A Caress of Twilight

Chapter 23



I was behind the wheel of the Acura before I realized I couldn't remember where we were supposed to be going. I stared at the keys in my hands and couldn't think. "Where are we going?"



The men exchanged a look, then Rhys said from the backseat, "Let me drive, Merry." He reached between the seats and took the keys gently from my hand. I didn't argue. The day seemed to be full of a high buzzing sound like some invisible mosquito humming in my ear.



Rhys held the door open for me, and I walked around to the passenger-side door. Frost held the door for me and got me settled in before getting into the back. I was lucky that Rhys was with me. Frost didn't know how to drive a car.



"Buckle up," Rhys said.



It wasn't like me to forget my seat belt. It took me two tries to get the belt fastened. "What's wrong with me?"



"Shock," Rhys said, as he put the car in gear.



"Shock? Why?"



Frost answered, leaning forward over my seat. Most of the guards never buckled up; they could be decapitated and not die, so I guess a little trip through a windshield didn't worry them. "You said it yourself to the policeman. You have never seen anything as awful as what you have just seen."



"Have you seen worse?"



He was quiet for a second, then said, "Yes."



I glanced at Rhys, who had moved us onto the Pacific Highway with its beautiful views of the ocean. "How about you?"



"How about me, what?" he asked, flashing me a grin.



I frowned at him. "Have you seen worse?"



"Yes. And, no, I'm not going to tell you about it."



"Not even if I ask nicely?"



"Especially if you ask nicely. If I was angry enough, I might try to shock you with the horrors I've seen. But I'm not angry with you, and I don't want to hurt you."



"Frost?"



"I am sure Rhys has seen worse than I. I was not alive during the very first battles when our people fought the Firbolgs."



I knew the Firbolgs were the first semidivine inhabitants of the British Isles and Ireland. I knew that my ancestors had defeated them and won the right to be the new rulers of the lands. It was several thousand years of history away; that I knew. What I hadn't known was that Rhys was older than Frost, older than most of the sidhe. That Rhys was one of the first of us to come to the isles now thought to be the original home of all sidhe. "Rhys is older than you are?"



"Yes."



I looked at Rhys.



He suddenly seemed very interested in driving.



"Rhys?"



"Yes," he said, looking straight ahead. He maneuvered a curve a little too fast, so he'd have to play with the wheel.



"How much older are you than Frost?"



"I don't remember." His voice held a plaintive note.



"Yes, you do."



He glanced at me. "No, I don't. It's been too long, Merry. I don't remember what year Frost was born." He sounded grumpy now.



"Do you remember what year you were born?" I asked Frost.



He seemed to think about it, then shook his head. "Not really. Rhys is right on one thing. After a time it simply is too long to think about."



"Are you saying you all begin to lose parts of your memories?"



"No," Frost said, "but it no longer becomes important what year you were born. You know that we do not celebrate our birthdays."



"Well, yes, but I never really thought about why."



I turned back to Rhys. His face looked almost grim. "So you've seen worse than back there at the club, restaurant, whatever?"



"Yes." The word was very short, clipped.



"If I asked you to tell me about it, would you?"



"No," he said.



There is no that can be worn down to yes, then there is NO. Rhys's no was one of those.



I left it alone. Besides, I wasn't sure I wanted stories today about awful deaths, especially if that death was worse than what we'd just walked through. It was the most dead I'd ever seen, and more than I'd ever wanted to see.



"I'll respect your wishes."



He glanced at me almost as if he didn't trust me. "That's big of you."



"No need to be snide, Rhys."



He shrugged. "Sorry, Merry, I'm just not feeling particularly good right now."



"I thought I was the only one having trouble handling this."



"It's not the bodies that bothered me," Rhys said. "It's the fact that the lieutenant is wrong. It wasn't gas or poison, or anything like that."



"What do you mean, Rhys? What did you see that I didn't?"



Frost leaned back away from my seat.



"Okay, what did you both see that I didn't see?"



Rhys kept staring at the road. There was silence from the backseat.



"Someone talk to me," I said.



"You seem to be feeling better," Frost said.



"I am. There's nothing like getting a little angry to get you through things. Now what did you two see there that I missed?"



"You were shielding too hard to see anything mystical," Rhys said.



