Lionheart

by Thea Harrison

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “Fine. When do you need it by?”

  “As soon as you can get it. By tomorrow morning if you can.” She eyed him thoughtfully. “Do you know how to cast healing spells?”

  “If you mean simple spells to heal injuries, yes.”

  “Good. That will help. Do you also know how to make healing potions or how to set spells into gems?”

  His eyes narrowed. She could tell he was catching on to her trajectory. “Yes.”

  “Even better. When you find fifty or sixty gems, you can start casting healing spells into them. It typically takes about thirty-five to forty-five minutes to cast one healing spell into a gem, so as you can see, you’ve got your work cut out for you. Ticktock, King.”

  “What will you be doing while I work on this?”

  Spreading out her hands, she told him, “I’ll be doing everything else.”

  Chapter Ten

  Day six.

  Kathryn was too busy to remember to write the number down.

  By morning, Oberon had found forty-two decent-sized, high-quality diamonds. When he showed them to her, she said, “That’s not enough.”

  “That’s what I found,” he said flatly. “There’s plenty of treasure still in the treasury, but it is not made up of magic-quality gems.”

  “Fifty or sixty,” she told him. “Or I don’t do the surgery.”

  His gaze flashed with ire. “Do you realize what a pain in the ass you are?”

  “Me a pain in the ass?” She laughed in sheer outrage. “Do you know how many people I would have on my surgery team as backup in New York? Six. Six people, all very skilled medical professionals and all magic users. And do you realize how many things could go wrong with this surgery?”

  “I’ll get them,” he growled. Scooping up the bag, he stalked away.

  She located a ladder, and by the end of the day she had the entire crystal cave scrubbed and disinfected. She also had a cleansing spell cast into a piece of agate and ready to add to the water fountain on the day of the surgery.

  She didn’t see Oberon at all during the day. In the evening, when she sat down to supper in the palace kitchen—she had cooked a big pot of porridge, chock-full of nuts, cranberries, and honey, and had fried more bacon—Oberon prowled into the room and threw a velvet bag onto the table in front of her.

  “How many?” she asked around a mouthful of food.

  “Fifty-eight. I’ll start casting the healing spells after I eat some supper.” He stalked over to the fireplace where the porridge hung near the flames, peered into the pot, and made a face.

  She sighed. There went her peaceful dinner. The palace kitchen was cavernous, but with Oberon filling it with his oversized presence, it seemed to shrink to a fraction of its previous space.

  He helped himself to porridge without asking, scooped up a couple of pieces of bacon, and returned to the table to sit across from her and eat with quick economy. Halfway through, he studied her with his strange gaze.

  “You look different. You’re not wearing your odd clothes.”

  She scraped her bowl. “All my clothes are dirty, and I decided my time was better spent on preparing for the surgery rather than doing laundry. I’ve been raiding closets.”

  “Good. You should take what you need. None of it matters.”

  She nodded. That’s what she’d figured too. “I need eight of those for other spells.”

  Without asking which spells she intended to cast, he shook out eight and tossed them across the table toward her. She watched them skitter across the hard, age-worn wood.

  He had changed since the day before. He was still rude and argumentative, but other than that he was behaving himself. The sensuality… it wasn’t gone, because it was an inherent part of him, but it had been set on the back burner. He was lit with purpose and focused on their end goal.

  That was exactly how he should be, exactly how she needed him to be. She wouldn’t have welcomed anything else.

  So it was entirely on her when his scent reached her and she thought of dark chocolate with more than a hint of rebel longing. She watched his mouth fit around spoonfuls of food and couldn’t remember the last time she had seen anything so sexy.

  Slapping down her own spoon, she dug the heels of both hands into her eyes. She couldn’t go there. She didn’t want to have sex with someone she disliked as much as she disliked him. She never crossed the line with a patient, and she didn’t want to cut into someone she was having sex with.

  Was that why she and Bayne had never managed to get past the friend zone?

  Why did she have to find the most inappropriate man she had ever met to discover he was also the sexiest man she had ever met? What was wrong with her?

  “What’s wrong?”

  Oberon’s question echoed her own too closely for her own comfort. When she peered around one hand at him, she found that he had fixed an all too discerning gaze on her.

  “Nothing,” she ground out. “I’ve just got a headache. It’s nothing that a good night’s sleep won’t cure.”

  “Go, get your rest,” he told her. “I’m going to be up all night working on healing spells.”

  She hesitated. “We can put off the surgery another day or so until you get them done.”

  “We’re not putting off the surgery,” he said flatly, pushing his dishes away. “I’ll stay up both nights if that’s what it takes to get them done. You’re the one who needs her rest. I’ll sleep enough when I’m dead.”

  She didn’t try to argue with him. Macabre though it was, he had a point. She also didn’t bother leaving the palace to find somewhere else to sleep. It wasted too much time and effort, and she trusted him enough to put his needs first. If he did nothing else, he would stay focused until they discovered what life after surgery would be like.

  Going upstairs, she went into the rooms she had picked for herself, washed desultorily, and fell into bed. She had a big day planned for tomorrow. She needed to scour the city for physicians’ offices and residences so she could scavenge for operating tools and equipment.

