Chapter 84 - Watch Out (Comin' from Behind)

Chapter Eighty-Four
Watch Out (Comin' from Behind)
that is
A Short Tale of a Prince's Blood, Some Enemies Revealed, a Glimpse of Past Grudges, Nuada's Vengeance, Ailís's Warning, Balor's Decision, and the Shadow's Return

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Dylan sucked in another breath and screamed again until she thought her lungs would burst. Someone had to hear her. Someone had to come! But in the meantime, she wasn't just going to stand back and let whoever was shooting at her and Zhenjin take a cheap shot.

Ducking toward Zhenjin, she wriggled under his good arm and heaved herself to her feet, bringing him with her. He groaned through clenched teeth. Fresh blood slipped in ruby droplets down the arrow shaft protruding from the Dilong prince's chest and dripped onto the icy stone floor. His ragged breathing sounded harshly in Dylan's ears.

"Come on," Dylan whispered. "We can make it. Come on."

The prince slowly shook his head, as if the weight of it was almost too great to bear. "I don't think… don't think I-"

Her body reacted to the soft snap of a bowstring being released before her mind even registered the sound. She dragged Zhenjin back instinctively, and the arrow that had been aimed at the prince's belly hit the wall with a tink of metal pinging stone. Another bow released an arrow - Dylan heard it. The second time, she was barely fast enough. An arrow whipped past her face. A red-hot line of pain seared her cheek. Warm blood spilled over her cheekbone to drip onto her shoulder.

A glint in the dimness caught her eye - one of the spent arrows. It looked… strange. A second's study told her why - it wasn't an arrow, it was a quarrel. A barbed, bronze-tipped quarrel. Their enemies were firing crossbows. Why? Because they were close enough that full-sized bows would be cumbersome? Because they were concerned about piercing armor? The fact that the assassins were using crossbows struck her as important. She just couldn't figure out why.

Later. Think about it later, she thought desperately as she and Zhenjin took a few steps. There had to be somewhere they could go! This terrifying escape felt too similar to the night she'd met Nuada, Dylan thought. Except instead of bullets, the attackers were going old school, and there was no chance of the human or the wounded Elven prince at her side being able to kill any of their assailants.

An icy whisper of warning chilled her spine. She started to twist in what was probably a vain attempt to evade. Wicked heat raked across her shoulder and Dylan yelped. The crossbow bolt had sliced through silk and velvet to cut deep into the meat of her upper arm. Pain spread through her arm and shoulder. She gritted her teeth and ignored it. It was just a little cut… unless the bolt-tips had been poisoned. Dylan prayed that it hadn't been, or she and Zhenjin were both probably one-hundred-percent going to end up dead.

"How badly… are you… hurt?" Zhenjin panted.

She shook her head. "It's just a scratch. I'm fine. Come on. Brace yourself," she added, and screamed again at the top of her lungs. Zhenjin had told her to scream, so she would. He was right - there were enough fae monarchs in the castle, her future-father-in-law and Moundshroud included, that someone should hear her shrieking despite the muffling glamour. It was hard, though, to keep a severely-wounded prince on his feet, one hand full of silk scraps and one hand wrapped tight around an Irish knife, while stumbling down a seemingly-abandoned corridor and trying to avoid being shot. The only reason she didn't just drop the raggedy silk bits was that if they had a chance to stop and rest, Dylan would need them to bandage Zhenjin's wounds.

Frigid warning hit her hard, clamping tight on her heart and freezing her blood, as the sharp twang of a firing crossbow hit her ears. There was the sick, wet sound of quarrel finding flesh and a ghastly sound like metal scraping bone. Zhenjin screamed and nearly fell to his knees. Dylan almost dropped the dirk trying to catch him and bear his weight.

"Zhenjin!" She cried as the Dilong prince swore viciously in Chinese. He clutched at her instinctively. "Where are you hit? Tell me!"

"My… my knee," he rasped. "Ah, gods!" His fingers convulsed in the silk of her gown. "It… it's… bad. I cannot… continue. Go on. Run."

She shook her head. "Not a chance," she insisted, taking a staggering step. Pain lanced her own knee; she'd hit it hard on the floor when she'd tripped and fallen before. Now that Zhenjin only had one good leg to stand on, Dylan was taking even more of his weight. "I'm not leaving you. Nuada would kill me."

"Go, Dylan!" The prince snapped. A shudder of pain racked his body. "Just… please… gods, I…"

Dylan only bit her lip and shook her head again. "You can't walk? Then we make a stand here. I'm not leaving someone I care about here to die." Staggering beneath Zhenjin's weight, she walked them over to one of the corridor walls. As carefully as she could, Dylan knelt and settled Zhenjin against the chilly stone. She quickly cut his shirt open to get a better look at the damage. She still had the scraps of her chopped skirt clenched in one hand. Now she used her dirk to cut a few of the scraps into strips. Ignoring the sense of being watched - whoever had shot at them was no doubt still there, though the glamour they were using prevented either the mortal woman or the Elven prince from seeing them - Dylan quickly sliced through Zhenjin's silk brocade shirt. The weak torchlight was still strong enough for her to see the damage from the bolts.

Zhenjin had been shot once in the shoulder, and then he'd ripped the bolt out like some macho idiot. He'd also been shot in the chest and - Dylan shuddered at the sight - his knee. Blood soaked the bronze velvet trews, darkening them to a brown that was nearly black around where the quarrel had penetrated the joint. More blood gleamed wet and golden across the now-exposed, scarred and muscled chest as well. The bolt in Zhenjin's chest had punched through the left side, too close to the heart for comfort. There wasn't enough blood, and the prince was too lucid, for any major blood vessels to have been damaged. The quarrel didn't throb in time with the prince's thready pulse, either, so it hadn't actually hit his heart. Dylan breathed a silent sigh of relief and quickly explained all of that to the injured prince.

"You should… forget…" A sudden fit of coughing strangled the words in Zhenjin's mouth. He covered his mouth with one hand, but Dylan saw the droplets of golden blood flecking his palm and chin. Cold whispered through her chest. The crossbow bolt had more than likely nicked Zhenjin's lung. He needed a healer - now - or very soon he would be drowning in his own blood. She was a healer, but a mundane one, not a powerful Elven healer capable of using magic. She couldn't fix this kind of damage.

