Author: Jocelyn A. Fox
Date: 2016-04-29 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy; Fae
Description: After reaching the Seelie Court, Tess O’Connor has freed Queen Titania….and crowned a new High Queen, imbuing an outcast of the Fae world with incredible power. With Brightvale destroyed by her coronation, the High Queen leads her new Wild Court into the Deadlands, determined to fight the malevolent ancient deity spreading its shadow over Faeortalam. Tess must navigate between old friendships, new loyalties, and her own desires as the world of the Fae collides with her old life in the mortal world. The Bearer of the Iron Sword stands with the three Courts of the Fae realm as they unite to face
Rights: Copyright 2016 Jocelyn A. Fox

The Dark Throne

Copyright © 2016 by Jocelyn A. Fox

All rights reserved. No part of this publication maybe reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission of the publisher. The rights of the authors of this work has been asserted by him/her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, or events used in this book are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, alive or deceased, events or locales is completely coincidental.

eBook design by Maureen Cutajar
www.gopublished.com

Print ISBN: 978-1530966981

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Author’s Note

About the Author

Prologue

Queen Mab, ruler of the Unseelie Court and all its lands, monarch of the Night and the Winter, once the most powerful being in any world, felt the raw touch of death for the first time in her long reign. She sat upon her delicately carved throne in the Great Hall of Darkhill, its magnificence now dimmed with encroaching dust, dulling the shine of silver and casting a veil of grey over the vibrant colors of the tapestries. Only her Three now attended her; her Named Knights brought all others before the Throne with eyes lowered, instructed not to raise their gaze upon pain of banishment from the Court. She had heard whispers of thoughts, musings of fading power and dying stars, and thought to herself that it might soon be necessary to blindfold all who knelt before the Winter Throne...or spill ebony-dark blood upon the steps of the dais, if any dared defy her. Deep beneath the conscious thoughts of her Court, she tasted the bloody tang of fear.

One of her snow-white hands raised slightly of its own volition, but the Unseelie Queen stilled her rebellious fingers, raising her chin as she resisted the urge to trace the fine wrinkles appearing around her eyes and lips, marring the cold smooth beauty of her skin like a spider-web of cracks through translucent ice.

The newly baptized Vaelanbrigh turned his head slightly at the movement of his Queen, nothing more than an incline of his head, asking her silently if she had need of him. Queen Mab glanced at him and looked away. The cost of the making of her youngest Named Knight had reached deep into her bones; the sword at his hip did not have a sapphire winking from the pommel, but a blood-red ruby. The making of the blade had perhaps been more difficult than the blood-baptism of the Knight. Even the weak grey light of the Great Hall glinted russet on the Vaelanbrigh’s head. Mab caught herself comparing the dark reddish gleam to the shine of a raven’s wing, the deep blue of a tumultuous sea…the colors of her lost Knight, her valiant Vaelanbrigh who had sacrificed so much, and so silently. He had been her bright and ambitious favorite, a blazing flame to put all others to shame—for he had accomplished all that she had asked of him, perhaps in penance for that fateful day of his one and only failure in her service. The Vaelanseld served her well and faithfully, but he was like a great draft horse, steady and even-paced. The Vaelanmavar—she grimaced at the thought, knowing she must gather her strength to sever flesh and bone one last time—slid his way through the Court with the cunning and slyness of a fox, a trait she had once valued but now looked back upon and wondered at her own wisdom.

It was not often the way of queens to second-guess their own actions, but Queen Mab questioned every decision that had led her to this precipice. “We stand upon the cliff,” she whispered. That was the last thought she had grasped from Finnead’s fading consciousness, after the rush and thrill of battle. A cliff. Flames, and then cold…bone-aching, soul-searing cold, sliding into the fading and emptiness of death. She shivered.

The Vaelanbrigh gave no sign that he heard his Queen’s whisper. She had begun talking to herself, sitting on the Winter Throne in the Great Hall for days upon days, unmoving save for the occasional whisper. He knew she focused her power on weaving a protection for Darkhill, a last effort to save the Court from the burgeoning Shadow that spilled like a tide of blood across Mab’s lands. He felt the silvery ache of her sorrow for Finnead in the back of his mind and calmly accepted her grief as his own. This calm acceptance of what had been, for a few moments, the truth, allowed him to shield from Mab the terrible, hopeful reality: that Finnead was alive, and in the Seelie Realm, traveling with the Bearer in her quest to stem the rising tide of darkness. He did not mourn the waning of his own Queen, because it was only through her weakness that he lived. It was only through the most perilous chance that she had not yet discovered the knowledge that he held in the deepest recesses of his mind. If Queen Mab knew that Finnead lived, and still journeyed with the Bearer into Titania’s lands, her fury would eclipse her love for Finnead…because as Ramel was beginning to understand all too well, Mab’s love for her Three was akin to a mistress’ fondness for her most lethal hunting hounds. The Winter Queen’s love almost felt like jealous possession.

He felt her draw power from him. The sensation had terrified him at first, when he’d been newly blood-baptized. It felt as though her lips were upon his own and she sucked the air from his lungs, squeezing his heartbeat to a pause as she grasped at his life force. He let the Queen drink her fill—though struggle would be useless. After the disappearance of the Walker Murtagh—another layer to his dangerous deception, a mystery explained to the waning Queen as Murtagh’s sudden death, rather than his sudden rescue by the Bearer—Mab relied more and more upon her Three to bolster her power. He stilled himself, the red stone set into the hilt of his sword pulsing softly with light as he drew deep breaths against the pull of the Unseelie Queen drinking his life force. One day, perhaps, she would drink him down whole, her cold presence offering little comfort as he sank into the darkness of death. Ramel clenched his jaw. It would be worth it, if it would help the Bearer and….her company.

Shadows laced the edge of his vision. He steeled himself, willing himself to stay on his feet; even now the Queen did not tolerate displays of weakness, especially from one of her Three. Their weakness reflected her own, and the lash of her anger would be swift and hot. Ramel gripped the pommel of the Brighbranr….and staggered as the Queen’s whirlpool-current pull abruptly ceased. A strangled gasp floated from Mab’s lips. He turned, keeping his eyes downcast. “My queen?”

The Unseelie Queen did not reply, her breath labored and shuddering. Ramel reached through the invisible link to the Vaelanseld—best to alert the Queen’s oldest Knight to her distress, if he had not already sensed it for himself. He raised his eyes enough to see the Queen’s marble-white hands gripping the arms of the throne, fingers like claws. As he watched, one of the Queen’s fingernails split, dark blood dripping down onto the intricately carved stone. He leapt up the steps of the dais, reaching for his own taebramh though Mab had drained most of it.

“What is it?” the Vaelanseld asked brusquely, striding into the throne room from the southern entrance.

“I do not know,” Ramel replied, raising his voice above the Queen’s labored breathing. She gave a sudden violent shudder and as if in sympathy the floor of the throne room quaked. Dust filtered down from the shadowed vault of the ceiling. The Vaelanseld ran to the Queen’s side. With one hand out for balance, Ramel looked at the Queen fully for the first time since his blood-baptism. She arched back against the throne, eyes wide and unseeing, her perilously beautiful face frozen in a rictus of agony. With each gasp her body convulsed slightly. Blood smeared her fingertips from her shattered nails.

“My queen, my queen,” said the Vaelanseld, dropping to his knees beside the throne, reaching up with one hand to lay his palm against the queen’s snow-white cheek. Another convulsion shook Mab’s body, and the throne room groaned with another quake.

“Is it an attack? Should we sound the bells?” Ramel gripped the pommel of the Brighbranr and fought the urge to shake the Vaelanseld.

“No.” The strangled whisper passed Mab’s bloodless lips. Her eyes rolled back, her body arched violently and she screamed, a sound of hounds and bells and shrieking wind. A crashing tidal wave of power slammed into Ramel through his link with Mab, forcing him down onto one knee. The maelstrom of power—a familiar yet alien force, not of Mab but tasting of blood and fire and baptism—raged through them and around them. With a sound like bones breaking, the stones of the dais cracked and a great wind swept through the throne room, gathering up the dust from the long silent stretch of striving against the darkness, lining the colors of the great tapestries with jewel tones and shining silver light. The pain receded and Ramel’s very bones hummed with power; he stood and flexed one hand in wonder, eyes widening when he looked up to see the Unseelie Queen, no longer sitting silent as a statue, but cocooned in a whirling silver glow, levitating on the wave of power, the Vaelanseld looking up at her with worship in his eyes.

When the glow slowly faded, setting Mab down upon her feet gracefully, the Unseelie Queen shone more radiantly than Ramel had ever seen her, the bells sewn into her hem crashing once again with all the force of storm waves against black cliffs. When she spoke, Ramel fought the urge to press his hands against his ears, even with the protection of his blood-baptism as one of her Three.

“The High Queen has been crowned.” She turned to the Vaelanseld with a fierce light in her eyes. “Sound the bells. We ride to war against the Shadow.”

Chapter 1

I heard the voices first. I drifted for a long while in the warm darkness, wandering through dreams both beautiful and terrifying. But then I heard the voices, and something about them struck a chord within me. I couldn’t remember why they were important, but they drew me back toward a weighted existence, a hard and bright world laced with flashes of hot pain. A few times, I thought I might venture back toward the voices, their murmurs beckoning me; but tidal waves of agony pushed me again into the more welcoming darkness.

After a while, I became aware of another presence in the soft warm darkness. I wove my fingers through the wolf’s silky pelt, and it gazed at me with emerald fire in its intelligent eyes. Somehow it was a part of me; I felt the tread of its paws in the recesses of my mind. But it was also separate than me, a different consciousness melded in strange symbiosis with my own. For a while it merely walked with me, my companion as I wandered hidden paths, silently watching scenes of blood and fire. I became accustomed to the feel of its fur beneath my hands, and so when the wolf led me back toward the voices, I followed, one hand resting lightly upon the thick ruff at its neck.

As we neared the voices at the edge of the darkness, the pain swirled into my awareness, lapping at my body like ocean waves. I hesitated, gripping the wolf’s fur as the tide of pain rose. The wolf looked at me with its emerald-fire gaze and said to me, It is time to return, my Bearer.

I awoke with a shudder, awareness rushing back in disjointed snatches, curdled by the rolling waves of pain crashing through my body. A small ragged sound escaped me between my gasping struggles for breath. The voices came into focus as words, pulsing in and out of clarity.

“She’s awakening…”

“Fetch the Queen, quickly— ”

“—Something for the pain….”

I couldn’t catch my breath. Where was I? What had happened? I reached for memory but found a terrifying blank space. Tears of pain and confusion smeared the flickering light. I realized someone was speaking to me, words firm and soothing.

“Tess, listen to me. Slow your breathing. You are safe and among friends. Calm, now.”

With the recognition of my name, a few other shattered memories glinted in my head, but I blinked and focused on following the voice’s directions. The voice was male. I knew I should know who it was, but I didn’t. The voice plucked a chord of memory that remained beyond my reach. I concentrated on slowing my panicked breaths, riding each wave of pain with measured inhales and slow exhales.

“That’s it,” the voice said encouragingly, still low and soothing. “I’ll have something here for the pain shortly. Can you open your eyes, Lady Bearer?”

The title brought another fragmented rush of recognition. I gritted my teeth against a swell of agony and opened my eyes, blinking as my eyes rebelled against the light. The person by the side of my bed—I realized I was laying in a soft, cool bed—quickly shielded the candle-flame with one hand, moving the light farther away from me. I swallowed. “Thanks.” The word came out a gravelly croak.

“Don’t try to speak just yet,” said my caretaker. I squinted and tried to recognize him. Even with my blurred vision, I made out the gleam of golden hair and the glint of bright green eyes. I set that against the sound of his voice and searched through the tatters of my mind.

After riding another swell of pain, I had it. A slight smile curved my cracked lips. “Sage.”

Sage paused in his industrious mixing of powdered herbs into a small bowl. He smiled brilliantly. “Indeed, my lady. But I am not the only one waiting for you to awaken, I am merely the healer on duty.” He motioned with his chin to the other side of my bed. With an effort, I turned my head slightly, enough to see the figure asleep with the upper half of his body lay on my bed, by my feet. Beyond the figure at the foot of the bed I glimpsed the gleam of a golden pelt. Luca had fallen asleep with his head resting on his forearms, his shoulder leaning against the foot of the bed. I moved to run my fingers through his tousled golden hair to awaken him, but a sharp flare of pain made me hiss.

My hands. I looked in confusion and then dawning horror at my bandaged hands. I remembered suddenly the blazing hot power of the Crown of Bones in my hands, searing my flesh, the great ruby crumbling to ash after delivering its benediction. Sage returned to my side as he heard my sound of dismay.

“Here,” he said, lifting a small bowl to my lips. “This will help. Drink slowly.”

The cool liquid tasted like mint. It felt so heavenly on my lips and throat that a few tears rolled down my cheeks. My gratitude deepened as coolness rolled through my body, quieting the hot agony that I now realized radiated from my ruined hands. With an effort, I raised one hand again, trying to stem the panic that welled up at the sight of my hand swathed in layers of bandages. I couldn’t see my fingers, nor could I really feel them beyond the pain that now dulled to a distant ache. With a sudden flare of memory—Lady Bearer—I reached for the Sword, searching for its power even as I tilted my head to find it.

“The Sword is by the head of your bed on the left side,” Sage said quietly.

I saw the well-worn scabbard exactly where he said, leaning against the bed frame; the emerald in the pommel stirred sleepily to blink at me, as though the Sword was awakening as well. I couldn’t focus well enough to call up my own taebramh, but I could sense its power curled behind my breastbone, a dormant silver presence. I swallowed hard against the fear that rose up in me as I let my awareness slide back to the physical world. My inability to draw on my own power compounded my pain and confusion. I felt weak. I was weak. I had to draw a deep breath and concentrate on quelling my panic.

I shifted my eyes back to Luca, tracing the sight of him, broad shoulders rising and falling slowly with measured breaths.

“He’s fine, if a bit grumpy at your condition,” the Seelie healer told me.

A rising swell of sleepiness overtook the dull pain still lingering in my limbs. I blinked and looked at Sage accusingly, too tired even to form words.

“I apologize, my Bearer, but I am only doing my duty,” he said softly, straightening the sheets where I’d rumpled them with my brief journey into the waking world. I frowned at him, but then felt the lines on my face relax as I slid again into a softer rest.

I woke again with less confusion. I remembered after a scant moment where I was, and that I’d awoken before, and that I was the Bearer of the Iron Sword. I kept my eyes closed for a moment, listening to the sounds of the fire crackling and hissing in the grate. No conversation met my ears, but I could hear the healer on duty moving jars with bright little sounds of glass-on-wood over at the large table. A quick mental scan of my own body revealed that my entire body hurt less, the pain focused now on my hands and up my arms. That was good, I supposed. After another moment, I took a deep breath and opened my eyes. The world came into focus a bit quicker this time, resolving into an almost identical scene. Luca still slept at the edge of the bed, looking as though he hadn’t moved at all. I turned my head slightly and glimpsed Sage at the table.

“Looks like you always pick my watch to make a guest appearance to the land of the living,” he commented wryly without looking up from the parchment pinned to the table beneath one graceful long-fingered hand.

“You’re just lucky, I guess,” I croaked with an attempt at a smile.

Something stirred in Luca’s hair. I frowned in confusion, but then smiled as I saw Farin’s small head emerge from her nest. She stretched and unfurled her wings, clambering over Luca’s arm as she fluttered first one incandescent wing and then the other. War paint, now smeared, still decorated her tiny torso.

“Farin,” I whispered, not trusting my voice.

The Glasidhe’s aura spiked immediately with excitement. She leapt into the air. “Tess-mortal, you are awake!” she trilled.

I must have winced at her exuberant proclamation, because Sage raised his eyebrows at Farin and she clasped her hands in apology, dimming her glow. “Tess-mortal, you are awake!” she repeated in an exultant whisper. “Again,” she added with a tip of her head.

I smiled a little. “Yes.”

“Oh, but he is not,” said Farin, whirling on Luca. She dove down and disappeared behind Luca’s arm.

“I don’t think that’s going to end well,” commented Sage, watching with crossed arms. “Last one that tried to wake him up got a hand around his throat. And I think he was growling.”

I shrugged a little, not bothering to hide the half-smile that played on my lips. Beneath the lingering exhaustion and the dulled ache of pain, a warm glow suffused me at the thought of Luca faithfully guarding my bedside. Then I frowned and looked at Sage, who was busy preparing another kind of ointment, probably for my hands. “How long have I been….asleep?”

He paused, pestle in one hand and a bunch of herbs in the other. “I think the best thing, Tess, would be for you to concentrate on regaining your strength.”

Irritation pulled my mouth into a frown. “Why don’t you let me decide what’s best for me?” My voice came out as a croak that was entirely less intimidating than I’d intended, but I raised my chin and gave Sage what I hoped was something close to a glare. He concentrated on grinding the herbs, and I suspected he was trying to hide a grin. But before he answered my question, someone else did.

“Seven days.”

Luca’s voice drew my attention to the foot of the bed. I had to tilt my head back: Luca had stood, Farin hovering over his shoulder. He wore his sword—or rather, the plain blade that I’d given him what seemed like centuries ago.

“Seven days?” I repeated dumbly, my voice just barely louder than a whisper.

“Yes.” Luca pulled over a stool to the side of the bed. He sat and ran one of his hands through his unkempt hair, rubbing his fingers over the wheat-colored stubble glinting on his chin.

I swallowed, trying to work past the dryness in my throat. “What happened?”

I expected Luca to shift and avoid the question, but Kianryk padded over to his side and he put a hand on the massive wolf’s neck. Kianryk gazed up at me with solemn ice-blue eyes. “Brightvale is gone,” Luca said.

“Gone?” It was one of those times that I was doomed to repeat last words of others’ sentences questioningly, and I drew in a deep breath of frustration, willing my mind to piece together my shattered memories into some sort of recognizable mosaic. I closed my eyes for a moment, frowning, sifting through brief glimpses of dust-covered tapestries and soaring marble columns carved into the likenesses of nymphs and satyrs; I remembered whirling through the ether with Murtagh, and then the bone-searing pain of freeing Titania from her iron shackles. Goosebumps raced over my skin as the howling creature of darkness surfaced suddenly in my mind’s eye, flaming eyes staring at me hungrily as it bellowed in rage. Then the raging maelstrom of power whipping around us, the Crown of Bones hot and bright as the heart of a star in my hands, Titania’s blood deep blue as it splashed upon the ruby; and then Vell, golden eyes transfixed, the canopy of night sky and bright dawn spinning overhead as the achingly infinite power funneled down into her. Then the flash-memory of cracked stones, shaking ground, the metallic taste of blood and fear in the back of my throat…strong arms lifting me as we ran….and my awareness fading as I surrendered to darkness with the benediction of the Sword lingering in my mind.

I blinked and drew a shuddering breath. “After you carried me…as you carried me...Brightvale collapsed.”

Luca nodded. “Yes.”

“Did we lose anyone?” Weariness settled over me. I fought it, gazing up at Luca, not even daring to breathe. I remembered Murtagh on the floor of the throne-room, convulsing, foam lacing his lips. Sudden fear lanced through me. I moved to grip Luca’s sleeve but a dull stab of pain arrested my movement.

“We did not leave anyone behind,” Luca said. He rested one hand gently on my arm, which only heightened my fear. “The creature’s touch was poison, and so Calliea nearly died before the new Queen was able to burn it out of her.”

“Blood and fire,” agreed Farin grimly from her new perch on Luca’s shoulder.

“Murtagh?” I asked through numb lips. Luca shook his head slightly and Farin’s aura dimmed. A wrenching wave of sorrow overtook me. I was too tired to fight the tears that flooded my eyes. “Tell me.”

Kianryk whined softly and laid his massive head on the bed, close to where Luca’s hand touched my arm. “He was already in bad shape when you came back through with the Seelie Queen.”

I cleared my throat. Sage offered a drink and I grimaced when I realized I wouldn’t be able to hold the cup myself, but he held the cup to my lips with practiced ease and the water soothed my parched throat. When I regained what little voice I had, I said, “There were iron manacles on Titania. It took most of my taebramh to break them. I took some from him, too.” I swallowed against the sudden guilt choking me. “I took his hands, put them on my shoulders…and then I commanded him to bring us back, no matter the cost…”

“You did what had to be done,” said Sage quietly. I blinked back more tears at the unexpected tenderness in his voice.

Luca nodded in grim agreement. “After you crowned the Queen, we ran.” He raked his fingers through his hair again. Kianryk leaned against him. “The citadel was coming down around us. Sometime during the escape…Murtagh stopped breathing. Finnead breathed for him, as best he could, until we were outside the gate and could stop for a few moments to tend to everyone. Tristan…we thought he might die, he lost so much blood. And Calliea collapsed from the poison. And….you.” Luca looked down at his hands, flexing his scarred palm. Then he continued. “Titania herself worked on Murtagh. She brought him back enough that he opened his eyes. He saw her and then you, and nodded a little…and then he let go.”

Farin touched the curve of Luca’s ear with her tiny hand. “He was a true warrior,” she said fiercely. “He gave himself selflessly to give us hope against the darkness.”

“I couldn’t have said it better myself, Farin,” I agreed, adding Murtagh’s name to the list along with Kavoryk.

“There is no battle without loss,” said Luca in a low voice. “Though it does not make it any easier.”

I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the sorrow wash over me. My hands pulsed dully with faraway pain. “Where are we?” I whispered.

“The Hall of the Outer Guard,” answered Luca.

Another piece of my memory slid into place as I recognized the bed as the one in which I’d slept the night before we traveled to the Seelie citadel. “It seems like so long since we were here last.” I stared at the runes moving liquidly beneath the gleaming surface of the headboard.

“Much has changed,” said Sage.

I frowned against a sudden bout of dizziness. “Vell is Queen now.”

“She is one of the Queens,” the Sidhe healer corrected me with a raised brow. He set rolls of bandages and a steaming basin on the bedside table. “I must tend to your hands, my Bearer.”

“How bad?” My voice wavered. Luca’s hand found my arm again. I leaned into his comforting touch.

Sage hesitated for the space of a breath before answering. “Your hands were burned badly. You will have scars, but you should be able to hold a sword again.”

“Should be able to hold a sword?” I felt my eyes widen, panic lacing my words.

“Sometimes it is difficult to tell with burns,” Sage said gently, reaching for my left hand. I barely paid him any attention as he began unwrapping the outermost layer of bandages.

“I might never hold a sword again?” Then I took a breath and clenched my jaw. Despite my tattered memory and wounded body, I was still the Bearer of the Iron Sword. “Then I had better be able to nock an arrow to a bow.” The Caedbranr hummed approvingly, the sheath vibrating against the headboard.

“Or you could leave the nocking of arrows to those more skilled at the task.”

I looked up sharply. Vell stood in the doorway, hands on her hips. Then the ghost of a smile tugged at her lips and Beryk pushed past her knees, bounding into the room gleefully. I smiled in return. Kianryk abandoned his post by my bed to leap on Beryk, a playful growl rolling through the room.

Sage touched two fingers to his forehead in obeisance to Vell, and then tempered his gesture of respect by asking forbearingly, “Must I have wolves wrestling around my charge?”

“Yes,” said Vell and I at the same time, though my word was more like a croak that tailed off into a cough. Amusement glimmered in Sage’s eyes as he turned back to unwrapping my hand. There was more movement at the doorway and I glimpsed Gray, bright golden hair bound back with dark strips of leather. But Vell made a motion with her hand without turning toward the door, and Gray gave a little nod, shutting the door with a quiet click.

“I have two new shadows tripping over each other to guard me,” growled Vell, stabbing the air with her fingers to emphasize her displeasure. She looked at me, golden eyes flashing. “As if protecting the Bearer wasn’t already enough of a headache.”

I smiled a little and then hissed in pain as Sage reached the last layer of bandages around my hand. Tears stung my eyes and when I opened them again, Vell was at my side. “I will do this.”

“Your Grace,” protested Sage with lowered eyes, “you are the High Queen, surely this is a task better suited for a…member of your company.”

“You are correct about one thing,” said Vell. The air in the room flexed and hummed with sudden power. “I am the High Queen. And you are tending to the Bearer of the Iron Sword, who, in case you have forgotten, is responsible for saving the life of Queen Titania and crowning me.”

“I have not forgotten, Your Grace.” I could barely hear Sage’s voice and I felt a pang of sympathy for the Seelie healer. He bowed deeply to Vell and strode gracefully from the room. When the door closed again, I tilted my head at Vell.

“Poor Sage,” I said quietly, “I think you frightened him.”

“Good,” Vell said darkly as she smelled the steaming basin and made a face. As quickly as the air in the room had tightened with power, it faded as she set to work uncorking little glass vials and unrolling leather pouches of dried herbs. She glanced at the parchment, shook her head and tucked it behind the row of glass jars at the back of the table, muttering something to herself about ridiculous notions of reinventing the wheel. Though she held herself differently now, with a bit more authority than I remembered, she still wore plain dark breeches and knee-high boots. The simple golden circlet created by the Crown of Bones gleamed against her dark hair, bound up in its customary intricate braid. Rather than her usual white shirt, she wore a deep scarlet shirt that gleamed in the candlelight, but the only touch of decoration that I glimpsed was a new belt at Vell’s waist, worked with complex designs in silver and gold.

Beryk disentangled himself from Kavoryk and trotted up to the bed, nosing at my elbow and inspecting me with uncannily intelligent golden eyes. I raised one hand to show him that I couldn’t easily scratch behind his ears, as he was silently asking, I was sure; he inspected the gauze, sniffed at my hand and promptly sneezed. Vell murmured something to him in the Northern tongue and he grinned his wolf-grin, tongue lolling.

“What did you say to him?” I asked. My left hand still throbbed even from the small motion of unwrapping the bandages most; I wasn’t looking forward to whatever it was that Vell was going to do.

“Oh, I just told him that Seelie herbs will make him sneeze like the silly pup he is, and he should have more sense than that,” Vell replied. She looked sharply at Luca while she ground herbs in a bowl. “When’s the last time you ate?”

“I have been bringing him food, my Queen,” said Farin, diving out from her hiding place behind Luca’s ear. She turned a pirouette and then bowed deeply to Vell.

“Thank you, Farin,” Vell replied. “It seems the smallest among us have the most sense, lately.”

Luca merely shrugged good-naturedly.

“All right.” Vell put the bowl on the stand by my bed and looked down at me. “This is going to hurt.”

“I figured,” I said with a grimace.

“I could give you something to make you sleep, if you’d like,” she continued quietly. As she worked by my bedside, I could feel a difference in the air around her, a quiet hum of power. The crisp scent of pine needles and new-fallen snow trailed behind her movements like a subtle perfume.

“I’d rather not go to sleep again if I don’t have to,” I replied.

Vell tilted her head. “I could make sure you do not dream.”

“Sage already pulled that trick with me. It’s a tempting idea, but…I like being awake. I want to know what’s going on.”

“Some things never change,” the new High Queen remarked.

“So you’re not….you’re not angry with me?” I blurted as Vell reached for my left hand. She took my hand gently by the wrist, pausing.

“That depends. Are you worried I’m angry at you for crowning me High Queen?”

“Yes,” I whispered. “Liam warned me you might…you might hate me.”

Vell frowned. “I could never hate you, Tess. You have been one of the truest friends I have ever known. And it wasn’t your choice to crown me High Queen.” She raised her eyebrows. “It was fate, or destiny, or some nonsense of that sort.” She paused. “I was angry, I will say that much. When we first escaped Brightvale, when I truly understood what had happened…it was not something that I expected. So I was angry.” She took a breath. “I was angry at you, yes.” Then a small smile touched her lips. “But it’s difficult to stay angry with a friend who lingers between life and death.”

“So if I’d been able to defend myself you would have challenged me to a duel?” I raised my eyebrows, my attempt at humor punctuated by a dry little cough.

Vell chuckled. “Perhaps. My two new Knights were hard-pressed to satisfy me during training sessions.”

“You didn’t hurt them, did you?”

Vell raised her eyebrows at me. “Worried about Finnead?”

A hot blush rose unbidden to my cheeks and I became painfully aware of Luca’s presence in the room. “Not particularly. Just wondering how absolute your authority is as far as being High Queen goes. I’ve heard stories about Mab that aren’t too pleasant.”

“Well,” Vell said, taking the kettle from over the fire to fill a bowl with steaming water, “I could hurt them, if I wished.” She looked at me with serious golden eyes. “It would be within my rights to kill them, for no reason at all other than they displeased me.” As the words passed her lips, Vell’s voice took on an otherworldly quality. It was as though more than one entity spoke through her, and a strange light shone in her eyes. I recognized the power of the Crown of Bones—now the power of the High Queen—asserting itself. Was that what I looked like when the lineage of Bearers used me as a mouthpiece?

I cleared my throat. “I’m glad they were able to give you an outlet for your anger.”

Vell shook her head slightly and blinked. “Yes.” She sprinkled the powdered herbs into the steaming bowl. “And so,” she continued, “to go back to our original topic…I’m still a little angry at you.” Her smile was wolf-like. “But that will fade, with time. And I’m still your friend, same as I was before you crowned me.”

“Liam said you were the only one left with the right blood.” The words poured from my mouth like a confession.

She nodded. “I know.”

I glanced at Luca in confusion, but he watched Vell intently.

“It isn’t so hard to understand, Tess,” Vell said. “I’m the only female herravaldyr left alive. For one reason or another, the Crown of Bones chose me as the High Queen.” She waved a hand. “Or I was anointed from birth and the fates watched over me or however it works.” She smiled. “I thought you’d know, Daughter of Gwyneth.”

I smiled a little sheepishly. “I’ll be honest, I’m still figuring it out as I go.” The Caedbranr vibrated with something like a chuckle.

“Aren’t we all,” said Vell. She raised her eyebrows. “Have we settled to your satisfaction that I don’t hate you for being the conduit for the Crown of Bones to anoint me as the High Queen, because I’d like to change these bandages.”

I nodded and smiled, though I felt a bit uneasy at Vell’s admission that she was still angry with me. My smile quickly turned into a grimace as I bit down on the gasp of pain struggling to escape from me.

“Breathe through it,” Luca said, his hand warm against my other arm.

“Keep talking to me,” I gritted out through clenched teeth.

“It’s good that it hurts,” Vell said as she peeled away the last stained layer of bandages.

“Why is that?” I asked, fighting a terrible curiosity.

“You can look. I’m going to ask you to move it soon anyway,” the High Queen said, placing a small pillow under my forearm. “It’s good that it hurts because it means that the burn didn’t reach deep enough to sear the feeling out of your hand.”

“Burn the nerve endings,” I agreed in a short burst, some remnant of my anatomy and physiology classwork surfacing in my brain. “So I’ll be able to hold a sword again?”

Vell looked sharply at me. “Of course you will, probably after about a fortnight or perhaps a little sooner.”

I breathed a tight sigh of relief and then shifted my gaze to my hand, forcing myself to absorb the sight. A patchwork of red and white covered my palm, wrapping around the back of my thumb where the outward-spreading flames had kissed my skin. I swallowed and remembered the heaviness of the Crown of Bones, the brightness of the flames. Blisters formed a constellation on the webbing between my thumb and forefinger, and my fingers were swollen. Wet red flesh gleamed at the center of my palm, where I’d held the great ruby as I channeled its power into Vell; it almost looked like a blood-red eye in the center of my hand.

