Chapter 67 - No Cure for the Pain

that is

A Short Tale of a Clever Plan, Merits of the Color Blue, a Monster, Poison, Accusations, a Long Ordeal, One Reason or Another, a Vigil, and a Prayer

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A'du'la'di grinned as the incredible black horse leapt over the fence with all the grace of a hunting cougar, carrying the prince and the a'ge'lv somewhere where they could talk about stuff. He'd been really smart, coming up with this plan.

It wasn't done yet - he had backup ideas, just in case this didn't work - but so far it was working pretty good.

Early-early this morning, after he'd calmed down from a nightmare about headless monsters in black and he'd armwrestled Ailbho a couple times, he'd asked Guardsman Uaithne if A'ge'lv Dylan had any books in her library about flowers.

Uaithne had sent Ailbho to take a quick look in the little room with all the books and the younger guard had pulled out a huge leather-bound tome with no title on the spine or the cover - only a tiny symbol at the top of the spine, of a rosebud and a feather (whatever that was supposed to mean). Ailbho had helped the cougar boy leaf through the book for a while.

Unlike the prince's book, that one had been in English and that other language. Best of all, it had pictures. And he'd finally figured out what the words in the prince's book had meant.

Acacia - A ghrá mo chroí - My heart's beloved... Aloe - Sosanna - Grief... Arbutus - Chailleann tú mé - I miss you... Asphodel - Gráin agat dom, nach tú? - You hate me, don't you?

There'd been pictures of all the different kinds of flowers, too. A'du'la'di had a good memory, so he'd put a list together in his head of the different flowers that would help with his plan.

Aloe, for grief, because A'ge'lv Dylan was really sad.

Morning glory and mallow - the book had said they meant "love in vain" and "consumed by love." He'd had to ask what "in vain" and "consumed by" meant, but Uaithne had been really nice about explaining.

If the a'ge'lv smelled like bellflower, it would mean she was thinking about the prince. His Highness would like that.

And the final flower, something called a jonquil, was supposed to mean "return my affection." That had seemed to fit.

So A'du'la'di had put it all together and then gotten Eimh and Sétanta to look at the pictures, too. The dogs had good memories - for dogs - and A'du knew he could trust them to help with his plan.

Just like 'Sa'ti had been telling him all the day before about how A'ge'lv Dylan was having a lot of trouble writing her letter to the prince.

The cougar boy didn't get why she didn't just talk to him, but maybe it was a grownup thing. Maybe she was worried she'd start crying. She still smelled sad and far away, and he knew she didn't like to cry, so maybe that was it.

At church during Share Time, talking to Rórdán, one of the kitchen boys, A'du'la'di had come up with two other ideas to help with his big idea. One was to see if maybe Rórdán could cheer up Dylan when he brought her food.

Sometimes when his mama had been sad, A'du remembered his dad bringing her breakfast with a flower on a tray. Maybe if Rórdán put a flower on the tray for A'ge'lv Dylan, she'd be cheered up.

She might even think the flower was from the prince. Maybe A'du'la'di could even convince the prince to do it himself. He'd figure that out later.

The second idea had been the horseback ride. The ewah boy hadn't expected to see his mistress. This particular outing with the prince had been so he and 'Sa'ti could get intel (that's what Ailbho had called it, anyway; he'd thought the horseback ride had been a great idea).

And because being with Prince Nuada was nice. A'du knew the prince was sad, too, and he and 'Sa'ti had wanted to cheer the prince up if they could. That was why they'd saved their cupcakes.

Why His Highness hadn't eaten them, A'du'la'di would never understand. Cupcakes could fix anything. So could chocolate chunk cookies. Maybe the prince didn't get it because he was a grownup.

A'ge'lv Dylan showing up had just been a bonus.

Luckily, while His Highness had been in the stables earlier talking to Nils, A'du had talked to Lóman, the prince's horse, and told him all about what was going on with the prince and his lady. About how they wanted to get married, but couldn't because of a bunch of stuff, and how now they were both really sad. How A'du and his sister wanted to make them happy again, and how A'du had a plan to make them make up and not be mad or sad at each other anymore. And it had been Lóman's idea that if A'du'la'di could get Prince Nuada to give A'ge'lv Dylan a ride, the stallion would make sure they went somewhere where they could talk and get things sorted.

Now A'du stared after the dwindling sight of the black stallion, the prince, and the human, and grinned. 'Sa'ti plopped onto the fence next to him and sighed at how romantical it all was. Behind the pair, the Butchers assigned to His Highness grumbled and growled and went racing after their charge.

A'du could've told them not to bother. Lóman wasn't gonna let them catch up to the prince. No way, no how.

His mistress's guards groaned and sighed. The cougar cubs thought they heard Uaithne chuckle and Fionnlagh make a noise halfway between a laugh and someone coughing up a furball before she led the guardswomen off to go follow the prince and human - at a discreet distant. Ailbho and Uaithne remained behind for a moment.

Tsu's'di dropped his hands on top of 'Sa'ti and A'du'la'di's heads.

"Clever," their older brother said, torn between admiration and annoyance.

The little cougar boy beamed up at his big brother and purred. 'Sa'ti daintily licked her fingers and scrubbed at her cheek as if she had no idea what Tsu's'di was talking about.

"You could've given me a head's up, you know."

The pageboy shrugged. "Didn't know that was gonna happen. But at least they're not staring at each other like someone stole their cupcakes."

'Sa'ti paused in grooming herself. "Um... we stole the prince's cupcakes."

A'du sniffed haughtily. "We did not. He gave them back to us. It was fair and square. If he can't appre... appre... appree-shum-mate real vanilla frosting, he's crazy." He glanced up at Tsu's'di and confided in a horrified whisper, "His Highness didn't even want a bite. Not even a lick. Who doesn't like frosting?"

"Appreciate," Ailbho corrected gently.

"Yeah, that."

"Maybe 'cause it was blue," 'Sa'ti replied. "Maybe it made him sad. Blue's the a'ge'lv's favorite color. She wears it all the time."

"If she likes blue, he should eat the blue frosting!" A'du said, as if that was obvious to an imbecile. "Maybe it would turn his tongue blue. It turned my tongue blue. See?" He stuck out a decidedly indigo tongue. "Then A'ge'lv Dylan would see he had a blue tongue and it would make her smile."

Uaithne made a choked noise behind them.

A'du twisted around. Eyed the guardsman quizzically. "What? It would."

"But then if they kiss, A'ge'lv Dylan's mouth and tongue might turn blue," Tsu's'di said with a shrug.

A'du'la'di stared at his older brother in absolute horror. "What? People kiss with their tongues? That is gross!" He licked his fingers and scrubbed his face to demonstrate how absolutely revolting the idea was, then hopped off the fence. "I'm gonna go make sure they don't do that."

"A'du'la'di-" Tsu's'di began sternly.

"I'm not gonna let 'em see me. Just gotta make sure the plan's going how it's s'posed to. I'll be real quiet. And if they catch me, I'll take my punishment like a man."

