by Jocelyn Fox
“She killed Ramel because she needed to use his death for her own ends,” said Luca.
“Are you implying that she would kill me too, if she could?” said Tess.
“She killed Ramel,” repeated Luca. “One that she loved.” There was sorrow in his eyes as he asked her earnestly, “Would you kill me to further your own ends?”
“No,” Tess answered immediately. “You know that. Why would you even ask?” A shiver of horror ran through her. She’d almost lost him when he was pulled through the Gate Andraste had opened with the Queens’ blood at the Dark Keep.
“You know why I ask,” Luca said. He stood, unfolding himself from the chair to his full height. He had a way of making everything in the vicinity look small. The kitchen table and chairs seemed like they were fashioned for children next to him.
“I know,” Tess said as he strode forward and folded her into his arms. She rested her head on his chest. “But I don’t like it.”
“I think that is an understatement.” His voice rumbled in his chest and through her cheek.
“Yes, it is,” she agreed. “I just don’t have words for it right now.” After another moment of luxuriating in the feel of his strong arms around her shoulders, she gently disentangled herself. “I don’t like it, but I see the sense in what you’re saying.” She looked at Niall. “Will Ramel agree?”
“You should ask him yourself when he wakes up, but he mentioned stopping Molly himself in the aftermath of the battle at the warehouse,” Niall said. “Forin and Farin are watching over him as he sleeps. Or rather, Farin is sleeping and Forin is watching over them both.” He met her eyes. “Molly kept the Glasidhe in a birdcage woven with iron chains.”
Tess swallowed against the nausea rising in her stomach. She inhaled deeply through her nose and out through her mouth. She was the Bearer of the Iron Sword. She had to face this challenge with open eyes and a clear determination. “And it was very clear that she was the apprentice of the bone sorcerer?” She’d heard the tale of that night but she needed to hear it again.
“She had red runes marked on her face,” said Niall. “She fought Tyr when we raided the warehouse to rescue Ross and Ramel and the Glasidhe.”
“And Tyr wasn’t letting her win, was he?”
“No.” Niall shook his head. “In the end, it was the Paladin that tipped the scales. Without her, we might well have all been killed. She took on Corsica. I did not have my taebramh. Ramel was too weak to help.”
“It seems that you and Tyr chose well,” said Tess.
“It is part of our duty,” said Niall. “Long-forgotten for most, but I am older and have a long memory.”
Tess nodded. She motioned to the table. “We should sit again. I understand the general intent of the plan, but we still have to discuss ways to minimize collateral damage.” She shook her head again. “I understand, but I still don’t like it.”
“Did you like letting the bone sorcerer live to fulfill Merrick’s promise to the Exiled?” Luca asked.
“If I’d just decided to kill him then, none of this would have happened,” Tess replied heatedly. The Sword rattled in disagreement. She waited for its androgynous voice to speak in her mind, but it abstained from clarifying its stance any further. She pressed her lips together and turned back to Luca. “No. I didn’t like it.”
He rubbed the scar on his hand where a dagger with a Dark spirit had once been bound to his flesh. “There is a difference between willing apprenticeship and enslavement.”
“By that philosophy, are Mab’s subjects willing or enslaved?” Tess arched an eyebrow.
“Perhaps both,” replied Niall. “She has been edging closer to this madness for centuries. And when there was a far greater evil threatening the very existence of our world, it was easy to dismiss her cruelty. It was not right, but it was easy.” He shook his head. “We did not take Malravenar seriously, even when he killed – kidnapped – the Princess Andraste. It had not touched us, so our Queen extended her sympathies but abstained from action. She allowed Mab to punish Corsica. There were those who did not agree with that decision, but she is our Queen. And then she underestimated Malravenar, before we understood his true nature. She was captured in the ether, leaving us without a leader, and we nearly died sustaining her during her captivity.”
