and barely stood taller than her brother's knee.
What would happen to them? Where was Amaryllis? Dylan looked around and saw almost immediately that the dullahan girl was sandwiched between A'du and 'Sa'ti, who rubbed their furry cheeks against hers and purred soothingly while tears ran down her face and she stared vacantly at nothing. Dylan closed her eyes. Slumped in her chair.
So much death in such a short time. How could Balor do this? How could he let this happen?
I have seen what you have wrought…More like what he had wrought. They hadn't talked about it yet, hadn't hashed it out, so they didn't know for certain that the king's old friend, the human he'd made immortal, was Sréng mac Umhor, the man who'd murdered her and terrorized the northern provinces of Bethmoora for who knew how long. They didn't know, because the king hadn't said…but Dylan knew. In her heart, she knew. What you have wrought…
No more, Dylan thought, gritting her teeth. Maybe they couldn't justify killing Balor—and she didn't want to force Nuada into that if they didn't have to do it—but she could do something. They'd saved Tsu's'di's life and now…now she had to save little Siobhan. As cold and brutal a decision as it was, Tsu's'di was old enough, big enough, that he could survive fifty lashes, especially if the prince delivered them. Nuada was skilled enough at pain, at punishment for crimes and laws broken, that he could soften the blows on the lad's back. But Siobhan was only a little girl. No amount of princely skill would keep her from being permanently scarred, possibly permanently disabled if damage was applied to fragile young bones or thin, malnourished muscles. So she would have to find some way to protect the little bean sídhe girl.
She held out her hand to her prince as if seeking comfort, but she could tell by his expression that he knew she really wanted to talk. When his palm slid against hers, warm and callused, she said, I want to offer myself up to take Siobhan's punishment.
Mo duinne, no, Nuada said gently. You are barely recovered and I…I could not bear to… If you tried to take her place—
Would your father let me?
Yes, the prince said too softly. He would, because then I would be forced to whip the flesh from your back myself. She stared at him, stunned. She hadn't thought the king would make him do that if she were the one… And though it may make me a coward, my beloved, I could never bear to raise a hand to you. I cannot. I doubt I can suffer through punishing the little one, but I know I could never bear to strike you.
Crap. Dylan bit her lip. There had to be something…
Still thinking furiously, she shoved to her feet. Pain flared up and down her leg from her knee. Aloud, she said, "Okay, I need to make a phone call. Tsu's'di…" She bit her lip. "Just try to get some rest, okay? Petra, can you wrangle the kids?" Dylan nodded to the cubs and Amaryllis. Amaryllis's tiny sister had crawled into her lap, looking confused and scared, a corpse-gray thumb tucked into her mouth. A'du stroked her tumbles of black curls with one hand while he continued purring at his friend. Petra nodded. She knew how to deal with grief-stricken children. And Cesca was dealing with Finbar, so…what else needed handling?
"Hey, Doc," a somber voice that was almost unrecognizable snagged her attention. She looked over to see Maurice, clawed hands shoved into his jean pockets, an odd expression on his face. He scuffed the toe of his combat boot against the wooden floor. "If you don't mind…I'll stay with Amy." He pronounced it aah-meee, not ay-mee, and she realized he meant Amaryllis. "She's my kid, you know? I'm her monster. So…you know."
Dylan nodded. Maurice, fanged and clawed and perpetually a sixteen-year-old punk for the twenty-plus years Dylan had known him, was a true closet-and-bed monster. Those kinds of creatures scared kids for laughs, but they protected their kids as best they could, too. The lanky, horned teenager ambled over to the quartet of children and crouched down in front of the dullahan kids, murmuring something too soft for Dylan to hear. She remembered then that Maurice had been friends—no more than that, due to the age difference, but a monster's friendship was intense and true—with Amaryllis' older sister, the one who'd been murdered by bandits.
Dylan ran a hand through her hair. Clenched her jaw when she realized her hand shook. Those children were taken care of, so now she would work on Siobhan's situation.
"I have to make a phone call," she said again, and headed for the stairs leading to her room.
Ickis and Oblina caught up to her at the top of the stairs. Oblina slithered as slinky as a feather boa up Dylan's legs and back to drape like a stole across her shoulders. Ickis simply rabbit-scuttled alongside her. The two monsters said nothing; she knew they knew she was on a mission.
