by Jocelyn Fox
He lay face up. Good. Face down was never good, and he felt warm wetness beneath him. His first thought was blood…but no, he lay in a sort of spongy mud. He probed with his mind and felt all his limbs. Also good. But he didn’t feel the weight of body armor around his torso, or the pull of a weapons sling around his neck. Confusing, but not necessarily bad. Did he flip his truck or roll an all-terrain vehicle on leave? He brushed aside the questions. Focus. Breathe again, deeply, testing for pain. Dull aches around his ribs, like he’d been in a fight and gotten punched a couple of dozen times, but no sharp announcement of a dire injury…though until he opened his eyes, he couldn’t be sure.
Next item on the checklist. Move fingers, and then move toes. Both functional. On to arms and legs. Also functional, though sluggish and leaden. His mind circled back, gnawing at the mystery of how exactly he’d gotten into this mess. Because if there was one thing he was sure of – and there weren’t many at this particular moment in time – it was that he was in some sort of mess. What flavor of mess exactly, he’d figure out shortly.
His head ached, the pain intensifying as he rolled his eyes behind closed lids. Had he gotten into a bar fight? It had been years since he’d slept off liquor and bruises in a buddy’s back yard, but it wasn’t out of the question. He swallowed thickly. And then his mind kindly flashed him a memory along with the next swell of pain inside his skull – the chaos of a battle in a dark cavern, the ground shaking beneath his feet as he ran across slick stones toward a stone altar and a figure holding aloft a shining cup…
Duke inhaled sharply and jerked fully awake, an involuntary sound of pain escaping his lips as he sat up, digging his hands into the soft mud beneath him. A familiar smell surrounded him: heavy wet earth, the humid air thick with the scent of trees and swamp, life and death. God, it smelled like the bayou. It smelled like home.
He opened his eyes, squinting against the morning sun, and when his vision cleared, he inhaled again in shock.
He was home. He was sitting on the bank of the Pearl River – or really a little unnamed offshoot of the Pearl, amid the swamp oak, Spanish moss and heavy air of southern Louisiana. He swallowed thickly, blinking hard. Had it all been a dream? Had he been laid out long enough for his mind to spin that fantastic tale of beautiful warrior women on winged horses, and warriors with the eyes of wolves?
A sudden surge of nausea overwhelmed him. He rolled to one side and retched, emptying his stomach – or what little there had been in his stomach. And then as he wiped his mouth on his sleeve, he froze, staring at the stained and grimy shirtsleeve. He looked down at himself, blinking at the sight of a simple green shirt. And he wasn’t wearing his plate carrier and Kevlar, but instead a breastplate made of some sort of fantastically light metal.
“Holy shit,” he whispered to himself. “It was…it was real.”
The memories rushed back so quickly that he grimaced and closed his eyes again. He’d been reaching for someone when the portal had opened…Liam? He remembered seeing Liam stabbed. A spark of anger at the dark figure that had hurt his teammate whirled in his chest. But no, it hadn’t been Liam that he’d been straining to grab before the sinkhole had enveloped them…
He sat up straighter, ignoring his aching ribs. The grass by the riverbank was long and he couldn’t see anything beyond the thicket swaying gently around him. He clenched his jaw, rolled to his knees and levered himself upright. Motion to his left, farther into the grassy field, caught his eye. He saw a figure just beginning to stir within a circle of bent and broken grass, as though the man had been thrown onto the ground and rolled with the force of the impact.
Duke swallowed, recognizing the quickening of his heartbeat as the sick feeling of not knowing the location of his teammates. It was one of the worst feelings, second only to the breathless impact of an explosion in the index of his experience. There hadn’t been just one of them inside that strange circle; there had been Liam, and then the big wolf warrior – Luca, his mind supplied – and one other. It had all happened so fast. But he knew there were two of them, and he tore his gaze from the stirring figure in the grass. His legs protested slightly as he stumbled closer to the bank of the shallow river. It was only knee-deep in most places, studded with little hillocks of marsh grass. The bank was soft, the mud squelching beneath his boots. He raked the river with his gaze, searching in sectors, and then he saw the prone form laying half in the water. Duke swore under his breath and splashed into the river, hoping that he wasn’t too late.
