Chapter 33

Dame Rosmerta called early the next morning, early enough that we were still abed. The sound of tiny bells woke me, tinkling into the still shadowed room. The smell of roses was almost overwhelming, and that was Rosmerta's calling card. Apparently she'd been trying to wake us for some time and finally resorted to the tiny bells and the scent of roses.

I tried to sit up, but was so tangled in Nicca's long hair and Rhys's arms that I couldn't manage it. Rhys opened his good eye and blinked blearily at me. "What time is it?"

"Early," I said.

"How early?"

"If you'd move your arm, I'd be able to see the clock and tell you."

"Oh, sorry," he muttered into the deep purple sheets. He moved his arm.

I sat up and looked at the clock. "Eight."

"Sweet Consort, what could be so important?"

Nicca propped himself up on his elbow, trying to sweep his hair behind his back and failing because Rhys and I were still sitting on it. I loved the feel of all that hair draping over my body, but I was beginning to remember why I never let mine grow quite so long.

Rhys and I moved around enough for Nicca to retrieve his hair. He didn't so much sweep it behind his back as lay it down the side of his body like a slightly tangled cloak.

Rhys turned onto his back -- not to flaunt himself, though he accomplished that, but because he wanted to be able to see the mirror with his good eye.

Nicca stayed propped on his elbow behind me. I sat up in the middle of the two of them. I managed to tug enough sheets out from under everyone so that I was fairly covered. Nudity was casual in the Unseelie Court, but not always in the Seelie Court. Human vanity had been more contagious there. The three of us were placed to receive when Rhys and I realized at the same time that someone had to touch the mirror.

"Shit," he said, then he rolled off the bed touched the mirror, and rolled back into bed very fast, as if we had posed for a picture with the camera set on automatic. When he rolled back onto the sheets, the weight of his body tore the sheet out of my hand and down to my lap. Rhys realized that he now was on top of the covers, not underneath them. We both had a second to choose whether we were going to be struggling with the sheets when the mirror flashed to life, or be calmly posed. We both chose to look comfortable, not harried. Rhys lay full length in front of me, one arm behind his head, the picture of muscular ease. I leaned back against Nicca as if he were a chair back. He curled himself around me from the back, so that his body both cupped and framed me. He had managed to keep just enough cover over his groin so that he was covered.

Dame Rosmerta appeared in the mirror. She was dressed in silk and stiff embroidery, a slightly darker shade of pink today, almost fuchsia. Her dark yellow braids were entwined with pink ribbon that matched her dress exactly. She was all pink and gold and perfect like a doll. Her tricolored gold eyes were bright and clear, as if she'd been up for hours.

Her smile slipped a fraction as she got a good look at us. She opened her mouth, said nothing.

I helped her. "Is there something you wanted, Dame Rosmerta?"

"Ah, yes, yes." She gathered herself visibly, remembering her duty. It seemed to steady her. "King Taranis would like to invite you to a feast in your honor a few days before Yule. We are very sorry for the misunderstanding about the Yule ball. We understand completely that you must, of course, attend the festivities at your own court." She smiled and it was just the right amount of silly ol' us, but we've fixed it now. It might even have been sincere.

I was tired. Nicca and Rhys had begun to routinely share their nights with me. I think it was purely so that they both got two nights in a row, rather than one having any preference over the other; but it meant that my night had been very busy. Since we didn't have to go to work we hadn't worried about the late hours. Now here was Rosmerta looking daisy fresh at eight in the morning. It was discouraging.

Why was the King so insistent on seeing me before Yule? Was it about Maeve? Something else? Why did he want to see me now? He'd never given a damn about seeing me before.

"Dame Rosmerta," I said, and tried not to sound as tired as I felt, "I need to be blunt here, which I know isn't polite, but I need some questions answered before I say yes or no to the feast."

"Of course, Princess," she said, making a slight bow as she said my title.

"Why is my presence so important to the king that he would give a feast in my honor days before Yule? The entire court has been working and planning for the ball for months. The servants and the functionaries must be frantic at the thought of a feast only days before the great event. Why would the king need to see me so badly before Yule?"

Her smile never changed, never wavered. "For that you would have to ask the king himself."

"That would be lovely," I said, "if you would be so kind as to put him on."

That threw her; confusion chased across her pretty face. I think most people would have just accepted that you didn't get to talk directly to the king, but too many important things were afoot to be that polite.

Rosmerta recovered, not as quickly as you'd have thought, but finally said, "I will ask His Majesty if he could speak with you. His schedule is very full, though, so I can make no promises."

"I wouldn't ask you to make a promise on Taranis's part, Dame Rosmerta. And I'm sure his schedule is very full; but I really do need the question answered. I cannot possibly agree to the feast without an answer, and I think getting the answer directly from the king should speed things up considerably." I smiled as I spoke, mirroring her own pleasant, nearly professional smile.