“Your left hand isn’t as bad as your right hand,” Vell said, cursorily checking the pulse at my wrist. “There hasn’t been any issues with blood flow or tightening of the skin, so that’s good.”

Luca stood and watched intently as Vell turned my hand, examining the skin.

“Why the difference?” I took a deep breath. The pain wasn’t really so bad, now that the dressing was gone. Or at least that’s what I told myself.

“You must have overlapped your hands when you held the Crown of Bones,” Luca said. “Right over left.” He demonstrated with his own hands.

“You did,” Farin informed me seriously. “I was watching.”

I smiled a little at that. “Thanks for the confirmation, Farin.”

Vell turned my hand over and gently set it on the cushion. “Now, move your thumb for me, just so.” She demonstrated, flexing her thumb over her palm.

“This is going to suck,” I muttered, ignoring the bemused expression on Luca’s face at my slang. And it did. Bright pain lanced from my hand, creeping up my forearm in fiery tendrils, as I moved each of my fingers in turn at Vell’s command. Then we moved on to rotating my wrist, which wasn’t so terrible, and then flexing my entire hand, which was even worse than moving my fingers. By the time we were finished, I was soaked in sweat and tears ran down my face despite my effort to control them. Luca began unwrapping my right hand as Vell applied a cool salve to my left hand.

“That feels good,” I murmured to Vell. Then I turned my head to Luca. “And if the left one isn’t as bad as the right one….this is really going to suck.”

The Caedbranr hummed a bit of encouragement, which I appreciated as I began the same set of exercises with my right hand. Vell was right: the blisters on my right hand ringed my entire palm and stretched in a feathery trail down my wrist, and the large red almond-shaped burn in the center of my hand bled a little, reminding me again of an eye—but this time an eye weeping tears of blood. I shivered and goosebumps raised the hairs on my arms. By the time I finished the exercises, I was shaking and sick to my stomach.

“Well done,” said Vell quietly as she applied the salve to my right hand. She dampened the first layer of bandages with a solution that smelled sharply of mint and some other bright herb.

“I’m guessing this will happen at least twice a day,” I said.

“Yes,” Vell said.

“I don’t expect you to be here every time.” I closed my eyes against a particularly vicious wave of nausea, then opened them at Vell’s hand on my shoulder.

“I will be here every time,” she said, her golden eyes fierce.

My throat tightened at her combative loyalty. “Don’t you have…well, I don’t know…High Queen things to do?”

“We are training and scouting and waiting for others to heal,” Vell said.

“There haven’t been any attacks?”

“The Sentinel Stones have held,” she replied simply, sweeping the soiled bandages into a bundle and organizing all the herbs on the larger side table. “There haven’t been any attacks on us.”

“Darkhill,” I said.

“The Court of Night and Winter has defended itself most valiantly,” Farin said, diving in a dizzying arc from one of the crossbeams.

“Does Mab know you’ve been crowned?” I looked at Vell intently. She gave me a wolfish smile.

“Tess, there’s no way she doesn’t know.”

Luca crossed his arms. “The Seelie say that Brightvale collapsed because of the magnitude of the power.”

“The power that I used to crown you?”

“It’s a wonder we’re not all dead.” Vell gazed at me intently.

“I had help,” I said, reaching out one hand to brush the hilt of the Caedbranr with one finger. The simple contact sent a shiver of pain up my arm. I grimaced. “The Sword, and Titania….” I frowned. “Is she all right? Titania?”

“She’s more than all right,” Vell said, perching lightly on the edge of my bed as she wiped her hands with a damp cloth. “She’s gathered the Court. And she’s been teaching me.”

I raised my eyebrows. “You? Being taught by a Sidhe Queen?”

Vell raised an eyebrow at me. “No need to be sarcastic, my Bearer. Unlike you, I don’t have a sentient weapon of power to teach me about my limits and abilities.”

I snorted. “If that’s what you think the Sword does, then you’re sadly mistaken.” The Sword gave a strident tone of indignant protest. I chuckled. “So what are the new queenly powers then?”

“Well,” Vell considered. “The main thing I had to learn was controlling the connection with my Three. That’s new…and strange.”

“You mean to say you didn’t have telepathic connections with others before you were crowned?”

Vell made a face at me. “The pack is similar. But not exactly…we can’t really draw on each other’s power in a concrete way.”

“So what you’re saying is that you have three juiced-up battery packs ready for you to take their power,” I said.

“I have no idea what that means but I assume it’s an accurate mortal metaphor,” Vell replied drily. “And I think that’s why I didn’t quite get along with Mab. She isn’t really…discriminate…when she draws on her Three.”

I tilted my head. “So can you hear their thoughts? Or see what they see? How does it work?”

Vell chuckled. “I’m probably not supposed to be telling you queenly secrets.” She shrugged and drew her legs up to fold them beneath her, sitting cross-legged on the side of the bed. “But, seeing as how you’re the Bearer…it depends on how wide I have the connections. I’m the one who controls how much I can feel or see.”

“So it’s a one-way conduit? They can’t feel you or hear your thoughts?”

“No, they can to an extent,” Vell said thoughtfully, “but mostly I control it. Or I had to learn to control it. It was pretty chaotic the first couple of days.”

“I’d imagine it would be confusing to have someone else in your head. But I know what that feels like…sentient weapon of power and all.” I frowned as I suddenly remembered the slim child’s hand atop the Crown of Bones. “Do you know what Arcana is now that you can hear her thoughts?”

“Well. I should have explained better. Normally with a Queen and her Three, or at least the way Titania tells me, the Queen has a connection to each of the three. I do have a connection with Arcana, but because of what she is…it’s different than with Finnead and Gray.”

“We still don’t know what kind of creature she is, only that she has great power,” Luca said. A low growl rolled from Kianryk.

“I take it you’re still not a fan,” I said.

“Anything that wears another’s skin…I am not a fan, as you say.” His ice-blue eyes went distant and he flexed his scarred hand.

“Why those three? And how do you think Mab will react when she finds out that Finnead is one of your Three, now?”

Vell smiled again. “So many questions, so soon after awakening. I suppose I should not have expected any less from you.”

I smiled in return. “What can I say, I hate to disappoint.”

She looked at the candle on my bedside table, staring into the flame contemplatively. “Even though I’m the High Queen, I still don’t have all the answers.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…overwhelm you.” I sighed and settled back into my pillows.

“As for your question about Finnead…just because I’m connected to my Three doesn’t quite mean that I understand them.” Beryk slid around the end of the bed and laid his head in Vell’s lap, eyes half-lidded in lupine pleasure as she scratched behind his ears. “Sidhe are much more complex than wolves.” Beryk gave a grunt of agreement.

Weariness settled into my bones and I tried to stifle a yawn unsuccessfully. I gave a little sigh of frustration.

“I know you just woke up, but your body needs to heal,” Vell told me. “Next time you wake up, you can eat some broth.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Broth, I can’t wait.”

Vell gave Beryk a last rub behind the ears and then playfully pinched his nose as she pushed his head from her lap. The black wolf yipped and Vell tackled him, rolling to the floor. Kianryk gleefully threw his substantial bulk into the fray, eliciting a wordless exclamation from Vell.

“You’re not going to join in?” I asked Luca as he stood by my bed, watching with crossed arms.

“I haven’t been in a playful mood lately,” he answered.

“Good thing Kianryk still has enough playfulness for both of you, then,” I muttered. That coaxed a smile from the big Northman. “Ah, I was afraid you’d lost your sense of humor back in Brightvale.”

He looked down at me with earnest blue eyes, golden hair gleaming bright in the candlelight. “I was worried.”

His gaze sent a crackle of electricity through me, despite the tiredness tugging at my eyelids. “About me?”

“Yes.” He looked down at his hands. “I was very afraid, when you closed your eyes.” He swallowed and looked at me again. “I thought you might never open them again.”

I remembered the desperation in his voice, the last thing I heard as I slipped into the blackness as we fled Brightvale. The intensity in Luca’s eyes made my throat tighten with emotion. “You know I’m too stubborn to die.” My attempt at a smile wobbled but I managed to keep it from capsizing into a grimace.

Luca let my charade stand, answering my wavering smile with his own. “In that way, I’m glad you’re stubborn, Tess.”

The sound of my name on his lips sent a shiver down my spine. I swallowed as he leaned closer. Then the bed shuddered with a sudden impact and a stream of Northern curses erupted from the tangle of limbs and fur. Luca leaned back with a rueful smile, watching in amusement as Vell disentangled herself from the two wolves. Beryk still snapped playfully at Kianryk, but the two wolves tactfully moved their wrestling away from the High Queen. A livid red weal crossed her cheekbone.

“That’s going to be a beautiful bruise,” I commented, yawning again. “Whatever are your loyal subjects going to think?”

“Whatever they think, they can keep their mouths shut about it,” said Vell unconcernedly, fixing Beryk with a baleful look. The black wolf merely grinned, pink tongue lolling over glistening white teeth. Vell shook her head. “They aren’t used to being indoors still.”

“They’re wolves. I’d be worried if they were used to being indoors,” I said sleepily.

Vell looked at me sharply. “Are you sure you don’t have some ulfdrengr blood somewhere back in your ancestry?”

“My uncle helps train German Shepherds for the Marines, does that count?” I yawned again.

Vell grinned and shook her head, rubbing her cheek absentmindedly. “Go to sleep. I’ll see you when you wake up again.”

“Go do queenly things,” I murmured as my eyes closed, and I heard Vell chuckle as I drifted again into sleep.

Chapter 2

When I awoke again, it felt like morning. I blinked and yawned, surprised that I didn’t have to fight my way through a tide of pain to open my eyes. The rhythmic sound of a whetting-stone sliding down a blade silvered the air. Calliea sat on a chair drawn up by the fireplace, the light of embers shining scarlet on one of her short twin swords, which she held across her lap as she drew the whetting-stone down its length with careful concentration. Forin sat cross-legged on the nearby table, his own small blades arrayed before him. He set down his blade and gave a courtly bow in my direction, luminescent wings carrying him aloft.

“How are you feeling, my Bearer?” Calliea asked without taking her eyes from her blade. Her hair was bound up in braids as it had been before the battle at Brightvale.

“Better,” I said, my voice scratchy but usable. I swallowed and glanced at the bedside table. There was a cup and pitcher set within reach; I carefully sat up in bed, enduring a few stabs of pain from my hands but nothing like what I’d encountered when I’d first awoken. “How are you? I heard you almost died.”

“Nasty poison, that shadow-creature had,” she replied, underlining her words with another slide of the whetting-stone down her sword. “But the vyldretning burned it out of me.”

“Vyldretning,” I repeated.

“The Wild Queen,” said Calliea, glancing up at me with a hungry glint in her eyes.

I took a deep breath, looking down at my hands. Vell had wrapped them akin to how I would have wrapped them before boxing class, leaving parts of my fingers exposed and allowing me to move my hands. “That’s the High Queen?” I asked. Well, here goes nothing, I thought, grasping the cup awkwardly with my left hand and grimacing as I curled the fingers of my right hand around the handle of the pitcher. It was rather light—I realized that Calliea had purposefully left it about a quarter full—but it still took concentration to make my wayward hand obey me as I poured. Calliea kept her attention on her blade. I splashed water onto the nightstand, my hand shaking as I set down the pitcher, but I clenched my jaw and levered the cup to my lips, lifting it with both hands. It was less painful if I used my fingertips and thumbs, so that the cup didn’t touch the raw spots on the center of my palms.

A sense of triumph filled me as I finished the last bit of water in the cup, and I smiled wryly. Calliea looked up at me and raised her eyebrows. “Feeling accomplished over pouring my own water,” I explained.

“It is an accomplishment,” contributed Forin from overhead, near the rafters.

Calliea set her blade to one side and lifted her shirt, showing me a jagged dark scar arcing from her ribcage across onto her stomach. “I felt the same way when I was able to pull my own shirt over my head.”

“Looks like that was nasty.”

“Well, it wasn’t pleasant,” she replied drily. “Forin, would you please let the vyldretning know that the Bearer is awake?”

Forin nodded to Calliea. “Of course, my lady.” He disappeared through a small circular hole cut above one of the crossbeams—the Glasidhe’s version of a door, I realized with a smile.

“So courtly,” Calliea murmured. “Unlike his sister, the fierce little thing.”

“Don’t let her hear you call her little,” I cautioned. Calliea laughed and stood. She retrieved a copper kettle from over the embers of the fire, bringing it to the bedside table along with a bowl and spoon. “I’ll pour the broth, just because the kettle is a bit warm, but then you’re on your own.”

I made a face at her. “I’m not sure how good I’m going to be with a spoon.”

“You need to use your hands,” she replied, pouring a stream of steaming broth into the bowl. “It helps with the healing.”

“Is that so,” I muttered, looking balefully at the spoon, which seemed to me a foreign instrument of immeasurable delicacy when I considered my clumsy bandaged hands. If I sat on the side of the bed, I’d be able to use the bedside table as, well, a table, so I carefully swung my legs over the edge of the bed. Calliea watched for a moment and then returned to her seat by the fireplace, picking up her blade and whetting-stone again. I stared at the bowl of broth and the spoon by its side. My stomach growled loudly as I inhaled the deliciously scented steam. I saw a small smile tip one corner of Calliea’s mouth, but she kept her eyes on her sword. I balanced the spoon between my first and second fingers, with my thumb adding some stability; and on my second attempt I managed to carefully ferry some broth to my mouth. I sighed as I swallowed.

“Did you burn your mouth?” Calliea paused and looked at me.

I shook my head. “No. This might just be the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

She smiled. “If you finish the broth, I can see what I can do about getting you something a bit more solid. Like maybe stew.”

“That sounds delicious too,” I said honestly. It took most of my concentration to keep the spoon steady, and my stomach complained again. Apparently I was too slow at feeding myself, but I doggedly spooned the broth from the bowl until it was empty, resisting the urge to forego the silverware and drink right from the bowl. I dropped my spoon on the bedside table with a grin. “Small victories.”

Calliea chuckled. “Indeed.”

Forin glided back into the room through the little porthole. “The High Queen is finishing her duties and will be along shortly.”

I stretched my legs idly and eyed the distance from my bed to the other chair by the fireplace.

“How about that stew before you try walking?” Calliea suggested.

“My hands were burned, not my legs,” I grumbled, but the prospect of more solid sustenance was enough to convince me to stay seated on the edge of my bed while Calliea went to fetch the promised stew. Forin alighted on my bedside table.

“It is good to see you awake, my Bearer,” he said.

“Forin,” I said, “you know to call me Tess by now.”

He shifted his wings. “It is just that, with the crowning of the High Queen and the choosing of the vyldgard…there are many strangers about, Tess. It is easier to be…formal. My apologies.”

I waved one hand. “No need to apologize. I was just reminding you.”

The Glasidhe smiled. “Yes, my lady. Tess.”

I sat back against my pillow. “The choosing of the vyldgard, what is that all about?”

“The High Queen has been crowned, and she requires a Court,” said Forin, as if that explained everything.

“So how is the vyldgard being chosen?” I raised my eyebrows. “Vell has pretty high standards when it comes to giving her trust to other warriors. And right now she pretty much just has the choice of the Seelie Court.”

Forin nodded. “Queen Titania has given her blessing to those within her Court that wish to try their hand at joining the vyldgard.”

“Try their hand? Don’t tell me it’s trial by combat or something of the sort.”

Forin grinned fiercely. “It is the vyldretning. She is a herravaldyr. Of course it is trial by combat. We do not yet know what she will choose.”

I sighed and closed my eyes. “Of course it is. Like we don’t already have enough to worry about.” I heard the door open and Vell swept into the room on a tide of snow-scent.

“You look much better,” she said. “Though we have to do something with your hair.”

“Hello to you too,” I retorted.

Calliea followed Vell with another steaming bowl in her hands. I looked at it eagerly, picking up the spoon before she even set it down on the table.

“Hungry, I see. That’s good,” Vell said.

I gave her a wordless sound of agreement—my mouth was already full with a bite of the most delicious stew I’d ever tasted. Luckily it had cooled enough on its way to my room that I didn’t burn my mouth…that was the last thing I needed right now, I thought as I overloaded my spoon and it fell from my fingers back into the bowl.

“Well, I’ll do something about your hair while you eat, then.” Vell carried the extra chair over to my bedside. “Sit.”

I obediently slid out of bed, still holding my spoon, and sat in the chair. Vell began combing my hair, pausing for each bite and working while I chewed. Calliea wisely went back to whetting her blade. Perhaps Sage had warned her about the High Queen, I thought in amusement.

I finished the bowl of stew—with only a few more spoon mishaps—just as Vell finished combing my hair.

“Perfect timing,” she murmured, her long nimble fingers dividing my hair into several thick strands. She set to work braiding each strand and then deftly interwove them, creating an intricate braid that I knew I’d never be able to produce on my own. “Lovely,” she pronounced as she finished.

“Thanks.” I almost raised one hand to feel her work, but then thought better of it.

“Now the hands. Do you think you can get the bandages on your own?” Vell moved to the other table and began her brisk gathering of vials and herbs.

“These are all tricks to get me to use my hands more,” I grumbled. “But yes, I can get them.” I growled a few curses as I worked out the wrapping pattern of the bandages, but I eventually unwound my right hand, and my left hand went much faster. The center of my palms still glistened red, but I held my hands up to the light and examined them with a critical eye, pretending that I was looking at someone else rather than myself.

“Healing well,” Vell said, taking my left hand in her own. “In two or three days you’ll be able to hold a sword.”

The Caedbranr gave an eager hum at her words. I smiled. I was just as eager to feel the familiar hilt of the Iron Sword in my grasp again. When I realized Vell didn’t say “you can try holding a sword,” I felt a rush of gratitude at her confidence. “So,” I said conversationally as I began my hand exercises and Vell began mixing the salve, “where are your shadows today?”

Beryk, who had ghosted into the room unseen, perked his ears up as he appeared by my side. I chuckled. “Not you.” The sable wolf sat by my chair and watched me rotating my wrist with serious eyes.

“Finnead is just outside the door,” Vell said. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted to see him…or if he wanted to see you.” She slid a glance at me, one eyebrow raised.

I shrugged. “Doesn’t make a difference to me.” But a little thrill rushed through me. I couldn’t decide whether it was apprehension or excitement.

“Well, in any case, I thought I should at least wait until you had your hair braided.”

“Definitely more presentable,” I agreed, switching to my other hand. The burns were still painful, but nothing like they had been the day before. I wondered if Vell had put a bit of her power into the salve, watching her closely as she mixed it.

“Yes,” she answered my thought, “I did put a bit of something extra into it.”

I wrinkled my forehead. “Are you sure you’re not just telepathic in general now?”

Calliea smiled as Vell shook her head. “I’m not telepathic. I just know you. And you know healing, so it’s not too hard to figure out that you’d be suspicious.”

“Not so much suspicious as grateful.” I flexed my left hand, watching the white lacy scars from the blisters ripple as I moved.

“No need for that. What’s a bit of sorcery between friends at this point?”

I shrugged and smiled. “True.” I offered my hands obediently at Vell’s motion. “So tell me about the choosing of your vyldgard.”

Vell wrinkled her nose. “Oh. That.”

“Yes, that.” I tilted my head. “It sounds important. And dangerous. Trial by combat?”

“It’s not individual trial by combat,” Vell said, “so you don’t need to worry about that. And yes. I need to see the skills of those that would be a part of my pack.”

“Will they be bound to wolves?”

“That remains to be seen,” Vell replied evasively. “An ulfdrengr cannot be bound to just any wolf.”

I paused while flexing my thumbs. “Does that mean you’ll have to wait until there are pups?”

Beryk grinned his wolf-grin, tongue lolling over his teeth.

“Well, you’re very forward. Perhaps, but not necessarily. If there is not a litter born to ulfdrengr companions, we could find a litter of unbound pups. It’s just a tricky business, finding the right ones.” The pearly markings of the White Wolf gleamed on Vell’s throat as she turned her head, reminding me that not only was she High Queen, but she was also entrusted with the task of creating a new tribe of wolf-warriors from the remnants of her proud, fierce people.

I nodded. “Makes sense.” I crossed my legs and sat with my back against the headboard. It felt good to stretch my legs. “So when are the trials? Who is fighting whom? How exactly does it work, if they’re not fighting each other?”

Vell put her hands on her hips. Beryk gave a little bark of amusement at my rapid-fire questions. I noticed that Calliea hesitated in whetting her blade for just a moment, and Vell’s gaze flickered over to the young Seelie warrior. “I cannot rightly say what my method will be. Only that it will test a warrior’s skills in every aspect.”

“So it probably won’t just be trial by combat,” I commented, examining the latticework of white and red scars now patterning my palms and wrists. It was beautiful, in its own way, the mark left by the fire and the power of the Crown of Bones. The emerald whorls of my war-markings intertwined with the scars, creating a nebula of silver and green on my palm and wrists.

“If you think only of swords and fighting another warrior when you think of combat, then you are not letting your mind explore the true meaning of war,” Vell said.

I thought for a moment. “When will this be taking place? Can you tell me that, at least?”

“Soon.”

I sighed. “What I’m getting at is that I’d like to watch, if I can, and perhaps serve as a healer if you have need of one.”

Vell tilted her head. “I’ll consider it.” She placed rolls of clean bandages on the bedside table along with a small bowl of ointment. “Here are clean bandages. Be generous with the salve.”

I nodded. “Got it, boss.”

Vell rolled her eyes at me and then said to Calliea, “Let her do it on her own.”

Calliea silently inclined her head. Beryk bounded over to the bed, suddenly taller than a moment ago, and huffed wolf-breath in my face before dragging a sandpaper tongue up the side of my face. I managed to swipe the back of my hand behind his ears in some semblance of a playful swat, and then he leapt away after Vell, black tail raised as jauntily as a banner behind him.

“Love you too!” I called after him, wiping my face with my sleeve and chuckling. I decided to bandage my right hand first, reasoning that I’d be able to wrap my left hand with my already-bandaged but more facile right hand more easily than vice versa. When I reached for the little bowl of salve, I saw Calliea staring after Vell, a distant look in her eyes. Balancing the little bowl on my knee, I said conversationally, “You want to be part of the vyldgard.”

Calliea looked at me sharply. Then she raised her chin. “Yes.”

I smiled. “You don’t have to answer like I challenged your worthiness to compete.” The greenish salve was cool on my skin but it had a bite. I grimaced as I slowly worked it into my palm.

“I have always been questioned,” Calliea said.

“In what sense?” I concentrated on wrapping my right hand.

“Being a cousin to the Queen, but not rising to any position of prominence in the Court...it leads to whispers and rumors. I have been a disappointment most of my life.”

“Sounds like it’s other people’s expectations that make it difficult.”

Calliea returned to whetting her blade, the strokes of the stone against the metal a bit more savage now. “I was an awkward child, slow to grow and not particularly gifted at either scholarly pursuits or the art of war.”

“Welcome to the club,” I said, wincing as I wrapped the linen around the raw spot on the center of my palms. “I don’t know how common it is for Seelie children, but mortal kids all have their own awkward phase, some more than others.” I smiled ruefully. “I had zero coordination even though I’d been enrolled in gymnastics and dance lessons since I could walk.” I flexed my bandaged right hand experimentally and held it up for Calliea’s inspection. She nodded her approval. “Besides, from what I’ve seen, you’re doing just fine now.”

Calliea smiled bitterly. “When the Saemhradall fell, and you saved my life….I was the only survivor. Some thought that very suspicious. They didn’t believe that the Bearer had saved me.”

“Titania brought me there, before her Walker-form was captured.”

Calliea didn’t reply. She stared into the fire, blade gleaming across her lap. “Perhaps she was saving her own kin, and that was all.”

“Or maybe you have a higher calling to fulfill,” I said. Then I grimaced. “That sounded a lot more serious and less cliché in my head.”

“It is a possibility,” allowed Calliea. She turned her gaze to me. “But for those of us that are not foretold in prophecies, we must make our own destiny.”

“I think that’s a very good plan,” I replied. “Prophecies are tricky things anyway.”

Calliea raised her eyebrows. “Indeed.” She sheathed her blades with a decisive silver snap. “I may not be one of the High Queen’s Three, but I will place my blade and my life at her service, and in the making of the vyldgard I have hope that all will be taken by merit, not expectation.”

“I have a feeling you won’t be disappointed,” I said. “There. Not bad, right?” I held both my hands out. My fingers had almost returned to their normal size, and the pain was manageable without any elixirs or concoctions that could send me back to sleep unwillingly. Calliea walked over to the bed and turned my hands over, examining my work with a critical eye.

“Not bad,” she agreed. Then she returned to her chair by the fire and drew two slim daggers from her boot-tops, setting the whetting stone to the first blade’s edge with determined fervor. I watched her slide the stone down the edge of the finely crafted dagger, her movements sure and her eye critical.

“Why were you at the Saemhradall?” I asked quietly, moving my gaze from the dagger shining in the firelight to Calliea’s face. She looked older than when I’d first seen her through the fire and smoke wreathing the Seelie hall.

“It is a place where we went for healing,” she said. “A place away from Court. I believe in your world it might be similar to a monastery, in the sense that it was quiet and peaceful.”

“A quiet retreat,” I repeated, hoping that Calliea would answer my question but wondering whether I’d overstepped the bounds of our relatively young friendship.

“I was healing from a great loss,” she said softly, staring into the fire. “I thought for a time that perhaps I did not wish to go on living.”

I sat silently as Calliea stared down at the blade in her hand. After a long moment she looked up at me.

“I do not wish to speak about the details. But my cousin sent me to the Saemhradall to heal.”

“I didn’t realize that Sidhe…” I tried to find the words to finish the sentence gracefully and failed.

“That we are living, breathing, feeling creatures? That we feel pain deeply, perhaps even more deeply than mortals?” Calliea took a breath, turning her head away from me, and her whole body shuddered. When she raised her face again, the beautiful mask was in place, her features carved from gold-kissed marble. “So you see, Lady Bearer,” she continued in a perfectly measured tone, “I wish to be a part of the vyldgard.”

“Even though Gray was the one who sent you away, and she is one of the Three?”

Calliea’s eyes sharpened again. “You do not hesitate in asking intimate questions.”

“I’m sorry if I went too far,” I said softly, shifting uncomfortably in the bed. I didn’t realize how much I emphasized my words with my hands until they were swathed in bandages, unusable.

“You are certainly an interesting one.” Calliea tilted her head. “I do not begrudge my cousin her decision. She is a great warrior, one of the greatest our Court has seen in long years…or at least, that’s what the elders say.” She looked down at the dagger in her hand, shifting the blade to make the flames dance along its silver length.

“Don’t you think there’s the possibility she sent you to the Saemhradall because she cares about you?” I asked the question quietly. Calliea kept her eyes on her dagger, but a frighteningly cold smile lingered on her lips. I supposed that was my answer because Calliea continued on without any other acknowledgement, as though the idea didn’t merit any closer examination.

“During my time at the Saemhradall, I tried to find some spark of hope to drive me onward in a world without the one I loved. But all I felt was anger and emptiness.” She raised her gaze to me. “Until the creatures attacked. I killed a few of them, before they bound me, and the feeling of fighting against them….it was the first time I felt alive. And I thought it was a cruel twist of fate that I would die mere moments after realizing that I wanted to live again.”

I sat on the edge of the bed, absentmindedly rubbing my bandaged hands with light fingers, transfixed by Calliea’s voice.

“And then you appeared. You saved my life, and I knew that my purpose was to serve you and your allies in the fight against Malravenar.”

“You’re the first one in a long time to say his name out loud.”

“I am not afraid of him, or any of his creatures.”

“So why Vell, then?” I crossed my arms. “Why not just swear your sword to me and be done with it?”

“Because I feel it in a way I have not felt anything in a long while,” Calliea replied, emphasizing her words by touching her closed fist to her chest over her heart. “I feel her thirst for revenge against the darkness. And I feel that the Bearer and the High Queen…you are as sisters. To serve one is to serve the other.”

“You’re feeling a lot of things all at once,” I said.

Calliea nodded. “Yes.” She paused. “But it is better than not feeling anything at all. I have a purpose.”

We gazed at each other for a long moment. Then Calliea lowered her golden head and returned to whetting her blade.

“Thank you,” I said quietly, “for answering my question.”

Calliea didn’t reply, sending the whetting-stone down the length of her dagger with fierce concentration.

“So,” I said, lightening my voice to a conversational tone, “how long until the healers’ rotation is secured?”

Calliea shrugged with one shoulder but smiled a little. “Trust me, we have no interest in prolonging it.”

“That doesn’t make me feel like a burden at all,” I deadpanned. Then I paused, the murmur of voices outside the closed door filling the silence.

Calliea listened for a moment. “It is the Vaelanbrigh, I believe.”

I cleared my throat. “I would’ve thought he would be busy with his duties to the High Queen.”

“Not so busy that he hasn’t been getting regular updates. Your ulfdrengr may have been standing guard at your bedside, but the Vaelanbrigh was no less concerned,” she said slyly, sliding her dagger back into her boot top.

“You’re just as bad as Vell,” I grumbled.

Forin flew through the Glasidhe-sized circular entrance above the door. He hovered above the bed and gave me a half-bow. “The Vaelanbrigh wishes to know if you would allow him to visit you, my lady.”

Calliea raised an eyebrow at me. I wrinkled my nose at her, and then turned back to Forin. “Yes, that will be fine, just give me a moment, please.” I slid out of bed, pleased to find that my legs supported me just fine despite Calliea’s look of alarm, and sat on the chair by the bed. Somehow I didn’t relish the thought of Finnead visiting me while I lay in bed. I didn’t examine the feeling too closely. Calliea stood and strode over to the door; I gave her the barest suggestion of a nod, suddenly breathless as she opened the door and the Vaelanbrigh strode into the room.

Chapter 3

Finnead walked into the room with the same lithe cat-like grace that I remembered so well. He wore a simple midnight-blue shirt that set off his eyes impeccably, and the sapphire in the pommel of the Brighbranr pulsed with a new, brighter light. I drew my shoulders back, suddenly aware of my bare feet but thankful that Vell had braided my hair at least.

As Finnead stood beside the bed, I realized too late that there was nowhere for him to sit, but he didn’t look ill at ease. Instead he merely looked down at me with those drowning-deep eyes, and we stared at each other for a long moment. My face heated and the suggestion of a smile touched one side of his gorgeous mouth before he lowered his gaze and inclined his head, the firelight rippling through his dark hair with the blue and green sheen of the aurora in the night sky. Calliea murmured something about getting more water for the kettle and slid out of the room.

“It is good to see you with some color in your cheeks,” he said in a low voice.

I raised my eyebrows. “Were you afraid you wouldn’t be able to make me blush anymore?”

He chuckled. “Not at all. I meant to say that many were concerned for your well-being, Lady Bearer.”

“It’s good to know people care, I guess.” I softened my words with a small smile.“Why so formal?”

“Many things have happened since last we spoke,” he replied enigmatically, each word pronounced carefully, like a step taken down a dangerous path.

I nodded. “Yes.” I took a breath, willing my heart to stop its stuttering. “I take it to mean that nothing has changed though, between us.”

A shadow passed over Finnead’s face briefly. “In what sense, Tess?”

I looked down at my bandaged hands, rubbing the white cloth with the pad of one thumb. The ache of my hands faded into the background of my consciousness as my blood pounded in my ears. “In the sense that you do not want to…pursue…anything, until this war is over.”

