by Jocelyn Fox
“Only because we ran out yesterday,” retorted Ross.
“These are actually really good,” Tess said in an aside to Luca as Ross, Duke and Vivian continued their verbal sparring over the merits of condiments on breakfast food. “I mean, I wouldn’t quite say ‘culinary masterpiece,’ but…” She smiled.
“I will settle for creating masterpieces in other arenas,” replied Luca with a wink.
“That doesn’t even make sense!” said Tess with a snort.
“Of course it does,” Luca replied with a very male grin. “I’ll show you what I mean later.”
Tess smacked his shoulder lightly. “We’re here to focus on the mission.”
He swallowed a mouthful of eggs. “And to focus properly, warriors need a means to relieve stress. Exhaust themselves in a pleasurable pursuit.”
Even though his words were teasing, the spark in Luca’s eyes kindled an answering fire in Tess’s belly. Too late, she realized that the other three had finished their conversation and the rest of the table was quietly eating.
“Pleasurable pursuits, eh?” said Niall as he walked over to take the last seat at the table.
Vivian snorted into her eggs, Duke gave a thumbs-up to Luca and Ross elbowed him for it, Luca merely grinned and though Tess felt a blush rise to her cheeks she smiled too. It felt strangely good, this breakfast mere minutes after stepping through the Lesser Gate. It gave her a chance to catch her breath and gather her thoughts.
“Guess I gotta go on a grocery run,” said Duke as he started clearing away plates, holding up the empty serving dish that had held a dozen eggs just a few minutes before.
“It can probably wait until we’ve resolved whatever it is that we need to do,” Ross said, but her voice lacked her usual self-assurance.
Tess glanced at Ramel. He nodded, signaling that they’d talk in private. So many things had happened in the short time she’d been gone.
“Who wants first shower?” asked Vivian, surveying all of them.
“Shower?” repeated Moira, breaking the word into two distinct syllables.
“And we have a winner!” Vivian motioned for Moira to follow her. “Come on, I’ll show you what’s what. I think you’ll fit into my clothes, actually. You do have bigger arms than me though, I’ll have to start doing more pushups…”
Moira glanced at Tess in amusement as she followed Vivian toward the bathroom. Tess smiled.
Ramel touched her arm. “I’ve been using the study as my room. We can talk in there.”
Tess looked back at Luca, who was at the sink washing the plates from breakfast with a matter-of-fact air, Forin perched on one shoulder and Farin on the other. She heard Farin imperiously instructing the big ulfdrengr on the proper amount of dish soap to use. Luca listened solicitously to the Glasidhe, a slight smile pulling at his lips.
She turned and followed Ramel into the study. It was much as she remembered it, several makeshift beds covering the floor but this time made up neatly rather than occupied. Ramel folded his legs and sat on the floor, leaning back against the wall with a sigh. His torn shirt opened enough for Tess to glimpse the wicked-looking cut striping his torso from neck to navel.
“Let me see to that,” she said, spying the healing kit that she’d left in the room during her last visit. Pulling the kit across the floor by its strap, she unrolled it and began selecting the herbs she’d need, murmuring their names under her breath. When she looked up again and Ramel hadn’t obediently pulled his shirt over his head, she raised her eyebrows. “Suddenly shy?”
“Suddenly tired,” said Ramel with a sigh. And he did look tired, shadows pressed under his eyes and yellowish bruises marbling his jaw where he’d been struck. But, Tess thought, he certainly looked better than Finnead.
“Humor me for old times’ sake,” she said, pulling the mortar and pestle out of its little pouch and beginning to crush the herbs for the salve.
“Old times,” said Ramel musingly as he pulled the torn fabric over his head. He tossed it aside; the stained and ripped fabric could barely be called a shirt anymore. “That’s a bit funny, coming from you, Tess.”
“What, I’m not allowed any nostalgia?” said Tess with a grin as she pulled out a vial of blue antiseptic liquid and poured half of it onto a cloth. Ramel grimaced but held still as she dabbed at his cut. “So many things have changed since I first stepped into Doendhtalam. It feels like it was decades ago.”
