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A Short Tale of Cowardice, Broken Sanctuary, Exhaustion, Retrieval, Canine Comfort, a Sick Child, Cruel Words, a Nightmare, and Tender Whispers
.
.
It might have been cowardly of her, but Dylan set her phone to vibrate so it would wake her early without rousing Nuada. As it happened, she didn't need it - she snapped awake in a frigid sweat from fragments of nightmare and bittersweet dream that brought tears to her eyes. She bit her lip until the stinging taste of copper flooded her mouth and did not let the tears fall. She didn't want to wake Nuada. Didn't want to see him, or be forced to talk to him. Not right now.
Once up, she quickly showered, dressed, took her daily meds, and silently said her prayers. She packed her phone and everything else that usually managed to scramble away back into her purse. Glanced at the door connecting her room to the prince's bedchamber.
It was five in the morning. He wouldn't be awake. And if she woke him, he would just snarl at her again.
Because of you... because of you. Her eyes stung. The world went blurry. She blinked rapidly to clear her vision. He hadn't meant it. It didn't matter. They could talk about it when he was in a better mood. When she didn't feel like the slightest pressure would shatter her composure completely. They could talk later.
She thought about leaving him a note. Decided against it. She'd told him she had work, that she didn't know when she'd be back. He would know where she was.
Swallowing against the thickness in her throat, Dylan turned the ring on her finger and whispered, "So that we might always find each other."
.
The sanctuary was just as she remembered it - the little well near the corner, the Spartan furnishings, the hearth and the two doors leading to privy and bathing room. Without understanding quite why, Dylan reached out and brushed her fingertips against the embroidered gold satin of the quilt on the bed.
She'd slept on this bed, warmed by that quilt and comforted by Nuada's presence even before they'd begun to truly trust each other. She had listened to his breathing in the dark and known he would protect her so long as she remained within the walls of the enchanted haven.
What was happening to them? Why were they suddenly at odds?
Dylan sighed. She didn't have time to reminisce about the past, or to wonder about the present. It would take a while to navigate through the subway tunnels to get to where John would be waiting for her. She was going to take the subway to work today. She would see if she could handle it. See if enough time had passed that she could walk concrete labyrinths without being forced to remember wolves howling in the darkness and the burning cold pain of a blade against her skin....
Tightening her grip on her purse straps until her knuckles ached, Dylan started to walk to the sanctuary entrance. Nuada had given her the words to quell the earth guardian protecting the haven so it wouldn't attack her. Everything would be fine. It would be just fine. And when she got back to Findias, they could... they could....
Fight some more, she thought with surprising bitterness. Because apparently it's my fault that Zhenjin challenged him. That jerk. I really ought to-
"You were going to leave without saying goodbye?" A familiar - and, in that moment, entirely unwelcome - voice demanded. Dylan jumped and barely managed to bite back a shriek. She whirled to see Nuada leaning against the far wall, arms folded across his bare chest, watching her with unfathomable eyes. She noticed the Elf prince still wore the cropped trousers he sometimes slept in. "Like a coward in the night, you would have slunk away without so much as a word?"
She narrowed her eyes at him. Her knees felt weak as water. "So I'm a coward now, am I? Thanks so much. I really needed that on top of everything else. And for your information, I don't slink."
"What do you expect me to say when you sneak off-"
"I wasn't sneaking off! I have to go to work, in case you've forgotten, Your Highness. I did mention this last night. And just an FYI, my life doesn't always revolve around you. I have a job. Friends. A family."
He scoffed. His expression was almost - but not quite - a sneer. "Of course. How could I forget your precious family? The sisters that abuse you, the pathetic brother that fails to protect you as you deserve-"
"Do not talk about my brother like that. You, you're such a... you don't know anything about John! You want to talk about family that treats you like dirt, what about your sister? Nuala's a complete witch but you stick by her anyway. In your eyes she can do no wrong even though she makes you absolutely miserable-"
"You know nothing of what you speak." His words, chiseled from ice, stopped her cold. "What would someone like you know of loyalty? Of the kind of love that spans centuries, millennia? No human could possibly fathom the kind of bond that exists between my sister and I-"
"Someone like me? What the heck does that mean? What's so different between Nuala and me, then?"
"My sister is an Elven princess, with centuries of wisdom and experience, a gentle heart, compassion, mercy. Whereas you are nothing but a-" He cut himself off abruptly, but Dylan knew the gist of what he'd been about to say and was not about to let it go.
Readjusting her purse straps on her shoulder, she said, "Whereas I'm nothing but a disgusting human whore. No heart, no soul. Just an empty shell with no real value. Isn't that right, Your Highness?" There was something awful in those rainswept blue eyes when she added, "Forgive me for forgetting my place. I'll try to keep in mind that I'm nothing to you except an inconvenience and a tool to keep your father happy. Now if you'll excuse me, I have someplace to be."
She turned away and touched the smooth stone of the haven entryway. Muttering the words under her breath, she passed through the ensorceled barrier between Faerie and mortality and stepped into the tunnels of the New York subway system.
Nuada stared after her, the blood pounding in his temples, heart thundering. The breath stuttered in his lungs. Hating himself, hating the look he'd seen in her eyes, hating that Dylan had succeeded in making him feel like a monster, he slammed his fist into the stone wall hard enough to leave his knuckles bleeding. Then he laid his forehead against the cool stone and wondered what was happening to the two of them.
.
