by Eileen Wilks
She received in return a smug sense of great fullness, followed by another gestalt.
Kai sorted that one out slowly. Dell had acquired a harem. She’d mated with both males, which somehow allowed her to draw from their stores of power, which meant Kai could draw on it, too. And, as Malek had confided, time passed differently in the godhead. What for Kai had been a couple of days had been weeks for the chameleons—weeks spent in the most high-magic place they’d ever been. All three were full to bursting with magic, and Dell assured Kai she could use all of it, if necessary. The Queen’s gift Dell wore was also full, and it held ample power to sustain Dell and her two mates.
Tangled in with all that was a hint of wild joy and completion. The mating mattered to Dell. Mattered greatly. Kai touched her familiar’s head and sent a strong wave of grateful happiness for Dell’s good fortune. In other words, congratulations.
Dell accepted it with a short burst of purring, then sent again, strongly: fix No-blood-no-scent.
Kai’s Gift certainly agreed. Both Gift and chameleon had a lousy sense of reality. It was like asking her to fix a nuclear reaction. She couldn’t fix what she didn’t comprehend, and she couldn’t even see all of Dyffaya’s mind, much less understand it. A single close encounter with one part of it, when she’d touched that not-tree, had nearly sent her into fugue. She sent Dell the memory of that moment.
Dell slipped in front, stopped smack dab in the middle of the path, sat there, making Kai stop, and stared at Kai: must fix or . . . followed by a series of emotions/images/complex thought configurations—an overwhelming onslaught that spoke to Kai of death, being trapped, more death, all of them forever trapped in this not-place of no-scent.
Too shaken to form a mental response, Kai muttered, “Okay, sure. But no pressure, right?”
THIRTY-NINE
NATHAN waited at one end of the clearing where he would fight and wished for a breeze—some natural stir of air across his body that carried the scent of grass, the myriad whisperings of a world busy and varied and living. He wanted a sky breathlessly blue, spotted by clouds. And Kai’s voice. He had never felt less ready to die, but if he must, he wished it could be in a world that held the sound of his Kai.
But this was the world he had at the moment, and it was death he faced today. He hoped it would be one of the small deaths and not the final one. Nathan shook his head. How funny that the final death might arrive now, when he wanted it so little, instead of in the days when he would have welcomed it.
Or so he’d thought at the time. Now he understood that he hadn’t been paying attention. Hadn’t been able to pay attention, crippled up inside as he’d been by loneliness. How many millions of people over the centuries had said and believed they were ready for death, when really they’d simply been unable to pay attention? Perhaps the malaise in elves and depression in humans were different faces of the same problem—an inability to pay attention to life.
Life was sweet. All on its own, without any of the wished-for additions, life was sweet and good. If he couldn’t have a breeze or grass, he had the feel of his toes digging into the sand and the memory of breezes, of wind pushing piled-up clouds across the sky. Of Kai.
If there was no breeze to whisper, the people assembled as audience supplied a similar sound, murmuring at each other. Nathan glanced at the little man who’d joined them a few minutes ago, his mood darkening. Malek’s unexpected arrival had explained much. Likely he wouldn’t be able to kill the man, and he regretted that. Nathan didn’t see any chance that Malek could have been beguiled back in Iath without his Queen knowing. No, Malek was simply a traitor, forsworn. He’d chosen Dyffaya over his vows to Winter.
Dyffaya’s other guests were fascinated by Malek, asking questions, hanging on his every word. The little man clearly enjoyed that. There were fewer guests now, and two were reclining, too tired from the magic sickness to sit up. Still, they looked happy and excited. No doubt the god had told them they were, so they had little choice . . . all but two, that is. Cullen sat beside Mary Boyd, who was trying to hide desperation behind sternness. Nathan wished he could do something to help her, but at least Cullen was there, chattering away at her. Suddenly she laughed, startling herself.
Nathan smiled. Cullen was a good man.
Across the clearing from him was another good man, one in whom honor ran deep and true. Benedict met his eyes briefly and gave a single nod.
