"They fear that your mortal blood will steal away their immortality as it did on the dueling grounds."
"I know that, and honestly for all I know they may be right."
Aisling looked at me, obviously surprised. "You're worried about it, too, then."
"Yes."
"Will you take the throne then?"
"The Goddess and faerie itself crowned Doyle and me as rulers of the Unseelie Court, but the Seelie sithen did not recognize me when I entered it."
"You were part of the wild hunt, Merry; you can't be queen of any court and lead the hunt," Doyle said.
"You mean ever?" I asked.
He smiled and shook his head. "No. When you ride with the hunt, especially if you are the huntsman, it is your only title. You lay the crown aside to lead it, and pick it back up only if you give up being the huntsman."
"You were the huntsman once, I remember you said so."
"I was, but not of the same wild hunt that you and Sholto led."
"I never saw more than one wild hunt and that was the sluagh," Galen said.
"As there were once many more faerie mounds, so with the wild hunts," Doyle said.
"I remember when Darkness led his own wild hunt and was the huntsman for our queen," Aisling said.
Doyle stroked a hand through the other man's hair. "You are older than I am, my friend; you would remember."
"What did you tell the nobles who offered to make you king?" I asked.
"I told them I would not betray you, or Doyle."
"What did they say to that?" I asked.
"They told me to think upon it before answering."
"If you want the throne, Aisling, take it," I said.
He looked startled. Doyle said, "Merry!"
I stroked the hair so gold and warm in my lap. "No, Doyle, you've seen how some of the Seelie nobles treat me. They've come here in hopes that I can help them get with child, and many of them still treat me like some mongrel. People follow you for only three reasons; love, fear, or loyalty. No one at the Seelie Court loves me, or fears me, and I'm not certain there's much loyalty to anything there except whatever, or whoever, will further their own pursuit of power."
"Lord Hugh wants a baby with his lady," Doyle said.
"But he also wants to be close to the throne, and if he put me on it, he would be," I said.
"There has never been a welcome for Merry and me at the Seelie Court," Galen said.
"Are you both serious that Merry should just give up the golden throne?" Doyle asked. He was looking from one to the other of us.
We both nodded. "Besides, Doyle, the Seelie sithen recognized Aisling when the Seelie first came to this country. Taranis exiled him; because of that his own sithen wanted to crown a new king. The sithen has already chosen Aisling as king; let it stand."
"What if the sithen has changed its mind after over two hundred years?" Aisling asked.
"Then you will be welcome back here in the Western Lands," I said.
"Aren't we forgetting something?" Galen said.
"What?" I asked.
"The king would have to be dead for Aisling to take this throne."
"That works for me," I said.
"Me, too," he said.
"Me, three," Doyle said.
"If I agree, it seems like a plot," Aisling said.
"I've wanted him dead since he took Merry," Galen said.
"Oh, yes," Doyle said.
"For hurting Merry I would happily slay him, too," Aisling said.
"If the sithen still wants you as its king, then be the king of the Seelie, Aisling. The sithens will let a hereditary monarchy rule, but the start of every lineage is chosen by each kingdom. I believe that when we stopped letting the land choose its own ruler, that was the beginning of our decline as a people."
"When the Irish stopped letting the great stone choose their kings, that was the beginning of their undoing, as well," Doyle said.
I stroked his arm, because I knew that his people had been among the Irish and he still felt for how much they'd suffered at the hands of the English, though I'd only learned his feelings on it in the last year. Doyle had been such a mystery, not just to me but to most of the court. He had been the captain of the guard, and the Queen's Darkness, her left hand, her assassin, but it was as if all that had kept him from having feelings, or being entirely real. In his own way, Doyle had been as lonely as Aisling.
"You would truly let me take the golden throne, when you could unite the two thrones of the sidhe for the first time in centuries?"
"It's a pretty thought that I could unite us, but I think there is too much fear and hatred between the Darkling throng and the golden one. Oh, Aisling, six of the noble houses declared themselves against me. I'm not certain I can safely rule even the Unseelie throne, but I know that the Seelie throne is too dangerous for me and the babies, and the men I love. I would not risk all that I hold dear for any throne, so be king if you can; the sithen has chosen you and that should stand."
