Chapter One-Hundred-Three
Break Away
that is
A Short Tale of Tending, Tenderness, a Chinese Myth, a Shattering Revelation, Cutting Ties, a Difficult Conversation, a Parting Gift, and a Marvelous Idea
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Sometime later, in one of the private chambers in the Healers' Wing, Dylan wrung out a cloth over a bowl of steaming, soapy water. Folding it carefully, she gently smoothed one soft corner over the oozing gash above and to one side of Nuada's eyebrow. Golden blood soaked into the cloth. Nuada's wince was almost imperceptible, but she noticed. Her lips brushed against his bruised temple as lightly as gossamer.
"Your bedside manner is marvelous," her prince murmured. A wan smile tugged at his lips.
Dylan smiled. "I know." She wiped away more of the blood before pressing a clean part of the washcloth to the wound. Nuada's breath hissed softly between his teeth. "Put your hand up," the mortal healer added. "Hold that right there." He obeyed without question. Once Somhairle had mended the skull fracture that had been responsible for the blood Dylan had seen seeping from Nuada's ear during the battle in the gardens, her prince had become much less testy about accepting medical assistance for his more superficial injuries. The crown prince had insisted, however, that Chief-Healer Somhairle tend to Tsu's'di first. One look from glacial topaz eyes had silenced any potential protests from the older Elf.
While Nuada held the cloth to his head, Dylan picked up a small bowl of amber liquid that smelled of sweet, crushed herbs. Somhairle had told her it would help seal the prince's wounds. Because Nuada was stubborn, he was refusing in-depth magical aid for anything but the concussion. She dipped her fingers in the little earthenware bowl. The liquid made her fingertips tingle pleasantly.
They were being very careful, the two of them. The conversation had focused on nothing except dealing with Nuada's injuries. At first, Dylan hadn’t understood why he'd been so cold, so aloof…until she'd gone out into the hallway, to get away from his chill demeanor for a moment, and noticed that four of the Butchers that were normally in attendance on the prince were missing. The others had all been given the antidote for shoggoth poison and were back on duty, though they weren’t quite up to snuff yet. Of her own guards, Dylan knew Ailís and Onóra had broken limbs, so they were out of commission, but the rest had already been treated.
She'd seen young Guardsman Lorcc standing alone. His partner, Guardsman Mahon, the leader of Nuada's retinue, was one of the missing four. She'd gotten one glimpse of Lorcc's red-rimmed, wet blue eyes through the slitted visor of his helmet and known that Mahon was dead. Dylan had taken a moment to talk to Lorcc and learn the names of the other missing three: Odhrán, Ríagáin, and Diarmid. All three, and Guardsman Mahon, had been killed in the battle.
When Dylan had gone back into the healing chamber, she'd understood Nuada's coolness, his silence. He didn't blame her by any stretch. No, she knew her prince. If he blamed anyone besides Shaohao and whoever he'd been working with—and there had to be someone besides the pasty-faced ghoul who'd saved him from Victoria, because only a very powerful fear darrig could control a shoggoth for any length of time—Nuada blamed himself.
As he blamed himself for Tsu's'di and 'Sa'ti getting hurt.
Ailbho had taken 'Sa'ti upstairs, making sure she and A'du'la'di were safe in Dylan's suite, even tucking them in. He'd been ordered to remain upstairs with the cubs until Nuada and Dylan went back to their suite. It left Dylan feeling much safer about the children.
She couldn’t forget the sight of Ian Malcolm holding a knife to 'Sa'ti's vulnerable throat. No doubt Nuada felt worse. She'd done some hostage negotiating before—not much, it wasn’t her forte, but some. She'd lost her mind when she'd seen 'Sa'ti, though. One reason parents never worked a case if their children were involved. How had Nuada felt? Dylan knew he loved the little girl. That had been obvious to anyone watching him struggle not to go for Ian's throat. If John hadn't killed him with that shot, Nuada would have done it—and gladly. Probably messily.
Dylan thought of the bound human assassin Nuada had killed with a vicious sword thrust through the chest on Midwinter's Eve, after the mortal had told Nuada he and his cohorts intended to cut Dylan up into little pieces and feed her to the prince's dogs. There had been…a lot of blood.
Yes, he would've killed Ian very messily.
Was it strange that that made her feel safer?
Pushing that thought aside for now, Dylan lifted her oil-slick fingers. "You can put your hand down now," she murmured. The moment she touched her fingertips to the gash—which no longer bled so much—and spread the herb-and-oil mixture along the edges of the wound, it began to close. "That's nifty," she said, fascinated by the speedy healing process. "And…kind of nauseating. Well, whatever. Somhairle said I'm supposed to keep putting this stuff on until the wound closes." Gently she smoothed the healing brew around the edges of the mending injury.
"You have such a gentle touch," Nuada said softly, tiredly. "Though I will be honest, mo crídh…I imagined you doing this in a very different setting, and not on my forehead."
Her brow furrowed. "You…imagined me putting healing salve on you?"
Nuada rolled his eyes. "No, my love. I imagined…never mind. You are so innocent."
"Wait, no. Explain it to me. I don't get it, I'm too tired." When Nuada merely smirked, Dylan screwed up her face in a mock-pout and poked him in the shoulder with a dry finger. "It's something dirty, isn't it? And you won't tell me. You are mean."
To her surprise, the small smile curving his dark lips slipped away. He cast his gaze to the wall behind her. "Yes," he whispered. "I am a cruel master, am I not? To order good men, or at least decent men, to their deaths against eldritch beasts? What sort of prince gets his men killed?" Topaz eyes drifted to Dylan's face. "I lost good men tonight." Tears stung Dylan's eyes and she nodded. "What will I tell their wives, Dylan? Their parents, their children?"
She thought back to when Nuada had told her about being captured by humans during one of the wars, how so many good men had died in the attempt to rescue him. He blamed himself for that, and for this. She wondered if there was anything she could say to convince him he wasn’t at fault.
"I don't know, Nuada," Dylan murmured eventually. "But I know you're not to blame."
"Aren’t I?"
