Chapter 18 - Changelings

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A Short Tale of Girl Talk, Confessions, Rumors, and a Halfling Babe

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Dylan woke as pale golden light caressed her face, without the fear and anguish of the night before. Her eyes flickered open, closed again. She let herself enjoy the soft pillow beneath her cheek, the warmth of the velvet blankets, and the prettiness of early morning birdsong. A soft crackling from the hearth and the soft warmth of a fire told her that Becan had already come and gone from her room. The little brownie had already left to do... whatever things brownies did when not doing housework. Dylan knew the small faerie took pride in the care he took of her, so she let him. Hopefully one of the servants had been told to give Becan those extra helpings of porridge with butter, cream, and honey. A smile curved the mortal's scarred mouth as she thought of the brownie's delight upon receiving such a gift.

There was no fear this time and no grief upon waking. Only the gentle light of soft dawn, the warmth of a well-laid morning fire. It was as if the nightmares had never been. The morning outside looked like it fully intended to unfold in glorious splendor and much fanfare. But there was also, just under the quiet contentment of the early morning, a sense of something missing. Something... and someone. She sat up and glanced around. Realized that Nuada had not stayed after she fell asleep.

Well, of course not, Dylan chided herself, throwing back the blankets and swinging her feet to the floor. What would people think if they caught him asleep in my room? We'd be in trouble, because the king would assume I'd been lying about sleeping with him. Of course, she added philosophically as she padded on chilly sock-feet to the bathing chamber and privy, Nuala could back me up, since she read my mind. But it would cause so many more problems that we don't have time to deal with. Avoiding scandal is one of my main priorities right now.

In the bathing chamber, she saw that Becan had indeed been up early to do "the things brownies did." A silver basin and pitcher sat beside the black marble sink next to a fluffy white towel. The chair that had held her clothes the night before had been moved into the room and now lay draped with fresh garments. A plush, velvet-covered stool rested next to the chair, but she doubted she'd actually get around to sitting down while she was in this room. She noticed that the pitcher steamed. When Dylan sniffed, she realized the fragrant steam smelled of lotus and camellia blossoms. And best of all, Becan had brought with him her toothbrush and a tube of handmade cinnamon toothpaste.

Fantastic, she thought as gratitude filled her. My mouth tastes disgusting, and my teeth feel fuzzy. And now I won't have to chew mint leaves again. Yay! She poured water into the basin and splashed some on her face. Warmer than she preferred, but at least it wasn't ice water or anything. Dylan thought of Bridget Fonda in The Snow Queen, and the pitcher of ice water the beautiful winter faerie had requested in the middle of winter in Denmark.

The human shivered at the thought and began to brush her teeth.

"Dylan?" Someone called from the other side of the chamber door a few moments later. Dylan spat pink toothpaste suds in the sink and poked her head out the door. Nuala, looking supermodel gorgeous in pale gold and green, smiled when the Elf caught sight of her. "Good morning."

"Good morning, Your Highness." At the princess's gesture, Dylan shuffled back into the bathing chamber, followed by the princess. "How did you know I was going to be awake this early?"

"Becan informed me you were awake, and I thought I might beg a few moments to speak with you." Nuala sank down gracefully to the three-legged velvet-covered vanity stool that Dylan had shunned as impractical. "If you have no objection."

"Can I keep brushing my teeth while you talk?" Dylan asked. Looking at the princess was putting her teeth on edge; not just because of the whole forced-courtship thing, but because it wasn't fair that anyone could look like a supermodel at the crack of dawn, Elf or not. Well, I agreed to come to Earth as a human. With frizzy hair. I'll get over it. Aloud she added, "I've perfected the art of talking with a toothbrush in my mouth."

Nuala's laugh was light and silvery and completely sincere. Dylan began to relax as the princess replied, "I do not mind at all. However, before you begin, I wish to broach a delicate subject, and I would not have you choking in surprise."

At the human's slanted, suspicious look, Nuala sighed. "You have every reason to be wary of me, I know. I am sorry for that. I would very much like us to be friends, if you can find it in you to think of me with some fondness. But that is not what I wish to speak with you about."

The princess paused, and frowned. How to put this delicately? She did not believe the mortal had done anything inappropriate, not really. The brief scan of her mind the night of Nuada's trial had shown Nuala that Dylan would not compromise her morals lightly. Offering herself to Eamonn as she had was one thing, but letting Nuada have his way with her out of some sense of obligation was quite another. In the light of day, in the human's presence and without the echoes of her bloody nightmares haunting her, the princess realized she most likely owed her brother an apology. Yet something had to be said.

