Лорел Гамильтон - A Lick Of Frost

The Seelie noble who stood front and center in the mirror was Hugh Belenus. He was, in fact, Sir Hugh, but didn't always insist on it like most of the Seelie court. He was also one of the officers of Taranis's personal guard. Unlike the Unseelie Court, all the guards at Taranis's court were male. Even if you were a queen, you didn't get female guards. I had never realized before that Hugh resembled the king in one way. His long straight hair was the color of flames. Not sunset, like Taranis's, but the color of moving flame: red, yellow, and orange.

Frost and Rhys were standing in front of the mirror, talking with Hugh. Where was Doyle? He should have been with them. I had to walk farther into the room to see past the milling lawyers and security guards until I found the second set of EMTs with a second injured figure on a gurney. Doyle lay on the gurney, motionless. There was something wrong with his clothing. It was torn up, as if great claws had raked it. The world narrowed down, as if the edges of the room were collapsing, down, down, until all I could see clearly was him. In that moment, I didn't care about the mirror, or Hugh, or that Taranis had finally done something that he couldn't hide from the rest of the sidhe. There was just that still dark form on the gurney and nothing else.

Galen stayed with me, his free hand on my arm. I wasn't sure if he was guiding me, or holding me back. I stood beside the gurney, staring down at the tall muscled form of my Darkness. Doyle, who had fought a thousand battles before I was born. Doyle, who had seemed indestructible like his namesake. You cannot kill the dark, it is always with us.

His clothing wasn't torn; it was burned like Abe's. His black skin just didn't show the marks from a distance the way Abe's paler skin had, but there were shallow burns across his upper chest and one shoulder. And his face — one half of his face was bandaged from forehead to nearly chin. I knew that the fact that they'd tended his face first meant it was worse than his chest. There was a bag of clear liquid on top of his body. A flexible tube ran from it to his arm, where there was tape and a syringe.

I looked at the two techs. "Will he…?"

"Unless shock sets in, it's not life-threatening," one of them said. Then they were pushing him toward the doors. "But we've got to get him to the burn unit."

"Burn unit," I repeated. I felt slow and stupid.

"We've got to go," the other tech said, and his voice was gentle, as if he knew I was in shock.

Rhys was beside me. "Merry, we need you at the mirror. Galen can go with them."

I shook my head.

Rhys grabbed me by the shoulders and turned me away from Doyle so I had to look into his face. "We need you to be our queen right now, not Doyle's lover. Can you do that, or are we on our own here?"

Anger was instant, anger that made my blood run hot. I started to say "how dare you," but just then Taranis yelled, "How dare you touch your king!" I swallowed the words, but couldn't keep the anger off my face.

"Merry, I'm sorry. I'm more sorry than I can say, but we need you now."

My voice came tight, warm, but controlled, very controlled, "Call the house. Send one of the healers to the hospital, or maybe both the healers." I nodded, the anger beginning to fade under the thought that I didn't know how bad Doyle was hurt, or Abe. "Both," I said.

"I'll call them, I promise, but Frost needs you at the mirror."

I nodded. "I understand."

Rhys kissed me on the forehead. I blinked up at him. He got his cell phone out of his pocket. I told Galen, "Go with them to the hospital."

"My duty is you."

"Your duty is to go where your princess tells you to go. Now do it. Please, Galen, there's no time."

He hesitated for a breath, then he gave a nod that was almost a bow, and trotted after the rapidly moving gurney. I hadn't gotten to kiss Doyle good-bye. No, it wasn't good-bye. He was one of the sidhe. The greatest magicians and warriors that faerie had ever known. He would not die from burns, not even magical ones. I believed my own words in the front of my head, but the back of the mind is a cluttered, dark place that has nothing to do with logic and everything to do with fear.

I made myself start walking toward Frost's tall figure. One step at a time. I realized I had the gun still naked in my hand. The glamour hid it, but my concentration was bad. Did I want the Seelie to see the gun? Did I care? No. Should I care? Probably.

I moved my jacket aside to put the gun back in its holster. I had to stop walking to do it, but I put it away. One of the main reasons I did it was because if Taranis managed to break free of his men and come back to the mirror, I didn't trust myself not to use the gun. That, I knew, would be bad. No matter how momentarily satisfying it might be, I was a princess, trying to be a queen, and that meant I couldn't indulge in fits of temper. They were too costly, as today's little disaster had proven. Damn Taranis, damn him, for not stepping down years ago.

I took a deep breath that shook around the edges. My stomach rolled with all the emotions I couldn't afford right now. I walked toward Frost and the mirror and Sir Hugh. I prayed to the Goddess that I wouldn't fall apart in front of the Seelie. Andais had temper tantrums that were infamous. Now Taranis had shown himself to be even more unstable. I walked to the mirror and prayed that I would be the ruler we needed right now. I prayed that I wouldn't fall apart or throw up. Nerves, just nerves. Please, Goddess, let Doyle be all right.

Once I said the prayer I truly meant, I felt calmer. Yes, I wanted to be a good queen. Yes, I wanted to show the Seelie that I wasn't as crazy as my aunt and uncle, but truly, none of it mattered to me as much as the man they'd just carted away on a gurney.

It wasn't the way a queen thought. It was the way a woman thought, and to be queen means you have to be queen first and everything else second. My father had taught me that. Taught me that before an assassin had killed him. I pushed the thought away, and went to stand by my Killing Frost.

I would be the queen that my father had raised me to be. I would not embarrass Doyle by being less than he'd told me I could be.

I stood straight, drawing myself up to every inch of height that I had. The three-inch heels helped, although standing beside Frost's tall figure, I couldn't help but seem delicate.

But I stood there and did my duty and it tasted like ashes in my mouth.

SIR HUGH BELENUS GAVE A LOW BOW THAT SHOWED THAT HIS fire-colored hair had started the day in a complicated braid, but singed ribbons trailed from its remnants. When he stood up, I could see that the front of his tunic, all the way through two layers of undershirts, had been blasted apart to expose the pale golden skin underneath. The clothing was ruined, scorched, but his body seemed untouched.

"Sir Hugh stood in front of Taranis at the end," Frost said. "He took the brunt of the blow meant for Abeloec." Frost said.

"What am I to say to that?" I asked, and my voice sounded completely normal. The very normality of it was almost shocking. A little voice in my own head thought, how can I sound so calm? Training? Shock?

"If Sir Hugh were not one of the elder sidhe, you could thank him for risking himself to save our warriors," Frost said.

I looked up at the tall man beside me. I stared all the way up to those gray eyes and found that they reflected a bare tree in a winter landscape, like a tiny snow globe caught in his eyes. Only his own magic or anxiety would fill his eyes with that image. Always before it had dizzied me to stare into Frost's eyes when they filled with that other place. Today, it seemed cool, calming. Today, he had the icy strength of winter in his eyes. A coldness that protected you, kept your emotions from eating you alive. I understood in that moment part of what had let Frost survive the queen's petty torments. He had embraced the coldness inside.