Anna approached, then her smile slipped into a scowl as she glared down at Kai and asked, “How’s your hand?”
Finn and Bedelia both joined Anna’s gaze on him as they waited for an answer, and suddenly he realized just how long their forthcoming journey would be.
He stood. “I believe Sativola needs my assistance,” he muttered, then walked away. He could feel the eyes of the three women on his back as he exited the inn.
Yes, the forthcoming journey would be a long one indeed.
Chapter Two
Iseult inhaled deeply, glad to finally be on the road. His horse’s smooth, easy gait relaxed him further. The air was cool and dry, a nice change from the perpetual dampness of the landscape. They would have no issues finding plenty of firewood that night to ward away the dark. If only they could make it as far that day as he’d hoped. After their already late start, the farewells had taken a painfully long time.
Finn rode at his side on her white unicorn, with Bedelia at her other side on one of the horses borrowed from the Aos Sí. He wondered if she truly missed her previous horse, Rada. Finn had explained to him that the horse had been with Bedelia for a long time, so he should be sensitive toward her when referring to their new mounts. He’d decided at that point that he would simply not refer to the horses at all. If he missed his previous horse, it was only because it had been battle hardened, and was capable of keeping its feet on a ship without panic. He had a new horse now, and that was that.
He narrowed his eyes toward the setting sun, its light gently framing Kai, Anna, and Sativola, riding ahead further down the rutted dirt road. They were riding west, and would soon veer northwest on the long road to Sormyr, the Gray City. Though they’d left ships in Migris, he held no illusions that the vessels would still be there waiting for them. They’d have a much better chance of finding a ship in Sormyr, then sailing northward toward the island where the Archtree formerly stood.
A crash sounded from within the nearby forest, then a rabbit squealed. Iseult sighed. It was fortunate the dragon was learning to fend for herself, but with her running around on her own, it would be difficult to keep her hidden. Those who didn’t run at the sight of a young dragon might attack. Iseult didn’t relish the thought of defending a dragon against possible attackers, but he’d do so at Finn’s behest.
“Will we see any other burghs on our way?” Finn questioned, pulling him out of his thoughts. She peered at him from beneath the hood of her tattered green cloak, gifted to her by Àed. Though she’d had opportunities to procure something warmer, she always refused.
He might have found the irrational behavior irritating in others, but in Finn, he could only find it endearing. He nodded in reply to her question, then pointed northwest. “There are a few small farming villages bordering the Southern Archive. We’ll be allowed in the villages, but the Archive is only for scholars and nobles.”
She frowned, drawing his close observation. Her skin beneath the shade of her cloak was pale, highlighting the subtle swelling beneath her eyes. He’d been worrying about her health ever since they’d been reunited and she’d regained her memories. She’d been skipping meals more often than not, and he often heard her crying out in her dreams as he patrolled the hallways and exterior of the inn. He knew he should try to talk to her about it, but found he lacked the nerve.
“Will Anders’ and Branwen’s family be at the Southern Archive?” she asked, not noticing his observance. “Perhaps we should inform them what has become of their children.”
Iseult sighed. Though she was correct, and the twins’ parents would likely be at the Archive, she’d never get in to see them, and if she did, she’d likely be unprepared for the confrontation.
“What would you tell them?” he questioned.
Her frown deepened as she gazed in the direction he’d pointed. “Well, I suppose Branwen is as good as dead, and we have no idea where Anders is now.”
“Likely dead,” he grumbled, thinking back to the last time he’d seen the man. He’d fought on the side of An Fiach in the battle up North. If he hadn’t died there, he likely had been killed by the Faie on his continuing travels.
Finn’s expression fell. He often forgot that sometimes he was better off not pointing out the facts when around a woman who chose to always hope for the best.
Bedelia cleared her throat and guided her horse closer to Finn. “He could still be alive,” she amended, “and perhaps there’s hope for Branwen yet.”