"Shut up," Dylan snapped, more to hide her sudden fear than because the prince's protests were getting on her nerves. For now, she had to leave the bolt in his chest alone. Pulling it out could kill Zhenjin in minutes, and without any kind of tools, she wouldn't be able to repair any of the damage. Instead, she probed the ragged tear in his shoulder with her fingers. His skin was slightly cool despite the warm blood seeping from the injury. The bolt had done the expected amount of injury from sharp-force trauma upon entering the shoulder, but despite the poor lighting Dylan could tell just from the initial examination that when he'd ripped the bolt out, the barbs had done their job of shredding already-mutilated muscle tissue. "Oh, crud."

"Tell me," he ordered softly.

The mortal healer glanced over her shoulder into the darkness beyond the little pool of torchlight, as if she could see the assassins waiting in the shadows. Why hadn't they attacked again? She couldn't see them, but she knew they weren't gone. Focusing once more on Zhenjin, Dylan sighed. "If you don't get this fixed by a healer soon, you could lose the use of your arm. The muscles and nerves here," she gently circled the wound with one finger, "are ripped to pieces from when you pulled the bolt out. See how your hand keeps twitching?" Dylan added, reaching down to cradle Zhenjin's left hand. It lay limp in her grasp, the fingers twitching spasmodically every few seconds. "That's really bad, Zhenjin."

He nodded weakly. "You said if… I don't… see a healer. If I do?"

"Then you may still lose some use of your arm. I'm not sure. I don't know what magic can and can't do. Jeez, you moron." Dylan was shocked to find herself close to tears. "What the heck were you thinking? Why would you do this?"

"Is it not… obvious?" The wounded Elf asked softly. Dylan bit her lip and shook her head. To her surprise, a weak smile quirked the corners of the prince's mouth. "To save you. I would… count my manhood… a weak and pathetic thing… if I were to abandon… you."

A tear spilled down Dylan's cheek. She wiped it away with her sleeve and set to work binding Zhenjin's shoulder. "You don't even know me that well," the mortal muttered as she folded a piece of silk into a cloth pad. "I could be a horrible she-demon for all you know."

The prince smiled and shook his head. "I know… you, Dylan. I know you… as well as Silverlance. I… have seen… the woman you are."

"Shut up," she whispered. Her eyes stung. "Put your good hand right there." She guided his hand to the cloth pad so that he could hold it in place while she cut bandages. Once cut, she wrapped the pad firmly in place over the seeping wound. Tying it tight, making the prince hiss in pain, she sat back and glanced at the blood staining his lips. There was more than there had been before. There was nothing she could do about that now, so… "Okay, time to look at that knee."

Zhenjin didn't speak. He merely leaned his head back against the stone wall. His entire body went taut as wire when Dylan shifted to look at his leg. She used her dirk to cut open the leg of his trews and then took in the sight of the badly damaged knee. It was unprofessional, but the mortal couldn't help gasping at the sight.

"How… bad?" Zhenjin demanded. Dylan flicked her gaze to him and found him staring at her with almost feverish eyes. "How bad?"

"I-"

"Bad enough," said a voice from the shadows, "that we should do the honorable thing and put you out of your misery, Crown Prince Azurefire."

Dylan twisted around, catching up her dirk and bringing it into a defensive position even as she lunged to her feet. Her bad leg threatened to buckle, but she clenched her jaw and refused. She trained her eyes on the shadows moving within the darkness, keeping herself positioned between Zhenjin and the approaching threat.

"Who are you?" Dylan demanded, trying to force herself to be every inch the haughty princess. Future princess, she reminded herself with an edge of hysteria. And that's if I don't die tonight. But aloud, she only snapped, "Why did you attack us?"

Out of the shadows stepped a Dilong Elf clad in black - the uniform of the royal guards of that country. He moved somewhat stiffly, as if he'd been hurt. Dylan wondered if this was the Elf who'd tried to attack Balor at the duel, the one whose escape had prompted Nuada to assign Dylan a guard detail. The emperor of Dilong had sworn the Elf was a traitor and hadn't been acting under his orders. What no one had been able to discover before the betrayer's escape was the reason he'd attacked Balor in the first place. And why had he come after Dylan now?

"Dylan, get back!" Zhenjin croaked. A rustling behind her had the human turning slightly to see the Elven prince struggling to get to his feet - or rather, his one good foot. He leaned heavily against the wall, and fresh blood spilled down his chest and dripped onto the floor. "Get away from him!"

"What are you doing?" The mortal demanded, haughty princess façade forgotten. "You idiot, stay down!"

Zhenjin ignored her. Focusing on the other fae, the prince said, "It's me you… want, I… expect. The girl has… nothing to do with… this. Leave her be."

"Zhenjin-"

Summoning enraged volume from who knew where, the Dilong prince roared, "Woman, be silent!" Shock alone snapped Dylan's mouth shut. Zhenjin, breathing heavily and nearly gray from blood loss and pain, said to the ex-royal guard, "Now, what… do you want?"

The other Elf shrugged. "Nothing from you, actually. It's the girl who is of interest to us. Silverlance's human tart. We were going to leave you alive, Your Imperial Highness, as per the orders of our illustrious sovereign, but as you're little better than a dog to the Jade Emperor now that we've crippled you, honor dictates we put you out of your misery."

Dylan whipped her knife back up. She'd foolishly allowed her guard to drop a little when Zhenjin had yelled at her. "Don't you touch him! Don't you dare!"

The Elf raised one eyebrow. "Have you forgotten, little mortal, that it's the Silverlance you're supposedly in love with, not the Dragon Prince?"

She glared at him. "I'm not going to stand back and let you murder an unarmed man, especially one I consider a friend."

"You think you can stop us?"

Eyes flat and cold, Dylan said, "A group of Elves dressed a lot like you tried to kill me once before." She offered a negligent shrug and hoped the Elf in front of her couldn't hear the way her heart threatened to pound right out of her chest. "I killed two of them."

A cold smile met this declaration. "That was because we underestimated you. We'll not make that mistake again."

Dylan blinked, and the black-clad Elf was gone. She blinked again, and he stood in front of her, that same smile still curving his mouth. Zhenjin shouted a warning as the other Elf backhanded the mortal across the face. Stars exploded across her vision. Blood flooded her mouth. She flew back and collided with the wall, cracking her head on the stone so that more stars burst behind her eyes. Dazed, blackness attempting to descend, she mentally flailed back to full consciousness and clawed at the wall in an attempt to find purchase and get upright. Nearly-blinding pain throbbed through her skull. Blinking to clear her spotty vision, Dylan gasped when she heard Zhenjin scream.

