by Jocelyn Fox
Vivian felt her cheeks burn. She cleared her throat. “Well, I don’t think that’s something…that you should say.”
And why not? It is merely an observation, Tyr said.
“I’d think you’ve interacted with mortals enough in the centuries that you’ve been trapped in our world to know why not,” she said, the words tumbling out in a rush of bravery, before she had time to second-guess herself.
Tyr made the breathy sound that she knew was his version of a chuckle. If you are going to be a Paladin, you must keep your fire. You must be unafraid.
“I’m not afraid,” she said seriously.
Then let me teach you, he returned.
Vivian clenched her jaw and then picked up her phone, stowing it in the box in her nightstand drawer that seemed to be enough to protect it from the force field around someone using taebramh. “I don’t have another lesson with Niall until tomorrow afternoon.” She shut the door, faced Tyr and crossed her arm. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Tyr’s lessons were much different than those with Niall or even the Glasidhe. Farin had continued her sword-lessons, usually every other day with an extra day of rest if a hard session made Vivian particularly sore. Forin recovered enough to sit on the edge of the desk and offer occasional comments. During her last lesson, Vivian had realized with a start that Ramel was watching her.
“Not half bad,” the Unseelie Knight had said to her through dry lips. He occasionally offered her a few simple critiques, which she happily accepted.
Tyr, however, proved true to his criticism of Niall and displayed a lack of patience that made Vivian first nervous and then irritated. Her acceptance of the lesson threw Tyr into a sudden fit of animation. He paced the length of the room as he gave her instructions and then prowled closer to her as she struggled to comply, building a ball of taebramh larger than any she’d attempted.
Faster, Tyr demanded, his tone completely different than their conversation just a few moments before.
And strangely, after the first prickle of irritation subsided beneath her teeth-gritting concentration, Vivian found that she responded to his brusque method. On the third attempt, she wove together a brightly burning ball of taebramh that left spots dancing at the corners of her eyes.
Reset, said Tyr. Vivian drew the taebramh back into herself, an action becoming more natural to her now. The white-haired Exile stopped prowling and pointed to a spot in the center of the room. Stand there.
Vivian took a deep breath and complied. She’d stopped wearing her sling yesterday after Niall had pronounced that her arm was nearly healed, but now a dull ache slid into her bones again. She forced herself to draw back her shoulders and raise her chin.
Now, said Tyr, anticipation brightening his eyes and animating his face, defend yourself.
“What?” Vivian said, taking a step backward.
Tyr leapt at her with the grace of a panther, one of his hands closing around her throat. She tried to jerk away but he caught her by the shoulder and pinned her against the bed with his body. Vivian brought her knee up sharply and felt it connect, but he didn’t waver.
You cannot win against me physically, Tyr said, demonstrating by lifting her and pinning her to the floor with such ease and speed that Vivian felt dizzy. She felt panic scrabbling in her chest.
Defend yourself, demanded Tyr.
She couldn’t breathe. Her vision started to waver. In desperation, she reached for her taebramh, summoning it as she’d been taught, but she had no idea how to use it as a weapon! If she’d been able to speak, she would have cried out in protest, but Tyr’s hand around her throat possessed a frightening strength and steadiness, holding with a resolute grip even as she clawed at it. She bucked ineffectually beneath him and all the swear words she knew streamed through her mind, tinged with desperation.
As the edges of her sight faded to black, she took the taebramh that flowed down her arm, thought about force – a sledgehammer, a baseball bat, a supernova – and felt the fire gather itself like a coiled spring. When she released it, her taebramh slammed into Tyr, the force of the blow launching him through the air to hit the wall with a floor-vibrating thud.
Vivian sucked in a huge rasping breath even as she heard footsteps coming down the hallway. She swallowed and rolled to her side, pushing herself to all fours and then standing as a knock came at the door.
“V?”
It was Ross.
Vivian cleared her throat, glanced at Tyr – he looked to be unconscious but breathing, thank God – and called, “I’m fine! Just tripped and knocked over the stack of books on my desk.” Her voice came out a little hoarse, but nothing too noticeable.
