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A Short Tale of Faery Lies, the Nature of Antidotes, Inheritance, Truth, and the Price of Vengeance
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She knew the instant she saw Eamonn, the sick grin spreading like a disease across his cruelly handsome face. Icy understanding chilled her to the marrow. Dylan took a step back. Her hand automatically reached for the door handle, but she stopped herself. He couldn't... wouldn't! Even Eamonn wouldn't risk certain death at the ravenous appetite of the Living Darkness.
But then the dark-haired Elf's grin twisted. Madness and triumph flared in his eyes.
"Thank you, human, for breaking the ward around the door. It had to be opened from the inside for us to get in, you see."
Dylan turned to run back inside but suddenly Eamonn was there, slamming her bodily into the cold stone wall with bone-crunching force. Fear clawed at the mortal's stomach as the Elf pressed himself against her back. One gloved hand held her thin wrists above her head at a nauseatingly painful angle. Her shoulders burned and she tasted blood where she'd cut her lips on her teeth.
"You said you would spare them!" She cried, twisting and struggling against his hold. She realized then that the one time Nuada had grabbed her by the throat, he hadn't been using anywhere close to his full strength.
When the human tried to bring her heel down on Eamonn's instep, to force him to let her go, pain radiated from her striking foot up her leg to briefly numb her bad knee. He slammed her into the wall again. Stars flared and went nova in her head. "That actually hurt, you little bitch." His fist planted in the middle of her back. She choked on a scream. "I hope that did, too."
Once she could breathe around the pain, she said, "You swore! You can't do this! You swore on the Darkness!"
"And I will spare them," he said. His breath burned against her ear. His fingers bit deep into her wrists. "But my warriors and my master hunger for the death of the lily-white prince. I will take the human somewhere less... conspicuous," Eamonn added to the Elves and other fae in the corridor. "I don't want anyone inconvenient to hear her screaming. The rest of you, do as you planned: follow Gwydion and take down the troll. Watch out for that metal arm of his. Remember, aim for the toes. Sreng... you can handle Silverlance, can you not?"
A red-haired Elf with strangely long, muscular arms and blazing eyes like blue stones grinned and nodded. Unlike the other Elves, he wore no armor and only carried a sword, nearly as tall as he was. She knew that sword from her college classes: Claiomh Solais, the Sword of Light, one of the Four Treasures of the Tuatha dé. No one could escape it once drawn from its sheath, and no one could resist it.
No... oh, Heavenly Father, no. Please, please, no! He'll kill Nuada with that! How did he even get it?
"You lied! You said you'd give Nuada the antidote!" She twisted and brought her foot down hard on his instep again. He growled in pain between clenched teeth, but didn't loosen his hold. A well-aimed fist to the small of her back made stars explode behind her eyes. Pain hummed a brutal symphony through her body as his fist connected with her kidney again. Dylan screamed and sagged against the wall. Breath shuddered as she tried to force it into her lungs. "You lied... how..."
"What better antidote than death?"
"Monster," she whispered, fighting the nauseating pain. A hollow heat burned in her lower back. Sucking in a breath, Dylan snarled, "I name you oathbreak-"
She yelped when, with only a casual slap against her arm, he dislocated her wrist. Dylan fought to turn around so she could kick him, so she could break free, but the furious Elf planted his hand on the back of her head and shoved once, quickly; almost gently. For him. The rough stone of the wall ripped cuts in her skin. His stone-hard palm pressed harder, and pain exploded inside her skull. She literally felt the bones creaking under the pressure. Was he going to crush her skull right there?
He tightened his grip on the back of her head. Dylan couldn't stop the whimper that crawled out of her mouth. From behind her, the other Fayre in league with Eamonn laughed and made jokes about the feisty human slut.
"How many times must I tell you, human?" Eamonn shifted slightly, and something cold and hard pressed against the clasp of her bra through her shirt: the pommel of a small blade; a dirk or sword-breaker, maybe. Sweat stood out on her face as the round pommel, the size of a duck egg, slid down her spine to the small of her back. "I would not say such things if I were you." He smashed the metal pommel hard into her spine. She screamed as fire flared through her back, followed by a sickening numbness. Eamonn pressed his lips to her ear. "Do you know what I could do to you with this, human? I could cut you into little pieces with this and feed them one by one to your precious prince." His chuckle was like the scrape of steel against bone. "I might just do that, actually, when I've finished playing with you."
