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

by Jocelyn Fox

  “If he means to open the sealed Great Gate,” Gray said slowly, “he needs the blood of the anointed.”

  “The blood of a Queen,” I repeated. Now I fixed Gray with a serious look. “And from the way you said it earlier, I’m thinking there’s something you need to tell us about Titania.”

  Gray pressed her lips together. “We need to get to Brightvale.”

  “We will travel at best speed,” Finnead promised.

  “Tell us,” I prompted again. “There’s something you’re hiding about your Queen.”

  Tristan and Calliea, her hair bound up in braids, arrived in the circle, leading a string of graceful-limbed faehal. A few Seelie that I didn’t recognize followed soon after them, and the meadow quickly became teeming with activity: loading packs, assigning mounts, checking weapons. A low murmur of voices became the backdrop, punctuated by the myriad sounds of two dozen well-armed riders readying for a journey. The wolves disappeared into the long grass, melting into the shadows.

  I let a tendril of the Sword’s blazing fire escape its bonds, nudging it toward Gray. She raised her chin and steeled herself at its touch.

  “We have not been inside the walls of Brightvale for nigh on half a year,” Gray said, her voice firm as she met my eyes steadily. “We fear Queen Titania has been imprisoned, but her defenses around the Fair City are such that we cannot enter.” She clenched her jaw. “Her last edict sent her Knights and her Guards out to the borders of our lands to defend against the Shadow. And to wait for you, my Bearer. She said you would come.”

  But perhaps I’ve come too late, I thought. I remembered the sharp-glass echo of Titania’s barrier around Brightvale. “And so I am here. We will find a way into Brightvale.”

  We needed to move. I couldn’t let everyone sit and steep in the sorrow and hatred aroused by the Evermage, or let doubt be planted from this sudden proclamation about Titania. I brushed my thumb over Liam’s nametape, and then tucked it into my beltpouch, alongside the wrapped, heavy blood-red stone. “On the road. Now.”

  “One of my people will lead,” Gray said, and then she raised her voice, clear as a clarion call over the hum of preparation. “Mount up! By twos, on the path—Tristan, take lead; I will take rearguard with Finnead.”

  “Merrick, on the lead with Tristan,” directed Finnead.

  “The wolves will scout ahead,” said Vell.

  The meadow seethed with purposeful movement. For a moment I marveled at the seamless transition from word to action, the soldier-like precision and obedience of Sidhe and ulfdrengr alike. Then Calliea brought me a sleek gleaming faehal, its coat silver. There were bright feathers woven into its white mane, and complex runes drawn on its flanks with shimmering blue ink. A worked leather breastplate bore designs in bright silver, and strips of blue-dyed leather bound its slender legs. Vell and Luca eyed the faehal’s war attire appreciatively. I wondered if the ulfdrengr painted themselves for battle.

  “This is Nehalim,” Calliea said. “He has borne Titania herself into battle. She decreed for us to bring him to you.”

  Nehalim turned his head and regarded me with his liquid intelligent eyes. I gave him a nod. He dipped his majestic head and then, in a purely equine movement, pushed his velvety muzzle into my hands. “Well met, warrior,” I murmured to him, stroking his nose. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Calliea smile.

  Now mounted on Nehalim, I surveyed our vastly increased numbers. Almost two dozen Seelie riders swelled our ranks, and there were still more arriving, riding out the shadows on war-painted mounts, their bright faces lit with anticipation. I felt as though a spotlight rested on me, and the battered sheath across my back, but I ignored their glances. Within moments, the head of the column started off, Merrick riding beside Tristan, a study of dark and light. Two sides of the same Fae coin.

  I found myself riding beside Luca, Nehalim falling in behind the pair before us as though the faehal already knew the order. They probably did, I mused. We started at a trot as the column snaked about the meadow and then, as we passed the softly glowing stone markers, our mounts eased into a smooth canter. The forest rang with the drumbeat of hooves.

  Farin swooped down from the canopy as I settled into the rhythm of Nehalim’s fluid strides. The fierce Glasidhe had found a few small feathers and woven them into her hair. Forin followed behind his twin. He had foreborn feathers but wore a complex design painted down his arms and up his neck. An echo, I realized, of my own war-markings.

  “We shall help the wolves scout,” Forin announced to me.

  “And kill,” added Farin, baring her little pointed teeth.