"No." She shook her head for emphasis. "You're not. You did what you could. You didn’t know we would run into more shoggoths. You tried to send me and the others out of danger. What more can be asked of you?" She dabbed gently at a cut along his jaw. "I talk to my guards…probably more than you talk to yours. We're all buddies. And I know that the reason these people even join the Guard in the first place is because of their love and loyalty for the Crown. They know they may have to lay down their lives for a member of the royal family when they put on the uniform. They accept that."
The prince sighed, then dropped his head to rest against her shoulder. "It never gets easier, Dylan—losing someone under your command. You feel responsible; you begin to question yourself, your judgment. Sometimes only in the dark of the night when the darkness closes in around you, whispering of past failures…but the doubt always comes back when you lose another soldier."
With her free hand, she cupped his chin. Lifted his face so he was forced to look at her. "So you doubt. Okay. Doubt's natural. It can even be healthy. But I'm here, Nuada. I'm right here, and I will never doubt you. And when you start to doubt yourself, I'll make you look into my eyes and show you why I never doubt you. I'll remind you why I have faith in you. Always."
"How can you have such faith in me? You know I am not perfect, yet you nearly always look at me as if I am."
Dylan smiled and touched his cheek. "My uncle says that we like people for their qualities but love them for their defects. Maybe you're perfect to me because you're not perfect…you know? I don't know. You're perfect to me, Nuada. You're perfect for me. And I believe in you."
He gazed up at her with eyes of honeyed gold. "I do not deserve you."
She shot him an impish smile. "I know. Now strip."
Those firegold eyes widened and dark lips curled at the corners. "My lady…you might at least buy me a drink first."
"Meh. You're not worth it."
He scoffed, raising both brows. "I feel so very cheap."
She grinned. "Oh, whatever. I just meant your shirt. I can see bloodstains. I know you're hurt. Strip."
Moving carefully—Somhairle had only recently relocated Nuada's shoulder—the Elven prince gripped the hem of his loose silk shirt. He'd shed his tunic some time ago. He cast a lazy eye over Dylan. "I am feeling shy," he murmured, fluttering his lashes. "Must you watch?"
Dylan deliberately widened her eyes. "Strip."
His smile widened. "Say that again."
Frowning, she leaned back, eyeing him dubiously. "Why?"
"You have no idea what it does to me," he practically purred.
She grinned. "Now aren't you glad that Somhairle isn't the one you have to have this conversation with?" At the mention of the nearly-seventy-century-old Elven healer, who looked quite a bit like a rather wrinkled, moon-blond vulture, Nuada's eyes widened and he shuddered. Dylan smirked. "Did I just kill your Elven Casanova charm, Your Highness?"
He shot her a dirty look. "Heartless woman." Carefully, he peeled off his shirt. Dylan winced when she saw the myriad bruises painting his muscled torso. Several cuts and gashes marred the mottled flesh. A white spot the length of her little finger and perhaps thrice as wide stood out against a dark patch along his ribcage. She zeroed in on that immediately, palpitating the area with professional fingers. Nuada grunted. "Ah."
"You might have broken ribs," Dylan whispered, surprise and concern stealing the volume from her voice.
Nuada shook his head. "Merely dislocated."
Now it was her turn to shoot him a dirty look. "Have you forgotten the dispensation of authority here, Your Highness?" She poked him in the sternum. "Injured patient in need of henpecking." She jerked a thumb at her chest. "Shrewish dwarf wife-wannabe ready to henpeck. Now shut up. I have to make sure you don't have any splinters floating around. Why didn't you mention this?"
"They are merely dislocated," he protested. "What could you possibly have done?"
"Relocated them," she muttered, fingers exploring along the swollen muscles and out-of-place rib-bones. His eyes widened. "What? You don't know how to relocate ribs? You mean they didn't teach you that in medical school?"
He eyed her coolly. "I did not go to medical school."
"And yet you still argue with me about how to treat you?" She smiled to take the sting out of her words as she discovered that yes, indeed, his ribs were just dislocated, not broken. Good. "I can't wait until we're married. I'll have an effective means of making you sit down and behave."
"A ghrá, you can kiss me right now if you like."
One eyebrow quirked as she replied, "I was thinking more along the lines of restricting you from things you might really want once we're married. You know, like sex, for example."
Nuada's eyes went wide. "What? Gah!" His entire torso jerked and spasmed when, with three quick, carefully-placed blows that left her skin tingling and her hand smarting, she shoved his ribs back into place. "Gah. Oh, that is better. Much better."
"You can breathe now."
"Yes," he breathed. "Much better, mo duinne, thank you. I did not know you could do that." He shot her a look. "You were jesting before, of course, were you not?" Dylan smiled and began tending the lacerations marring his chest. There were several, but they only took a couple of dabs each to close. "About restricting me from…simply to make me 'behave,' as you put it. You were, weren’t you? It was a jest. A trick to distract me so you could heal my ribs."
Her smile was sweet enough to make candy. "You'd like to think that, wouldn't you?"
Once she'd set the bowl down on the bedside table and wiped her fingers off on a clean cloth, Nuada snagged her wrist. Pulling her to him, he settled his hands on her hips. Smiled wolfishly. "You would not last a day." Dylan raised an eyebrow. "I am an Elf, darling. I am irresistible." But then the humor fled his eyes. He raised a hand to touch her throat. "I nearly lost you tonight," he whispered, tracing the bruises in the shape of Shaohao's fingers. "And it is not the first time we have come so close to death."
Dylan covered her hand with his. "I'm okay," she replied. "Zhenjin saved me."
A bitter look crossed Nuada's face, surprising her. "Of course he did. Zhenjin could save you so much difficulty, rescue you from so much peril…whereas I endanger you every moment with my cursed selfishness." His fingers twisted in the fabric of her gown so hard his knuckles turned bone-white.
Baffled, Dylan shook her head. "What are you talking about?"
He shook his head. Relaxed his grip, flexing his fingers. "Nothing. Only that I was right when I told you before that I am yet too selfish to let you go. I love you. I cannot let you go."
"I don't want you to," she replied. "I want to be with you. I love you, too. All this is…incidental. I love you."
