Garnet 2 - The White Queen in the Looking Glass

Chapter Two
The White Queen in the Looking Glass

Lily watched Alyssa leave the room, the silvered glass like a barrier between the White Queen and Black. The young witch stared hard at her reflection for an excruciating moment, examining every flawed detail of her face—too wide nose, too thin lips that no amount of lip plumper could fix, eyes set too far apart, cheekbones too prominent, forehead too big, eyebrows too thick, ears sticking too far out, hair too thick with not enough wave to make it at least look the littlest bit stylish.

At first glance, Lilith Whitmoor was beautiful, a knockout. With a closer look, she was positive that anyone with eyes and a brain would see what she and her parents always saw—faults, imperfections. Where there should have been a glittering diamond, there was only a cracked and flawed cubic zirconia. Just as pretty to the uneducated observer, but worthless on the inside, her mother had always said. And Gia Whitmoor would know; the woman was an expert on fashion and jewels. Lily hated to admit it, but Gia knew quality when she saw it. Which was probably why her mother had wanted to get rid of her when the witch Queen had discovered she was pregnant a second time. Lewis Whitmoor, Lily's father, had had to talk (and threaten) her out of it—in case Gavin, Lily's older brother, "hadn't worked out."

That appreciation for quality was also probably why Gia had homed in on Jack. One of the few things Lily and the flesh-eating Faerie boy had always agreed on—Gia Whitmoor was a depraved cougar with no life who needed to keep her hands off her daughter's Knave. Lily had approved wholeheartedly when Jack had nearly ripped her mother to pieces when the disgusting ho-bag had tried to seduce the dearg.

Yes, Gia and Lewis Whitmoor both knew quality when they saw it…which was why they'd always despaired of their second child and put all of their hopes behind Gavin.

Lily thought of Alyssa Carde, the Black Queen, with her compact body and elfin face; her silky cap of auburn hair, chopped short so no one could grab it in a fight; the spark in her fierce, feral eyes...the same gold as the White Queen's, but a totally different shape and look. She dressed like a homeless bag lady, acted like a total barbarian, and didn't have the sense God gave a rock.

But Jack loved Alyssa, and hated Lily.

She'd seen it in his eyes when he'd come into the bedroom: hate. Pure and unadulterated, sharp as razor wire, toxic as any poison. It had been like every slap her father had ever delivered with the hand that bore his coven ring, times a thousand. The one person who was supposed to stay with her, the one person who had to love her because what else was he there for...and he hated her.

Lily wanted to hate the Black Queen for that, and couldn't. Because unlike Jack, unlike the Black Court she was unwillingly now a part of, unlike her brother Gavin, and unlike her parents, the Black Queen didn't hate her, didn't think she was worthless. In fact, whenever they spoke, Alyssa's eyes held the same love a sister might have for her younger, more obnoxious, wayward sibling. The prodigal daughter. It didn't make any sense.

That's how she stole the Queen of Spades from you, Lilith, her father's voice hissed in her ear. Don't let her fool you. She's manipulating you.

A sharp pain lanced through Lily's temples and she turned away from the mirror to glance out Alyssa's bedroom window. A cap of bronze hair bobbed along next to a halo of golden curls. Alyssa and Jack. The Black Queen and the Knave of Hearts.

No…wait…

An ache settled deep in Lily's chest when she remembered that no, he wasn't her Knave anymore, her Knave who would rip out any number of Red Court hearts to make her happy. He was Alyssa's Black Jack now, the Black King to her Queen.

"I hate her," Lily whispered, but she knew it wasn't true. She hated a lot of people—Geneva, the Red Queen; her own brother, Gavin, their father's favorite; their mother, busy sleeping her way through the starving artists of Paris to solve her midlife crisis; their father, who played favorites and never seemed satisfied with her. She disliked Alyssa, firmly believed she had the IQ of a lamp post, and needed to be put in her place. But the fire behind hate wouldn't come, because if she hated Alyssa, the only person who didn't hate her, then she would have no one.

She'd never had no one before. There had always been Jack. Jack, who fixed her snacks in the middle of the night when she couldn’t sleep; who would let her camp out in his tree house when they were kids and she'd had nightmares about Gavin trying to kill her; who beat up anyone who made her cry, even Gavin, even though attacking the White Knight would earn the dearg a beating; who took her shopping and always made her feel good about herself when she tried something on, instead of telling her she looked cheap or trashy, like her mother would.

But Jack hated her now. She had to get used to that. Alyssa was the only one who didn't, and wasn't that just pathetic?

Oh, she hates you, her father's voice muttered, silky as sin. How can you not see it? How can you be so blind to her contempt for you? A witch who can be fooled by a human doesn't deserve to call herself a witch.

"Shut up," Lily snarled, dropping her face in her hands. She rubbed her throbbing temples. "I don't care what you say. I'm not coming back just so you can punish me again. At least no one hits me here." And that was just bizarre. Except for that single fistfight at the Heart of the Maze of Mist at Homecoming, no one had physically attacked her since she'd moved into the Black Queen's house. She knew Jack and the others wanted to—they wanted to kill her—but Alyssa had told them point-blank that anyone who attacked her would be kicked out o the Court. "I'm physically safe here," Lily added. "I'm not leaving."

You're not safe, though. This voice was her own, the niggling voice of doubt. If Alyssa ever changes her mind, Jack will have a lot of fun tying you down, slicing you into bits, and baking you into pies. He's always had a fondness for witch flesh. And he'd make sure it hurt. He doesn't love you anymore. Maybe he never did. He won't protect you. He'll hurt you just because he can.

"I'm not listening to either of you," the White Queen whispered. She would've put her hands over her ears, but if she let go of her head she thought it might explode. Tears of pain and panic stung her eyes. Her brain pulsed and throbbed in her skull. She needed to get up and get some ibuprofen from the bathroom…but she couldn’t even seem to force herself to her feet. She just curled up on the vanity stool, clutching her head.

You don't really think the Black Queen actually cares about what happens to you. Even you aren't that stupid. Not my daughter.

Her father again. She could almost feel the burning in her face where he would backhand her if he were there, lecturing her like he used to. The thin, raised scar on her cheek throbbed in time with her head and her heartbeat.

That's how she stole Jack, you know, the voice continued, gently chastising. Why wouldn't it just shut up? Why wouldn't he leave her alone? She didn't belong with him, with the rest of her family, anymore. She was bonded to the Black Queen, and she wasn't welcome there, with them, with her so-called family, anymore.

She tricks them into thinking she loves them, just like she's tricking you. I thought you were too good to be tricked. That's what you kept telling me. 'Nobody can fool me, Daddy, I'm the best witch at Pillar Prep.' Were you lying? Looks like it, because she's pulled the wool over your eyes. Oh, Princess, what happened to my girl who could see through all of their tricks?

Lily's head shot up and she found her face in the mirror, pinched and white with rage, tinged with gray. The pain in her head eased back until it was just a slight pressure against her temples.

"You're wrong," she whispered, reaching out and tracing the reflection of her pale face. How long had it been since she'd been outside? Seen the sun? Spoken more than a handful of words to anyone other than Alyssa? Since the night of Homecoming, she realized. Since she'd lost everything because the Black Queen had shattered her Coven and her Court. "She hasn't tricked me."

Oh? That derisive voice mocked her, made her want to scream. But if she screamed, the Black Court would come running because they had to, because Alyssa had ordered them to protect her. Lily didn't want them in here. She didn't want to see them, any of them. Especially not Jack and Alyssa, who were so in love that it turned Lily's blood to shards of razor-sharp ice in her veins because Jack had never looked at her the way he looked at Alyssa. And if she screamed, the throbbing in her head might come back. Hasn't she?

"She hasn't tricked me," Lily snarled at the mirror. Her teeth were a feral gleam between toxic-pink lips. Her eyes gleamed feverishly. "She can't trick me. I can see right through her."

Good girl. Her father's praise, imaginary though it was, filled her with warmth—the first shred of warmth she'd felt since before Homecoming. That's my Lily. Good girl.

Lily leaned back, shoving a hand through her hair. No, she wouldn't fall for Alyssa's tricks. She wouldn't. The Black Queen couldn't toy with the White Queen. And she was the White Queen. She'd get her Coven back. She'd get her Court back…and she'd show her parents that she was worthy of being the Queen, of becoming the High Priestess of the Coven of White, of wearing the Alabaster Crown of Faerie.

And most importantly, she would get her Knave back…even if she had to kill Alyssa to do it.

Garnet 3 - The Red Queen's Invitation

"I'm concerned," I told Jack as we threaded through the packed hallway toward the cafeteria. The kids who obviously belonged to the Red Court gave me a wide berth. Half the White Court—the half that belonged to Gavin—did, too. But what gave me a funny little glow in my chest was when a few kids sporting black and white outfits gave me tentative smiles and waved at me. I grinned at them and waved back or nodded, depending on how bad the crush around me was.

So far today, I'd been pretty much left alone. Probably because Gavin was still busy licking his wounds and Lily's people were wondering what I was going to do about them. I was still trying to figure that one out myself. And Geneva's goons weren’t going to possibly tip the outcome of our whacked out Wonderland tea party before it even happened. The Red Queen would kill them. Possibly literally.

"Concerned?" Jack echoed as we made it to the cafeteria door. He held it open for me, which always made me feel weird. I still wasn't used to the whole chivalry thing. It didn't make me feel all weak and wimpy, or like the boys thought I was too pathetic to get my own doors. It actually felt nice. And I'd get the door for them, sometimes, too, and they gave me weird looks, so we were pretty much even.

"Yeah."

"About what?" He asked as we slid into the lunch line.

I drew a deep breath. He was going to like this about as much as a cat liked getting a bath. Exhaling slowly, gathering my courage, I finally said, "About Lily."

To my surprise, he actually smiled. "Thank you," he said, sounding relieved. Um.... "Thank you! Finally you've seen sense. So," my dearg added, suddenly full of good cheer and fun. "When do we kick her out?"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Pause. Rewind. Now, what? Kick her out?" I could tell from his expression he fully expected me to do just that. "What crack-acid are you smoking?"

"I... isn't that what you meant?" He asked, frowning. Dark eyes watched me as if I'd transformed into some kind of dangerous, venomous snake. "That wasn't what you meant," he said slowly. "All right. What are you talking about, then?"

"I'm concerned about Lily the person. She seems... depressed."

He blinked. "I'm sorry, but what did you say?"

Oh, brother. "She. Seems. Depressed."

"And I am supposed to, as you say, give a flying rat's buttered carcass because why?"

Oooh, he'd stolen my phrase. Sneaky, smexy phrase-thief. I'd get him back for that—after we addressed the Lily situation. "Look, I know you guys hate each other but—"

"I don't hate her," Jack replied, as if commenting on the weather. A double-take was necessary because at first glance he seemed perfectly serene. Only the sizzle of black fury through our bondline—the magical doohickey that connected my soul and emotions to his, and vice-versa—told me differently.

"You don't?" Why did I not believe him? Hmmm…gee, I wonder.

Jack gave a shrug, a liquid motion as if his limbs weren't attached the way normal people's were. "Of course not. Don't be absurd."

He'd just called me "absurd." Part of me wanted to make sure his limbs were no longer attached the way a normal person's were…but I loved him too much. Dang it.