Don't panic, Dylan practically pleaded with herself, but the tears were coming now, free and unencumbered. She couldn't stop herself from weeping quietly as Eamonn continued to hiss vicious promises in her ear. The pommel slid down further to rest against her tail bone. The human stiffened. Fear choked her into absolute silence. If he hit her there... if he cracked or smashed the bone there...
Then Eamonn hauled her around and slung her, now kicking and screaming, over his shoulder and turned away from his men. "Kill them. But take your time with the prince. I want him to 'enjoy' every minute of his death... and hers."
Everything in the mortal went still. She sucked in a breath and screamed. "Wink! Wink, it's a trap! It's a trap!"
Eamonn cursed and threw her to the ground. The initial impact silenced her. Her skull smashed into the floor with a brutal crack. The air exploded from her lungs. Brilliant white stars burst in front of her eyes. After a moment, she tried to sit up and the room spun sickeningly. Oh, no, Dylan realized as blood trickled from one ear. Concussion. Bad one. Really... really bad.
She tried to get up again. Something that felt like the broadside of a semi smashed into her face. Pain exploded in one cheek, and she felt blood drip down her face and soak into her hair. Dylan groaned and tried to roll over, tried to get away from Eamonn and go to the troll and the Elf prince behind the door. Eamonn growled something about humans clearly not getting the message and planted his foot in her ribs. Two of them gave with a vicious crunch under the force of his kick. She screamed again and fell in a heap on the floor.
The furious Elf grabbed her by one arm and settled for dragging her down the hall. His fingers bit deep into her skin. She could feel the bones in her arm grinding together in his grip. Dylan twisted and screamed, struggling to get away, even as the agony inside her skull intensified. Dizziness and nausea threatened to knock her unconscious, but she kept struggling. Panic had her in its grip, choking her, ripping at her insides. She knew if she passed out now, she would never wake up. Tears poured down her face. Terror flooded through her as she was dragged further and further away from Nuada and Wink.
Just when Eamonn began turning the corner, Dylan heard a door slam open and the infuriated roar of a silver mountain troll.
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Wink flung the goblin-forged metal hand at one of the Fir Bholg while he flung a Tylwyth Teg across the room. He stood between Eamonn's warriors and the barely conscious Elf prince, determined not to let a single one through. Nuada struggled to rise, but every time he made it so much to his knees, the room began to spin and the blood roared in his ears. Dylan... he must get to Dylan. Must stop Eamonn from hurting her further.
And if she were already dead... no. No, Eamonn wanted to take his time. The dark Elf did not wish only to use her and then kill her. He meant to torture her, to hurt her in every way possible, for a very long time. He would not slay her out of hand.
Nuala, he thought, called with heart and mind and magic. Was she truly dead? He found only void, only dark emptiness. But then... why was he not dead? How had he survived the felling stroke? No, she was only out of reach. She had to be out of reach... or refusing to answer him. Nuala... help me. The human... I must save her. Help me, Sister.
Nuada? Sweet magic inside his skull. Immediately he could feel the healing magic being continuously poured into her, feel as it flowed into him through their connection. Brother?
Sister, the human. He grabbed the blood-stained blankets and tried to pull himself up. His pride raged at the Fir Bholg and other Fayre allowed to see him so weakened, but his fury superseded his pride as he thought of the vile images the dark Elf had shown him when Eamonn had been flaying the flesh from his back. Nuala, Eamonn has taken the human. He means to butcher her. Help me... Nuada managed to attain his feet, despite the throbbing in his skull and the lancing pain in his chest. He hacked and coughed once more. Spat blood. I cannot fight him alone. He has poisoned me. Help me, I beg you.
Poison? He felt his sister's sudden stab of fear, then a rush of magical healing energy. The pain in his skull diminished slightly. Blood was still a salt-sweet tang in his mouth, but his lungs no longer felt as if gripped by a giant's fist. The princess added, Nuada, take what aid I can offer and draw your sword!
