by Jocelyn Fox
Many things happened at once – Luca heaved Tess bodily into his arms, careful to keep the Sword pointed toward the bone sorcerer as he started to run; Ramel appeared from behind the hulk of the burnt truck, sprinting with grim intent toward the bone sorcerer; and a small glass orb sailed overhead, flashing in the light as it tumbled through the air. Ramel tackled the bone sorcerer at the same instant that the glass orb shattered on the ground at his feet, erupting in a violent explosion.
Luca threw Tess to the ground and shielded her with his body. The Caedbranr skidded through the dirt, torn from her grasp. She heard Molly scream. It sounded the same as when Molly had screamed during the garrelnost’s attack in the Hill Country of Texas. That seemed like years ago, and she shook off the memory, focusing on the task at hand. She pushed herself to her hands and knees as Luca rolled to the side.
“Kianryk,” she coughed. “And Ramel.”
“Kianryk is fine,” said Luca tersely. For a split second, his blue eyes softened as he pushed Tess’s hair from her face. “Gods, I’m so glad to see you again.”
She coughed again and grinned. Her voice came out as a croak. “Same.” Then she sobered quickly, stumbling to her feet and grabbing the Sword. She turned and saw Ramel lying against the frame of the truck, his black armor horribly mangled. Molly was already beside him, pressing her hands to his blackened face. A red-haired girl stood by the steps of the front porch, her eyes round as saucers and her right hand still frozen in the final gesture of her throw. She held a glimmering string of glass orbs in her other hand. A witch? Tess thought. She was too tired to feel surprise or alarm at that prospect.
“Go,” said Luca. “Go!”
“What about you?” she protested.
“It’s you he wants now,” Luca said.
The bone sorcerer slowly rose from the ground. The explosion had blackened parts of his face, but it looked like smudged ash and nothing more. He pointed at the stunned red-haired girl and barked a word. The girl crashed into one of the pillars of the porch and tumbled to the ground.
When the bone sorcerer’s eyes fixed again on Tess, she turned and ran. Her gait was limping, but her taebramh swept her along and the Sword pulled with unyielding insistence at her hand. She felt him following her, and she rounded the side of the house into the back yard. The point of the Sword swung like the needle of a compass toward the runetrap. She pushed aside all the doubts suddenly clotting her mind. What if the bone sorcerer sensed the trap? What if he caught her before she reached it? She grimly focused on stretching her legs into longer strides, ignoring the drumbeat of pain in her knee and the sharp tug of the stones embedded in her skin.
“You cannot run fast enough to escape me.” The bone sorcerer’s voice vibrated through her head. Tess gritted her teeth and spied a flat stone inscribed with runes. Her breath caught. And then he seized her shoulder, wrenching her to face him. He smelled of blood and salt and the sickly sweet odor of decay. She swung at him with the Sword, but he caught her wrist in an iron grip, the Sword blazing between them. His nails bit like talons into her skin.
“Foolish girl,” he whispered again.
She threw herself away from him, his fingers tearing into her shoulder as he grabbed at her; the shoulder of her sword arm screamed in pain as she hit the ground and he kept his bruising hold on her wrist. She rolled to one side, kicking at him with both feet. He grunted in surprise when her boots crashed into his legs. She wasn’t sure if it caused him any pain, but it was enough to make him release his grip on her. He lunged for her again, she brought up the blazing Caedbranr, and a golden whip snaked around his chest. Tess kicked him again for good measure as Calliea gave a mighty haul on her whip, her entire body arching with the force of her pull. The bone sorcerer wavered, balanced at the edge of the runetrap for an instant, and then fell.
The flat stones flared with blue light, which arced up and connected each stone to its opposite point on the compass. Wind rippled through the grass and Tess’s ears popped as the runetrap blazed. The bone sorcerer scrambled to his feet, suddenly seeming much less threatening. His lips moved, but Tess didn’t hear his voice. She smiled wearily as she levered herself to her feet. The mage gestured, but his spell merely created a slight ripple in the invisible dome connecting the blue light arches. He screamed, the cords in his throat standing out as he raged uselessly, and silently, from her viewpoint. Tess indulged herself and gave him a very choice mortal gesture with one of her fingers. Even if he couldn’t see her, it felt satisfying.
