Galen frowned. “Why not?”
Amatheon said, “Have you been living in the same court as the rest of us?”
Galen shrugged, almost unseating Mug. He helped her catch her balance by holding up his fingers so she could catch herself. “Love is too precious to be ashamed of.”
If I hadn’t already loved him, I would have in that moment.
“You are right, my friend,” Doyle said, “but that is not always how our free brethren feel about such things.”
“Arrogance, such arrogance, to be ashamed of that which the rest of us would give so much to have,” Adair said.
“Who would admit to bedding something with wings?” Onilwyn said.
“Good enough to fuck, but not to love?” Maggie May asked.
Some of the men would not meet her gaze. Doyle had no trouble meeting those hard golden eyes. “Was Harry Hob her lover?”
She nodded. “Aye.”
Mug and Peasblossom answered together, “Yes.”
Doyle turned back to Harry. “It’s not every hob who gets to share a mistress with a sidhe.”
“Mistress, nay, I loved the girl.”
“How did you feel about sharing the girl you loved with another?”
“Beatrice had broken up with Harry,” Peasblossom said.
“But we was back together,” Harry said.
Peasblossom acknowledged that was true.
“She had broken up with the sidhe,” he said.
“Dumped a sidhe for you?” Mug said, and laughed, a high twittering sound.
“Don’t you laugh at him, Mug,” Maggie May said. “Sometimes love is more than a magic or grand power.”
“Did you know that Beatrice had let Harry go?” I asked.
“Aye, and that she’d taken ’im back, too.”
“If she’d broken with him,” Doyle said, “why did Harry expect him down in the kitchens?”
“Beatrice said he wanted her to do awful things for him. She’d agreed at first, then changed her mind.”
“What kind of awful things?” Doyle asked.
“She wouldna’ tell me. Said it was so awful, no one would believe it of him.”
We were Unseelie not Seelie, which meant we were willing to admit most of what we wanted. What could be so terrible that it wouldn’t be believed? What perversion that Beatrice had turned from it in fear?
“Her sidhe lord had demanded one last meeting, to try and persuade Beatrice to reconsider. I begged her not to meet with him.”
“Why? Did you fear for her safety?” Doyle asked.
“No, not that. If I had ever dreamed such a thing, I would never have let her meet him alone,” Harry replied.
“Then why didn’t you want them to meet?”
“I was jealous, weren’t I? I feared he’d win her back. Goddess help me, but all I could see was my jealousy.”
Doyle must have given some signal, for Frost and Galen let go of Harry’s arms. He stood there rubbing the arm that Frost had held.
“And you hid when you saw Onilwyn, because you thought he was her lover.”
“We thought he’d come back to kill Harry,” Peasblossom said. “If she’d have told anyone the secret it would have been Harry. I told him to hide.”
“If you feared only Onilwyn, why didn’t you come out when you knew we were all here?” Doyle asked.
“Would you want anyone to know that you hid, ’stead of fight the man you thought had killed the woman you loved? Did I want the Darkness or the Killing Frost to know I was such a coward?” Tears gleamed in his eyes. “I didna’ know meself I was such a coward.”
“Onilwyn,” Doyle said, “the real reason you came ahead?”
He opened his mouth, had to clear his throat sharply before he said, “Truth then, I know the princess loathes me. With this many men at her beck and call, she could keep me from her bed for some time. I wanted to touch a woman again. I thought if I found some clue, helped solve this mess, it might help my cause.”
I stared at his bloody face, those angry eyes. He met my gaze.
“Why don’t I believe you?” I asked.
His eyes were angry and sullen in the bloody mask of his face. “Would I admit such weakness to you, if it were not true?”
I thought about that for a second or two. “You hate me, too,” I said.
“I would do near anything to end this need, Princess. Whatever I felt once, the chance to slake this thirst outweighs whatever loyalty I thought I held.”
We stared at each other, and I didn’t know what I would have replied because suddenly Doyle said, “Do you smell that?”
CHAPTER 11
DOYLE SNIFFED THE AIR, AND A MOMENT LATER I SMELLED IT, TOO. Fresh blood. I moved toward him. “What do you smell, Darkness?” Maggie May asked.
He put his hand to his sword, and the other men were suddenly unsheathing weapons. I don’t think any of them had smelled what we had, but they trusted Doyle’s instincts.
“It’s all right,” he said, but he unsheathed his sword, and that didn’t comfort anyone in the room. When he had the blade completely free of its sheath, blood welled on the naked blade, as if the sword were bleeding.
Harry stumbled back away from him and that dripping sword. I couldn’t blame him. Peasblossom screamed, and Mug hid her face against Galen’s neck.
“Goddess save us,” Frost said. “What is it?”
“Cromm Cruach,” Doyle said.
It took me a second to realize he was using Rhys’s original name, when he’d been a deity. Cromm Cruach, red claw. As I watched the blood drip on the scrubbed kitchen floor, I began to understand where the name may have come from.
Maggie May said, “Cromm Cruach, aye. Well, what does he say?”
The blood formed letters on the floor: DON’T YOU CARRY ANY NONMAGICAL WEAPONS?
“Oh,” Doyle said, and I swear he looked almost embarrassed. “May I borrow a kitchen knife, Maggie May?”
She narrowed her eyes at him, but nodded. “Aye.”
He took one of the long, wicked-looking chopping blades and laid a finger down the flat of the blade. The silver of the blade fogged instantly.
Rhys’s face shone in the shiny surface. “Do you know how much blood I’ve had to waste trying to get you?”
“I did not think I was carrying only enchanted blades,” and again, I had the rare treat of seeing Doyle shamefaced at not thinking of something.
“Whose blood did you use?” Galen called.
“Mine. I heal now, but it still hurts to do it, and it’s totally freaked the cops out.”
“How many additional men do you need?” Doyle asked.
“I’m not sure. It all depends on how many of the police Merry lets into the sithen.”
I went to stand by Doyle, so Rhys could see me better. “How many police are there?”
“Counting the local cops or the feds?” Rhys asked.
“Feds?” I said. “You mean FBI?”
“Yep.”
“I didn’t call them into this.”
“They say you called an Agent Gillett.”
“I called him, but not to invite the FBI.”
“Well, Agent Gillett called the local contingent of feds and invited them to the party. He told them, or implied, that you wanted federal help.”
“Are you calling to ask if the feds get to come inside?”
“Not exactly, I’m calling because the area around the faerie lands is federal property, and the feds are trying to tell the locals they have no right to be here.”
“Please, tell me you’re exaggerating,” I said.
His image blurred for a moment before I realized he’d moved his head. “I’m not exaggerating. We have a major mine’s-bigger-than-yours contest starting out here.”
“Can you put the head agent on?”
“No. Do you have any idea how many times I had to cut myself to get enough blood on the blade to write that message? None of them are going to come near this blade. If you want to talk to the humans you are going to have to pick a more mundane method of communication. Though I don’t think a phone call will do it.”
“What do you suggest?” Doyle asked.
“Get the princess out here because she’s the one who made the calls. What little credibility I had with them vanished into the blood-soaked snow. They’re afraid of me now.” He sighed hard enough that it fogged the blade for a moment. “I’d forgotten that look in a human’s eyes. It was a part of being Cromm Cruach that I didn’t miss.”