by Jocelyn Fox
She swallowed thickly and nodded, not trusting her voice.
“Part of the battle or something else? Though of course you don’t have to talk about it if you aren’t inclined. I’ve found, though,” Robin continued as he delicately adjusted the taebramh lantern to give a little more light, “that talking about my nightmares helps.”
“You’ve had nightmares?” asked Tess, disentangling her legs from the blanket.
“Yes. Mostly of the battle in the courtyard. I thought it would never end, and in my dreams it doesn’t. Or at least, not until I’ve seen everyone I know killed by the monsters.” His green eyes flickered. “Sometimes they are resurrected, only to be killed again because I’m too slow to save them.”
“When I stood before the Dark Throne, Malravenar took me to my childhood home. He showed me my mother and father…actually, he tried to be my father. He told me he could give them back to me.” Tess drew her legs up and rested her chin on her knees. “I said no. In my dream, I’m there again. I can’t escape. But I can hear the screams. I can hear everyone being tortured.” She shivered. “And then Malravenar speaks through my father as though he’s not broken and bound into the river stones. He says that he will still claim all those I know and love.” She took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart. “It wasn’t real,” she said, more to hear the words aloud than anything.
Robin folded his legs beside her. “It wasn’t real, but dreams have a way of illuminating very real fears.”
“Malravenar is bound and broken in the river stones,” Tess said. She ran her thumbs over the scars lacing her palms. “I shoved the Sword through him myself.”
“You experienced his power first hand,” said Robin.
“He must have thought I was the weakest, because he focused on me.”
“Quite the opposite, I’d think,” replied Robin. “He didn’t give any of the rest of us a second glance. He focused on you because he knew you were the key to his downfall. And you broke free. You and the Queens defeated him.”
“Then why is he still in my head?” whispered Tess, feeling almost as forlorn as when she’d first woken up in Darkhill in a new and strange world. “It doesn’t feel like I defeated him.”
“I don’t have the answers to that, Tess,” Robin said, “but what I do have is a sword arm itching for some sparring.”
Tess folded the blanket and half-heartedly ran a hand over her braided hair. It would do, especially if she’d be sweating during a sparring session soon. “I should check on Nehalim too.”
“Oh, he’s getting fat in the paddocks,” said Robin. “I think he has his eye on a few pretty mares.”
Tess smiled. “Let me grab a quick bite before we head out.” She slipped the strap of the Sword over her head. Moira had pulled out the stitches across the top of Tess’s back before she’d gone to sleep, and the scar was tender but not unbearably so.
“Already covered.” Robin tossed her a neatly wrapped little packet that she found to contain an apple and a cold meat pastry from the prior night’s dinner. After buckling the scabbard of her plain blade to her belt, she followed Robin through the wending halls of the tent, eating her breakfast contentedly as they walked.
When they passed through the great columns of the entrance to the hall, Tess realized that it was the first time since they’d returned from the Dark Keep that she’d ventured outside. The sun shone brightly overhead, thick golden light pouring down over the ruins of the White City, gilding the pale stone and banishing all but the most harmless of shadows. Tess marveled at the marked difference just a very few days had made in the appearance of the city. New glass glimmered in the arched windows of the cathedral, and the stones of the path beneath their feet and the buildings rising around them gleamed alabaster in the sunlight, cleaned of the grime of decay and the Dark creatures’ occupation.
“There’s been talk of the Vyldretning setting up her Court here in the White City,” said Robin as they walked side by side down the causeway. “For now, Queen Mab has taken the western portion of the citadel and Titania the eastern. The Wild Court has made their place much where they please, but most of us are helping in the Queen’s Cathedral.”
“So it is a cathedral,” said Tess, tilting her head back slightly to better feel the welcome touch of the sun on her face.
Robin shrugged slightly. “That is the best word that I can find to describe what it once was. Something of a palace but also something of a place of worship. A sanctuary and a place of learning.”
“Like the Saemhradall?”
