that is
A Short Tale of a
Reunion, Introductions, Mind-Healing, Confessions, Approval, Bearing an Heir,
Chances, Family Time, a Potion, and Cíaran's
Discovery
.
.
At the
doors to the Lesser Receiving Hall, Nuada took a moment to breathe. He had
raced to the Hall as quickly as he could with Dylan in tow. Now he paused to
consider what might await him beyond the carved rowan doors looming over his
head. His father, according to Dylan, was not responsible for the Butchers'
attack on Wink at Midnight Fest. Would the silver cave troll believe that? And
what did that mean regarding his father's reception of the prince's vassal? Had
the king believed Dylan when she'd told him Nuada had had nothing to do with
the attack on the Butchers, either?
"You
okay?" Dylan murmured, laying her hand on his arm. "Should I stay out
here?"
He
shook his head. "No. I want Wink to see...." The ring on Dylan's
finger. Nuada needed to know his brother-in-soul's reaction to what the
sapphire ring's presence on Dylan's heart-finger meant. "He'll want to see
you. And I need to speak to my father about you, anyway. Come on." He
offered his arm. She took it without hesitation, and Uaithne and Fionnlagh
pulled open the double doors. The crown prince and future princess strode into
the room.
The
first thing Dylan noticed was that the king wasn't in the room. The first person
Dylan noticed was the one-eyed, gray-skinned behemoth standing near a large,
round wooden table in the center of the small receiving hall. She noticed him
because, upon seeing the Elven warrior and the mortal woman, Wink roared a
troll greeting. Nuada picked up his pace.
Troll
and Elf met each other halfway. Wink clapped Nuada hard on the shoulder. The prince,
in turn, grasped Wink's forearm and clapped him on one great shoulder with his
other hand. For the first time in a while, an unshadowed grin spread across
Nuada's face as golden eyes took in the towering troll warrior before him.
"It
is good to see you, old friend," the prince said. "You are most
welcome."
"Thought
you might need me to dig you out of trouble," the troll grumbled
good-naturedly. "Although, you have the lassling for that, don't
you?" And then Wink turned to Dylan and grasped her shoulders with both
hands. His single eye studied her for a long moment before he turned to look at
Nuada. In the troll tongue, he asked softly, "How bad are things?"
"Not
as bad as they could be," the prince replied in the same language,
wondering what Wink had seen in his truelove's face to make him ask. Dylan's
brow furrowed. Nuada knew she was trying to make sense of what they were saying
using the few words in Troll she actually knew. Ignoring her for the moment,
the Elf quickly explained nearly all that had happened since the last time he'd
seen his vassal. He left out only one thing - the events of the previous night.
There would be time for that explanation later, away from potential prying eyes
and ears.
Wink
sighed. "You always were one for trouble, my prince, even as a lad.
Speaking of trouble, we've ignored it long enough, I think." With a grin,
Wink turned a little to gesture to the two fae that had accompanied him to
Findias. "Has the lassling met Erik yet?"
Nuada
smiled. "Not yet." To Dylan, he said, "Come and meet a friend of
mine, mo duinne. And reacquaint yourself with an old friend of mine, as
well."
Erik
Ashkeson offered a charming smile and bowed over Dylan's left hand, kissing the
air just above her knuckles. His long black hair hung in a horsetail that fell
over his shoulder as he did so. "Milady," the dökkálfr murmured in a
low, rough voice, "it is an honor for a simple blacksmith to at last meet Hátign
Þína Prins Nuada's fair and most esteemed lady. I have heard much of you
from Hátign Þína. I can see for myself it was all true. You are a vision
of loveliness."
The Elf
prince cleared his throat. "Remember that you are married,
blacksmith," Nuada mock-grumbled. "I'll not have your wife coming for
my blood - or my manhood - because you complimented my lady too
freely."
A smile
spread across the pale Nordic Elf's face. His garnet eyes twinkled. "Prins
Nuada is mortally afraid of my lovely Brünnhilde." Dylan grinned before
she'd even thought about it. "I beg your indulgence, milady. Among the
álfar, my people, a woman with scars is considered a rare beauty."
She
blinked. "Oh. Thank you." Well, that explained Prince Askel's
compliments at the banquet during the dancing.
"Forgive
us, Lorelei, for ignoring you until now," Nuada said suddenly. Dylan looked
away from the charming dökkálfr to see the ivory-skinned, midnight-haired water
faerie smile at the Elven warrior, revealing the delicate points of her rather
sharp teeth, so white against her blood-red lips. Nuada gestured to Dylan.
"You of course have met my lady, Lady Dylan of Central Park. My lady
Dylan, allow me to reacquaint you with Lorelei von der Strom."
"Of
course I remember her, Eure Hoheit," the rhinemaiden replied with
an even wider smile. She inclined her head and her ebony hair fell around her
like a curtain of midnight silk. The river maid held out her left hand to
shake. Her fox-like smile invited Dylan to play along, as if the two of them
had not spoken less than twelve hours ago. "Lady Dylan."
Dylan
took the proffered hand with her own left hand. "Lady Lorelei."
"No
lady of the fae courts am I, Lady Dylan. I am simply Lorelei."
"Does
that mean I can get you to call me 'Dylan' instead of 'Lady Dylan?'" The
mortal asked. "So far the only people who do that are Her Highness and
Moundshroud."
Jet-black
brows winged upward at the mention of the Keeper of the Samhain Tree, but
Lorelei said nothing to that. Only canted her head again. "Dylan,
then." Eyes gleaming like newly-minted coins fixed on Dylan's hand.
"That is a very lovely ring. We daughters of the River Rhine have an eye
for such things. It is Iaran, isn't it? Wherever did you get it?"
Those
eyes of dragon's gold noted Erik's professional interest in the
silver-and-sapphire ring on the mortal's heart-finger. Noted when realization
filled his scarlet eyes. More importantly, she noticed both Nuada and Wink
stiffened behind the human woman. Face carefully expressionless, Nuada turned
his head just enough to read Wink's expression - which was also deliberately
blank. Reaching out with her empathic abilities, Lorelei let the feel of the
tangle of emotions wash over her like surf surging over a seashore.
From
Wink, there was confusion and surprise and uncertainty, a hesitancy to jump to
whatever conclusion his mind was attempting to form for him. Razor threads of
sharp concern that reached out to both the Elven prince and the mortal woman.
But also, beneath it all, hope smoldered like the banked coals of a fire being
coaxed back to life. From the Elven warrior came unease aimed at Wink, forlorn
hope that was so at odds with what the rhinemaiden knew of her old friend, and
an almost defiant pride and happiness extending toward the human woman.