  “Fight well,” I told them.

  “Always, my Bearer!” replied Forin. And with that, the two Glasidhe zipped ahead, their auras leaving neon trails through the dark greenery.

  We rode for a few moments in silence, the wind plucking at my braids. Though my sleep had been soured by the vision of scorched earth when I Walked, the night’s rest, along with the hot bath and good food, had restored my body immeasurably. The claw-marks on my thigh no longer ached hotly, and I actually enjoyed the feeling of riding Nehalim swiftly through the darkness, riders before us and behind us.

  “Tess,” Luca said, somehow making his voice carry effortlessly. “There is something that your brother told me. He said to tell it only to you.”

  My heart caught in my throat. “What did he say?”

  “He said to tell you not to worry about him,” Luca replied, “but that wasn’t the important part.” He paused, clearly gathering the exact words my brother had uttered. “Right before we left, he said, Tell Tess to crown her. I’ve seen the threads, and it’s the only way. She’s the only one left with the right blood. She might hate you for a while afterwards, but a lot of people will die if you don’t do it.”

  “Crown her?” I frowned. “I don’t understand.”

  Luca shook his head. “I only passed the message on, Tess. I don’t understand it either.” He shifted in the saddle. “I owe your brother my life. He told me I can repay him by protecting you.”

  I smiled a little at that. “It sounds exactly like something he’d say.”

  “He also said that at this point it didn’t seem like you needed much protecting anymore,” Luca added, blue eyes mischievious. “I agreed with him.”

  I shrugged. “We’ll see.” The Sword hummed on my back. Is that all you’ll do anymore, hum at me? I thought at it in irritation. In answer, it strummed a chorded chuckle on my ribs. It tickled in a strange way. I shook myself and tapped its hilt in reproach. Its power circled a few times and then settled behind my breastbone. The Sword seemed in a good mood that we were on our way. I took a deep breath of the clear night air. Warriors rode before me, and behind me. We were on our way to the Seelie Court, to save Titania, if we could; and as we rode I mulled over my brother’s words, trying to discern who he meant should be crowned, and when.

  Crown her. Obviously he meant a woman, and it made sense that the Crown of Bones only made queens. As far as I’d heard, there were no kings in Faeortalam, or they were of such lesser power that no one had deigned to mention them to me during my brief course of study in Fae history.

  Who was to wield the Crown of Bones in anointing the new queen? From Liam’s words, he meant me. I remembered the vision of the First Queen, placing the crowns upon Mab and Titania’s heads amidst the splendor of day and the cool glory of night. It seemed impossible that I would be able to weild that sort of power without burning my bones to ash.

  As always, my Bearer, you underestimate yourself, said the Caedbranr plainly.

  For once, I was glad of its intrusion into my thoughts. Am I to make a new queen?

  If you do not, the scales of power will tip in favor of the Shadow, no matter how valiantly we fight.

  A pit opened in my stomach. So if I don’t figure out who I’m supposed to make queen… I trailed off, unable to think it even in my own head. I refused to consider failure; defeat would mean the deaths of countless Fae�
�Sidhe, ulfdrengr, sirens, wolves, faehal, creatures I didn’t yet know and to which I couldn’t put names, all of them and more would perish if I didn’t win this battle against the Shadow.

  “Luca,” I said, “why do you think Malravenar wants to open the Gate?”

  “Weapons,” he said. “With weapons such as your brother carried…it would be a bloodbath. Fae runes are useless against iron.”

  “Would they even work in this world?” I thought of the watch I’d been wearing when Finnead carried me through the gate from the Hill Country into Faeortalam. It had stopped on the exact second I’d left the mortal world. I’d tucked it into the front pocket of my backpack, now sitting gathering dust in my old room at Darkhill. I wondered if Ramel had found it.

  “Malravenar will find a way,” Luca said darkly, flexing his scarred hand.

  I suddenly had a vision of a military rifle animated by a vengeful spirit, bullets propelled by the captured anguish of tortured captives, dark sorcery holding all the moving parts together as it held together the decaying flesh of ghaunt-crows and Skin-wraiths. “I’m sure he would,” I agreed grimly.

  I wished I’d been able to talk to Liam, to warn him more thoroughly about the evil creeping into our world. It was simply a different kind of evil than that to which we were accustomed, I amended. In any case, I knew he would fight to the bitter end. I just hoped it didn’t come to that point.