“All respect to the Seelie, but the Saemhradall was a pale copy of what this place once was.”
They passed a handful of Sidhe on the paved path, most of whom touched their foreheads in obeisance to Tess, who gave them a nod in return.
“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that,” she muttered.
“Well, you’ll only have to deal with it for the rest of your life,” replied Robin cheerily.
Tess rolled her eyes as she followed Robin off the main path and through a carved arch. They walked down the smaller path – alleyway? Tess wondered – and then passed through another, larger arch into a huge square.
“Now tell me that doesn’t put a smile on your face,” breathed Robin as they paused to take in the sight of the practice yard, large enough to hold hundreds of fighters and hosting at least three score warriors engaged in various activities. White chalk marked out sparring circles on the hard-packed earth, and at the far end of the square were targets painted with bullseyes for archery. The smell of wood smoke drifted briefly over the yard, and Tess traced the source to a building along the periphery of the practice grounds. A handful of fighters formed a queue just outside the open door, and she glimpsed the glow of a forge, the ring of a hammer on metal distant across the expanse of the practice yard.
“Chael has set up shop?” Tess asked as they made their way toward a practice ring.
“Some days,” replied Robin. “His apprentice Thea has taken on most of the simpler repairs to weapons, and Conall is there to help with the more complex work.”
Tess wondered if that meant that Chael was spending most of his time with the wolves – she hadn’t seen the one-eyed ulfdrengr or any of the three wolves in the great tent in the cathedral – but her thoughts were cut short as they reached an empty practice ring. She pulled the strap of the Sword over her head again, her hands lingering on the battered sheath for a moment longer than necessary as she stared into the emerald in the pommel. How many times had she growled in annoyance at the Sword’s presence in her head and the turn of its power behind her breastbone? Now she willed the Sword to give her any sign that it wasn’t just a dead instrument, a weapon that served no other purpose than to draw blood. If the Caedbranr was only a sword now, what did that make her? At least she still had her own taebramh, her reserves depleted but replenishing as she regained her strength.
“Tess?” prompted Robin.
She set down the Caedbranr just outside the practice ring and turned to face Robin. “Sorry. Got lost in my thoughts there for a moment. Would you like to start with a warm up sequence?” She drew the blade that bore the names of the dead, light rippling down its length, and they stepped into the ring, swords meeting in a choreographed dance.
After an hour of sparring, Robin grinned at Tess and motioned with his head toward the fountain in the corner of the yard. She sheathed her sword and nodded, catching her breath as she retrieved the Caedbranr and they walked the perimeter of the yard toward the water. Copper cups hung on hooks above the burbling fountain, once again giving Tess cause to appreciate the elegant simplicity of Sidhe design. Robin handed her a cup and she gratefully filled it with water, her eyebrows shooting up in surprise as she found that the water was ice-cold.
“That tastes almost as good as the water from the river in the Northern wilds,” she said with a smile.
“No water will ever taste that good,” retorted Robin with a grin.
Tess pu
lled her shirt away from her sweaty skin. The morning had grown warm, but not uncomfortably so, and a slight breeze brushed against her skin every now and again. Her eyes roamed over the Sidhe practicing in the yard. As they’d learned the hard way while traveling to the Dark Keep, appearance alone was not a sure way to decipher Courts anymore with the mixture of Seelie and Unseelie in the Wild Court. The Vyldgard did tend to set themselves apart voluntarily, though, wearing bright colors and complex braids with feathers and strips of dyed leather interwoven with their hair. Tess spotted a few of the Vyldgard sparring with some of the Seelie warriors. “Is everyone playing nicely together?”
Robin shrugged. “There is always a bit of tension, but the Unseelie have been rather withdrawn. We haven’t seen many in the common areas.”
Tess took another draught of the icy water. “Why?”
“Far be it from me to guess at Queen Mab’s motivation, but I have heard that she has…discouraged her subjects from mingling with the other Courts.”