"I just want her ripped into a million painful and incredibly bloody pieces so I can sprinkle her on my porridge most mornings." He said it the way most people said they liked milk with their cereal.

Sometimes Jack would make a comment, or smile in such a way that I was forcibly reminded that he wasn't human. It was easy to forget sometimes that he was Fayre, an old and almost completely alien race. Did that scare me? I'd say it made me a tad nervous, but scared? Me? Of Jack? Please. Besides, after everything he'd been through—being forced to do all kinds of horrible things because of the former soul-contract between him and Lily, serving as one of the main punching bags for Lily's entire family, and almost being molested by Gia Whitmoor, Lily's psychotic b-with-an-itch of a so-called mother—he had a right to the creep-edge that sometimes showed up in his behavior.

"Jack, as long as she lives at my house, I don't want her suicidal or depressed or anything like that." I snagged a couple bags of chips and dropped them onto my tray. I'd been informed by Fiver, my favorite flesh-eating Bunny Wabbit, that bringing my own lunch to this meeting would be considered incredibly rude, so I was stuck with cafeteria food on a day lacking pizza or tatertots. Which meant I was stuck with chips and maybe a chicken burger. All for the cause, though. Rah-rah and Team Spirit and all that stuff.

"I don't see why you worry about someone like her. She's not a threat anymore."

"What if she decides to blow us up or put anthrax in our morning orange juice?" I paused, considered. "Does anthrax even work that way? What does anthrax even do?"

"I'm sure I don't know anything about anthrax," Jack said in the slightly condescending tone boys used when they thought girls were talking nonsense. "And if you're that concerned about her, why don't you throw her out?"

I glared at him as I grabbed the chocolate milk. Maybe I was just a touch on the paranoid side, but it seemed really strange that there wasn't any regular milk out. Just chocolate and strawberry. Black and red. Well, brown and pink, but still…was that weird?

I knew what was weird—me, defending the White Queen to Jack. Except with the Julie thing, he'd never actively opposed me on anything important. And it turned out he'd been right to be suspicious of Julie Frost, the Queen of Spades. She'd been a spy sent by Lily to get close to me so she could seriously injure and/or kill me. But we'd become best friends instead, and Julie had died saving me from Doreen when the Red Court witch—basically acting on Lily's orders—had tried to throw me down two flights of stairs.

David Jacobson, Julie's former Knave of Spades, was not invited to this meeting. Captain of the swim team, topping off at almost seven feet tall and weighing in at more than two-hundred-fifty pounds, the wereotter wanted Doreen's head on a plate. He'd known and loved Julie almost his entire life. Of course, he also wanted Lily dead for forcing Jack to kill David's little brother.

But David was willing to abide my new rules…for now. Having to tack on for-now at the end of that made me just a little bit nervous. Okay, more like a lot nervous.

It was giving me a headache that Jack, who normally backed me up, chose to argue with me about this, especially right now. "Where is she supposed to go?"

He slashed me with an obsidian look. "Try 'I don't care.'"

He wasn't getting it. He might not care, but I did. Wasn't his job as my King supposed to be helping me run my Court? I certainly didn't want him for hired muscle. Patching him up always made it difficult to breathe, seeing how he was both bleeding and usually shirtless.

"It's my fault she can't go home—" I began.

"No, Alyssa, it isn't."

Jack stopped suddenly and whirled on me. His eyes began to bleach to white and his teeth started darkening. People behind us hissed insults or snapped for us to hurry it up, stop holding up the line. Jack flicked his inhuman eyes at them, and they fell silent. Only someone suicidal tried to tangle with a dearg when his teeth came out.

My very ticked off dearg growled, "It's not your fault. It's Lily's fault. Lily is the one who tortured the people who should have been able to trust her. Lily is the one who attacked you, repeatedly, in an attempt to make you give up and either bow down to her or kill yourself. Lily is the one who sent a spy into our midst. Lily is the one who ordered the hit on you and Julie, and Lily is the one who's responsible for her own actions."

None of which I could argue with. But Lily was caught in the system, too, just like the rest of them. It seemed I was the only who had a problem with the actual system, not just the people in it. Then there was her dad. I'd never tangled with an adult before, but I wanted to tangle with Lily's dad, who thought it was okay to beat Jack and Lily whenever either of them made him mad. And there was something I didn't think Jack had thought of yet.

"If you thought you were going to lose me—if you thought I was going to leave you—what would you do?" I asked softly.

"I...." He blinked, paused. His eyes were slowly darkening to onyx again. His teeth gleamed pearly white and had gone back to being nice and straight and even, instead of needle-thin and pointy. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Just answer the question." Although I was positive I already knew the answer.

He frowned. "I don't know."

"Would you let it happen?" I demanded. This part was important, and I couldn't afford to give an inch. I'd had theories about Lily and Geneva—a lot of theories—and this past week or so of having the White Queen sleeping on my floor and getting on my nerves had solidified some of them. "Would you just let me traipse off into the sunset with Darren? Or even—blech—with Fiver?"

At Darren's name, Jack's eyes flashed and he jerked away from me, went back to sliding through the lunch line. I winced. Darren was a big button for Jack that I didn't like pushing, since Darren had made it very obvious he wanted to replace Jack as both my King and my boyfriend (not happening), but it was a valid question.

"No," he growled as the lunch lady rang up the stuff on our trays posing as food. "What does that have to do with this?"

"Would you attack Darren or Fiver to get me to stay with you? To get them out of the way? Would you do anything to me? Would you hurt me? Hurt them? Hurt anyone?"

Indecision warred on his face, in his eyes, arced along our bondline like electricity. He stepped out of line, away from me, to give himself time to compose, to think. But he couldn't decide. I could feel that. He couldn't decide whether he'd attack or hurt someone just to keep me around.

With most guys, especially all the human ones, that would normally be the behavior of a stalker. But this was different. Jack loved me, but that was only part of his motivation. He needed me, just as much as he loved me. His parents didn’t care about him. They'd let Lily's family rip him to pieces again and again. There was special niche in Parent Hell for Jack's mom and dad. He didn’t have any siblings. Except for Lily, until we'd bonded he hadn't had anybody. So I got why he'd hurt someone to be with me, to keep me with him.

Plus, without me, he would probably die. He'd be tortured by the White Court or the Red, they would break him, and then they'd kill him. There would be nothing to stand between him and the pain if I left him, because I was the one who was supposed to protect him. The only one who could. The only one who would even try. And the only person who would bust down doors, knock out teeth, and put people in the hospital if I had to in order to keep him safe.

It had taken me a while to realize that Jack had been the only one who could or would willingly protect Lily from anyone. She had needed him just as much as he needed me. Now she didn't have him. She was alone.

I remembered the voice screaming, Please! Don't leave me! Please, don't leave me alone! The day I'd shattered the soul-contract—and the soulbond—between Jack and Lily, I'd heard that frantic, desperate scream echoing through the Void.

Lily's voice, Lily's fear, Lily's need.

Obsession? No. Necessity. And a bond there, too—she loved him. I was the only one who could see it, because I was the only one who didn't think of Lily as the Big Bad Whatever, the Head Honcho of the Evil Department. In her own messed up way, the White Queen had loved—still loved—Jack. It was why she had held onto him, with chains of magic and chains of sparkly enchanted witch-iron or whatever. Punished him for, in her eyes, straying.

Would Jack do the same for me? To me? No, but that was because he knew I wouldn't leave. He trusted me. He wouldn't have bonded with me, thrown in his support to me, if he didn't trust me. After everything that had happened to him, he was too cautious to gamble with his life. I'd had to earn his trust first. That was the only reason he wouldn't hurt me.

But the others?

I hadn't looked away from his eyes, twin pools of obsidian fire, while he struggled for an answer. He opened his mouth as decision suddenly hummed across the bondline.

"I—"

"It's show time, you guys," Harriet Marshal interrupted. Another Faerie, Harriet was something called a Sluagh—basically a type of Faerie vampire, but instead of fangs, she had teeth like shards of broken glass, and her eyes glowed aquamarine when she got ticked off. She'd glided silently up to us and neither of us had noticed, because she was just that epic. The moment she spoke I jumped. "Hattie and Doreen are waiting...nice shirt, Alyssa."

Grateful for the interruption, I glanced down at myself and smiled. I'd borrowed one of Jack's only black shirts—nine-thousand thread-count Egyptian cotton or something like that; whatever, it was expensive and pretty—and wore it like a jacket over a white silk shirt with a black fractal pattern spattered across it like dark blood. Nobody had had a chance to get a good look at it yet except Jack, who'd winced when he saw I wore white. I thought it was nice and symbolic and stuff—black over white, and of course black comes out on top, just like it did at Homecoming.

And they all thought I sucked at diplomatically sending a message. Silly, silly Faerie people.

"Darren's waiting by the table, to show good faith," Harriet added, shooting a nervous look at Jack. His jaw muscle twitched. Oh, brother. Harriet was bonded to Darren, and I was pretty sure she loved him. Maybe not in love with him, but I could tell she adored the guy. Considering how he treated her—as opposed to how he always hit on me like a sex-crazed schmucky horn-dog—I understood why. And she liked Jack a lot. Jack liked her. But Jack hated Darren (for obvious reasons) and still didn’t fully trust him not to hurt me.

Considering Darren was one of only three people I knew who knew the big bad secret of me being not just a demon, but the Alice from Lewis Carroll's coded prophecies—the other two being Jack, of course, and Fiver, who could read minds—and Darren hadn’t ratted me out yet, I had to admit I trusted him. And I liked him…when he wasn’t being a douche.

Ignoring the silent byplay between Jack and Harriet, I headed for the lunch table where the Lady Dormouse—aka Doreen Moss, Darren's twin sister—and Geneva's Mad Hattie waited for me. Talk about a mad tea party. What was next, croquet at the Queen's?

Cold, dark eyes slid up from the table to stare at me as I sank onto the bench, flanked by Harriet and Jack. Darren, with a weird smile, sat next to Harriet. Doreen, the owner of those chilling eyes, glared at her twin brother before turning to Hattie Marshal.

Hattie Marshal looked better than she had after the Homecoming battle in the school parking lot, but that wasn't saying much. The giant gaping chunk that Jack had bitten out of her that night still hadn't grown back completely, and the lopsided way her shirt and jacket hung on her told me just how much bandage she wore on her shoulder. Bruises painted a violent watercolor across her face. Still, I didn’t feel too bad. She'd been trying to kill Jack.

"Greetings, Black Queen," Doreen said after a long pause. She glanced at Hattie again, but the look on the Sluagh girl's face made even a whacko like Doreen nervous enough not to push for her to be chatty-chatty and polite. Hattie was the kind of person who would ask in normal conversation if you wanted to know what your spleen looked like in the light of day, and be completely serious.

"Greetings to the emissaries of the Red Court," Darren said in his smoothest, silkiest voice. Hattie flushed and Doreen glowered. Considering that, in their eyes, he'd stolen Hattie's twin sister to be his brainwashed slave—Love slave? Ew, don't think like that, Alyssa, yech!—and was a traitor to the Red Court, their reactions were understandable. But if it came down to a fight against Geneva's Mad Hattie, I wanted someone physically stronger than her who was also immune to magic and could take Doreen in a one-on-one fight, leaving Jack and Harriet free to deal with Hattie. The only person I knew who fit the bill was Darren.