She couldn't let herself be bothered with what everyone else was doing right now. Nuada, her sisters, Wink and the other allies. She needed to focus. As Oblina launched herself onto Dylan's bed, startling the hounds, Dylan flopped back onto the mattress and dug around in her pack for her cell phone. Thanks to the lapis lazuli communication charm Kaye Fierch, Queen of the Seelie and Unseelie Courts of New York and New Jersey, had given her, being in Faerie didn't prevent phenomenal reception. And thanks to her fantastic cellular service plan, she had free international minutes for the first five hours every month. She punched in the number.
Pressing the cell to her ear, she waited while it rang and rang and rang…and rang…and rang. Finally, after nearly ten rings, a sleepy voice answered the phone.
"Oui?"
"Renee?" Dylan checked. The woman on the other end of the line groaned and made an affirmative noise. "Hey, favoritest cousin of all my cousins, favoritest of everyone I know with the Sight, favoritest scholar of medieval Irish law…I need your help."
There was a long silence, followed by a cautious, "Well now you've got my attention. I'm listening."
.
Prince Zhenjin looked up, bleary-eyed, when Nuada entered his private tavern room, one arm around a pale, bristling cougar youth. Zhenjin took a sip of wine to help cleanse his mouth of the taste of magical sickness and gestured to two empty chairs.
"To what do I owe the honor?" He croaked, and then dropped his forehead against the table again as a magical vise squeezed his temples. He was not emperor. He had brought all of his magic to bear on dragonfire, and now he was absolutely paying the price. He'd be sick as a dog for at least the next day, but he didn't want to lie down yet. If he laid down, it would draw his mind to too many things—those delicious, dangerous moments in Dylan's room when he'd been allowed to kiss her, hold her; the stabbing sense of betrayal and hurt when he'd discovered she'd kept the truth of the Darkness's visit to her from him; jealous imaginings of how she'd spent her time with Silverlance…wherever they'd gone earlier that day. He understood that Dylan was tired, heartsore, wishing for peace and quiet. Of course Nuada would take her somewhere she could have that.
But they should have told him about Balor coming to the village, and about the Darkness That Eats All Things coming to Dylan in the night with threats and talons bared, ready to tear out her throat.
He said none of that as his friend and his friend's vassal sat down at his table, however. There was an odd look in Nuada's eyes as he braced his forearms on the table. The boy looked as if he might be ill at any moment.
"Silverlance?" Zhenjin croaked. "What is it?"
"I…may need your help, my brother," Nuada murmured. Zhenjin arched an eyebrow. "I do not think I do, but it is always wise to be prepared. I know you are unwell, so you might have missed what has transpired. I will tell it to you."
And Nuada explained how Tsu's'di had dispatched two human bandits to protect a pair of children in the forest, one his own kin, the other the child of Nuada' acting steward. How Balor had learned of it from a spy in the guards assigned to protect Dylan and himself, and of everything that had transpired in that firelit tavern room where the king had demanded Tsu's'di's death, only to be deferred by the boy's willingness to die and the threat of civil war and death if Nuada should cut the old king down. At the end of the recitation, Zhenjin pursed his lips in a silent whistle and shook his head slowly, wonderingly.
"You've always had a penchant for locking horns with the old stag," the Dragon Prince said. "But this…my father will not intercede, nor back me if I try to do so, merely to spare a servant boy a few stripes."
Nuada shook his head. "That isn't what I need from you. We wrested the concession of a flogging from the king most unwillingly, and I fear…" He hesitated, glancing at the boy. There was worry in the scarred features, and protective anger, and something very similar to what Zhenjin often saw in Shaohao's face whenever the older prince looked at the Dilong heir. Nuada scowled at the tabletop. "My father was once honorable, a man of his word, but now…now, his so-called honor is a weak, pitiful thing and I trust it not at all. If he should change his mind, renege on his assurances—"
"I will take the boy into my service," Zhenjin said immediately.
Tsu's'di, who'd been staring glumly with a look of half-frozen dread on his feline face, suddenly snapped his head around.
