by Jocelyn Fox
Tristan squared his shoulders and walked past the Stone. A golden light flashed briefly around his body, fading within the blink of an eye. I stepped forward, but a hand gripped my shoulder.
“Let me,” said Luca, Kianryk at his side. He sheathed his sword, flexed his scarred hand and strode past the Stone. The golden light lasted for longer around him, and it set Kianryk’s fur on end like static electricity, but it released them and Luca turned expectantly to me. I walked toward him and a sensation like a thousand Glasidhe hands gliding over my skin seized me. It plucked at my belt-pouch but then when it touched the Sword’s sheath, the Caedbranr hummed a low note, the feeling ceased and I stumbled past the Stone.
Murtagh came next. He watched his hands, illuminated by the golden glow, and the Stone took even longer with him than with Luca, long enough for him to grimace. Then the Stone decided to let him pass, and he joined us. Merrick followed, enduring his own metaphysical examination at the hands of whatever power animated the Stone. Sage and Calliea walked over the knoll with little fanfare, though Sage did wear an expression of distaste.
“We could have ridden through,” I said, just to say something.
“Yes, though if it’s in the mood it’ll unseat you,” Sage replied. “Come on then.”
Nehalim led the faehal up the knoll but they veered to the right as we walked down the knoll and into a stand of silvery trees. I tilted my head, my eyes picking out the strange regularity at which the silver trees stood.
“An orchard,” I said out loud as the realization struck.
“Yes, though it hasn’t been tended properly nigh on a year.” Calliea gave me a sad sort of smile. She didn’t look as young or unsure anymore in her silver breastplate. The Seelie seemed more relaxed now that we were past the Sentry Stones, still alert but confident in the defenses behind us. Yet I reminded myself that something had struck into the very heart of Brightvale, wounding Titania deeply enough to cast her protective wards around the citadel. Tristan led us at a seasoned traveller’s pace, just on the walking side of running. I was pleasantly surprised to find I still had enough breath to speak, so I turned to Calliea.
“Who are you, really?” I asked, raising one eyebrow. My little taebramh lamp still followed just behind my shoulder, so I saw Calliea’s quick grin.
“No one important,” she said, “though I will tell you if you wish, my Bearer.”
“I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t want to know.”
She shrugged a little. “It’s of no import now, but my mother is the Queen’s cousin, the daughter of Titania’s sister.”
I frowned slightly as I worked through the family tree. “So you’re a cousin to Titania.” I saw Luca tilt his head slightly. We emerged from the orchard, striding toward a great stone wall.
“In a way,” she said.
“What about Gray?”
Calliea’s eyes slid to me as we approached a white door, worked with silver flourishes. Even the Seelie’s barracks were beautiful, I thought. Tristan stepped toward the door, holding what looked like a blue stick, and drew a complex rune on the unmarred white with sure strokes. The blue rune sparked and glowed, and then sank into the door, which unlocked with a distinct roll of lock-tumblers. I looked at Calliea expectantly as we walked through the arch, my expectant expression telling her that the nifty trick with the unlocking rune hadn’t made me forget my question.
“Gray is also a cousin of the Queen,” Calliea replied. I thought I heard a hint of bitterness in her voice. “She is cousins with my mother, though she is younger.”
So Gray was one step closer to the Seelie Queen on the tier of the family tree, I thought. I caught Luca’s eye as we walked through an outer courtyard. He nodded slightly. I hoped that meant he was thinking along the same lines as I was…if the Crown needed royal blood, we now had two candidates.
Lost in my train of thought, it wasn’t until we were almost through the inner courtyard that I caught the glow of firelight through the opaque windows of the tall main hall. Luca stepped closer to me as we approached. The hall reminded me of a cathedral, vaulted arches and belltower soaring up into the sky. Two guards with gleaming breastplates similar to Calliea, though not as finely wrought, stood at the base of the steps to the main door. They wore helmets that made it difficult to see their faces, but I could tell one was a man and one a woman, though long golden hair flowed from beneath both helms. Tristan spoke to them in a low voice. Both helmets turned toward me, and then the Seelie guards quickly ascended the steps, throwing open both sides of the great door.