His eyes had shifted again, from firegold to brittle amber glass tinged with miserable gray. He folded his arms around her waist and drew her to him so he could lay his cheek against her belly. It was easy since she was standing and he'd taken a seat in a low chair. Dylan ran her fingers lightly through his hair as he let out a breath, drew in another. He closed his eyes.
"Dylan, this means war," he whispered. "You know that?" She jolted. Her fingers tangled briefly in his hair. Nuada added, "What Shaohao has done…he attacked our capital city with what amounts to a small army. The attack failed, but it happened. He tried to kill the betrothed of the crown prince. His…forces tried to kill me, Bres, and your sister. Princess Mïng Xiân was the main target of this attack, but she is under Bethmooran protection by the laws of hospitality. Several of my guards were killed. Tsu's'di nearly died. If not for Collin's intervention, he would have died." Looking up at her, he reached up and touched her neck again. The bruises, slowly mending with magic, still twinged. "That wretch put his hands on you. Hurt you. If not for Zhenjin…you would be dead, Dylan. While I lay helpless and scarcely conscious on the ground, you were nearly murdered not thirty feet away and I…I could do nothing. And now we, Cíocal, and Dilong must declare war against Shaohao for this act of aggression."
"How does that work, exactly? Since he's just a person, not a kingdom."
Nuada sighed. Released her. "Among other things, he is declared an enemy of the state—here and in Cíocal. He is already an enemy of the state in Dilong. Our military will be put on alert. A declaration will go forth to all the provincial militias regarding our status. Small army companies will be placed where we believe Shaohao is likely to attack, with special weapons to deal with any shoggoths he might summon up. And if we receive word he is mounting an attack, we will engage his forces in battle. It will be more difficult, more tedious, because we have no targets we can attack to strike back at him. It will be an ugly thing." Nuada sighed. "I pity Huizong and Zhenjin, for in their hearts they love him…but I especially pity Empress Yeh-Shen."
Dylan frowned. "Zhenjin's mother?"
Her prince sighed again. "Zhenjin and Shaohao's mother…but not Mïng Xiân's. She and Mïng Xiân's mother are sisters. This will be hard on them both. A mother's love protects her children even when they know it not. Shaohao only lived this long because he is Huizong and Yeh-Shen's firstborn. The empress begged the emperor to have mercy on her child every time the Red Dragon murdered one of the Dilong princes—"
"The Red Dragon?"
"That's what they call my brother," a soft voice said from the doorway. Dylan turned to see Zhenjin leaning against the doorframe, arms folded, regarding the mortal and the other Elven prince with a somber expression. "Shaohao. They call him the Red Dragon, because he is truly insane." Zhenjin nodded to Nuada. "Silverlance."
"Azurefire. I must thank you for saving my lady when I could not," Nuada murmured.
An odd look crossed Zhenjin's face and he rubbed the back of his neck. "I had no choice, of course. You know that." Reptilian jade eyes flicked to Dylan, back to Nuada. "After all, my friend's betrothed, a good friend to me on her own merit, someone who has saved my life…I owed her." Then he frowned. Pushing away from the doorframe and striding into the room, he gazed intently at Dylan's neck. "This has not been tended. Silverlance—"
"She insisted on only the simplest healing spell," Nuada muttered. If Dylan hadn’t known any better, she would’ve said he sounded a bit defensive. "She will take nothing more until Tsu's'di is out of danger."
Comprehension filled the draconian eyes. "Ah. Your young guardsman. My kingdom owes him a debt. If he had not attacked Shaohao, my sister might very well be dead now. My family and I hold him in our thoughts, Dylan. You will tell us when he is well?"
A small smile flitted across her face. "Thank you. We will." Then she took a good look at him and frowned. Instead of the clothes he'd worn in the garden, which were no doubt torn and dirty from the battle, he wore armor.
Hardened onyx leather, along with bronze and emerald brocade, made up some kind of military-looking uniform which showed in the occasional gaps in his plated bronze armor. Two sinuous five-clawed imperial dragons of dark green and amber jade twining together into the form of a double orobouros glittered in the center of his breastplate. Similar dragons had been shadow-etched into the Elf prince's polished bronze greaves, vambraces, shoulder-guards, and the armored half-skirt that protected his upper thighs. His hair had been tied back by an emerald band. He was wearing, Dylan realized, the same thing he'd worn to his duel with Nuada.
"Zhenjin," Dylan said, brows furrowing. "Why are you wearing armor? What's going on?"
He offered her a small smile. "We are leaving, Dylan. My father, sister, and my aunt return to Dilong in the morning. We have brought danger to Bethmoora. It would be dishonorable of us—and unwise—to remain. My brothers and I will hunt Shaohao this night. He cannot have gotten far, not injured as he is. It is the best time to catch and subdue him without anyone else possibly being harmed."
Dylan nodded. Of course. That made sense. No doubt a lot of people would be leaving Bethmoora in the next couple of days. So much for Midwinter festivities. At least now no one would be competing for a kiss from her or Nuala. But at the same time it felt like someone had dumped a stone in the pit of her stomach. She realized she didn’t want Zhenjin to leave. He was…he was her friend. A real friend that she didn’t have to dance around and worry about regarding politics or whether he was really Nuada's ally. Someone she didn’t have to tack a title onto when she wanted to talk to him.
A gentle hand touched her skin. Zhenjin tilted her chin up so she could meet his eyes; she didn’t even remember dropping her gaze. The moment they locked eyes, Zhenjin pulled his hand back. His fingertips brushed against the side of his sword-belt as if wiping something away. Smiling tightly, he said, "What is this new sorrow in your eyes, my…lady?"
She shrugged. "Nothing. Just…we'll miss you." She offered a smile, though she wondered why he looked like he was in pain. Why he'd wiped his fingers off after touching her. "You're half the fun around here."
Zhenjin pressed a hand to his heart. "Only half? You wound me, O Jewel Among Mortals. And who, pray tell, is the other half? Not that stick in the mud, surely," he said, gesturing to Nuada. The Bethmooran prince stood up and went to grip Zhenjin's shoulder.
"This stick in the mud will miss you, as well, old friend. You leave now?"