Chapter 3
Warmth enveloped her, wrapping her in a sense of security even as the fog of sleep fell away from her mind. Tess stirred and paused as she felt the arm tucked over her shoulder and the warm body in front of her. Her first thought turned to Luca – but the man with his arm about her didn’t smell like wolf and snow and pine. She stiffened as she remembered. Luca was gone.
She opened her eyes and waited for her sight to adjust to the dimly lit compartment. Even in the shadows, Robin’s hair was unmistakable. They lay facing each other, her head tucked under his chin, his arm protectively wrapped about her shoulder and his other arm pillowing his head. But other than her head against his chest and his arm over her shoulder, their bodies didn’t touch. Tess felt the tension leave her limbs as she remembered her insistence at not being left alone, and Robin’s brotherly assurance that he’d watch over her as she slept. She felt the comforting rhythm of his heartbeat against her skin, so she closed her eyes and breathed in the warm scent of him – sunlight, and a faint hint of cinnamon – and let herself drift back into dreamless darkness.
The second time Tess woke, Robin and she slept back to back, just close enough that they could feel each other’s warmth. She lay still for a few moments, letting the memories of the past days filter back into her awareness. The strained hollow feeling of exhaustion had abated, but she still felt empty. She swallowed hard against the harsh realization of loss as, one by one, the names of those they’d lost in the battle drifted through her mind. Sorrow whirled through her like a cold wind. She curled into herself, drawing her knees to her chest, feeling utterly alone despite Robin’s solid form at her back. Her mind started replaying the scene in the throne room of the Dark Keep. Perhaps if she’d resisted Malravenar for longer, or somehow warned the Queens about the Dark Archer taking their blood…
Robin stirred and sat up. Tess curled tighter into herself, a shudder rolling through her.
“Tess?” Robin asked, the edges of his voice still soft with sleep.
“He’s gone,” she said, her voice barely louder than a whisper, the sound rasping past the tears clogging her throat. With an effort, she pushed herself onto an elbow and then sat up, wrapping her arms around her knees. Robin waited silently. “There should have been something…I should’ve done something differently. Maybe if I’d fought harder, he’d still be here.”
“Do you really believe that?” Robin said seriously. He ran a hand through his hair. She felt him watching her, waiting for her reply.
“I don’t know,” she said into her knees.
“All of us will have those thoughts,” Robin continued. “We all saw friends die. You think, maybe if I’d stayed closer, maybe if I had just been fiercer or quicker, they would still be alive.” He paused and shook his head slightly. “And maybe it’s true. But can you change it now?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“No,” he agreed. “So why torture yourself with thoughts of what could have been?”
“Because I guess that’s how my mind works,” she said with a sigh. “The logical part of me knows that I did everything I could have in the moment. I fought hard. We fought hard. We knew going into the Dark Keep that some of us wouldn’t come out.” She stopped and waited for the swell of bone-scraping sorrow in her chest to subside. “It’s just…it’s not easy. I feel…empty. I can’t feel the Sword. I don’t know whether it’s gone to sleep, or whether it’s done with me because I accomplished the mission.” She looked over at the
plain, battered scabbard of the Sword where it lay silently at the edge of their sleeping furs. The emerald in the pommel didn’t blink at her; no primal wolf prowled in the back of her mind and no fiery power turned restlessly in her chest. Just a silence and emptiness that made her ears ring and her head ache dully.
“Nonsense,” said Robin firmly. “You’re the Bearer. You’ll be the Bearer until you pass the Sword on to the next of your bloodline.” He caught her gaze with his own bright green eyes. “You’re not alone. Whatever you feel, whatever you think, just remember that you’re not alone. The days after a battle are hard. And now…with Malravenar defeated, we’ll all have to find another purpose.” He raised his eyebrows. “I think you already know your purpose, though, Tess.”
She blinked. “Yes. I’m going to open a portal and find them.” Her voice hardened. “Even if they’re dead, they deserve that much. I won’t abandon them.”