Underneath all of that was the usual tangle Lorelei always picked up from the
prince when she attempted a cursory reading of his emotions, though one thing
stuck out as so very, very new.
Love.
What the prince felt for the mortal in front of him burned in his heart,
nurtured by softer emotions such as joy, hope, tenderness, affection, concern.
Desire was there as well, hot and golden. It was there in both of them. Yet
eclipsing the desire and any dark emotions from the prince was that love,
glowing bright as a star and smoldering like the embers of a never-dying fire.
And the love the mortal bore for the prince shone just as brightly. Lorelei
smiled.
"Come,
we have much to speak of, you and I, Wink," Nuada said suddenly. "Has
the king ordered you to remain here? Has he been to see you?"
Wink
nodded. "Yes. He welcomed me back as if nothing whatsoever had occurred
since last we saw each other." Anger growled beneath the troll's words.
"Said that as soon as you arrived, I was free to do whatever you would
command of me." Softly, he added, "I brought Erik as a guard for you.
One that could be trusted not to put a knife through your back at the king's
command. Lorelei is here for Dylan as much as for me if you feel the lassling
needs another guardian."
Nuada
considered. "Actually... if she's willing, I'd like her to train my lady's
young guard, Tsu's'di, in sword-work; you remember the youth?" The troll
nodded. "I have not had the time of late and he does need more
training, but I would just as soon not alert the Butchers to any of his
weaknesses."
The
troll nodded thoughtfully. "I shall speak to her. And then, my prince, we
shall talk, you and I."
The
Elven warrior canted his head. "As you wish, old friend. I need speak with
my lady for a moment." While Wink spoke with Lorelei about possibly acting
as tutor for the ewah youth, Nuada pulled Dylan aside and leaned in. "I
need to speak with Wink, mo duinne. About many things."
She
nodded. "I should go talk to Healer Lóegaire, then, unless you need me for something."
Hesitation
kept him from merely sending her on her way to do just that. "Will you be
all right?"
"I
think so." She would have to be, Dylan reflected. She couldn't afford to
not be right now. The human psychiatrist knew she basically had until Monday to
get her act at least partially together in time for the Midwinter Ball.
"Don't worry, Nuada. I'll be okay."
Her
smile was bright and cheerful, and just a trifle false. Because of that,
despite the presence of the Butcher Guards, Erik, Lorelei, and - most
importantly - Wink, Nuada leaned forward to press a kiss against Dylan's
forehead. He caught a breath of scent from her hair, lilacs and vanilla.
"Send for me if you need me, mo duinne."
"I
will."
.
They
parted ways at the doors of the receiving hall. Lorelei was escorted to the
rooms she would share with Wink by an exhausted-looking hob maid with curly
brown hair who bobbed an awkward curtsy and introduced herself as Fiona. Later
in the day, the rhinemaiden would meet Tsu's'di. Nuada snagged a page just
outside the hall and whispered instructions in the boy's ear. The Elven page
scampered off to obey. Erik and Wink then followed Nuada and his retinue of
babysitters back to the royal apartments. Dylan's guards escorted her to the
Healers' Wing.
One of
the novice healers, discernible by their robes of pine green trimmed with white
at the sleeves and collar, showed the mortal and her guards to the workroom of
Healer Lóegaire. Dylan asked her guards to stay in the hall. After a hasty conference
between Uaithne and Fionnlagh, the Butchers reluctantly acquiesced. Then the
human woman rapped on the door.
It
swung open to reveal an Elven woman who had to be nearly as old as King Balor,
in the robes of a healer. Unlike the white-trimmed robes of the novices or the
plain clothes of the fully-trained healers, however, this woman's robe was a
soft seafoam green, almost like a monk's habit, tied about the waist with a
woven heather-blue belt. Her moon-pale face sported the tiniest lines, so that
her face resembled very old parchment. A grandmotherly glow painted the apples
of her cheeks with a soft golden blush. She had a mouth thinned by age and
framed with wrinkles that made Dylan think she smiled more often than she
frowned. Unlike every other Bethmooran Elf Dylan had ever seen, she had loosely
curled hair as white as snow tied into a very loose braid over one shoulder.
Dylan
swallowed. It felt like she'd swallowed a cup of sand. "Are you Healer Lóegaire?"
The old
Elven woman blinked. "Oh. Why yes, I am. Hmmm. Scars and blue eyes, and
you're mortal, so you must be His Highness's truelove. What can I do for you,
my lady?" When Dylan could only try to speak, failing to produce a sound,
the woman frowned slightly. "Come inside, child. Come, come." Lóegaire guided Dylan
into the workroom and closed the door behind her. She ushered the human to a
comfortable sofa. "Sit down, child. There now."
Lóegaire sat in a
well-worn leather armchair beside a small wooden table. She waited patiently
while Dylan glanced almost helplessly around the room. There wasn't much in the
mind-healer's "workroom" - the chair for herself; the sofa for
whomever required her services; two small goldenwood tables carved with symbols
from the tongue of the red mountain trolls; a pale green music crystal on a
marble stand on the table beside her chair and a handful more in a velvet-lined
wooden box; a pitcher of sweet cider and two cups; and bookcases lined with
books. There were windows, but of the ensorcelled type. Currently the windows
showed a wintry sunset, the golden light setting the snow to sparkling like
diamonds. A cheerful little fire crackled in the fireplace. The faint wisps of
smoke smelled of applewood.
When
Dylan finally looked at Lóegaire again, the old woman sat back in her chair. "Now, my dear, why
don't you tell me what I can do for you? I've no obligations for several hours,
so I am at the service of His Highness's lady."
In a
rush, the mortal blurted, "Prince Nuada wanted me to talk to you."
The
healer's brows rose. "I see. About... something that ails you. Something
beyond the physical." The mortal nodded. "How you got those scars,
perhaps?" Lóegaire was surprised when the prince's lady shook her head. "Oh?"
"Not
these," she murmured, gesturing vaguely to her face. "These."
Extending her arm, she rolled up her sleeve. The razor-thin silvery lines
criss-crossing her forearm caught the light. So did the mound of white scar
tissue at the bend of her elbow. "I... I don't really know where to start.
I've been seeing a mind-healer in the mortal world, but Nu- the prince doesn't
trust human healers. So I agreed to talk to you today. He wants me to tell
you... everything."
"And
do you want to tell me?" Lóegaire asked gently. After a moment, the human nodded.
"Well, in that case, do you mind, child, if I play some music? I've found
it soothes some of the initial uneasiness."
