Chapter 52 - A Whisper and a Warning

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A Short Tale of Spying, the Jewels of the Forest, Tickling, Wonders, Lessons, Memories, Questions, Stories, and an Attempt at Biting

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There he was.

Silver eyes followed the Elven warrior's movements as Nuada stepped out of the black carriage and looked around. He was easy to see from the branches of the oak tree where the dark Elf crouched, silent and still. Trusting little fools, the Silver Lance and his lady, thinking this place safe simply because the king's decree forbade anyone from entering the borders without royal leave. Did they think Balor was the only power at work in Bethmoora?

Well, whatever. It mattered little why they thought themselves safe. It only mattered that they did. It only mattered that they were wrong.

"You know what to do?" The Zwezda Elf turned to the handful of dipsa arrayed among the branches of the oak tree. Ten slitted snake eyes blinked slowly at the Elf. A few scaled heads cocked to the side. "He is not the target, unless things go badly," the Elf reminded the lethal serpent-shifters. "The mortal is. All it takes is a single scratch of your fangs and she's dead. You'll likely only have one chance. Make it count."

All five snake fae nodded, already turning their attention to the enchanted carriage that currently housed the prince's mortal toy. "Are we sso certain sshe iss with him?" One of the dipsa asked.

Pale lips curved into a smile. "Oh, yes, she's with him. My master has it on good authority. From the One-Armed King himself, in fact."

"I ssee," the leader of the dipsa hissed. "Well, then... let uss prepare."

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Dylan opened her eyes to silence and stillness. Aloneness. She was sprawled out across the soft bench seat of the carriage and Nuada was nowhere to be seen. The little window on the carriage door allowed tendrils of bright sunlight to dapple the interior. She sat up slowly, surprised that her bad leg offered little protest. A note on the seat near her head showed Nuada's elegant handwriting.

If you want to explore the carriage, go through the left-hand door. I will be waiting outside.

Puzzled, she did as directed and went through the left-hand door, the one whose window showcased only shadows that shifted as the sunlight filtering in from outside did. The door swung open, and the mortal gaped at the long hallway that ran from the doorway to what felt like infinity. Nuada had said she could explore; that meant it had to be safe. She stepped across the threshold. As soon as her foot touched the stone floor, a door about four feet away swung open from the right side of the strange corridor. Dylan peeked in and grinned when she found a bathroom tiled in all the colors of the sea. It came complete with a shower stall and a very large blue-marble bathtub studded with tiny silver and gold things that she realized were seashells. When it was full, it would feel like being underwater.

Wow. That is so cool. And absolutely gorgeous. I love these things. Darting back to the main room of the carriage, she grabbed her bag and went into the bathroom to change clothes, drag a brush through her hair, and brush her teeth. Then she went looking for Nuada.

She opened the door to the outside world and froze, stunned into absolute stillness.

Trees towered overhead, their leaves filtering the brilliant morning sunshine into shades of pale amber and jade and beryl and malachite, turning the sunlight to jewels on the dark-honey floor of the forest, which rustled with pine needles. Birdsong and the croon of the wind replaced the sounds she was used to - traffic, noise pollution from radios, the chatter of people. She could smell the richness of spring and the first warming breath of summer on the air. Everything seemed to shimmer with potential, with energy. With magic. It set her heart pounding. She just wanted to drink up the life brimming all around her.

"It is beautiful, is it not?" Nuada's voice was a murmur in her ear that made her start slightly. She turned to see him gazing up at the canopy of trees. The sunlight glanced off his hair, giving it a luster she'd never seen in the City or the Park or in her cottage. In his gray-green tunic and brown trews he reminded her of the wood Elves she'd read about in stories as a teenager, even though she'd known even then that there was little resemblance to the real thing. And there was a smile on his face that she'd never seen before.

"Yes," Dylan said softly, arrested by the expression of absolute peace on Nuada's face. Warmth bloomed in her chest and she took his hand. That physical connection shot a tingle of awareness down Dylan's arm. She remembered with sudden vivid clarity the way his hand had felt under her fingertips the night before, warm and solid. Remembered the way his fingers had curled a little when she'd touched his palm. "It's wonderful." She stifled a yawn. Sheepishly, she added, "What time is it?"

"A quarter to ten. I thought it best to let you sleep."

"Thank you. So, is this where you wanted to take me?"

He nodded. "This is the royal forest in Bethmoora. No one comes here without the king's permission. Yes," the prince added, "my father knows we're here. He gave me permission to bring you here."

Dylan frowned. A whisper of unease ghosted down her spine. "Why's he being so nice to us all of a sudden?"

"He is cautiously happy that I seem to be courting you in earnest and wants to reward my good behavior, I would imagine."

"Is that what this is?" She came down from the carriage step and was surprised when her boots sank a little into the lush carpet of pine needles. "Courting me?"

Dark lips curved into a smile. "Actually, darling, this is me taking you out to get breakfast. Grab your bag and come with me."

The Elf prince led her through the woods, through trees packed so tightly together there was no hope of the carriage following them to their destination. Beams of sunlight caressed the occasional rainbow of wildflowers peeping through golden needles and lush grasses. Finally, after about twenty-odd minutes through the woods, he brought her to a meadow.

This wasn't the meadow he'd shown her in shared dreams - not that she would remember that place, which was now long gone. But it was a pretty, quiet place. Oak and spruce and cherry trees ringed the clearing. Snowy white veiled the cherry trees like gossamer-shrouded bridal dryads. Goldfinches, bright as sunlight on dragon treasure, nested in the dark green of the ringing trees. A wide stream, its grassy banks lined with boulders and stones of various sizes, ribboned across the greensward sprinkled with wildflowers perfuming the warm spring air. Some of the river stones glistened green and slick beneath the gently rushing water of the stream. The larger boulders made wonderful natural seats, with cushions of soft dry moss. Some of the rocks bore sharply jutting edges, but Nuada intended to set up camp a little ways away from those. Although the weather was a bit warm, delicate snowdrops bloomed near the great stones, lacy white against green grass and gray stone. Thornless wild Irish roses twined over some of the sharper rocks near the edge of the clearing. Butterflies in various bright hues fluttered amidst the vibrant blooms.

This was the world as it had once been, before humans' destructive ways had spoiled the wildlands. There was nowhere outside of Faerie that he could take her to that was as pure and unsullied. And no other accessible forest had what he wanted to show her. But that surprise would have to wait until nightfall.

"It's so warm," she murmured as he took her toward the stream. "Isn't it winter in Bethmoora? Why is it so warm here?"

"It is always spring in the royal forest," Nuada said. At the stream, he drew off his tunic and shirt and dropped them to one of the larger boulders by the river to keep them dry. Yanked off his boots and socks and left them by his shirt. "Shoes off, mo duinne."

The idea was so startling she laughed. "What? Why?"

"I am going to teach you how to fish for your breakfast."

Knee-deep in the stream, his trews and her jeans rolled up to keep them dry, Nuada showed her how to tickle trout. She sat on a stone jutting out over the little creek, careful to keep her feet from disturbing the water. The feral-eyed warrior crouched over the smooth surface of the stream's shallows. One hand lay palm-up on the clean white sand at the bottom. Keeping almost completely still, firegold eyes watched a fish slowly fin its way out of the shadows of the water toward the prince. The only movement from the preternaturally still Elf was the almost-agonizingly slow wave of his fingers, which almost seemed to hypnotize the trout.

Dylan held her breath as the slick silver fish drifted until it hovered just above Nuada's pale fingers. The prince slanted her a glance from the corner of his eye. Smiled at the avid look on her face. Then, with a lightning-strike move and a splash, something silver jacknifed out of the water and hit the rocks with a wet slap. Dylan squeaked and scootched back a ways from the trout before realizing it wasn't about to splash its way back into the water.