“Well, that was interesting,” said Calliea as she coiled her whip, examining the end for damage and apparently finding none.
“Thanks for the backup,” Tess replied, her voice hoarse.
“That’s what friends are for, isn’t it?” Calliea clipped her coiled whip to her belt and surveyed the bone sorcerer, folding her arms over her chest. “You look like you were dragged for miles behind a galloping faehal,” she continued as she looked Tess up and down. “Come on, we should get you inside.”
“What about Ramel? And the red-haired girl?” Tess protested.
“Molly and Jess are working on Ramel. The red-haired girl, brave little idiot, got away with a broken arm as the worst of it,” Calliea replied. “And Merrick is quite fine too, now that we have the runes on him.”
“What did you say about the red-haired girl?” said a dark haired woman holding a pistol as she emerged from the trees behind the runetrap. Tess knew she recognized the woman peripherally, but her pain fogged mind refused to supply her name.
“Vivian used one of Corsica’s spells,” Calliea explained.
The glass orb, Tess thought dully. She suddenly recognized its similarity to the glass orbs that she carried in her belt pouch, and she wondered with detached curiosity if they had survived the fight intact. She hoped they had, because otherwise their ticket back to Faeortalam was null and void.
“She did what?” the woman said sharply. Then she looked at Tess and did a double take. “Tess! You look terrible. You should probably sit down.”
Tess could only manage a crooked smile as she gathered her strength to sheath the Sword. After the Caedbranr slid home into its scabbard, she did sit heavily on the ground, wincing and keeping her injured knee mostly straight.
“Mud from the river,” said a silver-haired woman, stepping into the noon light along with another silver-haired man slightly behind her. “Mud from the river to soothe fire and flesh. Flesh and fire.”
Duke appeared last, holding a gun as well. He gave a low whistle as he took in the sight of the activated runetrap. “Like catching a cockroach under a glass bowl, eh?”
“That’s one way to put it,” agreed Tess in a scratchy voice.
“I have to go,” the dark haired woman said to Duke. “Apparently Vivian used a spell and got herself hurt. Glad you made it through, Tess.” She nodded as she strode purposefully past.
“Good to see you too,” Tess managed. She grimaced and then remembered. Ross. That was the dark-haired woman’s name. She was Duke’s fiancé. The pieces fell into place – Ross must have been the tether that drew Duke to this place when he fell through the Gate, and the others had been pulled along in his wake.
The silver-haired woman held a dripping bundle in her wet, gloved hands, trailing river water as she crossed the yard. She paused to grin with pointed teeth at the bone sorcerer in the runetrap. The silver haired man stopped and surveyed the domed prison, the blue columns of light faded somewhat from their original brilliance but still shining with a steady, somehow solid power. Every so often a ripple of color emerged from a rune on one of the stones, curling lazily over the dome. The mage had stopped screaming and instead threw himself against each bar of light successively. The silver-haired man watched and smiled as the runetrap rebuffed each attempt without even so much as a flicker.
The strange woman walked purposefully past Calliea, who regarded her with a sort of suspicious fascination. As she neared, Tess saw the layers of scars on her face. One of
her ears was exposed, and after the bristle of studs and rings, it came to a delicate point. They were Sidhe, the silver-haired man and woman, but unlike any Sidhe that Tess had ever seen. Her tired mind supplied the answer: The Exiled.
“Can you walk?” Calliea asked, watching the Exiled make their way around the side of the house.
“I can, but I don’t want to,” said Tess truthfully.
“Then I’ll carry you,” Luca said. Kianryk walked by his side, limping slightly but otherwise seeming none the worse for his encounter with the bone sorcerer.
This time, Tess let his voice unlock all her relief and joy. Tears gathered in her eyes as he knelt beside her, and she pressed her hands to his shoulders. She stared at him for a long moment, her mouth quivering. “I missed you,” she said in a shaking voice.
