Chapter 56 - NEW

Author's Note: so I moved the Dilong scene to the top of the chapter, added a little bit more funny dialogue.

Cut down a little on the sexual tension in the after-nightmare scene (Nuada doesn't put his hand against her

chest and instead of touching her scar, he just sort of skims a finger over the neckline of her top, which is sort of

a ballet-neck). Although I still ended the final scene with singing, I do mention that Nuada fell asleep and I added

a bit more lyrics because I basically sat at the computer and stared at it for an hour, saying, "How should I change

this?" And then I finally started typing and that is what came out and then I was like, "Should I keep it?" And I

really felt that I should, so... yeah. So here it is.

.

that is

A Short Tale of Discussing How to Beat the Silverlance, Blame, Loss, Patricide, a Possible Alliance, Memories of Blood, What Is Needed, and Lullabies

.

.

"Brother, will you please stop brooding and go to bed?"

Prince Zhenjin of Dilong ignored his two younger brothers and continued to sharpen the long, straight edge of his chokutō. Ironically, sharpening his favored weapons when nervous was a habit he'd picked up from Prince Nuada during the wars. When edgy or when he simply wanted to relax, the Bethmooran prince always honed the edge of his sword or his lance by a warm fire.

Thoughts of his friend Silverlance made Zhenjin grit his teeth. He and the rest of the Dilong envoy had been in Findias for more than a week. The crown prince knew his father was growing impatient, waiting for Nuada to return. Where was the prince? King Balor had offered no explanation on that particular subject, or on the subject of the mortal the Tuathan prince supposedly paid court to. Yin Mei, Zhenjin's aunt - the emperor's youngest sister and Ming Xian's caretaker and "chaperone" while the Dilong royals were in Bethmoora - had heard plenty of rumors, however.

They say the mortal is a witch who's cast a spell on the mighty Silverlance. They say she's a healer who saved his life. They say she is the favorite human pet of some powerful fae lord that has commanded the prince to wed her. They say that the Silver Lance endured a flogging for her sake, and she endured torture and nearly died for his. They say she challenged Balor One-Arm himself to protect the prince. They say, they say, they say....

Zhenjin cared very little for what "they" said. Gossip-mongers annoyed him even on a good day. His two most trusted brothers, Gaozu and Hou Junji, tended to dislike them as well.

"Those measly gossips should all get eaten by trolls," had been Hou Junji's exact words. "Maybe it'll sweeten that foul cave-dweller breath."

"I sincerely doubt those sour old hags would sweeten anyone's breath," Gaozu had muttered in reply.

Now both princes glowered at their oldest brother and waited for him to speak. To do something. But Crown Prince Zhenjin Azurefire of Dilong merely ran the whetstone along the shining edge of his sword again and tried to ignore the two pairs of eyes boring into his back. It would have been easier if those eyes had not been joined by two more sets of staring eyes.

Zhenjin twisted around to glare at his aunt, a Dilong Elf a little less than a third his age, and his little - his only - sister. Both princesses watched him with avid, slanted eyes the color of bright jade. Being stared at by a maiden in her fifteenth century and a toddler barely out of her third made the back of his neck itch.

When Yin Mei saw she had Zhenjin's attention, the second-rank princess asked, "You know that shinking sound is going to keep us all awake, don't you? And I need my beauty sleep."

"I doubt it will help much, Aunt," Gaozu said. Yin Mei shot him a narrow look and then deliberately turned away from him.

"If you can't sleep, then go find a bed in the stables," the prince replied irritably. Yin Mei was his father's youngest (and favorite) sister, but the princes of Dilong considered her to be more of their own sister than an aunt. "It's quiet there, and I am trying to think."

"Worrying about trouncing Nuada will not make it any easier to do so," Gaozu said from where he stretched out on his bed in their guest suite. "Thinking about it too much will only make it more likely he will leave you bleeding in the dust of the dueling field and increase the odds of you embarrassing us all."

Zhenjin snorted. "Your concern for my potentially-spilled blood is touching, little brother."

Gaozu shrugged and rolled onto his stomach. "As if Silverlance would actually kill you. You two have been friends far too long for that to be a concern. He'll more than likely merely break one of your limbs to keep you on the ground."

The prince quirked one slender, black brow. "Merely a broken arm or leg? How considerate of him."

"He may simply attempt to crack your royal skull open," Yin Mei replied airily. "Not that he'd succeed, with that hard head."

The second-eldest Dilong prince grinned. "Or he'll injure that pretty face of yours, Brother, and give you a fine scar to impress the Bethmooran ladies."

"No!" Ming Xian cried. Her two eldest brothers and her aunt started in surprise. Although she'd been staring at Zhenjin for a while now, she'd been so quiet they'd assumed she wasn't really paying attention to the discussion. She was only a child, after all. But now she scurried to Zhenjin and grabbed his shirt. "No! Don't get a thcar, Zhen! Don't get hurt!" Every word was punctuated with a light tug on the mazarine silk.

"Do not be afraid, Ming," Gaozu said, sitting up and plucking his sister from the floor to plant her in his lap. "Zhenjin is a fierce warrior. He'll not let Prince Nuada hurt him so easily. Besides, it will be funny to watch them flit around each other. Like a pair of butterflies," he added, tickling Ming Xian with a lock of his jet black hair.

Zhenjin wondered if his eye was twitching yet. Would things be any easier when the other royals from the fae kingdoms who were friends with Nuada had arrived? The Dilong prince wished fiercely for Prince Dastan of Shahbaz, Prince Thor of Álfar, and Crown Princess Kamaria of Nyame, especially. With the Jade Emperor breathing down Bethmoora's neck over this mortal-courtship issue, Nuada needed as many allies in one place as possible. At least Prince Bres was in Findias already.

But aloud all Zhenjin said was, "I do not flit. I merely do what I must to keep up with Nuada's acrobatics. I would like to see you defeat him in combat, Gaozu."

"That would be simple enough to do. Grab this mortal woman he loves so much and hold her as a hostage. He couldn't fight back then."

"Not very chivalrous, Nephew," Yin Mei said dryly. "And His Highness might object. Strenuously."