"My brother was in your room last night."

"Crud." Dylan spat the last vestiges of toothpaste into the sink before flipping the tap. She palmed a handful of water and rinsed her mouth and the sink, then shut off the water and turned to the princess. "Okay." Don't panic. Just breathe. "What about it?"

"Dylan... if he... if my brother..." Why was this so hard? It was a valid question. "If Nuada did anything that made you uncomfortable... you know that you can tell me. We do not believe in noblesse oblige here."

Noblesse oblige. The right for a lord or a lord's son to have his way with any woman who called him liege, married or not, willing or not. As if Nuada would ever do something like that, even if he was allowed to. Dylan knew his code of honor would've prevented him if his inclinations hadn't. So she only shrugged and said, "He didn't do anything." She stepped to the chair that held her new clothes. There was a silk screen for her to change behind; how had she not noticed it before? More faerie magic, probably. Stepping behind it, Dylan doffed her kirtle, shift, and underthings, but kept her socks. The floor was like a glacier, even through the thick wool.

"You are sure?" Nuala heard rustling as the human dressed. "I know that the followers of the Star Kindler are very circumspect, and if Nuada-"

"I had a nightmare," Dylan interrupted, slipping the fawn-colored shift over her head. "A bad one. Becan fetched Nuada to me at my request, and he stayed with me until I fell asleep again." The memory of it made something warm and soft fizz in Dylan's stomach. She recalled a warm, golden voice singing in the dark. A promise to stay and protect her until the dawn chased away her fear. "He sang to me. Nothing inappropriate happened, Your Highness, I promise."

The princess did not point out that Nuada being in the mortal's room alone in the middle of the night was impropriety in and of itself, because of something she heard in the human's voice. Nuala had noticed that there seemed always to be affection and admiration in the girl's voice whenever Dylan spoke of or to Nuada. But now there was something more, something the Elf princess did not quite understand - or like. It was not love... but the wealth of affection was great enough that apprehension slithered up Nuala's spine.

I held her in the dark and she whispered to me of love.

Perhaps King Balor had made a mistake in attempting to force them together, Nuala thought once more. If the mortal fell in love with the prince, there could be so many complications. And if Dylan did fall in love with Nuada... how would it affect the prince? She would have to speak to her father about this.

And Nuada singing... when had her brother ever sung to anyone other than his twin before? At least sung a lullaby? It was one thing for her brother to join in at the various fetes and ceilis they both enjoyed, but to sing a lullaby to someone other than his other half? Nuala could not remember a time when he'd done so, even when they were very young. Another cold trickle of uncertainty down her back. There was more here than she understood. She would have to speak to Nuada, as well.

"You didn't yell at him, did you, Your Highness?" Dylan asked, startling her from her reverie. "Because I'd have to protest if you did. Loudly. Maybe even physically, and with some Mormon cusswords." Like "frack." Frack was a good one.

"I beg your pardon?" The princess realized the human had come out from behind the changing screen and was watching her with expectant (and suspicious) eyes. "Forgive me, my thoughts were elsewhere. Why do you ask that?"

"You always think the worst of him," the human replied, fluffing her hair. She went back to the pitcher of water, poured some more into the basin, and used it to wet down the frizzy locks until they looked a bit less wild. "You always treat him like he's the black sheep or something. What part of he saved my life did you guys miss, exactly? Words fail me when I try to express how annoying that is, that you guys do that to him. You didn't automatically assume he'd come in here to seduce me in the night, did you? For one thing, he doesn't think of me that way, and for another, the prince would never do something like that even if he thought I was the sexiest thing on two legs. And why do you guys have a pitcher right here when you have running water?"

"The water in the pitcher is... special." No need to tell her that it came from the River Boyne in Tir na nOg. The princess had no idea how much the mortal knew of Faerie. If she told Dylan that she drank water from the river fed by Connla's Well, what would she say?

Though it is not as if it would do her any harm, Nuala rationalized. In fact, it would be all to her benefit. The River Boyne has always done wondrous things for the children of men.

"And no, I did not yell at him. But he should not come into your room like that, Dylan. He dishonors himself and you that way."