"Your service? No!" Remembering to whom he spoke, he added, "It would be an honor, of course, Your Imperial Highness, but…but Prince Nuada and A'ge'lv Dylan are my family. And my brother and sister—"
"If I were to take you into my service, it would save your life," Zhenjin interrupted gently. "What you did is no crime in Dilong, for we honor the treaty with the humans differently than in Bethmoora. If the choice is death or having to leave your lady's service, it would be a hard thing—I understand. But it would keep you alive."
"This is only a backup plan, Tsu's'di," Nuada added, laying a hand on the boy's shoulder. "I want to have every possible outcome covered. Better to plan for everything than to lose you. Do you understand?"
After a long moment, the youth nodded. Zhenjin felt a pang of sympathy. A choice between exile from one's family or death? No innocent child—and despite what Dylan and Nuada said, it was hard to imagine Tsu's'di as anything but a child when he looked so forlorn and lost—should have had to make such a choice.
Yet another sin, Zhenjin thought, for Nuada to revisit upon Balor when the Tuathan heir finally took the Golden Throne.
.
In far away Findias, the capital of Bethmoora, in the palace of King Balor One-Arm, in the dank chill of the castle dungeons, Ledi Polunochnaya iz Lisaya Gora curled up on the icy stone floor, shuddering as she stared at the small bucket of scummy water and its clay dipper tucked away in one corner of her cell. Her mottled, blue-bruised and iron-scorched fingers trembled as she reached for the bucket, only to draw her hand back against the meager warmth of her chest when the frigid air gnawed at her. Her tears had frozen where they'd dripped onto the floor and now she didn't even possess the energy to cry anymore.
It had all been for nothing.
Her master had told her that Lady Dylan was dead, or as good as. Nuada would go mad. Had gone mad, she thought, because why else would the king have left in the middle of winter to go to some tiny village so far to the north? King Balor had been gone for more than a week. That meant Nuada was dead. Nuala hadn't been to see her, not once. If she still lived, if she'd survived Nuada's death without going mad, she would have come. Na'ko'ma hadn't come, either. Her master had stayed away after telling her that her sacrifice had been in vain. The only people she'd seen had been her jailers, and they had only spit on her, kicked her, and called her names. When they brought food, she'd learned to huddle in the corner and avoid even meeting their eyes. Somehow, it had gotten out that she'd done something to put Nuada in danger for the sake of the treaty, and the guards snarled "human lover" at her as they walked by the bars of her cell.
And it was all for nothing. Nuada was dead. Dylan was dead. Nuala was mad or dead. Na'ko'ma despised her. Balor would see her dead. Her master despised her. She'd broken the hearts of everyone she loved, and all for naught.
Had Nuada known? She wondered, curling up tighter in a vain attempt to raise her body temperature. Had he known, in those last moments, that Naya's actions had destroyed his life, his hope?
Gods, forgive me, she thought, closing her burning, exhausted eyes. I only meant to do what was right and honorable. I'm sorry. Nuada…She thought of him, the gentle prince he was in her presence and the fierce warrior she'd rarely glimpsed on long ago battlefields and the shadowed, bitter warrior haunted by death that he'd become before Dylan had come to him. They'd been friends since she was a little girl. He'd been her first lover, and a part of her would always love him. But she'd betrayed him and now…now he was dead, and likely so was Nuala.
Nuala…my sister…
Somehow, despite the stones pressing cruelly into her hip and shoulder, despite the wintry cold digging into her flesh and worming its slick, slimy way into her lungs, Naya's thoughts drifted away from her, and she fell asleep.
When she woke, it was to a world blurred by fever and a silence split by a deep, hacking cough. She managed to crawl to the water bucket, but lacked the strength to break through the ice that had crusted the top. Instead, she simply slumped back to the stone floor and closed her eyes again.
.
In her room, Dylan hung up the phone and flopped back onto her bed again. The conversation with Renee had been…enlightening. Incredibly helpful. But only if everyone she needed to help actually agreed. Nuada would do anything to protect one of his people, Dylan knew that. If he was willing to kill his father, whom Dylan knew Nuada loved with his whole heart, then likely he would be willing to acquiesce to her plan. But she didn't know about the others…
Oblina, who'd spent the entire phone call tying, untying, and retying herself in elaborate knots around the bedpost, finally undid her latest elaborate bow and slunk along the wooden post onto the soft, lambswool blanket. Her thick, sinuous body shimmied toward Dylan, the candlelight gleaming on the bands of onyx and ivory scales as she came to settle against Dylan's shoulder. Impossibly long, black lashes fluttered against Dylan's cheek in a butterfly kiss before Oblina peered down into Dylan's face. Most humans probably would've been terrified by the gaping, scarlet-lipped maw filled with yellowed, venom-slick teeth, but Dylan simply blinked up at her old friend and sighed.
