The Lethe Stone (The Fae War Chronicles Book 4)

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The Lethe Stone (The Fae War Chronicles Book 4) Page 30

by Jocelyn Fox


  “First blood and victory,” he said, his expression inscrutable. He retrieved the Brighbranr from the dirt, sheathed his sword and turned to Vell. He bowed more deeply, a few drops of dark blood spattering the dirt. “My Queen.”

  Vell gave a single nod, her eyes hard. Finnead turned and walked away with stately poise. The High Queen looked at Gray. Without a word spoken, Gray followed him, her strides long and languorous.

  “Well done,” Vell said to Liam, her gaze hooded. “Though perhaps a bit more violent of a lesson than I had envisioned.”

  Liam held a hand flat and watched as his fingers trembled. “I didn’t mean for it to go that far.”

  “You were the one holding the blade.” Vell arched an eyebrow. Beryk looked up from the split carcass of the rabbit, licking his chops.

  In reply, Liam lifted his shirt and stared down at his scar. It rippled with a slight copper incandescence. “I was holding the blade, but my Sight was calling the shots.” He almost said Arcana was calling the shots, but something made him change the word.

  Vell took a few steps toward him, brows drawn together as she examined his scar. “Interesting. Well, at least we know that Arcana didn’t burn your Sight out of you.”

  “I’ve never had a vision like that before,” Liam said, taking a deep breath. He was trained to expect the unexpected, but nothing had prepared him for the realm of the Fae.

  “Perhaps it felt threatened,” Vell said thoughtfully. “Your Sight, I mean. I think it’s more of a separate entity than you realize.”

  “Or maybe it’s part of the separate entity that pulled me back out of death,” Liam said, pushing back his hair with one hand.

  Vell looked at him sharply. “What makes you say that?”

  “I heard it. Her. A voice.” Liam shook his head and flexed his hands. “Telling me how to counter Finnead’s next moves. It was like a narrated vision.”

  “That could come in handy,” commented Vell. Then she sighed, her eyes traveling over the large, empty practice yard.

  “I’ll find Finnead later and make my apologies,” said Liam. “Even a match to first blood didn’t have to end that badly.”

  “If he had been focused on his blade rather than his lost love, he wouldn’t have faltered in the first place,” said Vell.

  “Are you saying you expected him to beat me?” Liam asked with a hint of a grin. He wiped Finnead’s blood from his blade and slid it into its sheath.

  “Soundly,” replied Vell without any hint of remorse. “But apparently you’ll keep evolving new abilities if I place you under stress. So I’ll keep going down that path.” She raised her eyebrows suggestively. “Shall we head back to the palace?”

  Liam considered. Vell still looked restless. To most observers she would seem calm and collected, but he noticed the tense cast of her shoulders and the quick flash of anger surfacing now and again in her gaze, despite her lighthearted words. “We could see if my archery has also improved,” he suggested, motioning to the practice targets at the far end of the practice yard. A few pairs of Seelie fighters had quietly begun to warm up in the practice rings farthest from them. They would keep a respectful distance from the High Queen, affording her the courtesy they extended to their own Queen.

  “I doubt it,” said Vell dryly, arching an eyebrow as she strode toward the archery range. A few bows of different styles were always kept in readiness at the practice yards for communal use. Vell looked over the rack of weapons and selected two longbows, handing the shorter of the two to Liam.

  “Well, I’m in no danger of feeling too prideful over that victory in the ring,” he said a little ruefully as they inspected their bowstrings and chose a handful of practice arrows from the quiver at the side of the bow rack. After they had each shot five arrows at the target, they set their bows on the ground and walked to retrieve them. Vell’s arrows clustered in a neat circle in the center of the target. Liam’s arrows were erratic, but they had all hit within the third ring of the bull’s-eye.

  “You’re getting more consistent,” said Vell.

  “That’s the idea,” Liam replied. He hadn’t yet tired of watching Vell display her considerable skill with a bow. She looked like a statue of a warrior goddess in the still moment when she held the bow before her, arrow nocked and drawn back. He thrilled to her warrior talents, but he also cherished the moments when she let her guard down and allowed him to see her vulnerability.

  “Glira said that Mab might be plotting an attempt on Tess’s life,” Vell said quietly after they had shot the second flight of arrows.