“There you are, Lady Bearer,” Robin said with a smile.
She frowned and then had to smile a little too. “Thanks,” she muttered, raising one eyebrow. “You did that on purpose.”
“Of course I did,” he replied, stretching languorously.
Tess tilted her head, testing the limits of motion before she felt the pull of the stitches across the top of her back. Her skin felt tight and dry; she blinked and ran her tongue over her lips, wondering how long they’d slept. The little corner table that suddenly existed again – her eyes slid away from the spot and then it was there – now boasting a small brass lantern, not lit with flame but a softly glowing thread of taebramh. The lantern emitted the perfect amount of light, not enough to hurt their eyes but enough to let them see everything without straining in near darkness.
“I don’t think they’re dead,” Robin said, running light fingers over the line of neat stitches on the back of his head.
“I don’t think they are either,” she agreed, “but somehow it makes me feel a little better to just…acknowledge the possibility.”
Robin made a sound of agreement, still probing his wound. After another long moment, he dropped his hand and shrugged. “Well, nothing for it…there are worse things than being shorn like an errant lamb.”
Tess chuckled, her voice grating dryly in her throat. “It really doesn’t look that bad.” She winced and swallowed.
“Waking up after a long sleep with white shroud is often a bit unpleasant,” said Robin. “Let’s go find some breakfast. Or dinner. Whatever time of day it happens to be.” He extended a hand to her and she took it, more for the feel of his brotherly clasp than out of necessity. Her body protested as he levered her onto her feet. It felt as though every major muscle in her arms, legs, and back had been put through the most intense workout she’d ever endured – which was true, in a sense – three days of fighting in the courtyard of the Dark Keep, and then struggling against Malravenar. No wonder she felt like she’d been through a double training session with Luca. A little shard of pain lanced into her chest at the unbidden thought, but she took a deep breath and let it settle. She couldn’t fall to pieces every time she thought of him. Then Tess revised the thought: she couldn’t fall to pieces at all. He needed her to be strong so that she could find him and bring him home.
Tess picked up the Caedbranr from its resting place at the edge of their furs, feeling the familiar grain of the worn leather strap against the tender skin of her healing hands. The smooth spots on the scabbard and bandolier gleamed in the light of the little lamp, a silent testimony to the centuries of Bearers before her who had borne the Sword. How many times had the leather strap of the bandolier been replaced, or the scabbard repaired after a hard battle? She studied it, noticing as if for the first time that one of the buckles of the bandolier was tarnished silver and the other looked to be gold beneath its patina of age.
“You could wear it against your hip,” Robin suggested. In the moments that she’d contemplated the Sword, he’d somehow procured a fresh shirt and combed his fingers through his scarlet hair, setting it at a rakish angle to his sharp green eyes.
She pressed a thumb against the cool leather of the bandolier. “No.” She pulled the strap over her head, as she’d done so many mornings before this one, as she’d done on the morning of the battle at the Dark Keep. She settled the Sword along her spine, ignoring the sharp ache that reminded her of her healing wound. The blade remained silent, but it was still comforting somehow to feel its weight on her back.
Robin raised one eyebrow. “Don’t go strange on me, Tess.”
“What do you mean?” She felt her forehead wrinkle.
“Oh, you know, the self-loathing and guilt that you survived a great battle when so many did not. Punishing yourself by choosing pain.”
“That’s ridiculous.” She pressed her lips together. “I just want to wear it the way I usually do. Something normal. Or as normal as things get around here, anyway.” She met his eyes beneath his still-raised eyebrows. “If I get the urge to self-flagellate, I’ll be sure to let you know.”
“Sarcasm and a three syllable word,” Robin said with a mischievous glint in his gaze. “Now I know you’re awake. Come on then, food.”
