Chapter 13 - Strange Devices of the Sun and Moon

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A Short Tale of Healing, Enemies, Idle Hands, a Princess Who Cannot Believe and Plots Accordingly, and a Prince Who Makes a Choice

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It felt as if she were floating on silver clouds or flying between the stars. Pinpricks of light swirled across her vision. She heard someone speaking, as if from very far away, and a sound like a boar snuffling through forest underbrush. There was something wrong with her chest. It felt heavy, as if someone were pressing very hard on it. Her lungs wouldn't expand all the way. When she tried to force them, a sharp lance of pain speared her through the chest. She tried to draw breath. Couldn't. Coughed hard. Felt like her chest was ripping in half. Tasted copper on her tongue.

"She is fading," a far-off voice snapped. "There is too much blood. We must clear her lungs. Quickly!"

Dylan felt hands pushing and prodding her. Was she on her back? She couldn't feel her body to tell. But then how could she feel the people poking at her? Elven healers, she remembered. Is that their magic shoving me around?

A slight pressure on... what part of her was that? Slowly her body was coming back to her. The human could feel her toes and fingers tingling with fading numbness. As the pins and needles eased, she realized that it almost felt as if someone were holding her.

There was a strange sucking sensation and the heaviness surrounding her lungs began to ease. That strange feeling of being surrounded by light and warmth slowly faded, leaving behind a feeling of security and peace. Even as the healers continued battering her body with their magic – and that was exactly what it felt like, as broken bones realigned and shoved back into place, as bruises darkened by old blood were blown back to health with Elven power – she felt as if someone were cradling her with pure love.

Who's holding me? She wanted to ask, but she still couldn't feel her face to move her mouth. Who is that? Peace unfolded in her chest and it was almost as if someone were whispering I am here. She knew this presence... this Presence...

No one is holding you, Dylan. A familiar voice, musical and silvery and very, very kind, distracted her. Princess Nuala. The healers are working to draw the blood from your lungs. One of the healers is repairing your broken ribs. That is what you feel. Only the healing.

No, that's not it. Be quiet, I can't think, the human wanted to protest. It wasn't just in her chest, it was everywhere. It felt nice, familiar as the back of her own eyelids. But the princess was still talking, distracting her, and tiredness crept closer, adding to her confusion. Did she dare sleep? What if this wasn't real tiredness, but death? What if, by letting oblivion take her, she were giving herself up to dying? I should fight to live... shouldn't I, Heavenly Father? People need my help. The Pobel Vean... and John... the kids at work... Nuada...

It is all right to rest, Dylan, Nuala said. Her voice was very... Dylan almost couldn't figure it out. Tender? Why would an Elf princess feel tenderly towards her, of all people? And couldn't the Elf be quiet for five minutes so she could figure out what was happening? The combination of magic and mental chatter made her feel drugged and slow. If you sleep, the healing will progress more quickly. Do not fear.

Exhaustion washed over her, dark waves of tiredness breaking against her mind like ocean surf. She felt the Elves moving her around, felt them poking and prodding her body, but whatever warmth surrounded her didn't diminish in any way. Her mind sluggishly tried to process that. Tried to think. Who was it? What was it? The warm, familiar feeling was very gentle and subtle.

Then, a sudden realization.

Oh. Feeling slightly dumb, she actually smiled. Or thought she did. With her face numb, she wasn't sure if she was physically smiling or not. It's the Spirit. I'm sorry. Thank You for being here with me. I feel way better now. Like, a lot better. Though kind of stoned. For some reason I thought it might have been Nuada, Dylan thought, drifting. Fading. Sliding almost fully into sleep. Not Nuada, though. Better. More sleepily still, Though I kinda wish it had been him. I hope he's all right. I hope... A momentary flash of panic. One of the healers barked something about her blood. Did Eamonn... Nuada... is he dead? Did he make it? Heavenly Father...

A deep sense of peace and safety flowed into her as the panic faded, replaced by that same familiar warmth in her chest. No more pain, no more fear. Everything would be all right. Everything was fine. If she died, then... well, it was time. She had done what she was meant to do in this life, and now she could finally come home. At least it wouldn't hurt, which had been more than she could say before falling unconscious. But Nuada? If he died, then that was what Heavenly Father wanted for him this night. If he survived, then that's what God wanted. Either way, all would be well. But if she died and he lived, or he died and she lived, she would miss him.

I just wish I could have seen him... talked to him... thanked him... one last time...

Then she knew no more.

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Princess Nuala stared at the human slumbering peacefully in the large, open bed, a childlike smile on her scarred face. She'd been under the healing sleep since Thursday night; nearly two full days. Now that the healers had reduced the swelling in the mortal woman's body from Eamonn's blows, Nuala could see the myriad of thick and thin raised lines criss-crossing Dylan's face. Nuala knew they were the result of the attack that had brought her brother and the human together. In reading the mortal's thoughts, the princess had seen that she wanted to keep the disfiguring scars, despite the way they twisted the otherwise pretty features into something lopsided and ugly.

Why? Nuala wondered. Why does she choose to bear such scars? The pink and white and silver puckered lines slashed across cheeks and forehead, across eyes and nose, even across what would have been a generous, full-lipped mouth. Her nose was also crooked, with a flat space along the bridge. She must have broken it once or twice. Yet she has never attempted to rectify these disfigurements. Is that how she won Nuada's heart?

"No mortal could ever steal my heart from you, Sister." Nuada's voice was cold, yet strangely tender as he limped slowly into the room. Wink shambled behind him, peering over Nuada's head to catch a glimpse of the sleeping human. "You are my twin, my other half. Do not fear – my love and loyalty are ever yours."

The Elf princess shuddered at the intensity of her brother's voice. The seeds of madness were still rooted deep within him. Yet as much as she wanted to deny it, Nuada spoke the truth. They were two halves of the same whole, two sides of the same coin. They were lost without the other. And there were none who could ever take his place in Nuala's heart. He was her only brother; her only sibling. She loved him more than almost anything. But that did not mean she was comfortable around him. Not anymore, at any rate.

Don't give up on him. Everyone has trials they must face. He is one of yours, and you are one of his. It will work out eventually.

Dylan's words from two nights past reverberated through Nuala's mind as she watched her brother struggle to walk. Bandages swathed his torso – mementos from the flogging, and Eamonn's final dagger strike. The bandage over Nuada's side was stained with a small spot of dark gold blood. The princess could not help but admire the way her brother, even injured, moved so gracefully. She did not move so, even with her Elven poise. It was his martial arts training that gave him such fluidity, and she envied him that.

The dim light of the setting sun painted the undyed linen trews Nuada wore with all the colors of twilight and fire as he came toward her. The Elven warrior stopped at Dylan's bedside beside his twin.

"Are you so sure of that, Brother?" Nuala asked in flowing Old Gaelic. There was a softness in him suddenly that made her bold. "You fought very hard to save the human. You nearly died... could it be for the sake of love? You suffered a flogging to preserve her honor–"

"To preserve my own honor, Nuala, do not be revolting," Nuada snarled. His words were like a slap. The princess stepped back from him, amber eyes wide as she scanned his suddenly furious countenance. Every ounce of tenderness had vanished, leaving only icy fury behind. "She is a human. Nothing she ever does will ever erase that fact. To imply I could feel such emotion for a mortal insults my honor, insults everything I am!" Realizing he was shouting, he lowered his voice to an earnest and angry murmur. "The creature in that bed is an ally, barely. But affection, friendship, or the gods forbid, love – that is beyond one such as her."

"Yet you cried out her name while under the hands of the healers," Nuala snapped back. How could she have been so stupid as to believe a human? To believe that a mortal who had known her brother for scarcely eleven moons could understand him better than Nuala herself? Idiocy. "You feared for her life! Prayed for her survival! A human's survival!"

Nuada fought against the impulse to jerk back from his sister. She was throwing these things in his face to shame him. He could feel the burn of her contempt and anger through their bond. Yet it did not matter that she claimed he had done such a thing – he knew it to be a lie. Never in this life or any other would he, Prince Nuada, son of the mighty King Balor, the legendary Silverlance, call out the name of a mortal in sleep, save as a cry of triumph whilst dreaming of slaying his enemies. He had not dreamt of silver-washed blue eyes, so very fey in that mortal face – blue eyes framed with dark lashes and scars, eyes vacant in death. He had not dreamt of Eamonn rising up from above the human where she lay in Nuada's own bed, the dark Elf's naked body spattered red by Dylan's blood, the mortal already cold with death brought on by Eamonn's twisted lust. No, no, no! He had not suffered nightmares of failure, of shame, of grief. He had not cried out her name!