For the first time I could remember, Finnead looked unsure. He rested one long-fingered hand on the hilt of the Brighbranr, the sapphire in the pommel whirling with its new bright light, like snow swirling in the wind beneath a full moon. “Please understand,” he said in a low voice, “I am not….” He stopped and took a breath, eyes downcast, long lashes drawing coal lines on his pale skin. When he raised his gaze to me, the maelstrom of emotion in his eyes rendered me breathless. Calliea’s words echoed in my head: we are living, breathing, feeling creatures. “It is not any fault of yours,” he finally managed to say tightly.

I frowned. “So what is it, then?”

He took a breath, stilled, and gave me a little half-bow. “Forgive me. I should not be troubling you.” And he turned as if to leave.

“Wait!” My body moved before I could command it consciously. I was out of my chair, one hand outstretched, covering the scant distance between us in one long stride. Then my legs remembered that it had been over a week since I’d last used them, and I reached for the bed as my knees buckled.

But I found myself caught with gentle strength, graceful hands pressing against my ribs and arresting my fall. Finnead helped me sit back in my chair by the bed without a word, his eyes downcast again as he knelt to settle me into the seat. I was absurdly grateful that he hadn’t tucked me into bed like a child. I took a breath to thank him but his closeness stole my voice. His hands lingered for just a moment on my sides, sending a shiver down my spine.

“So what is it, then?” I whispered finally as his hands fell away and he lowered his dark head, still kneeling.

A shudder rolled through his body. One of his hands gripped the hilt of the Brighbranr so hard that I saw his knuckles pressing through the skin. Worry rose up in me like a tide. Had he been wounded at Brightvale after I’d crowned Vell? Was there some terrible news about another of our company that he had no words to tell me? Had the poison from the syivhalla at the barracks in the Royal Wood resurfaced somehow, to take him from me forever? My hands moved of their own accord, reaching out for him. Heedless of the ache of my burns and the sharp stab of pain at the sudden movement, I laid one hand on his shoulder and with the other covered his hand on the hilt of the Brighbranr. He shuddered again.

“Finnead,” I said, “please. Is there something wrong?”

For a third time his shoulders heaved, and I thought with terrible certainty that he was about to tell me of the death of a dear friend, or his own impending doom. I leaned forward, fear seizing my heart…and then that fear dissipated, melting into another emotion entirely as Finnead wordlessly turned his face into the hand I had laid on his shoulder; and his other hand released the hilt of his sword, guiding my other hand to his face with a feather-light touch. His cheeks were damp beneath my fingers, and his long black eyelashes glistened wetly in the flickering light.

“Oh,” I breathed, the sound somewhere between a word and a sigh and a moan of empathy. Pain rippled through my hands, and I gently shifted so that only my fingertips touched his face. Finnead shuddered again with his silent, agonizing grief. I brushed away one slow tear with my thumb. “Please,” I said, sliding down slowly out of my chair, kneeling with Finnead on the wooden floor. I lowered my face so I hoped he could see me, gazing earnestly up at him. “What’s wrong? Please tell me. I can’t bear to think that someone….that someone else…” My own throat closed, choking off my words.

“No,” he said quickly. “No one has been killed…not yet.” He clenched his jaw as another soundless tremor passed through him, and then he took a deep breath. I could see the struggle in his eyes, now framed by my bandaged hands. “I am being selfish,” he said, barely concealed disgust coloring his words. “With you barely awoken—”

“Stop,” I interrupted him firmly. He looked down. I realized he was trembling with the strength of his pent-in emotion. I leaned closer. “Finnead. Look at me?”

With slow control, he raised his eyes to mine, unshed tears brightening their blue depths. I held his gaze, refusing to let him look away. “Everyone needs someone,” I said softly. “You can’t be a stone pillar of strength all the time. Just….talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong.”

He looked at me for a long moment. “I am…a difficult man to love, Tess,” he finally said, words broken over the tears gathered in his eyes. “I have lived the lives of ten men, and it has made me strong. But it comes at a price.”

I pressed gently against his face with my fingertips, as if by the small movement I could make him understand that I was listening to him, that I could understand as much as anybody, that I would try to understand as much as I could without having been through his trials. The wounds on my palms stung beneath the bandages. “Tell me,” I said softly.

He shuddered again, his hands convulsing in his lap like separate creatures. He clenched and unclenched his fists, and his eyes became haunted. “I cannot sleep for the dreaming, sometimes.”

“Nightmares,” I repeated quietly, nodding. I thought of the sudden flash of memory as I slid beneath the water in the stronghold among the trees, the sharp silver of siren scales cutting into my consciousness without my permission.

“Dreams so real I swear I can feel them peeling the flesh from my bones again…and hear their laughter as I screamed…” His voice trailed off, his eyes distant. “I see them killing her, again and again. They tortured her, and her ladies…forced me to watch no matter how I fought…drugged me, and used me in hideous ways…” He choked on the words. “Helpless. I was so helpless.” His gaze sharpened as he emerged from his memories. “As I felt helpless when you were dying, when we ran from the ruins of Brightvale.” He took a huge, hitching breath and the words poured from him like water sluicing from a shattered bowl, quick and violent. “When I thought I had lost you…I didn’t think I would have been able to bear losing a woman I loved for the second time. It is a fate crueler than death to watch those you love travel the path before you.”

I stared wordlessly at him, wishing I could erase the agony in his eyes as his beautiful face twisted again into a rictus of nameless sorrow.

“I feel so guilty,” he said in a voice so low I had to strain to hear it, “that I survived. That I love again, after they all died such terrible deaths….”

I closed my own eyes against the elegant clarity that suddenly dawned on me. My heart tightened with sorrow and guilt at my own anger at him, felt so keenly over his perceived coldness. He was trembling again with the strength of his grief, and silently I guided his head to my shoulder.

“Everyone needs someone,” I said gently into the blackness of his hair, “and I will always listen.”

I sat back on my heels and let him lean into me, his shuddering breath warm on my neck as his sorrow wracked him with silent devastation. Tears slid down my own cheeks at the strength of his emotion and the depth of his pain, and the terrible cost of hiding it from us all. I understood now why he always took the watch. I understood, as much as I could without seeing what he had seen, why he held himself apart, careful to trust and quick to withdraw. I reached my arms around him, lightly resting my hands on his lithe muscular back. He rested his head on my shoulder but kept his hands free, clenching and unclenching them as the waves of emotion crashed over him like floodwaters escaping a splintered dam. I wondered how much Vell could feel…but then carefully tucked that thought away, focusing instead on the Unseelie Knight falling apart silently in my arms.

After a while, the shudders wracking Finnead’s body subsided. I found one of my hands had traveled to the back of his neck, one finger idly stroking the bare skin just above the collar of his shirt. Little jolts of electricity prickled up my arm as I realized what I was doing….touching him so casually, as though we sat entwined on the floor every day. Finnead’s breathing steadied, and I prepared myself to encounter the cool, icy wall of indifference now that he had ridden the tides of his grief to their conclusion. But he held himself very still, and moved very slowly as he raised his head from my shoulder. I kept my hand on his neck, struggling to keep what I hoped was a neutral expression…until his eyes met mine and drew me into that whirling storm of feeling, desire and gratitude tempered with still-present sorrow.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

“No need to thank me,” I replied in barely more than a murmur. Drawing breath with him this close posed a significant challenge. My entire body felt as though a million small fires were lit beneath my skin. I was painfully aware of his closeness, yet the distance between us seemed like an insurmountable barrier.

“I have not talked to anyone about that in a very long time,” he said. One of his elegant hands found my face, pressing coolly against my cheek in an echo of my motion towards him. “I have been resisting the urge to talk to you, for fear of burdening you.”

“Everyone needs someone,” I repeated earnestly. “That’s what…friends…are for.” I nearly choked on the word as he leaned closer, the distance now halved, enough that I could see every one of his eyelashes and fall into the blue of his eyes. One corner of his lovely mouth tipped upward as I stumbled on my words and a flush heated my cheeks.

“We have always been more than friends, Tess,” he said softly. “We have both been fighting against it. Against each other.”

“I know,” I said, suddenly embarrassed at the memory of my childish petulance and hot-burning jealousy.

“Don’t look away. Please. It is not entirely your fault.” He smiled that small, enigmatic smile again. His thumb brushed my cheekbone. I echoed the motion with my thumb on the back of his neck. His voice became low and urgent. “I am a difficult man to love, make no mistake. I expect nothing. But know that I will always love you, no matter what the future holds. I am one of the High Queen’s Three, bound in blood to protect and serve her unto death, but though I am bound again to another queen, there is only one woman who rules my heart.” He pressed my hand to his chest, and I could feel the pulse of his heart.

I pressed my lips together. He blinked, and I couldn’t hold back my giggle. The emotions of the day spun the hiccup of amusement into a full-blown laugh, and I had to put my hands on either side of Finnead’s face again as he looked at me with incredulity. “I’m sorry,” I gasped, “I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at what you—well, I am a little, I mean, not at what you said but how you said it…” I trailed off as another bout of laughter overtook me, silently shaking my shoulders, and to my horror I felt tears prickling my eyes again. “I’m sorry,” I said again, gulping in a breath of air and trying to push down the tears. Finnead’s eyes softened and an answering smile touched his lips.

“I would rather you laugh than cry,” he said gently, brushing away a tear with his thumb.

I gave him a watery smile. “Didn’t you ever watch romance movies when you were in the mortal world doing Mab’s bidding? That sounded suspiciously like something out of Pride and Prejudice. Don’t get me wrong, the delivery was...” At a loss for words again, I gave him a thumbs-up and giggled at myself.

He chuckled. I realized it had been a very long time since I’d seen him smile, or heard him laugh. I liked the sound. “Now that you mention it, I suppose that would seem rather cliché in the mortal world.”

I smiled. “But thank you for the sentiment. It was very courtly.”

He inclined his head in a very gentlemanly way, somehow still keeping that agonizingly small distance between us.

“I mean it,” I continued, filling the space with words, “when I say that I’ll listen, if you need to talk. I haven’t been through what you have, but I’ve seen enough, and I’ve talked to my brother about some of the things he’s seen…I know it’s difficult, and I’m not saying you have to talk to….me…” I trailed off as one of his long fingers touched my lips delicately, hushing me.

“I am very grateful for the offer, and I will surely keep it in the forefront of my mind,” said Finnead, his eyes suddenly flashing with the Fae-spark, “but I am quite finished with talking for now, Tess.”

And with that, Finnead took my face in his hands and kissed me deeply, sending torrents of fire racing through my veins and reducing all thought to nothing more than a primal want. My hand tightened on the back of his neck as his tongue parted my lips, gently but firmly exploring my mouth, flicking across my teeth and sending shivers down my spine. One of his hands traced the nape of my neck and cupped the back of my head, and he encircled me with his other arm, lifting me effortlessly back into my chair in one seamless graceful movement, kissing me thoroughly all the while. He remained on one knee in front of the chair, subtly giving me control, allowing me the freedom to draw away easily if I wished. But I leaned forward, the fingertips of one hand tracing through his midnight-dark hair, and with my two longest fingers of my other hand I pulled at the front of his shirt, drawing him toward me. My hands reminded me sharply of their healing burns, but the discomfort was nothing compared to the whirlwind of desire within me. I gently nipped his full bottom lip with my teeth, rewarded by his sudden sharp breath; I traced the hard outlines of the muscles in his shoulders and chest, reveling in the feel of him. The Caedbranr’s power stirred, circling lazily behind my breastbone. As if from a distance I heard a silvery humming, like a clear sweet bell’s tone drawn into infinity, and the Sword’s power rose and answered, adding a clarion note. I felt his hands echoing my motions, gliding over my shoulders and back, igniting a trail of goosebumps. I kissed him hungrily, gasped into his mouth as he lifted me again, this time to my feet. I bit his lip again, a bit harder, tipping my head up now to kiss him, and he groaned, a sound of want that thrilled me. He moved as if to lay me on the bed, but checked himself, drawing back gently from my seeking lips. I stared at him dazedly, not understanding anything other than the absence of his mouth upon mine. The humming from the two swords faded into silence, leaving us only with our own ragged breathing. My hands ached as I came back to myself.

Finnead gently set me on the edge of the bed, his hands lingering for a short moment on my shoulders before he stepped back. His eyes were still drowning-dark with desire, but he said huskily, “You are the Bearer of the Iron Sword, and I am a Knight of the Wild Court.”

“That doesn’t make us want each other any less,” I pointed out, trying to catch my breath.

He bowed his head for a moment, a smile curving his kiss-reddened lips. I forced myself not to reach for him. “No, it does not,” he agreed, “but…I shall observe the proper honors. You are not some common…”

I raised one eyebrow as he struggled to finish the sentence. “Mortal plaything?” I suggested.

“Ah, Tess, do not make me question myself,” he said, taking another step backward.

“It was only a joke,” I said quickly, smiling, my lips still tingling from his kisses. “Again…thank you for being a gentleman.”

He bowed his head briefly at that, and when he raised his head I saw the old familiar marble-smooth expression starting to slide back into place. A prickle of unhappiness stabbed at me, but I pushed it away. At least now I could understand a little more. “And,” he said, his voice regaining some coolness, “also understand that...I know I do not have any right to be the sole claimant of your favors.”

My cheeks burned as I thought about Luca. I wondered briefly what it would feel like to kiss the big ulfdrengr, and then I ushered the thought into the back of my mind. “If you don’t have any right, then I don’t think I can…impose any of my own limits.” I turned my mind’s eye to the sight of Gray, evaluating Finnead back in the forest clearing. Now that they were both bound to Vell, they would spend countless hours together, and only a blind man would not see her ethereal beauty.

“Even though you don’t ask it of me, I will not pursue any others,” Finnead murmured. Then the mask slid fully into place and he touched the hilt of the Brighbranr cursorily. “I must be going.”

I nodded. “Will you be helping with the choosing of the vyldgard?”

“Yes.”

“I hope to be able to observe,” I said.

“You will be well enough by then,” he replied firmly.

“Good. I can’t wait to see what challenges Vell sets before them.”

“It is not only Vell setting the challenges.” Finnead smiled a predatory smile that was much more wolf-like than I’d ever seen on his pale Unseelie visage.

“Careful,” I warned, “you’re going to take after the Northerners soon.”

He shrugged with one shoulder. “They are my people now,” he said simply. “We are not Unseelie or Northern or Seelie anymore. All bound to the High Queen are vyldgard. We are a Court apart.” He said the words as though he relished them.

“I’m glad to hear it,” I said honestly.

A brisk knock came at the door; after a slight pause, Calliea breezed into the room, copper kettle held jauntily in one hand. “I’ve never seen such a line for the well in the courtyard,” she said brightly, raising her eyebrows innocently at us as she hung the kettle over the fire again. She settled into the chair by the fire nonchalantly and took a block of wood out of her belt-pouch. Her whittling was a study in practiced indifference. I hid my smile.

“I shall be going, now that you are properly attended,” said Finnead.

“Will you come again tomorrow?” The question slid out from my lips before I could stop myself. Calliea’s dagger didn’t pause in her carving.

“You will be well enough to rejoin us soon,” Finnead replied with a small smile. Then he gave me a courtly half-bow, the picture of knightly courtesy, and strode from the room. I pulled my legs up onto the bed and leaned back on my pillows, and Calliea pretended very successfully that she didn’t notice the giddy smile lingering on my lips as I recalled in vivid detail the delicious feel of Finnead’s kiss.

Chapter 4

I fell asleep still thinking about Finnead’s lips upon mine, still smiling that stupid smile. When I woke, Sage sat in the chair by the fire, studying a leather-bound book in the flickering light of the fire.

“One thing can be said about this healers’ watch,” he said without looking up from the page. “It does give me time to catch up on my reading.”

I smiled, which turned into a wince as I stretched my stiff body. “Glad to provide you some time for that at least.” I pushed myself into a sitting position with the heels of my hands. The pain nagged at the edge of my mind, but it was a constant companion now. I ignored it. There was already a plate on the bedside table: a simple meal of bread, a few slices of meat and a chunk of cheese. My stomach rumbled at the sight. I crossed my legs and settled the plate on my lap, leaning back against the headboard of the bed. I felt the runes sliding beneath the surface of the dark polished wood, their power brushing past me with a feather-light touch, whispering of healing and strength now that I was awake. As I chewed a piece of the fresh bread, I held my right hand up contemplatively. The swelling in my fingers was almost unnoticeable now, and no blood stained the bandages. The portion of my mind that had begun my training as a healer with Eamon back in the forest barracks noted the progress with a detached satisfaction.

“I fear my leisure time will soon be drastically reduced,” noted Sage drolly, raising one eyebrow as I slid my empty plate onto the table and began unwinding the bandage on my left hand.

“I’d think you’d be happy to get back to….well, whatever it is everyone is doing these days.” I set aside the old bandages and probed at my hand gently. The wound in the center of my palm still ached, but it had healed to a raw spot that I could cover with the tips of two fingers. White scars laced the tender pink skin of my hand. I found myself thinking with a strange clarity that the scars weren’t as ugly as I’d feared they would be. In fact, there was a simple beauty to their symmetry, their interlocking tendrils echoing the dancing flames that had enveloped my hands as I held the Crown of Bones.

“Training,” said Sage. “Sharpening swords and polishing armor, running foot-races and holding archery contests. Training, and waiting.”

“Waiting for the next battle?” I flexed my hand, watching the rough scab stretch and grimacing as my still-healing skin prickled. I reached for the jar of salve and began rubbing it into my palm, breathing in the scent of winter, the unmistakable signature of Vell’s wild magic. As I rubbed the salve into my skin, I felt her power seeping into me, thrumming through my veins, calling to my own taebramh, nudging it into wakefulness. I took a deep breath and stretched my legs, reveling in the return of some small feeling of strength and silently thanking Vell for her stubborn loyalty despite her new responsibilities as High Queen.

“Waiting for the next battle, but also waiting to hear of the Queens’ plan,” Sage replied.

“Does it matter?” I turned my attention to my right hand, leaving my left unbandaged, enjoying the subtle feel of air upon my skin.

“Why would you think it does not?” Sage asked the question lightly but I felt his sharp gaze on me, though he still held his book open and leaned back in his chair by the fire, the picture of languid relaxation.

I gave a little shrug as I worked the salve into my right hand. The spot in the center of my palm still bled a little, but it had been a more severe burn than my other hand, and it was still healing faster than I’d anticipated, even factoring in Vell’s help. “No matter what the plan, all the warriors of the Seelie Court will follow their Queen.”

“Of course,” said Sage, “but that does not mean we are mindless soldiers, ready to throw ourselves upon our swords if the Queen demands it.”

“Then the Seelie court must be a bit different than Darkhill. Mab seems to demand just that from her subjects.”

“There is a reason the two Courts have not joined to fight against the Shadow,” the Seelie healer said, firelight glinting in his hair and brightening his vivid green eyes. “The Dark Court holds to bloodier traditions than we of the Court of Summer.” He turned the page in his book almost lazily. “But do not forget that though the cold of a winter’s night freezes a bloom, the high noon sun of a beautiful day can scorch the earth just as easily.”

“I’ve endured both ice and fire,” I said, thinking of the frost that had crept over my body after I’d been poisoned in the barracks, and the cold of the river Darinwel numbing my limbs…and then the bright-burning gem in my hands, pouring bone-breaking power into Vell and her Three. “I don’t question the power of either. I know the pain they can inflict.” My hand reached up and found Gwyneth’s pendant of its own accord, my thumb brushing the rubies that had once been droplets of my blood.

“I do not revel in pain,” said Sage. “There are some who do, in both Courts. It is part of who we are, as creatures that feel so deeply, to become fascinated with the…extremes…of both pleasure and pain.”

I raised one eyebrow. “That sounds mysterious and a little bit enticing, I’ll admit, but I think that’s a topic for conversation when we’re not fighting a war.”

Sage grinned. “On the contrary, when there is battle on the horizon and the possibility of death for every warrior who rides out against the enemy….that’s when life’s pleasures taste the sweetest.”

The memory of Finnead’s lips rose into my mind unbidden. Unlike Calliea, Sage held my gaze and his grin only widened as he observed the hot blush staining my cheeks. I cleared my throat. Sage chuckled.

“There’s no need to be so puritan, my Bearer,” he said lightly. “You are beautiful, and powerful, and there are many who would vie for your favors, though none perhaps so successfully as the former Vaelanbrigh.”

I forced myself not to drop my eyes. “We’ve travelled together for a long time.”

“Yes, and from the stories I’ve gathered you’ve both saved each others’ lives more than once. But companions in battle do not always make good companions in bed.” Sage raised one eyebrow.

My war-markings prickled. I met Sage’s raised eyebrow with my own. “And you helped to save my life on more than occasion as well, but that doesn’t mean you can be rude.”

The Seelie healer chuckled again. “Calliea was right to pretend she was blind, rather than face your wrath.”

I smiled and shook my head, the tense moment broken by that sly Seelie humor. My stomach growled, further lightening the mood. I opened my mouth to ask Sage if there was more food, but then I saw that my boots were standing at the edge of the bed, and there was a folded set of clothing laid neatly nearby. The Sword hummed a little as I stood beside the bed, one hand extended cautiously in case my legs decided to give out again. Though I had to wait a moment for my heartbeat to stop sounding in my ears like a drum, I took a few deep breaths and walked to the edge of the bed. I glanced at Sage.

“I’m not going to watch,” he said, reading again, “but I can’t leave you to your own devices just yet. If you fell and broke your arm trying to get dressed, I’m sure I’d end up turning on the spit in the Great Hall.”

I grumbled something unintelligible at him beneath my breath but conceded. My distaste for sitting in bed all day overpowered my discomfort at his presence while I changed clothes.

“There’s water in the pitcher over there,” Sage said without a prompt. I rolled my eyes at him, though he still seemed absorbed in his book. I poured water from the translucent blue pitcher into the matching basin, marveling at the casual beauty of the everyday objects crafted by the Sidhe. Mindful of my still-raw hands, I gingerly wet the washcloth and cleaned my face and neck. The water smelled faintly of mint. After I finished, I turned my attention back to my clothes. After a quick glance to make sure Sage was still reading his book—he was, albeit with a faint smile on his handsome golden face—I stripped, gratefully shedding the loose shirt and trousers I’d been wearing for the better part of a week. The black breeches fit me like a glove, and there was a soft cream-colored undershirt with a deep green shirt to wear over it. The boots were not my worn traveling boots, I realized with a pang of something like regret; they were supple calf-high leather boots, dyed a deep, rich mahogany that shone red in the firelight. Of course the boots fit me as though made for my foot. I wiggled my toes in delight at the feel of the well-worked leather. There was a belt to match the boots, and a pair of soft gloves.

After buckling my belt, I stared at the gloves for a long moment before realizing that whomever had chosen my clothes had given me a way to hide my new scars. I looked at my hands, touching the stippling of white and red lightly with one finger. Sage turned a page in his book, the noise loud to my ears. I left the gloves folded neatly on the edge of the bed.

“It was not meant to offend,” Sage said quietly.

“I’m not ashamed of my scars,” I retorted too quickly as I strode around the edge of the bed. I picked up the Sword with the same ginger motion that I’d held the washcloth, holding the familiar, well-worn scabbard mostly with my fingertips. I pulled the broad leather strap over my head, settling the Caedbranr into its familiar place along my spine, the hilt at my right shoulder. The weight felt good and right, and the Sword hummed in what I thought was pleasure.

Though I rejected hiding my scars, I compromised by winding a clean strip of linen around each palm, covering the still-open wounds in the very center of my hands. I checked my hair lightly with my fingertips; Vell’s braids had withstood the test of sleep, or at least hadn’t completely unraveled from what I could feel.

“You look perfectly presentable, if a bit wan,” Sage told me as he closed his book and stood languorously.

“Well then, our first stop will be to get some food to take care of that,” I said, resigning myself to an escort.

“Oh come now,” the young Seelie healer said, “I’m not so very terrible company.”

I smiled. “It’s nothing against you. It’s just a dislike of babysitting in general.”

“I’m not quite sure what that means, but it’s a mortal term that I’ll be sure to use in the future.”

I laughed despite myself. “You just said you don’t know what it means!”

“I have the general idea,” said Sage, smiling as he opened the door. The sigils carved into the mantelpiece flared as I approached, and I felt the slight sensation of small hands gliding over me as I passed through the doorway.

“Whose spell was that?” I asked as we stepped into the hallway.

“The High Queen,” Sage replied simply. “Come, then.”

I followed Sage down the passageway, stretching my legs to keep up with his strides. Once again I marveled at the tapestries and paintings hung on the stone walls. Rather than torches lining the walls, delicately crafted globes hung suspended from the arched ceiling of the passageway, emanating a clear, unwavering white light not produced by any flame.

“The Hall has been much restored by Queen Titania’s return,” Sage said with quiet pride.

“I see,” I said, resisting the urge to reach up and touch one of the globes as we passed, or prod it with a tendril of my taebramh. Poking at Titania’s magic with my own hadn’t worked out very well for me in the past. We turned down a larger passageway, passing several Seelie in various states of dress—some were outfitted as though they’d just come from standing watch at the gates, their armor gleaming in the silvery light of the globes; some dressed for the training-yard, scabbards at their sides and bows over their shoulders; and a few looked as though they’d just come from their chambers, dressed much as I was. All seemed to recognize me, and bowed their heads in respect as we passed. I felt the familiar awkward embarrassment at such gestures; I slid one finger through Gwyneth’s pendant at my throat, rubbing its familiar curve to settle my nerves.

We came to another split in the passageway and turned onto yet another larger hallway. At the end of this hallway there was a door made of silvery wood, and by the time we reached it I felt a little winded. Sage certainly hadn’t slowed his pace to accommodate me, which I strangely appreciated. He pulled the door open and immediately a swell of noise cascaded into the hallway, the sound of many people gathered, the subtle crescendo of conversation seasoned by the sound of cutlery.

“It’s nearing the end of the hour but there’s food aplenty,” said Sage as he led me through the doorway. I followed him despite my sudden misgiving, and found myself at the edge of the Great Hall. Along one side, a long table that ran the entire length of the hall was set with plain but abundant fare: loaves of bread, cheese, steaming platters of meat and roasted vegetables and pitchers of drink. The rolling swell of conversation quieted as the Sidhe noticed me, silence spreading like a ripple down the great table. I felt my face begin to burn and I tried to think of a witty line that would make them all turn back to their food. My mind remained stubbornly blank and I stood dumbly at the head of the table, feeling their eyes on me like a thousand pinpricks.

“And here I’d heard such tales about the courtesy of the Summer Court!” Farin’s voice cut sharply through the stillness. The Glasidhe left a neon trail as she sped over to hover above my shoulder, trailed closely by Forin, who took post above my other shoulder. “But here you stare at the Bearer as though you know not who she is or what she’s done, and the first time she’s been about! For shame!” Farin’s aura flared as she scolded the hundreds of Seelie warriors. I glanced up at her, felt a smile on my lips, and I held out my hands and shrugged slightly in the general direction of the table, telling the gathered Seelie wordlessly that the fierce Glasidhe had better be obeyed. I saw the flash of grins hidden quickly in cups and heard a few chuckles as the low rumble of conversation resumed.

“There,” Farin said in satisfaction.

“Thank you,” I said with a smile.

“Insufferable rudeness shan’t be suffered,” she said decisively.

I suppressed my chuckle at Farin’s authoritative—if endearingly repetitive—statement. Sage grinned. I followed him to a pair of open seats and wasted no time in filling my plate with generous helpings of every dish offered. “What?” I asked as Sage eyed my plate. “I’ve been in bed for a week. That means not eating a lot. That means I’m hungry.”

Sage glanced down the table at a few of his comrades. “I think they’re taking wagers on whether you’ll finish all of that.”

I raised my eyebrows as I lifted my fork. “Well, if you’d like to make a few coins I’d jump in on the bet.”

The food, though simple, tasted just as heavenly as that bowl of stew. With every bite, I felt stronger, and by the end of the meal—during which I not only finished my first plate, but also had second helpings of the bread and cheese—I felt almost normal. Farin alighted on my shoulder as I finished my last piece of bread.

“Impressive,” Sage said.

I ignored him. “Farin, what’s been going on while I’ve been asleep?”

“Come,” she said with a tug on my ear. “I will show you!”

I followed Farin as she zipped across the Great Hall to another table running down the opposite wall. However, this table was laid with implements of war rather than steaming platters of food. An air of industry surrounded those working at the tables, especially at the end nearest to us. They were absorbed in fletching arrows and perfecting the balance of spear shafts…but I frowned. The arrows and spears were much larger than normal, the shafts of the arrows nearly three times thicker than typical and the arrowheads as long as daggers. The spears, too, were longer and as thick as my wrist, banded and capped with silver and a great blade on the end. There was also thick silvery rope laid out in great coils, which two Seelie shield-maidens were weaving into what looked like a great net. Two more young women attached silver weights at intervals on the net. I frowned.

“Farin,” I said, “what’s all this for?”

But Farin had abandoned her post above my shoulder and was now deep in conversation with a silver-haired shield-maiden she seemed to know very well. The Sidhe woman wore her hair in a style I hadn’t seen during my time in Faeortalam: some of her hair was woven in tiny intricate braids, and the rest loose, with the bulk of it drawn up into a high ponytail, the center of it teased along her head in a way that I suddenly recognized as similar to a Mohawk. The ends of her silvery hair were dyed a shockingly vivid blue. I glanced at the two young women weaving the net, and saw that they wore less intricate but similar styles, vastly different than the sleek braids or lustrous loose mane customarily worn by the Sidhe women. As one of the weaving women turned, I saw that half her face was painted in a complex design, the blood-red paint stark against her golden skin.

“Lady Bearer, it is good to see you on your feet.”

I knew it was Gray before I turned. “Thank you. It’s much better than lying in bed,” I replied with what I hoped was a nonchalant smile. Gray was as stunningly beautiful as I remembered, but now with a wild edge: she, too, wore a few braids in her hair, but let the rest tumble about her shoulders in a cascade of golden waves, a blue and green feathers woven into her shimmering mane, the contrast stunning. Two parallel lines of cobalt paint highlighted the sharpness of her left cheekbone, and the asymmetry only emphasized the perfect balance of her beautiful features. I suddenly felt very plain and lackluster.

The industrious air about the great long table intensified as a handful more Sidhe joined in preparing the strangely oversized weapons. Two more weavers joined on the net, and one of the Seelie men, his right eye circled with the same cobalt paint worn by Gray, carried to the table several saplings to strip and perfect for spear shafts.

“What is all this?” I asked Gray, my curiosity getting the better of me. The Sword hummed a little in its battered sheath.

A fierce glint surfaced in Gray’s eyes. “It is part of the choosing of the vyldgard, one of the tasks set forth by the vyldretning.”

“Making giant-sized arrows and spears and a net,” I said flatly.

Gray laughed, her voice as lovely as bells. “The weapons are not the task.” Her eyes glimmered. “They are to accomplish the task, but I suspect you know that, lovely doendhine.”

I suppressed my irritation at Gray’s use of Ramel’s nickname for me, and waited for her to enlighten me. She grinned, the light glinting on her white teeth.

“It is for a dragon hunt.”

A shiver trickled down my spine. I smelled the acrid stench of the dragon and feel the hot air of its wingbeats again, and I resisted the urge to pinch myself to banish the sensory memory.

