I looked at Mistral on his knees, clutching his side, leaning on his shining spear, his sword still naked in his hand. Galen was down to one useable arm. He stood breathing hard, his sword in his hand, rage plain on his usually smiling face. Rhys’s face bled freely, and I realized that Cel had tried to cut out his only good eye. He had missed, but the fact that he’d tried meant he hadn’t taken the fight seriously. He had wanted to hurt us, not necessarily kill us. He had wanted to maim.
Ash and Holly bore wounds, for they had joined the fight after I called for Cel’s death. That Cel could wound them so quickly said just how much I’d underestimated him as a warrior.
I said “No.” The crown glowed like a dark halo as I moved forward. I looked at Sholto on the edge of the field with his sluagh, and I yelled out, “Why did you not join the fight?”
“The queen forbade it,” he called back.
I stared across the field at Andais. She wasn’t quite to us. I called out, “Andais, do you see the crown upon my head?”
She hesitated, then said “Yes.” The one word sighed and seemed to touch everyone on the field.
“What crown is it?”
Her hand tightened on the pommel of her sword, Mortal Dread, which could bring true death to anyone. “It is the Crown of Moonlight and Shadows. It was once my crown.” There was bitterness to that last.
“Now it’s mine.”
“So it seems,” she said.
“You vowed in open court that whichever of us became pregnant first would be your heir. You may not have intended to keep your word, but faerie kept it for you. Goddess and Consort have crowned me.”
“You wear the Crown of Moonlight and Shadows,” she said.
Cel screamed out, “And it is mine! You promised it to me!” Doyle’s sword tip pushed a little harder, and a drop of blood welled black in the moonlight.
Andais stood there with her cloak of darkness and shadows swirling around her. Her helmet was tucked under one arm. We looked at each other over that cold ground.
“Did you promise him your crown?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said.
“After promising me the chance to be queen,” I said.
“Before,” she said.
“You are an oathbreaker, my aunt. The wild hunt lives.”
“I know you and my Perverse Creature can summon the wild hunt. I know you slew your cousin and the other conspirators of the Seelie Court.”
“Would you have us hunt you?” I asked.
“Would it save my son’s life?”
“No,” I said.
“But still, I am an oathbreaker. I deserve to be hunted.”
Andais was the ultimate survivor. There was only one reason she would choose to die.
“Before Sholto and I give chase, I will order Cel’s death,” I said. “Our chase will not give him time to escape, and I don’t think he has enough friends left in court to save him.”
“I have allies,” Cel yelled from the ground.
I looked only at my aunt, not at him, as I said, “Siobhan is dead, and your so-called allies fled when they could. The only one who came to save you is your mother. If she is dead, then I think, cousin, you will find that you have no allies left. They don’t follow you. They follow her.”
“They will not follow you, Meredith,” Cel said. “Crown, or no crown, if it is not me on the throne, then they will kill you and choose their own ruler. My spies have heard them plot this.”
I laughed, and finally looked down at Cel. Whatever he saw on my face widened his eyes, and made him catch his breath, as if he saw something that frightened him. “You never understood me, cousin, or you, my aunt,” I said. “I never wanted to rule. I know they hate me, and no matter how much power I show them, they will always see me as the future of the sidhe. They see me as the diminished them. They see in me what they see in Sholto, that the sidhe grow weak. They would rather hide in their hollow hills and waste away than change and go outside to meet the world. I had hope for our people. My father had hope for our people.”
“His hope is what killed him,” Cel said.
I looked down at him where he lay on the ground, Doyle’s sword at his throat, but he didn’t look frightened. He believed that Andais would save him. Even now, he was confident in her power to protect him.
“How do you know that hope killed my father?” I asked.
Something crossed through his eyes, some thought or emotion. I smiled at him.
“It’s just an expression,” he said, but his voice wasn’t so confident now.
“No,” I said, “it’s not.” I knelt beside him.
“Cel,” Andais said, “Cel, don’t….”