I cannot, he replied, staggering as he pushed away from the bed. His back and shoulders burned. His chest ached and his belly churned from the poison. Only the magic infusing his body enabled him to stay on his feet. I have no weapons. I surrendered them when I entered. They knew... you knew I would come armed. You wanted to be sure I would not kill my accuser.
Then take the Spear upon my wall! It is yours by right! You are the eldest!
Nuada glanced at the long-shafted throwing spear high on the wall. Elvish runes of inlaid gold glinted around the edges of the razor-sharp point, spelling something in Gaelic. The Spear of Light. I have not the strength to reach it, he realized when he tried to leap for it and only managed to take another stumbling step. The poison is still too strong in my blood.
The Elf prince felt his sister's shame and grief, knew she blamed herself for his condition. He ignored her. He did not wish to hurt Nuala, and there was no time to comfort her. He needed a weapon he could reach. Something that could stand against-
Wink roared in pain, and Nuada stumbled forward. The silver troll had fallen to his knees, clutching his hand of troll flesh. Dark blood oozed between the metal fingers clutching his injured hand. A large sword glinted in the fire- and candlelight, slick and dark with Wink's blood. The Fir Bholg who had cut the troll turned to Nuada and grinned. Beneath the coating of blood, runes gleamed in the light. Fury was ice-cold in Nuada's veins as he recognized the Sword of the Tuatha dé. Lost before the forging of the Golden Army, it would have been part of the prince's inheritance. Now a filthy Son of Dela wielded the might sword shaped of pure star-metal and tempered in Brighid's Forge. The thought nearly choked him.
"That belongs to me," the prince growled at Sreng. Rage and magic fueled him as he stepped forward. "I will have it back."
"You will die, Silverlance," Sreng said. Was that joy in the faerie's voice? "That is all you will do: die. None can withstand the Sword of your people."
"Except the Spear of Light!"
Sreng shouted in alarm as Nuada turned to see the little brownie from the subway tunnels and another brownie – the one from Dylan's cottage, he realized – hanging from the wall tapestries and lifting the heavy Spear with strength and magic. Gathering his strength, the Elf lunged forward as the Spear fell. It landed in his outstretched hand. Nuada heard the thunder of racing feet. He whirled, swinging the Spear underhanded, and brought it up to clash against the long blade of the Sword. Shock reverberated up Nuada's arms. Pain screamed from his back as the Sword pressed down on him. His chest burned, but he did not allow himself to double over with the hurt, only choked on the blood in his lungs and fought for breath.
"Help Wink if you can, Brighid! Becan!" Nuada shouted, and shoved the Sword back from him. He lunged, thrusting the Spear-tip toward Sreng's belly, but the Fir Bholg smashed the weapon aside.
Sreng tried to slice at Nuada's belly, but he was at a disadvantage with the huge sword, even though the Elf prince was slow and weak from the poison. As Nuala continued to pour healing magic into him, the prince's speed increased and his reflexes sharpened. Adrenaline burned in his blood as he fought. Sweat slicked his skin. But his heart was calm and steady in its beating as he blocked the Sword's attacks and slashed at the Fir Bholg with the Spear.
Wink was getting to his feet. Already his troll hide was covering the vicious wound dealt him by the red-haired Fir Bholg. The blasted Elf of Eirc had managed to cut off the tip of his little finger and big toe! A troll's toes were their most sensitive part; very much like being struck in the genitals for a human male. But the gravelly troll skin was forming to protect the wound and stop the bleeding. And in the meantime, he could still handle these pathetic traitors. Nuada seemed to be improving. Somehow. The silver troll shook his head and broke a dark-haired Elf's neck with a sharp twist. Perhaps the so-called princess was aiding him in some way. It mattered little right now. They needed to finish this fight and get to the human woman before that coward Eamonn managed to fulfill whatever twisted fantasies he had in mind.
