Colors in the room brightened at thought of Alex. Trefor looked around, his face dripping water onto his shirt. What the hell? It wasn’t his imagination. He tried thinking of a purple cow, and the colors went dull again. Then Alex. Colors brighter. Huh. He wiped a drip from his chin, then took the towel to dry his face. Weird.

  After running his hands through his hair in an attempt to organize it, he tied it back with his bandanna. But unlike in the past, he tied it with his ears out and showing. For the first time in his life he wished for a mirror just for the sake of seeing them. He couldn’t remember exactly what they looked like, and now he wondered if they were as well formed as Dagda’s. Or even An Reubair’s. He felt of the curve, and the point, trying to tell whether they stuck out or if they curled close enough to his head. It was with a lightly skipping heart that he pulled on his tunic, trews, and boots and went downstairs to attend the evening meal in the Great Hall.

  As an uninvited guest of no great importance, and particularly on this day with the faerie king visiting, Trefor’s seat at board was not very high. He was placed nearly at the other end of the Hall from the head table, but luckily near a small hearth where it was warm enough to keep him from shivering. Man, he hated the cold! He kicked back in his chair, lounging and watching the Dagda, Morag, and Reubair from this vantage point. He could see nearly the entire room from here by turning his head only a little and casually engaged the knight to his left in small talk. Beneath the chat, he eyed Reubair, who sat between Lindsay and the king. He tried not to see Morag, but that red hair of hers was like a warning light on a dashboard. Not only impossible to miss, but dangerous to ignore. He noted that Dagda seemed more interested in Reubair than in his female companion, and Trefor took heart in that. Perhaps this fling was even more casual than he hoped.

  For Lindsay’s part, Alex’s countess presided over the meal with a stately air, formal and reserved, Indeed, her apparent detachment was remarkable. And typical of her, he realized. She took her seat with a calm grace Trefor had come to expect from her. Near as he could tell, very little ever flustered that woman. She was like a fortress, as majestic and as glittering as the structure around them. At table she was served her plate and cup and took a drink. Trefor received his own plate and tried the meat. It was venison. The strong meat wasn’t his favorite, but at least it seemed fresh and well seasoned.

  Reubair was a vibrant — and loud — host, entertaining the king and much of the room with what appeared to be his exploits in the Borderlands, plundering hapless humans for faerie gain. He held a silver and gold drinking bowl in one hand, and it sloshed as he gestured, as if to suggest he could afford to waste the wine. Which, it was apparent, he could. This place was incredible. Trefor had never seen a castle this big or this rich. Even the keep was three or four times the size of the keep at Eilean Aonarach. Trefor could see why Lindsay might want to stay here. Reubair tried to engage Lindsay in his conversation, with a leering grin on his face Trefor wanted to smack off of him. Lindsay responded with a warm smile that wasn’t any more pleasing even for its gentility. She shouldn’t be smiling at him at all. Trefor took a sip of his mead and stared, only half listening to the guy to his left, who was one of Dagda’s lesser knights. He spoke in the old tongue, which required an effort for Trefor to follow, in any case, and he was too disinterested to struggle with it.

  But then the knight said something that caught his attention. “’Tis our hope we’ve arrived in time.”

  Trefor turned his attention to his dinner companion. “In time for what?” What, indeed, was the reason for Dagda’s visit here?

  “To keep The Robber from stealing away control of the land, of course.” The knight in shining chain mail said it as if Trefor should have known it already, then chuckled at his own turn of a phrase. The faerie struck Trefor as not terribly bright, and so he prospected for more information.

  “Of course. Spending too much time with that Nemed.”

  “Ye cannae trust an elf.”

  “Only good elf is a dead elf.”

  That brought a healthy guffaw and a grin of appreciation. “Aye, and that’s the truth! Nemed has never had aught for loyalty to anyone but himself.”

  “Nobody?”

  “Well, and his people I imagine. Dead as they all are.” The knight took on a tone of someone talking to a hopeless, clueless hick. Trefor was happy to be told what was what, because he wasn’t as stupid as he would have this fellow believe. There was always good use for things people would tell him. “He had a fiery love for his people, but never did them much good. I mean, have you ever seen a king fail his people so fully as to lose every last man, woman, and child? His entire race is gone. Wiped out.”