“Whatever her motivation, that does sound like her.” Tess finished her water and wiped her cup clean, replacing it on the hook to be used by the next parched swordsman or archer. She frowned as they began the walk around the perimeter of the practice yard back to their circle. “Have you heard anything else about the Unseelie Court? I’d think that the rescue of the crown princess would improve Mab’s mood, but…” She let the sentence fade and shrugged.
“Rescue is a strong word,” said Robin. “Her body is here, yes, but her mind is gone. Or so I’ve heard.”
Tess pressed her lips together as she set down the Caedbranr. “I wouldn’t wish madness on anyone. But madness is her best defense right now. She killed Vyldgard.”
“And took part in the harrowing of the North, apparently,” said Robin grimly. “So both the Vyldgard and the ulfdrengr lose no sleep over her fate.”
“We sound ruthless, don’t we,” mused Tess.
“We are,” replied Robin without any sarcasm. “We’ve seen war. We stared into the face of evil and came out alive. That changes a person.”
“When did you become so serious?” she asked, shaking her head.
“When we stepped through the portal into the Dark Keep.” Robin paused and then grinned. “But I’ll tuck away the serious side for now. Another bout?”
“Sounds preferable to listening to your somber statements,” replied Tess with an answering grin. They stepped into the circle and leapt into another sparring match, this time almost at full speed. Tess found in surprise that she was almost as fast as she’d been before the journey into the Dark Keep, even without the Sword’s power rumbling in her chest. Apparently, she had been changed thoroughly and indelibly, and even if the Sword never awoke again she would remain not quite mortal. For the first time since she’d raced Vell down the mountain toward the White City, she let go of conscious thought, letting her body flow into the practiced motions of swordplay, the burn in her muscles and the slide of sweat down her back a welcome counterpoint to that feeling of impotence that had lingered in the back of her mind. Robin launched into a quick attack, driving her back across the circle, but she locked blades with him and slid away, dancing to the side. He turned and she slid her sword beneath his guard, resting the point neatly just below his rib cage. They remained in their frozen tableau for a quick moment, the only movement the rise and fall of their chests and the slow smile spreading across Tess’s face. She lowered her sword and Robin relaxed.
“You have lost none of your quickness, Lady Bearer,” he said with a grin and a playful bow. “Though your counters are still a bit sloppy when you’re tired.”
“And you have lost none of your cheek, Robin,” said a new voice from just outside our practice ring. Tess turned and her smile widened as she saw Moira.
“And you have lost none of…your…” Robin narrowed his eyes, grasping for an appropriate ending to the sentence. “Hair,” he finished triumphantly, grinning as Moira rolled her eyes.
“How observant,” the spritely Vyldgard fighter chuckled. Several strips of red leather bound back her mane of tightly coiled curls, keeping them out of her face but letting them spring free in a golden halo around her head, like a painting of a Byzantine saint.
“Well, keeping hair isn’t a given these days,” said Robin, raising his eyebrows. He raised his free hand to the back of his head, where stubble of scarlet hair had begun to grow around his still healing gash.
“I know, since I cut your hair myself,” replied Moira, grinning. “Unless the knock to your head made you forget that.” She slid her bow down from her shoulder. “Mind if I join your session?”
Robin promptly stepped out of the ring and threw himself emphatically down on the ground, leaning back on his elbows. “By all means, try to counter the supernatural quickness of the Bearer.”
“Thanks for asking me whether I wanted a break,” Tess said dryly.
“I need to warm up, in any case, so there’s ample time for you to recover,” said Moira, her curls swaying about her head as she completed a few slow patterns with her sword.
“I’ll be fine. I just wanted to see whether I could make Robin blush.” Tess raised an eyebrow at the red-haired Vyldgard warrior.
“Takes a lot more than that to make me blush, dear Tess,” Robin replied with a lazy smile, watching the sun gleam on Moira’s sword as she increased the speed of her strokes.
“Well, you know the saying. Or maybe you don’t,” amended Tess. “If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again!”
