by Jocelyn Fox
“This is for the pain and the shock.” Maeve pressed a rolled leaf into her hand. “Tuck it into your cheek, don’t chew it,” the master healer said, turning back to her table of alchemy.
Tess obediently tucked the bundle of herbs into her cheek, too tired to fight against the welcome relief from pain. It tasted like mint and lemon. Robin offered his shoulder again, one of his hands gliding feather-light over her hair as she leaned forward, giving the healers access to her back and giving in to the exhaustion sliding over her limbs. With the herbs in her cheek, the pain of her back receded to a dull discomfort and a warm glow chased away the cold emptiness spreading through her body.
“I should be helping everyone else,” she murmured into Robin’s shoulder.
“You just helped the Queens imprison Malravenar,” he replied in a quiet voice, one hand finding her hair again, “and that’s quite enough help for a good long while, I think.”
“One successful quest…doesn’t give me an excuse to be lazy,” she said, the words coming slowly. Her mind generated the phrase as sarcasm, but weariness pressed any humor from her voice.
“You’re not being lazy, Tess,” Moira said in gentle rebuke. “It’s called taking a moment to gather everything back together. Stitch your wounds, sleep, and let your warriors do the same. There are more than enough hands about to do the work that you think you should be doing anyway.”
She hummed noncommittally. The sensible part of her mind that could still think rationally – and it was a small part, at this point – knew Moira was right, but that didn’t allay the strange, empty restlessness digging into her stomach. “What will we do now?” Tess frowned slightly as Moira applied a numbing salve to her back. She glanced over to Maeve and saw her threading a silver needle, but the lemon and mint herbs softened even the thought of stitches.
Robin chuckled. “I’m not quite sure. Rebuild what was destroyed, as best we can. Build new and beautiful places for the new and beautiful things that have come out of the war.”
“Like the Wild Court,” she said, wincing as she felt the pressure of the needle and the pull of the thread. She didn’t feel any pain – the salve and whatever magic Maeve had rolled into that little bundle in her cheek made sure of that – but the sensation of the thread sliding through her skin made her feel oddly queasy.
“And the White City,” said Moira. “I never thought I’d live to walk the pathways of the White City as our forebears did.”
“Not all will see the beauty,” said Maeve, speaking for the first time since she’d begun work on Tess’s back, her voice sounding…old. Tess frowned slightly and raised her head, looking up at Robin. He shook his head slightly, his eyes grim.
“We’ll ask later,” he murmured quietly into her ear. In such a small space, she was sure that Maeve had heard him with her sharp Sidhe senses, but all fell silent for a few moments. Tess put the pieces together and surmised that one of the twins – or both – must have fallen in the battle, wounded or dead. It was the only thing that came to mind that would shake the unflappable white-haired healer. She felt a cold sort of sadness. Maeve finished stitching her back without another word, gave instructions to Moira in a quiet but firm voice, and left the compartment without a backwards glance.
Tess sat up a little straighter, rolling one shoulder experimentally, her movement rewarded by the tight pull of the fresh stitches against her skin. She much preferred it to the hot aching feeling of an untended wound.
“I’ll dress it now and then we’ll check it when you awaken,” said Moira, her voice subdued.
“Did one of the twins…?” Tess couldn’t finish the sentence, her throat tightening despite the fact that she’d thought she was too tired to feel emotions.
“Maire was killed on the first day of the battle,” Moira replied, her eyes downcast. “And Niamh lies senseless in the far reaches of this hall. She took a grave wound on the last day. Her faehal was also grievously injured. It was astonishing they weren’t both killed when they fell out of the sky.”
Tess shivered as the memory of the broken and bloody Valkyrie from the dragon hunt rose in her mind’s eye. “Quinn needs to be told.”
Robin touched her arm. “I’ll make sure of it.”
She shifted, that strange restlessness surfacing again. “I have to sleep here…away from everyone?” Her words sounded plaintive to her own ears. Silence and stillness wrapped cloyingly about her. She crossed her arms over her chest and looked up at Robin and Moira. She didn’t miss the look that passed between them, and Moira dipped her head.