"It cannot be your sister Petra," Oblina said in her clipped, British-accented voice. "Her task here is to kill for you, is it not?"
"Yeah," Dylan muttered.
Oblina sighed. Her breath stank of viscera, but after knowing her for twenty-three years, Dylan had learned to ignore it. The monster added, "Your brother, of course, cannot help you. You said you were planning to elevate him to peerage. Victoria is needed for the battles to come, and so is Mary and Francesca. You have not told Simone and Gardenia your secret yet."
And she was pretty sure neither Simone nor Gardenia would have agreed to what she was thinking. Which left Dylan with only one option. Before the trip to Lallybroch, if someone had told her she'd be asking Pauline for a favor like this, she would've laughed herself sick, but now…after seeing the way Pauline had bonded with the sick and injured, even despite the language barrier, and how she'd become so protective of the fae villagers…Dylan was pretty sure she would agree.
Of course, then she had to get Nuada to agree.
Ickis clambered across the blankets, his burgundy talons catching in the velvet. He crouched next to Dylan's head. His patchy fur ticked her cheek and the candlelight shone on his dark maroon scales.
"I got a question. What's the deal with the love-monster and the Elf chick?"
Dylan frowned at him. "Love-monster? You mean Liam? The gancanaugh?"
Ickis nodded his scaly, football-shaped head. The long, rabbit-like ears flopped. "Gancanaugh have a little bit of monster in them. You ever see anything with teeth like that, it's got monster blood in there somewhere. He married to that Elf girl?"
She heaved a sigh and rolled onto her stomach. "No. Not technically. Not yet."
"That's gonna be a problem, kiddo," he said. "That old geezer with the antlers? He seems like the kind to poke at every loophole."
Dylan didn't doubt that, either. King Balor didn't trust Nuada's judgment, which meant he would question every decision Nuada made. Since Nuada had agreed to back her in stripping that cretin Barinthus of his paternal rights, the king now considered the whole thing suspect. He might even use Nuada's treatment of an anti-human fae citizen against him somehow, to help deprive Nuada of his support back at the Golden Court. If Nuada was seen favoring a young girl and her half-mortal child and punishing the girl's fully-Elven father, what would the nobles in Findias who despised humans have to say? And if Balor then restored the other Elf's parental rights to show that he was not as hard towards his own people as so many thought? Bad all around.
If Iúile and Liam were married, no parents—neither Liam's mother nor Iúile's father—had the right to gainsay any of their decisions unless those decisions broke the law. Until they were married, because they were so very young, it was possible for Barinthus to press the issue, remove Iúile from Dylan's service, and keep her from seeing Liam again until she reached her majority. That wouldn't be for several centuries—too long for the still-fragile Elven maiden to endure whatever abuse her father might inflict on her.
At dawn, Balor had said. At dawn, Nuada had to whip Tsu's'di and, if Dylan's plan didn't work, the bean sídhe child. Balor likely would not stir from his rooms until then. So they had until dawn to cement whatever plans she could come up with to protect Iúile and Liam and their baby.
She sighed again and turned to lay her cheek on her arms, her gaze drifting to Oblina. The serpentine monster coiled up on Dylan's bed, blinking with her large, lambent eyes like bisected moons.
Moons…
Suddenly Dylan sat up. Ickis flailed and thumped onto his back on the bed as she shoved up and hurried to the window.
"Dylan?" Oblina called. "What are you doing, crumpet?"
"Checking something." She popped open her shutters and stared up at the crystal-clear, viciously cold night sky. The moon hung there, a bone-white Cheshire grin against the midnight velvet heavens, icy stars burning around it. A crescent moon.
"Yes!" Dylan cried, and pushed away from the window.
"You forgot to…" Ickis trailed off as Dylan dashed out of the room, Oblina slithering after. The monster sighed. "Never mind," he said, sliding down the blankets to the floor. Heading for the unbolted shutters, he said, "I'll get it."