“Apparently the High Queen holds a grudge against the beast for forcing her to hide beneath a carcass,” Gray continued almost merrily, her eyes flashing.

I swallowed against the sudden bile in my throat, now enveloped by the ghost-scent of the dead, decaying odor of the cadengriff as we huddled against its vile, bloated form. “Yes, that was quite an experience.” I swallowed again. “This hunt is to kill the same dragon?”

“It is to kill the Dark One’s pet monster, to send a message to him that we are bringing him war, and we shall slay even the mightiest of the creatures he commands.” The flash in Gray’s eyes turned into a savage light.

I wanted to ask how many Sidhe were riding out against the terrible beast, and how they expected to capture it, earth-bound as they were; but I closed my teeth on the questions. I didn’t want to sound like I had no faith in the valiant Seelie warriors’ skills…and yet I shuddered again as the image of the dragon surfaced in my mind’s eye. I had only glimpsed it briefly through the great cloud of smoke over the forest, but the sight of its gargantuan sinuous body and the wicked curve of its talons at the joints of its bat-like wings remained etched into my memory, clarity born from terror of those moments. “Did you see the dragon?” I asked Gray quietly. “When it was flying over the plains…did you see it?”

“No,” she said airily, flipping one of her braids over her shoulder. “But I do not need to see a creature before I kill it.”

“My shield-sister makes it sound so simple,” said a voice that belonged to the Unseelie Knight I’d passionately kissed the last time I’d seen him. I thought I saw a quick flash of irritation cross Gray’s face like a cloud briefly obscuring the sun, and I felt a small nudge of satisfaction. I wondered if her irritation was because Finnead gave weight to my question about the dragon, or if it was because he had called her his shield-sister. I was pretty sure even in Faeortalam, one didn’t go about kissing one’s siblings.

“Did you see it?” I reframed the question to Finnead, turning to face him. He wore his hair no differently, but a line of cobalt paint ran across his face from ear to ear, giving him a roguish look that fascinated me.

“For a moment.” He gave me a slight nod, as though he understood my trepidation.

“I guess the better questions are, when are we leaving, and can I paint my face too?” I raised one eyebrow, rewarded by that small enigmatic half-smile from Finnead.

“The scouts left this morning,” he replied. “When they return with a report of the creature’s location, we will ride out.” He tilted his head slightly to one side. “Most likely tomorrow morning. The beast has been patrolling closer and closer to the Sentinal Stones.”

“Testing the limits of Titania’s defenses for Malravenar,” I said.

Finnead nodded. “How intelligent the creature is, we are not entirely sure.”

“The library here is scant compared to what was lost at Brightvale,” Sage said from my other side.

“So you weren’t really catching up on your leisure reading.” I shook my head at him, smiling. He smiled in return. “I’m assuming you need to know exactly where to strike a dragon to kill it.”

“Actually,” said Sage, “if the books here are correct, the dragon is only armored with strong scales on its underbelly, head and part of its neck. Its wings are tough and leathery, so when it is on the ground with wings folded, that protects its back.”

I paused in thought, calling up all the mythology I’d gleaned from reading fantasy books. If only I’d known it would be of such practical use, even in just giving me comparisons to test my ideas, I would have taken notes, I thought wryly. “I’m used to dragons having soft underbellies in the stories we tell in the mortal world.”

“Certain kinds that don’t fly,” agreed Sage. “But this one, it is one of the great ones, not a lesser fire-worm. Its scales are as heavy as shields, and a true dragon does not have any natural enemies who attack it from above while it flies. It rests on high ground, and folds its wings as the shield for its back.”

A cool breeze suddenly swept down the table, the air touched with the icy scent of snow, and all the gathered Sidhe stood and bowed deeply in unison, some touching their foreheads in obeisance. Gray and Finnead bowed slightly from the waist, and I didn’t do anything at all, looking from the bowing Sidhe down the length of the great table until I caught sight of Vell and Titania entering the Great Hall from the far entrance. The Sidhe remained still as statues until the two queens passed them, and then they turned back to crafting their weapons for the dragon hunt and clearing the table from the meal. Titania wore a flowing, intricately embroidered white gown that should have looked out of place, but her graceful movements and radiant beauty made it seem ridiculous to think of her wearing anything less splendid. A simple crown of white daisies encircled her head. I smiled, remembering that she had worn white daisies in her braid the first time I’d met her in the ether. Vell wore breeches and a white shirt, an echo of her typical simple attire on our journey; but now a woven-gold belt gleamed at her waist and the gold circlet created by the Crown of Bones rested on her dark hair. I looked for Beryk and found him slinking along the far wall, practicing his concealment in the pockets of darkness where the firelight did not reach.

I watched the two women walk down the length of the hall, a study in contrast: Titania’s spun-gold hair and Vell’s dark head; the Seelie Queen’s graceful glide and Vell’s purposeful strides. Vell stopped briefly to inspect the spears stacked on the table, turning one of the shafts over in her hands and talking in an intense, low voice to the Seelie warrior crafting them.

“Tess, my dear, it is so good to see you healing well,” Titania said, approaching us and holding out her slender white hands to me. I stepped forward and extended my own hands. The Seelie Queen’s fingers were cool around mine. I felt a slight tingle as Titania’s power whispered across my skin, gently investigating my scars. I kept my eyes respectfully downcast, goosebumps rising on my arms. Finnead and Gray, too, kept their heads inclined.

“Thank you,” I said. Silvery scars laced Titania’s wrists where the cruel iron manacles had bound her Walker form in Malravenar’s prison.

“Come now,” said the Queen of the Seelie Court, slipping one hand from my grasp and sliding two fingers under my chin, raising my head. “You, out of all of us, need not bow your head, Lady Bearer.”

I raised my eyes, met by Titania’s serene gaze. The last time I’d had my head lifted by the fingers of a Sidhe Queen under my chin, Mab had pried into my skull by force, rifling through my memories to test my truthfulness after Finnead had brought me to the Unseelie Court. Titania’s power hummed quietly around her, but it was not the terrifying power of Queen Mab, with the baying of hounds and the crashing of waves upon frozen cliffs. I had no doubt Titania could be just as terrifying—perhaps more so—than the Queen of the Unseelie Court; but she wore her authority much differently. She inspired great respect in the subjects of her Court, rather than fear, and though I was trying not to take sides between the two Courts, I liked her much more. Her eyes, the blue of a cloudless summer sky, were filled with genuine warmth as she spoke to me.

“Please tell me, have you been well tended?” she asked in her mellifluous voice.

“Oh, yes,” I answered. “Sage and Calliea are taking good care of me.”

“And the High Queen as well, if I heard correctly,” Titania said.

“Yes, Vell stopped by to help with my hands.” I nodded.

Titania turned my hands over in her gentle grasp, examining the scars and the bandage still binding the center of my palms. “You shall have some scars, much like my own.” A small smile curved her lips. “But no lasting damage, I think?” She addressed her question to Sage.

“No, my Queen, the Bearer will suffer no lasting damage from her wounds,” Sage replied, head bowed respectfully.

The Seelie Queen nodded in satisfaction. “That is well.” She released my hands and lightly touched the scars on her own wrist with two slender fingers. “Scars are merely reminders of what we have overcome.”

I smiled. “I agree, Queen Titania.”

She nodded in satisfaction. “Good.”

Vell walked up behind Titania, her attention focused on the weapons laid out upon the long table. The Seelie Queen turned to the Northwoman. “What are you thinking, crown-sister?”

Vell crossed her arms as she surveyed the table and the Seelie warriors with painted faces and bowed heads. “I am thinking there is still much more work to be done.” She raised her voice. “That means you should be working, not bowing to me!”

The Sidhe sprang to life, some suppressing smiles as they continued crafting their weapons.

“What’s more important, killing a dragon or upholding some silly rules,” Vell grumbled under her breath as she approached our small group. I saw Titania herself give a little smile at the younger woman’s frustration with the courtesies of courtly life. “Tess, you’re up. Good. We could use another healer on the hunt.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I seem to remember you agreeing to no more dragons,” I replied, emphasizing the phrase with a few hand gestures, rewarded with the sting of my protesting wounds.

“Well, that was before I had the power to kill it,” Vell replied simply. The circlet glinted on her brow.

“There are other reasons as well,” Titania said. “Though I do not look as fierce as my Northern sister, the strategy of war does not escape me.”

I frowned again.

“Didn’t think you’d be doing so much thinking, so soon after waking, my Bearer?” Sage murmured from behind me with a laugh caught in his voice. I threw a dark look at him over my shoulder before turning back to the two Queens. I thought I saw Titania regard Sage with a cool disapproval, like a mother chastising her son; but Sage’s head was bowed in respect—or to hide his amusement. I suppressed my sigh.

“We can’t move an army across the plains with such a deadly threat airborne,” I said to Vell and Titania.

“Very good,” said Gray in a low voice with one brow raised. I ignored her.

“I assume you have some sort of countermeasure for the dragon’s smoke though? I wasn’t a fan of its effects, and I’m not about to play healer to a couple dozen dragon-smoke victims.” I wondered whether Titania’s presence was an endorsement of this harebrained plan to go hunt a dragon.

Vell chuckled. “Yes, we’ve been working on something that should do quite well.” She smiled and shook her head. “That smoke knocked you out quicker than a pitcher of mead all to yourself.”

“Thanks for reminding me,” I said dryly. “But it seems as though you’re in a better mood.”

The High Queen grinned. “Of course. Killing things that need to be killed always brightens my mood.” She shifted her golden gaze to Finnead. “How are the wings coming along?”

I raised my eyebrows in real surprise. “Wings?”

“Twelve sets, and another twelve again almost finished,” Finnead replied. “They’re in the armory annex, if you’d like to inspect them.”

“Of course,” Vell said. “Come on then Tess, don’t stand there looking so surprised. You didn’t think I was going to send my warriors against a dragon from the ground, did you?”

Titania smiled at me and nodded regally to Gray and Finnead, gliding gracefully toward the great double doors at the other end of the hall. I followed Vell and her two Knights, and Sage trailed behind me as we walked quickly toward another door in the wall of the Great Hall.

“The wings are for the faehal of a few chosen warriors,” Sage explained quickly in a low voice. “They are built of birch and willow, fletched with eagle feathers for speed and strength, swan feathers for grace, and sparrow feathers for speed and agility.”

“I don’t understand,” I said over my shoulder. “The wings are for the faehal? Are they going to become flesh, or…?”

“In truth I do not know,” Sage replied. “There’s not much in our books about the North, other than their powers differ from ours greatly.”

“One of our particular talents is elemental workings,” Vell said just ahead of us. We passed through the armory, rows of gleaming weapons neatly stored in racks along the walls. Vell grinned at us over her shoulder as we reached the door of the annex; Gray took a key from a thin gold chain from around her neck and slid it into the door.

I frowned. “Elemental workings like wind?”

Her grin widened as the door opened. “Yes.”

Realization dawned on me as we entered the smaller room. “Vell! You saved us when we fell from the bridge over the Darinwel!”

“Well, it wasn’t me, particularly,” she replied with a little shrug. “I asked a favor of the zephyrs that were in the area and they obliged. And you took you more than long enough to puzzle that out, by the by.”

I shook my head, remembering the feeling of invisible hands slowing my harrowing fall toward the icy river. “I wondered about that. What other elements can you work with?”

“Wind, snow and ice are my strong suits, naturally,” said the High Queen, “though the boost from this has opened some doors.” She tapped the circlet with one finger. It seemed to wink and I thought I heard the faint echo of a sweet high-pitched bell, just beyond my hearing.

Another table dominated most of the space in the annex. A silken cloth covered the table and the objects upon it; Gray and Finnead efficiently lifted the cloth and folded it away. I caught my breath. Great wings spanned the table, with each pair carefully laid atop the last. The feathers gleamed in the light from the small orb overhead, a mosaic of colors and sizes artfully arranged to mimic the graceful contour of a bird’s wing. I could barely see the framework of thin, supple branches.

Vell stepped up to the table and examined the first pair of wings with a critical eye, pursing her lips thoughtfully. She tugged at one feather and nodded in satisfaction when it remained bound fast to the frame. Finnead and Gray watched her silently. Sage raised his eyebrows at me as if to say it was the most fascinating thing he’d seen in a while. Vell inspected each pair of wings, moving them carefully, running her fingers over the feathers and making a few adjustments to the arrangement of the different feathers. But finally, when the last pair of wings was spread in its magnificence over the table, she gave one sharp nod. “They will do. And the harnesses?”

“Rowan is working with the master of the stables to ensure they will meet your instructions,” Gray replied. “They will be ready by morning.”

Vell nodded and crossed her arms. “Very well.” She stopped and looked at Sage. “Wait outside. If Tess passes out, I’m sure that the three of us have enough knowledge between us to deal with it.”

Sage gave a little bow and slipped gracefully from the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.

“Do you have your recommendations for the warriors who will be aloft?” Vell asked Gray and Finnead. In reply, Gray drew a neatly rolled piece of parchment from her belt-pouch, handing it to Vell. Without reading it, Vell tucked it into her own belt-pouch.

“There is a list of three dozen, ranked by our assessment of their skill,” said Gray.

Vell nodded. “And of course one of you.”

“I will do it,” said Gray immediately. She smiled. “I have never flown before, and I would like to sink my spear into a dragon.”

After a moment of consideration, Vell nodded. “Very well. I will be working the spell from the ground, so Finnead, you will be leading the ground force.”

My throat tightened. What would be safer, to be borne aloft on bespelled wings crafted of wood and feathers, or to face a dragon from the ground? Finnead nodded with his usual grace.

“And Arcana will be with me,” Vell said, not bothering to suppress her expression of distaste. “I’ll draw on her if I need power, and she will be my protection on the ground.”

I frowned. “Do you trust her?”

Finnead and Gray went very still in that peculiar Sidhe way. Vell’s golden eyes flashed as she crossed her arms and turned to face me. For a moment I thought she was truly angry with me, but then I caught the hint of a wry smile at the corner of her mouth.

“Your first time out of bed and already you’re asking impetuous questions,” she said. The smile widened. “If you weren’t already the Bearer I’d tell you to accept the challenge to become one of my vyldgard.”

I dredged up an answering smile. “Remember when you said you’d keep me humble, no bowing and scraping? I guess that’s mutual now.”

Vell nodded. “That suits me.” She seized two chairs and dragged them over to a corner. At some unspoken cue, Finnead and Gray silently left the room, the door closing gently behind them. I glanced after them. Vell waved a hand. “They have to supervise the preparations. Sit with me for a few moments, Tess.” She threw herself into one of the chairs and flicked her wrist toward the stone fireplace; flames sprang to life, white as winter snow. As the fire danced on the logs, it slowly gained color until it lost its unnatural pale glow. I slid into the seat beside Vell. She leaned forward, elbows on her knees as she idly spun a dagger in one hand, staring into the fire. Finally she spoke. “To answer your question…if Arcana were not bound to me by the power of the Crown of Bones, I would not trust it, no.” She flipped her blade casually, watching the flash of silver as it cut through the air. “But as much as I dislike it, I have a connection that lets me discern its intentions.”

“You don’t call Arcana ‘her,’” I noted. “It’s kind of creepy when you say ‘it.’”

Vell caught her dagger and looked at me, raising her eyebrows. “You know it’s not alive, Tess. It’s a creature of old power that wears living flesh like a glove.”

“What is she—it, then? If you have a connection, don’t you know?”

Vell leaned back and threw her dagger with a flick of her wrist, burying the blade in the wooden mantel over the fireplace. “It’s older than anything else I’ve ever felt, with the exception of maybe the White Wolf, when he came to us.” The white marks on her throat gleamed suddenly in the firelight, silver against her pale skin.

“Arcana is some sort of deity?” I asked, suspicion edging my voice. But then I thought of the strange stillness of the body Arcana inhabited, the odd movements that were not quite right, as though it had made a study of watching people move and hadn’t completely mastered the motions. Or as though it was a puppeteer and could not mimic the delicate intricacies of a living creature, no matter how skilled. The Sword hummed quietly in agreement at my train of thought.

“Perhaps. I’m not entirely sure.” Vell stared at her quivering dagger-hilt. “I haven’t felt its power, not all of it; but I can feel enough to know that I’m glad it’s chosen our side.”

“Does it have more power than you or Titania?” Now my mind shifted to the first meeting with Arcana, and I thought of how it had grinned at the prospect of matching power with me. Did I have more power than Vell or Titania? I quickly shepherded my thoughts away from the subject.

“That’s a rather rude question,” the High Queen replied, her circlet catching the firelight as she stretched back in her chair and yawned, flashing white teeth. “And I’m not entirely sure of the answer. I don’t think so. I have power in my own right, but the power I have now…the Crown of Bones connected me to a reservoir, when it crowned me.” She slid a look at me. The Sword thrummed in its sheath on my back. “The Caedbranr knows what I’m talking about. It’s much like it is with you. You have taebramh on your own, but when you are connected to the Sword, it opens another realm. Metaphorically speaking.”

The fire crackled in the hearth, golden and real. Its burgeoning heat caressed my legs. “But Arcana has thrown in her lot with us, and you trust her to protect you.”

“I could end it,” Vell replied simply. “Power or no, when it became one of my Three, it placed its existence in my hands.”

“You could just kill one of your Three?” I said quietly.

“With no more than a thought.” The High Queen stood and retrieved her dagger from the mantel. I shivered. “But I need all the power I can get, Tess, so don’t worry about Finnead, if that’s what you’re thinking.” She grinned wickedly at me, sliding into her chair again. “Besides, he’s too pretty to look at. I wouldn’t be able to kill such a magnificent specimen of Sidhe manhood.”

I rolled my eyes. “Since when do you find Sidhe men attractive?”

“I’m not saying I do, particularly, but I can recognize a beautiful thing and appreciate it from afar.” She spun the dagger again, now with one hand. “Like Titania’s gowns. Just gorgeous, but not something I would want to wear myself.”

I chuckled. “You’re comparing Finnead to a gown.”

She shrugged. “Some women would not object to either against their skin.”

Without thinking, I reached out and smacked Vell’s arm lightly as I laughed. It was no more than a light touch, and we’d laid hands on each other with much more intent during training, but it was enough to jolt her hand as she caught her flashing dagger. Many things happened in the space of the same breath: the dagger sliced Vell’s finger, bright blood staining the blade, and she cursed; the room went cold, and an invisible force slammed into me, lifting me bodily from my chair and throwing me through the air.

Chapter 5

I felt the power of the Sword flare in the blink of an eye, just before I slammed into the corner of the heavy wooden table. I still hit the table, tumbling down onto the floor; and it still hurt enough to knock the wind from me, but I knew that without the Sword catching me, I would have probably broken bones. My own taebramh burst from its cocoon behind my breastbone, the first time I’d felt it rush through my blood in all its strength since I’d awoken. The air in the room tightened with power, as the Sword pushed back whatever had thrown me across the room. Something like a growl rumbled at the very lowest reaches of my hearing, and I wasn’t sure if it was coming from the Sword or from the other foreign power. Not quite foreign, I corrected myself, grimacing: Vell’s power, and the power of the crown on her brow. My breath hovered frostily in suddenly wintry air, the scent of snow and evergreen whirling around me. The Sword and my taebramh swelled fiercely, beating back the biting cold, creating an orb of protection around me. The edges of my vision went white and it became hard to breathe with the thickness of the power in the room. I reached for the table leg to pull myself upright, hands stinging.

The door burst open as I regained my feet. Beryk leapt into the room, large as a horse. Kianryk followed, his golden pelt bright and shining with power. Luca strode through the door, his hand on his sword-hilt and a fierce glint in his eyes. Beryk flowed across the room to Vell, who stood transfixed by the fire, trembling. The black wolf wrapped himself around her and with difficulty she slid one hand into his gleaming fur. My ears popped as the pressure in the room eased, the whirlwind of snow-scented power seeping back toward Vell. I felt a touch on my own arm.

“You’re glowing,” Luca said.

My war-markings shone a fierce emerald, the complex pattern illuminating the sleeve of my shirt. I rubbed my arm gingerly with my other hand and took a deep breath, reaching out for my taebramh and at the same time asking the Sword to dampen its sphere of power. It circled around me uneasily, waiting until the flood of Vell’s power had receded. Then, grudgingly, it obeyed, the Sword vibrating in its sheath as the emerald fire poured back into me until my bones ached. My own taebramh proved more difficult to retrieve. I focused on slowing my hammering heart and steadying my shaking hands. I felt like I’d just been slammed by a strong wave at the beach, pulled underwater and pinned by the awesome power of the ocean.

Kianryk pressed his warm bulk against the back of my legs, steadying me as Luca quickly retrieved my chair. He cursed softly as he picked it up, and I saw that one side of the wood frame had splintered from the impact of the blow. I silently thanked the Sword; its power circled behind my breastbone restlessly.

“Are you all right?” Luca asked me in a low voice.

“I think so,” I answered, still focused on calming my adrenaline-spiked body. My war-markings slowly faded to a fine trace of fire barely visible beneath my shirt, glowing faintly on my hand. I looked at Vell. “What was that?”

She still stood with one hand on Beryk, staring into the fire. A small sliver of dark blood marked her finger where the dagger had cut her. When she answered, her voice was tight with anger. “That was me, not being able to control my power.”

At once I understood. “Because I touched you and then you cut yourself.”

“Yes.” She stared into the fire for a moment more and then finally turned to me. Golden fire danced in her eyes, drowning her pupils. I wondered if that was what I looked like when the Sword’s power overtook me, and I watched in fascination as Vell finally pushed down the last of her power, her eyes returning to something like normal, still traced in golden fire but now able to hold my gaze. She opened her mouth as if to say something, then pressed her lips together and looked back into the fire.

“Tess, are you sure you’re all right?” Luca rested his hands on my shoulders and looked at me earnestly, his blue eyes concerned.

“My hands hurt a little from the fall, but I’m all right,” I said. “Vell?”

“I need to finish the work on the wings,” she said without looking at me.

I blinked, recognizing her statement as a dismissal. Beryk turned his great head and looked at me with something like apology in his lupine gaze. I glanced at the wings on the table. The feathers on the edges of the frame glowed, some silver and some with a tinge of emerald; as I watched, a few rippled as though from an unfelt wind.

“I’ll walk you back to your room, Tess,” Luca said.

I nodded, still watching the wings as I turned. Kianryk shook himself like a giant dog and bounded out of the room ahead of us. Luca and I followed at a more sensible pace. I shut the door carefully behind me, leaving Vell staring into the fire with Beryk standing still as a statue beside her. Luca watched me as we walked.

“I’m fine, just a little shaken up,” I said. My right hand ached; I rubbed it lightly with my left thumb. “Was that the first time that happened?”

“No,” Luca answered. “But it was the first time it happened to someone with power perhaps equal to that of the vyldretning.”

“Vell didn’t kill anyone, did she?” I asked in sudden horror.

“Very nearly, but no. Sidhe and ulfdrengr alike are difficult to kill.”

“Her power flared because the Crown thought she was threatened after my little push made the dagger cut her.” I wondered if Vell’s circlet was now the Crown of Bones, or if the great ruby’s power had truly disintegrated into ash after baptizing the new High Queen.

“You caught her off guard,” Luca agreed.

“Why didn’t one of her Three respond? Why you?”

Luca smiled. “Full of questions as always.”

“I’ve been told that more than once already today.” I smiled in return. “Seems like there’s been a lot of changes while I’ve been recovering.”

Luca shrugged with his broad shoulders. I noticed suddenly that he had filled out considerably since our arrival at the Hall, the muscles in his shoulders and chest apparent even in his loose shirt. “The vyldretning is in a unique position. Chael and I are still attuned to her, though not as deeply as her new Three.”

“She was probably able to reach out to them, or they could feel what was really happening. You just felt the explosion.” I nodded in understanding. The Sword hummed in agreement. I frowned as we wended our way through back passages toward my room. Luca led, though I was only half a step behind. “Do you and Chael have to take part in this hunt to be a part of the vyldgard?”

Luca laughed. It reminded me painfully of Kavoryk’s huge, untamed laughter. I missed the giant man’s sense of humor and the laugh that bellowed from the depths of his wild beard. “Oh, we shall hunt the beast, but because we are hunters. That is what we are made to do.” His teeth flashed white as he grinned and I heard the tawny wolf give a half-throated melodious howl of agreement somewhere ahead of us.

“So you can still feel Vell, but it’s different now.” I wanted to understand the complexities of this new world with the High Queen, who was also herravaldyr. Most of all, though, I wanted to understand the intricacies of Vell’s new power, so that I could remain her friend and help her as she’d already helped me.

“She will always be herravaldyr, but now she is also vyldretning, and we must find a way to blend the two. Nothing will be as it was before, but we will do our best to preserve the culture of our people, even if it means teaching it to those who once scorned us.”

I narrowed my eyes. “The paint and the hair. That’s ulfdrengr, isn’t it?”

Luca smiled again. “No one may ever accuse you of being imperceptive, even though you are a mortal.”

“I used to be mortal. Now I’m something different,” I corrected him. The Sword added a thrum of emphasis, its power reaching out and caressing Luca. His grin widened. Stop that, I told the Caedbranr. Its chuckle vibrated through my ribs.

“In any case,” Luca continued, “yes. The golden-haired one of the new Three, she asked me what they could do to honor our people as they went out on the hunt.”

A sudden flare of jealousy caught me off guard as I thought of Gray talking to Luca. Her golden beauty outshone me effortlessly, and I realized in irritation that it wasn’t the first time I’d thought about her enviously that day. When had I become so petty? “I’m sure that was an interesting conversation.”

Luca stopped and faced me, raising his eyebrows. “Do you dislike her asking me a question?”

I fidgeted. “Maybe.”

He watched me with his ice-blue eyes. “What are you thinking, Tess?”

“I’m asking myself why I can’t be attracted to men who aren’t so damn perceptive,” I answered, raising one of my own eyebrows.

Luca grinned. “Tess, there is no need for you to be jealous.”

“Why is that?” I struggled to keep my voice even.

The big ulfdrengr chuckled and shrugged his magnificent shoulders. “I find no other female as fascinating as you, so you need not feel threatened.” He reached out one hand and tucked a piece of my hair behind my ear in a disarmingly gentle gesture. “Though it does make me think more highly of my chances.”

“Your chances? This isn’t a contest,” I said with a hint of annoyance, batting his hand away with my own. But he caught my hand, gently, mindful of the bandage around my palm.

“No, it is not,” he agreed, his voice low with a hint of a growl. “It is a hunt, and it is what I am made to do.” His eyes danced playfully as I opened my mouth to argue, and I found myself grinning.

“I would rather hunt with you than be the object of the hunt,” I replied lightly.

“That is what makes it so exciting,” he said, raising my hand and brushing his lips along my wrist. I couldn’t stop the shudder that sent goosebumps racing up my arms, or the sudden hitch in my breath. Then I tensed. Finnead’s kiss still lingered in the back of my mind; Luca made my pulse race, there was no doubt about it, but I wasn’t ready to throw myself headlong into either of their arms. Without missing a beat, Luca began walking down the passageway again. Somehow his restraint made me want him more, despite the thoughts of misgiving that now vanished as suddenly as they’d appeared. But the moment passed, so I followed him again, the feel of his hand brushing lightly against my face imprinted in my mind as surely as the feel of Finnead’s lips. I resisted the urge to sigh—after all, I was reasonably sure that many of the Sidhe women in the Hall would be delighted to be caught between the affections of the darkly handsome Sidhe Knight and the fierce ulfdrengr.

Now you are starting to understand, the Caedbranr said appreciatively as I contemplated the delicious taper of Luca’s torso, following the lines of his body from his broad muscled shoulders and chest to his slim yet still unmistakably masculine waist. I raised my gaze before allowing myself to look lower, suddenly sure that I would trip and fall if I did. I let the Sword’s remark pass unanswered, trying unsuccessfully to settle the whirl of my mind as we finished the walk to my room. We turned a corner, and Sage and Kianryk stood before us, the Seelie healer staring at Kianryk with crossed arms and one raised eyebrow. The tawny wolf seemed to think it was a contest of some sort, eyeing the Seelie healer with concentration, the tip of his tail twitching every now and again.

“Does your wolf fetch sticks like the hounds at court, or is he merely trying to inform me of your approach?” Sage asked without taking his eyes from the huge Northwolf.

Luca didn’t correct Sage immediately as Vell would have; for a moment, I thought he was offended, but he grinned and said, “You should try to make him fetch a stick sometime. It would be amusing to watch.”

“No insult intended,” Sage said easily. Kianryk held his gaze for a moment more and then without warning sprang past him, bounding down the hallway with explosive speed. Sage redirected his attention to Luca. “What happened? I think everyone in the Hall felt the cold.”

“There was a bit of a misunderstanding between the High Queen and her power again,” replied Luca.

“What, with the Bearer?” Sage said with affronted anger. He took a quick step forward and blatantly inspected me. “Was she hurt?”

“Thrown to the ground, but not injured,” Luca said.

“I’m standing right here,” I pointed out.

Sage looked at me. “No offense meant, Lady Bearer, but you have a tendency to downplay your injuries, when they occur.”

I sighed and held up my hands. “I reopened the right one, I think, and maybe bruised my ribs. But that’s it. The Sword protected me.”

“As it should.” Sage nodded. “Come on then.” He motioned to the open door of my room.

“I don’t want to go back to bed,” I said before I realized how much that made me sound like a child protesting her bedtime. Sage and Luca realized it too; I scowled at their grins. “Don’t let the hunt start without me,” I said to Luca.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied. He held my eyes for a moment. My skin tingled. Then he turned and strode down the hallway, following Kianryk.

“Let me see to your hand,” Sage said, “and I’ll even give you one of my books to read. You can read, can’t you?”

I sighed at him. “You don’t have to bribe me. And yes, I can read.”

“It wasn’t a bribe, it was an offer of exchange. You let me do my job, I’ll ensure you can do your job.”

“And what job is that?” I asked, crossing the room. I sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off my boots, suddenly weary from the few hours that I’d been walking about the Hall. And, I supposed, from being thrown halfway across the room and the sudden fierce response from my taebramh, not to mention the Sword.

“Defeating Malravenar,” Sage answered seriously. “And that means making sure you are strong enough to wield your full powers.”

I glanced up at his sudden levity. “All right. I’ll rest, you bring me the research you’ve been doing.”

“Deal.” Sage nodded. He held out his hand expectantly, and I gave him my right hand with its bloodstained bandage. As he began unwinding the bandage, I wondered, not for the first time, what it would take to defeat the darkness rising in the Fae world. I knew there would be more warriors who gave their lives, waking up one morning without the full knowledge that it would be their last, riding out into battle and falling at the hands of the hideous creatures of the enemy. But was that so very different than the lives led in the mortal world? I wondered suddenly. Most of us didn’t expect to die the day it happened. From what I remembered, my father didn’t have any warning that his trip down the street to the grocery store would be his last moments on earth.