"Whoa." Her eyes were shining when she looked from the fish to Nuada. "That was amazing. Where did you learn to do that?"

"The army," he said, forcing himself not to preen under her praise. "Now hop off that rock, roll up your sleeves, and come over here so I can teach you how to do this."

Cool eddies swirled around her bare ankles and the sun warmed her back through her green tunic. Warmer than the sun, more tantalizing than the currents of the brook they currently stood in, were Nuada's hands on her body, gently and carefully positioning her over the water. He kept one hand at her waist in case she lost her balance. The other slid along the smooth flesh of her arm, guiding her hand beneath the calm surface of the stream and laying it on the soft sand.

"Do not tense up," he murmured in her ear. His breath was hot against her skin and she had to fight to stay relaxed. "Do not move too swiftly or you will scare the fish. You must be patient." His thumb brushed against the pulse at her wrist. Her heart rate jumped a mile. As if he didn't notice, Nuada said, "Now wait."

In the end, Dylan actually managed to catch a fish. Nuada caught four others, which made her feel rather pathetic, but he informed her that he'd been just as unskilled when first learning the trick of it. That little tidbit and a fleeting brush of lips against her temple helped a lot. Nuada cleaned the fish and Dylan surprised him by knowing how to build a fire. As the fish cooked, the mortal asked, "So, why go to all this trouble? What's going on?"

"How do you mean?"

"I mean, why take me out to this place that seems to be a bit exclusive, get me something awesome for breakfast instead of just buying something, and doing whatever other awesome and exciting things you've got planned today? This is amazing. Why do this for me?"

Because I want to spend a day with you, without anyone to interfere. Just one day where things can be simple between us. Because there is something I want to give you before we go back to Faerie, something to make up for everything you have suffered and will suffer for me. Because I love you.

But all he said was, "If not for you, then who?"

"Cheater," she cried in mock-outrage. "That's not an answer."

"Well, my fair lady, it's all the answer you are going to get right now," he replied, grinning. "The food's ready."

She dazzled him with her smile.

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"Now?" Minute dapples of sunlight slithered over iridescent scales as the group of dipsa watched the Elf prince and mortal woman from the forest undergrowth. A black tongue flicked out to taste the air. Along with all the scents of the royal forest, there was the taste of happiness and contentment wafting on the air from the oblivious pair camped out on the banks of the stream. The assembled snake fayre were revolted. "Can we attack now?"

"Not yet," the leader of the lethal snakes hissed in the sub-audible language of the serpentine fae. "He iss sstill on the alert. Do you not ssee how he occassionally sscanss the meadow and the woodss, ssearching for enemiess? If he sseess uss before we are closse enough, we will not have time to get to the human."

The others slunk down deeper into the bracken. They did not dare risk shifting into their snake-form yet, and hiding out amidst the ferns and pine needles of the forest floor was uncomfortable in their more humanoid shape. But once in serpent form, they would only be able to focus on their goal - sinking swiftly lethal fangs into the human's body (and if threatened, the prince's). Deep into a vein where the poison would spread with the pumping of the human's empty heart. She would be dead before her pathetic mortal mind even registered that she'd been bitten.

"Well, when then?" Another fae-serpent demanded. This was one of the new ones that had arrived after the silver-eyed Elf, the liason between the assassins and their employer, had left the woods. Five dipsa were dangerous, but it wasn't a guaranteed success against Nuada Silverlance. Several other snakes had slithered into the woods to join their cold-blooded fellows throughout the day. "Just ssitting here iss boring. And the otherss have probably already sstaked out their targetss and disspatched them!"

Their leader bared delicate, pearlescent fangs in warning, and the mutinous dipsa subsided. "Ssoon enough," he hissed when his fellows had finally gotten quiet. "We will sstrike ssoon enough. When the prince iss no longer paying ssuch sstrick attention. Now be ssilent."

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Over the course of the day, Nuada showed Dylan many of the wonders of a wild forest: a tiny flock of demi-fey sipping nectar from trumpeting morning glory, their gently-fanning gossamer wings a blur of iridescent colors; the mother fox and her kits that crept through the tall grass of the meadow; tiny schools of silver minnows darting through the water. He pointed out wild Irish roses and showed her a wild cherry tree veiled in ivory bloom. Taught her to recognize the beautiful whistling cry of a bird called a plover. Allowed her to meet a band of otters playing in a nearby pool - otters who turned out to be water fae in disguise, who were quite happy to splash around with a mortal two-legger. He even showed her how to coax a bluejay from its nest, though she wisely didn't try to touch the bright blue feathers. Birds didn't mind Elven smells, but human smells were something else entirely.

The midday meal consisted of a lot of different fruit that grew in the woods. She loved pretty much all of it, even though she didn't know what most of it was. Her favorite part, however, was when Nuada cracked open a pomegranate and tossed her half. Her favorite fruit of all time was a pomegranate seed.

She was only on the sixth seed when she noticed feral eyes watching her. "What?"

"You remind me of her," he said suddenly. His voice was soft, almost far away, and there was an odd look in his eyes.

Dylan blinked. "Who?"

"Persephone," he murmured. "Goddess of spring. You're in blue jeans in the middle of a fey forest - wearing one of my shirts, I might add - and you sit there, looking so regal even though your feet are covered in dirt, and you just... remind me. Why can't all of your people be as you are?"

"There are better people out there than me, Nuada. You just haven't found them yet. And the ones who are worse serve an important purpose - to teach the rest of the world compassion and help us find strength." Then she grinned. "Besides, just think how boring the world would be if everyone was the same," she said, and popped in another seed.

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After the meal, the Elven warrior took most of the rest of the day to teach her the basics of self-defense, both in hand-to-hand and with her dirk. His twin-dagger against her knife made them theoretically equal in a fight. In truth, every strike of silver on silver sent painful shockwaves up her arm. Nuada was even being gentle. Her hand was still half numb by the end of the lesson on blocking attacks. Offensive manuevers were easier. A knowledge of humanoid anatomy helped a lot.

"The blade goes here, right here, in between the ribs." His hands covered hers gently as he brought the dirk to his chest. "Move your hand, just a little, a flick of the wrist, and sever the aorta. Or push, a little harder through the visceral pericardium. Withdraw the blade and they will bleed out in-"

"Seconds," Dylan finished, voice barely above a whisper, hands steady where once they trembled. What Nuada wasn't saying, but what they both knew, was that if she were to have a chance to actually use her blade, it would have to be with the element of surprise. She was quick for a human, yes. But Elves were faster than she could ever hope to be. It was more luck than anything that had enabled her to get in a few good slashes at the rougarou intent on hurting 'Sa'ti. Dylan had a feeling that the inherent fragility to her mortal state worried Nuada more than he let on to her.

"Be careful to avoid the sternum," the Elven warrior added. If he'd heard or guessed his lady's thoughts, he didn't let on. "The cartilage at the tip is tricky. Get your blade caught there, you will not have it long, and it won't drop your enemy or even seriously wound him. Since you're a bit smaller than those you'd be fighting against, always strike underhanded."

Then he plucked the dirk from her hand and tested the balance and weight for a moment before slipping it into the sheath at her waist. "Remind me when we return to Findias to make you a twin-dagger, like mine. There will be times you will not be able to go openly armed. You'll want something small and easily hidden." He showed her the more slender blade. "There is no crossguard, so you must be careful not to cut yourself."

Nuada slipped an arm around her waist and drew her close. Dylan found herself momentarily distracted by the sun-warmed bare skin of his chest, since he hadn't put his shirt back on yet. Up close, in the bright spring sunshine, she saw that the smooth moony color she'd always taken for granted was speckled in places by what looked like tiny spots of soft tawny and pale gray, almost like...

