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

by Jocelyn Fox

  Thankfully the top of the branch was broad enough that I could walk without constantly feeling as though were close to the edge…and the drop down to the forest floor. The scar on my cheek stung as a ghost-memory surfaced of falling through the tree branches as the cadengriff tore away the tree above me. I wiped my palms on my ash-smudged trousers and swallowed. This was not the Royal Wood, and I was no longer a frightened mortal girl. I was the Bearer of the Iron Sword. The thought made me pull back my shoulders a bit.

  Sage led Vell and I toward a silvery structure, vaguely octagonal in shape. I couldn’t decide if it was made from wood or spun from silk, and stopped trying to guess as we approached. As I looked, I picked out three more structures, concealed among the new-green leaves of the massive tree. Sage pushed aside a jewel-bright cobalt hanging that served as the door to the first nest—I started calling the structures that in my mind, recognized it, and gave a mental shrug. I let my fingertips drift across the cobalt door-hanging as I stepped across the threshold; it was thick and creamy, soft as butter. It made me wish for a hot shower and a good twelve hours in a comfortable bed. Food and sleep, in that order…preferably not sleep while astride a faehal.

  The interior of the first nest made me forget that we were high up in the branches of a tree. The walls and arches overhead were clean white, the floor covered by brightly colored rugs, some in a solid color—deep ruby red, pure sky blue, bright noon-sun yellow—and some worked in intricate spiral designs reminiscent of the Persian rugs that Liam had shipped home once, Oriental and exotic. I immediately felt guilty for my dirty boots, feeling like a child tracking mud across pristine floors; so I stayed where I stood as I surveyed the rest of the circular room. The ribs of the ceiling met in the center of the room, vaguely church-like; and a breeze blew through a small arched window. A ledge was built into one curved wall, a plush white cushion spread along its length, and a number of blankets were rolled neatly, stored under the ledge along with what I thought was a pillow. An actual pillow, my mind repeated dazedly. The last time I’d slept indoors had been at the forest barracks, sinking into exhausted slumber in the common room by the fire.

  And then what truly caught my attention was the low circular table at the other side of the room, already laden with a loaf of hotly glistening bread, a bowl of a wrinkled fig-like fruit, and a few other bowls and pitchers. My stomach growled as I picked up the scent of the bread in the air. But I cleared my throat and looked at Vell. She wore a slightly wary expression, her arms crossed over her chest.

  Sage crossed the room in a few long strides and pulled aside a silvery curtain. In a little alcove there was a huge wooden basin—a bathtub carved from one gigantic clean-cut ring of tree, the wood gleamingly polished, contrast to the silvery bark left to gleam on the outside of the basin, somehow more beautiful than gold foil. I sighed at the sight of a bathtub. I couldn’t help it. A bathtub in an eagle’s nest, and such an elegant yet utilitarian one at that…who would have guessed?

  “Hot water,” Sage said, motioning to a round earthen jug as tall as I was. A silver pipe ran from the container to the tub, boring through the side of the wood; a cork on a delicate silver chain stopped the end of the pipe. I remembered my astonishment at the shower in Darkhill, and smiled.

  “Calliea will find you some clothes in a suitable size,” Sage said. He stood in the center of the room and looked at me earnestly. “Is everything to your liking, my Bearer?”

  I swallowed against the sudden tightness in my throat. “It’s…it’s fine, thanks.”

  He gave one nod of acknowledgement, then motioned to Vell. “I will show you to your lodging, then.”

  Vell shook her head jerkily. “I stay here.” Her arms remained folded across her chest.

  Sage acquiesced with a graceful smile. “If you need anything…” He pointed out a silver bell by the door-hanging. I shivered, thinking of Mab’s bells. Sage gave a sketch of a bow, not quite mocking but tongue-in-cheek, lightly teasing in his boyish way, and left us on silent feet. I stared dazedly at Vell, very aware of my ash-laden skin and tattered clothes in the bright clean warmth of the white room.

  “A place like this could make you forget the dangers lurking close afield,” she murmured in a low voice. Then her brusque business-like air snapped back into place. She pulled off her boots and strode across the room purposefully. I found a darker-colored rug and sat down, tugging off my boots with a sigh of relief. The room seemed foreign to me. I kept staring at the ledge, its plush cushion, imagining my body sinking down into its immeasurable comfort. It would be like sleeping on a cloud.