"I will give him the message. He may contact you rather quickly, so may I humbly suggest that you take this time to dress and present yourself in a manner more befitting your station." She smiled while she said it, but there was a tightness around her eyes that said she wasn't sure she should have said anything. Or maybe my thoughts were showing on my face while she was speaking.

"I think that I will present myself to the king as I see fit, Rosmerta." I'd left off the Dame deliberately. She was a minor noblewoman, and I outranked her. That I gave her the courtesy of her title was just that, a courtesy. I didn't have to do it.

"I meant no disrespect, Princess Meredith." She wasn't smiling now. Her face had closed down into that icy beauty that the sidhe are so capable of.

I ignored it, because to say almost anything was to accuse her of lying. Maybe she hadn't meant to be disrespectful; maybe she just couldn't help herself. "As that may be, Dame Rosmerta, as that may be. I look forward to hearing from the king. Do you think he will call back before we have time to rise for the day?"

"I did not realize that I had woken you, Princess, I am most humbly sorry." She looked it. "I will make sure that you are given time to rise and do your morning... duties." She actually blushed a little, and I wondered what word she'd thought of before duties or exactly what she thought my morning duties were.

I realized suddenly that Rosmerta had thought we were having sex, not waking up. Andais did answer the Seelie in flagrante delicto more often than not, or nearly so. Maybe they expected the same of me.

"I thank you for the time, Dame Rosmerta. It is most unseemly to be roused from your early morning bed to speak with a king."

She smiled and gave me a very pretty curtsy, almost disappearing below the mirror's edge. Rosmerta was the picture of absolute propriety. A deep curtsy from her was high praise indeed, for it meant she understood I was but a step away from the throne. It was nice to know that someone in the Seelie Court understood that.

She didn't rise, and I realized, a little late, why. "You may rise, Dame Rosmerta, and I thank you."

She came to her feet, a little unsteady, but I'd left her in a deep curtsy for too long. I hadn't meant to. I just had forgotten that the Seelie Court was a lot like the English court; once you curtsied you really couldn't rise until acknowledged by the royal before you. It had been a very long time since I was among the Seelie. I was going to be a little rusty on court protocol. The Unseelie Court was much less formal.

"I will speak with His Majesty on your behalf, Princess Meredith. Good day to you."

"And good day to you, as well, Dame Rosmerta."

The mirror went blank. I felt all three of us relax, let out a breath.

Rhys put both his hands behind his head, crossed his ankles, and said, "What do you think? Maybe a little jewelry so we'll be more formal?"

I gazed down the length of his body, remembering the feel of my tongue running over his firm stomach, sliding lower. I had to close my eyes and evict the thought before I could answer.

"No, Rhys, I think clothes first. We'll worry about accessorizing later."

He grinned up at me. "Oh, I don't know, Merry. Aren't you the least bit tempted to have all of us on the bed when he calls? You, draped in bodies."

I started to say no. Then realized it was a lie. "A little tempted, yes, but we're going to behave ourselves, Rhys."

His grin widened. "If you insist."

"You're the one that's always going on about, ooh, the King of Light and Illusion. Why the change of heart now?"

"He's still scary, Merry, but he's also a terrible stuffed shirt. He wasn't always like that, but somewhere over the centuries he became more... human, in the worst sense of the word." The grin faded around the edges.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Just thinking about what might have been. Taranis used to be good for a few laughs, and a drunken brawl or two."

I raised eyebrows. "Taranis? Having a boys' night out on the town? I can't picture it."

"You've known him for only thirty years. He hasn't been at his best." He sat up, got to his feet. "Dibs on the shower."

"If you get it first this morning, I get it first tomorrow," Nicca said.

"Only if you're fast enough," Rhys said, heading for the bathroom.

Nicca's arms slid around my waist, turned me to him. "Let him have his shower." He raised a slender brown hand to trace the waves near my face. He rolled over on his back, drawing me with his hands at my neck and waist. The sheet had rolled off of him, and I saw that he was firm and ripe again.

I half laughed. "Don't you ever grow tired?"

"Of this, never." His face grew more serious, a little less tender. "This with you is the first time I have ever been with a woman and not been afraid."

"What do you mean?"

"The queen is a fearsome thing, Meredith, and she likes her men submissive. I'm not dominant, but I don't enjoy her idea of sex."

I leaned in and gave him a very gentle kiss. "We do some rough stuff."

He suddenly hugged me to him. "No, Meredith, no, you don't. You never scare me." He held me, and I relaxed against him, let him hold me. Almost too tight. It almost hurt.

I stroked his sides and what I could reach of his back, until he began to relax. His arms were not quite so crushing. I'd thought only days ago about sending Nicca back home, because I did not want him to be king. He wasn't able to be king, and it had nothing to do with whether or not he could breed.