Someone slashed at the back of his thigh and Wink stumbled. As a sword hurtled toward his unprotected face, several heavy glass pots of cosmetics flew through the air and smashed into both blade and blade-wielder, knocking the attack away. Wink saw a brownie - a boggart? - conducting flying cosmetic dishes and candle holders towards the attackers as if he conducted a symphony. One of the warriors rushing at Wink suddenly flipped onto his back, and the troll realized a second brownie had used magic to pull the rug out from under the attacking fuath's feet.
The troll roared in triumph as he slew the last of the attackers, the Tylwyth Teg known as Gwydion. Then Wink turned toward Nuada, locked in combat with the Fir Bholg man wielding the Sword of Victory.
"Forget me, old friend! You must save Dylan! Take the little ones with you!"
"I will not!" Wink bulldozed toward Sreng, but one of the chairs from Nuala's vanity table flew into the air and cracked the Fir Bholg across the back of the head, followed by several heavy vases and clay pots full of flowers. Blinded by water, earth, and plant matter, Sreng did not see the blow that sliced across his chest, or the second slice that severed the tendons in his left hand. He dropped the Sword from suddenly limp fingers and began to step back, still blinded by the dirt from the potted plants. Nuada twisted and thwacked his enemy once, bone-jarringly hard, on the side of the head where the jaw met the skull. The blow dropped Sreng like a stone.
"You did not kill him, Your Highness," Brighid called as she hopped from the vanity's white marble counter. "Why?"
"To slay one who cannot see the blow coming is dishonorable, if it can be avoided," Nuada wheezed, struggling for breath. His back screamed at him that it hurt, but he ignored it, just as he ignored the ache in his shoulders and the burning tightness in his chest. All would ease in time. Nuala had promised not to abandon him while he searched for the human woman. "Though not so when necessary. Still, I could not leave him conscious. The guards ought to find him." The prince shifted the Spear and willed it to retract, as his lance did. The ancient weapon complied. Next he bent down, ignoring the shriek of half-healed wounds ripping back open, and hefted the Sword. It shrank even as he touched it, until it was the size of a standard longsword. He had always preferred the weapons of Briton.
"Come," he commanded in a strained voice. "We must save Dylan."
Both brownies scurried over to the pair of warriors, raced up Wink's legs, and settled themselves on his broad, gravelly shoulders. "To my mistress!" One of the brownies, eyes flashing red as a boggart's, raised one tiny fist in fury and determination. "Save her from the Zwezdan Elf scum!"
Nuada almost smiled.
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"Oathb-" The crack of Eamonn's hand across her face knocked the words from her mouth. The human struck the wall hard enough she cried out. Blood dripped into her eyes. She opened her mouth and managed to choke out, "Oathbr-"
"If you attempt to say that word one more time I will shatter your jaw," Eamonn snarled, and Dylan's mouth snapped shut. He grabbed her by the throat, enjoying the flutter of her frantic pulse against his palm. Blood dribbled from the cuts his blows had left across her mouth and cheek. The rough stone walls had left raw scrapes across the exposed skin of her forehead and even her wrists and arms. Her bleeding hands scrabbled at his wrist in a vain attempt to force him to release her. He tightened his grip and she choked. "Ah. That's better."
Maybe he should just kill her now. It would be so delicious to watch her struggle for air as he slowly squeezed the breath from her lungs. And then he could show Nuada every moment: how she would weep as she died, the way her eyes would bulge from their sockets and she would struggle like a trapped insect against his merciless hold. Nuada's pain would be so good then.
But it would be so much worse for the prince if he took the little whore to the prince's bed first. Eamonn cocked his head and studied the mortal. She was not ugly, per se. It was the scars that made her so hideous. She stank of humanity, but he could live with that. And if he could project each moment into Nuada's mind as the Elf warrior died and the pathetic human bled out beneath him...
"Coward," she gasped out.
His silver eyes latched onto her face. This. This was why he wanted to throttle the life out of her. Why was she unafraid of him? Why?
"What did you say?"
"Coward!" Dylan tried to scream it, but the last syllable ended in a gurgle as Eamonn's fingers bit deep into her throat.
"I wish I had more time," Eamonn said on a sigh. The blood was roaring in Dylan's ears. Her heart hammered. Her lungs screamed. Air, she needed air! She couldn't breathe, couldn't... "If I could chain him to a wall, perhaps, and force him to actually watch what I do to you... maybe that would satisfy me.
