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

by Jocelyn Fox

  “They’re holding them at the edge of a cliff,” I said into the tense silence. “Merrick?”

  He already had the map unfolded and the scrying-stone positioned over it. With a soft murmur from Merrick, the stone’s polished black surface glowed and pulsed, colors swirling within it like a storm-cloud. The image coalesced into a cliff. As one we all leaned closer, watching as the picture clarified, sharpening bit by bit. It was as though we were looking through the eyes of an eagle, down at a clearing on the edge of the cliff. Beyond the cliff, a foam-laced river lashed at a rocky gorge. A cluster of badly pitched tents squatted near the edge of the cliff, and at their center two poles thrust into the sky like fingers. I forced myself not to look too closely at them, focusing instead on the cliff and the river below it.

  “The Darinwel,” I said, frowning. “Last time you checked…”

  “It was three weeks away,” Vell finished, watching the scrying-stone with hard gold eyes. Small figures moved like ants over the bare ground. Her gaze followed them hungrily.

  “Is it really only an hour as the crow flies?” I asked.

  Merrick slid the scrying-stone delicately over the map, tracing it back to a glowing spark which I realized marked our position. Or probably Merrick’s, I amended silently. “Yes,” he said grimly.

  “Then we rescue them faster,” Luca said, his Northern accent clipping his words. He was not leaning over the map. “How is this a bad thing?”

  “It only confirms that it’s a trap,” Vell answered. “Only yesterday the Darinwel was three weeks from us.”

  “The Enemy must know that we freed Luca,” I said, rubbing the scar on the bridge of my nose in thought.

  “You freed me,” Luca corrected me, his voice holding such intensity that I glanced up, startled. His ice-blue eyes caught my gaze and held it. I felt a blush surge into my cheeks and then I felt the weight of Finnead’s eyes on me.

  I cleared my throat. “Yes. Well. Semantics.” I waved one hand. “In any case, they’ve decided to try and draw us into a trap. They’ve brought the Darinwel closer, gambling that we’d try to rescue Chael and Kianryk.”

  “And they would be right,” pointed out Finnead in his smooth, expressionless voice.

  I shrugged one shoulder. “So they’re right. But we know it’s a trap. That takes away their element of surprise.” I leaned forward, unable to stop the small smile from spreading across my lips. I tapped the map with one finger. “They’re so sure they can kill us that they brought the Darinwel right to us.”

  An answering smile slowly formed on Merrick’s lips. He looked up at me, eyes shining. “Brilliant. Use the Enemy’s trap to get us to the Seelie Court.”

  “Do we even know what part of the Darinwel they’ve drawn in closer?” Vell asked. Kavoryk rumbled something unintelligible, crossing his arms.

  Merrick moved the scrying-stone across the map slightly. A rope bridge swayed precariously over the yawning gorge, only a mile or two away from the cluster of lopsided tents.

  “So they’re sweetening the deal,” I murmured. The Sword hummed in agreement at my hip. “If we can make it past them, we cross into Seelie lands.”

  “No,” corrected Finnead. “We cross into the Borderlands. It’s another week’s ride at least until we reach Seelie land proper.”

  “The Borderlands are neutral territory, right?” I asked, trying to remember all the Sidhe history I’d read while my arm was healing back in Darkhill. I rubbed my arm idly at the memory. It seemed so long ago, like a different lifetime. Before I’d realized I was the heir to an ancient bloodline, destined to bear the Sword.

  “Neutral territory, yes,” agreed Finnead, his brow creasing slightly, “but that means that we won’t be able to expect any help from Titania or any of the Seelie Court until we’ve reached the edge of the Borderlands.”

  I slid my thumb under the strap of my quiver again, rubbing the smooth leather restlessly. “I thought the Darinwel marked the border between the two Courts.”

  “It did, but that was many years ago, before the Shadow took hold. After…after the first attack on the Unseelie Court—”

  The murder of the Princess, Queen Mab’s younger sister, I thought to myself.

  “—the borders changed. The Courts began withdrawing, strengthening the Courts themselves rather than worrying about outlying territory.”

  “So Darkhill and Brightvale became their strongholds.” The Sword stirred at the mention of the Unseelie Princess. “That much we already knew. What I don’t understand is why Malravenar hasn’t attacked them directly.”