The other Dilong Elf had his knee planted in the Elven prince's solar plexus, his lower leg stretched across Zhenjin's torso to keep him pinned. The former guard kept Zhenjin's good arm immobile with a well-placed boot. One hand held Zhenjin's face, forcing the prince to look at his assailant. The traitor's other hand was wrapped around the arrow protruding from Zhenjin's chest. As Dylan watched, the assassin twisted the crossbow bolt. Zhenjin's spine bowed as he threw his head back and screamed.

"Pretender to the throne," the Dilong Elf snarled at Zhenjin as he twisted the quarrel. Zhenjin's injured arm twitched and spasmed. "I'll have the honor of killing you myself for the disgrace you've brought to a noble house. Our illustrious sovereign, the rightful heir to the Jade Dragon Throne, knows you are unworthy of the title of crown prince." The cruel Elf slammed his fist into Zhenjin's wounded shoulder. The Dilong prince cried out in agony. "It will be my personal pleasure to kill you, and then I'll finish off the girl."

Picking up her dropped knife, struggling to keep the world from spinning away, Dylan lunged for the man torturing her friend. Remembering the knife-fighting lesson in the royal forest about a month ago, she threw herself against the Dilong Elf's back and, before he could do anything but grunt in surprise, rammed her dirk into his body to the left of his spine, sliding the blade into his kidney. The guard stiffened, a silent scream locked in his throat, and then he collapsed, dropping without a sound - just as Nuada had promised her during the fighting lesson. Dylan lost her balance and collapsed on top of the corpse with a gasp of pain. After drawing a few ragged breaths, she got to her knees and shoved the dead assassin out of her way before crouching over Zhenjin.

"Zhenjin," Dylan gasped. She pressed a hand to his clammy cheek. His reptilian eyes looked like jade marbles, glassy and vacant. His breath came in shallow gasps. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. She stroked his cheek with gentle fingers and whispered, "Zhenjin. Zhenjin, can you hear me? Hey. You okay?" She knew he wasn't, but it was the only thing she could think to ask.

He blinked twice. Sucked in a breath. "I… no. Yes. I… gods. Is he dead?"

"Yeah," she whispered. "I got him. You've got more lung damage," she added, leaning down to listen to his breathing. It was wet and raspy, rattling in his chest. "I have to see how bad the damage is. I need you to take a really deep breath for me. It'll hurt, but I need you to do it, okay?" When the prince drew in air, his chest barely rose before a fit of body-shaking coughing slammed into him. Blood speckled his lips and chin. A few wet drops touched Dylan's cheek. "Okay," she murmured soothingly, stroking his throat in a Lamaze technique she'd learned in college. Slowly the tension eased out of him and the coughing subsided. He shuddered on the floor and simply tried to breathe. "Okay. Um… I just… just need a minute to think. Gimme a minute."

"I am… dying… aren't I?"

"You're not dying," Dylan snapped. "Shut up! Idiot. You're not dying."

He chuckled wearily. The effort made him cough a little. "It is… all right, Dylan. There… are others… to take my place… on the throne if I… die. My brothers are… good men. They'll stand for… my kingdom in my place."

Dylan shook her head vehemently. "No. No, don't talk like that. You're not going to…" She trailed off when something cold and vicious curled around her heart. The reassuring words died on her tongue. Fear was a clawing shadow creature in her stomach as she glanced up to look out at the darkness beyond the pool of light. "Hold that thought."

Zhenjin clutched the hand she still had pressed to his cheek. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"There are more."

They came out of the shadows, a ragtag ensemble of fae and… humans? Dylan counted at least two humans among the ten assassins arrayed around the fallen prince and the frightened mortal. All twelve men had crossbows trained on Dylan and Zhenjin. A chill emptiness burned in their eyes. Dylan fought back a shiver.

"You are very well-protected for a lowly bed-warmer," the centermost assassin said coolly. Dylan recognized him as an Elf of Nyame. Copper beads glinted at the ends of his black warrior braids. Ensorcelled tattoos like liquid gold sprawled up and down his bare arms and over his chiseled, hawk-like features. Arrayed beside him were various fae - three Dilong Elves, a fanged kishi, a Banquet Keeper, a pair of dark-eyed bodachs, even a winged ekek. "It took this, of all things, to bring you down. You must be a very special whore, for Silverlance to go to so much trouble to protect you."

"Maybe you haven't heard," Dylan said. "As of tonight, I'm the betrothed of Prince Nuada Silverlance, so declared by the prince and King Balor. I'm to become a princess of the realm. Do you really want to assassinate a princess? Prince Nuada will come after you. So will the king."

The lead assassin shook his head and smiled. His teeth were bright against the ebony of his skin. "If we kill you, then yes, he will. But if our… associates kill you, then neither King Balor nor Emperor Huizong will seek vengeance." The assassin gestured to three humans standing on his right. Scarred and raggedy, all three mortal men looked as if they'd led hard lives. There was a feral quality about them that made Dylan wonder if they'd grown up in Faerie. With most humans, it was obvious to the observant when a mortal had roots in the Faerie Realm.

"You think just because they're human, you'll go unpunished?" Dylan shook her head. It hurt, reminding her that she'd whacked her head pretty hard on the wall. "That's ludicrous."

The Nyame Elf shrugged. "Perhaps, but… the monarchs in favor of the treaty with the humans have been known to suffer much at the hands of the children of Adam. They understand that humans should be protected, that the worlds cannot exist in proper accord without the touch of mortals."

"Then why try to kill me?" Dylan demanded. "I'm human!"

"You're a traitor," the pale, emaciated-looking Banquet Keeper snapped. "A traitor to your own kind! You spread your legs for the Silverlance, the one responsible for countless massacres during the last war against the human race! He is nothing but a butcher, a murderer of innocent women and children! He slaughtered your people and yet you still give yourself to him-"

Dylan shook her head. "That's not true. Nuada would never do something like that! Who told you this?"

