The Mad Queen (The Fae War Chronicles Book 5)

by Jocelyn Fox

  Moira nodded and pulled herself onto the back of her faehal, a beautiful dark mare with raven-like wings that shimmered blue and purple. Calliea checked Moira’s straps, showed her how to crouch low on her mount’s back, and then sent the mare down the stretch with a sharp slap to her hindquarters. To her credit, Moira didn’t scream as the dark mare leapt into the air and spread her wings. Niamh and Trillian circled high above the cathedral, specks against the blue of the sky, small as birds to Calliea’s eyes. Gray’s mount climbed to join them, and Moira followed closely behind her.

  “All right, let’s get up there,” she said to Kyrim. He snorted in agreement, pawing at the ground in impatience as she swung onto his back and tightened the straps of her harness. She barely touched her heels to his sides and he rocketed into a gallop. Pain exploded through her ribs as she lurched forward and grabbed his mane. She pressed herself against his neck and tried to breathe through the wave of pain that swamped her. When he launched them into the air, the jolt spawned black spots across her vision, but as he pumped his wings and spiraled higher into the cool air, Calliea felt her discomfort washed away by the joy of flying….and the anticipation of raining down destruction on the Unseelie who dared to brazenly attack her brothers and sisters in the Vyldgard. She kept one hand on the satchel bulging with Thea’s devices.

  When she reached the rest of the Valkyrie in the sky, Trillian pointed down to a position on the outskirts of the Unseelie-claimed portion of the city. Calliea forced herself to focus on their mission of disabling the Unseelie weapons rather than gazing at the damage already inflicted on the city below them. She couldn’t ignore the smell of smoke rising up from below them. With the hand signals they’d developed to communicate during flight, Trillian, Niamh and Calliea discussed the best approach.

  Three trebuchets, signaled Trillian. Each manned by six men, three archers guarding them.

  We have weapons that will keep us out of range of the archers, signaled Calliea. She motioned to her satchel. Three orbs each. Simultaneous attack. Keep altitude and drop from above.

  Might miss once or twice, pointed out Niamh.

  We have enough, Calliea signed firmly. Activate with a drop of blood on the wooden rune.

  Niamh and Trillian signaled their understanding and wheeled their mounts toward the trebuchet positions. Calliea knew Gray understood the signaling, though she didn’t join in; but she motioned to Moira to draw her mount closer. She had to shout to be heard, but Moira finally nodded.

  Their mounts stretched their wings and flew with mind-numbing swiftness across the city, their riders crouched low on their necks. Trillian slowed her mount as they approached. The trebuchets below them looked like children’s toys, but Calliea watched with dull horror as one of the trebuchets launched one of the dark writhing orbs toward the Vyldgard portion of the city. They were at least a hundred feet above the apex of the orbs’ arc, but her skin still crawled with the instinct to dodge out of the weapon’s path. She signaled for the other Valkyrie to come retrieve their weapons.

  She tossed the orbs to them with a steady hand. Part of their intensive training had involved ensuring they were all well versed in transferring objects from one part of the sky to another as quickly as possible. She saved Moira’s orbs and managed to maneuver Kyrim close enough to the dark mare so that it was only a toss of a few arm’s lengths. Moira caught the orbs, stowing two in her belt pouch and hefting the other in her palm.

  Testing to ensure there are no air defenses, signaled Trillian. She swooped in a daring arc, firing an arrow down toward the first trebuchet – not aiming at a particular fighter, though one of the men stumbled, but to test to see if any invisible barriers would impede their attack. She made the gesture for all clear triumphantly.

  The sound of a horn and frenzied activity below alerted them that Trillian’s probing had revealed the Valkyries’ presence to the ground fighters. Trillian’s mount sailed upward out of arrow range as the archers shot a flight of projectiles after them. The arrows reached their highest point and fell harmlessly again toward the ground.