  She had the basics with her as well as enough sutures that would work well enough for stitching him up afterward, but since she would be operating without the tools and techniques she could have employed in New York, she would have to crack open his chest wall. That meant she needed to find something she could use as a sternum saw. And the gods only knew what she was going to use for clamps.

  The thought made her gut clench, but while she needed to make sure she had every possible tool available at hand, more than likely the real battle against Morgan’s needle was going to be magical in nature and not surgical at all.

  When she doused her witchlight and crawled into bed, she stared at the dark ceiling for most of the night. After she finally fell asleep, she dreamed that a white lion chased her through Manhattan.

  On day seven, Robin returned.

  * * *

  After working through the night, Oberon needed exercise and food, so he left the palace, changed into the lion, and went hunting for fresh meat.

  Now that he had taken control of his Power again, the weather had started to warm. This morning felt like early spring, and the bizarre mountains and swirls of ice that dominated the city had begun to melt.

  It would take a while for the land to recover from what he had done to it—from what Isabeau’s attack had caused him to do—but at least the process had begun. Still, he knew he was going to miss the icy, desolate wasteland the city had become.

  He found a sturdy wild goat that gave him quite a chase, but the warm, fresh meal it provided was much needed. He ate everything except the bigger bones and the hooves, and when he returned to the palace, he went to his office and got straight back to work.

  At one point, he heard Kathryn’s quick footsteps in a nearby hall. A few moments later an outside door creaked. She hadn’t come to check in on him, and he was just as glad she didn’t. She was a distraction he couldn’t afford right now. He focus
ed everything on survival.

  Grimly, he kept at the grueling task at hand. Setting healing spells into over fifty stones was mind-numbing, but with each one he reminded himself that it might be the spell to make the difference between life and death.

  Sometime after lunch rapid footsteps sounded in the hall again, and he realized they were too heavy to be Kathryn’s. He had just finished casting a spell, so he set aside the new gem and strode toward the door.

  Just as he reached the open doorway, Robin appeared. The puck looked as if he had blown in on the spring wind, his thin cheeks high with color and his nut-brown hair tossed wildly.

  “Sire!” Robin exclaimed, gladness ringing in his voice. He rushed forward as if he would throw thin arms around Oberon.

  Rage flared. When the puck came within an arm’s length, Oberon grabbed him by the throat, spun, and slammed him into the wall.

  “Where have you been?” he hissed. “How dare you bring a stranger into my home and then leave her alone with me while I am unconscious? She was not Daoine Sidhe.”

  Robin did not try to defend himself. His arms hung lax at his sides. He choked out, “I stayed by her side constantly until I was sure you would be safe in her care. I didn’t abandon you—I would never abandon you!”

  “Oberon!” Kathryn exclaimed. She had entered the palace without him noticing. Racing forward, she grabbed his arm and yanked hard. “What are you doing? Let go of him!”

  “I told him to watch this place,” he roared, resisting her. His fingers tightened around Robin’s neck.

  If you don’t let him go this instant, I’ll knock you unconscious, Kathryn snapped telepathically. You have no idea what he’s done or what he’s been through because of you. He’s on your side, dammit, and his world revolves around you!

  He barely heard her words. All he could remember was the shock of waking to a stranger in his room.

  She forced herself bodily between them, and with her back against Robin, she pushed hard against his chest. He resisted until she tried to knee him in the balls. Instinct caused him to twist to one side. Her knee grazed the inside of his thigh. As soon as he was off-balance, she knocked his hand away from Robin’s throat.

  When she had freed the puck, she turned to face him. Robin doubled over, coughing hard.

  “Let me see,” she said gently, bending over him.

  She’s not his doctor, she’s mine. Oberon’s fury hadn’t subsided. It merely latched on to the next thought. “Get away from him!” he snapped. “This doesn’t concern you!”

  When she whirled, she looked angrier than he had ever seen before. In a hard voice, she told him, “You are out of control. This is one of your people who mourned for you. He fought for you—he went through unimaginable shit for you. We may not know why he left, but I do know that much.” Telepathically, she added, Stop what you’re doing and think. You don’t want to do anything to destroy the future of the man you want to become, otherwise there’s no point to doing any of this.

  She was right again. Gods damn it, he hated it when she was right. He growled at her wordlessly and spun away as he struggled to get under control.

  “His eyes,” Robin croaked. “What happened to him?”

  “He was that way when he woke up,” Kathryn said. “Robin, he’s not himself. We can’t trust anything that he says or does right now—don’t hold it against him.”

  Oberon had almost gotten ahold of himself, but that sent his fury exploding again. He roared, “Don’t speak for me, woman!”

  “Fine!” she roared back, throwing up her hands. “Go ahead and destroy your own fucking life, and then Isabeau wins!”

  Aagghh! It was the one thing she could have said that would make any difference, and of course she used it. Stalking away, he slammed his fist into the wall repeatedly until the glossy wood panel cracked and fell to the floor in splinters.

  Only when the skin had split across his knuckles and blood began to spray with each piston-like blow did he stop.