He thumped himself on the chest, reminding Uaithne suddenly once again of his son Tadgh. Then the ewah boy set off at a brisk little jog towards where he'd last seen the horse. Maybe a dozen paces away, he dropped into full cougar shape on the fly, loping across the snow, following Lóman's tracks.

"I feel like we shouldn't let him do that," Ailbho murmured. "What if he interrupts?"

Uaithne stared after the ewah boy. "He's a lot cleverer than you might think," the older guardsman said. Tsu's'di made an aggrieved sound, concurring with that statement. "And I feel as if we should not stop him. I just do not know why."

"Because he's a nosy pest?" Tsu's'di hazarded. "Sometimes, anyway."

The guardsman laughed. "Perhaps. And it is his plan. Let him see it come to fruition if it will. The prince will not mind too much, I think."

'Sa'ti sighed again. "It's just all so romantical, isn't it?"

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Ice spilling down Dylan's back was the only warning. She whipped around to see a flickering shadow lunge for them both.

"Nuada!"

Dylan ducked aside. The Elf prince spun to meet the attack, bringing up his sword to block the weapon that had been aimed at his back. Shock from the impact sang through his arms. Flash of pain from the fresh cut on his arm. The sudden throbbing in his chest worried him more.

Gritting his teeth, he ignored the pain and blocked a second strike. The Téngshé's fist connected with the side of his jaw with bone-jarring force. Pain flared. He ignored it, too. Lunged. Somersaulted easily over the Téngshé. Thrust back with his sword.

Cloth and flesh feebly attempted to resist Elven silver. There was the punch of blade piercing body. Nuada smelled the raw, hot reek of lifeblood. The Téngshé choked and dropped to the snow. Dark amber pooled beneath the newly-made corpse.

Nuada spun, deflecting a blow from a second opponent just before it could slice across his spine. A dangerous strike, as he wore no armor; he'd been too distracted by the children and their request to "play." Too confident that with guards and so many others all around, no assassin would be able to get close to him.

He'd been an idiot, he thought with savage grimness.

The Elven warrior ducked under the outstretched arm of his enemy. Dragged his sword across the Téngshé's unarmored belly. Elven silver met silver with a bell-like clang. Hot golden blood spattered the snow and steamed.

Belly-wound, he thought. Not deep enough or long enough to kill or even bring down the Dilong Elf. Damn.

Nuada thrust the blade through the Téngshé's foot. The other Elf howled and staggered. Fell to one knee. A graceful silvery arc severed the assassin's head.

Flash of sunlight on metal. Nuada whipped around. Paused a fraction of a second as a third Téngshé stopped mid-swing. Dropped his sword. Staggered and fell, the hilt of a knife in his back. A hand-carved dragon's head of dark jade gleamed in the pommel.

The Elf prince looked up into familiar jade eyes. Frowned.

"What are you doing out here?"

Zhenjin growled, "Looking for my sister; she escaped her keepers during her nap. She likes plums and snow. I though I might find her- knife!" He shouted.

He ducked. Dodged left. A throwing knife sailed past to embed itself in the trunk of an ice-coated plum tree.

Before the Bethmooran prince could even attempt to counterattack, the enraged cry of a war stallion split the air. The sound of breaking bone followed. The Téngshé that had thrown the knife hurtled through the air, smashing into the thick trunk of a tree with an audible crunch. When he attempted to climb to his feet, murderous obsidian hooves kicked out and caved in his chest.

Lòman snorted. Stared down at the Téngshé lying in the snow, choking on his own blood. The stallion reared with an infuriated scream of challenge. The lethal hooves plunged downward again. There was a second, wet crunch. The choking sounds stopped.

Lòman pinned his rider with a single dark eye.

*Are you hurt?*

Nuada shook his head. Sweat trickled down his neck, dampening his shirt. He adjusted his grip on his sword as Zhenjin drew abreast of him. Although the Dilong prince did not carry his normal blade, he'd retrieved the knife with the jade pommel.

There were at least two Téngshé left, but neither prince could spot them, or the weak glamor they'd attempted to use to hide themselves.

"They got away," Zhenjin spat, and swore. "There are more snakes in the dragon's nest than my father or my aunt suspected. They... Nuada?"

"Where is Dylan?" Nuada demanded, eyes raking across the orchard. "She should have been-"

"Bitch!" The low snarl wrenched both princes' attention. Behind them, a blurry darkness wrestled with a very familiar mortal shape. "I'll kill you for that, human bitch, I'll- gah!"

Nuada lunged toward the Elf wrestling with the human. A blade slicing toward his side arrested him. His sword caught the blade with enough force to make the cut on his arm burn. His chest throbbed.

From the corner of his eye, Nuada caught sight of Zhenjin attempting to behead something. Whatever it was, it was not an Elf. The Bethmooran prince didn't have time to study it further as he crossed swords with yet another Dilong Elf intent on his blood.

Dylan slammed her foot down on her captor's instep. Tried and failed to wriggle out of his clutching grasp. Gasped for breath, twisted this way and that. Rammed the blade of her dirk between the Dilong Elf's legs. The Elf screamed. Dylan twisted the blade so it slashed the length of the assassin's inner thigh.

The Téngshé fell, still screaming weakly. Elf blood fountained onto the snow.

The human staggered away from him. Her bad leg buckled. She fell to the snow as well, unable to support herself any longer.

Nuada tried to reach her. He could see a long cut slashing her cheek, dripping scarlet onto pale skin and ivory snow. Tiny spatters of crimson gleamed against the white ground. Raw red marks circled her throat. A cut above her left eye and a cut on her lip both leaked blood. The assassin chopped downward with his sword, preventing the Elf prince from reaching his lady.

Dylan panted for breath, shivering with cold and with reaction to her narrow escape. She let go of her dirk to shove her hair out of her face. Caught sight of Nuada plunging his sword into his opponent's chest and savagely twisting the blade. The Téngshé dropped to the snow.

Her eyes slid past her prince to see Zhenjin and Nuada's horse struggling against what looked like a bulbous mass of black, gelatinous slime. With more than two dozen razor-tipped, fangy tentacles.

As she watched with horrified eyes, a fanged mouth sprouted on the end of one tentacle. Whipped toward the prince of Dilong. Eyes blinked open amidst the rot-black slime. Rolled wildly before they fixed on the two Elves, the faerie stallion, and the mortal woman.

The mortal stared at the all-too-familiar monster sprawled across the snow that smashed ropy tentacles into the Dilong prince, knocking him back. The horse attempted to trample it. Thick tentacles smacked into the stallion's legs, sending him crashing to the ground. Nuada started forward.

"No!" Dylan yelled, struggling to climb to her feet. She stumbled and fell again. "No, Nuada, don't! It's a shoggoth, stay away from it!"