"Soon," he said. "I delayed long enough to say goodbye to Mïng Xiân and my father, a few of our friends…and you two. Dastan, Taran, and Kamaria have offered to ride out with us. Shaohao is powerful, and we know little of what awaits us should we find him. And Dinarzadi and Kamaria are both engaged to my brothers, so Dastan and Kamaria claim they have a stake in all of this. I accepted their help."
"Ask Günther Wolfjarl to accompany you," Nuada said. Dylan remembered that Nuada had told her the ljósálfar prince of Álfheim was a phenomenal tracker, one of the best in Faerie. Zhenjin nodded.
"I will. That is good advice. I also spoke to your father about having you accompany us, but he said there was something you needed to see to."
Nuada frowned. "He what?"
But Dylan snapped her fingers as memory flashed through her mind. "The northern villages. The trip out there is only in, like, a week—if that. We can't postpone; they need us."
Firegold eyes flashing in irritation, Nuada swore in soft, savage Gaelic. "Dylan is right. My people are in need. I have put the trip off too long as it is, and only because of necessity. Forgive me, my friend. I would go with you if I could."
The Dilong prince nodded. "I know it. You needn't worry for us, Silverlance. We will be all right without one old man to worry about."
Dylan's brows rose. "Old man?"
"I am the eldest among many of my friends by at least two centuries," Nuada grumbled, nudging Zhenjin. "'Old man,' indeed. Have a care for that pretty face of yours out there in the wilderness, Azurefire. A stray tree branch can ruin your good looks and then where will you be?"
For some reason Dylan couldn't fathom, though the Chinese Elf smiled at the joke, his eyes were shadowed when he replied, "No doubt exactly where I am right now. My pretty face avails me nothing where my heart is concerned." Dylan frowned, an odd feeling stealing into her chest. Zhenjin glanced at her before saying, "Silverlance…might I have a word with Lady Dylan alone?"
Nuada's eyes held both sympathy and warning when he nodded. "I will see how Bres is recovering." Seeing Dylan's silent protest in her eyes, he added, "After all, he did save my lady's life." Slipping from the room, he shut the door. Dylan stared at the door for a moment before turning back to Zhenjin.
"Is there something going on between you two?" She demanded, crossing her arms. "Seriously, when the two of you get together these days, it's like, 'Riddle me this, riddle me that, Batman.' What is up?"
Zhenjin ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. He seemed to be having trouble looking at her. "It is…complicated."
She considered this. "Are you two fighting?"
He laughed almost bitterly. "No. Perhaps it would be easier if we were. Perhaps if he were cruel to me, I would not…feel such…" He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as if to ward off a headache. "Such guilt."
"Guilt?" She laid a hand on his arm. He tensed before twitching away. "Why do you feel guilty?" When he said nothing, she added, "Zhenjin, you told me once I could tell you anything if I really needed to, and you would help me. Well, I feel the same. What's going on, huh? You don't feel guilty about Shaohao, do you?" A swift shake of his head loosened a lock of hair from the jade headband. It flipped across his forehead. Without thinking about it, she reached up to brush it back. "You and Tsu's'di, you guys can never keep your hair out of your eye—"
Swift as a striking snake, he grabbed her wrist. She froze. His eyes burned into hers as he said sharply, "Don't do that. Do not touch me. Ever."
"I…I'm sorry," she whispered. She curled her fingers into a loose fist, tried to tug her wrist out of his grasp.
Zhenjin's grip loosened, but he didn't release her. "Do not ever touch me again."
Wide-eyed, she somehow managed to make her voice work. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you." Since when was she not allowed to touch him? Earlier that evening, they'd been jabbing each other in the ribs like brother and sister. Now Zhenjin's face could've been carved from marble as he gazed at her with cold eyes. He'd yet to let her wrist go. "Please, Zhenjin, I'm sorry. I didn’t mean to make you angry."
The Dilong prince half-scoffed, half-growled. "Of course you didn't." He sighed. "You are making this harder."
She shook her head. "Making what harder?" He grimaced, dropping her hand as if she'd burned him. A cold weight settled in her chest and she took a step back. Her voice held a small quaver when she said, "You don't want us to be friends anymore, do you?" It was a hunch, a stray thought flitting through her mind, but once it registered, Dylan couldn’t dismiss it.
He opened his mouth. Closed it again. Shook his head. Shifted his weight to put a little more distance between them. "We cannot be friends, Lady Dylan."
For some reason, the use of her title felt like a sharp slap. She pulled back from him further, hugging herself. "Because I'm human? I know you hate humans…except me and, apparently, my sisters."
"Oh, your sisters," Zhenjin muttered. "They are an education."
Feeling still colder, she said, "So that's why. You don't like my family."
Another sigh. "No, Dylan, it isn't that."
"Well then…what is it? What did I do wrong all of a sudden? I mean you were all friendly when Nuada was here. What did I do in the last two minutes?"
"Nothing," Zhenjin half-growled. "But we cannot…we…You have done nothing wrong."
Gesturing impatiently, she demanded, "Okay, then, well…well what did you do?"
His soft, low laugh was thick with bitterness. "What did I do? What did I do? Oh, so much…and yet so very little. And after this you will never have a chance to know…You know, insanity runs in the blood. Did you know that? Many of my aunts and uncles were mad. My grandfather was mad. He tried to kill my father many times. Shaohao is mad. And perhaps I am, as well, that this yearning to speak things best left unspoken stirs within me. I wonder what Silverlance will do when he learns I have revealed this to you."
A dull pain began throbbing behind Dylan's eyes. "Probably nothing, since you're sounding just like he does half the time. Reveal what to me? What's going on? Is there a new rumor going around or something? Lemme guess—the new bit of gossip is we had one wild night of reckless passion and now I'm carrying the heir to the Dilong throne because I am that much of a whore. Stupid. So stupid that I'm too tired to deal with it right now. I'm cranky."
An odd light had kindled in his eyes at her words, quickly snuffed out by shadows. "That's not it."