Gaozu shrugged. "I do believe my little toe is quivering with dread." Yin Mei laughed. Gaozu added, "And how would you beat him, Aunt?"

"With a very large stick," she said simply, smoothing down the cranberry silk of her ruqun. "While he slept. But on the dueling field? With an edged weapon? What do you think would happen if I challenged him? If any but Zhenjin challenged the legendary Silverlance?"

"Father would have us all measured for our coffins," Hou Junji, silent until now, interjected with a small smile. "And then Ming would have to fight him."

"How would you defeat him, Ming?" Zhenjin asked, finally cracking a smile.

Looking over at him very solemnly, the princess of Dilong scrunched up her face and thought for a very long time before finally saying, "I would athk him to pleathe hold thtill and then thmack him on the head with a thtick. Kerplooey!" When her brothers all laughed, she demanded, "What? I mean it! Thtop laughing! It'th not funny! That'th what Aunt Yeh-Thhen doth to me! It'th not funny!" Seeing that her brothers weren't going to stop anytime soon, she slid off the bed and stuck her nose in the air. "Boyth," she lisped haughtily, with all the natural superiority of her three-hundred years. "I'm going to thleep. Good night."

.

Nuada knew he was dreaming, but that did not relieve the pain.

Nightmares. How he loathed them. This one combined every dark fear that had ever lurked in his mind and twisted it together into tangled Morphean brambles full of vicious thorns. Fire and ruin, shattered lives and the wreck of the East Village. Everything smoldered, the last of the flame slowly smothered by thick black smoke.

The Elf prince moved slowly, a shadow amidst the hollow buildings and corpse-littered streets. In this dream he walked through the carnage of Midnight Fest, dazed. It had not been this bad in waking. This desolate. The aftermath of violence was a crimson haze smeared across the world. Every shard of stone, every chunk of pavement, every shred of canvas or splinter of wood vibrated with hatred and cruelty and pain.

In the looming shadow of a building, he found a woman with hair like a waterfall of jet. Her fair skin was dappled by golden blood and smudged with soot. Tears streaked through the grime. In her arms was the corpse of a young woman who might have been her sister. But when Nuada recognized Lorelei's body, he knew who this sobbing, wailing woman was. Sunna. Lorelei's mother.

"Sunna," he tried to call. Choked on ash. Throat aching, he went to her. "Sunna!"

When aurulent eyes, so like Lorelei's, slashed to the Elven warrior, he froze, stunned by the stark hatred in the rhinemaiden's gaze.

"You," she snarled. "You did this. You murdered my daughter!" Shards of grief splintered the ice of her hate and Sunna bowed her head, sobbing, "You killed my child! She was your friend and you...."

Scarcely breathing, Nuada reached out and touched her shoulder. "The Butcher Guards did this," he said softly. "I did not do it. I would never harm Lorelei-"

"Liar," Sunna hissed, baring her delicately pointed teeth. "Liar! Murderer! This is your fault! Your father may have given the order, his dogs might have wielded the blades that took my child's life, but her blood is on your hands! This never would have happened if not for you!"

He staggered back from her. The smoke pressed in on him, choking him, throttling back any response he could have hoped to make.

Liar. Murderer. Memories mingled with the poisonous fume on the air. His father watching him the day he'd forged the truce with the humans, listening to his son caution against trusting the mortals, counseling the king to be on guard, to 'ware the forked tongues of the children of Adam. And his father looking into his eyes and demanding why Nuada hungered still for the blood of innocents. When, Balor had demanded, had Nuada become a beast intent only on slaughter?

He squeezed his eyes shut against the memory, and opened them again to find himself alone. Only an ivory waterlily remained where Sunna had cradled her dead child, its petals shredded and spattered with drops of golden blood.

It is only a dream, he told himself. Curling his hands into fists to prevent them from shaking, he repeated, It is only a nightmare. It isn't real.

Delighted and sepulchral cackling dragged the Elven warrior's attention from the stained waterlily to further down the street. Sullen firelight gleamed dully, hints of emerald, violet, burgundy, and indigo against the dark feathers of feasting nocs in both bird- and boy-form. Piper-rats dined with them, their gaunt faces smeared with blood and their clawed hands gloved with the gore of their current meal. Something drew Nuada's feet towards the carrion-eating fae. An odd, vertigo-inducing dread that sent icy nausea clutching in the pit of his stomach.

Then he saw the Royal Seal. It lay in blood thick and cooling on the pavement, the metal smeared with clotted gray. Realization crystallized in Nuada's mind and he knew what the butchered thing being devoured by the nocs and piper-rats had once been. He hit his knees on the pavement. The impact jarred his bones. His eyes burned and he scarcely felt it when a single tear slipped down his cheek, gouging a pale slice through the soot and grime on his skin.

The nocs laughed and the rats chittered as they faded into the smoke, leaving Nuada alone with what was left of his vassal. Shaking, the prince bowed his head.

"Forgive me," he whispered. Dream, part of his mind raged. Only a gods' forsaken dream. But the rest of him could only whisper, Dead. I have failed him, and he is dead. Where was I when he needed me? Grief icing his blood, the Elf prince rasped, "Forgive me, my brother."

Pulled onward by the dreamscape, he recognized more of the dead - Roiben, fallen in defense of Lady Kaye and Ethine, the Unseelie king's twin sister; Yang and her tanuki servant, Morinji; Erik and his wife, and their son Jarl, barely out of his seventeenth century; Aso the Weaver; Laigdech and his family. Countless other fae Nuada did not know. Adults, children, infants.

Another blow to his heart, another piece of his sanity fragmenting under the dreamscape, was his mother. He found her on a stretch of fire-seared grass, just as beautiful and broken as when last he'd seen her in life. Nuada's mother, dead still at the hands of human wolves. Every black bruise, every wound, every splash of blood had been burned into his memory that cruel day long ago. In his nightmares he still remembered. He could never hope to escape the memories of that day. And there Cethlenn lay, emerald eyes glassy in death.

"Mathair!" He tried to run to her, calling for her though he knew she could not hear him. But the dream shifted, snatching her away, throwing him into yet another desolate horror.

