by Jocelyn Fox
The Valkyrie commander had the grace to look slightly chastened. “Aye, Lady Bearer,” she said with reluctant repentance.
“I need you to help me watch Ramel, in any case,” continued Tess.
“Niall should know,” said Calliea.
“As long as it’s made clear that it is not an alliance against the Unseelie, or anything of that sort.” Tess shook her head. “If Mab is controlling Ramel, physically controlling him, then I want to figure out how to break the spell.”
Calliea opened her mouth, then thought better of whatever she was about to say and settled for a vaguely disapproving look.
“I didn’t want to ask that of you,” said Molly softly, “but…Tess, I’m in love with him. That’s part of why I made the deal.” She swallowed. “Mab was already going to send Ramel. This way, at least I’m here…at least I could tell you.” Her eyes caught the dim light of the flickering lantern, wide and beseeching. “Please believe me, Tess. I’m not going to kill you.” Molly’s face settled into a determined expression. “Even if she kills me, I’m not going to kill you.”
“I won’t let her kill you, and I won’t let her kill Ramel, either,” Tess said. The Sword rumbled in her chest as the words left her lips.
Molly smiled sadly. “Thank you for saying it. I know that it’s a long shot, but I can’t leave him.”
Tess smiled in reply. “I know a thing or two about being stubborn when it comes to the man you love.”
After a short moment of silence, Molly said, “I should get back. If I’m not there when he wakes up, it might go badly for him.”
Tess wanted to ask what exactly Molly meant by that. Would Ramel hurt her? Had Ramel already been hurting her? She felt sick at the thought of her cheerful friend being forced to lay hands on the woman he loved. But before she said anything, Molly darted away, sliding through the cracked door and moving quietly down the hallway of the trailer.
Calliea relaxed, her hand leaving her whip. Her heart-shaped face was grave as she looked at Tess. “It’s not easy to accept, but you can’t save everyone.”
“What kind of person would I be if I didn’t try?” Tess replied wearily, sitting on the bed again. “Molly used to be my best friend…if she has her memories back, she’s the Molly that I knew before I became the Bearer. That should mean something.”
“History doesn’t always mean something, just as friendship doesn’t always mean something,” Calliea said.
“When did you become such a misanthrope?” Tess asked.
Calliea frowned slightly and then sighed. “Probably after seeing so many good warriors die in the battle for our freedom. Or what we thought was our freedom.”
Tess thought for a moment, trying to ignore the prickling of the Sword’s power in the spaces between her vertebrae. The expansion didn’t make her feel sick anymore. The comment she’d overheard from Calliea made sudden sense. Her body was adjusting to this new world and new power as she slept. She brought her thoughts back to the conversation. “Have you heard of the Exiled, Calliea?”
Calliea looked at her for a long moment and then nodded. “Yes. I have heard the tales of the Exiled. And the rebellion.”
“Do you think they were right to rebel?” Tess watched her friend carefully. The Sword went still, seeming to listen for the answer.
“In a sense, yes,” said Calliea. “But I have what measure of freedom I wish within the Vyldgard. The Vyldretning will not abuse her power. I place my full faith and trust in her. And in you.”
“Is joining the Vyldgard seen as an act of rebellion?”
“Not in the strictest sense,” said Calliea slowly, “because it is the High Queen’s Court. It is rooted in the First Queen’s power that Vell is owed the choice of willing warriors from the two Courts. Perhaps in the future it will be different, if we can have children within the Vyldgard.”
“But Mab resents her warriors choosing to go to the Vyldgard.”
“Mab has always been a jealous Queen.”
“And Titania?” Tess asked. She thought of the battle at the Dark Keep, when the kind and loving exterior of Titania evaporated into a fierce, battle hardened fighter. Did the same jealousy simmer beneath the Seelie Queen’s beautiful visage?
“Titania is as good to her subjects as she seems,” said Calliea with a rueful smile. “I felt a bit guilty about leaving, to be honest.”
“You felt called to be one of the Vyldgard,” replied Tess. “It’s only right that you follow that calling.”