"Are those freckles on your shoulders?" A delighted grin unfurled across her face. "How did I not notice those before? You have freckles."

"I-" He broke off when Dylan reached up to touch one of the marks on his shoulder. The pad of her finger alighted on Nuada's skin, delicate as the touch of a butterfly wing, warm as a kiss of sunlight. He wanted to follow the path of her fingertip with his eyes, but that would mean looking away from the entranced and entrancing gaze that currently held him captive. The prince felt himself falling into that impossibly beautiful blue while Dylan's touch sent tiny sparks humming under his skin.

"That is just... so neat," she murmured, oblivious to the effect she was having on him. A gentle flick of her finger across his skin had him sucking in a sharp breath. Dylan was so absorbed in her perusal that she didn't even notice. She was entranced by the warmth of his skin under her fingertip. "I'd never noticed before. You have freckles; that's so cute."

Cute. Did she have any idea what a blow that was to his ego? The Elven warrior cleared his throat and ordered in what he hoped was a stern voice, "Pay attention."

"Oh!" She jerked her fingers back. "Sorry. Focusing now."

"Thank you. Anyway... what you did the night Eamonn came to the cottage was very clever, Dylan." He pretended not to see the shadows flicker behind her eyes. "If such a thing ever happens again, you have to make sure you can get to your knife or your enemy's. At this angle, drive the blade upwards," and he pressed two fingers up into a point to the left of her spine, right over her kidney. It didn't hurt, but she knew if he pushed much harder it would start to. "Drive the knife in, right here, and he'll drop without a sound. The shock will bring him down instantly."

There were also a few tricks to be learned with the pommel of the dirk, how to break an opponent's nose or breastbone with the cairngorm storm and drive the bone fragments into either brain or heart. Nuada briefly entertained the notion of teaching her a few hilt-taps to knock unconscious rather than to kill. Dismissed it. Giving her that option at this point would have been unwise. So he merely focused on the easiest means of defending herself with both blades.

When they moved onto hand-to-hand, he taught her a few basic joint-locks and several ways to break a man's grip. "Best place to aim for when breaking a man's grip is a hyeol, a pressure-point." He took her hand and pressed her thumb just beneath his Adam's apple. "Push down and force someone to the ground. Push in, and collapse the windpipe."

After that the Elven warrior showed the mortal how to deaden a man's arm by digging her fingers into the pressure-point between the biceps, and how to numb a hand and force open a tight grip using the weak spot in the wrist and on the hand where thumb and forefinger bones joined. Dylan was already a mistress of scratching and biting, but he made sure she knew the best ways to use those skills. Human defense classes had taught her palm-strikes to the face and other vulnerable spots. Finally, he taught her how to land a decent kick.

"You have long legs," the warrior informed her. "You should use them."

"Kicking things makes my knee hurt," Dylan told him flatly. "Whenever I kick stuff I usually fall down." And she realized suddenly that she'd forgotten to take her medicine that morning, though Becan had been kind enough to pack it. Ah, well. As long as she didn't push herself too hard, her leg would be fine.

Nuada sighed and put his hands on her hips. "Put your bad leg forward," he commanded. As she slid her foot toward him, he felt the way her muscles flexed under his palms. He laid a hand lightly on the outside of her thigh. Slight pressure stopped her from putting the foot too far forward. "Leave your weight on your good leg. You are less likely to fall." Dylan obediently shifted her weight. "How high can you kick comfortably?"

Nuada's hands were heavy and warm, even through the fabric of her jeans. Firm and gentle as he helped position her body. "How high do you want me to kick?"

They locked eyes, mischievous blue and firegold. "Do not kick me there." She grinned. His own mouth twitched a little. "Show me your range; move slowly."

Carefully, she pivoted and brought up her foot so her heel connected with his hip. He immediately grabbed her ankle. She squeaked and tried to jerk her foot out of his grip, and nearly fell. He shifted her foot up so that her heel pressed against his lower ribs. She windmilled, struggling not to fall. "Nuada!"

"Balance," he ordered without pity. "Stop flailing and balance. Straighten out your leg." When she finally managed to stand there, precariously balanced in front of the prince, Nuada said, "You made mistakes. You projected the blow. I could have dodged it easily. When you kick someone, connect with this part of your foot." He ran the tip of his finger from her scarred heel, along the delicate arch, to the ball of her foot. A shiver ghosted down her spine. "The whole thing. You can hurt yourself the other way, especially against an Elf or another strong fae."

The Elven warrior released her ankle and she finally regained true balance. "Okay. So how do I kick so I don't fall down or hurt myself? And what am I aiming for?"

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Nuada made her practice everything for the next few hours until she actually managed to escape his grip thrice. The first time was sheer luck. The second, she surprised him by slamming her heel viciously into his thigh before digging it in deep. A ball of white-hot fire ripped bone deep. Nauseating waves of pain raked through Nuada's leg from knee to hip and he let her go mostly out of sheer surprise. She promptly planted her elbow in his solar plexus twice, driving the wind out of him.

Dylan blushed when the Elf prince snarled something uncomplimentary in savage undertones, but she knew he wasn't talking to her. It took him a moment to get his breath back. Finally he managed to wheeze, "What did you do?"

"Traumatized your saphenous nerve," she explained, crouching in front of him. She laid a gentle hand on his thigh. Probed the pain-tightened thigh muscles with deft fingers. Nuada's breath hissed between his teeth. "Learned about it in med school. It's right..." She probed his thigh. "There." Dylan pressed the ball of her thumb into the spot and the Elf prince grunted at the sudden stab of pain. "Hurts like blue fire, huh? Hit it in just the right spot and you can take down a full-grown man. Well, a full-grown human. I'm surprised you haven't heard that. It's hard to do, though. That was a lucky shot for me. The last time I tried that, I did it wrong and it didn't work."

"You've tried this on someone else?" He demanded, wondering if he ought to feel proud that she'd incapacitated an attacker or sympathetic that she'd brutalized a sparring partner.

"Once," she said softly, pressing to loosen the muscles.

"Who was the lucky victim?"

After a long moment, she replied in a too-casual voice, "My ex-boyfriend." Her smile was a bit forced when she added, "Only that time I did it with my toes since we were face to face. I missed the nerve. Got his balls, though." Dylan flicked her eyes to Nuada's face for a moment before returning her gaze to what she was doing. "He wasn't as understanding as you are of the whole Law of Chastity thing."

Fury coiled like a vicious snake in his belly as he realized exactly what she meant. It took him a moment to calm himself enough that he could speak without snarling at her. "Did he... did he hurt you?"

"He tried," she said. "But I'm scary and fierce, remember? Always have been. So," she added with false cheer. "Ready for more practice?"

The third and final time she managed to escape Nuada's grip, her blow actually caught him in the mouth.

"I'm sorry," she squeaked as the Elf prince spat a mouthful of amber blood on the grass. "I'm so sorry. Are you okay?" Dylan reached up and tentatively touched the cut on his bottom lip. "Sorry."

He smiled at her, wincing a little when his lip stung. "Don't be. It was well-done." He swiped at the tiny trickle of blood running down his chin. "And, as you sometimes say, third time's the charm. You broke my hold three times; very well done. I'm proud of you. Are you tired?"

"My leg's threatening to give out, actually," she mumbled, feeling her weak knee trembling a little. Nuada helped her sit down on the grass against one of the large upright stones and offered her a drink from the waterskin, which she gratefully accepted. "You know I'm not going to be able to remember all of this," she said when her throat no longer felt like it was coated in grit. "Are all my self-defense lessons going to be this difficult?"

