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

by Jocelyn Fox

  Striding toward Murtagh, I realized Liam was right. Deep circles cast shadows beneath the Unseelie Walker’s eyes. From a distance, his face looked skeletal. He held himself with the same cat-like grace, but there was a strange weariness about him that I couldn’t place. Liam kept pace with me as I unlatched the pool gate and walked across the yard, the grass cool beneath my wet bare feet.

  “You were hard to find, Lady Bearer,” Murtagh said. His once-luminous gray eyes watched me tiredly. They’d once reminded me of the moon.

  “Murtagh,” I said, “what’s happened to you?”

  He didn’t seem to hear me. “Lady Bearer. Please. You have to help.”

  “Help with what?”

  “Tess, who is this?” Liam said, standing close by my elbow.

  “Liam, this is Murtagh. He’s a Walker from the Unseelie Court.” I didn’t pause to see how Liam reacted to that introduction.

  Murtagh didn’t ask me about Liam. It was as if he didn’t see him. “Please. You have to help,” he repeated, his bloodless lips forming the words haggardly.

  “Murtagh, tell me what you mean.” I took another step forward, making my voice as encouraging and warm as possible. “Talk to me.”

  He took a shuddering breath and his eyes shifted from looking at me to looking through me. “I cannot hold out much longer, my lady.”

  I didn’t bother to correct his formality. “What do you mean? Did Mab find out that you hadn’t told her everything?”

  “No. But she…I fear she has gone mad, my lady. We all do. The death of the Vaelanbrigh…we did not know how desparate she had become. But now…she’s mad.”

  “What’s happened? What’s she doing?”

  “She’s draining us,” Murtagh said through bloodless lips. “And the Vaelanmavar…”

  My heart quickened. “What about the Vaelanmavar, Murtagh?” Gwyneth’s pendant heated at my throat. I felt Liam touch my elbow. “Murtagh?”

  The young Sidhe’s form was fading. A grimace of pain twisted his face. “They drew lots…we were told it was an honor…”

  “You have to take him back with you, Tess,” Liam said into my ear.

  I turned and looked at my brother in shock. “What did you say?”

  His eyes were focused on something I couldn’t see. “If you don’t take him back with you, he’ll die. Mab will kill him.”

  “I can’t…I can’t do that though,” I said. “We’re in the ether, we’re not in Faeortalam…I pulled my sword through when I was at the Saemhradall, but that’s the best I’ve done before.”

  “Well, you can do it,” Liam said with such certainty that I half believed it myself. He turned to me, and there was something like the Fae-spark in his eyes. “I just saw it, Tess. You can do it.”

  I thought of Chael and Kianryk, on the brink of death. Luca and Finnead, both sorely tested by our encounter with the sirens. And the distance to the Seelie Court, stretching before us. “We already have so much to deal with.”

  Liam took me firmly by the shoulders. “Are you saying you won’t save him because it will be an inconvenience?” There was a fierce anger now in his words, and this time it was directed at me. “I just saw what you can do, Tess. I just saw your power. I don’t know the whole story, but the part that I did see…you are the knight in shining armor, Bug. You have to be. That means protecting those that can’t protect themselves. You know that.”

  I met my brother’s eyes. “I know that because you taught it to me.” And then I turned back to Murtagh. “Murtagh, hold on. Do you hear me?”

  His voice was faint, but his form grew stronger. “Yes, Lady Bearer.”

  “Hold on.” Liam’s eyes went distant again. “You’re going to take him back in Walker-form, and you have to stay in your Walker-form too. Once you have him back to your camp, you need to go to his physical body as a Walker, and then…” He paused, brow creasing. “It looks like you’re possessing him or something.”

  “I need to merge with him and then bring his physical body back when I go back to my body,” I whispered. “Liam…how the hell…?”

  He smiled tightly. “I told you, Bug. Lucky.”

  I gave him a quick hug. “You always have the right answer.”

  “I try. Now you have to help Murtagh.”

  I nodded. “Promise me you’ll stay safe.”

  “I always do my best.”

  “And find your way back here, if you can,” I said, feeling a dull ache in my chest at the thought of leaving Liam again so soon after we’d discovered our mutual ability to Walk.

  “This is a lot to take in,” he said. “But I’ll try.”