"I feared for a stain on my own honor and nothing more," he snapped, shoving aside the horror and sickness coiling in his belly. "If she died, if Eamonn managed to slay her, then I would have been disgraced, for I owe Dylan a debt. Eamonn would have succeeded in shaming me, but that doesn't mean I feel anything for Dylan except–"

"Dylan?" Nuala said sharply. "You call her by name, instead of simply 'the human,' yet you claim you feel nothing for her. I think you're lying, Brother. I think you love the human-"

"I could never love a human, Nuala! The very thought is absolutely disgusting! A fae and a human together in such a way... the very idea offends everything I stand for. How dare you even imply that I could sink so low as to lust after a filthy mortal wench-"

The crack of Nuala's palm across his face echoed in the room. Wink growled. Dylan stirred, but did not awaken. And Nuada did not turn the face that had been forcibly jerked to the side by his sister's slap. Where the slender hand had struck first turned shockingly white, even against the paleness of his skin, then flooded with a rush of blood that turned the handprint a pale yellow. Both Elves heaved furious breaths in and out as the tension stretched taut between them. Rage and disbelief radiated from the furious princess. Nuada fought against the sting of hurt in his chest that mirrored the burn in his cheek. Nuala had never, ever slapped him over mere words before. All the hope that had built up within him during the fight against Eamonn and his men, hope fueled by the renewed connection between him and his twin, shattered into jagged pieces.

Nuala's face stung, but she did not regret striking her brother. How dare he say such things? All of Nuada's prejudices, all of his hate and disdain, all of the darkness twisting around inside him – it was all still there. The mortal had been wrong about the Elf prince. He did not deserve another chance from his sister, or anyone else. Preserving his honor? He had lost it centuries ago. He could never regain it again. She had been a fool to entertain hope that it could be otherwise.

"The human spoke your praises, Brother. Defended you with her own lips. She told me I should give you another chance. That you would prove me wrong. I regret that it is the mortal who was wrong about you. You will never understand honor. The shame you bring upon yourself is far too dark a stain on your soul." And the princess turned on her heel and swept out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Nuada did not touch the cheek his sister had struck. He feared his hand would tremble, and if it did, he did not wish to see it. He only turned to stare at the mortal still sleeping on the bed. His bed. Her dark curls spread across his pillow. Becan curled up atop another of the plump pillows, snoring softly. A small guardian for his brave mistress. Brighid slept beside the snoring brownie. One of Dylan's pale hands, kissed a faint blue from bruises even after the healing, lay palm up atop the silver bed linens. The healers had believed it best not to move her after the healing. Before it, there had been no time. So now a mortal infected his bed with her human stench yet again as she slept off the magic used to knit her body back together. A body battered and broken in her attempt to save his life yet again.

She spoke your praises... defended you with her own lips... Lips that, according to Eamonn, tasted of honeyed mead and strawberries. Lips that felt like paradise. Mortal lips.

"You will want some ice for that," Wink rumbled. When Nuada sliced his eyes to the troll, Wink gestured to the blood-gold mark on the prince's face. "Your sister has always had a strong arm. And your mouth is bleeding."

Nuada touched a ginger finger to his mouth. The tip came away dotted by a tiny drop of blood. "A strong arm... and a sharp tongue. Always has."

"The princess does not understand," the troll replied calmly. He pretended not to hear the slight undercurrent of grief in Nuada's voice. Wink had long ago lost his respect and love for the Elf princess he'd saved as a little girl. "One day she will, though. Of that, I am certain." He hoped.

"For now, my friend, you need not stay here. Go to the Goblin and Troll Markets, the Floating Night Markets, and the township of Findias. Keep your ear to the ground, and find out what our people are saying about me, about Dylan... about two nights ago. And about Eamonn."

Wink rumbled agreement and left with a shuffling of his large feet and a clank of his mechanical hand. The door slammed shut behind him.

"I am trying to sleep," a drowsy voice mumbled from the bed. "If you don't mind, whoever you are." Nuada strode toward Dylan's recumbent form. Dark lashes fluttered as she opened her eyes and strove to focus on his face. The moment she did, she smiled warmly, then her eyebrows drew down sharply. "What happened to your face?" She pushed up on her elbows, then her hands. The bedclothes slid down to pool around her waist. To Nuada's surprise – and by the sharp ache in his chest, he realized it was also to his disgust – she wore one of his shirts. "Are you okay? What on earth happened?"

"Nothing. It is well enough," the prince said softly. Moments out of an enchanted sleep and though her first thought was tiredness, her second thought was for him. His stomach churned as he thought yet again that this human was so very strange. And she wore one of his shirts! A blue one woven with silver threads. It very much resembled the color of her eyes, in fact. Nuada knew his sister had done that on purpose, though he could not understand why. "And you? How do you fare?"

"I feel absolutely splendid, thank you so much. I can actually draw a full breath." She sucked in a deep one, smiling when her chest didn't scream in protest. "And this is the softest bed I've ever been in. Smells like pine needles; I love it. So, where am I, exactly?"

"My bedroom," he said. She went white as skimmed milk. Nuada saw wisps of memory in her eyes – hands choking, the silver-bright pain of a knife slicing across her face, bones breaking under vicious blows, flesh tearing as men ripped into her body. Even sitting, Dylan swayed with the memory. Her face went completely ashen. "The healers thought it unwise to move you," the prince added hastily, then had to quash the surge of fury when he realized he felt he ought to explain to her. But her color was slowly returning to normal. "I have slept in one of the nearby guest suites." Ridiculous, that he should be barred from his own suite! The entire court of Bethmoora believed he was trysting with the girl anyway – repulsive thought – so why not allow him entry?

"Oh... thank you, Your Highness."

"It was not my decision," he snapped, then mentally swore when she flinched and looked down. It was almost as if the last months of visits, of reading and talking in front of a warm fire, had never happened. Back was the frightened woman who had first resided with him in his underground sanctuary.

And, he realized, my prejudices have returned as well. Here I stand, intent on always thinking ill of her. Because of the rumors? Because of Nuala's verbal barbs? Or because no one will tell me what Eamonn did to her? Has the base creature succeeded in shaming me... and hurting Dylan? The Elf warrior fought to gentle his voice. "But you are welcome. I hope..." He had to clench his teeth around the words. "I hope you find the bed comfortable. Do your injuries pain you at all?"

The human shook her head. Her smile wobbled a bit, but at least it was there. "I think they pretty much got everything when they healed me." She studied her hands for a moment, then wrapped her arms around herself. Nuada frowned. Had she lied about her injuries? "It was a pretty unique experience," the human continued. "I'm grateful to you and your sister, Prince Nuada."

"And... and you..." He wanted to ask her about Eamonn. Ask if the dark Elf had succeeded in fulfilling his vicious promises. Or if the Elf had only managed to commit rape and the brutal tortures he'd shown Nuada using merely his telepathic abilities, not physically. Ask if his own honor remained intact. He wanted to know if she were afraid of him. Did she still, in unguarded moments, look at him with that odd affection in her eyes? The affection that had grown in the last months as they sat before a crackling fire and she read her favorite tales to him, was it still there? Or was there condemnation and hate in her gaze? And yet he did not want to ask at all. Was almost afraid to know.

Silver-washed blue eyes found his. He didn't know it, but she saw the fear and uncertainty in his gaze. Dylan smiled – a real smile that seemed to light up her scarred face. Something inside the Elf prince eased. "The princess put a magical block around my mind. I know what Eamonn did – or tried to make me think he did, rather – but the emotional response isn't there. She said my mind wouldn't be able to handle it right now, but that it will slowly come back to me over time. When I'm ready. It's okay, though. I'm okay. You came after me so fast, he didn't have time to really hurt me. Thank you, Your Highness."

"He nearly killed you!" Nuada growled, turning away from her. The gratitude in her eyes was all too sincere. He deserved none of it. "You insult me, and yourself, with such ill-aimed gratitude. And if you ever give yourself up that way for me again, I swear on the Darkness That Eats All Things that I will-"

"I know," she said, and the sudden surge of fury that flared in him subsided. There was a wealth of things silently acknowledged but left unsaid in those two simple words: I am sorry, I did not mean to hurt you, watching you die was more than I could bear. For a minute he simply turned away from her, struggling to make his breathing even. When he turned back to her, she added, "Your Highness... my prince... Nuada. I'm all right. It was just a concussion and some broken bones." At his look, she added, "Okay, so my broken rib punctured a lung. Healers fixed me right up. Same with my head." She touched the back of her head carefully, smiling when it didn't hurt. "And they didn't even cut my hair. Gotta appreciate that – in a human hospital, something like that, they'd have shaved me bald. I spent the last three years growing out my hair, so that would have been really annoying for me. I truly am grateful for all of this. Without you coming to my rescue, I..." He saw the first shimmer of tears clinging to her lashes, reflecting the moon-swept blue of her eyes. But she blinked them away quickly. "We would have had a repeat of the night we met, minus the part where I actually survived. You saved me from that. So I thank you."

"You..." He turned away from her, unable to meet her gaze. He could not say what his honor demanded of him if he had to look into those fey-like eyes. "You saved me as well. I... I thank you."

Dylan shrugged. "You're the closest thing I have to a real best friend in this world, besides John. That's what friends do for each other. Right? Now, am I wearing actual clothes? Because I'd like to get up, but if I'm wearing a see-through nightgown or something, I don't want to get out of bed with you standing right there."

Forcing his thoughts away from her sentiments of (bizarre, ridiculous thought) friendship – and the thought of her wearing a transparent anything, which made something akin to nausea bubble in the pit of his stomach – the prince thought for a moment. "That shirt is one of mine. It should fall at least midway to your knees."

The human sighed. "Not long enough. Is there a... a robe or something? I'd use the blanket or something as a toga, but this isn't my place and I'd feel rude about doing that. Still..." She glanced down uneasily at herself. "Mid-thigh is way too short."

