by Jocelyn Fox
“They’ve been doing that for hours,” said Calliea, standing to greet Tess. She narrowed her eyes. “You look remarkably spry after your spill on the rocks and whatever else you managed to do to yourself during the fight.”
“You mean what the bone sorcerer did to me during the fight,” Tess corrected. Calliea arched an eyebrow. “Seriously, I didn’t just fall off Kianryk! I’m clumsy, but I’m not that clumsy…at least, most of the time. He made the earth move.”
“Ah, that was the shudder we felt in the house.” Calliea nodded.
“And I guess being the Bearer in the mortal world means super healing powers.” For what felt like the hundredth time that day, Tess pulled up her left sleeve and showed Calliea the shiny new scars on her skin.
“Convenient,” she remarked. “At least I won’t have to be your nursemaid.”
Tess shook her head. “And here you let me believe that you did that out of the goodness of your heart.”
“The goodness of my heart and a direct order from the Vyldretning,” Calliea said with a smirk.
With an answering smile, Tess fell silent, staring at the trapped mage. She remembered his coppery hot metal smell and the brutal strength in his hands. The Caedbranr’s power stirred restlessly in her chest.
“He can’t see us,” Calliea said. “Or at least that’s what she says.” She gestured with her dagger to Corsica.
Kianryk bounded over to Luca, the ulfdrengr bracing himself as the big wolf leapt on him. Calliea watched them wrestle with dry amusement. Mayhem joyfully leapt into the scuffle. Tess smiled and then walked closer to the bone sorcerer’s cage. She wondered how long he would rage impotently against the impermeable dome.
Tyr noticed her approach and he paused in checking one of the rune-stones, his eyes traveling over her with interest. When she turned slightly to better view the bone sorcerer, he saw the beaten scabbard of the Sword on her back. He looked sharply at Corsica, who glanced up at him and stood with lazy grace. As Corsica skirted the edge of the runetrap, Tyr turned back to Tess and bowed elegantly.
“I…thank you,” Tess said, unsure. She hadn’t known what to expect from the Exiled, but it certainly hadn’t been such a respectful greeting. Tyr straightened. A small smile curved his beautiful mouth, and his gray eyes glimmered with something akin to reverence. Tess had no doubt that Tyr recognized the Sword.
“I speak for both of us,” said Corsica silkily. She gave a deep curtsy, her gloved hands delicately holding the edges of her long tunic in place of skirts.
“Why?” The question escaped Tess before she could stop herself.
Corsica straightened and looked at Tyr, who motioned to Tess with an impatient gesture. He was giving Corsica permission to answer, Tess realized.
“We do not speak of it often,” Corsica said. “It was many centuries ago and it was what gained us our binding and banishment.” She plucked at her mud-stained black gloves uneasily. “Betrayal and binding and banishment. Burning and bloody and bereaved.”
Tess waited for Corsica to stop talking to herself. She wondered if the Exiled were indeed insane as Sage had warned. They didn’t seem to want revenge, as he’d suggested, but the part about the long years in the mortal world driving them mad, Tess could believe.
“Burning and bloody,” Corsica said, her blue eyes staring. She rubbed at her wrists. Tyr touched her shoulder and she shuddered, shaking herself free of whatever memory had dragged her back into its clutches. She raised her gaze to Tess again. “Before,” she said. “Before the banishment, Tyr spoke for us.”
“Tyr spoke for the rebels?” Tess asked, trying to follow.
Corsica hissed and displayed her pointed teeth. “Rebels! Queens who burn and bind and banish write the legends to please themselves. Freedom fighters. Not fighters until they forced us.” She shook her head and her face became strangely open as she continued. Tess easily read the yearning and sadness in her eyes. “Tyr was the best of us. The best of all of us who only wanted to be free.” Tyr stared at the nearest rune stone silently. Anger chased away the sadness in Corsica’s expression. “And the cold Queen, she took his words, his beautiful words and his lark’s song voice.” She showed her pointed teeth again.
“You’re saying that Queen Mab…took Tyr’s voice,” Tess said slowly.
