David’s knees gave out, and he crumpled to the ground next to Alun while the Consort wailed, clutching his handless arm to his chest. Blood. So much blood—splattered on the grass, soaking the Consort’s doublet, staining the blade of Mal’s sword.

“Mal.” Alun reached over David’s head and gripped Mal’s shoulder. “I didn’t expect you.”

Mal shrugged. “You said you needed backup.”

“I should have known I could count on you. I won’t make that mistake again.”

“Consider it my way of putting you in my debt.” He smiled wryly and let the sword fall to the ground at his feet. “I have a feeling I’ll need to collect sooner rather than later.”

David could handle the blood—he couldn’t be a nurse otherwise—but swords? Not so much. He averted his gaze from the blade. Somewhere above him, Alun and Mal were still talking. Someone else too. The Queen? David wasn’t sure, because the Consort’s keening was all he could hear now, drowning out all other sounds and setting David’s teeth on edge.

I could help him. I could—but why should I? He wanted to kill me. If it weren’t for Mal, he’d have killed Alun for sure.

But the notion of ignoring someone in pain cramped David’s belly until he could barely stay upright. Ow ow ow. Maybe achu-majiggers have their own version of the Hippocratic Oath—help or else.

“Dafydd?” Alun kneeled next to him, wrapping an arm around David’s shoulders. David shuddered and leaned in. “Are you all right, cariad?”

“I—I don’t know.”

“Come away. You needn’t have anything more to do with Luchullain.”

“Don’t I?” David stared at the Consort, who was barely whimpering now, although the sound pierced David’s brain like a bullhorn. He’s an asshole and a psychopath, but I’m not judge and jury.

I’m an achubydd.

He pulled away from Alun, refusing to lean on him for this. Focusing on his center, as he had in Aunt Cassie’s bedroom, as he had when he’d broken Alun’s curse, he could make out the Consort’s core, throbbing in his solar plexus. Ewww. It was dark and mottled, like rotten meat, but the lines of energy were as easy to map as if they’d been drawn with glow-in-the-dark Sharpies. There, at the wrist’s ragged edge, the lines pulsed and fluttered.

I could do it. I could work with those. I might even—could I make him a new hand?

David reached out tentatively, but Alun gripped his shoulder and held him back. “Oak and thorn, Dafydd, don’t. He’s not worth it. He’ll take everything you’ve got, just as he planned.”

David glanced away from the Consort, and noticed that they’d drawn quite a crowd—the Queen and a whole passel of her guards stood watching, but David couldn’t pay attention to them, not now.

“Maybe he’s not worth it, but I am. It hurts, Alun. Being able to help and refusing? It freaking hurts. Right here.” He pressed his hands to his belly. “Did you ever ask why Owain healed that stag? It’s because he had to. He didn’t have a choice. And neither do I.”

David turned back to the Consort, but before he could touch him, the stump of his wrist sealed over with new skin, and the energy lines were cauterized.

“Dafydd Evans.” The Queen’s voice cut off the Consort’s whimpers—or maybe the instant first aid had done that. “This burden is no longer yours.”

Alun helped David to his feet. “It should never have been his. He should never have been put in such danger. How could you not realize that your own consort was a traitor?”

“Calm down, Alun. It’s over now. I’m fine.” David turned to Mal and hugged him hard around the waist. “Thank you. Thank you so much for saving him.”

Mal chuckled and returned David’s embrace. “Why is it that every time I have a hot man in my arms, he only wants to talk about my brothers?”

David stepped back. “I seriously doubt that’s always the case, but brothers are—” David’s stomach clenched. “Brothers. Holy crap, Gareth. I have to go.”

Alun grabbed David’s shoulders. “No. It’s not safe. The Consort’s men—”

“Shall not touch him.” The Queen looked down her nose at—well, everyone. “For the remainder of this night, Dafydd Evans is under my protection.”

Alun released David and took a step forward, half-blocking him from the Queen. “With all due respect, Majesty, your guards may be compromised. Did you expect the Consort to betray you?”

She raised one flawless copper eyebrow. “A point. Nonetheless, none shall touch him for the remainder of this night.” She cast a disdainful glance at the Consort, huddled on the grass. “We have that much power at least.” Her gaze lifted to Mal. “Some would do well to remember it.”

David edged sideways, the need to go to Gareth prickling like needles along his skin. “I really have to leave now.”

“I’ll come too.” Alun reached for him, but his hand stopped two inches from David’s arm. He grimaced, his muscles straining as if he were pushing a giant weight. “What in all the bloody hells—”

“We said none shall touch him, not here in our realm, not for the remainder of this night. That includes you, Lord Cynwrig. As we said, some would do well to remember who rules in Faerie still.”

“Pettiness doesn’t become you, Majesty.” Alun gestured for David to precede him. “Let’s go, cariad.”

“No.” The Queen’s tone was hard as stone. “You shall stay here. Dafydd Evans may go.”

“I—”

“This is not a negotiation, Lord Cynwrig.”

“No, Majesty. It is not.”

This time, Alun led the way out of the Stone Circle, and David hurried to catch up.

Finally.

When they got back to the ceilidh glade, Gareth was still on the dais, slumped against a stool. The arrow was still protruding from his shoulder. Damn it, why didn’t I come sooner?

David rushed across the clearing, leaped up on the dais, and dropped to his knees. “I’m so sorry. If I’d known they would hurt you, I—”

“Never mind,” Gareth ground out between clenched teeth. “My choice. My risk.”

“Hold on. I’m going to remove the arrow now. It’ll probably hurt.”

“Can’t hurt more than it does now.”

Alun joined them and held out his hand. “Hold on to me, brother, if it will help.”

Gareth hesitated for a moment, his gaze locked with Alun’s, then clasped his hand. “Thank you.” He nodded at David. “Do your worst.”

David grasped the arrow’s shaft, but hesitated as he reached for Gareth’s shoulder. “Shoot. That thing the Queen did. I can’t touch him, can I?”

“None may touch you.” The Queen’s voice startled him. How did she get here? Teleportation? “The tynged does not apply to the reverse.”

“Swell.” David took a moment to focus on the lines of pain swirling in Gareth’s right shoulder. Crap. He’s a left-handed guitarist. If I don’t do this right, he won’t be able to play again. “Is this okay with you?” At Gareth’s nod, David took a deep breath. Then I guess I’d better do it right.