"We've got to go," the other tech said, and his voice was gentle, as if he knew I was in shock.
Rhys was beside me. "Merry, we need you at the mirror. Galen can go with them."
I shook my head.
Rhys grabbed me by the shoulders and turned me away from Doyle so I had to look into his face. "We need you to be our queen right now, not Doyle's lover. Can you do that, or are we on our own here?"
Anger was instant, anger that made my blood run hot. I started to say "how dare you," but just then Taranis yelled, "How dare you touch your king!" I swallowed the words, but couldn't keep the anger off my face.
"Merry, I'm sorry. I'm more sorry than I can say, but we need you now."
My voice came tight, warm, but controlled, very controlled, "Call the house. Send one of the healers to the hospital, or maybe both the healers." I nodded, the anger beginning to fade under the thought that I didn't know how bad Doyle was hurt, or Abe. "Both," I said.
"I'll call them, I promise, but Frost needs you at the mirror."
I nodded. "I understand."
Rhys kissed me on the forehead. I blinked up at him. He got his cell phone out of his pocket. I told Galen, "Go with them to the hospital."
"My duty is you."
"Your duty is to go where your princess tells you to go. Now do it. Please, Galen, there's no time."
He hesitated for a breath, then he gave a nod that was almost a bow, and trotted after the rapidly moving gurney. I hadn't gotten to kiss Doyle good-bye. No, it wasn't good-bye. He was one of the sidhe. The greatest magicians and warriors that faerie had ever known. He would not die from burns, not even magical ones. I believed my own words in the front of my head, but the back of the mind is a cluttered, dark place that has nothing to do with logic and everything to do with fear.
I made myself start walking toward Frost's tall figure. One step at a time. I realized I had the gun still naked in my hand. The glamour hid it, but my concentration was bad. Did I want the Seelie to see the gun? Did I care? No. Should I care? Probably.
I moved my jacket aside to put the gun back in its holster. I had to stop walking to do it, but I put it away. One of the main reasons I did it was because if Taranis managed to break free of his men and come back to the mirror, I didn't trust myself not to use the gun. That, I knew, would be bad. No matter how momentarily satisfying it might be, I was a princess, trying to be a queen, and that meant I couldn't indulge in fits of temper. They were too costly, as today's little disaster had proven. Damn Taranis, damn him, for not stepping down years ago.
I took a deep breath that shook around the edges. My stomach rolled with all the emotions I couldn't afford right now. I walked toward Frost and the mirror and Sir Hugh. I prayed to the Goddess that I wouldn't fall apart in front of the Seelie. Andais had temper tantrums that were infamous. Now Taranis had shown himself to be even more unstable. I walked to the mirror and prayed that I would be the ruler we needed right now. I prayed that I wouldn't fall apart or throw up. Nerves, just nerves. Please, Goddess, let Doyle be all right.
Once I said the prayer I truly meant, I felt calmer. Yes, I wanted to be a good queen. Yes, I wanted to show the Seelie that I wasn't as crazy as my aunt and uncle, but truly, none of it mattered to me as much as the man they'd just carted away on a gurney.
It wasn't the way a queen thought. It was the way a woman thought, and to be queen means you have to be queen first and everything else second. My father had taught me that. Taught me that before an assassin had killed him. I pushed the thought away, and went to stand by my Killing Frost.
I would be the queen that my father had raised me to be. I would not embarrass Doyle by being less than he'd told me I could be.
I stood straight, drawing myself up to every inch of height that I had. The three-inch heels helped, although standing beside Frost's tall figure, I couldn't help but seem delicate.
But I stood there and did my duty and it tasted like ashes in my mouth.
CHAPTER 7
SIR HUGH BELENUS GAVE A LOW BOW THAT SHOWED THAT HIS fire-colored hair had started the day in a complicated braid, but singed ribbons trailed from its remnants. When he stood up, I could see that the front of his tunic, all the way through two layers of undershirts, had been blasted apart to expose the pale golden skin underneath. The clothing was ruined, scorched, but his body seemed untouched.
"Sir Hugh stood in front of Taranis at the end," Frost said. "He took the brunt of the blow meant for Abeloec." Frost said.
"What am I to say to that?" I asked, and my voice sounded completely normal. The very normality of it was almost shocking. A little voice in my own head thought, how can I sound so calm? Training? Shock?