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He watched as Etain murdered the White Panther and every subsequent Beast who slowly arrived to stand as honor guard during the Ceremony of Renewal. All the while, he could feel the distant, ominous rumbles in Piedre, knew something had gone drastically wrong with the Basilisk.

  When all the Beasts lay dying, Etain stood as a blood-soaked Queen amidst the bodies, and the look on her face made Gael sick, tears blurring his vision.

  It hurt when Etain delved into the Beasts to steal their power; it hurt more to feel the agony of the betrayed, dying Beasts who had done no wrong. Gael might have forgiven her killing him, killing Freddie. But she had no cause to kill the Beasts, and for that he would never forgive her.

  When she was mired in stealing the power of the Beast, in binding them to the Great Oak, he slipped into her mind, her powers, and stole her spell. She noticed too soon for him to steal her spell entirely, but not soon enough to stop him from stealing enough of it.

  Groaning, Gael sat up. He felt dizzy, cold, and nauseous—but determined. He watched her storm toward him, her gown soaked in blood and her eyes soaked in hate.

  He contorted her spell, bound the Beasts to the Sacred Oak as keys. If she wanted to continue with her plans, she would need them all alive. She would need them, period, if she ever hoped to take back the divine power she had stored in the Oak.

  She knelt in front of him and drove her black knife into his gut one last time.

  Gael managed a weak smile of triumph as Freddie appeared behind Etain and managed enough strength to drive a knife into Etain's side.

  Satisfied they had stopped whatever Etain had planned, he let the dark finally have him.

  Gael woke up screaming, then choked on his fear and pain and struggled to regain the ability to breathe.

  A hand covered his, cold as ice, and he looked into Freddie's terrified eyes. His vision blurred. "I remember."

  "So do I," Freddie said on a sob, then turned her head. Gael followed her gaze and saw Etain standing at the base of the Sacred Oak. "You bloody, betraying shadow."

  Etain lifted her chin, eyes filled with cold hate.

  Gael slowly sat up, grateful when Freddie helped him. He reached out and lightly touched a bruise on her cheek, her split lip. "How long was I unconscious?"

  "Two days," Freddie said quietly. "The ceremony is but an hour away."

  "That long?"

  "You passed out, started to seize ..." Freddie said, and she leaned into him, pressing their foreheads together. "I tried to help you, but the moment I touched you I fell into my own memories."

  Gael held her. "Nine hundred years, and we still cannot get it right." He kissed her cheek and then slowly pulled away and stood up. Keeping hold of her hand, he faced Etain and said, "Nine hundred years, and you're still a vindictive, jealous, cruel shadow. Why, Etain? Why can you not accept that things change? That we still love you and want only the best for you?"

  "Best for me? The world is falling apart because you two are selfish—because you're all selfish!" Etain snarled. "We are meant to be together!"

  Anger clouded Gael's vision. "We're selfish? You are the one who has murdered people over nine centuries just because you cannot bear to end a relationship that was over long before we finally said enough."

  "We're meant to be the Triad!" Etain snarled, her butterfly wings going from rainbow to black, the swirling colors of her eyes coalescing to a burning violet. "We are meant to be! We are the three gods of life, together for eternity!"

  Gael gripped Freddie's hand harder and said, "No, Etain. I'm sorry, but that is not how it is meant to be. Freddie and I cannot undo the mistakes we have made, the horrible way we treated you, but your behavior far outstrips ours, Etain. You had no right, no reason, to slay our Beasts and poison our children with your own hate. For that, I will never forgive you."

  "Nor I," Freddie said. "Our children don't deserve to suffer because of the problems between the three of us."

  "Enough!" Etain said. "You belong with me, and I will make you see that once and for all."

  Gael shook his head. "No, Etain, you won't. I loved you once, first as a lover and then as a sister. But I won't—can't—forgive your betrayals. I do not love you, and I do not think I ever will again. This ends now, once and for all. You won't stop us this time. It's clear you desperately need power and there is no way for you to get it."