At
Dylan's nod of acquiescence, Lóegaire put the music crystal on the table back in its box and pulled out
another, this one of soft blue banded with stripes of sandy gray and sparkling
in its depths with glittering mica. She set the crystal on the marble stand and
whispered in Gaelic, "Sing." At first, there was no music.
Only the sudden soft shush of ocean waves lapping at a beach. The whisper of
the wind. And then Dylan heard the faintest chime of crystal and silver, the
hum of a plucked harp string, and the croon of a driftwood flute. Every tense
muscle in her body relaxed, once by one.
"Now,"
said Lóegaire. "Where would you like to start? Do not worry if you have no
words yet. Silence has its own voice, you know."
Dylan
swallowed. "Yeah. I know." She took a deep breath. Opened her mouth
again and, finding the words suddenly on the tip of her tongue, began to speak.
.
Only
the troll followed Nuada into the Elven prince's study. The page Nuada had
spoken to had managed to fulfill his orders before the prince's arrival, so
that when Elf and troll walked into the study, a small cask of Elven ale and
two steins waited on Nuada's desk. The fae warrior took a seat in his own
chair. The page had also brought a reinforced chair for the troll. Wink sank
into it. Nuada filled both mugs with the strong, dark Elven ale. Offered one to
Wink. The troll took it. Both fae touched their steins in a silent toast and
took a long drink.
After
an interminable silence, Wink sighed. "So... you're betrothed, then."
Nuada
seemed to contemplate the candlelight reflected in the surface of his drink.
Finally, aurulent eyes met Wink's gaze. "We are."
The
troll nodded. Sipped his ale. "That was your mother's ring I saw on the
lassling's finger, wasn't it?" Nuada canted his head. "Not just
betrothed, then." Wink heaved a sigh. "You're in love with her,
aren't you?"
Golden
eyes slid closed. There was no inflection in Wink's voice. No hint as to the
prince's oldest and dearest friend's thoughts. "I have not forgotten the
plight of the fae. I still have my agents searching for the third Golden Crown
piece. I still anticipate a war with the humans and I mean to fight to reclaim
what we've lost. I have not betrayed our people."
"That
is not what I asked you, Nuada." Wink set his drink on the desk and fixed
his prince with a fathomless look. "You're in love with Dylan, aren't
you?"
They
regarded each other across the ebony desk. Brothers-in-soul, comrades-in-arms.
To Nuada, Wink was father, brother, and truest friend. To Wink, Nuada was his
son and brother, his friend and his liege lord. The troll watched the internal
struggle in the prince's golden eyes. Watched Nuada come to some sort of
decision.
Without
looking away from the troll warrior's gaze, Nuada said, "I love her with
all my heart and soul. Condemn me for that if you deem it just but I cannot
change what is. Nor would I wish to. If that makes me a traitor, then... then
so be it."
To
Nuada's complete and utter shock, Wink grinned. "By the gods, it's about
time you realized it. I did not think you would before I died of old age."
"What?"
The Elf sputtered. "You knew? How? For how long?"
"The
socks gave you away, my prince. Not only that you knew she would love them as
she did, but that you bought her so many, and they were nearly all so very
ridiculous. And the penguin socks... show a little faith in my intelligence,
puppy. You would not humiliate yourself by purchasing such a thing for someone
you did not love. I realized how much you loved her when you gave her
the book. It was one of your most treasured possessions, after all."
"But...
then... then you approve?"
"Approve?"
Wink rumbled. "Of course I approve. The lassling's been in love
with you for months. Poor girl; I thought for certain that I would have
to dent that thick head of yours with a stick eventually. How long have you
known she loved you? Tell me you knew before you proposed to her."
Affronted,
feeling as if someone had turned the entire planet upside-down without even
warning him first, Nuada said, "Of course I knew before I proposed. I am
not a complete fool."
"Debatable,"
the troll replied. "I'd wager an entire case of troll beer she had to tell
you she was in love with you." Nuada opened his mouth, then closed it with
an audible click of teeth. Wink grinned in smug satisfaction. "I'll
have Lorelei put it on your tab, Your Highness. Though I cannot help but ask,
how did you not know she was in love with you all this time? How did you
not see it?"
"How
did you manage to see it? Did she tell you?"
The
troll rolled his eye. "Of course not. I figured it out the day I went to
see her, after you told me she'd betrayed you. I could tell simply by how very
heartbroken she was over the fact that you would think she would ever turn
against you. 'Magic,' she called you. 'Extraordinary.' The look in her eyes
when she spoke of you said it all." When he noticed the somewhat sappy
look on his prince's face, Wink added, "Though I will admit... I am
surprised you asked her to marry you."
Nuada
sighed. Took a long draught from his mug of ale. "It is by my father's
order. I am happy for it, but I know it will cause much contention among the
nobles. I fear for Dylan's safety. Her... her sanity." Nuada passed a hand
over his face, and Wink noted the lines of strain and tiredness around his
eyes. "My friend, I... I have things of great import to tell you."
Over
the next few hours, the prince related the previous night's events to his
oldest friend. Explained, with as little detail as possible, Dylan's relevant
history and why the prince was so concerned about her mental state.
"My
prince... Nuada." Wink's tone was sympathetic, but firm. "Madness
like that must be gotten in hand quickly, or things may become even more
dangerous than they are now. Such a weakness can be used against both of you.
You know you cannot wed her if she does not at least begin to control-"
"I
know, Wink," the Elf snapped. Closed his eyes. "I know. She is
with Healer Lóegaire now. It will be taken care of."
"And
if it is not? If the damage runs too deep?" Nuada's eyes flashed copper,
but Wink's expression was kind when he added, "What will you do then, my
prince? Abdicate? Others have done so."
Nuada
shook his head. "No, I... no. I cannot abandon my people. My kingdom. I
love my sister, but she is not fit to take my father's place and be
queen." He sighed. "No. It will be taken care of, Wink. I'll not
allow for failure. I shall do what is necessary to ensure Dylan and I can marry
a year and a day from Midwinter." Tired golden eyes met the troll's gaze.
A great weight had lifted from Nuada's shoulders with the simple words of
course I approve. Now he could speak plainly to his brother-in-soul.
"I want her, Wink. I want a life with her. I want...." A family
with her, he'd been about to say, but bit back the words.
Wink
poured himself another mug of ale. Sipped meditatively for a moment.
"You're concerned about something else," the troll said. "What
is it?"