The warrior paused, studying the grotesque creature with feral eyes. A shoggoth? He'd heard of them in stories. Never seen one. They were not native to Faerie, nor to the mortal world. Those that dwelt in either were said to die before they ever grew this large.

And none of the stories spoke of how to kill one.

Zhenjin staggered back from the beast. Lòman managed to get to all four feet. Barely managed to dance backward in order to avoid the flailing tentacles.

"Is it a corpse-drinker?" Zhenjin demanded. "If it is, I can probably dispatch it."

"Don't touch it!" Dylan cried. She managed to get to her feet, panting. One arm pressed tight to her side. "Didn't you see what it did? It can sprout mouths and eyes anywhere on its body. Its bite is incredibly poisonous, especially to faeries! You can't kill them except with fire or molten iron."

"Then it is fey," the Dilong prince said, taking a step toward the creature. The shoggoth's tentacles snapped toward the prince. Zhenjin leapt back. Glared. "No common fae can stand against two royal heirs-"

"It's not fey!" The mortal contradicted with a flash of irritation. "It's an Elder... thing. Like the Deep Ones, or the ice-bringers. You can't just hack the thing to death. You have to set it on fire and melt it down. Nuada, what do we do?"

The Elven prince narrowly regarded the heaving mass of foulness as it sludged over to the corpse of the Téngshé Lòman had trampled. Thick black ooze slurped over the crushed skull. Something crunched with a glottal, wet sound. Dylan fell to her knees and covered her mouth.

Zhenjin snarled and darted forward, only to be brought up short by Lòman's massive bulk shoving between Elf and shoggoth.

"Stars curse you, that creature is eating one of my father's soldiers!" The Dilong prince snapped. "Traitor or not, he deserves better than-"

*Lady Dylan has said it cannot be killed by ordinary means,* the stallion interrupted. Shoved the prince back a pace. *You are a dragon-Elf. Can you not burn it?*

"Only the Dragon and Phoenix Emperors have that sort of power," Zhenjin growled. "Not a mere crown prince."

"Why is it here?" Nuada still watched the grisly creature feast on the corpse. "How does anyone coerce such a thing into even a semblance of obedience? It has no... no mind, no thoughts. It is nothing but appetite."

Dylan shivered, thinking back to a few half-fae she knew or had heard about from her less mundane acquaintances.

"It has a mind," she whispered. "Just not one anyone from your world or mine can understand. I don't know what it's doing here, but if it's working with anyone who's trying to kill us, we're in a lot of trouble. I don't anything that can control a shoggoth except one of the- hey!"

It was then that a final Téngshé, hidden and waiting for the perfect moment, struck. Swift as a serpent, darkness snaked out and wrenched Dylan to her feet. She stumbled. Tripped. Was yanked up again.

Nuada spun toward the captive mortal and lunged forward, teeth bared, eyes molten copper and feral.

"Hold, Silverlance!" The assassin snapped. "Or she's dead." A silver knife gleamed against the smooth expanse of Dylan's bruised throat.

She swallowed reflexively. A thin rivulet of scarlet trickled down her neck. Nuada froze. Rage, black and lethal, whispered coldly vicious promises in the back of his skull as a few drops of mortal blood stained the knife blade.

"That's it," the Téngshé snarled in Old Gaelic. "No sudden moves, now. We would not wish for any harm to come to the lady."

"Where," Dylan muttered, the cut on her neck stinging and beginning to itch, "do you get your I'm-gonna-take-a-hostage material? Bad movies?"

The assassin tightened his grip. "Shut up," he hissed. She grimaced as a fleck of spittle hit her cheek. "That spineless cur that calls himself a warrior will do nothing so long as I keep this knife at your throat, you filthy human tramp, so shut your mouth."

"Dylan-" Nuada began, warning clear in his eyes, but a look from her cut him off.

She was trying to tell him something, with her wide-eyed look. Trust me, she seemed to say. Just trust me. She closed her eyes. Drew a deep breath. Swallowed, ignoring the fresh trickle of blood from a second shallo cut. Looked at Nuada again. Trust me. Please.

The Elven warrior shifted his weight just a bit. Turned his head slightly, as if he were glancing off to his right, but he kept his eyes fixed on his captive lady. Message received and acknowledged, milady.

She blinked at him hard. Thank you, my prince.

If she had a plan, he would trust in it. Just as he had to trust Zhenjin and Lòman to keep their eyes on the shoggoth at Nuada's back.

"You should probably let me go," Dylan said, every word coated in frost and sharp with ice. "You're only making things worse for yourself."

The Téngshé flicked the tip of the knife against her throat, just under her chin. Another spill of blood warmed her skin before cooling quickly in the winter air. He pressed the point against her jaw, drawing more blood. Dylan hissed at the sudden burning as silver scraped bone. Couldn't bite back a sound of pain.

"Stop," Nuada commanded. His eyes burned with promises of pain. "One more drop of her blood and you die."

"You will do nothing to me so long as I hold this blade to your whore's throat, little prince. Your cowardice makes you easy to control."

"Do not insult my prince," the mortal said. She kept her eyes on Nuada's face. On the icy fury in his gaze. She wondered if she ought to feel sorry for this Elven assassin who didn't realize that he was going to die. "Just a tip."

"You are so confident that the mighty Silverlance will be able to defeat me, but I have news for you, little whore."

The Téngshé leaned in and whispered, "My master's ally has a keen interest in you. He told me if I gave you a message, you would know who he is. And I will tell you, just because I'm feeling generous, that your enemies have a very special punishment in store for interfering human sluts that do not know their place."

Fighting the dryness in her throat and ignoring the pain sizzling through her bad leg, Dylan said in a loud voice, "Okay, you've got a message for me from your master's new buddy. Deliver it and stop breathing on me; your breath's worse than my brother's gym socks. I mean- glk."

The Téngshé's hand clamped hard around her throat. His fingers bit into the necklace of raw bruises. For a minute it was all she could do to suck in air while the assassin's grip tightened around her neck. His thumb pressed hard into the bone-deep cut on her jaw. Sparks of pain bit deep beneath the skin. She choked on a cry of pain.

A muscle flexed in Nuada's jaw.

The knife drew a caressing trail from just under the Téngshé's hand over her skin, between her collarbones, to the neckline of her lace-up Old World blouse. The silver point caught on the knotted rawhide laces. Sliced through the knot without even a token of resistance. Cold air blew against the newly-exposed topmost part of the scar that covered her heart.

Doesn't matter, Dylan told herself. Just ignore it. Panic later. Just gotta keep him from taking me anywhere. Gotta keep him distracted.

She knew this enemy wanted to take her somewhere. Knew she couldn't let that happen. And she knew, by the heat nearly searing her chest and beating back the frigid chill of sheer terror, if she kept the Téngshé talking long enough, she and Nuada would survive this.

Icy silver touched the raised edge of the scar over her heart. Pricked the pale, sensitive flesh. Dylan barely bit back a whimper.

She tried not to cry out when the knife ripped across the top of the sensitive scar tissue, drawing a line of crimson above her heart. Choked on a scream as the knife touched her again.