.
Nuada, Tsu's'di, and a magically hungover Zhenjin had all sunk into their own depressed thoughts when a rapid, light knock sounded at the door. Before any of them could say a word of welcome, Dylan popped the door open and poked her head through. Her eyes fell on the trio of fae and a knife-edged grin spread across her scarred face.
"Just the boys I was looking for," the mortal said.
Tsu's'di didn't react, but Zhenjin wrinkled his nose and Nuada demanded, "Boys?"
"Zhenjin, can you perform marriage ceremonies?" Dylan asked, ignoring the princes' indignation. A wounded look flashed across the Dilong Elf's face—and Nuada couldn't blame him; forget his bafflement over Dylan wanting to break her oath to Shaohao and marry Nuada now, how could she be so cruel as to ask Zhenjin to do it? To be so thoughtless was unlike her—but before anyone could demand an explanation, she gave one. "For various political reasons, two of my vassals need to get hitched like, now. And I'm pretty sure the village hedge priest will refuse because of the situation with my serving maid's dad and I think the Mormon branch president for the village is dead. Either that or he's too badly hurt to perform a wedding ceremony. I figure if you do it, it would hold more weight than if Nuada did it because…well, you know…"
Zhenjin blinked at her several times as she wound down, then abruptly nodded. Cleared his throat. "Yes. The Tuathan king." He shot Nuada an apologetic glance, but he just waved his friend's worry away. Of course Dylan wouldn't be so callous or thoughtless of Zhenjin's pain. Of course she would remember her vow to the Red Dragon. It was a testament to the Silverlance's exhaustion that he'd doubted her for even a minute. Zhenjin continued, "I have that authority, yes. If a marriage is binding and blessed in Dilong, it ought to be accepted by Bethmooran law."
Dylan beamed. "Excellent. Do you guys know if I could borrow a white dress from Princess Kamaria for the bride? Would she be offended?"
Nuada grinned. "Kamaria? She would slay a thousand men to give Mistress Iúile a chance to escape the poor girl's wretched father and be with her beloved. Kamaria is quite the romantic," he added at Dylan's raised eyebrow. "Shall I ask for her to grace us with her presence?" It would be gracing; although distance had kept Nuada from being as close with the crown princess of Nyame as he would've preferred, they were good friends, and he admired her as much if not more than he admired Zhenjin and Dastan or had once admired Bres.
Zhenjin held up a finger. "Open the door a bit wider, Dylan." When the human obeyed, the dragon Elf opened his mouth and closed his eyes, drawing a deep breath between the barbed, serpentine fangs crowding his mouth. He opened his eyes. "She's drinking at the bar. Shall we go ask her?"
Dylan called thanks over her shoulder as she hurried off down the hall. Zhenjin, Nuada, and Tsu's'di all looked at each other.
"Are we supposed to follow her?" Tsu's'di asked.
"Probably," Nuada murmured, pushing up from the table.
.
Princess Kamaria was one of the most beautiful women Dylan had ever seen—and most of her friends were seduction-style faeries, like rusalka and deer-women, so that was saying a lot. The crown princess of Nyame topped the incredibly tall Nuada by a good four inches, and she wore no heeled boots to add to her height. Her waterfall of tiny braids had been swept back from her teak-dark face, tied with a leather thong so they fell almost to her waist. Despite the heat from the tavern's main room hearth and the bowl of steaming stew in front of her, Kamaria huddled inside a down-lined fur cloak of gold, black, amber, brown, sienna, and even a bit of roan. She looked up from her mug of hot mulled cider when Dylan approached and offered a trembling curtsy—trembling because her leg was beginning to ache fiercely now.
"Lady Dylan," Kamaria said in her rich, velvety voice. Dylan straightened and offered the princess a smile. "To what do I owe the…" Her single eye, dark as sunlight through a glass bottle full of Coke, darted over Dylan's shoulder and a fierce grin spread across her face. "Well, look what bedraggled, drowned rats the surf washed up on my beach."
Nuada snorted and draped an arm around Dylan's shoulders with feigned nonchalance. Zhenjin hopped up onto a chair at the tavern's bar and gestured for the tavern's barkeep to bring him a glass of the same hot drink Kamaria was nursing.