“True. But…what’s that mortal expression…biting the hand that feeds you?” Calliea raised an eyebrow. “It felt a bit like that.”
“Titania was the one who brought me to the Saemhradall,” Tess said with a slight smile at the memory.
“I think it was a test,” said Calliea. “She was surprised that you saved me. I think that truly made her believe that you were chosen to be the Bearer.”
Tess frowned. “Titania wanted me to save you. Why else would she have brought me there?”
“Revenge is a powerful motivator, is it not?” Calliea asked calmly. “If you had watched the monsters slaughter me while you were helpless to stop it, you would have leveled the Dark Keep to compensate for your failure to save me. Which is what happened anyway.” She smiled. “I’m grateful that you pulled your blade out of thin air and gave me a fighting chance. But I guess what I’m saying is that it would have served Titania’s purpose whether I lived or died.”
“That’s…incredibly callous,” Tess said, searching for words.
“It’s brutal, but ruling the Courts has never been easy.”
“Brutality seems to be a common theme between both our worlds.” Tess rubbed one hand over her face.
Calliea sat down beside her on the bed. “I never thought I’d be a warrior,” she said quietly, staring at the flickering lantern and the shadows dappling the water stained walls. “But sometimes the path is already laid before our feet, and we only need to take the first step. I’m glad that I could make a difference in the battle.”
“Wouldn’t it be different if Mab and Titania went to war against each other?” Tess asked. “Killing monsters is one thing. Killing Sidhe is another.”
“Brother against brother,” agreed Calliea grimly. “It has almost come to war before, but we’ve always managed to step back from the brink.”
“Like when the rebels were exiled?”
“Like when the rebels were exiled.” Calliea nodded. “There’s always a price to pay.”
“But what price is too high?” Tess murmured, almost to herself.
Calliea sighed. “I wish I knew, Tess.” She stood and walked back over to the door, settling against the wall and extending one leg across the threshold so that any attempt to enter the room would also alert her. “I think the best thing now is to get more rest. I’ll talk to Niall tomorrow.”
“I’ll talk to Jess,” Tess said. “Just so that he’s on the same page with everything. I don’t think he much cares about Sidhe politics anymore.” The emerald in the pommel of the Sword blinked at her as she rearranged the cloak on the bed. Though her mind whirled with questions about Molly and Ramel, she slid surprisingly quickly into sleep. As her eyes closed, she thought she saw small, glowing flakes of taebramh appearing in the air about her, swirling like snow, but then sleep claimed her and she drifted into a dreamless slumber, the rain and thunder her lullaby.
Tess woke again to a strange tingling in her right arm. She blinked the sleep from her eyes and rubbed at her skin – it felt like when the Sword had marked her with her war markings in the Royal Wood, its power biting into her skin like the sting of a tattoo gun. She noticed the silence as she sat up. The storm had passed, and the weak gray light of early dawn seeped through the less blemished portions of the dirty window. Then why were the shadows so sharp on the wall beside her, every detail of the broken headboard thrown into sharp relief? She realized belatedly that her war markings glowed hotly through her shirtsleeve, and the Caedbranr’s emer
ald swirled with a fierce, bright light. As the sleep faded from her mind, her war markings faded into a less intense luminescence, pulsing slightly with her heartbeat.
“Oh, good. You’re awake,” said Calliea. “You’re like a miniature sun when you sleep now. Or maybe a star would be a more apt comparison.”
“What?” Tess asked. Why did everyone insist on bombarding her with riddles in the first five minutes of waking up?
“You have an aura!” pronounced Farin, leaping from the small nightstand into the air. “But only when you sleep.”
Tess frowned slightly…and then she remembered the strange bits of glowing taebramh drifting around her as she let sleep swallow her. She experimentally reached for her taebramh and jumped off the bed in surprise as a roaring inferno greeted her. Sparks crackled from her war markings – real sparks – singeing their way through her sleeve. The Caedbranr’s power swirled around her well of taebramh and helped compress it into a smaller whirlwind. “Thanks,” Tess gasped.