Not there. Not there, not there, not there. Anywhere but there.

Dylan could barely think the words over the thunder of her pulse. Those five scars - at her inner thighs and the insides of her elbows and just above her heart - were almost brutally sensitive to pain. A red-hot iron brand pressed against her chest where the knife-point had drawn blood.

"Bastard," Nuada snarled. Every muscle strained to launch an attack. Fury iced his blood. His eyes had shifted to enraged scarlet.

He saw the sudden spike of fear in Dylan's eyes. She hadn't been afraid, not really, until now. And that choked scream of pain... he would kill the bastard for that. Slowly. Perhaps feed him to the shoggoth before dispatching the elder creature.

And this assailant had a message for her, specifically? Why? Who was this Elf working for?

"The message," the Téngshé hissed, "is five simple words."

He seemed to almost croon them in her ear, so low the prince couldn't hear them. But Nuada saw Dylan's eyes widen. Go glassy with shock and terror. Saw every last drop of blood drain from her face.

Then the Téngshé flipped the knife blade so the back-edge rested against Dylan's throat, just above her carotid artery.

"This knife was given to me by my master."

A fine line of crimson welled up and spilled down the side of Dylan's neck. She gasped. Made a small sound of absolute terror. The Téngshé smiled.

"Yes, little whore, it is poisoned... in a way."

Nuada's heart stopped. Fury gave way to fear.

"You recognize this particular poison?" The assassin asked gently.

Tears welled up and spilled down Dylan's cheeks. She bit her lip, uncaring of the cut still seeping blood.

"My master did not think you would, but our mutual acquaintance thought you just might." Another slender scarlet thread graced the pale column of her throat. "It appears he was correct."

"Stop it," Dylan pleaded. Nuada's control nearly snapped. That frightened child's voice... he'd never heard it from her in the waking world before. "Stop, stop, please, stop. Please don't, please don't, please."

The Téngshé smiled. "It is true, then. This particular poison will break even your defiant spirit. Will it break your prince's pride?"

She tried to jerk away from the knife, but the assassin's steely grip gave her nowhere to run. He sliced a shallow line along the length of the thick, slashing scar Nuada so often caressed. Dylan whimpered.

"Nuada, make him stop, please. Please, it's..." She cried out when the knife cut her again.

"Enough!" The Elven warrior snarled. Something caught his eye. A brief glimpse of tawny streaking silently across white snow. The prince focused once more on the Téngshé holding Dylan. "What do you want? What is your price for her life?"

"My price? An oath that none will attempt to stop me from escaping. Swear it on the Darkness That Eats All Things, or I'll stain the ground with her lifeblood. And since you asked so nicely about my price, get on your knees and- gah!"

He jerked to look down at his leg, releasing Dylan as he brought the blade down in an arc of silver towards the deer-sized mass of snarling fur clamped hard on his leg from calf to thigh.

The snarling mass yowled in pain and feline rage. The assassin's other hand smashed down on the beast. Whatever it was yowled and snarled, but did not stop shredding with claws and wicked fangs.

Dylan scrambled for her dirk. Slashed back in a wild blow even as Nuada raced forward. Sunlight shone blindingly bright on Elven silver as Dylan's dirk severed the big vein in the Téngshé's leg and Nuada's sword parted the Elf's head from his shoulders. It tumbled to the snow, followed swiftly by the beheaded corpse.

Nuada knelt beside Dylan, ignoring the body of the assassin. He reached for her. She recoiled.

"Don't, don't touch me, please, you can't." She gasped, dragging the icy air into lungs gone horribly tight. "It's Branwen's Tears," she panted.

Nuada went very still.

"It was on the knife, it's in my blood. Don't touch me. You can't touch me. I can't breathe, I can't...."

She clutched at her still-bleeding throat. Squeezed her eyes shut. Gritted her teeth. Every muscle in her body tensed until Nuada's ached in sympathy.

"Stop it," she snarled at herself from between clenched teeth, though each word was quavery and breathless. "Stop, stop, stop. Snap out of it. Get a grip. Stop it. Take a breath. Just breathe." Dylan gulped air. Shook her head hard as if to clear it of fog. "It hurts," she whispered. There was a muffled thump as she punched the snowy ground. "Work through it. Gotta work through it."

Swallowing audibly, Dylan sat back. Blew out a breath. "I think I'll be okay for now," she whispered. "But it's just going to get worse until it passes. The shoggoth... we've gotta... wait. The thing that attacked the Téngshé, what was it?"

The mass of fur that had been tangled up in the assassin's legs finally struggled free and slumped over in the snow. Tear-blurred blue eyes blinked, bringing the massive cougar cub into focus. When dull, pain-filled gray eyes that were slightly out of focus locked with Dylan's, she gasped and lunged forward to scoop up the large cat in her arms.

"A'du'la'di! For heaven's sake, what were you thinking? Are you hurt? Are you hurt, honey?"

The ewah cub lifted a spotted foreleg nearly the size of Dylan's arm. A long slice from shoulder to paw bled dark amber into the fur. Another slash along his side bled sluggishly onto the snow.

The cub purred and butted his head against his mistress's shoulder. Then he twisted out of her arms and stumbled two feet to where Nuada crouched beside the human. A'du rubbed his cheek against the prince's boot before flopping onto the snow. He tried to lick the wound on his foreleg. Mewled.

"He needs a healer," Dylan whispered. "This is serious bleeding. Baby," to the ewah boy, "what were you thinking?"

"You also need a healer," the prince muttered, thinking of poisoned blades and mortal blood spilled in violence. Thinking of how much worse the pain flowing through her body was going to become before the poison ran its course. "Zhenjin, do you-"

"I am fine and will stay here until Butchers come to deal with the corpses. Take your lady and tend to her, my friend. Have a servant fetch my father and he will deal with this... shoggoth. My brothers will find my sister."

Lòman approached and actually knelt in the snow beside the shaking mortal. Nuada knew it was the effort of ignoring the venom coursing through her veins and not fear that made Dylan tremble as she cradled the large lump of fur that was A'du'la'di to her chest.

Moving like a woman afraid of bleeding to death, Dylan managed to clamber into the black saddle. Lòman slowly rose to all four feet and stamped the cold snow from his legs.

The Elf prince vaulted into the saddle behind the human, careful to touch her as little as possible. She still drew a sharp breath when his arms came around her to take the reins.

"Can you make it?" Nuada asked as Lòman leapt into a gallop. "Until we get to the healers? Will A'du'la'di make it?"

A single sharp nod. "I'll be fine," she gritted between clenched teeth. "And so will he."

I won't let him be anything but fine was the unspoken sentiment behind her words. And thought the mortal shivered violently in the prince's arms, shivers born from more than the winter cold, she didn't seem afraid for the child. She simply hugged him closer to her chest to keep Lòman's hoofbeats from jarring the small furry body.

.