"Um... he's a grown man." Something she had conveniently forgotten last night when he'd come to her room without a shirt on. Otherwise, she was pretty sure she'd have kicked him out. Or at least made him put on a shirt. At least he wasn't all sweaty and gross. Having hugged John in that state, she could appreciate a lack of man-sweat on a guy. "As long as it doesn't hurt his kingdom, he can do pretty much whatever he wants. And since everyone assumes we're sleeping together anyway, I don't see how this is going to adversely affect us. If anything, people will be less likely to bother us because they supposedly know the rumors are 'true' and don't need to finagle any juicy tidbits out of us. Psychology one-oh-one, Your Highness."

"If the court ladies discover anything that could be called proof that you and my brother are lovers, they will most certainly 'finagle juicy tidbits' from you," Nuala said a bit sharply. "Many of them are gossip-hungry sharks. They will ask you things that, as a child of the High King of the World, you will be embarrassed to hear, much less answer. And you have made many of them your enemy because they have only a tiny suspicion that Nuada seeks pleasure in your bed. Their envy will transform to hatred if they are given proof."

Feeling like she'd just been scolded by her mother - and she didn't even want to think about Nuada "seeking pleasure in her bed," which just sounded plain weird and made her stomach feel strange - Dylan grabbed a brush and began jerking the soft bristles through her tangled hair. Tiny pinpricks of pain in her scalp told her she wasn't being careful enough, but annoyance with herself and the situation made it difficult to force herself to be gentle. "It's not my problem what a bunch of dirty-minded Elves think about me or His Highness. You and your father are lucky I'm even going along with this whole courtship thing. If I'd said no, what would you have done?" The brush ripped through a snarl. "Glamored me into accepting Nuada's suit? Blackmailed me into it? Oh, wait, you did that already. And what if he had said no? Did you think of that?"

Before the princess could open her mouth to answer, Dylan sighed.

"Look, I don't want to fight with you. I like you, Your Highness. Or I'm trying to. But you're making it hard. Nuada is a brave and honorable man. The most honorable I've ever known, and he makes me feel safe. If I have a bad dream, I'm going to want my brother." She wanted John now, as a matter of fact. "But if he's not available, I want Prince Nuada. And I don't trust you enough to ask you to come to me, because I don't really know you. He's the only person I really know here at all. And I don't want to wake up from a nightmare in the dark and have to fall back asleep alone. I want someone I can trust. As long as Nuada doesn't mind, and as long as I keep Becan in here as a chaperone," which, Dylan thought, growling at herself, I should have done last night. Jeez, I'm such an idiot. Law of Chastity, for crying out loud! "Or as long as someone is in here as a chaperone, I get to ask him to come see me when I wake up from a nightmare. End of story."

"It is not wise to do so. He desires you, Dylan. You know that, don't you?"

The mortal froze with a handful of hair and a handful of brush. Her eyes were wide as she stared at the Elf princess. "Um... first, no he doesn't. Second, nice try. Third, gross. I can't... even tell you how gross that is. That's like hearing my brother feels that way about me. Seriously, nasty. And fourth, no he absolutely does not. I know I said that already, but it bears repeating. If he 'desires' anyone, it's..." She trailed off, thinking of the mental conversation she'd had with Nuala the first night in Findias. Dylan shook her head to clear it of such thoughts. "Never mind. It's not true. I don't know where you got that idea, Your Highness, but it's flawed. Severely."

Nuala pursed her lips. Clearly the human had not noticed the embers of lust burning beneath the prince's anger. Had Nuada himself even realized it? Somehow, the princess doubted that.

I may be wrong, as well, the fair-haired Elf thought, watching as Dylan attacked her hair with the hairbrush. It may have been the result of a dream, or the echo of a stray thought my brother entertained of one of the court ladies. I know he finds them beautiful, if incredibly irritating. But... for some reason, I do not believe that is the case. Aloud she said, "You believe it to be impossible that my brother might yearn for you that way. The idea of making love with my brother bothers you a great deal. Why? I know that many of our kind believe him... well, but you are not our kind. I have heard many a human woman call him attractive. Do you not find him handsome? Elves make consummate lovers-"

"Well, jeez!" The wooden brush smacked the counter with a hollow clok! Dylan could feel her face burning. If Nuada ever found out about this conversation, he'd probably throttle them both. "Gee, let me think about all the reasons that Prince Nuada doesn't want to do the Jungle Monkey Tango with me!" Although irritation slithered up and down Dylan's spine, she did smile when Nuala laughed about "Jungle Monkey Tango." Still, did the princess really want to have this conversation? Because Dylan really, really didn't. Nuada didn't even like her. That was what made this conversation actually rather painful.