“I thought you were dead when we got to the throne room at Brightvale,” Tess said. She remembered the frozen tableau: Queen Titania upon her throne, her Three prone on the dais, giving her their life-force and bleached of their golden Seelie coloring as the price for extending themselves.
“We nearly were,” replied Niall. “I do not think anyone told you, but we probably could not have held out another fortnight.”
Tess sat down in a chair at the table. “You know, life was simpler when we were hunting dragons and fighting Malravenar’s beasts.”
“In a way,” agreed Niall.
“There are still beasts to hunt,” said Luca. “They are just not as recognizable.”
Tess thought for a moment. “We need to send a messenger to Titania and Vell.”
“How convenient, then, that we have two Glasidhe messengers,” said Niall.
“They’re both fit to fly a demanding mission?”
“We will ask them when they awaken.”
“My fear is that this will move too fast to wait for that,” Tess confessed.
“Molly will need some time to recover after the battle,” Niall said confidently. “The loss of Corsica will affect her, and Tyr struck some blows that will not soon be forgotten.”
Tess considered. “We need to send them by tonight. Otherwise, I think we’ll be waiting too long.”
“I agree.” Niall nodded. “I am going to go inspect the Gate. I have not seen one properly constructed in centuries.”
“Oh, the Gate I summoned wasn’t properly constructed?” Tess asked, arching an eyebrow.
“It was not a permanent Gate,” said Niall. “It is like comparing a doorway like these to the great doors of the cathedral in the White City.” He motioned to the front door of Vivian’s little house.
“For the record, that’s a very nice door that has held up well beneath all those runes,” said Tess.
“That is also true. For all its simplicity, it has proven its worth.” Niall nodded. “If Vivian asks after me, please tell her where I am.”
“Sure thing,” said Tess. She waited until Niall had opened the door and pushed open the screen door without touching the iron. When the door shut behind the Seelie Vaelanseld, she turned to Luca. “You really think that setting Molly loose on Mab is the best plan?”
“It isn’t what I would call a good plan,” said Luca. “There is very little good about it. But it pits two evils against one another, and that is perhaps the best way to bring about their destruction.”
“I don’t want to bring about Molly’s destruction,” Tess confessed in a voice barely above a whisper. For all her experience as the Bearer, defying Mab, traveling across Faeortalam, fighting the war against Malravenar, somehow this felt like the cruelest twist of fate yet. Her best friend had decided to strike a deal with the bone sorcerer and become one of those that the Bearer had sworn to defend against. Molly had crossed that line. Tess remembered Malravenar’s attempt to seduce her with power, offering her the chance to join him in his domination of the Fae world. He’d shown her a vision of herself, reincarnated as a Dark goddess, powerful beyond what even the Sword could give her. She hadn’t taken his offer. What had made Molly take the bone sorcerer’s offer? Or rather, Corsica’s offer, from what she’d pieced together.
“It is not easy to do what is right,” said Luca.
“What if she faces Mab and she wins? What if she survives?” Tess clenched her jaw. “I’ll have to…I’ll have to kill her.” She tried to imagine putting a blade through Molly like she’d thrust the Sword through Malravenar, but she couldn’t even construct the image in her mind.
“I’ll tell you once again, this burden is not onl
y for your shoulders,” Luca said. He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “I will go to Kianryk now. He wishes to hunt, and in this world, it is best if I am with him.”
Tess nodded. “The collar will help.”
“I do not like it, but I see its necessity.” After some discussion as Titania had constructed the Gate, Luca had buckled the bespelled red collar around Kianryk’s neck once again. The great tawny wolf had merely shook himself thoroughly from tip to tail and flicked an ear. The ulfdrengr seemed more upset by it than the wolf.
“Good hunting,” she said to Luca.
“White Wolf willing,” he replied with a lupine grin.
After Luca left, the house fell silent. Tess sat at the table for a while, at first with one finger looped through Gwyneth’s pendant and then with both hands resting on the table when the pendant remained silent. Perhaps the time when the other Bearers were willing to give her counsel was over. Perhaps now she had to forge ahead on her own path, relying only on her own judgment.
