Chapter 62 - Death of the First Born

that is

A Short Tale of Unwilling Guards, Suspicion, a Child's Prayer, Forbidden Comfort, Fathers' Love, Vigil, a Request, Doubt, Nightmares, and Deathly Sleep

.

.

Guardsman Loén shifted to relieve some of the dull ache in his feet. He'd been set to guarding the chamber in the Healers' Wing that currently housed an unconscious Prince Nuada since early afternoon. As of that moment, Loén could catch a glimpse of the Evening Star sinking below the horizon as she gave way to her sister, the Midnight Star. Hours on his feet, keeping watch over the healing chamber alongside Guardsman Siothrún. Why? Why would the king assign any of the Butchers to stand guard over the man that had killed Captain Oisin and Lieutenant Padraig in cold blood?

Everyone in the Royal Guard knew the Silver Lance had done it. Some might not have wanted to believe it - like Oisin and Padraig's replacements, Captain Phelan and Lieutenant Jarlath - but there was no refuting that the crown prince had ordered his bond-servant to slay nearly two dozen of the king's elite, killing helpless civilians in the process, before having the survivors of the cowardly attack murdered in their very beds. And they were supposed to protect this monster?

Loén let his eyes drift over to the human that Prince Nuada had declared himself to earlier that day after the duel with the crown prince of Dilong. Poor, stupid girl. Did she have any idea what she was getting herself into? Did she know what kind of cruelty the Elf prince was capable of?

Loén didn't adhere to the idea that humans were evil strictly by virtue of being human. He'd known a few decent mortals in his time. For the most part, the guardsman was indifferent to the breed. But not so indifferent that he felt no pity for the girl who currently sat hunched in a chair by the prince's bedside with her black and white hounds at her feet, her young guard gazing out the star-spangled window behind her seat. The mortal kept her head bowed and arms folded defensively against her belly, murmuring under her breath so softly that even Loén's superior fae hearing could not distinguish the words. Fire- and candlelight illuminated her scarred face and unseeing eyes. A gold and ruby ring glinted on her finger; a match to the one on a slender chain around the prince's neck. Every so often, the mortal would caress the red jewel on her finger.

"How fares the prince?" A soft voice asked from just beyond the entryway to the healing chamber. Loén, distracted from his study of the scarred mortal woman, turned back to see Jenny Hob peering around him to get a glimpse of the room. A wooden tray floated at shoulder-level, bearing a plate of sandwiches and muffins and a mug of something that steamed. When the housekeeper caught sight of the human, her dark eyes tightened. "I knew it. How long has Her Ladyship been there?"

"She has not left the prince's side, ma'am," Loén replied in an equally soft murmur. "When the healers brought him, she begged to remain in the room. They agreed, so long as Her Ladyship stayed out of the way - which she did. Stood trembling in a corner, whispering to herself while the healers worked on His Highness.

"It is still touch-and-go, ma'am," the young guardsman added. "Crown Prince Zhenjin bore a sacred blade, and the wounds left by such a weapon do not heal easily, even with sorcery. And the prince had lost a great deal of blood even before the Téngshé's attempt on the king's life injured him. The healers are unsure of his chances."

Jenny frowned. Worry darkened her already dark eyes. Loén remembered that Jenny Hob had been head housekeeper in Findias since before the prince's birth; had, in fact, watched the mighty Silverlance grow from babe to boy to man. "That is ill news, indeed," Jenny murmured. "And you say the human has been whispering to herself? What did she say?"

Loén merely shrugged his broad shoulders. "I do not know, ma'am. She spoke too softly for either Siothrún or I to hear." Loén glanced at his fellow guardsman, who merely stared straight ahead, watching the corridor through the slit in his beaked helmet. "She would murmur to herself every now and again even after the healers left, or sometimes speak softly to the prince and hold his hand. I cannot hear what she says, though."

The hob woman pursed her lips and stared at the human from the safety of the doorway. Loén wondered why Findias's head housekeeper suddenly looked so uncertain. Almost frightened. "Muttering to herself," the hob whispered. The seven spindly fingers of both hands fiddled with her apron strings. "I wonder what she says...."

Before Loén could even attempt to answer, Jenny bustled into the healing room, the tray floating along behind her.

Dylan blinked when Tsu's'di touched her shoulder; a silent alert that someone had come in the room. Ending her prayer, she straightened a little and met the licorice-black eyes of a hob woman. Judging by the cut of her clothes, a high-ranked servant. It took Dylan several moments to realize the hob held a tray piled with food.

"Milady-" Jenny began, sinking into a curtsy and dipping her head.

Sétanta interrupted. *She does not like being 'milady.' It makes her sad. Her name is Dylan.* The dog's tail thumped against the floor twice when the human's foot rubbed absently over the exposed black belly. *She gives good foot-pets.*

Did not like being addressed as "milady?" Was this an act, or truth? Jenny knew Nuada's hounds would not lie, and they could smell untruth in others. But if the rumors were correct - if the girl truly was a witch - then why seduce Prince Nuada and bespell him, if not for the purpose of achieving rank of some sort? Many women (and men) used nobles in just such a way for just such a purpose. Unless the human had another motive. Though all this hinged on whether the mortal was actually a witch or not.

*Since you are older, you can call her 'Dylan' or 'child,' even though she is not a human puppy,* Sétanta added, gazing up at Dylan with worried and adoring eyes of glacial blue. *The pack-leader of the kitchens and Miyax calls her that sometimes.*

*They call her 'milady,' too,* Eimh added. Sétanta whuffed at her. *Well, they do.*

"Both of you hush," the cat-faced youth behind the mortal growled, flattening his ears against his skull. "His Highness needs to rest so the healing can take full effect, and you're upsetting Lady Dylan." Both dogs looked up at the mortal in question. Jenny acknowledged that she did indeed look pale and drawn. Concern for Nuada... or exhaustion from working some kind of spell on the unconscious prince?

"You poor child," the hob murmured, catching Dylan's full attention. There was something very maternal in her voice. The gray bun she'd twisted her hair into reminded Dylan suddenly of her Aunt Niamh. It was oddly comforting. "Here, now. I've brought you something to eat."

Feeling as if she were struggling to move and think through a soup of sludge and mental fog, Dylan asked, "Who are you?"

*That's Jenny,* Eimh piped up from the floor. She shifted just enough that she could rest her chin on Dylan's foot. *She is pack-leader for all the maids in the castle. She loves Master very much. She is one of the only servants allowed to swat him. We can have food, too?* This last was directed at the hob, who shook her head. Eimh heaved a great big doggy sigh, but did not press the issue.