  Liam nodded. He couldn’t help the instinctual anger that raged through him at the thought of someone trying to hurt his baby sister. “There’s nothing we can do about it right now. She’s in the mortal world.”

  “She’s in the mortal world and she’s more than capable of defending herself against any that Mab might send against her,” said Vell firmly. Liam wasn’t sure if she was trying to reassure him, herself, or both of them. “And she has Calliea with her as well. The Laedrek certainly isn’t the assassin.”

  “Jess would die before he’d hurt Tess,” said Liam. “So I think it’s safe to rule him out as well. Niall?”

  “I don’t think Titania would conspire with Mab to cause the Bearer harm,” Vell said quietly, stabbing her arrows point-down into the earth.

  “That leaves Ramel and Molly.” Liam shook his head. “What a tangled web we weave.”

  Vell nocked an arrow, smoothly drew it back and raised her bow. Liam watched her as she sighted down the shaft of the arrow and exhaled. At the pause in the bottom of her exhale, she released the arrow. It cut through the air and sliced unerringly into the center of the target. She smiled slightly and then sobered. “No more tangled than Finnead and the Unseelie Princess.”

  “Why would Mab want to kill Tess? From what I was told, there was always some tension. But how would Mab benefit from the death of the Bearer?”

  “I can’t say that I know,” Vell said quietly. “Perhaps she just wants chaos. Perhaps she thinks that if she kills Tess, she could influence the next Bearer more easily.” She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  “I know that she won’t succeed,” Liam said steadfastly, “but…what would happen? If Mab…killed Tess.” The words tasted like ash in his mouth.

  Vell nocked another arrow to her bow, aiming with still, concentrated precision. The arrow sailed across the distance to the target and split her last arrow in two. The sundered halves of the ruined arrow shaft fell to the ground. She stared at the splintered arrow as she spoke. “If the Unseelie Queen were to kill the Bearer, then I have no doubt that there would be war.”

  A chill ran through Liam. A quick series of memories flashed through his mind’s eye, seared there through his years fighting an amorphous war in a foreign land: a village built with mud bricks and thatch, dirty children watching with wide eyes as the convoy passed through, the eerie green glow of the world through night-vision goggles as his unit crept toward a targeted building, the stillness of the dark suddenly shredded by whistling bullets; his own hands, blood soaked through the protective gloves as he tried to staunch the wound in the chest of a little girl; the gray face of a friend, a classmate from his training days, eyes open and sightless under the glaring lights of the military medical facility, his uniform ripped first by the shrapnel of the explosion and then by his teammates trying to save his life.

  Liam blinked. The memories surfaced unpredictably, but he’d learned to ride out the moment of recollection without giving too much away. He thought he smelled cordite and smoke and the sickly sweet smell of burning flesh, but he anchored himself to his surroundings and pushed away the sensation. His voice was steady when he spoke. “Do you think Tess would want war?”

  Vell watched him closely with sharp golden eyes and shook her head. Beryk cracked one of the rabbit’s leg bones between his teeth, licking at the bloody marrow. “I don’t want war either. But killing the Bearer would be unforgiveable.”
She raised her chin. “It would prove that Mab isn’t fit to lead her people.”

  “So who would lead the Unseelie Court?” Liam asked. “You can’t remove a leader and leave a power vacuum. Even if that leader is a ruthless tyrant.” His mouth thinned. “That’s a lesson I don’t need to learn firsthand again.”

  “War is a terrible thing,” replied Vell, “but what would it say of us if we allowed her to keep her crown?”

  Liam shook his head. He pulled one of his arrows from the earth, inspected the arrowhead and then nocked it to his bow. He focused on drawing the arrow back, feeling the steadiness of his stance and the strength in his arms as he aimed. The arrow struck only one ring outside the center of the target, but he felt no satisfaction. “All of this is still theoretical,” he pointed out. “Unless we have actionable evidence that Mab plotted against Tess.”

  “She’s smarter than that,” said Vell. “I don’t have anything concrete. But now we know to be on the lookout.”

