Niall was in the underworld again, strung up next to the flames while Tiarnach strutted across the cavern. Not content with simply having Niall flogged, he had to talk at him too. Perhaps he believed it worsened the punishment—the anticipation of knowing the blows were coming, but first having to wait in suspense for the usual pointless demand.

“He dallied with not one, not two, but seven this year, both fae and human, and some that were neither. What say you to that?”

Every year it was the same—Tiarnach spouted tales of Gareth’s adventures in the bedchamber of one Seelie lord after another, or affairs in the Outer World that would put a satyr to shame. But it had never made a dent in Niall’s resolve. Better that than dead. If Tiarnach realized that Niall actually treasured those stories that proved Gareth wasn’t mourning a relationship founded on deception, perhaps he’d never speak again.

But Niall, who’d given up any hope of clemency long since, couldn’t forgo those nuggets of information. He let Tiarnach natter on, pretending indifference.

“Nothing. Let’s get on with it, shall we?”

The wildness in Tiarnach’s eyes, the way his hands writhed in the ermine trim of his velvet cloak, should have warned Niall this wasn’t a normal visit, but he’d gotten so resigned to Tiarnach’s rants that he simply nodded to Govannon to place the leather strap between his teeth and braced himself for the first blow.

Tiarnach continued to march back and forth, his steps keeping pace with the stroke of the whip. Niall counted them off in his head, but when Govannon would have stopped at the expected number, Tiarnach cried, “Again!” over and over, until Niall collapsed, hanging from his manacles, legs unable to support him.

Still Tiarnach didn’t call a halt—Govannon laid down his whip himself. “I’ll not be your executioner. If you want to kill him, you’ll have to strike the blow with your own hand.”

Tiarnach advanced and gripped Niall by the hair, wrenching his head up. “For the last time, will you kill the bard?”

Niall spat the strap out of his mouth. “No. Never.”

“That’s what I thought you’d say, you stubborn, insolent fool.” Tiarnach’s eyes burned with fury as he glared at Niall. “I grew tired of waiting. I killed him myself.”

Niall’s breath caught on a sob—he couldn’t help it—and Tiarnach finally smiled in triumph and let go of Niall’s hair. “Leave him there overnight. Let him consider what his actions have cost.”

But Govannon must not have obeyed, because he wasn’t shackled to the wall, the agony in his back nothing to the pain in his heart. Someone stroked his hair, held his hand gently, as an angel crooned to him of comfort and happiness and love.

He sighed, the words a healing salve to body and soul. When he blinked open crusty eyes to an expanse of white pillowcase, the hand holding his was real, the voice not that of anything as ineffectual as an angel, but—

Gareth. The ceremony. The escape. The lie. Goddess strike him blind, what had he done?

He whimpered, and immediately Gareth was there, blue eyes full of concern and affection that Niall didn’t deserve. “Hey. You’re awake. You were unconscious all night long.” He squeezed Niall’s hand. “I was so worried.”

“You needn’t be. I was . . .” Shite, what was he? He vaguely remembered a conversation with David, when he’d seemed to be recovering, then suddenly the pain had rebounded. But now? He flexed his back muscles tentatively. Not yet fully healed, thank the Goddess, so he still appeared human. But better. As if the wounds were healing normally. “I’m fine.” He withdrew his hand, and Gareth’s smile faded. “But I—I need to take a piss.”

Gareth’s eyebrows popped up and he laughed, which made Niall frown. “Not funny. Fine way to repay hospitality, soiling a bloke’s bedding.”

“No. I know. I’m just— Never mind. The bathroom is across the hall. Let me—”

“I can manage it.” He pushed himself to his haunches, wincing a little, then glanced down at his body. Naked. All my imperfections on display. He bolted across the hallway and closed the door behind him.

Fixing all his latest mistakes would take every ounce of his former cunning, but just when he needed it most, his old cleverness seemed to desert him. Bloody hells. Now what?

The hollow-eyed stranger staring at him from the mirror over the sink had no answers, but the ethera had a suggestion.