"Most humans seem to rejoice in showing as much skin as possible."

"Yeah, well, my body is a temple. Word of Wisdom and stuff. No smoking, no drinking alcohol, no drugs, no addictive substances – even if they are legal – and no flaunting myself and what sex appeal I possess (which is like, none) for the admiration of other people. It's like it says in one of my favorite songs: I don't need to prove my beauty in the eyes of men. Or anyone else in this world, come to think of it." Now she shrugged, and smiled as if all her dreams had come true. "I only care about the opinion of the most important person in my life."

Nuada blinked. She could not mean... him? Or perhaps she had a lover? No, she was a Christian. She followed the High King of the World. Women who devoted themselves to that royal God did not find physical release outside of the bonds of marriage. Or at least claimed not to. A husband, then? A strange feeling swelled in his belly and he turned away from her again, staring resolutely at the smooth marble wall. "And..." He had to quietly clear his throat before he could go on. "And who is that? This person whose opinion matters so very much to you?"

"God," she said simply. "As long as I live the way He wants me to, He thinks I'm the best thing since sliced bread." Nuada opened his mouth, and Dylan added, "Of course, He thinks that about anyone who's living their life right, but it always makes me feel good, because I'm my own flavor."

The prince, for the first time since that final night in Dylan's cottage, found himself laughing. And when Dylan cried, "Stop laughing at me, you... Elf," he could only laugh harder, even though it hurt.

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Eamonn knelt before his master, eyes focused on his lord's crest inlaid in precious and semi-precious stones on the black marble floor. Silver eyes traced the diamond sails of the moonstone ship that seemed to glide across the dark marble. Dark volcanic glass in the shape of a rearing, bat-winged horse was the only thing to mar the glittering beauty of the sails. A single ruby served as the horse's cyclopean eye. A ring of purest gold - not Elven gold, but the ancient gold from ere the days when mortal men walked the Green Isle - circled the luminous ship. The dark-haired Elf focused on this and nothing else as he waited for his master to speak.

"She offered her life for his?" His master demanded.

"Yes, Majesty," Eamonn replied. "Three times - once when she came before the Bethmooran king without summons, once when she asked that Silverlance be unchained, and once more when she came out to me in exchange for the antidote to the poison I gave him."

"Then she loves him," the other Elf replied. "Only love makes someone that stupid. A mortal loves Nuada Silverlance."

"And he loves her, Your Majesty. I am sure of it. He may still live in denial of it," Eamonn added, thinking with disgust of the look that had flashed in the crown prince's eyes when the mortal had attempted to stare Eamonn down - pride mixing with the haze of pain, and something that the dark Elf knew full well to be love. "But if so, his heart is torn between his so-called honor and his desire to roger the human slut. Otherwise he would not have undergone a flogging and risked death simply to preserve her honor. And you should have witnessed how he battled for her. He fought like a demon, Sire. I would stake my life on it: he is in love with the human."

"You know Our plans," his master replied. The use of the royal plurality was not lost on the dark-haired Elf. "When Silverlance finally finds the third piece of the Golden Crown, and he awakens the Golden Army and massacres the humans, then would be the opportune time to strike at him." Eamonn looked up and opened his mouth to protest, but the golden-haired warrior seated on the granite throne before him held up a hand for silence. "But if it were possible to tear the heart from his chest now, We would sanction it. If it were possible to weaken him, truly weaken him, in any way, then We would reward any who did so. Poison, bloodshed, maiming... or by the breaking of his immortal heart. Would her death do this?"

"I believe so, Majesty. After what happened to Queen Cethlenn... yes, I believe so."

"Then when the time is right, do what you threatened - use her until she is too damaged to be used any further. Make it brutal. Make her beg for death. Project every moment of it into the prince's mind, and make sure you can project her fear and pain and despair as well. Let him know and feel every bloody detail of what you will do to his woman, to the other half of his soul. Let him understand that, just as he could not save his precious mother, he would never have been able to protect his woman. And then kill her - very, very slowly."

"How, Sire? How do you wish it done?"

The faerie king grinned. "Cut her into little pieces and send them to our rash princeling in a box."

"That would steal the very heart from him," Eamonn breathed, already relishing the idea. "Steal it, and shatter it into a thousand jagged pieces."

"Indeed it would, Eamonn," the warrior king said from his stone-gray throne. "Indeed it would."

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"So how long are we stuck here?" Dylan asked some time later. Servants had come and left clothes for her – way fancier than what she'd gotten in Nuada's sanctuary. The human felt strange slipping into silk underthings. She'd have rather had her own underpants, but the healers had thrown her bloodstained clothes away. I'm probably going to get a wedgy from this, the mortal mused, but at least they're pretty. And what was even stranger – they matched the iridescent pearl shift and shimmery, midnight gown the servants had also given her. A silver girdle and shoes completed the outfit.

My feet are going to sweat like racehorses in these shoes, Dylan thought, nibbling her bottom lip. Then they'll stink and I won't be able to give them back!

"King Balor has not given me leave to go as yet," Nuada said. The human and the Elf were moving toward the palace kitchens, Nuada scowling and Dylan glancing every so often at the beauty and splendor of the architecture and decor. Becan sat on the human's shoulder, peering at this same splendor with wide, sloe-black eyes. "As for you... you may leave whenever you wish."

"I go when you go, Your Highness," she replied. "In case they try to pull anything else. Your dad made it clear that he likes me, but I don't think the same can be said of you, which is ridiculous since you're like, the greatest thing since the invention of French toast, but whatever. And Eamonn can't be the only idiot Elf around here – present company obviously excluded. Every species has its percentage of blockheads, unfortunately."

"Yes, and unfortunately, that percentage seems to eclipse the majority of the human race."

If the Elf prince had expected outrage on humanity's behalf, or even mild disagreement from the mortal at his side, he was sorely disappointed. After a moment of silence, the human sighed heavily and replied, "I'm working on it."

I did not mean you, he started to say, then shut his mouth. He was the crown prince of Bethmoora. He owed no one an explanation, much less a common-born mortal woman. Instead, he replied, "You do not dispute the fact that humans are stupid."

"Nope," she said as they came to the servants' doors to the kitchens. "I know most people are dumb, unfortunately. Either they're uneducated, or they don't think about things. The people at the institution - the nice ones - always told me that reading and learning were some of the most important things a person could do. Reading is what helped me learn more about your people. It helped keep me sane in the institutions. But lots of people don't read. In fact, my sister Petra's husband seems proud when he says, 'I don't read.' And I always wonder when he says that, what the difference is between someone who can't read, and someone who can but chooses not to."

Nuada paused before pushing through the door. He watched Dylan's face, saw the way her brows furrowed in a frown. How rarely she frowned, he realized. Even this one curved the corner of her mouth, to make it more of a lopsided smile. She always seemed to be smiling when he looked at her, even when afraid.

An echo of memory then, of sadness and fear in silvery blue eyes and a trembling smile on scarred lips as she confessed to him how frightened she really was. Practically on the heels of that confession the human had walked out of the room and offered her life to save his.

The Elf prince shook his head once to clear it of such sentimentality and demanded, "Well? What is the difference between someone who can't read, and someone who can but chooses not to?"

With a sad smile - always a smile, he marveled. How does a human, a creature with tainted bloodlines and a hole in its heart, strive always to smile? - the mortal said, "There isn't one." And she pushed the door open.

Immediate chaos. People called to each other through billowing steam and wisps of smoke. Spoons clanged against pots and kettles. Kitchen fires crackled and roared. Dylan smiled wider when she heard the familiar thwok-thwok-thwok of someone chopping vegetables nearby. Heavy bread dough slapped a counter with a dull whump. Somewhere from within the riotous din came the steady creaking of a spit turning a heavy piece of meat.

"Why do you want to be in here?" Nuada demanded.

"I want to help," she said. "You're stuck here until your dad says we can go, right? And I'm not going anywhere without you, Your Highness, so I might as well be useful. Consider it a thank you for taking such good care of me. Besides, I like doing this kind of thing."

And that was another thing! The mortal was injured, or had been. Surely her convalescence gave her an excuse to stay abed and rest, relax. Enjoy the beauty and wonder of the Elven castle around her. Yet, as in his sanctuary, she sought work. Dylan had asked him in her quiet yet arresting way if she could go down to the kitchens and offer her services there. She didn't expect to be allowed to actually cook anything, she said (especially since most of what was cooking would be for the Samhain feast tonight and was being prepared only by the most senior cooks), but she could chop vegetables, or stir something, or pull things from the oven when they were ready. She would even wash dishes if that was all right.

"Your Highness!" At the high, almost shrill squeak, the kitchen chaos ground to a halt.

At first Dylan thought she was looking at a young child, maybe two years old, wearing a strange looking bib. Then she saw the faint silvering and realized she was looking at a very, very long beard. Not a child, but a very short male... something. It was impossible to see his clothes behind the huge black apron he wore. The lower half of the beard was tucked behind the apron at the creature's waist. The little man quickly swiped a long red hat off his head and swept his arms - and the hat - before him as he stooped into a low and reverent bow. The hat and the beard cinched it. Dylan knew exactly what he was - a kabouter, a Dutch house sprite.