"Well, is it that dumb? Because if it is, don't worry about it, Zhenjin. Honestly. I don't care what people think. As long as Nuada knows there's nothing going on between us other than friendship, it doesn’t matter. The only thing that really matters in this little 'love triangle' we supposedly have is the three of us."
His lips quirked at the corners in a ghost of a smile and he sighed. "You have such a kind heart. Let me tell you a story, Dylan. Once, when Onibi did not yet exist, and it was part of Dilong—not yet an island, but still part of the mainland—the sun goddess Amaterasū, and her sister, the moon goddess Yué Tsukoyomī, saw that an eight-headed dragon was terrorizing several villages near the coast of Dilong. Dōng Fāng Qīng Lóng, the Azure Dragon, saw the plight of the people from his home beneath the waves and petitioned Amaterasū and Yué Tsukoyomī for help, for he was bound by the tide and the laws of the sea and could do little on his own. There is the traditional stuff about heroes and cutting off the evil dragon's head, and when it was over, everyone was happy…except for Dōng Fāng."
Sinking into the vacated chair, Dylan crossed her ankles, eyeing the Dilong prince. "Well, the dragon got killed and the people were safe," she murmured. Folding her arms, she propped them on her knees. "Why wasn't he happy?"
"Because during the time they'd been battling the eight-headed dragon—which took a surprisingly long time, considering these were gods and heroes— Dōng Fāng had fallen in love with Yué Tsukoyomī. Fitting, isn't it? The sea god falling in love with the moon goddess? Except she already had a love. She was betrothed to Nué, the King of the Night—an old and dear friend of Dōng Fāng."
Dylan's lips parted and the blood drained from her face. No…no, Zhenjin couldn't possibly be saying…
"And so the sea yearns even now for the moon. Pulled by the luminous beauty of the moon, called by its light, the tide rises to her call, though the moon and the sea can never be together. Yet the sea and the night are still friends. There is that, at least."
She stared at him, unable to speak. Slowly he approached where she sat, stunned into silence, and took her hand. Pulled her to her feet. She was in such a state of shock, her body responded without conscious direction from her brain. Dylan gazed up at Zhenjin as he touched a hand to her cheek. His thumb whispered gently over her skin. He leaned down, brushed his lips against her cheek, almost at the corner of her mouth…but not quite.
"Do you understand now," he whispered, his breath warm against her skin, "why we cannot be friends anymore?"
"Just because you feel like this doesn't mean we have to cut ties," she whispered back thickly. She shoved a hand through her hair. "You can't just…just decide we're not friends anymore."
"Dylan—"
"After that whole mind-meldy thing, you know, it all changed," she interrupted. "I walked into Findias thinking no one was on our side. We didn’t have Wink with us, we didn’t have anybody. Then we get the dogs, which is great, but they're kids. They're—just—kids. And then you pop up and you call me a slut and say I'm stupid and I want to punch you in the face…but I can see how much Nuada cares about you. Then the mind-meldy thing happens and you don't think I'm a slut or a bimbo anymore.
"And then things went to Hades and when no one else was there for me, no one else was helping me because they couldn't, because I couldn't talk to anybody, not even Nuada…there you were. You were so nice. You made me feel so much better about myself, about everything. You helped me so much for no reason other than I needed help. And then you kept doing it." She sniffed, brushed away a tear. "I don't have anyone else except Nuada who's done that for me. Ever. And now you don't want anything to do with me—"
"That is just it," Zhenjin said softly. He cupped her face, swept away the new with his thumbs. "Dylan, listen to me. I want everything to do with you. But it is torturous to see you, to know that when you smile at Nuada, when you laugh for him, when your eyes light up when you see him…it is like a knife in my chest, to know that will never be for me. I will never be what you want. I would…I would give anything to make you happy. I would give up anything: my claim to the throne, my immortality. I would choose a mortal life in a heartbeat if it would do me any good. But it won't…because your heart belongs to someone else.
"Nuada has memories of holding you and kissing you a thousand times and those memories dance through my mind a thousand times every night before I go to sleep," he confessed. "Those memories taunt me with what I can never have. The only reason I don't hate him is because he had no idea this would happen."
Her chin trembled when she murmured, "But…but Zhenjin—"
"Shhh," he whispered gently. "No, my lady. Listen to me. I love you." The words slipped off his tongue, hung in the air, taking on weight and power until they smoldered like a dragon's fire. "I love you. And I want so much to be with you. To love you as you deserve. To protect you, to stand by you. But I cannot. Nuada is my friend…and I cannot make you as happy as he can."
With careful fingers Zhenjin tucked a stray lock of hair behind Dylan's ear. His fingertips drifted over her temple, her cheek, to skim along her jaw. His voice softening even more, until she could barely hear him, he said, "I have to go, Dylan, before I sacrifice my honor further."
Then, to her shock, he leaned in and brushed his lips once, quickly and ever so softly, against hers. She gasped at the sudden heat and contact. Zhenjin made a sound as if he'd been stabbed. His eyes were dark malachite, stormy as he studied her face, almost as if trying to memorize it. He leaned forward again. Dylan twitched backward, but after a second's hesitation, the Dilong prince avoided her mouth to whisper in her ear.
"Goodbye, my moonlight. Be well."
And before she could do anything, say anything, he was gone.
.
When Nuada entered the room a few moments later, having found a clean shirt and gotten back from learning that Bres was sleeping off the effects of the shoggoth bites he'd received, the Tuathan prince found Dylan seated on the chair, tears slipping slowly down her cheeks, looking as if she'd been punched in the chest. He went to her immediately, knelt before her. "What is it? What's happened?"
She swallowed. Swiped at her face. "Zhenjin…he…he's in love with me."
The prince relaxed a fraction. He had been afraid for a moment that Tsu's'di had…Then her words—and her reaction—fully penetrated. Nuada took her hands gently in his. "What happened?"
"He, he told me some story about…about the moon goddess and how she was engaged to the King of the Night but how the sea god was in love with her and wouldn’t try to win her because he and the Night King were friends and…and…Nuada, he looked so miserable and then he kissed me—"
"What?" His gaze locked on her mouth. His sudden fury eased the barest touch when his brain processed that Dylan didn’t look as if she'd been thoroughly kissed by someone with Zhenjin's not-inconsiderable bedroom skill. Swallowing back rage twining with jealousy and hurt that his friend would have done such a thing, thoroughly or not, he forced his voice to gentleness as he asked, "He kissed you?"