"I was there," one of the bodachs hissed. Its shadowy body twisted and writhed in anger. Eyes like tenebrous flame burned with hatred. "I was there when Prince Nuada stepped onto one of those killing fields, a battleground strewn with the bodies of innocents. He'd ordered the attack! He was our captain, we all knew it. The Golden Army had gone at his command and slaughtered entire villages-"

She simply shook her head again. It sent pain spiking through her temples. "I don't believe you. Prince Nuada would never hurt an innocent. Or else why save me? He saved my life; if he despises humans as much as you say, why did he rescue me?"

For a second, a few of the assassins wavered. One of them, the hyena-faced kishi, ventured, "He… saved you?"

"Yes." She nodded, fighting dizziness, and added, "There must've been some kind of mistake. Nuada would never order-"

The bodach raised his crossbow, aiming the bolt straight at Dylan's unprotected heart. Her mouth snapped shut. "Enough of your lies. He was the king's War Chief. He had control of our armies. All our armies! When he walked out onto that killing field and saw the destruction and butchery he'd caused, do you know what your precious prince did? He approved. Silverlance is a monster, and you are nothing better than the strumpet of a bloodthirsty killer- gah!"

A savage growl rumbled through the corridor as the bodach screamed and fell to the stone, kicking at something Dylan couldn't see. A second growl echoed the first. Dylan felt a sudden burst of pressure inside her skull. It left a dull ache through her sinuses. Blood trickled from her nose. Hastily wiping it away, the human woman blinked as spots exploded across her vision. Then, as if a light switch had been thrown, she saw a lethal black shadow lunge for the Nyame Elf while an ice-white beast ripped and tore at the bodach screaming on the ground. The mortal's heart leapt. Eimh and Sétanta! But that meant…

Rescue! Flashes of torchlight on Elven silver and cold iron; the clank of the Butcher Guards' hobnail boots; screams of would-be assassins cut down; the reek of lifeblood spilled in violence. Dylan turned away from it all to focus once more on Zhenjin. The Dilong prince's eyes were closed, his face gray, his breathing harsh and wet. Dylan leaned down to hear better. The breath gurgled in Zhenjin's lungs. His chest was slick and tacky with blood from his chest wound and his shoulder. When she pressed her fingers to the pulse in his neck, she found it weak and thready.

"Zhenjin," she said sharply. The prince didn't open his eyes. Dylan pressed one hand to the wound in his shoulder and found the cloth pad soaked and dripping. "Zhenjin, wake up." She peeled back one eyelid. The reptilian pupil responded to the sudden influx of light, but sluggishly. "Come on, look at me." How much blood had he lost by now? His skin was ashen. Was it already too late? "Zhenjin!"

She checked his pulse again - still going, but flickering. Biting her lip, she thumped Zhenjin hard on the chest over his heart with one fist. The Dilong prince gasped at the sudden blow. Blinked, peering around dazedly before his eyes managed to fix on Dylan's pale face. He swallowed. Blinked at her again.

"Dylan…"

"Stay with me," she pleaded, cradling his face between her hands. His skin was icy against her palms. "Come on, Zhenjin, stay with me! Zhenjin?" His eyelashes drifted downward. "No! No, open your eyes! Zhenjin! Dammit, Zhenjin! Please!"

Pale hands closed over hers and Dylan's head snapped up. Her eyes met a gaze of stricken topaz.

"Nuada!"

"How bad is it?" He demanded while peeling back one of Zhenjin's eyelids to gauge pupil-response. The other prince didn't react this time.

"Bad," she said. "Pierced lung, ripped up shoulder, shredded knee. We have to stop the bleeding and get him to wake up or..." She trailed off as a wave of pain and dizziness threatened to drag her to the ground. She shook her head, and the world swam before her eyes. "I… he's…" Nausea surged up in her stomach. She forced it down through sheer strength of will. "Zhenjin…"

"Dylan!" Nuada said sharply. "You're bleeding."

"An arrow grazed my arm-"

"No. Here." He reached up and touched just beneath her ear. His fingertips came away wet with crimson blood. "You-"

"Have a concussion," Dylan mumbled. A worse one than she'd thought, if blood was leaking from her ear. "I know. Later. Zhenjin first."

"You need a healer-"

"I'll live a bit longer without one," Dylan snapped. "Zhenjin might not! I need him to wake up!"

Without another word to her, the prince of Bethmoora grasped his fallen friend's hand and closed his eyes. Dylan felt something - Magic? Power? - vibrate through the hallway, making her teeth ache. Nuada's brow furrowed in concentration, then he bared his teeth. His eyes snapped open. Crimson tinged the very edges of the topaz irises.

"I will not let you do this," he snarled. At first the mortal thought he was speaking to her, but then she saw Zhenjin's eyelids flutter. "You will not die, Azurefire. Not now, not like this. I won't allow it! I won't let you die and break your sister's heart or Dylan's! Wake up, Dragon Prince! Are you going to give up like a coward? Wake up! Open your eyes, you lazy, half-licked cub, or I'll thrash you-"

Zhenjin's good arm lifted a few inches off the floor. His hand curled into a very loose fist that collided with Nuada's thigh.

"Who's… half-licked?" The prince rasped. Jade eyes flickered open and focused with obvious difficulty on the Tuathan prince. "You couldn't… thrash me if your… life depended… on it." Then something flashed behind Zhenjin's eyes and he attempted to strain upward, tried in vain to sit up. Dylan's hands went to the uninjured side of his chest and his good shoulder and pressed him down.

"Lie still," she cried. Her voice quavered, thick with tears now that her guards and her prince had arrived and she could focus on trying to keep Zhenjin lucid and alive instead of worrying about defending them both. "Lie still. We're safe now. The guards are here. Lie still. You have to… you stupid Elf," Dylan added. A tear trickled down her cheek, leaving a track in the blood that had dried in smears on her face. The pink-tinged droplet landed on Zhenjin's lower lip. "You're so stupid," she mumbled as another tear fell. Adrenaline still pumped hot and electric through mortal veins, but it was weakening now that the danger to Dylan herself was past. "Why didn't you just leave me? Instead you got shot up and you're hurt and you're bleeding buckets and-"

Trembling fingers touched her tear-marked cheek. Dylan sniffled and met Zhenjin's eyes. Haggard and gray, still he managed to dredge up the ghost of his normal carefree smile. "Don't cry," he whispered. "Please… Dylan. Don't cry. I have done… the only thing I… could do. What… greater reason to… give up my life… than to preserve… yours? I swore to protect… you." His thumb brushed across her cheek, leaving a smear of tears and amber and red blood. "You're safe."