John had tried to question her when they met up, but she'd brushed off his concerns and his inquiries about her pallor, the shadows under her eyes, and the tear-tracks she couldn't hide on her face. He'd stayed with her on the subway trains and even walked with her to the office building. Ariel, her secretary, had exchanged worried glances with the two security guards on duty upon her arrival. Dylan realized she looked a lot worse than she'd previously realized. Well, there was nothing she could do about it now.
She gave John a kiss on the cheek and sent him off to his own job, then got down to dealing with her patients. Miguel was her first, just a quick session before he had to run off to school. The third-grader always cheered her up with his gap-toothed grin and his crazy ideas for how to spend vacation days (examples included sledding down the slides at McDonald's on plastic trays and spending a summer night in a tree in Central Park to try and catch a wood sprite). She made sure to catch up on how Lisa was doing at Saint Vincent's during a few free moments, as well.
Peabody called from Cop Central to inform her of what she already knew - that Westenra had been found dead in his office, killed by a single stab wound to the lung with a small blade. However, the police lieutenant informed the psychiatrist, Dylan wasn't being looked at as a suspect for so many reasons that she wasn't even mildly concerned.
Several adolescents and teenagers later, her final appointment ended at eight. She bid the security guards goodnight and stepped out into the winter night. The cold seeped into her bones despite the leather coat she wore, a loan from John because she'd forgotten her own coat back in Findias. Her hands ached from the bitter chill. Her breath steamed as she hunched inside the coat and trudged to the nearest convenience store. Once inside, she hopped into the bathroom for some privacy, twisted the ring on her finger, and whispered the words that would take her back to the sanctuary.
The way she understood the magic of the ring Nuada had made for her, was that the spell was tethered to a stationary object somewhere inside the sanctuary. Sort of like a cellphone. The magic had to link up to the object before bouncing her to wherever Nuada happened to be, like the waves bouncing from a cellular phone to a cell-tower and then to another phone. Unlike with a phone, however, she had the option of just staying at the prince's underground sanctuary if she chose.
Dylan half-expected the prince to be waiting for her, as he had been this morning, but the haven was empty. Exhaustion dragged at her. For some reason, she felt oddly lightheaded. Almost nauseous. She really hoped she wasn't getting sick. That would have been inconvenient. Not to mention dangerous.
She dropped her purse to the floor and sank onto the bed. She was just going to rest for a minute before going back to Findias. She needed to just take a few minutes and get her breath back. Wait for the dizziness to pass. Then she'd go back. Then she could talk to Nuada. Make him apologize for being a jerk, and apologize to him for throwing those words in his face. She didn't believe he thought of her as nothing. She'd only said that because she was angry and tired and for just a second she wanted him to feel as hurt as she did. And.... Disgusting human whore. She should never have said that to him. Never.
I have to apologize for that, Dylan thought, dropping her face into her hands. Even if he doesn't apologize to me. Even if we keep fighting like this. It doesn't matter what's going on, I owe him an apology for saying that to him.
And she would apologize... when she got up. And she'd get up in a minute. Just a minute....
.
"Where is she?" Nuada demanded, pacing the length of the private study in the prince's suite. "Where is she?" There was no one to hear his snarled demands, nor anyone to answer them. It didn't matter. He had to do something, say something, even if there was no one to hear him. Worry mingled with dread and gnawed at his belly. It was nearly midnight. Why wasn't she back yet? She had never worked this late before. Why hadn't she come back?
Unless she did not mean to come back. The very thought left him cold to the marrow. Would she do that? Would she leave him without so much as a goodbye, with nothing but vicious words between them? If so....
What would he do without her?
Or was she in danger? Had something happened to her?
Enough, the Elven warrior decided, coming to an abrupt halt. Wherever she is, I can find her. And drag her back here if I must. He reached into his shirt and pulled out his ring on its new chain. Slipping it onto his finger, he twisted it and snapped out the words that would take him to his wayward and infuriating mortal lady.
The feral-eyed Elven warrior hadn't expected to find her in the sanctuary, curled up on his bed with her tear-streaked face pressed into the pillow, fast asleep. Even asleep, she looked miserable. A glint of crimson on her finger drew his eyes to the ring he had made her - she still wore it. Had she been meaning to come back and fallen asleep instead? She looked exhausted, the skin beneath her eyes bruised dark. Her breathing hitched every so often with the ghost of a sob. Nuada's heart squeezed painfully in his chest.
He knelt beside the bed and gently brushed back the dark tangle of Dylan's hair from her face. She did not wake. Did not so much as stir. If not for the fact that her chest rose and fell with her breath, he might have been concerned. She didn't wake even when he lifted her with infinite care into his arms. Only curled her fingers in the collar of his tunic and shifted to press her face against Nuada's chest. Murmured his name.
The Elf prince laid his cheek against her hair. Breathed in the scent of roses and sorrow. Why hadn't she come back to Findias? Because she'd fallen asleep, or because she hadn't wanted to return? After what he had said to her, he could not really find it in himself to blame her.
Forgive me, mo duinne.
Nuada sighed and adjusted his grip on her. If she was so exhausted, he would not wake her, but they had to get back before his father found out Nuada was gone. Jenny or one of the other servants could easily be persuaded to help him slip back into the castle. It was getting to the castle in the first place that would take a while.
He would have to carry her. Ah, well.
.
Dylan bolted awake, disoriented to find herself not in the sanctuary and not in her cottage, but back in her room at Findias. She checked the room in the flickering light of the crystal flowers. Wasn't sure if she was relieved or disappointed to find Nuada wasn't there. Eimh and Sétanta were sprawled at the foot of the bed, watching her with lidded eyes. Eimh gave a huge yawn that showed miles of pink tongue. Sétanta whuffed at his person before closing his eyes again.