Corsica had retreated back into her own head. “Betrayal and binding and banishment,” she repeated, the words closer to a growl now. “Burning and bloody and bereaved.” She gripped her own wrists, her fingers circling her wrists like manacles.
“I’m sorry that happened to you,” Tess said quietly. Tyr looked up and nodded solemnly. She didn’t think Corsica heard her at all. With a deep breath, she looked back at the bone sorcerer. “Thank you for helping to trap him. I was told that you improved the runes and made sure that the trap would be strong enough.”
Tyr nodded again. Corsica suddenly stopped muttering and dropped to her haunches, assuming her watchful position again, her eyes tracking the mage hungrily. Tess decided to speak to Tyr directly.
“I need to find a way to retrieve an object that Gryttrond has on his person,” she said. Naming the bone sorcerer made her feel as though she pulled aside part of the veil of mystery shrouding him. And the Glasidhe had taught her long ago that names held power—including fear. She would name the bone sorcerer without a tremble in her voice.
Tyr raised his eyebrows and tilted his head questioningly to the side. For a moment, Tess hesitated. Was it the right choice to trust the Exiled? But really, what other choice did she have? Tyr had helped build the runetrap, so she assumed he would have to help with any modifications. She didn’t relish the thought of releasing the bone sorcerer from the cage to search for the Lethe Stone, and she hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
“It’s called a Lethe Stone,” she said. She thought she saw a flicker of recognition in Tyr’s eyes, but she wasn’t sure, so she dug in her belt pouch and produced the palm-sized little book that contained the description of the Lethe Stone. She flipped easily to the correct page, her fingers finding it of their own accord. She’d read the description and looked at the illustration dozens of times in the past days.
Holding the book out to Tyr, she watched as his dark eyes traveled across the pages. He reached out with one scar-mottled hand, looking at her inquiringly. She nodded and he took the book carefully into his hands. After reading the pages again a few more times, he nodded.
“You’ll help?” asked Tess, but Tyr was already moving. She watched as he retrieved a rune-stick from the grass near one of the flat stones. Her skin prickled as he began to write runes directly on the illustration of the Lethe Stone, and she was too busy trying to decide if she’d made a mistake in trusting Tyr to protest at the defacement of the little tome. Corsica paid no attention to Tyr, licking her sharp teeth as she stared at the bone sorcerer. Tess reached back and gripped the hilt of the Sword, its power vibrating reassuringly through her palm. Tyr wrote furiously for a moment more, then nodded. He stood up straight and then threw the little book into the nearest beam of blue light.
Tess jumped at the crack of thunder that split the air. The whole dome shuddered and the earth beneath their feet vibrated. A high-pitched whine emanating from the dome made her teeth hurt. She slid the Sword a few inches from its sheath, preparing to draw it if the runetrap failed. Swirls of light flickered faster and faster across the surface of the dome, like slick oil spreading over the surface of water. The vibration of the ground increased as the whine became almost a shriek, loud enough that Tess had to resist the urge to clap her hands over her ears. She gritted her teeth and watched as the dome flared brighter and brighter until it looked as though the sun had been lassoed and embedded into the earth.
Another crack of thunder sounded and Tess saw a miniature comet streak out from the dome. She drew the Sword, its power expanding in her chest and racing down her war markings as she prepared to defend against one of the bone sorcerer’s spells, but Tyr reached up and plucked the little co
met from the air as it arced toward her. As soon as he touched it, the shrieking ceased and the dome slowly faded back to its previous appearance. Everything looked as it had in the moment that Tyr had thrown the little book into the blue arc of fire…except the trapped mage lay motionless in the center of the cage.
“Did you…is he dead?” Tess asked breathlessly. She wasn’t sure if she felt triumphant or disappointed that she hadn’t been the one to finish Gryttrond.
Tyr shook his head unconcernedly. Tess looked harder and after a moment picked out the rise and fall of the bone sorcerer’s chest. She sighed. When she turned back to Tyr, the white-haired Fae knelt before her. He held his cupped hands up to her like an offering. Nestled in his palms, glistening as if freshly pulled from the river, was the Lethe Stone.