"You once asked me if I really expected her to
give up her whole life to be with me," Nuada murmured. "I know now that even though I do not
expect such a thing, Dylan will give up her life in every sense of the phrase,
whether I should desire her to or not. But…" He sighed and took another long quaff of
his ale. "In marrying me, she gives up more than her life. She surrenders
every last hope of having the family that has always been denied her."
"Why?"
Nuada
tore his gaze away from his mug and looked at his friend. "What?"
"Why
does marrying you mean she will not have a family?"
The Elf
prince fixed him with a gaze that clearly indicated that he believed the troll
was perhaps more affected by the alcohol than either of them would have thought
or Wink would have admitted. Otherwise why ask such an obvious question?
"She
wishes to have a child," Nuada said. "And why should she not? She
would be an excellent mother. I've seen her with 'Sa'ti and A'du, and others.
She wants to be a mother desperately. Wants so much to have a child of her own.
But I cannot give it to her." He stared into his mug, as if the answers to
all his questions were to be found in its depths. "I would give her a
child," he said softly, more to himself than to Wink. "I wish I
could. Nearly more than I've ever wished for anything for myself. But I will be
king, and I will need an heir for the throne. I cannot risk the safety and
well-being of the kingdom by siring a child weakened by mortal blood."
At
that, Wink snorted, drawing Nuada out of his brooding.
"You
listen to me, puppy," Wink growled, setting down his mug so he could look
his prince in the eye. "You give Lady Dylan far too little credit. Mortal
she may be, but you can bet your lily-white arse that while any child that
comes from her will be a great many things - including trouble, just as you
were," here Nuada smiled, "it will not be weak." Wink picked up
his ale again. Drained it to the dregs. "Heal her mind, and the rest will
fall into place."
"You
think so?"
The
troll nodded. "I absolutely believe it. She would do practically anything
for you, Nuada. Even if it killed her. She'll heal herself because you need her
to. And once she's healed, though she'll always bear scars, she'll be strong
enough to stand at your side as your princess."
Wink
refilled his mug again. Nuada shook his head almost imperceptibly in
exasperation and sipped his own ale. He was only on his second mug. Wink
was on his fourth. Of course, the troll warrior was also three times the Elven
warrior's size.
"She'd
make a better princess than that sister of yours," Wink said over the rim
of his mug. "Just between you and me."
Nuada
sighed. "Wink."
"Merely
an observation, Your Highness. So, the king. Is he our enemy, or is someone
else pulling the Butchers' strings?"
.
Far off
and away in the Healers' Wing, Dylan brushed back her hair and met Lóegaire's kind amber
eyes. The Elven mind-healer smiled.
"Well,
dear. We have made quite a bit of progress today." She sipped from what
had to be her tenth glass of cider and glanced out the window. Night had fallen
long ago beyond the ensorcelled window, but in the real world of Faerie,
twilight was only just deepening to the velvet dark of night.
This
initial session had lasted nearly four hours. The final hour had involved the
mind-healer giving Dylan some advice on how to begin healing - meditation and calming
techniques, as well as discussing ways to help the mortal get more rest.
Exhaustion would aggravate battle-haunts and other such things like salt in a
wound. They'd eventually decided on a sleeping potion, just on a trial basis.
And Lóegaire had been able
to detect - and effectively shatter - the spell Nuada had thought was winding
around the vulnerable mortal woman. When that spell had broken, Dylan had
suddenly felt exponentially better. The Elven woman had also swept away the
remnants of the dark magic that the king had broken asunder and removed from
Nuada, but not from Dylan, the night before. She hadn't realized until that
moment how much weight she'd been carrying around simply because of the dark
enchantments.
"It
was brave of you to come to me," Lóegaire added with that same gentle smile. "I know
you did it for His Highness's sake; that is even braver. Will you come see me
the day after tomorrow?"
The
mortal blinked. "The day after tomorrow? I... well...."
"I
would like to see how the mortal medicines affect your mental and emotional
state, my dear. I would also like to see how effective the sleeping potion I am
going to prescribe for you will be. It will not react with the human medicines,
I promise you, and it will help with your nightmares. And I want to see how
you're doing with the meditations for handling your fear that we talked about
today. Will you come back the day after tomorrow, Dylan?"
She
nodded. "Yeah. Thank you, Lóegaire."
"Anytime.
Now, you need to see Healer Táebfada, don't you?" The human nodded again.
"By the time you reach her, she will have a week's worth of the sleeping
potion ready for you. And remember, Dylan - no matter what happens, there is
always hope. Do you believe that?"
"I
try to," Dylan said. "All the time."
Lóegaire smiled so
that a dimple appeared in her cheek. "Good. Now, Táebfada is waiting for
you. I shall see you in two days."
.
Uaithne
and the other Butchers in Dylan's retinue were waiting in the hallway on chairs
provided by some of the younger novice healers. When the door opened and the
mortal stepped out, the guards rose to their feet. Uaithne studied his mortal
charge. She'd been a bit pale when entering the Elven mind-healer's workroom,
but now she seemed... different. Lighter. Easier. She still seemed a touch
nervous about something, but the dread that had been in her eyes was gone now.
The
leader of the six Butcher Guards offered the human the standard fist-to-chest
salute and asked, "Do we go now to Táebfada's, milady?" The prince's
truelove nodded. Smiled. "And then where would you have us escort
you?" Uaithne asked.
"Depending
on how late it is and if he's available, back to Prince Nuada."
Táebfada,
as one of the senior healers in Findias, also had a workroom. This one,
however, was more recognizeable as a healer's work space. There was a somewhat
low wooden table for basic examinations, complete with a small black pillow if
lying down was necessary; an elegant, polished mahogany desk with several drawers,
one of which was open and showed a stack of black ledgers; a trio of
comfortable-looking wooden chairs that matched the desk; a small bookcase stuff
with various leather-bound tomes; a full-sized scale; and surprisingly, a silk
dressing screen painted with a soothing mural of a lakeshore decorated by
cattails and reeds, playing house to a few swans and other waterfowl.
The
slender Elven healer glanced up from the two glass vessels she'd been eyeing
and offered Dylan a smile. "Lady Dylan. It is good to see you up and about
this evening. Are you feeling better, then?" Táebfada tilted one of the
glass containers so that the thick red juice inside dripped into a translucent
flask. Satisfied with the amount in the flask, she stoppered it and set it aside.
"Your sleeping potion. Now, Lóegaire said you wished to speak to me about something
important."
"Um...
yeah. So...." Dylan trailed off, unsure of how to explain. Straight-forward
is probably best, she thought. "Prince Nuada and I are engaged."
