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

by Jocelyn Fox

  “No more dragons,” Vell agreed, her golden eyes dancing in wry amusement.

  “Thanks,” I said to Sage. “That wasn’t very pleasant…I’m guessing it would wear off on its own, but…” I shuddered. “No thanks.” I found the little roll of herbs that one of them had placed under my tongue and spat it out.

  Sage regained his voice. “It was my—”

  “If you say it was your honor, or your pleasure, or anything courtly like that, I’m going to smack you,” I cut him off. I showed him the palm of my hand in demonstration.

  He closed his mouth, nonplussed. Then his mouth twisted and he said wickedly, “Don’t make promises you won’t keep, my Bearer.”

  I grinned. “See? It’s not so hard to have an actual conversation. I like you better already.”

  “You didn’t like me to begin with?” Sage gave me a mockingly wounded look. Vell snorted and shook her head. To my surprise, Sage drew her into the teasing. “What, Lady Wolf, you didn’t like me either?”

  Vell raised her eyebrows. “I like precious few court-breds, Seelie rider.”

  “Well, you didn’t say you like no court-breds at all, so I still have a chance,” Sage pointed out seriously. Vell maintained her façade, but when Sage shifted his gaze to me I caught a glimmer of amusement dance across her face.

  “So.” I brushed my dirty hands on my equally grimy trousers, grimacing at the cloud of dust that resulted. “Where to?”

  Beryk appeared out of the gray wasteland, seemingly from thin air. He grinned at me, tongue lolling over his shining teeth. I was about level with him, sitting down. His warm wolf-breath curled around my face.

  “I know you can appear out of nowhere,” I told him. “Color me impressed ten times over.”

  Vell chuckled and roughed the black wolf’s fur with both hands. His open-mouthed grin transformed into an expression of lupine pleasure, eyes half-slitted. Sage offered me a hand. I took it and he pulled me up lightly, not releasing his grip until he was sure I was steady on my feet.

  “Now we go to camp,” he said.

  “Where is that, exactly? Brightvale?”

  A strange expression passed over his face like a cloud across the sun. “Not Brightvale. The camp of the Outer Guard. First we shall go to our patrol camp, then to the Hall of the Guard.” He put two fingers to his lips and gave a piercing whistle. I winced and rubbed my ear.

  “The Hall of the Outer Guard. Is that a traditional outpost of the Seelie Court?” I asked, thinking of the barracks in the Royal Wood.

  “I should not be the one to tell you our circumstances,” Sage said finally.

  I glanced at Vell. Her golden eyes were calculating.

  “So who will?” I let my question hang in the air.

  Sage’s gleaming white faehal cantered up to him and thrust its beautiful nose into his chest. He smiled a fond smile that made his face look very young, and turned to me. “Most likely Gray. She is our…patrol leader.”

  I knew Vell had heard the hesitation as well.

  “All right.” My stomach growled very audibly. “I suppose being paralyzed by dragon-ash works up an appetite. I’m ready for a hot meal and hopefully a bath.” I looked questioningly at Sage.

  He interlaced his fingers to make a stirrup for me. “I’m sure we can manage something.”

  I wanted badly to spring up gracefully onto the faehal’s back, no assistance necessary, but knew enough by now to realize that my bright idea would most likely end in an undignified way—namely, with me sitting in the dirt after making a fool of myself. So I tamped down my pride and stepped into Sage’s hands. He boosted me effortlessly onto his mount’s back.

  “We shall follow,” said Vell.

  Sage leapt up behind me, and turned to answer Vell, but she was already gone. His eyebrows drew together as he searched the gray landscape.

  I shrugged. “She does that sometimes.”

  “I see.” He cleared his throat lightly. “Today has been an interesting day to say the least.”

  I brushed at the dragon-ash still clinging to my skin on the underside of my wrist. “You’re telling me.”

  With that, he spoke a mellifluous word in a soft voice to his faehal, and we were off at an effortless canter. As we sped across the barren plain, I hoped fervently that the rest of our band of travelers had found their way to shelter. If Gray and Tristan didn’t find them, I would search for them in my Walker form, I decided. With that thought, the whirl of my mind slowed, and I leaned back a bit into Sage, letting my eyes wander over the dead land as we drew closer to the Seelie Court—and hopefully another great Power to aid us in our final battle against the rising darkness.

