Chapter 86 - Brief Sanctuary

Chapter Eighty-Six

Brief Sanctuary

that is

A Short Tale of Wounds, Heartache, Healing, Tenderness, New Information, a Father's Love, a Friendship Still Strong, and Leaving

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Nuada stood in fresh black trews, stripped to the waist, leaning against the sink in the sanctuary's privy to study his lacerated face in the mirror. Several cuts and scrapes marred his right temple, cheekbone, and jaw. Brown bruises spread down that side of his face. That human wretch had hit him with a stars-cursed chair. And while the punctures in his side and his broken ribs were mostly-mended, and the sanctuary's magic was slowly healing his more minor injuries, sickly yellow and brown spread like a disease down his right side. And he still had a black eye and bruised jaw on the other side, and a cut lip. If not for the need to get Dylan to the sanctuary quickly, he would've had everything tended by the healer, but… well, he'd had other priorities. At least he'd been able to wash. He felt as refreshed as possible under the circumstances.

Finally he walked back into the main room of the subterranean haven and found Dylan. She'd spent nearly an hour in the tub; the only reason she hadn't fallen asleep and drowned was because he'd ordered the crinaeae bound to the sanctuary's water-system to keep an eye on her. While she'd been in the bath and he'd showered, another elemental had set up a meal. Dylan hadn't touched a bite of it, though she had to be starving. When he'd summoned Lóegaire in Findias, he'd done so because if Dylan broke, the Elven mind-healer would've been able to help. But Dylan hadn't broken - then.

Nuada stopped in the doorway to the main room.

Dylan hunched on the bed, Cethlenn's golden quilt draped loosely around her shoulders. She was dressed almost ridiculously in a pair of Nuada's sleeping trews and one of his tunics; they hadn't had time to grab clothes, and she'd begged to be allowed to wear one of his shirts. She looked like a lost waif in those clothes. Pale and trembling, lips pressed so tightly together they were bloodless, she wrapped her arms about herself as if cold. Her eyes, when they fixed on him, were wide and wet. Even as he watched, two crystal tears rolled down her cheek. He strode to her and knelt, grasping her hands. They were like ice in his grip.

"I'm here, mo cridh." Nuada gently stroked her knuckles. "It's all right. It's all right, my love."

"I killed someone," Dylan whispered. A chill went through him at the self-loathing in her voice. Nuada sat beside her on the bed and pulled her into his arms. "Nuada, I killed two people and… and while I did it, I didn't even care. That time in the royal forest, when I killed the dipsa in the clearing… I didn't want to do that. I felt bad then; you remember. I was practically hysterical. Even though it was self-defense, even though I'd had to kill them, I hadn't wanted to. But tonight…" She shook her head. "I didn't care. I was covered in someone else's blood and I didn't care. I didn't care about killing. I didn't just kill that second man, either. I stabbed him to death. I… I butchered him. I-"

Nuada jerked her tight against him. "No, beloved," he whispered against her hair. "No. You did what was necessary, nothing more. I'm sorry that kind of violence had to touch you. I know you seek to preserve life, to help others. I'm so sorry. It is my fault, none of yours."

"S'not your fault," she mumbled. "I did it, I… am I evil?" He stared at her. "I should care that I killed, shouldn't I? I should regret it, the necessity of it. Like before. But this time, I don't. I was covered in his blood. He made the most horrible sounds… but I didn't care. I wanted him dead. I was just so angry, I… I wanted him dead. I murdered him."

"Stop it." He gripped her shoulders and gave her a little shake. "Stop it now. That's not true. You were protecting yourself. Protecting me. Without you, I might very well be dead now. You had to kill him."

"Not like that," she protested. She could still smell the reek of blood; even now, it made her stomach roll. She could still hear the sick gurgling of the assassin's dying breath. "I didn't have to kill him like that."

"How can you condemn yourself but not me?" He asked softly. She jerked back, eyes flashing with protective love and the faintest tinge of anger. "I killed the first human, did I not? Bound, unarmed, I drove my sword through his chest. I'll even admit I felt immense satisfaction doing it. The man you executed wasn't bound or helpless. He was armed and meant to kill us both. You're smaller, physically weaker than he was, and you were badly injured. You did what you had to - nothing more. You are not evil, Dylan." He cupped her uncut cheek. "It was the only way to protect us both, my love. You defended yourself and me as best you could."

Nuada pressed his lips to her forehead. He wanted to kiss her mouth - to hold her against him and wrap his body around hers, make her feel safe and protected and strong again - but he knew if he did that, the night's events would rise up, break his restraint and hers, and they'd end up tangled together in the sanctuary's lone bed, trying to drown pain and fear in a haze of desire. He wouldn't do that to her. That wasn't what she needed from him. And he would be what she needed, by the Fates, just as she always tried to be for him.

"You say you don't regret taking that assassin's life, but I feel your sorrow. How could you not grieve, even for your enemies? You, who prayed for mercy on Eamonn's soul, who bid me spare the mortal killer who sought to take your life; who pleaded with me on behalf of the leanashe." He kissed her temple. "Yes, the assassin's death was a hard one, but it was relatively quick. You were frightened, Dylan, exhausted and in pain. You acted instinctively to protect someone you love. There is no evil in that. Do you understand me?"

After a long time, she nodded. "Yeah. Okay, yeah." She swiped at the solitary tear on her cheek. "Okay. It was just… a shock. That's all. Oh, I'm sorry about the gown," Dylan whispered. Nuada frowned. "I just remembered. You were mad before; I'm sorry. I had to cut up the skirt so I could run. I know it was expensive and-"

"I don't give a damn about that," he snapped. "I only care about you. I wasn't angry about the gown; I was merely worried about… everything. You and Zhenjin and what my father would do." Nuada nuzzled her hair. "I shall buy you a new gown as soon as you wish. I'll buy you dozens in moonbeam silk and silver velvet and cloth-of-gold. I will give you the world if you ask it of me."