"You bet I was. Do you know how much metaphysical crap there is in a place where you've had a recent murder, let alone a mass execution? There are a lot of spirits that are attracted to sites like that. They flock like vultures to feed on the remaining living, feeding off their horror, their sorrow. You can go clean into a place like that and come out covered in riders."



"We know what the spirits that fly the air can do," Frost said.



"Probably better than I do," I said, "but you're sidhe and you don't get riders."



"We don't get small ones," Frost said, "but I have seen others of our kind nearly possessed by incorporeal beings. It does happen, especially if someone works with dark magic."



"Well, I'm human enough that I'll pick up things casually. I don't have to do a thing to attract them except not shield well enough."



"You tried to sense as little as possible while you were there," Rhys said.



"I am a private detective, not a professional psychic. I'm not even a professional magician or witch. I had no business being there today. I couldn't help."



"You could have helped if you'd let your shields down just a little," Rhys said.



"Fine, I'll try to be braver next time. Now what did you see?"



Frost sighed loudly enough for me to hear him. "I could feel the remnants of a powerful spell, very powerful. It clung in stinging echoes to the place."



"Could you sense it as soon as we got inside?"



"No, I did not wish to touch the dead, so I searched with other senses besides touch and vision. I, as you say, dropped my shields. It was then that I sensed the spell."



"Do you know what spell it was?" I asked. I'd turned in my seat enough to see him shake his head.



"I do." Rhys's voice turned me back around to him.



"What did you say?"



"Anyone who concentrated could have sensed the remains of magic. Merry could have seen it, if she'd wanted to."



"It would have told her nothing, as it told me nothing," Frost said, "but it would have made it harder for her to endure what she saw."



"I'm not arguing that," Rhys said. "What I mean is that I got down and looked at the bodies. Nine of them dropped where they stood, but the rest had time to fight, to be afraid, to try to run. But they didn't run like they'd run if, say, wild animals had attacked them. They didn't go for the doors, or break a window, not as soon as they saw what was happening. It's as if they couldn't see anything."



"You speak in riddles," Frost said.



"Yeah, plain English, Rhys, please."



"What if they didn't run because they didn't realize that anything was in the room?"



"What do you mean?" I asked.



"Most humans can't see spirits of any kind."



"Yeah, but if you're implying that spirits, noncorporeal beings killed everybody at the club, then I can't agree. Noncorporeal beings, riders, whatever, they don't have the... physical oomph to take out that many people like that. They might be able to do one person who was very susceptible to their influence, but even that's debatable."



"Not noncorporeal beings, Merry, but a different kind of spirit."



I blinked at him. "You mean, what, ghosts?"



He nodded.



"Ghosts don't do things like this, Rhys. They might be able to scare someone into a heart attack, if the person had a weak heart, but that's it. Real ghosts don't harm people. If you get true physical damage, then you're dealing with something other than ghosts."



"It depends on what kind of ghosts you're talking about, Merry."



"What do you mean by that? There is only one kind of ghost."



He glanced at me then, having to turn his head almost completely around because of the eye patch. He often glanced at me when he drove, but it was a movement without meaning because his right eye was gone; he couldn't see me. Now, he made the effort to look at me with his left eye. "You know so much."



I'd always assumed Rhys was one of the younger sidhe, because he never made me feel like I was in the wrong century. He was one of the few who had a house outside the faerie mound, electricity, a license. Now he looked at me as if I were a child and would never understand.



"Stop that," I said.



He turned back to the road. "Stop what?"



"I hate it when any of you give me that look, the look that says I'm so young and I couldn't possibly understand what you've experienced. Well, fine, I'll never be a thousand years old, but I'm over thirty, and by human standards I'm not a child. Please don't treat me like one."



"Then stop acting like one," he said, and his voice was full of reproach, again like a disappointed teacher. I got enough of that from Doyle. I didn't need it from Rhys.



"How did I act like a child? Because I wouldn't drop shields and see all that horror?"



"No, because you say there is only one type of ghost, like it's the only truth. Trust me, Merry, there are more than human shades running around."



"Like what?" I asked.



He took a deep breath, flexing his hands on the steering wheel. "What happens to an immortal being when it dies?"



"They're reincarnated like everybody else."



He smiled. "No, Merry, if it can be killed, then by definition it's not immortal. The sidhe say they're immortal, but they aren't. There are things that can kill us."