The sting of salve on my raw palm brought my attention back to the present. I glanced down at my hand, held firmly in Sage’s grip as he examined the healing wound. Without comment, he finished applying the winter-scented salve and wrapped a new bandage around my hand. I relaxed under his sure but gentle touch; letting another healer care for my hands was actually a bit enjoyable after tending myself for a few days. Sage smiled slightly, as though he caught my train of thought. I slid up onto the bed before extending my other hand, leaning back against the headboard and closing my eyes, lulled by the crackling fire and my own weariness. My thoughts drifted. I thought of the Battle of the Royal Wood: the feel of Beryk beneath me as we raced through the forest, a swift shadow among the trees; the Sword’s new power circling behind my breastbone, thrumming through my veins, Gwyneth’s benediction still echoing in my ears. It had been almost easy, that first flood of power, unleashing devastation on the battlefield. I looked back now and realized that what I’d thought was a tremendous battle was truly just a skirmish, nothing more than a lazy flick of the wrist to the dark power that sought to rule the Fae realm.

The flood of power, the piles of ash marking each immolated Dark creature….and then the sight of the fallen Sidhe warriors on their pyre, pale faces carved with the absolute stillness of death, smoke wreathing their lithe lifeless limbs. I remembered the handsome young face of the Guard who had lent me his whetting-stone in the barracks, the night before he died. Then my heart tightened in sudden panic. I couldn’t remember his name. He had been Merrick’s sword-brother, he’d died fighting Malravenar’s forces in the Royal Wood, and I couldn’t remember his name.

“Something wrong?” Sage asked quietly, finishing the bandage on my left hand.

I realized I’d tensed, and I forced myself to take a deep breath, hooking a finger through the familiar circle of Gwyneth’s pendant. “Just thinking. Is there an armorer skilled enough to engrave letters upon a sword?”

“For the best engraving, that would be Conall,” Sage replied. “You’d have to ask the Captain of the Guard to release him to you—he’s been at his forge night and day crafting weapons for the riding-out.”

“I wouldn’t want to bother him, then,” I said.

“What would you like? It might do him some good to have a project requiring some skill to it, especially one requested by the Bearer.” Sage held up several books over at the large table, reading the titles gilded on their spines in shining gold letters.

I cleared my throat. “It’s…well, it’s just that I don’t have a good plain blade anymore. And I know I could have one from the armory that will serve perfectly well…which is what I’ll do if Conall is busy.” I smoothed the soft blanket with my fingertips. “But I realized I’m starting to forget the names of those I know who have fallen in battle. It’s not a long list, so I shouldn’t have trouble…but I want to have their names inscribed on my plain blade.” My cheeks burned in shame at my admission that I couldn’t remember the name of the young Guard. His face rose in my mind’s-eye. I could recall the look on his face as he asked whether I was truly mortal, and his confusion when I joked with him about vampires. The last memory brought a wistful smile to my face.

“I’m sure Conall would be happy to oblige,” Sage replied seriously. He hefted two large leather-bound volumes. “Now. You asked for my research, and here are two of the most useful books I’ve found. As I said before, the selection isn’t nearly what it was in the Great Library at Brightvale, but it will have to do. A History of Native Creatures, by one of our eminent Seelie Historians; and On the Origins of the Worlds, which draws together many shorter texts from both Courts’ Historians.”

“I think I’ve read part of On the Origins of the Worlds,” I said, taking the offered books and settling them in my lap. I thumbed through a few pages of the thicker text, noting with relief that they were written in what the Sidhe termed the Common Tongue. “Yes. When I was at Darkhill, Bren brought me some of these to read.” At Sage’s look of curiosity, I explained, “Bren was—is—studying under the Chief Scholar of Mortal History.”

“You’re certainly full of surprises, Lady Bearer,” Sage said.

“Tess,” I grumbled at him half-heartedly, already absorbed in the prologue of A History of Native Creatures. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sage watch me for a few moments, but I soon found myself fascinated by the origins and clans of mer-people. Apparently, the sirens I’d encountered in the Darinwel were the most vicious of their kind, and one of only four clans who preferred to hunt two-legged prey. Rather appropriate, I thought in grim amusement.

“Well, I know what to do if I ever want to convince you to stay in bed and rest,” Sage murmured, mostly to himself as he took his seat by the fire again. “Just provide you with a stack of books.”

I smiled and turned the page, eager to learn as much as I could in the time I had left before facing Malravenar.

Chapter 6

I read A History of Native Creatures for the rest of the day. Sage held a conference in a low voice with Calliea when they turned over duties; Calliea brought me a large plate of food and a candle for my bedside table. I ate the food slowly as I reread the passage on dragons, trying to squeeze every ounce of knowledge from the text. Dragons were among the most dangerous of creatures, the book cautioned, in part due to their sheer size, monstrous strength and beastly talons; a dragon egg stood as tall as a man and was hard as granite, laying dormant until the blood of a fresh kill soaked its shell. The book was vague on what exactly was meant by “fresh kill,” so that left it to my imagination…and if the dragon was Malravenar’s creature, I had no doubt the blood would have been from Sidhe or Northfolk. I shuddered.

“You haven’t turned the page for nigh on an hour,” Calliea said from her customary seat by the fire, her blades laid neatly on a cloth for sharpening yet again.

“It’s the part about dragons,” I answered. Calliea’s question broke my concentration and my eyes ached sharply. I blinked and stretched, wincing as my ribs protested, sore from being hit with Vell’s power. “Or rather, the greater dragons.”

“Does it change each time you read it?” Calliea asked with a raised eyebrow.

I snapped the book shut and slid it onto the bedside table. “No. I just wanted to make sure I understood everything. I have some questions.”

“Such as…?”

“I had a pretty nasty encounter with dragon-smoke. I know the effects probably aren’t as severe for Sidhe, but is there a plan to deal with that?” Vell had told me that she had a plan, but I wanted to know what this plan actually involved.

“Yes.”

I waited for Calliea to elaborate, but she merely examined one of her throwing-daggers by the firelight. I frowned. “So what is it?”

She glanced at me and shrugged. “I do not know the details. The vyldretning will reveal all to us when it is time to prepare.”

My frown deepened. “And you are just going to trust that this solution, whatever it is, will protect us all against the dragon-smoke?”

“Yes,” she answered again serenely.

I blinked and opened my mouth to ask another question, but for once my sense of caution stopped me. I trusted Vell and the ulfdrengr with my life. I’d witnessed their marking by the White Wolf, and I’d crowned Vell. If she had told her warriors that there would be a protection against the dragon-smoke, I’d trust her as well…even though I wanted to know the exact mechanism of that protection. I chafed at the mystery of it, but a yawn softened my curiosity.

“Here.” Calliea paused in sharpening her blades to pour me a steaming mug of tea. I accepted it gratefully; the warmth seeped through the mug into my palms, calming the ache of my still-healing wounds. I breathed in the steam from the tea but looked at Calliea questioningly.

“Nothing to make you sleep against your will, or keep you asleep,” she said. “Just to help you slide into slumber. I drink it myself most nights.”

The tea tasted faintly of berries and black licorice. It warmed me deliciously, the heat spreading outward from my stomach to suffuse my limbs. I slid beneath the blanket and leaned back against the headboard of the bed, my eyelids beginning to feel heavy. “Wake me if Vell summons everyone?” I murmured, taking a last sip of the tea.

“I am sure you won’t need me to wake you,” replied Calliea enigmatically, “but I shall.”

“Thanks.” I slid down and burrowed into my pillow, letting the tide of sleep sweep me away. It was a rare dreamless night, and I slept deeply. I awoke to the sound of a hushed conversation by the banked embers of the fire. Glancing over to the fireplace, I glimpsed Farin, aura dimmed as though not to wake me, perched delicately on the back of an empty chair. She was deep in conversation with Sage. The Seelie healer rested his elbows on his knees, regarding the Glasidhe steadily. I strained to hear them, but the few low words I caught were in the melodious Seelie tongue. I sighed. So much for eavesdropping. The Sword pricked me at that thought, affronted that its Bearer would stoop so low. For all your encouragement of a dalliance with Finnead or Luca, you’re really uptight about the stupidest things, I thought at it in irritation. It responded by pacing in circles in my chest, its grumble vibrating through my spine.

I yawned and stretched conspicuously. Sage and Farin paused in their conversation, and Farin’s aura ignited like a struck match. “Tess-mortal!” she trilled.

“Good morning.” I smiled. “It is morning, right?” There, I said to the Sword. Happy?

Sarcasm does not become you, the Sword told me.

You’re just grumpy this morning, I retorted.

Farin sprang into the air and twirled in the air above my bed.

“Interesting conversation?” I asked, smiling up at her.

“Oh, truly,” she said, wings sparking. “There is great news, Tess, great news!”

I sat up against the headboard, pushing my hair out of my face. “The choosing of the vyldgard? Has it started?”

“No, but just as exciting!” She turned a few more dizzying pirouettes.

I blinked. “It’s too early to be doing acrobatics like that.”

Sage chuckled. “You’ll get sick from watching her before she’ll tell you, I think.”

I turned my attention to him. “Well then, why don’t you tell me?” Farin traced figure eights around the ceiling, singing a fierce but melodious song in excitement. I raised my eyebrows. “It had better be something really important.”

“The Glasidhe queen arrived at the Hall in the early hours of the morning,” Sage said.

“What? Lumina is here?” I threw back the covers. “Are all of the Glasidhe here now? Where are they?”

“All of us gathered together again,” sang Farin, turning loops above the fireplace.

“Cousin,” said a new Glasidhe voice reprovingly. “Calm yourself. You do yourself a disservice, acting like a silly little glow.”

I located the source of the familiar voice above the lintel of the door, beside the open Glasidhe door cut into the wood. I couldn’t help the delighted smile that stretched my lips. “Flora!”

The Glasidhe who had taught me how to hold a sword properly and rode in my quiver on our mad gallop to escape Darkhill flew gracefully across the room. Farin turned a few more lazy pirouettes and then drifted down to alight again on the back of the empty chair.

Flora gave a courtly little bow to me. “My lady Bearer.” I could see her mischievous grin even through her brightly pulsing aura. She was dressed for traveling, in elegant yet practical clothes cut skillfully to her small lissome body: a black shirt and fawn-colored trousers complemented by knee-high black boots. She wore a sword on one hip and her quiver on the other—the Glasidhe wore their quivers at their waist so as not to impede their wings.

“Is Forsythe here? How has he healed?” I pulled on my boots and tied back my hair into a simple ponytail. My stomach rumbled and I grabbed one of the slices of bread and cheese from the plate on my bedside table—apparently it was restocked automatically, a policy of which I approved. I made a crude sandwich and took a bite as I slid the strap of the Sword over my head.

“My brother has healed quite well. Lady Lumina herself assisted in his healing, and the new Vaelanbrigh as well,” Flora replied seriously. “He still cannot fly long distances, and he does not like riding, but I think it will be a great advantage to him in battle.”

“Riding? What does he ride?” I asked in interest.

“A hawk,” Flora replied simply. “Quite a beautiful one, from the mews at Darkhill. They hadn’t quite tamed him, which was just as well.” She grinned that predatory grin that I’d missed. Forin and Farin had been good companions during the journey, steadfast and fierce, but Flora held a special place in my affections. She’d been with me before I was the Bearer; I felt a unique connection with those who had become my friend when I was just a mere mortal, brought into the Fae world so that the Vaelanbrigh of the Unseelie Court did not owe me a debt of honor for saving his life. They had known me and offered me their friendship when I was still merely Tess, and I’d never forget it.

“The new Vaelanbrigh has helped us greatly. Queen Lumina held council with Queen Mab shortly after you were anointed Bearer,” Flora continued.

Farin streaked across the ceiling and disappeared. I watched the neon trail of her aura fade, and then my mind caught Flora’s last words.

“What did you say about the new Vaelanbrigh?”

“I said he had helped us greatly.” Flora landed gracefully on my bedside table and faced me gravely. “Forgive me, I thought you had already known, Tess.”

“Known what? Flora, who is the new Vaelanbrigh?” I noticed that Sage had gone still, listening as well, but I didn’t care. It would be common knowledge soon enough.

“Ramel,” Flora replied. “Lord Ramel was chosen to be the new Vaelanbrigh, though he knew that Finnead is not dead. He was bound to Mab almost a full moon since.”

What little food I had in my stomach attempted to crawl back up my throat. I swallowed against the feeling of sickness. A terrible weight of responsibility pressed down on me. “I should never have told him that Finnead was still alive.”

“He would have rather known his shield-brother was still alive and risk Mab’s wrath than mourn him,” Flora replied seriously. “And would you have been able to lie to him, when he saw you in Darkhill?”

“No,” I said. I took a deep breath, trying to convince myself that Flora’s reasoning was logical. A still-frame from the vision of the last Vaelanmavar’s execution, his neck bared beneath Mab’s upraised blade, surfaced in my mind’s-eye, which didn’t help to calm my anxious thoughts.

“There is more,” Flora told me, her beautiful wings flickering idly as she tiptoed along a whorl in the dark wood of the table.

I rubbed my temples with one hand. My palm stung sharply as though reprimanding me. I raised my eyes and met Flora’s patient gaze. “Please, tell me.”

“Queen Mab has called the Court to war,” Flora said in a low voice, her aura burning with intensity. “The crowning of the High Queen awoke her to the necessity of action.”

“From what I gathered from Murtagh, it was all Mab could do to hold her own against Malravenar in Darkhill,” I said. “So how is it that the Court will go to war without Darkhill being lost?”

“We believe she intended to cast a protection much like Titania created around Brightvale,” replied Flora.

“But Brightvale is lost,” I pointed out.

“Not from Titania’s enchantment,” said the Glasidhe warrior.

“It was the power of the Crown of Bones that destroyed Brightvale,” agreed Sage from his chair by the fire.

“Thanks for making me feel so responsible,” I said drily. My hands prickled at the mention of the bright-burning ruby.

“You brought back our Queen,” Sage said, his eyes glinting in the firelight. “That is of greater importance to us than all the treasures of our citadel.”

“Fair enough.” I sighed. The Sword thrummed in its scabbard. I didn’t really know what it was trying to tell me, but that wasn’t unusual. I turned my attention back to Flora. “So what does it really mean, Mab called the Court to war?”

“They are preparing for the battle,” Flora replied gravely. “Soon they will start their journey. Lumina had hoped for exactly this, so we were ready to travel and left the Dark Queen’s palace after the Vaelanseld made the proclamation.”

“What happened to the Vaelanmavar?” I asked suddenly.

“I do not know. But there was a rumor as we left that Queen Mab would use his lifeblood to seal the protection around Darkhill.”

“Make the traitor a martyr,” Sage murmured. He looked at me perceptively. “We heard tales of the Vaelanmavar’s cruel nature, and his treatment of you in particular. Perhaps by sacrificing him to save the citadel, Mab will cast him as a redeemed transgressor, giving his life to preserve Darkhill.”

“How do you know about the Vaelanmavar,” I said, my question more of a statement. Even the formal title tasted sour in my mouth.

“Though the Courts were not aligned, it does not mean we still did not have certain friendships with those we had known before the closing of the Great Gate.” He shrugged. “It seems that will be useful now.”

“So what, there was a network of spies between the Courts?”

Sage closed his book delicately. “They were correct when they said you had no tact.”

“They? Who’s ‘they’?” I asked, affronted, but Sage continued on without seeming to hear me. Flora crossed her arms and glared at the Seelie healer disapprovingly.

“There were a number of us who thought from the beginning that the darkness rising in the Deadlands merited closer attention,” Sage said. “We thought it was more important than the differences keeping the two Courts from forging an alliance.”

I opened my mouth to ask another question but decided against it. I can have tact, I thought in irritation.

“There wasn’t ever direct communication, not in Faeortalam at least,” said Sage. “And I don’t really know how much I should tell you.”

“Really,” I said, raising one eyebrow. “You don’t know how much you can tell me.”

Sage opened his book again. “Exactly. It is a dangerous game we played, and even now might have repercussions if the wrong people hear of it.”

“Repercussions,” Flora repeated, flicking her wings. “You seem to forget who helped in your plans! Who were the message carriers for your little band of misfits?”

Sage smiled up at her with all his boyish charm. “No offense meant to your brave people, my lady.”

Flora muttered something beneath her breath and circled the ceiling.

“Well, your little spy games aside, what else have you heard about what’s going on at Darkhill?” My desire to find out about my friends in Mab’s court overruled my annoyance at Sage’s evasiveness. I thought with a vague stab of guilt about Molly. I hadn’t seen her since the day in the Royal Wood after the battle. She’d been my best friend, almost like a sister. What did that make me, if I was so easily able to discard my loyalty to her? She changed, said the voice in my head that usually hid in the shadows. But now it emerged, lured out of its lurking-place by my dark thoughts. She changed, and then you changed. And you left her behind, just like you left everyone else behind after you became the Bearer.

“Not very many details, other than the basic shifts of power,” Sage replied. I tried to suppress my thoughts about the friends I’d left behind to focus on his words. “Trust me, I’ve already told all I should to Finnead.”

My eyes narrowed. Finnead had known Ramel had been baptized the new Vaelanbrigh, and he hadn’t told me? I filed that away for later use. Then I recomposed my expression, though Sage had reopened his book. “Well. If you hear anything else…I’d like to know.”

“With the Unseelie Court about to leave Darkhill, it’s all gone quiet. I don’t know much more than anyone else now.”

I made a sound of frustration at him. “Fat lot of use you are.”

“I’m not fat,” he replied without looking up from the page, “and I’m very useful, when I choose.”

“When you choose,” I repeated in sarcastic agreement. Flora returned from her circumnavigation of the room. I turned to her as she landed on my bedpost, her stance wide and her hands on her hips as though she were an explorer claiming a foreign land as her own. “Shall we go to pay your queen a visit?”

“Lady Lumina would be most glad to see you,” Flora replied with fierce glee.

“You said you were going to rest,” Sage reminded me, still reading.

“That was before Lumina arrived. And I’ve been resting all day. You can choose to be useful and accompany me, if you’d like,” I returned in a brightly cheerful voice.

“I’d prefer to be useful by continuing my research,” he replied.

“Well, tough luck. Choose one.” I scarfed down the rest of my makeshift sandwich and stretched my legs before standing. I gave the bandages on my hands a cursory look—they’d do for a few more hours. I’d change them before I went to sleep, I decided. Flora leapt into the air, her aura fizzing as her wings carried her aloft. Without waiting for any further argument from Sage, I followed my Glasidhe guide into the hallway. We were halfway down the passageway when I heard a muffled curse and light footsteps behind us. After Sage had closed the distance between us, I said sweetly over my shoulder, “See? Being useful isn’t so hard.”

And rather than let irritation sour his mood as I expected, Sage laughed. “I must say that you have been my most eventful assignment yet, Lady Bearer.”

“I like to keep people on their toes,” I said, following Flora down a smaller hallway.

“And I get to learn such interesting phrases,” he added. “Keep people on their toes.”

“Has Lumina met with Vell and Titania yet?” I asked Flora as we continued our wending way through the passages of the Hall. Flora rounded the corner of a passageway and suddenly we were standing in front of a double door slightly larger than the other doorways we’d passed, and there were two Sidhe standing guard on either side. I recognized Gray immediately and I looked sharply up at Flora.

“My lady Lumina is meeting with the High Queen and the Bright Queen now,” Flora replied.

“Lady Bearer,” Gray said. “We were not told that you would be joining the queens for this council.”

I cleared my throat. “Well, if it’s a private council then I can—” The Sword released a strident clarion note. “–I can just allow you to tell them I’d like to join,” I finished.

“Of course,” said Gray. She turned to the other Sidhe guard, who stood a full head taller than her and had a set of broad shoulders that almost rivaled Luca’s build. “This is Niall, Queen Titania’s Vaelanseld.”

Niall bowed to me slightly. His eyes were such a pale blue that they almost looked colorless, and they would have been unsettling but for the warmth emanating from his gaze. His light golden hair was longer than that of any Sidhe I’d seen; he wore it tied back in a ponytail neater than my own. “My lady Bearer.”

I nodded to him. “Vaelanseld.”

He straightened. Gray opened one of the doors and disappeared into the room. Flora landed on my shoulder, resuming her familiar post and laying a small hand on the curve of my ear for balance. “His eyes were not so pale before the Seelie Queen was captured,” the Glasidhe warrior murmured to me.

“Please,” Niall said, “we do not call each other by our formal titles here among friends, Lady Bearer.”

I smiled. “Then it’s Tess, if you wish to be informal, Niall.”

He inclined his head gracefully. “Very well. It is good to see you looking so well, Tess.”

“I’ve been told that more times than I can count lately,” I said. “I must have looked pretty rough after bringing Titania back.”

“When I first saw you, I thought you were dead,” Niall replied.

“Points for honesty,” I said. “And to be fair, you were pretty far from live and kicking yourself.”

Niall looked down. “My apologies. A long sojourn away from the living world can sometimes make one forget the rules of polite conversation.”

I shrugged. “I’m not very polite anyway, so it’s all right.” When he looked up in surprise, I smiled, and coaxed an answering smile from him. “And what are rules if not made to be broken?”

“An appropriate statement from the Bearer of the Iron Sword,” Niall replied with a smile.

Gray reappeared. “You have leave to enter, Lady Bearer.”

Niall stepped aside and I walked past him, crossing the threshold of the room. Gray shut the door behind me with a click, and I was faced with a council of the Glasidhe queen, the Seelie Queen, and the High Queen, sitting at a large round table with their bound Knights and closest advisors. Lumina and her retinue sat at the edge of the table nearest the fire, with Vell and Finnead seated to their left, and Titania and her remaining two Named Knights to the right. Flora squeezed my ear encouragingly, they looked at me expectantly, and I stepped forward to claim a seat at the table.

I slid into a chair beside Finnead, arranged the Sword to one side of my chair, folded my hands on the table and said brightly, “What did I miss?”

Chapter 7

“Welcome, Lady Bearer,” said Queen Titania, now resplendent in a gown the color of a robin’s egg. Soft green embroidery called to mind vines and leaves and living green things. “I trust you were introduced to Niall?”

“Yes, I was,” I said.

Titania gestured gracefully with one hand to the two men seated to her left. “This is my Vaelanbrigh, Ailin, and my Vaelanmavar, Gawain.”

Ailin was slender with a flashing smile, and Gawain fell somewhere between Niall and Ailin in stature. Both of them had the same colorless eyes as Niall, though I could tell that Ailin’s eyes had once been green and Gawain’s still held a hint of grey. The only other time I’d seen them, they were unconscious on the dais of the throne in Brightvale, defending Titania the only way that remained: by willingly giving her their life-force while her Walker form was imprisoned by Malravenar.

“I am sorry that your Walker did not survive,” Gawain said. “He was brave, and we owe him our thanks as much as you.”

I swallowed at the mention of Murtagh. “Yes, he was very brave. He gave everything to fight against the darkness.”

“As we all will, if it is required of us,” answered Gawain firmly.

I turned my attention to the Glasidhe retinue. I was surprised that Flora kept her post on my shoulder, but she seemed to have appointed herself my advisor, and I wasn’t going to argue with her. I still needed all the help I could get to navigate the politics of this new world in which Vell was High Queen and Titania a full force returned to the land of the living. “Lady Lumina, I am glad to see you again.”

“Lady Tess, it is good to be here and to be part of the Great Rising,” answered the Glasidhe queen with consummate grace. From the way she pronounced the words, I knew the Rising was the name now given to this newly formed alliance. I saw Galax, huge for a Glasidhe, standing solidly behind Lumina, and Forsythe seated slightly behind her. I gave Forsythe a little nod and he acknowledged it with a smile.

I looked at Vell and found her staring across the table into the corner of the room. Following her gaze, I spied Arcana standing motionless in the shadows. The most elusive of Vell’s Three remained silent and unmoving, her eyes gleaming in the firelight. I couldn’t see much of her in the shadows. I glanced at Finnead.

“As you were saying, Lady Lumina?” Finnead prompted with courtly precision.

Lumina inclined her head. Vell kept staring at Arcana, a small crease appearing on her forehead, even as the Glasidhe queen began to speak.

“My people will gladly serve as scouts and messengers,” Lumina said. “There is a contingent still with the Unseelie Queen, that she may send word as her Court readies for their journey and leaves Darkhill.”

“Did our sister queen set a day of departure?” asked Titania.

Lumina turned to Forsythe.

“A fortnight after the crowning of the High Queen, my lady,” he answered.

I tried to do the math in my head. I’d been unconscious for seven days, and this was the third day after I’d awoken.

“They’ll be leaving in four days then,” said Vell, gaze still fixed on Arcana.

“Are they traveling the same route? The bridge over the Darinwel was destroyed,” I said.

“That won’t be a problem for Mab,” Vell replied unconcernedly. Finally she leaned back in her chair and looked over at Lumina. “How many messengers are with you now, and how many are with Queen Mab?”

Once again Forsythe answered. It seemed as though he’d become Lumina’s master-at-arms, the expert on all the pertinent numbers regarding her army. I suppressed a smile; it was good to see my old friends rising to such positions. “A dozen scouts with Queen Mab’s main contingent, and half a dozen more afield in pairs; with us here, we have two dozen proven scouts and twice that number of warriors who will serve in any capacity required, my lady.”

“Good,” Vell said, her voice brusque. “I will require a pair of scouts to depart today with a message for the Unseelie Queen.”

“Two of our swiftest scouts will be at your disposal, my lady,” Forsythe replied.

Vell didn’t reply, her gaze still fixed on Arcana. Queen Titania turned to Gawain, giving him a slight nod. Gawain and Finnead exchanged a look, Finnead’s hand gently squeezing my elbow before he released his hold and stood, reaching for the opposite end of the map that Gawain unfurled across the table.

The Seelie Vaelanmavar spread one long-fingered pale hand on the map. Not only his eyes but his skin, too, was unnaturally pale—paler than Finnead, paler than any of the Sidhe I’d seen during my time in Faeortalam. Titania’s Three had endured a terrible trial for their Queen, proving their loyalty in the most tangible of ways by sustaining her as she’d survived Malravenar’s captivity, and now they carried the marks of their time spent frozen under her enchantment.

“Queen Titania located her prison,” said Gawain. He placed one fingertip in the north, near the border between the Deadlands and the North proper, which was a swathe of wild mountains and snow that, while skillfully depicted on the map, was not nearly as detailed as the Sidhe lands. With his other hand, Gawain marked a small “x” on the chart in red ink without any flourish or ceremony. Titania watched without expression. Vell stared at Arcana. Flora leaned forward over the table to better view the map, steadying herself with a hand on my ear. “We have also plotted all the other attacks by Malravenar’s creatures, both on our Court and the Court of Night and Winter.”

I glanced at Finnead.

“Are you really so surprised that we are working together, Tess?” Finnead asked, his eyes drowning-deep as he caught my gaze. “This is why we traveled here. Or,” he corrected himself in deference to Vell, “it was the original intention of our journey.”

“I’m glad of it,” I said. I looked at the map and saw the crossing at the Darinwel marked in red, and another mark, closer to the Royal Wood, where we’d encountered the skin-wraiths in the forest. There was a larger scarlet symbol where the Glasidhe’s Three Trees had once stood; their ancestral home had been lost to the flames of war much the same as the Saemhradall and Brightvale.

“Malravenar began sending his forces farther afield, and in greater numbers than we had seen, at about the time that the Bearer passed through one of the Lesser Gates in Queen Mab’s lands,” continued Gawain.

“And Molly,” I said, unable to stop myself though it really wasn’t pertinent to the discussion of strategy. “Finnead brought my best friend Molly through as well.”

“The half-mortal whom Mab thought was the fulfillment of the prophecy,” Finnead explained.

“It said she would be the instrument by which the Iron Sword was found,” I said, “and I only came because of her, so it was mostly true, just not in the way Mab thought.”

“Tess, let’s keep the personal history out of our strategy sessions, shall we?” Vell looked at me with a flat golden gaze, her usual sarcasm carrying a bit more of a sting than usual. But on the bright side, she was looking at me and not Arcana; and it was the first time she’d acknowledged my presence since I entered the room. I wondered if she was angry about the incident with the dagger.

But I tried to follow Forsythe’s gallant example, smiling and replying, “Of course. I apologize, I haven’t been out much in a while.” I held up one bandaged hand and shrugged.

“Here, marked in blue, are the dragon sightings,” Gawain continued, tracing an arc that swept out from the Deadlands and into the Borderlands, the no-man’s land that the Sidhe had established when the poison from the Deadlands first began seeping into Faeortalam.

“Getting closer,” Flora murmured into my ear. She was right. The arcs of dragon sightings depicted the beast circling closer to the Sentinel Stones. I wondered if the power of the Stones would hold against such a monstrous creature.

The circlet gleamed against Vell’s dark hair. “The scouts will return soon, and we will go on a dragon hunt.” Her teeth caught the light as she smiled, wolf-like.

“Crown-sister, know that although you will be testing your warriors for your Court in the way of your people, the knights of my Court will stand ready as well,” Titania said gracefully.

“Let’s hope that the choosing of the vyldgard does not go so poorly that we need rescuing,” replied Vell with black humor.

“As the Lady wills,” agreed Ailin in a low voice, his inflection reverent.

“He refers to the First,” Flora whispered in my ear, sensing my confusion at the invocation. “The First Queen, the one above all who spilled her blood and broke her bone to give us the Three Queens.”

“Got it,” I whispered back. The Sword hummed a little in its sheath, as if finally awakening and finding the conversation interesting.

“After the dragon is dead, we will march into the Deadlands,” said Vell. “Perhaps even to the White City, where we believe the Enemy has set his throne.”

“To the Dark One’s stronghold? Is that wise, my lady, that we place ourselves so far into his lands?” Gawain asked with a slight bow of deference to Vell.

The sharp scent of snow and pine needles suddenly swirled over the table. “No, not to his stronghold.” Vell smiled her humorless smile again. “Though I think we’d still have a fighting chance, even walking into the jaws of the Dark Throne. What I have in mind is a bit more…interesting.”

Titania listened to Vell with quiet intensity while her Knights looked at the High Queen with their colorless eyes, waiting for her to elaborate. They knew how to handle women with crowns on their heads and power that stretched its roots down into the very bones of their land.

“What does Malravenar want?” Vell asked, spreading her hands on the table, glancing at Gawain and then Ailin.

The answer came from the shadows. “The Great Gate.” Arcana stepped into the half-light, a copper spark escaping from her lips with the words.

“Opening the Great Gate is his aim,” Finnead agreed, “but if we gather at the Gate, we are giving him exactly what he needs to break the Seal.”

“And that is exactly why he will come to us, or allow us to come to him—even though it is plain it is a trap,” said Vell.

“What’s to say his creatures of darkness won’t be sent out to do his bidding, just as they are now?” Ailin asked.

Vell made a dismissive gesture with one hand. “With the power of three Queens and all the host of warriors, we will destroy any force he sends against us.”

“What exactly does he need to break the Seal?” I asked.

“The blood of those who forged the Seal,” replied Titania.

The Sword thrummed on my back before I could even ask the question. “The blood of the two Queens and the Bearer,” I said anyway, just for clarity.

Vell rose from her chair, hands still spread on the tabletop. She wrested her gaze from Arcana again and raked the table with her fierce golden stare. “So what would you have us do, cower in our crumbling citadels until the creatures gnaw through the walls and devour us?” Her voice was no longer laced with sarcasm or dark humor—every word rang with a fiery intensity. “Would you allow him to tear us apart, one by one, taking the pieces he needs to break the wards on the Great Gate?” She swept the room with her eyes again, now resting on each person for a moment, as if by boring into them with her molten gaze she could set a spark in our souls. “I say we do not sob softly in the shadows while the ones we love are taken from us for his dark purposes.”