Neither of them had weapons yet, but the god might change that when he appeared. They didn’t know what type of combat Dyffaya would decree. He liked to make that a surprise. Nathan was hoping for blades of some sort. That would make it easier to—
The audience cheered. Some of them stood to applaud. Nathan turned to look where they were looking. The god had arrived.
Dyffaya seemed to have settled on his mixed-race body. That’s what he wore today, as he had ever since these games of his began. He stood at the edge of the graveled path Malek had used on the border of the black-tree forest, smiling over his shoulder at . . .
Nathan was on his feet and running before he finished the thought. Kai. Kai, was here, in this terrible place—
Dyffaya frowned and waved a hand. Bars shot up from the ground, imprisoning Nathan so quickly he couldn’t stop in time to keep from running into them. He got his hands up, though, and they smacked into what felt like iron, but wasn’t. “Kai!”
Her eyes were dark and anxious. “I’m sorry, Nathan! He snatched me after killing Eharin—having Malek kill her, that is. She was holding me prisoner and—”
“Silence!” Dyffaya’s voice roared out from the air itself, not from the body he was using. The next words were issued more normally. “Nathan, how impulsive you are all of a sudden! That’s a new turn for you, isn’t it? Really, the two of you are quite touching, but your reunion will have to wait until after the game. Assuming Nathan survives it, that is. I think he will, but it wouldn’t be a game if the outcome were certain.”
The way he smiled at Kai made Nathan want to howl, layered as it was with multiple emotions. Anger, yes, and gloating, but also a hint of triumph. “This is why you will agree, Kai Tallman Michalski. You are in love with the Hound who killed Nam Anthessa, and with it, any chance I could ever reclaim my own body.” Rage quivered, barely in check, in Dyffaya’s voice. “I want my revenge, but I’ll settle for the taste of it I’ve already had, if you agree to my offer.”
Kai had an odd expression on her face. An absorbed expression, one he knew well. She was studying something no one else could see. “You wanted to be in your own body so much. More than anything.”
The god went still in a way that terrified Nathan. He thought Dyffaya would strike her down then and there. Instead, after a moment, he shrugged and spoke lightly. “There are other bodies. Sooner or later, I’ll find the right one.”
Other bodies? What did he mean by that? Gods—could that be what he was doing with his body magic—making an avatar? The first step toward it, anyway. He’d need the body he appropriated to be immune to magic sickness.
“What will you do if I don’t agree?” Kai asked. “Will you kill Nathan?”
“That would be wasteful. No, assuming he survives today’s game, I’ll keep you both here and use him to persuade you to change your mind. You will eventually, you know. What I’ll do to him will be more than you can stand. Once you agree, I’ll allow him to return to Earth with you. As long as he doesn’t act against me, the two of you can be together, all snug and safe.”
Suddenly Nathan wanted to howl again, but with laughter—though not the happy sort, for this was a cruel joke. All this time he’d expected the god to try to use Kai to hurt him, but Dyffaya had no intention of killing Kai. She’d been his real target all along. Nathan had known the god might want to use Kai. He’d spoken of her being a power, but he hadn’t acted as if he believed that, had he? No, he’d gone on expecting Dyffaya to do what both of them were used
to: use Kai to get to Nathan.
Instead, it was the other way around. He’d wanted Nathan in his power so he could use him against Kai. Oh, the joke was on him, all right, but such a cruel joke, when Kai would have to pay the price.
Kai was regarding the god gravely . . . the way she might look at a patient, he realized with a chill of fear. One who posed a major challenge. No, he wanted to yell at her. Don’t even think about it, don’t try to help this one—he’ll know, and he’ll hurt you so badly. You have no idea how much pain he can deliver.
But Kai couldn’t hear his thoughts. She spoke quietly, still with that intent look on her face. “What is this game you keep referring to?”
“Oh, that.” Reminded of the upcoming treat, Dyffaya was genuinely cheerful once more. “Do take my arm, and I’ll explain it to you.”