"I could shatter the face he loves so much into pieces if I had the time. You would not look at me with disgust then. You would not be able to look at anything beyond the blood in your eyes. Then I would crush every bone in your body until the shock of it, the awful sickening agony of it, stole the life from you. As you lay dying I would do everything in my power to rip the heart from Nuada's chest. Then I would make him watch the life fade from your eyes and hear your final breath rattle in your chest. And I would finally see the proud and mighty Silverlance broken."
He smiled at the tears that welled up in her too-fey eyes.
"But unfortunately, I don't have the time." A dispassionate gaze of icy silver swept over her features as he relaxed his hold once more. "How can he stand to rut with you? A human. It is a betrayal of everything he stands for. And you... you're disgusting. A filthy mortal whore. You're not even pretty. It's revolting."
"We're... not... having sex," she coughed out as she slid to the floor. Gasping, she clutched her throat. Any movement made her head throb and her bones ache. Every breath sent red-hot shards of pain through her body, and she couldn't seem to catch her breath. The human coughed again. Covered her mouth and kept hacking. Something bright red splashed onto her hand: blood.
He punctured my lung, she realized. When he threw me down and broke my ribs. I'm dying.
Strangely, the thought didn't frighten her. In fact, she hadn't been frightened since Eamonn had dragged her up the stairs and into a bedroom. Inside of her had only been a strange and dazed calm, except when the dark Elf spoke of Nuada. Then there had been sharp grief like a knife. Fear, but for him, not herself. Maybe she was in shock, since the thought of dying only served to make her sad. I wish I could have done more, but... I guess it's time. Would she live long enough for Eamonn to actually get around to torturing and raping her? Maybe if she kept him talking, he would forget what his purpose in kidnapping her actually was.
"Why... do you hate him so much?" There was a tickle in her throat. Should she cough and try to hack up more blood, clear her lungs and give herself more time? Or let the blood pool and drown her? "Did he steal your girlfriend or something? Sleep with your sister? Turn you down when you asked to sleep with him? What?"
The traitorous Elf's boot slammed into her side. A muffled crunch and a sheet of burning fire made her scream and scramble to get away from him. Pain swamped her. Raked at her. Eamonn kicked her again in her bad knee. Something shifted painfully. Shocks of pain exploded up and down her leg. Dylan fell onto her belly on the floor and struggled instinctively to remain conscious.
"First of all, he is a traitor for swiving with a human like you." He toed her sharply with his boot. Pain turned her vision white for a minute. She struggled to stay afloat in a storm of fire and nausea. "Yet even before that, I knew the rule of Nuada's line had failed. He is just the next piece of proof saying such. His sister is spineless. He ruts with mortals. His father is a gutless coward who betrays the Faery races to humans day after day! And when it was obvious Balor no longer deserved to be king, Nuada should have risen up and slain his father! Taken the throne! Made amends to the Hidden People on behalf of the royal families. Instead he sulked off into exile like a spoiled child and left us to fend for ourselves. I and my master have had enough of Bethmoora's royal line and their empty promises."
She couldn't breathe. Each breath stuttered in her lungs. Made her head scream with the agony in her skull. Every beat of her heart brought her closer to death. And all she could think of was, Please, God, my gracious God... please don't let Nuada die. Please. This can't have been for nothing. Please, the world needs fae like him. Please...
"I want to test something, human," Eamonn said suddenly. "Renounce the High King of the World. Tell me you are not His servant. I might let you go." Dylan couldn't get enough air to say, "No, you wouldn't," but it was in her eyes, on her face. The Elf grinned. "I might. You never can tell."
She shook her head. His boot stomped down on her foot – she'd lost her tennis shoe somewhere. She found she had enough breath to scream when her toes crunched under the blow. She struggled to push up to her hands and knees, or even just drag herself along on her elbows. Anything to get away from him. Eamonn reached down and hauled her up by one arm. Her head snapped around on her neck. Pain shot up and down her spine.
Bleary eyes focused on a painting on the opposite wall. A painting of Nuala. Then she saw the weapons hanging from the walls. Dylan blinked and realized through the fog of burning agony where she was: Nuada's room. Eamonn would torture and rape her here, in Nuada's room, on Nuada's bed, to hurt the Elf prince. To shatter him.
