The Mad Queen (The Fae War Chronicles Book 5)

by Jocelyn Fox

  Calliea drew her awareness back to herself in time to see the first zephyrs impact Mab’s thundercloud with a gleeful scream. The unseen spirits punched into the storm cloud, leaving visible holes, and began the work of dismantling the cloud from the inside, wisps and shreds of cloud breaking away as the zephyrs spun and whirled. Titania sent her beams of golden light after the zephyrs. Calliea watched the work of the two Queens with a satisfied awe.

  Kyrim banked as they reached the front lines, leading the Valkyrie formation in a sweeping flight over the front line of the Seelie and Vyldgard forces. Calliea belatedly realized that the war cry rising from the gathered warriors was for them, and she grinned as Kyrim tossed his head and answered with his own challenging neigh. As they reached the end of the line and banked again, the two Valkyrie scouts punched out of the storm cloud, glittering strangely, the winged faehal struggling to maintain altitude.

  Calliea felt Kyrim surge forward, but the zephyrs got there before them, bearing up the two scouts with wordless murmurs of concern just on the edge of Calliea’s hearing. One of the beams of golden light encircled the two riders, fawning over them until the gleam of ice crystals darkened to water. By the time they reached Calliea, Trillian and the other scout, a dark-haired Valkyrie named Loren, looked soaked and nonplussed at the sudden assistance from the zephyrs, but they rallied to give their report.

  Trillian drew her mount alongside Kyrim as Loren flew to join the formation.

  “Alright?” Calliea asked. As their faehal coasted, the wind died down enough to allow them to speak.

  “Nearly frozen, but just a little wet now,” said Trillian with a fierce grin.

  “What did you see?” Calliea glanced at the thunderhead, the zephyrs still busily tearing at its edge, eating away at it doggedly.

  “Mab,” Trillian answered, the grin fading from her face. “She is gathering those loyal to her, and those not.” She bared her teeth in a silent growl. “There are a dozen or more frozen, rooted to the spot. No doubt they wouldn’t fight for her. And her hounds will be the first to attack, I think.”

  “They have a taste for flesh now,” replied Calliea grimly. She found her bond with Liam and Finnead. Vell’s attention was concentrated on the aerial attack for now. Calliea transmitted the scout’s report to the other two of the High Queen’s Three, feeling their understanding vibrate through the bond. She nodded. “The Queen knows.”

  “Convenient,” commented Trillian.

  Calliea smiled. “Otherwise you’d be flying down there yourself.”

  “I’ll still gladly do it!” the indomitable one-eyed Valkyrie responded.

  “They’ll probably send up another cheer for you,” said Calliea, raising one eyebrow.

  “Then I’d better soak that up while I can!” Trillian saluted and urged her mount into a low dive that did indeed inspire shouts from the Seelie ranks.

  Calliea smiled as she watched Trillian draw up her agile, graceful mount Faline near the High Queen on Nehalim. And then she found her treacherous gaze searching the ranks of Vyldgard around Vell for Merrick’s dark head. She hadn’t spoken to him since the scene in Vell’s chambers, and now they were going into battle. With a growl, she shoved the thoughts away. Time enough for that later.

  As the High Queen reached the front lines of Seelie, a roar of welcome rose from the golden ranks of Titania’s fighters. A sudden blast of wind swept over them, mist convalescing in front of their ranks and then swirling into a pillar. Kyrim adjusted the angle of his wings as the last vestige of the gale guttered around them. Calliea drew an arrow from her quiver, nocking it to her bow and putting tension on the string.

  A slender woman dressed in black stepped out from within the column of fog. Even at a distance, Calliea saw the red runes marked across the woman’s pale face as the woman turned to survey the ranks of Sidhe warriors and the two Queens with an eerie calm. The strangely serene movement of the woman reminded Calliea of Arcana. She lowered her bow, keeping the arrow nocked as she watched the sorceress, the fendhionne who had decided to throw in her lot with the bone sorcerer to gain revenge on Mab.

  Calliea hadn’t interacted directly with the woman on the long march through the Deadlands to the Dark Keep, but she remembered seeing her at a distance a few times, and Tess had mentioned her with fond remembrance. Kyrim banked and flew lower, holding their position just behind the front ranks, zephyrs brushing past them every now again, still intent on their mission to destroy Mab’s thundercloud.