* * *
KAI desperately didn’t want to take the god’s arm. What if that touch sent her into fugue, the way touching the not-tree nearly had? But there was no way out of it.
This particular aspect of sidhe courtesy was similar to that practiced in medieval courts, and for good reason. Humans in Europe had had more contact with elves than anyone else, and some of the courtly behavior popular a few hundred years ago had been copied from them. Among elves, however, it wasn’t the man who offered an arm to the woman, but the elder to the younger. Such an offer showed favor, and the younger had better accept the offer. To refuse was to offend deliberately.
She tried again to dial her Gift down. Still couldn’t. Gingerly she laid her fingers on what looked like a lean, muscular forearm. To her relief, that didn’t excite her Gift at all.
“I was beginning to wonder if you were as fearless as you looked,” Dyffaya said lightly as he started toward the people he’d assembled. “But your heart is racing and your palms are damp. You’re quite good at concealing your fear otherwise,” he said in a kindly way. “Come with me, now, and I’ll tell you about the game.”
He escorted her toward those poor people, so heavily beguiled, pausing to speak a few words to each of them. All but one, that is—the dark-haired woman next to Cullen. She wasn’t beguiled. Traumatized, yes, from the look of her thoughts, but not beguiled. The rest were painfully grateful for each smile, each second’s attention, their god bestowed. And in between those benisons offered to his guests, he explained his game.
By the time they reached the central, flowering mound—higher by a good three feet than the others—Kai had lost all desire to be courteous. She snatched her hand back. “You can’t be serious.”
He grinned. “Not always, no. What would be the fun in that?”
“You said I’d have influence with you. Stop this horrible game.”
“I couldn’t if I wanted to.” He leaped lightly to the top of his mound, settled cross-legged, and smiled down at her. “And I don’t want to. Relax. The werewolf is good, but your Hound is better. You may sit here.” He gestured at the low mound on his right.
Damned if she would sit and watch while—
Dell bumped Kai’s leg with her head. The chameleon’s desire was obvious. She wanted Kai to sit and wait. The time to act was coming. It was not yet here.
Kai swallowed fear, pride, anger—everything that made her want to explode, including the growing urgency of her Gift—and sat. She hoped Dell knew what she was doing.
The chameleon leaped up onto the tall mound and settled beside Dyffaya. He stroked her head, his expression fond, then stood and started talking. He had a beautiful voice. He spoke about the glory of single combat and how privileged they all were to witness combat between two who were truly masters of their art. Kai tuned him out, struggling to keep her Gift in check, and looked at Nathan. He gripped the bars, staring at her with the same longing she felt. Dyffaya could have let them touch or at least speak to each other. Had he refused because he thought it put more pressure on Kai to agree?
But if she understood him correctly, even if she agreed right this moment to turn herself into a binder, he couldn’t stop the game. He was bound the only way such as he could be bound. By his own words.
What was Nathan going to do? He had something in mind. Kai had picked up that much from Dell’s attempts to explain, but she didn’t know what.
“. . . in recognition of his courtesy to his enemy by failing to take that death-stroke, I will grant Nathan of Faerie the right to choose the form of combat today. Nathan? What will you have?”
A moment’s silence, then Nathan spoke firmly. “Swords.”
“An excellent choice. Since you don’t specify the type of blade, I will choose.” Dyffaya clapped his hands.
The bars surrounding Nathan vanished and a sword appeared on the ground in front of him. Kai glanced quickly at Benedict at the far end of the field. He’d already bent and retrieved his weapon.
Gods, was she really going to have to watch this? No, she decided. And shut her eyes.
“Do you think that’s a good idea?” Dyffaya was annoyed. “Open your eyes. I don’t want to have to punish someone for your inattention. I’m fond of all my guests, and they don’t deserve that.”
Kai knew he’d do just that, hurt someone else to punish her. She knew it because, even with her eyes closed, she saw his thoughts—the dark glow of them here, the iridescent sheen over there, the complex and horribly distorted tangle leading into the not-trees. She shuddered and opened her eyes.