No...
"Deny your God, mortal, and I'll spare you."
"N-no..."
He jerked his hand in a sharp twist. The bone in her arm snapped. She screamed again, choked on more blood. Eamonn's gentle smile would have cut to the bone. "I know what I can do, since I seem to be running out of time. Before I kill you, I might just..." He grabbed her free hand and laced his fingers with hers. Touched her thoughts. Surrounded her consciousness with his mind. Found music playing in her head and prayers running frantically through her feeble mortal mind: prayers for Nuada, for the troll, for those who fought Eammon's people. Prayers for herself. "Oh, how very touching. So sweet. But I much prefer this."
And as he showed her everything he hoped to do to her - the shattering of her bones like glass, blood flowing hot and red as he cut into her with blades of flesh and metal, and always the reminder that when it ended, Nuada would die with shame coiling in his belly and Eamonn's knife in his heart - all of it surrounded her mind with the vicious waking nightmares, and Eamonn thought, Well, if Nuada is not yet dead, he will certainly hear her screaming.
.
Nuada froze when an agonized scream echoed down the stairs.
Danu's mercy...
Then the images slammed into his mind, so vicious and brutal he staggered with them: Dylan, always Dylan, hurt, bruised and bleeding, screaming, sobbing, struggling to escape Eamonn. Blood stained her lips, soaked her clothes. The prince recognized his own room at his father's palace, recognized the crimson silk sash the dark-haired Elf used to tie Dylan's hands together. Something was wrong with her chest; only one side rose and fell as she gasped for breath. Her bad knee was swollen to twice its normal size. And her bare foot was a mass of sickening purple and white bruises.
As Nuada struggled to free himself from the vile images, Eamonn struck Dylan across the face. She spat crimson from between bleeding lips. Eamonn hit her again. Her head snapped viciously to one side. The dark Elf strode over to the weapons rack against the far wall and snagged an ebony hanbō from its place. Hefting the short staff, the Elf went back to Dylan and smiled. Caressed her bruised face with the end of the staff.
"Arms or legs, sweetness?"
The terror in those silver-blue eyes was like ash in Nuada's mouth. Dylan whispered brokenly, "Don't... please... please don't show him."
"Arms or legs? Choose, or it's both." The mortal's chin dropped to her chest and she whispered in defeat, "Legs."
"Ah. We'll make you a little mermaid," Eamon said cheerfully. "Just like the human tale."
The dark-haired Elf of Zwezda raised the ebony hanbō and brought it down hard across Dylan's shin. Another scream ripped out of her mouth. Screams and sobs. The hanbō came down on her leg again.
Stop! Eamonn! Leave her alone! Nuada jerked himself free of Eamonn's grip and hauled himself up the steep stone stairs. His wounds were almost healed thanks to his sister, but the poison still slowed him and made it hard to fight. He knew he would have to recover from that before he had any hope of battling Eamonn. The dark Elf was nearly as skilled of a fighter as Nuada himself. Yet he could not wait!
Come and get her, Silverlance. Maybe you'll arrive before I finish.
Monster. He would kill Eamonn. Forget honor. Forget chivalry and justice. He would cut Eamonn down like the sickening dog he was, even if he were unarmed and helpless. The Zwezda Elf would die this night.
The screaming abruptly stopped.
.
Perhaps he had been too rough with her. Eamonn wondered about that, as the mortal was staring up at the ceiling with vacant blue eyes. Blood trickled from both nostrils and one ear. Smeared the flesh around her mouth. Her breathing was shallow and wet. The Elf remembered vaguely that all of that was bad as far as humans were concerned. Ah, well. He would still have to finish her off. It would not do for Nuada to arrive in the nick of time to heal her of the damage. Though just in case, he'd leave a little surprise for the both of them...
"I wonder who suffered more," the Elf whispered, lightly caressing the human's face. She did not even flinch when his fingers grazed the bleeding gash on her cheek. "You, or him? After what happened to his mother... I can only imagine how much it hurt him to see you that way. If he is not in love with you yet, he is close enough that killing you will make me very happy."