But if I don't tell her, she's gonna be all, "My brother wants to get in your pants." Good grief. Tapping her fingers on the counter, the psychiatrist added, "Look, he thinks I'm ugly, not to mention disgusting. He hates me. I'm mortal, my face looks like a homicidal emo kid played Tic-Tac-Toe on it, I wear pants - which probably offends his Old World sensibilities - and I'm not a virgin. Isn't that important with people like you?" Hit with a sudden bolt of inspiration, Dylan added, "That's why I can't marry Nuada. I'm not a virgin. Don't royal brides have to be virgins?"

"Absolutely not. That is a human custom. My mother had been married twice before she wed my father. As you said, Dylan, 'Nice try.'"

Dylan scowled. Crud. "Well, it was worth a shot. As for me thinking he's handsome, that's not the point. The point is, I won't sleep with someone outside of wedlock. They could be as ugly as homemade sin or as sexy as Fabio; no dice. And I don't want to hear about Nuada's physical prowess or whatever. I mean, seriously. Actually, can we change the subject? I don't even want to think about your brother and, um, intercourse at the same time."

Dylan knew her face was on fire. Had to be. Thinking about Nuada and sex made her feel distinctly uncomfortable, though she wasn't entirely sure why. Not to mention paranoid; inexplicably, she kept expecting him to barge in and throw a prissy-pants fit over the fact that Nuala was basically trying to auction him off as a lover for a human woman.

"In fact, I don't really want to think about conjugal relations. Like, at all. I try not to think about it, since I'm not married. If I think about it, I'm gonna want some; it's like chocolate. Best way to not have that problem is to not think about it. When I get married - to someone who is not the crown prince of Bethmoora, by the way - then and only then will I think about..." Dylan fumbled for an appropriate phrase. "Marital rites."

With an indulgent smile, Nuala added, "Very well; as you wish." What a strange human. She could not seem to bring herself to use the word "sex." Was that due to being a follower of the Star Kindler? Or because they were speaking of Nuada? That's like hearing my brother feels that way about me. Was that truly how the mortal felt about the prince? "At any rate, Dylan, I wondered... what your plans were for today."

The human arched an eyebrow at the question. Even without touching her hand, the princess could tell that the mortal was trying to figure out how the question applied to the previous topic.

"Do not fear; I have no nefarious designs on you in this. It is only that you have been formally presented at court as my brother's truelove-"

"Truelove? One word?" Dylan was distracted, still trying to purge any and all talk of Nuada and physical romantic virtues from her traumatized brain. Thinking about Nuada in that way was like... like thinking about John that way. Blech. A shudder raced up her spine and her stomach lurched. Yeah, Elf prince and conubial bliss do not mix, she thought, grimacing. Her brain tried to remind her of the way his knuckles brushing against her cheek had sent delicious little shivers whispering down her spine, but Dylan forced herself not to think about that. She could not afford to remember the flutters Nuada had put in her stomach with that simple touch.

"Yes, his truelove. The lady that, if things progress as he intends, will one day be his betrothed, and then his wife."

Dylan rolled her eyes and walked with stiffened spine and a somewhat stiff leg back into the bedchamber to sit before the warm fire. Even through her socks her feet were freezing. And of course, we're back to the betrothal thing. Don't they ever give up? I told them, unless he converts, I can't marry him. What is so difficult to understand about that? Cold clamped hard around her knee, but it only made it stiff and a little painful. Whatever Nuada had done to it the evening before was lasting. She stretched out before the fire and began gently kneading the stiff joint.

"Look... Your Highness... you know I really don't want to marry your brother, right? I mean, I wasn't just putting on a show for his benefit when I protested before. He doesn't want to marry me and I really, really, really don't want to do something that will upset him like this. So do we have to talk about this now? I've had about three hours of sleep, I'm really tired, and then you go and embarrass me by talking about your brother being my lover. I've been awake for less than an hour. I would seriously just like to not deal with the whole courtship-engagement thing, at least until I've had breakfast. Is that possible?" She didn't want to sound mean or angry, but she'd only just woken up about twenty minutes ago. And - big concern - what if Nuala, who was really kind of sweet and had the potential to be very persuasive, got her to agree to something that then turned out to be problematic for the prince? I'm enough of a burden to him; I can't afford to make mistakes right now.

