Merry Gentry 05 - Mistral's Kiss by Laurell K. Hamilton Page B

at Aisling’s still form. “I’ll try.” He handed his weapons to Doyle and Frost, then touched the tree. He seemed to wait a moment, to see what the tree would do. For the first time I realized that he was wondering if the tree would kill him, too—that hadn’t occurred to me.
    “Is it safe for Rhys to do this?” I asked.
    Rhys looked back at me. He grinned. “If I were taller, I wouldn’t have to climb.”
    “I mean it, Rhys. I don’t want to trade you for Aisling. And I really don’t want two of you hanging up there.”
    “If I really thought you loved me, I might not chance it.”
    “Rhys…”
    “It’s all right, Merry, I know where I stand.” He turned to the tree and started climbing.
    Doyle touched my shoulder. “You cannot love us all equally. There is no dishonor in that.”
    I nodded, and believed him, but it still hurt my heart.
    Rhys looked like some white phantom against the blackness of the tree. He was right underneath where Aisling hung. He was just about to reach out toward him when magic crawled across my skin, stopped my breath in my throat.
    Doyle felt it, too, and yelled, “Wait! Don’t touch him!”
    Rhys started climbing back down the tree, sliding on the rain-slicked bark.
    “Rhys! Hurry!” I screamed.
    The air around Aisling’s body shimmered, like a heat haze, then exploded.
    Not in a rain of flesh and blood and bone, but in a cloud of birds. Tiny birds, smaller, more delicate than sparrows. Dozens of songbirds flew over our heads. We all fell to the ground, guarding our heads. Frost put his body over mine, protecting me from the fluttering, twittering mob. The birds looked charming, but looks can be deceiving.
    When Frost raised up enough for me to see clearly again, the birds had vanished into the dimness of the trees. I stretched upward, trying to see. “Is the cavern wall farther away than it was?” I asked.
    “Yes,” Doyle said.
    “The forest stretches for miles now,” Mistral said, and his voice held awe.
    “They call it the dead gardens, not the dead forest,” I said.
    “It was both once,” Doyle said, softly.
    Rhys explained, “This was a world at one time, Merry, a whole underground world. There were forests and streams, and lakes, and wonders to behold.
    But it whittled down, as our power was whittled away. Until, at the end, it was just what you saw when we entered—a bare patch where a flower garden once grew, surrounded by a fringe of dead trees.” He motioned toward the spreading trees. “The last time I saw anything like this inside any faerie mound was centuries ago.”
    Abe hugged me from behind. It startled me, and I tensed. He started to pull away from me, but I patted his arm and said, “You startled me, that’s all.”
    He hesitated, then hugged me close. “You’ve done this, Princess.”
    I turned enough to see his face. He was smiling. “I think you helped, too,” I said.
    “And Mistral,” Doyle added. His deep voice tried for neutral and almost made it, as much as it hurt him to say those words. He’d been convinced that the queen’s ring, which now sat on my hand, had chosen Mistral for my king. Only later had I been able to convince him it wasn’t so much Mistral as the fact that he was simply the first sex I’d had inside faerie while wearing the ring. Doyle had accepted that, but now he seemed to be wondering again.
    “Doyle,” I said.
    He shook his head at me. “For miracles such as this, what is one person’s happiness, Princess?”
    I’d almost broken him of calling me princess. I had finally been Meredith, or Merry, to him, but no longer, apparently. I touched his arm. He pulled away from my touch, gently but firmly.
    “You give up too easily, my friend,” Frost said.
    “There is sky above us, Frost.” Doyle motioned outward with the gun in his hand. “There is forest to walk through.” He raised his face upward, and let the warm rain fall on his closed eyes. “It rains inside the sithen once more.”
    Doyle