"You honor the kitchens with your royal presence, Sire," the kabouter continued. "To what do we owe such a pleasure?"

"Greetings, Caspar," Nuada said, and Dylan realized he was actually smiling. He has a soft spot for this guy, the human realized. "Dylan, this is Caspar Kabouter, Master of the Kitchens. Caspar, allow me to present..." The prince trailed off, realizing that not only were many of the house sprites shy of humans, but that he did not know how to introduce the mortal at his side. But Becan, who has been quietly seated on his mistress's shoulder, slid down and bowed before the taller kabouter.

"If it pleases His Highness," and here Becan bowed to Nuada, "and Lord Master Caspar," bowing again to the Dutch sprite, "may I humbly present my esteemed mistress, a human of great courage, the Lady Dylan of... of..."

"Lady Dylan of Central Park," Nuada finished, amused despite himself. His Dylan, of mortal flesh and iron-laced blood, a lady? The thought was laughable. But Becan certainly did not lack courage. An angry kabouter could dump a vat of boiling water on something as small as a brownie intruding on that kabouter's demesne. Yet Caspar only blinked owlishly at the brownie and then looked to his prince for explanation. The prince explained, "Lady Dylan... dislikes having idle hands. She would offer her services in your kitchen." Nuada quickly explained what the human had in mind. Caspar blinked again.

"A mortal, Sire? Wishes to work in our kitchens?"

"I can wash dishes," Dylan blurted out. "Or chop vegetables. Whatever you want me to do. I'll do anything."

"If you don't want her, Caspar, I'll take her," said another sprite, this one clad in brown and black homespun and holding a half-eaten bowl of porridge streaked with golden butter. He, too, had a very full beard, and only one eye in the middle of his forehead that glowed faintly green in the smoky dimness of the kitchen. He was twice the size of the kabouter; tall enough to hold out a four-fingered hand for Dylan's own. When she gave it to him, he dropped a kiss to her knuckles. "I am Nils Fjøsnisse, Lady, of His Majesty's royal stables."

"You're a tomte," Dylan said, and Nils beamed. His smile widened even further when she added, "You want me to muck out stables, don't you? I can do that, but you'll have to show me how. I've never had a horse, though I've ridden before."

"Oh, Highness," Nils said, laughing. "She is a treasure. A human willing to work? And willing to admit to needing to be taught! I'd not have believed it. But none here shall treat you as a lady while you work. A servant you will be."

The human shrugged, smiling. "Hopefully I can keep up."

"Ja, she is a treasure. Quick, make up your mind, Caspar, before Jenny Hob comes in and snatches her up for maid duty!"

"You take her, Nils," Caspar said. "Get her some chore clothes and put her to work. Let her do the hard tasks in the morning. When she is tired, send her to me. She may wash dishes. We shall see if the job is not too hard for her."

The smile Dylan flashed at Nuada as Nils led her away left an odd feeling in the Elven warrior's belly. He was sending her to muck out stables, to scrub scummy watering troughs and clean dirty tack. Later she would scour grimy pots and kettles, scrub dirty floors, clean out greasy fire pits, and chop vegetables possessing fumes that made the eyes burn... and she smiled at him as if he had given her royal jewels. The prince did not understand.

"Is it true, Your Highness?" Caspar asked, dragging Nuada's attention back to the Dutch house sprite. "Is it true she is your lady? Will you wed her?"

Frowning, the prince shook his head and left the kitchens. What a ridiculous notion. The very idea was laughable. Not to mention disgusting.

.

Nuala bit back the rising tide of anger as she saw Dylan, sleeves rolled up and pinned so they held fast at her shoulders, elbows deep in greasy wash water, scrubbing out a grime-crusted kettle. Wearing cotton and leather, no less! And where were the silks and cashmeres Nuala had left her with?

The Elf princess had left the human with her brother for forty minutes, if that, and returned to find them both vanished. The crown prince of Bethmoora had been doing easy stretches in the salle, intent on building himself up to the point where he could hunt down Eamonn like a dog and cut his throat. Nuala knew her brother's so-called honor demanded the dark-haired Elf die a brutal death for embarrassing him, and the prince was not strong enough or fast enough or whatever else he thought he needed to be in order to take out the Elf that had tried to slay the entire royal family of Bethmoora.

Finding Nuada had been the easy part. But it had taken the princess hours to find the human. Jenny Hob, the head housekeeper, had suggested to the princess that the mortal might be in the stables. Some of the young stable tomte had been flirting with the house hobs and brownie lasses, and talked of the human singing cheerfully - if somewhat out of tune - as she mucked out stalls in the Royal Stables.

Shoveling horse manure, Nuala thought furiously. Put to work as if she were a common servant, instead of my brother's savior. Nuada had a hand in this, I know he did. It is just like him. And the tomte she'd found and interrogated had even said as much - that the human had been brought to the stables at the behest of the crown prince and Nils Fjøsnisse, head groom. Probably Nils was just doing what Nuada said, but I shall speak to him, as well.

But by the time the Elf princess had gotten there, Dylan had been nowhere to be found. Neither had Nils. And the search had begun again. Yet another couple of hours later, Nuala had been told by one of the kitchen kobolds that Caspar Kabouter had put "the prince's human" to work scrubbing dishes. And now here the princess found Dylan, in rough cotton tunic and leather trousers and boots, probably to avoid being burnt by flying drops of sizzling grease. Piles of dirty dishes towered around her. The Master of the Kitchens had clearly kept the largest pots and pans in reserve for the human, who towered over all the diminuitive kitchen staff by at least a foot. That was also no doubt at Nuada's order.

"What is the meaning of this?" Nuala demanded, and for the second time that day, everyone in the kitchen froze. Except Dylan. Her head - the hair tied up in a black cloth to protect it from the grime - was buried in the massive pot. The echoes of music drifted toward the princess as the human sang, "Put your shoulder to the wheel, push along! Do your duty with a heart full of song!"

Set to work as a veritable slave and still managing to be cheerful about it, Nuala thought. Poor girl. She must be besotted with my brother, if she cannot see him for what he truly is. Aloud, keeping her tone friendly, she called, "Dylan! Stop scrubbing and come out of there. I have been looking for you."

The human pulled her head out of the kettle and peered over the massive black thing to find Nuala. Surprised, the mortal woman swiped at a trickle of sweat rolling down her face - it was hot in the kitchen - and smiled. "Hi. I mean, good afternoon, Your Highness. Are you looking for Nu- the prince?"

She was about to call him Nuada, the princess realized. Is that how she thinks of him? Could she really care for him enough, be comfortable enough with him, to call him by name? And does my brother know of it? Encourage it? What can be his game regarding this human? Nuala frowned, a sliver of confusion and uncertainty piercing her chest. What if Nuada had not been trying to do something cruel to the human by setting her up in the stables and kitchens? Perhaps there was something here she did not understand. But what?

Well, whatever it was, it would have to wait. Her father had said he wished to see Dylan and Nuada just after sunset, which was approaching swiftly. "Come with me, Dylan."

"But... I'm in the middle... I mean..." The human glanced around, worry flashing in her gaze. Nuala's rage at her brother on Dylan's behalf returned. Was the woman looking for Nuada? Did she feel she needed his permission to leave her disgusting task? He had much to answer for, the prince. When would he stop hating mortals with such fire? The mortal in question was still looking distressed, which only fueled the heat of the princess's anger.

Caspar Kabouter came and peered inside the kettle. "It is good enough to stop. You are human, milady. You should rest some, so that you may enjoy the Samhain feast tonight. The help was well-meant and you have done more in your time here than any one of my kabouter or kobolds could have. Go with Her Highness."

Confused, a sense of worry burning at the base of her spine, Dylan nodded once and stood up, wiping her wet hands on the front of her shirt. She wanted to thank Caspar, but thanking most household faeries made them angry or drove them away. So she merely said, "If I'm still here the day after tomorrow, may I come back and help some more? I'd come tomorrow but it'll be the Sabbath."

"Of course," said the kabouter. The bell on his tall, red cap jingled merrily. "We would be most glad of such. Of course you may."

Not if I have anything to say about it, Nuala thought. The moment the kitchen doors swung shut behind the Elf and the human, Nuala grabbed Dylan's arm - but not hard enough to hurt, never that - and began dragging her back toward Nuada's room. "I will beat my brother senseless for this."

If Father does not beat me to the mark, she added, biting back the angry words demanding to be snarled. To believe we had thought Nuada possibly changed. Foolishness! If neither Father nor I could make him see sense, surely one of the mortals he despises so much could not. Father was absolutely right. The plan will have to be implemented. Gods' curse Nuada! I had hoped to spare Dylan this.

And she had, desperately. Pleading with King Balor had proved futile at first, but his daughter had had the wit to point out that using the human the way the king's plan called for would be deceitful, and thus dishonorable. The One-Armed King had not backed down entirely, but he had allowed that if Nuada's attitudes were changed, the plan could be put on hold. Nuala had pleaded for the plan to be abandoned completely - such a hasty scheme could prove disastrous - but the king would not capitulate. And that, along with Nuada's abuse of the courageous mortal who gave him her loyalty, left Nuala incensed. "I could strangle him!"