You are far too fatalistic, said the Caedbranr.
If you’d like to weigh in, you could have done it when we were having the discussion, Tess said tartly.
I may weigh in whenever I please, said the Sword with an air of superiority. And besides, it is good for you to think through things on your own.
Tess snorted. Well, I take that to mean you support the conclusion we reached.
There are many different endings to many different paths, the Caedbranr replied vaguely.
Now you’re sounding like Liam with one of his visions, she retorted.
He understands the nature of the future. As much as one who is nearly mortal may understand such things, it added.
Right. Tess shook her head. She stood. The hot shower had loosened her muscles, and she suddenly realized that she hadn’t stopped moving since before Mab had attacked the Vyldgard. It had all blended into one long stretch of action.
It would not be amiss to rest, the Caedbranr said.
Sleeping would also allow a greater flow of taebramh, as she’d discovered during her last venture into the mortal world. And if the conversation with Niall and Luca was any indication, she’d need all her power at full capacity very soon.
Since when are you a mother hen, she muttered at the Sword.
I am neither a mother nor a hen. Both of those are contrary to my current physical existence, though I suppose I could restructure, mused the sentient weapon.
“I think you’re giving yourself a bit too much credit,” she told it as she decided to take the couch. She’d slept in worse places. She pulled the strap of the Sword over her head but she laid the blade alongside her, cradled between her arm and her side.
How would you know how much credit to give me? the Sword asked as she settled her body into a more comfortable position.
I’ll give you credit if you keep watch for Molly, she told it.
If you are attempting to manipulate me, that was a very transparent attempt, the Caedbranr replied archly. But I will keep watch.
Tess chuckled. She closed her eyes and with practiced firmness, cleared her mind of all the thoughts that swirled about her consciousness: worry about Ramel, denial about Molly, thoughts of the wounded Vyldgard fighters she’d rescued from the collapsed wall at the training yard, contemplation of Calliea’s new role as one of Vell’s Three, wonder at the ease of the new Gate that Titania had constructed…
Her thoughts faded like ripples smoothing into a calm surface again. Tess let herself drift into sleep, knowing that it might be the last rest she was afforded before the confrontation between the bone sorcerer’s apprentice and the mad queen.
Chapter 47
Ross sat on the floor by her bed, trying to make sense of what to do next. Her phone sat beside her, the glowing screen long since gone dark. She’d pulled up the contact information for one of the guys that she knew over at the NOPD, but any way she turned this situation in her mind, it would bring attention to herself. She’d have to explain how she knew about the murders, and she could imagine exactly how that interview would end: a syringe with a nice little dose of sedative and a trip to get evaluated at the mental health unit. Just like if she tried to explain that her fiancé, who’d been killed in Afghanistan in an IED attack unlike anything anyone had ever seen, was in fact alive because he’d been kidnapped into another world by the forces of a villain who wanted to use his LT’s ability to see the future. Yeah, that didn’t sound crazy either.
She leaned her head back against the footboard of the bed. A few weeks ago, her life had been so simple, and she hadn’t even appreciated it. She’d been nervous about her interview at the fire department, determined not to show it, and worried that Vivian was starting to drift, without a clear, defined purpose in the years after college. She’d taken Mayhem on a run every morning before the Louisiana summer heated the asphalt of the roads to unbearable temperatures. She’d carefully adjusted her workouts at the gym to maximize her strength gains while maintaining her speed. She’d eaten healthy and indulged in a craft beer once or twice a week.
It had all been so simple. Then she’d received that phone call right before her interview, the phone call that she’d thought was a hoax because it was impossible that Duke was alive. The men in their dress uniforms that had come to her door had told her in painfully proper voices that while there was no body to bury, the search had been exhaustive and they had no proof of life, but they had trace DNA in the burned-out wreckage. She hadn’t wanted it to be true. She would have faced another IED explosion, another gunshot wound, in exchange for healing the ache deep in her chest that split her soul in two.