:Punt!:

Gareth hadn’t missed Niall’s full-body blush before he’d rushed into the bathroom. He still doesn’t want to be naked in front of me. If that wasn’t evidence that he didn’t remember Gareth, nothing was. In their days as lovers, they’d barely managed to make it to the inn of the day, or to Niall’s lodgings, before ripping each other’s clothes off. They’d only bothered to put them on to venture out to eat or to appease the servants.

Gareth heard the toilet flush and the water turn on in the sink. How does he know about bathroom fixtures? Was the Unseelie Keep equipped with modern plumbing? Hells, for all Gareth knew, they regularly kidnapped construction workers to build onto the bloody thing.

Or it could be magic? Whatever.

Niall emerged from the bathroom, scrubbing his hands through his hair, one of David’s lavender bath sheets wrapped around his waist. “Danu’s tits, whatever David did is bloody remarkable. I’ve never recovered as fast as—” He glanced at Gareth. “I mean—”

“It’s all right. You don’t have to go into it.” Yet. Although Gareth hoped Niall would feel comfortable enough soon to share a little of what he’d been through. Maybe if they talked about it, Niall would start remembering more about their lives, their love.

David bustled in, stopping when he got a look at Niall’s back. “Holy cats. Now that’s what I’m talking about. Nothing like a druid with a chemistry degree, I always say.”

Niall tried to look over his shoulder. “It feels better. I checked it in the mirror and it looks better too.”

“That’s because it is better.”

“Think I might rate a shirt today then?”

David chuckled. “I think so. I’ll put a light dressing on first, and you can borrow one of Alun’s nice, soft T-shirts.” He studied Niall dispassionately, head tilted to one side. “Your shoulders are as broad as his, I think, and your chest as deep. I’ll bring you some of his sweatpants too. They’ll probably be a little long, but sweats aren’t supposed to be tight.”

“That’d be grand. Thanks.”

As David trotted out of the room, Gareth leaned an elbow on the dresser. “You know what sweatpants are?”

“I—” An odd look flickered across Niall’s face; Gareth wasn’t sure how to interpret it. Not guilt, surely? Alarm? Then it was gone. “It must be part of the enchantment, a kindness to make it easier for me to acclimate.”

Gareth snorted. “Not bloody likely. Fae can’t absorb change themselves—how likely is it that they’d be able to manage it for someone else.”

“You mean Seelie fae don’t change. Unseelie embrace it.”

Gareth frowned. “How do you know?”

“I was there, wasn’t I? Got the whole story about the tenets.” He tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling, and Gareth couldn’t help ogling his bare chest, the dusting of dark hair on his pectorals, the treasure trail leading from his navel below the improbable lavender towel.

It was one of the things that had always fascinated him about Niall. High fae—at least the humanoid Seelie variety—didn’t have hair anywhere except on their heads and at their groins—and they certainly didn’t have navels. That was the one wisp of glamourie he’d allowed himself when he’d been with Niall—he’d given himself a navel so Niall wouldn’t recognize him as fae and be frightened or disgusted.

Niall opened his mouth, about to say something else, but David returned with an armful of cotton and fleece.

“Here you go. If you want to take a sponge bath, you can go ahead and do that, but don’t get your back wet yet.”

“Got it.” Niall left, and a moment later the bathroom door clicked shut.

David turned to Gareth, an odd look on his face. “You sang to him for eight hours straight. I don’t think you even noticed when I brought you that water bottle.”

Gareth shrugged. Truth be told, he hadn’t been aware of the passage of time, content to watch Niall sleep, gratified when his song choice caused him to nestle deeper into the pillow with a sigh. “I noticed.” He hadn’t. “Thank you.”

“Don’t you have a concert tonight?”

“Ah, bollocks. Yeah. Well maybe I can catch a nap after the rehearsal this morning.”

“You’re going to rehearse after a marathon solo session and then perform at a concert? Holy cats, Gareth, how can your voice take it?”

“My voice? That’s what you’re worried about?” He nodded in the direction of the bathroom. “You should be worried about him.”