She did not know if she meant the king, or her brother. At this point, it hardly mattered.

"For what? What did he do?" Dylan demanded, shocked. The Elf princess was walking way faster than the human could easily keep up with. "Is it the clothes? I had prettier ones - real fancy and nice, thanks by the way - but Nils said that he thought I wouldn't want to get the dress dirty with straw and stuff in the stables, so I put on something else. Then when Nils was taking me to the kitchens, he made me change because there was crud on my clothes and I was going into the kitchen. It's not Nuada's fault, Your Highness, I promise."

"I am not speaking of clothes," the princess ground out from between her teeth. Dylan sighed. Clearly the two Elves shared more in common than just their moon-beam looks. Maybe they'd inherited that temper from their father. Figures, the human thought dryly. Angsty Panda Elf-Prince, Emo-Bear Elf Princess. Isn't that what the kids say these days?

Nuala was still talking. "Putting you to work like a servant-"

"I wanted to help!" Dylan protested as they came to the door. Nuala waved her hand, and the golden bracelet on her wrist glowed briefly. The door swung open and the princess pulled the human inside. "Honestly, Your Highness, I had to convince the prince to let me in the kitchens. I just felt so useless just sitting around here not doing anything-"

"Nuada told you that was what you were doing, didn't he?" Finally letting go of the human, Nuala went to a chest that Dylan was almost positive hadn't been there when she'd left with Nuada for the kitchens that morning. The princess flipped open the lid and pulled out a long waterfall of sapphire blue material. "He told you that you were being useless, did he not?" She tossed the blue thing on the freshly made bed and pulled out another flowing thing, this time in beautiful pearl shades shot with gold thread. A smaller golden thing with silvery white laces came, too, followed by matching underthings. "Ugh, that brother of mine! I ought to box his ears, like when we were children!"

Oh, crud, that's for me, Dylan realized when Nuala pulled out a pair of blue shoes. How many clothes are they going to give me? Do I have to wear the shoes? Can't I just keep the boots? The leather boots were much more comfortable than the silky slippers had been. And why is she so angry, anyway? Blargh. This is not going to end well.

"Um... what is all that stuff for?" Dylan asked, then winced when she saw that the eyes Nuala turned on her had darkened to a deep bronze threaded with crimson and sienna. Someone is ticked. Question is, why? The human bit back a sigh as the princess made a motion for her to strip. At least it's another girl. Dylan paused in the act of pulling her tunic over her head. Wait... does Nuala count as a girl? She's female, but... hmmm.

"My father has summoned you and Nuada to appear before him at first night and I find him working himself into a sweat in the salle and you scrubbing pots at his behest! Put on those clothes; you must be ready quickly."

"Why?" The human shimmied into fresh underclothes - not silk this time. What kind of material was this? - then pulled the pearly shift over her head. Hadn't she just been wearing a shift just like this before going to the stables? Except, she reminded herself, this one has sparkly gold threads. She indulged in a mental eye-roll. Oh, baby. Talk about fancy. "You said Nu- the prince is all sweaty. Won't he have to shower, or... I don't know, whatever?" Dylan paused. "Actually, Your Highness... don't I need to shower? I smell like horses and dirty dishes and tallow."

Nuala's eyes widened. "Yes! Quickly, strip!" Dylan sighed and hastened to obey. The princess shoved a then-naked Dylan through a door and into a bathing chamber. The glossy onyx walls twinkled with jewel chips - blue, purple, green, red, white and yellow burning so brightly that all looked like tiny stars against a clear night sky. A large, perfectly round tub of white marble sat in the center of the room. Small scoops in the flooring around the tub held silver candles dancing with light. Silvered glass made up the bathing room ceiling. When Dylan slid into the tub and obeyed Nuala's order to lie back and relax, she saw that the reflection in the glass made it seem as if she were inside the full moon on a starry night.

"Since I must fetch my brother, you have a little time to relax. But please do not delay in getting clean. Tonight is Samhain, and my father wishes to speak to you before the banquet this evening. There is soap and shampoo there." Nuala gestured, and two of the scoops in the floor, empty before now, filled with glimmering liquid. Silver sparkles twinkled in one scoop. In the other, gold swirls shimmered and shifted. "The silver is shampoo, the gold is soap." And the princess was gone.

For the first time since leaving Nuada's sanctuary, Dylan allowed herself to lie back and give herself up to the pleasure of yet another magical Elven tub.

I love these things. Then, realizing she hadn't seen her brownie in a while, she wondered, I wonder where Becan is?

.

"Nuada!" The enraged princess called from the door of the salle. Her brother was not, as he had been last she'd seen him, doing stretches. In fact, he seemed well into a fourth - or was it possibly fifth? - hour of intense training. He moved through the varied and strenuous aikido kata without weapons. Sweat glistened under the bright faerie lights hanging around the room. His face was tight with pain. There was fresh blood against the whiteness of his bandages.

For a long moment, Nuala could only stare at the way her brother moved so gracefully despite the fact that he was only just recovering from an assassination attempt and a flogging. Only Elven healing abilities and magic allowed him this much freedom of movement. The prince moved through the Japanese martial art form with power and brilliant speed, before flowing into the taolu for the slow and elegant t'ai chi ch'uan that he often employed to cool down. Nuala wished, not for the first time, that she had his warrior skills.

Then she remembered why she was there and her anger flared up again. She shouted, "Nuada! Do not ignore me! I would speak with you!"

The image of the prince blurred as he completed a triple flip in the air - showing off again, she knew, as flips were not used in the Chinese defense style - and landed in a crouch almost directly in front of her. When he stood, his gaze glistened as if with pain or fever. The Elven twins regarded each other with dark eyes for a long moment. The princess could see the fatigue on her brother's face, but the sparkle in his eyes kept her from softening toward him. She did not even wish to attempt discerning all the different, discomfitting emotions burning through their connection. Finally, when his sister made no move to speak, Nuada demanded, "Are you going to slap me again?"

"I ought to," Nuala hissed. She knew he could feel her anger pulsing darkly through their bond, and did not care. "For treating that woman as if she were your slave, when she saved your life numerous times at the risk of her own!"

Her brother blinked, and something Nuala could not name flickered in his firegold eyes. Something else shimmered through their connection, but was gone before she could identify it. Then his face was but a mask of boredom as he shrugged and turned away. "Sister, I have no idea what you speak of. What the mortal does is no concern of mine."

"She is barely recovered from her ordeal - an ordeal she went through for you, need I remind you, Brother! And you have her... mucking out stables and scrubbing dirty pots! Brother, why? Why do you insist on mistreating her? She has done nothing but try to protect and serve you. Tried to earn your regard. I would think you would be glad of a human treating you with such deference and obvious devotion. Instead you abuse her! Why?"

Throughout her tirade, Nuala had seen her brother's spine stiffen further and further, until it seemed as if his backbone had been replaced by an iron rod. Now, as she paused for his answer, the prince turned to her with that unnameable something smoldering in his eyes once more. He stalked toward her. Every movement rippled with menace. Fear uncoiled like an ice serpent in Nuala's belly as she retreated from him. The wall of the salle slammed hard against her back. Then her brother was upon her, both hands braced on either side of her head as he leaned in. He smelled of warrior's sweat and anger and something that might have been soul-pain. There was blood on his breath. His eyes gleamed with a thousand dark reproaches. Shivers raced up and down her back as he leaned further in.

"Always I am the villain to you. You love me and loathe me with every breath, with every beat of your heart. Every moment I exist tortures and offends you, and you despise me for it. You have told me you believe I have no honor. You have told me I could never regain my honor if I tried. You refuse to prove your words by searching my thoughts. Thus I expect you would believe nothing I say in my own defense."

The Elf prince studied his sister's face. Never had she looked more beautiful, or more sad. But if he attempted to touch her now, in any way, attempted to comfort her, the revulsion and fury in her eyes would be worse than a knife to his heart. He knew she loved him. But he also knew she did not wish to, and that was worse than if she did not love him at all.

"You will not believe, but I will speak nonetheless. Dylan asked me to take her to the kitchens. She dislikes being idle, and wanted to help. She is a grown woman, if anything that has lived for less than three decades can be considered grown. She makes her own decisions. I did not send her to do anything. I did not force her. I do not abuse her. I..." Something wanted to force its way past the anger and hurt in his throat, wanted to unfurl on his tongue and spring off his lips. A declaration, an explanation of... he knew not what. But he bit it back, whatever it was. Instead he asked, "Must you always think ill of me, Nuala?"

Such hurt in her brother's voice now. Such grief and fury pulsing like the pain of a festering wound through their connection. She wanted so much to put her arms around him, to pull his head down on her shoulder and whisper that she loved him. He was her brother. But she did not know where that would lead. And it did not matter that she loved him, even if her love made him more dear than food and water to her, more dear than the breath in her chest. Because brother or not, he was not more dear than her own honor.

"Always you prove yourself the villain, Brother," she said. "It is none of my doing. Only your own." Now the princess looked away. Nothing in the world could make her meet that tortured and desperate gaze any longer. "Father sends for you. He wishes to see you and Dylan, in a formal audience, at the first full moment of nightfall before the banquet tonight. He will make his decision about you both there."