“That’s better. Really, Kai, if you can’t bear to watch this, how do you think you’ll handle seeing me slit open your lover’s gut and tickle it with flame? You might as well agree.” He paused, giving her that chance. “No? Ah, well—begin!”
Benedict and Nathan advanced on each other. Each held a curved sword, the sort she associated with samurai. When they were just beyond the reach of the swords, they stopped and bowed. It was so formal, as if this were a practice bout that one would win, one would lose, and it wouldn’t matter.
This mattered. It mattered in the most terrible way, yet there was no outcome to wish for. All possible outcomes were horrible.
A long strand of ebony thought unreeled from the flowery mound where Dyffaya sat, heading for the not-trees, commanding her attention. Ribbons of lavender twined around it, dragged along by some part of the intention that was forming. Something connected to those not-trees. If she could just see inside one of those black columns of frozen thought . . . Kai bit her lip. Hard. She could not go into fugue now.
Slowly at first, Benedict and Nathan began their dance. Steel flashed as they parried, spun, each man stepping so light and quick. Again and again the swords rang as they clashed. Swords and men alike began to pick up speed. It might have been beautiful. Kai couldn’t tell, gripped as she was by fear . . . distracted despite her fear by the rising imperative of her Gift. Look, it commanded her. Look deeply.
She didn’t know if she could hold it back much longer. She didn’t know how. Need mounted and built in her much as the swordsmen’s dance was accelerating. She had to—had to fix—
Wait, Dell sent, and with it a wave of reassurance that she could do this, she could wait a little longer. Just a little . . .
There was a sudden flurry of motion too fast for Kai to follow—ending with Benedict stepping back, his sword red with blood. And Nathan on the ground. Motionless. His eyes open in the blankness of death.
Kai was on her feet. “No!”
“Hush,” Dyffaya snapped. “He isn’t dead. The godhead won’t hold dead things. If he were dead, his body would have been expelled.”
There was no expression on Benedict’s face, but in his thoughts she saw tightly controlled satisfaction. “As he refused the coup de grace with me, so do I refuse it now. Not that it’s necessary. His heart has stopped beating.”
“He’s not dead,” Dyffaya said more loudly.
“His heart stopped. I won.”
“He’ll heal it. He’s a Hou
nd. He’ll heal it.”
He could. Of course Nathan could heal it. He wasn’t dead. Kai still saw his thoughts—pulled in tight, they were, dark and shadowed and coiled around his head. But he could live without a heartbeat for much longer than it would take to heal his heart. He’d once survived without oxygen for three hours. He . . .
All at once Kai understood. Parts of what Dell had sent earlier suddenly made sense. Added to those were the way Dyffaya had commented on her dry mouth and damp palms, plus her heart’s certainty of who and what Nathan was. What he was capable of. “He won’t!” She turned to Dyffaya. “He won’t heal it. He’s opted out of your game. He doesn’t want to be used to control me, so he won’t let himself heal.”
Yes, Dell sent.
“He can’t do that.” But finally Dyffaya looked worried. A dead Nathan would interfere with his plans. “No one can control healing when on the edge of death. He isn’t conscious enough to control it.”
“I can see his thoughts, you fool! I know what he’s doing. He’s shutting down. You have to start his heart beating!”
“It will. In just another moment—”
“It won’t. You’ve got body magic. Use it! Get his heart going again, or you’ll lose him—and if he dies, you have to kill me. He’ll have lost your stupid game, and you’re bound to follow through.”
That got through. “He wouldn’t. You matter too much to him. He wouldn’t lose on purpose.”
“To save me from torture, or a life of slavery to your whims? Oh, he would. He is more than capable of that.”
Thunder boomed in a place with neither clouds nor sky. An expression of anger, she thought. Or fear? “What absurd histrionics.” But he stood and leaped down. “Get back,” he ordered Benedict. “All the way back to your starting point.”
Benedict obeyed.
