Niall was putting some sort of soothing cream on the sun- and frost-burned skin of her back. She turned her head to look at him. She saw them, stretched across the room: burned tendrils of the shadowy vine flowing from her skin—a connection still, but not a conduit. "It's never going to go away, is it?"

Niall stared at the blackened vine. "I don't know. I couldn't see it before. I can now."

"It's closed off. That's what matters. And it's not going to open again." She sat up and had to bite her lip to keep from crying out.

"Are you … how do you feel?" He was tentative, still not pushing her to words or actions. He was near enough that she could take his arm if she needed support, but he didn't get in her space.

"Awful, but real," she said.

"The aloe should help. It's the best I can do. The mortal things won't work since it was faery. … I called Aislinn and—"

"It's good, Niall. Really. I don't mind that it hurts." She watched him look at her with such sorrow that it broke her heart to see it, to realize how difficult the past days had been for him too.

"Help me up?" She held out a hand so he could steady her until she saw how she was going to handle moving. Sometimes standing was painful enough that she'd fallen back down. This time she wavered a bit as Niall helped her to the bathroom, but it wasn't as awful as it had been. She was recovering, physically and mentally. It's time. She leaned on the doorframe and motioned toward the cupboard under the sink. "There's a hand mirror under there."

Without comment he got it out, and she turned in front of the large mirror and held the hand mirror up so she could see her back. The ink in her skin had faded to white and gray. It was as beautiful as before, but it'd been bleached, lightened by the sunlight and frost Niall had pressed into her skin.

My art now. My body. She lowered the mirror and smiled. It wasn't the tattoo that had changed her, had given her repossession of her body. It was her actions, her choices. It was finding the path when it looked like there weren't any paths to be found.

"Leslie?" Niall stepped behind her and looked at her in the mirror, holding the reflection of her gaze. "Are you going to be all right?"

She turned so they were face-to-face and gave him back the words he'd offered her their first night together: "I survived. Isn't that what matters?"

"It is." He pulled her closer and held her carefully.

They stood there, quiet and together, until she started to sway. Blushing, she said, "I'm still weak, I guess."

"You're not weak at all. Wounded, but that's nothing to be ashamed of." He helped her to the bed. Hesitantly he said, "Aislinn would come care for you if you'd allow it. I've left them, left Keenan, but they'll look after you. We can sort it out, and then—"

"Niall?" She tried to keep her tone gentle as she said, "I … I can't deal with your faery courts right now. I just want my life. This" — she gestured around her room—"isn't good, but it's better than your world. I don't want to be a part of the faery world."

"I can't change what I am. I'm not a part of the court, but I can't not interact at all with my world. … I …" He let his words fade.

This wasn't a conversation she wanted to have, not now, but it was there. "I still feel … something, whatever it was, for you, but right now … I need to start over, somewhere else … on my own."

"I tried to keep you safe." He told her that he'd kept guard over her for months, that he—and other of Aislinn's faeries—had walked beside her in the streets of Huntsdale. He told her that he'd tried to not speak to her before because Aislinn had ordered him not to, that she didn't want Leslie drawn into their world—and that he'd thought his queen wise to decide thus.

"I want to be with you. I'm not with the court now. I'm … solitary. I could come with you … take care of—"

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Right. You need time, but when you're ready … or if you need anything at all, ever …"

"I know." She leaned back on the pillows. "Can you call Ash to come over? I need to talk to her before I see Irial."

"Irial? Why would you—"

"I'm not the only mortal. There's plenty of people he could replace me with" — she kept the pain out of her voice, but she still had to pause—"if he hasn't already. I'm not going to walk away and leave someone else in my place." She thought about the weeping mortals on the floor, the bloody fights she'd seen the starts of before she blacked out, the knowledge that this was all Irial's being careful, gentle with her. What he'd be like without that caution was too much to consider. "I need to talk to Ash before I see him. I can't wait too long."

Niall sighed, but he went. She heard the front door open and close as he went to seek whoever waited outside. And she let herself drift to sleep, knowing that she was safe, free, and going to find a way to make sure that her freedom wasn't at the cost of another girl's life.

When Leslie walked into the suite that night, there was no one there but Irial. He didn't comment, didn't ask questions. He poured her a drink and held it out.

Silently she took it and walked over to the sofa. He followed but didn't sit near her. He pulled a desk chair over. It was uncomfortable to see him sit where she couldn't touch him.