"Not without magical help there isn't," I said.



"It doesn't matter how it's done, Merry. What matters is that it can be done. Which brings us back to the question, what happens to the immortals when they die?"



"They can't die, they're immortal," I said.



"Exactly," he said.



I frowned at him. "Okay, I give up, what did that mean?"



"If something can't die, but it does, what happens to it?"



"You mean the elder ones," Frost said.



"Yes," Rhys said.



"But they are not ghosts," Frost said. "They are what remains of the first gods."



"Come on, guys," Rhys said. "Think with me. A human ghost is what remains of a human after death, before it goes to the afterlife. Or in some cases, a piece gets left behind because it's too hard to let go. But it is the spiritual remains of a human being, right?"



We both agreed.



"So aren't the remnants of the first gods just ghosts of the gods themselves?"



"No," Frost said, "because if someone could discover their name again and give them followers, they could, theoretically, rise to 'life' again. Human ghosts do not have such an option."



"Does the fact that the humans don't have the option make the elder ones less a ghost?" Rhys asked.



I was beginning to get a headache. "Okay, fine, say that there are ghosts of elder gods running around. What has that got to do with anything?"



"I said I knew the spell. I don't, not exactly. But I have seen the shades of the elder let loose on fey. It was as if the very air turned deadly. Their lives were just sucked out of them."



"Fey are immortal," I said.



"Anything that can be killed, even if it reincarnates, is mortal, Merry. Length of life doesn't change that."



"So you're saying that these ghosts were let loose in that club?"



"Fey are harder to kill than humans. If the place had been full of fey, some might have survived, or been able to protect themselves, but, yes, I am saying that that's what did it."



"So the ghosts of dead gods killed over a hundred people in a nightclub in California?"



"Yes," Rhys said.



"Could it have been the Nameless?"



He seemed to think about that, then shook his head. "No, if it had been the Nameless, the building wouldn't be standing."



"That powerful?"



"That destructive."



"When did you see this happen the first time?"



"Before Frost was born."



"So a few thousand years ago."



"Yes."



"Who called the ghosts up then? Who did the spell?"



"A sidhe who has been dead longer than England has been ruled by the Normans and their descendents."



I did quick history math in my head. "So before 1066."



"Yes."



"Is there anyone alive today who could do the spell?"



"Probably, but it's forbidden to do it. If you're caught, it's an automatic execution, no trial, no commuting the sentence, you just get dead."



"Who would risk such a thing to harm a crowd of humans on the edge of the Western Sea?" Frost asked.



"No one," Rhys said.



"How sure are you that these elder ghosts did this?" I asked.



"There's always the possibility that some human magician has come up with a new spell that resembles the effects, but I'd bet a great deal that it was the elder ghosts."



"Do the ghosts take the lives for their master?" Frost asked.



"No, they keep the lives, and they feed on them. Theoretically, if they were allowed to feed each night unchecked, they could become... alive again, for lack of a better word. They need the aid of a mortal to do it, but some of the elder ones can be brought back to full strength if they get enough lives. Sometimes one of them will convince a cult somewhere that they're the devil and get them to sacrifice themselves, and that could work, but it would take enormous amounts of lives to do it. Taking the lives from the mouths of the victims is quicker, no wasted energy, like trying to drink blood from an offering bowl."



"Has one of them ever been brought back to full strength?" I asked.



"No, it's always been stopped before it got that far. But to my knowledge they've never been let loose to feed directly -- except for once, and that was in a controlled situation where they were contained as soon as the spell was finished. If they've gotten out without a leash on them, then..."



"What can stop them?" I asked.



"The spell needs to be reversed."



"How do we do that?"



"I don't know. I'll have to talk to some of the others back at the apartment."



"Rhys," I said softly, because a horrible idea had just occurred to me.



"Yeah."



"If the only person you've ever known to do this spell was a sidhe, then does that mean it's one of us again?"



Silence for a few heartbeats, then, "That's what I'm afraid of. Because if it's a sidhe and the police find out -- if they could prove it -- it might be grounds to evict us all from American soil. There's an addendum to the treaty between us and Jefferson that says if we perform magic that is detrimental to the national interest, then we are considered outcast, and we'll have to move on."