  Gray, Trillian and Niamh aligned their steeds for the first attack. Calliea saw their little orbs flare to life in their hands. Their mounts flew forward and the Valkyrie leaned down to release their weapons before their shadows rippled over the trebuchets. Calliea motioned to Moira. As Kyrim flew forward, she unwrapped one orb, touched one finger to the blood at her ear and pressed it to the wooden rune. The swirl of fire from within the silver ribs of the orb ignited a spark of excitement within Calliea. This would teach the mad queen to think twice about attacking the Vyldgard.

  Trillian crowed in triumph as her orb hit her target. The men had just loaded one of the dark projectiles onto the launching platform, and the small explosion of Thea’s weapon set off a chain reaction. The trebuchet exploded, the destruction magnificent in its scale. None of the archers or men manning it remained when the ravening bloom of fire contracted again. Gray hit the edge of her trebuchet, enough that it rocked the weapon and the fighters manning it dove for cover. Niamh’s orb missed, sailing to the right of her target and disrupting the loading process but causing no significant damage.

  Calliea adjusted Kyrim’s course to aim for the unscathed trebuchet. The fighters scrambled to launch their loaded projectile as they saw Kyrim’s approach. The archers had dropped their bows and helped the others with feverish intensity as they worked the great wheel that tightened the rope, pulling back the launching arm.

  The orb sailed beneath Calliea just as she reached the release point for her own weapon. She hissed in satisfaction as her orb hit the trebuchet, but without one of the larger orbs loaded, she knew it didn’t cause enough damage to put the launcher completely out of commission. Kyrim climbed higher as Niamh and Gray streaked closely beneath them on another run from the opposite direction, their orbs shining like captured stars in their hands. Kyrim banked and she drew another orb from her satchel. The second trebuchet caught fire as her second weapon added to the damage caused by Niamh’s well-placed drop.

  That left only one trebuchet. Scorched divots on either side of the launcher showed where the Valkyrie’s weapons had landed. Moira dropped the first orb that hit the trebuchet and Niamh followed closely behind her. Kyrim streaked in front of Gray’s mount, eager for another run. Calliea grinned at her warhorse’s fierce enthusiasm.

  As she approached her release point, she saw a cloaked figure glide toward the sole remaining trebuchet. Even so high above the ground, a chill ran through her as she recognized Queen Mab. Two Knights kept pace with her on either side, shields held at the ready. She hoped that they tried to deflect her orb with those shields, because it would give her grim satisfaction to see them fail.

  The fighters loaded one of the writhing orbs onto the last trebuchet. Ferocious anticipation burned through Calliea’s chest – one shot with the trebuchet loaded would destroy it. She aimed carefully, leaning over Kyrim’s side, her harness creaking, the wind whistling in her ears.

  She released her shining orb.

  Queen Mab gestured to the black globe and it rose into the air.

  Kyrim threw himself to one side, folding his wings in a sharp roll and dive. Calliea lost her grip, felt her harness bite into her thighs and waist as Kyrim spun. Something huge and crackling with cold ferocity hurtled by them, stealing her breath and making her hair rise on end. Kyrim pulled out of his maneuver and Calliea lunged for his mane, gasping, feeling more blood slide out of her ears.

  She raised her head in time to see the twisting, coiled dark orb that had just missed them crash into Gray. Someone screamed. Kyrim surged forward even as the explosion engulfed rider and faehal. The force of the detonation slammed into Calliea, nearly knocking her senseless, the shock wave tossing Kyrim through the air with such force that Calliea hoped desperately his wings weren’t broken. But her valiant mount gave a shrill scream of defiance and regained control, his magnificent wings beating the air with angry force.

  When Calli
ea’s vision cleared, no sign of her cousin or her mount remained, only wisps of smoke and tongues of flame disappearing into the blue of the sky.

  Chapter 33

  Vivian lugged the last of her purchases into her room, dropping them by her bed with a groan and massaging her sore shoulders with first one hand and then the other. The Glasidhe twins mercilessly increased the difficulty of her training sessions with them. They’d even added outdoor conditioning to yesterday’s workout, running repeats of the half-mile-long driveway. Forin perched on her shoulder and Farin zoomed overhead, prodding Vivian to run faster, her demands just as harsh as any coach that Vivian had encountered during her years of athletics. Thankfully, though, it seemed like her body remembered how to run…or she’d just be sore tomorrow. She grimaced and resolved to ask Ross for some of the simpler kettlebell workouts that her firefighter friend used to build strength and endurance.