"We have a favor to ask you, Kamaria," Nuada said, and nodded once to Dylan, who leaned in and quickly explained Iúile and Liam's situation and the need for marrying as soon as possible.
"A marriage dress fit for a girl of such courage?" Kamaria asked. "I believe I have something that will suit. You'll marry them, Azurefire?" Zhenjin nodded. "Good enough. Come with me, little mortal." Grasping Dylan's wrist, she hopped off her barstool and pulled the human woman along with her.
Over her shoulder, Dylan called, "Nuada, tell Liam what—" but then they were out of earshot.
Upstairs, Kamaria waved aside her pair of bodyguards—two women with short caps of tight, black curls—and swept into her room. A little girl with a sleepy expression on her brown and tan face flailed her arms and legs as she slid off the princess's bed to stand at wobbling attention before Kamaria. She bowed low to the princess, her own slender braids sliding over her shoulders to hang in a curtain of dark hair and clicking, lapis lazuli beads around her face.
"This little one is my maidservant, Sarabi. Sarabi," Kamaria said, and the girl straightened. Kamaria fired off a quick command in a language Dylan didn't know and the girl rushed over to the princess's traveling chest where it sat on the floor. As the girl—an Elf, judging by the delicate points of her ears, and maybe midway through her fifteenth century—sorted the princess's clothing with utmost care, Kamaria strode over to the fireplace and planted herself on the raised hearth. Some of the tension eased out of her as the heat seeped into her body.
"I'm not used to such bitter cold," Kamaria murmured, motioning Dylan to come and sit across from her. "Ilfe, Nyame's capital, is a coastal city. I didn't see snow until my tenth century, when I visited Dilong and Onibi during one of their easier winters."
"Nuada said this winter has been extra cold," Dylan said. She'd never had a conversation with Kamaria. They'd only technically met once, at the ball during the midwinter festivities where all the envoys had been introduced. Feeling a prodding sort of warmth in her chest, she added, "It's one reason we pushed the king so hard to let us come out here."
"Well enough you did," Kamaria muttered, staring into the flames. "I love and respect Nuada a great deal, but I am quite glad we did not marry as we once planned to do. I would have either lost my mind or ended up in prison for treason, had I married Nuada and then been forced to stand back as he has had to do all these centuries."
Dylan stared at her. Most of the royals she'd met had danced around their disdain for Balor. Kamaria was right upfront about it. Nuada hadn't told Dylan to treat the princess any differently than the other noble fae she'd met, and he'd warned Dylan herself to have a care how she spoke of the Bethmooran king when they weren't in private. But when she looked into Kamaria's face, just as scarred and worn and fierce as her own could be, when she met the crown princess's gaze and saw the warmth there, the Spirit told Dylan she could trust this woman as surely as she could trust Nuada. Here was someone who would never hurt him, never use any knowledge she might gain from Dylan against either of them. But only—only—if Dylan was completely honest. Kamaria was a woman, Dylan realized, who had no time for liars or politicians. She would expect absolute candor from anyone she extended her hand in friendship to, and give only absolute candor in return—but once a friendship was begun, it would last forever.
"You are quite skilled at reading people, aren't you?" Kamaria asked softly. Dylan nodded. "A mind-healer, the rumors said. I can see it in you." The Nyame Elf paused, then considered Dylan. "You would give your life for the fae, wouldn't you?"
"I already have," Dylan said.
Kamaria inclined her head. "So it's true, then—you died when you were taken by bandits. That's what ailed Nuada so while you were gone. We feared as much, but none of us wanted to ask him. But," she added, "that isn't all you meant."
"No."
"Tell me," the princess commanded. "If it does not grieve you to do it."
Dylan stared at her for a long moment, considering. The Holy Ghost urged her to confide in Kamaria. Why? Well, it didn't matter why, not in the long run. The Lord commanded, and Dylan would obey. So she told Kamaria everything, though in a clipped, unembellished way: her childhood with the Sight in a family without it, the institution and the ways it had helped and hurt her, how the Blackwoods had become a plague on her family that Nuada couldn't risk exterminating without incurring the wrath of the king, how the prince had found her in the subway and saved her, nearly died numerous times for her, how they had come to fall in love with each other. The only things she left out were the secrets that didn't belong to her, secrets like Balor and Nuada's tangle of grief and blame and hope involving the queen's death and the potential origin of Sréng's immortality, the exact nature of the bargain struck with Shaohao (although Kamaria knew Zhenjin was in love with her, thanks to the Red Dragon's big mouth). And all the while, Sarabi sorted through the magical traveling chest looking for the items her princess had asked her to find.