“So I take that little display to mean that you’re back at full power?” Calliea asked, looking at the little scorch marks on the floor where the sparks had showered down from Tess’s arm.
“More than full power,” Tess replied. “I think I’ve been…absorbing taebramh while I was asleep.”
Calliea nodded. “Yes. It looked a bit like snow.”
“Or tiny feathers,” contributed Farin.
“How?” Tess shook her head. She reached out silently to the Sword. This would be a great time to explain something to me for once.
The Caedbranr’s reply knocked the breath from her chest. Its voice was deeper, more resonant and layered. You seem to imply that I have not been gracious in helping you.
Tess sucked in a breath. So we get supercharged and you get cheekier. Fantastic.
You do not need me to explain something so simple, said the Sword, its power twining around her spine.
Tess blinked. She let her mind absorb the facts, mull them over, and then she smiled slowly. Taebramh is the stuff that gives mortals dreams. I just came into the mortal world, with billions of mortals dreaming every night. A little thrill of foreboding shivered through her as she thought of the sheer numbers of people in the world. What happens if I can’t hold all the taebramh? It won’t just keep filling me until I…explode, will it?
Don’t be ridiculous, admonished the Sword in a somewhat bored voice. You are merely the conduit. You will balance the flow between your world and Faeortalam.
But there’s not a Gate, she returned silently.
There is – in you. You are the connection between the two worlds right now. The pressure might lessen if the Queens build another Great Gate, or something more permanent than their silly revolving door.
“Great,” muttered Tess. She took a deep breath and smiled at Calliea and Farin. “Apparently I’m the filter for all the taebramh flowing from the mortal world into the Fae world now.”
Calliea grimaced. “That sounds uncomfortable.”
Tess chuckled. “A little. But if it gives me the juice we need to blast this bone sorcerer, I’m alright with it.”
“And you look quite beautiful when you are glowing and sleeping,” added Farin seriously.
“That helps, too,” Tess allowed with a smile. Somehow the revelations of the night didn’t seem as dire with this molten stream of taebramh flowing through her. “All right, let’s gather everyone for our morning meeting.”
“Niall took another watch. It seemed like you needed a bit more sleep,” said Calliea.
Tess smiled. “More time to soak up taebramh. But I think from here on out, I’ll be fine with our usual traveling schedule.” She stood and slipped the strap of the Sword over her head. “Time to go see where this bone sorcerer is lurking.”
Chapter 22
The clash of metal on metal echoed throughout the practice yard. Finnead leapt away from a sweeping sword, bringing his own blade up to counter with a strong, fast stroke. His feet danced lightly over the packed dirt as he avoided another onslaught, his dark hair curling at his temples, damp with sweat. The air pressed in around him as his opponent launched a savage attack – three crisp strokes and Finnead stumbled, the Brighbranr wavering in his hand as he felt the cold sting of the tip of a blade digging into the soft base of his throat.
“Where is your head?” snapped Vell, her golden eyes flashing as she lowered her blade. She shook her head and pointed her sword at Finnead. “Stop thinking about her and focus.”
Liam and Gray watched from just outside the circle, having just finished their own preliminary bout. Liam suspected that the remnant of Arcana had given him some skill with a blade, but he still wouldn’t call himself evenly matched with Gray. She still had the edge on him when it came to experience and strategy, and her body slid with fluid, unconscious grace through the movements that Liam still found challenging. Usually, Finnead presented a challenge to Vell in swordplay. Whereas the ulfdrengr were skilled at various forms of combat – from bow to axe to sword and any weapon in between – the Sidhe knight had been trained for centuries in the art of wielding a sword. So Vell usually matched herself against Finnead when she was fresh, then Gray and then Liam.