As we walked up the steps, the hum of activity from within quieted. With Luca on one side and Calliea just behind me on the other, I walked into the immense hall…and met the sight of over a hundred gathered Sidhe. I stopped, stunned by the weight of so many expectant gazes.
“Welcome to the Hall of the Outer Guard,” said Calliea in a low voice.
Chapter 35
Before I regained my voice, a tall Sidhe with hair so blonde it shimmered white stepped forward. “It is an honor to welcome you to the Hall of the Outer Guard, Lady Bearer,” he said in a strong ringing voice.
“Rowan the White,” Calliea said in the same low voice. “Captain of the Queen’s Guard.”
“Well met, Captain,” I replied with a nod that I hope came across as regal, or at least collected. I wondered if the Seelie gathered here would judge me harshly once they found out that I’d left the rest of the company to fight the onslaught of Dark creatures beyond the Sentinal Stones.
“We have been preparing for your arrival,” said the Captain of the Guard. His eyes flickered to Luca, Merrick and Murtagh.
“My companions,” I said by way of explanation. “Luca of the North, with Kianryk.” The great wolf raised his massive head at the mention of his name. “Merrick, a Guard of the Unseelie Court, my navigator. And Murtagh, my sworn swordsman.” I hoped Murtagh didn’t mind my slight embellishment of his duties—“skilled Walker and spy” didn’t seem like an introduction I wanted to make just now. I caught a few suspicious glances from the gathered Seelie, their eyes communicating their distrust even when the rest of their lovely faces remained smooth as a mask.
“We welcome the companions of the Bearer,” said Rowan. His words carried throughout the great space. “All who swear loyalty to you, my lady, are honored guests in this hall.”
I gave another nod. “Your hospitality is much appreciated.”
“It is your due, Lady Bearer,” replied the Captain of the Guard. His breastplate was enameled white, with a gold emblem of crossed swords beneath a crown. He turned his head slightly and looked at Calliea.
“Gray and the rest of the company are out gathering skulls,” she said with a fierce little smile. “The creatures thought to waylay us on the plain before the Sentinel Stones.”
Rowan didn’t reply but an answering smile curved his lips and the Fae-spark surfaced in his eyes. Then he bowed again to me, and motioned for me to follow him down the center of the hall. Breastplates, greaves, swords and all manner of other implements of war were strewn across the great long tables on either side of us: the Seelie legion was readying for battle. As we passed, the Sidhe bowed, put their hands over their hearts, or sketched a rune on their forehead with their thumb; I settled for nodding at each side every now and again in acknowledgement of their obeisance. The Sword hummed a little. We were closer now than ever before to our destination, but the Caedbranr seemed content to let us work at our own pace.
“The Queen’s Wing shall be yours during your time here, Lady Bearer,” Rowan said as he led us to the doors at the opposite end of the hall and into a passageway lined with tapestries. I resisted the impulse to stop and gaze in wonder at the beautiful depictions of battles and sorcery. We emerged into a room smaller than the great hall, but the fireplace set into the far wall was still large enough to roast an entire deer. A fire already crackled merrily in the grate, warding off the slight night chill. The room’s furnishings were slightly more lavish
than the spartan main hall, but still spare. Several doors led into what I assumed were individual chambers.
“Thank you,” I said, realizing that the Captain of the Guard awaited my assessment. “We have been travelling a long while. These past nights have been a welcome change.”
“Lady Calliea will ensure you have all you need.” Rowan bowed again and left us. Calliea grimaced slightly at his back. Before the door closed behind him, Merrick, Murtagh and Luca began checking the quarters, hands on sword hilts. Their movements were almost choreographed. Kianryk slid into every room, then settled in front of the fire and yawned.
Calliea watched with a bemused look. “You do not trust our wards?”
“We take no chances with the Bearer,” said Murtagh matter-of-factly, firelight gleaming on his russet hair.
“Well, now that you are satisfied, let’s eat.” She motioned to the table.