Her voice grew louder, and I felt us all caught up in the spiral of emotion. We were climbing a mountain, Vell as our guide, and when we reached the top we would see through her eyes. My pulse quickened. “I say we do not stand by and watch as our brethren fall—for if we do not choose to stand together, then we will all fall as the Shadow devours our world.” Her hands on the table were fists now. Somehow everyone was on their feet as well, Titania and Finnead and the Glasidhe, Arcana stepping forward into the light. “I say we unite, and we ride with banners high to the Great Gate, and we face the Lord of Shadows on the field of battle, on the day of our choosing, and we decide our own fate!”

Her voice rose into a powerful crescendo and I felt my own chest swelling with answering passion. My hands itched to hold a sword again, and I could almost see the gathered host of Sidhe warriors, banners flying, blades gleaming as they rose like a tide in battle against the forces of darkness.

The room fell silent but for the breathing of all those gathered—the same passion gleamed in the eyes of every Sidhe present, every warrior large and small. Even Arcana wore a strange smile.

“By all the powers that be,” said Gawain in a low voice, “we truly have a High Queen.” He bowed his pale head for a moment and then raised his eyes to Vell. “My lady, if you repeated those words to our warriors they would gladly ride out under your banner at this very moment.”

Titania gave Vell a warm, motherly smile. Vell seemed slightly dazed by the power of her own words. Then she blinked and nodded, rapping her fists on the table. “Well, then. You all know the general idea. We’ll work out the details after the dragon hunt.”

“You cannot kill him,” said Arcana suddenly, her flat voice beautiful but otherworldly in its coldness.

“Malravenar has a body just as all on this plane do. And if he has a body, we can kill it,” said Vell. She looked at Titania. A shadow passed over the Bright Queen’s face.

“He is not as other beings,” Titania said.

Arcana nodded once, the rest of her body perfectly still. Vell straightened, resting only her fingertips on the table now, her eyes trained once again on Arcana. “Tell us what you know.”

It was a command, Vell’s voice followed by a strange tightening in the room, a ripple of tension in the air between the High Queen and the ancient powerful creature bound to her in her sister’s body. Arcana’s face remained expressionless but she bowed slightly, hinging from the waist like a stiff puppet. “As you ask. Malravenar is not his true name.”

“Just as Arcana is not yours,” Vell said. “But go on.”

“We are not what we once were,” Arcana said, a wisp of smoke curling from the corner of her lips. “The worlds drift apart and we are cast into shadow. We do not drink the blood of mortals, we do not demand sacrifice as once we did in the powerful ancient years so long past.”

My skin prickled. The Sword’s power raised its head like a wolf scenting prey. I glanced at Vell. The air tightened, stretched taut as she stared at Arcana. Beside her, Finnead tensed; and around the table the gathered leaders of the Sidhe and Glasidhe watched silently and intently.

“No more riddles,” the High Queen said. “Speak plainly. What are you, and what connection do you have with the Dark One?”

“I have been known by many names,” said Arcana, her voice thicker now as though the words were being drawn unwillingly from her. “I am but a remnant, a shadow.”

“What are you?” Vell’s power rose up like a tide, towering over us. Finnead clenched his jaw—I sensed him holding the High Queen steady with his own taebramh, her anchor against the rising flood of her new power. Underneath Vell I felt Titania, a warm golden glow to contrast the icy power of the High Queen, calmly protecting her Three; and then still deeper there was Lumina, and the shining power she had in her own right as queen of the Glasidhe. I let the Caedbranr’s power and my own taebramh flow down into my war markings.

“I am but a remnant,” Arcana rasped in a strangled voice. Vell clenched her hands into fists again, her mouth pressed into a grim line, her eyes unblinking. Arcana shuddered, her movements convulsive, reminding me of a dying spider’s legs twitching. A thin line of black blood snaked from Arcana’s nose, lurid against her death-pale skin. Vell, too, trembled now, gritting her teeth. Though she could kill her Three with just a thought, apparently it took more effort to compel them to her will, especially a being as strong in her own right as Arcana.

The room grew hot with the power of the struggle, a metallic scent like the iron tang of blood emanating from Arcana, mixing with the pine and ice of Vell’s power. Then I felt a shift, and the snow-scented power became bright with the cold sunshine of a winter morning. I glanced at Titania. The Bright Queen tilted her head, a small smile on her beautiful face. I reached for my own power, but in that instant Arcana hissed, and the tension broke like a bone snapping. Arcana dropped her head, black blood dripping onto her chest. She raised her head and for the first time I saw something akin to emotion in her dead eyes, a spark that resembled anger.

“I am but a remnant,” Arcana repeated, “but I made both of you what you are.”

I frowned, then realized Arcana looked intently at both the Seelie Queen and the High Queen. Vell’s knuckles were white on the table. Titania’s face was as smooth as a marble carving, carefully devoid of expression, but her eyes watched Arcana with a burning intensity. Then Arcana turned her strange gaze to me, and I refused to look away as she added, “With the help of the child of Gwyneth, though she was but a vessel for another shard of what I once was.”

The power wearing the body of Vell’s sister turned her head slightly, shifting her focus again to the Queens at the table. I blinked and released the breath I’d been holding, and the Caedbranr’s taebramh shifted between my ribs, circling restlessly.

“I am but a shadow, as is he, but in this fading world that is more than enough,” Arcana said, raising her chin. “I bore the sacrifice of blood and bone. I did not choose to be a wearer of bodies, but I have endured, though once I might have wished to pass from this realm.”

The power inhabiting the young girl’s body turned its flat gaze to me. “When the mortal priestess baptized her daughter, it was time for me to test the scales.”

“How did you escape?” Titania asked, her voice smooth. “If he had recognized you, he would have destroyed you.”

“I have hidden for millennia,” said Arcana, her words dismissive even though her voice remained monotone. “And this is not the first act of this play. We are long enemies, the Dark Lord and I, though once we were not.” She smiled a terrible humorless smile, blood trickling over her lip and onto her teeth. “And I am but a remnant, as is he.”

I was trying to decipher this revelation. Titania, at least, seemed to have some grasp on Arcana’s meaning; I felt as though I was a step behind…until the Sword plucked an image from my memory, a still-frame from the vision that had engulfed me in the sirens’ lair beneath the Darinwel: Mab and Titania, kneeling before the First Queen, her hands raised over their shining heads in benediction. I bore the sacrifice of blood and bone. Now, patiently, the Sword showed me the Crown of Bones, red as mortal blood, pulsing like a fiery heart in my hands. And I saw something in that memory as the Sword showed it to me that had been blurred by pain and fear in the throne room of Brightvale: Arcana in the shadow of one of the great pillars, her eyes glowing with a fire that echoed the Crown of Bones, her hand raised and lips moving once again in a benediction as Vell was crowned in the whirling maelstrom.

“The First,” Flora whispered in awe into my ear as cold washed over me with the realization. “She was called the Morrigan, the Queen-over-all, worshipped as a goddess in Doendhtalam.”

I swallowed as my earlier question to Vell rang in my ears. A deity. Arcana was the remnant of a deity.

Chapter 8

“So you are the Morrigan,” Vell said.

“Merely a piece,” Arcana replied.

The High Queen narrowed her eyes. “If you are a remnant of the First Queen, why do you say that you came to test the scales? Would your loyalty not lie with those you crowned?”

Arcana tilted her head in an unnerving echo of Titania’s movement. “The play is long, and this is not the first act.”

Vell shook her head. “Stop using ridiculous metaphors,” she snapped. I saw Gawain raise his eyebrows and look at Ailin, who tilted his head slightly and lifted one shoulder in the barest suggestion of a shrug.

Arcana bowed from the waist again. “As you command. The destiny of this world—or any other—is not set. There have been worlds overrun by shadow. There have been worlds destroyed by hatred. And it is what happens.”

“You blessed us,” Titania said. “You bade us keep our Court how we would, and to rule the lands of Faeortalam.”

“It is wearisome to be all-powerful,” Arcana replied simply.

“You made the Seelie and Unseelie Queens because you were tired of having responsibility?” I said in disbelief.

“Perceptive as always, Lady Bearer,” Arcana said. “I am merely a remnant. I do not remember myself entirely. There were probably other reasons as well.”

Flora gave a little snort of derision, tickling my ear. The Sword thrummed a deep tone. I felt a tendril of its power reach out and touch Arcana. It wasn’t a harsh slap like the night Arcana had appeared in the clearing by the Seelie outriders’ camp; but it wasn’t gentle, either.

“Do not try to reprimand me, Old One,” the remnant of the Morrigan said. “I am beyond regret. I am merely a shard of a shattered mirror.”

“Her mind is not all there,” Flora whispered into my ear as I frowned at the Morrigan’s last words. “The centuries have made her…strange.”

“Wearing bodies would make anyone strange, I think,” I whispered back.

“I can hear you,” Vell said, leveling a sharp look at me, “and though the circumstances are indeed strange, the Morrigan deserves common courtesy at the very least.” My cheeks heated at the reprimand and Flora hid her face behind my ear. Vell’s mouth thinned again. “I still do not like that you wear my sister’s body, and my people have never worshipped the gods of other worlds or other people. But I thank you for your benediction and your sacrifice.”

Arcana accepted Vell’s words with a stiff nod. “I ask that the knowledge of my true form does not leave this room.” Her voice was becoming hoarse; it was the most I had ever heard Arcana speak. My mind touched briefly on the thought of vocal cords burned raw with the power of the being speaking through them.

“It shall not,” Vell said, and it was again a command. Titania inclined her head gracefully, and Lumina sank into a deferent, delicate curtsey. The High Queen and the Morrigan stared at each other for a long moment. “How do you know we cannot kill the Dark One?” Vell finally asked.

“He is as I am, or once was,” Arcana said. “You may send him beyond the veil for a time, but he will find a way back to this plane.” A chilling humorless smile stretched her blood-laced lips. “He has always been stubborn.”

“Lady,” Gawain said quietly to Titania, “this creature speaks with familiarity of the Dark One.”

Titania nodded regally but remained silent, her beautiful face impassive as she continued to listen. Gawain brought up a valid point, I thought; the Morrigan spoke as though she and Malravenar were old players at a very long game of chess. It was a very casual way to look at the fate of an entire world and all its creatures. Perhaps two worlds, I thought, because after opening the Great Gate Malravenar would surely set his sights on domination of the mortal realm.

“So what would you have us do, if we cannot kill him?” Vell demanded.

Arcana made a sound that I supposed was her laugh, a gurgling wheeze that sounded more like a death rattle than any sound of merriment. “I am not the all-answering oracle. I am not what I was.”

Vell gave a little growl and sat down, leaning back and laying her arms along the arms of the chair. She stared intently at Arcana, but her gaze was thoughtful; and the way she sat made the simple wooden seat look suddenly like a throne. Arcana stood stock-still for a moment more and then faded back into the shadows, though it was more difficult to ignore her now that I knew, at least in theory, what she was. The Caedbranr thrummed again in its sheath, nudging at me. I shifted my shoulders. I didn’t know what it expected me to do. My hands stung. I twisted them in my lap. Then I frowned. “Vell,” I said slowly. The High Queen glanced at me.

“Are you going to say something or just sit there scowling?” she asked, drumming her fingers against the chair in an impatient rhythm.

I couldn’t help but smile a little, but then I took a breath and said, “I might have an idea of what we need to do, if we can’t kill Malravenar.”

Vell made a little motion with her hand, inviting me to continue, her eyebrows raised.

“I’m not sure whether this is even possible—” I began, but Vell cut me off.

“Stop hedging, Tess, and spit it out. We’ll be the judges of whether it’s possible. That’s the purpose of a council. Or whatever this is.”

Finnead sat very still beside me and I realized suddenly he was having a hard time maintaining his serious demeanor when Vell’s sarcasm made such brazen appearances.

“If we can’t kill him, can we bind him into an object? Something that could be guarded?” I let the words spill across my lips without pausing to think too much.

“A prison,” said Ailin thoughtfully.

“Clever little mortal,” came Arcana’s disembodied low voice from the shadows.

“If part of the Morrigan was bound into the Crown of Bones, and if it’s known how to bind souls…couldn’t something be constructed out of that, to hold Malravenar without sending him beyond the veil to gather strength in the Grey Lands?” The Caedbranr hummed so low that it vibrated through my bones. It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling. I thought it was voicing its approval.

“It would solve the riddle of how to stop him without sending him beyond the veil,” said Gawain thoughtfully, looking to his Queen to gauge her reaction.

“I mean, maybe I shouldn’t have suggested it, because it seems like the system for keeping tabs on objects of great power and significance could use a little revision,” I suggested lightly. I ticked off the list on my fingers. “The Iron Sword, the Crown of Bones, a remnant of the Morrigan…”

“The Morrigan isn’t an object,” pointed out Vell, just as Arcana’s wheezing sound of amusement snaked its way across the room.

“Three,” said Titania in a clear bell-like tone. “There will be three pieces to this imprisoned soul, and one piece shall be kept at each Court.” She looked at Vell. “Guarded at the hearts of the three Courts, with separate wards as each Queen sees fit.”

“We will contribute guards and wards to each,” said Lumina gracefully. The Glasidhe accepted their separateness, not being counted among the Courts; I respected her all the more for offering her power nonetheless.

Vell leaned back in her chair, golden eyes narrowing in thought. “Four stones. Three for the Queens and one for the Bearer.” Titania inclined her head in acknowledgement of Vell’s revision, and the High Queen continued. “It’s a promising idea, but we’ll have to be completely sure that the soul-binding and breaking will work.”

“I do not think any plan can be completely assured,” replied the Seelie Queen, “but I will set my scholars and my mages to work while you hunt your dragon.”

“Ah, yes,” said Vell, her eyes alight at the mention of the hunt. “And speaking of the hunt, any word from our scouts?”

“Not yet,” answered Finnead, “but I think it would be reasonable to expect them back sometime after dawn tomorrow.”

“The sooner the better,” the High Queen said as she stood. The Knights at the table stood as well, a sign of respect for her power rather than deference to her femininity—but Vell still shook her head at them and said beneath her breath, “Silly antiquated courtesies.” Louder, she said, “The sooner the scouts return, the better. After these past days, I will revel in the cleansing of a good hunt and kill.” She smiled her wolf smile and prowled around the table as she left the room. Finnead followed her, but not before I felt his hand on my elbow again, giving me a quick touch of reassurance and comfort.

I found myself absurdly alarmed at the idea of being alone in the room with Arcana, so I waited and followed Titania through the door. Ailin and Gawain both gave me small bows as I passed. The little court of Glasidhe took flight, and I ducked as a magnificent red hawk swooped alarmingly close to my head. Flora laughed in my ear.

“Never fear,” she said gleefully, “tis only Forsythe on his loyal steed Gyre!”

“I just don’t like things flying down around my head,” I muttered defensively.

“There will be many steeds flying during the dragon hunt!” Flora said. “Perhaps the Wild Court will understand us a bit more than the Courts of Night and Day, once they have tasted the freedom of flight!”

“Or maybe they’ll learn that it’s much better to have your feet on the ground, especially if you’re not born with wings,” I pointed out.

Flora laughed again. “Ah, Tess-mortal, always so serious!”

I smiled. “I’ve fallen from increasingly higher heights since we embarked on this little journey, and I wasn’t particularly fond of the experience.”

“Falling and flying are completely different!”

“If you say so,” I said as we reached my room. I ducked again as Gyre dove through the doorway, a hands’-breadth above my head, and Flora giggled. I sighed.

“First wolves, now hawks?” Sage said skeptically from his chair by the fire, leather-bound book in his lap. “The Hall is turning into a regular menagerie.”

“When will you two not have to watch me to make sure I don’t die?” I replied.

Sage grinned. “That’s a tall order indeed, Lady Bearer. Please don’t repeat that to either of our illustrious Queens, or you might find yourself with two permanent shadows.”

I rolled my eyes at him and sat on the bed, sliding off my boots. “Two very restless permanent shadows, no doubt.”

Sage stretched languorously, book still in one hand. “I’m liable to become accustomed to sitting in chairs by warm fires, reading books.”

“You mean being lazy and becoming soft?” I retorted as I began to unwind the bandages around my hands.

“First you call me fat, then soft,” Sage said, surveying himself. He lifted one corner of his shirt to reveal defined muscles on his lithe frame. “I’m not quite sure your descriptions are accurate.” The firelight played on his tawny skin, sharpening the lines of division down his abdomen and the furrow of muscle just below each of his hipbones.

Flora hummed in appreciation. I heard a wicked giggle from somewhere up in the rafters of the room: Farin had obviously reclaimed her territory and was enjoying the view as much as her cousin.

I had to laugh. “Keep your shirt on, I’m just kidding.”

He grinned playfully at me. “I can certainly take off my shirt if you’d like, Lady Bearer.”

I rolled my eyes again. “If I want a mindless distraction, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

Sage laughed. “You certainly know how to make a man feel desired. Mindless distraction,” he repeated with a chuckle. Then he raised an eyebrow. “As opposed to a very mindful distraction?”

“Hush,” I muttered at him as my cheeks heated. Though you’re closer than you’ve ever been to taking what you want from both of them, a naughty voice in the corner of my mind pointed out with wicked glee. I took a deep breath and focused on making little sandwiches again out of the bread and cheese on my bedside table. Sage smiled and turned back to his book, while Flora gave a little giggle as she alighted on the table. I ignored them both, began to eat my food and waited for the blush to fade from my cheeks.

I ate and washed my face, and felt more than a little grateful for the softness of the bed and the runes for rest and restoration that flared into life as I drew the covers over me. I felt Flora’s slight weight on the pillow by my head. Tomorrow, I thought as I let my mind drift toward sleep, tomorrow I would rise early, and prepare a bag for the dragon-hunt…then perhaps I would feel the hilt of my sword in my hand again…I slid into sleep holding that thought close to me, taking comfort in the prospect of once more wielding a silver-flashing blade in my fire-baptized hands.

When I woke, the embers of the fire smoldered in the hearth, banked and tended, but the chair by the fire sat empty. Flora muttered sleepily as I sat up, her hair standing up in a pretty little shock of blue as she uncurled herself from my pillow like an awakening cat. Something had roused me from slumber, but I couldn’t remember what it was until I heard it again: the toll of a bell, bright and clear through the stones of the Hall. The bell beat a quick, steady rhythm. It was a summons, and I didn’t have to be told its purpose. Flora’s wings snapped to attention and quivered, her aura sparking with excitement. Farin dove down from the rafters, a miniature comet. Flora flew up to confer with her cousin as I slid from bed, rubbing the last vestige of sleep from my eyes.

A neatly folded pile of clothes waited for me at the foot of the bed, with a leather satchel beside them. I picked up the satchel first, measuring its weight before opening it and laying out the contents on the bed: a fine healer’s kit, instruments tucked into pouches on a leather roll, vials labeled in a neat, small hand and packets of different herbs, along with fastidiously rolled bandages. There was even a small thick book, well made and bound in leather. I flipped through the pages, finding both recipes for salves, ointment and tea, as well as more arcane knowledge that I didn’t recognize at first glance. I wrapped the book in its little oilskin cover and tucked it back into the satchel, reorganizing all the instruments to my liking before putting them away as well. The tolling of the bell did nothing to calm my suddenly shaking hands. I’d faced danger before, certainly, but this felt completely different—we were seeking the great beast, we were hunting the most dangerous creature in Faeortalam, and those who wished to serve the High Queen in her Wild Court would do so with laughter on their lips and defiance in their eyes.

As I quickly changed into my clothes for the hunt—simple shirt and breeches, and a soft quilted vest over my shirt—another voice joined the clarion call of the bell. I listened to the wolf’s long beautiful howl, and then a second wolf took up the call to hunt as the first voice faded, and after the second there was a third, creating an endless undulating song that had no pause. It was like when the wolves ran together through the shadows, weaving between each other, fluid and primal. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up as I listened for a moment, then shook myself and focused on my preparations. I wound a few lengths of clean linen around each of my hands; then I walked around the foot of my bed, toward where the Sword leaned against the headboard, and stopped short. The armor I’d worn into Brightvale gleamed, spread on a dark green cloak by the Sword; there were new gloves and a scabbard I didn’t recognize. I knelt, the wolves and the bell still singing in my ears as I picked up the black scabbard. It was a short yet elegant sword, made in the Seelie style, the hilt black leather worked with gold. Without fully grasping the hilt, I slid the blade from its sheath, and my breath caught in my throat. Names gleamed on the blade in beautiful script, running parallel to the sharp edge and flowing down toward the point. I heard footsteps but I continued to examine the blade, unable to take my eyes from its deadly beauty.

“It is as you asked,” said Calliea from behind me. “And it is worked with forge-magic, so you need only to tell it the names of the fallen that you wish to add.”

I felt grateful for this gift, made so beautifully and so soon after I’d asked; then I shivered at the prospect of whispering the names of the dead to this blade after every battle. But I had asked, and I would honor it. I nodded. “It’s magnificent.”

The Caedbranr hummed reprovingly. I narrowed my eyes at its battered old sheath. “Hush. There’s no need to be jealous. You’re part of a prophecy and a legend, so I’d think that’s quite enough.”

“I thought I’d heard you talking to that blade before,” remarked Calliea.

I shrugged and said, “Sometimes it even talks back.” The Sword hummed its sound of amusement. I slid the new blade back into its gleaming black sheath and stood, facing Calliea. She wore raiment much the same as mine, with her golden whip coiled at her waist and her body bristling with daggers of all sizes. Her hair was woven in complicated braids and there was a thick cobalt line hand-painted down the very center of her heart-shaped face, down the bridge of her nose and over her lips and chin. She’d eschewed coloring her hair, but there were several red hawk-feathers bound into her braids and a spine of silver rings ran up one of her ears. I smiled a little as I recognized the red feathers from Gyre. Calliea must have made friends with Forsythe while I was asleep.

“Come,” she said, striding forward, “we must be swift.”

“Is anyone else wearing armor?” I asked. I realized too late that my question made me sound like a child worried about what the other kids would be wearing to school.

“Finnead and Gray,” replied Calliea, “and all of the Valkyrie. Maybe half of the ground riders.”

“The Valkyrie?”

“Didn’t you learn any of your mythology?” Calliea asked as she helped fasten my breastplate. “Too tight?”

I shook my head to both her questions.

“Well I’ll leave you to look it up on your own, we haven’t the time to talk. But the Valkyrie is the name of Gray’s winged force. There.” Calliea stepped back. I settled the strap of the Sword over my shoulder, and buckled my new plain blade about my waist, relishing the feel of a blade against my hip again. In the tops of my boots went two silver daggers, and only then did I grab my healer’s satchel and turn to face Calliea.

“We’re preparing in the Great Hall,” she said shortly, her flashing eyes betraying her excitement. Without waiting for my reply, she turned on her heel and strode briskly from the room. I followed, my heart beating like a drum in my ears, counter to the tolling of the bells and the howling of the wolves calling the Wild Court to the hunt.

Chapter 9

I stretched my legs to keep up with Calliea’s long stride as she walked through the corridors toward the Great Hall. She held her body differently, now that the call to the hunt lingered in the air: some of the softness about her had dispersed, and she was every inch the warrior preparing for battle. Flora and Farin wove a neon trail above us, and then Forsythe joined on his red hawk. As we turned a corner and the great double doors of the Hall came into view, Forin joined his kin. I didn’t notice which one of them started it, but a Glasidhe war-hymn soon accompanied us, high bright voices twining in a melody as mournful and fierce as the wolves’ howls.

“Nehalim is already prepared,” Calliea said to me as I drew abreast of her. She grinned fiercely. “Seems a waste for a healer to be riding such a great battle steed, but who says you are to be just a healer, eh?”

“Well, the High Queen, for one,” I answered as Calliea pushed open one of the sides of the great doors and we entered the Hall.

A maelstrom of purposeful sound enveloped me; I felt like I’d been underwater and had just broken the surface into the raw sounds of the bright air. It was difficult to tell how many Seelie warriors had put forth their names for the chance to be a part of this new young Court, but after a quick sweep of the Hall with my eyes, I estimated there were at least a hundred Seelie riders preparing for the dragon hunt. I grinned involuntarily as I took in the vibrantly colored hair, braided and bound in strips of leather, ornamented with feathers and wrought-silver ornaments; every beautiful Sidhe face bore war-paint, some in intricate designs that must have taken hours to apply, others with handprints across their faces that made me think of joyous abandon and newfound freedom. They hefted the thick spears and rolled the thick rope net with its weights into a compact cylinder that must have weighed more than all of them put together; but a handful of them, on the command of a tall Seelie warrior with white-gold hair dyed scarlet, hefted the net onto their shoulders in one smooth motion and carried it from the Hall.

“You don’t have to escort me, you know,” I said to Calliea with a smile. “I can practically feel you vibrating with excitement.”

She looked at me in disdain. “I don’t vibrate.”

“It’s a turn of phrase,” I said, raising my eyebrows. “I thought you Seelie were supposed to be a little more well versed in mortal sayings.”

Calliea gave a shrug, her wrinkled nose interrupting the bold cobalt line. “We were forbidden from venturing into the mortal world just the same as our brethren in the Winter Court.” She brushed an invisible speck of dust from her supple leather gauntlets, and then strode over to one of the long tables. I trailed behind her, content with watching the purposeful preparations. When I turned back to Calliea, she said, “Help me with the buckles?”

In surprise, I stepped forward to fasten the buckles of her breastplate. “I thought you said it was mostly the Valkyrie wearing armor.”

Calliea turned and grinned at me. “I did.” Her breastplate shone a bright robin’s-egg blue, vivid but somehow not garish. It made her beauty all the fiercer. “I will be riding with my cousin in the Valkyrie ranks.”

On impulse I threw my arms around Calliea’s neck. She froze at my impromptu display of affection, remaining perfectly still until I drew away. I cleared my throat in embarrassment. “Hugging usually isn’t my thing but….you’ve helped me a lot, since I’ve arrived here. So thank you. And please don’t get yourself killed.”

“If I died I would miss all the excitement,” replied Calliea, raising one eyebrow, “and that would be no fun at all.”

“No fun at all indeed,” I said. Then I straightened, looking up at the cathedral ceiling. Dozens of Glasidhe flew about the great beams, and I saw with a smile that the small warriors had set up their encampment in perhaps the most private quarters in the entire Hall. The bells had stopped ringing, and the wolves’ howls had faded into echoes. The bustle and industrious hum of preparation slowly quieted. I turned, following Calliea’s suddenly focused attention. Vell stood in front of the great doors, flanked by her Three, resplendent in a scarlet breastplate, red as blood soaking into snow, the image of a wolf worked in silver and white upon her chest. A red cloak swept back behind her, edged in the silvery mottled fur of some Northern creature of snow and pinned at the throat with a gleaming ruby. Her dark hair was bound up in what seemed to my eyes like hundreds of braids, a more complex echo of her favored style, the braids twisted and gathered in a fierce ridge down the center of her head. The ends of her braids were decorated with carved ivory beads, the contrast stark against her raven locks. Below her woven hair sat her crown, gleaming golden across her forehead and intensifying the hue of her gaze. The rest of her raiment was black: shirt, gauntlets, breeches, and supple knee-high boots. She looked every bit the part of the High Queen, and my chest swelled with sisterly pride.

The High Queen’s Three all wore much the same uniform: silver breastplates with a wolf worked in scarlet upon their chests, dark grey cloaks, shirts and breeches, and black gauntlets and boots. I wondered distractedly how they’d convinced Arcana to don the different clothes. Arcana’s dark hair was braided in a simpler style, but I was still impressed; it was like seeing a snake wrapped about a beautiful girl’s shoulders, docile for the moment but still flicking its tongue to taste the air. The Three also wore the same face-paint: a thick line across their faces from temple to temple, the paint such a dark red that it looked almost black. Their eyes glittered from within the dark swath of paint, drowning-blue and copper-sparked and laughing green, giving them a fierce and mysterious look. Then I saw that Finnead and Gray carried circular shields, distinct from the more rectangular shields favored by the Seelie warriors. They handled the shields easily on their arms; and as Vell strode forward with her Three behind her, I saw that the shields bore the image of a white wolf, laid into the metal with the same ivory substance out of which the beads Vell’s hair were carved. Then I remembered how I’d wondered what use the Northerners found for the bones of their slain enemies. But rather than shiver I felt a fierce satisfaction that the bones of Malravenar’s beastly creatures had been made into the shield crests for the High Queen’s blood-blessed warriors, and carved ornaments for the head of the High Queen. It showed the rest of those that would be a part of the Wild Court that monsters, too, could die, and their High Queen had killed them, and her Three wore the bones on their shields as proof.

The High Queen and her Three halted, all four of them at once. Beryk materialized out of the shadows. The great sable wolf glided across the Hall and pressed his head under the Wild Queen’s hand. He turned his head and sniffed at Gray’s shield, then showed his teeth to it as he smelled the bones of his enemies. Gray’s eyes brightened in amusement. Vell ran her fingers through the black wolf’s fur. She raised her chin.

“Now we go to hunt the most dangerous creature that has roamed our world in our lifetimes,” she said, and though it didn’t seem to me like she raised her voice, her words carried into the farthest corners of the Hall. The Sidhe had arranged themselves in two long ranks, one in front of each table, moving without taking their transfixed gazes from the Queen they wished to serve. “But even more than that, you go to hunt to prove yourselves, to earn your place at the Wild Court.” Beryk showed his long white teeth. “Though you are not all ulfdrengr, I am, and my Court shall be as a pack, with each warrior earning their place at the hunt. For a wolf who does not hunt has no place in the pack, and a wolf who shies from danger has no place in the hunt.” Her golden eyes roamed the Hall, fierce behind her words. “Do not endanger yourselves needlessly, but do not turn away from danger. I will brook no cowards in the Wild Court.” Her words settled into the tight silence; it was as though the young Seelie warriors were dying of thirst, and her voice was water. They drank it in and leaned forward, eager for more. “My Three will be your Captains, and they have chosen their seconds from among you.” Vell paused, took a breath, her golden eyes shining as she showed her teeth. Beryk shifted under her hand, sensing her excitement. “Now is the time of broken blades and spilling blood.” Her voice rose. “Now is the time of broken bones and spilling flames!”

I didn’t understand her words but I felt myself caught up in the tide of fervor sweeping the Hall, rising with the High Queen’s voice.

“Now is the time of broken breath and spilling sweat and the sweet taste of an enemy’s death!”

Finnead and Gray began to beat their shields with closed fists, and the Seelie warriors followed, a drumbeat of war-fervor counter to the pounding of my heart in my ears. Vell strode down the center of the Great Hall, drawing the rest of us after her. I walked beside Calliea, whose gaze was fixed on the gleam of Vell’s crown ahead of us. We flowed down the Great Hall like a tide, the Seelie warriors now beating on their shields as well; I saw Kianryk weave his way down the far side of the Hall. When he reached the great doors to the courtyard, the great tawny wolf raised his head and howled. I jumped in surprise as Calliea threw back her head and howled in answer, her voice bright and high and eerily close to the wolf-song. Suddenly it sounded as if there were a whole pack of wolves in the Hall, howls rising above the beating of the shields as we spilled out of the doors and down the steps, and I saw Vell laughing fiercely as she leapt up onto a beautiful faehal, its coat a dappled reddish roan. Scores of faehal awaited their riders in the massive inner courtyard, their coats gleaming in the high noon sun, already saddled and provisioned as if by the working of some invisible servants. Beryk danced about the faehal’s hooves, then stood before Vell’s mount in view of all the assembled warriors and gave a great deep-throated howl that swallowed all the other sounds. In the shuddering silence that followed, Vell raised one gauntleted fist, and shouted, “Skynd vid veidr!”