“You sure?” Ross asked through the door.
“Yep,” said Vivian in a cheery voice. “Tyr’s helping me pick everything up!”
“All right,” said Ross.
Vivian watched the shadow under the door until Ross moved away and walked back down the hallway. She stood in the middle of the room, rubbed her throat, and tried to decide how to feel about the lesson. Remnants of adrenaline shook her hands, and swallowing was uncomfortable…but she realized that Tyr hadn’t nearly been using his full strength when he leapt at her. The controlled force with which he’d picked her up and pinned her against the floor made her shiver to imagine him in a full-out fight. Corsica must have truly caught him off guard that night by the rune trap.
Before Vivian could decide whether she should call for help because she feared she’d truly injured Tyr, the Exile elegantly sat up and ran one hand through his hair, as unconcerned as if he was just waking up from a good night’s sleep rather than slammed into a wall with a sledgehammer of taebramh.
“Why did you let me do that to you?” Vivian said, rubbing her hands together. Her skin prickled with the knowledge that a normal person would have probably died from the force of that blow.
I did not let you do anything, replied Tyr, his silent voice nonchalant. He raised one white eyebrow. Do you think the bone sorcerer or any one of his creatures will ask your permission before attacking you?
“I could have killed you,” she protested, looking at the wall. Sure enough, a little starburst of cracks marked the point of impact.
I am very difficult to kill, Tyr replied. One of his hands drifted to his thigh and rubbed where Corsica had stabbed him and very nearly succeeded in doing just that. It is more important for you to understand how to use your taebramh to defend yourself.
She touched her throat with her fingertips. “Hopefully I don’t have a bruise,” she muttered. “Ross would have kittens.”
Tyr produced a small white stick from the pouch on his belt. Come here.
Vivian swallowed, winced and took two steps toward him. He beckoned for her to kneel in front of him, and he slid one hand around the back of her neck, cradling the base of her skull with his long fingers and holding her still as he inscribed a rune on the tender skin of her throat. She told herself that the strange tickle of the rune-stick caused the goose bumps on her arms.
When Tyr finished drawing the rune, he leaned close and blew on it. Vivian sat carefully still. He didn’t smell like any man she’d ever kissed. An indescribable current electrified the air around him, and she thought maybe that beneath that there was a hint of pine and snow. Then she felt a blush rushing to her face. Why was she even thinking about the other men she’d kissed when Tyr leaned close? Kissing should be the farthest thing from her mind! Five minutes ago, he’d had his hand around her throat!
To train you, Tyr said implacably, sitting back and putting away his rune-stick.
“Get out of my head!” Vivian snapped, mortified. The rune on her throat washed her skin in cool relief, the sensation rippling with the vibrations of her voice.
Tyr stiffened and then bowed his head. She felt him try to say something, but she firmly shut the channel he needed to speak into her mind. For an instant, she saw what might have been hurt or regret flash over his face, and then it was gone.
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p; “I think that’s enough until the next lesson,” she said, grudgingly admitting that she’d learned more in less than an hour with Tyr than she had in three sessions with Niall. The Seelie Knight was almost too kind a teacher, seeing her as more of a child than a pupil to be taken seriously. Tyr, at least, wanted her to know something practical. Silence stretched between them. Vivian fidgeted and then said, “Are you hungry?”
She peeled at the edges of the bandage on her forearm and tried to hide her surprise when Tyr shook his head curtly. She resisted the urge to ask him whether he was certain – if he didn’t want to take her help, that was just fine. Maybe he didn’t need to feed as often because he was mostly healed from Corsica’s attack. She cleared her throat and glanced at the stack of books on her desk.
As she picked up one of the novels on the pile – she had a habit of reading four or five books at a time, and she tended to leave them stashed around the house – Vivian steeled herself, turning back to Tyr. She deliberately opened their channel of communication, waiting until he met her gaze. She couldn’t read his expression; to her, his beautiful face looked like a statue carved from marble, cool and unyielding. She sent her carefully formed words shivering out through the air between them. I apologize for my rude reaction. She paused. It’s…a lot. A lot of changes. A lot of possibilities. A lot of…emotions that I don’t quite know how to sort through.