  Chapter 30

  The shining-white Seelie faehal seemed not to notice my added weight, flying over the ground with head held high, silky mane flowing back in the wind. As we traveled, the land changed, so subtly that it was difficult for me to mark the exact moment when the grayness had blended into mossy green and the sky had lost its sickly pallor. Now and again I glimpsed Beryk out of the corner of my eye, but I knew better than to turn my head and try to look at the Northwolf. Vell, I imagined, was running alongside the wolf on feet fleeter than any two-legged creature ought to be.

  Sage kept one arm wrapped loosely about my waist. His easy manner made it simple for me to accept him as a brotherly companion, a comrade-in-arms like Merrick and Murtagh, though he seemed much less intimidated. He hadn’t yet seen the full breadth of the Caedbranr’s powers, though, I though a little smugly, so perhaps in the future he would revise his opinion. The Caedbranr hummed a bit in its sheath at that thought, stirring in amusement.

  By the time the now-golden sun peered at us from directly overhead, our shadows short and ungainly as they flew across the ground in tandem with us, a blue-green smudge on the horizon foretold a forest. My eyes ached from the whipping wind and dragon-ash still limned my skin, mixing with the sweat prickling along the nape of my neck. Despite the wind, the air rushed warmly around us. Experimentally, I sent a questing tendril of taebramh down into the ground, and goosebumps ran over my entire body when I felt the land sing back to me. It was a chorus I had never heard since coming into my power—not in the Unseelie lands, and certainly not since we’d crossed the Darinwel. The great trees on the horizon hummed through their deep roots, and the bright flowers dotting the swaying grass ahead trilled lovely notes of welcome. I even felt the wellsprings deep in the dark rich soil, weaving a harmony of hidden rivers in soothing, rushing voices. And then ahead, far in the distance, I heard the echo of Brightvale, like the clarion tone of a great bell ringing among the soaring arches of a cathedral. There was something razor-sharp around it, I could feel, something deadly and dagger-like: Titania’s defenses.

  Excitement and relief and an emotion dangerously close to triumph rose up in me like a tide. It was one thing to talk about Brightvale, to think about what we would do when we arrived at the Seelie Court. But now I could feel it in the distance, I could almost see it in my mind’s eye…and of course, the Seelie outriders had found us. So Titania was, at the least, expecting us. I thought back to my conversations with the Seelie Queen in the ether. She had seemed the polar opposite of Mab, golden and loving and tender, mother-like and sister-like, both at once, as she spoke to me of my great responsibilities, my powers and my obligations to the creatures of this world that was not mine by birth. I wondered, in a sun-laced haze, whether Gwyneth had favored Mab or Titania. Gwyneth’s pendant heated at my throat in response to my thoughts. I hooked one finger through its smooth curve, running my thumb over the three rubies that had once been droplets of my blood.

  You are a Power unto yourself, the Sword said in my mind. You do not bow to the Queens; you are not one of their Three.

  Thank you for the clarification, I thought at it drily. Just like the Caedbranr to speak into my mind, clear as you please, as I was drifting into a lovely half-awake drowse.

  The Sword muttered something like Perhaps you should not ask such sill
y questions in your mind, but I couldn’t be sure, because I swore the Ancient Sword sounded annoyed.

  Perhaps you should remember that it is my mind, I thought back at it peevishly. Don’t go digging around in my thoughts if you don’t want to answer ‘silly questions.’

  The Sword subsided into silence but its power circled restlessly in my chest, pacing from one side of my ribcage to the other, flowing around the beat of my heart. I sighed softly, wondering if I would ever be completely used to this feeling of another presence inhabiting my skin.