Dylan cuddled against him. "You're a total romantic. You know that, don't you?" She sniffled. Gestured helplessly, pushing stray curls from her face. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I'm such a crybaby tonight. I just… tonight was supposed to be… Everything's been so… and Zhenjin… he was hurt so badly and that Elf… the one I killed, he was torturing him and… and he…" Suddenly, she burst into tears. Pressing her face into Nuada's chest, she sobbed, "Nuada, I was so scared. I didn't know what to do, I was so scared, and you were hurt, and Zhenjin! I thought he was going to die and I thought that man was going to kill you, too. I was so scared!"

"Shhh," he murmured, stroking her hair. "I know. I know. But I'm here now. It is all right, Dylan. I'm here." When she was calm again, exhausted and limp in his arms, Nuada wiped the last of her tears away with his thumbs. Drawing a deep breath, he took his courage in hand and whispered, "Tonight was… I was frightened, too, Dylan." She stared at him, stunned. "When I saw the assassin with you…" He swallowed hard. "You were so very still. I thought… for a moment, I was afraid… I thought I'd lost you. I thought I was too late."

"Ohhh." She brushed the backs of her fingers over his cheek. "Ohhh, Nuada. No, I'm all right. I'm fine. Really, I…" Her eyes widened and she flushed. It was the first bit of color to come into her cheeks since the final attack. Drawing back, she sighed. "I should be ashamed of myself. I'm sorry, Nuada. I'm so selfish."

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

She touched the cut on his lip, so lightly he barely felt it. "I just realized you're still hurt. I was so wrapped up in my own problems, I didn't even notice… I thought Táebfada would've…" Dylan sighed. "But you told her not to, didn't you? You told her to do only what was absolutely necessary so you could bring me here as soon as possible. Didn't you?" He offered a negligent shrug. "Come here."

She slid her hand around the back of his neck and drew him down so she could brush her lips against his mouth in a soft kiss that sent heat licking along his spine. Then she touched her lips to the bruise on his jaw; whispered a kiss at the corner of his eye to soothe the painful bruise there; feathered little kisses down the injured side of his face, always careful of the cuts and scrapes. She let her lips trail across his scraped knuckles, soft as gossamer.

Nuada, in turn, kissed the cut on Dylan's cheek and the faint bruise from the Dilong assassin's cruel backhand, infusing the minor injuries with soothing magic to take away any pain. "I like this better than healing magic," he murmured, brushing his lips against the soft flesh at her inner wrist; though Táebfada had healed Dylan's broken wrist, he kissed it once more. Then, carefully, he leaned in and touched his lips to the raw marks on her throat where the assassin had tried to strangle her. Dylan gasped and froze. Nuada froze as well, suddenly uncertain. He'd let the little game, a way to ease the tension still riding them both, get away from him. He hadn't meant-

Dylan's fingers tunneled in his hair. Was she trying to stop him… or encourage him? He shifted, readying to pull back, and his breath misted against her throat. Dylan made a sound that might've been a whimper and Nuada went very still, desire whispering through his veins. His truelove's fingers twitched against his hair. Nuada murmured, "Tell me what you want, Dylan. Tell me what you wish me to do, and it is done. Shall I stop?"

"I… I don't… I can't think," she mumbled. He felt her trembling. "We shouldn't… I can't think."

Nuada knew he walked a very fine line, so he withdrew to kiss her cheek again. If she was too dazed and distracted by what he was doing to her, innocuous as it was, to give him coherent permission to move forward, he refused to take it any further. He'd have to be a beast to take advantage of Dylan when she was so shaken, so dependent on him for emotional support. He hadn't even meant to take things this far… but she was very good at straining his control. So although he wanted to kiss her throat again, bask in the scent of her skin, he didn't. Instead, pale fingers smoothed over the necklace of rust and gray-blue bruises on Dylan's neck, sending soothing magic into the cruel marks. After a moment, his truelove relaxed.

"Come," he said lightly, as if both their hearts weren't pounding. As if she couldn't see the fire in his gaze; as if he couldn't hear the quickening of her breath. "We both need food. You've had quite a bit of healing done, and your body needs fuel for the spells." Nuada indicated the well-laden table with a nod. "Shall we?"

The meal was simple but abundant - a lot of fresh bread with butter, honey, and jam; sausage-and-egg pocket pies, kept hot with warming spells; a bowl of sliced golden apples; a pitcher of deliciously cold milk, better for restoring energy than cider or juice. The apples tasted sweeter than anything Dylan had ever eaten. When she mentioned it, Nuada smiled.

"They're from my special store that I keep here. When we were here last winter, I had run out and hadn't yet gotten more. They're the quert of Ynys Affalon; when freely given, the amber fruit aids in healing."

"The apples of Avalon?" A wisp of memory tickled the back of her mind. When Nuada opened his mouth to say something, she held up a finger, silently asking him to be quiet for a second. She closed her eyes to help herself think. The apples of Avalon… why was that important? She was so tired, and it had been such a long night, she couldn't think. She'd talked to someone about the magical quert before. When? Who?

Suddenly Balor's voice whispered through her thoughts. Among other things, the kings of Mag Mell desire… the quert of Ynys Affalon…

Dylan's eyes snapped open. "Where did you get these?"

Surprised, it took Nuada a moment to remember. "From Princess Eilonwy of Annwn; a birthday gift. She sends them to me every year. Why?" He frowned. "Eilonwy is a dear friend, mo duinne, and would never hurt-"

"No, no," she said, waving a hand to brush that aside. "That's not it. I was wondering how easy these were to get."

"Not easy at all," the prince replied, puzzled. "The yellow apples are the most common, and the only ones left unguarded by Avalon's… defenses. Even the royal family of Annwn cannot get their hands on any but the yellow fruit - and only a few select royals have managed to convince the keepers of Avalon to part with any of the fruit before. Why do you ask?"

Pausing every few sentences to eat, Dylan explained the conversation she'd had with the king the day before about Mag Mell. She expected her prince to get angry; when she'd told him about the king mentioning Mag Mell as a possible cure for her mortality before, he'd been furious with his father for even suggesting such a thing. But instead, Nuada grew thoughtful. Dylan waited while he stared off into the distance, occasionally remembering to take a bite of the roll in his hand. She knew he was thinking, pondering obstacles and possibilities. Since she needed to stuff her face, too, she could wait to pester him.