"Come, child, you should eat something," Jenny said in the same sort of no-nonsense voice Becan sometimes used with Dylan when she was being stubborn. That, too, was strangely comforting - to find someone with that kind of voice in Findias. "And it is after midnight. Surely you wish to return to your chambers and sleep."

The mortal shook her head. "No, I can't. I can't leave. Can't sleep."

A pale hand pushed at the tangle of dark curls falling into her face. Jenny caught sight of the ruby ring on one finger. A match to the one that rests against the prince's heart, Jenny thought, and suppressed a frown.

"I have to stay with him," the human insisted. "I can't... I can't leave him...." But it was very clear to the hob woman that, whatever her reasoning, the human girl was on her last legs and would soon find herself succumbing to slumber in the chair she currently occupied if she didn't get back to the chambers she shared with the crown prince.

Using her most persuasive voice, Jenny said, "My dear, you really must take some food and rest." Anything, to get the girl who was rumored to be a witch far away from the prince. Who knew what she might be doing to Nuada with those mutterings of hers? "His Highness will be well enough, I promise you. He is well guarded and the healers are checking on him every hour. He will be just fine, child. Now come along with me. I shall escort you myself."

Tsu's'di demonstrated tacit approval of this plan by shifting away from the window to stand at an angle to the chair, a silent "order" for Dylan to get up - please. The hound pups heaved themselves to their feet, as well. Weary mazarine eyes drifted over the assembled guardians. She was going to let herself be bullied by a teenage cougar-shifter, two puppies, and an old hob woman?

Unfortunately, Dylan lacked the energy to even be embarrassed by this, much less the energy to fight them all about it.

The mortal managed to get to her feet, though it seemed to take her some effort. She moved to stand just beside the prince lying unconscious on the bed. Reached out with trembling fingers and caressed the royal scar etched across sharp, feral cheekbones.

Dylan allowed herself to truly study Nuada for the first time since the healers had first left the room. Fear, black and choking as a taloned hand, had clawed at her throat as she'd watched helplessly from the corner while the Elven healers worked frantically to stop the bleeding from the vicious slash that bit deep between Nuada's two lowest ribs, from the ragged wound in the right side of his chest from Zhenjin's sword punching through his armor to find flesh, and from the vicious thrust that had just nicked the underside of his heart and the edge of one lung. The sword-thrust from the Téngshé that had been meant for King Balor. The attack that, apparently, the Dilong emperor swore had not been ordered by him or one of his children.

She couldn't have cared less who'd ordered it. She only cared that Nuada had nearly died. Nearly died protecting his father, the father who constantly betrayed and hurt him, the father who believed him lacking heart or soul or honor. The father that, as far as Dylan knew, was the only person who had ever reduced her prince to tears. She only cared that Nuada, one of only two that she could not do without, hovered just at Death's door even now. The only reason he hadn't died was because he was hardier than a human; that didn't make him unkillable.

She'd thought she'd prepared herself for the possibility that Nuada might die... but how could she have ever been prepared for the end of half of her entire world?

Bracing herself against the edge of the bed, Dylan leaned down and ever so gently touched her mouth to Nuada's slack lips. They were warm and soft, and felt oddly vulnerable to her. His breath was shallow against her lips.

A careful hand brushed back a strand of his star-blond hair from his forehead. She touched his cheek. Whispered in a voice that held a wealth of tenderness, "Don't leave me, mo airgeadach, my silver one. I'm waiting for you to tell me what you were going to say before. I promise I'll listen. You just have to come back to me, mo phrionsa - my prince. So don't leave me... okay? Just don't leave me."

Dylan squeezed Nuada's hand very gently, careful of the bandage covering the cut from where he'd gripped Zhenjin's sword. She thought, just for a fleeting moment of insanity, that the long fingers pressed back ever so slightly. The pulse in his palm beat against her hand. Then she let him go, and turned to follow Jenny.

.

She was ashamed to realize she'd forgotten A'du and 'Sa'ti in the aftermath of the duel. They woke when she came back to her suit, and she knew they had to be told what had happened.

'Sa'ti clutched Tsu's'di around the waist and began to sob. The ewah youth laid an arm around her shoulders and began to purr in an attempt to comfort her.

A'du'la'di proved to have gotten a bit older and more mature since the dullahan attack, because he did not begin crying. He bit his lip, and his fur started to fluff while his whiskers quivered with agitation. His ears pressed against his skull, sideways instead of back to indicate fear rather than aggression or anger. Then the ewah boy climbed onto the bed where Dylan sat rigid and laid his head in her lap. He softly stroked her knee.

"It'll be okay, A'ge'lv," the little boy murmured. A quiet and reassuring purr rumbled just beneath the words. "His Highness will be okay. He wouldn't leave us. He loves us. It's gonna be okay."

Dylan stroked a hand along the tufty mane the boy possessed in place of hair and thanked the Star Kindler for someone like A'du'la'di.

Instead of sleeping in their separate rooms, all of them piled into the sitting room. 'Sa'ti curled up in Dylan's armchair. Tsu's'di dragged out the two overstuffed armchairs from the room with the chess set and shoved them together so that A'du could sleep there. Tsu's'di took the sofa nearest the door. Eimh and Sétanta sprawled out across the floor in front of the couch that Dylan slept on.

Everyone was ready for sleep, and Dylan had already eaten the food Jenny had brought for her, said fervent prayers for Nuada, and done her nightly scripture study, when 'Sa'ti came over to her and said in a very serious and grown-up voice that she had a question.

"What's your question?"

"Should we... pray for the prince?" The cougar girl asked, more than a little timid. "I don't know how," she confessed, "but you do it all the time, so you can show us, and maybe it'll help."

"Yeah," A'du said from his double-chair bed. "You always talk about the Star Kindler. You pray all the time; we've seen you. If we pray for the prince, maybe it'll help him get better."

Tsu's'di looked up from where he'd been studying the floor from in front of his couch and added, "It can't hurt, A'ge'lv."

Dylan stared at them all, shocked. She hadn't realized the children had paid attention to such things. She should have, she realized. In fact, by the laws of the Star Kindler, she was supposed to be raising her servants to follow the High King of the World, too. However, this had the potential to blow up and become a real rat's nest of problems if she didn't handle it properly.

So she invited 'Sa'ti and A'du to sit on either side of her and for Tsu's'di to come a little closer. Then she explained, "Praying might help. It can never hurt. But...." How to word this? "Sometimes... sometimes it's just time for someone to... to go back to Heavenly Father because he needs them for something. If it's time, prayer won't keep them from...." Emotion clogged her throat. It took her more than a few moments to get a firm grip on her composure again. A'du'la'di leaned his head against her upper arm and purred like motorboat. 'Sa'ti did the same at her elbow. After a bit, Dylan managed to continue. "The best thing to do is to pray for the prince to be healed, if it's God's will. And if it's not... we should ask for comfort if that's what has to be. Do you understand?"