Nuala. His beautiful sister, lying almost as if asleep atop slimed trash. Her long, star-blond hair spread out almost like a halo. In that moment she looked so much like an angel in her pale blue gown with her hands folded over her heart. Then he saw the slashing wound of dark, dark gold across her white throat. Felt the air explode from his body as if he'd been struck. Pain burned across his own throat in cruel imitation of his sister's wound. Stumbling, he ran to her. Dropped down beside her and lifted her into his arms. She weighed so little. Was so terribly still.

"Nuala," he whispered, hands trembling as he touched that familiar face. "Nuala. My sister." Something hot and wet rolled down his cheek to splash his sister's. The fey-sweet drops fell into her mouth. He imagined he could taste them on his tongue. "Little sister. Little love. Open your eyes. Nuala, do not leave me. Do not leave me alone. Nuala, please, I need you. I am sorry. I am so sorry, for everything, come back, please...."

He should have been dead. He should have been dead, now that there was no echo of Nuala's heartbeat drumming in time with his own. The Elven warrior knew that, just as he knew because he wasn't dead that this was not real. But that did not ease the grief gnawing at his belly. Did not thaw the cold freezing through his blood.

After a time, moved again by the cruel bonds of dreaming, his heart still screaming for Nuala, aching to be so alone in his own mind, in his own body, he staggered on. Past the corpses of selkies and trolls, dryads and nymphs, Elves and scitalis and kelpies and so many others dead. So much death. And Nuala... his sister, his twin, his other half... a part of his own dear soul... gone.

At the edge of the East Village he found what he'd been unknowingly searching for all this time.

Balor stood so his son could see the king's profile limned by the hellish light of the fires raging all around. The king stood tall, shoulders strong and head high. Though the half of Balor's face nearest the prince was in shadow, Nuada thought he caught the glint of a tear on his father's cheek. Blood, red as winter berries, bright against the whiteness of his father's skin, trickled over the king's hand, dripped onto the ground. Iron burned in Nuada's nose, on the back of his tongue.

"I am sorry, child," Balor said gently. As if he truly were sorry. But he was not speaking to his son. "This is the only way." And the One-Armed King of Elfland, Nuada's own father, viciously twisted the slender blade that he'd already plunged deep into Dylan's chest. Blood spilled like secrets from her lips. Balor wrenched the twin-dagger from her body, and Dylan fell.

"No!" In an instant Nuada was at her side, cradling her in his arms, holding her to his heart. "No, no, no," he pleaded, pressing his hand to the wound. Blood, so much blood, seeped between his fingers. Burned his skin. "Dylan, no. My love, no, please."

But the light in her eyes was already slowly dimming as the blood began to fill her lungs. She touched his face with trembling fingers. "Nuada...."

"Hold on. Please, mo duinne. Don't leave me. I cannot lose you as well." Not when Nuala and Wink... Dylan's feeble touch left a streak of scarlet along his cheekbone. He could feel it searing him, hot and salted and as poisonous as cold iron. "I beg you... I beg you, please... please... beloved, you cannot." Trembling, aching, he whispered, "Do not leave me. I love you."

Tears spilled from her eyes. She tried to speak, but blood was in her mouth, choking her. She gripped his hand, and the fear in her eyes was a knife in his back. Her bloodstained lips silently shaped his name. Pleading with him. But what could he do?

Nothing, not with a wound like this, and the knowledge of that was agony.

"I'm here," he whispered brokenly as she trembled in his arms. Drowning in blood. Tears were rising in his throat as he held her tighter and whispered, "I'm here, love. Do not be afraid. It will all be over soon. I'm here." He closed his eyes and pressed his cheek against her hair. Her grip on his hand tightened. Tightened. His hand ached but he did not - could never - pull away. "Soon, sweetheart. It will end soon. Do not be afraid, I am here."

He looked into those beautiful eyes of impossible blue. For the space of a heartbeat. For a bittersweet eternity. Then her grip relaxed. Her hand went limp. The shaking, the desperate struggle to breathe, stopped. The frantic flutter of her heart, which had slowly begun to weaken, stopped as well. Nuada nearly choked on the sob trapped in his throat.

"I love you," he whispered. The tears were coming now, hot and free, and he could not stop them. They fell, glittering like small stars, to mingle with the blood in her mouth. "I love you, Dylan. Please come back. I need you. I need you. Beloved, I beg you, please come back...." He strained to hear just the faintest flicker of a heartbeat. Feel the shallowest lift of her chest with breath. There was only empty silence. Only cold stillness. Nuada looked into those fey-like eyes, empty and staring, their light extinguished. He tenderly stroked her cheek. "Oh, sweetheart. Mo duinne. I'm so sorry. Gods, I'm so sorry, my love. Forgive me."

Hollow, feeling cracked and brittle as glass, he leaned down and pressed his mouth to hers one last time, wanting one last taste of her sweetness. There was only the metallic acid of iron and the sharp tang of salt. Her blood burned his lips. So much blood. It slipped like tears from Nuada's lips into his mouth, scorching his tongue. He gently shut her eyes, laying her down as if she were made of porcelain. His hands shook when he touched her cheek again.

"I love you, Dylan," Nuada whispered. Repressed sobs thickened his voice as he said, "I am so sorry. Forgive me. Forgive me, beloved."

"She is dead now," said a cold and cutting voice. "You may drop the pretense, Crown Prince."

Eyes the color of freshly-spilt mortal blood - the same color as the blood soaking Nuada's hands, his shirt, his hair - slashed to his father's ice-cold face. "You bastard," Nuada said softly, rising slowly to his feet. "You vicious, heartless bastard. Why? Why have you done this? How could you do this? I love her, why did you-"

"Oh, enough, you didn't love her," the king said matter-of-factly. "She was nothing but a tool. To me, and to you. Did you think you had me fooled? As if you could ever love a human. As if a monster like you could ever love anyone."

Stunned, almost reeling, Nuada protested, "I love her!"

"Liar," said the king, verbally slapping his son into silence. "Deceitful, snake-tongued liar. Do you think, after all this time, that I do not see you? Do you think I do not see the darkness in your heart? The evil inside you?" Disgusted, Balor spat, "I curse the day I whelped you. Your mother would be ashamed to see what has become of her own blood."