A freshet of tears flowed down Dylan's cheeks. "You and Nuada… you two are just like each other," she muttered. "Jeez. You both drive me crazy."

Nuada touched her wrist. She flicked a glance at him. The Elven prince murmured, "The healers have come. Come with me and I'll see that you're tended."

Dylan shook her head, but only slightly. "Only when the healer actually gets here…"

Even as she spoke, a Bethmooran Elf in hunter-green healers' robes knelt beside her and placed his hands over the wounds in Zhenjin's chest and shoulder. She looked into the Elven healer's yellow eyes. She knew him - Healer Conn. She didn't like him as a person, but he was professional and a good healer. Dylan slowly rose to her feet, swaying. Adrenaline ebbed and exhaustion took its place as her various injuries informed her of their presence. Her knee screamed that it hurt, and her head ached abominably. The slice across her arm burned, and still bled. Crimson stained the sleeve of her gown.

"I… have to…" She couldn't quite get the words out. Wasn't even sure what she actually wanted. To make sure her assailants were actually dead or in royal custody? Maybe. She turned in a slow circle to see the group of assassins unarmed and in chains, held in place by a batch of furious Butcher Guards. Some of them were wounded. One of the bodachs lay dead on the ground. The human assassins were tied with ropes, not shackled, and the guards were treating them far more gently than they did the fae that had attacked her. "What are they doing?"

Nuada came to stand beside her. He glanced once over his shoulder at Zhenjin before focusing on the human assassins. "My father has ordered the humans to be taken beyond the castle grounds and released. The fae will be executed for their crimes."

Dylan slowly turned to stare at him. Warm wetness dribbled down her neck from her ear, but she ignored it. "He's just going to let them go?" Nuada nodded. "He can't… he can't do that. Look what they did to Zhenjin! The Dragon Emperor will pitch a fit and blame Bethmoora if we do that!"

"Huizong is in agreement, actually. The humans are to be disarmed and released outside the palace on their own reconnaissance."

A low chuckle snagged Dylan's attention. She looked over at one of the humans, who laughed low in his throat. When he caught her looking at him, the assassin smirked. Unlike his faerie accomplices, the human was allowed to stand on his own two feet. He looked her in the eye and smiled. "The king still retains his honor - unlike his so-called heir."

"Shut up!" Dylan snapped. Her hands balled into fists and she took a step toward the assassin. The guards all gave her a sharp look. "What would you know about honor?"

"I know more about honor than a child-killing beast," the human growled. His eyes slid to Nuada, who stood impassively beside the human woman, his gaze like a glittering topaz knife. Dylan's hands convulsed into fists. Her nails bit deep into her palms. "A monster who revels in butchering innocent women and children. And more than a harlot who sells her body to the enemy of her race."

Silver whispered against the leather of Nuada's scabbard when he drew his sword. "Have a care, human. My father's order or no, disrespect my lady and I'll have the tongue from your mouth in moments."

"Your Highness," one of the guards began, but the second mortal assassin's laughter cut the warning off.

"You? Cut out our tongues? We know the king's ways. We know what he'll stand for. Our masters knew to send us, because no punishment would fall upon us for killing your whore." Nuada took a single step forward. His grip on the hilt of his sword tightened. "Our comrades might fall beneath your sword, but we will always return until our mission is complete. Kill the harlot and walk away - simple enough. And you would do what? Break faith with your king and kill us?"

The first human assassin smirked. "I don't think so. A coward like you would fear the king's wrath too much. After your sovereign exiled you for the soulless massacres you committed in the last war, after facing punishment yet again for killing innocent humans this past autumn, we knew you'd be too whipped by Balor to come after us. It was the perfect moment to attack the Exiled Prince, the cowardly Silverlance, a lesser son of a great and noble house-"

Before anyone could say or do anything to stop this tirade, Dylan strode forward and slammed her fist into the human assassin's face as hard as she could. Something crumbled beneath the blow. The assassin yelped. Dylan gasped and jerked back, cradling her wrist to her chest and trying to flex her fingers. Blood gushed from the human male's nose as he stumbled backward and hit the floor, writhing.

"You bitch!" He sobbed, twisting on the ground. "You bitch, you broke my nose!"

"Suck it up," the mortal woman hissed through gritted teeth.

"Dylan!" Nuada grabbed her hand and studied it. Already the knuckles were beginning to swell and turn a grayish blue. "Have you lost your mind? What were you thinking?"

"That I wanted him to shut up," she muttered, wincing. "Didn't know I'd break my hand, though. Think I cracked a tarsal."

The second human stared at his mortal comrade for a moment in stunned rage before whipping around to glare hatefully at Dylan. "Bitch!" He lunged for Dylan, teeth bared, eyes burning with loathing. Only the Butcher Guard yanking on the assassin's rope kept him from crossing the handful of feet between him and the mortal. Dylan jerked back a step instinctively. "Traitor! Whoring for the fae who would see us wiped out! Filthy slut! We'll kill you first! You're dead, you trollop, dead! Do you hear me? Do you hear me?"

Nuada's sword-point found the pulsing artery at the side of the human's neck. The tirade was quickly cut off, but the assassin continued to glare at the prince and his lady. Nuada added a touch of pressure. A thin dribble of crimson spilled down the human's neck to stain the patched gray shirt he wore. One of the guards made a sound of protest. One frigid glance from the prince silenced them.

"If we let you go, you intend to come after Lady Dylan again?" Nuada demanded.

The assassin spat at Nuada's feet. "I'll kill your little bitch if it's the last thing I do, Silverlance. I'll cut her into little pieces and feed them to your dogs." A muscle in Nuada's jaw twitched. "We won't stop. We will protect the humans from you and your mad lust for vengeance."

A white-gold brow quirked. Something feral and cruel smoldered in Nuada's crimson eyes when he said tonelessly, "Vengeance? You've not yet seen my vengeance." In a movement too swift for mortal eyes to register, the prince plunged his sword into the human assassin's chest. The Butcher Guards all made sounds of protest, but no one dared approach the prince at that moment.

