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“They are,” Ollie said, mildly insulted. It was true; Bellemare’s royal family threw open feasts and dances to everybody who wished to drop in, from stable boys to ambassadors.
“I’m saying yes, mind you,” Fadi said. “Because you’re my friends. I’m also about to stab you with a needle, just so you know.”
Oliver, not Tir, winced. Tir regarded the collection of his own blood with some curiosity. “What do you do with it once you have it? We’ll tell you what you need to wear and when to come in for rehearsals and all that once they tell us. And you can have bills sent up to us directly; it’s a thank you for agreeing to be another sane participant in this wedding.”
“That,” Ollie said, low, “and—” and then stopped. “What he said.” When Fadi glanced at him, his eyes said: and I want you at his side if he’s not okay. If the day’s too much. Fadi gave him a slight nod in return. He’d be there in any case, but it was nice to know they were on the same page.
He put a small bandage over the needle-mark, and said, “Hold that there for a moment or two. What do I do with it? I look at it, compare it to other samples, run tests on it…I’ll show you a drop under the microscope if you’d like. Fairy blood actually isn’t quite the same as human, did you know that? The shapes of cells, and even the color, just a tint darker…and you’re special in any case, somewhat in between, these days, if you want to see—”
“I’m not sure I do,” Ollie interjected.
“I might,” Tir said. “Not now, we’re having tea and discussions about the future with the mothers after this, but sometime. I could use it for research. Writing a novel.”
“I’ve seen you bleeding,” Ollie said, and Tir turned that way and caught his chin and kissed him, simple and simply heartfelt and pure.
At this point young Polly put her head in the door to say, “Oliver, Lord Dustin’s in the library and wants to see you about the silver mines at the northwest border and the deeds of record and—”
“Oh, stars,” Ollie grumbled, “he’s early. Tir, will you be all right if I go let him shout at me and then offer him a seat on the re-apportioning committee? He just wants to know he’s being listened to, and I’ll only be a few minutes.”
“I’ll be fine,” Tir said. “Go on. Ask him how his son’s doing at the University; he’s studying mathematics, I think. He’ll like that you’ve remembered.”
“Love you—” Oliver landed a kiss on his betrothed’s mouth, and ducked out the door: a Crown Prince with shaggy hair and a sketchpad in his pocket. Tir watched him go, smiling faintly, embodying contentment. “I do adore him, you know. Sometimes I can’t believe this is real. Even now.”
“Yes, I expect it’s strange.” He meant it; he found an experimental stethoscope, sat down with Tirian on the bed, listened. “You loved him for years. You died for him. And you’ve got everything you’ve ever wanted, now. Not easy, but earned.”
“Yes.” Tir curled one leg under himself, tucking hands into the incongruous shawl: a panther-cub suddenly embarrassed by his own joy. “I have to keep reminding myself it’s not a dream. I’m alive and I saved him and we’re getting married. Even if I do have to listen to all forty-two stanzas of ‘The Prince Who Walked South’ at the rehearsal banquet.”
Fadi got him a blanket—Tir’s temperature had been down a bit—and put a hand on his back. “It’s real. You’d not feel so much—the way that love can be nearly too much, sometimes, when it’s so clear and sharp it’s like glass on a summer day—if it weren’t. And you lost enough along the way; you’re absolutely deserving every drop of happiness in the world, and I am right about this, because I am your doctor. Speaking of, anything I should know? Any plans to ride around the entire kingdom in an afternoon?”
Tir abruptly became very guilty: that shamefaced baby panther again. “I thought I was—”
“Feeling well enough to do a proper state visit to some of the local landowners, to reassure them that these changes won’t disrupt their lives too much? I know.” Tir and Oliver had both gone, but the weather’d dissolved into heavy winter rain on the ride back, and it’d been a long day of promises and smoothing-over of ruffled feelings. Tirian had made it home, but had barely gotten off his horse and through the door before his legs gave way, shivering from cold and exertion; Ollie, white-faced and grim, had cradled him and shouted for help.
That adventure fortunately hadn’t done much new damage, but Tir needed rest and warmth and recovery time, and was now banned from attempting all-day excursions without consensus from both his future husband and his physician. His physician added, “I know you’ve got obligations to discharge, duties of state, but you’re not going to be in any shape to do those things if you don’t listen to me.”
“I know,” Tir said. “I’m sorry, Fadi, really.”
“Well, then, see that you do. Is there anything, though? Fatigue—more than usual—or fever, or pain anyplace? That sensitivity; you’re not feeling overwhelmed?” Tir had spent nearly all his own magic in coming back from the dead, and while he’d always been magic-sensitive, those channels ran emptied and raw now, exposed. And lots of fairies swirled around Bellemare these days.
“No,” Tir said. “I’m surprised, too. I thought it’d be worse. I can feel it, but it’s helping, I think. Flowing back in. Drop by drop, I mean, I know it won’t be overnight. It’s more like—like when you feel a cut starting to heal, and you know it is, but it sort of…itches. Prickly. Ollie doesn’t itch, though. He feels like honey. Or sunshine, the heavy slow kind that gets under your skin and into your bones. That was one of my cousins leaving, wasn’t it?”
“Mmm. Tell me if it gets worse, and we’ll see if we can do anything to dull the sensation a bit. And yes it was. Actually…can I ask you a question?”
“Absolutely yes,” Tir said, sitting up more. “I like knowing everything.”
“He gave me a book,” Fadi said, and went and got it. “And flowers, and biscuits, and—oh, I don’t know, I think what I’m trying to ask you is, is he serious? Or is this a sort of exotic sleep-with-a-human diversion? I don’t mind if it is, I know fairies think of sex in terms of pleasure and games, but I’d rather know if—I like him, all right? I think I—I mean, I do like him.”
“Wait,” Tir said. “Which one of my cousins? You’ve got about seventeen to choose from, and you haven’t told me.”
“Beryl. Beryllin.”
Tir blinked twice. “Berry?”
“Really?”
“Well, when I was younger. He was never fond of that particular short name, I think. He’s one of the older cousins, he was nice enough but as far as I remember magically unremarkable, and he was never even considered for the succession; we weren’t that close. I knew he was here, but I don’t think we’ve said more than hello. How did you even meet? You’ve been avoiding our Court dinner invitations.”
“He came by,” Fadi said, “he wanted to thank me for helping care for you,” and the words sent a secret thrill along his spine: his fairy had the best heart.