Suddenly the human swallowed and blinked. She dragged in a ragged breath. Her eyes cleared, focused. "You're... an idiot."
What? How is she still conscious? Aloud he demanded, "What do you mean?"
"It's not... love... that makes him... hunt you this way." She tried to take a breath and choked on the blood in her lungs. Coughed and hacked. Crimson stained her mouth and chin. Finally she managed to gasp, "You're a... traitor. Take... me out of... the equation, and he'd still... hunt you down like a dog."
Fury burned in his chest and he grabbed her hand again. Laced his fingers with her. Fitted his fingertips to the black bruises he had left in her fragile human flesh. Pressed until bone shifted under his grip. "Watch your mouth, little whore. I am no traitor. He's the traitor! For loving you. For loving a human slut. I am no traitor."
"Yes you are." The human coughed again. Made sure to spit blood on Eamonn's cheek. Somehow, the rage in his eyes didn't frighten her. "You're a traitor... and a coward-"
He tightened his grip on her hand until he felt bone splinter and then hurled every vile, despicable, vicious thing he had ever planned for her into her mind. Eamonn battered against her consciousness as he made her think he battered against her body. Delicate bone crumbled beneath his grip as his fingers tighted further around her hand. Silver-washed blue eyes flew wide. Went glassy again. Her mouth opened in a silent scream. Bruises bloomed like black roses against her skin. Faded. Exploded into vibrant, violent color once more. The human began to choke on the blood in her lungs.
And still it was not enough! Nothing he did to this human whore would ever be enough until the lily-white prince was on his belly like a worm, begging for mercy! Eamonn surrounded the mortal's every thought with the horror and violence he wanted to inflict on her. Made sure she tasted the blood; felt the pain of blows raining down on her like hell; felt things breaking and tearing inside her as the dark Elf brought all of his strength down on her; understood the despair of impending, brutal and bloody death. Made sure she realized Nuada was never going to save her.
Then he added to the illusion. Built an image of Nuada, bleeding and dying, chained to the wall by iron, watching everything Eamonn did to his human slut. He showed her Nuada weeping; Nuada struggling against spiked iron chains that burned and seared; Nuada fighting those chains and the Fomorians, Fir Bholg, and other Fayre who savagely beat him; he fought them to reach her as Eamonn inflicted every possible torture and degradation on the fragile human, as he literally tore her slowly apart before her lover's eyes. He heard the mortal screaming desperately for help deep in her own mind. Relished the sight of the silent tears streaking from sightless eyes down her bruised and battered face.
Then and only then did he wrap his free hand around her throat and begin to squeeze for the last time. His fingers bit deep into her throat. He felt the delicate larynx begin to give beneath the pressure of his throttling grip.
A troll roared on the other side of the bedroom door. Eamonn's concentration faltered for an instant and the door ripped off its hinges and flew over the shoulder of an enraged silver troll. In an eye-blink the dark Elf released the nearly-dead human and grabbed his sword. He dodged the furious troll's blow only to come face to face with Nuada, who drew his own Sword. Eamonn swore when he recognized the Sword of Victory, last seen in the hands of Sreng.
"Yes," Nuada snarled. "It is mine now, as it should be." The Elf prince thrust and lunged for the other Elf, but Eamonn dodged and ducked, weaved and bobbed like a jackrabbit. He knew his own blade was no match for the Sword of the Tuatha dé. His only hope was to make his way to the door and run. He would return another day to finish the lily-white prince.
"I would not tarry long with me, Silverlance," Eamonn called, doing a backflip out of the way of Nuada's strike. "Your whore lies dying even as we speak." And in his mind, the dark Elf called mockingly, Why did you not tell me her lips taste of strawberries and mead? Feel like paradise?
"Liar! She lives!" Infuriated, Nuada thrust again. The tip of the Sword slid across Eamonn's leg, slicing a line across the leather trews that welled up and bled dark silver. "I'll have spilled your heart's blood before the night is over. I will have your head on a spike for what you've done to her."