  When he finally looked around, he was breathing hard. Robin and Kathryn had backed away. Kathryn still stood in front of the puck, an arm outstretched to keep him behind her. Robin gripped her shoulder with one hand. Their expressions were identical—they watched him with a sober wariness.

  “Kathryn is right,” Oberon said to Robin. He shook out his aching hand and used his shirt to blot the blood from the split knuckles. “I am not myself. Please forgive me.”

  He said the words without emotion or sincerity. He didn’t give a shit whether the puck forgave him or not. He looked away as Robin’s expression lightened.

  “There is nothing to forgive, sire. Only, please tell me how I can now be of service.”

  Oberon’s eyes narrowed. “First, where have you been these last few days?”

  Eagerly, Robin stepped out from behind Kathryn. “After I had determined the doctor held only good intentions toward you, I decided I should go back to shadow Annwyn’s party. If I could overhear their conversations, I could determine what their true purpose was. For the past several years, I have not been party to decisions and choices made by the Dark Court… for reasons. I judged they would talk more freely if they believed I was not around. And I was right.”

  As he listened, Oberon strode back into his office, gesturing for the others to follow him. After a hesitation, they did, but he noted how they still kept their distance from him. He had caused quite a setback in relations with both of them.

  He walked over to the sitting area by the fireplace where the brandy, now much reduced, still sat. Uncorking it, he took a large swallow directly from the bottle.

  “What did you overhear?”

  The puck glanced at the doctor before he continued. “Annwyn, Gawain, and Rowan talked quite a bit about what their next steps might be, depending on they found when they reached the city. Of course, they couldn’t know what I had done with the doctor—all they knew was that I had taken her, and we had both disappeared. Rowan said I might have brought her directly to you, and the others acknowledged that might be true. They also speculated on whether I had killed her or caused her to be so lost, it would take some time to discover her whereabouts.”

  Kathryn spoke up. “Those outcomes don’t sound very logical. Why would they think you would do that?”

  Scorn flashed in Robin’s gaze. “Most in the Dark Court don’t understand what drives me. They are reluctant to believe that I feel only loyalty toward my liege, or to think anything good about me whatsoever.” He bowed toward her. “However, they did all express deep concern for your well-being.”

  She shrugged and gave him a wry smile. “They promised Dragos I would be returned home in good condition.”

  The puck nodded. “That was also mentioned.” His gaze shot to Oberon. “But, by far, their conversations centered on what to do with you, sire.”

  And here it comes, he thought. He took another mouthful of brandy. “Spit it out.”

  “Gawain urged Annwyn to consider what must be done should you be deemed unsalvageable.” Having recovered his equilibrium entirely, Robin strolled around the office, touching items here and there as if reacquainting himself with them. “He said it was time to acknowledge that the needs of the many might outweigh the needs of the individual. The Daoine Sidhe should not be displaced from their homeland just because their unconscious lord’s Power rampaged out of control. If, after fifteen years, they have not managed to heal you in all that time, Annwyn should face the terrible reality that you cannot be saved. She should call on the knights of the Dark Court to do what must be done for the good of the people.”

  While he listened, a cold, hard knot settled in the pit of his stomach. He shifted position to watch Kathryn. As she listened to the puck’s tale, her expression darkened, and she rubbed her eyes, but she did not look surprised.

  He asked, “And what must be done for the good of the people, Robin? Did they say?”

  Robin shook his head. “They alluded and hinted, but no one said it outright.”


  Oberon turned his attention to Kathryn. “When they hired you, did they ask you to make that kind of assessment for them?”

  She made a face, sighed, and then said with a remarkable calmness, “No, they didn’t, but I was expecting to have a conversation along those lines at some point with Annwyn, probably on the way here. And that could very well be what she’d intended, but with Robin’s actions we never got the chance.”

  He ran his fingers along the bottom of the bottle. “What would you have said, had she asked?”

  “I would have told her what I thought after examining you. Ultimately, any decision about your care would have been up to her. She would have been free to take my advice or disregard it as she saw fit.” Kathryn’s steady gaze met his. “I’ll save you the trouble of asking, shall I? If she were here after I had examined you, and she had asked me if you were salvageable, then I would have said yes. I would have every hope that you would be—but we would only know after the needle was removed.”

  “And what if who I am doesn’t change?” he asked in a soft voice. “Would I still be salvageable then?”

  She shook her head, her mouth twisting in a wry smile. “We’ll see what we’re facing then. I appreciate how disturbing it is to know your people have been discussing how they might need to move forward without you. But remember, some of them have had fifteen years to cope with this, and still others were trapped on Earth where two hundred years have passed. The conversation they had is a perfectly rational, understandable dilemma that your very loyal people have had to grapple with, at least hypothetically, for a long time. That doesn’t mean they’re disloyal or going to war against you, and it doesn’t mean you’re not salvageable. It’s the same hideously difficult conversation any family would have about a patient who has been comatose for a very long time.”

  She was dancing around the subject, and by Robin’s sudden scowl, the puck felt the same dissatisfaction he did.

  Oberon had heard tales of Wyr who had gone so feral they had to be put down. Had Kathryn been involved in making assessments on feral Wyr?