Finally, the Elven warrior shook himself and met her eyes. "If Mannanan and Tethra cannot get their hands on the apples of Avalon, doubtless the ones they seek are either black or silver. Silver apples are said to confer true immortality - ageless, indefinite life - to those who partake of them, but the black fruit are lethally poisonous, and without antidote. Both are incredibly rare and are closely guarded by the island itself."

"But could we get our hands on them?" Dylan pressed. "I'm not sure how I feel about giving super deadly poison to guys who'd tell a father to kill his own children, but the silver ones don't sound too dangerous. How difficult are they to try and get?"

A strange feeling coiled in the pit of Nuada's belly as he considered the full import of Dylan's words. If Balor was right, if the kings of Mag Mell wanted the silver apples of Avalon, and if Nuada could get his hands on them, then making Dylan immortal was no longer a far-off dream, it was a real possibility. One that could possibly be accomplished by the time they married in forty-six days. After all, they had the backing of an Irish king. They had a potential means of obtaining the apples through King Arawn of Annwn - or at least a source of information about how to get them. The trip to Avalon by ship took less than two weeks; the same for the trip from Bethmoora to Mag Mell, after a week-long trip overland from Findias to the western Bethmooran coast.

It took Nuada a moment to realize that the odd feeling burgeoning within him was… hope. Everything he longed for, everything he wanted for himself and for Dylan - a long life together, having a family as she so desperately wished - was all within their grasp if he could only find a way to get to Avalon and get the fruit from the sorcerous orchards.

But there was the question of the Golden Army and the prince's plans for humanity. He would have to tell her… eventually. Before they married, unless he intended to throw away honor for selfishness and deceit. Yet wasn't that one of the reasons he sought to grant his truelove immortality in the first place? The Elf knew Dylan would leave him for what he had to do to protect the fae. But if she were immortal, as he was, she would have centuries to find a way to forgive and come back to him. They could be together eventually. Dylan was only just thirty. If she obtained the longevity of the Elves, she would stay as she was for decades upon decades. They'd have more time to heal the inevitable breach between them and still be able to raise a family together. He could still give her that precious dream of being a mother after she forgave him for the sins he would have to commit to save his people.

"Nuada?" Dylan ventured into the silence after her question. Her prince had gotten a wistful look on his face and his eyes had turned distant and shadowed. She ever-so-lightly brushed her fingertips against the back of his hand. "Hey."

He jerked himself back to the present. "Forgive me, mo duinne. I'm not sure how easily we can get the silver apples. We don't yet know if those are the ones Tethra and Mannanan truly seek. We'll have to look into it. In the meantime, we need to finish and get back to Findias. I don't know the present hour, but my Father will no doubt be looking for me-"

As if events had conspired to back up this statement of potential impending doom, there was a soft chiming sound and a low grumble. Nuada glanced at the sanctuary entrance and snapped something in swift, sharp Gaelic. A tiny, dancing ball of azure light flitted through the stone and bounced its way over to the table. It tinkled and chimed at the prince, who pursed his lips and nodded gravely. He stroked the top of the little light with a gentle fingertip when it fell silent.

"Thank you for telling me. If you go to my lair near the Central Park Station - you know the one - you'll find payment for your trouble. Go carefully; you know how the tunnel cats enjoy wisp for their dinner." The will-o-the-wisp jingled at the prince before zipping away. As soon as it was gone, Nuada passed a hand over his face and sighed. "Eat quickly. My father wants to see me in less than an hour's time, and your sister is making a ruckus, demanding to see you. We will table this discussion for now, but there's time to look into it, I promise you."

Dylan nodded. "Okay. We'll finish eating, go back, and I'll handle Francesca while you handle the king. And Nuada?" He paused, another roll already halfway to his mouth. Dylan smiled. He looked just like a little boy; a banged-up little boy, but a little boy nonetheless. "Thanks for bringing me here. Seriously. I needed it. Thank you."

He inclined his head. "It was my pleasure," he said, and Dylan knew he meant it.

"There's one other thing," she said some time later, as they were preparing to go back to the castle. "The Dilong assassin I killed said something I didn't understand. He called Zhenjin 'pretender to the throne.' Do you know what that means?"

Nuada's eyes widened, then he swore with such vehemence Dylan's cheeks burned. "Yes, stars curse it; I know exactly what that means." He swore again before running a hand through his hair. "It means at least one of the people behind tonight's attacks is Prince Shaohao, Zhenjin's elder brother."

"He has an older brother? I thought he was the heir."

"He is," Nuada growled. "Huizong stripped Shaohao of his rank as heir two centuries ago and banished him to the Yue Mountains with three hundred armed guards to prevent him from leaving the Porcelain Palace. He was to have no visitors, not even his various leman and concubines, nor his children. No contact with the outside world at all."

Dylan stared at him. "He can't even see his kids?"

Nuada shook his head. "It was better for everyone that way, truthfully. When one of his concubines gave birth to a daughter instead of a son, as the healers had predicted, he strangled his daughter in her cradle." Dylan made a small sound of horror. "Shaohao is completely and utterly mad. He's killed more than one of his own siblings and more than one of his own children. Once he suspected one of his various mistresses of consorting with his brother; he had his brother murdered and he killed the woman himself after bedding her - Zhenjin told me of it years after. We were only boys when it happened."

Weak-kneed, Dylan sank into a chair and simply stared at Nuada, one hand covering her mouth.

"The emperor tried for centuries to reason with Shaohao. He killed seven of Huizong's other children in that time and tried to kill several others. Only two children were safe - Zhenjin and Hôu Junjï. Before learning what he was, Zhenjin adored his eldest brother. Shaohao was mad, but he knew he meant the world to the second prince, and Zhenjin openly detested the thought of ruling the Dilong Empire. Shaohao believed Zhenjin would never try to take the throne from him. Hôu Junjï lacked the power to connect with the land, which made him safe from assassination. Because Shaohao seemed to legitimately care for his two younger brothers, Huizong thought he could be reasoned with."

It took a few tries before Dylan managed to ask, "What changed?"

A mirthless smile curved Nuada's mouth. "Huizong has several wives and many concubines - it's the custom in Dilong. None of them bore aught but sons for centuries, yet the emperor longed for a daughter. When his favorite wife bore one at last, he doted on her above all his other children."