“Many things have changed,” said Ramel in agreement.
“So, tell me what’s happened since I’ve been gone,” Tess said quietly, still working on his cut. Sometimes that was the easiest way to talk about difficult subjects – give both people something else to focus on, something to occupy their hands and their minds in the space between words.
“It took me a long time to heal. I don’t remember what happened during that time, only that Molly was here and then she wasn’t.”
“She went with Corsica.”
“Yes. That first night, Corsica attacked Tyr and Forin while they stood watch over the bone sorcerer. She wounded Tyr gravely and left Forin for dead. Niall saved Forin by giving him his taebramh. Vivian saved Tyr by giving him her blood.”
Tess drew in a breath. “That doesn’t sound like a great idea.”
“Tyr has shown himself to be reliable,” Ramel replied carefully. “He helped teach Vivian, along with Niall.”
“They worked together?” Tess raised an eyebrow as she scooped salve onto her fingers.
“I don’t think it was ever a formal agreement. More like neither of them told Vivian that she couldn’t train with the other. Forin and Farin also taught her bladework.”
Tess nodded. “Good. The Glasidhe are good teachers.” She smiled at the fond remembrance of her own diminutive taskmasters in her chambers at the Unseelie Court. “And what happened that left you all worse for wear?”
Ramel took a breath. He waited until Tess finished applying the salve to speak. “Molly agreed to go with Corsica. I believe she saw it as the only way to defeat Mab.”
“To use the bone sorcerer somehow?”
“No. To become stronger than the bone sorcerer. To be his apprentice and then to use that knowledge as a weapon against Mab.”
Tess sat back, hooking her finger through Gwyneth’s pendant at her throat, stroking the cool metal with her thumb. The idea of Molly willingly crossing the line into Dark sorcery, all in the name of revenge against Mab, made her feel sick.
There was once a time when you would have considered such a thing, pointed out the Caedbranr. You have toed that line several times, my Bearer.
And when was that? Tess retorted, though she thought she knew the answer already. The Sword flashed three memories in quick succession through her head: Emery, dying in the barracks after the first battle in the forest; Finnead, pale and unmoving on the slick rocks of the Darinwel, drowned after falling from the bridge; Liam, gasping his last breaths on the cold stone floor of the Dark Keep, the hilt of Andraste’s dagger still gleaming between his ribs.
That last one doesn’t count, she pointed out. Arcana was the one who saved him.
You gave her permission, said the Caedbranr relentlessly.
“You know, Vivian has silent conversations with Tyr,” Ramel said. “Seeing you have silent arguments with the Sword prepared me for that.”
Tess chuckled. “Sorry. The Caedbranr takes particular pleasure in pointing out my own hypocrisy sometimes.”
“Only sometimes?” Ramel arched an eyebrow. Then his face settled into its serious expression again. “After Molly went with Corsica, we’ve all been…waiting. We did not know where she kept the bone sorcerer. Or anyone that knew didn’t tell us,” he amended darkly.
“Tyr?”
“Unless this was a lair that Corsica kept herself, he knew of it and did not tell us,” said Ramel. He drew up his legs and rested his forearms on his knees. “They were a pair for centuries. I’d bet my best sword he knew where that lair was this whole time.”
“So, what happened?” Tess said, gesturing to the ruin of Ramel’s shirt and the bruises darkening on his face.
“Corsica left a message,” said Ramel grimly. His eyes darkened. “She left one of her kills for Ross to find.”
“Her…kills?” repeated Tess.
“The Exiles and the bone sorcerer take their sustenance in the same way,” said Ramel.
“Blood,” said Tess with a sinking stomach. Her mind supplied her with the searingly fresh images of the Sidhe corpses that she’d pulled from the rubble at the training yard. She hadn’t even told Ramel the details of the casualties. In the back of her mind, she wondered when she would ever grow used to confronting such terrible sights.
“Corsica had to keep the bone sorcerer supplied in addition to her own needs. And then for Molly too, at this point.” Ramel shifted. Tess wondered if it was his wound or the thought of Molly drinking blood that caused him pain.