  Vell interrupted my contemplation, shoving a plate into my field of vision and dropping a towel by my side. “Eat or strip down, or both, if you like,” she commanded in a no-nonsense voice.

  I opted for both, thoughts going slack with pleasure as I chewed one of the sweet fig-like fruits and pulled my shirt over my head. The trousers were barely serviceable anymore, shredded at the thigh and then ripped wider as my wounds were tended. I set the Sword carefully next to my pitiful little folded pile of worn clothing, and tucked my belt-pouch with the Crown of Bones beneath the sheath. Vell disappeared again into the bath alcove. Wrapping myself in the towel, which was even softer than the door-hanging, I grabbed my plate and padded across the delicious rugs, relishing the feel of the floor under my aching bare feet. It seemed an unnameable luxury to stand for a moment in the center of the room, flexing my toes into the cloud-softness of an emerald green rug and tearing into a chunk of the freshly baked, honey-doused bread.

  The heavenly sound of running water roused me from my reverie. Steam wafted from behind the alcove’s wall-hanging. I slipped into the little room just as Vell twisted the knob to shut off the water. She surveyed me with her hands on her hips. “Don’t expect me to wash your hair for you. I’ll be eating.” Moving past me, she added, “Though I suppose I’ll check to make sure you don’t fall asleep and drown.”

  “Drown in bliss!” I called after her jokingly, grinning at her grumble. After unceremoniously shoving the rest of the bread into my mouth, I set down my plate and left my towel crumpled gracelessly on the broad edge of the carved tub. The hot water slipped silkily around my skin, drawing a sigh of pleasure from me as I lowered myself into the deep water. It was more like a pool than a tub, I discovered quickly; I stretched to my full length, watching dreamily as the ash drifted off my skin, creating eddies of gray in the water. On the other side of the tub, little hollows carved into the wood held a few different creams and what looked to be petals. I dropped some of the petals in the water and a burst of fragrance almost like roses enveloped the room. Then I got down to business and, after trial and error, identified which of the creams seemed to be soap. Or it was my best guess at least, and it cleaned the last of the ash from my skin, along with the days of travel-grime. I worked the other cream into my hair. Trial by error.

  When I slipped under the water to rinse my hair, I lingered in the warm depths and closed my eyes. I could float, the tub was that big. But then, suddenly, in the blackness of the back of my eyelids rose the image of Riadne’s rage-twisted beautiful face, her teeth sharp blood-stained points, her clawed hands reaching for me. I surged up out of the water, scrambling to find my footing again, slopping water over the side of the tub violently and swallowing half a lungful of suds. One of my flailing hands knocked my plate to the floor with a clash that brought Vell running into the alcove, dagger drawn and ready.

  I felt my face burning as I coughed and tried to wave off my self-appointed bodyguard, who advanced on me, eyes flashing. I sank back down into the roiled water, hiding my face in my hands. “Sorry,” I croaked, finally smoothing back my wet hair with one palm. “I just…um…made the mistake of holding my breath a little too long, and it reminded me of the sirens in the Darinwel, and…” I let my rushed, defensive words trail off as I realized how ridiculous I sounded. I studied a pile of soap-suds near my left knee, an unfortunate little vessel rocking in the now-stormy sea
of bathwater.

  When I looked up again, Vell’s dagger had disappeared and she held a hairbrush. My plate, now chipped, had been returned to the edge of the tub, bare. “Sit against the side here,” she told me in an uncharacteristically gentle voice.

  I obediently slid over and leaned against the smooth warm side of the tub. Vell’s nimble fingers pulled my wet hair over my shoulder, combed through the tangles, gently tugging. I remembered Liam learning to braid so he could braid my hair for my field hockey games, in the days when our father’s death weighed too heavily on our mother for her to get out of bed. I clung to that sweet memory, using it to push away the lingering vestiges of pointed teeth and serpentine tails.

  “I have nightmares,” Vell said quietly. I listened, waited. Her fingers combed through my hair. She paused. I heard her pick up the hairbrush from the edge of the tub. “About when…when my family was killed. The whole village. All of the villages.”