She nodded miserably. "Just a little peck, but…but then he just left. I…wait. You're not really surprised by this at all." She stared at him, suddenly suspicious. "Did you know about this?"
"Of course I knew he had feelings for you, though I did not know he would attempt to…press you in any way." Silently, Nuada added that it was a good thing his old friend was leaving the castle in the next fifteen or so minutes, or the Bethmooran prince would've been hard pressed not to track him down and ram his fist through Zhenjin's teeth. But aloud all he said was, "Zhenjin told me himself."
Dylan frowned. "When?"
"About a week ago," he replied, then leaned back a little when Dylan's eyes widened and incredulity filled her face.
"And you didn’t tell me because why? You know what," she held up a hand to forestall an answer. "Never mind. Dumb question. It would've broken the Bro Code. Of course. Duh. But…it's just…he says we can't be friends anymore."
Nuada blinked, startled. "What?" Why? Because he'd kissed her? Or for the same reason he'd kissed her, which was that he'd snapped under the pressure of constant temptation?
"Not you and him, just me and him," she mumbled, and another tear spilled over. Nuada decided he could cheerfully kill Zhenjin for making Dylan look like that. "Just because he has feelings for me, we can't be friends. I mean…he was the only person who was just nice to me. No strings, no playing, no looking out for themselves first. He was the only person who willingly just stepped up and decided to look out for me besides you. I thought we were friends. We were friends. And now we're not. And I'm tired and I'm freaked out and I'm sorry, Nuada, I think I'm gonna start…start crying…" And she burst into tears.
Nuada gathered her close, enfolding her in his arms. "There, now, mo crídh," he murmured. His hand stroked over her hair, soothing her as she wept into his new shirt. "Hush, love. Do not cry. Everything will be all right."
She sniffled. "I'm sorry, I know this isn't the time. I'm just so frustrated," she said through her tears. "I'm just so frustrated with everything. I'm sorry. You don't need this right now. Sorry. Just give me a minute. I just need a minute." She pulled back to scrub at her face. "Okay. Okay. I'm fine. I just needed to spaz for a second. I'm fine now."
"Are you?" She wasn’t shoving her emotions down the way she used to, which had always left him uneasy. She seemed calmer now that she had a few moments to just cry everything out. Nuala was often like that, he thought. But Nuada wanted to be certain Dylan was all right.
His lady nodded. Sighed. "I just…didn’t need this tonight on top of everything." She swiped at her eyes again. Took a deep, cleansing breath. "And now he's gone, isn't he? He's not coming back."
After a moment, Nuada shook his head. "We will not see him until the wedding, if then."
"He's not going to come," she muttered. "Why would he?" When Nuada opened his mouth to make some reply—though he had no idea what it would've been—she added, "It doesn't matter. It's done. Did you talk to Bres?"
Thrown by the abrupt change of topic, he shook his head. "Bres was asleep when I went to his room."
She made a sharp "of course" gesture with one hand. Scowled. "Tonight sucked. It really sucked. Do you have any information about Tsu's'di?"
In this, at least, he could reassure her. "Yes. He is out of danger. He sleeps now. Do you want to see him?" Dylan nodded. Rising to his feet, the Elven prince reached out and took her hand, helping her stand. "Come, then. Let us pay a visit to our boy."
.
In the royal stables, Zhenjin checked over his saddle-straps, stroking a gentle hand over Qin's long, serpentine neck. Her golden scales gleamed in the light of the stable lamps as he ensured she was ready to go. Dawn was perhaps an hour off. His brothers, Kamaria of Nyame, Dastan of Shahbaz, Taran of Annwn, and Günther Wolfjarl of Álfheim waited in the saddle in the courtyard. Zhenjin was running a touch behind because he'd stopped to say one last farewell to his little sister.
Mïng Xiân had lain curled up in her bed, the silk blankets wrapped around her like petals, her tiny face peaking out. In truth, he'd only meant to look in on her, but the moment he'd stuck his head in, her eyes had blinked open and she'd smiled. He'd had to give his little orchid one last kiss goodbye.
He'd wanted to give Dylan a kiss goodbye. A true one, not a mere touch of his lips to her satin-soft cheek nor a simple whispering brush of his mouth to hers. It had been all he could do, to hold back from claiming her mouth in a desperate kiss fueled by the last month of stewing in mounting love and longing. He knew she wouldn’t have welcomed such a kiss. She loved Nuada. Would always love Nuada. There was no hope for this love poisoning him from the inside out. No hope that she would ever see him as more than a friend.
And it was wrong to want her to, he reminded himself as he checked Qin's bridle. Dylan was Silverlance's betrothed. Nuada was Zhenjin's friend. He would not try to woo his friend's woman. Would never try to take her from him. He still had that much honor left.
But it had been so hard when she'd touched his face with gentle fingers. A completely innocent caress that had wreaked havoc on his self-control. And before that, when he'd told her he was leaving and she'd looked so sad…even with Nuada standing right there, it had taken every ounce of iron will he possessed not to take her in his arms and try to comfort her, even knowing that if he did, if he touched her too much, he would break.
How had Silverlance been able to stand it all those weeks in her company? How had he managed to hold onto his self-control for as long as he had? Dylan possessed the power to break any man.
He was getting away from her, though. He loved Dylan. Adored her. But he couldn’t be near her and want her this way. It wasn’t fair to her…or to Nuada. He had to get away.
"You were going to run away after kissing my betrothed without so much as an apology?" A cool voice broke his thoughts like a stone breaking a sheet of glass. Zhenjin tensed, then turned slowly to see Silverlance leaning with crossed arms against a support beam. Nuada's eyes were cold, yellow jewels that gave nothing away…but at least they weren’t copper or crimson with fury.
"I am sorry," the Dilong prince muttered. "I have no excuse."