Dylan's mouth fell open. "Shaohao went after Mïng Xiân?"

Nuada nodded. "Zhenjin and Hôu Junjï were the ones to hold him off until the Téngshé arrived and arrested him. It doesn't surprise me that Shaohao would attempt to kill Zhenjin. But why he went after you, I don't know."

"Well, that's weird, because the Téngshé that attacked us said his orders were to leave Zhenjin alive."

"What?" Nuada frowned. "You're certain?"

She nodded. "He said… lemme try to get it exact. He said, '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.'"

Dark lips pursed in thought. "The emperor must be told, as must Zhenjin. But this explains why I couldn't pierce the glamour and find you, if Shaohao's power was behind it."

"But you're the heir," Dylan protested. "Aren't you magically stronger than this prince?"

"No," Nuada muttered. "We are equal. He isn't the heir anymore, but he was; he still possesses the strength to bond with the kingdom and the land. He is also centuries older than I, and the firstborn."

Dylan cocked her head. "Is Nuala older than you?"

He shook his head impatiently. Clearly his mind was elsewhere as he answered, "No, I'm the elder twin, but I'm not firstborn to my father."

"Wait, what? You're not?"

Startled, Nuada focused completely on the conversation. "You didn't know?" Dylan shook her head. "I had an elder brother and sisters, but they were all killed before I was born. I didn't know them. Magically, Shaohao and Zhenjin are stronger than I, though not by a great deal. I'm older than Zhenjin, which helps me. My connection to the kingdom is stronger, as well. We're nearly on par - I'm fourth-born. But Prince Shaohao… I don't know if he is stronger than Zhenjin, and if so by how much. As heir, Zhenjin should be more powerful… yet he couldn't see through Shaohao's glamour."

"Can fae combine power?" Dylan asked. "Like… if one horse pulls a cart, it takes a certain level of strength, but if two horses pull a cart, it takes less strength from each to get the necessary total; the effect doubles, the more horses you get. Can faeries do that?"

Nuada frowned. "I… don't know. Rather, I know that they can, but I don't know if the effect is the same. I do not know if two non-heirs can match the power of an heir, for example, or if several crown princes and princesses can match the power of a monarch. It is difficult to combine power that way; personalities and agendas often interfere. A spell might be able to blend different sources of magic, but… royals have strong wills. They must, in order to rule effectively. I don't see being able to blend such strong wills together - no more than one or two, at least. I do not even think my sister and I could do it. Perhaps when we were children, and much closer, but not now."

"What about tapping someone's power against their will? Can that be done?"

"Only through foul means," the prince replied. "I've heard of it - the former crown prince of Onibi, Prince Zeburan, forcibly drained the power of two of his sisters in an effort to kill his father, Emperor Suzaku, with magic. He bound them with ensorcelled iron and… it's been so long, I can't recall what else may have happened. Only that the current crown prince exposed the plot before the emperor could be slain. But there are two people in Findias who may know what is required for such a thing."

"Who?" Dylan asked, slightly disturbed. Someone in Findias knew how to rape someone of their magic?

"Crown Prince Emīru and Princess Shāuddo," Nuada replied. "They're both part of the Onibi envoy. We can request an audience with them tomorrow." Then he sighed. "But now we
must go. My father is waiting."

"What happened to your brother?" Dylan blurted. She hadn't meant to say that, hadn't meant to ask, but the question seemed to leap off her tongue without permission. A follow-up grabbed her by the throat and bounced out of her mouth before she could stop it. "And your sisters?"

There was a long silence. "Muirchertach, my brother, and Muirfionn, his twin sister, did not survive but a few hours past their birth," Nuada said at last. "My eldest sister, my father's firstborn, was murdered as a child." Horrified, Dylan covered her mouth. Nuada murmured, "Her name was Boann."

Boann, Dylan thought, the name of their daughter in Nuada's dream from the previous night. She'd been named for his sister.

"I should have been unsurprised that you didn't know," her prince added softly. "My father's courtiers know better than to speak of it, or of my mother."

Dylan wanted to say something, offer some sympathy. She didn't know why - by his own admission, Nuada hadn't known his siblings. He hadn't felt their loss when they died. But he did feel the weight of responsibility their loss had left him with. What would his life have been like if the three eldest children of King Balor had survived? But she said nothing. Only took Nuada's arm when he offered it and allowed him to take her back to Findias.

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Dylan was surprised but grateful that Eimh and Sètanta were waiting in Nuada's room when the spell took them there. The hounds didn't bark at the sight of their master and his lady, but Eimh rushed to Nuada immediately and snuggled into Nuada's arms. The prince rubbed the top of her head and the silky ears until the she-hound's tail was just a white blur. Sètanta sat at Dylan's feet and leaned against her legs. She laid her hand on his head.

Dropping to Nuada's bed, Dylan sighed. After everything that had happened, she just wanted to sleep; it was almost dawn. Though there was no way in Hades she was sleeping on Nuada's bed. Not after learning someone had poisoned his sheets with Branwen's Tears. Yes, they'd stripped the bed, gotten him a brand-new mattress and bed linens, and washed the frame with some sort of magical cleansing potion thing; that was why Dylan was okay with sitting on the Elf's bed. But there was no way she was going to actually sleep on it. And if Nuada sat down, she was getting up - just to be safe.

*Oh, Master,* Eimh whimpered. *We couldn't find you or Mistress.*

The mortal's eyebrows shot up. She was "Mistress," now?

*You are both hurt,* Sètanta said. There was a low whine beneath the words. *You need a healer.*

"We are well enough," Nuada told his dogs. "Has anyone been in here looking for me?" Both hounds answered in the negative. "Where is Wink?" Eimh, dropping back down to all fours, informed her master that Wink was in Master' study waiting for Master's return. "Contact him in your way," Nuada commanded. "Tell him Lady Dylan and I are here."

It only took a few minutes for a metallic knock to sound at the prince's bedroom door.

"Enter," Nuada called. Wink slipped inside, shutting the door quietly behind him. Nuada moved to the window seat and folded his arms across his chest. "Report, Wink."