He studied my face and finally said, "You really are the most extraordinary person, Merry."
"I am a practical person in this, or a selfish one. I do not wish to lose any more of the people I love, not just for power."
"That's right, you and Doyle both gave up the Unseelie crowns given to you by faerie itself to save Frost's life."
We smiled at each other, and we reached out at the same time to take each other's hands, which made us smile more. "What is more important than love?" Galen said.
We looked at him, and I held my other hand out to him. He took it with a smile. "Nothing," I said.
"I'll disagree," Aisling said.
We all looked down at him where he still lay propped up on his elbows. "What's more important than love?" I asked.
"Safety," he said.
We were all silent for a moment, and then we all nodded. "The power to keep that which you love safe," Doyle said.
"It always comes back to power," Aisling said. "It has to, because without power you can't protect what's yours."
"I can't argue with you," Galen said, "but damn, that was a mood killer."
We laughed, even Aisling. "You are charming, Green Knight."
"It's part of my magic."
Aisling looked up at him. "Truly?"
Galen nodded. "Apparently."
"To be charming in a friendly way, not a romantic way?" Aisling asked.
"Yes." He smiled, and shrugged. "I think it's what helped me not get killed in a duel years ago. People just liked me, even when I was a political disaster and didn't have enough powerful friends to protect me."
I drew Galen down to me so we could kiss, and said, "I'm so glad you're magically likable; I would have missed you."
He grinned. "I love you, our Merry."
"And I love you, too, my Galen."
"I'm jealous," Aisling said.
We all looked at him. He added hastily, "I don't mean of Merry in particular, but of your being in love, and being able to lie with a woman. I haven't dared break my long fast for fear of bespelling some poor woman."
"I guess it is ironic that to be safe to have sex with anyone, you'd need the woman to already be in love with someone else."
"Something like that," he said, and gave a half laugh, but it was more bitter than happy.
Doyle patted his back. "I'm sorry, my friend."
I remembered why I'd wanted to talk to Aisling. I told him about Bryluen's effect on Rita the nanny. He sat up, spilling his hair all around him, face serious as he listened. "It is highly unusual for one so young to exhibit such powers."
"So you didn't have to worry about hiding your face when you were a baby?"
"No, not until I reached my teens, and then the year that I grew six inches, my shoulders filled out, and I suddenly looked more my age, and that was the beginning of this. I thought I was just very good with women, and then I started attracting women I didn't want to attract, and we began to figure out what was wrong."
"Yo
ur power is the closest to what Bryluen is doing; can you see if you sense anything?" I asked.
"I will happily look at the baby, but I'm not sure what I can tell you; as I said, my powers didn't manifest until I was in my teens. It's very unusual that both your daughters would be displaying powers almost from birth."
"They are going to be very powerful," Doyle said.
"I believe you are right," Aisling said. He began to gather his hair back from us, and to braid it almost absentmindedly. "I will need a covering for my face before I go to the nursery."
We finally used the remains of Doyle's shirt to make a mask that went around his lower face and tied securely enough to make Aisling happy with it. He left his hair in two long, thick braids. It reminded me of the way Saraid had worn her hair, though his was longer and seemed thicker. I hadn't petted her hair, so I wasn't sure on the thickness. We walked toward the house with Doyle and Galen holding my hands. Galen held out his hand to Aisling. I couldn't be certain, but I thought he was smiling under the white mask when he took the offered hand. We walked four abreast out of the practice circle, and as soon as we left the magical spell that kept the reporters from seeing inside it, we heard a yell of, "Hey, Princess!"
