The Crown of Bones (The Fae War Chronicles Book 2)

by Jocelyn Fox

  “Lady Bearer?”

  I glanced up to find Forin and Farin hovering above us. I wasn’t sure which one had spoken. “Yes?”

  It was Farin who answered. “We do not wish to give offense. Would you allow us to take our rest near you?”

  “I don’t want to squash you,” I said without thinking. I grimaced but Forin chuckled.

  “We will ensure you do not…squash…us, Tess-mortal,” he reassured me gallantly.

  “Vell?” I half-turned but the Northerner was already fast asleep without so much as a ‘good night.’ I shrugged. “Make yourselves at home.”

  “Thank you, Tess-mortal,” Farin piped. The Glasidhe twins drifted down to land delicately on the fur by my feet. I took them at their word and rolled to my side, feeling Vell’s warmth at my back, and let my heavy eyelids slide shut. A slight breeze rippled through the glade, the faery-ring’s whispered good-night, and I sank gratefully into an exhausted sleep.

  For a while I dreamt, disjointed visions of exams back at college and my search for a missing coffee-maker in our dorm room. I was on the verge of discovering where Molly had hidden the box containing my precious machine when silvery mist crept into the edges of my dream-vision. I blinked, and it was like waking up, but I knew I was still asleep. I stood on a knoll, silver mist entwining with the long grasses about me.

  “Finally,” said a voice behind me.

  I turned deliberately, folding my arms across my chest. “Damn it,” I growled, “am I not allowed any sleep at all?”

  “You are still sleeping,” replied Murtagh, unruffled despite my fierce scowl.

  “I’m Walking. That doesn’t count as sleeping,” I said grumpily. The beginnings of a headache gathered behind my eyes. I scowled harder. Of course I would have a damn headache in a dream.

  “You’re only Walking in the ether,” Murtagh said in a tone of reason. “And I’ve been waiting for you for hours.”

  “Well, bully for you,” I muttered, but I relaxed my forbidding stance and forced myself to soften my frown. I rubbed my forehead with one hand. “It’s been a long day…night…whatever. I know you’re taking a huge risk talking to me. Thank you for that.”

  Murtagh gave a slight, elegant bow from the waist. “It is my honor to serve you, Lady Bearer.”

  “First of all,” I waved a hand, “my name is Tess.”

  “Very well, Lady Tess.”

  I allowed myself a slight sigh. Murtagh gazed at me with luminous green eyes. “ All right. Why am I in the ether?”

  “So that I may make my report,” the Unseelie Walker replied with that intense sincerity.

  I rubbed my forehead again. “What’s happened?” My stomach twisted in upon itself. “Has there been another attack? Did the Queen issue another proclamation?”

  “I made my report to her, as you requested. The Queen was not pleased when she learned of your binding to the Iron Sword.” Murtagh’s eyes looked through me for a moment as he remembered his meeting with the Queen.

  “She didn’t hurt you, did she?” I asked quickly.

  A small smile turned up one corner of Murtagh’s mouth. “Even if she did hurt me, Lady Tess, I would not have betrayed you.”

  “It isn’t a question of loyalty to me or loyalty to her.”

  “She may make it so,” he replied.

  “Why?” The question came out as a growl of frustration. “She wanted Molly—the fendhionne—to wield the Iron Sword! Why am I any different?”

  Murtagh regarded me silently for a moment. “Do you desire my honest opinion?”

  “Yes.” I paced back and forth on the knoll, mist twining about my knees.

  “There are many differences between you and the fendhionne, Lady Tess,” he said.

  “We’re not the same person, yeah, I get that. So the Queen’s pet Scholars read the prophecy wrong, and I’m the Bearer, not Molly. Is she afraid that makes her look weak?”

  “No. Or rather, that is not her biggest concern. If I may be so bold…” Murtagh paused delicately, considering his next words carefully. “I believe the Queen is concerned about what will happen after you defeat Malravenar, if you survive.”

  “If I survive is right,” I said under my breath.

  “Don’t you see? The fendhionne would not have survived very long after wielding the Sword, if she survived the war,” Murtagh explained patiently. “But you were fully mortal before taking up the Sword. You are descended from the last Bearer. And, if I may say, you are powerful in your own right, even without the Sword.”