"How come the Star Kindler might not heal the prince?" 'Sa'ti asked. Her words were slightly muffled because she had her face half-pressed into Dylan's sleeve. "Does He not like the prince?"

"No, sweetie," she replied, putting an arm around each cougar child. "Sometimes... sometimes losing someone is what's best for us, or for them. We're only on this earth until we've done everything we agreed to do before coming here. Once our mission is over, we can go to be with the Star Kindler in His kingdom. If... if the prince is done with his mission here... then God will call him back so that he can rest for a bit before doing the other things He needs him to do."

"Oh." A'du wrapped his arms around Dylan's arm and cuddled her. "I get it. The Star Kindler might need the prince... more than we do, I guess. But," and he turned earnest eyes up to Dylan, "A'ge'lv... don't you need Prince Nuada? You love him, right? Won't you be mad if the Star Kindler takes him away? Won't you miss him?"

Dylan found it was a lot easier to offer A'du'la'di a smile than she'd have expected. "I'll be sad. I'll miss him. A lot. But I'll try not to be mad."

The ewah boy pondered that for a few minutes. Then he nodded, as if coming to a decision. He looked at 'Sa'ti, who looked back with bright turquoise eyes and nodded. Tsu's'di seemed to know whatever was running through their minds. He nodded to each of them. A'du looked up at Dylan.

"So... how do we do this praying stuff? We should do it to try and help the prince get better."

'Sa'ti wanted to be the one to actually say the prayer. With some coaching from Dylan, she managed to come up with something the cougar girl liked, that actually seemed to comfort all three ewah.

"Dear Heavenly Father, this is 'Sa'ti... um, U'de'ho'sa'ti Ewah. Um, I haven't talked to You... to Thee, I mean, before, but... but this is kinda an emergency, and we really need Your help. Um, I mean, Thy help. So Prince Nuada is hurt really bad-"

"Like, really really super bad," A'du'la'di interjected.

"-and the healers don't know if he'll be okay. We love him a lot, and A'ge'lv Dylan loves him so much and she'll be really sad if anything really bad happens to him. Please if it's okay, can You heal the prince? Or help him get better at least? And if not... um, can You... Thee... Thou? Um, can Thee help us not be too sad? And help A'ge'lv Dylan to not be too sad? 'Cause we don't want her to be sad, and the prince doesn't want her to be sad, either. In the name of the Annointed One, amen."

Dylan reached out and hugged the little girl. "That was very good, 'Sa'ti. Very good job. Thank you; that was wonderul."

The cougar rubbed sleepily at her eyes. Yawned. "Really?"

Her mistress nodded. "Now it's time for bed, I think. Okay?"

With the dogs snoring, the cougars asleep, the lamps extinguished and the fire banked, Dylan stared up at the ceiling and let just one thought fly up from her mind to the stars that glittered in the sky, a reminder of the Star Kindler's presence.

Heavenly Father... I beg you... don't take him from me. Please.

.

Personal crisis of apocalyptic devastation pending or not, Dylan knew she couldn't afford to miss anymore work. She managed to scrape together half-dozen hours of restless sleep filled with dark dreams. Thankfully none of her usual nightmares, nor the painful dream that had plagued her the last few weeks. Instead, Dylan dreamed of racing through a torchlit, deserted hallway that twisted and turned, coiling in on itself before undulating out again like a writhing, poisonous snake. Panic twisted in her stomach. Throttled her as she staggered down the ever-changing corridor. She was searching for Nuada, knew it was imperative she find him, but no matter how long or how fast she ran, she couldn't find him. She could only be grateful she hadn't woken screaming or crying.

In the dim light of the banked fire, Dylan went through the little ritual of smoothing back A'du and 'Sa'ti's hair and kissing their foreheads. Both cubs barely stirred. She woke Tsu's'di briefly to tell him she was going to work. He was clear-eyed enough that she knew he'd remember, even though he fell back asleep fairly quickly. Eimh and Sétanta were on their feet and trotting around at Dylan's heels before she'd even taken two steps toward her bedroom door.

Showered, dressed and brushed, medicated, with prayers said and scriptures read, she closed her eyes and pressed her forehead to the icy glass of her bedroom window. Wished fiercely for Nuada. Knew she couldn't go down to see him before work. For one thing, without Tsu's'di - who was a growing boy and needed his sleep - it wasn't safe. For another, she'd probably get lost. But she just wanted... just wanted....

An idea popped into her head.

Wondering if she'd gone crazy - or just become incredibly pathetic - Dylan slipped into Nuada's room. She didn't let the hounds follow her. She then sat on his bed. Smoothed her hand over the velvet blanket, over the soft linen pillow. An odd tingling, pins and needles, whispered across her palm and up her arm. She frowned; magical residue?

Even though he looked it, she rarely remembered that Nuada was fae, was Elven. Was inherently magical. Magic clung to all fae, especially royals. But it was easy to forget when he made himself so accessible to her. Was this the aftertaste of what made him fey? An echo of power because he'd slept in this bed?

Running her fingers over the velvet blankets and silk sheets and linen pillows again sent that same pins and needles feeling shivering along her skin. It was almost like being touched. Only gently, only whisper-light, but like fingertips ghosting along her arm from wrist to elbow and up along her shoulder before caressing down again. Was this Nuada's magic?

Part of her yearned toward the strange feeling. Wished desperately for Nuada to be with her so he could feel it, too. Would he feel it? Or was it such an inherent part of him that it didn't really register? She hadn't felt it the day before when they'd been sitting on his bed... but she hadn't touched anything but him. Was it like psychic scent - left behind for perhaps days on clothes and jewelry and furnishings, but vanishing on the air after only a few minutes or hours?

Dylan kicked off her shoes and curled up on Nuada's bed. Part of her felt... strange. As if she shouldn't be doing this. As if it were somehow dangerous. But she didn't care. She was so tired, and she missed him so much, and this feeling was the closest she'd come to him since leaving the healing chamber last night.

With a sigh, she grabbed the pillow and pressed her face into it, breathing deep of the feral scent of ancient wildwoods that was all Nuada. Beneath that, there was a soft whispery scent that teased her nose and made her heart kick into a gallop. She clutched the pillow and nuzzled her cheek against the linen. Closed her eyes. Just let the spice of green woods wash over her.

Please don't die, Nuada, Dylan thought, feeling that strange tingling ghosting over her shoulders and down her spine, along the line of her legs over her jeans. A cool whisper of warning told her that maybe she ought to get up and leave, but she didn't want to. Not yet. Nuada's scent - Old World forests and clean sweat and summer sunlight - had always comforted her. Always. You can't die. Please. I've lost so many. I've lost my entire world once, when I thought John died. I can't do it again. I can't. She tried to muffle the small sob threatening to break free with the pillow. Why was I stupid enough to fall in love with you like this?

