"None of us has told the younger ones, Queen Andais," Doyle said. "Everyone knows that our followers painted themselves with symbols and went into battle with only those symbols to shield them."
"They eventually learned to wear armor," Andais said. Her arm had lowered enough for Mistral to be comfortable on his knees again.
"Yes, and only the last few fanatical tribes kept trying to seek our favor and blessing. They died for that devotion," Doyle said.
"What are you talking about?" I asked.
"Once we, the sidhe, their gods, were painted with symbols that were our sign of blessing from the Goddess and the God. But as our power faded, so did the marks upon our bodies." Doyle said it all in his thick-as-molasses voice.
Rhys picked up the story. "Once, if our followers painted their bodies to mimic us, they gained some of the protection, the magic, that we had. It was a sign of devotion, yes, but once long, long ago, it literally could call us to their aid." He looked at the faint blue fish on his arm. "I have not held this mark for nearly four thousand years."
"It is faint and incomplete," the queen said from the far wall.
"Yes." Rhys nodded and looked at her. "But it is a beginning."
Nicca's voice came soft, and I'd almost forgotten him, standing so still to one side. His wings began to gleam in the dark, as if their veins had begun to pulse with light instead of blood. He fanned those huge wings. They had been only a birthmark on the back of his body until a few days ago, when they had sprung from his back, real and true at last. They began to glow as if the individual colors were stained glass gleaming in sunlight that we could not see.
He held out his right hand, and showed us a mark on the outer part of the wrist, almost on the hand itself. The light was too uncertain for me to be sure of what it was, but Doyle said, "A butterfly."
"I have never held a mark of favor from the Goddess," Nicca said in his soft voice.
The queen lowered her blade completely, so that it went back to being invisible in the full black skirt of her robe. "What of the rest of you?"
"You'll be able to feel it, if you think about it," Rhys said to the others.
Frost called a ball of light that was a dim silver-grey. It held above his head much as Galen's greenish light had. Frost began unbuttoning his shirt. He rarely went nude if he could avoid it, so I knew before he bared the perfect curve of his right shoulder that there would be something there.
He turned his arm so he could see it. The queen said, "Show us."
He let her see first, then turned in a slow half circle to us. It was as pale and blue as Rhys's had been, a small dead tree, leafless, naked, and the ground underneath it seemed to hint at a snowbank. Like Rhys's salmon it was dim, and not drawn in completely, as if someone had begun the job but not finished.
"Killing Frost has never held a sign of favor," the queen said, and her voice was strangely unhappy.
"No," Frost said, "I have not. I was not fully sidhe when last the sidhe held such favors." He shrugged back into his shirt and began to button it into place. He wasn't just dressed, he was armed. Most of the others held a sword and dagger, but only Doyle and Frost had guns. Rhys had left his gun behind with his clothes in the bedroom.
I noticed a bulge here and there under Frost's shirt, which meant he held more weapons than could be easily seen. He liked being armed, but this many weapons meant something had made him nervous. The assassination attempts, maybe, or maybe something else. His handsome face was closed to me, hidden behind the arrogance that he used as a mask. Perhaps he was just hiding his thoughts and feelings from the queen, but then again...Frost tended to be moody.
Rhys said, "Let Abeloec and Merry finish what they began. Let us all finish it."
Queen Andais took in a deep breath, so that even across the dimly lit chamber I could see the rise and fall of the V of white flesh in her robe. "Very well, finish it. Then come to me, for we have much to discuss." She held out her hand to Mistral. "Come, my captain, let us leave them to their pleasures."
Mistral did not question. He stood and took her pale hand.
"We need him," Rhys said.
"No," Andais said, "no, I have given Meredith my green men. She does not need the whole world."
"Does grass grow without wind and rain?" Doyle asked.
"No," she said, and her voice was unfriendly again, as if she would like to be angry but couldn't afford to be right now. Andais was a creature of her temper; she always indulged it. This much self-restraint from her was rare.
"To make spring, you need many things, my queen," said Doyle. "Without warmth and water, plants wither and die." They stared at each other, the queen and her Darkness. It was the queen who looked away first.
"Mistral may stay." She released his hand, then looked across the cavern at me. "But let this be understood between us, niece. He is not yours. He is mine. He is yours only for this space of time. Is that clear to all of you?"
We all nodded.
"And you, Mistral," the queen said. "Do you understand?"
"My geas is lifted for this space of time with the princess alone."
"Clearly put, as always," she said. She turned her back as if she would walk through the wall, then turned and looked over her shoulder. "I will finish what I was doing when I noticed your absence, Mistral."
He dropped to his knees. "My queen, please do not do this..."
She turned back with a smile that was almost pleasant - except for the look in her eyes, which even from here was frightening. "You mean, do not leave you with the princess?"