“You did this?” I gestured down at my surprisingly not broken body.
“I am like you,” she told me, “a Vassal of the Queen but not noble. My father was a middling-ranked noble and a Vassal, but my mother was a mere dryad. I have some of both of their gifts, including healing, but I am beneath most noble fae’s notice.”
“I suspect you manage that avoiding notice better than I do,” I groaned, slowly, with Mary’s help, raising myself to a sitting position.
“So it seems,” she agreed. “Your upper left arm was shattered, both of your shoulders had multiple hairline fractures, your right leg was broken in four separate places and your left kneecap was actually sheared in two. I don’t think you avoid attention very well.”
“You healed all of that?” I asked, impressed.
She nodded. “That and a dozen or so minor fractures in your ribs,” she added. “You are very lucky you were wearing the armor the Queen gifted you. Without it, I judge your ribs would have been crushed and your lungs and heart like pierced with bone fragments. I cannot heal the dead.”
I winced at her description of my actual injuries—and how much worse it could have been!
“How did the Queen know?” I asked.
“You are Her Vassal,” Niamh said simply. “She is at least vaguely aware of what happens to all of us, wherever we are. You are on a task for Her, so you are higher in Her thoughts.”
“She’s afraid Oberis did order this, isn’t She?” I asked softly, remembering the half-heard conversation. “What does it mean if he did?”
“He ordered an attack on a Vassal of the Queen,” the other Vassal said quietly. “The High Court will not approve. He will find them unwilling to take his calls for a time and their support lacking until he has re-earned their faith.
“Aiding you in defeating this cabal and this plot upon MacDonald will go a long way towards that,” she continued, “but that presumes you are willing to let him.”
I looked at Mary, who was now cuddled up to my side, and I squeezed her gently. I saw the worry in her eyes at Niamh’s words and smiled as reassuringly as I could through the pain.
“I don’t think I have a choice,” I said quietly. Then a sudden horrified thought struck. “Shit, I have to get to work!”
“You’d look rather silly going in today, dear,” Mary told me quietly. “It’s Sunday.”
“I kept you mostly unconscious,” Niamh explained. “It was easier to heal you that way. It still took two days. Your work did call your mobile on Friday; I told them I was a nurse in the ER and you had been in a minor car accident but would be fine by Tuesday.”
She fixed me with a steady glare.
“And you aren’t going anywhere until then,” she told me. “I need to return home tonight, but you are not going anywhere until Tuesday. Bed rest or, if you have to go anywhere, you’re going in a wheelchair. Understand?”
“I don’t have a...” I trailed off as she pointed. An expensive-looking unpowered wheelchair was sitting in the corner of the room.
“Much of the healing process is not yet complete,” she explained. “You will be fully healed soon, but you must give the magic and your body time to work. Do not walk till Monday night at the earliest.”
“I’ll stay with you,” Mary promised. “Clem has agreed to let me borrow his car, so I can take you to the funeral Monday.”
I gave her another gentle squeeze in thanks.
“How are you getting home?” I asked Niamh.
“My half-brother is a member of the Wild Hunt,” she told me. “A group of the Hunters is in Seattle today on other business. He will detour on his way back and take me Between to Ireland with him.
“Now,” she said firmly, putting her hand on my shoulder and gently pushing me back down on the bed. “Rest. You are still healing.”
I WOKE up later to a series of gentle kisses across my forehead and a giggling Mary. Half-consciously, I reached up to grab her and then stopped, wincing in pain. Muscles and tendons pulled and complained, and I slowly opened my eyes to look up at her expression of concern.
“Sorry, sweetie,” she told me quietly. “Niamh told me to wake you; I didn’t think.”
“It’s okay,” I assured her. And it was. For all the aches and pains, I couldn’t think of a better way to wake up than with a gorgeous woman kissing you. “What does she want?”
“Her brother is here,” Mary told me. “She wanted to talk to you before they left. Can you make it to the wheelchair on your own?”
I nodded firmly in response, slowly and carefully swung my stiff legs around and off the bed. Equally slowly and carefully, I stood and took two stubborn, shaky steps toward the wheelchair. I then proceeded to fall halfway to my knees before Mary managed to catch me and help me make it the rest of the way, shaking her head at me.
“Thank you,” I told her as we eased me into the chair. It had been a long time since I’d been wounded badly enough that it had taken more than day or two for me to heal. Fae, even changelings, healed quickly, after all. If I was still this weak, even after Niamh’s healing, I must have been nearly dead.
The stunning blonde healer was waiting in my kitchen, sitting across the table from a gentleman who put her to shame. Easily three or four inches over six feet, the man was whipcord thin and visibly muscled. His eyes, green like his half-sister, seemed to pierce to my very soul. The silver-hilted sword he’d casually leaned against my table was unnecessary to demonstrate that this was not a man to trifle with—this was a Rider of the Wild Hunt.
He faced me with a smile and inclined his head slightly.
“Kilkenny,” he said quietly. “I am Oisin, son of Liam, and I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”
We shook hands after Mary rolled me up to the table, and I looked at Niamh.
“Thanks for your help,” I told her. “I doubt I’d be around to complain if you hadn’t come.”
“The Queen asks, and we serve,” she said simply. “You are welcome. Take this,” she instructed, passing me a small black pottery vial. “I don’t approve,” she continued, eyeing the vial with distaste, “but the Queen insisted.”
“What is it?” I asked, examining the vial carefully. A leather thong was threaded through a loop on the side, and I slung the vial around my neck. I was unsurprised that it hung just low enough to be tucked inside the armored shirt the Queen had given me.
“Quicksilver,” Niamh said simply. “The Queen said to tell you to use it the next time you decided you had to fight someone outside your ‘weight class,’ as She put it.”
I tucked the vial, precious beyond its weight, inside my shirt.
“How do I use it?” I asked.
She shrugged. “Pop the stopper and drink it. Be very careful, Jason,” Niamh warned me. “Quicksilver is a huge surge of power; it will help you defeat an enemy, but it is also highly addictive. It is our kind’s cocaine but with an actual use as well.”
“Some of the weaker Hunters are known to use it to make up for perceived shortcomings,” Oisin told me. “It is powerful. Which is, of course, a part of why it is so addictive.”
“Thank you,” I told Niamh again. She smiled and stood to leave, but Oisin didn’t rise, instead staring intently at me.
“Have we met before?” the Hunter suddenly asked. “You seem very familiar.”
I paused, looking very carefully at Oisin. The tall blond with his pointed ears and green eyes was of a type not uncommon among the noble fae. Nothing about him screamed familiarity at me, though. I was pretty sure I’d never met him before.