When the story was done, Dylan's throat and jaw ached a little from so much talking and Kamaria studied her with an odd look in her eye. Finally the princess said, "You remind me of what Nuala could have been, had her father and the Golden Court not cut her wings and broken her spine when she was a girl. You will be a good queen for Bethmoora, Lady Dylan."
"Thank you," Dylan said softly, and meant it.
At that moment, Sarabi approached with a pile of folded clothes cradled in her arms. She bowed to her princess and beamed. Kamaria grinned and said something in the same language she'd used before. Laying a hand on Sarabi's shoulder, Kamaria said, "Let us see to your servingmaid."
.
On the way to Iúile's room, Dylan snagged Pauline because they needed to get everything done quick before Balor's snitching Butcher Guards alerted the king that something was up. Dylan introduced her sister to Kamaria, who sized up Pauline with a shrewd gaze before smiling, a flash of white teeth against dark skin, and proclaimed that any kin of Dylan's was a friend to her and her house.
Nuada was with Liam and Iúile when Dylan and her entourage came into the room; Zhenjin had stretched out on the floor, looking faintly gray. Tsu's'di, Nuada explained, had been sent to bed. Baby Dylan slept like a snuffling loaf of swaddled bread in the basket Nuada had procured for the baby until the cradle Liam had carved could safely be retrieved from the house he and his brothers had built. When Dylan swept into the room, Iúile looked up from her pale, still-bruised hands with a hopeful look on her face.
"Milady, is it true we're to be married toni—"
"Yep," Dylan said in Gaelic. Gesturing to Kamaria, she added, "Her Highness has agreed to loan you a dress for the occasion, too."
Iúile's golden eyes widened and the girl scrambled to her feet, trying to curtsy and mumbling hasty apologies for not rising immediately, not curtsying or bowing, not recognizing a princess. Finally, in impeccable Gaelic, Kamaria said, "Enough, young one. It is my honor to help one as brave as you. As for bowing to me, you have only recently borne a child. Your body needs time to recover. Please, sit down."
Iúile sat, blindly reaching for Liam's hands. He caught her hands in his grasp and squeezed them gently as she pressed her head against his shoulder.
"All right, let's do this," Dylan said, clapping her hands together. "We've got a wedding to prep for and about forty minutes to do it."
Nuada looked faintly uncertain. Zhenjin looked as if he might be sick, although that was likely because he was still regaining his magical equilibrium. Kamaria looked like a warrior about to step onto a battlefield. Pauline seemed to be wondering why she was there. Liam and Iúile simply looked into each other's eyes with such hope and happiness, Dylan couldn't help but grin. Then she laughed when Kamaria unceremoniously kicked Liam, Zhenjin, and Nuada out into the hallway.
"We will summon you when we require your presence," she said, and shut the door in their faces.
.
Nuada eyed the closed door, briefly considered knocking, then remembered Kamaria was the one who'd kicked them out. Better to simply accept his fate and wait for her summons. He glanced sidelong at Zhenjin, who slumped against the wall, and Liam.
"Perhaps, Azurefire, you should seek your bed, so that you might take some rest before the wedding?"
"I am not some half-licked cub who can't find his own feet after a magical working," the dragon Elf muttered. "If the room is going to insist on spinning like a top, I get to enjoy drinking enough to make it spin." He offered Liam a pained grimace. "What about you, lad? Going to be married in short order. Need any liquid courage?"
Blushing a faint mulberry purple, the gancanaugh youth shook his head. "No thank you, Your Highness. I'm one of the Star Kindler's priests; I don't drink alcohol."
Zhenjin gave the slow, careful nod of someone who'd had a little too much booze and so everything became an almost divine revelation. "Ah." He considered this. "You're one of the Latter-Day priests?"
"Yes, Your Highness."
"How many centuries can you claim? Eighteen? Nineteen?"