  The sorceress regarded the gathered ranks of warriors for a long moment. Calliea thought for a terrible instant that the plan would go awry, and for reasons unknown the sorceress would decide to attack the Seelie and the Vyldgard rather than Mab. She thought of what she would do: sweep low and fire arrows at the sorceress, runes etched into the arrowheads by Thea. Perhaps even that would do nothing, but there would have to be limits to the sorceress’ ability to defend against attacks from a dozen directions.

  Then the sorceress smiled, her blue-gray lips remaining closed over her teeth. Calliea imagined that the sorceress had pointed teeth, or sharp catlike canines. She felt Vell’s wariness, the High Queen focused entirely on being ready to counter an attack by the sorceress. But the pale scarlet-marked woman turned away, facing Unseelie territory. The zephyrs and beams of golden light had eaten away a significant portion of the front of the black cloud, its surface pockmarked and ragged. The sorceress raised her hands, held flat, brought her palms together and sliced downward. An unseen force cleaved the thundercloud neatly in half; at the edge of her awareness, Calliea heard the scream of a zephyr caught by the blade of the sorceress’ power. Her skin crawled as she unwillingly imagined what that invisible knife could do to the flesh and blood of a faehal and its Valkyrie.

  The fendhionne pushed her hands apart, and with a groan that split the sky and made Calliea’s ears ache, the thunderhead separated, a strip of gray sky appearing down its middle. The echoes of a scream of fury traveled on the wind and the black cloud boiled higher, trying to reunite, but the sorceress bore down and pushed the halves of the storm farther and farther apart.

  The zephyrs and golden beams renewed their attack, the thunderhead weakened and failing as the sorceress held its hemispheres apart, her pale hands now like claws, straining and pressing outward. Wind whipped over her, lashing her dark hair into serpentine coils, tearing at her tunic and the folds of her long black dress. To her surprise, Calliea felt a grudging respect as the sorceress leaned into the gale and redoubled her efforts. The Queens’ uneasy pact with the sorceress did not extend so far as to shield her from Mab’s fury, but they watched from the front lines, Titania’s golden armor gleaming and Vell’s red breastplate a rich counterpoint to its shine. Calliea wondered if they spoke to one another in low voices like old friends or sisters, or if they watched in stony silence.

  I wouldn’t call it stony, but we are not quite friends, came a voice in her head that definitely belonged to the High Queen.

  Calliea started so violently that Kyrim snorted and craned his neck to fix her with one liquid eye to ensure that she was all right.

  “Sorry,” she told her magnificent mount. “Just not used to voices in my head.”

  We will follow the sorceress at a small distance, continued Vell. Send your Valkyrie to watch our flanks and rear. I want you and two others directly overhead.

  “Aye, my Queen,” said Calliea with a nod. She signaled to Trillian and Loren, and they relayed the orders to the rest of the formation. The two scouts would stay with her, their agile mounts and excellent flying skills exactly what she needed in the other two Valkyrie who would help her guard the Queens from above.

  She turned her attention back to the sorceress. The two halves of the storm cloud had flattened, compressing into a single angry layer of black, still roiling and trying to rebuild itself as the zephyrs pummeled it and the sorceress pushed them further and further apart. The black-clad woman dropped her hands, and the two surviving remnants of the thun
dercloud triumphantly began to gain a small amount of height. Then the sorceress brought her hands in a huge circle, shouted a word that Calliea’s mind shied away from understanding, and thrust her palms toward Mab’s clouds.

  A tempest of wind that made Mab’s look like a gentle summer breeze annihilated the rest of the storm cloud, sweeping the shreds away. The gathered ranks of Vyldgard and Seelie did not cheer. An uneasy silence held over their lines as the sorceress turned back to the Queens and bowed with a flourish. Calliea felt the spark of amusement mixed with irritation from Vell, and the wariness still tensing Liam and Finnead as they sat on their own warhorses, watching the sorceress.

  Kyrim snorted and tossed his head at the sight of empty, inviting sky before them.

  “Easy, lad,” Calliea said, patting his neck with her free hand. “We’re to stay apace with the Queens. We’ll get there soon enough.”