*Master brought you back,* he said in a sleepy voice. *You slept a long time. Are you still tired?*
She swiped at her eyes, which felt gritty from crying and sleeping too long. "I'm awake now." Nuada had brought her back from the sanctuary? Was he angry? Was he still angry about their argument that morning? "Hey, you two - where is your master, anyway? Is he awake?"
*Master is in his study,* mumbled Eimh. *Working on something. It's a secret.*
*He is 'not to be disturbed,' he said.*
Disappointment curdled in Dylan's stomach. She nodded to show she understood and flopped back onto the bed. She and Nuada needed to talk. She owed him an apology. He owed her one. They needed to clear the air between them. Apparently it would have to wait, though. Dylan felt pathetic that the thought made the backs of her eyes prickle and sting. What was she, twelve? Squeezing her eyes shut, she turned onto her side and drew a shaky breath.
Something warm and solid squirmed up against her until hot, moist breath washed against her face. Her eyes shot open to meet a gaze of icy blue framed by incredibly long, black lashes. Sétanta gave an unhappy little whine. *You are sad?*
A warm weight against her back was Eimh settling in to comfort her as well. *Why are you sad? Do not be sad.*
*Yes, do not be sad. We love you.*
Dylan draped an arm over the black puppy. "You guys are sweet. It's okay, though. Sometimes humans get sad, that's all. When they're lonely or... or wish they hadn't said or done something. If someone they love is sad. When they miss someone very much."
It didn't make sense for her to miss Nuada. He was only a few rooms away. But she missed him so fiercely she ached with it.
*Do you want us to get Master?* Eimh asked. Dylan shook her head.
"No. Let's just sleep a little bit longer, okay?" She was still so very tired. A glance out the window at the pitch black sky told her that dawn was at least a few hours away. She didn't have to get up for work just yet. "I'll be okay when I wake up."
Both puppies settled against her with sleepy murmurs of assent. Despite Dylan's exhaustion, however, it took a very long time for her to fall back asleep.
.
Nuada slept badly and woke in a foul temper an hour before dawn. He could hear Dylan moving around in her room. Wondered if she would abandon him yet again without so much as a single word of farewell. He thought about knocking, demanding she speak to him before she left. Dismissed the idea. He was not so desperate for her affections that he would beg for some soft word like a dog begging for scraps.
She did not bid him goodbye before she left. This time, he did not follow her to the sanctuary. He merely went in search of Jenny, who would no doubt be awake by now. The hob servant had said she wished to be speak with him about something important. Now was as good a time as any.
Jenny, it turned out, had ill news for him. The head housekeeper of Findias explained that the orphaned halfling babe he had brought to the castle a few months past had become very sickly. While the little illnesses resolved themselves with a touch of healing magic, the fact that the child kept falling ill to begin with was worrisome. Nuada was no healer by any stretch, but the child he remembered and the infant Jenny showed to him were vastly different from one another. The baby, once plump and rosy-cheeked, was pale and listless and much thinner than she should have been. Nuada was reluctant even to hold her, as fragile as she seemed.
"Have you had one of the healers to see to her?" Nuada demanded.
The hob woman nodded. "The one that came said it was naught but the little sicknesses halfling children often suffer when they're young, Your Highness. Siobhan, Cabhán and I - that's Siobhan Dubh from below stairs and Cabhán Glaistig, the herbwoman and midwife from the township, Sire - tried to speak with him when the bairn fell ill again, but he wouldn't listen, Your Highness."
Nuada gazed down at the baby, who curled her tiny hand around his finger and gurgled at him. A thought was slowly taking shape in his mind. He said, "My lady is a healer. Only of the more mundane sort, but she is a skilled healer nonetheless. When she returns from her work in the mortal realm this evening, I will ask her to take a look at the child. Perhaps she will have some idea what ails the little one."
"Your lady?" Jenny echoed. "Are you... with all due respect, Your Highness, are you certain that is wise? What would a human know of faerie ailments?"
"Lady Dylan might surprise you, Jenny," was all the prince said, but there was something in his eyes that made the hob woman nervous. She recalled the rumors that many of the maids and other servants had taken to muttering behind closed doors, that Prince Nuada's mortal lady was a witch. Could it possibly be true?
The Elf prince found himself back in his study, glaring at the letters and invitations which had slithered their way onto his desk between the time he'd left to see the head housekeeper and his return. If only Wink were there, the prince thought, instead of... wherever he was. If the troll had been with him, Nuada could have asked his advice about what to do regarding Dylan while his vassal sorted through the correspondence. Where was Wink? Was he safe? Or had he succumbed to his wounds? What of Lorelei?
There was so much to think about - Wink and Lorelei's whereabouts, the attacks on Dylan and the others that may or may not have been orchestrated by his father, the fight with Zhenjin which loomed on the morrow, the health and welfare of the sick halfling child, Nuada's current disgrace and house arrest, the courtship charade, even the far-off plans regarding the Golden Army.
And on top of it all, there was Dylan herself, and the way he seemed to keep hurting her. Forgive me for forgetting my place. I'll try to keep in mind that I'm nothing to you except an inconvenience and a tool to keep your father happy.
Hell's teeth, what was he supposed to say to that? How was he supposed to convince her that such a thing was entirely untrue? Where had she even come by such an insane idea? Surely she did not truly believe such a thing of him. Did she really doubt his feelings for her?