"I know this all must seem sudden, Dylan. I do understand. And there will be time to deal with your concerns; this I promise. After all, there is your assessment to deal with-"

"My what, now?" That did not sound good.

"Your assessment. As a commoner, we must determine what training you stand in need of in order to be seen with respect by the rest of the court. Can you dance? Embroider? Sing?" Nuala paused, remembering the sound of Dylan singing in the kitchen. "Well, perhaps not sing. Can you play an instrument? Are you skilled in diplomacy? Do you know how to run a household? Are you wise to the ways of court life and intrigue? We must see if you have anything that will make you an advantageous match for my brother." Noticing the faint glimmer of panic in the human's eyes, Nuala added, "But I will be the one to handle that. For now, worry about how you and Nuada plan to present yourselves to our people. It is customary for you to spend at least some part of the day in public with him. Royal courtship is much attended to by the people of Bethmoora. They will want very much to see that the two of you are happy with each other."

Oh, you've got to be kidding me. It's too early for this stuff. And I can't do any of that stuff! "Um... ask Nuada what his plans are, okay, Your Highness? Then come talk to me." At Nuala's baffled look, Dylan sighed softly. "You wanted us to be a couple, right? Well, we are. We're a team. I'm not making those kinds of decisions without him." Just in case there's a trick to this; I like Nuala, but she answers to the king. I have to watch out for any tricks. "Besides, it's the Sabbath. My choices are a bit limited." With another sigh, she added, "Sorry about that."

Oh, but she is quite clever, the princess thought as she sank into a curtsy - Dylan merely waved cheerfully - and then Nuala glided from the room. I cannot fault her for being so cautious. If only Nuada would relinquish his desire for bloodshed, and truly accept her. She would make him a fine match.

Dylan stared into the fire, finally realizing why she had felt such a sense of loss upon waking. True, she had missed Nuada, had known almost from the moment she opened her eyes that he was no longer in the room with her. He must have carried me to bed, and tucked me in, she realized, stunned. Why would he do that? But the question faded into insignifance when that other thing that had been missing alerted her once again to its presence (or lack thereof). With a sigh, Dylan wondered, I said I wouldn't leave Findias until Nuada did. Who knows what kind of stuff they'll try to pull while I'm gone? But... it's Sunday. How am I going to get to church?

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Rumors have a way of germinating from the tiny seed of a seemingly-innocuous deed. Sometimes the source of gossip is truly worthy of the tall tales and snarky asides muttered by both commoner and aristocrat. More often than not, however, the simplest and most mundane things can give birth to the most twisted and elaborate of lies. After all, a lie that is actually half a truth is ever the blackest of lies.

This time, the simple thing was this: a fortnight ago, the crown prince of Bethmoora had brought a tiny halfling child to his sister the Princess Nuala, claiming the bairn's parents had been slain. Would Her Highness take the babe and find a servant woman of Findias to care for it? A common enough practice, even among the royals. Noble houses, below stairs, were full of orphaned servants fostered from childhood or even infancy by the older members of the staff. Unusual, that the prince had borne the infant to the palace in his own arms and not sent another in his place. Yet it was known that Prince Nuada, warrior though he was, had a soft spot for children under misfortune. Not inconceivable, then. A perfectly innocent moment by itself. A brief visit between siblings long separated, and a request, swiftly granted.

There are many poisons found in the world that, when the ingredients are taken separately, are not toxic in the least. One might partake of the fruit of Juliet's Bane and take strength from that fruit. But when combined with the leaves of the amaranth plant known as love-lies-bleeding, Juliet's Bane could, as it was said in olden times, "slay all senses with the heart."

So too were the events that begat this particular rumor. On the heels of that brief visit from the Exiled Prince came another well-noticed event that set the rumor mill spinning like a child's top upon a smooth marble floor. This was the arrival of the prince's human lady to the court of Bethmoora.

Whispers of betrothal, a torrid love affair, and political games swirled through the courtiers, their servants, and eventually even among the common folk of the township attached to the palace. The truth was simply this: a human follower of the High King of the World had been presented by the prince as his lady. They seemed much in love, both happy with and devoted to each other, and uncaring of the scandal or the outcry from those factions at court who believed humans to be the bane of all life. It was also said with much certainty that the mortal was quite ugly, her face ruined by many scars, but that the prince did not seem to mind. But that was all that was known. Nothing more, nothing less.

There were many who did not believe this farcical relationship for a minute, or care for the supposed truth even if they did believe. One of these had a theory about that halfling child... and its supposedly deceased parents. And she had sent three of her best and most loyal servants to put a plan into action to punish the crown prince.