“Oh I am. But he doesn’t have the stress ahead of him today that you do.”

“My voice isn’t a concern. I’m a bard. My voice never fails. It’s part of the package.”

“Really? Then why is your energy pattern red and tangled around your throat?”

Gareth’s hand flew to his throat. Any distress there had nothing to do with his singing. He was trying not to cry over Niall’s continued distance. “It’ll be fine.”

“At least let me—” David reached out, but Gareth dodged away.

“Don’t waste your energy on me. I’ll be fine by the time I get to the rehearsal. You just take care of Niall.”

“Hmmm.” David frowned and stared down at his shoes. “Well, here’s the thing . . .”

“What?”

“I’m not going to be here. I’ve been summoned to appear before the supe council this morning.”

“So what? Tell them you can’t make it.”

David glared at him. “You don’t tell the supe council ‘Sorry. Can we reschedule?’ Some of them have come in from out of the country, and since neither Mal nor Alun are here to escort them through Faerie as a shortcut, they can’t just pop home and return when it’s convenient for me.”

“What about Bryce? He’s the one with the potions.” He might still be pissed at Gareth, but surely he wouldn’t let Niall suffer because of it. “He—”

“He is supposed to be there too. It’s a joint session with the local druid circle. They want to hear about his methods.”

“Come on, David. Niall can’t very well stay here on his own. He doesn’t know a fucking thing about this world.”

“And yet he’s managing perfectly well so far.” David’s tone was dry and a bit mocking.

Bugger that. “What if he has another relapse? How will he—”

“Chill out. He’s ambulatory now, so if you don’t want to leave him here alone, take him with you.”

Gareth blinked. “To the rehearsal? But my bandmates aren’t human. The shock of exposing him to more of the supe community—”

“For pity’s sake, the man lived in Faerie for over two hundred years, yet figured out how to use an effing bidet on first contact. I kind of doubt you could surprise him, even if Hamish shifts and plays all the songs as a kangaroo.”

“All right. But—”

“What’s the matter? I though you wanted to spend time with him.”

“I do.”

“Well then. This seems like a perfect opportunity.” David’s expression softened. “Look. I know you’re having a rough time. If Alun forgot me, I couldn’t answer for the kind of tantrum I’d throw. But just because he doesn’t remember what you had, doesn’t mean he can’t learn what you could have now. Let the past go, Gareth, and make a new present. A new future.”

Hope coiled inside him. Could it be that simple? Music had brought them together once. Maybe it could do it again.

“You have a point. I’ll . . . I’ll try.”

“Good. Now there are bagels and juice in the kitchen, as well as a pot of coffee.”

“Your aunt’s special blend?”

David grinned, flashing his dimples. “What else? Consider it my contribution to your reconciliation with Niall.” He kissed Gareth on the cheek. “Now I’ve got to run. Bryce is driving me in his goofy little electric car, so you can use Alun’s SUV. I’ll see you later.”

He zoomed across the hallway and knocked on the bathroom door. Niall let him in, and Gareth heard their murmured conversation for a few moments before David emerged and tossed Gareth a wave on his way out.

Gareth took a deep breath. You can do this. An invitation. That’s all it is. Why did it feel like a point of no return?

“Ah, that’s easy, boyo. Because if he says no, he’s turning down the only thing you’ve got that makes you special.”

Niall emerged from the bathroom, clad in Alun’s sweats, toweling his hair dry as he walked across the hall. He glanced around the bedroom. “Where’s David? I wanted to thank him for what he’s done and for the clothes. They beat handspun wool to flinders.”

“He . . . ah . . . had an appointment.” Gareth gulped. Goddess, why was he suddenly tongue-tied? “The thing is . . . he . . . well . . .”

“Afraid to put it to the test, boyo? That’s clever, that is. Best never take the chance, eh?”

Gareth gritted his teeth against the urge to shout at the thrice-damned Voices. Instead he morphed his grimace into a desperate smile. “How would you like to go to a band rehearsal?”

“Truly?” Niall’s grin bloomed. “Sounds bloody brilliant. What are we waiting for?”