The sunlight and good companionship did wonders for her spirits as noon approached, their shadows shortening beneath them to daubs of darkness on the hard-packed earth. Tess sparred with Moira, losing two out of three matches.
“There goes any chance of my ego growing too big,” she said, only half-joking, as she watched the tip of Moira’s blade lower from her throat.
“If you were fresh, it would have been a different story. As it was, we are very evenly matched. Perhaps you should consider being more willing to switch sword hands,” Moira said.
“I don’t want to rely on my left hand too much,” Tess said, wiping sweat from her forehead with her sleeve.
“You’re not relying on it. You’re using it to your advantage. In any case, I think I shall challenge Robin to a few matches.” Moira raised one eyebrow and pointed her sword beckoningly at Robin.
“And I shall gladly accept such a ravishing sparring partner,” Robin replied, springing to his feet.
“And I shall gladly accept a break,” said Tess, mostly to herself. She wiped her face again and smoothed back the tendrils of hair that had escaped her braid. There was no shade to be found, but she didn’t mind much as she took Robin’s place at the perimeter of the circle. She hadn’t yet tired of the warm sunlight. Perhaps she would never tire of warmth, she thought idly, since she’d felt the cold touch of Malravenar trying to wrench the life from her body. As she watched Robin and Moira spar, her mind circled back to the problem that occupied every spare moment – the opening of a Gate between the worlds. Could they open the Gate as Malravenar had tried to do, by breaking the Seal? Or was the Great Gate so poisoned that it needed to remain sealed by Titania and Mab’s enchantment? If that was so, Tess thought, they could most likely open a lesser Gate like the ones that had existed in the Seelie and Unseelie lands even after the closing of the Great Gate centuries ago.
She rested her unsheathed blade across her knees and watched the sun shine on the silver between the engraved names of the war dead. The names rippled slightly, moving beneath the smooth surface of the sword like the reflection of clouds moving across a still lake. Tess watched the names intently. Murtagh’s name eventually appeared, and a few moments later Kavoryk. They were still compiling the records of the dead. She had checked with the Scholars of the Seelie Court once already, adding the names of their dead to the sword. Each Court kept a great scroll as census, births and deaths, and a separate column for the coming of age ceremony in which the
ir Queen publicly acknowledged the Sidhe as adults. In the Unseelie Court, the tradition involved drinking water containing Mab’s blood, binding them to her and allowing her to sense any disloyalty. Tess wondered if any of that had changed with the resolution of the war. During the bleakest days of the struggle with Malravenar, Mab had resorted to draining the life force from members of her Court chosen by lottery, Murtagh among them.
Tess swallowed back the tightness in her throat and touched the smooth surface of her sword lightly with two fingers. She’d freed Murtagh from Mab’s hold, but in the end, she had killed him by draining his power to free Queen Titania from Malravenar’s ethereal prison. In a way, she was no better than Queen Mab. The thought rankled her. She clenched her jaw and took a deep breath. To distract herself, she plucked a small spark of her taebramh from the recovering well by the pulse of her heart, sending the bit of power rolling down her war markings like a marble on a spiral chute. She rested her chin on her shoulder and watched the intricate whorls of her markings flash emerald beneath the white cloth of her shirt. The little spark split into four different pulses of light, sliding over the paths of her war markings like a bit of captive lightning. The sparks reached her hand and jumped from her skin to the smooth surface of her sword, disappearing with a little ripple into the shifting engravings of the names of the dead.
Tess shifted her focus and watched Robin and Moira lock blades, both of them moving with liquid grace, springing toward each other and then dancing away. She thought of the training session on the great flat plain of the Deadlands where they’d pitted the vanguards against one another in good-natured contest, and all the warriors had watched the twins Niamh and Maire battle fiercely for the victory. It still didn’t seem real to her sometimes that Maire and Elwyn and so many of those she had known were dead. Somehow she expected the twins to come prowling into the practice grounds, golden and beautiful and alive. Her chest ached dully at the thought.
“All right, Tess?” Robin asked, the two fighters taking a quick break between matches.