Tsu's'di raced ahead of Fionnlagh and the other guards in A'ge'lv Dylan's entourage, sliding down the polished stone floor of the Healer's Wing with 'Sa'ti in cougar form jogging at his heels. The guards allowed the pair of ewah to run.

They were only stopped by a pair of Butchers when they reached the end of one short corridor bearing four doors. Tsu's'di stuck his leg in front of 'Sa'ti so she didn't try to dart beneath the guards' crossed swords. She promptly smacked into his calf and tumbled backward.

The young bodyguard saw with staggering relief that Prince Nuada stood in one of the doorways, face expressionless, watching the activities within the room. Topaz eyes flicked to where the cougar youth stood, his way barred by the two Butchers.

"Let him pass," the prince commanded.

The moment the guards' claymores no longer blocked his path, the youth darted forward, his little sister scrambling after him. Tsu's'di only stopped a few feet from Nuada to offer the prince a short bow.

"Where is he? A'du'la'di, is he all right?"

Nuada said nothing; he merely gestured to the room he seemed almost to be guarding.

Tsu's'di turned to see A'du, stretched out in cougar form on a healing bed. Amber blood seeped from a long, deep cut from his shoulder to his paw and from a gash along his heaving side. Two Elven healers were muttering over him.

The youth could see they were frustrated; no doubt because they couldn't get the barely-conscious ewah child to shift back into bipedal form. Well, he could take care of that.

The young bodyguard strode into the room. Immediately, one of the healers pounced on him, demanding to know if there was a way to force-change the boy back into humanoid shape. Tsu's'di nodded and went to his little brother, gently lifting the furry head in one hand and stroking the snow-dampened fur along his side with the other.

"Come on," the young guard murmured. "Don't be a brat. You're probably scaring the a'ge'lv to death."

Smoky turquoise eyes slid closed as Tsu's'di drew a slow breath. Let it out. Drew another. Let it out.

"Come on, A'du. I know it's hard." Power, warm as a summer breeze and soft as a wildcat's pelt, spread across the ewah child's body as his older brother gently petted from the base of the feline skull to the base of the limp tail. "It's okay. You don't need to fight anymore. Relax."

From the doorway, the prince watched the older cougar stroke along the damp fur and murmur gently to the shapeshifted little boy. After a few tense moments, the fur began to ruffle and shiver, as if blown upon by an invisible wind.

A'du'la'di mewed softly. Flexed his claws. Then the fur seemed almost to melt away from his body into thin air, leaving a bloodied little boy in formal livery shivering on the healing bed.

Bleary gray eyes fluttered open. A'du met his brother's eyes. Swallowed.

"My arm hurts. And my stomach kinda hurts. And my head really hurts."

Tsu's'di laughed weakly. "I'll bet. You doin' okay, though?"

The little boy nodded. Then his eyes widened and he flailed, trying to sit up.

"Whoa, whoa! Easy, kiddo. Calm down before you hurt yourself."

"A'ge'lv Dylan," A'du'la'di yowled. "There was a bad man, he was hurting her, is she okay? Where is she?"

Nearly frantic, the child tried to slide off the bed to the floor. Only his brother's arm wrapped around his chest kept him from managing it. The healers grabbed his arms.

"Ow, lemme go! She might be in big trouble! There was a monster and a bad guy had her and she was bleeding, lemme go, Tsu's'di, I gotta-"

"A'du'la'di."

The flailing subsided as Nuada stepped into the room. The little boy swallowed hard. Tears of pain, frustration, and panic flowed down his cheeks, but he manfully sniffed them back and met the prince's jewel-like gaze. He said nothing as the Elf prince approached him. Barely managed not to flinch when Nuada lifted a hand. Shut his eyes tight.

Opened them again when Prince Nuada laid a very gentle hand on the boy's uninjured shoulder.

A'du gazed up at his hero, mouth slightly agape, as the prince inclined his head and murmured, "You did very well. I thank you. Lady Dylan is safe. It would not have been so if not for you. You have my gratitude."

A'du sniffled. Blinked to bring the prince back into focus. "She's okay?"

"She is safe, and her wounds have been seen to," the prince said.

Tsu's'di narrowed his eyes. That wasn't exactly what A'du had asked, the youth thought, but didn't say anything out loud.

"As for you," Nuada continued, "you have done a warrior's work today. I expect you to act the warrior now and allow the healers to tend you."

The boy nodded solemnly. "Yes, Your Highness."

"Good lad."

Nuada started to turn away, but felt something bump against his leg. He looked down to see a small cougar cub - barely more than a kitten, complete with spotted fur and pale, bright blue eyes - twining between his ankles and bumping its head against his boots, crying plaintively.

The prince bent down and lifted the bundle of mewing fur.

"'Sa'ti," he said, setting her on the bed beside A'du. "Stay with your brothers." The cub bumped her head against Nuada's hand before sprawling across A'du'la'di's legs.

The prince walked out of the healing chamber.

"You have much to explain, Crown Prince," said a voice as cold as the oncoming winter night beyond the castle walls. "I tell you that you are not to go anywhere without guards; you yourself request a guard detail for your lady; you claim that though you proposed marriage in earnest, your lady has refused you. Yet you abscond with her on horseback like an impetuous young idiot and nearly get both of you killed. You can imagine I am quite puzzled by this."

Nuada refused to so much as twitch as he met the king's eyes. Instead, he shifted to rigid military attention. His face was a blank mask, his eyes glittering and empty as they gazed at Balor.

"You require my report, Your Majesty?"

"I do. Give it, then, Crown Prince. And be thorough."

So the Elven warrior relayed to the king exactly what had happened out in the castle orchard. Informed Balor that he'd pulled up on Lòman's back and handed an injured A'du'la'di off to young Guardsman Ailbho and pressed Dylan into the care of Guardswoman Fionnlagh with the express order that no one was to touch Her Ladyship except Fionnlagh until Dylan said otherwise.

Nuada had then sent a page to the guest suite housing the emperor of Dilong with the message that Crown Prince Zhenjin requested the August Emperor's presence at once in the plum orchard at the edge of Findias's gardens to deal with an enemy that could not be dispatched without the power of the Jade Dragon Emperor.

The Bethmooran prince had then informed Butcher Lieutenants Jarlath mac Rón and Muirne ingen Óenfer of the attack by the Téngshé and the presence of the shoggoth before making his way to the Healers' Wing in order to ascertain the well-being of Lady Dylan and her pageboy, A'du'la'di Ewah.

"And how is your lady?" The king demanded. "I am curious as to how this attack has affected her. The healers tell me she allowed only Healer Táebfada to tend her, and that if any male healer comes into the room, she becomes hysterical. That she only tolerated Táebfada until the superficial wounds were seen to, but then threw her out, as well. Now Lady Dylan simply paces the healing chamber. She is agitated, restless. Táebfada said she appeared to be on the verge of tears."