Golden
eyes widened and a smile crossed the Elf's face. "Oh, but that is
wonderful! But why... ah." Understanding filled the topaz eyes. "You
need to be certain of your fertility before the betrothal can be come official.
Is that not so?" Dylan nodded. Táebfada gestured to the table. "Have
a seat there, my lady. This will not take long."
Dylan
hoisted herself up onto the examination table and tried not to fidget. She
wished she'd asked Nuada to come with her, but... But I don't need Nuada
to be with me and hold my hand for every little thing. Or even every big thing.
I'm a big girl. I can handle this. She straightened and met Táebfada's
eyes. "So, what do I do?"
Táebfada
came up and placed on hand on Dylan's upper back. The Elf's touch was gentle.
Dylan barely felt it through her tunic. The healer placed another hand against
Dylan's stomach. "This might feel a bit strange to you. I am going to use
my power to examine you internally. You will feel a warmth in your body,
followed by a tingling sensation. Do not be alarmed. It is merely my magic
passing through your body. It may help to close your eyes."
She
obeyed. After a moment, a soft warmth began to build deep in the pit of her
stomach. It was like feeling the sun on her skin, except inside, as if she'd
swallowed sunshine. It grew steadily, but never reached the point of
discomfort. A faint pins-and-needles feeling tingled down her spine and across
the surface of her stomach.
Then it
was over. Dylan's eyes snapped open as the feeling abruptly faded. She met
Táebfada's golden stare. There was a wealth of sympathy in that ethereal gaze.
"W-well?"
Dylan whispered. She cleared her throat and attempted to smile. "What's
the verdict?"
The
Elven healer sighed and drew her hands back. "There is a great deal of
internal scarring, milady. It would make conceiving a child difficult."
Dylan's eyes widened, then slid closed. Her mouth trembled. "However,
having difficulty conceiving and being barren are not the same
thing." Blue eyes like autumn rain locked with Táebfada's as hope lanced
the mortal's chest. "Those scars do not affect your actual fertility.
There would be no negative impact on the kingdom if you were to marry the
prince and one day become queen. And... with time, I may be able to reduce the
scarring inside you so that you would not have such difficulty conceiving a
child."
Dylan
started to bite her lip, but managed to stop just before her teeth touch it.
"I thought a half-mortal child couldn't sit on a fae throne. Wouldn't that
hurt the kingdom or something? Potentially infect the rest of that country's
population with mortality or something like that? That's what I've always
heard."
Táebfada
shook her head. "Only if the child is less than full-blooded fae and more
than mortal. It is even-odds as to whether your child would be fully fae or
not. Fifty-percent likely that the faerie blood would breed true; a one-in-four
chance that your child would be half-Elven; or one-in-four chance that your
child would be mortal with some very powerful magic. Faerie blood is strange
that way."
The
mortal woman thought of Ravus the Apothecary, who'd had an ice troll for a
mother and a mortal man for a father, yet was full-blooded troll. She thought
of Aoife Grayson and Dean Nails, both of whom were half-human and who possessed
the strengths of their human fathers and the weaknesses of their fae mothers.
Dylan realized that she had a fifty-percent chance of giving birth to a fully
Elven child... a child that would age one year for every century of its life.
Even if she did have Nuada's child, and it was Elven, she would
die while it was still an infant. Would it even remember her?
"So..."
Trying to marshal her thoughts, the human asked, "What would happen if my
child was half-Elven? How do they age, anyway? I know for an Elf it's one year
of physical maturity for a chronological century."
"Half-Elves
age one year for anywhere between thirty and fifty chronological years,
depending, my lady," the healer replied gently. "As for your child
being half-Elven... it would be another fifty-fifty chance that your child have
the necessary magic to be the heir in the first place. It is not given to the
eldest child automatically. It is earned by power. It simply happens that
Prince Nuada possesses the magic needed to hold the title of heir to the
throne. A half-Elf with the power of an heir, however, could negatively impact
the kingdom."
"And
what if my child were mortal but with strong magic?"
"They
would age as a mortal would, and he or she could never be heir to the
throne," Táebfada replied. "There is no magic strong enough to form
such a bond with the land that can reside in a human child without driving them
mad, and such instances have only occurred with very powerful fae parentage.
Fae with the strength of Master Moundshroud of Samhain, for example. A Bethmooran
prince siring such a babe? Impossible."
As she
was getting down from the examination table, Dylan asked, "Táebfada... is
there a way to make a human immortal? And would that alter a child?"
The
healer was quiet for a very long time, as if considering the psychiatrist's
question. Finally, she nodded. "There are ways to make humans
immortal. Many of them are very, very dangerous. The most common I know of is
to simply fill them with pure, undiluted wild magic, but the results are...
unpredictable. Humans have died in the attempt. There are less dangerous ways -
swanmane coats, selkie skins, werewolf fur. All of them come with great risk or
consequence. And then there is...."
"What?"
Dylan demanded, eyes wide. "Then there is what?"
Táebfada
murmured, "With the permission and aid of the faerie kings of Eirc,
Ciocal, or Bethmoora... or perhaps all three, I am not certain, for great magic
is needed to make this quest... a mortal may journey to the island of Mag Mell.
The two fae who are twin kings there are said to know a way to make a human
woman into an immortal, as like unto the Fair Folk as if she had been born. She
would have no magic, no powers, nor even glamor of her own. But nothing would
stand in the way of her bearing the children of the Elven prince she
loved."
Seeing
the look on Dylan's face, Táebfada added, "But I warn you, my lady - great
and terrible is the price demanded by King Tethra and King Manannan. And the
price would not be asked of you." She watched the import of her words sink
in. "Do you understand?"
"I
understand. Th-thank you, Táebfada."
The
healer bowed slightly. "My lady."
.
With
the instructions for the sleeping potion written out on a slip of paper tucked
into the pocket of Dylan's jeans, and the flask of potion guarded by Ailbho,
Dylan made her way back to the floor containing the royal apartments. She knew
it wasn't too late - maybe seven or eight in the evening - and that,
since Balor had given them the next several days off, she could probably have
dinner with Nuada in his study if she wanted. But her mind whirled, the
thoughts tumbling too quickly for her to do anything but lay down on her bed
and try to sort them.