Wink looked between his prince and the mortal. Although badly bruised and bloodied, she looked alive. There was no sign that Eamonn had fulfilled his promise. And yet... the ghostly color to her flesh, the vacant look in her eyes... Wink moved to her and stared down. Her breathing was rapid and shallow. Only one side of her chest rose and fell with her breath. The human began to choke. The troll hastily turned her on her side as blood bubbled up from between her slack lips and spilled onto the bed. Dylan coughed weakly.
"Nuada! There is no time! Leave him!" Wink roared. "She is dying!"
The pale prince jerked involuntarily toward his vassal and the mortal. In that moment of distraction, Eamonn slammed his dagger hilt-deep in Nuada's side. As the blond Elf stumbled, the dark-haired Elf wrenched the blade free and ran. Nuada fell to his knees.
"Nuada!" Wink's voice, and Nuala's. The prince looked up to see his sister rushing into the room followed by a bevy of Elven healers. He climbed to his feet and stumbled toward Dylan prostrate on the bed. Nuala went to his side. "Eamonn, did he-"
"No time," the troll interrupted the princess. "She needs healing, and so does the prince."
"I... I am well enough, Wink," Nuada mumbled, pressing a hand to his side. Nuala had yet to restrict the healing magic pouring into him. He would be fine. But Dylan... He stared down at the human on the bed; his bed. Eamonn would have raped her in his bed. Sickness coiled in his belly along with the nauseating pain. Nuada's mind felt filthy, and memories of his mother's death blurred into the vicious images of Dylan that Eamonn had spilled into his skull. Had he been in time, then? Had he preserved his honor? Saved her from that fate? As long as she survived, his honor would remain intact. As long as she lived...
But how had Eamonn known the taste of Dylan's lips? Something cold clenched hard around the prince's heart at the thought of the traitorous faerie laying his own mouth upon the human's. Tasting the blood on her lips. Stealing a kiss from her. I will kill him even more slowly for that.
"I... feel... stupid," Dylan gasped, and Nuada jerked in shock. Consciousness had returned to her gaze and she was struggling to breathe more deeply. "Really... really... stupid. All that... pointless." The mortal hacked blood. "Sorry... Your Highness."
"You tried to save my brother's life thrice this night," the princess said gently as the healers began working on the human. Nuala glanced at her brother, who glared at the human with furious bronze eyes. "That is nothing to apologize for," she added firmly.
"He lied... stupid... Eamonn... should've known..."
"Stop talking," Nuada snapped suddenly. The room was spinning. His side was on fire. He could still feel the phantom of the blade as it drove deep into his side. "Save your strength. As for Eamonn... truth is beyond him. Rest now. We will discuss your stupidity after your wounds are seen too. Idiot human. If you ever attempt such a thing again, I shall kill you myself."
"Uh-huh... ow. Broken ribs... punctured... my lung... really bad concussion..."
"I told you to stop talking. Must I silence you myself?"
Impossibly, Dylan smiled at him through bloodstained lips. Lips that Eamonn claimed tasted of honeyed mead and strawberries. When he snarled at her in irritation - this was not amusing! - she actually managed a weak laugh, though it was choked by pain and wet with the blood in her lungs. "Good to see... you're okay. Ish."
For just a moment, an odd shaft of warmth pierced his cold fury. "Dylan...."
The hand that was not black with bruises and twisted by violence reached out and lightly touched the prince's wrist, near the half-healed iron burn. Tears dripped slowly from the corners of her eyes to soak the blood-stained blanket beneath her. That gentle touch burned hotter than iron. Her wobbly smile hit him like a blow. "It's okay."
Nuada shoved away from the bed. He could not bear to see the relief in her eyes. And maybe if he left her, she would no longer desire to chatter on like a magpie. Maybe Eamonn's words would not echo in his skull like a curse.
The prince took two steps and stumbled. His feet felt strangely large and heavy. He tried to walk on. Staggered. Fell to his knees.
"Brother!"
The wound in his side burned and throbbed, as if someone were thrusting hot needles into his side. More poison, he the world began to fade, he heard his sister yell his name, and Wink roaring for one of the healers. And as he slipped into unconsciousness, he prayed, for the first time in a long time, that Dylan would survive. His honor demanded it.
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