“So, Corsica leaves a corpse for Ross,” said Tess. “Then what happened?”
“Ross came to me and asked me to help. She wanted to confront Corsica and Molly, perhaps even convince Molly to return with us. I said yes, and we left last night without telling anyone.”
“That conversation didn’t go as planned, did it?” she asked quietly.
“I didn’t expect the level of skill in the wards on Corsica’s lair,” confessed Ramel. “And I overestimated the recovery of my own strength.”
“You’re not the only one who’s done that.” Tess smiled self-deprecatingly.
“I’ve had centuries more practice at it,” replied Ramel with a sigh.
They sat in silence for a moment. Tess heard water running through the pipes in the walls and Moira singing a Vyldgard song in the shower. What was it that prompted every Sidhe to burst into song when they bathed in the mortal world? The incongruous thought softened her solemn mood.
“The others rescued us,” Ramel said with a note of finality. “We felt Titania opening the Gate as we made it back here. Farin announced that you were coming back.”
“Sometimes I wonder how exactly she knows these things,” said Tess. She sighed. “Honestly, I’d hoped that this was going to be quick. Titania asked me to assist her in opening one of the Lesser Gates. Apparently only she and Mab knew of the locations of the ones they’d shut, and even those had been mostly forgotten. But it was easier than I thought. She wanted me to bring Niall back.”
“And opening the Gate has restored his taebramh,” said Ramel, “which we’ll need when Molly and the bone sorcerer come calling.”
“And Corsica,” added Tess.
“Vivian killed Corsica,” said Ramel, a note of grim approval in his voice.
“That’s…unexpected.”
“She’s been training hard. I wouldn’t underestimate her.”
“I certainly won’t,” murmured Tess. She thought for a moment. “It’ll be good to have some other mortals in Faeortalam.”
“You and the Seer aren’t mortal,” scoffed Ramel, his eyes gleaming impishly.
“Thanks for reminding me,” she replied drily. She shook her head. “Not like I need reminding these days.”
“I have no idea what that means, but I’m sure you will enlighten me in your own time,” said Ramel.
“When did you become so patient?” Tess asked, feigning exaggerated surprise.
“Just like I’m not suddenly shy, I’m not suddenly patient. I’m just too exhausted to win a witty duel of words. Or any duel of any kind, for that matter.”
Tess tilted her head. “I think Moira’s done in the shower. Why don’t we get you cleaned up, and then you can sleep.” She stood and offered Ramel her hand, levering him up from a sitting position with practiced ease.
“You know me too well, Lady Bearer,” her former sword teacher said as they walked into the hallway. The door to the bathroom was indeed ajar, swirls of steam escaping into the cooler air.
“I’m always Tess to you, Ramel, you know that,” she said affectionately.
“But it’s worth it to see you blush when I call you the Bearer,” Ramel replied with a grin.
Though he looked exhausted and the flash of humor faded quickly from his eyes, Tess thought about how good it was to have her old friend back from Mab’s clutches as he shut the door behind him. She realized anew how grimy her own clothes were, sighed and padded toward the kitchen, hoping that Vivian wouldn’t mind one more person borrowing a few items of clothing. She let her mind slowly mull over this new situation, purposely drawing her conscious thought away from Molly. Regret was a useless emotion, one she couldn’t afford to indulge with the bone sorcerer and his dangerous new apprentice on the warpath.
If only she could be certain that Molly would direct her wrath at Mab. If only there was some reassurance that Liam’s vision of carnage, Seelie and Unseelie and Vyldgard, wouldn’t come to pass. But that wasn’t the world in which they lived. That wasn’t either of the worlds in which they lived. Tess took another deep, calming breath and turned her thoughts to more immediate matters, like where she fell in the shower order and, as Vivian brightly asked, what color shirt she’d prefer to wear once she’d scrubbed the grime and gore from her body.