My smile stayed. I couldn’t seem to stop smiling, though I wasn’t happy. “I hadn’t seen you fight before. I didn’t understand how good you were.”
Cel tried to sit up, but Doyle’s sword point pushed him back down. “I am glad you finally understand that I could lead our people.”
“You killed him. You killed Prince Essus. You yourself. It’s why we couldn’t find an assassin. It’s why no matter how many people Andais tortured they had nothing to tell us about my father’s death.”
He yelled, “She’s mad, Mother. You ordered me not to plot against my uncle. I obey you in all things.”
“But you didn’t plot,” I said. “You did it yourself. Because you were good enough with a blade, and because you knew he would hesitate. You knew my father loved you. You counted on it.”
Andais’s voice was almost a wail, “Cel, tell me she’s wrong.”
“She’s wrong,” he yelled.
“Swear by the Darkness that Eats all Things. Swear by the wild hunt. Swear, and I’ll believe you,” she said. “Swear those oaths and I will fight to the end for you.”
He tried. “I swear by the Darkness That Eats All Things….” and for a moment I thought I’d been wrong, then he stopped. He tried again. “I swear by the wild hunt…I swear.” He screamed it. “I swear!”
“What do you swear, Cel? Son, tell me you did not kill my brother. For the love of Goddess, tell me you did not kill Essus.”
He lay on the ground, staring from Doyle to me, to the circle of my other guards who had gathered around us. He stared up at us, his eyes wide, shifting back and forth as if seeking a way out. Rhys stood beside Doyle, his face a mask of blood. Galen came to kneel by me. He had no good arm left to both hug me and keep his blade. He leaned his head against my cheek, and whispered, “I’m sorry, Merry.”
Mistral was still kneeling where he’d been left, which meant he was hurt indeed. But he called out, “Essus was the best of us.”
Cel yelled, “So good, my uncle, that they wanted him to be king. They wanted him to kill my mother and be king.”
“Essus would never have done that,” Doyle said.
“My brother loved us!” Andais screamed it at him. She looked at me, and there was real pain in her eyes. In all the years of seeking, it had never occurred to her that it was her own son.
“Yes,” Cel said. He grabbed my arm, and Doyle’s sword brought another drop of blood from his throat. “Do you know what your father’s last words were, Meredith?”
I could only shake my head.
“He said he loved me.” Then I felt his power spill up and over us all. One moment he was helpless, the next he was the wielder of old blood, and everyone around him had wounds to be reborn.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
I WAITED FOR THE PAIN OF THE SHRAPNEL WOUNDS, BUT IT WAS nothing compared to the pain of my men. Two thousand years of war. A thousand years of being tortured by my aunt. Every sword cut, every spear thrust, every whip mark, every claw was there on their bodies in one red ruin.
Galen writhed on the ground beside me clutching the bloody front of his pants. I knew what wound had reappeared. Rhys’s missing eye was a bloody hole again. Doyle lay on his side, fighting to try to get to his knees, but he was too hurt. They were all too hurt. There were cries in the distance, and it w
as not just my men. The Red Caps were back to being damaged. I understood in that moment what a terrible hand of power Cel possessed. I hadn’t understood until that moment. I hadn’t understood so very much until that moment.
Cel jerked me to my feet by my wrist. He pulled me in against his body, and turned me to gaze out at the field. Everyone was on the ground, everyone. Andais was just a dark heap on the frost-whitened grass. Her cloak of shadows had gone, which meant she was either unconscious or worse.
“Draw your sword,” he hissed in my face. “Let me disarm you in front of them all, and drive it into that fertile womb of yours. Did you know that’s why my mother turned against me? She made me take those human doctors’ tests and found that I couldn’t father children. That’s when she called you home.” He traced his free hand up the side of my neck, until he entwined his fingers in my hair. He stopped just short of where the crown still burned with its darkling flame on my head.
He let go of my wrist, and put his other hand on the other side of my face. He turned me to face him and cradled me oh so gently between his hands. “Draw your sword, Merry. Draw it, and let them see how weak you truly are.” He whispered it against my face as he came in for a kiss.