Nuada thrust the blade deeper. The bound captive choked. Blood spilled from between his suddenly-slack lips. Dylan choked on a gasp and stumbled backward. Baring his teeth, Nuada stared into the assassin's eyes and twisted the blade viciously. The human's breath gurgled in his throat. Scarlet bubbled between his lips. Crimson dripped along the blade to pit-patter on the stones at Nuada's feet. He yanked the sword free. With a wheezing exhalation, the assassin slumped over.

Nuada wiped his blade on the leg of his pants and sheathed it. He stared at the third human assassin, who'd remained silent since his capture. The captive paled and shrank back. Dark lips twisted in a sneer. Then Nuada turned to Dylan and looked into her eyes.

She knew what he searched for in her gaze - condemnation. Disgust. Horror. He'd just killed an unarmed man. Would she turn away from him for that?

Dylan tried to take a step toward her prince. Stumbled when the world spun in sickening circles and the image of the Elven prince tripled in front of her eyes. Nuada caught her before she could fall. Hoisted her into his arms with a speed that had vicious nausea churning in her stomach. Pressing her lips together, she buried her face in Nuada's shoulder and struggled to keep from being sick.

"I am taking Lady Dylan to see Chief Healer Somhairle. If the king wishes to speak to me, I will be there."

The prince of Bethmoora strode down the hall. Wisely, no one tried to stop him.

.

"Your father will be furious," Dylan mumbled from where she lay on the bed in the healing chamber. Somhairle pressed gentle fingers to the mortal's temples and spilled healing magic into her head, slowly knitting the crack in her skull back together. Nuada said nothing. He merely gazed out the glamoured window at a snow-swept landscape lit by the winter moon. It wasn't until the king's personal physician had finished repairing the green skull fracture, as well as closing the deep cut on Dylan's arm and healing the cracked knucklebone, and left the room that the prince finally turned to her. He still didn't speak, however. "Nuada…" Suddenly uncertain, Dylan hesitated before asking, "Are you angry with me?"

He studied her for a long minute, topaz eyes unfathomable. Then he said, "You should change. The nights are cold, and that gown has seen better days." He strode to the door of the healing chamber and opened it to reveal a hob maid - Fiona, Dylan remembered - standing there. Fiona held a pile of familiar, folded clothing in her small hands. As the prince left the room, Fiona deposited the clothes on the bedside table. Clearly she intended to stick around and help the human change clothes, but if Dylan couldn't be with Nuada, couldn't talk to him about what she'd heard from the assassins and try to figure out what it all meant, then she simply wanted to be left alone.

"Thank you, Fiona, but I'm fine. You don't have to stay. Go on," she said with a smile. "Enjoy your Midwinter."

"Oh, milady, I couldn't. You're injured-"

Dylan forced her smile to stay fixed in place. She was not going to snap at the poor girl for doing her job. "Please, Fiona. I just need some time to myself. And I've heard from Rórdan Hob that you had someone waiting for you, anyway. A sweetheart, I heard." Seeing the pleased flush to the hob maiden's cheeks, Dylan found her smile becoming sincere. "I don't want to keep you. I'm really okay. Honest. If Prince Nuada asks, I'll tell him I sent you back to… wherever you're supposed to be."

"Well… all right, then. If you insist, my lady. Thank you." Fiona dipped a swift curtsy to the prince's lady, and with a bright smile, scurried out the door just before Guardswoman Ailís stepped into the room.

Ailís leaned back against the wall and folded her arms. Suddenly uneasy, Dylan eyed her guard, but said nothing. Ailís sighed. Dylan got the impression she wanted to say something to the mortal, but that the guard didn't know quite where to begin. The silence grew uncomfortably heavy. Finally, the human woman couldn't take it anymore.

"Why do I feel like the kid waiting to get called to the principal's office?" Dylan demanded of the Butcher Guard. "Am I in trouble?"

Ailís hesitated, then said, "Not as far as I know, milady. The king won't like that you struck a human in royal custody, but I doubt he'll attempt to punish you for it. But His Highness…" The royal guard trailed off.

Cool dread spilled down Dylan's spine like ice water. "He's in trouble for killing that human, isn't he?" Ailís nodded. "How much trouble?"

"I don't know, milady. I'm sorry. Likely as not, no one will know until after His Majesty has spoken to the prince and received all the reports of the incident."

Dylan shoved a hand through her hair, which hung loose down her back and in her face after Somhairle's healing of her fractured skull; apparently the metal in her hair piece had interfered with him being able to sense the true depth of the cranial damage. Uncertainty and the first tinge of fear shivered through Dylan's blood as she contemplated the king's anger at her prince for killing the assassin. Since she couldn't do anything about that, though, she decided to focus on another worry. "Do you know if Zhen… if Prince Zhenjin is all right? Did he survive?"

The guardswoman sighed. "I don't know that, either, milady, but… I…" Glancing at the closed door, Ailís murmured, "Permission to speak freely, my lady? You are new to court intrigues and may be ignorant of certain… pitfalls."

After a moment's uncertainty, Dylan nodded. To her surprise, Ailís sat down in the wooden chair near the door and removed her helmet with a sigh. Dylan remembered that a Butcher Guard removing their beaked iron helmet in the presence of anyone but the royal family was a sign of great trust. Whatever her guard wanted to say, Dylan knew right then that she needed to pay attention. After the way Ailís had been so kind in the emotional upheaval following Nuada's original marriage proposal - going out of her way to spend time with her mortal charge, engaging her in friendly conversation and amateur games of chess, as well as making sure the human woman ate and slept regularly for the couple days she'd seemed to be adrift in sorrow - Dylan also knew Ailís had her back.

Ailís toyed with the end of her single, waist-length black braid while flexing the three gill-like slitted nostrils bisecting her face. Dylan took this to be similar to how she nibbled her thumbnail when trying to think. When all four of Ailís's violet eyes focused once again on the mortal's face, Dylan straightened up and made herself pay attention.

"All right, then," Ailís said. Her black needle-like teeth clicked on the hard consonants. Usually muffled by her helmet, the click-click was oddly comforting. "I mean no offense, Lady Dylan, but I must caution you about your affection for His Highness Prince Zhenjin."

Dylan frowned. "I beg your pardon?"

"There are already some dangerous rumors spreading-"

"Rumors? Rumors about what?" Dylan demanded.

"That the two of you are… that he's consorting with you."

"We're friends! Is that a crime? He's friends with Nuada, too. Why is that a problem?"