  I stopped, standing very still on the mist-wreathed knoll in the ether. “Mab sees me as competition?” The idea stunned me. Murtagh’s silence gave me all the answer I needed. “But that’s insane. She’s a Fae Queen…I mean, Shakespeare wrote about her, for goodness’ sake!”

  “Do you really think it so far-fetched?” Murtagh questioned calmly. “You are bound to the most powerful weapon our world has ever known, and the power of the Queen is…waning.” That last word seemed to be difficult for the Unseelie Walker.

  “Waning? How?” I resumed my restless pacing and worried at a fingernail with my teeth, too preoccupied to worry about being all stiff and proper.

  “It is felt by all of us at Court,” Murtagh said slowly. “And it is said that with the Vaelanmavar suspected of treason, the Queen relies more and more upon the Vaelanseld and the Vaelanbrigh to support her power.”

  “Support her power?” I repeated blankly.

  “Just as the Three draw power from the Queen when needed, she can also draw power from them, though it is rare and I have never heard of its necessity before,” Murtagh amended.

  “She can reach the Vaelanbrigh, even at this distance?”

  “The reach of the Queen extends to the Borderlands, and even then she may keep her hold on him,” Murtagh said gravely. “The River Darinwel is the real dividing line between the domains of Night and Day.”

  “What happens…” I had to clear my throat and gather my thoughts. “What happens if the Queen relies too heavily on the Vaelanseld and the Vaelanbrigh for power?”

  “She will kill them.”

  I stared at Murtagh for a moment, and then kicked savagely at the long grasses. “Damn it all,” I hissed.

  “The Three have pledged their lives to the Queen, and it is their duty if called upon to fulfill that pledge,” the Walker pointed out.

  “Don’t go quoting Court rules at me,” I snapped at him. “The Queen isn’t doing a damn thing to help us, and now I find out she’s essentially a metaphysical vampire?” I kicked at the grass again. “First magical zombies, now this. Just when I thought I’d started to figure everything out.”

  “Magical zom-bees?” A furrow appeared on Murtagh’s brow.

  “Skin-wraiths, but different than any Skin-wraiths that have been seen before, apparently,” I explained cursorily.

  “You were attacked?”

  “We took care of it.”

  “You are still within the Queen’s domain.” Murtagh looked shaken. “She would have known of any creatures trespassing on her lands…or she should have.”

  “So she’s much weaker than she’s letting on to the Court,” I said, a grim undertone entering my voice.

  “Bring the Sword to Darkhill,” Murtagh said suddenly, reaching out for my arm, green eyes bright with fervor. “Bring the Sword to the Dark Queen, and help her unleash fury upon the Shadows.” He touched my arm, his gaze fixed on my face hungrily.

  “Is this the Queen’s agenda, or your misplaced idea of advice?” I asked, looking pointedly at his hand. He released his grip, a flash of guilt crossing his face.

  “I apologize, Lady Bearer,” he said formally. “It was not my place to say such a thing.”

  “You’re right. It wasn’t.” I watched him coolly. “And for now, my plans are my own, Murtagh.”

  He lowered his green eyes. “Yes, Lady Bearer.”

  I sighed. “Please don’t look like I ran over your puppy.”

 
A slight look of confusion clouded the Walker’s eyes as he snuck a quick glance at me, unsure of my meaning. I shook my head and smiled. He raised his head.

  “There. Now, anything else I should know before I get some real sleep?” I asked.

  “I believe you have an ally in the Vaelanseld. He says little, but he knows the Queen better than any and he has restrained her fury in the past.”

  I nodded. “Good to know.”

  “The Queen also seemed interested in the Northern wildling…in Vell.”

  Murtagh’s green eyes softened slightly as he said Vell’s name. I bit my tongue. “Why do you think that is?”

  He shrugged elegantly. “Perhaps because it was thought that the herravaldyr had all perished in the troll-wars.”

  “Fair enough. Anything else?”

  “Not that I know, my lady.”

  “Thank you for your help, Murtagh. From now on, only contact me if there’s something important that I need to know. I don’t want you risking your own safety any more than absolutely necessary, understand?”