I looked, and I knew better, but they'd have pictures of me with the three men wearing nothing but exercise shorts--well, pants for Aisling, but either way three mostly nude men and we were all holding hands. There'd be rumors about Galen and Aisling being more than friends soon, because no one in America could understand that men could hold hands and just be friends. I loved my country, but it was a weird culture when it came to touching.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-TWO
AISLING SAT IN the nursery rocking chair holding Bryluen. He'd gone back to his room to change, so that he wore his usual gauzy veil wrapped around his head; only his eyes showed bare to the world. The veil was layers of nearly transparent gold cloth so that you could see that all that hair was in multiple braids snugged tight to the back of his head. He wore a silk T-shirt that was only a few shades lighter gold than the veil, and then the dress slacks were a darker gold. Just seeing the outfit let me know that Maeve had picked it out. She liked layers of gold and cream. I'd have put him in blue to see if it would bring out the color in his eyes. In the gold his eyes looked grayer than I knew they were.
I knew that Maeve was helping a lot of the sidhe shop for modern clothes; one, because she enjoyed shopping, and two, because she would often use the shopping trip as a way of getting to know them and seeing if she wanted to sleep with them. That hadn't been an option with Aisling for her, because Maeve was still grieving for her dead husband; that would not keep her safe from his magic.
She stood across the nursery watching him as he rocked Bryluen. The look on Maeve's face was speculative, and the look was enough; she would have pursued him as a lover if she could have done it safely.
She caught me watching her, and smiled brilliantly at me. It was her public smile, beautiful, vibrantly sincere, and it was her version of a "blank cop face." She could hide any emotion behind that shining smile. I knew it, and she knew I knew it, so either she didn't care, or her emotions were so strong about Aisling that she couldn't hide it any better from me. Or maybe I just knew Maeve that well now?
Little Liam was playing near her feet, rolling a ball along the floor for the dogs to chase. The terriers chased it in a happy, barking, snarling pack. No dogs were allowed in the exercise room, so when Rhys was there his terriers had started coming to the nursery, or following Liam around, or Galen, or me. Minnie and Mungo, my own pair of greyhounds, were pressed to my side, so I could play with their ears and stroke their heads. They usually didn't press like this unless they sensed I was nervous. Why was I nervous? Because watching Aisling made me wonder if we were going to have to veil our daughter like Aisling. The thought of having to hide her sweet face from the world, so we could save the world from her, was somehow horribly sad.
Maeve came to me and touched my shoulder. "Your face, so sad; what did you just think to take the light from your eyes?"
I looked up at her and shook my head. How could I say in front of Aisling that the thought of Bryluen sharing his fate of having to hide his face for all his life seemed awful?
Maeve looked where I was looking and her eyes showed that maybe she knew me as well as I knew her now. She drew me into a hug and whispered, "We will not have to hide her cute little face."
I didn't so much return her hug as hold on to her. What was wrong with me today?
Aisling stood up with Bryluen in his arms and came to stand next to us. "Merry, why the tears? She is lovely and powerful, but no reason for such sorrow."
I heard myself saying my fears out loud, while the crying grew. Aisling helped Maeve hold me while I cried. Bryluen stared up at me with those big, solemn eyes and I realized that there were distinct lines in her irises; they were still blue, but it was as if someone had drawn faint lines that were dividing the color up. Was this how a tricolored iris started to change? I realized that I'd never seen a baby with triple irises. I was the last baby born to the sidhe in America, so I didn't know if Bryluen's eyes were just going to be blue with pale circles like Aisling's spirals of birds, or whether this was the beginning of her irises separating out into different colors. For some reason that made me cry harder, as if the fact that I didn't know what it meant for her eye color was just another symptom of me not knowing about her magical powers, or Gwenwyfar's for that matter. How was I supposed to raise them if I didn't know the answers?
Maeve took Bryluen and let Aisling hold me while I wept. It was close to the way he'd cried earlier in the garden, but there I'd had Doyle and Galen to help me comfort him; here a man who had never been my lover, or even a close friend, held me tight while I cried so hard my legs gave out and he was left holding all my weight as if I were fainting. Part of me knew it wasn't logical, and stood aside in a sort of horror that I would show such weakness to someone who didn't even love me, but the rest of me was consumed with a near-hysterical grief.