“The Queen is not happy this morning,” Gray murmured to Liam. One of the Glasidhe spies had reported to Vell that he’d caught the barest hint of an assassination plot against the Bearer in the murmurings of the Unseelie Court. The High Queen had gone white with rage. She’d silently buckled her sword about her waist, grabbed the leather jerkin she wore for practice and stormed from the palace. Her Three followed, having quickly learned that the Vyldretning vented her fury through the physical strain of the practice ring. Target shooting with her bow sufficed when she was merely annoyed with the courtesies of Court life, but real anger required swordplay. The practice yards usually emptied at the first warning of the High Queen’s fury. The Vyldgard weren’t cowards, but they weren’t fools, and no one was eager to place themselves in the Vyldretning’s path when she was angry. The violent clash of blade on blades usually mollified her. Liam watched her solidly muscled body and wondered if she would ask him to help her reach another kind of release later, when they were alone. His blood heated pleasurably at just the thought.
“You are useless with your head in the clouds,” Vell growled at Finnead. She tilted her head, eyes narrowed. “Perhaps a sting to your pride will snap you out of it.”
Gray had already stepped forward, thinking that Vell would dismiss Finnead as her sparring partner and call on the next of her Three. But Vell motioned sharply for Liam to enter the ring. Liam strode past Gray, who raised an eyebrow at him and grinned as she turned back to her spectator’s position. He stood opposite Finnead and drew his sword, eyeing the Sidhe fighter.
Vell stalked out of the ring and sheathed her sword with a decisive snap. Beryk loped into sight, trotting around the wall of the practice field with a large white rabbit limp in his jaws. The sable wolf found a patch of shade and settled down with his kill, scarlet blood staining his mouth as he grinned toward the practice ring.
“First blood wins the match. Begin,” commanded Vell.
Liam didn’t allow her proclamation to startle him. Their practice sessions had never involved drawing blood, but he was conditioned to respond calmly to the unexpected. He lowered his body slightly into a predatory crouch, watching Finnead’s chest for signs of his first movement. The Sidhe knight seemed weary. Usually he attacked with lightning speed, but Liam recognized the pattern of his opponent’s strokes and blocked the attack easily. Something stirred strangely within him as he locked blades with Finnead. The scar on his side where the Crown Princess had slid a blade between his ribs vibrated like a plucked string, and his vision wavered. He recognized the misty overlay gathering at the corners of his eyes. It was the first sign of a vision, but before he could stop the match – he’d prefer not to be accidentally run through because he keeled over in the throes of his Sight – the mist flashed copper. He heard a voic
e whispering in his ear, and his sword arm responded instantly to the voice’s commands, moving faster than he’d ever managed on his own.
Left. Right. Reverse crescent. Low block to the right. Counter. Now attack.
The whisper contained no inflection, no emotion. Liam felt as though he was not fully in control of his body, a sensation familiar to him from Seeing, but he’d never experienced this finely focused, nuanced form of his Sight. Again he felt that strange thrum in his side, the sensation rippling over his ribs. Everything seemed to slow. The coppery mist pulsed at the edges of his vision. He knocked aside a blow from Finnead as though it were no more than an annoyance. The Sidhe Knight countered his attack, but only barely. Liam advanced across the ring relentlessly. He saw a flash of surprise in Finnead’s dark eyes and it spurred him to push harder, leaning into the feeling of the Sight wrapping around his limbs.
The sapphire in the pommel of the Brighbranr flared as though to ward off Liam’s vicious assault. Liam felt his lips pull back from his teeth in a grin. Finnead tried to block the sweep of Liam’s blade a breath too late. Liam felt his hand twist the blade, and the impact shuddered up his arm as the flat of his sword hit Finnead’s cheek with resounding force. He heard Gray mutter an oath as Finnead fell to his knees, the Brighbranr skidding across the dirt.
The copper mist vanished. The force of the Sight twining around his body evaporated. The voice whispering directions in his mind quieted. Liam blinked and looked at the kneeling fighter in front of him. He swore under his breath, tossing his sword aside and moving to help Finnead. But the Sidhe knight shook his head slightly at Liam’s offered hand. Finnead planted one foot and levered himself back to his feet, using his elbow against his knee. Ink-dark blood slid down his cheek, the cut splitting an already vivid weal. Vell watched silently as Finnead wiped at the blood with the heel of one palm and looked at the darkly glistening stain on his skin. He bowed with painful elegance to Liam.