"That's why you didn't mention this in front of the police," I said.



"One of the reasons," he said.



"What's the other?"



"Merry, they can't do anything about this. They can't stop these things. I'm not even sure that there are sidhe alive today who can stop them."



"There has to be at least one sidhe who could stop them," I said.



"How do you figure?" Rhys asked.



"A sidhe let them loose. He could put them back."



"Maybe," Rhys said, "or maybe the reason they slaughtered a hundred humans in a matter of minutes is that the sidhe lost control of them. They may have killed him when he couldn't control them."



"Fine, if a sidhe raised these things, why are they in California and not in Illinois where the sidhe are?"



Rhys did another of those full-face turns. "Merry, don't you get it? What if they wanted a way to kill you that couldn't be traced back to faerie."



Oh. "But we did trace it back to faerie," I said.



"Only because I'm here. Most of the court forgets who I was, and I don't remind them, because thanks to the Nameless I don't have the power to be that anymore." He couldn't quite keep the bitterness out of his voice. Then he laughed. "I'm probably one of the few sidhe alive who saw what Esras did. I was there, and whoever raised the elders just forgot about me." He laughed again, but it burned with mockery as if it hurt coming out of his throat. "They forgot about me. Here's hoping I can make them regret that little oversight."



I'd never heard Rhys so full of... anything but lust or teasing. He was never serious for long if he could help it. I looked at him as he drove us toward the apartment to pick up Kitto. There was a look to his face, a set to his shoulders. Even the grip of his hands seemed to have changed. I realized in that moment that I didn't really know him. He hid behind a veil of humor, lightness, but underneath was more, much more. He was my bodyguard and my lover, and I didn't know him at all. I wasn't sure if I owed Rhys an apology, or if he owed me one.



Chapter 24



The drive all the way back to El Segundo was out of the way, to say the least, but when Kitto had woken up this morning he'd had circles under his eyes like purple bruises, and his pale skin had seemed tissue-paper thin, as if he'd worn thin over the night. I couldn't see him walking around on the open beach with nothing but a press of sky above him. Once I knew the location of the scene I gave Kitto a chance to decide, and he'd opted to crawl back into his covered dog bed.



I walked up the stairs from the parking area, sandwiched between Frost in front and Rhys in back. Frost spoke as we rounded the edge of the small pool. "If the little one does not begin to thrive, you are going to have to send him back to Kurag."



"I know," I said. We went up the last flight of steps and were almost instantly at my door. "I'm just worried about what Kurag will send next. He expected me to be offended when he offered Kitto in the first place. The fact that I took him and was okay with it really bothered him."



"By goblin standards Kitto is ugly," Rhys said.



It made me glance back at at him. He still hadn't regained his usual savoir faire. He looked downright glum. I didn't ask how Rhys, who understood almost nothing of goblin culture, knew what they considered pretty. With a sidhe warrior theirs for the evening, I was sure the goblins had given him only the most beautiful among them, by their standards. The goblins prized extra eyes and extra limbs, and Kitto didn't fit the bill. "I know, and he's not connected to the royal house in any way. Kurag expected me to refuse, and thus he'd have gotten out of our treaty."



We were at the door. A small potted geranium, pale pink, was sitting by the door. Galen had taken over most of the house chores, like searching for an apartment big enough for all of us and buying flowers for wandering fey to rest in. We'd have had a bigger apartment ages ago if price hadn't been a problem, but it was a very big problem to find a place big enough for all of us that we could afford. Most places had limits on how many people they'd allow to live there, and six adults was over that limit.



I was still refusing money from the courts, because no one gives money without expecting something in return. Frost thought I was just being stubborn, but Doyle agreed that there was always a price on any favor. I was pretty sure what Andais's favor would be -- not to kill her son if I got the throne -- and that was one favor I could not afford to grant. I knew that Cel would never accept me as queen, not as long as he was alive. That Andais didn't understand this was simply a mother's blindness. Cel was a wretched, twisted being, but his mother loved him, which was more than I could say for my own mother.



Frost pushed the door open, entering first; he'd checked and the wards had been intact. The sweet clean smell of lavender and sage incense met us at the door. The main altar sat in the far corner of the living room so that everyone could use it. You didn't need the altar. You could stand in the middle of a meadow, or a woods, or a crowded subway and deity was always with you -- if you paid attention, and if you invited it into your heart. But the altar was a nice reminder. A place to start out every day with a little communion of the spirit.