Liam ducked his head. "Seventeen, Your Highness."
Nuada, guessing where Zhenjin was going with this, simply folded his arms and leaned back against the wall, waiting for his friend to get to the point.
"Your father ever explain to you the way the marriage bed is supposed to work?"
Liam's blush darkened further. He cleared his throat. Shook his head. "My Da died when I was a baby, Your Highness."
"So no, then." Zhenjin fixed bloodshot eyes on Nuada. "Silverlance…the poor girl just delivered a babe, but the marriage has to be legal. We have to do something. Help the poor boy."
Liam was beginning to look faintly alarmed. He turned uncertain eyes on Nuada. The Tuathan prince sighed, then laughed softly, shaking his head. Pushing off of the wall, he put an arm around Liam's wiry shoulders. Zhenjin grinned and moved to stand on the youth's other side.
"We should get Günther," Zhenjin suggested cheerfully. "Eir's had five children already, but I've never heard her complain of him."
"Y-Your Highness?" Liam ventured.
Nuada laughed again. "My lad, there are some things you should know about women and how best to please them in the bedroom." And he gently escorted a wide-eyed Liam down the hall, away from Iúile's room where the wedding preparations were being made.
.
"Prince Nuada has things well in hand with your truelove," Kamaria said to Iúile as Dylan helped her out of her thin, black shift.
Though nowhere near as round as she'd been before her daughter was born, Iúile's internal organs hadn't all gone back to where they were supposed to be, so the girl's stomach was still somewhat distended. None of her own clothing fit, other than the black shifts her father had given her while she'd been trapped in the tavern room upstairs. Now, Kamaria handed Dylan each article of borrowed clothing as it was needed, keeping an ear out for any movement in the corridor on the other side of the door. While Dylan hadn't asked for Kamaria's help as a way to protect Iúile from interference by Barinthus, Kamaria was wary of the Elven girl's father and had placed herself between the girl and any potential threat.
Pauline flopped onto Iúile's bed. "So…" The mortal began in English. "Um…why am I here, exactly? I don't speak Gaelic or anything so—"
"I need your help," Dylan said as she slowly undid the twin braids they'd plaited Iúile's hair into to prevent tangles. Combing it out with her fingers, Dylan saw the baby-fine, golden strands parted as easily as water. Beginning a French braid so the girl would have a fancy hairstyle for her wedding, Dylan added, "You remember that little girl who was attacked earlier?"
"The one who was attacked and then that super hot, creepy guy showed up?" Pauline interjected. When Dylan nodded, she said, "Yeah. Is she okay? The king's not going to hurt her, is he? I thought the creepy guy told him not to?"
Dylan sighed. "Not exactly." She explained as quickly as she could how Azrharn's demand to spare Siobhan's life had left an exploitable loophole that allowed Balor to punish her, as long as he didn't kill her. When she got to the part about Nuada having to give the girl fifty lashes at dawn, Pauline nearly choked on her fury.
"That's despicable!" She cried. "Couldn't that kill her?"
"I don't think so, because she's fae," Dylan said. "But it could definitely cause serious permanent damage. And Nuada has to do it because—"
"Because stupid royalty reasons," Pauline said. "Yeah, yeah. So what do you need me for?"
"The only way to protect Siobhan is for someone else to take her punishment, but it can't be another fae. If any other fae from Bethmoora offers themselves up, Balor could just kill them—"
"Since they don't have the protection of Tall, Dark, and Spooky. Can't someone not from Bethmoora do it, though?"
Looping strands of golden hair while Kamaria helped settle the cream and gold gown into place, Dylan shook her head. "It has to be a citizen of Bethmoora because Balor doesn't have the authority to punish a non-Bethmooran for a crime like this."
Pauline didn't say anything for a long time as Dylan finished braiding Iúile's hair and Kamaria helped put the finishing touches on the dress. When the rather exhausted Elf finally was allowed to lay down on her bed again, Pauline finally asked, "Okay. Why do you need me?"
"I need you to swear an oath of fealty to Nuada as his vassal," Dylan said.
Pauline's eyes blasted wide in shock. "Say what, now? Why?"
Dylan drew a deep breath. "Because," she said, "if you do that, then you can be the one to take Siobhan's punishment."
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