Chapter 43
Ross knew from experience that taking a shower would make her feel marginally better. She’d have to resist the urge to scrub her skin raw. Most people who had never been in a real fight for their lives thought that blood washed off easily, but she knew better. She felt it seeping into her skin and staining her soul, slick as the first moment it splattered onto her, warm and still half-alive.
The eggs from breakfast sat leadenly in her stomach. She pushed away the nausea. She’d been through this before and she’d get through it again. Duke followed her into the bedroom, silent as a shadow. She stripped down to her underwear without any preamble, leaving her filthy clothes in a heap on the tile floor of the bathroom. He didn’t touch her, didn’t try to hug her or coax out the story. He just leaned against the sink and stared into the middle distance, not even watching her because he understood, as much as he could, how filthy she felt.
As she waited for the water to heat – which it did very quickly thanks to the disproportionately large water heater that Vivian had installed during the remodel – Ross shed the last of her clothes and felt her mind circling back to gnaw on the question that was lodged at the front of her consciousness. The thought beat insistently, overpowering even her heartbeat. Why? Why had she thought that her plan to talk to Corsica was a good idea? Why had she thought herself so untouchable? Why had she allowed her righteous anger at the loss of innocent life and Corsica’s taunt to cloud her judgment?
She didn’t fight it, letting her thoughts gather around that one word as she stepped under the stream of hot water. For a moment, the pure sensory pleasure of the hot water running over her bruised skin eclipsed the buzz in her head. She felt her aching muscles relax slightly, and that set off little cascades of pain in different parts of her body. With a sigh, she reached for her no-frills bar of soap, rubbing it between her palms. Slick suds covered her skin.
When she blinked, she wasn’t in the shower anymore. She was in Corsica’s lair. Her hands weren’t covered in warm, slick soapsuds. They were covered in blood. She saw the staring dark eyes of the terrified kid that Corsica had so casually hauled across the piled treasures of the warehouse. Corsica had slit his throat, collected the first spurts of blood in a silver bowl, and then let him crumple to the ground. Ross hadn’t been bound then, and she’d scrambled forward, knowing in her head that it was useless but unable to let this sweet-faced kid die without a fight. His blood slid black over her hands and his eyes locked on hers as she murmured wordless reassurance, trying to tell him that he wasn’t alone, that she was afraid too, that they would all follow him someday. When the light faded from his eyes, that moment of instant transition from a twelve-year-old kid with dark hair in a neat halo around his head to a cooling corpse, she had felt momentarily helpless.
They’d bound her to the pole next to Ramel after that, and she hadn’t been able to hold the older woman who said her name was Brenda and she had two kids and please don’t do this, she didn’t have much but she could get some money, or she would try to give them whatever they wanted, just please don’t take her away from her kids.
Ross put a hand against the wall of the shower and threw up. When her stomach had emptied of the eggs she’d just eaten, she stood there for a few moments with the shower beating down on her back, the water streaming down her face and mingling with her hot tears. She rinsed out her mouth and grabbed the soap again. As she rinsed, Duke pulled back the shower curtain slightly.
“Here.” He offered her toothbrush, mint toothpaste already neatly curled across the bristles. She took it gratefully, trying to give him a smile and mostly failing.
She brushed her teeth and felt a little better. After she finished her shower, she wrapped herself in a towel, glad of the fogged mirror so she couldn’t see how terrible she looked. Robotically, she applied moisturizer to her face, put on deodorant and combed leave-in conditioner through her hair. She pulled at the comb as it snagged on what felt like the hundredth tangle. Maybe she’d just buzz her hair short again. She’d done it right when she enlisted, thinking it would feel good not to have to deal with the bulk of a braid or a ponytail under her helmet.
“Let me,” Duke said gently behind her. She let him take the comb from her fingers, and he worked it expertly through the rest of the snarls in her curly hair. He divided her hair into three sections and braided it loosely so it would dry. This everyday tenderness somehow broke through the fog like nothing else had. When he finished securing the end of the braid, she turned and leaned against his chest, snugging her chin into that divot on his shoulder where it fit so well. He held her without any questions, without any words at all, and that soothed her more than anything he could have said out loud.