"Damn you," the prince snarled. In his mind he heard Cethlenn's screams, echoing through his head until he thought his skull would shatter. "Do not dare talk about my mother-"

"As for your human whore," Balor added, and sneered when his son flinched at the word, "if you truly mourn her, which I sincerely doubt, it is only because you had not tired of playing with her yet. You could never truly love her. You do not know love, a soulless beast like you. I know what you wanted the human for - to torment her. To see her suffer. You enjoyed hurting her. Do not tell me otherwise, Crown Prince, because I know you. I know what you are."

I know what you are. And worse, somehow, so much worse, You enjoyed hurting her. An echo of John's words. An echo of old fears. You do not know love. Dylan, he loved Dylan, and Nuala, and his father. Wink. Lorelei. And yet.... You do not know love.

His sword was suddenly in his hand, burning red as hellfire amidst the smoke and the ash raining down on them. In his mind he saw Dylan's blood, thin rivulets of crimson streaking down the blade of his father's knife. Saw once more the way Balor had twisted the blade. The shock of pain on his truelove's face. Mortal blood stung Nuada's mouth. The echo of a final kiss.

She'd died in his arms. Terrified, hurting, unable to do anything but clasp his hand and struggle to whisper his name, she had died in his arms. His father had murdered her before Nuada's own eyes. As if she were nothing, when she had been everything. As if she were nothing.

And he had been able to do nothing. Only hold her as she drowned in her own blood. Only whisper softly that the pain and the fear would soon end.

Nuada stared into his father's eyes, those familiar eyes now empty and cold and full of hatred. "Damn you, Father."

"You are the one who is damned, Crown Prince. The gods have turned their faces from you. Your kin have cast you out. Your vassal is dead for his treachery in serving a treasonous prince," Balor added. Nuada flinched and stepped back. "Your whore lies dead at your feet. You have betrayed your king, shamed your mother's memory, sacrificed your honor, murdered your sister with your willing blindness, and forsaken your kingdom and your people-"

"Enough!" Nuada roared, lunging forward. He tasted blood on his tongue. Nearly choked on the salt of it. Shadows gathering in fey-like blue eyes. A golden wound at Nuala's throat. His mother's corpse. Lorelei in her mother's arms. Wink.

Firelight flashed hot carnelian on the razor edge of Nuada's sword. Then the blade was buried in his father's chest, and aged amber eyes widened in shock. The strike drove the breath from his father's body. Firegold eyes went wide and Nuada reached for Balor as the king stumbled back and began to fall. The prince dropped his sword. It clattered to the ground as he caught his father.

"Forgive me," he whispered as his father's gaze began to darken. "Athair, I did not... I'm sorry. I did not want this. I never wanted this. I am sorry, please, forgive me."

Flesh turned to pale stone as the life faded from his father's body. As amber blood spilled through Nuada's already-blood-smeared fingers, his father rasped, "You are nothing but a monster." And then Nuada held nothing but a lifeless statue.

Athair. Dylan. Nuala. Wink. All of them, gone. Dead. Wink fallen, Nuala slain. His love, dead at the hands of his father. His father, dead at Nuada's own hand. Eamonn's words, Eamonn's curse, pulsed through the Elf prince's skull as he stared in horror at what he'd done. Your father will fall at your sword. Fall despising the son who shames him. As his blood stains your blade, he will look in your eyes and call you monster, and you will know it for the truth.

"No," he whispered. "No, I... Athair... forgive me...." Firegold eyes sought Dylan, who lay like a sleeping angel not far away. The peace of her was only disturbed by the crimson soaking her pale green pajama top, the blood smeared across her lips. Forgive me, my love.

Dead. All of them. His father, his sister, his brother-in-soul, his friends, his lady. All of them dead. The pain of it threatened to drown him like blood, threatened to wash him away. Grief as hot and jagged as an iron dirk twisted in his chest. He stared down in stunned horror at his hands, sticky with both amber and scarlet.

Then for the first time he looked beyond the clearing in the smoke as the wind came, bringing the stench of slaughter and battle. A breeze thinned the smoke and Nuada saw the dead. Fae and human, adult and child. The world was choked in blood. Ash fell like black snow around him, blanketing the corpses, turning them to charnel-house shadows. The Golden Army lay in heaps of half-melted slag across the battlefield like the blood of the earth. The City lay in ruins. Charred rubble and shattered glass and war and death cloaked the world in shadow....

.

John blinked awake and stared up at the stone ceiling of the healing chamber. The killer migraine had faded while he slept, leaving him with only a dull ache in his chest as his broken ribs slowly knit back together. So now he only had his sister's words revolving hazily through his mind to keep him from... from what?

Slipping slowly into madness out of sheer boredom, John mumbled silently to himself. Wide awake now, the human sighed. I don't want to lie here with nothing to do but think about that pasty-faced pain in the butt. Hasn't that guy ever heard of a tanning salon? Seriously. If she wanted someone pale, why didn't she go pick up a vampire? Wait. I'm supposed to think good thoughts about him. I'm supposed to give him a chance.

Even though he wants to shred me into little pieces and sprinkle me on his morning oatmeal. He doesn't like me, I don't like him... but we both have good reasons. Maybe they'll cancel each other out and we'll be buddies. John's mouth surprised him by spreading into a half-smile. That could be fun. We could have a tea party.

He should give the jerky Other Kin the benefit of the doubt - shouldn't he? He'd never heard his twin talk about a living person the way she talked about the prince. Like a kid talking about Santa Claus on Christmas morning. She didn't even talk about him that way, John reflected with a twinge of envy. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe he was so antagonistic toward the Elven warrior because Dylan liked Nuada more than she liked her brother.

Not that the federal agent thought for even a second that his twin loved the prince more than him. But the fact that they were equals in Dylan's eyes kind of rubbed her twin the wrong way a bit. Had the prince really helped Dylan that much? Was she really in love with Prince Prissy Pants? Or did she feel like she needed him in order to keep functioning after everything that had happened to her? Or was it a little bit of both?