"That's what practice is for. And this was not difficult, my lady," Nuada informed her. "Life in the army was worse, I assure you. Even for a prince." At her inquiring look, he added, "Blistering heat in summer, frigid cold in winter. Carrying gear that weighs nearly as much as you do. Military drills when all you want to do is sleep. Day after day on horseback." His voice grew soft and strangely empty when he added almost in a whisper, "Trying to run ahead of pain and misery and loss, but always two steps behind. A life of endless marching to battles that choked the world with blood and grief, battles that never saved anything, but only wasted lives."

He trailed off and did not speak for a long moment. Dylan hesitantly reached out and brushed her fingertips over his wrist. "Nuada. Hey. Come back to me."

Nuada shook himself, shoving down the memories of the final war against the children of men. "Forgive me. Sometimes the memories... well. It matters little." The smile he offered her did not reach his eyes. "Forgive me for neglecting you, mo mhuire. Lean back and I'll see to your leg."

"You don't have to-" She broke off when he leveled a look at her. "Never mind."

While she reclined against one of the large moss-covered boulders on the river's bank, Nuada massaged away the pain in her bad knee. As his fingers kneaded and pressed and soothing magic eased the pain, Dylan leaned her head back to let the sun warm her face. The Elf prince's fingers were firm but gentle as they massaged the pain away. Every so often the heel of his palm would brush against her knee, sending pinpricks of electric warmth dancing beneath the skin. She could feel the shadows moving over her skin when Nuada shifted position, his broad shoulders blocking the sun and allowing a coolness to slide along her legs.

"So," she murmured after a few moments of silence. "If you want to tell me... when were you in the army?"

"A very long time ago," he said softly. Memories of bloodshed and battle tried to take him, but he focused instead on the smells of the forest and the warmth of Dylan's skin under his hands, the worn roughness of the rolled-up denim when his fingers brushed against the cuffed jeans. "Before my exile."

"Can I ask you a question?"

"In a moment. Bend your knee." She did as he ordered, and Nuada asked, "How does that feel?"

"Lovely," she replied, smiling. "Doesn't hurt at all. Thank you."

He moved to sit beside her. The smooth expanse of stone was pleasantly warm against his back. The stream gurgled happily on the other side of the rock. Dylan laid her cheek against his shoulder, and without thinking Nuada laid his own cheek against the top of her head. She melted against him, as limp and cuddly as a sleepy kitten. He nuzzled his cheek against her hair for a moment. Inhaled the scent of her shampoo, honeysuckle and primroses.

Everything was so simple just then. The warmth of her pressed to him, the silken slide of her shirtsleeve along his arm, her hair tumbling against his shoulder and lightly tickling his neck. So simple. So easy. Why could it not stay this way?

"You had a question, milady?" He asked to shove away the insidious yearning trying to take root in his chest.

She scootched a little closer. "Why did your father send you into exile?"

Dylan knew as soon as the words were out of her mouth that asking them had been a mistake. Nuada stiffened, tensing so much she wondered that he didn't snap. He stopped nuzzling her hair and pulled back without saying anything. After a long and tense silence, she said tentatively, "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. I was just wondering. And you always talk about 'before my exile' and 'after my exile' so I just... just wondered..." There was something awful in his eyes now, and a cold fist squeezed her heart when she realized she'd been the one to put it there. "Nuada, I'm sorry."

The prince looked away. "Do not be sorry. It is a logical question." He did not mean to answer it, but then she laid her fingers across his. A subtle touch that demanded nothing. A silent apology. It amazed him, how much she could convey with a single touch of her hand. He could feel her heartbeat through her fingers. Feel the hum of her blood beneath her skin. Nuada focused on that, instead of the sudden gnawing biting pain in his chest. No. No, not here. That grief had no place here.

"My father did not send me into exile," he confessed. To Dylan's eyes, the words almost seemed to strike him like blows. "I chose to go."

Gentle fingers touched his jaw, and a soft inexorable pressure turned his face toward her so that he had no choice but to look into her eyes. "He didn't try to stop you," she murmured. "Something happened, and it broke your heart. You would never leave your people and your family for something that wasn't extremely important. It broke your heart and he didn't even try..." The look in those firegold eyes, bleak as endless winter, made her own eyes sting. She brushed a caress across his cheek. What could she do? What could she say, to get that terrible look out of his eyes? Gently, she asked, "What happened?"

He opened his mouth, wanting to tell her everything. How the Master of the Sigri, the Bethmooran clan of goblin blacksmiths, had come to Balor with the idea of an unstoppable weapon. An army of golden clockwork soldiers without mercy or weakness. Seventy-times-seventy soldiers. Seventy-times-seventy still-bleeding scars on his heart, seventy-times-seventy unforgiveable sins on his soul. But desperation had driven him to urge his father to accept the burden of commanding the Golden Army. Would Dylan understand that he'd had no choice? Would she understand that he had no choice now? Not if his people were to survive much longer. Or would his lady, his love, withdraw from him when she learned just why his father and sister called him a monster?

"Let it be, Dylan," he whispered, unable to meet her eyes any longer. "It doesn't matter now."

She took his hand and brought it to her lips. He was always kissing her hand; it was about time, she decided, to return the favor. Then she pressed his palm against her cheek and forced Nuada to meet her eyes once more.

"When something hurts you, Nuada, it will always matter to me. Always." Dylan turned her face into his hand, lightly nuzzling her cheek against the callused palm. "If you ever need... anything, I'm here. But you don't have to tell me if you don't want to. We'll do something else." Smiling a little, she asked, "Want to go swimming?"

"I'd like that, actually," he said, grateful to and for her. "Shall we?"

.

Those idiots, the lead dipsa grumbled silently, glaring at the assembled serpents. The afternoon heat had put them into a drowsy stupor. There weren't even anymore complaints about the reconnaissance taking too long. Just sleepy appreciation of the sun's warmth. At their core, the lethal snake fae were still cold-blooded reptiles. But had any of them seen what the Silver Lance was trying to show the human? Not that the mortal was in any way a threat, but... maybe there was more to her than the serpents had originally thought. Or else why would the Elven warrior bother attempting to train her?

Well, it didn't matter. Or it mattered little enough. They had a mission - to rip out the mighty Silverlance's heart in every way possible. It seemed, from what their employer had told them, that the prince's heart held just enough space for a few very special people. The princess, of course. But killing her wouldn't hurt the prince. It would simply kill him.

But there were a few others that the prince loved. His mortal toy and her twin brother. The cave troll who served him as royal guard and vassal. And apparently, three ewah who now served the prince as well. A youth, a young boy, and a little girl. It seemed the prince had a whole new little family.

And it seemed as if, by dawn tomorrow, he was going to lose it.

.

Stretched out on a large flat-topped stone by the stream, trying to dry her sopping wet clothes in the sun, Dylan lazily kicked her feet in the water and ran her fingers over the soft blades of grass where Nuada sprawled with his hands behind his head, eyes closed. Dylan watched the even rise and fall of his chest with each breath. Watched the way the sun glinted on the drops of water still clinging to his skin. Smiled when a butterfly dropped down to the prince's nose for a moment, fanned its brilliantly amber wings, and then took off when it realized its perch was not a tasty flower.

Swimming had involved Nuada cutting through the water with all the grace of a swan and her watching him from a safe perch on one of the boulders until he'd yanked her into the water. Both adults had promptly shucked the bonds of being grown-up and engaged in a splashing war. She'd even gotten him to play a couple of games of Marco Polo with her. Of course the human lost to superior Elven senses. He had even taught her how to float, which she'd never learned to do.

Now Dylan smiled at the memory and watched Nuada lounging, his trousers still rolled up to his knees. It seemed like all traces of the conversation about his father had vanished like night mist in the morning sun. She certainly wasn't going to bring the subject up again. At least not while they were supposed to be enjoying themselves. Instead she focused on studying a part of Nuada's body that she had never really paid attention to before - his calves.