  “Two days from now,” I said, “I’ll meet you here.” I memorized the feel of the ether, of this particular pocket that we’d molded into our childhood home. “Just remember how this place feels, and think about waking up in your dream. That’s the best I can describe it.” Another thought occurred to me. “You know how to get back?”

  “I’ll figure it out,” he reassured me. Then he leapt forward and caught Murtagh as the Unseelie Walker collapsed. “Looks like you’d better get going. He’s not in a good way.”

  I knelt down next to my brother and Murtagh. What little color he’d possessed had drained from Murtagh’s face. Even in his Walker form, he looked like a corpse. Liam laid him on the green grass with a tenderness that made my chest ache more. I couldn’t help myself. I threw my arms around my brother’s neck and he hugged me back. We stayed like that for a moment and then he gently pulled away.

  “You need to go,” he said.

  I nodded, swallowing hard. I wouldn’t cry in front of Liam. Not when he needed to understand that I was okay. “I know.” I cleared my throat. “I love you, Liam. Stay safe.”

  “Love you too, Bug. Give ‘em hell.” He smiled and ruffled my hair fondly. I made a face and ducked away from his hand. He laughed, and before the sound of his voice faded I steeled myself and gripped Murtagh’s arm, felt for the seam in the fabric of the ether, and threw us through it.

  Chapter 22

  I hurtled through the ether back into Faeortalam, keeping an iron grip on Murtagh. I couldn’t see him anymore, but I could feel him. He was heavy, like dragging a weight behind me. The trees suddenly whirled around us, firelight smearing across the maelstrom in a dizzying golden arc. I dug in my heels and the spinning slowed. My body drew me toward it like a magnet. Murtagh was alarmingly still and heavy. I used him as an achor, but even so, I slid toward my body inexorably.

  “No,” I gritted out. Gwyneth’s pendant flashed hot against my neck. Murtagh made a sound of pain. My vision cleared and I saw myself, sleeping peacefully against Finnead’s shoulder. Finnead, too, was deep in sleep, looking surprisingly young and vulnerable. The fire had died down before us to glowing, pulsing embers. My feet slipped through the fallen leaves as my body pulled me toward it. I dropped to my knees, still holding on to Murtagh. Finally, after a few moments of scrabbling against the forest floor, I felt the pull lessen, and then stop altogether. I supposed there was some sort of natural reaction for Walkers, when they came back from the ether; and now I had adjusted to Walking in Faeortalam again. I quickly turned to Murtagh and rolled him over onto his back. With both of us in Walker-form, I could touch him like we were substantial.

  “Murtagh?” I squeezed his arm.

  He opened his silvery eyes. “Where…?”

  “Never mind that for now,” I said quickly. “Please, you have to tell me. Where are you in Darkhill? I need to know.”

  “Why?” he whispered through bloodless lips. “I’m dying, Tess. Aren’t I?”

  “What in the gods’ name?” came Vell’s voice. She strode through the shadows, yanking a dagger out of its sheath at her hip.

  “Vell,” I said. “I’m going to bring Murtagh back. I need you to be ready.”

  “What?” Vell’s golden eyes gleamed in the darkness as she looked from me to Murtagh on the ground. For a moment I thought she was going to protest, and then she pressed
her lips together and nodded, sheathing her dagger as she strode back toward Luca, Chael and the wolves.

  “Murtagh. Murtagh. Where are you?” I shook his arm.

  A slight smile stretched his lips. “Can’t save me, Tess. She owns me now. She’ll drain me dry. Like she killed the Vaelanbrigh.”

  I glanced over my shoulder at Finnead, sleeping peacefully. Murtagh followed my gaze and his eyes widened.

  “I saved him,” I said softly. “You need to tell me where you are so I can bring you back.”

  A shiver wracked his body. “In…your room.”

  “What?” I was sure I’d heard him wrong.

  “The room…you lived in…while you were at Darkhill.” He took a rattling breath. “Trying to find…something…anything.” With a supreme effort, he lifted his hand and gripped my sleeve. I saw on his sleeve a black armband. “Don’t…I’m already…dead. Near enough.”

  I shook my head. “No. I’m going to help you.” Fierce resolve flared in my chest. “Are there wards around Darkhill against Walkers?”

  He coughed, an ugly rattling sound. “More…against those…escaping.”