People often thought that the sidhe had no religion -- I mean they were once gods themselves, right? Well, sort of. They were worshipped as gods, but most sidhe acknowledge powers greater than they are. Most of us bend knee to Goddess and Consort, or some variation thereof. Goddess is the giver of all life, and Consort is all that is male. They are the template for everything that descends from them. She, especially she, is a greater power than anything on the planet, anything that is flesh, no matter how spiritual that flesh may once have been.



Except for the thin trail of incense from the altar, and a small carved bowl of water that had been added to the altar, the apartment looked empty. It didn't feel empty though. There was the small skin-tingling of magic nearby -- not big magic but more the everyday kind. Doyle was probably on the mirror talking to someone. He'd opted to stay behind today and try to uncover more information about the Nameless from some of our friends at court. Doyle's magic was subtle enough that he might go completely undetected as he moved around amongst them. I could not have done it.



Rhys locked the door and pulled a taped note off it. "Galen's out apartment hunting. He hopes we like the flower." He pulled a second note from the door. "Nicca hopes to finish up the bodyguard job today."



"The actress is in no danger," Frost said, as he began to slip his jacket off. "I believe most sincerely that her agent put her up to it, to get more attention for a ... how do they say, flagging career."



I nodded. "Her last two movies were pretty much flops, both financially and artistically."



"That I did not know. But the media is there to photograph us more than her."



"She's taking you to all the hot spots where you are bound to get seen." I wanted to slip off the high heels, but we were going right back out to work. So instead I walked to Kitto's covered hidey-hole and knelt down, smoothing my skirt behind automatically so the buckles on my shoes wouldn't snag my hose.



I could see his back curled toward the opening. "Kitto, you awake?"



He didn't move.



I touched his back, and the skin was cold. "Mother help us. Frost, Rhys, something's wrong."



Frost was at my side instantly; Rhys hung back. Frost touched the goblin's back. "He's like ice." He reached farther in so he could feel the pulse in the neck. He waited, waited for too long, before finally saying, "His blood does flow but slowly." He reached in and began pulling Kitto out from his nest. He came like one already dead, his limbs moving as if he was just dead weight.



"Kitto!" I didn't scream his name but it was close.



His eyes were closed, but it seemed I could see the vibrant blue of his pupils behind the closed lids, as if the skin was translucent. His eyes fluttered open and a slit of blue showed before his eyes rolled up into his head. He was murmuring something, and I bent close to hear. It was my name, "Merry, Merry," over and over.



He'd stripped down to his shorts, and I could see his veins through his skin, the muscles. A dark shape on his chest moved, and I realized that it was his heart beating. I could see it. It was if he were melting, or ...



I looked up at Frost. "He's fading."



He nodded.



Rhys had gone to the bedroom door and brought Doyle out. They gathered round us, but the looks on their faces said more than words.



"No," I said, "it's not hopeless. There's got to be something that we can do."



They all exchanged looks, that flitting game of glance throwing, like the thoughts were too heavy to bear and you had to throw them to the next person and the next.



I grabbed Doyle's arm. "There has to be something."



"We do not know what would hold a goblin from fading."



"His mother was sidhe. Save him the way you'd save another sidhe."



Doyle looked a little disdainful, as if I'd insulted them all.



"Don't go all high and mighty on me, Doyle. Don't let him die because he's less mixed than either of us."



His expression softened. "Meredith, Merry, a sidhe fades only if he wishes it so. Once the process is begun, it cannot be stopped."



"No! There has to be something we can do."



He frowned down at us all. "Hold him, while I try to contact Kurag. If we cannot save him as sidhe, we will try to save him as goblin."



Kitto lay still in Frost's arms. "Merry needs to hold him," Doyle said, as he went for the bedroom.



Frost laid Kitto in my arms, across my lap. I slumped to the floor, put a hand under his legs, and pulled him into my lap. He fit; here was a man who I could hold in my lap. I'd spent much of my life around beings smaller than Kitto, but none who had looked so sidhe. Maybe that was why he seemed so doll-like at times.



I laid my cheek against his icy forehead. "Kitto, please, please, come back, come back from wherever you've gone. Please, Kitto, it's Merry."