"Looks like we're all here," said bill-fitter continued, "the Hatter, the Hare, both Dormice, and Alyssa."

"And the Black Jack," Hattie growled through peeled-back, black-painted lips, showing serrated teeth like shards of silvered glass. Her eyes glinted like ancient gold coins, but they weren’t glowing yet. Hunger burned in their depths.

Hattie was Sluagh, too, descended from the Faerie Wild Hunt—those magical creatures who randomly chased after anyone in their path. If the person ran, they were torn to bloody bits by Faerie hounds. If the person didn't run—and who wouldn't run from an army of sweaty, hairy, toothy Faerie guys on horseback with crossbows and swords and ravening, salivating, man-flesh-desiring demon-poodles?—then they were made part of the Hunt, and cursed for their courage (see suicidal tendencies) to ride through the skies forever or until they chose to hop down off the Faerie Ponies of Doom and die. Sounded kind of like a Johnny Cash song, actually, except without the awesome, croony cowboy voice.

Because Hattie was one of them, she craved blood the way crack addicts craved their drugs. It wasn't like actual nosferatu vampires (which didn't exist, apparently), where they fed on the blood of the living to survive. If the Sluagh didn't eat regular food and drink regular water or whatever, they'd die even if they had blood. But that didn't stop Hattie Marshal from craving Jack's blood like a meth-head craved crystal crack. They'd always been rivals. I didn't get that, but I wasn't a blood junkie or a psycho, so obviously I didn’t get to join the club. Not that I wanted to.

"And the King is here, too, of course," Darren said, as if he didn't see the glint of raw bloodlust and hatred in Hattie's eyes or, if he did, didn't care. Harriet kept a wary eye on her sister, but Darren merely shot Jack a look before saying, "So—down to business."

§

"So now that we're all here, what do you want, exactly?" My Queen demanded, propping her elbows on the table. A casual observer would think she didn't take this meeting seriously, but the fact that she was dressed up told me otherwise. I wondered what she might get from this conversation that the rest of us would miss. She had such a unique way of looking at things.

I wasn't worried about how she'd handle herself. What worried me was Darren, and the fact that she'd brought him along with us in the first place. I understood her reasoning, I did. But Darren could not be trusted. He'd already made it clear he was after something other than Alyssa's wellbeing. Whatever it was—and I doubted it was just her body, though the fact that he wanted that as well made me want to rip his appendix out—I wouldn't let him have it.

However, I could appreciate the spit-in-the-eye symbolism of bringing Darren to a meeting with Doreen. The only two people Doreen had ever lost a fight to were her twin brother and Alyssa. A narcissist to the core, no doubt that rankled her quite a bit.

"How about we eat first?" Doreen replied to Alyssa's prompting, with all the manners of a society hostess. A muscle in her cheek twitched when she began almost spastically rearranging the plastic-ware around her lunch tray. No doubt she was imagining carving Alyssa up with the shards of her plastic knife and fork. Doreen liked cutting things up.

"I can never eat when I'm excited," my Queen replied with chilly politeness. "Let's cut to the chase. Why did you set up this meeting with us?"

"We're here to offer an invitation, nothing more," Doreen said. Hattie said nothing, just watched me with half-mad eyes.

"An invitation to what, pray tell?" Darren asked his sister.

"Geneva is hosting a tea social two weeks from now. Until that time, we propose a ceasefire between the Black and Red Courts. We can't make promises for Gavin Whitmoor and his people, obviously, but for our part, no violence. In exchange, you agree to come to the aforementioned tea social."

"I don't even know what a tea social is," Alyssa replied.

Hattie finally tore her gaze away from my face to stare at Alyssa with a WTF expression on her face. "It's a fancy word for tea party, all right? Humans are so stupid."

"Geneva wants me to come to her tea party?"

Doreen nodded. "Precisely."

"Not to be rude or anything, but uh…why?"

"She doesn't want bloodshed. She doesn't want a battle like the one you had with Lily. She certainly doesn't want a war."

"Meaning she doesn't want to get her ass kicked and lose the right to try for the Garnet Crown," Darren interjected.

"Wait, what?" Alyssa stared from Darren to Doreen, who glared at her twin as if she would cheerfully claw his eyes out with her bare hands. Darren just offered his sister that bland "oops" smile that made most of the guys in the senior class want to deck him. I could actually appreciate it, though, since it made Doreen grind her teeth.

"Can't you ever keep your mouth shut, warlock?" Hattie snarled. She started to lunge to her feet, but Harriet and I both stood up before she'd finished moving. Alyssa propped her chin on her hand and looked bored, but I felt her fury sizzle along our bondline, hot enough to burn. She wouldn’t go out of her way to attack Hattie or Doreen, but if they attacked someone she cared about—including Darren, unfortunately—she would come down on them like an avalanche. Considering she'd nearly beaten Lily to death in a fit of rage at Homecoming, neither Doreen nor Hattie wanted to deal with enraging the Black Queen that much.

"It's not my problem if the Red Queen is a coward," Darren replied airily.

Doreen leapt to her feet this time, eyes blazing, reaching with one hand for Darren. "How dare you—"

"Okay, everyone shut up!" Alyssa suddenly yelled, and the cafeteria fell silent. She eyed the rest of the room, baffled, before turning back to Doreen and Darren. "Jeez! What is this, kindergarten? Do I have to make the quiet sign? Now no more name calling or someone's gonna end up in time-out."

"Don't you dare mock me, human," Doreen snarled.

Alyssa folded her arms. "I'll mock you if I want to, if you decide it's socially acceptable to act like the last fourteen years of your life never happened and you don't know how to behave. What are you, two? Act like a teenager and I'll treat you like one."

"How do you put up with her, Darren?" The warlock's sister demanded. Indignation spread across her face like a disease. "I know you have sick tastes, but seriously!"

Alyssa stiffened. I tasted rot on the back of my tongue and knew I was in danger of going dearg in the middle of lunch if someone didn’t do something to make Doreen stop talking. Rumors like that, of the Black Queen bypassing her King for the Black Knight—especially when that Knight was Darren Moss, demon-possessed warlock—were dangerous on a good day.

"Well, it's so nice to see the children can behave themselves without adult supervision," a familiar voice said behind me. I turned to see Fiver Rairah approach the table and take a seat next to me, sandwiching me between the ash-blond dearg and my queen. "Doreen, I had no idea you had such a twisted, depraved mind."

Alyssa smiled. "Yes, you did."

"Hmmm, you're right, my Queen. I did. Now, Doreen, you asked how we put up with Lady Alyssa? I will admit, she may be a bit eccentric, but at least she's not…what do you call them, my Queen? Homicide Barbie?"

Alyssa shot him a look that plainly ordered him to behave. To my surprise, he subsided, smiling. Then I realized—we were in public. Of course he was going to act as if he obeyed her every whim. In reality, he drove her crazy. Strangely, she seemed to find that comforting.

Darren grinned. Alyssa suddenly stiffened again beside me.

§

Something touched my thigh, and I froze. I glanced under the table and realized it was Darren's hand, stretched across Harriet's petite figure. The scheming warlock replied, "The benefits of being bonded to the Black Queen far outweigh the negative aspects."

"You better get your hand off my thigh or I'll demonstrate some negative aspects," I growled, and jabbed his forearm with the prongs of my plastic fork. He barely stifled a yelp and jerked back from me. Turning to Hattie and Doreen as if nothing weird had happened—and considering this was Darren we were talking about, nothing weird really had—I said, "Tell Geneva she'll have my answer in a few days. I have to talk it over with my Court."

"The sign of a weak Queen," Hattie muttered. Oh, well now she was hurting my widdle-bitty feelings. Boo. "Why not simply order them to obey you?"

"Because they might have valid reasons why I shouldn't go, like the fact that you're all certifiably crazy. Or that this might be some kind of trap. In which case I'd have to go all gung-ho on your butts and beat you into turkey stuffing before sashaying off into the sunset like the epic ninja I am."

"A Queen should have absolute control over her Court," Hattie spat.

I snorted. "Yeah, we saw how well that worked with Lily."

"Lily Whitmoor is weak."

I couldn't help it—I smirked. Maybe it wasn’t politically savvy, but I couldn't help myself. "I didn't see your Queen stepping up to the plate at Homecoming. She just stood there with her cutesy-wootsy widdle crown on her head, doing the Beauty Queen wave. We were all very impressed." I nodded with a mock-amazed expression on my face. Of course Doreen leaned forward, eyes blazing, teeth bared. Honestly, she looked like a rabid spider monkey.

"I ought to rip your face off," she hissed.

Jerking my chin at the crimson blouse she had on—normally she didn’t wear ruffles; must've been the occasion—I said, "You'd get blood on that nice, silk shirt. If you're anything like Darren, that would make you really unhappy."

For a second I saw something flicker in her eyes. She glanced at her brother, then looked back at me. Her expression turned mean again. "I'm nothing like Darren."

Darren glanced at me. I raised my eyebrows. He smiled politely and said to the Red Court girls, "I take it this means we're done, then?"

Hattie and Doreen rose to their feet, matching looks of disdain on their faces. That was the problem with mean girls—they would've been knockouts if they didn’t insist on twisting up their faces like angsty pretzels all the time. Hattie said coldly, "Four days, Black Queen. Geneva will have your answer after school, this Friday."

"Fine." I waved at them. "Now go away. I'm hungry."

They left. I looked at Harriet, at Darren the Schmoozer, at my favorite albino Bunny Wabbit, then at Jack. They all looked relieved more than anything. I felt great. I'd gotten through my first political meeting and nobody had died. Go, me.

Now if only I had some tatertots…

Chapter 101 - Shattering a Winter Wonderland

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Chapter One-Hundred-One

Shattering a Winter Wonderland

that is

A Short Tale of a Piece of Nuada and Bres' History, the Statue in the Fountain, the Northern Lights, Cheating at the Pond, the Other Gift, and an Unexpected and Unwelcome Darkness

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Bres and I killed them

Nuada wondered briefly if revealing that small piece of his history with the Fomorian crown prince had been a mistake, then decided not. Dylan needed to know why it had been so difficult for him to believe his former friend to be the monster he was. He and Bres had been through a great deal: they'd gone to war together more than once, been friends since boyhood, saved each other's lives multiple times. And it had been Nuada—as well as Zhenjin, Princess Kamaria of Nyame, Prince Dastan of Shahbaz, Prince Günther of Álfheim, and King Anterion of Mytikas, at least when he'd only been a lowly prince—who had secretly helped defend Bres from the murderous attempts of his many siblings.

That was tradition in Cíocal, after all. The eldest born was not the heir; the last surviving scion of the royal house was the one who inherited the kingdom, unless they were ineligible for some reason. All this Nuada explained silently to Dylan as the next banquet course was brought by the palace servants.

So they tried to kill him? Dylan asked silently as she took a spoonful of colcannon. I've got to get the recipe for this, she added absently to herself. The only reason Nuada heard it was because of their linked hands. I love this stuff. Anyway, Bres's own siblings tried to kill him? You mean all of them? No wonder he's so twisted. Jeez.