“You came for me,” he said, his beautiful eyes staring into hers. His huge hands cupped her face with infinite tenderness, and she leaned into his touch.
“How could I not?” she whispered with a shaky smile. “I love you.”
He gathered her carefully against his chest. She didn’t protest. The pain of her wounds as her body shifted was a small price to pay for feeling his solid warmth again.
“I love you, too, Tess,” he said softly, smiling as he pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. She shivered and smiled contentedly. He lifted her with little effort and strode smoothly toward the house. She laid the uninjured side of her face against his chest and listened to his heartbeat, feeling complete for the first time since the battle at the Dark Keep.
Chapter 29
Liam finally found Finnead in a remote room of the palace, a room that the Seelie Scholars had been using as a library. A few stacks of books rose from the floor around the single table where Finnead bent over a large, old tome. He didn’t look up as Liam approached – they were both bound to Vell, and most of the time they could sense each other’s presence. A bloodstained square of cloth draped over one corner of the table, as though Finnead had used it to blot at the cut on his face and then tossed it aside.
“Time for a break from the research,” said Liam, setting a satchel on the table. As he opened it, a savory scent drifted into the air. “Thea made her meat pies today. They’re pretty fantastic.” Finnead said nothing and didn’t even look up. Liam continued speaking unconcernedly. “You wouldn’t think that a smith would be so good at cooking, but I guess there’s a kind of symmetry there. Fire and metal, fire and food.”
Finnead turned the page of the ancient book, the volume so large that it covered half the table. He handled the yellowed, brittle page carefully. Liam watched him, noticed that the cut on his cheekbone still glared red and raw, no stitches or poultice from the healers or of his own making. Liam sighed inwardly. Of course Finnead was going to make this as difficult as possible. Sometimes he wondered how his sister had thought she was in love with the dark haired Sidhe – he always seemed to be in one sour mood or another these days. He felt a flash of guilt at the uncharitable thought.
“Look, brother, I know times are tough, but you still have to take care of yourself. You’re one of the High Queen’s Three, and we can’t have you looking like you were on the losing end of a bar fight and then just kept drinking afterward,” Liam said, deciding to use the tough love approach that worked well on his stubborn teammates…most of the time.
Finnead looked up from the book, his face devoid of emotion. “First of all,” he said smoothly, “you are not my brother. Second of all, I do not need you to remind me of my duty to the High Queen. I have been serving the rulers of this realm for far longer than you have been alive.” Finnead’s eyes flickered. Liam couldn’t discern the emotion…disgust? Disdain? In the mortal world, he had grown proficient at interpreting facial expressions and emotions, adjusting his own voice and dialogue to match. It still irked him sometimes that he couldn’t always read the Fae.
“Fair point,” he allowed, unwilling to let Finnead lapse into his moody silence again. He decided to take a more hardnosed approach, see if that produced any results. “But now we’re at the same level, aren’t we? Both bound to the Vyldretning.”
Finnead merely raised an eyebrow and then looked down at the old book, preparing to ignore Liam again.
All right, well, time to swallow his pride, Liam thought. “It got out of hand this morning in the practice ring. I’m sorry for that.”
Finnead looked up again. “It was my own fault,” he said, no rancor in his voice. Then something shifted in his expression. “And Vell is right. I am…distracted.”
“It’s understandable,” said Liam.
“But that doesn’t make it acceptable,” Finnead said, shaking his head. He finally seemed to be emerging from his icy fugue, thawing a bit into the man that Liam remembered from their ride across the Deadlands to the Dark Keep.
Two chairs had been pushed to the side of the table and Liam went to retrieve them. “Come on. Sit down and eat with me. Let’s talk – see if there’s anything I can do.”
Finnead looked at the chairs for a long moment, then sighed and walked around the table. They both sat down and began to eat, the silence companionable now rather than cold.
“Thea does cook exceedingly well,” admitted Finnead as he finished his second meat pie. The smith had formed light, flaky bread into an echo of a piecrust, filling the palm-sized creations with a delicious mixture of meat, roasted vegetables and cheese. Liam couldn’t name some of the unfamiliar flavors, most likely because those particular ingredients didn’t exist in the mortal world, but it was delicious nonetheless. He brushed the crumbs from his fingers and reached inside his satchel again, producing a little jar of salve.
