A Kiss of Shadows

"I do not know why, Meredith, only that she wishes it."

"You never did ask enough questions," I said.

"And you, Princess, always asked too many."

"Maybe, but I want an answer to this question before I go back to court."

"Which question is that?"

I frowned at him. "Why the change of heart, Doyle? I need to know before I trust my life to the court again."

"If she will not share this information?"

I tried to think about giving up faerie forever because of one unanswered question. It was too big a topic for me to wrap my mind around. "I don't know, Doyle, I don't know. All I do know is that I'm tired."

"With your permission I will use the bathroom mirror to contact the queen and make my report."

I nodded. "Help yourself."

He gave as much of a bow as the crowded bedroom would allow and moved toward the bathroom door, which was around the corner, out of sight from where we stood.

"How did you know where the bathroom was?" I asked.

He glanced back at me, face pleasant, unreadable. "I've seen the rest of the apartment. Where else could it be?"

I looked at him and didn't believe him. Either it didn't show on my face, or he chose to ignore

it, because he walked around the corner. I heard the bathroom door open and close.

I sat on the edge of the bed and tried to remember where I'd put the sleeping bags. Doyle had saved my life tonight-the least I could do was make him comfortable. For my life, I guess I could have offered him the bed, but I was achingly tired, and I wanted the bed. Besides, until I knew exactly why he'd saved me tonight I was holding off on the big gratitude. There are things worse than death at the Unseelie Court. Nerys was a perfect example. The queen's mark would not be violated by such a spell. So until I was certain down to the very fiber of my being that I was not being saved for some awful fate, I'd hold on to my gratitude. I found the sleeping bags in the small closet in the living room. I had them unrolled on the foot of the bed, airing, when I heard the shouting from the bathroom. Doyle's voice was raised in anger. The queen's Darkness and the queen were having a fight, or so it seemed. I wondered if he'd tell me what the fight was about, or if it would be just one more secret to keep.

Chapter 18

I WENT TO THE CLOSED BATHROOM DOOR. DOYLE'S RAISED VOICE WAS saying, "Please, my lady, do not make me do this."

I don't know what else I would have heard, because he came to the door then and opened it a crack. "Yes, Princess?"

"If you could stay in there a few minutes longer, I'm going to get dressed for bed."

He acknowledged it with a nod. He did not invite me in to see my aunt through the mirror. He did not try to explain the fight. He simply closed the door. I could hear their voices but faintly now. No more yelling. They didn't want me to know what the fight was about. I was guessing it had something to do with me. What did Doyle not want to do so badly that he'd argue with his queen?

He didn't mean to kill me, and, beyond that tonight, I wasn't sure I cared. I turned the overhead light off, and switched on the small Tiffany-shaded lamp beside the bed. The overhead light always seemed too bright for a bedroom. The fact that I was willing to turn off any light meant I was feeling better. Calmer at least.

My usual sleepwear runs high to lingerie. I like the feel of silk and satin against my skin. But it seemed almost cruel to Doyle.

It was the royal's privilege to sleep with her bodyguards, her Ravens, until one of them made her pregnant; then she wed that one and didn't sleep with the rest. Andais could have freed them to have other lovers, but she chose not to. Unless they slept with her, they slept with no one. They'd been sleeping with no one for a very long time.

I finally settled for a silk nightshirt that fell to my knees; it had short sleeves and revealed only a thin V of skin high up on my chest. It covered more than anything else in the drawer, but without a bra my breasts pressed against the thin material, showing my nipples like thumbs pressed against the thin cloth. The silk was a vibrant royal purple and looked very good against my skin and hair. I was trying not to flash Doyle, but I was vain enough not to want to look frumpy.

I stared at myself in the mirror. I looked like a woman waiting for her lover, except for the cuts. I raised my arms to the glass. Nerys's claws had traced my forearms in angry red lines. The gash on the left forearm was still seeping blood. Did it need stitches? I usually healed without needing them, but it should have stopped bleeding by now. I raised the nightshirt up enough to see the wound on my thigh. It was a puncture wound, very high up. She'd been trying to pierce the femoral artery. She'd meant to kill me, but I'd killed her instead. I still felt nothing about her death. It was a vast numb place. Maybe tomorrow I'd feel bad, or maybe I wouldn't. Sometimes you just stayed numb, because anything else was not helpful. Sanity relied on numbness, sometimes.

I stared at myself in the mirror, and even my face was empty. My eyes held that dull startled look that had more to do with shock than anything else. The last time I'd seen this look on my face had been after the last duel, when I knew finally that the duels would never stop until I was dead. The night I'd made my decision to run, to hide.

The invitation to return to faerie was only hours old, and already I looked like a shell-shock victim. I raised my arms again and stared at the claw marks. In a way I'd paid the price for my return to faerie. I'd paid in blood, flesh, pain: the coin of the Unseelie Court. The queen had invited me back and given me her promise of safety, but I knew her. She'd still want to punish me for ru

There was a knock on the bathroom door. "May I come out?" Doyle asked.

"I'm trying to decide that now," I said.

"Excuse me?" he asked.

"Fine, come out," I said.

Doyle had draped the straps of the sword sheath over his bare chest. The hilt rode upside down,

slightly to one side of his ribs, like a gun in a shoulder holster. The straps seemed loose, as if he'd taken off something that had been helping hold it in place.

I'd never seen Doyle when he wasn't covered from neck to ankle. Even at high summer he rarely wore short sleeves, just lighter cloth. He had a silver ring in his left nipple. It was a startling thing against the utter blackness of his skin. The wound rode above the swell of his left pectoral muscle. The scarlet of the wound looked almost decorative against his chest, like some elaborate makeup meant to tease the eye.

"How badly are you hurt?" he asked.

"I could ask you the same thing."

"I carry no mortal blood, Princess. I will heal. I ask you again how badly are you injured?"

"I'm wondering if I need stitches on the arm, and..." I started to raise the nightshirt on the puncture wound, but stopped in midmotion. The sidhe are comfortable around nudity, but I'd always tried to be more circumspect around the guards.

"The puncture wound on my thigh, I'm wondering how deep it is." I let the purple silk fall back into place without pointing out the wound. It was very high up on my thigh and I was still not wearing underwear. I often didn't to bed. Habit. Now I wished I had put some on. Even though Doyle couldn't tell what I was or wasn't wearing under the nightshirt, I felt suddenly underdressed.

I'd have teased Jeremy, but I wouldn't have teased Uther, and I wouldn't tease Doyle, for very similar reasons. They were both cut off from that part of themselves. Uther because he'd been exiled and there were no women of his stature. Doyle on the whim of his queen.