A short knock snagged John's attention. Sliding his eyes toward the entryway, he jolted. In the dim light, for just a second, he thought he saw the corpse-faced ghoul - I mean, the human amended silently, the Elf prince, not the prancing little dickless wonder... I'm supposed to be nice. I must be nice. I will be nice - himself. Then John blinked and realized it was the king of the Seelie and Unseelie faerie courts of New York and New Jersey. Okay, big improvement.

"Oh!" The federal agent struggled to get halfway upright, but Roiben motioned him back down. "Your Majesty."

"I merely wished to see how my mortal guest fared," the fae king replied with a shrug. Then he pinned John with eyes like cold steel and added, "And to look over a bit more closely the kinsman of the lady my friend has bound himself to."

"So... wait... you're here to-"

Roiben smiled. John wasn't sure if the expression was friendly or mocking. "To remind you that your sister is an intelligent woman. She has to be, in order to have survived this long with one foot in the mortal realm and one foot in the realm of Faerie. So I don't think I need to say that your concern for her in regards to Prince Nuada is wholly misplaced."

Except you just said it, John grumbled silently. And here's another person telling me to let my sister date the fairy prince. Why? What is so great about this guy? Is he the fae-version of Don Juan or what? He stared into Roiben's eyes, frowning, trying to understand. Why are so many of Dylan's friends happy that she's with him? What am I missing, here?

"He loves her, you know," the gray-eyed fae said. "Prince Nuada loves your sister."

"That's what she said," he muttered. "Hard to imagine he could feel like that. The only times I've seen them together, he's done nothing but snarl at her or make her cry. What kind of guy does that to someone he supposedly loves? That gutless, spineless, cowardly-"

"A bit redundant, don't you think, John Myers?" Roiben interrupted, leaning against the wall. "Those three words all mean the same thing, you know. I would expect a bit more creativity from Dylan's twin. She once called me 'an overbearing, anaclitic, two-timing, Peter Pan-impersonating zombie-faced yutz.' For something that happened between my lady and I a few years ago," he explained when John shot him a questioning look. "Your sister did not say these things to me directly, but Kaye relayed them to me after the fact. Do you know what your sister says about Prince Nuada?"

"That he's the greatest thing since the invention of pixie-stick, peanut-butter and cheese puff sandwiches?" John hazarded a glance at Roiben and smiled at the revolted look on his face. "Okay, that's obviously not it. I have no idea, then."

"She says he's a lot like you," the king replied, then laughed at John's horrified expression. "I imagine if she ever said the same thing to Silverlance, his expression would be identical to yours. You're very much alike, the two of you. Strong, stubborn. You both love her very much. The two of you would do better as allies."

John tried to think of something to say. Anything. The only thing that came out sounded a lot like someone electrocuting a wet, rabid skunk.

Roiben shrugged. "Merely something to keep in mind, John Myers. Good night."

"Erm, good night, Your Majesty," John said, watching the Elf king walk out of the room. He had a lot to think about.

.

Nuada bolted awake, the breath clutching in his chest. Icy rivulets of sweat dripped into his face and down his spine like blood. So much blood, he thought, shaking in reaction to the memory. There was so much blood. Athair... Dylan... Nuala. Horror and grief knotted in his belly. Clotted in his throat, choking him. Everyone... everyone was dead. Oh, gods, Mathair... Wink....

Nuala. He thought her name, conjured her face in his mind, and before he could stop himself, reached out to her. Nuala? Sister? Please, are you there? Sister!

Sleepy acknowledgment. Faint irritation. But she was too tired to wish to push him from her mind just yet. Mmm? Brother? The haze of sleep still clung to her thoughts when she demanded in slumberous mock-horror, What do you want? I am trying to sleep, you uncultured barbarian.

Are you all right? He demanded, trying to read her emotions through their bond. She seemed all right, but... Are you well?

Silence. Stillness. So like the silent stillness after Dylan had taken her last breath. A hot pulse of grief ripped through him and he sucked in a breath sharply. She was fine, Dylan was perfectly fine, it had only been a dream. But he couldn't drive the sight of her from his mind. Could not banish the image of the blood spilling from her lips.

And his twin... the gaping wound at her throat, as mocking as a smile and as cruel as fate. They were all dead, weren't they? No, no, only a dream. Or perhaps... a premonition? No, a dream. A dream! But his sister, his beautiful twin, his heart.... Nuala!

Brother? Concern now, and a twinge of fear, and the soothing balm of her love, a wordless wash of comfort beneath the words she sent into his mind. What on earth is the matter? I can feel your grief, what has happened?

Are you safe? Nuada snapped back. Desperation burned as hot as anger as he commanded, Tell me you are safe!

Of course I am safe, Nuala replied. Confusion trembled through their bond. What is the matter?

On the edge of control, relief mingling with heartache into a heady poison that nearly sent him reeling, the feral-eyed warrior closed off his mind to his twin, shutting out the comfort of her, the rare warmth she had allowed him to feel. He could not let Nuala know or even catch a glimpse of what he suspected of their father, what he feared. Would not hurt her by allowing her a glimpse of that brutal dream.

But the absence of his twin, the other half of his heart, left him cold. And the nightmare surged up again in his mind, this time bringing with it memories of other dark dreams, Cethlenn's screams and his sister's tears, his father's hatred and Dylan's blood on his hands, so slick and scarlet.

Blood on his hands, blood smearing across his skin, blood soaking his shirt. Blood on his lips, in his mouth. Tears cutting his eyes and she... and Dylan... drowning, something dark as red wine glistening in her mouth, her fingers twisting in his shirt and those eyes pleading with him to save her, to make it stop, to just make the pain stop. Behind all of that, betrayal. Betrayal, because his father had plunged the knife into her chest and brutally twisted the blade. Had murdered her and Nuada had not been there to protect her, hadn't been there to keep her safe. And she'd been crying. The salt of her tears was enough to unmake him.

He must have made some sound, because the door between this room and the room where the children slept creaked open a small space and Dylan peeked into the room. The moonlight filtering through the glamored windows bathed her face in luminous pearl. "Nuada? You awake? I thought I heard you call... out...."