  “By Fomorians.”

  “And humans. He cannae stand against the humans. They’ve encroached on him over the centuries until there’s naught left of his race but himself. Even his alliances have failed him.”

  “The alliance with the Danann?”

  The knight nodded. “’Tis the reason we’re here. To make certain Reubair’s loyalty stays with his own people, not the footloose elf.”

  “And you think there’s a question of it? I mean, a serious chance of treason?”

  The knight’s gaze flickered, and Trefor thought perhaps he’d lost him, but after a moment’s consideration Dagda’s man leaned close and murmured. “There’s been talk of a rising.”

  Trefor frowned. “A rising? Against whom?”

  “Against the Dagda. Reubair and Nemed have a plan to depose Dagda.”

  Trefor leaned back in his seat to assess this. The knight’s face seemed sincere. There was no “gotcha” grin lurking beneath the expression of outrage. “You’re serious?”

  “Aye, and I’m surprised ye haven’t heard the Dagda tell of it.”

  Now Trefor’s eyes narrowed. “Who do you think I am?”

  It was the knight’s turn to appear puzzled. “Are ye not one of Morag’s guard?” As realization sunk in he’d probably been telling this to someone of Reubair’s court, his face paled.

  Trefor said quickly, “Yes. I am one of Morag’s men. But I’m a recent recruit. I haven’t been attached to her guard long enough to have heard much.”

  Relief came over the knight’s entire body and he returned to breathing. Color, such as it could be for a faerie, returned to his face. He adjusted his seat uncomfortably and said, “Tread with care in those chambers. Make yourself invisible, particularly to Himself. The woman is as likely to seduce you as anything else — she’s had most everyone in both guards — but the king is dangerous.”

  “She’s seduced you?”

  A wistful smile passed over the knight’s face, and his voice softened. “Aye, and a lovely night it was. If she offers you the opportunity, do not hesitate, for she’s a warm berth and an eager one. ’Tis much like being eaten alive."

  Trefor thought that sounded painful, but knew what he meant. Just then he felt hollow inside where Morag had consumed him. He smiled to hide the ache. “In any case, you were saying the king is here to check up on Reubair. A rising, you said.”

  “Rumors. That Reubair’s alliance with Nemed was just a mite too cozy and his loyalty to Dagda was weak. The people here, after all, have been under Nemed’s rule since before the beginning of memory.”

  Trefor’s eyebrows went up. The beginning of memory was a very long time for people as long-lived as the Danann. “They’ve never known a ruler other than Nemed?”

  “Nae. Their ancestors came here after the Fomorian war. ’Tis been millennia of peace within the mists, and those of this place dinnae wish to give that up. They feel Dagda will destroy their way.”

  “But they’re Danann.”

  “And different from those Danann who live among humans. Especially those who live directly under the rule of Nemed are different. They hold themselves as better than ordinary Danann. And the Dagda is here to prove them wrong.”

  “And he’s going to do this how?”

  “By force of arms.” Again, the knight seemed to think his reply obvious to even the most casual observer.

  “Doesn’t Nemed have a right to this land? Didn’t he hold it first?”

  “A ruler who cannae hold his land by force does not deserve to hold it at all. For how else can he protect his people from the incursion of other races?”

  There was a certain weird logic to that, though Trefor’s twenty-first-century mind didn’t want to address that. And he was stuck for a reply that wouldn’t sound as if he were a spy for Nemed, so he segued away from it. “Well, it looks like the king did arrive in time to prevent the rising.”

  “We shall see.”

  Trefor grunted and returned his attention to his supper and his mother.

  Lindsay drank her mead, or whatever the folks at the head table were having. Trefor suspected it might be wine instead. She picked at her food, but drank deeply from her goblet as she listened to Reubair and the king.

  Then, halfway through the meal, Lindsay gave Reubair a look that made Trefor blink stupidly at her in surprise. Long and lingering, it was. No way to mistake the light in her eyes; it was affection. Not lust, nor even simple interest. The gaze was long and searching. She sought his eyes and held them, like the two of them were newlyweds or something. Trefor’s stomach turned. He wanted to shout she was a whore, that she was a betrayer and didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as honest people. She and Morag. Peas in a pod. It disgusted him.