Chapter 32
Liam strode one pace behind Vell on her right side. Finnead walked at her left side, with Gray as the rearguard. They wore their armor and didn’t speak as they walked. The Three could feel the tension of the High Queen through their bond. Liam drew a sense of familiarity and security from the weight of the armor on his torso. It reminded him of the weight of his body armor, the panels of Kevlar that would in theory protect him from enemy bullets or shards of metal from an IED blast. He’d worn his vest like a second skin, the fabric soaked with his sweat and the dirt of a land thousands of miles away from his home. In a few places, the fabric had born a rusty stain. It was nearly impossible to truly remove blood, and they didn’t try very hard anyway. Gear that was too shiny and new with no marks of use was one of the telltale signs that you were the new guy, fresh out of training and eager as a kid on his first day of school.
Since the day that his Sight had taken over in the practice ring, Liam had actually forged a strange sort of friendship with Finnead. After that first long session of laying the groundwork of Andraste’s story, Liam and Finnead met nearly every day so that Finnead could continue to give his memories to Liam. The hardest part had been convincing the dark haired Sidhe Knight that he wasn’t going to anger Liam by recounting his relationship with the Unseelie princess. Finnead’s guilt over how his relationship with Tess had ended had put a halt to the memory sessions for a few days. It had perhaps been a bit heavy-handed, but Liam had resorted to reminding Finnead that Tess loved Luca, she had struck a deal with Mab in order to open the portal to the mortal world and find him, after all. Liam had heard enough ribald stories from fellow warriors that he didn’t flinch away from the story or become embarrassed when it came to the physical aspect of the tale. He merely pointed out to Finnead that whatever details he left out, he ran the risk of losing forever. Finnead, however, countered that it would hardly be proper for him to discuss such intimate knowledge of the princess with another man. They finally struck a compromise when Liam suggested that Finnead write it all down and leave the book in his safekeeping.
So Finnead told Liam the broad sketches of his courtship of the princess, and her progress as a truly gifted archer. He had spent some of his time writing down other memories in a small journal bound with red leather. Liam had told Vell of their project when she asked. She’d merely shrugged and said grimly that Finnead’s memories were the least of her problems. The tension between the Courts was growing. Titania had sent a messenger to Vell with a letter written in the Seelie Queen’s own beautiful flowing script. She again reiterated her disapproval of the bargain struck by the Bearer and the High Queen with Mab.
“I have to tell her,” Vell had said, with a dour look at the letter on the table. “Much as I don’t want things to ignite between Mab and Titania, I’m not going to put the Vyldgard in the middle.”
“The Vyldgard isn’t in the middle,” Liam had reminded her, folding one of the large architectural sketches into a neat square packet. “You’re the High Queen.”
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I get to smack Titania and Mab on the snouts like unruly pups,” Vell had replied with a bit of a growl in her voice. She sighed. “Even if I’d like to sometimes,” she added to herself.
The Glasidhe messenger had accepted Vell’s reply with a bow, zooming off to find Queen Titania to deliver the missive. Now, Liam knew that Vell suspected that perhaps a spy for Mab had betrayed her plan to use the Lethe Stone herself. What would happen if Mab challenged Vell…and would Titania support the High Queen, or watch from the sidelines?
As they walked and Liam mulled over the possibilities, he suddenly felt his muscles tighten and his stomach flip, his warning signs that a vision was about to assault his senses. Since his Sight had returned, he’d had fewer visions but they were all the more intense for their scarcity. He reached out for the wall as the white fire swirled over his sight and he lost perception of his body.
All of the visions had multiple threads, multiple futures stemming from every possible decision. Lately, they had been a bit more focused. Liam thought that it was probably a side effect of his healing at Arcana’s hands. When he had these new and more intense visions, he felt the sliver of the Morrigan awaken in the back of his skull. The remnant of the deity slid like a snake through his head and down his spine, a physical sensation that heightened the nausea brought on by his Sight. Perhaps it was the Morrigan directing his Sight now, focusing his ability with her power. Liam felt Finnead and Gray supporting him on either side. Vell slid her strong, calloused hand beneath his chin. He waited for the vision to coalesce in the blank brightness.