  Taking that as a no, I gripped Murtagh’s shoulder. “In my room, the one I used…I’ll be there.” I quickly visualized the room in Darkhill.

  “Vaelanbrigh…will kill me…if anything happens…to you.”

  I smiled a little. “Let me worry about Finnead.” I reached for my well of taebramh and made sure the Sword’s power was caged between my ribs, locked up tight so that hopefully Mab wouldn’t be able to sense me.

  “Hold on,” I told Murtagh. I stood, and gathered myself. Any logical person would point out that there were many, many holes in this plan—so many unknowns, so many things that could go awry. I didn’t know if there were wards around Darkhill. I didn’t know if Mab would know I was there…and she would certainly be furious. Murderously furious. So the endgame was getting in, and getting out, as fast as I could. I envisioned the room in Darkhill, felt for the seam in the ether, and slipped through, thinking of stealth and praying that Mab didn’t have the strength to put wards against Walkers trying to get into Darkhill.

  I slid through the ether without choosing to stay, getting used to the feeling of the in-between, sensing the paths that I could take that would lead me to places unknown, or pockets that I could mold as I pleased. Pockets like the blue rose garden, or my childhood home. I wondered if they slipped back out of existence once the Walkers were gone, or if they spun in the invisible cosmos of the ether like smooth encapsulated moons caught in the orbit of Faeortalam, bright bubbles of creation whirling unseen around the two worlds. Maybe it was some kind of heaven. Maybe the gray cliffs led to the ether, for ordinary folks. But then I thought of the blood-stained snarl of the Unseelie princess, and shuddered, pushing my musings away as I hurtled toward Darkhill.

  When I slipped out of the seam, a great crushing hand engulfed me, squeezing my Walker-form mercilessly. I fell gracelessly to my side. I gasped and choked, even though I was insubstantial and I supposed didn’t need to breathe…and as soon as I reminded myself of that, as soon as I brought my lack of a physical form to the front of my mind, my taebramh sparked and the hand loosened, enough for the spots to clear from my vision. I saw a shining mass of tentacles wrapped around me, and for a panicked moment I thought that I’d transported myself back to the sirens’ lair beneath the Darinwel. I heard voices. The tentacles—which were really ropes, I realized, animated ropes—shifted slightly, enough for me to free my head. I resisted the urge to blast the ropes with my power.

  “Secrecy and stealth,” I muttered to myself.

  The voices grew louder. I glimpsed three pairs of well-worn boots, and the tips of two shining weapons.

  “…should probably just stab it now,” one voice—a woman’s— urged. “Who knows what kind of sorcerer it is?”

  “To have the audacity to infiltrate Darkhill itself, the very heart of Mab’s kingdom…it must be a very strong sorcerer indeed,” a male voice agreed gravely.

  A slightly insane giggle bubbled up my throat at that. I laughed. I couldn’t help it. I knew I should have been thinking of a way to escape the enchanted ropes, but the whole setup struck me as incredibly funny somehow.

  “Wait a moment,” said a third voice—another man. An infinitely familiar and beloved voice. “Evil sorcerers don’t giggle.”

  The ropes fell away and I snorted in helpless laughter as I looked up at Ramel, Emery and Bren. Ramel and Emery had their swords pointed at me, and Bren held an arrow to her bow. They all wore expressions of priceless amazement. I sat up, my ribs aching from the torrent of laughter coursing through me. With an effort, I managed to take a deep breath and corral the urge to break into another peal of laughter. “I’m sorry,” I gasped. “The looks on your faces.”

  “Tess,” Ramel breathed. “By the gods.” He lowered his sword and stared at me in shock.

  Bren lowered her bow, stared at me for a moment more, and then blinked, breaking into a grin, rushing forward to give me a one-armed hug. I tweaked my Walker-form to have slight substance and hugged her back in surprise. The Sidhe weren’t ones for public displays of affection. “Wow. I get a hug,” I said. “I guess I really surprised you.”

  “Surprised us?” Bren repeated, drawing back from me. “We thought you were dead, Tess! When the Vaelanbrigh died…” She paused, a slight hitch in her words and a fleeting expression of deep sorrow crossing her face. Then she rallied. “When the Vaelanbrigh died,” she repeated gamely, “we thought that, most likely…the whole group of you had been killed. Or taken prisoner.”