"Prince Azurefire's condition is stable; the healers are confident he'll make a full recovery." The troll noticed the lassling relax a little when Nuada relayed this news in English. "Siothrún mac Suibhne has been imprisoned and awaits testing to see if Lady Dylan spoke the truth when she accused him of treason. Guardsman Loén is also imprisoned."

Dylan went ramrod straight. "What? Loén? Why?"

The troll shrugged. "He was Siothrún's partner."

"So?" Dylan sputtered. "Is there proof he was in league with Siothrún?"

"That is what the Lord Provost is trying to figure out. The young guardsman claims to be innocent. We'll see. And rumors are flying about Prince Azurefire and Lady Dylan," Wink added. After Nuada relayed this, but before he could make any comment, Dylan growled under her breath and jumped to her feet. She started pacing, teeth clenched, eyes hot. Wink made an inquiring noise.

"I swear, I'm going to strangle the next person who implies I'm sleeping with Zhenjin! Ugh!" Then she paled and looked at Nuada, who watched her impassively. "I mean… I wouldn't really-"

Nuada said her name, softly. Indicated he wanted her to sit beside him. When she'd perched on the edge of the window seat, he tucked her under his arm and shifted so that his hair brushed her cheek and his breath warmed the fragile skin at her temple. Wink saw how the lassling angled her body to match Nuada's position; she seemed to move without conscious thought. The troll remained silent as something unspoken passed between the pair. Nuada raised an eyebrow. Dylan nodded slowly. Nuada smiled and turned back to his vassal.

"The fae assassins are to be executed at noon," Wink said. What had that been about? "Your agents recaptured and detained the remaining human assassin. The king knows we have him, but since we haven't harmed him, hasn't insisted on his release - yet. No doubt he'll grow impatient soon enough and force us to let him go. The assassin hasn't responded to our questions.

"Finally, your father wants to speak to you. I'm not sure he believes that you didn't kill the second human. The king himself examined the body, though not closely, to see how the assassin was killed. He doesn't believe the lassling capable of that level of violence." Wink frowned when Dylan squeezed her eyes shut. He knew the mortal didn't speak the language of the silver cave trolls, but he also knew she knew enough of the language to piece together what he was saying. Nuada was translating as a courtesy, and to relay all the little nuances of his words. "If you cannot convince him of the truth, my prince, and that you had nothing to do with Dylan's decision to kill the assassin, you'll get more than a mere twenty lashes at dawn."

Dylan made a strangled, inarticulate sound. She turned wide, horrified eyes to Nuada as the blood drained from her face. "What?" She whispered. "What's he going to do to you?"

"Mo duinne-" Nuada began, but she jerked away from him and surged to her feet.

"What is that monster going to do to you?"

The prince grasped his lady's shoulders. "Remember yourself, Lady Dylan," he snapped, his tone a whiplash command that drove the sick terror from her eyes. "Remember," Nuada said in a much gentler tone. "We spoke of this before - you must take care how you speak of the king in front of others."

She nodded, calmer now. "Forgive me, Your Highness." She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. He was right; she was a princess, dang it - or close enough that she needed to remember to act like it. "My apologies; I was caught off-guard. It won't happen again." Dylan drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Your father's going to flog you? Again?"

Nuada bit back a sigh and shot Wink an irritated look. His vassal sent back a look of supreme eloquence before leaving the room. That look clearly said, It isn't my fault you didn't tell her. Last time I checked, you had more between your ears than cotton fluff and wheat chaff.

The Elven warrior didn't bother biting back the second sigh. He looked into Dylan's worried eyes and, keeping his voice firm and gentle, said, "I knew when I killed that assassin that because I did it in front of witnesses - palace healers, my father's guards, and a few nobles and royals visiting us for Midwinter who accompanied me in my search for you - I knew the king would have to punish me for what I'd done, in order to maintain his image as king. I also knew that I had to kill that human in order to send a message that I would protect you from anyone who tried to hurt you. My father understands this. It isn't my father who punishes me for this - it is my king. There's a difference. I can live with this because of that difference."

Dylan shook her head. "He's going to flog you. You almost died last time. How… how many lashes?"

"Twenty."

Her eyes widened. "Twenty what? Twenty-hundred? Twenty-thousand?"

Nuada smiled. "No, my love. A mere twenty. The whip will be tipped with iron, but I will be all right. My father was merciful - as merciful as he could be, under the circumstances. In truth, I'd expected much worse." Seeing the unspoken question in her eyes, he added, "It will happen at dawn." Then he hesitated. "I do not want you to accompany me."

Cool anger filled her gaze. "The king ordered me to stay away."

He shook his head. "No. I am asking you to stay away. I don't want you there."

She looked as if she'd been slapped. "Why not?"

"When I was punished before, it hurt you. Deeply. Even now you bear the emotional scars. I won't inflict that on you again."

"You're asking me," Dylan said softly, "to let you walk out there alone. You'll be alone."

"Wink will be with me."

Dylan allowed her eyes to drift closed. "You'll still be alone." And somehow, Nuada knew that was true. Ever since she'd wriggled her way into his life, entwining herself with his heart and soul, hadn't he felt one step removed even from those he loved and trusted most? Even Wink? He was used to being with her; he never felt alone in her presence. A touch, a glance, a smile was enough to remind him that he faced nothing alone. And he was sending her away. For her sake, and only for a little while, but she would still be away.

His lips were warm and soft when he pressed a fervent kiss to her brow. Her sigh was warm and soft against his throat. "I will be all right."

.

Dylan had several things she wanted to do: take a real bath, eat a blueberry muffin (her favorite), check on the kids, go yell at the king, and sleep. Not necessarily in that order. But because she had responsibilities as a sister and as a friend, she didn't do any of them. Instead, with Nuada and the hounds serving as escort, she managed to avoid Francesca spotting her as she snuck into her suite to change into her own pants (she kept Nuada's tunic), then snuck into the hallway via Nuada's suite and went back to the Healers' Wing. She would go to her sister at dawn, when Nuada… Dylan didn't want to think about what would happen to her prince at dawn.

Nuada sent a page to deliver a note to the king informing him that Lady Dylan wanted to see Prince Zhenjin (the Elven warrior made certain to remind his father that Zhenjin had saved Dylan's life), and if the king wished to speak with him, he would be acting as escort until better protection could be established than Dylan's currently absent guards (reminding the king that the mortal needed her retinue back and that something more needed to be done to protect her, since the guards clearly hadn't been enough).