I shifted uncomfortably. “Shouldn’t we wait for the rest of the company? It feels strange…they’re out fighting Skin-wraiths and we’re relaxing by the fire.”
“They would much rather be beheading Skin-wraiths than sitting by the fire in the Hall, trust me,” said Calliea with a grin. She unbuckled her sword belt and set the twin blades against the wall, coiling her whip to one side of the sheaths with practiced ease. Murtagh and Merrick glanced at me. I hesitated, then unbuckled my belt and laid my plain blade to the other side of Calliea’s weapons. I rested the Sword on a bear pelt by the fireplace, its emerald eye flickering with the reflection of the flames.
We sat at the low table and ate. There was a haunch of venison for Kianryk, and more dishes than I knew how to describe for the rest of us. Tristan and Calliea ate modestly, but Merrick, Murtagh and Luca demolished plate after plate of the mouthwatering food. They hadn’t had a meal at the camp in the forest, I remembered.
After the meal, the two Seelie graciously took their leave, with a promise to return when the rest of the company arrived at the Hall. The food and warm firelight conspired to lull me into a drowsy half-sleep. The three men talked in low voices while I sat with my back against Kianryk’s warm bulk. Their voices blended with the crackling of the fire and I barely noticed as I slipped into sleep.
I didn’t Walk, but I dreamed. I dreamed of day and night mingled with blood, overlays of past and present creating a mosaic of what was and what could be. I saw Titania and Mab as young Sidhe, before they were crowned, gone Maying in the forest with their favorite courtiers, lovely and carefree. They even rode out together once for a hunt on a golden afternoon; I watched as Mab’s night-dark hounds mingled with Titania’s sleek blood-red hunting dogs, the Courts gaily riding after the hounds as they chased the scent of a silver stag. Then my dreams dove into darker scenes, laced with smoke and fire, and I woke gasping at the sound of new voices.
“Easy,” said Luca from beside me, his hand outstretched as though he’d been about to rouse me. “The rest of the company is here.”
I shook the softness of sleep from my limbs, clambering to my feet. Kianryk stretched and stood. “Where?”
In answer to my question, Beryk trotted into the room, shaking himself thoroughly before greeting Kianryk. Vell followed close behind the wolf. A cut on her cheek shone oily with salve in the firelight, but she fairly glowed with satisfaction. Forin and Farin left bright trails as they inspected our new quarters. Gray carried a bulging sack that clinked like stones upon stones as she moved, but I knew they weren’t stones. Calliea’s words echoed in my head: Gray is out with the rest of the company gathering skulls. I wondered what use the Seelie found for the skulls of their enemies.
Finnead strode into the room last, his shirt spattered with blood. For a second my chest clenched in fear but he walked unconcernedly, without any trace of injury.
“Where’s Chael and Rialla?” I asked, the knot in my chest tightening.
“They aren’t fond of buildings,” replied Vell with a shrug. “They’re in the inner courtyard.”
“Were there any casualties at all?”
“Three Guards and a young Knight. They earned their pyres.” Gray shook the bag of skulls, making the bones rattle.
“Never have I seen such a fierce company!” cried Farin over the sound of bone against bone.
I swallowed against the sick feeling in my stomach. I couldn’t let them see how much the news of each Sidhe killed still bothered me. I nodded. “Good,” I said lamely. “Then eat, and rest.”
“Brightvale awaits us in the morning,” said Finnead. His hand lingered on the hilt of the Brighbranr.
Another feast had been laid on the table. Forin and Farin sat cross-legged on the edge of the table, cutting small portions with their daggers. During the meal, Vell and Gray regaled Luca, Merrick and Murtagh with stories of the battle they’d missed: dozens of Skin-wraiths, and three cadengriffs, and one creature they even thought was a syivhalla.
“Flaming arrow through the heart for that one, just to be sure,” Vell said with a nod at me.
Calliea and Tristan, true to their word, rejoined us, and the room echoed with lively conversation. I watched the gathered Sidhe and Northmen. A shared battle had brought them together, created some level of trust. Finnead still remained mostly silent; I wondered how many painful memories being among the Seelie raised for him, every laugh and gesture of friendship a reminder of the place that he’d lost in Mab’s Court.