She'd seen him naked before - though she could never think of those rare times in the underground sanctuary without blushing furiously, and so tried not to think of them at all if she could help it - but his most common mode of dress around her seemed to be in pants, minus a shirt. She'd never really gotten a chance to look at him in any other way, so she took the opportunity now.

He was so handsome, but not in the way people thought of the word now. Strong features, long limbs, with the well-defined muscles of a warrior. Scars. So many of them. Not as many as she had, of course. But then, Nuada was a warrior. Dylan was not. The things that attacked her had an easier time ripping her to pieces. Her scars were ugly, thick and thin, crisscrossing over each other in places, marring what would be somewhat decent skin if not for the rough marks. Nuada's scars were different - most of them long and slender as a knife blade, pale as rigid moonstone silk across his skin. Handsome. The marks of a warrior.

The Elven warrior bore a thick, somewhat ragged white scar that she'd never seen before, slicing across the calf muscle of his right leg. Dylan longed to trace it with her fingers as she had some of his other battle scars, but she wasn't sure the attention would be welcome at the moment. Wasn't sure it would be a good idea, even if Nuada did welcome the touch. But she imagined it would feel just the way the one on his shoulder had - slightly raised, a path into his memory, into what had made him who he was now, and warm to her touch.

"What are you thinking about?" Nuada asked suddenly, breaking her thoughts like water on stone. The prince didn't open his eyes. "You're so quiet over there."

She smiled somewhat shyly, a little embarrassed when she confessed, "You."

Dark lips quirked into a smile. One honey-gold eye opened to regard her with affection. "You do wonders for my ego, mo duinne."

Dylan laughed. "As if your ego needs any help from me," she retorted, sliding off the large stone to sit in the grass so she could be a bit closer to him. The golden light of late afternoon glinted off the Elf's tawny eyelashes and the light dusting of hair on his chest. She realized she'd never paid much attention to Nuada's eyelashes before. Like on most men, they were much longer than hers, thick and golden against the darkness that stained the skin around his eyes. His brows were the same pale gold, arching over the deep-set eyes.

Why am I suddenly so hyper-aware of him? Dylan wondered when she found herself wishing she could reach out and trace his features. It's almost like... like I've never seen him before. What is it about this place that makes him look so different?

Trying to distract herself from the prince's looks, she asked, "Nuada, would you... would you tell me a story?"

Now both eyes opened to regard her for a moment. "A story?" He echoed. She nodded. "Any one in particular?" When Dylan shook her head, Nuada pursed his lips in thought. "Hmm. Do you know the tale of the each uisge of Loch Garve?"

"Nope," she said, stretching out on her stomach on the grass and propping her chin on both fists. "Tell me that one. Please?"

He smiled at her, and Dylan was reminded that most of Nuada's smiles didn't quite reach his eyes or dispel the sorrow and anger that always seemed to smolder there. This one did, though. It filled her veins with warmth like liquid gold and made something soft fizz in her stomach. "All right, then," he said. "Nuair a bhí..."

Once there was...

Nuada tried not to look at Dylan as he spun a tale his mother had often read to him and his sister. A tale of the each uisge, or water-horse, of Loch Garve and how he had taken a beautiful mortal maiden as his wife. As a child, he'd thought the tale ridiculous. It had been a love story, after all. After his mother's death, he'd found it revolting. A fae and a human? Yet here he was, relaying the old Scottish myth to his own mortal lady. So he told her of how the water-horse's lady had grown sad and wan in the cold underwater home of the faerie lord and longed for just a bit of warmth. Because he loved her, the each uisge found a fayre mason who built him a chimney beneath the water to keep his house warm.

"And that is why," Nuada said, smiling at Dylan's obvious delight in the simple story, "the waters of Loch Garve never freeze completely, even in the deepest and coldest winter, for to this day the water-horse's chimney keeps the waters of the loch warm for his truelove."

"I like that," she said, rolling onto her back and pillowing her head on her arms. The drowsy warmth of the late afternoon and the exertions of the day, combined with the rich timbre of Nuada's voice, were making her a little sleepy. "That's sweet. I like love stories. Please tell me another one."

"Greedy," Nuada teased her.

She shrugged. "I like hearing you talk," his lady confessed. "And you tell wonderful stories, and you tell them so well. Please?"

"Very well," he said. "Do you know the story of the maiden and the selkie?"

Her smile bloomed. "Nope."

"Well, then, once there was..."

The Elf prince told her the story of the human maiden who wed a selkie lord and became a seal maiden so they could be together in the underwater kingdom of the seal-fae; of the golden-furred zlatarog, a faerie stag, and his mortal sister who married an Elf prince after defeating an evil witch; of Hans the grovelhog and the magic of his prickles, which hurt everyone but the woman he loved (this had always been Nuala's favorite story); and even a tale about a beautiful mortal woman in a rabbit-skin dress who fell in love and married a faerie prince after proving she was the maiden he had seen in his dreams.

"You tell wonderful stories," Dylan murmured at the end of the last tale. Her voice slurred with tiredness, but there was a smile beneath her words. "I bet you could be a bard or something."

"I'm not so good as all that, sweetheart," he said, trying not to preen. How was it that the simplest praise from her could make him feel as if he'd accomplished something spectacular? "The tales are from the book I gave you; I memorized them long ago. But you're falling asleep. We should get back to the carriage."

"Not yet," she mumbled. "It's so nice here..." She trailed off as a strange, suddenly icy feeling slipped down her spine, wrenching her back to complete awareness. Her eyes had been closed, but she snapped them open now. Blinked at the light of the sun balancing atop the trees surrounding the meadow. Why did she suddenly feel so cold? A shiver traipsed along her backbone and she sat up.

Nuada propped himself up on his elbow. "Dylan? What's wrong?"

"I don't know," the mortal whispered, shoving at her hair with one hand. "I... I'm not sure. I've just suddenly got this... this..." She paused. Tried to process exactly what she was feeling. A chill whisper of warning coiled in her chest. "Something's wrong. I don't know what, but something's wrong." Frowning, she met Nuada's eyes. Her tone held a wealth of apology when she said, "I'm sorry, I think... I think maybe we should leave."

The prince began to sit up. "Of course, if that's what you- Dylan, don't move!"

She'd already frozen at the first touch of something cool and smooth and dust-dry against her foot. Swallowing against the sudden lump of screaming terror in her throat that threatened to strangle her, Dylan looked down into the emotionless slitted eyes of the opalescent snake slithering along her ankle. The triangular head slid along her skin, the scales smooth as polished bone. A whip-thin black tongue flicked out to taste the air. The tongue just brushed her calf, leaving a stinging cold burning along one of her scars. Her heart slammed against her ribs hard enough to bruise. Struggling to breathe evenly, she whispered, "Nuada."

"Do not move," he whispered. Slowly, so slowly that at first she wasn't even sure he was moving, his fingers went to the lance in the grass at his side. "Hold very still." The Elven warrior tasted acrid terror on the back of his tongue as he watched the dipsa serpent slowly sliding along Dylan's leg. If it bit her... if its fangs so much as nicked her skin, that close to the long vein in her leg... she would die before she even realized she'd been bitten. Ice-cold sweat dampened Nuada's palms as he slowly wrapped his fingers around the hilt of his lance.

A flicker of movement caught Dylan's eye. Her breathing hitched. The snake hissed at her with its frigid tongue again. She whispered, "Nuada, I think... I think there are more." She swallowed, nearly choking on her heart pounding in her throat. "Something's moving in the grass."

"Just hold still," he commanded through gritted teeth. The haft of the lance slowly extended a few inches with a whisper of leather sliding against Nuada's skin. "No sudden moves."