Iseult sighed again. Bedelia had not met either of the twins, and did not know of Branwen’s situation, trapped in the in-between while her body slowly perished. Still, he appreciated her offer of optimism, since he knew she was only speaking for Finn’s sake. Bedelia herself was just as pessimistic as he.
“Yes,” he agreed finally. “Those are both possibilities.”
Finn smiled softly at both of her companions. “Perhaps we’ll find Anders on our journey to Sormyr, and maybe he’ll know of a way to save Branwen.”
Iseult simply nodded. He truly did not care if he saw either of the twins again, but a part of him hoped Finn’s wishes would come true. She’d had enough death and disappointment in her life already, even if she chose not to acknowledge it.
Anders hastily stuffed his provisions into a borrowed satchel. Fresh baked bread, hard cheese, dried mutton, and enough water to last him roughly five days. He could not wait to be on his way, though he found his task daunting. Still, he would be glad to leave the fortress behind, even though he had no idea where he actually was. He and Niklas had found Keiren in a castle far to the North, but after that first night, he awoke in a different locale. The high mountains had been exchanged for low marshes and warmer temperatures, if only slightly.
The skin at the back of his neck prickled, and he whipped around to see Niklas approach. The Ceàrdaman wore his customary gray robes, leaving his snowy white bald head and long spindly fingers bare. Anders glanced around the small, stone-walled room, noting the closed door. How long had Niklas been within the room watching him?
Shaking his head, Anders sighed and returned to his task. If he never saw another one of the Ceàrdaman again, it would be too soon.
“Do you remember your quest?” Niklas purred, slinking up to his side.
Anders kept his gaze on his satchel. He did not want to look into those strange, reflective eyes as he answered, “Of course I do. It will be done as you ask, and you will finally return my sister to me.”
“Yes,” Niklas agreed. “Your sister will be returned to the land of the living.”
Anders didn’t miss the way he’d rephrased his answer. He said his sister would be returned to the living, but not to him. The Travelers did not lie, but they twisted their words until the meaning was entirely hidden. His wording left Niklas the option of killing him at any point, but it didn’t matter. As long as he still saved Branwen, his vow would not be broken.
At the beginning of his journey, he might have cared to argue the slip, but he no longer feared death. He’d been on his quest for so long. He’d seen violence and destruction. He’d seen his mother’s cruel gaze, blaming him for not bringing her daughter home safely. As long as he was able to save Branwen, he would willingly march into death’s waiting arms.
“Remember,” Niklas continued, drawing Anders out of his dark thoughts, “speak no mention of Keiren. You work with the Ceàrdaman, and the Ceàrdaman alone.”
Anders nodded. Would Niklas truly know if he mentioned the powerful sorceress, or was the threat idle at best? Part of him wanted to tell Finn what little he knew of Keiren’s plan. To warn her in hopes of being saved himself.
He shook his head and slung his satchel over his shoulder. His fate was sealed the moment the Travelers took possession of his sister’s dying body. They were the only ones who could save her now, which meant he would do exactly what Niklas asked of him, even if it meant betraying the last person who might actually care if he died.
“On your way now,” Niklas urged. “My
people will escort you through the marshes, then you will be on your own.”
Anders sighed and moved toward the door, ready to leave the small stone room within the hidden fortress behind.
Finn tossed and turned in her bedroll, jumping in and out of a fitful sleep. They’d ridden for most of the day, and had made camp not far from the road. They had a blazing fire going to ward away any of the lesser Faie that might happen upon them, and were taking turns keeping watch in pairs. Finn wished her turn would come soon.
Every time she closed her eyes she saw another memory. Memories of another life that should have no bearing on her present. She saw her daughter, like a distant phantom, blaming her for her death. Then her mother, watching Finn walk away to curse Iseult’s people for what they’d done.
She saw others too. Shadowy forms, some friends, some enemies. She knew now that she had claimed the Faie Queen’s shroud, her people would never give up their hunt for her. She’d have to face them eventually, all of those shadowy forms from the past. Little more than ghosts now, according to Slàine. Ghosts that could kill and maim, and command dangerous Faie to hold her captive.