Finnead stalked before the High Queen’s mount, translating her words, a fierce stranger. “Now we go to the hunt!”

Vell’s face was alight with fierce joy, the words of her native language knifing through the air like arrows. “Skynd vid dyr storr!”

“Now we go to the great beast!” Finnead shouted, his face almost unrecognizable to me, his voice strong and raw with an echo of the blood-thirst brightening his eyes, spilling over into him from the queen to whom he was now bound.

“Skynd vid drahg!” It felt as though we all understood her, the tide of battle-joy still rising, anticipation suffusing the very air we breathed.

“Now we go to the kill!”

“Fyldgra dreki a hylgrind!” Vell’s voice rang against the walls, against the shields of all the assembled warriors.

“We will track the dragon to the very gates of death!” Gray yelled, her green eyes alight as she circled her Queen’s mount opposite Finnead, one bright head and one dark, like the sun and the moon about the earth.

“Brejda sverd eda hefja skjoldr!”

“Draw your swords and raise your shields!” roared Luca, appearing suddenly from the mass of waiting faehal, raising his own round shield, his golden hair braided tight against his head, runes painted down his neck, looking more rugged and alive than I’d ever seen him. He wore two broad swords in plain black scabbards, one on each side, and bore a massive axe strapped to his back. An answering roar swelled from the ranks of warriors, raised blades flashing in the sun. The auras of hovering Glasidhe sparked and crackled with energy above our heads.

“Vedga manlig eda araed!”

“Fight with valor and courage!” shouted Finnead.

“Sja dagr syna myrkyr inn daga gyr!” Vell held up her hand before one of her warriors translated. We collectively held our breath, every gaze fixed on the snow-luminous face of the vyldretning, the golden crown shining on her brow. Each word punched through the air of the courtyard, slicing through our bated breath. “For this day, we show the darkness that the dawn approaches!”

As if from one throat a battle cry erupted from the fierce painted Sidhe, and we surged forward toward the faehal. The wolves howled. Nehalim appeared in front of me, his dark liquid eyes gazing at me with patient intelligence. All around me the Sidhe warriors leapt onto their mounts, strapping the huge dragon-spears to their saddles, checking girths and reins and sliding hands along their mounts’ supple necks, whispering words in the Sidhe tongue to the faehal’s swiveling delicate ears. Among the faehal, I sighted a few with wings lashed to the traveling packs across the back of their saddles, the delicate bespelled frames laid one on top of the other and wrapped carefully in oilskin.

A flash of pain in my hands cut through the rush of adrenaline as I gripped the edge of my light saddle, and I grimaced, measuring the pain of that simple grip against the fact that I hadn’t even pulled myself onto Nehalim’s back. I hesitated, glancing over to where Vell sat easily on her mount, flanked by Finnead and Gray. I saw Finnead say something to Gray, eyes glinting from within the darkness of his war paint, and Gray laughed, her teeth white and fierce. I suddenly felt very small and stupid, not even able to mount my own faehal, standing next to my magnificent steed wishing like a silly girl that Finnead would glance my way. Then my cheeks burned. Perhaps it was better that he didn’t see my weakness. I flexed my hands, bit my lip at the sharp twinge, and pushed down the worry that I would reopen the wounds in the center of my palms.

“Here,” said a voice in my ear, low but still audible above the exultant sounds of the Wild Court preparing for the hunt. I turned my head, startled out of my thoughts, and found Luca very close, his body almost touching mine in the joyful chaotic crush of the courtyard as riders jostled for position and called war cries to each other. Out of the corner of my eye I saw that he had his hands laced together, ready to boost me onto Nehalim. I tilted my head back, acutely aware of his impressive height. My eyes traveled over the handsome ruggedness of his face, his full lips all the more sensual for the hard line of his jaw and the glint of blonde stubble on his skin.

“Who braided your hair?” I blurted. I wanted to cover my face with my hands, but my hands hurt. The filter between my mind and my mouth apparently malfunctioned when Luca was this close, probably because of the electric current jumping between us.

But Luca shrugged and said, “One of the women, I do not remember which one. Would you like to braid my hair before the next hunt, Tess?” His ice-blue eyes glinted.

“I can’t braid like that,” I said dumbly. I swallowed and took a deep breath. Filter on, filter on…I’d been able to function perfectly normally around Luca before this moment, hadn’t I? Perhaps you didn’t like him quite so much then as you do now, said the little voice that hid in the shadows of my mind.

“The only way you will learn is by practicing,” countered Luca. “So I think that would be a very good skill for you to have.”

I had to smile. “You’re conscripting me to be your hair-braider, is that what’s happening?”

He grinned. “Indeed, I like the idea of your fingers running through my hair.”

My cheeks heated even as I tried to smile to cover the warmth rising in my body. “What was it you came over here to do, exactly?”

Luca offered his hands again. “Even the fiercest of shield-maidens are allowed to accept a bit of help when they have healing wounds.”

I opened my mouth to say that I was just fine, I’d manage on my own, but his earnestness stopped me. Luca didn’t offer his help out of condescension or some misplaced idea that women didn’t belong in the hunt; he saw me as a fellow warrior who could use his strength for a moment, and he freely offered it. I nodded and placed my foot in his hands. He boosted me onto Nehalim’s back without even a breath of effort. He mounted his own faehal beside Nehalim and I could feel him watching me as I gathered the reins. I knew that Nehalim would carry me safely whether I held the reins or not; but all the same I gripped them carefully, managing to keep the pain to a dull twinge. Almost without thought, I drew twin sparks of taebramh from the well behind my breastbone and sent them down my arms, soothing my aching hands. I checked that my plain blade laid comfortably against my leg—I’d normally strap it to the saddle, but I didn’t want to deal with the buckles, and I’d ridden before with my sword at my hip.

Nehalim raised his head and snorted as Kianryk wove between the two mounts. I glimpsed silver Rialla slip out the gate of the courtyard with Beryk, and Vell touched her heels to her mount’s sides, following the wolves, Gray and Finnead on either side of her. I glanced at Luca as we began moving forward, our faehal following their kin of their own accord. Luca was already looking at me, and he held my eyes with his own gaze for a long moment, anticipation suffusing his face. He grinned, and I grinned in reply, and we urged our faehal to a quicker pace as we passed through the gate and flowed out of the Hall of the Outer Guard in the long line of warriors riding out to hunt Malravenar’s greatest, darkest beast.

Chapter 10

Our shadows raced alongside us, skimming over the ground, and the contingent of Glasidhe warriors raced above us, small comets shooting through the bright blue of the noon sky. We rode through the silvery trees of the fallow orchard, the scent of ripened fruit hanging sweet in the air. I remembered walking through this orchard when we’d first arrived at the Hall of the Outer Guard, Calliea leading us through the trees in the night, Tristan drawing a rune on the beautiful white gate of the Hall. I glanced at Luca and he gave me a slight nod; somehow I knew that the memory of our arrival, sweat-stained and battle-worn, sat at the front of his mind as well. My hands stung as a raw wave of sorrow flashed through me—Murtagh had followed us through this orchard, through that gate; and perhaps there would be those among us now who would never see these trees again. But I took a breath of the sweet-scented air and reminded myself that Murtagh gave his life to fight against the very darkness we rode out to kill. Now in the bright shadow-dappled light, our faehal cantered down the aisles of the orchard and the Glasidhe wove through the branches of the trees at dizzying speeds. So much was different and yet the trees still stood in the same straight rows that had emerged ghost-like from the darkness during that first night.

The Sentinel Stones flared ahead of us as Vell passed, sparks rippling through the air between the great obelisks, flashing brightly for the High Queen, and fading with each passing rider. I took a deep breath and tried not to flinch at the strange feel of hands gliding over my skin as Nehalim carried me past the Stones. The Sidhe warriors hoping to return as a part of the vyldgard rode in a pack, weaving their mounts about each other, eyes bright with anticipation. We settled into a traveling pace, quick but sustainable for both rider and mount. I saw Calliea racing her faehal against a Seelie warrior with blue-dyed braids, both of them crouching skillfully on the backs of their fleet mounts and riding with wild abandon, threading through the loose formation, the tall grasses bending and parting from the wind of their passing. Now and again a ripple sketched the movement of one of the wolves, bounding about the edges of the main body of riders. A sense of electric excitement hovered over the company, a sort of collective feeling that swept over us all, and I looked at Luca with raised eyebrows. Nehalim closed the distance between us without even a twitch of the reins, even as I drew in a breath to speak.

“It’s strange,” I said above the pounding of hooves and the occasional jubilant war cry. “I’ve thought of the Sidhe as so…proper, ever since I’ve been in Faeortalam!”

Luca grinned. “Perhaps all they needed was an excuse to let their inner wildness show.”

“They came to you, didn’t they, asking about how to dress, and the customs of your people,” I said.

“Yes. Chael was not very approachable, and the vyldretning had other responsibilities,” he replied. “It is good to see war paint again. It is not the same, but it is a way to honor our dead.”

I winced. Luca certainly didn’t mince words—there was no euphemism, no phrase dancing around the hard truth that the ulfdrengr were a people exterminated by the evil seeking to rule the Fae world. “Are there any more who might have survived?”

Luca flexed his scarred hand. “I don’t think so. I survived because…” He shrugged. “I was given a strong body by the gods. But my mind was weak.” His eyes darkened and his faehal tossed its head as his grip on the reins tightened. “They recognized that. My body survived all their tortures, but they broke my mind.”

“I didn’t mean to dredge up the memories,” I said, pushing down my own memory of Luca as I’d first seen him, scarred and emaciated, the cursed dagger bound cruelly to his hand, its hold on his mind painful yet not absolute.

“It is the truth of what happened, and no amount of regret can change it,” he replied with that bold honesty.

“You kept fighting it,” I reminded him. “I don’t know whether you remember, but when you first attacked us, you told me to kill you.”

A humorless smile turned up one side of his mouth. “I should have done it myself, but…” He shook his head. “I hoped Kianryk was still alive…so to kill myself would have been to kill him.”

“But you still told me to do it.”

He nodded. “Yes. I would’ve been able to reunite with Kianryk in the great halls of the gods, knowing it was not by my hand that he died.”

“I’m glad I didn’t kill you,” I said. “I’m glad that Vell has other ulfdrengr to help her build her Court.”

“It will still be a challenge, I think, to create something new from what once was, and those who wish to be different than what they are now,” Luca said. He smiled. “Is that the only reason you are glad you didn’t kill me?”

“Well, now I have new employment as your hair braider,” I pointed out, “and that’s a great opportunity I would’ve never had otherwise.”

Luca laughed and I grinned. The Sword’s low hum vibrated along my spine, comforting in its familiarity.

“I’m going to add that to my official titles,” I continued, encouraged by the sound of Luca’s laugh. “Tess O’Connor, Bearer of the Iron Sword, Descendant of Gwyneth, Defender of the Fae and Braider of Ulfdrengr Hair.” I grimaced. “That sounds a bit ridiculous, doesn’t it?”

“Marked by the White Wolf and Painter of Battle Runes,” suggested Luca. He raised one eyebrow. “I’ll add to your responsibilities and you can have a more dignified title.”

“Painter of Battle Runes,” I mused, letting my burgeoning smile play on my lips. For once I would not be embarrassed about my attraction to Luca. He was my friend, a battle-tested warrior who had fought beside me, and we were riding out on a hunt again. His easy forthright manner made our attraction seem as natural as the wind sweeping over the rolling hills and the brilliant blue of the sky overhead. My attraction to Finnead seemed tangled and complex in comparison, but the brightly burning desire that the dark-haired Knight inspired within me seemed to make me forget my misgivings whenever he was near.

“I will have to teach you runes as well,” said Luca.

“Naturally,” I agreed with a smile.

“Battle runes and braiding. It will be a rigorous course of study,” he continued, eyes glimmering in humor.

“I’ll do my best to be a good student,” I replied. He chuckled and we both leaned back in our saddles, letting the sound of thundering hooves fill the air about us.

We rode through the deepening gold of the afternoon, our fleet mounts’ long strides devouring the rolling hills. A part of me felt more at ease, now that I was on the back of a faehal, riding once more toward the unknown. As the shadows deepened about us, Farin swooped down from the formation of Glasidhe flying above the main body of riders. She landed on my shoulder in her customary position, but I could feel the difference in the weight of her slight form: she carried daggers and a quiver of arrows at her hip, and wore her own perfect miniature breastplate, shining like a coin in the late afternoon light. After she steadied herself with a hand on the curve of my ear, she said, “The Sidhe scouts will probably meet us tonight. They have been riding hard toward the Queen. Merrick has been busy with his maps, guiding them back from seeking a dragon!”

“Merrick?” I said in slight surprise. Now that I thought of it, I hadn’t seen our intrepid navigator since I’d awakened in the Hall.

“Of course. He is the best navigator and so naturally the High Queen wished the best to find this dragon for her.” She patted my ear. “Though the scouts are on swift steeds and read their maps well, we can fly faster, when it is called for!” I heard rather than saw her fierce grin.

“I had no doubt,” I said seriously. “The Courts wouldn’t ask your service as scouts and messengers if you were not swift.”

“Swift and dangerous!” Farin said, brandishing one of her daggers for emphasis.

“Indeed,” I agreed. I smiled. “I’m glad you’re with us, Farin.”

“I could not pass up the chance to take part in a dragon hunt!” the intrepid Glasidhe warrior replied, as though this was a perfectly logical conclusion and needed no further explanation.

“Who were the Glasidhe scouts? Are they still with us?”

“Glira was one,” said Farin. “Though she does not like the finer arts of killing beasts, so she stays with Lady Lumina and rests her wings.”

“I met Glira in my world, before all this,” I said musingly. “She has a particular fondness for chocolate.”

Farin snorted. “Greedy little glutton, of course she does. How she is so fast when she eats as she does, I do not know.”

“Farin,” I said in mock reproach. “I thought you always spoke courteously of your kin.”

Farin giggled into my ear. “She is my distant kin and therefore I am allowed to speak most discourteously of her if I wish!”

I laughed. “Oh, so that’s how it works, does it?” I glanced up at the glimmering formation of Glasidhe warriors, but to my disappointment I didn’t see a red hawk flying among them. “Forsythe isn’t with us. Did Flora come?”

“She stays with her brother and the queen, except when given orders otherwise,” Farin said, settling herself on the ledge of my collarbone and dangling her feet against my breastplate. She leaned back on her hands, flicking her wings idly.

“It sounds as though Forsythe’s injury changed them both,” I murmured.

“He very nearly died, and was crippled for a long while, from what I am told.”

“And Wisp?”

“He is the most skilled Walker among us. Lumina desired him to remain with her.”

Farin tilted her little heart-shaped face up toward me, her aura dim enough for me to make out her pretty features, fragile and fierce both at once. Her wings caught the burnished gold light, breaking it into a thousand rainbow fragments that glimmered and sparked as she moved. The Glasidhe’s beauty struck me anew; I remembered the first time I’d seen Wisp as he darted through a rip in the screen of a darkened window, his small form illuminating the upper reaches of a little cabin in the Texas hills. Now I looked at Farin with fresh eyes, wondering again at her delicate dragonfly wings, her luminous skin and perfect lithe limbs and shock of downy hair, blue as a robin’s egg.

She tilted her head. “Why do you stare at me so, Tess?”

I chuckled. “Sorry. There’s just a lot of time to think as we’re traveling. I’m remembering a lot of different things, and I just realized again how beautiful you are.”

Farin’s aura darkened with a blush and she ducked her head, much to my surprise: the indomitable Farin, slayer of gore-crows and my ever-valiant traveling companion, embarrassed by a compliment.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable,” I said. “Sometimes I forget that this isn’t my world, and when I remember, it makes me look at everything as though I’m seeing it for the first time again.”

Farin kicked her legs and fluttered her wings. “I am not often told I am beautiful.” Her blush faded and she grinned up at me with her little pointed teeth. “I suppose it is because I am so fierce.”

I smiled. “I’d agree with that assessment entirely, Farin.”

She leaned back on her hands again, once more at ease, but from her grin I could tell that she was pleased that someone had looked beyond her warrior exterior and seen her beauty, even if that someone was merely a mortal drawn into Faeortalam by the tangled strings of fate. Farin smiled for the better part of an hour, and that was entirely worth making her blush. She hummed portions of Glasidhe songs in her clear high voice as we rode on in the deepening dusk, her aura becoming more defined as darkness fell. I was beginning to think that we were going to ride through the night—and I was grudgingly preparing myself to forego the sleep that my body craved—but then the riders ahead of us slowed, and stopped. The faehal tossed their heads and the rising moon shone on the silver of our breastplates as we dismounted. I realized that Luca had ridden beside me all day, and now as we dismounted he was still within arm’s reach. I didn’t know whether to be flattered or offended that he thought I needed a bodyguard. I settled for simply taking pleasure in his company, appreciating his silent presence.

Vell was not concerned about secrecy, and so within short order there were several blazing fires crackling among the low rolling hills, their smoke white against the dark sky. I quickly unsaddled Nehalim, sending him off to graze with a pat on the neck and a quick word of thanks. He flicked his long white tail and joined the other faehal gathering at the crest of a little ridge, their forms silhouetted against the sky. I settled down in the long grass a short distance away from one of the great fires. It blazed so hotly that I could still feel its warmth radiating through the still night. I arranged my plain blade, my satchel and my supply pack in a little pile, spreading out my blanket across the fragrant grass. I remained standing for a while longer, grateful to stretch my legs after the long hours of riding, massaging my sore hands as I watched the other warriors moving in the shadows. Farin remained nestled against the curve of my neck.

The camp took on the air of a festival, and I wondered if any of Malravenar’s lesser creatures were lurking in the shadows, tasting the smoke of our fire and yearning to taste the warmth of our blood. Then I saw that here and there among the darkness silent sentinel figures stood, watching the darkness beyond the golden light of the fires, allaying my fear of being taken by surprise at least.

Those Seelie who were not on watch made short order of roasting meat and singing songs, melodies weaving through the sparks and smoke. One of the warriors began dancing about one of the fires, fierce and joyful, and I watched in amazement—I had never seen the Sidhe act with such abandon. Eyes and teeth flashed, painted faces gleamed. The song sounded ferocious, and the dancers were beautiful in their violent movements. Someone began beating time on their shield, making the wood and metal boom as loud as any drum.

“They are free,” whispered Farin into my ear. “Those who wish to join the vyldgard, they have had a thirst in their soul their entire lives. Perhaps they never put a name to it. But now they know, and they are set free to be wild.”

“What if they don’t become a part of the vyldgard?” I asked quietly as more Sidhe joined in the dance about the fire, their lithe strong forms silhouetted sharply against the flickering flames.

“Those who are truly wild, those who are answering a calling only they can hear…they will not fail,” said Farin confidently. “It is their fate, just as it was yours to bear the great weapon against the darkness.” Her small hand stroked the tender skin of my neck.

“Prophecies are slippery things,” I said quietly in agreement.

Kianryk appeared, ghosting out of the shadows beyond the firelight, his silence and grace unnerving for such a huge beast. He turned his great head and gazed at me with his ice-blue eyes. Farin trilled a greeting in the Glasidhe tongue, and the tawny wolf grinned, tongue lolling over his gleaming teeth as he trotted over to a space about an arm’s length beyond the edge of my blanket. He pawed at the ground, inspected the grass, then turned a circle and settled onto his belly, his back to the fire, intelligent eyes scanning the darkness beyond the camp. Farin patted my ear and flew over to the big wolf; within moments she had one of Kianryk’s massive front paws turned over, inspecting the black pads meticulously and chattering in her high bright voice. Kianryk watched her with eyes half-lidded in lupine pleasure, but his ears still swiveled alertly at the sounds drifting through the night air.

“Mind if we join you?” Luca asked, his own saddle and weaponry slung easily over one shoulder, held in place with one hand; in the other hand he held out a bowl that gave off savory steam.

“Well, it looks as though Kianryk is already settled, so I suppose that means you can join as well,” I replied with a smile.

He dropped his saddle and packs with a grunt of effort. “Good. That was getting heavy.”

I shook my head. “You could carry me for a whole day and not tire.”

“I only carry you when you’ve been knocked unconscious from one heroic escapade or another,” Luca clarified. “Here, hold this.”

I obediently took the large wooden bowl from his hand, breathing in the scent of roasted meat and vegetables. Luca efficiently unrolled his blanket and organized his packs. We both settled cross-legged on our blankets, backs to the fire. He produced two carved wooden spoons and handed one to me.

“This looks more like a ladle!” I said, holding up the huge utensil to the light.

Luca leaned over and plucked the spoon from my grip. “If you’re going to criticize my utensils, you can eat with your hands like a savage.” He raised his eyebrows at me in mock reproach. “I carved these myself.”

I smiled. “Well, that’s entirely different then.” I reached for my stolen spoon and Luca drew it back, just out of my reach, forcing me to lean almost entirely across his body. He deftly caught the bowl as I lost my balance, setting it swiftly to one side without even sparing it a glance; and I put my hand down on his thigh, just above his knee, to catch myself. I found myself almost laid across his lap, my torso twisted as I’d reached for the spoon. Luca’s eyes shone luminous in the shadows as he gazed down at me, a small smile playing on his lips, something deeper than mere amusement in his expression. My cheeks heated but I didn’t draw away. I felt the warmth of his breath brush across my cheeks; my hand ached on his thigh from the pressure of my weight, but I didn’t want to move. The fire backlit his broad shoulders and played along the golden strands of his braids, deepening the contrast of the dark painted runes against his pale skin. He didn’t move, watching me with that strangely satisfied yet hungry look in his eyes. I realized suddenly that Luca was the patient one. Luca desired me, perhaps even more intensely than Finnead; but despite his ulfdrengr nature—or perhaps because of it—he was painfully patient, willing to wait. He was like a wolf crouching in the long grass, hidden and silent but undoubtedly still hunting. He was just waiting, not chasing.

I smiled at Luca, reached out and slid my spoon from his hand, shivering at the delightful spark of heat as my skin brushed against his. I let my body lean against him for just a moment, long enough to feel his muscles tighten, and then I gently pushed myself back onto my blanket. I held up the spoon and smiled. “Elegant craftsmanship,” I said, reaching for the bowl of stew and scooping out a chunk of meat. I slid the meat into my mouth, chewed in contemplation and swallowed. Then I looked at the spoon again. “Yet functional.”

“I strive for that balance in all aspects of my life,” replied Luca, dipping his own spoon into the bowl.

I tilted my head. “You do have a certain rugged elegance about you when your hair is braided like that. And I guess it’s functional, keeping your hair out of your eyes and all.”

Luca laughed, and we made short work of the rest of the food, passing it back and forth as though we’d sat by a fire and shared a meal from a single bowl hundreds of times. I drew my legs up in front of me, resting my wrists on my knees, idly stretching my fingers with small movements.

“You should let the wounds breathe,” Luca commented, leaning back on his hands.

I shrugged in ambivalence, but then thought better of it and carefully unwound the bandages from my palms, grimacing as the last layer caught on a bit of the scab. I inspected my hands in the flickering golden light, watching the latticework of silvery scars gleam unnaturally. Some of the mottled skin still held its angry scarlet hue, making the white latticework stand out even more distinctly. The scars frothed up past my wrist, the red and silver pattern slowly fading. On my sword-arm, my war markings still flowed down my forearm, painted in shifting whorls; but where my war markings met the scarred skin, the fluid emerald lines turned a deeper hue, so dark they were almost black, as though the flames had scorched the intricate design.

“It will take a few weeks to get used to the scars,” Luca said quietly, now holding up his own scarred hand, his skin still puckered slightly in a row of pockmarks down the outer edge of his palm and in another row near his thumb, where cords binding his hand to the cursed dagger had been punched through his flesh. “And when you are healed, I will show you how to knead the scars so they remain supple.”

“I still don’t remember sometimes, right away,” I replied musingly, still turning my hands in the light, fascinated by the unfamiliar pattern of my new skin. “I see my hands out of the corner of my eye, and I think they belong to someone else. Just for a second.” I flexed my hands, watched the scabbed wounds in the center of my palms stretch, felt the vague itch and pull of healing skin at the edges of the scabs. “It’s like watching a stranger. Seeing someone in a mirror.” I shrugged. “I don’t know. That sounds silly, I guess.”

Luca shook his head. “Don’t discount your own experience. You’ve done and seen much more than your years would warrant.”

I smiled a little. “Yeah, I can’t say I expected to be doing this when I’m supposed to be finishing college.” I sobered at the thought of what I was missing in my own world, and that led me to the thought of what—or rather who—had brought me into this world in the first place. I rested my hands on my knees again, staring out into the darkness. “I wonder if she’s coming with the Unseelie Court. Molly.”

“She is the half-mortal,” said Luca. I looked at him in surprise. He smiled. “You think the legend of the Bearer is not already a story told to all who will listen?”

“I’d hardly say it’s a legend,” I muttered.

“All legends started with some true story,” he replied. “It just so happens that you are one of the few who have become legendary while your story is still unfolding.”

I waved one hand in the air. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Luca merely smiled.

“Anyway,” I said, “I just…I’ve been thinking, lately, about what I’d say to her, if she is coming.”

“What would you need to say?”

I shrugged. “That I’m sorry I left her. I didn’t really think much about it at the time, because I was so focused on what needed to be done.”

“You had a mission.”

“Yes. I….well, have you heard that part of the story?”

“Why don’t you tell it, if you’d like,” Luca suggested. “We have time.”

I found my satchel and unrolled my bandolier of healing supplies. “I’m going to make something for my hands while I tell it.”

“Always doing more than one thing at once,” he said with a chuckle.

I shrugged. “It’s the way I’m programmed.” While my hands were busy checking the pouches for their herbs, I rifled through my mind, trying to decide where to start the story. “Well. After we were brought to Darkhill, Molly and I were separated, at first because I was healing, and then because they were preparing her to fulfill the prophecy…they thought she was going to be the Bearer, since she had enough mortal blood that she could survive wielding the Sword for a short time. At least that was their theory….”

And I told Luca everything. Everything, from the very beginning, and somehow, though I’d started with the intention of simply outlining events and glossing over some of the more unpleasant experiences, I found myself digging deep into my memories…and then becoming absorbed in them, examining them as I hadn’t done since I’d set out on my journey across Faeortalam. I told Luca about my encounter with the cruel Unseelie Vaelanseld, and my kiss with Ramel. I described how Bren had given me the pendant that would ultimately lead me to the Sword, and I told him about how I’d won Kavoryk’s respect by brazenly boasting that I could throw him across the room, before he knew I had my own taebramh. I told him about Moryn lending me his whetting-stone the night before he died. I recounted the night that Malravenar’s creatures attacked the barracks in the Royal Wood, shivering as I remembered my terror as the cadengriff tore through the branches of the tree which I’d climbed to escape other beasts on the ground; and I tried to describe my feeling of elation as I rode Beryk through the forest, to the river-tree, and spoke to the ethereal figure of the last Bearer, my ancestor, Gwyneth. The Sword hummed in its sheath on my back as I told Luca of how I drew the Sword from the heart of the ancient tree, Gwyneth binding me to the blade, blessing me as her successor. And then the fierce joy of riding back through the forest, bursting into the clearing, incinerating Malravenar’s creatures with my newfound power. I described, with a small smile, Murtagh’s confusion at my ability to see him, when he’d first Walked to spy on us at Mab’s bidding. And then that same morning, Merrick’s heartfelt request to join my band of warriors riding to the Seelie Court, his plea resonating after he told me that he had been Moryn’s sword-brother, and he had watched Moryn’s corpse burn on the war pyre.

I found myself telling him, almost against my will, about my attraction to Finnead, my fascination with his enigmatic manner and his drowning-deep eyes; about how Finnead had saved me from the poison left on the blade by the syivhalla in the forest barracks, and how Beryk had saved Finnead during the cleansing ritual. My cheeks heated when I spoke about Finnead’s passionate encounter with the tree-nymph who agreed to try to heal him when it became clear that he was still poisoned from the syivhalla’s touch. And I told him about Vell, about how she had been such a steadfast friend and loyal companion that I very quickly trusted with my life. I faltered a little when I talked about meeting Liam in the ether, and then saving Murtagh from certain death at Mab’s hands. I told the story until the night that he and Rialla attacked us in the forest, and then I stopped. I looked down at my hands, long since salved and stretched, probably ready to be bandaged again; and then I looked at Luca, trying to gauge his reaction.

“Tess,” he said, almost gently, “you have lived many lives, since you’ve come into this world. Our world. What do you have to be sorry for?”

I swallowed against the sudden thickness in my throat. “There’s more than one thing I could be sorry about, I guess. But with Molly…I’ve been thinking about it a lot, lately, now that we’re here….or rather, we rescued Queen Titania. That was my original mission. Molly… she was my best friend and I left her. I…I forgot about her, Luca, I got so caught up in my own importance that I somehow thought it was okay to just leave her behind. She was my best friend. She was like a sister to me. She was the reason that all of this even happened. Because I loved her and I didn’t want her to go into danger on her own.”

“You are a protector,” said Luca. “That’s what you do. But you can’t blame yourself for decisions that you’ve already made.” He smiled, a little ruefully. “Trust me when I say that blaming yourself for past choices is not a very good way to live.”

I took a deep breath. “I know. I mean, in my head I know that. I do. But I just feel…I just feel like a terrible person sometimes. It scares me, how easily I was able to just leave. I mean, it was because I had a mission to accomplish and I thought I was the only one who could do it. I guess I was the only one who could, in the end, but I didn’t really know that at the time.”

“Thinking about the ways the world would be different if you chose differently is a good way to drive yourself crazy,” Luca said.

I had to smile. “Again, I know that in my head, but sometimes it doesn’t stop the way that I feel.”

“So feel it, acknowledge it…and then go hunt something. Or fight something with a blade in your hand,” the big ulfdrengr suggested, showing his white teeth in a grin that made him look very much like Kianryk.

I laughed. “Well, we’re going to go hunt a dragon, so that should count for a while, right?”

“Yes,” agreed Luca. He thought for a moment. “Perhaps you need to learn to forgive yourself, for your past failings.”

“I don’t mean to turn the conversation away from me, but have you managed to do that?” I asked quietly, watching his face as I posed the question. His expression didn’t change.

“I have forgiven myself,” he replied, “but I have not forgiven those who raised their blades against me. These creatures of darkness, they killed my people, and I will not ever forgive that.” He paused. “But forgiveness does not mean forgetting. I will never forget how it feels to be a slave within my own body. I will never stop preparing my body and my mind for war, so I never come under their power again.”

I nodded. “I can understand that.” My sigh crossed the air between us. “I just hope that after all this, maybe I can salvage something of the friendship that Molly and I used to have. I know that in the grand scheme of things, it’s inconsequential. There are a lot of bigger concerns…like Malravenar opening the Great Gate, and all that.” I smiled as Luca chuckled at my one-phrase description of the greatest evil their world had ever faced. “But I guess in a sense it’s all I have left of my old life in this world. She’s the only person who knew me when I was just an ordinary mortal, living my life in Doendhtalam.”

“I’d hazard a guess that you were never really ordinary,” Luca commented.