He'd stopped murmuring my name. He'd stopped making any noise, and his weight, the way his body slumped against me ... He felt dead. Not dying, but dead. There is a weight to a dead body that the living, no matter how sick, do not have. Logically, it has to be the same, but it never feels the same.



Doyle came back out, muttering under his breath. "Kurag is not near his mirror, or any still body of water. I cannot reach him, Merry. I am sorry."



"If Kitto were sidhe, what would you do to save him?"



"The sidhe do not fade from lack of faerie," Doyle said. "The sidhe fade only when they wish to."



I held his cold body in my arms and felt the beginnings of tears. But tears wouldn't help him, damn it. I needed to talk to Kurag, now. What was one thing all goblin warriors had on their bodies at all times? "Give me your blade, Frost."



"What?"



"My blade is trapped under Kitto's body. I need a blade, now."



"Do as she says," Doyle said.



Frost didn't like doing something he didn't understand, but he took out a knife from behind his back, one that was almost as long as my forearm, and handed it to me hilt first.



I took my hand out from under Kitto's legs, and said, "Hold the blade steady."



Frost dropped to one knee steadying the blade with both hands. I took a deep breath, placed my finger against the point, and jerked downward. It took a second for the blood to well.



"Merry, stop -- "



"Hold the blade, Frost. That's all you have to do, so do it. I can't hold the blade and Kitto, too. Just do it."



He frowned but stayed kneeling, holding the blade as I drew my bleeding finger down that shining surface. The blood didn't coat it, just stained it, almost beading on the immaculate surface.



I dropped the shields that kept me from seeing spirits, kept me from shedding magic like old body skin. The magic flared for a second, glad to be free, then I willed it into the blade. I pictured Kurag, his face, his voice, his rough manner. "Kurag, I call you; Kurag Thousand-Slayer, I call you; Kurag, King of the Goblins, I call you. Thrice called, thrice named, come to me, Kurag, come answer your blade."



The surface gleamed through the light latticework of blood, but it was just metal.



"No sidhe has called a goblin by blade in centuries," Rhys said. "He won't answer."



"The naming of three is very powerful," Doyle said. "Kurag might be able to ignore it, but few others of his people could."



"But I have something he won't ignore." I leaned close to the blade and blew my breath warm upon it until it fogged with the heat of my body.



The blade glittered through the fog, the blood. The fog cleared and the blood soaked into the surface as if it had been drunk. I was left staring into a dim silvered surface. A blade, even the highest quality, is not like a mirror, no matter what the movies show. A blade gives an uncertain image, misty, as if you need to adjust some button or knob, but there is none. There is only a vague outline of a small portion of a person's face; their eyes are the most clear.



A blur of yellow lump-covered skin and two orange eyes appeared in the downside blade half; the upper was less clear but showed Kurag's third eye like a dim sun seen through cloud.



His voice was as clear as if he'd been standing in the room. It boomed out in a surprising rumble that made me jump. "Meredith, Princess of the Sidhe, was that your sweet breath that blew across my skin?"



"Greetings, Kurag, Goblin King. And Twin of Kurag, Goblin King's Flesh, greetings also." Kurag had a parasitic twin who consisted of one violet eye, a mouth, two thin arms, two thin legs, and small, though fully functional genitalia. The mouth could breathe but not speak, and to my knowledge I was the only one who ever acknowledged his existence as separate from the king's. I still remember the horror I felt when I realized there was an entire person trapped in the side of Kurag's body.



"It has been long since a sidhe has called the goblins by blood and blade. Most of the warriors who fought beside us after the great treaty have forgotten this old trick."



"My father taught me many tricks," I said. Kurag and I both knew that my father had often contacted him by blade and blood. My father had been Andais's unofficial ambassador to the goblins, because no one else wanted the job. My father had taken me to the goblin hill many times as a child.



His laughter did not so much roll out of the blade as roll through the room. "What would you have of me, Merry, daughter of Essus?"



He'd offered his help, and that was what I needed. I described the condition we'd found Kitto in. "He's fading."



Kurag cursed in the guttural language that was high goblin. I understood only about every other word. Something about black tits. "The mark ties you together, you and Kitto. Your strength should sustain him." His hand passed over his face like a yellow ghost in the blade. "This should not be happening."