Tyr gazed at her silently for a long moment before replying. For all your impermanence, you mortals feel as deeply as we sometimes.
I don’t know how deeply you feel, but I think I agree? Vivian shrugged and smiled. The release of tension in the room felt good, like lancing a blister.
Perhaps I should have warned you that I am a much different taskmaster than Knight Niall, Tyr said. I spent time in the North, among the ulfdrengr, and they are not patient with their young ones.
Vivian thought of Luca. She tried to imagine the huge man as a child and failed, but she thought she understood Tyr’s meaning. Would you tell me more about your time in the North?
It was a long while before he replied. I have not spoken to anyone of that in centuries.
Still holding her forgotten book, she lowered herself to sit cross-legged again against her bed. I want to understand more of your life.
Tyr blinked. He cocked his head to one side and searched Vivian’s face with his eyes. Finally, he said, Very well.
He began to speak, and Vivian listened, the rune he’d inscribed on her throat still rippling with pleasant iciness, the aftershock of using her taebramh so violently still shivering through her bones.
Chapter 26
Tess reached for another healing satchel, opening its flap and dumping its contents into a pile on the long table. She sorted through the vials and packets, setting aside those that were empty and lining up those that could still be put back into the satchel.
“It’s good of you to do this,” said Sage, working on another satchel across the table.
“I need something to help occupy my time,” she replied with a smile. “I train at the practice yards, I take Nehalim for a gallop, I study some history and go for another training session…and then it’s only lunch time!”
Sage chuckled. “You aren’t accustomed to spending your days in such leisurely pursuits.”
Tess selected a few neatly labeled vials from the bins in the center of the table. “To put it bluntly, no. How’s your arm?”
“Almost as though it never happened, though I’ll always have the scar,” Sage replied, pausing in his work to pull down the neckline of his shirt and show Tess the first tendrils of a red scar, vivid against his golden skin.
“I’m sure Robin doesn’t mind,” Tess said slyly. She couldn’t help but smile at Sage’s grin. Despite the failed raid, despite almost losing Calliea, the past week had passed in relative calm. The tensions between the Seelie and Unseelie hadn’t lessened, and Vell prowled around like a caged wolf. Finnead looked as though he hadn’t slept at all in the time since their attempt to rescue Andraste. But despite the rumors that Mab intended to move her Court back to Darkhill, no Unseelie had ventured out from their claimed territory. It almost felt too quiet, but Tess was trying to retrain herself. She’d learned to constantly assume the worst as they’d battled Malravenar, but now, it seemed like Faeortalam might actually settle into a tentative peace.
There were certainly still those things that kept her mind racing at night: Corsica’s theft of the river-stone with the piece of Malravenar’s spirit, the Exiled in the mortal world, and her eventual task of executing the bone sorcerer. Yet each day that passed in Faeortalam blunted some of her worry and smoothed away some of the raw memory of her short time back in the mortal world. Tess frowned as she finished reviewing the inventory of the healing satchel and fastened its flap shut, moving it to the side of the table where fully stocked satchels sat in neat rows.
Voices echoed from the front of the healing ward, two raised in urgency and one low and reassuring. Tess glanced at Sage. His frown echoed her own, and they put down the bags they were resupplying to go investigate. When Tess pulled aside the curtain and stepped into the main ward, her eyes widened and she lengthened her strides nearly into a run even as her mind scrambled to comprehend the sight before her.
“Guinna!” she exclaimed, hardly able to believe that she was seeing her old Unseelie friend here in the cathedral. Then she stopped short as she began to understand the entire picture. Merrick stood beside Guinna, close enough to catch her if she fell. Calliea stood a few paces away, pale but steady. Guinna wore trousers and a plain shirt, raiment that Tess never remembered her friend favoring, and her clothes were muddied and stained. Her long dark hair hung unbound and wind-tangled down her back, and she stared straight ahead, seeming not to hear Tess’s greeting.