The snake's head seemed to almost split in two as the dark seam of its mouth cracked open, widening and widening as its fangs extended from the gums, glistening with venom. A drop hit the grass. A wisp of smoke puffed up from the ground. Dylan whispered, "Nuada."

"Hold perfectly still," the Elven warrior said, and lunged.

The snake darted forward, fangs fully extended.

A shunk as Elven silver sliced through the sinewy body and spine made Dylan jerk back despite Nuada's command to be still. A deft flick of the prince's wrist turned the lance-blade, so that the flat of the blade caught the severed snake head and flicked it away from the mortal's exposed flesh. She gasped as another ribbon of iridescent scales lunged out of the grass in a lightning-strike. Mid-leap, the creature shifted into humanoid form and bared poisonous claws. A second, third, and fourth human-shaped dipsa serpent both lunged for the prince as well. Sunlight glanced off the venom-slicked claws.

Dylan tried to cry out a warning, but only managed a squeak as she choked on the thundering of her heart in her throat. She scrambled to her feet and drew her dirk as another dipsa lunged for her. One thought crystallized in her mind as the snake-fae bared its fangs. If it bites me, I'm dead. Then she ducked to the side the way Nuada had shown her. Stumbled when she put her weight on her bad leg, still shaky from the self-defense lesson.

That stumble saved Dylan's life. As the dipsa lurched past her, she struck out wildly with the dirk. The blade slashed a deep gouge in the dipsa's scaled torso. Pain caused it to stumble a few feet past her. Gritting her teeth against her own pain, she lashed out and kicked the diminutive poisonous fae, planting her foot high on its body where the spine met the base of the skull. It jerked forward and fell to the grass while the mortal staggered backwards, darts of fire biting into her bad leg and racing through her thigh from the abused hamstring.

Oh, that hurts, she thought as her legs threatened to buckle. Don't fall, she ordered herself, even as she sank to one knee. Dizziness from the sudden pain in her already-abused leg made her head swim. The grip on her dirk made her fingers ache. Get up, get up, get up.

A spike of ice through her chest had her lunging to her feet and swallowing a scream as black waves of pain raced through her leg when it twisted awkwardly under her. She narrowly missed another serpent faerie snaking forward to sink fang into her shoulder. She flinched and whipped the dirk up without thinking in a completely graceless maneuver. The reptilian fae's own weight drove the point of the blade into its throat. Its open mouth barely missed closing around her arm. Icy, milky-white blood gushed over her hand, leaving her grip on the dirk slippery. Dylan barely managed to hold onto it when the snake fell, almost dragging the knife out of her hand.

Nuada blocked and then beheaded the first pair of the four dipsa serpents trying for him. The third darted in low. The prince leapt over the short fae, planting a foot square in the center of the spine and driving the serpent into the ground. A quick thrust of his lance pierced between the ribs to find the heart. Just before the fourth one could sink its teeth into the Elven warrior's calf - where the other dipsa serpent had bitten him more than a year ago - Nuada whipped down with the lance shaft, smashing the haft down hard on the snake's spine, breaking its neck. He finished it off by severing its head.

Dylan stumbled back from the snapping jaws of another dipsa and landed hard on the ground. From the corner of her eye, she saw Nuada's head jerk around to catch sight of her half-sprawled on the grass. He started toward her. More than half a dozen bone-white scaled fae lunged between the Elf and the mortal and then all of Dylan's attention was taken up by the dipsa snake scrambling toward her. She instinctively lashed out with her foot and caught the reptilian faerie in the chest. It staggered back, but the force of the blow sent waves of numbness crashing through her leg. The sickening pins-and-needles feeling stabbed deep, warring with the pain already smoldering under her skin.

She hauled herself up on the large boulders lining the stream. Tried to force trembling limbs to hold her weight as her hand shook so hard she nearly dropped her dirk. Heavenly Father, help me, she prayed desperately as the pale faerie advanced on her again. Help us.

Dodging a potentially lethal swipe of filthy claws aimed at his jugular, the Elven warrior ducked under the outstretched arm of his enemy and drove the briefly-shortened half-spear up into the exposed torso and into the cold heart. On the backswing he lengthened the spear, jamming the haft into the next enemy's sternum. Bone shattered, driving into the heart. A third fell under a decapitating lance stroke.

He didn't think about why there were so many of the reptilian assassins, or how they had found him. Didn't think about anything except dispatching one after the other until none remained standing, and the fact that Wink's presence would have been a very big help just then.

And he thought of Dylan. Her name pounded through his skull in time with the blood and adrenaline pounding through his veins. Fear for her, acrid and chill and almost paralyzing, spread through his blood like poison. He couldn't get to her. Couldn't reach her. Didn't have time to try and catch a glimpse as another serpent leapt for him. But he'd seen her fall. Seen one of the enemy advancing on her. What if... what if...

No, he snarled silently, lance-point driving deep into another dipsa's throat and ripping sideways. No. Not her. No. A pair of serpents went down in two splashy gouts of icy blood. No. I'll not lose her. I will not. Another opponent separating him from Dylan went down with a shattered skull. No!

Her own fear kept Dylan's screams trapped in her throat. Pain pulsed through her body, and exhaustion. The air seared her lungs as she struggled to breathe and think and keep moving. Her hands were sticky with cold, white blood. Her fingers ached and her heartbeat thundered in her ears.

Yet somehow, through the throttling terror and the breathless panic clawing at her insides, Dylan managed to find an odd stillness inside herself, a place beyond fatigue. Beyond any emotion except the sudden, burning anger smoldering in her chest. This was supposed to have been something special, something just for her and Nuada before things went to heck in a handbasket again. This was supposed to be something good. A time when Nuada could just relax and be safe and happy and not have to worry about anything. Especially someone trying to hurt him. This should have been something precious. And these snakes had ruined it.

Was Nuada hurt? Had they hurt him? Bitten him? She remembered how very sick he had been, obvious to her even though he'd been trying to hide it, those first weeks in his underground sanctuary. Metal-poisoning had had a hand in it, but he'd also been bitten by a dipsa a few months before. If one of the serpents managed to sink their fangs into him, what would happen? Would it slow him down enough that he'd lose this battle?

Dylan didn't dare take her attention away from the fight long enough to look, but the sudden surge of fear and dark anger had her tightening her grip on the dirk's hilt. If they hurt him... if they even scratched him...

The snake she'd kicked in the chest hissed and lunged forward. It tried to rake her with its claws, tried to grab her legs with its ice-cold hands. She felt its grip on her ankle. Felt the claws pressing against her skin, pressing and pressing, as if the thing were moving in slow-motion. Another second and those poisonous claws would break the skin. The venom was already burning her. Dylan twisted and slammed her fist, preceded by the pommel of her dirk, into the space between the dipsa's eyes. It made a strangled hissing noise as white blood suddenly gushed from its slitted nostrils. Its hands spasmed once before releasing her, and the snake fell to the ground.

Another - the one she'd kicked in the back of the head - rushed her, clearly furious that a mere human had managed to knock it unconscious even for a few brief moments.

Thought I killed that stupid thing, Dylan surprised herself by thinking before instinct and panic took over and she was scrambling to scoot back from the enraged serpent fae. The line of boulders were sharp and slick with water the further along the bank she backed up. Her hands kept slipping, cutting small gouges in her palms. Tiny sparks of pain tingled up her arms in soft counterpoint to the heat smoldering over the skin on her calves and the fire searing her bad leg.

Dylan put her empty hand down wrong, slicing a deep cut from just under the pinkie to the ball of her thumb. The sudden sharp burning surprised her. Knocked her off-balance enough that she fell from her perch on the boulders to the grassy river bank in a flailing of limbs. The tip of the dirk sliced a long, shallow cut along the top of her thigh. Her face landed on several tiny stones. A handful of little cuts peppered her cheek with drops of blood.