Which was the main reason, Dylan figured, Nuada decided to wait in the hall with the dogs while she was escorted into Zhenjin's healing chamber by Somhairle. King Balor had ordered his personal physician to oversee the Dilong prince's care.

"He's a bit dozy," Somhairle murmured to the human. "It is all right for you to wake him, but try to keep it brief, milady." Excusing himself, the healer slipped out of the room, leaving Dylan with Zhenjin.

It hurt to look at him. Where once his skin had been a healthy copper, now it looked nearly gray. Pain had etched haggard lines into his face that had yet to disappear. He wore a very loose, undyed tunic - standard fare in the Healers' Wing, she'd learned after Nuada and Zhenjin's duel. The unlaced collar gaped enough that she could see the bandages swathing his chest and shoulder. A thick blanket of green wool covered most of his body. Sweat dampened his black hair to his forehead.

"Zhenjin?" Dylan murmured. She knew better than to touch him to try and wake him. "Zhenjin, wake up." Someone, Dylan saw, had left a stuffed toy dragon on the bed beside him. Considering its catfish-like whiskers were tied with pale green bows, the mortal was banking on Mïng Xiân being the culprit. "Zhenjin."

Dark lashes fluttered briefly before revealing a pair of jade reptilian eyes. He peered at her, confused, before a slow smile spread across his face.

"Dylan."

She smiled back, relief flooding through her. "Hi."

He closed his eyes, still smiling. "I must've died and gone on to the Star Kindler's afterlife."

She frowned. "What?"

"Why else would I wake up to the face of an angel?"

Biting back a smile, Dylan rolled her eyes. "First of all, that was lame. You don't really say that to girls, do you? And second of all, I'm not fluffing your pillows for you, or whatever you're about to try to sweet-talk me into."

The Dragon prince grinned, laughing, then winced. "Ugh, do not make me laugh, I beg of you. Mercy."

Allowing herself to laugh, she approached the healing bed and sank into the chair beside it. "How are you?" She asked softly. His grin melted back into a smile.

"I'm well enough," he murmured. Reaching out, he grasped her hand and squeezed her fingers in reassurance. "And you? You look better than you did, but not completely healed." He frowned. Peered at her. His eyes widened suddenly and a shadow of rage crossed his face. "Your neck…"

"One of the assassins got to me," she mumbled, looking away. "He had a fondness for leather garrotes, apparently."

Zhenjin swore. "I'll kill him, if Silverlance doesn't beat me to it." The prince frowned when the mortal offered him a tight smile. "Dylan?"

She extricated her hand from his grasp. Nervously toyed with a loose lock of her hair. She couldn't meet his eyes when she said, "I'm the one who beat you to it." He stared at her. "I killed him. He went after Nuada, so…" She shrugged. "Nuada was down, we didn't have any guards, and the assassin was going to kill him. I had to do something."

"Do you think I would think less of you?" Zhenjin asked after a moment. "Because you killed to protect him?"

"It was…" How had Nuada described it? "It was a hard death."

"No more than he deserved," Zhenjin replied. "He went after an innocent woman and one of the best men I've ever known. Did Silverlance find out who their employer was?"

Dylan drew her good knee up to her chest and propped her chin on it. "They had more than one, I think. A group, working together. Nuada says he's pretty sure one of them is your brother, Shaohao." Zhenjin closed his eyes and swore with startling creativity. His eyes snapped open when Dylan laughed. He arched a brow. "That's exactly what Nuada did," the mortal said. "Do you know why he'd come after me?"

"Not you," Zhenjin sighed. "He's after Nuada. Silverlance is one of my strongest and truest allies in Faerie; when he is king, if my brother attempts to become emperor, Dilong will lose Bethmoora as an ally. Shaohao can't have that; if Nuada pulls away from Dilong politically, so do several other nations: Mytikas, Eìrc, Gevaudan, Annwn, Elphame, Álfheim, Nyame... Nuada's very influential, internationally. The kings of Elphame, Mytikas, Eìrc, and Annwn are close friends of his. The heirs to the other countries are friends and allies as well. And if Annwn, Gevaudan, and Nyame pull away from Dilong, so will Alaka, Eathesbury, and Onibi. King Balor will not risk war by withdrawing his support from my kingdom, even if it falls into my brother's hands - but Nuada would. He would forget the humans and go to war against the Dragon Empire if Shaohao took the throne.

"Most likely someone approached him," Zhenjin added, "and tried to convince him that eliminating you would make killing Nuada easier; or they bargained with him that if he helped to assassinate you, they would help him assassinate Nuada. What doesn't make sense is why Shaohao does not come after me directly…"

Though it sounded as if he'd been talking to himself and not to her, Dylan ventured a thought. "Nuada said you and your brother Hôu Junjï were the only two members of your family safe from Shaohao before his exile. Maybe he really cares for you. If he loves you, it might be why he hasn't moved on you yet."

Zhenjin shook his head. "My brother has no heart with which to love," he muttered. The bitterness and pain in his voice squeezed Dylan's own heart. It was obvious that he hadn't yet recovered from his brother's betrayal. Had he known of Shaohao's evil before his attack on Mïng Xiân and merely held out hope he could be reasoned with? Or was there more to it than that? "I learned that lesson the day he attempted to murder Mïng Xiân," her friend added, and now rage mingled with grief, "my Mïng Xiân, my little orchid - tried to murder her in her cradle. I learned then that there were no depths to which he would not go." Zhenjin sighed. "Forgive me for being so morose," he said. "I'm merely overtired."

"Do you want me to go?"

Oddly, the question made him smile. "You're asking me if I would rather lie in bed alone than enjoy the company of a beautiful woman?"

Dylan scoffed. "Are you propositioning your best friend's fiancée?"

"Are you absolutely mad?" Zhenjin demanded with an even brighter smile. "You are the ideal of western feminine beauty, Dylan, but you're not worth Nuada cutting out and feasting on my liver. I will need that when I'm emperor."

.