A knock at his study door jerked his attention from the thoughts racing through his mind. "Enter."
The door swung open, and he caught a glimpse of dark curl and velvet skirt. His heart leapt in his breast, only to plummet when he realized it wasn't Dylan. The knot in his stomach, present since waking that morning, eased a little when he recognized the Elf woman standing in the doorway, however. Nuada rose to his feet and offered a polite bow. The Elven lady sank into a graceful curtsy with a rustling of skirts.
He moved from behind his desk to take her slender hands in his. "Naya," he said warmly. "I wondered if you meant to come and see me." He raised her hand and pressed a brief kiss to the back of it. "Did my sister not order you to stay away?"
"Even if she had, you and I have far too much history for me to obey such an order, Nuada." Her smile was as bright and open as he remembered. When he offered her a chair and she sank gracefully into it, Nuada caught just the faintest whiff of familiar perfume. "Nuala is my friend, but you and I are friends as well, are we not?" A lift of one slender raven brow was a brief reminder that once upon a time, they had been so much more than that. "So how are you?" She propped her chin on her clasped hands. "I heard about this nonsense regarding you being under house arrest. What did you do this time?"
"Played hookey from school," he replied with a straight face, and silver-painted lips curved into a grin. "In truth, it seems I lost track of the days while in the mortal world with my lady. My father wanted me back in Findias. I wanted to be with her."
"Oh, yes!" Polunochnaya leaned forward in her chair. "Your human! Tell me all about her. You must, I insist. What is she like? Is she good to you? Tell me everything."
Though he had to hide how much it hurt to speak of Dylan, speak of her he did, answering all of Naya's questions about the mortal. Unlike the gossiping hags of the court, the Zwezdan noblewoman wanted to know literally everything - what Dylan did for a living, where Nuada had met her, what they did together, what things Dylan enjoyed doing by herself, about her family. Whatever came to mind.
Once they'd exhausted that topic - noon had come and gone; Nuada had sent for food at Polunochnaya's insistence so they could continue talking - she regaled him with the latest court gossip. Most of it was useful, as it involved either himself or Dylan. He learned also that the envoys from Saami and Onibi had arrived in the last day, and that the group from Álfheim would arrive in a few days.
Saami's king had come himself with his mortal wife and young daughter. The Phoenix Emperor of Onibi had sent his heir and his two youngest daughters, none of whom Nuada had ever met. The heir to Onibi's throne was not the eldest prince, but the third or fourth eldest - Nuada wasn't sure. The older princes had been taken out of the line of succession for various reasons. As for Álfheim... it took Nuada a few moments to realize the feeling spreading through him was relief. Only good things had ever come of a visit from or to Crown Prince Thor and his brothers. This time, not only would he have someone he could relax around without worrying about stepping on political toes, but he knew for certain that the Álfar envoy would approve of Dylan and make her feel more welcome than the Dilong envoy had. Nuada was certain Dylan would get along well with Thor's wife, Princess Sif, to say nothing of the congenial Nordic Elf prince himself.
And he learned that included in the envoy for Cíocal was one of the Elves known as a scarlet Fomori. An Elven noblewoman who, according to Naya, looked remarkably similar to Queen Cethlenn. A distant cousin, perhaps. Her name? Lady Dierdre MacAengus of Caer Ibormeth. Lord Ciaran, Prince Bres' oldest friend, was Lady Dierdre's elder brother. Perhaps Naya could introduce the prince to the Fomorian lady at some point? Not now, of course; Nuada needed to prepare for his duel with Zhenjin on the morrow. But sometime afterwards, maybe.
When his sister's lady-in-waiting finally bid him goodbye, Nuada was sad to see her go. It had been a long time since he and Naya had been able to talk so freely and for so long. He hadn't realized how much he missed talking with her. He would have to introduce her to Dylan. It would be good for his lady to have friends in Findias.
Where is Dylan? The Elven warrior wondered suddenly. He glanced at the study window. The sun was beginning to set. Not even five in the evening, then. He shouldn't expect her for some hours yet. He leaned back in his chair and sighed. Would he have to go looking for her tonight as well? Why hadn't she said goodbye to him this morning? Was she still angry with him? Dylan, who never seemed to hold onto her anger for very long... could she still be furious with him?
Are you safe, my love? I detest letting you out of my sight, with our enemies prowling close and shadows looming. How can I protect you from them like this? And how can I protect you from the pain I seem to cause you so easily?
They had to talk. Tonight. He could not afford to think about what was between them tomorrow, with his fight against Zhenjin so close. It would have to be resolved tonight.
.
She hadn't meant to fall asleep again. Honestly she hadn't. But she'd sat down for perhaps a minute in the single wooden chair in the sanctuary and the next thing Dylan knew, her head was pillowed on her arms atop the wooden table and a gentle hand was shaking her awake while a familiar voice murmured, "Dylan. Mo duinne? Wake up, sweetheart. We need to talk. Come on, now."
Dazed, tired blue eyes blinked open. Met his. Filled with tears. She hastily blinked them back before they could fall, but he saw them. She sat up slowly. Pushed her hair out of her face. Met his eyes again. "I fell asleep again. I didn't mean to, I was just so tired... what are you doing here?"
"I was worried when you did not return. It is after midnight."
"Oh." Dylan looked away. "I didn't mean to... I didn't think you'd worry." Nuada had to admit it hurt that she would think he would not care that she had been gone for so long. But after the last few days, he more than likely deserved her doubt. "Thank you for bringing me back last night, by the way, Your Highness," she mumbled.