The enraged serpent was on her in an instant, its weight crushing her chest and one hand pinning her left arm while its fangs darted toward her throat. She squeezed her eyes shut. Braced to feel frigid teeth ripping into her carotid. And in a last-ditch effort, she whipped her right hand up and tried to drive the dirk into the side of the dipsa's throat.

She missed, and the blade skittered across its cheekbone and slashed its face. The creature screeched and jerked away from her. It clapped a hand to its face, keening, and struggled through the pain to get back on its feet. Dylan took what was supposed to be a deep breath but felt more like a terrified gasp. Tightened her grip on the knife. Lunged forward. The weight of her body drove her knife between the ribs, and her fear and fury jerked it sideways, into the visceral pericardium. Into the reptilian heart. A short twisting motion pierced the aorta.

The dipsa jerked once. Arterial spray splashed Dylan's hands and shirt. The snake's hand shuddered and dropped from its bleeding face. The slitted eyes stared at her uncomprehendingly for a long moment. Then the faerie slumped to the ground, again almost taking her knife with it.

The final snake lunged for the prince, swiping with claws that could've ripped the Elven warrior open to the bone. The prince brought his lance slicing downward. Silver arced across the snake's neck. Milky blood flooded from the slice across the serpent's jugular and the poisonous serpent fell to its knees before dropping sideways into the grass.

It took Dylan several moments to realize there were no more dipsa in the meadow. No more enemies trying to kill her and Nuada. Gulping strangely frigid air that burned her throat, she slowly crawled backwards onto the river stone she'd fallen from moments before. Drew her knees up to her chest despite the nauseating pain in her bad knee and the burning fire ripping through her right arm and left hand. Stared at the dead dipsa serpents. Smears of ivory blood stained the lush green grass. Gleamed wetly on lance- and dirk-blade. Her own blood stained her cut jeans, the bandage on her arm, her face.

Nuada stood, breathing heavily, a few feet away. Sweat plastered strands of silvery-blond hair to his neck and back. Milky blood spattered his bare chest. He held his lance in a grip so tight Dylan was vaguely surprised she didn't hear the haft creaking under the pressure. Firegold eyes scanned the meadow for anymore telltale movements, but there were none.

With a shhhinking sound, the Silver Lance retracted to a half-spear again. Nuada carefully wiped the blade on his pants-leg before finally meeting her eyes. Dylan's mouth went bone-dry at the strange fire burning in the depths of his feral bronze gaze. He stared at her for a very long moment. The meadow was unnaturally quiet, save for the harsh sound of the Elven warrior's breathing and the hammering of Dylan's own heart, thunderously loud in her ears.

"Are you hurt?" Nuada finally bit out, his voice almost a growl.

"I... I j-j-just cut myself. I'm okay."

"Did any of them bite you?" He demanded. She shook her head. "You are certain? You're certain none of them bit or scratched you?" She nodded, unable to speak. Nuada's eyes slid closed and he drew a shuddering breath before nodding. "Good. Put your shoes on and grab your bag. We're leaving." Bitterly, he added, "Someone sent those serpents, which means it is not safe here anymore."

Sudden warmth flooded Dylan's chest, pushing back slightly at the trembling shock that tried to wrap her in its icy grip. "Actually... I think it is." At his look, she added, "That cold warning feeling I had is completely gone. I don't think whoever sent the snakes is going to try anything else today."

He cocked his head, studying her. She was right that the assassins' employer would most likely not send anyone else for a while. To be certain, Nuada cast out with his senses (as he should have done regularly the entire time they were there, he silently berated himself), searching for sentience in the woods. There was nothing that shouldn't have been there. Firegold eyes went back to Dylan's far-too-pale face. Noted the tiny cuts on one cheek. "You are awfully calm."

"It's just a few snakes," she muttered, pushing at her hair with a hand that shook. Both hands were still slicked with blood - her own, and the dipsas'. "I mean, they were obviously poisonous - I know a dipsa when I see one - so one bite could've killed me flatter than dead in a few seconds but, I mean, they're just snakes, right?" Her voice shook as well, and shivers suddenly began racking her body. "Never mind that your dad probably sent them. Did anyone else know we were going to be here? Because only people who knew we were gonna be here can go on our suspect list, which makes it pretty short, so I'm thinking the king might have wanted to... I don't know. It doesn't matter anyway. I can handle snakes, I mean... I just... I..."

She looked down almost helplessly at the blood-smeared blade of her dirk. At her bloodied hands and the spatter so stark white and red against the green of her shirt. Then she burst into tears.

Nuada went to her, gently prying her white-knuckled fingers from the knife's hilt. First he took her bloody hands and dipped them in the stream, cleaning away the blood and inspecting the wounds she'd incurred. She'd been right - no scratches or bites from the dipsa. Her hands were sliced and scraped badly, though. Condemning his discarded shirt to the rag-bag, he tore off a strip of the dark linen and used it to bind the deep wound across Dylan's palm. Another set of ragged strips bound the wound on her thigh.

Then he cleaned her dirk, giving Dylan time to try and regain her composure, before returning it to her. She sheathed it with a trembling hand and sniffled.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, scrubbing at her cheek with a fist. The tears fell freely down her cheeks to stain the collar of her shirt. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I don't know what's wrong with me. I was just so scared one of them would h-hurt you or... I don't know, something. I felt so stupid and useless. I couldn't h-help you. And darn it," she growled at herself through her tears, the words wobbling, "I will not be hysterical about this. I'm going to stop right now." She pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes and willed herself to stop crying. Which did absolutely no good at all. The salt got into the scrapes on her palms and stung. She looked at her hands as if they'd betrayed her. "Ow." Then fresh tears rolled down her cheeks, and she covered her face again. "I'm sorry, this is pathetic, I'm sorry."

Nuada tugged her hands away from her face and forced her to look at him. "It is merely the let-down of adrenaline. It is nothing to be ashamed of."

Dylan looked away. "I don't see you crying. You weren't even scared."

He gripped her chin between thumb and forefinger and tilted her face up so she was forced to look at him. To her surprise, he looked almost angry.

"You think I was not?" Nuada demanded in a low, fierce whisper. "With those fangs so close to your skin, you think I was not afraid I was going to have to watch you die right before my eyes? Is that what you think? I was almost sick with fear," the Elven warrior confessed. "Even now I can still taste it, like cold iron on my tongue. For just a moment I thought you were going to die. I was... I..." To her surprise, Nuada had to squeeze his eyes shut for a moment. He rasped, "When I saw you fall, I... I did not think I would reach you in time. I thought you were going to die."

The prince wasn't sure what he expected as a result of his uplanned and unwilling confession. What he received was Dylan sliding her arms around his waist and burrowing against him, oblivious to the gore on her shirt and his skin, her face pressing into his shoulder and her own frail shoulders shaking with suppressed sobs.

"M'okay," she mumbled through the fresh tears. "M'okay. I'm sorry. We're okay. I'm sorry. That was really scary, I'm sorry." Her voice trembled when she whispered, "Nuada, someone sent them to kill us. Who would do that? Why would they do that? Someone tried to kill us."

Then, so softly he barely heard her, she whispered, voice nearly breaking, "Ní féidir liom stad chroitheadh. Tá mé chomh fuar. Nuada... Nuada, coinnigh dom, tabhair."

I can't stop shaking. I'm so cold. Nuada... Nuada, hold me, please.

He hadn't been aware of waiting for permission, of being afraid to put his arms around her. Afraid she might shatter at his lightest touch. But her words unlocked something in him that allowed him to gather Dylan up in his arms and drag her onto his lap so he could hold her as close and as tightly as he dared. She pressed her face against the crook of his neck. Her tears coursed hotly down his back. Nuada tangled his fingers in her hair and held her against him.