In the corridor, Nuada heard Dylan's bright laughter and wondered what his old friend had done to make his truelove laugh like that. It seemed Zhenjin was particularly skilled at coaxing a smile or a laugh from Nuada's lady. The Elven prince fought back a flash of something that might've been jealousy at the thought. Dylan cared for Zhenjin, both for his own sake and because he was Nuada's friend, and she enjoyed his company. But that was all. Nuada would eat glass before giving any credence to the rumors that Dylan was allowing herself to be wooed by someone Nuada trusted with his life. She liked Zhenjin, but the crown prince knew that Dylan loved Nuada more than any other.

Yet it was Zhenjin who always made Dylan laugh.

Nuada bit back a sigh. It was such a small thing - Zhenjin had always been easygoing and charming, unless he chose to shuck his naturally laidback demeanor in a fight, either physical or political. The Tuathan prince, on the other hand, had never been easygoing. Not since the queen's death. He could feign it if necessary, of course, but being with Dylan had taught him to truly relax at times, smoothed out some of his edges. He didn't have the talent of putting aside rage and bitterness and hate to charm a smile or a laugh from his truelove; especially since one of the things Nuada enjoyed about being with Dylan - one of the things he needed - was that he never had to hide how he felt in her presence, and she never rejected or attempted to punish him for that honesty. Zhenjin could put aside his darker emotions for a moment, though. Dylan hadn't laughed at all since the attack… until now.

"Nuada."

The Elven prince froze, then slowly looked up from the patch of floor he'd been studying since Dylan had gone in. King Balor stood a few paces away, looking old and weary. His guards, led by the female Butcher captain Sáruit ingen Chuinn, waited a few yards away, giving the king and prince some privacy. Nuada took a moment to wonder what his father needed privacy to say; would Balor tack on another punishment for the death of the second assassin?

Balor strode forward and, before Nuada could blink, embraced him. Nuada's arms came up reflexively. His father hadn't embraced him in… gods, how long had it been? He couldn't remember.

"Father?"

"Are you all right, my son?" Balor demanded, pulling back to grip his son's shoulders. The worry in the king's eyes was plain as a campfire in the dark. "Ailís and Somhairle told me you'd been hurt; Nuala's been taken care of, but they said you refused more than the necessary healing. How badly are you hurt? Is Dylan all right?"

Stunned, Nuada could only stammer, "We… we're both fine. I've a few cuts and bruises, nothing more. Everything else was seen to. Dylan is as well as can be expected." Thinking of his truelove's injuries helped push down the prince's shock enough for him to remember Balor wasn't just his father, but his king. "Are you going to punish her, Your Majesty?" The prince asked.

A flicker of hurt in Balor's eyes when Nuada made the transition from son to prince; apparently he hadn't been ready to be king to the Silverlance yet. But Balor stepped back and pulled his kingship around him like a cloak, allowing his son to be the crown prince - for the moment. "Why would I punish her?"

"For killing the second assassin."

The king pursed his lips. "There was a great deal of rage in that killing. I hadn't thought her capable of such a thing."

Nuada noticed the emphasis on her. Of course Balor thought the younger Elven warrior capable of that level of violent savagery. Nuada had fought that way before, even as a boy. The first time had been the day Queen Cethlenn was killed. He'd brought down two of her assailants before they'd taken him prisoner. Wink had been impressed. Lóegaire, who'd seen to him often over the following months, had been concerned. His father had been horrified.

He said the only thing he could. "She thought he was going to kill me."

Balor's gaze sharpened. "How close was it?"

"If not for Dylan, he might have succeeded in killing us both." Concern lanced him when Balor paled and the king's eyes widened. "She saved me, Father. And she exposed Siothrún's treachery… unless…" The prince eyed his father and king. The old Elf's eyes flashed copper.

"You think I ordered one of your guards to abandon you to death?"

Nuada looked away. He didn't know where the words came from when he said, "I know I'm not the man you would wish. We differ a great deal politically, especially regarding the truce, and sometimes convenience-"

Balor grabbed his shoulders again and gave him a small but fierce shake. "Convenience be damned! You are my son! I love you. How could you think…"

Pain twisted Balor's features when wary bewilderment flashed across his son's face. The mortal woman's words came back to the old king as he studied his heir. At least he knows I care about him. Can you say the same? The first time Nuada had accused him of attempted assassination, he'd thought the prince was lying, trying to cloud the issues surrounding his belated return to Findias. Once that had been cleared up - he'd sent some men to the forest and they'd recovered the decaying dipsa corpses; which, along with Lady Dylan's testimony, corroborated Nuada's story - so many other tribulations had cropped up that Balor hadn't thought about the fact that his son had believed him responsible for the attack in the royal forest. But that fact had just been thrown in his face.

"If you do not know that, if you don't believe that, then I've failed you yet again as your father. Forgive me."

Uncertain, hating the sorrow on his father's face and in his eyes, Nuada said slowly, "You told me once that it is better to break your own heart than to break your honor. If you felt that honor dictated I be-"

"No," the king said. Prince Nuada tried to hide his surprise. "Not like that. A king does not skulk in the shadows and knife his heir in the back. Honor dictates I treat you with the courtesy due your rank. If the day ever comes…" Balor swallowed hard, and looked away. "If the day ever came when such action on my part was necessary, my judgment wouldn't strike like a serpent in the grass."

"And will that day ever come, Father?"

Balor met his son's gaze and found he couldn't answer.

.

"You're on edge," Zhenjin murmured.

The mortal ducked her head, but couldn't keep herself from shooting a furtive glance at the door. Balor was out there; she wasn't sure how she knew that, but she knew it. He was talking to Nuada, and whatever he was saying had her prince… she wasn't sure. It was as if she were picking up echoes of emotion coming from the far end of a long tunnel. Nuada was upset, but she couldn't gauge the flavor of that upset - whether it was pain or anger or sorrow or something else.

"Nuada killed one of the assassins," Dylan blurted. Heat flushed her cheeks. But Zhenjin reached out and gripped her hand. It was such a little-boy thing to do - such a comforting thing - that Dylan instantly felt better. She met jade eyes and said, "There were three human assassins and Nuada killed one of them."

"King Balor means to punish him," the Dragon Prince said softly. She nodded. "A flogging?" Another nod. Dylan felt her bottom lip tremble and looked away. Zhenjin squeezed her hand. "Oh, don't. Do not cry, Dylan. Silverlance will be all right."