  The hairbrush slid down my hair, gently tugging through snarls, a soothing rhythm. I studied my body under the ripples of the soapy water, barely recognizing the hard planes and taut muscles. Even when I’d been a serious athlete, there had still been soft spots at hips and thighs, a bit of roll at my belly that I’d never really cared enough to try to lose. But the battles of the Fae world had honed my body into a weapon, bestowed scars on it, wrapped it in the markings of a warrior. I idly traced the angry red weals of the still-healing claw marks in my thigh.

  “What happened?” I asked softly.

  The smooth shushing of the brush through my hair faltered, then resumed. I stared at my bare knees rising from the water, mountainous.

  “A rider arrived from our sister-village. My mother’s sister was herravaldyr of that pack. The rider told us that the Watchtower fire had been lit to the east, at the edge of the Darklands.” Vell set the brush down carefully, divided my hair into two sections, and began braiding the right section. “The fires were to signal an approaching threat. Most of the time it was just a crazed ice-bear, or a clutch of giants venturing too far south. But after the Reaping, we looked for half-dead things slinking through the night.”

  “The Reaping?” My voice was almost a whisper.

  Vell’s voice dropped an octave, steeped in bitterness. “The Unseelie princess wasn’t the only young one taken. In the North, we lost thirteen first-sons and ten first-daughters, all in one night. They had all been wolf-chosen, the strongest and best of all the villages. All vanished like smoke into the sky.” She took a slow, careful breath. “Until they returned, cursed. Without their wolves. A few managed to remain themselves enough to take their own lives. But the rest had to be killed. Put down like rabid animals.” Her voice shook with rage and disgust. “There is no worse fate for an ulfdrengr than to be parted from your wolf-soul. And there is no greater curse than raising a blade against a member of the pack.”

  I rubbed at the edge of the biggest scar on my thigh, testing the puckered edges, prodding at the fading ache. “That was hundreds of years ago, wasn’t it?”

  “We are long-lived,” Vell replied. “My father’s brother was one taken in the Reaping. My father’s father helped to build the Watchtowers.” She finished braiding the right side and switched to the left side of my head. “On that day when the rider came to tell of the signal-fire to the east, I volunteered to ride out. I was restless. Beryk was a stripling, just coming into his own, getting into fights with the older wolves. Our blood was up.”

  Silence descended on us for a few moments. Threads of bird-song floated through the air, a sweet sound absent in the dead forest.

  “So I rode out. We saw the flames on the horizon and thought it was another signal fire. But it was our sister-village.” With quick fingers she tied the left braid, then wrapped both about my head, fastening them with pins that she must have drawn from her own hair. I ran my fingers appreciatively over the braids and waited silently.

  Finally Vell said, “By the time we made it back…they were all gone. Everyone. Some houses burned to the ground, others just standing empty.”

  I shivered despite the warmth of the water and waited again. It was almost a game, this call of words and then silence, patterned like bars of sunlight and shadow on the forest floor.

  “I thought they were dead. I was sure they were dead. There were no trails, no scents. We tried. We tried to track them, but there was….nothing.”

  “Like smoke into the sky,” I murmured, hugging my knees.

  “We traveled to the other villages. All the same. Dust and ash and bones. At some of them, there were bones. So we traveled south,” Vell said, her voice regaining its usual edge. The walls were back up, the shields in place. “I had nothing left, so I offered myself as a mercenary to Mab.” Disgust colored her words.

  We sat silently for a moment. I thought about telling Vell that it wasn’t her fault, that she couldn’t have known about the attack on her village, that she couldn’t have known there were surviving ulfdrengr. But then I thought about what people said to me when they learned that my dad was dead, that I was half an orphan. Their hollow words and worn phrases never touched anything close to what I felt, nor did it do anything to untangle the love and despair and wretchedness and fear all clogged in my chest when I thought about my father. So I decided to say instead, quietly, “Hand me my towel?”

  I twisted to look over my shoulder at Vell. She narrowed her eyes at me as she threw me the towel. “I’m your bodyguard, not your maid,” she growled, but her golden eyes flashed in wry amusement.