I put my hands on his hands, bare skin to bare skin, as he kissed me. My arm that had been crippled by the original injury seemed a little less hurt. Was it the crown protecting me, or the fact that I was queen at last?
He laid a gentle kiss on my mouth, a good kiss, and not what I’d expected, but then he was full of surprises tonight.
He drew back from me, taking my hands in his. He smiled, and his eyes were completely mad. “I’m going to kill you now.”
“I know,” I said, and I used the hands of blood and flesh together. Where Holly and Ash and I had used them to heal, now I used them to destroy. I drove the hand of blood into him, not in search of wounds, but in search of blood. I used the hand of flesh to cut and tear his body from the inside out. As the hands of power had flowed over the battlefield in a wave of cleansing blood and smoothing flesh, now they filled this one man.
Cel’s eyes went wide. “You can’t,” he whispered.
“I can,” I said, and I flexed that power, flexed it like a giant’s fist that I’d shoved deep into his body, then I opened that fist. One moment Cel was there, eyes wide, hands in mine, the next he wasn’t. Blood smacked into me, and thicker things hit my face. There was a sharp pain in my cheek, and I was left standing alone, covered in blood and thicker things. I scraped what was left of my cousin off my face so I could see, and found that it was his teeth in my cheek, blown there by the force of the magic. I pulled them out, and promised myself a tetanus shot, and antibiotics if I could have them while pregnant. I promised myself a lot of things as I stood there, shaking.
Doyle was suddenly at my side. Rhys was there too, wiping the blood from his face. His eye was back to its usual scar. Galen was with me too. His only injuries were the fresh ones from the fight.
“But how…?” I asked.
“He died, and his hand of old blood died with him,” Doyle said. I held my bloodstained hand out to Doyle. He took it, and I drew him over the red ruin that was all that was left of our enemy. I drew him down into a kiss, and the moment our lips met, our skin ran with light. I was moonlight, and he was black fire, bright enough that it cast shadows across the field.
There were gasps and whispers, and I finally came away from the kiss to find that there was a crown woven into Doyle’s hair. Thin thorn branches formed a latticework above his head, but each thorn was tipped with silver. It was Jonty who whispered, “The Crown of Thorn and Silver.”
Doyle reached up and touched the crown. He came away with a bright spot of crimson on his fingertip. “It is sharp.”
“My king,” I said.
He smiled. “One of them.”
Then a sound, a horrible wet throaty sound, drove the answering smile from my face. “Frost,” I said, and turned back to the stag. It lay on its side, the spear sticking up like a young tree stripped of its branches. Blood had drenched its white coat.
Doyle and I went to him. I knelt and touched the fur where it was clean of blood. He was warm to the touch, but there was no movement. “No,” I said. “No.”
“He was a willing sacrifice,” Doyle said.
I shook my head. “I do not want this.”
“He gave himself so you could rule the Unseelie.”
I shook my head again. “I don’t want to rule them without him at my side.” I laid my head on the stag’s still-warm side, and whispered, “Frost, come back to me. Please, please, don’t go. Don’t go.”
I smelled roses, thick and warm as summer’s kiss. I rose and there was a shower of rose petals falling from the winter sky.
It was Galen who wrapped his hands around the spear, and took it out of the stag’s side to show the horrible wound. Galen stood above us, bathed in the rose petals, the spear in his hands, his face anguished, his clothes covered in blood.
Rhys knelt by the stag’s head, hands gripping the smooth white horns. Tears trailed from his one good eye. Mistral came to stand with us, gripping his own more slender spear. I saw Sholto at the far edge of the field, his sluagh like a black cloud of nightmare shapes flying and creeping with him. He stopped to stare at us grouped around the white stag. He bowed his head, as if he knew.
Ash and Holly stood with the Red Caps. They had all lowered their weapons and pointed them at the ground as a sign of respect.
A voice came out of the sweet fall of petals. “What would you give for your Killing Frost?”
“Anything.”