And now that her deepest desire, her most impossible wish, had come true – Duke was alive and he was here – she felt like her life was careening out of control. The selfishness of it curdled her stomach. How dare she feel anything but gratitude that the man she loved was returned to her?
Her mind dragged the memories out again: the kid, his blood pooled around his head; the middle-aged woman, her washed-out blue eyes dull and milky in death, staring at the ceiling. Her nose ached sharply as though in protest of the unpleasant images in her mind’s eye. She blinked and took a breath, touching her swollen face gingerly with two fingertips. Not the worst she’d ever encountered, she told herself bracingly. Getting blown up was still worse than the beating meted out by Corsica, even if her body told her otherwise right now.
She picked up her phone, turning it over in her hands. Was it going to be impossible for her to keep her job in this mess? Could she somehow satisfy the obligation to duty tugging at her while also keeping herself out of the spotlight and away from suspicion? She sighed and tossed her phone aside, leaning her head back again. God, this headache. It made thinking difficult, and this would have been a gnarly problem even without the side effects of a fractured nose.
A soft knock sounded at the door to the bedroom. She opened her eyes as Duke pushed the door open and slid into the darkened room. He held out two pills in his palm as a peace offering.
“I don’t want any more meds,” she growled, but the shooting pain that vibrated through her skull as she spoke told her otherwise.
“Just ibuprofen,” Duke said. “I mean, I’m just a corpsman and all.”
She smiled a little at that. “Right.”
He tipped the white pills into her hand and gave her the glass of water to go along with it, sitting down next to her with a careful space between them. She finished the glass of water and set it down with a sigh.
“How’re you doin’?” Duke asked, his voice pitched low.
“Not good,” she said. They’d learned early on that they had to be honest with each other. They both had too many demons to handle on their own.
“Do you keep seein’ ‘em?”
“Yeah.” Ross stared up at the dark ceiling. “I’m trying to figure out how I could report it without getting dragged into the investigation, and that makes me feel like a selfish jerk because they’re dead and here
I am worrying about how saying something will affect me.”
“You know that’s the guilt talking.”
“I know it, but it doesn’t make it any easier.”
Duke nodded, his arms resting on his knees, his eminently capable hands hanging loosely from his wrists. Ross let her eyes trace his hands, lingering on the scars on the knuckles. When they’d first met, Duke had been upfront about the fact that he got into fights more often than he should. It hadn’t taken her long to understand that his bar fights were the equivalent of her soul-crushing workouts and punishing runs, a way to feel something beyond the guilt and pain that rose like a black cloud in their minds.
“Watching people die sucks,” Ross said vehemently, feeling her eyes fill with tears.
“Yeah, it does.” Duke nodded. “Sucks even more when you can’t do anything about it.”
“I don’t know what to do with this. I don’t know how to handle all this craziness.” Ross felt the first tears slide down her cheeks and she plunged on. The only way out was through. “I want to keep my job. I worked really hard to get to where I am. I want to help people and I want to be a good firefighter. It just seems like everything is getting too crazy for that to actually happen.”
“I don’t think so,” said Duke, his voice thoughtful. Only his close friends saw this contemplative side of the wiry, sarcastic Southerner. “You might just need to adjust your expectations of normal.”
“Even if I could do that, it doesn’t solve the problem of what to do about these latest two murders,” said Ross. Another thought dawned on her. “Oh, God. My prints are probably on that poor kid. I tried to…help him. Tried to save him.”
Duke blew out a breath. “So maybe you do need to tell someone. You got anyone you can trust?”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out. With something like this?” Ross started to shake her head and then stopped. With a broken nose, that was a bad idea. “I mean…how much do I tell them? And what, I’m expecting them to just believe me? It would be asking someone else to put their career on the line for me.”