Nuada didn’t speak for a long time. When he did, his words were nothing like what the other prince had expected. "If you cut ties with her, Zhenjin, you will break her heart. I will ask, on bended knee if I must, that you do not hurt her so. She has been hurt enough. Abandoned enough."
Zhenjin's jaw tightened. His fingers convulsed around Qin's reins. How well he knew that. But…"It is impossible, Nuada. Distance is the only cure for this…sickness inside me."
"I know this sickness intimately," the Bethmooran prince murmured. "You know that well enough. There is no escaping it, Zhenjin. No amount of distance will make you forget her. Believe me, I tried all I could think of to carve this love out of my very soul. But the seed of it germinated within me, just as it has done to you, and took root. Grew until it could not be cut or burned away. That is the curse of how the fae love." Nuada fell silent for a moment before asking, "If she writes to you, will you write back to her?"
He sighed. "Why does she seek to torment me?"
"Because she loves you," Nuada said, sliding a poisoned knife between his ribs with ease. Zhenjin's face twisted, his heart lurched. He shook his head, but Nuada added, "Yes. You are her friend. Perhaps one of her dearest in this world or the other. Perhaps her love was fueled by my love for you, Brother. I know not. I only know that you have taken your blade and carved out a piece of her, then left her bleeding on the floor. How could you?"
"I never wanted to hurt her."
"Well," Nuada said coldly. "Hurt her, you most certainly have. I hope you are proud of that."
Zhenjin snarled a profane phrase under his breath. Louder, he said, "Tell her I am sorry. Tell her I…tell her…" What? That he loved her with every breath in his body? That his heart beat only because she walked this world? At last, Zhenjin grabbed a bronze chain hanging around his throat. His fingers curled around a small, jade yin-yang carved in the shape of two twining dragons—one of white jade like pearls, one of dark green jade. A swift jerk popped the clasp of the necklace and Zhenjin tossed it to Nuada, who caught it easily. "Will you give that to her?"
Silence fell between the two men. Nuada eyed the pendant with a slightly raised eyebrow and expressionless eyes before bringing his gaze up to Zhenjin's face. The Dilong prince swallowed, but didn’t look away from his friend's gaze. After a thousand heartbeats, Nuada nodded.
"I will give it to her. Fare you well in your search, Azurefire."
The other prince smiled wistfully. "Fare you well in yours," he replied, thinking of Nuada's desire to make Dylan immortal. Mounting Qin, he turned his lóng mâ toward the stable entrance when Nuada stopped him one last time.
"Will you be at the wedding?" He asked. Zhenjin sighed, feeling the brief flare of warmth from Nuada's fond farewell dissipate at the question. He stared at his old friend, unsure what to say. Nuada added, "She wishes very much for you to be there, Zhenjin."
Just before he kicked his horse into a trot and left the stables, Zhenjin murmured, "Have her ask me in two weeks. Keep her safe, Silverlance." Then he trotted out of the stables on the back of his dragon-horse, never once looking back as he made his way into the falling snow outside and disappeared, followed by his comrades.
.
Dylan tossed and turned for the five hours she allotted herself to catch up on sleep after she'd gone to visit a slumbering Tsu's'di. 'Sa'ti and A'du both slept with the dogs piled on their beds. Bat and Starbright slept in Nuada's room on his bed. Dylan lay alone, save for Fionnlagh and Gráinne guarding her as she tried to sleep, with Ailbho, Uaithne, and Loén in the sitting room. In the end, she dozed fitfully until a little before eleven. Once up, she took her meds, showered and dressed, and collected the children for church. Nuada was nowhere to be found. For some reason, Dylan couldn’t force herself to care very much. She was just too worn down from the night before.
After church, she checked on Tsu's'di—still sleeping—before she went to the stables to see Shang. The baby dragon-horse lay snoozing in some freshly straw. When Dylan slipped into the room, he lifted his head and made the hollow, bamboo-flute-like humming sound that meant he was pleased to see her. Settling on the straw, she let him set his long-muzzled, scaly head on her lap so he could finish napping. Eimh and Sétanta sat on guard outside the stall door. Fionnlagh, Gráinne, and young Loén stood with them.
Nuada found her there that evening just as her stomach was beginning to rumble. She'd spent the whole afternoon staring off into space, idly stroking Shang's scaled head and running her fingers through his mane, bottle-feeding him when he was hungry, or playing with him when he felt frisky. Dylan didn’t even realize Nuada was there until a quiet knock door echoed in the double-wide stall.
"Lady Dylan, I must speak with you," her prince said. She turned tired eyes to him. He looked tired, too. Bruises still faintly mottled his jaw, the side of his face, even his lightly-sprained wrist from where he'd collided with Bres during the battle last night. The darkness around his eyes made him look particularly ferocious.
She ran a hand through her loose hair, pushing it out of her face. She took a deep breath and let it out in a half-yawn before focusing on her prince. "What can I do for you, Your Highness?"
"I have a gift for you," he murmured. She frowned. Her frown deepened when he added, "From Zhenjin." He held out something on a bronze chain. Dylan took it. Stared at the stylized jade, dragon-carved yin-yang gleaming on her palm. A gentle fingertip touched the white jade eye of the green dragon, then drifted to the emerald eye of the ivory dragon. She looked up at Nuada.
"I can't take this."
"It is not a lover's token, mo crídh," Nuada said softly. "It is a traditional gift given to a dear friend—nothing more, and nothing less." Her eyes widened and she stared at the pendant. A gift for a friend? But…Her prince continued, "Zhenjin asked me to tell you he was sorry. For everything."
After a long, tense moment, she nodded. "Okay." She drew a deep breath, sighed. "Okay. Is he coming back for the wedding?"
Nuada hesitated. "He says to ask him in two weeks. If you are willing to write to him at that time, then I shall see your letter is delivered."
Dylan nodded again. Was it a little pathetic that her chest seemed lighter, that it felt easier to sit up straight now that some of the crushing weight of hurt and sorrow had dissipated with this news? "Okay." She shoved her hair out of her face. Looked back at her prince. "I think…I think I have a bracelet chain this would look good on. It won't bother you if I wear it?"