"Don't," he said sharply. She shot him a startled glance. "Do not do that. Do not put the walls of rank and title between us. I deserve better than that from you."
When her lip began to quiver, she sank her teeth into it to force it to be still. Were they really going to start yelling at each other so soon? Fine, then. She could take whatever he dished out. "And I think... I think I deserve better than for you to put the walls of race between us, but you do it anyway. You talk about how you care for me, how I'm dear to you, but then you slap me down with just a few words. 'Human,' or 'mortal.' As if that's all I am. I deserve better than that from you!"
He turned away from her to pace the length of the sanctuary's main room, snarling under his breath. So easy. It was so easy to make him angry lately. Why? Dylan refused to shrink back from Nuada's anger. Let him be ticked off. She didn't deserve his fury, and she wasn't going to let him take it out on her anymore.
"I deserve better than for you to slap me down every time I try to help you," she said. "I deserve better than being ridiculed for trying to comfort you or help you. I've had it! I'm supposed to protect you, just like you're supposed to protect me. That's what we promised each other. Or were you lying?"
Nuada whirled on her, eyes flashing. "How dare you question me this way? How dare you doubt me? Have I not proven myself to you over and over again? What have I done to earn your doubts?"
Voice a mere thread of sound, Dylan whispered, "You told me everything was my fault." That mere thread was a noose that threatened to strangle Nuada as she added, "You said I was a coward. That I didn't know anything about loyalty or love. That I was nothing." She wrapped her arms around herself as if cold and stared at the bare tabletop. "How could you tell me I was nothing? How could you say that to me?" She squeezed her eyes shut. Pain etched every word into the air between them. "You used to tell me I was brave. That I was one of your most loyal allies. You used to tell me I was b-beautiful. You said I was worth everything. And now...." Her fingers twisted in the black knit of her sweater. "Now it's like you blame me for everything that's happening to us. Just like they did."
They. He knew who they were - her family. Her parents, her sisters. Accusing her with their words and their baseless anger and their refusal to believe. Rage and hurt and denial knotted in his belly, coiling and churning until he felt sick. He had not... he was not... did not...! But Dylan wasn't finished. These words, it seemed, had been brewing inside of her ever since the fight about Zhenjin, and she could not longer hold them back.
"And none of this is my fault!" She burst out, the words catching in her throat like jagged shards of glass. Rainswept blue eyes fixed on his face and there was such pain in their depths. "I didn't do anything! It's not my fault! If you hate me so much, why did you save me? Why didn't you just leave me for the wolves? Or just hand me over to Eamonn? It would've solved all your problems!"
Stunned, he could only stare at her. "Dylan... that is not true, I-"
"Why didn't you just let them kill me? Wouldn't it have been better for you if you'd left me in the subway that night? You never would've met me. You could've gone on hating humans without anyone challenging your prejudice; without ever having to worry about the ugly, stupid, useless human whore that dared to fall in love with you, who was too stupid to realize you could never love her back!
"You said you were fond of me, but I know you wish you weren't! I know you wish you could hate me just as much now as you did when we first met. I know that somewhere, deep down, you still do hate me! You despise me because I'm just a filthy human and I dare to presume to try and comfort you, the Crown Prince of Bethmoora, the oh so mighty Silverlance! Dare to presume to try and be kind and compassionate and so supposedly fey-like when I'm nothing but a common mortal slut, isn't that right, Your Highness? I know you wish I didn't love you. You wish you didn't care-"
"Damn you," he ground out from between clenched teeth. She fell silent. "Damn you for saying this to me. Do you have any idea what I... how I have struggled with... fought with myself constantly over...." He swallowed back the words. Such a confession would help nothing. "Damn you; how dare you question how I feel for you? How dare you? Perhaps I should have left you in the tunnels that night and spared myself...."
He trailed off, realizing just what he was saying. He raked a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry." The words were snarly, but she knew they were sincere. "I am so sorry, forgive me. I should never have said that. But damn it, Dylan. What do you want from me?"
And suddenly all the fight simply drained out of her and she was left tired and shaking, chilled to her very core, and trying not to break apart or drown in the venom that had spilled from her lips. "I just... I just want you to stop being mad at me," she whispered. The childlike pleading in her voice nearly broke his heart. "That's it, that's all. It seems like I can't do anything right in your eyes all of a sudden and I don't understand why. I try to comfort you, I can see that you need it, you're so sad and upset, and you have every right to be, but you just get angrier and angrier with me and then we start fighting and we say things to each other that I know neither of us mean and I don't understand what's happening to us. Why are we like this suddenly? Why are we fighting?"
She closed her eyes, desperate to keep from crying. She'd cried enough in the last few days, hadn't she? Crying never accomplished anything. Never mind that she hadn't had a decent night's sleep in days, she was exhausted and scared and trying not to show how much she was of either, and now one of the three most important people in her life was angry with her....
Dylan tried to bite back the sound that threatened to crawl out from between her clenched teeth, but didn't quite manage it. It might have been a whimper. It might have been a strangled sort of sob. She covered her face with shaking hands and fought to draw a steady breath. She would not break down again. She would not.