“For your cut,” he said, pushing it across the table toward Finnead. “I’d offer to stitch it up for you, but I’m afraid my stitches would leave a worse scar than if you just let it be.”
“I’ll find one of the healers,” said Finnead. He paused for a moment. “Thank you.”
“No problem,” replied Liam. “It’s part of it, you know? We’ve got to look out for each other. The world is tough enough without making more problems for ourselves.”
Finnead looked at Liam with contemplation in his ocean-colored eyes. “I thought you would hate me for breaking your sister’s heart.”
Liam smiled a little. “Tess is tough. A lot tougher than either of us have given her credit for at times, I think.” He shrugged. “I’ll admit I wasn’t a fan at first. But I got thrown into the situation well after it had already started to go south.” He rested his elbows on his knees, contemplating how far he should take the conversation.
“Affairs of the heart have never been my strong suit,” said Finnead with an air of confession. “I never meant to hurt Tess.”
“Well, what’s done is done. Poking at it now doesn’t change anything,” said Liam firmly. “She’s fine, Finnead. Tess, I mean.” He hoped that she’d found Luca after stepping through that shimmering portal into the mortal world.
Finnead seemed to sense his thoughts. “Yes, she will be fine. She loves Luca, and he loves her.” He nodded. “It is a good match.”
Liam wasn’t quite sure how to reply to that, so he didn’t. Instead, he tried to guide the conversation a bit more. “The Unseelie princess,” he ventured quietly. “You’re trying to find something in these books to help her?”
Finnead nodded. “Yes. I do not think that the Lethe Stone is the solution.”
“What else are you thinking?” Liam glanced at the open book. He didn’t recognize the language and assumed it was written in an older version of the Sidhe tongue.
“There might be a way to restore her memories through the use of others’ memories of her,” Finnead said slowly.
Liam took a moment to work through that statement in his head. “Without using the Lethe Stone?”
“I don’t know. The Lethe Stones have been outlawed for so long…the Queens themselves might be the only ones who remember how to use them.” Finnead ran a hand through his raven’s
wing hair.
“Mab isn’t going to use the Lethe Stone,” Liam said quietly. They both knew of Vell’s plan to use the Lethe Stone in Mab’s stead, to prevent such a potential weapon from falling into the possession of the Unseelie Queen. They didn’t speak of it out loud very often, because it felt like admitting that Vell didn’t trust Mab. Which was the truth. None of them did, not even Finnead, who had been one of her Three.
“I know,” agreed Finnead. “And I think that is for the best. But I also think that she could use it as another excuse to harbor ill will against the Vyldgard.”
“Titania is already unhappy with the deal,” Liam said, shaking his head. “We can’t afford to alienate the Seelie any further.” He thought for a moment. “Have you spoken to Vell about what you’ve found?”
“A bit, yes, but I’m not entirely sure that it will work,” he replied.
“I hope it does,” Liam said honestly.
Finnead smiled humorlessly. “If it does work…if it succeeds, taking others’ memories to build hers…then I probably won’t remember her enough to rejoice in her restoration.”
Liam frowned. “Wait, it’s not just…you’d be giving up your memories of her permanently? As in, they’d be erased?”
Finnead nodded. “A small price to pay.” He looked at Liam. “Wouldn’t you do the same for the woman you love?”
“Yes,” said Liam without hesitation. He took a deep breath. “It just seems particularly cruel.”
“Crueler than thinking she was dead for centuries, when she was really held captive by Malravenar?” Finnead shook his head. “I think not.”
“Will you still love her, after your memories are taken?” Liam asked. “I mean, couldn’t some memories be taken from others, leaving you something?”
“From what I have read, this technique works best when the memories are all from the same person. There are only a few accounts of its use, mostly because of its implicit price – its…cruelty, as you termed it.” Finnead glanced back at the ancient tome. “The memories must be from someone who loved the person who is to be restored. A father, brother, sister or lover.”