I believe he has one sister he considers an ally. His eldest sister, the only other survivor. The two of them formed an alliance when Bres was young, to protect each other, on the condition that when Bres had enough political pull, he arrange a good marriage for her to get her out of the kingdom. She never wanted to rule. Elatha Redtongue has little use for daughters, and Sadb knew that.

Why do they call him Elatha Redtongue?

Nuada hesitated. That is not appropriate discussion for the dinner table. I will tell you later.

He would have said more, but at that moment Francesca opened her mouth again. "Oh, my gosh, this stuff is amazing. What is it?"

Nuala peered around Bres to smile at Dylan's sisters. "Colcannon." The Irish princess went on to explain that colcannon was a sort of stew-dish, made of boiled potatoes, salted cream, and shredded kale leaves. Because it was for the king's table, there were also bits of well-seasoned, roasted venison and slivers of golden hazelnut. It was, Nuala added with a smile for her soon-to-be-sister, one of Dylan's favorite dishes.

Francesca gave her sister a mock-glare. "Have you been eating like this since you moved here, Dylan? You lucky duck. This stuff is so good." She took another bite, swallowed. The Tuathan prince could only be grateful she didn’t talk with her mouth full, as A'du'la'di was sometimes wont to do. "You gotta teach me how to make this stuff, Sis."

"What makes you think she knows the recipe…my lady?" Bres asked, his voice smooth as chocolate cream. Nuada hadn’t missed the slight delay before the prince had tacked on a title. Nuada shot him a look, but Bres didn’t see it.

"I can find out from Caspar," Dylan said with strained politeness. "I'm sure he wouldn’t object to telling me the recipe."

Nuala touched Bres's arm with light fingertips, smiling still. "Caspar is very fond of Lady Dylan. She is the only one welcome in Caspar's kitchens at any time of day or night."

Bres arched an eyebrow. Wondering if she ought to feel defensive, Dylan said, "During my first visit to Findias, I got bored while Nuada was doing princely things, so I helped out in the kitchens. Latter-Day Saints are encouraged to make ourselves useful when we find ourselves with idle hands. And I enjoy washing dishes. It's one of those simple pleasures."

Prince Bres shot Nuada an incredulous look. Nuada bared his teeth in a smile. Bres looked ready to say something, but was interrupted by Nuala, who said, "You know, Dylan, I wondered about that for the longest time, but then Ledi Polunochnaya pointed out that I find the same pleasure in embroidery, and A'ge'lv Na'ko'ma so enjoys working in the gardens. I believe it is much the same as you washing dishes. But surely you enjoy other things as well. My brother says you love music."

For the first time, Bres looked nonplussed. "You like music?"

Warily, Dylan replied, "Yes. I can't sing, but I play the piano. I'm not great at it, but I'm all right."

Nuada knew his lady didn’t want to talk to Bres. She emphatically did not want to talk to him. But they both knew she couldn’t not talk to him if he spoke to her in public. He was the crown prince of his nation. She was both Nuada's betrothed and a noblewoman. She had to be polite. Nuada lightly and casually brushed her wrist with his fingers, a silent apology.

"What do you mean, you're not great at it?" Victoria broke in. "You're wonderful."

Dylan rolled her eyes. "Hardly. I'm not like Renee, for example. She can play Beethoven's 'Moonlight Sonata' from memory."

Unable to help himself—he had heard her play her piano at her cottage, and though she was no master of music, he enjoyed hearing her—Nuada said, "Do not be so modest, mo mhuire. You play beautifully." Her cheeks flushed pink.

"Perhaps I am prejudiced," Bres said with a polite smile, "but no music can compare to Her Highness's voice when she sings." He turned that smile on Nuala, and it deepened, reflecting sincerity. The sapphire eyes softened to the blue of a summer sky. "If I may, Princess, your singing voice is the envy of every woman in both my kingdom and yours."

Faint amber color crept across Nuala's cheeks and she ducked her head. "I thank you for the gift of such compliments, my prince."

"It was no gift, merely the truth," Bres murmured, locking eyes with the Bethmooran princess.

Nuada felt a twinge. Bres was a monster. He did not—could not—doubt that, after what had happened between the Fomorian and Dylan, after what the Spirit had warned the mortal of. But even monsters could find love. Nuada himself was one such beast. He loved Dylan more than he'd ever loved anyone or anything. What if Bres truly did love Nuala? What then? Could he break his sister's heart so? For he could feel the first embers of love already catching fire in his twin's heart. She was falling for Bres. How could he, Nuada, take that from her? And what if Nuala could mend the darkness in Bres, as Dylan had helped to mend some of Nuada's own shadows?

But Bres was Dylan's enemy. He despised the mortal woman with everything in him. He had no soul, the same as those craven beasts that had imprisoned Dylan in the institution all those years ago. And his continued presence in Bethmoora put Dylan at risk. So Nuada had to choose—his sister's heart or his truelove's safety…which was no choice at all. So the blue-eyed prince's next words set Nuada's teeth on edge.

"Lady Dylan," Bres said with all civility, "if Silverlance is so fond of your playing—and he is truly a connoisseur of music—I would very much like to hear you play the pianoforte at some point before I return to Cíocal."

His lady shot him a mild look that managed to convey her panic. Beneath the table, Nuada brushed his fingers across Dylan's palm. She asked, How do I say no without looking like a shrew?

You cannot, Nuada groused, glancing to his right at Balor. The king merely raised his brows in subtle question. If we are not courteous, it will look bad for our argument that Bres is a scoundrel and a monster, since he is being so polite to you. Stars curse it anyway.

Did someone tip him off that we were trying to break the engagement?

Impossible. Only you and I and my father know, and my father would not do that. No, he is simply being his usual wily self. You must agree, mo duinne. I am sorry. But he and I will have words about this tomorrow. He is up to something.

The silent conversation had taken perhaps ten or fifteen seconds all told; a side-benefit of communicating telepathically. Aloud, Dylan forced herself to smile and said to Bres, "If Your Highness has the time, of course I would be glad to play a song or two."

Bres's smile could have drawn blood from a stone. "If I do not have the time, I will certainly make time, Lady Dylan."

Dylan managed another smile before going back to eating. Nuada wondered if she'd fooled Bres. She'd certainly fooled everyone else…except the ancient fae king seated beside Balor. Moundshroud cast one sloe-black eye on the mortal who could count herself one of his fortunate favorites, before looking at Bres. The Fomorian prince didn’t notice. Then the eldritch king pinned Nuada with a look that sent ice frosting down the prince's spine and crystallizing in his blood. The look was a question, and a warning. Somehow Nuada managed a small nod. Moundshroud released Nuada from his gaze. The Elf found he could breathe again.

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Perhaps an hour or two later, banquet had ended. Because it was the day after Christmas, there was no dancing or festivities in the king's hall. Instead, the courtiers and nobles retreated to spend the evening with their families. Nuada walked arm-in-arm with Dylan through the royal gardens. A gift that had come with the beautiful new gown had been a lovely new cloak of royal blue velvet lined with gray and white fur. Dylan nuzzled her cheek against the exquisite fur and wondered if she had the courage to ask what it was.

As if he'd read her mind, Nuada murmured, "Did you know that certain wolf-shifters actually leave behind a pelt every time they shapeshift?" Dylan looked up at him, wide-eyed. The prince nodded. "Many of them make a living selling such. It provides a luxury, but leaves actual wolves safe from being hunted just for their fur."

"Wow," Dylan said. "That's cool. So, uh…where are we going?"

"To show you my surprise, mo crídh. The one my sister should have refrained from speaking of before your elevation." Nuada made a face and Dylan had to laugh. He looked so disgruntled. "I wasn’t certain I would be able to manage it all, to be honest. It is somewhat…different from what I am used to."

She nudged him lightly in the ribs. "You're killing me. What is it?"

He grinned. "You will see." Nuada glanced over his shoulder as Dylan's guard, Uaithne, made a sound. The prince held up a warning finger. "Not a word, Uaithne."

Dylan twisted around to stare at her guard. Uaithne quickly averted his gaze. Dylan's mouth popped open. Nuada had gotten Uaithne involved in this surprise, whatever it was? Now that she was looking at them, she realized that her four other guards—Fionnlagh had been excused to take care of her brother Loén—refused to meet her eyes.

They all knew something! But before she could ask them about it, they all came upon a door of heavy faerie metal etched with delicate filigreed snowflakes, stylized winds, and a crescent moon in the center. Tiny white flowers, hung upon the surrounding wall, somehow bloomed in the light of the waning moon overhead despite the bitter cold, catching and reflecting the silver moonglow. Nuada stopped and looked at his lady. Dylan raised an eyebrow, trying not to fidget like a little kid at Christmas. Her prince grinned again.

"Close your eyes," he murmured.

She made a face. "Seriously? What's the big surprise? I wanna know!"

Nuada smiled and cradled her face between his hands. The leather of his black gloves was remarkably warm against her skin. Leaning in, he whispered, "Trust me, my love. Close your eyes." And he brushed a fleeting kiss across her lips that had her melting. He didn’t even seem to care about the guards.

"Okay," she mumbled, closing her eyes. Nuada immediately moved behind her, gently covering her eyes with his hands. The warmth of his breath shushed against the side of her neck as he leaned close.

"Oscailte," he said in Gaelic. There was a rustle, a creaking sound, and then only the soft whispers of falling snowflakes. "Take six very slow steps." Dylan obeyed, sensing the closeness of the arched doorway as she passed through it, then feeling the gentle brush of the very tips of fir branches against her cheeks and shoulders. Nuada kept his hands over her eyes as they moved through the firs. When open air touched her face again, Nuada whispered a command, and the heavy metal door closed behind them. He said softly, "Open your eyes, my love, and look." He took his hands away. Dylan opened her eyes and gasped.

Beneath her feet spread a smooth blanket of pure white snow. Moonlight caught on the whiteness and on the softly falling snowflakes, turning it all to diamonds. Fir trees rose in a wide ring around what seemed to be a snowy meadow, but the night didn’t darken these firs. Instead, thousands upon thousands of fairy lights glowing like tiny white, blue, gold, and silver stars glittered amidst the dark green branches. It was as if Nuada had caught stars in a net of gossamer and then brought them to rest against the trees.

Slender icicles hung from the tips of the fir branches, glistening with frost, catching the light from both the moon and the glowing magical sparks. Twining around the trunks of the trees, slender diamond-like threads, studded with what might have been jewels, gleamed in the muted rainbow glow. When Dylan peered closer, she realized they were vines made of ice, with delicate rosebuds, also of ice and glistening like jewels because of a coating of frost, curving around the fir trunks. Everything dazzled and danced with the silver and gold ambiance from the fairy lights and the moon. The air smelled crisp, cold, and faintly spiced with the wintry smell of evergreen trees.

Covering her mouth with her hands, Dylan didn’t even want to suppress the awe making her heart skip the occasional beat. It was so beautiful. Like living in a world of crystals and diamonds. But Nuada wasn’t finished. He took her hand in his, leading her further across the snow. She couldn’t help twisting and turning this way and that in an attempt to watch the rainbow prisms dancing across the snow. But then she noticed a fountain near the tree-line.