Nuada pushed away from her, feeling as if his skin had been flayed anew, everything raw and painful. His chest ached and his belly clenched as he walked slowly away from the sister he loved so. The sister who was the other half of his heart, the sister who had once held his heart in her breast as he had held hers, when they were children long ago. They had been two sides of the same coin. Night and day, dark and light, winter and summer. Nuada and Nuala. What had happened to the two of them? How had they come to stand on opposite sides of this great chasm that now stood between them? Because things had changed between them. Somehow. Somewhen so long ago that he couldn't even remember it now.

He was tired of fighting the yearning. For centuries, for thousands of years, he had fought so much. Fought the desire to slaughter the humans down to every last man, woman, and child; fought the dark shroud of despair always at the edges of his existence, the despair that whispered that all who could aid him had long since abandoned him, including the gods; fought the desire to eschew honor and come to his father on his knees, begging for forgiveness, though he had committed no sins, and begging only to be loved by him again. He had to fight so many. Must he fight his heart forever as well? It was the only thing that could possibly give him a moment's true peace.

"Give me half an hour, Sister," he said calmly. No emotion leaked into his voice, or through the tight shield he kept around himself to prevent his sister from feeling the aching in his soul. Emotion he could hide from her, even some thoughts... but not for long. Not this close. He had to get away from her. "I will be ready then."

"Dylan will enter with you."

Surprisingly, the thought comforted him. The human who had always tried to protect him, who always welcomed him, would enter the king's presence at his side. Her foolhardy courage and desperation to protect the Kindly Folk would be helpful. Still, he would go robed not for war, but for execution, in white and black and silver. Nuada had lived for countless centuries. He knew that even a mortal's testimony might not be enough to sway an Elven king.

.

"I don't think I should be wearing this, Your Highness," Dylan mumbled, staring at herself in the mirror. The sight of her reflection, Nuala saw, had bleached some of the color from the human's scarred face. "I mean... this part." She pointed at the white léine, whose long skirt swirled around her ankles. Specifically she was indicating the black and silver embroidery in the form of the Eildon tree across her belly.

Eildon, the tree of sacred hawthorne. Aiglin, the tree of sacred rowan. The Eildon tree for peace, the Aiglin tree for war. If Nuada has his way, the black and gold and crimson banner of the Aiglin tree would fly as the fey kingdoms made war on Man once more. And that was why they were doing this, Nuala reminded herself.

"Isn't this your family crest or something?" Dylan asked, breaking the princess from her thoughts.

"Indeed," Nuala replied, feeling another twinge of guilt. She swiftly quashed it. "But you are wearing my clothes, remember? All of my formal garments bear this symbol, and formal is what you must be to go before my father."

"Oh." The human stared at her reflection again, hardly recognizing herself in the beautiful clothes. The other clothes Nuada had given her, which had had a touch more of the Briton to them and were from a later time period, hadn't made her feel so... strange. "Is the brat necessary?" Dylan wasn't talking about an obnoxious child, but the Gaelic cloak of soft, fine black wool that Nuala had laid out on the bed for her to put on over her outfit. "Can't I have, like... a shawl or mantle or something? I don't know. I just feel... stupid."

"Do not feel thus," the princess said gently. "But if it discomfits you, we shall try this." From the chest that the princess had apparently stuffed with clothes to loan - hopefully not give, Dylan thought with an edge of desperation - to the human, Nuala pulled a sheer black mantle embroidered with beautiful, very intricate knotwork in glittering silver thread. "Would this be better?"

"Um..." Crud. "I guess." Not that she would be comparable in any way to any of the court ladies, so why bother? Well, whatever.

By the time Nuala was done with her, Dylan felt like she'd been bulldozed over several times, but she looked like something out of a period film, which was what the princess had probably been going for. And thank everything under the sky, Nuala had given Dylan boots this time, in soft black leather with silver laces, instead of slippers that made her feet sweat. The final touch of silver to the outfit had been a braided rope girdle low on her hips. It felt like it was about to fall off every time she moved, but Nuala promised that they always felt like that. Surprisingly, the beautiful Elf had done nothing to Dylan's hair. "Let it hang loose, like mine," the princess supplied when Dylan gave her a questioning look. "The Elven shampoo has made it so beautiful."

Ouch, Dylan thought, then smiled inwardly. I don't think she meant it to sound like that, so whatever. She's right, anyway. It's not frizzy at all.

Nuala's last loan was a pendant, a black jewel set in silver on an impossibly delicate silver chain. On the back of the silver setting were the words A Ghrá and the symbol for eternity. Dylan showed the princess the engraving, asking what it meant. For some reason, she couldn't remember if the word was still part of the Gaelic language, or what it might mean. "It is Old Gaelic," Nuala said briskly. "Come, it is nearly time."

Well, I kinda knew it was Old Gaelic, Princess, the human thought, following her. I want to know what it says.

Trepidation began building in Dylan's chest as she hurried after the gliding princess. What would the king decide to do to Nuada? What would he do to her? Oh, Heavenly Father, I'm freaking out here. Help me be calm, please. Bless me with tranquility and peace. I faced down rape-minded gunmen, angry stag men, and Eamonn. I should be able to do this, but I'm having a panic attack. Help, please.

As the human prayed silently, a warmth flowed slowly but surely into her, easing some of the tension in her shoulders. That tension returned a thousandfold when she saw the Elf prince standing in front of the doors to the king's Hall.

Whoa... we match.

And they did. Nuada wore a black silk tunic embroidered in silver over a white shirt, just like the embroidered black mantle over her own white léine. Two Eildon trees stood out again both mortal and immortal raiment, one in beautiful silver and black embroidery, the other in black-etched silver metal. The only difference between them was that the prince's trews were black and the skirt of Dylan's léine was snowy white. They even both wore black leather boots, though only hers had visible laces. And around Nuada's throat was a silver chain and a single black stone, like a shard of midnight crystal.

Dylan knew as soon as the Elven warrior saw her that something was very wrong. She turned to Nuala, a question on her lips, and saw the fierce look on the princess's face as she gazed at her brother. The click as information came together in Dylan's head was almost audible. Oh, boy. We've been set up. Both of us. I don't know how, but somehow. Great.

"You have betrayed me yet again, Sister," Nuada said as soon as both Nuala and Dylan were within earshot. Dylan almost flinched at the sharpness of the grief in the Elf prince's words. In his eyes.

"It is time you did your duty by her, Brother." The princess's voice could have been made of dagger-sharp ice crystals for all the warmth it held. Nuala tried to ignore the almost pleading look in her twin's eyes as she continued, "You try to invade her bed - give her the protection of legitimacy."

"Oh, for crying out loud!" Dylan shoved between the Elven woman and her brother. Tingles of apprehension shivered up and down the mortal's spine at having her back to an infuriated Elf prince - and boy, she could tell he was pissed - but she only stood up straighter and stared into Nuala's strange, surprised eyes. Normally she wouldn't have given a flying rat's buttered carcass if someone were slandering her and calling her a slut or whatever, but obviously Nuada did care about these accusations, and he'd done enough for her that seeing that shattered, horrified look in his eyes infuriated her. "We are not sleeping together! How many times do I have to tell you people? What, do I have to sign a contract in blood? Sheesh. I swear on the Darkness That Eats All Things that Crown Prince Nuada Silverlance and I are not and have not had sex. Happy, now? Good grief! Now, what's the big deal about our clothes?"

"If you walk into the king's Hall dressed to match me, it is a declaration before the court. Did anyone see you?" Nuada demanded.

Frazzled, the human ran a hand through her hair. "I don't know, I was trying to keep up with her." She flung her arm to indicate Nuala, who was boring invisible holes in her brother's head with the intensity of her amber stare. "Anyway, great, a declaration. Of what, exactly?"

"There are five possibilities," Nuala said softly. "And only two are open to my brother."

"Begging your pardon, Princess, but I am so not talking to you right now," Dylan growled, and turned her back on the princess. To Nuada, she said, "Okay. How bad is the damage? I could go change or... I don't know, get spattered with mud from a passing carriage or something. Do you guys even have carriages?" Before either twin could reply, she held up a hand and shook her head quickly. "Never mind, tangent. Gotta focus. Damage report?"

"This matching," Nuada explained. "It can mean five things: that you are my slave, that you are my..." The Elf prince nearly choked on the thought. Through clenched teeth he managed to spit out, "That I have..." He would not allow even a shred of nausea to make him ill. "Bedded you... and mean to keep you as my... paramour." The thought of which infuriated him. As if he would ever treat Dylan that way. As if, human or not, he would take the woman who had done so much for him and his people and use her like some cheap whore. His fingers curled into white-knuckled fists. "That," he added, "or..."

"Or that you are his wife, or his betrothed," Nuala finished, with a disgusted look at her twin. Was the thought of giving Dylan such a title truly that repulsive to him? She was comely enough, beneath the slashing scars. Not a great beauty, perhaps, but then Nuada was not considered handsome by Elven standards anyway. "Or that he courts you in earnest, which is just as bad in the eyes of his supporters. With a betrothal, it could be supposed our Father has trapped him into it. But if my brother courts you, it will seem as if he does it for love of you."

"You've got to be kidding," the mortal replied weakly. She looked into firegold eyes and saw the sick, hopeless anger. Not kidding.