Her voice died away when she saw his face in the moonlight. He didn't know what she saw. Did not care. Only cared that she came to him, climbing onto the huge bed to sit beside him and slide her arms around him. Remembering the way she'd trembled in his dream, the way the blood had bubbled between her lips, he clutched her to him and buried his face in the warm hollow where her neck met her shoulder. Warm, she was warm, not cold with death, she was warm and soft and alive.

"What is it?" She whispered. Her voice caressed him, reassured him a little. Yet Nuada could do nothing but slide his own arms about her, tangling his fingers in the cool fabric of her top, clutching the silk in his fists until his hands ached. If he listened, he could hear the steady drum of her heart. Dylan murmured against his ear, "What's wrong, Nuada? What happened?"

"I... I had a nightmare," he rasped, feeling pathetic and sick, almost dizzy. "I... you...."

You died, you died, you left me, you promised you would only go when I did, you promised and my father killed you before my very eyes, there was nothing I could do, and my sister, oh gods, Nuala, my sister, she was... and Wink, he....

The Elven warrior choked on the words. Choked on the near-hysterical despair that had tightened around his neck like a noose and still lingered like shadow poison in his veins, like ice in his guts. For a long time he could only hold onto Dylan, breathe in the scent of her, honeysuckle and soap that carried the fragrance of snowdrops, the natural perfume of her skin and the faint scent of mortality. That final scent reminded him of so much. Too much. Reminded him that he was Elf-kind and she... she was human, mortal, as inconstant as the moon and as temporary as a candle flame. One day he would lose her, just as he'd lost her in the nightmare.

"Hold me," Nuada pleaded against Dylan's throat. Shame clawed at him, shame at such pitiful weakness - he was a warrior, a soldier, a prince - but it was as nothing compared to the ache in his chest when he remembered the light fading from rainswept eyes, when he caught the phantom taste of Dylan's blood in his mouth. "Hold me. Let me hold you. I need to know you are here with me. That you're safe."

She stroked his hair and crooned, "I'm here. I'm here, love." Oh, those words. The same words he'd murmured against her hair as she died. He would never forget the panic in her eyes as she fought to breathe while the blood filled her lungs. Never, never, he would never escape the memory. "It's all right. I'm right here. It's over. It was just a bad dream. It's over now."

"You died in my arms," he gasped out, and tears burned his eyes, he couldn't keep them from splashing her skin and soaking the shoulder of her pajama top. "They were all dead, all of them, and then I found you and he murdered you before my eyes. I could do nothing," he rasped. Her arms around him tightened. "You died in my arms and I could do nothing and I killed him, Dylan, I slew my father because he killed you." Nuada finally looked up and met her stunned gaze. He touched her face, so gently, and was surprised that there was no blood on his hand, on her cheek. He could still taste it, noxious copper. "You died in my arms. Your blood was on my hands."

Dylan stared at him for a long moment. Once, and only once, she had seen Nuada shed a single tear in the waking world. They had never spoken of it, because she knew it would have embarrassed him if she'd mentioned it. And once before that, she had seen him weep in slumber over a nightmare of blood and hell. But he was awake now, and the tears were sliding down his cheeks, falling onto the blankets like tiny diamonds.

"They were all dead, Dylan," Nuada whispered. "Wink and Lorelei, Yang and Erik and Aso and so many. So many dead. Wink... I failed him. I failed.... My mother was there. And then I found my... my sister. My sister." And his voice broke then, and he buried his face again in the crook of her neck and held her as he shook with the effort to swallow his sobs. And she held him tightly, shaken by the depths of his grief for his sister, his mother, and his friends. He mumbled against her neck over and over, "My sister. Nuala, my sister. She left me alone. You both left me alone."

She didn't know how long they sat that way. It didn't matter. He needed her now, in a way he never had before. So she would stay. She ran her fingers through his hair, stroked along the back of his neck. Let the pads of her fingers smooth down his spine. Just gentle, soothing touches to let him know she was there with him. Dylan knew what it was to be alone, lost in the darkness of your own mind, your own loneliness, without the touch of your other half. She wouldn't let him feel that way if she could help it.

Nuada focused on reigning in his emotions. Focused on the warmth of Dylan's body so close to him, the hum of her blood beneath her skin and the steady throb of her pulse against his cheek, which lay pressed to her neck. Honeysuckle and snowdrop were a sweet mist along her oh so soft skin. Her touch was gentle, slow. Tender. The feel of Dylan cradling him against her eased the biting pain inside him enough that the feral-eyed warrior could force back the tears.

Eventually his grip on her shirt relaxed. He flexed his fingers. Pressed his palms to the silk-shrouded expanse of Dylan's back. Felt her heart beating against her spine.

When Nuada finally found the strength to lift his head, Dylan's fingertips caught the tears on his cheeks and brushed them away. "It was just a bad dream. We warned Erik and the others. We don't know Wink and Lorelei aren't safe. Nuala's fine. And I'm not going to leave you," she whispered. "I'm here. I go when you go, remember?"

And she kissed him, her lips barely ghosting over his. A flicker of warmth in the cold dark. A promise of life. Her fingertips glided along the royal scar, along his jaw, over the warm flesh of his neck and one shoulder. His hands slid up her back to cup her narrow shoulders as she shifted to twine her arms about his neck.

"I'm right here," Dylan said against his mouth. "Always." She kissed him again. Only the lightest pressure, the sweetest touch as her breath warmed his skin and the blood began to pound through his body. Only a sweet, sweet torture as she breathed, "I'm here. I love you. I'll always be here."

That promise sang through him like starlight in his blood. Shored him up against the darkness, gave him strength. Eased some of the knifing sorrow that still pierced his chest. Then he was kissing her, and it was altogether different.

His mouth on hers was hot and hungry, different from any other time before. Not demanding, no. Not frightening. But there was a desperation in him that was so new, a need that would have scared her if she'd been kissing anyone else. She wondered suddenly if it were even possible for the Elf prince to frighten her. Then she lost the ability to wonder about anything under the warm press of his mouth, the velvet-slide of his lips on hers.

He pulled her tight against him, as if he thought she would disappear at any moment. His fingers buried themselves in the silken tangle of her hair. He was so careful not to hurt her, though. She knew he would never ever hurt her.