Nuada did not flinch or wince at this recitation. He did not even bat an eyelash. "Forgive me, Majesty, but was there an actual question requiring an answer in all of that? You ask me how Dylan is, yet you seem to know as much as I."

Balor's eyes fired molten bronze as they leveled on his son. "What did you do to that girl?"

The prince raised a brow. His gaze held all the warmth of topaz ice. "What makes you think I did anything to her?"

"A man, even an honorable one, might do drastic things when pushed too far. And you are far from honorable, Crown Prince. Son of mine or no, heir of mine or no, if you forced yourself on that girl because she refused to marry-"

"How dare you?" Nuada's voice was low, vicious and savage. The ice shattered, leaving hot bronze rage in its place. "I would never hurt Dylan, would never force her to-"

The door at the end of the corridor slammed open, cutting off his words. Two pairs of copper eyes slashed to the open door.

Healer Táebfada, looking rather timid, nevertheless scuttled forward to poke her head through the entryway. Then she turned to the king and the prince.

"Her Ladyship requests His Highness's presence in the healing chamber with her," Táebfada murmured. She hesitated, glancing again into the room. Whatever she saw must have decided her doubts, because she nodded to the room's occupant and then said, "And Lady Dylan says if His Majesty pleases, she would prefer to be alone with the crown prince for the time being."

Balor opened his mouth. Closed it again. Glanced at his son.

Each word chiseled from frigidly cold stone, Nuada demanded, "Does that sound like a woman who has only just been raped, Majesty? Why call for me, if I have wronged her so? Now, if you'll excuse me, my lady requires my presence."

Without waiting for a dismissal, Nuada stalked into the room and slammed the door closed.

The king closed his eyes and sighed. Then he looked down to see a tawny cat - a kitten? - staring up at him from the floor, bright turquoise eyes blinking with something like curiosity twinkling in their depths.

The cat blinked at the king. The king raised his eyebrows at the cat.

The cat popped up on its hind legs and sank razor-sharp claws into his hand of flesh before sprinting down the corridor. Balor swore, watching the cat scuttle away.

Little beast. And he'd done nothing to deserve that.

.

Feral eyes watched Dylan pace the length of the room. Her hands were clamped so tightly around her arms that Nuada knew she would have more bruises come morning.

She'd shed the long blue tunic and black skirt she'd worn during their ride, leaving her in a black undertunic and black leggings. She'd kicked off her boots, as well. Stripped off her socks and tossed them atop the folded knit coverlet on the healing bed. Laid her medallion, her ruby ring, and the leather belt that held her sheathed dirk on the bedside table. Thrown her gloves and coat in a corner. Even twisted up her hair in a loose bun to keep it off her neck.

But he could tell she was in pain. See it in the feverish glitter of her eyes, in the grim set of her jaw. In the way she chewed her bottom lip until two thin lines of crimson trickled down her chin.

Dylan swiped almost angrily at the blood with her hand. Kept pacing.

"A'du?"

"He is with the healers," Nuada replied. "He will be fine."

"I hate your dad," she muttered between clenched teeth.

Nuada said nothing. Only leaned against the wall and watched her struggle to outrun the pain searing her body.

"I hate him. He doesn't appreciate you at all. I heard what he said to you. I heard what he accused you of. I hate him. You didn't do anything."

He answered her with silence.

"Dammit, Nuada, this is not your fault!"

"Isn't it?" He asked tonelessly.

She shook her head. When a thin lock of hair fell loose and brushed her neck, she raked it back up into the loose knot. Four parallel scratches on her neck, left by her nails, oozed blood onto the violet bruises. She didn't seem to notice.

"If I had not behaved so recklessly-"

"Shut up!" Dylan snapped. Stopped to lean heavily against one of the bedposts, gasping for breath. "Cripes," she rasped. Groaned. "Oh, cripes."

"Do you need me to leave?"

It was the only thing he could do. Dylan could not even wash the poison off, as it was not on her skin, but already mingling with her blood. He could do nothing for her. Not even soothing magic would help. And surely having a male in the room was not helping her at all.

But she shook her head violently before clutching at the bedpost with both hands, so hard that her knuckles turned white. Her legs trembled. She briefly locked her bad knee to keep it from buckling. A shudder ripped through her. A whimper managed to escape.

Nuada took an involuntary step toward her. His hands curled into fists at his sides. He dare not touch her. It would only make things worse for her.

"Are you certain? You need not seek to guard me from my father-"

"Don't leave me," she gasped. "Please don't leave me. Hn." She sank to her knees and pressed her forehead against the wooden frame of the bed. Smacked her head against it with more than a little force. "Jeez. This sucks, this sucks, this sucks."

She let out a sound halfway between a scream and a growl and lunged to her feet to start pacing again. Nearly stumbled.

Without warning, she slammed her fist against the wall. Winced. Half-curled against the icy stone, cradling her hand to her chest. Blood welled up and dripped tiny crimson droplets onto the floor.

"I hate gancanaugh," she snarled. "I hate Branwen's Tears. I hate Aengus's Sweat. I hate this stupid poison. I hate pain."

Sucking in a strangled breath, Dylan slammed her back against the stone wall and slid to the floor. She laid her cheek against the cool stone. Lamplight made the sweat on her face gleam. Or perhaps those were tears.

"Oh, that's nice," she sighed. "Oh. That's cold. I like cold. Cold is good. Cold makes me happy."

The relief would not last long, he knew. A few minutes at most. Then she would be on her feet again, pacing, struggling against the agony ripping through her that would only be eased by violent bloodshed or carnal union.

Time would, of course, ease the pain. Eventually the poison would fade from her blood. But how much suffering would she endure in that time?

He watched her lick the blood from her ragged knuckles. The sting of salt and pain on her tongue would help a little, as well... for a moment or two. Then the pain would return.

Surely, in a case like this, the High King's laws did not prohibit what was necessary to ease her pain? Surely she was allowed to-

"I know what you're thinking," Dylan mumbled as she staggered past him on weak legs.

On the bedside table was a pitcher of water and a clear drinking glass. The water was so cold that slivers of ice floated in the glass the mortal poured for herself. She downed it in one long gulp before sinking onto the bed.

"You think I should give in."

"I would never make the mistake of dictating should or shouldn't to you in such a situation. I do think you would suffer less if you did give in, however."

Dylan shook her head before dropping it into her hands. Her knuckles, Nuada saw, had been scraped bloody. So had the delicate bones that protruded at her wrists. Bruises shadowed her slender fingers. Shallow scrapes marred the skin from punching the stone walls.

"No," she said. "No, I'm not gonna do that to you."

He blinked. "To me?"

She poured herself another glass of ice water. Drained it. Pressed the chilled glass to her flushed face.

"You think I don't know how you want it to be, if we ever get to that point? You're not the love-'em-and-leave-'em type, Nuada. If we ever were that intimate, you'd want it to be for keeps. Not just some medicinal fling. And I get that. Sex shouldn't be something you do to pass the time. It should mean something. And I don't want our first time together to be poisoned by all this."