Leave now. The command was sharp and clear, and years of training herself to obey it was what brought her upright and had her sliding off the bed before she'd even had time to really think. Go to work, the Spirit commanded. Not in a voice exactly, but the words came into her mind as clear as glass. Now.

She set the pillow back on the bed and slipped her feet back into her shoes. She didn't know why she needed to leave right this minute, but that was okay. She would go because the prompting of the Holy Ghost told her to do so. Maybe someone needed her. Or maybe someone was going to come into Nuada's room, and finding her there alone would be dangerous for some reason. Or perhaps it was just that the strange and wonderful feeling of that magic caressing her skin and drowning in the scent of Elven warrior would have kept her in bed all day if she'd let it, and Dylan knew that that was a dangerous psychological trap on all its own.

Whatever the reason, she settled her coat around her shoulders and smoothed down her hair. Twisting the ring on her finger, Dylan whispered the words engraved on the inside of the golden band, and let the magic take her.

.

The voice came from so far off that Nuada could barely hear it. Every sound, even the sound of his own breathing, his own heartbeat, seemed muffled by the darkness that pressed down on him. But he knew that voice. Could just make out the words.

Could feel, as if from a long way off, a calussed hand smoothing back his hair from his face. That, more than anything else, made him want to wake up and see if what he felt was what was truly happening. It had been a long time since his father had touched him this way. Centuries. Not since he was a very little boy afraid of ill dreams. He'd almost forgotten, but now that he'd been reminded, he could recall that his father had often smoothed back his hair before patting him gently on the head and sending him off to the royal nursery for bed.

"Why did you do it, my son?" Balor's voice was tired; Nuada could hear that, as well. If only he could open his eyes. But the healing spells kept him from surfacing to full consciousness. He could hardly move, in fact. At least there was no more pain. "I do not understand you. Help me to understand. You swear that the humans must all die... and then give your heart to one. You move against me, attack my soldiers and plot to take my throne... then take a sword aimed for my heart. Why?"

I would never plot against you, Athair, he wanted to say. Will you never think well of me? Why must you always doubt? Why must you always think me a monster, even now? I took a sword for you. Athair... Athair, why must you look on me and see only a beast?

"I wish... I wish your mother was here to advise me," Balor murmured. A familiar hand gripped Nuada's. "You and your sister were both so close to her. When I could not get you to do something, Cethlenn could always talk sense into you." The king gave a soft, bitter laugh. "You thought the sun rose and set on your sister, but you were certain your mother had been the one to set the stars in the sky. You would have done nearly anything for her."

Against his will, Nuada thought of his mother. Her quick smile. How her eyes would transform from emerald to silver in the moonlight. The nights when, after he and Nuala had had their baths and were getting ready for bed, Cethlenn would come in to comb out Nuala's long blond hair with her own golden comb engraved with blooming rose vines. How she always smelled of lilies. Her voice, when she would lay a hand atop his head and call him her brave warrior. He would have done nearly anything for her.

"She would have known what was in your heart, I think. She would have known what could be done about all of this. I wish she were here to advise me. To counsel us both." His father pulled away then. The rustle of heavy velvet told Nuada the king had risen to his feet. "As your king - and as your father - I give you an order, Crown Prince Nuada Silverlance. I command you to live. The healers are uncertain of your chances, but I know better." Nuada felt a presence come close above him. Felt his father's hand, gentle for the first time in so very long. "I know better. You are my son, and you are a fighter. You will not give up on life so easily. I forbid it."

And then the king was gone, and Nuada drifted in darkness, his father's words echoing in his skull. You are my son. You are my son. If Balor never said those words again, the Elven warrior was fairly certain it would not matter. He'd said them once. Nuada held onto that, and held onto the knowledge that Dylan was waiting for him to wake and tell her... tell her....

The thought faded as true sleep slipped in among the langorous haze of the healing spells and took him away.

.

In another part of the Healers' Wing, the Dragon Emperor of Dilong sat in a chair and met his second-eldest son's eyes.

The Bethmooran prince had spared Zhenjin's life, crippling him to win the duel. As it turned out, Nuada had struck some sort of bargain with King Balor - that the Elven healers would reverse the damage done by their prince and leave him whole once more.

What Silverlance had offered his father in exchange, Huizong did not know. He didn't care, either. Zhenjin was alive, and would remain in the line of succession. That was all that mattered.

As an emperor of the Dilong Empire, he supposed he ought to be offended that his son had been spared. In the eastern fae kingdoms, such mercy was seen as the opponent dismissing the spared as too inconsequential to kill. A form of dishonor for most warriors. Yet Zhenjin had told his father what Nuada had said - that there was no shame in being spared by a friend. That the Tuathan prince would be ashamed to kill someone as honorable as Zhenjin.

As a father, there was no supposing. He was simply grateful. He had lost one son to exile centuries ago. He did not want to lose another to death.

"The Téngshé," Zhenjin said. Sweat dampened his dark hair, plastering it to his forehead. Unlike a simple cut or stab wound or broken bone, a severed tendon required a different sort of healing. One that hurt. And there was no pain-draught or sleep-spell that could help a victim escape that hurt. Despite the fire smoldering in his thigh and just under his calf, the crown prince of Dilong focused on his father and the matter of the traitorous guard. "What happened?"

Huizong frowned, stroking the thin length of his beard in thought. "Yin-Mei interrogated him." The emperor's mouth curved in a humorless smile at Zhenjin's wince. Princess Yin-Mei was not known for her gentility. Her epithet was Redbird for a very good - and very bloody - reason. "He claims that he acted out of devotion to the empire and the Jade Dragon Throne. That we had been insulted and dishonored because Balor dared to claim satisfaction for us both when I had clearly stated the terms of the duel beforehand, and that your victory was thwarted by the interference of the mortal slut."

Zhenjin's mouth tightened. "I beg you not to insult her, Father. I have met her. She is a good woman. I would be proud to have a lady at my side as honorable and compassionate as the one who currently stands with the brave Silverlance."

The emperor's surprise showed clearly on his face, but he inclined his head nonetheless. "I bow to your wishes in this, my son. If I may ask, then... was that why you hesitated when she called out to you? Because you think well of her and did not wish to cause her grief?"

Recognizing that the wrong answer would turn this conference between royal father and son into a very dangerous confrontation between Dragon Emperor and wounded prince, Zhenjin took a moment to think before answering. "She caught me off-guard, Honorable Father. I did not hesitate. It simply took me a moment to comprehend that she had dared to try and stay my hand with her pleas. I did not intend to allow Nuada to survive the battle."