I just had no idea what I was grieving about.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-THREE
THEN THERE WERE other arms holding me from behind, helping Aisling hold me, and it was Galen, dressed and showered from practice. "Merry, what's wrong? What's happened?"
I shook my head, too lost in my hysterics to answer, and honestly I had no good answer.
Aisling was trying to explain when another set of arms reached in and took me from between both of them, lifting me so I could curl against his chest, as he held me. Doyle's hair was damp from the shower, loose of its braid so it could dry faster. I wrapped my arms around his neck and buried my face against his shoulder and neck. I breathed in the scent of his skin, the soap and shampoo and the fresh smell of the clean shirt, so that it all mingled together to make him smell so good and fresh and real, and ... just the scent of him began to calm me, as if I could breathe easier when he held me close.
"Let us go visit our Killing Frost," he said in that deep, rumbling voice of his, that seemed to vibrate through my body as if the deep, thick sound of it could fill me up and leave no room for anything else.
He walked out of the room and down the hallway, moving effortlessly toward the room where Frost was still resting, healing from the last time Taranis had tried to kill my Darkness, or force him to kill us. Taranis was mad, insane in a very real way; how do you keep yourself safe from someone who can enter your dreams and turn them into nightmares?
Doyle was so strong, and I felt so safe as he carried me down the hallway, but it was an illusion, because no matter how good you were with a sword or gun, or how much magic you had, death could still come, could still carry you away. I could not protect anyone, not really, and by that same thought, they couldn't protect me. Eventually, we all lost.
I kept my face buried against Doyle. I breathed in the scent of him, and didn't look up as he adjusted his hold on me and opened the door to our bedroom. He kicked th
e door closed behind us, and I heard Frost say, "What has happened now?"
What had happened now? It wasn't just me. We were all getting ... battle fatigue, hadn't they called it once? Doyle started to explain what little he knew, and I just let their voices wash over me. It didn't matter, nothing mattered, because no matter how hard I tried, or what I did, I couldn't defeat all our enemies, I couldn't find us a safe haven in the midst of it all. Even here in the Western Lands, as far from my family as I could travel, they would not leave us in peace.
Doyle laid me on the bed between the two of them, my favoritest place in the world to be, and for once I felt nothing but a dim numbness, like trying to sense the world while wrapped carefully in cotton and put away somewhere so I wouldn't break.
Frost was above me, propped up on one arm. He touched my face, traced the still-wet track of my tears, and said, "Merry, our Merry, what has happened to make you weep so?"
I stared up into that heartbreakingly handsome face, those gray eyes, and I saw again that image that sometimes showed in them, like the inside of some magical miniature snow globe. It was a winter-barren tree on a hillside with snow all around it, but for the first time there was a mist of pink buds, the promise of blossoms to come. For no reason that I could name, the sight of that promising pink blush of life made me start to cry again.
I wept as if my heart would break and spill out of my eyes in shattered pieces on the sheets, and their hands tried to comfort me and save the pieces I was crying away. The light and the dark hands touching me, caressing, their voices saying all the things you say when the people you love are in pain. I started to yell at them, tell them that they were wrong, that it wouldn't be all right, that it would never be all right. I told them they were lying to themselves if they believed it would be all right. I screamed and cried and fought, and it wasn't them I was fighting, it was everything else, but as so often happens it's your nearest and dearest who take the brunt of your rage.
Arms found me that wouldn't let go, that held me so tight that I couldn't push them away or struggle free. I was pressed against a chest, held in arms so strong that it felt as if nothing could move them or tear them from me. Strength like that could have made me panic, but when Taranis had done what he did, he hadn't held me tight; the injury had done that for him. He was a man who didn't know how to hold on to anything, or anyone, but himself. The man who held me now knew how to hold and keep and protect, and I gave myself over to that strength. I collapsed into the dark solidity of his arms, my head pressed against his chest, arms limp at my sides as I let myself cry in a way I hadn't allowed myself yet. I cried until there were no more tears, and I felt empty like a seashell that held only echoes of what it had once been.