  Fog gathered again around the sorceress, seeping up from the bare ground to swirl about her feet. Threads of black pulsed through the dense mist as it wrapped around the black-clad woman. Before the mist reached her head, the sorceress uttered four words that rolled through the air like thunder:

  “Mab, your doom approaches.”

  The Unseelie Queen answered with a shrieking wind of woven winter gales, sharp shards of ice slicing through the air. Warriors in the front line protected their faces with their shields. The sorceress laughed as the column of fog consumed her. When the wind tore apart the mist, she was gone.

  When the hail of ice abated, the Vyldgard and Seelie lowered their shields, the warriors looking to their captains, their captains looking to the Three of their Queens. Calliea heard Vell through Liam and Finnead’s ears as the Vyldretning looked ahead with hard golden eyes and said, “Now we follow the sorceress into Mab’s stronghold.”

  The order rippled down the line. Titania and Vell urged their mounts forward, and they became the point of an arrow, their Courts following them toward whatever horrors awaited them in Unseelie territory. Calliea signaled to Trillian and Loren, and they kept pace above the Queens, their shadows passing over Finnead and Liam. Her heart beat faster as they approached the Unseelie stronghold. She had struck into the heart of Mab’s Court in the White City once before on her berserker mission to free Andraste, rage and grief deadening her to any danger. This time felt different in the measured pace of the Queens and the stoic determination on the faces of their warriors.

  This was not a berserker mission, thirsting for blood and retribution. This was a mission to save what was left of the Unseelie Court, to protect what they could while the battle between the sorceress and the mad queen shattered the rest. Calliea shifted her grip on her bow and leaned low over Kyrim’s neck, hoping they weren’t too late to save what had once been a good and joyous part of the Sidhe world.

  Chapter 53

  Vivian had tried to imagine the sensation of traveling through the Gate into Faeortalam. She drew back her shoulders and gripped the hilt of her sword as she watched the shifting colors of the Gate swallow the copper gleam of Ramel’s hair.

  “Nothing to it but to do it,” she muttered to herself. She took a deep breath, took two steps, and then the third propelled her into the Gate. For an instant that was also an eternity, she fell through the Gate into a hot and whirling in-between place where she felt neither whole nor solid, lights and sounds rushing about her in an incomprehensible whirl, a vortex of everything and nothing at once.

  And then she stepped into Faeortalam. Stumbled, really, because of the dizziness from the chaotic moment of transition…but she regained her balance, quickly glancing at Ramel to see whether he’d witnessed her clumsiness. He met her eyes with an amused smile. Her stomach twisted before she could feel too indignant, forcing her to shift her focus to breathing through her nose and not throwing up, because that would be even more mortifying than falling on her face.

  “First time through a Gate is always difficult,” Ramel said, not unkindly.

  Vivian took two steps away from the Gate so that Tyr wouldn’t crash into her when he came through, still breathing through her nose and swallowing hard against her rebelling stomach. She looked up at the soaring white buildings on either side of them, marveling at the beauty of the architecture. It looked somehow familiar and yet foreign to her, as though her mind couldn’t quite place any comparison to these graceful pillars and arched windows, carved statues watching over them from alcoves built into the walls. With a shiver, she saw upon closer inspection that most of the statues were missing a limb, a few their heads, and there were pockmarks here and there in the gleaming white stone, like the scars of explosions or other violence.

  The White City, said Tyr, joining her in gazing up at a statue of a warrior with vaguely medieval armor. The nose of the handsome youth was shorn off, and he was missing his left arm.

  “What happened here?” asked Vivian. She knew from her studies with Niall that Malravenar’s forces had occupied the White City, but to hear it was one thing and to see it was another. It was somehow more telling that there were scars that couldn’t be erased even by the Seelie.

  Darkness, replied Tyr.

  Luca strode past them, Kianryk circling around the group and returning to where Tess stood prodding at a wisp of smoke impaled on the edge of the Sword like a writhing snake. Vivian blinked. The tawny wolf looked as large as a small horse. She could have sworn he wasn’t that big five minutes ago.

  “She used her sorcery,” Tess said as Kianryk sniffed at the tendril of darkness and growled.

  “She is far ahead of us, then,” said Luca.