His father studied him for a moment through narrowed eyes before reaching out and resting a hand on his shoulder. "It must have been difficult for you. I know that he is your friend."

Zhenjin shrugged. "He is my friend. You are my father and my emperor. My duty was clear."

Huizong gripped his son's shoulder and bestowed a rare smile. "You make your father very proud, Zhenjin. Now, your sister wishes to see you and make sure the healers succeeded in... how did she put it? Putting all your pieces back together again."

The crown prince of Dilong grinned despite the pain. "Indeed? Doesn't she know that I am convalescing? Ah, well. I suppose she can come in if she must."

Calling to the Téngshé waiting outside the door resulted in the door bursting open and an explosion of lavender and magenta silk rocketed into the room, climbed into the emperor's lap, used it as a springboard, and then landed with a bounce on the edge of the bed next to Zhenjin. Ming Xian buried her face in her brother's stomach, twined her arms around his waist, and hung on for dear life as if she expected that at any moment someone would pick her up and drag her away.

Zhenjin laid his bandaged hand on top of her head, careful of the little enameled combs holding her hair in place. The other hand rubbed soothing circles over the golden cranes embroidered on the back of her yihe-dang. He wondered absently how Yin-Mei had gotten his little sister to agree to wear the short-sleeved jacket in the first place. "It is all right, Ming. I am all right. Come now, little orchid, all is well. I am all right."

"You are in big trouble, Zhen," the princess mumbled into his shirt. "I am going to tell Aunt Yethh-Thhen you got hurt and thhe will be very mad at you and thmack you with a thtick. Mama will be mad at you, too. You thaid you wouldn't get hurt."

"I did try my best, little orchid."

Ming Xian pulled her face away from his stomach long enough to stick out her tongue and slightly smudge the carefully-applied skinpaint on her mouth. She'd already smeared his shirt with the rice powder her servants had applied to her cheeks and forehead. Zhenjin glanced at his father. The emperor rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"I do not understand why Counselor Chi-Fu insists on putting makeup on you, Ming," the prince said, swiping away the residue of pale rice powder from her face to reveal the natural bronze of her skin. A quick swipe erased the crimson on her lips. The only thing he did not attempt to wipe away was the kohl around her eyes. That would stay for most of the day unless she decided to jump in a fountain. "There. Much better. Now do not stick your tongue out at me or else."

She narrowed her green eyes. In the fiercely challenging set to her features, her brother saw the princess she would become when she got older. Folding her arms across her skinny chest, Ming Xian demanded, "Or elthe what?"

"Or else," Zhenjin said, adopting a deep rumbling growl, "or else..." And then quick as a striking viper, he grabbed her and pulled her against his chest, growling with mock-ferocity, "I shall feed you to a fire-breathing dragon!"

Ming Xian squealed and squirmed, but couldn't escape. Zhenjin pretended to nibble on her cheeks and she giggled. "No! I don' tathte good, Zhen."

"Really?" He pulled back in time to catch one of the combs that tumbled out of her hair. "A dragon would think you taste delicious."

She shook her head emphatically, sending more combs falling. "Mmm-mmm, not me."

Huizong leaned back in his chair and simply watched his second-eldest child and his youngest laughing and playing together, grateful that the former still lived, glad that the latter could giggle and enjoy her brother's presence. He owed Prince Nuada his thanks... when the Bethmooran prince awoke.

If he ever did.

.

Work went by swiftly. Dylan had expected the day to drag on and on, with the worry and the dread gnawing at her insides and clawing at her chest until she could scarcely breathe, but throwing herself into the sessions with her patients helped to shove down the fear until she could function.

Every so often she would think back to the strange tingling sensation she'd experienced when she'd lain on Nuada's bed. It had been comforting, but oddly... almost frightening in a way. She hadn't realized it at the time, but the temptation to just lay on the bed and let that softly sorcerous feeling slide over her like a spell had been strangely powerful and even more seductive than she'd realized until she'd left it behind in Faerie. Even now, taking a moment to sit down in the underground sanctuary before she bounced back to Findias, the memory of that gentle caress of magic whispered to her.

Was it just the combination of fear for Nuada, missing him so much, and being so freaking exhausted all the time that had made the call of that magic so very powerful? Or was there something more at work? Thinking about that strange feeling left excitement and a strange reluctance warring in the pit of her stomach.

Shaking away the half-bewildered, half-bewildering thoughts, Dylan used her ring again.

.

Once again, she thanked Heavenly Father that Nuada had gifted her with Eimh and Sétanta. Somehow, the hound pups were waiting for her when she popped up not in her room in Findias, but in a (luckily mostly deserted) corridor. Of course, as Nuada wasn't in his suite but in the Healers' Wing, Dylan realized she should've expected to pop up somewhere new.

When asked how the dogs had known where the ring would take her, Eimh gave an odd roll of her shoulders and a shake of her tail that Dylan interpreted as a doggy-shrug and said, *We just knew. We are guards - it is our job to know where you are.*

Maybe it's part of their magic, the mortal decided, and followed the hounds to the prince's room in the Healers' Wing.

She didn't have to identify herself to the Butcher Guards standing watch just outside the door. They merely stepped aside, each pressing a fist to their leather- and armor-clad chests and bowing their helmeted heads before returning to Bethmooran military attention.

Dylan was fairly certain she would never get used to the odd level of deference people were paying her now that Nuada had declared himself so blatantly to her before the entire court - servants bowing or curtsying to her, the odd fey noble offering truncated versions of the same, the guards saluting her as they just had. It felt weird when only a few days before, she'd known she was nothing to them but the jumped-up human slut supposedly occupying the prince's bed. No one had insulted her outright... but no one had done this before, either.

The sight of Nuada, still unconscious on the healing bed, covered by soft black bedclothes with his hair spread out around him like a halo of starlight, shoved all these thoughts right out of Dylan's head. She went to his side immediately and took his hand carefully in hers. The off-white linen bandage wrapped around his upper arm emphasized the paleness of his already-pale skin.

"Hey," she whispered. Caressed his cheek with the backs of her fingers. Relief winged through her; the previous night, his skin had been chilled by bloodloss. Now he felt a touch warmer, and though his color wasn't where it ought to have been, it was still better than it was. When she checked his pulse, she found it stronger as well. His breathing was deeper, too. She managed a smile. "Hey, I'm back. You seem better." Feeling her breath hitch in her chest, she whispered, "I really wish you'd wake up. I miss you."

Seeing her human mistress properly escorted, Eimh trotted off to bring Tsu's'di downstairs to the healing chamber to guard the Master's lady along with her and Sétanta. It took less than ten minutes for the milk-white hound to return with the cougar youth. Tsu's'di took up his position from the previous night at Dylan's back, seeming to gaze out the window and ignore what was going on in the room. The hounds settled near the chair Dylan set next to Nuada's bed.