“What do you See?” Vell’s voice reached him as a soft echo.
He took a breath and focused. After another moment of vertigo, his Sight presented him with a kaleidoscope of images. First he saw Mab, her eyes alight with a cold fury, holding a blade above the head of a kneeling Knight with copper hair. Liam jerked as Mab brought down the sword with savage force. He couldn’t look away or close his eyes as he saw the Unseelie Queen execute Ramel. And then the scene shifted to a dark haired girl that he vaguely recognized. He realized after a moment that he was looking at Tess’s best friend Molly…but the woman Molly, not the girl he had known. She knelt in the long grass beside a river, tears streaming down her face, rage and searing sorrow in her eyes.
Liam connected the two images: in one future, Mab would execute Ramel, and she would make an implacable enemy of Molly. His brow furrowed. What did Mab care if a half-mortal girl hated her? The image shifted again to a man with blood-red runes inscribed on his skin and a black mark on his forehead. The man spoke to a silver-haired woman who watched him with rapt azure eyes, and then Molly strode up to the three of them, determination written across her face. His Sight blurred again, like a reflection disturbed by a ripple, and showed him a final image of chaos and carnage. In a great hall carved of dark stone, the bodies of slain Seelie and Unseelie fighters lay side by side…but this was not the Dark Keep. It was the future, and it was Darkhill, the center of Mab’s kingdom. Molly strode toward Mab’s throne, red runes now written on her pale skin, a hard light in her eyes.
His Sight rushed away, leaving as abruptly as it came and rendering him breathless with nausea. He blinked and regained his feet, nodding to Finnead and Gray in thanks for their support. Their faces were pale and drawn, too – though they recovered more quickly than he, they felt a bit of the sickness brought on by the Sight through their bond. Vell’s hand was still under his chin.
“What did you See?” she asked urgently, her golden eyes intent on his face.
He drew in a shuddering breath. “I Saw Mab execute her Vaelanbrigh, Ramel.” His hoarse voice gained strength as he continued, and he didn’t miss the flicker of shock that appeared for an instant in Finnead’s eyes. “And Molly, the half-mortal girl who came through with Tess. She’ll seek revenge. I Saw her speak to a man with red runes on his face, and a silver haired woman.” He frowned, trying to remember any other details about the wild-looking woman, but she seemed to be the least important. “And then…the last thing I Saw was Darkhill. Mab’s throne room, littered with bodies. Molly advancing on Mab…except this time she also had red runes
on her face.”
“The bone sorcerer,” murmured Finnead.
“Why should we care if Mab makes an enemy that spells her own doom?” Gray asked in her bright voice, eyes flashing. “Mab has not been a friend to the Vyldgard of late.”
“And do all Mab’s subjects deserve to be consigned to the same fate?” asked Finnead. “As much as we may dislike Mab, not all of her subjects are as cold or hard-hearted.”
“Bold statement, from one who used to serve her,” said Gray.
“Enough,” said Vell calmly. “Finnead is right. No matter the sins of their Queen, the Unseelie do not deserve to be drawn into another war needlessly.”
“There were Seelie corpses in the throne room too,” said Liam in a low voice.
“The silver-haired woman,” said Vell, almost to herself. “One of the Exiled. Perhaps she will lead them in a war of revenge against both Courts.”
“This is only one future,” Liam said heavily. “It seems to stem from the Vaelanbrigh’s execution.” He took another deep breath as the last of the sick feeling drained from his stomach and the shard of the Morrigan settled into stillness in the back of his skull. “It looks like that’s the proverbial straw that breaks the camel’s back. I didn’t see all the details, and I don’t know what else happens. But it was a dark vision.”
“Ramel is well-liked,” said Finnead thoughtfully. “Perhaps his death would incite a rebellion.”