"I don't think this is going to work," Peg Powler snapped, looking down at the squirming bundle in her arms with obvious distaste across her face. The puling little creature could not even walk. Of what interest was it to one of the Dark Ladies of Bradley Woods? Yet the hag opposite her had brought the bairn to Peg for a very specific reason. The water witch sniffed at the child. Grimaced when the brat tried to snatch a handful of dark hair like slick pondweed. Hissed at the babe with broken, rotted teeth like jagged ivory blades. The baby wailed at the sight of that hideous visage. Turning to her "sister," Peg Powler demanded, "Why should His Highness care about a squalling halfling babe?"

Blue Aniss glared at her "sister" and took the crying, wriggling baby from her. Just the scent of all that delicious baby fat made her mouth water. "Have you not heard the rumors, Sister? Were you not listening to our mistress? Some say this babe is the prince's bastard by a human woman." Narrowing eyes like a raptor's and peering into the chubby, red face of the crying baby, she added, "The same human who currently resides within Findias' walls and holds the title of the prince's truelove."

"I do not believe it, Sister," said the Powler, poking at the infant with a gnarled finger. It shrieked anew. "The lily-white prince would not sully himself with a mortal, much less leave her high in the belly. You know he loathes the Children of Mud. And this bit of halfling flesh is fresh and green, like a woodman's child. The prince's get would be pale as the moon, with the golden eyes of Bethmoora."

"Then why, Sister, did the crown prince himself bring the halfling child to Findias, cradled like a veritable gift from the gods?" Aniss hissed through her iron teeth. "He has been to see the brat every day since the night of the attempted assassination. He cares for the puling infant, right enough." Peg flinched away from her sister's broken, jagged grin. Old blood streaked the iron fangs; the blood of countless slaughtered children. Aniss's breath stank of rotting meat and slaughter. The dark-haired hag leaned in to inhale deeply of the alluring aroma of child flesh. Oh, but to taste that tender, juicy flesh just once...

But no. They were on assignment from their mistress. Their noble lady had plans for both the babe, and the mortal who was rumored to be its mother. Of course Aniss, a connoisseur of adolescent meats, knew that there was no chance this child possessed a drop of Elven blood. Yet it did not matter in the least. As she had said to the water witch, clearly the bairn meant something to Prince Nuada, or else why bring the little morsel to Findias in person?

"We are not to kill the child as yet, Aniss," Peg reminded the flesh-eating hag. "We are to test what ties it claims - if any are to be claimed - to the mortal woman. Her child, this babe may be. The prince's... doubtful. Yet if he loves her as many have said, it may not matter. He will most likely care for the child as well. And the little one's death might be punishment enough for our mistress to visit upon the prince."

"Doubtful, Sister. Doubtful. Our mistress is a vindictive woman. You know she will not forgive the prince's betrayal of our cause against the humans after only slaying the pathetic little creature, nor will any of the court who believed the prince to be our savior against the humans. This is only the beginning."

Peg Powler stared at the babe, which squirmed and wailed. Strange, that none of the servants in charge of the king's wards had come to see what was the matter with it. Strange, if one did not know that another of their sisters, Jenny Greenteeth, was currently keeping the doors warded with her dark magic. The young water witch watched the two older hags with impatient eyes from the door. Could anyone even hear the bairn's cries?

"Only the beginning," the old water witch murmured. Met Aniss's ruby-red eyes. "Well, then. Let it begin."

Aniss laughed and withdrew a thin knife from the bodice of her black dress. With a wicked smile, she pricked her finger. The foul stink of swamp water seeped into the room. A single drop of poison-green blood glistened at the tip of her finger. Still grinning, Aniss reached for the screaming child and touched the blood-drop to the babe's tongue. The child fell silent. A red flush began spreading over the soft skin like a fever. A weak, pitiful cry crawled from the baby's mouth. Over time - a week or two, three at most - the poison would spread through the little creature, attacking the organs and the brain. Burning the tiny body with fever. Racking it with icy chills. Ravaging it with illness and pain. And in the end, the halfling child that Prince Nuada came often to look in on would die. Just the first piece of the punishment for the royal traitor.

"Taking a human as his truelove," Aniss spat as she placed the baby back in its cradle. "He should be ashamed."

"Fear not, Sister. They will both be punished." With a smile, Peg added, "Our mistress will see to it."