"His honor precludes him from allowing you to enter under the illusion that you are his slave or lover. His debt to you alone forbids such a smirch against you. And all in Bethmoora know that the prince is not married. If any of the royal family marries - at least, if they wed for love and not for politics - Bethmoora itself rejoices. Which leaves him only two options. They will all assume you betrothed, as no mere sweetheart would offer to die for my brother, especially more than once. And even betrothed, many will reason that it is for love, as you both tried so desperately to save the other two nights ago."

The blood drained from Dylan's face and for a moment she thought she might actually faint. She swayed as dizziness blurred her vision. There was a roaring in her ears. She started to sway, actually dipped as if about to fall. Strong hands gripped her shoulders, pulling her upright, and then gave her a small, gentle shake.

"Dylan?" Nuada's voice. Nuada... matching outfits. Betrothed. What? Impossible, no way. She couldn't marry someone who wasn't a member of the Church. She'd made the decision to obey that rule more than a decade ago. Her future children had the right to have a father who could wield the Priesthood.

And she certainly wasn't going to marry someone older than dirt, even if he was ridiculously handsome. Especially someone who hated her. Someone who would rather gouge out his own eyes than be with her that way.

"Dylan!" More insistently now. Why was everything so dark? Were her eyes closed? She opened them to see blurry, black-rimmed amber eyes. Something that might have been worry glinted in their depths. His voice was almost gentle as he said, "Take a breath. Deeply, now. Slowly."

As soon as she sucked in a breath of cool air, her head began to clear. Everything swam back into focus. Nuada's golden gaze no longer blurred in front of her. The prince released her the next moment as if he'd been burned. The human realized she could stand up on her own and even speak again. "So... we're engaged? What? I don't... understand. I'll go change. Like, now." She turned to go back the way she'd come and paused as another wave of dizziness swept over her. Oh, you've got to be kidding. The vapors? Me? Dylan rolled her eyes at herself and tried to shake off the strange feeling. I'm changing now. I've caused Nuada enough problems, thank you.

Nuala watched the way her brother surreptitiously wiped his hands on his trousers. The same hands that had moments ago gripped the human woman so she would not fall. Had that truly been concern in his eyes? Kindness in his voice? Or was it all a ploy? The Elf princess could not discern if her brother played some game, or was actually giving vent to true emotion. The only way for her to know was to open herself to his mind, and that she would never do again. Frustration buzzed at the back of her skull. Neither Nuada nor the human were behaving in the ways the king had expected. Should not Dylan be happy for the chance to wed an Elf, and a prince at that?

"Sister, end this farce," Nuada practically snarled. "You cannot mean for me to enter our Father's presence with a mortal on my arm!" He actually looked ill at the thought. "I vowed long ago that I should never plight my troth to any-"

"Unless they were to win your heart." At the prince's thunderous look, his sister inclined her head regally. "I know she has not. But our Father is no respector of intention in this. The mortal has won your mercy, your charity - if not your love. That alone fulfills the bounds of that oath, yet I have succeeded in giving Dylan your love, as well. She wears your token, Brother."

Nuada's eyes zeroed in on the necklace hanging between Dylan's collarbones. A look of almost agony flashed through the Elven warrior's eyes. The human felt the blood freeze in her veins as she realized then why Nuala hadn't told her what the Old Gaelic phrase on the back of the pendant meant. Memory came crashing back with enough force to make the human woman's head spin. A Ghrá - my love. My love. Romantic, fraternal, platonic, it didn't matter. The token said my love. Nuada's token... to his sister. Had he made the pendant for the princess? Somehow Dylan knew he had. And the cruelty of what Nuala had done, the total and awful unfairness of it, made Dylan's eyes sting. How could Nuala have done that to her own brother?

"Ní féidir liom grá di," Nuada whispered in the Old Tongue. It felt as if his world were breaking. The pieces of his shattered heart seemed small enough to pass through the eye of a needle. If only Wink were here... or he and Dylan were alone, back in her idyllic little cottage. It would be easier, then, to let the pain burn inside him. Let the hollow grief rake at his belly like a ravening beast. Dylan somehow never made him feel weak or sick when a brief memory of pain came to him. If this one attempted to knock his feet from under him, if he gave in and let it swamp him, she would not offer scorn or pity or anger. But standing before his sister, knowing Nuala would offer all of those things, he could only plead brokenly, "Gceist agam go bhfuil ar do shon."

Oh, God, Dylan prayed, fighting back the sting of tears. She had never seen anyone look so broken and alone. Did You hear him, Heavenly Father? He said, "I don't love her. I meant that for you." How could she? How could she do this to him?

"Why are you doing this, Nuala?" Dylan demanded. Her nails bit into her palms as she struggled against the urge to run to Nuada and throw her arms around him, shield him from everyone who seemed intent on seeing him as a monster, as a villain. Embracing him that way would just make everything worse.

"Politics." And here the princess smiled, and her beautiful mouth was gilded with cruel triumph, like icy starlight on a sword's razor edge. It was the perfect mask to cover the ragged hole in her chest that was her brother's pain... and her own. She had not wanted this, but she would give herself up to the Sluagh before she let her twin see that. "You understand, do you not, Brother? I merely seek to rob you of your supporters at court. Do not believe me ignorant of your plans regarding the last piece of the Golden Crown. I strike a preemptive blow for our side. When your loyal supporters see you betrothed to a human, for that is what they will assume, they shall desert you like the dishonorable cowards they are."

"Fantastic," the human muttered. "I'm a pawn in Elven sibling rivalry. By the way, Princess," Dylan added, and her voice was equal parts anger and sarcasm when she practically spat Nuala's title, "no one is going to believe we're together. So I'm gonna go change my clothes now. Put on something festive, lots of color."

"Except nearly the entire court already believes you two are desperately in love. The path my brother cut through our foes two nights ago was bloody and brutal, even more so than he usually can lay claim to. Rumors fly amongst the people, that the prince has found solace and heart's ease in a mortal's arms. As for changing..." The look Nuala fixed her with froze her in her tracks. "You may not, by order of the Royal House of Bethmoora."

"What do you mean, she may not? You would seek to inflict your twisted schemes on an unsuspecting mortal, Sister, and yet you claim that I am the one who lacks honor?"

"They are not my schemes alone. Our Father is most cunning, Nuada. It was he who concocted this plan."

"You're joking." Dylan stared at the princess. "The King of Elfland is forcing me to marry his son? Why? I thought you guys hated humans."

Surprised, the princess turned to the mortal. "We do not - indeed, could not - hate one such as you, Dyl-"

"Do not dare speak her name!" Nuada fought against the rage pulsing through his blood like the throbbing pain of a wound. Grief and fury suffused every part of him like an insidious poison, one to which he possessed no antidote. To see Dylan's face, to know that his sister - his sister, his other half - had betrayed him and the human that had saved him so many times, filled him with a seething rage that fired his eyes to molten bronze and made his blood burn. "I never thought this day would come, Nuala. Your hypocrisy sickens me. How could you and Father do this to me? To her? We have done nothing wrong or dishonorable, and yet still you seek to punish us. To shame me. To wrench from my grasp any and all support I possess in my Father's court. Why?"

"So that when you find the final crown piece, when that bloody and terrible day comes, there will be none under your leadership willing to rise up and butcher the humans! Then, when you come before Father and I to demand our parts of the crown, there will be no one to steal it for you." Nuala raged in Old Gaelic. She did not wish Dylan to hear this part. If the human knew what Nuada was capable of, was in fact desirous in doing... the princess knew the human would panic, would seek to escape the Elf who sought her race's destruction. And that could not happen, either. Not if the plan was to succeed. "I seek only to defend my people! To preserve their honor! Our honor! And you... you seek only the slaughter of all humanity."

As the Elves raged at each other in the Old Tongue of their people, the human caught in the midst of their struggle closed her eyes and bowed her head, seeking inward for some measure of calm. After a long moment, she heard, beneath the furious contention of the royal twins, the sound of soft music. Seconds later, she heard the words.

More gratitude give me; more trust in the Lord; more pride in his glory; more hope in his word... more meekness in trial... more strength to o'ercome...

All right, Dylan prayed silently, as the Elves continued to snarl at each other. You knew this was happening. You didn't warn me, which means one of two things. Either this is something You want to happen, or You trust me to handle it on my own. Or, a third option - it's both. I pick C, both. Is that true? A soft warmth filled her chest, and she smiled inwardly. Okay, the question is, why do You want this to happen? Do You want me to marry Nuada, or do I need to figure out how to get out of this as one of my trials? Somehow, I don't think you're going to tell me the answer to that one. The warmth intensified, and this time her smile was outward, as well. All right, then. Since You trust me, I'll do what I can, and behave how the Spirit guides me. I know You'll never test me beyond what I can handle.

I would ask... I won't ask for me to make the right choice. I have agency, which means I make my own choices. What I will ask... is for the blessings of a clear mind, sharpened perception, a stronger desire to do what You want me to, and a more open heart, that I might more easily discern the promptings of the Holy Ghost. And... I would ask for help in eschewing my anger at Nuala and forgiving her for this. I know she loves her brother - her tears when she read my mind were pretty obvious, and they weren't fake. So obviously she's got a good reason for doing this. Sane people don't just randomly decided to screw with the people they love. I just wish I knew what the reason was. If You think I should know, please help me find out somehow. And if You don't think I ought to know... that stinks. But I'm okay with it. Thanks for all the help so far. I know I could never do any of this without You. Thank You. In Christ's name, amen.