A beautiful woman in a simple leine, carved of white marble veined in silver and pale gold, stood in the middle of the fountain. A long braid draped over her shoulder nearly to her waist. Dark sea-opals made up her serene eyes, two stones shimmering with blues, indigoes, and silvery mists. She held a large vessel from which water should have poured. A massive hound stood beside the woman, also carved of the same white marble. Though its hackles stood on end and its teeth were bared in warning, the hound pressed close to the woman, seeming to nuzzle her hip lovingly even as it snarled. The woman's free hand rested lightly on the back of the hound's neck, holding it leashed with a loving touch. Dylan realized those fearsome teeth were bared at approaching danger, not at the woman. The hound was protecting her. Its eyes, two warm golden onyxes, almost seemed to glow with some inner fire.

No one had shut the fountain off, but it was so cold that the water had frozen into a tumbling jet of ice, hundreds of slender icicles hanging suspended over the wide bowl of the fountain, which had been carved with bas-reliefs of a hound and a woman: traveling a long and winding road, defending against different beasts such as boars and stags, sleeping curled together in caves, walking beneath the boughs of towering forests, even bowing to a herd of unicorns. Spurting jets should have shot bursts of water into the air in a wall behind the fountain, but the water had frozen there as well, leaving it a curtain of thick ice nearly ten feet wide and several feet taller than Dylan. The air tingled with the after-effects of magic.

A small plaque of Elven silver had been carved with a constellation, a crescent moon, and the words: Cù Chulainn, the Hound of Ulster, and the Lady Moon. Surrounding the plaque was a sheet of multicolored crystal almost as thick as the marble fountain-wall it had been set into. Dylan remembered what Nuada had told her once when they'd been in the royal forest waiting for the unicorns, not about Cù Chulainn from myth, but about the constellation…

"That is Cù Chulainn, the Hound of Ulster." Nuada cupped her hand and guided her in tracing the bright pinpoints of silver-white light in the sky. His touch was warm against her skin as his palm slid smoothly against the back of her hand. His fingers curled around her hand, cradling it with gentle strength. "He guards the fair Lady Moon when she rises and journeys through the heavens. He is always at her side, loyal and watchful. He is one of the few fixed constellations; no matter the season, he always remains on guard, protecting her…"

Even then, Dylan had thought there was something more to those words than just talk of Elven astronomy. And now that she looked at this gorgeous fountain, at the statue of the woman with eyes that looked more than a little like Dylan's own, and the statue of the white hound with its honey-gold eyes, Dylan knew she'd been right. She turned to Nuada with her heart in her gaze.

"This is beautiful. All of it. The fountain, the trees, the lights…it's wonderful."

He smiled and cupped her cheek. "Neither of us have had much time to relax and simply enjoy the beauty of the season," he murmured. "And I had been preparing this place for you for a few weeks. I thought tonight would be a good time to show it to you in all its wonder."

Her mouth dropped open. "You had this made for me?"

Nuada nodded. "Do you like it?"

"I love it," she murmured. "Is this like…like my garden or something?"

"If you wish it," he replied. "There is more beyond the fir trees—the wonder of Faerie, that this garden is bigger on the inside than it appears from the outside, and it is bespelled like my mother's garden, that only you or I or my father may enter unescorted—but you can make of it what you will. Here, let me show you the trick of this fountain." He knelt and touched the block of crystal set in the side of the fountain's bowl. Murmured something in Gaelic too low for Dylan to catch. A small star, pure white light, burst into being within the crystal block.

Dancing light in a thousand rainbow hues splashed the statues at the fountain's center as well as the thick wall of ice behind them. Crimson and emerald and amber mingled with cobalt and violet and cerulean. Jade shimmers twined with spots of luminous pearl like tiny white moons. Amethyst stars twinkled, sapphire and ruby flowers burst into bloom.

Dylan gasped. "That looks just like—"

"The northern lights," Nuada supplied, sliding his arms around her and holding her close. She leaned against him and sighed happily. "We are too far south to see the aurora for true, but I thought this might suffice. Miyax, from the Royal Kennels, taught me this trick when I was a boy. I thought it would please you."

"You were absolutely right. Oh, Nuada, this is wonderful."

They stayed and watched the miniature aurora for several minutes, simply basking in each other's closeness, in the warmth of each other, in companionable solitude while in the wintry wonderland without guards or fear. This was a place of beauty and peace that Nuada had made just for her. Dylan sighed again, relaxing further. Nuada kissed her temple. Gave her an affectionate squeeze.

"The spell will remain in place until I end it," he said. "But there is more for us to do here than simply admire the beauty of the winter light. Come with me, mo duinne." Grasping her hand again, he led her away from the fountain and the small aurora, toward something that glowed with the same cerulean fire as parts of the northern lights several yards away. When they drew close, Dylan realized it was a pond. The water had frozen into ice the deep aqua of a tropical lagoon. Golden lights danced far below the surface. It took her a moment to understand that the ice was at least three or four feet thick, and that the amber lights like large fireflies beneath the ice were some sort of fae. They wove in slow circles and ribbon-like patterns deep beneath the ice, lighting it up to such brilliance that Dylan thought she could probably read a book by that glow without trouble.

"Wow!" She cried, kneeling down to peer at the edge of the pond. An aurulent spark suddenly zipped toward her, twirled in a tight spiral, then shot down into the darkness far below. "Oh, wow! What are those things?"

Nuada smiled. "They are starlings from Annwn."

She frowned, baffled. "Starlings?" Last she'd checked, starlings were really noisy birds. But then, this was Faerie. Things were rarely the same as in the mortal world. Dylan looked back at the beautiful lights flashing and spinning beneath the ice. A thought flitted through her brain. She whipped around to stare at Nuada. "You don't mean they're—"

"Little stars," he murmured, grinning when her mouth dropped open yet again. "From the city of Stormhold on the border of Annwn and Eathesbury. They come to Faerie around the time of the solstices to play amongst us common land-bound folk before returning to the sky. Would you like to touch one?"

She gaped. "Can I?"

Her prince knelt beside her, placing his gloved hands against the ice. Leaning down, gaze intent, he pursed his lips and gave a low, coaxing little whistle. A handful of the starlings flickering below suddenly froze. Sudden awareness, like feeling eyes against her back, made the hair at the nape of Dylan's neck prickle. Nuada whistled again, a sweet little tune like a robin's song in early spring. One of the starlings detached from the group below and hesitantly approached. Keeping very still, the Elven prince continued to whistle. After a hundred heartbeats of waiting, the starling emerged slowly from the ice.

Dylan studied the tiny fae creature as Nuada continued to mesmerize it with his whistling. It looked a bit like a demi-fey, but it had no wings—just a tiny, slender, genderless body as tall as one of Dylan's fingers, a body that seemed to be made of malleable glass lit from within by a brilliant white light. Surprisingly, it didn’t hurt to look at the starling. She didn’t even have to squint. She just looked at it in awe, and it looked back, with tiny eyes the fierce blue f new stars.

Suddenly Nuada stopped whistling. He whispered, "Very slowly, Dylan…hold out your hand." Holding her breath, she obeyed. Her hand lay on the ice, palm up, only her glove keeping her skin from freezing at the contact with the frozen pond. Nuada added, "Hum something. It doesn't matter if you are in tune. Just hum something. Softly, now."

It took her a moment to think, but suddenly the melody for her favorite song—"Death Shall Not Destroy My Comfort"—popped into her head. Praying she didn’t go obscenely sharp or flat and scare the poor thing, Dylan began to hum.

The starling crept closer to her fingers. Closer…and closer. The tiny creature gave off a gentle warmth that cut through the chill of the winter night easily. Then it was stepping gingerly onto the pads of her index and middle fingers. Its small feet tickled Dylan's skin. It crept even closer until it stood in the center of Dylan's palm. Those star-blue eyes stayed fixed on her face as she continued to hum. Then, all of a sudden, the starling began humming too, mimicking the mortal's tune. Dylan's eyes widened.

When the song was over, the starling gave a little bounce, chirruped at her, and zipped back into the ice. Dylan looked at Nuada, who watched her with just a little uncertainty in his eyes. She grinned. "That," she said, "was—so—freaking—cool!" The uncertainty in her prince's eyes melted away. He canted his head.

"I do try," he murmured. He helped her to her feet. "Now, I remember you told me once that you used to love ice skating."

She remembered that. The night they'd nearly kissed at the faerie metal playground, they'd first goofed off in the snow for a while. She'd shown him what a snow angel was. They'd had a snowball fight, and Nuada had absolutely kicked her butt (though she'd used feminine wiles to bean him in the face at point blank range). He'd asked what humans did when it snowed, and she'd talked about building snow forts and snowball wars and sledding. And she had said, Well, there's ice skating, though I don't do that anymore. It's too hard on my leg.

"I can't ice skate," she reminded him. "My knee—"

He held up a hand and she fell silent. "I know you cannot, mo crídh. I have an alternative. Here, sit down." He gestured to a nearby bench carved of the same silver-and-gold-veined marble. Ice blue silk cushions embroidered with pearlescent blossoms had been set upon the bench. When Dylan touched one, she was shocked to find it was warm.

"Whoa…what is this?"

"Jatai silk," Nuada said. "Made by jatai serpents from Onibi."

"What's a jatai serpent? My area of faerie expertise is mostly European stuff, so…"

Dark lips curved in a small smile. "Are you sure you want to know? You might not believe me." But Dylan just looked at him, so he said, "A jatai is a kimono sash that over time transforms into a snake, and then a snake-shifter. They weave some of the best silk in Onibi. It holds magic quite well. Because they are from the Kingdom of the Phoenix, they are warm-blooded instead of cold-blooded, like most serpents. Similar to dragons, actually."

She grinned. "Wow. Oh, it's so warm," she added with a delighted groan as she sank onto the bench. "Wow, and the stone isn't cold, either. How is it not cold? Wait, wait. Don't tell me—magic, right?" He nodded and she laughed. "Of course. So why am I sitting down?"

Nuada knelt before her and grasped her left ankle. "There is a spell that is quite common in Saami. One that will allow you to skate…after a fashion." He lifted her foot. His fingertips touched the toes of her boot, sliding down over the leather sole, coming to rest at her heel. The bottom of her shoe heated quickly, then suddenly cooled. Nuada took hold of Dylan's other foot and did the same thing before doing it again to his own dark boots. Then he stood up. Held out his hands. "On your feet, Dylan."

Rising, she took a step. The icy crust covering the snow crackled under her boots. Her foot felt…strange. Solidly anchored, like cleats on a soccer field. She glanced at Nuada, who offered his arm. When she took it, he led her carefully out onto the ice.

She didn’t slip.

Instead of feet scrabbling for a solid hold on the slick ice, her boots remained firmly where she put them. It was no different than walking on the snow, or the ground. Dylan stared down at her boots, dark against the glowing cerulean ice, then looked up at Nuada. He smiled and slowly released her hands. She didn't wobble. Didn’t lose her balance. Her feet stayed right where she put them. Seeing her relax, Nuada pushed off the ice with one foot, as if he wore skates. He glided backward across the frozen surface of the pond. Dylan's mouth opened in a silent gasp of delight as she realized what her prince had done.