Ailís sighed. "It's a problem because Bethmooran nobles can be complete and utter idiots and jackasses, milady. Even Butchers can jump to conclusions at times. The gods know Fionnlagh does it often enough. When you were found by the rescue party, according to the rumors, you and the Dragon Prince seemed to be… intimate."

"He was hurt!" Anger simmered in Dylan's veins as she thought back to the terrifying moment when she'd thought the Dilong prince might not wake up. If he'd stayed unconscious, if she hadn't been able to rouse him… "I was trying to keep him conscious!"

"Those same idiots and jackasses noticed how distressed you were over his injuries-"

"I'm not some soulless shrew who doesn't care that the man who saved her, who's a dear friend of her betrothed, could've been dying!"

"I know that, Lady Dylan," Ailís said sharply. "I'm not accusing you; I'm trying to warn you of danger, and where that danger is coming from. By now the rumors have trickled through the healers, the servants, the guards, and no doubt to the nobles. If any of the visiting royals find out - and they will - it could spell trouble for you. Especially because there's the question of why the two of you were alone in the hallway in the first place-"

"We met up by chance! So… so let me get this straight: we both nearly die, he saves my life, and people are slandering us? Saying we're trysting? Are you serious?"

"I am." Tucking a stray lock of raven hair behind her delicately-pointed ear, Ailís sighed. "I know nothing untoward happened between the two of you. Your love for Nuada is clear to any fool with eyes to see it. But the Golden Court is full of fools who enjoy a juicy bit of gossip. And wouldn't it be so very interesting if Prince Zhenjin, whose sister was shamed by His Highness, exacted revenge on his former friend and ally by seducing His Highness's betrothed?"

Dylan shook her head. "No. No, Zhenjin would never do that. Even if he was the kind of man who would, I'm not the kind of woman who'd allow it!"

"Not everyone believes that," Ailís replied. "The more fools them, if they cannot see your devotion to the prince and to the Star Kindler. But many nobles are idiots; it's a fact we guards have come to accept. After all, how often do the cruder members of the Court refer to you as 'Nuada's whore?'"

The mortal woman dropped her face into her hands. "You've gotta be kidding me. I thought getting engaged would help fix some of this." Massaging her forehead with her fingers, she sighed. Then a thought crystallized like a spike of ice in her brain. Her head shot up and she stared at Ailís in sudden comprehension. "Nuada's heard the talk, hasn't he? He thinks it's true. That's why he just left…"

Ailís hesitated before replying, "I don't know what he's thinking. I cannot read his thoughts. Perhaps he is merely concerned over the king's reaction."

"Can you find out what that is?" Dylan pleaded. "I'll be fine here, really. Can you check on him? Make sure he's all right?"

After a moment of silence, Ailís nodded. "As you wish, my lady." The guard donned her helmet and got to her feet. Just before walking out, she added, "The prince also wanted to know if you wished to see your sister. Guards were dispatched to protect her in case of an attack on your suite, and she's insisting on seeing you. It is her right, by virtue of your blood. She's the elder sister, isn't she?" Dylan nodded. "The prince was informed, as he is technically obligated to honor the bond between your sister and yourself, but he said you mightn't wish to see her just now. What say you?"

For a minute Dylan was tempted to beg Francesca's presence… but that would've been a bad idea. One look at her sister and Francesca would freak out… which would be amusing at first, but might eventually cause friction between the waitress and the prince when Nuada returned. And Dylan just wanted to be alone. Wanted a chance to think. She couldn't do that if Cesca were spazzing about the attack.

"Please have a message sent to my sister saying I'm fine, I just need some time to get cleaned up and everything, and I'll send someone to get her when I'm ready."

"As you wish, milady." Ailís walked out, and the door clicked shut behind her.

.

Balor gazed upon his son with weary amber eyes and demanded yet again, "Why? Why did you do this?"

Crown Prince Nuada Silverlance stood at strict military attention before his father and king, eyes fixed on a spot somewhere beyond the old king's left shoulder. He hadn't changed out of his Midwinter finery, which had suffered in the skirmish against the group of assassins that had pervaded the castle. Though not badly wounded, Nuada's shirt and tunic were stained with blood - his own, and the blood of fae and humans. Bruises darkened his jaw and the skin around one eye. His bottom lip was also bruised and puffy, sporting a small cut. When he'd entered the king's study, the prince had moved very stiffly, as if injured. Balor had forced down his concern in order to deal with his son's disobedience regarding the mortal assassins. If Nuada were badly hurt, he'd have been to see a healer already.

"Answer me, my son," Balor said. For now, they would keep this informal, between family, instead of an interview between king and subject. The old Elf hadn't forgotten Lady Dylan's words about trying to see the prince through new eyes. "Tell me why you disobeyed me. Was it… pride? Did the assassins provoke your anger?"

Topaz eyes flicked to the king's weathered countenance. "They threatened Dylan."

"But they were already in custody-"

"They swore they would never stop," Nuada said. He'd interrupted the king, but his father allowed it. Surprised and heartened by this seeming willingness to actually listen, the crown prince added, "I asked them, if we released them, would they come back? The one I killed swore he would never stop until Dylan was dead. He said he would try and try again, and that he had no reason to stop, because the king would allow him to walk into our castle, murder my betrothed - cut her into little pieces, he said - and walk out again without any fear of punishment."

Balor sighed. "Nuada-"

"He tried to kill her," Nuada said. A tremor vibrated beneath the words. "I saw him. He had a crossbow aimed at her heart and he was going to kill her. I swore to protect her. I swore on my honor, on my life, that I would keep her safe from any who meant her harm. Before we returned to Findias, I gave Dylan my word that no harm would come to her if I could prevent it. What was I supposed to do?"

Another sigh. "You should never have made such an oath."

"It was the same oath you made to Mother," Nuada reminded him. Balor jolted. "She told me… long ago. When you asked her to marry you, and she was concerned about coming to Bethmoora, where she knew hardly anyone, and she would no longer be safe in the relative obscurity of being a country nobleman's daughter but would now be the queen of a nation… you swore to her that no harm would come to her if you could help it. You vowed to protect her."

The king didn't speak for a long moment. Pain, cold and bitter as winter, swept across his face in an anguished wave before vanishing. Balor drew several deep breaths before he finally managed to say, "That was before the treaty."