  “I would risk my very life in your service, my lady,” he replied.

  “A dead spy is a useless spy,” I told him. “So don’t get yourself killed, Murtagh.” Because I don’t want any more blood staining my soul, I added silently.

  Murtagh bowed in acceptance. “As you command, my Lady Bearer.” The silver mist thickened as his form wavered. He touched two fingers to his brow in salute and disappeared, leaving me standing on the knoll in the ether alone. I sighed and felt for the edges of sleep, drawing it over myself like a thick blanket as I slid out of the ether and back into disjointed dreams of home.

  Chapter 10

  I slept and I dreamed, slipping back into the strange scenario in which I stood in my college dormitory room, the square neon-lit space cluttered with unpacked boxes. I still couldn’t find the damn coffee maker. I checked the closet and all the drawers of the dresser, under the bed and even in the ceiling, delicately popping one of the tiles out of place to peer into the musty darkness. Molly had hidden it somewhere clever. Before I could think of any more places to investigate, something nudged me insistently. I screwed my eyes shut and tried to keep myself planted firmly in my dorm room. A warm wet tongue scraped against my cheek. My eyes flew open and I found myself staring into Beryk’s amused golden eyes.

  “Ugh,” I muttered as he panted in my face, “you have wolf-breath.” I wiped my cheek on my sleeve. “Seriously? Who gave you permission to wake me up?”

  Beryk looked over his shoulder at Vell, who merely arched an eyebrow at me. “I tried to wake you up, but then I had to call in reinforcements.”

  I grumbled something unintelligible as I disentangled myself from the nest of blankets and my cloak. Beryk trotted away and sunlight poured over me. Shielding my eyes with one hand, I squinted and blinked until the spots swimming across my vision cleared. I glanced up at the sky, a clear vibrant blue, and guessed it was midmorning by the slant of sunlight through the trees.

  “Up,” commanded Vell. I gracelessly staggered to my feet, hissing through my teeth at the fierce pull of sore muscles as I tugged on my boots. Situating the Sword in its customary position along my spine, I buckled the belt bearing my plain blade about my hips and shook out my cloak. Vell neatly rolled her skin and blankets. I rolled mine as best I could, and had to admit that it looked less misshapen than usual. Perhaps practice really did make perfect.

  “Your hair’s a mess,” Vell commented as she buckled her skins to her saddle. She had already braided her own raven-dark hair, pinning it neatly about her head in semblance of a crown.

  “I just woke up,” I told her. “Of course it’s going to be a mess.”

  “I told you she wasn’t a morning person,” Vell told Merrick. He glanced up from where he sat cross-legged cleaning his daggers, a smile flashing across his mouth before he saw my thunderous expression. He lowered his head so I couldn’t see his face, but his shoulders shook with a silent chuckle.

  “Come on then,” Vell said. “Four or five laps should do it.”

  “Laps?” I questioned, pausing with my hair-tie held in one hand and my hair in complete disarray.

  “You can fix your hair afterward,” she replied brusquely, slipping into a long-legged jog reminiscent of a wolf’s distance-eating lope.

  I fell into step beside her, wincing as my legs protested. No different than a warm-up run after a hard game the day before, I told myself. The soreness from riding felt different than the soreness from running, though. Merrick carefully sheathed his daggers and caught up to us, his easy speed a painful contrast to my stiff jog. The faehal eyed us curiously as we passed. Kaleth snorted, as if to say, Silly two-legged runners, and returned to grazing the long grasses. Kavoryk paused in saddling his mount, watching us with just as much interest as the faehal.

  “I take it Kavoryk isn’t a runner,” I said.

  “Why would he have to chase anything? His axe does all the work for him,” Merrick replied.

  “True.” One blow from Kavoryk’s massive battle-axe would split a man clean in two or sever a head from a body as easily as cutting through butter.

  Finnead stood opposite the glade from Kavoryk and the faehal, one hand pressed against the pale bark of a birch tree. He ignored us as we ran past, his sapphire eyes half-closed in concentration and his lips moving soundlessly.