They could ice skate now. The constant struggle for balance on the thin skate-blades was what made it so difficult on her bad knee, but flat-footed, she was fine, at least for a little while. Excitement humming under her skin, she pushed off the ice and skated a few feet across the pond in a moderately straight line. Nuada skated up to her. Held out his hand. Dylan bit her lip. Suddenly she felt shy, like a girl on her first date. Unable to keep the smile off her face, she took the Elven prince's hand.

It was like dancing, except it was almost effortless. Nuada held her against him, one arm carefully curved around her waist with his hand spanning the small of her back. His other hand cradled hers as they spun slowly across the pond as if they were waltzing. Dylan laughed—she couldn’t help it. The bracingly cold wind whispered across her face as they danced together.

"I love you," she said, grinning. "I love you."

Nuada's eyes were soft as he leaned down to touch his forehead to hers. "I adore you, mo crídh, my heart. How did you ever come to mean so very much to me?"

Dylan's grin took on an edge of mischief. "It's because I'm lots of fun, and you're no fun at all. I complete you."

One silvery blond brow quirked in challenge. "No fun, is it?" Suddenly he let go of her waist, grabbing her hand with both of his, and took off running. Dylan's ensorcelled boots slid across the ice without resistance. She shrieked, laughing as Nuada made a graceful turn, spinning her out in a wide arc across the pond. He spun them in circles, the wind whipping past. Dylan was nearly breathless with laughing as exhilaration thrummed through her.

Still laughing, Dylan cried, "Hey, I'll race you! Across the pond!"

Nuada scoffed. "You will lose. I am an Elf, darling."

She shot him a haughty look. "I will most certainly not lose. Although, for the sake of fairness, you should give me a ten-second head start." Nuada raised both eyebrows, but when his truelove gave him a sweet, innocent look that surely bespoke trouble, he sighed and acquiesced. "Okay, ready—set—go!"

It made her bad knee twinge just a little, pushing off from the edge of the pond and bursting into swift motion. It was easier than running, though. With running, the shock of impact as her foot hit pavement or earth often sent subtle pain through her leg. With this new form of skating, she didn’t have to lift her feet at all, just slide them across the ice.

She was perhaps twenty-five, thirty feet away when she heard Nuada drawl lazily, "Ready or not, mo duinne—here I come." She glanced over her shoulder.

He moved like the wind. She'd seen that before, at the faerie metal playground during their snowball fight. He'd managed to get her in the thigh, the shoulder, the chest, even gently in the back of the head—recompense for the snowball she'd thrown at the back of his head to initiate the wintry battle in the first place—and she hadn’t been able to move quickly enough to retaliate. Now Nuada's long, almost predatory stride ate up the yards of ice between her and him. She knew if she didn’t do something, come up with some strategy, he would absolutely kick her butt.

As Nuada drew abreast of her, Dylan stumbled just a little. He immediately swiveled, turning to face her, eyes wide and worried. "Dylan?" He started to skate toward her, but she held up a hand, managing to keep going. She wasn’t hurt; she'd just lost her balance momentarily. Nuada paced at her side for a few yards, watching her to make certain she really was okay. She shot him a smile. Her little stumble had bought her the perfect amount of distance to shore required by her sneak attack.

"Hey, is that Francesca?" Dylan asked, widening her eyes. "What is she wearing? It's like, ten degrees out!" Nuada blanched and turned quickly to where she'd been looking, already bracing to deal with the other mortal woman…while Dylan put on an extra burst of speed, rushing across the ice toward the shoreline of the pond.

"Treacherous woman!"

"Sucker!" Turning to skate backwards as she approached the snowdrifts lining the shore, she let herself fall back against the snow when her heels hit the edge of the ice. "I win!" She cried, laughing as Nuada skated toward her. She looked up to see him looking down at her, arms folded across his chest, cool and remote in the wintry moonlight.

"You cheated."

"All's fair in love and war," she replied, beaming. "How else is a puny human going to outdo someone like you?"

Raising a brow in inquiry, he dropped to the snow beside her, stretching out as if they were on summer grass. The cold didn’t seem to affect him at all. Dylan attributed it to some sort of personal magic. Or maybe the magic coat. Nuada said, "Someone like me. What does that mean?"

Dylan smiled softly. Tugging off her glove, she let her fingers alight on the collar of Nuada's leather greatcoat. Despite the chilly air, the leather was as warm as his skin—another magical trait of the coat made by an Onibi spider fae of Dylan's acquaintance.

"You know," Dylan murmured. Her breath misted on the air between them, mingling with the silvery fog coming from Nuada's own lips. "Someone as strong," her fingers brushed his throat, and his pulse jumped. "As swift," she added, her fingertips caressing the edge of his jaw. He swallowed. "As impressive as you," she concluded, whispering her fingertips over his bottom lip. "Don’t you think?"

It took him a moment to answer. When he did, his voice emerged a little hoarse. "I…am a man…of honor."

Small frown lines wrinkled between her brows. "Okay?"

He cleared his throat. Swallowed. "I am trying very hard to remember that."

She grinned. "Having some trouble?"

Her grin slipped away when he cupped her cheek, the leather of his glove warm and smooth. "Yes," he whispered, and kissed her. His lips were warm, gentle on hers, but she knew he wasn’t lying when he claimed he was struggling to remember his honor. Tension sent the smallest tremor through his body. Dylan touched his cheek. Nuada broke the kiss, leaning close to gently nuzzle her temple. Soft strands of his long blond hair tickled her face and she giggled. "The Frost Moon cannot come soon enough," Nuada muttered against her skin.

The Frost Moon. The full moon which fell on the seventh of February. The night they would finally get married. She couldn’t wait for it either. For one thing, it would be one less thing to worry about—wedding details. For another, she'd have two whole months of having Nuada to herself if she wanted, for their honeymoon. After their wedding night, where would they spend their honeymoon? Dylan suddenly realized the entirety of Faerie, or at least two-thirds of Faerie-Ireland, were now open to her. She and Nuada could go anywhere they wanted, really. They could just go wherever, and be together, and be in love. And if things went the way they hoped, she would be immortal by the time they got married. The thought made her heart do a funny little somersault.

"I'm glad I could say yes," she murmured, cuddling close. She noticed Nuada was careful to keep almost a foot of space between most of their bodies. Only their shoulders and upper arms and heads touched. Gratitude welled up for that small consideration. Like him, she was having a hard time remembering the rules these days. "I'm so glad we can get married, Nuada. I never thought I'd get married, you know? Not really. I thought I'd be alone my whole life."

He stared at her, sympathy in his eyes. "Why did you think so? You have such a beautiful heart, Dylan. How could any man—any real man—not love you?"

A small, casual half-shrug. "I'm in a pretty small demographic. A Sight-blessed mortal older than twenty. There aren't many of us, and most of us are already taken, madly in love with some hot fae person. Like me," she added with a grin. "No one could compare to you." She flopped back onto the snow and stared up at the thousands of crystal stars. "Nobody."

"I have loved before," he murmured. "At least twice ere now, I thought I had found the one, but…but Fate had other ideas. Humans had other ideas." A shadow of pain darkened his eyes for a moment. He added, "And even then, it was not as it is with you. This…this burning deep within, like embers smoldering beneath every part of me. As if I am more alive now than I have ever been." Dylan shifted so she could look up at him where he lay looking down at her. "It is as if my soul has caught fire, but instead of turning to smoke and ash, I have become…more. As if I have been tempered, transformed by that fire, by love. I am new-made, and stronger for it, Dylan, because you have made me thus. Never have I felt that before."

Dylan reached up and danced her fingers along his jaw. "I love the way you talk to me," she murmured. "You're so romantic. I love you."

Leaning down, he brushed his lips across hers, light as snowfall. He didn’t say he loved her, too. He didn’t have to this time. She could feel it in the way he kissed her, feel it in the way his hands cradled her face. She could see it in his eyes. She didn’t need the words. He'd shown her with this gift, this wonderful place, this wonderful night. Nuada loved her. She couldn’t have asked for a better Christmas gift.

.

But he gave her one. If not better, it was just as wonderful, in a wholly different way. After they'd gone back and enjoyed the miniature aurora again, Nuada told her that there was a part of the garden, near a second door, that she should most definitely see. A little tired but still game, she agreed. He led her through the thick ring of lit fir trees, the air redolent with their evergreen spice.

A wall of dark green rose up before them on the other side. Dylan saw more of the glittering diamond-like roses of ice nestled amongst the green. She touched one. It was cool, but not cold, and decorated with a sparkling sheen of frost.

"What are these?" Dylan asked softly. "They're beautiful."

"Winter roses," Nuada replied. "One of our two Master Ghillies, Collin Mistlethwaite, has been cultivating these for many centuries now. Have I introduced you to Collin?" Dylan shook her head. "Hmmm. I shall have to rectify that at some point. You will like him. He's a puck, from Eathesbury, but not a malevolent sort. He is what mortals call landed gentry—not a lord, but just beneath it."

Her eyes widened. "If he's landed gentry, what's he doing working for you? And what's a ghillie? I thought they were forest sprites."

He nodded. "A ghillie dhu is a forest sprite, yes, native to Bethmoora and Eìrc, as well as Eathesbury. But a ghillie is a groundskeeper. We have Collin, Master of the Gardens, and Dickon, his cousin, who is our Master Woodsman. I must introduce you to Dickon. You will absolutely love him. He's young, too, perhaps Tsu's'di's age, at least physically."

"And he's the Master Woodsman? Wow."

Nuada nodded again. "Mmm. He is…he has a way about him. The way you are with young children? That is Dickon with beasts, tame or wild. He taught me much when I was a lad. Pucks age differently than Elves. Once they reach their youth, they never get much older in appearance. As for Colin, he works for us because he chooses to. He…" Nuada trailed off, a shadow passing over his face. "He was a very dear friend of my mother's when she was young. When she asked him to help her set up her garden here after her marriage to my father, he came…and never left. His elder cousin Mariah is the one who inherited their family estate, so he is free to remain here. Ah, here we are."

The prince reached out and touched a single blooming rose, this one with soft petals and real leaves instead of winter glass. A small spark, green as summer sunlight through leaves, flickered to life at the heart of the blossom. The light illuminated the deep crimson petals. The boughs rustled, both living branch and icy vine, before drawing back like an emerald curtain, revealing a dark tunnel. Dylan couldn’t see the end of it, but somehow, she wasn’t frightened.

At her feet, on either side of the tunnel, two rosebuds suddenly swelled into life on the vine, flushing with vibrant color. Light danced at their hearts, as if tiny stars waited to escape the confines of the tightly furled petals. Even as Dylan watched, the crimson blooms unfolded. Verdant sparks illuminated a few feet of the dark tunnel. At the edge of the pool of green glow, two more roses burst into bloom, and two more green lights flickered into being. Nuada offered his lady his arm. Dylan took it, cuddling close, as they walked through the rose-tunnel. As they walked, more of the rose-lights appeared to light the way. At the end of the tunnel, Nuada touched another scarlet rose in full flower, and the greenery blocking the exit drew back. Dylan gasped, giving a little bounce of happiness as sights and sounds reached her from the unveiled garden.