After an interminable silence, strong arms slid around her shoulders. Her breath caught in her throat as Nuada pulled her close. The scent of feral, ancient woods enveloped her, soothed her. A gentle hand stroked her hair. "I'm sorry," Nuada murmured. She realized he was shaking. "Dylan, I am so sorry. I don't know why we are fighting. I do not know why I've said such cruel things to you or why either of us seem to be so angry with the other. I am sorry, mo duinne. I... I can only say I do not mean to hurt you. I do not mean to be cruel. I am a man of swift temper. That is my only excuse, paltry though it is."
She bit her lip. Slipped her own arm around his waist to hug him tightly. "I wanna tell you something Francesca told me once, okay?" She waited for his nod before continuing. "She told me once that if someone loves you, they shouldn't do things that hurt you. And I know... I know you aren't trying to hurt me. People say things when they're mad that they would never say normally. Things they don't mean. I know you would never hurt me on purpose. And I don't want to hurt you. Not ever. But... but I don't know. It seems like, the last few days, we can't even really talk without fighting. Without hurting each other. What's happening to us?"
Unable to speak, he tilted her chin up to meet her eyes and then laid his hand ever so lightly against her cheek. Her lower lip began to quiver. A tear spilled down her cheek to splash onto his skin. She squeezed her eyes shut.
Sometimes, Nuada realized, he forgot that Dylan was still very young. Not even thirty yet. Thirty was not so old, not when you'd lived for more than forty centuries. In some ways she was still young. Inexperienced when it came to love and relationships. And he had forgotten that she relied on him nearly as much as he relied on her.
Dylan drew a shuddering breath. Nuada opened his mouth to speak, but she beat him to it.
"I'm so sorry about what I said yesterday," she whispered. "And today. I know it's not true, that none of it is true. I know it's the last thing you need, with everything going on. But you... it seems like no matter what I do lately, I make you angry. You say things to me that... that hurt so much.
"Do you really hate the fact that I'm human? Does it really bother you that much? Because I can't do anything about it, and I wouldn't even if I could. There's nothing wrong with me. You shouldn't want me to change who I am. Do you wish that you didn't... that I didn't...."
She swallowed back a sob. His arms tightened around her.
"Why am I here, Nuada, if you don't want me here? Am I just here because you'll get in trouble if I'm not? Do you really blame me for everything that's happening-"
"No," he said sharply. "Gods, no. I do not blame you. I should never have said such a thing. And you are here... well," he added with an attempt at a smile, "you are here because you fell asleep in my chair." She obliged him with a weak laugh. "But you are with me because I am blessed to have you at my side, even when I do not deserve you." He skimmed his knuckles down her cheek. Another tear spilled over. "I do not know why we seem to be fighting so much. I only know that I regret being the one to make you cry."
Dylan hastily looked away. "I'm not crying."
He gripped her chin between thumb and forefinger and forced her to meet his eyes. "Do not lie to me, Dylan, not even to spare me guilt or grief. Much as it shames me, my words and my cruelty are what brought those tears to your eyes. I am sorry. I can only try to be better in the future."
"It's not just you, Nuada," she said, laying her cheek against his stomach again. She wanted his chest, where she could hear the beating of his heart, but as she was sitting and he was standing, that wasn't feasible. The silk of his tunic was soft against her cheek.
Dylan suddenly realized her tears had more than likely ruined his shirt, since it was made of royal blue silk, and silk and water did not mix. And yet... Nuada had said nothing about it. Just let her cry. Comforted her. And now she wanted to cry again. He hadn't yelled at her about the shirt. Hadn't gotten angry or even annoyed. The relief at that thought staggered her, and had a lump forming in her throat.
"What do you mean, amhain a chara?" His fingers threaded ever so gently through her hair. "Tell me, dear one."
"Just... I said some cruel things yesterday and today. Things I knew would hurt you. I didn't mean them. You know that, don't you? About... about you thinking I'm worthless and a wh-" She bit back the word when she felt him tense. A shadow darkened his gaze. Dylan sensed that somehow, the word whore in connection to herself had a stronger impact on Nuada than it did for her. Why? But she didn't ask. Only said, "I'm sorry about yesterday. And this morning. And tonight."
"As am I, mo duinne. More sorry than I can express." He kissed her hand. "Do you forgive me?"
She nodded. "Of course, but... Nuada, why are we fighting so much? We never fought like this when we were at the cottage. And it's not just stress. You live with stress; it wouldn't turn you into such a jerk all of a sudden. I mean," noticing his involuntary wince, "um... stress doesn't explain why we're both suddenly so edgy. Do you think... do you think someone's messing with us or something? A spell, maybe? This just doesn't seem like us."
Nuada frowned. Considered. "Possibly. I had not considered such an idea. Although I doubt it - as a fae royal, even though I am not a monarch, only the magic of a king or queen would affect me so strongly without my noticing. And it makes no sense for my father to try and manipulate us that way. He wants us together. I think it may simply be the situation we find ourselves in is adversely affecting us. Little sleep and too many worries to count. We will be all right, though, Dylan. I promise you. I'll not give you up so easily."
Somehow she managed to dredge up the ghost of a smile. "Yeah. You're stuck with me for life, O Prince of Elves. Sorry." She closed her eyes and just held onto him for a moment. Tried not to embarrass herself by sniffling like a crybaby. "I missed you. I missed you so much. How did you become so important to me?"
"I could ask you the same question," he murmured. "I could ask how you managed to steal your way into my life, into my heart; how you managed to do it without my noticing, until you were so firmly entrenched there that I could never have wanted you gone; how you managed to become not merely the center of my world, but the whole of it. Sweetheart," concern in his voice now, "why are you crying?"