“I’ll make sure that Quinn knows about Niamh, if he doesn’t already,” Moira told her.
“And I’ll stay here with you, if you’ll allow me,” said Robin, making it sound as though he were asking her permission.
“I’d like to join everyone else,” Tess said vaguely. She couldn’t corral her thoughts into any kind of sense, but she did know that she wanted to be close to the other fighters who’d experienced the horrors of the Dark Keep. She wanted to stave off the desperate, clawing loneliness that threatened to engulf her each time she remembered that Luca was gone. The thought beat like another heart in the back of her mind, constant and unrelenting: Luca is gone. Luca is gone. Luca is gone. She swallowed hard and willed herself not to cry. Tears would feel too much like mourning, and he wasn’t dead, she told herself fiercely.
“Most of the company that traveled with the Queens are in their own spaces, or with two or three others,” said Moira. “Everyone is eager to hear the story of our enemy’s defeat. Those able to talk have been speaking of nothing else but the return of the Queens’ warriors, and we thought it best to spirit you all away to give you time to recover.”
“I’ll stay,” Robin said almost gently. The brotherly affection in his voice almost undid Tess, and she was afraid her voice wouldn’t work, so she nodded jerkily, pulling at the stitches on her back again.
“I’ll let Liam know where you are,” Moira continued, “and everyone else of your company, if you wish it.”
Tess nodded again, staring down at her still bloody hands, running her thumbs over her raw palms idly. As Moira dressed the wound on her back, Robin took the basin from the herb table and set it next to her. Somehow it was still hot, and the fragrant steam smelled like lavender as it curled about her face.
“Now, Tess, you can wash while I see to Robin,” Moira said. She watched expectantly until Tess gingerly picked up the cloth folded over the side of the basin, dipping it into the warm liquid.
“Do you need the table?” Tess asked suddenly, the thought striking her halfway through washing her left hand. She looked up and found that Robin had stripped down to his breeches, letting Moira examine him without any hint of embarrassment. His golden skin was barely visible beneath layers of grime: dried blood that wasn’t his, marked by runnels of sweat and mixed with the strange gray dirt of the Dark Keep. Several shallow cuts marked his shoulders, and a mottled bruise spread like an ink stain over his ribs.
“There’s quite enough room for both of you to sit,” Moira replied a bit absently as she carefully separated a matted section of Robin’s hair to reveal a gash as long as her hand. “Almost down to the bone,” she said to herself. Robin winced slightly as her long fingers traveled like pale spiders over the rest of his head, returning to gently probe the darkly glistening wound. “I’ll need to trim this area to stitch it up.”
Robin groaned dramatically. “It’s not enough that my skull was nearly split, you must divest me of my dignity as well?”
“Unless you want the wound to become infected because I couldn’t properly tend to it, and then all your hair might fall out,” Moira replied, raising one eyebrow.
“Shear me like a spring lamb,” Robin sighed with an air of noble resignation as he sat beside Tess on the table, careful not to jostle her.
Tess began washing her right hand, watching the dried coppery flakes of blood spiral through the water of the basin. “You can ask my brother to bor
row one of his knit watch caps. Or maybe Quinn will lend you a baseball cap.”
“What is a base-ball cap, and does it look dashing?” Robin inquired with narrowed eyes.
“It’s from the mortal world. Only Liam, Quinn and Jess would have one.” She almost said and Duke, but she caught herself in time. Her second heartbeat pulsed at the back of her skull with painful insistence: Luca is gone. Luca is gone. Luca is gone. “And I suppose it’s dashing.”
“Well, I wouldn’t want to take anything that might remind them of their home, even if it would cover my unfortunate haircut,” said Robin, wincing as Moira deftly cut away locks of his red hair with a sharp little dagger.
“There are far worse things than an unfortunate haircut,” Moira reminded him. The undertone in her voice reminded me that she’d fought in the great battle with the Valkyrie. Tess eyed her surreptitiously as she sponged the last of the blood from her hands.