  She began unpacking her purchases onto the bed, silently thanking the outdoor outfitter store for using “environmentally friendly” shopping bags – nondescript brown bags with the logo stamped in green ink on one side. Hopefully Ross hadn’t spied the store name, or Vivian knew there would be questions to answer. She sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. Why in the world did she care so much what Ross thought? She shook out a long-sleeved, collared shirt and folded it neatly. The sum of her purchases didn’t seem so expansive once she’d taken them out of the bags, removed the tags and arranged them on her bed: three long-sleeved, button-up shirts in white, black and green; three short sleeved t-shirts in the same colors; three pairs of hiking pants that could be rolled up to the knee in army green, black and khaki. She’d also invested in a sleeping mat, thinking that one of the neon-patterned sleeping bags would be too loud for her destination, and a sturdy black hiking pack that the helpful man working the shop floor had assured her would be more than enough for a weeklong camping trip.

  “Little does he know,” murmured Vivian, surveying her gear with a critical eye.

  The door to her bedroom opened and she jumped guiltily, spinning around and spreading her arms as though she could hide her whole bed from view. Tyr raised an eyebrow at her.

  “You could’ve at least told me you were coming in,” she said in mild rebuke.

  He shrugged. His perceptive eyes traveled over her new travel gear.

  I think that the Courts will treat the first Paladin in centuries as an honored guest, he said. The channel between them opened almost effortlessly now. They will outfit you with clothes and anything else you might need.

  You told me this in the store, she reminded him, turning back to the bed and beginning to pack her small stacks of clothes into the hiking pack. After consideration, she took the clothes out and slid the coiled sleeping mat in first. Then she took that out again when she realized that the straps at the bottom of the hiking pack were probably made expressly to carry such sleeping mats. She sighed. And I said that I want to have at least the basics. No one owes me anything in your world. I don’t want to show up on their doorstep and expect them to give me everything.

  They are not completely uncivilized, said Tyr, though his eyes glimmered with something that Vivian couldn’t place. She couldn’t decide whether it was amusement or disdain.

  I’d beg to differ, she retorted. Look at what they did to you.

  Tyr turned away from her. She felt a twinge of guilt at her words but turned her attention back to packing. A little thrill of excitement coursed through her. Her mind couldn’t quite grasp the reality of her upcoming journey, and it was still difficult for her to truly believe that Faeortalam existed. She’d probably only believe it after she stepped through the Gate and her feet rested on the ground of a world that had, in various incarnations, haunted her dreams since she was a child.

  That is a fair point, Tyr conceded.

  Vivian didn’t know what to say, so she didn’t say anything until she finished packing her new clothes into the hiking pack. It was barely half full. She put her hands on her hips and then strode over to her chest of drawers, pulling out other essentials: socks, a few tank tops and two pairs of running shorts, sports bras…she paused and slid the drawer shut, vowing to finish packing her lingerie when Tyr wasn’t just across the room. She didn’t know whether it was their silent connection or the fact that he had drank her blood, but she could sense him with an uncanny accuracy.

  When do you think we’ll go? she asked, hoping the change of subject would thaw his frostiness.

  Soon, he replied, his gaze enigmatic and feline as he stared into the distance.

  And you’re not worried that Corsica, Molly and the bone sorcerer are going to wreak havoc here, in the city or somewhere else? She winced. Okay, maybe the subject-change strategy wasn’t really going to work out well.

  Corsica has…refined the focus…of Gryttrond and the half-blood, replied Tyr. For all her faults, she is singular in her skill at manipulating people…especially those who think themselves beyond manipulation.

  Vivian set her pack on the floor and sat down on the bed, drawing her legs up. What exactly do you mean?

  Tyr’s pale eyes caught the golden afternoon light slanting in the window. Vivian swallowed as she caught herself thinking about how beautiful he looked – an odd word, beautiful, to describe a man, but her mind returned to it again and again. It fit him. He looked beautiful and broken, his scars lacing his skin with silver and white and, in places, hints of red and purple. She wondered, not for the first time, how he had not given up hope, exiled in a world meant to kill him for centuries, forsaken by all except his fellow rebels.