"Dylan, that does not matter now," he replied, exasperated. "You are in so much pain-"

"Yes it does."

She set the glass down with the care of someone who actually would've rather thrown it across the room. She closed her eyes and tried to remember how to simply breathe for a moment.

"Yes, it does matter. It matters to you. I know it does. It's one of the reasons you don't push me about being your lover." When he started in surprise, Dylan actually managed a ghost of a smile. "You're so silly. You think I don't know you're secretly a hopeless romantic?

"I know you, Nuada. You respect me. You respect how I feel about things. How I see things. What my life has been like. And so if it ever happened, you would want it to be... just so. For me. You're picky that way. And sweet. And wonderful. But also picky."

He forced himself to mock-scowl at her. "I most certainly am not 'picky,' as you call it, my lady. I am a prince and am accustomed to certain things being as I dictate. That is all."

Nuada could scarcely admit how good it was to see her smile at him. She even laughed.

"Riiiiight. Uh-huh- gah!"

She pressed her arms against her body, one hand clutching at her throat as she hunched against the pain. A trembling fist smacked against the mattress over and over again as Dylan squeezed her eyes shut. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She hardly seemed even to breathe as the pain gripped her like an unrelenting fist.

Only when that fist released her for a momentary reprieve did she suck in great gulps of air. Breathed, "Not picky, sure."

"Your courage would frighten a lesser man than myself. Your love... it humbles me. But I beg you to think of yourself. Be a little selfish."

She looked up to meet his eyes. "This is hard for you, isn't it? Seeing me like this?"

A fresh wave of pain knifed through her; her shoulders hunched and her spine bowed as she sucked in a sharp whistling breath. Her fists thumped down on her legs hard enough to leave bruises.

"I'm sorry," she gasped. "You don't have to stay."

"You think I would abandon you if you needed me?"

For a moment all she could do was breathe as the shards of pain slowly faded. "I know what it is, to have to stand by while someone you love is hurting and you can't do anything. I'm sorry, I'm being selfish, keeping you here. If you need to step out, I won't get upset. I promise."

There was a long moment of silence. Then Nuada said, "I will not leave you."

A brief respite followed, where the pain actually allowed Dylan to curl up atop the bedclothes and close her eyes. For several minutes she merely seemed to doze in silence, but Nuada knew she did not truly sleep. Her body was braced for the next onslaught of agony. It would come - soon.

"Does the Star Kindler's laws prohibit relieving your pain?" Nuada asked into the silence a while later. He'd slid to the floor and sat with his back braced against the wall, his spread knees drawn up so he could rest his arms on them. Topaz eyes watched her chest rise and fall.

Nuada wished fiercely that he'd had the ability to break that Téngshé's legs in so many places the Dilong Elf would not have even been able to crawl, then strung him up by his heels and skinned him alive with an iron knife. Or perhaps, Nuada thought with savage hate, he wouldn't have bothered using a knife.

Dylan drew a ragged breath, snaring his attention. She answered without opening her eyes.

"No. At least, I don't think it does. I'm not going to die from this, but if, say, the king threatened to inflict this kind of pain on you if I didn't sleep with you, there would be no sin in me agreeing to his demands. That's not why I'm doing this."

Her fingers scrunched in the velvet blankets. "I know you wish you could erase all the scars on my heart and give me my innocence back. And I know it hurts you, that you can't."

Dark lashes fluttered and Nuada found himself pinned by that impossible blue gaze. His heart stumbled. Only a hard swallow returned it to its proper rhythm.

"You don't want it to be like this for us. Neither do I. And it would be harder to resist later," she added, "if we'd been that close before. I don't want that burden on you. But mostly, I know that you want me to come to you willingly. That you want to show me how physical love is supposed to be, not the obscenity I've seen."

Truth. More than anything for himself, he wanted Dylan to have firsthand knowledge of what it was supposed to be, to lie with someone who loved her, who cherished her as he did. Who understood the value of the gift of her.

And he did want it to be willing. He refused to be the next in a long line of monsters that had used her body for their own twisted pleasure with no thought to the woman within the physical shell.

But... "I do not want you to suffer, either."

She shrugged, sighed. He studied her in the lamplight; the way her fingers plucked nervously at the velvet blanket, the way she didn't quite meet his eyes.

He remembered how she had killed the dipsa serpents in the royal forest and brought down the Téngshé in the orchard. Was reminded that Dylan possessed great strength, but was also so very fragile in some ways.

"There is another reason, isn't there?" He asked softly, gently. "Equally as important to you."

Eyes like stardust flicked to him and then away. An answer in and of itself.

"Tell me," he commanded. His voice was still soft, still gentle, but it was a command nonetheless.

"I don't want to hurt you," she confessed in a whisper. "Even with the Tears in my blood, do you think it would be easy for me to... to be intimate with someone? Even someone I love and trust? Even someone I love and trust and want as much as you?

"Do you think I don't know how much it would hurt you, if I couldn't do it? If I couldn't bear it? If my memories were too strong? I won't do that to you, either. I won't. I don't care what anyone else thinks or says; I won't hurt you like that."

He opened his mouth - to argue with her or to console her, he wasn't sure which - when she suddenly whimpered and pressed her face into the blankets in a desperate attempt to muffle a scream.

The respite was over. The pain had returned.

She tried to work through it, breathe around it, move past it. Couldn't. Too much this time. Fire ripping through her stomach and shredding her just under the skin. Charring her bones and boiling the blood in her veins.

If she gave in, it would end. It would end. But she didn't know if she could. Didn't know if the touch that would ease the awful, brutal pain would also ease the memories of childhood horrors, or rouse them to a fever pitch.

So Dylan pressed against the bed and screamed into the velvet blanket, wishing Nuada would go away and yet so grateful he was still there.

When the worst of it abated, she forced herself to slide off the bed. Her legs buckled. She sank to the floor on hands and knees. Panted for breath.

Her hair sliding against her skin was unbearable, but she didn't have the strength to redo the loose bun. Her arms shook. Her chest and throat ached. Pressure throbbed at her temples.

Nimble fingers lifted the tendrils of hair from the back of her neck and her shoulders. Dylan gasped. Held her breath. But in the few minutes it took Nuada to twist up her hair again for her, nothing touched her feverish skin: not a wisp of her hair, not a brush of callused knuckle or fingertip.

Then the Elf prince laid something blissfully icy against the back of Dylan's neck - a glass of ice water. The biting chill soothed the fever, soothed the pain, soothed the sudden spike of sexual hunger that ripped at her because of his nearness.

Her eyes drifted closed.

"Tell me if I need to move away," the prince whispered.

She shook her head slightly. He was fine for now. That gave her hope. If she could tolerate him being so close, maybe the poison was nearly out of her system. Maybe-

"Get away," she gasped as vicious heat roared to life beneath her skin.

Nuada was gone from her side in an eyeblink. Now he was a shadow along the wall at the edge of her blurring vision.

