Mistrals Kiss   ::   Гамильтон Лорел

“Rhys was a deity of death,” Frostsaid.

“I know that; he was Cromm Cruach.”

“Don’t you remember the story he told you?” Doyle asked.

In that moment I couldn’t remember. All I could think was that Galen and Nicca might be dead, or hurting, and it was somehow my fault.

“Once I brought more than just death, Merry,” Rhys said, still gazing down at his arm with its new mark.

My mind started working finally. “Celtic death deities are also healing deities, according to legend,” I said.

“According to legend,” Rhys said. He gazed up at Aisling.

“Try,” Doyle said to Rhys, again.

I looked at Rhys. “Are you saying you can bring him back from the dead?”

“The last time I had both symbols on my arm, I could.” He looked at me, and there was such pain on his face. I remembered what he had told me now. Once his followers had worshipped him by cutting and hurting themselves, sacrificing their blood and pain, but he had been able to heal them. Then he lost the ability to heal, and his followers thought he was displeased. They decided he wanted the deaths of others, and they began the sacrifices. He had slaughtered them all to stop the atrocities. Slain his own people to save the rest.

He had never lost the ability to kill small creatures with a touch. In Los Angeles he’d recovered the ability to kill other faerie creatures with a touch and a word. He’d killed a goblin that way, at least.

Rhys gazed up 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.