  They shot the remainder of their arrows in thoughtful silence. After gathering the projectiles and returning their bows to the rack, they walked back to the palace. The streets of the White City still seemed empty, the statues still faceless and the wind moaning against the walls. But the filth of Malravenar’s creatures had been stripped away, and Sidhe artisans had begun to craft golden masks to replace the statues’ defaced visages. As they neared the palace, Liam looked up at two statues guarding the arched entrance of a smaller building, standing fiercely atop two pillars. The golden masks reminded him of the death masks of the ancient pharaohs, but he doubted any of the Fae would recognize the resemblance

  The cathedral still contained the huge tent that housed the healers’ ward and the living quarters for most of the Vyldgard and the healers. Most of the Seelie had withdrawn into their own camp in the east of the city, though Maeve and her healers still shared the task of caring for the many wounded. Titania had found a lofty structure, little more than a marble platform and pillars supporting a magnificent domed roof that had survived the occupation intact. She had established her own Court there; the Seelie were delighted with the airy, bright pavilion. Mab, on the other hand, had found what had once been an armory, built halfway into a hill on the western perimeter of the city. Liam hadn’t seen it for himself, but he imagined that the dark, ancient passageways underground would suit the Unseelie Queen.

  Vell strode through the massive doors of the palace, acknowledging the salute of the two Vyldgard warriors standing watch at the top of the great steps. Liam followed half a step behind Vell. For all that they were equals in private, he was still one of her Three and fulfilled his role impeccably in public, as they’d agreed was best.

  The Vyldretning entered the healing ward, as she did every time she returned to the palace, whether she had been gone for half an hour or the entire day. The initial frenzied pace after the battle had finally slowed. By this time, most of the gravely wounded had either succumbed to their injuries or were on their way to recovery, however long a road that might be.

  “My lady.” Maeve greeted the High Queen with a deferential bow. The Seelie healer had looked experienced before the last battle. Now, after the loss of one daughter and an uncertain future for the other, she looked old, new lines framing her eyes and mouth.

  “Healer Maeve.” Vell returned the greeting. She swept her eyes over the antechamber of the healing ward, several long tables holding neat piles of supplies and records. “How is Niamh?”

  A raw pain surfaced in Maeve’s eyes. Any mention of Niamh no doubt brought to mind her dead twin. “She is slowly coming back to us.” As the pain receded, a flicker of humor crossed Maeve’s face. “Though I think it is a combination of her own stubbornness and the sheer will of that mortal boy.”

  Vell smiled slightly and glanced at Liam. “Quinn does have a certain amount of determination.” She turned back to Maeve. “I’ll walk the ward for a while, if it’s all right with you.”

  “You are always welcome here, Majesty,” said Maeve firmly, the stronger honorific underscoring the approval in her voice.

  The healers on duty nodded respectfully to Vell, but they didn’t pause in their tasks as she walked down the center aisle of the first ward. Liam knew her routine: – she’d silently observe the healers at work, offer a few well-placed words of praise and encouragement, and check on her Vyldgard wounded. Though the Wild Court had been by far the smallest force to enter the final battle, scores of wounded still owed their allegiance to the High Queen, and she made it clear that she hadn’t forgotten them. A warm glow of pride suffused Liam as he watched her for a moment. He knew that it was still difficult for Vell to accept her position at times, but she was determined to be a good leader. She had been born Herravaldyr, raised with the expectation that she would follow in her mother’s footsteps to become a volta; but after she had been chosen by Beryk – a Herravaldyr wolf, and a male at that – the path of her life had shifted. She expected to become the leader of a pack of ulfdrengr and the wolves bonded to them, warriors all. The harrowing of the North had changed her life yet again, but her heritage and the lessons of her youth still stood her in good stead as the High Queen.

  Liam caught her eye and silently motioned to a bed farther down the ward. Vell nodded in understanding and he left her to continue her quiet conversation with a Seelie fighter who had lost a hand in the battle.

  Quinn sat by Niamh’s side, as he had for every day since they had returned from the Dark Keep. In the last few days, he’d adopted the habit of reading aloud to the Valkyrie warrior. He sat on a small stool, wearing his camouflage pants, which he’d washed thoroughly and meticulously patched after the battle, sewing with precise, neat stitches next to Niamh in those early hours when she hovered between life and death. Now he read in a quiet voice from a book with a blue leather cover, glancing at Niamh’s pale face every now and again. He glanced at Liam as his teammate joined him, but he didn’t stop reading until he came to the end of the chapter in the book. He marked his place before closing the little volume.

  “What are you two reading today?” asked Liam.