I thought of something. "What if the mark healed over?"



"The mark would not heal, it would scar," he said.



"It did heal, Kurag, and it did not scar."



His orange eyes got very close to the blade, and very wide. "That should not happen."



"I didn't know that it was a problem to have it heal. Kitto didn't say anything."



"A lover's mark always scars, Merry. Always. At least among our kind." I couldn't read his expression in that narrow piece of reflection, but suddenly he let out a great snort, and said, "Has he been allowed to mark that white flesh only once?"



"Yes," I said.



"And the sex?" He sounded suspicious now.



"The treaty demanded only that I share flesh. Sharing true flesh is more valuable among the goblins than sex."



"Gabriel's Hounds take me. Yes, we value flesh, but what's a little bite without a little poke? Sinking teeth and dick into flesh, Merry girl, that's the ticket."



"Kitto shares my bed, Kurag, and stays with me most of the time, touching me. He seems to need to touch me."



"If the touch of your skin was all he had..." He dissolved into high goblin again, which goblins rarely did; it was considered rude to use a language that the other person didn't know. My father had taught me some goblin, but it had been too long, and Kurag's use was too rapid for my rusty skills.



When Kurag had ranted long enough, he paused for breath and spoke in a language we could all understand. "The high and mighty sidhe, goblins are good enough to fight all your wars, do most of the dying, but not good enough to fuck. Sometimes I hate you all. Even you, Merry, and you're one of my favorites."



"I love you, too, Kurag."



"Don't sweet-talk me, Merry. If you'd have fucked Kitto regularly, the mark would have scarred. He needs a constant supply of flesh to sustain him out in the Western Lands. Either true flesh or fucking, but his tie to you is too weak without it, and he is dying because of it."



I looked down at the still, cold figure in my arms, then realized he wasn't as cold. He was still chilled, very, but not icy. "He's warmer." I said it softly, I think because I couldn't quite believe it.



Doyle touched Kitto's face. "He is warmer."



"Is that you, Darkness?" Kurag asked.



"It is I, Goblin King."



"Is he truly fading? I don't think Merry has ever seen anyone fade."



"He is fading," Doyle said.



"Then why is he warmer? If he is fading, then he should grow colder and colder."



"Merry has been holding him in her arms for a time. I believe that is warming him."



"Maybe it's not too late then. Is he strong enough to fuck?"



"He is barely conscious," Doyle said.



Kurag said a sharp word that I knew meant something that no goblin ever wished on another: impotency. It was their worst insult one to the other. "Can he tear her flesh with his teeth?"



We all stared down at the still form. He was warmer, though he still hadn't moved at all. "I don't think so," I said.



"Blood then, can he take blood?" Kurag asked.



"Maybe," I said.



"If we wiped it upon his mouth, we might get some of it into him," Doyle said. "If it did not choke him."



"He's a goblin, Darkness. He can't choke to death on blood."



"Does it have to be Merry's blood?" This from Rhys.



"I know you of old ... Rhys," and that silence held a name that no one used anymore. "You should come visit us again, sidhe. The womenfolk still talk of you. That's high praise from a goblin female."



Rhys had gone very pale and very quiet. He made no answer.



Kurag gave an unpleasant laugh. "Yes, it must be Merry's blood. Later, if some of the rest of you want to share blood and flesh with Kitto, feel free. The sidhe are always good eatin'." He glared at me with those orange eyes. "If the blood revives him, then give him flesh, Merry, real flesh this time." His eyes suddenly grew huge in the blade. He must have nearly pressed his nose to the blade. "You thought you'd get the goblins as allies for six months and not have to bed one of us. You shared flesh, so I can't say you lied about the alliance. But you pixied on the spirit of it. You know it and I know it."



I placed my still-bleeding finger against Kitto's lips, painting them crimson while I talked to his king. "If I take him to my bed, then he has a chance to be king, king of all the Unseelie. That is worth more than a six-month alliance."



Kitto's eyes flickered; his mouth made a small movement. I slid my finger over his lips, between his teeth, and his body jerked, once.



"Oh, no, you won't get me that easy, Merry girl, not that easy. You give him flesh like you should have done all along, and you get only three more months out of us. After that, your battles are your own."



