I wanted to look behind and see Galen’s face, but I couldn’t manage it; of all the men in my life he was the one I thought would be horrified at what Rhys had done, not agree with it.

“I pray to Goddess and God that you never know such grief, but remember this, Galen, it’s going to hurt no matter what you do, and vengeance just postpones it. I realized in the end that I was angry with myself, blamed myself, because I had wanted that fight. I led him to his death. I was his father and I failed him, and that was why I killed all of them. Once I understood that, I didn’t want the bards to sing of it. I didn’t deserve any stories. I had made certain that that tribe of people passed out of all memory, all history, so I did the same for me. It seemed fair.”

“But we have the stories of Cromm Cruach,” I said.

“Oh, Merry, that wasn’t my first name.”

“What was your first name?” Galen asked.

Rhys shook his head, his hair tickling against my face. “No, that name, that person, is gone. He died with the last breath of a people that he destroyed for a mistake that was his own. I buried that name with the children I slaughtered, because when they were all dead I understood that they were no more important than my son, but they were no less important either. They could have grown up and been good men, good women, but I stole that chance from them. They were mortal and had only a short time to live anyway, and I stole what few years they had, because my immortal son had managed to die at the hands of human technology. I am deeply ashamed of what I’d done, so I destroyed my name, my stories, my history in a sort of penance, though even that was such hubris, thinking that the dead could be appeased by punishing myself.”

We held him close, we murmured what comfort we could think of, but in the end what comfort is there? Then I thought of something, and had to know. “It took me almost fifteen years to find the murderer of my father. Cel was trying to kill me and all of us at the time, so it was self-defense, but I’m still glad I killed him.”

“Has it lessened your grief for your father?” Rhys asked.

I thought about it. “Yes, yes it has. I feel like I avenged him.”

“If my son had died at the hands of a true enemy, another sidhe worth fighting with all the magic and grace I had back then, maybe it would have been more satisfying, but I attacked people who could not hope to defend against me; I was a truly terrible power to be reckoned with on the battlefield, and I didn’t attack most of them in battle. I hunted them down in the streets, the mountains, anywhere they ran to hide; I found them, and I killed them.”

“Cel was already your enemy, Merry,” Galen said. “We all wanted him dead, because we were afraid the queen might actually give him the throne.”

Rhys said, “You didn’t kill Cel just to avenge your father, Merry; you killed him to keep all of the Unseelie safe from him, and that is worth killing for.”

“You know, most people’s pillow talk isn’t about battle and killing,” I said.

“Boring people,” Galen said.

“Very boring,” Rhys said.

“I don’t know, sometimes I think it might be nice to be a little boring if it would keep us from having to kill people, or keep them from trying to kill us.”

To that there was nothing to say, because we all agreed, that would be nice. “‘May you live in interesting times.’ It sounds so positive, but it’s not,” I said.

“That’s an Arabic curse, you know: ‘May you live in interesting times,’” Rhys said.

“I thought it was Chinese,” Galen said.

“Either way, Merry’s right; a little boring routine might be nice for a lifetime.”

“If you want boring and routine, you’re in the wrong bed,” I said.

He turned in my arms so he could look at me. “Am I? Well, then let’s do something that’s not boring, or routine, shall we?”

I laughed. “We just did that.”

He grinned. “Let’s do it again.” He looked across me at the other man. “Unless you aren’t up to it again this soon.”

Galen grinned back. “You’re the older man in this bed; I’m a young one, I’ll keep up.”

“Old, really?”

“Yeah, really.”

“If I could have intercourse, you could actually prove who can keep up, but you can’t just keep doing me by hand and have me suck you; I’ll strain a muscle in my tongue.”

That made them look down at me, surprised, and then they laughed, we all laughed, but when the laughter stopped we did one more round of “not boring, and not routine,” and lying between the two of them with the radiance of our bodies making colored shadows on the ceiling, so that our magic was brighter than the sunlight itself, I owned that maybe I didn’t want boring and routine anything, but safety for me and the babies and the men I loved, that I did want. Can you be safe and live an interesting life? Maybe not.

CHAPTER

TWENTY-FOUR

QUEEN ANDAIS WAS on the large mirror in the dining room again, but it was a very different call. She was wearing a sleek black pantsuit that covered almost all of her; only the lack of a shirt underneath the vest left more cleavage than Auntie Andais should probably have been flashing around her nephew and nieces, but the outfit was such a concession that I wouldn’t have dared complain. This was as much as she dressed for a press conference; it was a big step in the right direction.

Her consort, Eamon, was at her side in a tailored black suit, but he’d added a round-collared white shirt with pencil-thin black stripes under his vest so he was showing far less chest.

Doyle was at my side, along with Mistral, Rhys, and Galen. Kitto was back in his place under my feet as my footstool. I’d let him know that this was an informal conference and he could pass on his role, but he had said, “I still do not believe that I am so lucky as to be one of the fathers of the babes, and I would have a place at your side, Merry, even if it is under your feet.” What could I say to that?

Kitto was wearing yoga pants today, shirtless, no shoes, because the men were working out after the call. Doyle had insisted everyone learn how to protect themselves at least a little, no exceptions. Doyle and Galen were in jeans, and it was slacks for Rhys and Mistral, because their weaponry needed a belt and fitted waistband to fit properly. They’d change after the phone call. Doyle’s weapons blended in with his all-black clothing, but Galen’s blue jeans and green T-shirt showed every weapon he had. Mistral and Rhys were in suits with jackets designed to go over weapons, so it was less obvious. One of the exiled lesser fey here in L. A. had built them all leather holsters that were magically less visible under clothes, but the men had decided they wanted the queen to see that they were armed. Well, except for the pregnant lady. I knew how to use a gun and a sword, but when my doctor approved it I was joining the training. It probably wouldn’t have helped me against Taranis, but I wanted more options if there was ever a next time. I was wearing one of the purple dresses that was actually fitted around the waist. It was good to be back in real clothes again, though the strappy black sandals with their stiletto heels were just for show. I so wasn’t ready to walk in anything like that yet. We’d learned that Kitto liked feeling heels in his back during sex, so he was very okay with the shoes.