Dylan hooked her index finger around Nuada's little finger, just as she had the night the children had first come to the cottage, and she and her prince had talked about weakness and strength, relying on one's self and on others and most especially on God's strength.

Such a small connection, her finger curled around his. But it somehow seemed as if, so long as she kept at least some tenuous hold of him, he couldn't slip away from her.

She wouldn't let him slip away.

Wondering in a distant way what the Butchers guarding the room thought, she leaned forward and began talking to him about her day. About work and Ariel's antics to make her boss smile. About the second bribe of apple-cinnamon donuts. John taking her out to lunch. Trying to be a joker by dabbing frigid ice cream on her nose (she'd stolen a bite of his bannan-nut-bread-batter-flavored ice cream cone in retribution). She murmured to him about 'Sa'ti's sweet little prayer. How Sétanta had fetched her shoes from where they'd somehow gotten kicked beneath the bed for her, and come out nearly gray with the dust the maids had neglected to sweep up.

And all the while, she craved the feel of his finger moving against hers. A flicker of his golden lashes. A furrowing of his brows. Anything to let her know that he was still holding on, still trying to come back to her. Maybe even actually listening to the random babbling of one frightened, heartsick mortal woman.

The sun drifted lower and lower in the winter-gray sky. Shadows in the healing chamber stretched and lengthened. A hob maid - Dylan thought she might have been the one who'd escorted the children to her suite that first night in the castle; Fiona, or something like that - came in to light some candles and build up the fire a little, chasing away the oncoming darkness.

One of the kitchen boys, Rórdán, came with a tray for Dylan and a couple sandwiches for Tsu's'di. Dylan had almost no appetite, but Eimh threatened to nip her on the ankle if she didn't at least eat the bowl of stew that sat steaming on the tray. A nip in that particular location wouldn't have hurt, since Dylan wore boots, but it would have left score-marks in the leather and she really didn't feel like dealing with it, so she ate. One taste of the mutton and potato stew woke Dylan's appetite, and she found it easier than she'd expected to eat the fresh white bread and drink the sweet cider.

She couldn't touch the lovely winter apple, sitting so shiny and red, however. Just looking at it reminded her of nights spent reading fairy tales and discussing life, the universe, and everything in between over cheese and apple sandwiches. Dylan offered it to Tsu's'di instead, who bit into it with muffled thanks. She realized she needed to make sure he was eating enough; he was still a growing boy, and the mortal knew from experience with John that teenage boys needed crazy amounts of fuel.

Late into the night, eyes burning with fatigue, Dylan leaned back in her chair. Sighed. Closed her eyes and let her head fall back. She was so tired. Bone weary. She wished, more than anything else, that Nuada would wake up and they could go back to the cottage where they had been safe and happy and they could be together without all the craziness.

"He'll pull through," a vaguely familiar voice broke into her thoughts. Her eyes snapped open to see Zhenjin, leaning on a crutch and sweating a little with either effort or pain, standing in the doorway. Dylan straightened in the chair. "You need not worry, my lady," the prince added in Gaelic. "Silverlance is a stubborn man. He'll not let these trifling wounds lay him low for much longer." The Dilong prince's smile seemed genuine as he limped a little further into the room. "With all due respect, milady, it is very late. Why are you still here? Surely you do not sleep here."

Dylan shook her head. "I don't want to leave him," she confessed. "Although I think it's later than I thought. And I am tired." She pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes. Sighed. "I guess I should get to bed."

"Do you need an escort?"

Dylan blinked. Stared at him. The offer was genuine, and she knew he didn't mean the question in any sort of condescending or chauvanistic way. The only reason it startled her at all was because Prince Zhenjin seemed as if he would have trouble merely walking back to his own room, which she seemed to recall was only a few minutes away and on the same floor as this one. To traverse more than three flights of stairs? She'd have had to be a true sadist to inflict that on him.

"I thank you, Your Imperial Highness, but I have sufficient escort in my guard and my dogs. Thank you all the same." She managed to give a halfway decent curtsy upon rising to her feet.

Zhenjin responded with a formal bow, hindered a little by his crutch. With another smile, he shot Nuada's prone form a look, turned and walked back the way he'd come. If someone had asked her to interpret that look, she'd have described it as, "Dude - if you die, I am so kicking your butt." The thought actually made her smile as Tsu's'di came up and offered his mortal mistress his arm.

.

Back in her suite, Dylan quickly readied for bed. 'Sa'ti and A'du'la'di asked if maybe they should say a prayer for the prince again, in case the Star Kindler hadn't heard them the first time. Their mistress explained that God always heard prayers, but sometimes it took more than one to get the desired result, and that if they wanted to pray for Nuada, they most certainly could. It surprised her just how much A'du's prayer eased the dread coiling like a snake around her heart. Remembering her duty as their mistress, she advised both children to try offering individual prayers as well.

Tsu's'di asked to speak with her after his younger siblings went into their bedroom to try out this new idea of saying prayers. Dylan sank into her sitting room chair and nodded for him to speak his mind.

The cougar youth paced in front of the fireplace a few times, his fur slightly bristled with agitation, ears twitching and whiskers quivering, before he came to a halt and pinned his human mistress with smoky turquoise eyes.

"I want A'du and 'Sa'ti to learn about the Star Kindler," the youth said, surprising her. "I want to learn about Him. I've seen how praying and reading that book you have makes you feel so much better, even when things are really difficult. You have this... this peace about you almost all the time. This confidence about things. Even when you're scared, I can still see it. I want that. I want them to have it. Teach us about the High King of the World." Remembering to whom he spoke, he added diffidently, "If it pleases you, milady."

Dylan got to her feet and went to the ewah youth. Placing both hands on his shoulders, she smiled. It was the first unshadowed smile he'd seen on her face since Prince Zhenjin had challenged Prince Nuada. Tsu's'di relaxed. He'd wondered if his mistress would get offended by the way he'd demanded everything, but he'd wanted to show her how important this was to him. How much thought he'd been giving it over the past few days.

"You are a wonderful young man, Tsu's'di Ka'ta," Dylan said softly.

Tsu's'di ducked his head and strands of his long mane fell in his eyes. His whiskers pricked forward. The mortal thought he might have been blushing.

"Here's what I'll do. For now, you might give praying a try. It's nice to be able to talk to Heavenly Father about what life is throwing your way. You, 'Sa'ti, and A'du can come to church with me on Sunday. After that, I'll talk to Nils Fjøsnisse and see about setting you up with missionary lessons, okay?"

And it would give her something else to focus on besides Nuada and whether he would ever wake up. "I am very happy that you've asked for this, Tsu's'di."