I held him, stroked him gently, until the sudden panic in him eased. When he was calm, he reached for me again, and I went to his arms, his mouth, his body. I hoped King Taranis wouldn't call while we were in the midst of things, but the lovemaking took the last wounded look from his eyes. I needed to see those brown eyes turned to me with nothing but smiles in them.

When Rhys stepped out of the bathroom with his towels, we were just finishing. He cursed under his breath. "Is it too late to join in?"

"Yes," I said, and gave Nicca a last parting kiss. "Besides, I get the shower next." I scrambled out of bed and went for the bathroom before Nicca could protest. I left them laughing, and I left the room laughing myself. What better way is there to begin a day?

Chapter 34

That afternoon, Maeve and Gordon Reed showed up at our door. It had been only days, but Gordon looked like it had been years. His skin had gone from sallow to grey. He seemed to have lost weight, so that the strong bones that had once made him a tall, commanding figure now made him look like a large-boned skeleton, covered in paper-thin greyness. His eyes looked larger in his face, and the pain in them looked constant. It was as if the cancer were sucking him dry, eating him from the inside out.

Maeve had said on the phone that Gordon was worse, much worse, but she hadn't prepared us for this. No mere words could prepare you for watching a man die.

Frost and Rhys had met their car on the street so they could help her husband up the short flight of steps to our apartment. Maeve had followed them up with huge sunglasses hiding most of her face, and a silk scarf around all that blond hair. She held an ankle-length fur coat tight at her throat as if it were cold. She looked like a Hollywood imitation of a great movie star. Of course, who had a better right to the look?

The men helped Gordon into the bedroom so he could rest while we did the first part of the fertility rite. Maeve was apparently going to pace the living room while she waited. She'd almost lit up a cigarette before I could tell her no smoking in my home.

"Meredith, please, I need it."

"Then you can do it outside."

She lowered her sunglasses enough to show me those famous blue eyes. She was wearing her human glamour again, trying to look as un-sidhe as possible. She kept that blue stare on me as she flung open the coat to frame that long golden body. She was nude except for her boots.

"Do I look dressed for your neighbors' viewing?"

I shook my head. "Your glamour is good enough to hide you buck naked in the middle of a highway, so close the coat, and take your nerves and your cigarettes outside."

She let the coat fall closed, leaving a thin line of her body showing between the soft mounds of fur. "How can you be so cruel?"

"This isn't cruel, Maeve, and well you know it. You spent too many centuries around the courts to think I'm being cruel just because I don't want your cigarettes stinking up my apartment."

She actually pouted at me. I'd had enough. "When I come back inside heavy with magic, I want to find Conchenn, goddess of beauty and spring, not some spoiled star. No glamour either. I want to see those lightning-kissed eyes."

She opened her mouth -- to protest, I think. I stopped it with a wave of my hand. "Save it, Maeve, and do what you need to do to help this work."

She pushed her sunglasses back over her eyes and said in a much smaller voice, "You've changed, Meredith. There's a hardness in you that wasn't there before."

"Not hardness," Doyle said, "command. She will be queen and she understands that now."

Maeve glanced from him to me. "Fine, what's with the bikini? I thought you were going to fuck, not go to the beach."

"I know you're angry and scared about your husband, and that cuts you some slack, but there's a limit to that slack, Maeve. Don't push it."

She lowered her head, still fingering the unlit cigarette and unused lighter. "I don't mean to be such a fucking prima donna, but I am desperately worried about Gordon. Can't you understand that?"

"I understand, but if I wasn't having to sit here and argue with you, I could already be at the ritual site preparing myself."

I turned my back very deliberately on her, hoping she'd take the hint. "Doyle, you've extended the wards to include the little garden area in the house behind us, as I requested?"

"Yes, Princess, I have."

I took a deep breath. Here was the moment that I had been dreading. I had to choose one of the men to act as my consort for the ritual, but who? I don't know what I would have decided, because Galen said, voice clear but uncertain, "I'm whole again, Merry."

Everyone but Maeve turned to stare at him. He looked a little uncomfortable under the scrutiny, but there was also a pleased smile on his face, and a look in his eyes that I hadn't seen in a long time.

"I don't mean to dampen the mood," Rhys said, "but how do we know he's cured? Maeve and Gordon may not get another shot at this."

Doyle interrupted. "If Galen says that he is healed enough for this ritual, I for one believe him."

I looked at Doyle. His face was its usual dark mask, unreadable. He rarely spoke unless he was certain of something.

"How can you be certain?" Frost asked.

"Meredith needs a consort to her goddess. Who better than the green man whose life has only recently returned to him?"

I knew that the green man was sometimes a nickname for the Goddess's Consort, sometimes a name for the generic forest god. I looked at Galen. He certainly was the green man.

"If Doyle thinks it's all right, then let it be Galen."

I don't think Frost was happy with the choice, but everyone else took it in stride, and Frost kept his mouth shut. Sometimes that's all you can ask of a man, or anyone else.