  Would you suspect a woman who is slightly mad to possess the wherewithal to manipulate you? Tyr asked finally.

  No, Vivian replied, her mind diverted from her contemplation of Tyr’s otherworldly splendor. She frowned and shifted, hugging one leg and resting her chin on her knee. One of the advantages of telepathic communication was the ability to speak in the most comfortable of positions without having to move. Was any of that – Corsica’s loopiness, I mean – was it an act?

  Tyr drew in a breath and let it out slowly. I do not know. I do not think so.

  You were together for centuries, weren’t you? Vivian toed the line. She wasn’t entitled to any questions about his past because they hadn’t had a training session today, so she held her breath while he thought about it.

  Not for the entirety of my time in this world, he said finally.

  Vivian debated for an instant but then went for it. No pain, no gain…she thought she’d even heard Farin shriek that at her while she was sprinting down the driveway. So were you alone? Or are there others?

  Tyr stiffened. There…were. Perhaps. I do not know.

  Why? Vivian barely whispered the question through their connection.

  You are asking why I do not know what became of all my fellow rebels? Tyr pronounced the word with singular contempt. Why would they want to follow me after I failed them so spectacularly?

  Vivian’s heart sank as she realized that the scorn in his mental voice wasn’t directed at her. I’m sure it wasn’t your fault.

  Of course it was my fault.

  If his words had been out loud, they would have been snapped, but in their silent communication, his anger crackled through their connection, hitting Vivian like a slap. She forced herself not to show any physical reaction. Knowing that he’d hurt her would just cause Tyr to feel guiltier, and that was the exact opposite of her intent, especially since she’d started the conversation. She strung together her words as carefully as a jeweler sliding pearls onto a silk thread.

  I can see that this subject isn’t easy, she said, but if you ever want to speak to me about these things…I will listen.

  Another physical shock trembled through her as he met her eyes. She couldn’t read his expression, and he’d withdrawn a bit from their connection, dampening the sensation of his emotions.

  I am not saying that I think you must talk about it, or that you owe me anything, Vivian c
ontinued calmly. But I am saying that I’m not scared. I’m not going to think less of you. The past is the past, but sometimes it helps to talk about it. She shrugged her shoulders slightly. Life isn’t easy, and I’ve only just barely passed a quarter of a century. I can’t imagine four centuries of struggle, of fighting to survive in a hostile world.

  It was not all struggle, he said after a long pause. Slowly, as though he wanted to give her time to escape if she wished, he closed the distance between them and stood an arm’s length away, glancing uncertainly at her. Vivian smiled. For all his centuries of experience, inscrutable Tyr looked just like she felt. It was just this side of adorable, because then she remembered that he could rip out her throat with his bare hands and probably enjoy drinking her blood afterward.

  Nonetheless, it was time to put her money where her mouth was…so to speak. She sat up, crossed her legs Indian-style and patted the bed beside her. Tyr slid onto the bed with the unconscious grace of a cat; she turned to face him and he mimicked her positioning, folding his legs and placing his hands on his knees. He sat very still.

  We can talk about whatever you’d like, Vivian said, feeling like she was handling a horse that spooked easily.

  It has been...a long time…since I spoke to anyone but Corsica, he said.

  It must be hard, with her gone, she replied empathetically, though she shivered at the vivid memory of the Exiled woman with her teeth bared and a murderous glint in her eyes as she pressed a delicate iron-wrought chain against Merrick’s throat that first night in the shadowy dusk. Corsica had always set Vivian’s teeth on edge in a way that Tyr had not. Somehow, from the very beginning, she’d understood that Corsica was the one balanced on the edge of sanity.

  No. Tyr took a deep breath with his admission. It is a relief, truth be told.

  Why? Vivian asked, though she thought she knew most of the answer.

  Tyr looked down at one of his hands and idly traced one thick scar on his palm with his thumb. She was strong once. We all were. But some of us were not built to survive our exile.