  He started to move forward, but stopped at the sound of her cold, derisive laugh. "I have all the power I need." She stretched out her arm, palm up, and with a shimmer of gold and violet light, a wooden box appeared in front of her—

  No, Gael realized. A jewel case. It vanished in the next breath, leaving behind only the crown jewels that Ailill had spent years tracking down. Another shimmer of light, and Etain wore them. The Faerie Queen, beautiful in a diadem, necklace, earrings, comb, and bracelet that had no equal in the world. Gifts from her brothers.

  Gifts, Gael realized with horror, that still contained a great deal of power from the gods who had made them. Enough power to overthrow him and Freddie.

  "You will be mine, or you will die," Etain intoned, the power pouring off of her likes waves of heat off sun-warmed stones. The entire Sanctuary resonated with it, seemed to vibrate in anticipation, sensing its gods were close. "Choose."

  "I think," a familiar voice said from the doorway, "that it is time for you to die, Majesty."

  Chapter Eighteen: The Tragedy of the Oak

  Noire wanted three things: a hearty meal, to sleep for at least a week, and then to spend a much longer period of time in bed with Gael—with the rest of the world firmly shut out.

  What he absolutely did not want was to cross the moat without a bridge. He was a cat, not a bird or a fish. "You're jesting, right?" he asked, even though he knew the answer.

  "I wish," Ivan said with a long sigh. "I'm too old for such nonsense. I'm also Duke, by the ashes." He scowled at the moat, looking much like Noire felt. "But I see no other way."

  "I don't see this way working," Noire said.

  Ivan shot him a look. "You do know how to swim, right?"

  "Don't you think it's a little late to ask that now?"

  "Well?"

  "Yes, I can swim," Noire said. "I just prefer that the body of water in which I'm swimming be closer the ground on which I'm standing."

  Ivan snorted in amusement. "Do you know how to dive?"

  "Dive? I'm having a hard enough time thinking about jumping. Why in the name of the Gods would I jump head first?" He made a face when Ivan burst out laughing. "Be quiet, meat-eater, or I'll give you a good shove."

  "I'll take you with me," Ivan said with a grin. "Enough stalling, black cat. Unless you have a better idea, the only way into the palace is that door right there."

  Noire heaved a sigh and glanced at the barely visible set of doors near the base of the castle foundation. All his years in the city and palace and he'd never noticed it. Granted, the drawbridge hid it and likely only those who knew to look for it would ever see it ... but it seemed the sort of thing about which he should have been aware.

  A set of steps led from the door all the way to the water and then to a post where it looked like a boat could be tied. He did not envy the servants stuck with whatever chores necessitated such an uncertain boat ride. But he would have much rather tried the boat than jump in and swim. The current wasn't terrible, but it would be difficult enough. And it really was a long way down, first.

  "The ceremony is close now," Ivan said quietly. "Not more than an hour, to judge by the sun. You said noon, right?"

  Noire nodded and sucked in a deep breath. Gael. He would do anything, whatever it took, to get to Gael in time. The sound of howling made him jump, then freeze, and he tried to make a fist with a hand that was no longer whole. Noire shuddered and ignored the distant, but growing closer, sounds of still more attackers.

  Since they'd been stranded in the city days ago and barricaded themselves in the pawn shop, they'd barely slept in their attempts to stay alive. Attack after attack
, and it had taken more effort than he liked to get through the mess all the way to the palace.

  He should have known they hadn't earned themselves much of a reprieve. "Let's go," he said. "Even jumping has to better than losing the rest of my hand—or worse."

  Drawing another deep breath, Noire braced himself. On Ivan's mark, he jumped off the remains of the drawbridge.

  They only fell for a second, a couple of seconds at most, but it felt like forever. He hit the water, barely remembering not to cry out at the jarring sensation, then sank into dark, cold rushing water. He couldn't see. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't get control of his movements. Panic drove him frantically about until at last he spied light and headed for the surface, fighting the pull of the water the entire time.

  Breaking the surface with a gasp, he looked around anxiously—there. Ivan. The palace.

  "Come on!" Ivan said, already at the steps, the meat-eater. Noire swam toward him, every stroke laborious.