Two-in-four
chances I'll have an Elven child that can be the heir to the throne and won't
hurt Nuada or the kingdom in any way, but I'll probably die before I ever hear
them say "Mama," she thought, sinking onto
her gargantuan four-poster. One-in-four chances I'll have a half-mortal,
half-Elven child, which would infuriate the nobles of the court and possibly
start a civil war because there's a fifty-percent chance my child could be the
heir and thus has the power to destroy the kingdom. And though I might get to
hear my child call me "Mama," and Nuada, "Daddy," I'll die
before they'll be old enough to really remember me. Or I could have a mortal
child, and they would die so quickly compared to the faerie courts. What would
that do to Nuada? Losing me, and then losing our child?
She
closed her eyes and shook her head. Rolled onto her side. It doesn't matter.
I knew when I signed up for this that we couldn't have kids. I'm not going to
let my hopes get crushed all over again. I'm not barren - and isn't that a
miracle? I'll be able to marry Nuada. I will only think about that, and be
happy for it. And I have A'du and 'Sa'ti and Tsu's'di. Three children who need
me. I will be happy for that.
Resolved,
Dylan sat up and slid off the bed. She'd wallowed in doubt and unhappiness for
far too long, at the expense of the children who depended on her. She would go
see them now, and spend some time with them. It was probably almost their
bedtime, anyway. Almost time for the stories, family prayer, and the lullaby.
A smile
spread across her face as she went into the sitting room. Her smile only
widened when she found Nuada seated in an armchair, staring into the fire,
while 'Sa'ti stretched out on the floor at his feet, reading haltingly but
determinedly from an orange pasteboard book. Dylan recognized the book as the
Raspberry Tart book she'd bought during her outing to Threads-N-Things with
Francesca a couple weeks prior. The mortal had the feeling the prince wasn't
even actually listening to the cougar girl reading about how Raspberry Tart
kept trying to set up hang-out dates with her friends only to be rebuffed, but
his presence in the room was enough for 'Sa'ti.
A'du'la'di
was apparently arm-wrestling with one of Nuada's guards. Dylan recognized young
Guardsman Lorrc. She grinned as the cougar child, pressing on the guard's hand
with both paws, stood up to put all of his bodyweight behind him. Lorcc
grunted, "Ah, ah. I think I am done for. It's no use. No Butcher can stand
against such might. Ah!" A'du "forced" the guard's hand flat to
the table. The Butcher cried, "Alas! I am defeated by this mere cub!"
The
ewah boy jumped up and down, fists pumping in the air. "Yeah! Oh, yeah!
I'm cool!"
'Sa'ti
looked up from her book. "Shhh! I'm reading to the prince."
A'du
rolled his eyes. "His Highness doesn't care about Blueberry Pie and Lemon
Meringue and whatever they're doing."
"On
the contrary," Nuada said, roused to look from the fire to the cougar
child. "I am most interested in what your sister is reading to me."
Dylan forced back her laughter. "A warrior is always polite to a lady,
A'du'la'di. When a lady speaks, it is the chivalrous thing to listen to
her."
"Oh."
"And
you should know better than to be anything less than on your best behavior in
front of Lady Dylan," the prince added, glancing at the mortal leaning
against the doorframe. "Good evening, milady."
Dylan
inclined her head before stepping into the room. "Good evening, Your
Highness. Hey, guys."
"A'ge'lv!
A'ge'lv!" 'Sa'ti and A'du scurried over to her and clasped her hands.
The two hounds in front of the hearth lifted their heads and whuffed softly in
greeting before returning to their naps.
"Where
have you been?" A'du demanded. "It's almost bedtime, and you
didn't tell us about the banquet last night or bring us any treats or anything!
And we made a friend today!"
"Did
you?" Dylan sank onto the loveseat, leaning against the sofa arm so she
was closer to the chair where Nuada sat. "Who?"
"This
girl named Abigail," 'Sa'ti replied. "She can turn into a polar bear.
She's really nice. A'du helped her get apples out of the apple tree and we
played stalk-and-pounce in the snow and Mistress Fitz let us wash potatoes,
there is a lot of dirt on potatoes, did you know that?" Dylan smiled
and listened to the two cubs talk about the day they'd spent. Nuada watched the
human and the ewah from the corner of his eye as he considered what he and Wink
had discussed earlier that day.
Wink
had, thank the stars, believed him about Dylan's innate warning system. Not at
first, of course. Only once Nuada had told him about her warning just before
the dipsa attack, as well as the other times she'd alerted him to danger, did
Wink understand why his prince put such faith in the mortal's assurances. So it
was that Wink no longer suspected King Balor of trying to have him and Lorelei
murdered. The darker side of this news was that someone, somewhere, had
influence over the Butcher Guards. The question was, had those Butcher
companies been working against the royal family? Or had they been working under
the mistaken belief that the king had ordered the attack? If the first, there
was treason - possibly even revolt - brewing in the King's Elite and perhaps in
the Golden Court itself. If the second... who among Balor's household had the
power to give such orders and not be questioned? And who among them would do
so?
There
was the Lord Chamberlain, his father's closest and oldest friend and his most
trusted servant; the Lord Steward, who held dominion over every aspect of
castle life, the king's right-hand Elf, who commanded even the highest-ranking
servants; the Lord Seneschal, who even Captain Phelan and Captain Sáruit of the
Butcher Guards answered to; the Lord Provost, who kept a sharp watch on any
crime in Findias and its township and worked often with the Butcher Captains
and their underlings; and the Lord Chancellor, the king's most trusted advisor
and his man on the Council. All five of them were powerful enough that they could
have been behind the order... but they were also men Nuada had known all his
life, men the king had known for many thousands of years.
Wink
had gone back to speak to Lorelei on the matter. As a very observant empath,
and someone Nuada trusted nearly as much as Wink - though not quite with everything
- the prince and his vassal thought that perhaps the rhinemaiden might be able
to pick up something pertinent to the situation during her stay in Findias.
Thoughts
of the lovely river faerie reminded Nuada of Tsu's'di. As per the Elven prince's
request, Lorelei had taken the youth aside and introduced him to one of her
many talents - shortswords. Just as Wink had been leaving the prince's suite,
Tsu's'di had stumbled down the corridor, moaning quietly about his various
aches and pains. Lorelei had strode behind him, a dismissive half-smile curving
her red mouth. Upon seeing Nuada, however, the boy had straightened up and
stopped whining about his shoulders aching, and bowed to the rhinemaiden,
thanking the river fae for the lesson.
"That
youth," Wink had murmured so only Nuada could hear, "has one goal in
mind when it comes to this and any other such lesson he might have with
Lorelei."
Nuada
had raised an eyebrow. "Oh? He is her type, but he's a bit young, is he
not?"
The
troll's chuckle had rumbled like rocks tumbling down a mountainside. "His
aim is not to impress my lady, Your Highness. It's to impress you. He wants to
make you proud of him. I recognize that determined look in his eyes."