  But then a shadow crossed Lindsay’s eyes and she looked away, and that baffled him. Her confusion confused him. What was going on? Her face darkened in a flush, and her gaze searched the room for something to look at other than Reubair. Not the king, for he sat on the other side of Reubair from her. A window. She found a window and stared at the weak, overcast light coming through it, as if the blank sky outside were the most interesting thing in her life. Her chin drew in until her head was almost bowed and she was looking from under a lowered brow. Trefor had no clue what to make of it. He stared at her, ignoring the faerie to his left, until Lindsay pulled herself together with a deep breath and once again turned her attention to Reubair. Once more she addressed him with the same bland, careful gaze she’d had at the beginning of the meal.

  Something extraordinary was going on here. Trefor was at a loss to know what it could be, but it was plain there was something wonky between Lindsay and Reubair, and not necessarily romantic. Probably something magical, if he understood his faeries. He looked to Dagda to see if he might be involved, but the king seemed as oblivious as everyone else in the room. Trefor chewed his meat and continued to gaze at his mother, wondering.

  Once the king had finished eating, he, Reubair, and the two women rose from the table. Everyone in the room got up as well, expecting the king to withdraw to his quarters. But instead he moved to mingle with the faerie nobility assembled in the Great Hall. One by one Reubair’s vassals came to bow before the king, and he chatted with each as amiably as if they were his best buddies. Trefor placed himself in the king’s path and watched the progression through the room. He admired the grace and easy friendliness the Dagda exuded, filling the huge room with bright cheer. He looked each in the eye, and his voice rang with sincerity in every word he spoke.

  Then Reubair leaned in to whisper in Dagda’s ear and glanced in Trefor’s direction. The king looked toward him, curious at first, then he smiled. There was a comment under his breath, too low for Trefor to hear, and Reubair chuckled. Neither Lindsay nor Morag reacted, but Trefor felt his face warm with embarrassment that they’d heard whatever it was. He figured it couldn’t have been good. Reubair gestured that Trefor should approach the king, and he did so.

  Dagda’s face was aglow with power, like the pinkness of healthy cheeks but with red warmth like embers. Trefor thought if he reached out to touch the faerie’s skin he might burn his fingers. It was a temptation to try. Dagda bestowed a smile filled with that warmth and white teeth, and said, “I’ve just mentioned to An Reubair here that you remind me of my youngest brother, but also that I wouldn’t hold it against you.”

  Trefor smiled with relief as much as humor, that the comment hadn’t been the ridicule he’d anticipated nearly out of habit. He replied, “I’m told I look like my father’s brother, who is human, and I hope you won’t hold that against me, either.” That brought an amiable chuckle from the king. “All I can say is that I at least have the Danann ears.”

  He glanced at Morag, who was more fey than he but appeared more human. She gazed at him with the same bland expression Lindsay wore for Reubair. As if she didn’t know him. Trefor’s cheeks warmed.

  Dagda and Reubair chuckled again, then the king raised his voice for the benefit of more than just their small cluster in the Great Hall. “You’re plainly a son of Danu, and I’m glad to hear from An Reubair you wish to pledge your fealty to me. With whole heart, I would hear your oath if you care to give it.”

  Oh. Trefor hadn’t really wanted to swear himself to Dagda; he didn’t believe in making promises he couldn’t keep, and the whole allegiance thing was a morass of rules, debt, and duties he didn’t care to take on. He was only here for Lindsay and intended to be out of this castle at the earliest opportunity, on his way to join up with Robert’s army. But now the king of the faeries was looking at him with the expectation that he would get on his knees and pledge fealty on the spot. A look at Morag caught her with a slight curl to her lips, which she wiped off in an instant. He glanced at Lindsay, and it crossed his mind that if she’d not balked at leaving with him earlier he wouldn’t be standing here now, wondering what to do. And now she still wasn’t any help. She glanced away from him, toward the king. It was left to him to figure it out.