Dylan sniffled. Laughed a little shakily. "When you're a jerk, you're a real jerk, but when you're being romantic, you're just downright amazing and I love you so much and I'm so sorry and I feel really stupid right now. I always feel stupid after getting mad at people." She brushed at her eyes. "Ugh, I need to stop crying. Maybe I'm just hormonal. Or tired. I don't know. All I know is that when we get back to Findias, I don't wanna sleep in my room. Can you and I sleep on the couches in my sitting room? I don't want to be apart from you. The last few nights have really sucked."
"Whatever you like, mo mhuire. Your wish is my command." He kissed her fingers. "Now come on. It is quite late, and you need your rest."
"I cleared my schedule for tomorrow," she murmured, slowly getting to her feet. "I have to go into work, but I'll be back by noon. Sort of a half-day. I'll be here for the duel. Unless," hesitant now, her face a mask of uncertainty, "you don't want me there."
He just looked at her for a moment, then pulled her into his arms. "Forgive me," he whispered against the soft wealth of her hair, "for ever giving you cause to doubt that I would want you with me. I will always wish you near. Always." He pressed a kiss to her temple. "If I win tomorrow, I will need the solace of your presence. And if I should lose... I can think of no better way to die, than with your voice in my ears and your face before my eyes."
"You're not going to die," she snapped. Thumped her forehead against his chest hard enough that he grunted from the impact. "I won't let you. You're going to win. Everything will be okay. Now let's go home."
"Is Findias home now?"
After a beat of silence, Dylan stole his breath away by whispering, "For me, home is wherever you are, Nuada." And she laid her cheek against his chest to hear the steady drumming of his heartbeat.
.
They slept on the twin couches in her sitting room, as she'd requested. Or rather, she slept. He stayed awake, watching her sleep curled up on the couch beneath the velvet comforter from her bedroom, the dim golden glow of the fireplace caressing her scarred face. She wore her favorite pajamas - loose, black and pink plaid pants and one of his own black tunics. Nuada knew the clothes made her feel safer. Knew she needed the security of being surrounded by his scent, even in sleep.
Both faerie dogs were stretched out on the floor in front of their mistress's couch, almost as if guarding the mortal in her sleep. Guarding her as he did.
How many times had he come to within a hair's breadth of losing her? Either through death, or through his own folly? How many times had he wielded a verbal knife that managed to pierce straight to her already half-broken heart? Why was it so very hard sometimes to go softly with her? Dylan deserved better than this from him.
One day, Nuada thought, watching Dylan's chest rise and fall with her breathing, you may ask me which is more important to me, you or my life. And perhaps I will be distracted, and say without thinking, 'My life.' And you will walk away, never realizing that you are my life.
He closed his eyes. How long would this peace between them last? Would the shackles of court intrigue, politics, his father's schemes, and the coming war - whenever it did come - drive them to such vicious words again? Nuada prayed it wouldn't happen, as he had not prayed since that frantic race through winter woods to save Dylan from Eamonn. He wasn't sure anymore if he could survive without the mortal who slumbered so near. And if he could not... what then?
Feral eyes blinked open to study the human once more. You are my life. Gods have mercy on me. May the gods have mercy on both of us.
Mercy. Dare he look for mercy from the gods? From any corner? Thoughts of Zhenjin, of what would happen when they crossed swords on the morrow, pressed down on Nuada like a crushing weight. In the wars, he had often been the one to deliver a mercy stroke to a fallen soldier. The blood of enemies dripped from his sword, sometimes to mingle with the blood of fallen allies. But he had never been forced to fight and kill one of those allies. Had never crossed blades in earnest with someone he considered a friend.
I do not want to do this, Nuada thought, letting his eyes drift closed once more. Why must I do this? He wished Wink were there to advise him. Perhaps the troll warrior could have found some way out of this that didn't involve bloodshed or dishonor.
And the Elven warrior could not escape the simple fact that there was no guarantee he would survive the coming battle. If he had been nothing but a warrior, it would not have mattered. His father had sent his sister away just that morning, as far from her twin as possible, to lessen the bond that would inflict his pain and his wounds upon her. So if he fell to Zhenjin's sword, at least Nuala would live. And he himself had made peace with death long ago.
But there were his people to consider. The other fae. Who would lead them out of the twilight, back into the real world? Who would protect them from the humans if he died in this fight?
Perhaps that was his father's plan. Balor had no cause as yet to execute him. The charge of treason lacked the needed proof. If the king wanted him dead, and wanted a very public death so that he might wash his hands of the whole affair, was this not the way to do it? A snake-like and cowardly way, but cunning as well. And if Nuada bled out in the dust of the dueling field, pierced by Zhenjin's sword, how was the king to blame? It was lack of skill, or the ill favor of the gods, that had sent the Silver Lance to his death. Was that his father's goal? Putting an end to the one who would spark war once again?
A low moan distracted Nuada from his thoughts. He focused on Dylan's face, on the grief etched there. Not the latest dream, then, whatever it was she seemed to dream of lately. A nightmare this time. Dylan scrunched up beneath the blanket. Made a sound that might have been a whimper. Eimh and Sétanta lifted their heads, instantly alert. Sétanta got to his feet and trotted over to where his human lay shivering as if cold. Touched her white-knuckled fist with his nose.