"Thank you, A'ge'lv. Um... will you be all right?" Her nod did little to reassure him, but he was exhausted, so he offered her a little bow. "All right, then." He smiled when she kissed him on the cheek. "Goodnight, milady-mother."

She grinned. "Good night, Tsu's'di."

When he went into the room he shared with his brother and sister, Dylan felt the darkness of the oncoming night pressing in on her. She didn't want to sleep alone in the sitting room, recalling how she, Nuada and the hounds had spent the night before the duel. And she didn't want to be alone in her room, either. Yes, Eimh and Sétanta would be there, but it wasn't quite the same. She wanted... she wanted....

Before Dylan even knew what she was doing, she found herself in Nuada's room. The dogs hopped onto his bed without being prompted. Dylan followed, stretching out atop the covers and cuddling the pillow to her chest as she had before. She was so cold, she was shivering. Eimh and Sétanta pressed close on either side of her. The warmth from their furry bulk eased some of the cold.

A distant part of her wondered if she really ought to be here... but that still, small voice was drowned out by Dylan's exhaustion and dread. She began drifting off to sleep surrounded by the warmth of her faerie dogs, with the familiar scent of Elven warrior soothing some of the fear.

And at least this way I'll be rested enough for work in the morning, she thought just before slumber rose up and dragged her down into oblivion.

.

Brother. Such a soft calling in the darkness. He knew that voice. Knew it as surely as he knew his own name. If he were struck blind, he would always know that oh so familiar voice. Brother.

Nuala, Nuada struggled to respond, to muster the strength to speak using even this simple method. He was so tired. So very, very tired. Tired of fighting, tired of condemnation from his sister, his father, even from many of his people. Tired of heartache and bloodshed and drowning in so much senseless death. Nuala... my sister...

Brother, you must wake up, his twin pleaded. Each word was raw and ragged with tears. Brother, come back to us. You cannot leave me. You cannot! What would I do without you? Nuada, please, you must fight. You must not give in. Please, my brother! I'm sorry, I am sorry for everything, do not leave me alone. You can't, Nuada, you can't!

He strained to keep afloat amidst the numbing dark and answer her. Her voice had always been the one he could never ignore, the one that could drag him back from the brink, if only she would call out to him. As children she had always been the one... but it had been centuries since she had called for him this way. Nuala.... So tired. So stars-cursed tired. So much effort to press against sleepy oblivion and respond. Little sister... my sister....

Nuada sensed a moment of hesitation from his twin. A flicker of doubt. And then she said, If you die, my brother, what will happen to your lady? You must cling to life, Brother. She needs you. As I need you. You cannot break our hearts this way. You cannot break Father's heart. Please, promise me you will fight.

Break Father's heart....

A jolt of adrenaline shoved at the exhaustion weighing him down. With it came pain - sizzling along his wounded thigh, searing through his arm and side, throbbing across his belly and ripping through his chest. He sucked in his breath with a hiss. Father! Nuala... is Father safe? The Téngshé, did he... Already the burst of energy faded, leaving him drained ever further. Did the Téngshé succeed? Tell me Father is well....

Only vaguely did he remember his father at his bedside, and the words the king had said forced Nuada to wonder if that had been mere hallucination, a dream brought on by pain and healing spells. You are my son. Hallucination, fever-dream, what-have-you. It mattered not. What mattered was his father; was his father all right?

Athair is well enough, my brother, but your lady is not, Nuala replied, sending another painful jolt of adrenaline burning through him. She fades in your absence. In Father's letters, he says she is like a summer flower withering in the winter shadows. Her heart is breaking beneath the pain of losing you. Will you not come back to her? Will you not return to us both?

Do you... even want me back... Sister?

Of course I do, Nuada, Nuala said, and he could hear the desperation - and the doubt - in her voice. You are my brother and I....

But under the crushing weight of his pain, Nuala's half-buried doubts, and the sleep-inducing healing spells, he faded away before he could hear the rest of his twin sister's words.

.

Dylan woke in an icy sweat, disoriented, an odd taste in her mouth and pain throbbing behind her eyes. Eimh and Sétanta both startled awake the moment she bolted upright. Eimh scanned the darkened room - lit only by the dim embers of the fire and the light of the nearly-full moon - while Sétanta nosed Dylan's side and licked her ice-cold hands to warm them.

*Sleep-trap?* Sétanta asked, using what Dylan figured was the hound-phrase for "nightmare."

She shook her head. Tried to shove the confusion and frigid terror far away. She had to get out of this bed. Had to get out of this room. Had to get somewhere she could breathe. Stumbling out of bed, Dylan staggered toward the door. The dogs followed, whining softly, obviously bewildered. She ignored them. Shoved through the partially open door joining her room to Nuada's, desperately trying to swallow mindless panic. By the time she made it to the bathroom, she was gasping for air, pressing a hand to her chest in a vain attempt to calm her pounding heart.

No, Dylan thought, sinking to the cool marble floor. No, no, no! He wouldn't... he would never.... She wrapped her arms around herself and shook. Her fingers bit deep into her arms. She'd have bruises in the morning. Shaking, gasping for breath, she shook her head to rid herself of every last vestige of the nightmare. Never, never, he would never, he didn't, I didn't, no, he wouldn't, he wouldn't, I-

The frantic thoughts cut off as the feel of something warm and slimy sliding across her neck jerked her back to the present with savage abruptness. Dylan yelped, and Eimh yelped and backed up hurriedly. Dylan realized the dog had licked her.

*I am sorry,* Eimh murmured, tail tucked between her legs. *I am sorry, I am sorry. You were making sad noises and crying. Are you hurt? I wanted to lick it better. Do not be angry. I am sorry.*

The little she-hound's panic gave her something other than nocturnal haunts for Dylan to focus on. "Come here," she croaked with a desert-dry throat. The dog bellied over and put her head on Dylan's thigh, whining softly. Dylan stroked the silky head with a hand that trembled. "It's all right. I'm all right. Don't be sorry. I just... it's okay. It's all right."

Sétanta whined. Dylan held out her arm, and the black hound came and pressed against her. *You were scared. Why? Scary dream?* Unable to speak, she laid her cheek against his thick neck and breathed in the oddly pleasant scent of fey dog and warm, sleepy animal. Sétanta turned his head to press his cheek against Dylan's forehead. *It is all right. We will protect you. Even from sleep-traps. It is all right. Do not be scared anymore.* He made a dog-noise. Eimh nosed Dylan's stomach. *We will always protect you because you are our person. We promise. Do not be scared.*

Dylan let her head fall back against the bathroom cupboard and tried to regulate her breathing. She desperately wanted a bath - she wanted one now - but she knew if she got up, her legs would shake so badly she would just fall down again. So for the moment, the mortal merely clung to her faerie hounds and struggled to breathe.