“Would you give the crown upon your head?” the voice asked.
“Yes,” I said.
Mistral said “Meredith.” But the other men said nothing. Mistral hadn’t been with us from the beginning, so he didn’t understand.
“And you, Darkness, would you give up your crown?”
Doyle took my hand in his, and said, “To have my right hand at my side again, I would.”
“So be it,” the voice said. There was a wind, and the scent of rain, and the dark light of the crowns was gone.
But a hand reached up through the hole in the stag’s side. I touched that hand, and it wrapped around mine. “Goddess, help us,” I said.
“She is,” Doyle said, and he went to the hole in the stag’s side. He tore at it with his hands. Rhys joined him. Mistral crawled to us, but he was too wounded to help. Galen gave the spear Shrieker to Mistral, and used his one unwounded arm to help tear at the hole. It was as if the stag’s body had become a shell, something dry and unreal. It flaked and tore under their hands, and a second hand appeared along with the first, then arms. And then we were pulling him from the wreck of his other form.
That fall of silver hair fell over my lap, and then finally he turned and looked at me. Those gray eyes, that face that was almost too handsome for words, but there was no arrogance in my Frost now. There was only pain, and so much emotion trapped in those eyes.
He fell into our arms, mine and Doyle’s. We held him while he shook. He clung to us while we cried. The Darkness and the Killing Frost clung to each other, and to me, and wept.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
ANDAIS IS STILL QUEEN OF AIR AND DARKNESS, BUT THE crown did not appear above her head. Taranis is still King of Light and Illusion, but our lawyers are trying to get someone to sign off on forcing him to submit a DNA sample to compare to the sperm they found in me. It got leaked to the press somehow that my uncle might be my rapist. The tabloids are finally picking on the Seelie Court, and the mainstream press is following their lead. It’s too juicy a story to ignore, no matter how charming a king he may be.
Lord Hugh and some of the nobles of the Seelie Court are still trying to get me declared queen of their court, but I’ve sent word that I’m not interested.
Andais has offered to do what she vowed, and step down for me to take her throne even if the Crown of Moonlight and Shadows never reappears. I’
ve refused.
Cel was insane, but he was right about one thing. Too many of the nobles of both courts see me as the mongrel who proved that even their highest nobles were losing their magic. I was mortal, and it’s a sin they won’t forgive. Cel is dead, and Andais’s days are numbered. Too many of her nobles want her throne and see her as weak. We’re staying in Los Angeles, far away from the infighting. We’ll see who survives.
The only thing we did before we left faerie was to free the prisoners. Barinthus, my father’s closest advisor and once the sea god Manannan Mac Lir, had been imprisoned by Andais simply because he was my most powerful ally.
He’s in Los Angeles with us now, and watching the former sea god swim in a real sea after so long being landlocked is a wonderful thing.
I’m back at Gray Detective Agency, and so are my guards. We’re all useless for undercover work, but people are paying through the nose to consult with Princess Meredith and her “bodyguards.” People are actually offering our boss, Jeremy Gray, more money for us to grace their Hollywood parties than they’d pay for us to detect anything. Though we still try to do some real work now and then.
Sholto visits, but he can’t bring the sluagh to Los Angeles, not permanently. Mistral is homesick for faerie, and doesn’t like this modern world. Galen and Rhys both have enough glamour to do actual work for Gray Detective Agency. Rhys loves being a real detective at last. Kitto was happy to have us home, and had already cleaned out a room to be turned into a nursery.
Nights are spent sleeping between Doyle and Frost, or Sholto and Mistral, or Galen and Rhys. The sharing is fair for the sex, but the sleeping arrangements are not. My Darkness and my Killing Frost find their way to me more often than not. No one seems to argue about it, as if they’ve worked it out among them all.
In the interest of getting good press, and in some cases getting more money into the house, I’ve taken some interviews. Because we had the soldiers there at the end, they’ve talked to the press. They saw wonders, and they said so. I don’t blame them. We even get visits from Dawson, Orlando, Hayes, Brennan, and some of the others.
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