“You needn’t stare at me, Tess,” she said without looking away from her trimming operation. “I’ll have a few scars, but nothing that isn’t already on its way to healing.” She pressed her lips together. “And my faehal survived too, so I’m one of the lucky ones.” Her mane of golden curls swayed as she tilted her head, examining her handiwork. A swath of short-shorn hair angled across the back of Robin’s head, revealing the ugly lips of the wound.
“Did the blow that gave you that cut knock you out?” Tess asked. Her mind picked up that thread of thought, a glad distraction. It didn’t quite silence the drumbeat in the back of her consciousness, but it helped her push it away and compress it into something manageable.
“I think so,” Robin replied contemplatively. “Your brother and the ulfdrengr with the eye patch saved me, from what I remember. Chael.”
“We fought in a courtyard after going through the portal,” Tess said in a low voice to Moira. “We were there for at least a day and a night.”
“Two days and two nights,” Robin said, half-closing his eyes in reflection. “I feel like once we got into the throne room it all went faster. But then again, I was only half-conscious for most of that time because Malravenar was squeezing the air from our lungs.”
“It sounds like once you got past the courtyard, there wasn’t much for the fighters in the escort to do.” Moira threaded a fresh needle. Tess winced, grateful that at least her stitches had been in her muscle-padded shoulder. It wasn’t really the needle or the stitching that turned her stomach, it was the thought of the needle scraping against bone, weaving delicate skin together in so sensitive a part of the body.
“Except serve as targets for the wrath of a deity.” Robin made a considering sound. “We knew going into it that we were there to make sure the Queens and the Bearer made it to the throne room.”
“Steady,” Moira said quietly as she leaned close and the needle flashed. Robin’s body tightened and he drew in his breath with a hiss. Tess dried her hands carefully, picked up the basin and stood. Her legs were surprisingly steady as she set the basin on the herb table.
“Can I help at all?” she asked Robin. His eyes were closed, his face smooth with concentration and his breathing steady as he used some sort of Seelie meditation to deal with the pain. Or at least that’s what she assumed.
“I’ll be finished in a few moments,” Moira said. True to her word, she finished stitching with remarkable alacrity, tying the final knot and deftly cutting the thread with the same little knife that she’d used to cut Robin’s hair. “Done.”
Robin opened his eyes and lifted one hand as though he was about to feel the damage – to his hair or the wound itself, Tess wasn’t quite sure; but Moira looked at him balefully until he lowered his seeking hand.
“It doesn’t look that bad,” Tess said in what she hoped was an encouraging tone.
“Somehow I don’t entirely believe you,” Robin muttered, but he obediently kept his hands settled in his lap.
“We will all have scars,” said Moira, grinding herbs with a mortar and pestle.
Tess sighed. “I know. But sometimes it’s easier not to constantly think about the terrible price of the battle.”
“The terrible price of our freedom,” said Robin.
“It might be easier, but it doesn’t make it any less real,” Moira continued inexorably.
“I know that,” Tess said softly, her voice wavering as the reality of Luca’s absence once again rose up like a tide in her mind. Moira paused in mixing the salve for Robin’s wound, her eyes searching Tess’s face as the Bearer swallowed hard and then kept speaking. “There was a moment when the Great Seal was broken. I…there was a lot happening. Luca and Merrick and Duke are…gone. In the mortal world,” she added fiercely, willing herself not to give in to the tears pressing behind her eyes. She paused. Moira walked around the table, the little bowl of salve in one hand, and silently began applying the mixture to Robin’s head. When Tess was reasonably sure that her voice would work, she pressed on. “So they’re not dead. They’re in the mortal world. And I’m going to go find them.” She looked at the two Sidhe, daring them to challenge her statement. Defiance was easier than sorrow, especially layered over her exhaustion.
But rather than ask how she would find their three lost warriors in the mortal world, Robin reached out and gently gripped her arm, careful to avoid her shoulder. Moira finished dressing Robin’s wound and returned the small bowl to the preparation table. Then she turned and met Tess’s eyes.