"From
where?"
Wink
had chuckled again and clapped Nuada on the shoulder. "You used to look at
your father - and me - in the exact same way when you were a lad. Did you
forget?" To Tsu's'di, the troll had called, a laugh in the words,
"Stretch and then soak out the aches in the tub, lad. Elsewise you'll be hurting
sore in the morning."
Now a
knock sounded at the sitting room door and the ewah youth came into the sitting
room. Nuada had sent the boy to the servants' baths to soak. The youth looked
much refreshed, in a clean shirt and trews, in boots not caked with dust, his
hair still damp from the bath. When he saw Dylan seated on the loveseat, a grin
broke out and his ears and whiskers pricked forward. Still, happy as he was to
see his human mistress, he bowed to the prince first. "Your Highness."
"Guardsman
Tsu's'di," Nuada said in acknowledgment, remembering Wink's earlier words.
Pride
made Tsu's'di's smoky blue eyes brighten. Then he turned to Dylan and bowed
once more. "A'ge'lv."
Smiling
even wider, Dylan said, "Hey, Tsu's'di. Where've you been? How was your
day?"
.
That
night, after her typical "happy bath," saying her prayers, and
finishing her nightly scripture study, Dylan sank onto the edge of her bed and
stared at the translucent flask filled with the scarlet sleeping potion.
Ever
since leaving Lóegaire's, she'd felt... different. Better. Stronger. Perhaps it had
been the two spells twisting her up. Then again, she'd begun to feel better
just after the first couple hours with the mind-healer. She hadn't realized how
much strain not seeing her therapist had been putting on her. Dylan drew a deep
breath and let it out slowly. Now if she could force herself to take the potion
to help her sleep without dreaming....
"Are
you well, my lady?"
Dylan
glanced over to the door joining her bedroom to Nuada's. The prince stood there
in dark sleeping clothes, the moonlight through the window soft and silver
against his face, his starlight hair still slightly damp from the shower. She
smiled at him. "You are not coming to bed with wet hair."
A smile
curved dark lips. "As my lady wishes. We have things to speak of, anyway,
do we not?" Nuada sat beside her on the edge of the bed and took her hand.
His thumb brushed back and forth across her knuckles. "You went to see Lóegaire today."
He knew without having to ask. He could see it in her, feel it. Deep shadows
had haunted her for weeks, yet he had not seen them. Only now that they were
gone did the Elf realize the difference. "Thank you."
She
shrugged. "Don't thank me. I should have... I should have realized that
neglecting myself to try to help you would only make me a liability. I've made
a habit of trying to pretend I don't need anyone or anything to help with my
problems over the years. It stops now."
"You
have decided this for me?"
The
mortal shook her head. Nuada noticed the way one damp tendril of hair curled
darkly against the paleness of her throat. Even in one of those ridiculously
large t-shirts he had a feeling she would insist on wearing to bed for the
foreseeable future, she was so very beautiful.
"Not
for you. Because of you. I didn't realize how bad it had gotten. How
much I was letting slide. When I thought about it, when I realized how
dangerous it was for both of us, I decided that was it. I needed to be an
adult. I take care of everyone else, or try. I need to start taking care of
myself, too, or soon I won't be able to help anyone. So therapy and meds it is,
I guess."
He
studied her for a moment. "You are frightened."
"I
don't know what they'll turn me into," she mumbled. "The medication.
I don't even know what I'll be taking. I'll have to tell my psychiatrist that I
haven't been taking my meds and she'll have to re-prescribe me. I really hope
she doesn't put me back on Ambien. I hate that stuff. It can cause
hallucinations and amnesia, for crying out loud. And other things. Although
they didn't know all of that back when I was taking the stuff. Now they
moderate the dosages accordingly." She pushed her hair out of her face.
"I can do it, though. I can."
"You
are certain? Do you need me to go with you tomorrow?"
"Huh?"
Blue eyes flicked from the sleeping potion to the prince's face. "Oh, no.
No, I'll be fine. Really. I...." She got a good look at his face. "If
I ask you to stay here, you're going to be fretting about me all day, aren't you?"
The
legendary Silverlance tilted his chin and offered her a haughty look.
"Begging my lady's pardon, but I am an Elven warrior and a prince. I do not
fret."
She
grinned. "Yeah, you don't fuss, either."
"Indeed."
He lowered himself off his dignity enough to smile at her. Tucking a lock of
hair behind her ear, letting his fingertip caress the rounded top of her ear,
he added, "If you need me, Dylan, there is no shame in that. I will come
with you if I must."
Dylan
shivered. "You're under house-arrest, Your Royal Hotness. And stop
molesting my ears. Unless you want some of what you're dishing out."
Nuada's
blood caught fire at the mere thought of his truelove caressing the delicate
Elven points of his ears. She'd done so before, by accident, on perhaps three
or four occasions, but to have her do it deliberately... the brush of a
fingertip, perhaps, or the warm whisper of her breath... He swallowed and
shoved the thought away. "House-arrest or not, if you have need of me, I will
come to you."
"You'd
disobey your king for me?"
He
lifted a shoulder in a negligent half-shrug. "You may have forgotten in
light of our deeper feelings, but at the start of all of this, my father
ordered me to court you in earnest. What manner of man would I be if I claimed
to love you, only to abandon you when you had a need of me? Besides, tending to
your sorrows is part of what courting you means. I'd be following my father's
orders - technically."
She
dropped her head onto his shoulder and hugged him. "I adore you, Nuada.
Really. But I'll be okay. I'll meet you at the sanctuary and if I break down in
floods of hysterical tears again, at least it'll be there, so it won't last
very long. Technically you're not breaking house-arrest by going there, are
you?"
"Technically?
Yes." Seeing her eyes widen, he offered her a dark and feral smile.
"However, it is still in Faerie. It is in Elphame, not Bethmoora,
but I am not forbidden to go there. My father said I must have an armed escort
of Butchers with me at all times save in my chambers. The sanctuary is
one of my many homes away from home, which makes its rooms my chambers, as
well. Now, are you staring at the potion hoping it will be absorbed into your
body through osmosis?"
Dylan
blinked up at him. "How the heck do you even know what osmosis
means?"
One
silver-blond brow quirked. "I am not a barbarian, mo duinne. Now take your
medicine like a good girl."
She
eyed him. "Are you baiting me on purpose?"
"I
am." A quick flash of teeth in a mischievous little-boy grin. "Are
you going to let me?"
The
mortal couldn't help it. She laughed. "No, I'm not. So myeh."