  We rode through the afternoon, and the smudges of trees resolved into a great majestic forest. I had to lean back into Sage, craning my neck to glimpse the wind-tossed tops of the giant trees. As with most things in Faeortalam, it was as though forests in the mortal world were but an echo of these towering giants—a pale copy against the soaring canopies, drenched with every shade of green; the massive trunks, their girth so great I was sure that it would take ten or fifteen people with arms linked to encircle them; even the vines wrapped about the tree trunks were as thick as my wrist, and bore various flowers, from delicate blossoms reminiscent of lilac clusters to nodding lily-like blooms as large as my outstretched hand. Even the sunlight was more beautiful, filtered through the warm living cathedral of the trees’ outstretched boughs, painting my skin in dappled tones of gold and green. My war-markings glimmered in the green-tinted light, surfacing under my skin like a jewel-toned fish to flash in the sun and then return to the depths, hiding under the hot pulse of my blood. I felt rather than saw Sage looking at my arm; I obligingly pulled up my sleeve and held it out for him to inspect, the emerald whorls echoing the shifts and shadows of the sunlight and shade, creating a dizzying kaleidoscope of color and spark. The Seelie rider made a sound that I thought was appreciation, tracing two fingertips over a complex spiral near my elbow.

  His touch raised goosebumps on my arm, but not because of any attraction between us. And that wasn’t me denying it in my head, either, as I’d done for so long with Finnead. In the few hours that I’d been able to observe them, I’d noticed that the Seelie were easily sensual, not nearly as cold as the Unseelie. The brush of Sage’s skin on mine brought the simple pleasure of being touched by another being. I realized with a sudden ache that I missed physical contact—Vell and Chael and Luca displayed the unconscious physicality of a pack of wolves, and I’d gained some much-needed comfort from them, in the blissful moments after the White Wolf had stunned us all with its power and marked the three of them. It was difficult, I understood now, to go days and days without so much as a simple embrace or a touch on the arm. I wondered how Liam managed, with his months of deployment to far-flung bullet-riddled countries.

  At some unspoken signal, the dazzling white faehal came smoothly to a stop. Sage slipped down from behind me and offered me his hand as though it was an afterthought, a small gentlemanly smile attached to it, as though to assure me he knew I didn’t really need help, but manners dictated he offer anyway. I felt my lips curl in an answering smile despite my stiff legs.

  From the ground I noticed that dragon-soot smudged the faehal’s slender legs and stained the end of its flowing white tail. The faehal regarded me with liquid-dark intelligent eyes. On impulse I reached out and stroked its velvety-soft nose, smoothing its forelock and tucking an errant strand of milky mane back into place behind its delicately swiveling ear. “Thank you,” I murmured, and smiled when the faehal dipped its head and blew out a breath, as if to accept my words. I blinked and asked Sage, “Are your faehal related to dragons as well?”

  He gave a ringing-bell laugh. “Just like the Winterbound, to say their mounts are part fire-breather.”

  I shrugged. “Their mounts have scales rather than a pelt, so I suppose it’s at least a bit believable.” As soon as the words left my lips I winced at the edge of defensiveness in my tone.

  “Of course,” said Sage. I glanced at him, and was reassured that he wasn’t being patronizing or flippant. It was a simple matter, his words said, for him to concede a small detail, an interesting thought that flew through his mind on gossamer wings, borne away easily. He slipped off the barely-visible, bitless bridle, rubbing his mount’s muzzle with quick practiced hands. The faehal’s ears flicked in an arc, its tail whished and its eyes went half-lidded in pleasure. Sage said something to the Seelie mount in a low voice, the words foreign to my ears, and then turned back to me. The faehal regarded me for a moment longer, that spark of unnerving consciousness in its eyes, and then unconcernedly walked toward a particularly thick patch of greenery.

  A shadow detached itself from a nearby tree, and the sunlight dappled Beryk in golden tones as he trotted toward us. Vell appeared close behind, looking as though she was just returning from an afternoon stroll rather than…whatever it is she’d done to travel here. Run with wolf-long strides, I assumed, or perhaps ride Beryk as I had once done. Beryk pressed against the back of my legs in greeting, and I tugged his tail in response. I felt him still, and glanced over to find him in a staring contest with the white faehal, who still chewed a branch of greenery unconcernedly. The faehal flicked its tail once at the black wolf, slid an ear flat in his direction, and then turned back to eating. Beryk grinned his amused wolf-grin of sharp canines.

  Sage greeted Vell with a nod, an acknowledgement of equals; she merely narrowed her eyes, rendered molten by a shaft of sunlight. In his unconcerned way, Sage smiled and said, “We are at our Outrider’s Camp.”