I need you, he thought. I need you, my love. Nuada let his mouth linger over hers. Let himself savor the taste of her. It pushed down the dark seething mass of emotion churning in his belly. Allowed him to focus for a moment on nothing but the woman in his arms. No violence, no betrayals, no death, no loss. No nightmares clinging to his thoughts like black tar. Only Dylan. Warm, welcoming. Alive. Vibrant with life, warm with the blood in her body, warm with the beating of her heart within her breast. Warmer still with the heat of his own body against hers. I need you so much.

Nuada had never kissed her this way before - as if he were drowning and she were his only chance for air. As if he could never get enough. It was all Dylan could do to remember how to draw breath. How did he do this to her? It was as if she were flying and free-falling all at once. Only Nuada's hands cradling her kept her from plummeting to earth. Only the rise and fall of his chest against her body with every shuddering breath and the way he still trembled from the nightmare kept her from floating away.

Nuada murmured her name, murmured sweet things in Gaelic, his voice husky with something too fierce to be simple love and too tender to be simple lust. His name fell from her lips like a plea and was swallowed by his kiss.

He loved the way she whispered his name, the feel of her mouth shaping it even as he kissed away the sound. How she pressed close to him. My love, drown everything out, please. Drown out my grief. Help me forget the pain of this night.

He wanted to taste her truly. Wanted to let go of all the dark memories gnawing beneath his skin and simply lose himself in her, in the sweeping fire she sent burning through his veins. She was so soft, so warm, so impossibly sweet, and he hungered....

Yet he'd promised. Never mind that her lovely mouth was a siren call, her embrace a sweetly-baited trap. Nuada knew Dylan would taste so good if he coaxed those rosepetal lips apart and deepened the kiss. Just one kiss like that would sear away the sorrow. The taste would be heady as wine. Couldn't he ask her for just one kiss?

But I would never be satisfied with only one, he reminded himself. I would need another and another, until we were drowning in each other.

It was dangerous to let himself even entertain the idea of losing control right then when he held onto it by the skin of his teeth and they sat on this silk-draped bed. If he asked her, she would most likely let him coax her down onto those cool, smooth sheets in an effort to soothe his heartache. He had to keep things chaste. Had to remember not to take things too far, even though the sudden need for her fired his blood.

But he needed to hold her, to feel her near him so that he could know for true without any doubt whatsoever that she was safe and whole and alive and then the last echoes of nightmare would finally leave him. He would no longer see her lying so still, sightless eyes staring. The nightmare would be a shadow and she... she would be a dream of moonlight and sweet flame and quiet love.

Nuada curled his hand around the back of Dylan's neck. He ached to memorize the shape of her mouth, memorize the paths of her scars with the tips of his fingers. Dylan's lashes brushed his cheek as his mouth caressed hers. Nuada followed a slender scar from the very corner of her mouth down over the delicate line of her jaw and along the side of her neck. The pad of his finger found her pulse, relished letting it beat against him for a moment. More proof that it had only been a nightmare.

Then he moved on to the shallow dip where neck met shoulder to the neckline of her pajama top. He began to trace along the silken edge of the shirt, ghosting over shoulder and collarbone absently as he kissed her. Lines of golden fire licked across her skin, radiating from the feather-light brush of his fingers, threading through her chest and down the length of her spine, sweeping over her skin. She gasped. Sighed Nuada's name on a slow exhale of delirious amazement.

Her ragged breath jolted him from the haze of dread and desire and desperation. Nuada's eyes flew open and he saw Dylan's face. He wrenched away from her, hands on her shoulders, breathing hard. Shades, how was he supposed to remember his honor when she looked at him that way? When that satin-soft skin warmed to his touch and her breath caught in her throat and she responded so eagerly to this new and unyielding need for her? When she looked at him as if he were not merely the center of her world, but the whole of it?

There was no fear of him, of what he could tempt her with. Of what, if his father was right and he was a heartless coward, he could force from her so easily. No fear in her at all. Only love and trust mingling with the last vestiges of sleepiness and slumberous desire. His own desire roused at the sight until he could scarcely breathe for wanting her. Her touch helped him to forget, brought him peace. Could he not have a little peace?

"Nuada?"

His name brought his eyes back to her face. Faint lines wrinkled her brow. He wanted to reach out and smooth them away. Smooth away her worry. But his hands would shake if he let Dylan go and he did not want her to see the remnants of his weakness.

"Did I upset you?" She asked hesitantly.

"No. I simply...." Love you, want you, need you, can never.... "I simply need a moment."

"What can I do?" She asked, framing his face with her hands and lightly tracing the royal scar etched across his cheekbones with her thumbs. Nuada could not have torn his gaze from her if he'd tried. "Tell me what you need and it's yours."

"Anything?" He breathed, gazing into her eyes. "I have only to ask and you will give it?"

He studied her face, saw the moment she understood. Saw the instant when her eyes reflected her answer. He almost flinched.

He should not have asked, but he simply wanted to lie with her in the dark and hold her to him, cradle her to his chest while she went limp and warm with sleepiness and finally drifted off in his embrace. He had done it once. Craved the innocent intimacy still. Wanted her to hold him, allow him to lay his head against her breast and find some semblance of peace in the sound of her heartbeat.

But he knew, with that need still smoldering in his belly, even that innocuous act would not stay innocent very long. Nuada let out a shuddering breath and rested his forehead against hers. "Forgive me. I would never betray your trust that way. Surely you know that?"

Her voice was soft as a sigh when she replied, "I know."

She got to her feet. Nuada closed his eyes. She was angry with him now. Why had he asked her that question? Why had he let himself kiss her so desperately? He'd known he could easily seduce her, which was why he'd promised to follow her rules.

I should not have kissed her that way. Should not have asked her... but I only wanted.... And by the Fates, he could still taste her, strawberries and honey. Why had he been such a fool?

Dylan's fingers curled around his hand. His eyes shot open and he stared at her, not daring to breathe. Her smile was gentle when she murmured, "Come with me."

"Where... why...?"

She canted her head. "I think the bed might not be the best idea right now." Childlike, she tugged his hand a bit. "Too much of a temptation, I think. I know the feeling, though - it's okay. It's natural. I'm not upset. And I want to comfort you, so come on." A few more moments of tugging got him to his feet, though he felt as if he wandered through a dream. "Come sit at the window with me."