Kitto began to suck on my finger like a baby, gently at first, then harder, harder, teeth beginning to graze my skin. "He's sucking my finger, Kurag."



"I'd take the finger out before you lose it. He's not in his right mind yet, and goblins can bite through iron."



Kitto fought me, his mouth trying to hold on to my finger. By the time I pulled it free, his eyes were trying to open.



"Kitto," I said.



He didn't react to his name, or anything else, but he was warmer, and he was moving.



"He's moving, and he's warmer," I said.



"Good, very good. I've done my good deed, Merry. The rest is up to you."



I looked directly into the blade again, instead of down at Kitto. "You're just going to sit back and watch who wins, aren't you?"



"What matters to us who sits on the Unseelie throne? It matters to us only who sits on the goblin throne."



Doyle's deep voice cut in. "And what if Cel's followers were planning war with the Seelie?" Doyle knelt down, one hand squeezing gently but firmly on my shoulder. I think he was warning me not to interrupt.



"What are you babbling about, Darkness?"



"I am privy to much among the sidhe that the goblins do not know."



"You are not at court now."



"I am not without ears."



"Spies, you mean."



"I did not use such a word."



"Fine, fine, play the word games that you are all so fond of, but speak plainly to me."



"There are those at the Unseelie Court who believe Andais is desperate to have Meredith named her heir. They believe having a mortal on the throne is the end of them. They are talking about going to war on the Seelie before they all become powerless mortals. Our strength comes from our kings and queens, as you know."



"What you tell me is enough to make me throw in my lot with Cel's people."



"If the goblins were Merry's allies, then no one at the Unseelie Court would risk fighting against her. They dare to challenge the Seelie only because they assume they will have the goblins' support."



"What is it to us if the sidhe kill each other off?"



"You are bound by word, blood, earth, fire, water, and air to support the rightful heir to the Unseelie throne in all matters of strife. If Merry sits on the throne and Unseelie rebels fight against her while you sit back and do nothing, then your oath will come back upon you."



"You can't frighten me, sidhe."



"The Nameless walks the land again, and you think it is I whom you should be frightened of? There are terrible things far beyond me that will rise from the depths, descend from the sky, and take rightful payment from those who are forsworn by such oaths as you have taken."



It was difficult to tell in the blurred image, but Kurag looked worried. "I hear your words, Darkness, but Merry has fallen silent. Are you her new puppet master?"



"I tend your goblin, Kurag, and I have a better use for my tongue than telling you what you already know."



"I remember my oaths, girl."



"No, Kurag, that is not what I mean. The sidhe may not bear tales to the goblin mound, but you and I both know you have other means." I did not say out loud that the lesser fey at court, some servants, some not, talked to the goblins, sometimes for a price, sometimes for the feeling of power it gave them. My father had given his word never to tell of Kurag's system of spies. I had given no such oath. I was free to reveal the goblins' secret, but did not.



"Speak freely, Princess, and do not toy with this old goblin."



"I have spoken as freely as I intend to, Kurag, Goblin King."



He blew out a loud breath. "Merry girl, you are too much your father's daughter. Essus was my favorite of all the sidhe. His loss was great to all the courts of the Unseelie, for he was true friend to many."



"That means a great deal coming from you, Kurag." I didn't thank him, because you never thank an older fey. Some of the younger ones are cool with it now, but it's an old prohibition among us, almost a taboo.



"Do you honor all the oaths your father gave?"



"No, some I did not agree with, and some I know nothing of."



"I thought he told you everything," Kurag said.



"I am not a baby anymore, Kurag. I know that even my father kept his secrets. I was young when he died. Some things I wasn't ready to know."



"You are wise as well as luscious; how sad. Sometimes I'd have liked you better if you'd been just a little more stupid. I like my women less bright than I am."



"Kurag, you old charmer."'



He laughed then, a true laugh, and it was contagious. I laughed with him, and as the eyes began to fade out of the blade, he spoke. "I will think on what your Darkness has said, and what you have said, and even what your father said. But you must give true sustenance to my goblin or in three months I will be free of you."



"You'll never be free of me, Kurag, not until you've fucked me. Or that's what you told me when I was sixteen."



He laughed; but at the end, he said, "I used to think things would have been safer if you'd agreed to be my queen, but I'm beginning to think you're just too dangerous to be allowed that close to any throne."