She forced her eyes shut. Iseult and Bedelia were keeping watch nearby. She was safe. No shadows would be creeping up on her tonight. She should rest while she still had time.
She steadied her breathing and tried to imagine happy scenes. She pictured a time when all of the danger would be over. She could return Iseult’s soul and they could . . . they could what? She had no idea what life would be like when they were no longer required to fight for it, nor if he’d even remain by her side.
She turned over and buried her face into her scratchy bedding. Sleep. She needed sleep.
She wasn’t sure at what point she finally drifted off, but she found herself walking through a long, stone corridor, eerily illuminated by candlelight. At first she thought she was in the in-between, but then the corridor opened up to a moonlit forest. Mist crept up from the foliage, circling wide tree trunks, only to dissipate as it reached the crisp air above.
She walked forward into the forest like there was a cord attached to her chest, pulling her toward . . . something. Her feet glided effortlessly through the mist, never catching on roots or brambles.
Eventually she reached a large body of water, circled by the dense mist. At the water’s edge waited a small boat, just big enough for one person. She knew without a doubt that the boat waited there just for her.
She inched toward the water, then stepped into the boat. A chill wind hit her face, drawing her gaze upward. Massive fluffy white flakes surrounded her. Her eyes followed them down to the water’s surface, then to where they collected in the boat’s basin. Suddenly panicked, she tried to step back onto the shore, but found she could not move.
The snow increased. She sensed a presence at her back in the tiny boat, but she could not turn to see who it was. Someone whispered in her ear, “Your humans cannot help you, Finnur. You will rule, or you will die.”
The boat left the shore and drifted across the dark water, carrying her and the presence at her back toward the lake’s center.
Still held immobile, she narrowed her gaze past the still waters to movement on the shore across the lake. Cloaked figures had gathered there, and as one, they all knelt before the lake. Before her.
“I don’t want to rule anyone,” she croaked, forcing the words from her throat.
A woman’s hand reached around her to stroke the gold locket that hung from her neck. Suddenly her mother’s presence was with her, calming, comforting. She felt like she could breathe again. Then the hand turned icy cold against her skin. Fingers wrapped around her throat. The snow increased, blinding her with flashes of white.
“If you won’t rule, then I will,” Oighear’s melodious voice hissed in her ear.
The fingers around her throat tightened, freezing her skin. She could no longer see the figures at the shore through the mist and ice. The Snow Queen continued to squeeze. Finn’s vision went dark.
This was impossible. Oighear was dead. Finn had seen to it herself.
She woke gasping for breath. Slowly, she sat up in her bedroll and touched her throat. Her fingers came away slick with melting ice. Was she still dreaming?
She glanced to her side and jumped, then realized it was only Kai crouching beside her bedroll, moonlight glinting off his chestnut hair. His hand was on her shoulder, and she realized he’d shaken her awake. She looked down at the foot of her bedroll to see Naoki curled there, fast asleep.
“I just had the strangest dream,” Kai whispered, regaining her attention. “Oighear was alive, and I was in a place shrouded with mist.”
She met his gaze, her eyes wide with terror. She reached out and touched a lock of his hair. It was crunchy and cold. Frozen.
“I dreamed of her too,” she breathed, lifting a hand to her throat to touch the dampness. “What do you think it means?” she asked distantly, even though something in her gut already told her the truth.
Kai shook his head, crossing his legs beneath him to sit more comfortably. He ran his hand through his hair then paused, as if just noticing the ice there. He turned wide eyes down to her. “We saw her die. We killed her ourselves.”
She shivered. “But we left her body there. I never thought—”
He shook his head. “People don’t just come back to life. Perhaps her spirit has simply lingered to haunt our dreams.”
She pulled her blanket up to her throat. “People don’t just come back, but Oighear is Faie. She faded away for an entire lifetime and still came back.”