  I pulled the plug in the bottom of the tub and slid the towel around me as the water rapidly drained. “Your turn.” Stepping out of the tub, I added, “Want me to brush your hair?”

  Vell swatted at me as an older wolf would swat a paw at a pup. I evaded her half-hearted jab and escaped the alcove, grinning. When I turned to face the room my smile faded abruptly and I stopped short.

  “She’s not armed,” called Vell from the alcove.

  “Damn wolf senses,” I muttered, tucking the towel more securely under my arms. Just the way I wanted to introduce myself to another Seelie, I thought. First ash-covered and coughing my lungs out, now half-naked and wet as a river in a rainstorm. “Hello,” I said to the impossibly beautiful girl standing in the middle of the room. Brilliant introduction, of course.

  The girl smiled. She looked young, with white gold hair and a heart-shaped face, delicately pointed. “Sage said you needed new clothes. I took the liberty of bringing some up for you.” Her gesture drew my eyes to a neatly folded stack of jewel-colored fabrics. My old torn clothes were nowhere to be seen. “If they are not to your liking, I can fetch more.” There was definitely something girlish and young about the quick way she allowed for the fact that I might not like her offerings.

  “Thank you,” I said. “I’m sure they’re fine.” The sound of running water flowed out from the alcove again, murmuring beneath our words.

  We stood and looked at each other for a moment. The Seelie girl—Calliea, I think Sage had said—bit her lip.

  “I’d like to ensure that they fit. I think I brought the right size, from what I remembered.” She gave a quick, almost secretive smile.

  “From what you remembered?” I blinked, narrowed my eyes, tilted my head. And then I knew. “The Saemhradall. The first time I Walked. You’re the girl from the Saemhradall.”

  Her cheeks flushed prettily. “Indeed. I needed to be here, to thank you.”

  I felt my neck grow hot under her earnest gaze. “Ah, well, you’re welcome, I guess.” I had to stop myself from fidgeting, I was that uncomfortable. What was I supposed to say? Look, kid, it all just kind of happened, I wasn’t really trying, per se, Titania sort of just dragged me to you and stranded me… So I left it at that and cleared my throat, retrieving the pile of clothes one-handed and setting them on a clear space on the table to sort. Calliea watched my every move as though I was some fascinating wild creature escaped from my cage. I picked out a pair of deep blue trousers�
�the indigo color reminded me of my favorite pair of blue jeans—and a pale gold shirt. I glanced over my shoulder at Calliea, but she only returned my gaze expectantly. Like it was perfectly normal to stare at a stranger while they dressed. I sighed internally but made the best of it, pulling on the soft trousers and softer shirt. The feel of the fabric on my skin washed away my irritation. “Looks like they’re the right size.” I tried for a smile.

  “Oh! And boots. Here are your boots.” The Seelie girl strode forward and handed me a pair of knee-high fawn boots. They fit my feet as if made for them. She smiled in satisfaction.

  “I also brought more food,” Calliea said, gesturing to the table.

  My mouth watered at the prospect of tasting the dishes arrayed on the table. “Thank you. Would you like to eat?”

  “Thank you for the kind invitation, Lady Bearer, but I should be going.”

  I felt unexpected relief. “I’m sure I’ll see you again soon.”

  “If the Bright Lady wills it,” said Calliea animatedly, but then a shadow passed over her face and she bit her lip again, as though she’d said something offensive. She gave me a quick nod and slipped away.

  “Seems like an eager one,” Vell said, padding out of the alcove while finger-combing her long dark hair. She wore new black breeches and a forest-green shirt that set off her golden eyes strikingly.

  “Eager for what?” I asked as I arranged a cushion by the low table. Vell joined me and we worked in industrious silence for a moment, filling our plates with dried fruits, cheese, bread and, most glorious of all, slices of steaming meat.

  “To join your crusade,” Vell answered between bites.

  I chewed reflectively, resisting the urge to let my eyes roll back in bliss. “That’s what you call it? A crusade?”

  “We’re going to war, Tess.”

  “I know.”

  “I don’t think you do,” she said quietly, glancing out the window at a bar of sunlight illuminating new-green leaves.