  Vell’s eyes narrowed further, and I couldn’t help but glance around me—had I missed some well camoflouged structure, or tents staked to blend in with the foliage. I looked at Vell when I heard her low chuckle. Her throat was snow-white in the golden afternoon glow as she peered up into the canopy of the nearest massive tree. I followed her gaze and after a moment spied the honey-comb-like construct of a dwelling up in the branches of the tree. I shaded my eyes but couldn’t make out the details. All I could pick out was a gleaming silver color sketching the outlines of the camp, maybe a dozen structures altogether, clustered in twos and threes, spiraling up the great trunk.

  “There’s a ladder,” Sage said, making it a statement as though it was something that he told all the new arrivals to this aerie.

  Beryk shook himself from tip to tail, locked eyes with Vell, and then padded off into the forest, already following scent-trails in the air with his black muzzle. Vell regarded Sage steadily with her liquid-gold eyes. He glanced at me, then nodded.

  “For the record,” he said mischieviously, “I offered.”

  I snorted. “We climbed a cliff up from the Darinwel the other day.”

  “To escape from sirens,” Vell added in a matter of fact tone. She grinned, showing all her lupine teeth. “To be fair, it was just Tess that climbed the cliff, out of the two of us.” After cursorily ensuring her bow was secure across her back, she leapt lightly up onto the trunk of the tree, finding holds easily on the thick vines.

  “Showoff,” I muttered with an answering grin as I watched Vell climb effortlessly. Sage made a little after you motion with his hand, and I took a breath, grabbed ahold of the vines and started climbing. It was easier than climbing the cliff; the vines seemed to approve of their use as our ladder. There were no flowers along our route—or at least that’s what I thought at first; then I saw a bloom close up tightly above my head, demurely allowing me to pass without the danger of bruising its beautiful petals. A smile lifted one side of my mouth as I continued climbing, now more mindful of where I placed my hands and my feet.

  Once, when I’d asked him how it felt to push past his limits in training, bursting with little-sister curiosity about his new world of sand and mud and seasalt and masculinity, Liam had told me that we only thought we knew our limits. That the ordinary person set boundaries in their own mind, and let those boundaries constrain them without testing or pushing or striving to overcome them. In most cases, he said with a wry grin, he’d been forced past what he’d thought was his breaking point. “But, Bug
,” he’d said, holding his muscled arms wide and grinning, “when you don’t break…you realize. You realize. The things that you’re capable of…it has very little to do with this.” He’d tapped one tanned bicep. “It has to do with this.” And he reached out and touched me on the forehead with two fingers, eyes alight with the jubilance of the young and strong, my smile matching his.

  As I climbed high into the air on the trunk of a massive ancient tree, I realized that my older brother knew a thing or two. My mind slid into the strangely blank yet focused state that I now associated with sword-fighting, climbing cliffs, facing down sorcerers and outrunning sirens. Sweat slid down my back and my arms ached, but there was no way to go but up, so I kept climbing until I glimpsed Vell maneuvering nimbly across the trunk of the tree, toward a branch as thick as an ordinary oak. I followed her lead, and felt rather than heard Sage behind me. In that strange skip-of-time way that sometimes still happened with the Sidhe, the Seelie rider suddenly appeared in front of me, standing lightly on the branch and offering me his hand. I glanced down—the edges of my vision wavered as I realized the height—the Sword thrummed and I reached blindly for Sage’s hand, trying not to let my breath quicken with fear.

  The warmth of his skin on mine anchored me as I focused on not falling, and that plan didn’t seem to be going very well as I slipped, the air leaving my lungs in an incoherent high gasp as though I’d been punched in the stomach. But even with just his grip on my hand, Sage spirited me over to the branch as though I weighed no more than a bird, catching me about the waist and steadying me, a comfortable distance between our bodies. He raised his glinting golden eyebrows at me, perfect arches in the slanting sunlight. “Not afraid of heights, are you, my Bearer?”

  I swallowed and mustered enough voice to reply, “No, but I’m not insane enough to build my camp up in a tree like an eagle’s nest.”

  Sage’s eyes flashed and he grinned with that lightning Seelie smile. “Come then, let me show you our eagle’s nest.”