  Finnead shrugged with one shoulder. “Does he need a reason?”

  I frowned in thought. “What do you mean?”

  The Vaelanbrigh spread his elegant, long-fingered hands expressively. “Does a madman need reason? Does a murderer need justification to kill?” He gazed at me with drowning-deep eyes. “There have been instances in your world as well. Surely you learned of them your schooling.”

  I nodded, thinking of haunting photographs of broken glass, bonfires of books, stars pinned to sleeves, and railroad cars usually meant for cattle, used to herd people that were viewed by a handful of men mad with passion as less than people. I thought of blood on rusted blades, children killed because their father came from a different people than those who came into power. Heaviness settled in my chest and I stared down at my hands, flexing my fingers and then clenching them into fists. “I know. I just thought that maybe…maybe it was different in Faeortalam.”

  When I looked up, Finnead met my eyes with an indecipherable expression. Was it pity written fleetingly across his face? My stomach clenched. The last thing I wanted was his pity.

  “Though we wish it were, it is not,” Merrick said into the silence, his dark head still bent over the map. He raised his face to the afternoon light.

  “Enough talk about thought and theory,” Vell interjected. Beryk paced behind her, his golden eyes smoldering like embers in the shadows. “What is our plan for the rescue?”

  I glanced up at the sun, slowly descending from its zenith. “I suppose the first question is, do we attack while it’s still light, or use the darkness to our advantage?”

  “What advantage?” scoffed Vell. “They already know we’re coming. They baited the trap and now they lie in wait.”

  The Sword hummed in agreement on my back. I rubbed at my war-markings as a feather-light brush of power shivered over my skin. Luca straightened, rolling his shoulders back and scrutinizing me with his ice-blue eyes. The whisper of the Sword’s power was still new to him, an alien touch that had seared his flesh when I removed the curse. But he didn’t look daunted. “Then is there any reason to wait?” I turned to our navigator. “Merrick, how’s your shoulder?”

  “Good as new,” he replied with a grin that made him look sixteen.

  “Vell?” I asked.

  “A few bruises and a bit sore from the fight,” she admitted warily, “but nothing I can’t handle.”

  I nodded briskly, glad that at least Vell was being honest. “Kavoryk?”

  “I shall sharpen my axe,” the giant rumbled, eyes glinting above his beard.

  A smile pulled at one side of my mouth. Then I cleared my throat. “Luca?”

  The ulfdrengr raised his bowed head; he had been staring down at his heavily bandaged hand, flexing his fingers. Determination settled across his ruggedly handsome face. A shaft of sunlight struggled through the branches and found his golden hair. He was all gold and pale snow, punctuated by the light blue of his eyes. A spark entered those eyes as he met my gaze. “Yes, Tess?” His lips caressed my name.

  “How are you feeling?” My voice remained steady. A small bit of pride flared in my chest, even as the glow from hearing my name on his lips—not “Lady Bearer,” not “my lady,” but “Tess”—warmed lower parts of me. I raised my chin a bit and pushed down the roiling emotions. Now was not the time to swoon over a chiseled Adonis, I scolded myself. There would be plenty of time for swooning af
ter we rescued Chael and Kianryk.

  Luca considered my question, weighing his words before he replied. “Not as well as I would like, going into a fight, but well enough.”

  “And have you heard any voices in your head lately telling you to kill our Bearer?” Finnead asked silkily. I looked sharply at him, stopping myself from tugging at my sleeve to better hide the white bandage that covered the shallow cut on my forearm.

  Luca turned to face Finnead. “You are the Vaelanbrigh of the Unseelie Court?”

  “Yes.”

  Watching the two men was a study in contrasts: Finnead, dark and lithe and sleek as a panther, his raven-wing hair gleaming deep purple and blue in the shadows, facing Luca, almost a full head taller and half again as broad in the shoulders, with his halo of tousled golden hair and unrefined ruggedness.

  Luca spoke his next words slowly. “You were the one who was taken by the Enemy in the Shadows?”