The healer on duty reassured Merrick that she’d look after Guinna. Sage joined the other healer and they spoke in low voices. The Caedbranr hummed in its sheath. Tess didn’t know whether it was merely greeting Guinna for some reason, or trying to tell her something else altogether. The Sword gave a more strident tone. She straightened.
“It’s not safe for her here,” she said.
Guinna started and turned sharply to stare at Tess with wild eyes. Her lips parted but no sound escaped.
“Let me look at you quickly, just to be sure,” Sage said, his calming tone similar to what Tess would use with a spooked faehal.
“Sage is an excellent healer,” she said with a nod. She held up her hands, showing the scars spread across her palms and encircling her wrists. They’d faded over the past months, but they were still noticeable, a pattern of silver marking where the flames from the Crown of Bones had burned her when she crowned Vell at Brightvale. “He took care of me after I crowned the High Queen. I woke up in the Hall of the Outer Guard and he was the first one I saw.”
“To my terror,” said Sage with wry humor. No one laughed. He cleared his throat and put a gentle hand on Guinna’s shoulder. “Come, let’s just walk over here and have you sit down.”
At his prompting, Guinna walked with him. Merrick watched her leave, concern written over his face. Calliea just looked exhausted, pale under the tawny gold of her skin, her bright eyes lacking their usual spark.
“What happened?” Tess asked, stepping closer to them so that they formed a kind of loose circle.
“I was up on Kyrim and I saw Mab’s hounds out in the field beyond the Unseelie camp,” said Calliea. “It was more Kyrim than me, to tell truth. Then I saw that the hounds were hunting her, and she was running for a tree. She wasn’t going to make it.”
“And you came to the rescue,” said Tess.
“Was I supposed to watch Mab’s hounds tear her to pieces?” Calliea retorted. “You saved me from Malravenar’s creatures when you were Walking. I don’t see much of a difference.”
Tess put up a hand to acknowledge Calliea’s argument. “I understand. I’m not passing judgment. I just want to understand what happened.”
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bsp; “As do I.”
Merrick and Calliea immediately turned as Vell’s voice rang out in the healing hall. Tess half-expected Maeve to appear with a stern reprimand for breaking the hallowed silence of the hall, but Vell strode through the great doors unchallenged, her brisk footsteps echoing with the force of her stride. The Vyldretning’s eyes looked beyond them until she saw Guinna, now sitting on the edge of the nearest empty bed and submitting to Sage’s examination.
“My Queen,” began Merrick.
“No.” Vell cut him off, crossing her arms over her chest and facing Calliea. Merrick looked down and linked his hands behind his back, chastened. “The Laedrek is the one who made this decision, so the Laedrek will tell it to me in its entirety.”
Tess shifted. It didn’t seem like much of a fair contest, Vell in her blazing, regal anger and Calliea looking as though she were about to faint. But the Valkyrie commander drew back her shoulders and faced Vell with admirable composure.
“My Queen,” she said with a nod of her head. “Just before noon, I took my mount Kyrim for a flight. It has been too long since he stretched his wings, and I felt myself sufficiently healed from my wound.” Calliea paused as though she expected a reprimand, but Vell remained silent. “We flew over the White City for almost an hour, and then Kyrim directed us toward the Unseelie stronghold.”
“Oh, so your faehal made the decision?” asked Vell, arching an eyebrow.
“No,” replied Calliea with a little shake of her head. “I let him have his head, and he flew over the Unseelie stronghold, but I was the one who made the decision to rescue Lady Guinna.”
“Guinna,” repeated Vell, her dark brows drawing together in thought.
“Yes. I saw Mab’s hunting hounds, three of them, in the field beyond the outer wall of the city. I directed Kyrim closer to see what they were hunting. They were pursuing the Unseelie woman.” Calliea gestured behind her, toward Guinna. “The woman was running toward a stand of trees, but I could see the hounds would overtake her.”