  Ramel shook his head. “Only some of us thought that. I knew that Finnead would die before he let anything happen to you.” His characteristic smile lifted one side of his mouth. “And I was right.” He strode forward and enveloped me in a hug.

  “Two hugs. This is a record,” I commented. I grinned when Ramel mussed my hair, ducking away from him just as I had ducked away from Liam only a bare hour before. Emery watched soberly, his face Sidhe-smooth. I gave him a nod, and he inclined his head somberly in return. The Gray Cliffs had left their mark on him, no doubt about that.

  “The room is secure,” he told me seriously as he saw me begin to inspect my old lodgings.

  I glanced about the room, saw a slight form on the bed. “Murtagh,” I murmured, rushing forward.

  Bren and Ramel followed me.

  “We did what we could,” Bren explained hurriedly. “But the Queen…after losing the Vaelanbrigh so suddenly, her ability to maintain our defenses is weakening.”

  “How many others is she draining?” Murtagh’s physical form looked almost as bad as his Walker form. His face retained the ethereal beauty of the Sidhe, but with a skeletal edge. Death loomed over him, marking shadows around his eyes and in the hollows beneath his cheekbones. They’d covered him with thick blankets, but he still shivered.

  “Two,” Ramel answered grimly.

  I opened my mouth to ask whether it was anyone else I knew, and then closed it. I could only save Murtagh tonight. I was fairly certain that bringing him bodily with me back through the ether would drain my already depleted energy. Suddenly I noticed that Ramel and Bren both wore black armbands as well. Glancing over at Emery, I saw one on his arm as well. Ramel followed my gaze.

  “Mourning,” he said. “For Finnead.”

  I held Ramel’s eyes with my own. “You’re sure that no-one is listening?”

  “The walls themselves have ears in Darkhill, but we are sure that no Sidhe is eavesdropping,” he replied.

  “Finnead is alive.” I barely breathed sound into the words, and for a moment I thought Ramel hadn’t understood me, but then an incredulous joy filled his eyes in a flash, like a supernova—instant and overpowering, and then gone the next moment. I licked my lips, glanced at Murtagh, explaining quickly, “We were crossing the Darinwel. Mab was draining him. We fell into the river…he drowned, stopped breathing…his heart stopped, for a moment, and s
he let him go. So yes, he was dead, for a minute.”

  “But you brought him back,” Bren whispered. Uncertainty flickered across her face. “With necromancy?”

  “Don’t be silly,” Ramel admonished her before I could reply. “There are other ways to bring a drowned man back to life, and they are far from necromancy. All it takes is the skill to know what to do.”

  Bren’s face softened in relief. “Of course.”

  I swallowed and tried to ignore the small knot of guilt wriggling against my spine. “Are the Glasidhe all right?”

  “We’ve hidden them,” Ramel said. He glanced at the walls.

  “Don’t say where,” I replied hastily. Murtagh coughed, his body arching off the bed. His breath rasped in his throat.

  “Are you going to ask her, or should I?” Emery said in his cold smooth voice.

  Ramel tried to silence him with a look, but Emery kept his eyes on me.

  “Ask me what?”

  “To come back to Darkhill. To save us before it is too late.” His eyes bored into mine, the gray of silken souls and tattered ghosts. A humorless smile touched his mouth. “But then again, I told them that they did not understand the cost of taking you as their savior.” He ignored Ramel’s flinty stare.

  I clenched my jaw. “I can’t. I can’t come back. We’re across the bridge, in the Borderlands. I can’t risk putting the Sword in Mab’s power.”

  “Reinforcing Darkhill is not worth your time?” Emery’s eyes shifted. Something from beyond the Gray Cliffs stared out at me. A thrill of horror slipped down my back. I glanced at Ramel, trying to communicate my trepidation through my eyes. He gave the merest hint of a nod. I hoped that meant he understood that Emery wasn’t the Emery who had set out from Darkhill before the battle.

  “You should go,” Bren said. “Every moment you stay is putting you in more danger.”

  A chuckle escaped me. “Trust me,” I said drily, “this is one of the least dangerous things I’ve done lately.”

  Ramel raised one eyebrow at me. “So you’ve been a busy, busy Bearer.”