She sighed. "I'm just tired and worried. Nuada said he'd be all right but… he said the king has to punish him, for appearances."

Zhenjin nodded. "You and I have spoken of this before. Royals must maintain a certain image. If King Balor doesn't punish Nuada for disobeying him, the king looks weak to his nobles, his subjects, and the visiting dignitaries. He cannot afford to look weak right now, especially not after the attempted assassination in October. Bethmoora has many allies, but there are many who would attempt to move on the throne if they thought they had a chance at success. The king is old, and tired, but he's holding out for Nuada's sake. Kingship is a heavy burden, Dylan. If Balor is slain, Nuada would have to take the throne. In a way, the king is protecting him. Silverlance knew all of this when he slew the assassin."

"If Nuada knew, then why did he do it?" She demanded. "He's going to get hurt, and for what?"

"Because he loves you."

"Then I wish he didn't!" Squeezing her eyes shut, she turned away, yanking her hand from his and hunching her shoulders. "I wish he didn't," she repeated in a whisper.

Stunned, knowing he'd pay for it later, Zhenjin pushed himself slightly upright to get a better look at her. "You do not mean that," he said. He knew her, as well as Silverlance did. She couldn't possibly mean that. "You love him."

"I'd rather he hate me forever than get hurt because of me," she said. "Which isn't fair," she added with a sigh. "I know it's not fair, because I've gotten hurt to protect him lots of times, and he hates that. But I'm used to being hurt. I'm not used to people I love being hurt. I hate it."

"It is the price you pay to love," Zhenjin said. "And he is a warrior and a prince; it's his nature to protect, as it is yours. That is why you will make a fine princess."

She smiled wanly. "You give great pep talks."

"Great what?"

Her smile widened. "Never mind. It's not import- will you lie down?" She growled, switching from sorrowful mortal woman to irate healer in a blink. "Get horizontal this minute. Stupid Elven princes with your dumb macho attitudes," Dylan muttered. "Ugh, you're just like him. What are you, twins?"

"If I give an impertinent answer, do you plan to smack me?"

"I ought to," she quipped as he managed to sink back down onto the mattress. "Jeez, you nearly died. You're in no shape to be rolling around in bed."

He grinned impishly. "A prince isn't a prince until he is a warrior, and a warrior isn't a warrior unless he can seduce a beautiful woman. So Nuada and I were taught in our youth. I am in fine shape to be… rolling around in bed. I believe you mentioned a sister once…"

She snorted. "Casanovas, the both of you. And my sister has a boyfriend." Then Dylan paused, and sighed. "I don't know if you've heard, but there are some rumors about us. You and I, I mean. That we're… together."

There was a long silence. Then Zhenjin murmured, "If you wish to… disassociate yourself from me, I will understand. Your reputation is important, and-"

"What? No! That's not it! I just… I wasn't sure if you still wanted to be friends if people thought there was something hinky going on."

He chuckled. "I do so love your mortal terms. Never fear, Dylan. If someone tries to slander you to me, I shall enjoy making paste out of them for their trouble." He grinned when she laughed at his word choice. "There; that is a sound I like very much."

"Thank you, Zhenjin. You're a good friend." He inclined his head. "Anyway, I should go see if… if Nuada needs me."

Which, Dylan reflected when she poked her head into the hall, might not have been the best idea. Balor raised both eyebrows at the sight of her. Nuada gave her an unfathomable look. Did he want her out there? Or go back in the healing chamber? Why did he look… she couldn't tell if he was sad or merely exhausted. How much sleep had he gotten? Knowing him, not much. And his expression was so… Had Balor said something? The dogs, which sat at Nuada's feet, didn't seem agitated. Maybe she was imagining things.

Dylan stepped fully into the corridor and dipped a small curtsy - small, since she wore a pair of black pajama pants instead of a skirt. "Your Majesty."

"You explained things to her?" Balor asked his son. Nuada inclined his head. "Good. Are you well, Lady Dylan?"

She paused a moment to consider, then said tonelessly, "I am well enough. Thank you." Was it her imagination, or had Nuada's mouth twitched? "And you, sir? Are you all right? None of the assassins got to you, did they? You weren't hurt."

"No," he said, clearly surprised she'd bothered asking. "I was well-guarded. Allow me to offer my apologies that the guards I provided were not up to the task of protecting you. After the prince's punishment, and after you've had some rest, we will see what can be done about increasing your security." The king glanced down the hall, a distant look in his eye. "It is nearly dawn, my son."

Nuada tensed; Dylan stiffened at his side. Dawn. Nuada's flogging. The prince said, "Allow me to escort my lady back to her suite and I will return for my punishment, Majesty." Balor gave a regal nod and moved down the hall.

The moment he was out of earshot, Dylan turned to her prince. "Let me go with you."

"No," he said softly. "I'll not have it."

"But-"

He touched a finger to her lips, and she fell silent. "You look as if you might cry at any moment," the prince murmured, "and I cannot bear that. I could not bear to see what my punishment will do to you. Please, Dylan. Do this for me. Go back to our suites. Or stay here with Zhenjin if you wish; he'll look after you."

"He can't even sit up," she protested, though she smiled. "I could knock him over with a feather."

From behind the closed door came the muffled reply, "I resent that."

Dylan started in surprise while Nuada rolled his eyes. "Gods, he's nearly as bad as Günther; Álfar have big mouths, loose tongues, and too much arrogance for their own good. Zhenjin was fostered for a few decades in Álfheim and never broke the bad habits he acquired there." The Bethmooran prince shook his head. "But that is beside the point. Have mercy, my love. If you don't return to your suite and placate your sister, I cannot be held responsible for my actions."

Dylan offered him a sad smile. "You're trying to distract me from what's going to happen. You're trying to make me laugh. Thank you."

"If Zhenjin can offer you such comfort, surely I can as well." He cupped her cheek, brushing his thumb just beneath the nearly-healed cut. "Do not look so sad, mo cridh. All will be well. I'll escort you back to your sister and return to you shortly. Come."

He offered his arm. After a moment's hesitation, she took it, and allowed him to lead her back to her room.