A small snowy meadow surrounded by stone walls lay before the pair. Seemingly carved from blocks of well-packed snow, two elaborate white castles almost as big as a two-story house loomed on either side of the meadow. And scampering around the snow-castles, flinging white missiles at each other, was Dylan's family. Not all of them, no, but quite a few of them. Many of her friends were there as well.

Francesca, Tori, Renee, and Dylan's aunt Niamh had teamed up with 'Sa'ti and A'du, Lorelei, young Lord Bean and his mother, Kaye and her sister Kate, and Rórdán Hob, and were busy flinging snowballs at John, Tsu's'di, Wink, Nuada's charming dökkálfr friend Erik, and Dylan's uncle. It seemed to be guys against girls and kids. On John's team, Pipkin also fought bravely. Moundshroud, too dignified to be bothered with such shenanigans, watched from an out-of-the-way bench near the wall, occasionally calling out sardonic comments to his heir. Mr. Magorium came to Tsu's'di's rescue as A'du, teamed up—to Dylan's surprise—with Princess Abigail, the young Prince Siegfried of Álfheim, Princess Shāuddo of Onibi, and Prince Llŷr of Annwn, launched an attack on the federal agent. Dylan turned to Nuada.

"Why are Siegfried and Llŷr here? And Abigail and Shāuddo?"
Not that she didn’t want them there. She adored sweet-tempered Prince Llŷr and vivacious little Abigail, and Siegfried seemed like a nice young man. Dylan remembered that Siegfried and Llŷr, as well as Shāuddo, had jumped to 'Sa'ti's defense during the corridor brawl when young Lord Hamish mac Galen of Óic Bethrá had attacked the cougar girl, stealing the doll Nuada had given her for Midwinter and kicking her in the face. Llŷr had been the once to knock Lord Hamish flat on his arrogant little butt with one punch.

Nuada grimaced. "When I told A'du and 'Sa'ti of this plan, they insisted you would prefer it if I involve those four children in particular, seeing as how their families are allied with mine, they are friends with your pageboy and handmaiden, and they seem to like you. And I happen to know that all four of those children are also very lonely."

Dylan frowned. "But they're so friendly. So sweet. Why are they lonely?"

The prince sighed. "Shāuddo's brother, Crown Prince Emīru, has encouraged her to play more with servant children than with other royals or nobles, but many of the servant children in Findias are uncomfortable with her and avoid her company. Abigail, as you
know, has a human mother. That stigma affects how many of the children here treat her. Llŷr is often picked on for being more a scholar than a warrior; this I know, because he confides in me as he confides in his brothers. And Siegfried misses his friends in Álfheim, and like Shāuddo, finds it easier to make friends with servants. Unfortunately, like Shāuddo, the servant children tend to avoid him because he is royal, and most commoners here aren't used to associating freely with royals."

"Why are he and Shāuddo more comfortable with servants than other royal children?"

"For Shāuddo, it is because until Emīru took his place as the crown prince, she was constantly worried about trying to dance around the alliances her siblings had made with the elder sibli
ngs and parents of those noble children she tried to play with. Traditionally, Onibi is much like Cíocal. The surviving child takes the throne. This generation is a bit different, in that Emīru is the only one of his siblings currently eligible for the throne who wants it, thus avoiding a great deal of bloodshed now that his brother Prince Zeburan and his sister is in exile." Nuada lowered his voice, as if trying to keep the frolicking children from overhearing. "It was one of Shāuddo's elder sisters who stole Shāuddo and Emīru's power for a time."

Dylan's eyes snapped wide. She and Nuada had talked briefly about whether it was possible for two fae to combine their magic, giving them enough power to match the power of an heir or monarch. As far as Nuada knew, only one person had ever been able to even steal someone's power successfully. She and Nuada actually had an appointment to speak to Crown Prince Emīru the next day about it, in case what had been done to him had any bearing on the assassination attempt at Midwinter. They needed to figure out how the assassins had managed to glamour themselves not just from Nuada and Zhenjin, who was even stronger magically than the Bethmooran prince, but from Balor and the other monarchs.

"As for Siegfried, I believe Llŷr said that it isn't royals so much as many of the royals currently visiting for the Midwinter holidays. They're too soft, according to the young ljósálfr. But he can romp quite happily with A'du'la'di, young Bean, and Lady Kate. Even Shāuddo is willing to play rough with him if he asks nicely enough. They are betrothed, you know."

She started in surprise. "Shāuddo and Siegfried? But they're just kids."


Her prince smiled indulgently. "The first time I was betrothed to someone, I was in my eighth century."

She stared at him. "Who were you engaged to?"

"Princess Dinarzadi, of Shahbaz," he replied. "My friend Dastan's twin sister. She is a few centuries younger than me, but…" He shook his head, grinning ruefully. "Oh, she was a hellcat when we were children. She and Nuala adored each other. They would get into such trouble, and of course I had to go along. To protect them."

Dylan grinned. "To protect them. Of course."

"You remember my stallion, Lòman? The arion?"

Dylan nodded, thinking of the powerful black arion stallion, with the silky midnight green mane and tail, that possessed the power of human speech. She had gotten a ride from Nuada on Lòman only a few weeks ago, two days after that first painful marriage proposal. It was thanks to Lòman whisking the two of them away from guards and other prying eyes that she and Nuada had managed to start mending the breach between them. Lòman had also saved Nuada from one of the Téngshé assassins that had attacked them that day.

"I received Lòman as a yearling, a betrothal gift from Dinarzadi. I sent her one of my hound pups. Like me with Lòman, she still has the hound. And we are still good friends."

"Why aren't you engaged to her anymore?"

Nuada sighed. "Her father died. He was the one pushing for the betrothal, because our kingdom was a strategic point during the wars against the humans for Europe, and he wanted his eldest son to eventually have access to our armies and our navy. Shahbaz's navy is…" He grimaced. "Rather pitiful. Sultana Tamina wanted peace with the humans. When the sultan died, there was no reason to maintain the betrothal anymore. My parents wanted a more advantageous match for me, anyway."

"So they set you up with Princess Eilonwy," Dylan said, smiling. Nuada had explained a couple weeks ago about how Arawn had petitioned him as husband to his only daughter, who was about ten centuries Nuada's junior, but who adored the prince who was her father and brothers' friend. Both had been happy about the betrothal until Eilonwy had fallen in love with the crown prince of Gevaudan, the fae equivalent to France. Now she and Prince Henri were engaged.

But Nuada shook his head. "No, that was after Kamaria and Mïng Xiân."

She shot him a disbelieving look. "Kamaria? African warrior princess Kamaria? With the braids and the muscles and the missing eye and the scary brother?"

He nodded. "Yes, that Kamaria. She lost that eye to an asanbosam. An African vampire with iron teeth, in simple terms," he explained, seeing her look. "Anyway, she went to her mother when I was perhaps…in my sixteenth century—she was thirteen centuries at the time, I believe—and demanded she be allowed to wed me."

"Not that you're not the hottest thing since ever, but why?"

He heaved a longsuffering sigh and gave her a look that just begged for pity. "If I tell you, you will mock me."

"I won't. I promise."

He eyed her suspiciously before muttering, "Very well. She had come for a visit, and during one of my training sessions with a spear, insisted on joining me. After our lesson, impressed by what she saw, she challenged me to a fight. I of course refused; she was younger, much smaller than I, and a girl. She called me a coward. I called her a brat. She…insulted my masculinity, shall we say. We attacked each other with wooden practice spears, got in a few good whacks at each other, then tossed them aside and brawled in the mud." He met Dylan's baffled stare with a mild look. "It was a draw."

"And that's why she wanted to marry you? Because you beat the crud out of each other?"

"And I gave her a black eye. She knocked out of one my teeth. Not a milk-tooth, either." Dylan stared at him, stunned. He opened his mouth and tilted his head back a little to show a bit of a gap between his canine and the molar behind it. "Right there. My father was furious until Queen Nyota told him what Kamaria wanted."

Dylan shook her head in amazement. "Wow. Were you scared?"

He shot her a look. She just waited, a patient smile on her face. Finally, he huffed and muttered, "I was barely a youth."

"You were scared of her."

"Terrified. She stopped wanting me, though. I was too pale for her."

"Are you serious?"

He nodded. "She said I looked like a dead fish." Dylan's mouth fell open in outrage, but Nuada grinned. "I said only a fool dared to bed a black widow spider. We dueled again to settle the insult, ended up in the mud again, cleaned up and went drinking in Anansi, Nyame's capital city. She and I, both very drunk, still managed to win quite a bit of money playing cards."

She frowned. "You gamble?"

"It isn't gambling if you know you will win," he replied with smug, male satisfaction. "In Nyame, they have a card game called jackals-and-hares, which requires almost as much skill as chess, and depends only on the merest shred of luck. I used to be very good at it. Kamaria taught me herself. But that was in my youth." Some of the mirth left his eyes. "I have more adult pursuits to fill my time now. Many of them such things as I would give anything to give up." He focused on her. Smiled with warmth and no little happiness. "But then, there is also you, my love. I would not give up my little healer, my lady, my evening star, for all the riches of this world."

Dylan took his hand, lacing her fingers with his. She cuddled close, grinning, and said, "John and them look a little outnumbered. Would it be unfair if we teamed up with them and gave them a hand?"

"Go to the aid of the whelp?" Nuada muttered. Dylan just grinned wider, knowing her prince would rather take a snowball in the face than admit he was starting to grow fond of her brother. The Elven warrior sighed. "He did aid us with the human assassin."

"Mmm-hmmm."

"I suppose I…owe him a debt."

"Mmm-hmmm."

"I suppose honor demands we go to his aid."

It was getting harder and harder to keep a straight face. He sounded like someone had just run over his puppy. "Mmm-hmmm."

Nuada sighed again. "Very well. We will help the feckless buffoon you call a brother."

"Buffoon is such a harsh word."

He gave her an indecipherable look, then suddenly grinned. "You are absolutely right. Very well. Come, my fairest lady. Let us go lend our aid to our…what is that human word? Ah, yes. Our chum."

She burst out laughing. "Our chum? Really?" She narrowed her eyes in sudden suspicion. "Wait. Do you mean 'chum' as in 'friend,' or 'chum' as in 'shark bait?'"

Nuada smiled.

.

Dylan was happily exhausted as she and Nuada walked back toward the palace late that night. Sleepy children, tired out after the fierce snowball war, had already gone to bed, with promises that there could be more epic winter battles on the morrow. Now, surrounded by their guards, Nuada and Dylan strolled through the public gardens, savoring the last part of the night before they would have to retire.

"So, my lady of Fionntrá, Éas Ruaíd, Inber Scéne, Macha Chroí, and Luácha Hanráhan," Nuada murmured, his cheek against her hair, "do you feel any different?"

"I feel happy," she murmured back. "I didn’t think I would. I thought I'd be stressed. But right now, I'm not. I'm just so happy. Though I can't believe you used my brother as shark bait. For shame, Your Highness."

He snorted. "The only thing shameful about that battle was the measly defense our compatriots put up against the children."

She grinned sleepily. "Llŷr has good aim. He beaned you in the face, what? Seven times?"

A mock-scowl twisted dark lips. "Siegfried is a bad influence on him. And on A'du'la'di. And did you see how 'Sa'ti looked at him? As if he hung the moon." Nuada shook his head. "The girl's besotted with him. Ah, well. He'll be gone in a week or so. He can go terrorize his mother in Álfheim."