Now the prince dropped military precision and dropped his hands onto his father's desk, leaning forward a little. "Look me in the eye and swear to me that you would not make that oath again and again even now, if Mother was somehow returned to us and someone threatened to take her away again. If she came back to us, you would do anything to keep her safe, wouldn't you?" When the king said nothing, Nuada demanded, "Wouldn't you?"

"And what would you do, my son? What would you sacrifice to protect the lady you love?"

"If I must, I'll kill every assassin who dares set their sights on her, human or fae." Nuada stepped back and sighed. "I'm sorry, Father, but you'll have to kill me to stop me from protecting her. I gave her my word. I gave the children my word that I would keep her safe. More than that, I love her. I cannot simply stand back and… I cannot be the king you are, Athair," the prince confessed. Balor frowned. "When Mother died… she took you with her. You came back eventually, but you were no longer whole. The greater part of your heart and soul is with her even now. You aren't the king you used to be. If I lose Dylan, I will become what you are, and I cannot do that to my people. They need better. They deserve better."

King Balor stared at his son - the strength and defiance in every line of his body, the sorrow and apology in his eyes. The fact that Balor didn't call his son out for such a speech merely proved what Nuada had been saying. No, the tired old king had never fully recovered after the queen's death. Nuada wasn't wrong about that. And while the treaty had to be protected… what would Balor have done, if it had been Cethlenn in danger?

"You have sent the message you desired to those who seek to harm your lady," the king said finally. "Have you not?"

Nuada inclined his head. "I believe so, Father."

"Then you will not interfere in the release of the other two humans?"

"I will not."

"This moderates your punishment - a little." Balor sighed again. "You disobeyed an order from your king in front of the royal guards. This cannot go unpunished. But you knew that when you did it, didn't you?" The prince nodded. His face remained expressionless. "Shades of Annwn, Nuada, I don't want to punish you!"

A crack showed in the prince's calm façade. "I know, Father. I accept whatever punishment you deem just. I will explain to Dylan."

Balor's hand clenched into a tight fist. "Fifty… twenty iron lashes at dawn."

Surprise flitted across the prince's face. "Twenty?"

"Do you wish it to be fifty?"

"No, Majesty," Nuada said softly. "I am merely… confused. You once sentenced me to two-thousand iron lashes for nearly the same offense-"

"And I was wrong to do that," Balor said. "I'm not a monster, whatever your lady may think. I'll not torture my own child for doing what he felt he had to do. But I cannot avoid punishing you, either. This will have to do. I know you love her. I understand the fear of losing the one you love. I know what it is… to lose what makes your life worth living. I would not condemn you to that bleak existence if I could help it." Aged amber eyes turned to cool topaz. The king of Bethmoora commanded, "Now leave me. Tend to your lady. Enjoy what is left of Midwinter's night. I shall see you at dawn."

Nuada bowed to his father and king, and left. Balor sat back in his chair and heaved another sigh. He wouldn't torture his own son for protecting the mortal woman… this time. But how often could Balor make allowances, balancing making his son and the mortal happy, while still upholding the honor of the king and the kingdom? The old Elf didn't know. He prayed he would never have to find out.

.

Dylan paced the length of the healing chamber, wondering what was taking Nuada so long, knowing that if she hadn't just narrowly escaped death that night, she would've gone looking for him if he'd kept her waiting much longer. But Nuada had killed someone tonight. A human. And that meant he was probably closeted with the king at the moment. What would Balor do to him? Hurt him? Bursting in on the king and prince like an overly attached girlfriend wouldn't help him at all. So she paced, even though her leg ached abominably and her head was still pounding. It wasn't because of the now-healed concussion, though. She had a tension headache. All her thoughts zipped through her mind like hyperactive ferrets.

A group of assassins had tried to kill her. One of them, a Dilong Elf and former guard, had said that the rightful heir to the Dilong throne knew Zhenjin was unworthy to become emperor, but wanted the prince to remain alive. Who was the rightful heir to the Jade Dragon Throne, if not the emperor's eldest son? Dylan wished she knew more about the royal families of Faerie; it would've given her more information to work with. And why had the assassin seemed so offended by Zhenjin? The creep had been willing to kill Zhenjin against orders from "the rightful sovereign," strictly because the Dragon Prince had done something to anger him.

Not all of the assassins worked for the same person, either. One of the human assassins had said "our masters," not "our master." The thought made Dylan feel sick. That probably meant there was more than one person out to kill her - and possibly Nuada. Not just a bunch of people, but a bunch of well-placed, powerful, probably rich - rich enough to hire assassins, at any rate - people, and they were working together. Pro-human fae. Most of the assassins had been Irish fae, but that didn't necessarily mean they were from Bethmoora, Eìrc, or Cíocal. Hiyori was an Onibi Elf, but she took employment in Findias as a journeymaid seamstress. Eamonn was a Star Elf, from the northern kingdom of Zwezda, yet he had an Irish name and accent, and seemed to have been a Bethmooran native. The assassins who'd tried for her tonight could, looking at it realistically, be from anywhere in the Twilight Realm.

Did this have anything to do with the attacks that had come just before her and Nuada's return to Findias? It seemed plausible that at least one of the "masters" had been behind those incidents. It seemed too much to believe that that many people wanted her dead. At least, wanted it enough that they'd actually try to do something about it. She wasn't just Dylan anymore, the mortal reasoned. She was the crown prince's lady, officially betrothed to the heir to the throne, with the blessing of the king. She was going to be a princess, for crying out loud. So who…

Ice stabbed into Dylan's chest. The door to the healing chamber clicked shut. She whirled, ready to… what? Ask Nuada what had happened, perhaps, or apologize for ruining the ball gown the prince had bought her, or something. But it wasn't Nuada who'd walked in the room and locked the door. It was the second human assassin, the one whose nose she'd broken. Dried blood still caked his face. His nose was a lopsided mess… but he smiled at her.

The blood drained from Dylan's face. How had he gotten away from his captors? How had he gotten past her guards again?

"No Elven princes to save you now," he snarled, taking a step toward her. "No guards. No dogs. Just you and me." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a length of thick, brown leather with handholds on each end. "The last thing you'll feel is me wrapping this around your pretty little neck and choking the life out of you. Filthy whore." The assassin slid his hands into the loops at each end of the strap and gave a sharp jerk. The leather snapped hard enough to sting the air. Dylan took a step back. Her knife - where was her knife? The assassin smiled wider. "Oh, I am going to enjoy killing you."