As the fire died down and the last of the feast disappeared, the animated discussion settled into lower voices. I found myself sitting again with my back against a wolf, Beryk this time. I stared into the glowing embers of the fire as my mind returned to Liam’s words.
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.
The right blood. Did it mean Gray or Calliea? Wasn’t royal blood, the Queen’s blood, wasn’t that what it meant? But that in itself posed a problem. Gray, even though she was more closely related to Titania, still shared blood with Calliea. They were both descendents of the Queen.
I shifted my focus to the first part. The only one left. I frowned. I hadn’t thought that part as important before, but now I let the words settle into my mind, one hand stroking the fur at Beryk’s neck idly.
And then, like a lock’s tumblers sliding into place to open a door, all the pieces fit together. In a flash of clarity, I knew who had to be anointed by the Crown of Bones. In the same moment I recognized the truth of Liam’s next words. She might hate me. But I knew that out of every one of the warriors who’d sworn loyalty to me, her thirst for revenge against Malravenar ran deepest.
The weight of my realization settled down onto my shoulders. I watched the group around the table as Calliea finished telling a story, and Murtagh and Merrick laughed. I still didn’t know the first thing about calling the Crown of Bones into life. Then a thought struck me as to who might. “Did Arcana make it past the Sentinel Stones?” I asked.
“Yes,” Vell answered, a shadow passing over her face. “But it disappeared just outside the wall.”
I considered seeking the Evermage out, but it was late, and the whole company would be compelled to come with me for protection, I was sure. So I just nodded and yawned. “We should all get some rest. Brightvale in the morning.” I gathered up my plain sword and the Caedbranr, padding over to the room closest to the fireplace. There was a single plain bed within, simply made with pale blue linens. I gratefully changed into the soft white shirt and loose trousers left in a neatly folded stack on the bed. I hung my sword-belt on one of the pegs set into the wall for just that purpose, and leaned the Sword against the side of the bed, pommel within easy reach.
Despite its plain appearance, the bed was sublimely soft. I wriggled under the covers, dispelled my taebramh-glow with a twist of my fingers, and settled into a deep and dreamless sleep.
I woke in the morning cleanly, my eyes opening and consciousness returning all at once
. After washing my face in the white basin that I was sure hadn’t been there the night before, I changed back into my travelling clothes, pulling on the knee-high boots and secreting away my dagger in one motion. I hadn’t felt this rested since back at Darkhill after drinking laetniss, and when I inspected the bed more closely I surmised why. Small runes were laid in silver along the headboard and footboard of the bed. I couldn’t read them but I knew their meanings instinctively: runes for rest and healing, renewal and endurance. Handy to have at the Hall of the Outer Guard, no doubt.
I opened my door to find Beryk stretched across the threshold. The wolf opened one golden eye and yawned, tongue lolling over gleaming white teeth. Vell looked up from the table, green-fletched arrows filling the surface. She held one arrow between two fingers, tested the balance, looked down the shaft to ensure it would fly true, and finally pressed the pad of her finger to the arrowtip. On the third arrow, she cut herself. I stared at the fat drop of blood welling from her pale skin. She frowned at me as she sucked her finger. “You’ve cut yourself more than once,” she said.
“Good morning to you too,” I replied. The Crown of Bones felt heavier in my beltpouch and the Sword’s power stirred.
“Come on then,” Vell said, scooping up her arrows and sliding them into her quiver. “The others are getting ready in the Hall.”
The Great Hall already hummed with activity. Unlike the night before, the pace increased when I walked into the Hall. Beryk bounded down the center aisle and Kianryk joined him. The two wolves jostled each other and nipped teasingly as they disappeared past the great double doors.
The original members of our travelling band fell into step beside me as I made my way toward the doors of the Hall: Luca to one side, Murtagh and Merrick behind us, and Finnead last. The Seelie additions to the group waited by the doors: Calliea, Tristan, Sage and Gray. Calliea and Gray stood by the edge of one of the great long tables.