My lips tingled, and it was as if I'd just bitten into an apple. The crisp, mellow sweetness was melting on my tongue. Apples dipped in honey; the taste of it filled my mouth. There was an echo in my head of that voice: Share it with them.
"Kiss me," I said.
A look of such pain came into Galen's face. He thought this was a goodbye kiss. I was hoping it wasn't.
He made small sounds as he wormed his way closer to me. I knew that the broken bones were stabbing into him every time he moved, but he never hesitated. He crawled those last few inches to put his face above mine. He laid his lips against mine, so gently, but as my breath eased out into his mouth it wasn't apples and honey I tasted. Galen tasted like the scent of aromatic herbs. I could taste dew, and feel the soft edge of a basil leaf. He tasted of basil, rich and thick and warm. Basil still growing in the earth, leaves flung wide to the sun, and dew upon the leaves.
He drew back just enough to whisper, "You taste like apples."
I smiled up at him. "You taste like fresh herbs."
He laughed, and I saw his face tighten, as if it hurt, then he said, "That didn't hurt." He'd tightened in anticipation of the hurt. He took a deep breath, making his chest rise and fall. "It doesn't hurt." His smile was everything I needed it to be when he said, "I'm healed." He managed to make it both a statement, and nearly a question.
Frost dropped to his knees beside us, one of his hands tucked in tight against his stomach. I thought at first it was his arm that was injured, then I saw something red and bulging pushing around the edge of his hand. Andais had gutted him.
I managed to whisper his name, "Frost."
Galen moved away so that he could be closer to me. Frost touched my mouth with his fingertips. "Save your strength."
I could taste apples again, as if I'd just bitten into one, and dipped it into something thick and sweet and golden. I didn't need a voice this time to know what to do.
Frost moved his fingers back from my mouth, reluctantly, as if he didn't want to stop touching me. I whispered, "Kiss me."
A silver tear spilled from one eye, but he bent over me. The movement was slow and painful, and brought a sound low in his throat. He finally laid himself beside me, one hand still holding in what the queen's knife had spilled, but the other hand touched my hair. The look on his face was so raw, if I'd ever doubted he loved me, the doubt was gone; in that one look, I knew.
He kissed me, delicate as a snowflake, melting on my tongue. It was as if winter had a taste. Not just the crispness of the air with snow on the ground, but as if my tongue licked along some smooth, cold icicle, and snow filled my mouth, and melted down my throat like the sweetest of snow cones. He melted down my throat, and when his mouth moved back from mine, our breaths fogged in the air between us. I realized I could breathe and the sharpest of the pain was gone.
Frost sat up and drew his hand away from his stomach. That frightening red bulge was gone. He smoothed his hand down his stomach and gave me wide surprised eyes.
Doyle was there, kneeling by him. He spread the cloth wide, touching that smooth white flesh. Only when he turned to look full at me did I see the ruin Andais had made of one side of his face. The cheek down to his beautiful lips flapped loose. It was a wound that even a sidhe would need stitches for. Without some guidance, the cheek would heal as it wished, not as you might wish it.
I reached out for him, to share the power of the God, but he moved away, and motioned to someone behind him. I tried to raise up from the ground, to touch him, and the pain lanced through me, forced me onto my back, drove the breath from my body again. I was better, but unlike Frost and Galen, I was not healed.
Two of the guards brought Rhys forward. He sagged between them, and the sight of his face made me cry out. Not in horror, but in pain. Andais hadn't cut out the eye, as the goblins had so long ago, but she had burst it. I could see nothing of that beautiful blue, lost in the blood and the fluid that had rushed down his face. The skin around the eye socket was ringed on both sides with deep, jagged wounds that showed the bone of both skull and cheek. It looked as if she'd tried to cut away the skin from around his eye. Rhys's scar was just a part of him, and I loved every inch of him, but this... This was a ruin of him. He was well and truly blind. The queen had made sure he would not heal this, not with his own body's abilities. Not with any magic we had left to us.
I looked up into his face, and felt rage such as I had seldom known. Rage at the waste of it. So useless, so pointless. I didn't ask why, because there was no answer. The why was simply because, which was no answer at all.
I understood now why Doyle had drawn away and motioned for Rhys to come forward. I'd never before been able to heal with my kiss. If the ability did not last, Rhys needed it more. Doyle would scar, but he would still be Doyle. Rhys's injury was the sort to unmake a man, or remake him into someone else.
Andais's untouched guards were on either side of him, and I had a moment of anger that they had done nothing to stop this.
They helped Rhys kneel, but when he felt my hand, he recoiled. "Don't touch me, Merry, don't look."
It was Kitto, still kneeling in the cooling blood, who said, "She has returned from the Summerlands with the kiss of birds inside her."
Rhys moved that blind face, as if he'd look at Kitto. "I do not believe you."
I actually did not know the term kiss of birds, but I'd ask questions later. "Come to me, Rhys, and let me prove it."
Doyle pushed the others back, and it was he and Frost who guided Rhys to me. His face was covered in blood, but I did not shrink from it or try to brush it away. It was just another part of Rhys. His lips were salty with it. His lips touched mine, but he did not kiss me. I had to put my hand at the back of his neck, and the movement made me gasp.