Topaz eyes warmed briefly to soft, honeyed gold. "It is my ring you wear on your finger, mo dathuil amhain—my lovely one. What need have I for anything so petty as jealousy when you wear proof of our love for all to see?" Dark lips quirked at the corners. "It will look beautiful on you."
She smiled. "I love you. Thank you for…for everything. I couldn’t handle any of this without you." Then she blinked as a wisp of memory tickled the back of her mind. "Oh, my gosh! The meeting!" She turned stricken eyes to her prince's baffled expression. "With Crown Prince Emīru and Princess Shāuddo! I forgot about the meeting, I'm so sorry! And they're leaving, what? Tomorrow?"
"They have already left," he said gently. Dylan paled, but he added, "Worry not. I spoke to Prince Emīru about the possibility of stealing another fae's power. He said it is a dark thing, involving blood magic and evil spells, but very difficult to do. It cannot be done by an ordinary fae, and the taint of such a thing can be felt in the magic. He claimed that if such magic had been used on Midwinter's Eve, he and his sisters would have both felt it. I also spoke to his sister, Princess Ririānu. She concurred with her brother, but suggested that some variation of the dark spells that robbed Emīru and Shāuddo of their power briefly all those years ago might be responsible. I have some of Bethmoora's best scholars looking into it."
Nodding, she leaned back against the wooden wall. "Cool. That's covered, then. I'm sorry I forgot."
"You had other things on your mind. But there is something else, milady." He sighed when she shot him a concerned look. Reaching into the pocket of his greatcoat, he withdrew a folded piece of paper. A flat blob of black wax with silver flecks glistened in the light from the stable's lamps. He held it out to her. She took it. Realized immediately that it was a letter with a variation of Nuada's personal symbol pressed into the broken wax seal. She flipped it open and stared at the address.
To Your Royal Highness, Crown Prince Nuada Silverlance, War Chieftain of the King's Armies, Heir to the Golden Throne of Bethmoora, Sovereign Lord of Airgíalla, Sídhe Ulster, Broch Toruch, Roan Inish, Boyne, and Renvyle, greetings…
The same form of address on the letter from Iubdan mac Doyle, the steward of Broch Toruch, one of Nuada's provinces. She knew without having to be told what the letter said, but she quickly scanned it anyway.
New attacks on the remaining villages in Nuada's northern provinces, save only Renvyle, which was an island some way off the Bethmooran shore. More fae raped, slaughtered. Wives made into widows, husbands into widowers, children orphaned. Livestock butchered out of spite or stolen by the bandits. Winter crops burned to the ground out of sheer malice.
In the village of Nechtan in Broch Toruch, bandits had poisoned the village well, killing over half the people living there. The cold and lack of viable foodstuffs in another of Broch Toruch's villages, Inverness, had stricken that small town with a vicious sickness that had already decimated most of their warriors, stricken many of the children, and killed Inverness's only healer-by-magic.
The death toll was rising higher every day. People were losing their homes, their livelihoods, their lives. Nuada's people—her people—were suffering. They needed help. Not tomorrow, not in a week, not next month—now.
Dylan looked up at her prince and said simply, "When do we leave?"
The ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of Nuada's mouth before he canted his head. "Tomorrow. Tsu's'di will be well enough by then. I've spoken to the servants; everything is being coordinated as we speak. I…am sorry I missed attending your worship with you. I know I promised—"
She shook her head. "You had a good reason. It's okay. Tomorrow, when?"
"Dawn. John and Francesca have been told."
Dylan nodded, but a thought was nagging at her. A strange phantom thought slowly morphing into an idea that stole her breath with its audacity and ridiculousness…but she was fairly certain it would work. If she knew her sisters, if she could trust them, it would work. And she trusted Francesca and Victoria. They could help her do this, this one half-crazy but utterly brilliant thing.
The thought that had flitted through Dylan's mind was this: Victoria taught chemistry, and so had a vast array of strange chemical formulas bouncing around inside that head of hers; Francesca was like the Home Alone spawn from Hades, filling her with an unholy love of homemade booby traps; and John, of course, had some military training from being enlisted for two years, as well as his FBI training and whatever training he'd gotten for this new job he'd landed two weeks ago, the one he couldn’t really tell her about. But she had one sister with serious military training.
Petra Ariadne Myers, age thirty-nine, had only recently retired from active duty in the United States Marine Corp in the wake of her very messy divorce from the father of her three children. In her time in the Marines, Petra had worked her way up the ranks, and even been considered for inclusion in the Green Berets. She'd turned it down because of her kids.
But she had crazy military prowess. Dylan knew that. If she could get Petra to agree to help…if her eldest sister came with them to the northern villages…they would have not only John's combat training, Francesca's crazy defense systems, and Victoria's mad scientist booby traps. They would have Petra's military knowledge, which might possibly more effectively utilize her other siblings' strengths.
The problem was getting Petra to believe in Faerie and come along.
Silvery blue eyes flicked to Nuada and she said, "I have an idea about the northern villages. We should bring Victoria. It's her vacation right now, and she can afford to take a week off or so if it's important. But we should also bring someone else. You're not going to like it, but it's a good idea."
He raised an eyebrow. "Who?"
"Petra."
Both star-blond brows shot upward as Nuada stared at her in stunned disbelief. Finally he managed to ask, "Why?"
Quickly Dylan explained her sister's military history. Explained how Petra had always been able to force the other Myers siblings to work more as a cohesive unit against their enemies—be they parents in need of persuasion or neighborhood bullies in need of a good trouncing. Finally, she explained that Petra would be the most effective when handling Cesca and Tori's particular brand of punishment for the bandits.
Nuada said nothing for a long time. Dylan wondered if he was trying to come up with a reason to shoot the idea down, but decided that couldn’t be it. He cared about his people. He loved them. If they needed help, his pride or disgust with Dylan's eldest sister wouldn’t stand in his way when it came to doing what was right for them. And this was right. She could feel it.
Eventually he folded his arms across his chest, nodded. But his eyes were cool topaz when he asked in an empty voice, "I have but one question, my clever lady—how will you convince her of our need?"
A small smile curved the scarred mouth. "That's the thing about Petra. We don't get along very often, but when I need her, she's always there."