She wanted him back. Wanted him out of the room. Wanted him. Wanted the pain to stop. Instead Dylan closed her eyes and waited out the fire.

And when the latest wave ended, she started to cry.

Nuada did not leave as the winter sunset faded to twilight and then to deepest night spangled with ice-white stars. He stood guard as Dylan paced, shivered, stumbled. As she fought to keep from succumbing to the poison in her body.

Táebfada was the only one allowed in the room, and then only briefly to bring the mortal ice water to help soothe the burning. Soft-spoken and gentle-mannered the female healer might have been, but Nuada thanked the gods for her when Táebfada calmly and quietly refused King Balor admittance to the healing chamber.

Sometime after midnight, Dylan sank to the floor and simply sprawled across the icy stone, panting for breath. Dazed blue eyes slid to where the Elf prince stood. Blinked almost sleepily.

Nuada held his breath. Was it over? Could it be over so swiftly?

Suddenly Dylan sucked in a hissing breath. Every muscle tensed. Her eyes squeezed shut as her spine bowed with the pain. Her hands flexed against the cold stone of the floor. She sank her teeth into her bottom lip to hold back a scream; Nuada knew that even now, she was thinking of A'du'la'di and the other children in the next room.

She collapsed onto the floor with a gasp. Rolled onto her side and merely breathed.

Then she did a remarkable thing. She stretched out a shaking arm and laid her hand palm-up on the floor. Her eyes found him again. "Hold my hand," she whispered. "Please?"

"Are you certain you can bear me?"

Dylan nodded. Swallowed. "I'm too tired to do anything, anyway," she confessed. Her lips, bitten bloody, tried to curve into smile. "Even if I wanted to jump you, I couldn't. I can't even see straight." She curled her fingers. "Please? Please hold my hand, Nuada."

So the crown prince of Bethmoora, the legendary Silverlance, stretched out on the cold stone floor and cradled Dylan's limp hand between his own.

Her fingers curled around his. She closed her eyes.

"You should try and sleep if you can, mo duinne."

She shook her head. "Can't sleep. Hurts.

"Nuada... the message. That the assassin gave me." She was struggling to speak evenly, struggling to keep her thoughts straight, struggling against a fresh wave of pain. "It... it was... He called me 'sweetness.' I think-"

The breath escaped her in a wheeze as fire tore through her stomach and chest. She gripped his hand until her fingers nearly creaked from the strain.

"I think it's Eamonn. I think he's alive."

"No," he murmured, trying to soothe, "no, sweetheart, he is dead, I killed the wretch myself. He cannot hurt you now."

Dylan bit her lip and shook her head more vehemently. "No, I'm telling you. That's what the assassin was telling me. He said his master had a new ally, one that knew me. One that was sure I would recognize the feel of Branwen's Tears.

"And then he said... in the message, he asked me, 'Have you missed me, sweetness?' I'm sure, I'm positive that's from Eamonn." Glassy mazzarine eyes fixed on his face. Strained to focus. "Do you believe me? You believe me, right?"

Stars curse it, it sounded like Eamonn. "Sweetness" had been his pet name for Dylan.

He should have stayed, Nuada thought with no little fury. Should have stayed and made sure the mangy dog had actually bled out on the snow that night. Should have cut him into little pieces and left them for the carrion-eaters. Should have-

Pale, slender fingers gripped his hand tightly. Dylan scrunched into a quaking ball. The Elf prince focused all his attention on the one who needed him now. He could think on paths not taken and plot his vengeance later.

When she caught her breath, Dylan murmured, "Will you... sing to me, Nuada? Please?"

Her voice was nearly gone by now, a mere wisp of sound. Her entire body shook with minute tremors. Dawn was only a few hours away, and she had not yet managed sleep at all. How much more could she take?

He did not ask. Merely stroked his thumb gently across her fingers, careful of her scraped knuckles, and began to sing. The song was not Gaelic; it was one he'd learned some centuries ago from Prince Viðarr of Álfheim during the wars.

"Blow northerne wynd!
Send to me my suetyng!
Blow northerne wynd!
Blow, blow, blow!"

Dylan closed her eyes and tried to focus on the words. She sort of recognized the language, as if she'd heard it long ago, or in a dream. It sounded almost like English... but not quite. She wasn't sure, and was too exhausted to focus on it.

So she drew a breath that seared her throat and made her chest ache, and listened.

"Ichot a burde in boure bryht,
That sully semly is on syht,
Menskful maiden of myht;
Feir ant fre to fonde;

"In al this wurhliche won
A burde of blod ant of bon
Never yete y nuste non
Lussomore in londe."

He felt her grip begin to slowly, slowly relax. Some of the brutal tension eased out of her body. Her cheek was pressed to the cold floor, but not as if she clung to the stone as if her life depended on it. More as if she were simply resting.

"Blow northerne wynd!
Send to me my suetyng!
Blow northerne wynd!
Blow, blow, blow!"

I'm so tired, she thought, blinking sleepily at Nuada. Though he held her hand, he did not lay beside her. In fact, he lay in the same position they'd fallen asleep in two weeks ago in the Queen's Garden, nearly perpendicular to each other.

But Dylan could see his eyes, glacial topaz with worry. See the tightness in his expression. When he caught her gaze, though, he smiled for her. She relaxed.

She was so tired, so terribly tired. Maybe she could sleep in a bit. Maybe her body would finally let her rest.

Would she have nightmares brought on by the poison in her blood? She didn't know. It seemed likely, but Nuada was with her. If he was with her, maybe the nightmares would stay away.

Whenever she'd fallen asleep with her hand cradled in the gentle strength of his, the nightmares hadn't come. Only dreamless, restful sleep. Maybe she could actually rest now. Maybe.

"Hire lure lumes liht,
Ase a launterne a-nyht,
Hire bleo blykyeth so bryht,
So feyr heo is ant fyn.

"A suetly swyre heo hath to holde,
With armes, shuldre ase mon wolde,
Ant fingres feyre for to folde,
God wolde hue were myn...."

Time stretched out before them. Dylan clenched her teeth and endured the pain. Nuada continued to sing softly to her in an effort to help her endure. And while he sang, while she bit back hoarse screams and trembled beneath the onslaught of the gancanaugh venom, Nuada prayed.

I beg Thee, the prince prayed silently to the High King of the World, that royal God that Dylan had devoted her life and her soul to, end this. She is so tired. So very tired. Let her have rest, please.

I will do anything, anything that Thou would ask, just give her a moment's rest. Let her sleep. Take her pain. This is my doing. She should not have to suffer for it. I was reckless and foolish to take her somewhere without guards. Please, end this. I beg Thee to end it.

Sometime later - he was not sure how many minutes or hours had passed - Dylan's hand went limp in his. Nuada blinked. Peered at her with eyes gritty from tiredness and the late hour. Was she... could she possibly be...?

She was.

After more than twelve hours in vicious pain, constantly pacing and struggling against it, Dylan had finally fallen asleep.