  “Memoirs of one of the Knights that travelled extensively in the mortal world,” replied Quinn. He reached over and gently closed his hand around Niamh’s motionless hand, holding the gesture for a long moment before he sat back and stood up. “Finished the volume of poetry this morning. I’ll give them one thing, those suckers can really write some good love poetry.”

  Liam chuckled. “Listen to you, giddy and reading sonnets.”

  “Hey, brother, the ladies love the sonnets,” replied Quinn with a grin. The two men looked down at Niamh. Her white-gold hair was neatly braided on one side of her head, and she was still undeniably beautiful, her golden coloring slowly returning after the pallor of near death.

  “Anything new?” Liam asked. Niamh still hadn’t regained consciousness, but her wounds were slowly healing. She hadn’t been dosed with any of the sleep inducing, pain relieving elixir used by the Sidhe for fear that she wouldn’t awaken from the effects of the medicine.

  “I felt her squeeze my hand this morning. Or at least I thought I did,” said Quinn. “But I don’t want to get my hopes up too soon, you know?”

  “Maybe you should switch back to the love poems,” suggested Liam, only half in jest.

  Quinn smiled. “Maybe I’ll do just that.” He rubbed one of his tattoos idly. “I just hope she’s not in pain.”

  “She’ll be able to tell you herself when she wakes up.” Liam gripped Quinn’s shoulder reassuringly. “Want me to take over for a bit so you can grab something to eat?”

  “Nah, I made a supply run this morning. Thanks though.” Quinn motioned to a satchel. Liam assumed it held the typical bread, meat and cheese that comprised Quinn’s diet nowadays. “How’d the portal opening ceremony go? Or whatever it was called. Jess stopped by before he stepped off.”

  “It went well,” said Liam. “Tess has her work cut out for her in our world, though. Fr
om what Vell told me, the bone sorcerer is no joke.”

  “All the nasties in this world seem to be super charged,” commented Quinn.

  “All the heroes are, too ,though, ” Liam replied, looking down at Niamh and remembering the awe inspiring sight of the beautiful, fierce Valkyrie wreaking havoc from their winged steeds.

  Quinn nodded. “Including Tess. She’ll be fine, brother.”

  “So will Niamh.” Liam knew this exchange was a carefully choreographed routine, but sometimes it helped even the most stoic of men to hear reassurance spoken aloud.

  “She’s a fighter.” Quinn nodded and reached down to grip Niamh’s hand again. Liam saw Niamh’s fingers tighten around Quinn’s hand. Quinn froze. Liam clapped him on the back.

  “I don’t think it’s too soon to get your hopes up,” he said as Niamh stirred slightly, her eyelids fluttering. An unabashed grin spread over Quinn’s face as he knelt by Niamh’s bedside, never letting go of her hand as he spoke to her in a quiet, encouraging voice. Liam felt an answering smile on his lips as he watched his friend’s sudden joy. He took a few steps back and watched from a respectful distance as Niamh’s eyes opened, glimmering in the light of the taebramh lantern. A crease appeared between her eyebrows and Liam saw the telltale strain of deep discomfort surfacing on her face as she swallowed thickly. But a weak smile appeared on Niamh’s lips as she recognized Quinn. His tattooed friend spoke to her softly and then kissed her gently on the forehead. Liam caught the gleam of a tear tracing down his teammate’s face as he turned to leave, giving them their privacy. He wondered if Quinn would tell Niamh about Maire’s death, or if Niamh had seen it herself. Or perhaps Maeve had requested that she be the one to tell her daughter. In any case, he found Vell about halfway down the ward. She smiled at the news that Niamh had finally awakened and shared the good news with Maeve as soon as they came across the healer.

  They visited with Robin and Sage for the better part of an hour. The Seelie healer was now well enough to sit up, though he still tired easily and wore a sling about his injured arm. Sage had freely admitted that he’d told the Bearer about the Exiled, even going so far as to suggest that Vell should make him part of the Vyldgard to spare him Titania’s displeasure. And what had started out as a remark made in jest had turned into a serious consideration. Just as they counted on seeing Quinn by Niamh’s side, so too had the healers learned to expect Robin sitting by Sage’s bed. The red-haired Vyldgard fighter often brought work with him, daggers to sharpen, armor to clean and shine, a saddle to mend, any of the sundry tasks a warrior performed to keep his gear ready for battle. He also brought Sage books to read, though Sage refused to let him read them aloud as Quinn did for Niamh.

 

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