  I tensed. Vell crossed her arms and watched the two men stonily, Beryk pacing like a liquid shadow behind her. Kavoryk had his lathing stone in hand and settled down onto a huge fallen log, laying his massive axe across his knees. He glanced up with black eyes and shook his head slightly, turning back to his blade with an unintelligible rumble.

  “Yes.” The sapphire in the Brighbranr’s pommel flashed as Finnead answered with one cool word.

  “Then you should know what it is to come back from the Shadow,” Luca finished, his voice so quiet that I leaned forward to catch the sound of it.

  Finnead’s jaw tensed but his face remained otherwise impassive, as though he was carved from marble. He locked gazes again with Luca for a long moment, as though measuring the ulfdrengr through his stare. Then he nodded, minutely, one of those Sidhe movements that I’d had to learn how to see. Luca nodded in return. The tension broke suddenly, like a fractured piece of ice.

  “Now that you’re done measuring,” Vell commented drolly, “can we please continue with our mission?”

  “Measuring?” Merrick repeated with a look of slight confusion.

  A half-grin curved Luca’s lips. “Trust me, my kylharra, there is no need to measure.”

  I rolled my eyes, suppressing the smile tugging at my lips. Vell looked at him sharply as the Northern word hung in the air, unfamiliar but somehow powerful nonetheless. Then she cleared her throat. “No need for formality here.”

  Luca bowed his head in acquiescence…to Vell? I blinked. The Sword hummed in thought, and Gwyneth’s pendant stirred at my throat, the first time its power had awoken in days. My hand unconsciously found its smooth curve, tracing the wrought-iron tree in the center of the pendant and brushing my thumb over the delicate rubies that had once been drops of my blood. The pendant vibrated, instilling me with a sense of urgency. I felt in my bones that time was running out for Chael and Kianryk. “Ten minutes and then we’re on the trail,” I said, hearing my voice as if from afar. I turned to Merrick. “Let me see the map again.”

  “Your wish is my command, Lady Bearer,” he replied with a wry smile. I swatted his arm lightly and he grinned. He sobered as he positioned the scrying-stone over the map. “Do you want another count?” he asked darkly.

  I leaned over the map. My jaw tightened as I took in the miniature scene: the clearing before the cliff crawled with dark shapes, some sinuous and slithery, others huge and shambling. It looked like an anthill. I suppressed a shudder. “Well. They definitely know we’re coming.”

  “Let them know,” rumbled Kavoryk in his thunderous voice. “It makes little difference to me.”

  The Caedbranr answered with a sharp fierce flash of fire. I stifled a surprised sound as the fire flashed down my war-markings. “Enough of that,” I scolded the Sword. The Sword-as-wolf paced in my mind’s eye, its eyes gleaming rebelliously. “We need to get this show on the road,” I said to no-one in particular. “I’m going to check on Kaleth.” I stood and brushed off my knees, walking toward where I’d last seen Kaleth. The faehal had an uncanny ability to be right where I thought he was, or right where I happened to be. Either way, it was a handy talent, but one he was apparently not exercising at the moment. I paused between two slender birch trees, searching the surrounding woods for a glimpse of his familiar blue-gray coat. I stiffened as low voices reached me. The Sword-as-wolf stopped its pacing, pricking its ears alertly. My feet moved of their own volition, carrying me silently closer to the two owners of the voices.

  “…don’t understand,” Vell finished, her voice low.

  I paused behind an oak tree, my cheeks burning as I deliberately listened. The Sword spared a quick glance at me, chastising me for being so childlike. I was its Bearer, and I could eavesdrop if I damn well pleased. I smiled a little at the Sword’s logic.

  A sigh reached my ears, and then a catch of breath, a painful hitch.

  “Hold still,” Vell murmured.

  Very slowly, I edged one eye out from my hiding place behind the sturdy oak, expecting to see Luca and Vell.

  “I know she doesn’t understand,” Finnead said tiredly, weariness like I had never seen written across his face. He was sitting against a tree, Vell kneeling in front of him, and he had his shirt slung about his neck, his shoulder bare. I put my hand to my mouth as what little there was in my stomach attempted to crawl up my throat. Vell gently dabbed at the black and green flesh of Finnead’s shoulder, her face carefully blank as blue-tinged pus—the sickly dead color of frostbitten skin—oozed from the wounds.