As Dylan pulled herself out of the prayer, and let the real world come back to her, she realized both twins were still growling at each other in Old Gaelic.

"Princess Nuala, it's not fair that you're speaking a language I don't know," the human interrupted, surprising both the prince and princess with the even tone of her voice. The panic and confusion from moments ago seemed to have mysteriously dissipated. Left behind was an eerie calm. "I'm getting one word in five, here. And anyway, no one is going to buy this. And you can't force Nuada to marry me. I won't marry him."

"But why, Dyl-" A vicious look from Nuada ripped the human's name from his sister's mouth. Nuala cleared her throat and asked curiously, "Why ever not? You love him, do you not?"

"I..." What? Where did that come from? She's smart and sneaky, I'll give her that much. "Um... well, yes," the mortal replied, flustered, and tried to ignore Nuada's scandalized and half-stunned look (not to mention Nuala's shock that she'd agreed so swiftly). Was she blushing? Dylan fervently hoped not. "I love everyone. Or I try to. I even love you, devious and backstabbing as you're being right now." She winced. That was not being forgiving. That was being obnoxious and... what was the opposite of merciful? Whatever it was, that was exactly what she was being, Dylan reflected. She sighed. "I'm sorry, Your Highness. I shouldn't have spoken sharply to you. That was uncalled for, and I apologize. Please forgive me. And yes, I love and respect your brother, as you should. I consider him a dear friend and an important ally."

Oh, she has a courtier's tongue, this one, Nuala thought. She's more dangerous than I thought. Aloud, she said, "That is not what I mean. This you know quite well."

"You mean am I in love with your brother?" The look the human shot at Nuada left the Elf prince stunned. Where had the disinterest, the sense of unsatisfied appraisal, come from? Was it simply a cultivated mask, like his own court facade? Dylan added, "Dude, gross. He doesn't even have the Priesthood. He's not a follower of the High King of the World, and without those two things, we could never get married in His temple. What good would he do me as a spouse?"

"And does Father truly want a mortal to rule at my side when it is time for me to be king?" The prince demanded, ignoring the human's comment. He would deal with the sharpness of her tongue later. For now they had to present a united front before their enemies, including his beloved twin. "I think not. Or does he expect her to have withered away and died of her mortality by that time?"

"This is not up for discussion, Brother. Now, there is no time for either of you to change. You know the laws regarding punctuality when summoned by the king, my brother. If you possess a shred of honor, prove it now. Do what your honor demands. Take her as your betrothed. That is what they will all believe anyway. Accept it."

"No!" Dylan moved to Nuada, who actually flinched back from her. If she hadn't understood everything his sister was trying to inflict on him, the human might have let the act hurt her feelings, or piss her off. Instead, she had to fight the urge to try and comfort the prince. She knew he wouldn't appreciate it. Knew that, despite having sworn by the Darkness, Nuala wouldn't believe her if she tried to hug Nuada or truly comfort him.

But for crying out loud, this wasn't fair! Dylan knew the thought of marrying a mortal totally grossed the Elf out. The idea of marrying a man who didn't possess the Priesthood wasn't something she wanted to think much about, either, though that was for her future children's sake and because of her oaths as one of the Star Kindler's children, not because it was abhorrent to her. But to have to marry someone you didn't even love - could never love, probably - was absolutely and completely disgusting. Hadn't that kind of thing gone out with the Dark Ages?

"Nuada, you don't have to do this. We'll say I'm your slave if we have to-"

"And then he will be flogged yet again for enslaving a human," Nuala said coolly.

"Fine!" Silently, Dylan reminded herself that ripping out the beautiful Elf princess's hair was not something Heavenly Father wanted her to do. Darn it. "We'll say I'm your... we'll say I'm your lover." She winced, but inwardly. It was a lie, which sucked, but it was to help someone. And, if she were being honest with herself, Nuada being the someone who needed help was a big inducement to fib. "That way it'll be open as to your motives, since most of them are thinking you're cooking up something nasty to do to me anyway, and-"

"And then you will be tortured for lying to the king, human. Which," the princess added with some exasperation, "you probably would not let dissuade you, but think on this. Nuada will be shamed by letting you profess to a lie and letting you remove your integrity from yourself strictly for his own benefit. And some damage is still done to my brother's alliances with his court sycophants even if you choose such. Brother, there is no choice here. Accept it. Time is passing. The doors will open in but moments."

"This isn't fair, Princess!" And she would not have let Balor torture her just so she could pose as Nuada's lover. Even she had limits.

"Fairness has never been our objective, Dylan. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few," the princess replied, and Dylan froze. A shiver traipsed up her spine at the words. As Elves didn't watch television, Dylan knew the Elf woman wasn't quoting Star Trek on purpose. But...

Was that the answer to my question, Heavenly Father? There's something going on here no one is telling me. What is it?

Nuala added, "The betrothal will take place. If not tonight, then soon. Once you step beyond these doors, it is only a matter of time. Even if you resist it, it will happen. The king has commanded it."

"She is right," the prince whispered. He sounded so defeated she wanted to punch someone. "We must... play along with this... revolting charade."

"Only for now. We'll think of something," Dylan promised, turning back to the pale prince. There was desperation and... was that fear in those pale topaz eyes? Whatever it was, those bestial emotions made her chest ache. He looked like a wounded animal caught in a trap. Anger sizzled under her skin. "We will! We can have a fight later and break off our supposed engagement or courtship or whatever and you can give some speech about how you should have known that all humans were the same and how we all totally suck. We'll figure it out."

"Yes, we will. Later," he agreed. "We must play this out now, however. The only question is, which is more damaging? Courtship or engagement?"

"Nuala said courtship would be worse because people will assume we're secretly engaged anyway and that you're in love with me." When the prince's throat convulsed, she winced and stepped back. She did not want to get thrown up on. "Sorry, just saying."

"Still... with an engagement, I will be trapped. We will be trapped. Thus, we shall attempt a facade of courtship."

"Okay. Whatever you say, my prince, I'll do." She really couldn't have cared less about the whole matchy-matchy thing. If there had been no danger of Nuada getting in trouble, she'd have tossed King Balor an airy "screw you and your antlers, too," and changed into raggedy blue jeans and a lumberjack shirt just to spite him. But the prince would most likely be punished if they didn't acquiesce. Since she had absolute faith that their combined genius would squash the king's stupid little plan into a pancake (eventually), there was no reason not to throw her support behind the Elf prince. And she'd do whatever he said because, as she went on to explain, "I'm not very good at politics anyway, so I'm following your lead on this."

At that moment the huge double doors leading into the hall of the One-Armed King began to slowly creak open. They seemed to be moving a millimeter a minute, and yet they seemed to eat up time with a wildfire's hunger. Nuada held up his left arm, stiff and formal, at his side. Dylan shot one wild-shy glance at his face. It was blank as an unused slate. "Crumb cake," the human swore. "Nuada, I'm so sorry."

He softened enough to glance down at her. "It is no fault of yours." With his other hand, he pulled her right arm until it lay atop his upraised left one. Her palm touched the back of his hand. A shiver sizzled through her at the contact. She'd never touched his bare skin before, she realized. Not like this, anyway. Not without hate and suspicion, blood and pain and the rush of desperation between them as she tried to mend his wounds. His hand was warm, the skin lightly furred with soft blond hair except where a thin rough line crossed the back of his hand. A battle scar. One of many, she was certain. His fingers when they touched her were callused, but surprisingly gentle. She could feel the quiet strength in the muscles of his arm.

"Of course it is not her fault," Nuala said.

"No offense, Princess," Dylan said, turning away from the Elf woman, "but I can't seem to keep a civil tongue in my head when I talk to you. So please don't talk to me right now."

The door opened fully, and a gasp went up from the assembled courtiers within. A tremor went through Nuada - slight, but noticeable, as Dylan had her hand on his. She pressed ever so lightly on the back of his hand in a gesture of support and turned her head a bit to catch his eye. When he glanced at her, she smiled encouragingly. He arched one slender, golden brow. She smiled wider and mouthed, "Let's do this."

Nuada found his own lips quirking into the barest shadow of a smile. How could she be so foolhardy... and so brave? Here she was, offering him courage, when it must be terrifying for her to walk out with him, to present herself at her side. Everyone would believe he courted her, if not that he had plighted his troth to her. The necklace, he thought with no little bitterness. That cursed token. It was practically the same as getting on bended knee before the entire court and begging Dylan's hand in marriage. Yet she would stand by him, in front of all the dangerous and capricious Daoine Maithe of Bethmoora's golden court. The prince had to admit to himself - but only to himself - that if his sister had to do this vicious and cruel thing, better it be with Dylan at his side than any other.

And so, at the mortal's silent words of encouragement and challenge, he inclined his head in agreement and forced the softness he usually reserved for Nuala and his father into his eyes. With a false smile and pain still tearing at his heart, he walked out of the shadowed corridor with his new and too-mortal lady, into the golden light of the king's Hall.