*Why are we in the bathtub room?* Eimh asked after a little while. *You want a bath?*

"Actually, yeah," she mumbled. "Just give me a minute, I can-"

Eimh heaved herself to her feet and trotted over to the huge sunken tub in the middle of Dylan's private bathroom. Using her nose, she pushed on one of the silver taps shaped like a blooming rose so that a thick gush of crystal-clear water poured into the ivory marble tub. Eimh looked over at her Master's lady.

*You like hot water?*

It took Dylan a moment to find words again. "Yes, please." The hound nudged another silver tap, and steam began to waft up from the fountain of water pouring into the bathtub.

Eimh trotted back over to Dylan. Cocked her head. *You should have a happy bath,* the pup decided, and went back to the taps.

She pushed on one with a paw, and translucent gel spilled into the water, where it immediately began to foam and bubble. Another rose-shaped silver tap dribbled just the tiniest bit of something transparent gold, flecked with tiny bits of emerald, into the tub. Eimh added the tiniest dollop of something white flecked with pale pink. The rich fragrance of summer roses and the sweetness of lilies filled the air.

Sétanta took it upon himself to nose about in the open display-case of silver-etched ashwood and nudge out three crystal bottles carved into the shapes of roses. One was filled with something of palest celadon, one filled with a transparent fuschia gel, and the other with something translucent that glittered with iridescent sparkles. Very carefully, the black hound tucked one of the bottles under his chin and carried it slowly to the edge of the bathtub. He did the same for the other two bottles and didn't drop them even once.

"I love you guys," Dylan blurted, distracted despite herself. The tub was full by now, and fragrant steam drifted up to circle above the water in a warm mist. She looked at the two dogs. Eimh gave Sétanta a nudge.

*Go away,* the white hound told her brother. He nudged her back before strolling to the bathroom door.

*I will guard the door so no one can peek at you,* he promised, wagging his tail. *Do not worry. We will protect you always.*

Eimh closed the door behind him by pushing it with her head. She waited for Dylan to undress and slip into the delicious hot water before coming over and plopping down on the floor beside the tub. She yawned, showing miles of pink tongue, then offered her new mistress an adoring and surprisingly sympathetic look.

*I have scary dreams too, sometimes,* Eimh said. *Master says brave people get them a lot. That means you are very brave. Master said so, too. He said you were very brave and smart, but that you had sleep-trap bad dreams sometimes. That is okay - Sétanta and Master and I will keep you safe. Now you get all soapy and clean so you will feel better. Then maybe we will go back to sleep. Or have a snack. I like snacks.*

As Dylan soaped up with the gel that smelled of wild forests, and washed her hair with rose-and-lily shampoo, she realized she really was starting to feel better. Calmer, easier. The scent of roses and lilies reminded her of Nuada's sanctuary. The soap smelled like a softer, more feminine version of Nuada's scent. The rose- and lily-oil Eimh had put in the water, along with what Dylan could only assume was the Elven version of bubble-bath, was slowly lulling her back into a state of drowsiness. There was no more fear. The nightmare was fading into the background, leaving her warm and comfortable and feeling safe for the first time in a long while.

"Thank you, Eimh," Dylan mumbled, luxuriating in the feel of the water against her skin. "Thank you."

*You are welcome. I am glad you are happy,* the dog murmured.

An hour later, Dylan and her dogs were curled up on her own bed, fast asleep. Dreamless sleep this time. No nightmares plagued her, nor any bittersweet dreams. And when she woke in time for work, she felt more rested than she had in days.

.

Friday passed in much the same way as Thursday had, and Saturday morning found her at his bedside just before dawn.

It was the fourth day Nuada had not awakened, and the healers were growing more than a little concerned. Though no one told her directly, Dylan knew they feared for Nuada's life. According to Somhairle, the chief healer, the prince should have awoken the previous day at the latest. The healing spells were not complete by any means, but they had repaired enough damage that Nuada should have woken already.

"The longer the prince sleeps, Your Majesty," Healer Somhairle murmured to King Balor, while Dylan's blood turned to ice and fear skittered down her spine, "the less likely it is that he shall awaken at all. Perhaps if you brought the princess home? Mayhap she could reach him."

Dylan didn't hear Balor's response. She'd been sitting so quietly and so still since the king and the healer had stopped just outside the door that she doubted if either man even knew she was there. She didn't care if they did know. All she cared about was this new and all-too-possibly fatal blow. The longer he sleeps....

She clasped Nuada's hand. Mustering everything she had, she "yelled" as loud as she could, Nuada! Nuada, please! Wake up, please, I need you, I'm so scared and I miss you so much and I need you, please wake up! Please come back! Nothing. Not a flicker. Not a twitch. A sob caught in her throat. Reaching for anger, for desperation, she yelled, Wake up, you jerk! You're really scaring me! You promised you'd never scare me! Wake up! Wake up before I kick your butt! You know I will! I'll beat you with your own lance, I swear I will!

Seconds, minutes, hours ticked by as she continued to call for him through their linked hands. She alternated between threats that would have probably made him laugh to hear them and desperate pleading. The king and the leader of the healers moved off without a word to her. She wouldn't have paid them any mind if they had tried to speak to her, anyway. All of Dylan's focus was on Nuada. On trying to reach him.

Over the last few days she'd tried this. It had never worked. She wasn't psychic - she could make a weak connection on her own, without the prince's help, but it wasn't good for much. If he was shielding, she couldn't break through. If he was locked somewhere within his own mind, she couldn't find him, let alone draw him back again. But the thought of losing him... losing him like this, after everything....

She hadn't even gotten a chance to truly say goodbye. They had been joking around at the very last as if there was no chance of him being hurt or losing the battle. And before that... every cruel thing she'd hurled at him ricocheted back now to batter her with regret and grief. How could she have said those things to him? Why had they wasted time fighting when they'd known he might not survive the duel?

Don't leave me, Dylan pleaded silently, bringing his hand to her cheek. Please, Nuada, you can't leave me. I need you. You saved my life, my sanity. You kept me safe when I'd forgotten what safety meant. You helped me stand on my own two feet again. You were the one who taught me how to be strong again. How to fight back. You taught me how to trust enough to fall in love. You healed my heart. You're the one who showed me I was worth something. Worth everything. I'd always doubted that deep down until you showed me the truth. You are my world. You're my heart and my world and maybe I can do this without you, but Nuada, please, I don't want to. Please, wake up. Please don't leave me.

She didn't know she was crying, didn't know she'd squeezed her eyes shut, until trembling fingertips brushed the wetness from her cheek and her eyes snapped open to meet a pale yellow gaze.