Because the sithen, by its very nature, was underground, all the windows were ensorceled to reflect what was actually outside - minus the human cities and their light and noise pollution. So Nuada knew that the black velvet night sky was what he would have seen had he been outside. That helped to relax him - the clear night, the stars glittering like bits of ice lit up from within by ivory and azure fire, the full moon giving the snow a brilliance rarely seen in the dark hours before dawn.

Time flowed differently in the sithen as well, and the nights were longer in the Unseelie court. He had time to enjoy the sight of the winter stars and the Harvest Moon. Time to sit with Dylan between his legs, her back to his chest, her hands resting lightly on his thighs and her head leaning back against his shoulder. His hands lay atop hers, warding off the chill of the faerie mound's cold stone walls. The warm weight of her helped to keep him locked in the present. The tune she hummed, slightly out of key, kept him firmly anchored to the waking world.

"What was that tune?" He asked softly after a long while in silence. "It's beautiful."

"Thank you," Dylan said. Every breath Nuada drew pressed his chest more firmly against her back, allowing her to feel his heart beating. "It's called 'Safe and Sound.' I like it a lot but," she added a bit dryly, "as you know, I can't carry a tune in a bucket with the lid nailed down if I don't have music, so I'm probably flat. It sounds a lot better on the radio."

Soft lips pressed to her ear. His breath was pleasantly warm against her skin when he whispered, "Sing it for me."

Her voice wobbled on the tune, but as always she sang with love. That eased him as well. The fact that she sang it for him, merely because he had asked her to, was like a breath of summer against the ice that had crystallized inside him, thawing the chill. He nuzzled her temple very lightly with his mouth while she sang.

"I remember tears streamin' down your face
When I said, 'I'll never let you go';
When all those shadows almost killed your light.

"But I remember you said,
'Don't leave me here alone.'
But all that's dead and gone and past...
Tonight."

Dylan took his hands in hers and wrapped his arms around her middle, cuddling against his chest. Her fingers curled around his hands, her own slender hands dwarfed almost comically by the size of his. Her thumbs traced circles across the backs of his hands. Feathered across the scarred, callused knuckles. That constant touch was almost hypnotic, lulling him slowly but surely. How he needed the simple contact. It quenched the desire in his belly and snuffed out the last vestiges of dread and grief. How did she do that? How did she ease him with something so simple?

Love versus lust, Nuada realized. A heart's need versus the wanting of the flesh. She nearly always knows just what I need, better than I know myself. He pressed his face against the soft wealth of her hair and closed his eyes. Maybe he could fall asleep here in the windowseat, Dylan in his arms. That would not be such a hard thing. Dare he hope for it?

"Just close your eyes.
The sun is goin' down.
You'll be all right.
No one can hurt you now.
Come morning light,
You and I'll be safe and sound...."

"I had a dream, too," she said softly into the silence after the song. Her fingertips traced intricate patterns over the skin on the back of his hands. "That's why I was awake, why I heard you."

He hesitated for a moment, unsure if he wanted an answer, but finally he asked, "A nightmare?"

"Not exactly," Dylan murmured. She was silent for a long time, her eyes fixed on the full, golden brilliance of the Harvest Moon. Then she said, "It... hurt, I guess is the word I'm looking for, but it was good dream. While it lasted. But then I woke up." She laughed a little. Her tone held an edge of self-mockery sharp enough to make the air bleed. "I don't even know why I'm telling you this. Never mind. You have more important things to worry about than my happy dreams."

"No," he said. "Tell me about it. I do not mind."

But Dylan shook her head. "Maybe later. It's... it's a little too... too soon. I don't even know why I brought it up. Maybe tomorrow, okay?"

"Tomorrow, then." He kissed her temple in an attempt to dull the edge in her voice. Felt her relax more fully against him. "As you wish. And I thank you, dear one, for coming to me."

"Always," she promised softly. She let her head fall back against his shoulder and turned her face toward him. "I will always be here if you need me."

When dark lips finally curved into a weary smile, Dylan smiled back and turned her face back to the moon. The pale light gilded the smooth expanse of her throat and the soft curve of her cheek. Nuada skimmed his knuckles along the scar that was his favorite to touch.

"Mo calman gheal," he whispered, nuzzling her hair. "My white dove. Thank you."

"White dove? That's pretty. Makes me think of a song," she said. "One that reminds me a little of you and your father. Wanna hear it? I'll probably mangle it, but maybe it will help you fall back asleep." Receiving his acquiescence, she cleared her throat, closed her eyes, and began to sing again.

"A crow flew to me; kept its distance.
Such a proud creation.
I saw its soul, envied its pride,
But needed nothing it had.

"An owl came to me, old and wise.
Pierced right through my youth.
I learned its ways, envied its sense,
But needed nothing it had."

Nuada could see it now, what Dylan had meant by "it reminds me of you and your father." And somehow, though he could tell she struggled to remain in tune, the soft melody did begin to lull him. Did soothe the very last of the grief. Not only that, but it eased some of the hurt that was always with him when his mind strayed to his father and what the king thought of his only son. Then the next words slid over Nuada like gossamer, striking a chord within him, and he thought of Dylan.

"A dove came to me; had no fear.
It rested on my arm.
I touched its calm, envied its love,
And needed ev'rything it had."

"A swan of white, she came to me.
The lake mirrored her beauty sweet.
I kissed her neck, adored her grace,
And needed ev'rything she could give...."

A dove, he thought vaguely, his mind drifting away as sleep stole over him again, and a swan. Adored her grace. Dylan settled so that she could lean a little on his arm, and Nuada thought, A dove came to me. My bright dove. It rested on my arm. It... rested...

And he fell asleep in the windowseat, his cheek pillowed against Dylan's hair, as she continued to sing softly.

"A hawk came to me, trembling afraid.
It broke the pieces of my heart.
I knew its strength, loved its soul,
And embraced ev'rything it was.

"Oh, how beatiful it used to be,
Just you and me far beyond the sea,
The waters, scarce in motion,
Quivering still...."