He sighed. “Our goal is still the same, and if Oighear still lives . . . well, you have the shroud now. You defeated Oighear once, you can do it again.” He sounded more like he was trying to convince himself than her.
She swallowed the lump in her throat. She wished she could feign confidence like Kai, but she knew she’d barely triumphed in that fight, and it was only because Kai had run an arrow through Oighear’s chest to weaken her.
She reached out and gently took his hand, stroking her fingers over the prominent scar. “Do you think this is why she was in both our dreams? Have I brought you into even more danger?”
He smiled softly. “That also doesn’t matter.”
“You’re a horrible liar,” she muttered.
He gently withdrew his hand from hers. “Come now, I’ll make you some tea to help you go back to sleep.”
She scooted out of her bedroll, thankful for the excuse to not go back to sleep right away. She could only hope the hot tea would warm the icy lump in her throat . . . though she doubted it.
Iseult crept through the trees surrounding their camp. He’d sensed something out here, something Faie. As long as it wasn’t one of those cursed Geancanach, he would scare it off then return to his companions.
He stepped forward silently, searching for whatever it was he sensed. A low, scuffling noise caught his ear and he turned. There. The creature was small, roughly the size of a young calf. It stood on two legs, its knees bent backward like a goat’s. Shaggy fur covered most of its lower body, ending on its thin chest, and starting again on its spindly arms. As if sensing his presence, it turned a mostly humanoid face toward him, blinking spherical, milky yellow eyes.
“Bucca,” he grumbled, then darted forward.
The creature shrieked, then ran, but Iseult was faster and surpassed it. Before the creature could flit past him, he landed the tip of his short sword against a tree, blocking the Bucca’s path.
The little creature blinked up at him, trembling in fear.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded.
The Bucca blinked a few more times. Perhaps it did not understand him. He was about to give up and let the creature go when it hissed, “Hiding. Bucca must hide.”
“From what?” he asked. He knew Bucca were among some of the least harmful Faie. Herbwives would tell stories of them stealing children, but at most all they ever stole were small farm animals for their
suppers.
The Bucca blinked its strange eyes at him again. “Bucca not warrior. Bucca Light Faie, so Bucca will be made into slave.”
Iseult sighed, wishing the creature would just spit out what it was afraid of so he could get back to keeping watch. “Who will make you a slave?” he asked patiently.
He heard voices coming from the camp, and reflexively turned, then cursed. He whipped his gaze back around to find nothing but empty space between him and the tree. He lowered his sword and resheathed it, then turned to see whose voice he’d heard. He’d sent Bedelia to watch the road for possible enemies, and would not be pleased if she’d returned to camp to converse with those who should be sleeping, especially Finn.
He walked on silently until the fire came back into view, and the hushed voices became clear. Kai and Finn sat side by side, whispering to each other. They both turned as he approached the camp.
“You should both be resting,” he muttered, keeping his voice low to avoid waking Anna and Sativola, who were supposed to take the next watch. Naoki blinked sleepy eyes at him from the foot of Finn’s bedroll.
Kai and Finn stared up at him from their shared seat on a log near the fire, guilty, like children who’d been caught sticking their fingers in their mother’s pie.
They glanced at each other, then Kai explained, “Finn couldn’t sleep. I heard her rustling about, so I decided to keep her company.”
Iseult was quite keen at sensing lies. There was something else going on here. He met Finn’s gaze. “Are you well?”
She nodded, a little too quickly. “I’m fine. Just a little nervous to be back on the road. I’m sure I’ll sleep better at our next camp.”
Another lie, he thought, but saw no point in voicing his suspicions. If she wanted to tell him what was going on, she would in time.
“There was a Bucca lurking around the camp,” he explained. “It seemed frightened of something. Perhaps the other queen from the prophecy.”
Finn and Kai met each other’s gazes once more. They seemed worried.
Queen of Wands (The Tree of Ages Series Book 4) Page 2