  Our swift faehal bore us through the forest on untiring limbs. Morning light crept through the canopy overhead, tinging leaves golden with the new sun. By some unspoken command, all in the long column knew we would not stop until the next nightfall. We rode through the day, slowing our mounts to a walk around noon and eating a surprisingly good meal, for a meal eaten in the saddle. The Seelie definitely knew how to pack for a hard journey, I had to give them that.

  As we rode, I caught glimpses of Beryk, Kianryk and Rialla weaving through the trees. Occasionally Kianryk appeared, loping silently alongside Luca’s faehal. The ulfdrengr and wolf were never far from one another. I watched them communicate with barely a glance, and found myself strangely envious of their invisible bond. The Caedbranr stirred at that, stung.

  You don’t count, I thought at it. Semi-sentient weapons of power definitely weren’t in the same category as a living, breathing, sleek-coated wolf. The Caedbranr appeared in my mind’s eye as a wolf, just to spite me. It spent the next few hours hunting stray thoughts in the recesses of my consciousness.

  At nightfall, we were still traveling in the vast forest. We found a meadow, smaller than the stone-ringed meadow at the camp, but it was enough. Most of the Seelie gave me a respectful berth, lowering their eyes when I caught one of them staring at me in wonder. I wanted to explain to them that I wasn’t an exotic animal escaped from my menagerie. Yes, I was a mortal, but after all, I wasn’t quite mortal anymore, as the Sword was prone to remind me, so that must count for something.

  The company separated into small groups for the night. Somehow I found myself at the center of the meadow, with Luca and Vell on one side, Murtagh and Merrick on the other. Beryk and Kianryk bedded down in the long grass—the rest of the company was especially mindful to give the wolves space. I smiled at that—they fit the definition of exotic animals escaped from a menagerie. I watched Farin make herself comfortable in Beryk’s long sable fur, snug against the curve of his side, chattering away in her melodious voice. Strangely enough Beryk seemed to listen, watching the Glasidhe with half-lidded golden eyes as she sharpened her various weapons with a miniscule whetting-stone.

  We ate another cold meal, having come to the conclusion that smoke from a fire might draw the attention of flying creatures. Cadengriffs or dragons, it didn’t matter to me; I knew I didn’t want to announce my presence to any of Malravenar’s ranging winged patrols. I laid down next to Beryk, the long grass cool beneath my back. A sliver of star-studded sky peeked through the canopy of the massive trees. I watched the velvety darkness for a few moments, but no stars sang tonight. I rubbed Liam’s nametape between my fingers, turning his words over again in my head, and wondered whether there would be anything for the stars to sing about in the future. Before my mind wandered further down that depressing path, I pulled my cloak over me, murmured good night to Vell and went to sleep.

  I didn’t Walk and I didn’t dream. I woke to a delicate lattice of dew on my cloak. Half the company was already awake, a low hum of activity building as they prepared for the day. Calliea led Nehalim to me again, and after I mounted we set off, sending rolls of thunder up through the bright green leaves as our mounts tossed their heads in the blush of the new day’s sunrise. We passed the new day much the same as the day before. Few words were spoken; none were needed. Each rider was left with their own thoughts as we raced toward Brightvale.

  On the eve of the second day, Tristan and Merrick scouted a little knoll for camp. The landscape was still forested, but the trees were smaller, less majestic and more slender. Vell stiffened as we gathered for our evening meal. I followed her gaze and glimpsed Arcana, standing motionlessly between two trees, watching us with those eerie unblinking eyes. Arcana came no closer and spoke no words, gazing at us silently as we broke bread. As the last of the sunlight faded, she turned and walked into the deepening shadows.

  Vell didn’t sleep that night. She sat with Beryk at the edge of the knoll, watching the forest.

  We rode for three more days. The tension in the air spurred us on; the company mostly kept to their own small groups when we made camp for the night, though during the day it heartened me to see the easy interaction between the Seelie and Unseelie. The ulfdrengr separated themselves more clearly. Luca spoke for all three of them, and mostly to me; occasionally he would speak to Gray or Finnead, but for the most part I was their conduit to the rest of the company. Vell took to sitting by herself at the edge of camp, surveying the forest at dusk. Every evening Arcana would appear, always silently, watching as we ate and prepared for the night’s rest. She never approached closer than a stone’s throw. She never said a word, and after she disappeared, Vell stood and returned to our small circle at the center of camp.