  “He’s talking to the dryad,” Merrick said in a low voice as we began our second circuit of the glade. My legs felt looser, and I twisted my torso experimentally, stretching the muscles.

  “Dryad, as in tree-spirit?” I asked.

  “The same. Most of them are found farther North, but they’ve lingered around the faery-rings.”

  “Do all trees have them, or just certain special ones?”

  “Most of them have forgotten,” said Merrick. “There are a few in the Royal Wood still, the ones whose roots grow deep enough to reach the land’s lifeblood.”

  “Can they take physical form?” I asked as we started our final lap around the meadow. Before Merrick answered, a very nubile, very naked woman stepped out from the trunk of the birch tree, her skin as silvery pale as the bark and her long flowing tresses tinted the tender green of new leaves. We slowed and then stopped. Vell sank into a stretch gracefully. I copied her movement, my eyes riveted on the dryad.

  “I guess that answers your question,” Merrick said dazedly, his gaze captured by the beautiful tree-spirit.

  Finnead stood with his back to us, but I could still see the dryad as she stepped forward delicately, her tiny feet barely seeming to touch the ground. Her lips moved, but I couldn’t hear her words. I frowned. The Sword thrummed and my war-markings prickled as a whisper of power moved through the glade. Finnead replied, his voice low. The dryad slid her delicate hand under his shirt, and a rush of burning emotion rose up like a tide within me. I sucked in a breath, caught off guard by the intensity of my reaction. I realized that the fire roaring in my chest was jealousy. My cheeks burned. Vell glanced at me, her golden eyes unreadable. She shifted into another stretch. Merrick, no longer mesmerized, studied the sole of his boot. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from Finnead and the dryad, hard as I tried. A clawed hand squeezed my heart mercilessly as the dryad, her arm enveloped almost to the shoulder in Finnead’s shirt, rose on her tiptoes. Finnead slid an arm around the naked tree-spirit and she kissed him passionately, her spring-green tresses writhing in tendrils around them, twining with the raven-black of Finnead’s hair like a living vine, wrapping around his arms and his neck.

  I felt like I was going to be sick. I clenched my jaw and swallowed hard, eyes burning. It wasn’t enough that Finnead kissed me and then effectively reneged on his promise, but now he had to kiss a gorgeous, naked dryad right in front of me? I fervently hoped that a kiss was all the show they intended to give us, because if it went further than that…my hand twitched toward one of my daggers involuntarily. I realized that Vell was muttering Northern curse-words under her breath,
glaring at Finnead and the dryad with blazing golden eyes. Kavoryk sharpened the blade of his axe, his black eyes glittering from above his massive beard.

  The dryad kissed Finnead hungrily, gripping the back of his neck with her free hand. She drew him back until she was pressed against the bark of her tree, the length of her nubile body melded against him. My breath hitched in my throat as she drew Finnead’s shirt up over his head. Vell made a sound of furious disgust.

  “Tess, you shouldn’t be watching this,” she said, words crackling with anger. She gripped my arm. “Dryads are so pent up in their trees, she probably can’t help herself…but for him, there’s no excuse.”

  I could only manage a strangled sound of agreement as Vell tried to turn me away. But then… “Wait,” I said, half turned, now looking over my shoulder.

  The dryad broke free from the passionate kiss and lowered her head to Finnead’s shoulder—the shoulder that the syivhalla had clawed. His entire body stiffened. The dryad’s voluminous hair blocked my view, but Finnead jerked, clenching his fists, and the dryad held him in place with astounding strength. She finished with the front of his shoulder and slid to his back, her green mane caressing the knotted ropes of white scars that marred Finnead’s shoulders.

  “What’s she doing?” I asked in a hoarse voice.

  “Molesting him?” Vell suggested, disgust still heavy in her voice.

  “The scars,” breathed Merrick, and I realized that the younger Sidhe had never seen the Vaelanbrigh’s terrible marks from his time as a prisoner of Malravenar.

  I watched in unwilling fascination as the skin of the dryad faded from luminous silver to gray. Patches of the bark on the tree peeled away. The Vaelanbrigh swayed forward and pressed his hand against the tree, leaning against it. The dryad clung to him like a leech. I took a step toward them. “Is she hurting him?” I heard myself ask.