*Sad,* he said softly. *Hurt. I can smell it. She is caught in a trap.* He gave Dylan's fist a tentative lick. *Much pain. Who is hurting her?* The hound turned to Nuada, upper lip pulled back to partially bare his teeth. *We will find them and hurt them back. I will bite them.*
Nuada slid off his couch and went to kneel beside hers. Gently took her hand, which was clenched so tightly he saw blood seeping from between her fingers. Her skin was like ice. "It is an old nightmare, I think. She has it often. And she will not let me hurt the ones who hurt her." The pup cocked his head, confused. The Elven warrior opened his mouth to explain when Dylan made a tiny, heartbreaking sound. Shuddered.
"It's not my fault," she whimpered. Nuada's heart stilled in his chest. He hadn't heard that child's voice since the night he'd walked through her nightmares for the very first time. Had hoped he would never have to hear it again. "Mommy, it's not my fault. It's not my fault." She curled into a ball as unconscious tears began streaming down her cheeks. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please don't leave me. Don't leave me alone in the dark. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It's not my fault. It's not my fault. Don't leave me, I'm scared. Mommy... Daddy, please, I'm scared...."
And none of this is my fault! I didn't do anything! It's not my fault! She'd shouted that at him earlier that night. Had he triggered this nightmare? Had his rage, his cruelty, the misplaced blame he had laid on her, done this?
Certainty was bitter as poison on his tongue. This was his fault, stars curse it. He had done this to her. Did he dare try to wake her? Touch her anymore than he already had? Or would every touch, every word, be sucked into the Morphean hell, fueling the fear and the heartache?
For one of the rare times in his life, the legendary Silverlance hesitated.
Sétanta did not. With an apologetic whine, he bit Dylan's fingers hard enough that she jerked awake with a yelp. She jolted upright, obviously disoriented, and it took a few moments for her to process where she was and what had happened. Then she looked down at her bitten hand.
*Sétanta!* Eimh yelped, horrified. *What have you done?*
*I am sorry!* Sétanta cried, hunching his shoulders and whining, his tail tucked between his legs. *I am sorry I bit you. You were caught in a sleep-trap. Had to wake you up. Master did not know what to do. I did not mean to bite very hard. Are you hurt?*
Dylan blinked to try and clear the sleep-induced blurriness from her vision so she could study her bitten hand. She wasn't bleeding, and the pain was fading now. The bite had felt more like a sharp pinch than anything truly bloodthirsty. There was a faint indentation on her knuckles, an imprint from Sétanta's teeth. Nothing more. He hadn't even broken the skin. Dawn might find her with a slight bruise, but that would be it.
"I'm okay. Good job, Sétanta. It's okay. You're not in trouble." His tail began to creep back into its natural position. Dylan laid a hand atop his head and rubbed behind his ears. His tail began to wag ever so slightly. "Thank you for waking me up. I'm not hurt."
*Good. I am supposed to protect you, not hurt you. I do not want to hurt you.*
As the dog settled back into his place on the floor with a yawn and a sigh, Nuada took Dylan's hand and examined it himself. Smoothed his thumb over the indent left by puppy teeth. "A nightmare?" He asked, though he already knew. Dylan nodded.
The Elf prince turned her hand over to examine the bloody crescents marring her palm. Dylan retrieved a handkerchief from her purse, which slumped beside her couch, and dampened it in order to clean away the crimson smeared across her skin. When the tiny wounds were clean, Nuada silently brushed his fingers over her palm. Soothing magic eased the dull pain. The tenderness in the gesture pushed down some of the nightmare's residual chill.
After a long silence, Nuada ventured, "About... when you were a child?" When she nodded again, he steeled himself and murmured, "Do you wish to talk about it?"
Her smile was equal parts exhaustion and gratitude. "No. Thank you, that's all right. I'm still really tired. Um...." She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. A faint blush spread across her cheeks. "Could you... I mean, would you, if you don't mind... I just don't want to be alone... and you're awake, I guess, so could you... um...."
Somehow, despite her stammering, he knew what she wanted to ask him. "A moment." He dragged one of the chairs over to the head of the couch and sank down into it. It might have seemed to be a small thing, sitting so near in order to offer some silent comfort. But Dylan laid back down on the couch, snuggling under the comforter. One hand was tucked against her chest. The uninjured one stretched out over the edge of the couch to lay atop Nuada's linen-covered knee.
She closed her eyes and sighed when he reached over and let his hand rest lightly against her hair for a moment. The sleeve of his dark sleep-tunic brushed against her temple and cheek. "Sleep, mo duinne. I'll not leave you."
He thought she'd drifted off sometime later when she asked in a whisper, "Nuada... do you really not know if you're going to win?" He could not lie to her, so he said nothing. "Promise me... promise me you'll win. Promise me you'll be okay. If you can't promise that, don't fight him. I don't want you to do this if you're going to get hurt."
"I must fight him, Dylan. I cannot back down from this. I'm sorry. But do not let it worry you overmuch; whatever will happen," Nuada said in a voice as gentle as a lullaby, "will happen. You must not be afraid."
Her fingers twisted in the loose linen of his sleeping trews. She drew a short, sharp breath. "Tell me a story. Please."
Surprised, he blinked down at her. Her eyes were screwed shut. "A story?" He echoed. "Which one?"
"I don't care," she whispered. Each word trembled like a tear about to fall. "I don't care."
He reached out and stroked her hair with the lightest touch, letting the dark strands slide like silk against his palm. He could feel her trembling. Smell, along with the fragrance of her lily-of-the-valley soap and the summer-rose perfume of her shampoo, an undercurrent of mortal dread and the salt of unshed tears. "All right, then, mo duinne. Nuair a bhí...."
Once there was....
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