"Tá sé ceart go leor," he murmured tenderly. He stroked her hair and kept repeating, "Tá sé ceart go leor. Ciúin, anois. Ciúin. Tá tú sábháilte. Tá tú sábháilte anois. Ná bíodh scanraithe. Tá dhéanamh ceart go léir, a ghrá. Tá dhéanamh sábháilte anois. Tá sé ceart go leor. Ann, anois. Tá gach rud ceart go léir." He pressed her ice-cold hands to the heat of his chest, cupping them in his own hand to warm them. She shivered uncontrollably in his arms. "Tá tú chomh fuar, mo cridh. Tá do lámha mar oighear. Anseo, ceadaigh dom an te tú. Tá sé ceart go leor. Tá sé ceart go leor, a ghrá. Tá mé anseo. Tá sé ceart go leor."

The soothing words murmured in her ear helped to push back the icy numbness that had taken hold of her, the almost hysterical terror. It's all right, Nuada crooned so gently in Gaelic. It's all right. Hush, now. Hush. You're safe. You're safe now. Don't be afraid. Words and the soft stroke of his palm against her hair. She barely noticed his hand was shaking. We're all right, my love. We're safe now. It's all right. There, now. Everything is all right. It wasn't, she knew it wasn't, someone had tried to kill them, but the lullaby-timbre of his voice and the strength of his arms around her pushed back the mind-numbing fear and shock and helped her to slowly grow calmer. The heat of his body eased the bone-chilling cold locked inside of her. You're so cold, my heart. Your hands are like ice. Here, let me warm you. It's all right. It's all right, my love. I'm here. It's all right.

It was a mistake to hold her this way when his blood was up and still pumping hard from the near-brush with death. A mistake to let his lips brush the delicate shell of her ear as he whispered soothing nonsense and forced down his own reaction to what had almost happened. He ached to hold her closer, tighter. To let the instinct of life against death take possession of him. To coax her to give into that same instinct. But Dylan was shaking in reaction to the fight, clinging to him as if she thought he would vanish on the wind. How could he do anything but simply comfort her?

"They ruined it," she whispered once, her words slightly muffled against his throat. "I'm sorry. They messed up everything. I'm sorry."

And Nuada realized that it wasn't just the ebbing adrenaline that had her so upset. It was that they had been alone in this place, far from the world and everything and everyone who meant them harm. This was supposed to be a brief haven, a safe place. They'd thought they were safe.

And then this haven had been violated by the very things they'd come here to try and get away from for a while. Just another violation in a long line plaguing Dylan's life. The thought of that infuriated him. But he merely continued to murmur, "Ciúin, anois. Ciúin. Tá sé ceart go leor. Tá tú sábháilte. Ann, anois." Hush, now. Hush. It's all right. You're safe. There, now.

Once he slipped his arms around her, the weeping didn't last long. Perhaps that had been all she'd needed. Merely his embrace. He pressed his lips to her temple and she grew quiet after a time. Finally she drew a shaking breath. "I'm okay. Really." She drew back and swiped at the tear-tracks on her face with one hand. "Sorry about that, I just-"

Nuada laid a finger against her lips before she could apologize again. "I would have been concerned if you had not reacted this way."

"I've never killed anyone before," she confessed. "I mean... I've seen people die, but I've never killed anyone or anything myself. Not anything. Well, a spider or something. But nothing like that. There was all this blood and I just... I don't know. It's different from just fighting."

"Yes, it is," he said gently. The first man he'd ever killed, Nuada had been a youth of maybe fifteen centuries, just barely enlisted in the army. He'd been sick after. Some of the veterans had made fun of him. Aso, who'd been in his company, had not. She'd known that taking a life meant something. That killing nearly always left a scar on the soul, even when justified. So did Dylan, it seemed. It was no wonder she was shaking still. He'd have been surprised if she'd reacted any other way after slaying three opponents in the space of less than ten minutes. "It is different."

"You're okay, though," Dylan murmured after a moment. "Right?" The mortal gazed up at him, scanning his features. "You're not hurt, right?"

"No, sweetheart. I am not hurt. I'm fine."

She nodded slowly and sniffled a final time. "Okay, then. I'm okay. Everything's okay." She drew a deep breath. Let it out slowly. "Okay. Let's go."

Before they could leave the meadow, however, the Elf prince had to soothe the pain in Dylan's knee enough that she could walk. Once they reached the carriage, he could do something for the actual source of the pain.

Another set of shakes hit Dylan hard once they made it back to the carriage. Instead of staying in the main room with the bench seats, Nuada led her down the ensorcelled corridor into what looked like a small private dining room. Amber faerie lights warmed the room like candlelight. A cozy little table and pair of chairs looked inviting, but not as inviting as the little loveseat near a white stone fireplace. A fire crackled in the small hearth. Dylan found herself entranced by the dancing flames.

Magic could do so many impossible things, she thought dazedly, then blinked, realizing she was still in shock. Her mental status seemed to be ping-ponging between a dreamy haze and hideous nausea every time she caught sight of the smears of blood caked on her shirt and jeans. Reminded of the fight, Dylan swallowed hard.

"I..." Dylan trailed off as a swift chill sent dizziness spiraling through her brain. "I'm gonna go change real quick. Okay?"

The Elf prince inclined his head. "As you wish."

In the bathroom, she set her overnight bag down on the counter and took a moment to splash cold water on her face. The shocking iciness of the water helped clear away the dreamy fog. Drawing a deep breath, Dylan took stock of the situation.

Someone had sent lethal serpent assassins to kill her and Nuada. Someone who knew they'd be in the royal forest today. That meant their list of suspects was fairly short. Though Nuada had dispatched most of the snakes - it still stunned her that she'd accounted for three of them - it didn't change the fact that someone had tried to kill them.

Dylan forced herself to ignore that horrifying fact in order to assess the damage to her own body from the toes up.

Because she'd kicked two of the dipsa with her bare foot, she had some scrapes from the scales and more scrapes and some bruises from the river rocks. Different places on her lower legs were slightly red and tender to the touch from the dipsas' poison, but nothing worse than that. She'd been lucky. Any more exposure to the venom could've resulted in first- or second-degree burns. There were also some scratches from thorns, incurred during the hasty walk back to the carriage. Her knee ached. It was also no doubt swollen. Her thigh bore a long, irregular - but thankfully not very deep - cut from her own clumsiness. The back of her right leg ached from the strain of kicking the first dipsa so high, but that would fade in a few hours.

Dozens of tiny cuts covered her palms and the sides of her hands, which had only just recovered - with a little help from Wink's troll potions - from the ice-scrapes from her midnight run through the Park a few nights ago. A deep cut on her left palm throbbed. When she unwrapped Nuada's makeshift bandage and cleaned the wound under the water, it began to bleed afresh. She sincerely hoped it wouldn't need stitches. A small slice on the webbing between the thumb and forefinger of her right hand would likely scar as well; she'd cut herself on the dirk blade again, and that bled beneath the running water. The half-healed tears in her right forearm throbbed beneath the bandage.

What looked the worst, she was fairly sure, besides the wide cut on her palm, was the sprinkling of tiny gouges dusting the flesh over her left cheekbone like a spritzing of obscene freckles. Blooming bruises painted various parts of her body in pastel blues that would soon darken. Every muscle ached dully from fighting practice and the battle itself. Most of the lacerations wouldn't scar, thankfully, but the two on her hand and the one on her thigh might. Ah, well. It could've been much worse. She knew that.

But her hands still shook as she unwrapped the bandage around her forearm to make sure she hadn't pulled any stitches. The shakes didn't dissipate until she filled the deep marble sink with cold water and dunked her head in it. Then she felt better.