  Nearing dusk on the fourth day, Brightvale appeared in the distance. The forest had slowly given way to green rolling hills, dotted with copses of silvery trees and threaded with rushing streams of cold sweet water. The warm air welcomed us with caressing hands. Our column of twos became a loose diamond, Tristan and Merrick still leading at the front, the wolves bounding about the edges.

  Farin arced toward us, cutting a blazing trail across the darkening sky. “Tess-mortal!” she said. “Brightvale lies ahead!”

  In the hazy distance, flanked by soaring mountains and nestled in the valley between two of the gentler foothills, lay the citadel of the Seelie Queen.

  Chapter 34

  The last light of the evening sun glinted on the towers of Brightvale, slender spears thrust up into the cloudless deepening dusk. Nehalim drifted to a halt, and as if all the other faehal took their cue from him, the whole column slowed and then halted, the movement rippling from the center to the lead and the rear. I expected the Sword to hum in anticipation as I gazed at the castle in the distance, but the Caedbranr remained silent. I felt a slight frown crease my forehead as I realized the Seelie did not look eager to be near their stronghold. Calling up a questing spark, I sent a thread of my taebramh afield. The bit of fire spiraled down through my war-markings like a marble in a chute and sped off, trailing a thin line still connected to the glimmering emerald on my skin.

  I waited, a slight breeze lifting an escaped tendril of hair from my braid. Nehalim blew out a breath and shook his head, idly pawing at the grass. Kianryk appeared beside Luca’s mount, the sunset’s reddening light gleaming on his golden pelt, coaxing it into fiery shades of orange. The thin line of my taebramh wavered and floated like spider-silk upon the breath of wind. I watched it idly, feeling the seeking little spark wending its way over knolls and zipping across streams, weaving through a stand of sle
nder trees and finally approaching the citadel. Farin plucked at the glowing strand adventurously, and it vibrated in response, sending a strange, not unpleasant shiver up into my arm. Forin watched his mischievious twin from a more respectable height, hovering over Kianryk and Luca. Farin laughed and strummed a quick rhythm on the thin line with her nimble fingers. A smile turned up one side of Luca’s mouth, and I couldn’t help but chuckle as the vibrations tickled my skin. I looped one finger through Gwyneth’s pendant.

  And then my taebramh hit Titania’s defenses. Farin leapt back with a squeal of alarm as the glowing thread convulsed, wild tremors snapping it back and forth. The company separated, the line splitting them neatly in two, and I wondered why they moved so hastily until I saw the roaring fireball spinning toward us.

  “Guess that wasn’t a good idea,” I said, mostly to myself, and trusting a voice in my head that wasn’t quite my own, I snapped the thread of taebramh as I jerked Gwyneth’s pendant over my head. Nehalim tossed his magnificent head and stood his ground, the jewel-bright feathers in his mane standing upright in the strength of the wind heralding the mass of flames. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Luca holding his mount in place; his faehal danced in fear, white-rimmed eyes surveying the miniature sun racing toward us across the verdant expanse.

  I felt my taebramh rising in me like a tide, filling my bones with an answering fire. I took a hitching breath and touched my heels to Nehalim’s sides, whispering a word in the Sidhe tongue supplied by that alien voice in my head. Nehalim sprang forward, galloping toward the fireball like a creature possessed. I swung Gwyneth’s pendant on its leather cord once, twice, and on the third circle I let it fly. It sang through the air in a glittering arc and to my eyes, quicker than thought, it expanded, met the tangle of flames with a silent explosion, and swallowed it whole.

  A great reverberation shook the hillside and a hot wind nearly knocked me from Nehalim’s back. But I managed to keep my seat, which was good because I realized we’d ridden out before the entire company. I straightened and tried not to look dazed as Nehalim read my thoughts before I knew them myself, trotting fluidly forward to where Gwyneth’s pendant lay, smoking slightly, in a charred ring of burnt earth. I slid down from his back, waved away the delicate wisp of white smoke, and gingerly slid the pendant into my palm. It was cool to the touch. The rubies that had once been drops of my own blood winked up at me. Somehow the leather necklace was still intact. I slid it over my head and tucked the pendant beneath my shirt, thanking Gwyneth for it once more.