“Well then, let me be the first to volunteer for the search party,” she said seriously. “That is, if my lady Queen Vell gives me leave, and you deem me a worthy addition.” A hint of a smile colored her last words.
Tess blinked in surprise. “I…thanks.” She tried to muster her own small smile but failed. “I haven’t…really thought that far ahead.
“No thanks are needed,” she replied brusquely. Her mane of curls swayed as she gave Tess a single firm nod. “You’re the Bearer. I have no doubt that you’ll bring them home, and I’ll like to be there with you when you do, whether on this side or the other.”
“Vell would approve, I think,” Tess said thickly.
“Anyone who assumes they know our Wild Queen’s mind is taking his life into his own hands,” said Robin.
“Well, you’re both patched up as well as I can do for the moment,” continued Moira without skipping a beat. “Come on, then.” She motioned to a smaller flap in the wall of the compartment that Tess would have sworn had not existed the moment before Moira gestured to it. “You didn’t think you’re to sleep in here, did you?”
Robin gathered his shirt from where he’d tossed it on the edge of the table. Tess went to grab her armor, but her back protested fiercely and she fought back a wave of nausea at the sudden movement. She settled for looping the strap of the Sword over her good shoulder, her motions slow and deliberate.
“Don’t worry about the rest of it,” Moira said. “I’ll find someone to clean it and return it to you.”
Tess didn’t even have the strength to protest as she and Robin followed Moira through the little doorway into another little room, the walls composed of silvery fabric just as every other room within the maze of the Vyldretning’s enchanted tent. Furs blanketed the floor, piled higher in some places, a few pillows scattered in the corners, and the room was dark and just cool enough to make her shiver slightly; Moira pressed steaming mugs into their hands, touched their shoulders briefly and said, “I’ll be back to check on you. Sleep.”
Robin and Tess settled down onto the furs, sipping cautiously at their mugs. She laid the silent Sword at the edge of the furs. They sat in companionable quiet. The warmth from the tea spread pleasantly through her body.
“A bit of white shroud in the tea, I think,” Robin said, swirling the liquid idly as he peered down into the cup.
“Haven’t heard of that one,” she said. Her eyelids felt heavy. The tendrils of warmth from the tea soothed her aching body.
“Used after battles mostly.” Robin took another lon
g swallow. “It helps with dreamless sleep. Some say that it can help heal invisible wounds, make the nightmares less terrible when they do appear. Seelie healers have used it for as long as I can remember. I’ve heard that Unseelie view using it as weakness.” He shrugged. “Personally I’ll welcome it.”
Tess didn’t even have the energy to feel indignant that Moira hadn’t told them about the tea. It was probably standard protocol, she thought tiredly, and besides, just because she was the Bearer didn’t mean that everyone was required to tell her everything. She hoped suddenly that she hadn’t been insufferable over the past weeks, demanding to know everything from everyone. Her thoughts flitted disjointedly from one subject to another. She swallowed a last mouthful of the pleasantly warm tea and set her mug down on a little table that had conveniently appeared in a corner of the compartment.
“Thanks for staying with me,” she said, dragging a pillow over to her side. Robin dimmed the little taebramh lights with a flick of his wrist.
“Of course,” he replied, his red hair gleaming even in the darkness. “It was a hard battle. No one should be alone who does not want to be alone.”
Tess slid down onto the furs, pulling one over her legs, the pillow impossibly soft beneath her cheek. She curled on her side, wincing as the movement pulled at the stitches in her back. Dimly, she sensed Robin settling down onto the furs as well, a warm, comforting presence within arm’s reach. With a little shudder, she gave in to her exhaustion, a tear escaping down her cheek as consciousness faded and she drifted into darkness.
Chapter 2
The air hung heavily over the river, draped like the Spanish moss over the reaching branches of the oaks. Awareness seeped back to him slowly. As he recognized parts of his body – back, chest, one leg, then the other, and finally his arms – the gears in his mind started grinding painfully forward, and he ran through his silent checklist. It wasn’t the first time he’d clawed his way out of unconsciousness in dubious circumstances.