She stuck her tongue out at him before reaching for the flask. Lóegaire had said to
pour the potion into the cap on the flask, and that would be one night's dose.
Dylan followed the Elven mind-healer's instructions. Stared at the capful of
gleaming liquid as dark as red wine. Sighed. "Sip it or shoot it?"
She wondered aloud, then shrugged. "What the heck? Bottom's up."
Closing her eyes, she knocked back the potion.
Its
taste and its feel were so at odds she almost choked on it. It slid down her
throat like a long, unpleasantly warm slug. Dylan grimaced at the sensation
even as the somewhat tart, fruity taste blanketed her mouth. Her tongue felt
fuzzy. Licking the roof of her mouth helped dispel the fuzziness.
"Blegh,"
she muttered. "That was weird. Whoa." She blinked as the world
blurred for a moment, then focused once more. The human held her breath. When
it didn't happen again, she nodded. "Okay. Bedtime for mortals who just
took sleeping potions. I- hey!" Nuada slid an arm around her shoulders and
another beneath her knees and scooped her up. "What are you doing?"
"You
are on my side of the bed," he informed her, carrying her to the other
side of the massive, silk-and-velvet-covered four-poster. With one foot he
managed to shove back the black velvet coverlet on the freshly-made bed and
laid his tired mortal lady on the cool fitted silk sheet beneath. He drew the
covers over her.
"I
can tuck myself in, you know, Your Highness," Dylan murmured, smiling.
Nuada
shrugged. "Allow me to claim the privileges with which chivalry entitles
me." Once he settled into bed, too many feet between him and his lady for
his own wishes - how he longed to hold her, to fall asleep to the scent of her,
the warmth - he added, "Good night, Dylan."
She
snuggled down into the blankets. Already the potion was working on her, pulling
her closer and closer to slumber. "Mmmm. Good night, my handsome
prince."
Only
when the Elf prince was certain she was asleep did he reach out and tenderly
brush back that one rebellious curl that always fell across her forehead with
gentle fingers. "Good night, my princess."
.
"Come
now, love," Cíaran murmured in the hob maid's ear. His fingertips trailed
lightly over her cheek, leaving sticky trails of gancanaugh venom. She stared
into eyes of midnight jade as he caught a chestnut curl and twined it around
his long, pale finger. "I know you had cleaning duty in the Healers' Wing
this afternoon. And you want to tell me what you overheard, don't you?" He
brushed his lips against hers and she gasped. "Be a good girl and tell me
what you heard."
And so
the hob maiden told the disguised gancanaugh that while she'd been cleaning one
of the empty rooms in that part of the castle, she'd overheard a few of the
Butcher Guards assigned to protect the prince's lady talking about the human
and why she'd needed to see a female healer just now. One of them had mentioned
they'd overheard Lady Dylan and King Balor speaking of the mortal bearing the
prince's child. Overheard the prince the previous night saying something that
had sounded an awful lot like, "I will give you a child." And neither
prince nor mortal had risen for the day until past noon, and they'd spent the
night in the same chamber - a first for them, apparently.
Cíaran
continued to caress and pet, keeping the chambermaid focused on giving him
every piece of information in exchange for soothing her with his poisonous and
addictive touch. This hob, Fiona, was really becoming a favorite of his. She
was so lovely, and she seemed to enjoy his company even more than he enjoyed
hers. The gancanaugh nuzzled her cheek before pressing a kiss to her mouth.
"Stay
here, poppet, and I'll be back shortly," he murmured.
"Don't
go, my lord," she whispered, reaching for him as he stood up from the edge
of the bed in his room. Yes, she was falling in love with him. Darling girl.
It
happened everywhere he went. Expose a maid or other servant girl to the Tears
secreted by every gancanaugh and after a few nights in Lord Cíaran's bed, the
wench was willing to do anything he asked of her. Usually such favors did not
involve gathering intelligence on a traitor and his whore, but when he'd
playfully asked Fiona where she'd hidden herself away to all day and the maid
had let it slip that she'd been in the Healers' Wing in the hopes of seeing the
prince's lady or hearing more gossip from the human's guards, Cíaran had
pounced on the information like a feral cat on a helpless bird.
Now
Cíaran bent down and kissed her upturned mouth. "I'll not be long,
sweeting. Be patient. And I'll have a gift for you when I return. Make yourself
comfortable."
The
gancanaugh slipped out of his bedroom to find Bres reclining on the long couch
in the front room of the guest suite, his head in Dierdre's lap. Cíaran's
sister ran her fingers through Bres's golden hair and she giggled over
something the Fomorian prince had said. Cíaran barely managed to refrain from
rolling his eyes.
Neither
Dierdre nor Bres loved each other, but they were fond of another - Bres
had once said Dierdre was the only woman he could stand to have in his bed for
more than a week - and they both lusted after each other and enjoyed the
dalliance. Dierdre's brother thought it was ridiculous. Take a mistress for a
time, enjoy her charms, then rid yourself of her. No unnecessary attachments.
And never make a mistress out of a friend; that always led to complications and
risks. The biggest investment he ever made with any leman was in the
traditional gifts, and cheap trinkets were enough for most of the servant girls
he'd tumbled.
Which
reminded him. Clearing his throat to announce his presence, he strode to mantel
and picked up the small leather pouch he'd dropped there earlier that evening.
At Bres's order, he'd gone down to the township to listen for any gossip
concerning Silverlance and the harlot. While there, Cíaran had seen a
ribbon-seller with bright blue satin ribbons for sale. On a whim he'd snagged a
couple and tossed the woman the proper coin.
Now he
untied the leather bag and withdrew the mazzarine hair ribbons. Well-made but
surprisingly cheap, they were the appropriate first gift for a wench he was
bedding.
"Before
I return to my previous engagement," Cíaran said, drawing his sister and
his prince's attention, "I've stumbled onto some very intriguing castle
gossip you may find of interest, my prince. Sister. It seems Silverlance's slut
went to the healers this afternoon."
"Oh,
dear," his sister drawled, mock-sympathy dripping from the words. "I
do hope she hasn't fallen ill. Perhaps someone took the initiative and poisoned
her."
Cíaran
shook his head. "That's not what her guards think." He waited,
savoring the words heavy on his tongue. Finally, Bres ordered him to share
whatever news he had or to be silent altogether and go back to his chambermaid.
Grinning, Cíaran murmured, "Rumor has it Her Ladyship is with child by His
Highness."
Silence
descended. It was finally shattered by Dierdre's shriek of outrage.
"What?!"