  By the time he finally reached the bottom of the staircase, he barely had enough strength to help as Ivan seized him and dragged him out of the water. "Never. Again," Noire gasped out, panting heavily, too tired to get further than his hands and knees.

  Ivan hauled him to his feet and clapped him on his back. "Come now, you're half my age. You'll be fine. There's a pretty prince to be saved, so look sharp."

  Noire rolled his eyes, but followed Ivan up the stairs to the water-worn double doors at the top. As they reached the doors, though, he saw they were sturdier than they first appeared—and there was also magic on them. He reached for the handle just to try it and cried out in pain and surprise as something jolted through him. "What was that!"

  "An old spell, and one that looks familiar," Ivan said, sounding amused.

  Noire scowled at him. "What's so funny?"

  Ivan chuckled. "I was once kept in a prison cell for a few hours because of such a spell. That one was cast by a man who is now the Tsar. Who cast this one, I do not know, but I think ..." Approaching the door and stripping off his gloves, Ivan splayed his fingers and then pressed his open hand the door.

  Light flashed, and then Noire watched as the door seemed to ... shudder, as though struck hard by something. Ivan let out a breath. "I'm glad that worked."

  Noire eyed him askance. "You didn't know if it would?"

  Shrugging, pulling out his lock picks, Ivan replied, "I don't really have magic, not the way the Tsar and the Priest of Ashes do. But I've picked up a couple of tricks because you can't really spend a lot of time with sorcerers without accidentally learning something." He fell silent as he worked the lock, but only a couple of minutes later, crowed softly in triumph. "There. Let's go."

  "This all strikes me as entirely too easy," Noire said. "Don't you think that if she wanted me dead she'd be trying harder than this?"

  Ivan's brows shot up. "You're missing two fingers. How much harder do you want her to try?"

  Noire grimaced. "Not what I mean. I just—I feel like we're walking into a trap."

  "I doubt it," Ivan said. "This has gone her way—well, sort of—for nine hundred years. I'm sure at this point her only real interest is the ceremony and manipulating that. She'll handle clean up later. Standard practice in this sort of job."

  "It's not a job, it's a country!" Noire said.

  He just saw Ivan's shrug before he shut the door, leaving them in near-absolute darkness. Ivan moved past him, and Noire followed him, guided by the wet sounds of his footsteps and the water dripping from his clothes. Noire grimaced at his own sopping clothes, the way his feet squelched in his boots. A couple of minutes later his foot struck something, and he nearly tripped on the bottom step of a staircase he couldn't see. He swore softly. "Oh, stop laughing," he groused as Ivan chuckled.

  Ivan ignored the order. "Careful, little cat. As to it not being a job … it is, at least to her. It's her self-appointed task, a very personal vendetta. She's as ruthless, remorseless, and cold as any mermaid, but works for high reward. Sounds close enough to a merc to me, in the end. What she's doing … I wish I had realized it sooner, scorch her … Anyway, in merc parlance, what she's doing is something we call a 'friendly face'."

  "That sounds entirely too apt already," Noire said with a sigh.

  "Yes," Ivan said grimly, then lifted a hand to indicate silence. Noire shifted to hug the wall, giving himself a clear view of anything that might come around the corner—as clear a view as he could expect in the dark, anyway. He wished he could shift, but did not dare expend the energy until necessary. There was no telling what was going to happen when they reached the Sanctuary.

  After several tense minutes, Ivan relaxed and with another gesture of his hand, motioned them forward again. "Just how long are these stairs, anyway?" he groused.

  "I'm sure we have a ways to go yet," Noire replied. “The cellars extend three stories below the palace proper, I think, though I don't remember well." Ivan sighed. "So what was that about friendly faces?" Noire asked, though he was not really certain he wanted to know.

  "Friendly face is the merc name for a very particular kind of job," Ivan said grimly. "It pays very, very well, but no reputable merc group will take such a job because it involves a lot of underhanded methods and serious bloodwork."

  Noire wasn't entirely certain what 'bloodwork' meant, but he had a pretty good idea. "What's the job?"