  “We should join the Queens,” Niall said. Just as he’d gleamed with renewed vitality after the Bearer had come through the Gate – or after the Gate had been opened, which Vivian supposed had happened almost simultaneously – now he shone with a nimbus of heady power.

  Tess looked at all of them. “You’ve all been marked by me before, yes?”

  “I haven’t,” Vivian replied, even though she wasn’t entirely sure what Tess meant.

  “You’ll be fine,” the other woman said with a grin. “You’re not-quite-mortal, and that’s protection enough. But Tyr, you need it.”

  Tyr strode gracefully over to Tess. She drew up a drop of emerald fire and pressed it to his forehead. He showed no reaction.

  “Right. Niall, if you’d lead us to the Queens. Ramel, take rearguard please.”

  The men unhesitatingly followed Tess’s orders. Vivian admired the Bearer’s brass-tacks efficiency. Maybe with more time, they could even be friends. Niall shifted to the head of their little group and set off at a run, his long legs eating up the distance easily. Vivian hastily shoved her sword back into its sheath and after a second of hesitation dropped her backpack, determined to keep pace with Tess. If the Bearer could do it, a Paladin could too. She’d retrieve her backpack later, when there wasn’t a battle to fight. Excitement coursed through her even as she felt the strain of the quick tempo.

  This is not too fast for you? Tyr asked.

  I ran cross-country in high school, she retorted indignantly. And I’ve been training. If I can’t keep up, maybe that’s partially your fault.

  The mental equivalent of Tyr’s chuckle vibrated through their bond. She focused on regulating her breathing in time with her strides. Her scabbard banged against the side of her leg and every fourth or fifth stride it hit the back of her calf. As the run stretched on, each smack became more painful. She was sure she’d have bruises the next day, but oddly enough that pain became a distraction from the burning in her lungs and the searing heat engulfing her legs. In the corner of her mind, she wished she could summon smoke and disappear to her destination like Molly.

  When we join the battle, stay close to me, Tyr said as they rounded another corner, running down a wide thoroughfare paved with glimmering blue stone.

  Thankfully, their silent speech didn’t require breath, because Vivian found that to be a valuable commodity at the moment. You and Niall taught me to figh
t. I don’t need protection.

  This is unlike anything you have ever experienced, Tyr returned, drawing even with her and glancing at her with serious eyes. If Mab recognizes me, she will target you.

  Why would she target me? Vivian asked incredulously. She tasted copper at the back of her throat and her legs felt leaden. She started thinking of runes to hasten her body’s recovery.

  Because she will be able to feel our bond, if she pays attention, Tyr said in a voice as close to exasperation as she’d ever heard him.

  If you want to stay close to me, fine, she replied. I’m going to fight like I’ve been taught.

  Tyr didn’t say anything else, leaving Vivian alone with the pain of maintaining the punishing pace of the run. Every time her scabbard slapped her calf, a bright hot burst of agony flared up her leg. She gritted her teeth and tried to ignore the sweat sliding down her back. She was a Paladin. She had earned the right to join this fight, and she would keep earning that right.

  A howl echoed somewhere ahead of them. Kianryk flashed past, a golden blur stretched low over the blue-paved ground. Over the rasp of her breath in her throat and the pounding of her heart in her ears, Vivian heard a distant rumbling, pierced every so often by bright slices of noise that she couldn’t make out. As they ran, the rumbling grew into a roar, and the bright noises resolved into shouts and yells, screams of agony and the silver clash of blade upon blade.

  It was the sound of a battle, and Tyr was right. It was like nothing she’d ever heard before. As the sounds washed over them, Vivian started to hope desperately that they’d slow. Her legs ached and her lungs felt like they were on fire. She was pretty certain she’d just run the fastest race of her life, whatever that distance was – way faster than any of her cross-country races.

  Niall didn’t slow. As they twisted down more streets, each became narrower, the buildings less carefully repaired, the statues dark with grime. Winter enveloped them. The sweat cooled on Vivian’s skin and her teeth ached from the frigid air. She skidded on a patch of ice, a yelp of surprise escaping her before Tyr grabbed her arm in a bruising grip, keeping her on her feet. Her sword scabbard tangled between her legs and she yanked at it in irritation, trying to find her stride again. She watched the stones beneath their feet for the glimmer of frost as they pressed on. The cold air tightened with a humming tension that made her jaw ache.