Dylan laughed. "You know you like him."

"Of course I like him. That does not mean he isn't an unholy terror. He's from Álfheim." Nuada raised her hand to his lips, kissed it despite the presence of her glove. "Tomorrow, if it pleases you, I must take you to the stables. There is someone there I wish you to meet." She suddenly remembered that Nuada had bought her a horse a few days ago for the trip to the northern villages. A gentle, steady mare, he'd promised, who would look after her. Her eyes lit up, and he grinned. "I see it does please you. We might look in on Shang, as well."

"Oh, yes! Let's do that. We can go after church." Suddenly she wrapped him in a squeezing hug. "Oh, Nuada! I'm so happy!"

He kissed her temple. "I am glad of that." He hesitated, then added, "You know, I was surprised at first that my father would gift you with five provinces. I was even angry, because such a bestowing of wealth could make you a target…but then I realized it also gave you power. You are now one of the wealthiest people in the kingdom, second only to the royal family, and on equal footing with Lady Jocasta of Reedus and a few others, including Lord Galen of Óic Bethrá. Because of our betrothal, you outrank even them. It is a big step toward ensuring your safety and power among the court."

"Won't your father miss the income and whatnot, though?"

Nuada shrugged. "He'll get the land back—technically—when we wed in less than two months, as you will then be part of the royal family. And though Bethmoora is described as one-third of faerie Ireland, our kingdom alone is much larger than the mortal Ireland you know."

She nodded, processing that. "How big is Bethmoora?"

Her prince considered the question for a long moment before answering. "I believe if you combine the country known as the United Kingdom, Ireland, all the surrounding islands, and a large chunk of the European mainland, you would have it just about right."

"That is huge."

"Faerie is a good deal larger than the Mortal Realm. I…Dylan? What is it?"

His voice was sharp, and with good reason. The mortal woman had frozen in her tracks, eyes suddenly wide and darting this way and that, her hand going to the place where her dirk was concealed beneath her cloak. Nuada's hand fell to the pommel of his sword. Their guards tensed, ready and waiting for whatever the human woman sensed. Eimh and Sétanta sniffed at the cold winter air, searching for the danger. Dylan continued to scan the night.

"I—have—a—bad—feeling." She enunciated each word softly. Icy sweat trickled down the back of her neck, catching on the fur lining of her cloak before it could freeze to her skin. She drew her dirk when a sharp spear of frigid warning bit deep into her chest. Nuada instantly drew his sword. "Really bad."

Suddenly the wind shifted. The scents of snow and ice and evergreens faded. In its place was the stench of rot, garbage, death. An oddly flat sort of burbling, slurping noise carried on the wind. Dylan and Nuada locked eyes. They recognized that stink, that sound.

"Shoggoth," Nuada hissed. She nodded, breath coming in shallow gasps. Nuada turned to the dogs. "Eimh, Sétanta. Go to the palace, find Zhenjin, and tell him another shoggoth has come to Findias. Tell him Lady Dylan and I have need of him and the emperor. Perhaps even Prince Emīru. If you see the shoggoth, do not attack it. Do you understand?"

Both hounds whuffed. *Yes, Master. We go now.* They leapt forth across the snow, a streak of moonlight and a streak of midnight running side by side against the blue-tinged snow. As they raced away, the Butchers drew their blades. Nuada and Dylan knew, however, that cold iron would do little good against a shoggoth. The only way to kill the monstrous things was to magically set them on fire and make certain they burned away to absolutely nothing.

The slurping, sludge-like sound drew closer. Dylan gasped as the black, blob-like, rolling mass squelched around the corner of one of the garden walls. Thick, ropy tentacles waved in the air, visible as black fronds against the starry, moonlit night. At the sound of Dylan's muffled gasp, a single glistening circle appeared against the mound of flabby, tenebrous flesh. An eye. She had to fight not to be sick as the shoggoth focused its Cyclopean gaze on her. It slowly crept closer. The entire group of them began to back up. Shoggoths moved slowly, but they were impossible to stop.

Movement from the corner of Dylan's eye had her whipping her head around. Her eyes widened until she thought they might pop out of her head, and her heart leapt into her throat, threatening to strangle her as her mind processed the horrific image her eyes were seeing.

"Nuada!" She yelped, her voice thin with panic. "There are more! A lot more!"

Her prince whipped around to stare at the four dark masses converging on them, two oozing up the wide pathway and two more slowly rolling their way over one of the walls of a private garden. Nuada's mouth actually fell open as he stared at the creatures, all tentacles and black bulk and hungry, shining eyes. He looked at Dylan, then at the shoggoths, then back at Dylan. Something shifted in his gaze, as if he'd come to some decision. His expression hardened.

"Uaithne! Mahon!" He barked the name of the leaders of both her retinue of guards and his. They turned to him. "Mahon, I ask a favor of you—that you and your people join with Uaithne and his company. Take Dylan and get her out of this place."

She immediately balked. "No! No, I'm not leaving you here. I'm not leaving you! You can't fight five shoggoths by yourself!" What she didn’t say, but what they both knew, was that even the mighty Silverlance couldn’t fight even one lone shoggoth by himself and live. The only thing that could burn the monsters completely away was fae fire—something the prince did not possess.

He gripped her arm, growled, "You will go. You must go. I can draw their attention, give you a chance to escape. Once you are safe, I can get away."

"No! That's crazy and you know it! I'm not going without you!"

Nuada grabbed her and hauled her against him. He stared into her eyes, and his gaze turned soft and sorrowful. "I love you. I cannot lose you. I need you safe. I can hold my own against these until Zhenjin comes, but not if I must concern myself with protecting you. Please, my love, you must go." And he kissed her, swift and hard, and she tasted his desperation, his love. It was a kiss too much like the one he'd given her before his duel with Zhenjin back in November, when he hadn’t known whether he would live or die. Suddenly Dylan was more scared than she'd ever been since that day. Pulling back, Nuada said, "Go, Dylan."

Tears stinging her eyes, she whispered, "Please be careful. Please don't die, Nuada. I love you."

"I will be all right. I promise you." The shoggoths gurgled and oozed closer, inch by inexorable inch. He glanced at them. A muscle flexed in his jaw before he turned back to her. "Now go, Dylan!"

Swallowing hard, she moved to Uaithne, who grabbed her and tried to hustle her past the shoggoths. While she and her guards moved along a westward garden path, Nuada moved eastward, swiping a long gouge in one of the beasts' flesh and drawing thick, phosphorescent ichor. The eldritch creature squealed and shrieked, drawing the attention of its brothers. Nuada stepped back, sword at the ready, before glancing once at Dylan. She bit her lip as she looked back at him. His gaze urged her to run. Her heart urged her to turn back, to try and help him. But she would only get in the way.

What if the shoggoths got him on the ground? Shoggoths could sprout eyes, fanged mouths, and tentacles all over their bodies at will. And they ate anything that could help add to their mass. If Nuada lost his footing, they could have him pinned in seconds. Once they pinned him, the flesh-eating monsters would…

Suddenly Uaithne swore. Dylan jerked back around in time to see three more shoggoths surged forward. Where were they coming from? One of them swept a tentacle as thick as a tree trunk across the path, smacking into four of Dylan's guards and smashing them with bone-crunching force into the wall. Their armor clanged against the stone before they thudded to the ground. Uaithne and Ailbho stepped in front of her, swords raised. The rest of the guards—only five, if she didn’t count Uaithne and Ailbho—stepped between her and the writhing masses of gelatinous, carnivorous darkness.

"Back, my lady!" Uaithne snapped as he and the others braced for the monsters' onslaught. "Get back!"

But then the shoggoths converged on the two Butcher leaders and their subordinates, and Dylan was pressed back against the wall, panic choking her, trying to figure out some way to fight back, some way to help her friends, her prince. The stench of rotting filth and decaying flesh nearly made her gag. An eerie whistling sound began piping on the air; she knew it was the shoggoths. Where was Nuada? Was he alright? Was he hurt?

Tentacles tipped in lipless mouths filled with razor-sharp teeth shot out, slicing across the Butchers' unprotected arms and necks, drawing black blood that shone like obsidian in the moonlight. Dylan winced. A shoggoth's bite was highly poisonous. Her guards hacked and slashed at the encroaching tentacles, but nothing repelled the creatures for long. They crept close, closer. When Onóra tried to sink her heavy iron claymore into one of the beasts, the ebony slime sucked the iron blade right out of her hands. The sword disappeared within the creature's heaving mass. Onóra cursed and drew two long-knives as she backed up inch by inch. The approaching shoggoth slashed a wound across her leg.

Blades flashed as Mahon and his young partner, Lorcc, threw small throwing-knives into the creatures. The small, thin blades winked as they spun through the air, embedding in the black flesh, before being slurped up like Onóra's claymore. Slowly the Butchers were driven back. Even more slowly, so slowly that at first they didn’t realize what was happening, they were being driven away from Dylan.

When the mortal realized what the monsters were doing, her heart kicked into a gallop. Shoggoths couldn’t organize like that, couldn't plan, couldn’t be controlled by anything except…and nothing that could control a shoggoth would want to hurt her. Yet they were obviously intent on isolating her. Once they got her alone, separated from her guards, she had nothing to defend herself with except her three knives. That wouldn’t be enough.

They were going to eat her.

When a tentacle flicked out toward her face, she swiped at it instinctively, slicing off the tip with her dirk. It plopped to the snow, the noxious blood glowing and steaming. The shoggoth squealed. A second, thicker tentacle shot out, dodging between two of her guards to head straight toward her. Moonlight glinted off poisonous teeth.

Dylan screamed. She tried to slice at it, tried to dodge. Knew she would never alter the course of that savage, serpentine thing.

A shadow darted between her and the shoggoth tentacle. There was a sick sound, like a thousand blades being driven into flesh. A grunt of pain. The stench of burnt flesh filled the air. Moonlight flashed on a naked sword blade as an unfamiliar Elven sword jerked up, slashed downward. The massive rope of shoggoth blubber fell to the snow, twitching. Dylan's savior dropped to one knee, a hand pressed to his chest. Gleaming blood seeped between his fingers to drip onto the snow. That blood acted like a siren call to the shoggoths, urging them forward. The shadow bowed his head as he struggled against the poison and the pain. The light glinted on his golden blond hair. Dylan froze.

When her protector lifted his head and met her gaze with a cool sapphire stare, Dylan found herself staring into the pain-lined face of Crown Prince Bres of Cíocal. She had no time to think, no time to wonder. The shoggoth was getting ready to attack again. Dylan opened her mouth to scream a warning—monster or not, he was trying to protect her, and she couldn’t let him get eaten alive by the things—but Bres was already whirling into action. His blade flashed again, slicing and searing as the Fomorian shouted in Gaelic.

She didn’t know what he was saying. Didn’t know why he was there. But for whatever reason, the Fomorian prince was risking his life to save hers. He actually seemed to be holding his own, too…until another shoggoth, twice as big as the others, grabbed both Bres and Nuada in its tentacles and slammed the two princes into each other with bone-crunching force. Then it slammed them into the ground, where both lay, unmoving.

The shoggoths converged on Dylan.