  “She…cares for you,” Vell said, each word precise.

  Finnead clenched his jaw as she applied a layer of salve. “Just wrap it.” She opened her mouth to protest. “Don’t waste your supplies,” he snapped, his voice still controlled and low but lashing out with heat. Vell sat back on her heels and regarded him with calm golden eyes. Finnead leaned his head back against the tree. “I know,” he whispered. “I know she cares…but it will be easier for her, if she thinks me a callous bastard.”

  “If we can get across the river, wouldn’t that loosen her grip enough?” Vell asked.

  It took me a moment to realize they were no longer talking about me. They were talking about Mab. They were talking about the Queen of the Unseelie Court, who was steadily draining the life from her sworn Three.

  “I do not know,” Finnead said wearily. “It may, or she may kill me even after we are across the Darinwel. The Borderlands are not Seelie territory proper.”

  “Tess knows that you’re being drained,” Vell continued quietly, unfurling a length of clean linen.

  “She knows,” he admitted, “but she mustn’t think she can fight Mab. She mustn’t take that risk.”

  “So you’re allowed to venture to the Grey Cliffs for her, and she’s not allowed to sever your blood-bond with Mab to save your life?” Vell raised one eyebrow.

  A wan smile spread across Finnead’s mouth. “Call me a hypocrite, if you like,” he said, his voice near a whisper. “But if the pain of her hatred is the price for her safety, I will gladly pay it.”

  Vell shook her head as she finished wrapping the bandage about Finnead’s shoulder. “You should trust her.”

  “She cannot waste her power.”

  “It wouldn’t be wasting it,” Vell countered. “That’s a stupid thing to say.”

  “If Mab latched onto her…if she was able to access Tess’s power as she does mine…” Finnead sounded so tired. “Mab would drain her dry.” He closed his eyes. “She is the last best hope against Malravenar. I will get her to the Borderlands…perhaps even the Seelie lands proper. And then if I die…” He shrugged his good shoulder. “At least she will be safe.”

  “She will be safe,” Vell said, her voice uncharacteristically gentle, “but she will be heartbroken.”

  Finnead’s lips twisted in a wry smile, his eyes still closed. He grimaced a little as Vell tightened the bandage. “I doubt it,” he whispered, “but if so, I’d rather her heartbroken and alive. Heartbreak gives the strength to fight, sometimes.”

  I edged
slowly away, my mind whirling, and as I turned I nearly tripped over Beryk. He regarded me with his golden gaze, neither reproachful nor judgmental. He watched me silently for a moment and then glided away, his sleek black fur mingling with the shadows. After a frozen moment, I stumbled forward again.

  How could I have been so blind, so incredibly stupid? My mind flipped back through the past days, through everything that Finnead had said, his biting comments and cool indifferent gaze. He’d been pushing me away intentionally, building a barrier between us of anger and resentment, to protect me from the Dark Queen. The blood-ritual to cure the wound inflicted by the syivhalla hadn’t healed him because there was another type of blood-magic at work: Mab’s bond with him. What kind of ritual bound the Dark Queen to her Three? I wondered. The Sword showed me a brief flash of deep blue blood pooling in the hollow of a polished alabaster skull, inlaid with silver to form a chalice. It took the image from me before I could catch more than a glimpse, but it still left a terrible metallic taste in my mouth.

  Kelath raised his head inquiringly, ears pricking forward. I grabbed my light little saddle from where I’d draped it over a low tree branch and buckled it quickly onto his back. We understood each other well enough now that I didn’t need reins, and they’d get in the way in a real battle anyway. The faehal pranced a little as I swung onto his back. “Easy,” I murmured. “Don’t get too excited.” I touched the pommel of the Sword and thought grimly that this had become more than just a rescue mission to save Chael and Kianryk. It was a rescue mission to save Finnead too. If I could get him across the Darinwel and through the Borderlands, I stood a chance of breaking Mab’s hold on him. From what I’d just heard, I couldn’t break Mab’s blood-bond with Finnead with the Sword’s power, or it would be like opening the door and inviting her into my head. The idea was not a pleasant one, but I understood why Finnead wanted to keep it from me, because I would have done it anyway. The Caedbranr pricked me sharply. I would, I thought at it defiantly.