Лорел Гамильтон - A Kiss Of Shadows

I slapped Doyle's shoulder, hard enough to sting. He didn't turn, but he winced. "Don't bait him, Doyle."

"I was not baiting, merely stating a fact."

This entire fight was beginning to feel very personal, as if there was business between the two of them that had nothing to do with me. "Look, I don't know what you have against each other, but call me selfish, I don't care. I want out of this damn bathroom alive, and that takes priority over whatever personal vendetta the two of you have. So stop acting like little boys and start behaving like members of the royal bodyguards. Get me out of here in one piece."

"She's right," Doyle said, softly.

"The great Darkness, bowing out of a fight? Inconceivable. Or is it that I'm the one with the sword now?" Sholto moved the sword a fraction forward, touching the tip to the indentation in Doyle's upper lip. "A sword that can kill any fey, even a sidhe nobleman. Oh, I forget, you're not afraid of anything." There was a bitterness, a mockery, to Sholto's voice that said without doubt that I'd stepped into an old grudge.

"I fear many things," Doyle said, his voice calm, neutral. "Death is not one of them. But the ring on your finger is something that I am wary of. How did you get Beathalachd? I have not seen it used in centuries."

Sholto raised his hand so the dark bronze of the ring glimmered dully in the lights. It was a heavy piece of jewelry, and I would have noticed it on his hand if it had been there earlier. "It was the queen's gift to show her blessing on this hunt."

"The queen did not give you Beathalachd, not personally." Doyle sounded very sure of that.

"What is Beathalachd?" I asked.

"Vitality," Doyle said. "It steals the very life and skill of your opponent, which is the only way that he bested me in a fight."

Sholto flushed. It was considered a sign of weakness to need more magic than you had in your own body to defeat another sidhe. Basically, Doyle had said that Sholto couldn't win a fair fight, and had had to cheat. But it wasn't cheating—just less than chivalrous. Fuck chivalry, come back alive. It was what I'd told any man I'd ever loved, including my father, before every duel.

"The ring proves that I have the queen's favor," Sholto said, his face still colored by his anger.

"The ring did not come from the queen's own hand to yours," Doyle said, "any more than your order to kill the princess came from her mouth."

"I know who speaks for the queen and who does not," Sholto said, and it was his turn to sound certain.

"Really," Doyle said. "And if I had come to you and given you the queen's orders, would you have believed me?"

Sholto frowned, but nodded. "You are the queen's Darkness. When your mouth moves, her words come out of it."

"Then hear these words: The queen wants Princess Meredith alive, and back home."

I couldn't read all the thoughts moving across Sholto's face, but there were a lot of them. I tried to ask the question he would not answer for Doyle. "Did the queen herself tell you to come to Los Angeles and kill me?"

Sholto looked at me. It was a long, considering look, but finally he shook his head. "No," he said.

"Who told you to come to Los Angeles and slay the princess?" Doyle asked.

Sholto opened his mouth to answer, then closed it. The tension flowed out of him, and he stepped back from Doyle, lowering the sword to his side. "No, I will keep the name of the traitor to myself for now."

"Why?" I asked.

"Because Doyle's presence here can mean only one thing. The queen wants you to return to court." He looked at Doyle. "I'm right, aren't I?"

"Yes," Doyle said.

"She wants me to return to court?"

Doyle moved so he could see both Sholto and me, his back to the empty bathroom stalls. "Yes, Princess."

I shook my head. "I left because people were trying to kill me, Doyle. The queen wasn't stopping them."

"They were legal duels," he said.

"They were court-sanctioned assassination attempts," I said.

"I did mention this to her," Doyle said.

"And she said what?"

"She gave me her mark to give to you. If anyone kills you now, even in a duel, they will have to face our queen's vengeance. Trust in this, Princess: even those who desire your death greatly will not want to pay that high a price for it."

I looked up at Sholto, the movement made me slightly dizzy. Shock, definitely shock. "Fine, I'm going back to court, if the queen can guarantee my safety. What does that have to do with you not giving us the name of the traitor? Who used the queen's name to send you to execute me, when she didn't want me dead?"

"I will keep that information to myself for now," Sholto said again. His face was that arrogant mask that he wore so often at court.

"Why?" I asked.

"Because if the queen allows you back to court, you don't need to bargain with me. You will be able to return to faerie, to the Unseelie Court, and I would bet my kingdom that she'll find you another sidhe lover. So, you see, Meredith, you don't need me. You'll have everything I could have offered you, and you won't be tied for a lifetime to a deformed monster."

"You're not deformed, Sholto. If your hags hadn't interrupted, I'd have proved that to you."

Something flickered over his face, rippling on the surface of his arrogance. "Yes, my hags." He turned those tri-yellow eyes on me. "I thought you had no hand of power, Meredith."

"I don't," I said.

"I think Nerys would argue with you on that."

"I didn't know, Sholto, I didn't mean to… " I had no words for what I'd done to Nerys.

"What has happened?" Doyle asked.

"Black Agnes lied to the sluagh. She told them that if I mated with Meredith that I would become pure sidhe, and no longer be their king. She convinced them that they were protecting me from myself, protecting me from the wiles of the sidhe witch."

I raised eyebrows at that.

He looked at me. "But I have persuaded Agnes and the rest that you are not a danger to them."

I met his eyes. "I saw the method of persuasion before I ran."

He nodded. "Agnes said to thank you—she's never had better from me. She thinks it has something to do with your magic."

"She's not angry about Nerys? "I asked.

"She wants you dead, yes, but she's afraid of you now, Meredith. The hand of flesh like your father—who would have dreamed it?" There was something in his eyes besides careful arrogance. I realized with a start that it was fear. Fear peeking through his mask. It wasn't just Black Agnes who was afraid of what I'd done up in that room.

"Hand of flesh," Doyle repeated. "What are you saying, Sholto?"

Sholto held the sword out to Doyle, hilt first. "Take this, and come up to my room and see what our little princess has done. Nerys cannot be healed, so I request that you grant her true death before you escort Meredith home. I will see you both safely to a taxi on the off chance that my sluagh are not… perfectly obedient." His words, his body language all said that he was not happy with Doyle.

With a small bow of his head, Doyle took the sword. "If it is a favor you need, then I am happy to oblige for the name of the traitor that sent you to Los Angeles falsely in the queen's name."

Sholto shook his head. "I will not give up the name, not now. I will hold it until it is of use to me, or until I decide to deal with the traitor personally."

"If you told us the traitor's name, it would help us keep the princess safe at court."

Sholto laughed then, that strange bitter sound that passed for normal laughter for him. "I will not say who sent me here, but I can guess who wanted the message given, and so can you. Meredith fled the court because Prince Cel's supporters kept challenging her to duels. If it had been anyone else behind the attempts on Meredith's life, the queen would have stepped in and stopped it. Such an insult to the royal family would not have been allowed, not even to a mixed-breed magicless mortal. But it was her precious baby boy who was behind it, and we all knew it. So Meredith fled, and hid herself away, because she didn't trust the queen to keep her alive when Cel wanted her dead."