“Finally,” Tess muttered. Robin merely chuckled as he pushed aside the curtain to their little compartment. As soon as they stepped into the passageway, the cocoon of silence fell away. Tess heard the murmur of voices, the hum of industry, and every now and again the cry of someone in pain. She jumped a little at the first sound of agony, but steeled herself and followed Robin as he slid down the hall with typical Sidhe grace. She let her thoughts wander aimlessly, marveling again at the ingenious magic woven into the High Queen’s great gray tent, although it made her head start to hurt when she contemplated the complexity of the sorcery that would adapt the tent to every person’s uses, as it seemed to do. They walked down a short passageway, marked on either side by jewel colored curtains that no doubt led to other sleeping compartments. When they reached the end of the hall, she glanced over her shoulder and saw the rows of curtains stretching as far as her eyes could make out; she blinked and something like a chuckle shuddered through the air.
Tess pushed away a sense of déjà vu as they entered a great room with a long table laden with food. It reminded her of when she’d first been allowed to leave her room after awakening in the Hall of the Outer Guard. She flexed her hands, running a thumb over the lacy scars on her palms.
“Lady Tess!” A red hawk arrowed through the air, the breeze from its wings brushing an errant strand of hair from her cheek.
“May I have the pleasure of accompanying you to your meal?” Forsythe asked as the small, agile bird circled again. “Gyre is restless and I would like to send him for a hunting flight.”
“I’d be happy to have you join us,” she said, and Forsythe leapt from Gyre’s back on the hawk’s next pass, landing neatly on her shoulder. His wings extended for balance, he bowed to her, though she could only see him out of the corner of her eye. He sent Gyre off with a sharp little whistle, and the red hawk soared into the upper reaches of the tent, disappearing from view.
“Robin, this is Forsythe,” Tess said, motioning to the Wild Court fighter. Robin inclined his head. “Forsythe and his sister Flora were my first teachers in swordsmanship.”
“Then I must thank you, Forsythe, for your help in creating such a formidable fighter,” said Robin.
A blush heated her cheeks and she cleared her throat. “Formidable isn’t necessarily the word I’d use.”
“Legendary?” suggested Forsythe gravely. “We have been hearing tales of your prowess in the final battle against the Shadow Throne.”
“Legendary,” agreed Robin with a devilish gleam in his eye. “That’s exactly the word I’d use.”
“If your goal was to thoroughly embarrass me before breakfast, you’ve succeeded,” she told them. “Now, can we just get some food?”
“The Lady Bearer gets a bit contentious when she’s hungry,” Robin said to Forsythe in a mock whisper.
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br /> “Insufferable, both of you,” she muttered, grabbing a plate and surveying the bounty spread on the table. Most of the food was simple, but there was abundance. Tess single-mindedly filled her plate with bread, roasted meat, cheese and some fruit that looked something like a blueberry but tasted of honey. She added a few more onto her plate after experimentally tasting one and turned to the other long table reserved for eating. A few dozen Sidhe sat at the table. One glance was enough for her to realize that while the Wild Court and Seelie seemed to have no problem mingling, the few Unseelie sat in knots by themselves. She sighed.
“Not enough food for you?” Robin asked, bearing two plates of his own.
“Oh, there’s plenty of food,” Tess replied, heading toward an empty stretch of table. “I was just thinking that fighting Malravenar together apparently wasn’t enough to make the Seelie and Unseelie stop despising each other.”
“That is an old, deep wound, and it has festered for a long time,” he replied, setting his plates down on the table. He looked at her consideringly, his voice low and uncharacteristically serious. “Have you heard the rumors from the Unseelie Court?”
Tess climbed over the bench, wincing as the movement stretched the tight muscles in her legs. “I don’t usually put much stock in rumors, Robin, especially considering that I was the subject of so many during my time in Mab’s Court. Some of her subjects seem to amuse themselves by thinking up the nastiest stories they can.” She paused. “But considering the fact that I just woke up, no, I haven’t had the chance to listen to any gossip.”
“I said rumors, not gossip,” said Robin mildly, his voice still serious, “and sometimes rumors are just shadows of a truth that is too terrible to view in its entirety.”
Tess put down her fork and sighed. “All right. I see I won’t be able to eat in peace until you tell me.”
A spark of amusement glimmered in Robin’s eyes. “I just think it’s important for you to know all the latest news.”