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didn't hear me, or didn't care. There was at least one sword being used in the dark, so I didn't get up and
walk toward the light switch -I crawled. I kept the weight of the sinks to my right and searched the
darkness just ahead with my left hand.
The fight continued in almost utter silence. I could hear them straining against each other. Someone cried
out, and I said a silent prayer that no one was dead. I almost crawled into the wall, touching it at the last
second. I worked my way up until I found the light switch. I hit the lights, and the room was suddenly
blindingly bright. I was left blinking in the brilliance.
The two sidhe were locked together, bodies straining against one another. Doyle was on his knees, a
tentacle wrapped around his neck. Sholto was covered in blood, and it took my eyes a second to realize
that one of his stomach tentacles had been severed and lay twitching next to Doyle's knee. Doyle still held
the sword, but Sholto's hand and two tentacles held it away from the other sidhe. Their other hands were
locked against each other as if they were engaged in a game of finger wrestling. Except this was no game.
I was actually surprised that Sholto seemed to be holding his own. Doyle was the acknowledged
champion of the Unseelie Court. There were very few who could stand against him and almost none who
would win. Sholto wasn't on that short list, or so I'd thought. Then I caught something out of the corner of
my eye: a small glow. When I looked straight at it, nothing was there. Magic is like that sometimes-only
visible through peripheral vision. There was something glowing on Sholto's hand: a ring.
As I watched, the sword slipped from Doyle's grip and he started to go limp in Sholto's grasp. Sholto
grabbed the sword in his hand before it could hit the ground. The tentacles stayed around Doyle's arm. I
was moving forward before I had time to think of what I'd do when I got there.
Sholto held Doyle's limp body in his tentacles and raised the sword in a two-handed overhead plunge,
like you'd use to drive a knife into someone's chest. I was behind Doyle as the sword started down. I
curled my body over his, one hand upraised, my gaze never leaving that glittering blade. I had a heartbeat
to wonder if Sholto would stop in time, then he reversed the sword and held it pointed at the ceiling.
"What are you doing, Meredith?"
"He's here to save me, not kill me."
"He is the queen's Darkness. If she desires your death, he will be her instrument."
"But he has Mortal Dread, one of her personal weapons. He carried her mark in his body to give to me.
If you'll calm down long enough to look with more than just your eyes, you'll see it."
Sholto blinked at me, then frowned. "Then why would she send me to kill you? Even for Andais that
makes no sense."
"If you'll stop strangling him, maybe we can figure it out."
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He looked down at Doyle's limp body, still hanging from the tentacles, and said, "Oh," as if he'd
forgotten he was still squeezing the life from the other man. Technically, you couldn't strangle a sidhe to
death, but I'd never been comfortable testing the limits of immortality. You never knew when you'd find a
chink in the armor big enough to die through.
Sholto uncurled his limbs from Doyle, and the other man fell into my arms, his weight driving me to my
knees. I wasn't losing enough blood for this much weakness. It was either shock or something to do with
using a hand of power for the first time. Whatever was causing it, I wanted to close my eyes and rest,
and that just wasn't going to be happening.
I sat on the floor, cradling Doyle's head in my lap. The pulse in his neck was strong, steady, but he did
not wake. He took two quick breaths, then his head threw back, eyes wide, and he took a great gasp of
air. He sat up coughing. I saw him tense, and Sholto must have, too, because the sword was suddenly
pointed at Doyle's face.
Doyle froze, staring up at the other man. "Finish it."
"No one is finishing anything," I said.
Neither man looked at me. I couldn't see Doyle's expression, but I could see Sholto's, and I did not like
what I saw. Anger, satisfaction-he wanted to kill Doyle, it was there on his face plain to see.
"Doyle saved me, Sholto. He saved me from your sluagh."
"If you had not warded the door, I would have been here in time," Sholto said.
"If I had not warded the door, you would have been in time to mourn over my dead body, but not in
time to save me."
Sholto still wouldn't take his gaze from Doyle. "How did he get inside when I could not?"
"I am sidhe," Doyle said.
"So am I," Sholto said. The anger in his face hardened just a bit.
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."
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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.
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