A Shiver of Light

CHAPTER THIRTY

I COULD FEEL Galen’s heart pounding underneath my hand where it was trapped against his bare chest, as his arms wrapped me close, pressing me between his body and the rough grass, his body a shield to protect me. I knew it was his job, but in that moment all I could think was, if he actually gave his life for mine, I wasn’t sure I’d ever recover from the loss.

His chest filled my vision; I could see nothing but the edges of grass and sun haloing us. I felt him move and knew he was looking around. What was happening?

I heard voices yelling, “Is she all right? Merry! Is she hurt?” I felt and heard people running toward us. Funny how much you could feel vibrating through the ground when you were lying on it.

A deep rumbling voice said, “Don’t worry about me, I’m fine.”

Galen got to his feet and helped me stand. There were enough Red Caps standing around that they put us in the shade as if a grove of small trees had magically sprung up around us. Doyle was there, taking my other arm, while Galen still held me.

“Are you hurt?”

“No, startled, that’s all.” I looked at him, knew something was different, and then realized the white tank top had been badly ripped down the front, so that it flapped around him as he moved.

“No one gives a tinker’s damn if a goblin gets hurt, it’s all about the sidhe.” It was the Red Cap that I’d seen go overhead. He was only about nine feet tall, with skin a deep charcoal gray setting off the scarlet of his eyes like rubies. His face was smooth and strangely pleasant, and though his mouth was almost lipless, it wasn’t a bad mouth. Considering all the Red Caps had once had a mouth full of jagged teeth, or even fangs, it was a very good mouth indeed. His round skullcap was almost black.

“Hello, Talan,” I said.

His brilliant red eyes narrowed. “I would not have been thrown so, before your magic changed me.”

Doyle let go of my arm, taking a half step in front of me. “Do not blame Merry for your lack of prowess on the battlefield,” he said in a voice that held an edge of growl to it. It wasn’t his dog form coming out, just that first rush of testosterone, before the real fight began.

Talan started forward, but another figure was already there, moving between Doyle and the Red Cap. Jonty’s skin had been the color of dust when I met him; now it was a nearly silver gray, shining almost metallic in the sunlight. He was shorter than Talan, but broader through shoulders and back. His biceps were as round as medium tree trunks; the weight lifting that Doyle had insisted on for all of them had made Jonty lean and filled him out at the same time, so that he was even bigger than he’d started, but now you could see the muscles with no extra flesh to hide them, and he was simply massive. The cap on his head was fresh scarlet and bleeding. His cap bled whether I was around or not, which was one of the reasons he was the leader of the Red Caps.

“Apologize to Merry,” Jonty growled.

“I will not apologize for the truth.”

“Merry didn’t make you a whining bitch, Talan; you were always that.” I saw Jonty plant his back foot.

Doyle motioned and Galen was moving me back. I didn’t argue; if the two Red Caps were going to actually fight I didn’t want to be standing less than ten feet behind them. Twenty feet would be about minimum safe distance. Galen seemed to agree with me, because he kept moving me back until we were near where the fight had started at the practice circle.

Only Aisling was left kneeling in the center of the circle. His hands were held up to his face as he rocked forward, those glittering shoulders hunched as if he huddled around some great pain. He was hurt, badly hurt, because the warriors of faerie do not show pain unless it is too great to bear.

Galen and I went hand in hand to him. There was blood in a spatter of glittering crimson on the grass in front of him. He must have heard us, because he folded in upon himself, burying his face against his knees.

“Aisling, how badly hurt are you?” Galen asked.

“Don’t look at me!” He yelled it, voice high with fear and pain.

Galen dropped my hand and moved toward the other man. “Talan couldn’t have done anything to mar your beauty, Aisling, not without a weapon. Even a Red Cap can’t hit one of the sidhe that hard,” Galen said, and he put a note of joking in his voice.

Aisling’s voice came muffled. “You’re half right, Galen. He didn’t mar my beauty, but he hit me hard enough to do harm.”

“Aisling, how hurt are you?” Galen touched one of those bare shoulders.

Aisling screamed, and scuttled away on knees and one hand. “Don’t touch me! Goddess help me, don’t touch my bare skin.”

“True love is proof against your magic, Aisling. Let me see how hurt you are; you will not bespell me.”

Aisling thrust one hand back as if to ward off a blow, and the other hand stayed at his face. I realized that he was covering his face, and that I could see the complicated braids that held all that yellow and gold hair tight to the back of his head. The mask that had been covering his hair and his face was gone. A thrill of something close to fear went through me from the bottoms of my feet to the top of my head. Galen might have been sure that true love would protect him, but he was immortal, and I wasn’t. I knew that the immortal sidhe were not proof against Aisling’s power, but he wasn’t allowed to show his face to any human, no matter how in love they might be. Mortal blood just didn’t protect against magic as well as immortal.

Galen reached out and grabbed Aisling’s outflung hand. “Let me help you, Aisling.” Galen’s voice held pain; he could never stand to see someone so distressed without wanting to make it better.

Aisling’s hand made a fist, and he went very still. “You are a good man, Galen; do not let me hurt you by accident.”

“Let me see what is bleeding on you.” Galen knelt beside the other man, his hand still holding his arm.

Aisling cried out and jerked free of him, crawling away from Galen, using both hands to scramble faster, and looked directly at me. He hadn’t realized I was standing just behind them.