  Except there was nothing to figure out. There was no escape from this corner but straight ahead, to go through with the pledge. To hesitate just then would draw a shadow over him, a shadow he could ill afford with the iffy goodwill of Reubair and Lindsay’s uncertain status in the castle. It would cause the most powerful fellows in the faerie world to look slantways at him, a risky situation given what he was there to do. And there was no telling what Morag would do or say if he gave her a reason and an opportunity to cross him.

  So he knelt before the king and hoped his hesitation hadn’t been too noticeable. He said, as boldly and smoothly as he could under the circumstances, “Then by all means, your majesty, allow me to pledge my fealty to you at once. I vow on my soul to be loyal to you as my liege. If I should ever break this vow, may I never have a son and may my fortunes all fail.” He resisted the urge to look up at Morag and instead looked to find a smile on the king’s face.

  Dagda said to Reubair, “Succinct, at least. I like a man who wastes no time beating around the bush.”

  Lindsay said, “My cousin is a master of language. He speaks ten or twelve of them; some from so far away you may never have heard of those who speak them.”

  Reubair seemed unimpressed by that. “You’ve been to the Holy Land?” His tone suggested, big deal. “I know many men who understand the languages of Islam.”

  Trefor rose at a gesture from the king and replied, “She means farther east, but yes, I also speak some from the Near East.” He was fluent in modern Farsi and figured he could understand Crusade-era Muslims well enough to get by.

  Dagda said, “That is good to know, if ever the Danann care to involve themselves in human silliness.” He cut a significant glance at Reubair, whose face remained impassive. Trefor took note of the undercurrent of friction. He guessed there was more disagreement between Dagda and Reubair than just the relative merits of elves as a race.

  “I’ve not been to that particular fight,” he said. “In fact, I’ve never been to the Far East, either.”

  Reubair asked, “Then how did you learn so many languages? Are you fluent in any of them?”

  “All of them, my lord. I have a talent, and for one with determination and faerie wisdom there is always learning to be had by those who will pay attention.” Reubair would think this to mean he’d employed his magical training to learn the languages. It wasn’t true, but it was something the faeries would understand more readily than language CDs and tutorial software.

  The king said, “I welcome you to the Danann fold, Sir Trefor. I trust you will be faithful and valuable to our people.”

  In spite of his initial reluctance, Trefor’s heart swelled, for such a welcome was a rarity in his life. It felt nice. He bowed his head once more to the king and thanked him, thinking it may not have been a bad thing to have pledged himself. He was, after all, Danann, and there was no reason for him not to ally himself with the faerie king. His father certainly wasn’t offering so much acceptance, and especially Lindsay was not.

  Reubair, the king, Lindsay, and Morag moved on to the next conversation, and Trefor understood himself to be dismissed. He watched the progression a few minutes more, ignored once again by Morag, then made his way back to his chamber to mull what had just happened.

  He sat by the fire, staring into it and watching the dancing, random flames, the throbbing glow of embers, and turned over in his mind the expressions he’d seen among Reubair and the others today. Each gesture, each inflection of voice. It was too dense. There was too much there to make sense of anything. Though he picked carefully at his memory, no one thread separated from the knot. He was exhausted from the journey and the long day, and his mind was mush. He gave up thinking, stretched out on the bed, and dropped off to sleep after only a few moments.

  ***

  Alex was with her. In the closet bed. Lindsay’s heart leapt, though she realized she must be dreaming, for her husband couldn’t possibly be there. But it seemed real. She knew his scent, the feel of him in the darkness. Her heart ached with missing him, and she slipped eagerly into the deep pleasure of the dream for a time. He murmured to her of his love, in a soft whisper that sometimes drifted to low, deep voice. He kissed her and felt beneath her shift. Between her thighs. His hand was big and strong, and he made her want all of him there. He was healthy and whole. Insistent. With joy she accepted him, and the joining transported her. He moved carefully, slowly at first, savoring the moment and sighing his rapture. She arched against him, taking him in as much as she could. If only she could keep him there forever. To keep him safe, warm, and happy. Her arms around him sensed his trembling muscles. His broad shoulders. She laid a hand against his side to feel him straining against her. His undulating belly. She felt...

 

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