  "Infiltration and assassination," Ivan replied. "It involves getting inside a tight-knit group to get to the hard-to-reach heads of the group and murder them. You make friends, make better friends, reach the inner circle, and then start killing from the highest ranking down to the lowest. It's expected that a few of the minor members will get away—you pick them off later, easy as dousing a cook fire."

  "That's horrible," Noire said.

  Ivan grunted in agreement. "My team never did them. We didn't do kidnappings either. We were mostly thieving, threatening, finding, that kind of thing."

  Noire started to comment, but was stopped short by a sudden flood of light. They'd finally reached the main level of the palace. Well, nearly. They were on the servant level, but that was better than dark, winding stairs. He tensed as they left behind the dark, damp stone walls of the palace depths, leaving a trail of water on the faded and worn tile floor. It was so quiet that the hairs on the back of his neck prickled. He just could not get used to such stark silence in a place that was normally bursting with noise.

  "So where do we go to get out of here?" Ivan asked in an undertone.

  "This way," Noire said and turned down a narrow hallway. The servant level was even more of a maze than the main palace, a tangled web of halls and staircases that made it easier to get around the palace and come and go discreetly.

  Halfway down the hall, he turned down another one, then led Ivan up a very narrow set of stairs that spilled into a small sitting area where those waiting for their time in court could admire the royal gardens down below. It was also closest to the Sanctuary without coming out right in front of it where someone might see them. Noire drew a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to ignore the way he could feel his hands trembling. The ceremony was only minutes away.

  Were they too late? What was going to happen when they broke into the Sanctuary?

  "Stop standing around looking like a spooked cat and let's go," Ivan said.

  Noire made a face at him and crept from the sitting nook, fighting an urge to shift. He always felt safer, stronger, as a panther, but it was wiser to stay in a shape that could speak.

  Gael. He'd tried his hardest not to think too long about Gael, knowing his fear would get the better of him. But only steps away from the Sanctuary, Gael was suddenly all he could think about it. Was he okay? Did he think Noire was dead? Did he know about Etain yet?

  What of Ailill? The other Beasts?

  As they reached the door to the Sanctuary, Noire could hear voices—shouting, crying. He heard Gael, and fear and relief rushed through him. Noire reached for the door, surprised when the han
dle gave easily beneath his hand.

  He gingerly pushed the door open about a finger's width, and Freddie's strident voice poured out, filled with anger. "Our children don't deserve to suffer because of the problems between the three of us."

  "Enough!" Etain said. "You belong with me, and I will make you see that once and for all."

  Gael's voice replied, "No, Etain, you won't. I loved you once, first as a lover and then as a sister. But I won't—can't—forgive your betrayals. I do not love you, and I do not think I ever will again. This ends now, once and for all. You won't stop us this time. It's clear you desperately need power and there is no way for you to get it."

  Noire shuddered at the coldness to Etain's voice when she replied, "I have all the power I need." What did she mean?

  But it was clear that no one had noticed the door, and so he dared to open it a bit further. Ivan was so close Noire could feel his breaths on the back of his neck. He stuck his head through the door and stared in horror at the scene: Gael and Freddie were facing off with Etain, who stood beneath the Sacred Oak. She wore the crown jewels, but something about them, about her wearing them, made Noire uneasy. He could feel the power on her, dreaded what she intended.

  She shifted, suddenly seeming to turn more threatening, to loom where before she had merely stood. "You will be mine, or you will die," Etain said, voice thrumming with power. "Choose."

  Noire decided he'd had enough. The time for hiding, for stealth, was past. She wasn't going to hurt or kill anyone else. One ravaged country was more than enough. Stepping into the room, he countered her pronouncement with, "I think that it is time for you to die, Majesty."

  Gael whipped around, fair skin draining of color. "N-Noire? Noire!" He bolted across the Sanctuary and threw himself at Noire.

  There was so much momentum behind it that Noire barely kept them upright, taken aback as he held his trembling lover. "Gael?"

  "I thought you were dead," Gael said, the words barely audible with his head buried into the hollow of Noire' shoulder. "Etain said—and it didn't occur to me she would lie—" He looked up, cheeks wet with tears, and kissed Noire hard. "I can't believe you're alive."