I shrugged. “In most ways, I think I was. I think that most people are, until they’re confronted with events that force them to reach beyond themselves.” I found a new roll of bandages in my bandolier, setting the soiled ones aside to wash and reuse later. “Some of them seek out adventure, and some of them find themselves in the middle of it.”

“Those who lead uneventful lives are hard-pressed to find the opportunity to be legendary,” Luca agreed in mock sincerity, taking the bandages from me as I awkwardly wrapped my right hand with my left. I let him wrap my hands neatly.

“True,” I agreed, “but sometimes an uneventful life sounds very appealing.”

“Ah, don’t say that,” said Luca reprovingly with another wolf-like grin. “The greatest thrill of life is brushing close to death, and escaping it. Every breath is sweeter, every sensation more intense. That is why we love the hunt.”

“Hopefully it’s just a close call for everyone during this hunt,” I replied, rolling my healing supplies into a neat bundle and packing it away in my satchel.

“That is in the hands of the warriors themselves,” said Luca, stretching. During my story telling, the songs and drumbeats had transformed from fierce and wild to haunting and plaintive. I listened to the song. As the earlier fierce melodies had risen with the smoke, so this new song glowed softly, pulsing with the embers of the dying fires.

“You think we’ll find the dragon tomorrow?” I asked, my eyelids growing heavy. The night air hung warm and still around us. I wished for a cool breeze.

“If we do not find it tomorrow, we will continue to track it. It is hard to know with wild creatures,” Luca replied. “You should sleep.”

“Should I take a watch?” I murmured, even as I arranged my satchel for a pillow.

“No,” said Luca, his voice low and rumbling. “There are more than enough young warriors to stand the watch.”

I was so bone-weary that I didn’t protest. The long grass created a fragrant cushion beneath my spread blanket, and my satchel served as a passable pillow. After our journey across the wild lands of Faeortalam, sleeping under the great dome of the sky was second nature; and with the Sword laid close at hand and my boots still on my feet, I closed my eyes and drifted into slumber.

Chapter 11

A hand on my shoulder awoke me, and I jerked from the blackness of sleep, my heart suddenly racing. A large hand covered my own, which I realized had instinctively gone to my boot and the dagger sheathed there.

“Easy,” said Luca, sitting on his haunches next to me, his face shadowed in the gray light of early morning.

I blinked and took a deep breath. “Sorry,” I said, my voice scratchy with sleep. I sat up and stretched, testing the new soreness in my limbs.

Luca chuckled. “At least you didn’t actually draw the dagger on me. If I remember, I did that once…so you don’t need to apologize.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Well, that dagger didn’t really have a sheath, so I don’t know if it’s quite the same.”

Farin flew over to me, her aura soft and sleepy as though she were only half-awake. She landed on my shoulder, almost losing her balance as I stood, legs clumsy with sleep. I raised my eyebrows as she let loose a stream of epithets in the Glasidhe tongue. “It’s a little early for so much cursing, Farin,” I commented. “Sorry that I stood up, but I need to get moving or I’ll fall back asleep.”

Farin trilled something into my ear, her voice so high it made me wince.

“Okay, I’ll make you a deal. If you cut down on the high-volume, high-pitch noises this early, I’ll try to warn you when I move, okay?” I said to the diminutive warrior.

“Oh, I am sorry,” she whispered into my ear, her face so close to my earlobe that her breath tickled my skin. “I am just excited to tell you that the scouts are in conference with the wolf-queen!” She lowered her voice even more, wings quivering. “And we will be hunting dragon today, Tess-mortal!” I could feel her trembling in anticipation as she crouched on my shoulder.

“Give me a few minutes to get ready?” I said, the leather of the Sword’s battered sheath cool and familiar under my hand.

Farin leapt into the dim air without comment, hovering just overhead as I adjusted the Sword’s sheath on my back, situating the strap across my chest. I slung my satchel on my left hip, my engraved plain blade on my right hip, and I checked the daggers in my boots out of habit. After rolling up my blanket and making my pack ready to strap behind my saddle, I stood for a moment in indecision, holding out my hands. The bandages looked bone-white even in the weak predawn light. For the first time, I hadn’t noticed the sharp ache of my hands as one of the first sensations after awakening. I let myself have another moment of hesitation, and then in one fluid motion I drew my plain blade, gripping it as though going into battle, unsparing of my hand. It didn’t hurt, but my newly healed skin tingled, sensitive to the texture of the leather about the hilt. I took a deep breath, hefting the sword in my hand, a pure joy washing over me at the familiar feel of the weight of the blade, the muscles in my arm and back tightening in unconscious anticipation.

I swung my sword experimentally, moving it in the familiar drill patterns that Ramel had taught me long ago. Again my hand prickled, but it was a manageable discomfort nowhere near the pain I’d expected, and a smile stretched my lips as I ran through the drills faster and faster, reveling in the slice of the blade through the air and the flash of the sword in the dim grayness of the early morning. I swung the blade in a half-crescent pattern, then spun into a pivot, and another blade met mine with a clash. In an instant I recognized the broad blade as one of the twin swords that Luca had strapped to his hips in the courtyard at the Hall, and I grinned, meeting his eyes, our swords still locked. “Only one blade?” I asked. “I would have liked to see you with two. I didn’t know that’s how you prefer to fight.”

“Why fight with one blade when you can have two?” he answered, disengaging my sword, holding his own blade up in the guard position. “But I thought you might like to test your hands against another blade, not just swinging the sword, and I only need one blade for that.”

I recognized immediately that he wasn’t offering a contest—he was offering to be a dummy, a purely defensive sparring partner. Indignation flashed through me but recognition of the good idea quickly followed: a bit of warm-up, a bit of sparring, but nothing to rile the competitor in me enough to push me past the limits of good sense. I glanced up and saw Farin hovering above us, well out of range, watching with interest. I could see vague figures here and there, readying their own packs or stretching their bodies after the night’s rest, but there was no sense of urgency yet.

“Do we have time?” I asked.

“Vell is meeting with the scouts. We have time,” said Luca, making a little motion of invitation with his blade.

I hefted the sword once more, feeling the roughness of the leather grip beneath my skin, and then my mind cleared of conscious thought as I lunged forward, launching an attack of sweeping blows, the sound of our swords singing out over the dew-drenched grass. The shock of each blocked sweep vibrated painfully through the center of my hands, but I gritted my teeth and pressed on, my feet tracing the complex pattern of movement that I’d compared to a dance when I’d first begun to learn swordplay. Luca blocked a particularly vicious downward cut of my blade, his sword level with his face, his light blue eyes gleaming in enjoyment. As my muscles warmed, I moved my blade faster and faster, until we were dancing through the long grass, our blades blurs of silver in the strengthening light. I made the mistake of locking my sword with Luca’s, one of the worst positions for a smaller fighter when faced with a larger, stronger opponent; and he didn’t let me off the hook, bearing down steadily on my blade until I gasped, pain flashing through my hand and up my arm. Immediately he released his pressure, and in a flash of obstinacy I tossed my blade into my left hand, the gleaming point snaking up to kiss Luca’s throat. He grinned as I stepped back, swinging the blade a few times in my left hand.

“Perhaps you should fight with two blades,” he said. I noted the slight sheen of sweat gleaming on his brow with satisfaction.

“When I was first learning to fight, I had to learn with my left hand,” I explained, still passing the blade through the air in glimmering arcs. “Remember, or weren’t you paying attention to that part of the story last night?”

Luca grinned, sliding his blade back into the sheath at his hip. “I remembered, I just didn’t think I’d get a demonstration this morning.”

I grinned in reply, the dawning light shining on the engraved names of the war dead on my blade. Then, suddenly, the Caedbranr sounded a clarion call so loud that it rattled the sheath on my back and rumbled through my bones. Immediately I sheathed my sword, Luca following suit. “Something’s happening,” I said, my skin prickling in the aftermath of the Sword’s alert.

“I wouldn’t have guessed,” said Luca, one eyebrow raised. Kianryk trotted past us, loping through the long grass to join the shadowy forms of Rialla and Beryk a distance away. Luca straightened, tilting his head slightly as though listening to a sound only he could hear. “Come.”

We left our saddles and supplies stacked neatly as they were, and I walked with Luca past the blackened rings where the great fires had burned the previous night. I spotted Vell standing on the crest of a knoll, a group of Sidhe already gathering about her. Two faehal stood to one side, steam rising from their foam-laced flanks even in the still-warm morning air. They wore no bridles and only the suggestion of a saddle, typical of Seelie riders, and I quickly turned my attention to the two riders standing before Vell. One of them was Merrick. I glanced at Luca. “It’s good to see our little band using their skills to rise through the ranks.”

“He’s a good navigator,” replied Luca. “It would make sense.”

“And,” I said out loud, mostly to myself, “Vell would trust him, since we traveled together. Or at least trust him more than a scout she doesn’t know.”

“Perhaps,” said Luca.

To my slight embarrassment, once the gathered warriors noticed Luca and I, they silently cleared a path for us, sliding to one side or the other in that graceful Sidhe way. I couldn’t very well ignore it, so I drew my shoulders back and walked toward the center of the gathering. Luca followed half a stride behind me. Vell wore her same magnificent armor, but had foregone the cloak; and Arcana, standing silently to one side, hadn’t been coaxed into the breastplate again. Finnead and Gray flanked the High Queen, the paint on their faces still perfect and gleaming, as though they hadn’t gone to sleep. Merrick himself looked travel-worn, smudges of ash on his pale skin, his dark hair curled against his forehead, damp with sweat; but as he spoke to Vell, his eyes lit with an exhilaration that reminded me of the look on his face when I’d given him permission to join our band of travelers.

Merrick spoke quickly in a low voice, too quietly for even those of us who were closest to Vell to hear. He unslung the leather cylinder he used to carry his maps from his shoulder, and drew out a rolled map. The second scout, a tall female Seelie unfamiliar to me, spoke as Merrick unrolled the map. Gray stepped forward and held the map with Merrick. The dark-haired navigator motioned with his free hand, speaking in a low voice to the High Queen. Vell studied the map, her back to us now; I heard her ask a question, and Merrick nodded, trying to suppress his grin. Vell gazed at the map for a moment more, then nodded sharply and turned, her golden eyes appraising the silently gathered crowd. We waited, the air still and heavy about us. Then a smile turned up the corners of her mouth, growing into a fierce grin as she surveyed her warriors. She raised her eyebrows. We held our breath.

“Today,” she said, voice echoing through the silence as though she shouted, “today we hunt!” She thrust her fist into the air, and the assembled warriors followed suit with a shout. As the sound echoed into the dawn light, Vell stepped forward and beckoned to me. “Walk with me, Tess?”

The gathering fragmented as riders returned to their saddles and packs, now invigorated with the promise of action. Finnead clasped Merrick’s shoulder as I passed, nodding at the young navigator whom he’d scorned at the beginning of our journey. Again I felt that twitch of avenged pride. I reached Vell’s side, feeling decidedly underdressed in just my shirt and breeches. Just like Finnead and Gray, Vell looked as though she hadn’t laid down her head during the night, her fierce ridge of braids just as crisp as when she’d shouted Northern words in the courtyard. I resisted the urge to put my hand to my own hair.

As our strides carried us away from the grassy knoll, Vell suddenly sighed. We kept walking until the voices of those behind us faded to a murmur. When she stopped and turned back to me, she looked like just Vell again. She still wore the crown on her brow, but there was something different about her eyes and her face, something she’d cast off like her scarlet cloak. “Tess. How are your hands?”

I smiled a little but obligingly held out my palms for her inspection. Even after my sword practice, the bandages were still white. Vell unwound the linen from my right hand and nodded.

“You’ve been using salve on them. Good,” she commented.

“Yes,” I said. “But you didn’t call me over here just to ask about my hands.”

“I can’t ask about a friend’s health?” she asked severely.

“Don’t be offended. I just know you have a lot on your mind.”

“Said the Bearer to the High Queen,” she retorted, one eyebrow arched.

I smiled again. “Point taken. What do you want to talk about?”

“Well, first of all, I do really need to talk to you, but I also just needed a break.” She took a deep breath, glancing back toward the camp. “It’s…” She shook her head and spread her hands.

“Overwhelming sometimes. I know,” I finished for her.

“Well, you don’t know exactly, but yes, something like it, I’d imagine,” she said, eyes flashing with humor.

“It’s true, I’m not a queen,” I admitted, shaking my head. “But I’d just like to point out, I think proportionally speaking, it’s about the same. Ordinary mortal to Bearer of the Iron Sword, herravaldyr to High Queen…” I made weighing motions with my hands.

Vell laughed. “Good point. But you’re right, I didn’t want to talk to you just to compare stories of unexpected inheritance of power.” She sobered. “I had Finnead and Gray pick their seconds. Arcana is…well, Arcana, so she didn’t pick one. I was hoping that you’d stand in.”

I rested my hand on the hilt of my plain blade at my hip. “Are you asking me to be Arcana’s second, or is it something more than that?”

Vell pulled at one of her gauntlets. “In name, you’d be Arcana’s second. It makes sense, you’re the only one other than me who has greater power than her.”

“Only Gray and Finnead know that she’s the Morrigan,” I pointed out.

“But everyone knows she’s a creature of ancient power,” Vell replied. “The Evermage, remember?”

“I know. I’m just trying to understand what you’re really asking me,” I said.

Vell looked into the distance, at the dawn-blushed horizon. “I’m not really sure myself, Tess. I think that what I’m asking is for you to…be there.” She turned her gaze back to me. “If something goes wrong with this hunt—if something happens to me, you need to keep Arcana in check.”

“You’re afraid that if something happens to you, the Morrigan will side with Malravenar,” I said slowly. “Then why did she bind herself to you in the first place?”

Vell shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t know whether it was a compulsion, whether the Crown of Bones forced it on her, or whether it was of her own free will.”

“The Crown of Bones contained a remnant of her own power. Or a fragment of her. It would be strange if it forced her.”

“I’ve heard of stranger things, Tess.” Vell shifted. “We have to go soon and get ready. But will you promise me that?”

“Of course,” I said without hesitation, even as my stomach curdled at the thought of matching power with the Morrigan. “Vell, you don’t even need to ask. I’m here. We’re in this together.”

Vell smiled. “I know. Mostly everyone treats me differently now. And I guess I’ve been treating everyone differently as well.”

“It’s part of what you have to do. You’re the High Queen.”

“Just because I’m the High Queen doesn’t mean I can’t still have friends. Does it?” Vell asked, a strange naked desperation on her face.

“Of course not,” I said. “Vell, of course not. I’ll always be your friend. Just try not to throw me into any more tables, okay?”

Vell smiled faintly. “Sorry about that. Arcana was being especially difficult that day, and I was still getting the hang of…” She waved her hands in the air. “Distributing the power, I guess.”

I laughed. “Fair enough.” Then I sobered. “But nothing’s going to happen to you during the hunt, Vell. We’re going to go kill this dragon, all of us together.”

“It is war, and death does not care if he reaps a queen or a cripple,” Vell replied, serious again.

I couldn’t come up with a light-hearted reply, so I followed Vell as she began striding back toward camp. Finally I managed, “So who designed your breastplates, and where can I get one?”

She glanced at me with one eyebrow raised. “You’re incorrigible, Tess.”

I grinned. “I try. Sometimes I even succeed.”

Vell shook her head and I saw a faint smile on her lips even as her demeanor changed, and she was once again the fierce vyldretning as we threaded through the purposeful chaos of camp. I made my way back to my saddle and packs, and found Nehalim grazing nearby. He raised his magnificent head, a long blade of grass sticking out of his mouth as he gazed at me solemnly. I chuckled. “You are the picture of equine grace,” I told him. He flicked his tail and finished chewing his breakfast.

“That was much more than just a few minutes,” scolded Farin as she swooped down on me, landing on my shoulder without asking for permission.

“I didn’t expect to suddenly have sword practice and then a big announcement this morning,” I said by way of apology.

“I suppose I shall have to forgive you,” Farin said haughtily.

“Oh, you shall?”

“Yes.” She sniffed. “I am a most generous friend.”

“I agree, indeed you are.” I smiled as I gave Nehalim a quick groom before sliding the saddle onto his back. Dust dulled the runes on his gleaming coat, but I decided against taking the time to retouch them. Luca saddled his mount nearby, his twin swords at his hips.

“Tess!”

I straightened from tightening the girth on my saddle as Calliea cantered up to us on her fleet faehal. I blinked. Her face gleamed wetly, and she wore a scarlet scarf wrapped around her neck.

“What’s with the new fashion statement?” I asked. “And what’s on your face?”

“I don’t care what anyone says, your bluntness is part of your charm,” Calliea replied cheekily, sliding down to the ground with boneless grace. “And to answer your question, I suppose you haven’t looked completely through your pack. Remember how you were asking about our defense against the dragon-smoke?”

I quickly dug through my pack until I found a small bundle that wasn’t provisions or a spare set of clothing. My scarf was a brilliant emerald green, the fabric sliding through my fingers like water, and bundled in the scarf was a clay pot, stopped with wax. I pried away the seal. A silvery gelatinous substance filled the pot to the brim; it smelled like the air before a storm, like clouds heavy with water. I dipped a finger into the pot experimentally. The jelly-like concoction felt cool and slippery, echoing the texture of the scarf. Calliea’s face and neck gleamed with the strange mixture; she’d applied it to every visible patch of bare skin.

“All of the clothing we are wearing was treated with this,” said Calliea. “It’s called…well, I can’t pronounce the Northern name.” She made a face. “Suppose I’ll have to work on that. But it translates to something like direflame.”

“Direflame?” I repeated. “If something’s dire…it means it’s bad. Why…?”

“I don’t know.” Calliea shrugged. “I didn’t name the stuff. I’m probably translating wrong anyway. But what I do know is that it’ll protect us against the smoke…and against the dragon-flame. Hopefully,” she added in a low voice.

I rubbed a glob of the stuff between my fingers. “All over my skin, even my hair?”

“Some didn’t do their hair, they’re just going to pull up their scarves, they said. But I would rather have to wash my hair a dozen times to get the direflame out than be burned bald,” replied Calliea. Farin giggled in my ear. I conceded Calliea’s point.

“What’s in it?” I asked, trying to decipher if there was any familiarity at all in the scent of it and the cool slippery texture between my fingers.

Calliea raised her eyebrows. “It’s best not to ask. But I heard something about powdered siren’s scales—them being creatures of water and all. Willow bark taken from the tree during a full moon, and burned to white ash. Moonlight gleaned from ice, and a few other things.”

“That sounds appropriately complex,” I murmured, wondering how exactly one harvested moonlight, but deciding that was a question best asked at a later time. “So…I guess it would be best to have a partner, to get at places I can’t see,” I said begrudgingly.

“Yes,” replied Calliea as she leapt up onto her faehal. “Looks like you already have a very fine candidate just a few paces away.” Her blue eyes sparkled wickedly.

“Wait, what? No—I thought you were—you’re ridiculous!” I called after her as she wheeled her mount and cantered away, her laugh trailing like a ribbon in the air behind her.

“When will everyone start minding their own business,” I grumbled to myself.

“Probably when you stop minding their teasing so much,” Farin replied.

“I wasn’t asking you,” I retorted.

“I know,” she said sweetly.

I sighed and patted Nehalim’s neck as I walked over to Luca. “Did you know about this?” I asked, holding up the clay pot.

My question was already answered, if I’d just taken a moment to observe, because Luca had his own clay pot in one hand, slathering the direflame onto his neck. His painted runes gleamed, entirely intact, beneath the thick yet transparent direflame. Kianryk stood behind him, watching the process with distrust.

“I feel like I’m smearing Vaseline all over my face,” I said to myself as I followed his example. I couldn’t help but wince as I spread the viscous substance over my skin, but overall the feeling wasn’t unpleasant. The direflame was thick and cool, and it was easy to believe that it would protect my skin from the dragon-smoke. My hands itched with the sensory memory of burning flesh even as I pushed the fleeting thought of dragon-flame from my mind.

“It isn’t so bad,” Luca commented, but he sounded as though he was trying to convince himself as well.

“What about the wolves?” I asked. Kianryk looked at me and yawned.

“Their pelts protect them,” replied Luca, “and they will stay well away from the smoke in any case.”

I spread the gel across my face and down my neck. Farin dipped her small hands into the pot and worked on one ear; her fingers tickled my earlobe and I concentrated on suppressing my laugh. “At least I know my ears won’t burn,” I commented to Luca as Farin moved to the other side of my head. He smiled and held out his clay pot. I set my own pot down and took his, feeling the warmth of his hand still on the clay.

“It would probably be best if you sat down,” I said with a grin. “You’re too tall for me to reach the top of your head, and it would be a shame if you were burned bald.”

Luca shook his head. “That wouldn’t do at all.” He sat cross-legged on the grass and I started spreading the direflame onto his head, working the gelatinous substance into his golden braids and making sure I didn’t miss any patches of scalp. Luca sat carefully still. I finished with his hair and crouched behind him, sitting on my haunches as I scooped another dollop out of the pot with two fingers. He shuddered slightly as I touched the back of his neck. I felt my own cheeks heating in response. I slid my fingers beneath the collar of his shirt, making sure there was a good amount of overlap between the cloth and the direflame-protected skin.

“There,” I said. “Do you need me to check the front of your neck?”

“It’s covered,” he said, his voice slightly husky. “I’ll do yours.” He stood and motioned for me to sit. I fumbled with his pot of direflame, almost dropping it.

“Oh, I thought that Farin was going to do that,” I said.

“I am only the ear expert!” chirped Farin with a little giggle.

“Of course you are,” I muttered.

“Farin is right,” Luca said as he took the pot of direflame from me and waited for me to sit. “Your friends only tease you because your embarrassment is quite endearing.”

“Endearing?” I glared at him as I sat down, crossing my legs grumpily. “I’m glad others get enjoyment out of my discomfort.”

Luca chuckled, his large hands steadily working the direflame into my braids and scalp. It felt disarmingly good. For a moment, I resisted, but then I relaxed beneath his hands and let my eyes roll back as they’d been trying to do.“It is endearing because you are so very sensitive about a matter which you really shouldn’t feel any embarrassment,” he said.

“Since when did you become a great scholar on….feelings?” I finished lamely. I sighed. “I know. But how else am I supposed to feel about it?”

“I do not know how it works in your world, Tess,” Luca said, moving from my braids to my neck with warm, adroit fingers, “but in this world, and especially among my people, women choose their mates. Their lovers,” he amended. “And if they wish to have more than one lover, or none at all, well, that is their choice.”

I felt my eyebrows rise almost to my hairline. “You’re suggesting I take more than one lover?” My voice came out as a squeak.

“It is no secret that there is something between you and Finnead,” Luca said, almost gently. “Most, I think, can see that I favor you as well. And I do not begrudge you your choice. I am patient.” His fingers dipped below the collar of my shirt at the nape of my neck, but his touch was brisk, almost business-like. He wasn’t trying to seduce me, that much was certain, and I felt a strange rush of gratitude, because I wasn’t sure if I would have been able to resist, with the high excitement of the dragon hunt running through the air like electricity. And somehow, in a thoroughly strange way, the fact that Luca acknowledged my attraction to Finnead, almost welcomed it, made him all the more appealing. It reminded me again that though I was the Bearer, I hadn’t been born in this world, and some things in it were still foreign to me. I took a shaky breath just as Luca said, “Finished. Let me see your face.”

I obediently turned up my face as he moved to the front of me; for a moment, I was gazing up at him from a very compromising position until he crouched down, inspecting my application of direflame. He dipped his thumb into the pot. “Close your eyes.”

“I forgot my eyelids,” I groaned. “Rookie mistake.”

Luca chuckled as his thumb brushed direflame across each of my eyelids. “There.”

“Thanks,” I said, clearing my throat as I stood. I picked up my emerald scarf, folding the rectangular piece of slick cloth into a long triangle; I laid the flat edge of the fold over my head, then took the bitter ends of the triangle and crossed the two sides over my nose, tying the ends behind my head at the nape of my neck. I noticed Luca watching me curiously, but I ignored him until I pulled back the hood from my head and pushed down the cloth covering my mouth, arranging the scarf around my neck.

“You wear your scarf like your brother,” Luca said suddenly.

I blinked. “I…yeah. He taught me how to tie a shemagh after his first deployment. I must have bugged him about it for a week before he gave me one and showed me how to wear it.” I smiled fondly at the memory. “It looks strange when you’re first putting it on, but this way you can pull the back of the scarf up to protect your head and the back of your neck, and the front can be pulled up over your mouth if you’re in a dust-storm. Or…dragon-smoke,” I added as I demonstrated.

“A shemagh?” Luca repeated, tasting the foreign word on his tongue as he folded his own blue scarf into a triangle.

“Yes. It’s a scarf worn by the native people in a particular part of the mortal world.” I swallowed against the tightness in my throat at the thought of Liam deployed in hostile mountains overseas.

Luca arranged the scarf over his head, commenting as he folded the scarf over his mouth, “I look like an old woman in a headscarf.”

I chuckled. “Only for a moment. And I said the same thing…but it works, so that’s enough for me.”

Luca tied his scarf and pushed the material down around his neck. “If your brother taught you, I am sure it works well.” He nodded. “Your brother is a trustworthy warrior.”

“Glad you think so, because I agree.” I smiled. I shoved the wax seal back into the top of my pot of direflame. Then I paused. “What about the faehal?”

“Already done before we left,” said Luca.

I raised my eyebrows. I hadn’t realized the intensity of the preparations for this hunt, and I felt vaguely guilty. I’d probably been asleep for most of the time that the other riders had been preparing the packs and the steeds, not to mention the great weapons, the bespelled wings and the direflame itself. I tucked the clay pot into my pack and picked up my breastplate, leaning the Sword against my leg as Luca wordlessly tightened the straps of my armor. I looped the strap of the Sword’s sheath over my head, settled the blade against my back, and pulled on my gauntlets. Luca offered his hands again, but I shook my head, pulling myself up onto Nehalim’s back. My hands protested with a bright quick starburst of pain, but it soon faded, and I sat with satisfaction in the saddle. I looked over at Luca, astride his faehal. Kianryk bounded away through the grass, his tawny hide gleaming in the golden morning light.

“What do we do now?” I asked, raising one eyebrow.

Luca turned his mount’s head with a twitch of his reins, replying with a grin, “Now we go to hunt a dragon!”

Chapter 12

The choosing of the vyldgard began without ceremony in the dusty light of the early morning, a long train of silent riders following their High Queen into the east, the new-risen sun revealing the desolation of the lands before us. The long verdant grasses disappeared, replaced by bare ground as we rode onward, the hooves of our faehal kicking up a cloud of fine dirt, which hung about us and turned the gleaming wetness of the direflame into a dun speckled mud. I hoped the substance still retained its effectiveness, and the Sword sent me a reassuring hum. It had been mostly silent since we’d left the Hall, but now I felt its power stirring, pacing within the cage of my ribs, bumping against my sternum like a great dog pressing its head into my chest. As I pulled my scarf up over my nose and mouth against the cloying dust, I wondered idly if the Sword would jump into the fray against the dragon as its primal wolf-form….or if it could take the form of another dragon, bellowing forge-hot taebramh into the air.

If I were to appear as a dragon, said the Caedbranr in my mind, it would not be as a pale imitation of the Great Ones.

And it sent me an image of a creature even more terrifying than the dragon I’d glimpsed in the great cloud of smoke, a creature whose bulk wrapped around mountains and whose wings blotted out the sun, throwing whole kingdoms into shadow. I shuddered a little and reminded myself that I was essentially bound to an object with the power of a deity. I began to wonder if the Sword was indeed an actual deity—if Arcana was a fragment of the Morrigan, and my power, through the Sword, was equal to hers….then it was within the realm of possibility. But rather than answer my thoughts, the Caedbranr merely chuckled and settled down behind my beating heart, tucking itself into a pulsing cylinder of flame somewhere among my arteries, drowsily surfacing every now and again to glance at the column’s progress.

“You answer only what suits you, don’t you,” I muttered, bringing my full attention back to the desolate landscape about us. Luca still rode beside me, our fleet mount’s strides eating up the bare ground. Now and again a lone tree struggled upward from the soil. A coppery sweet scent hung faintly in the still air; we rode past the hulk of a cadengriff corpse, red bone gleaming through its decaying flesh; and I wondered in horrified fascination if it was the same dead beast that had sheltered Vell, Beryk and me when the dragon had almost ended our journey to Brightvale. The three wolves showed their teeth to the corpse, growling and snapping as they bounded past, their lithe shadows racing along the ground beside them.

We rode deeper and deeper into the dead grasslands, and as dark sweat laced the flanks of the faehal, we began to see more obvious signs of the perils ahead. There were no more rotting corpses; instead we passed the charred skeleton of some huge creature with wicked tusks, and another which was no more than a pile of blackened bones. The few trees that had survived in this wasteland were fire-blackened, their crooked limbs bearing a coat of burned and cracked bark. The coppery sweet scent in the air became layered with the smell of sulfur and smoke. The hairs on the back of my neck bristled and I felt the Sword’s power awaken, prowling close to the surface of my skin. The sky pressed down on us, the sun fading behind thick gray clouds.

At some unseen signal, no doubt from Vell, the thundering mass of riders slowed and halted. I decided I’d rather be closer to Vell—she’d charged me with being a healer, but I would protect her as she’d so doggedly protected me during our long journey. And she’d asked me to be Arcana’s second—I was still trying to figure out exactly what that meant, but I tucked away the thought as Nehalim cantered gracefully up the long length of the halted column. He tossed his head as we slowed, as if to show me that he still had plenty of spirit left even after the long gallop over the barren hills. I patted his neck and picked out Vell. The High Queen gave an order to Gray, and the golden-haired knight wheeled her mount and cantered over to two dozen waiting warriors. They all dismounted and carefully untied their wrapped wing-frames from their mounts. As I watched, one of the warriors smoothed out the leather straps of a gleaming harness, fitting it to the muscled chest of his faehal. I turned my attention back to Vell.

I trotted up on Nehalim as Vell finished speaking to Finnead. As I slid down from my white mount’s back, Finnead turned, and his drowning-blue gaze, vibrant from the depths of the dark scarlet band painted across his face, caught my eyes. A thrill leapt through me, a spark swirling through my limbs as Finnead, transformed into some wild creature of the North, held my gaze with his own. He walked toward me, closing the short distance between us with that same lithe cat-like grace. He was entirely different and completely the same, both at once, an electrifying transformation made all the more exciting by its contradiction. Even his raven-wing hair was artfully tousled, an echo of the fierce ridge of braids worn by Vell, yet somehow it didn’t make him seem vain. He wore the Northern war paint and hair like he carried the sigil of the High Queen on his breastplate and on his shield: with a fierce silent pride and a wildness that hadn’t been at the forefront of his demeanor as part of the Unseelie Court. I smiled a little despite myself, and an answering smile quirked one side of his eminently kissable mouth. His high cheekbones shone with the direflame, his pale skin somehow unmuddied by the dust of the barren plains.

“Ready for the hunt, lady healer?” he asked, raising one eyebrow and looking pointedly at my new plain blade at my waist and the glint of dagger-hilts at the other side of my hip and in my boot-tops.

I tilted my head. “Even a healer should have blades at the ready. I’m still adept at taking creatures apart, even if my official job right now is to put people back together.”

“Just make sure the two aren’t one and the same,” he replied with a flash in his eye, and I started, hearing Ramel in his voice; but then I wondered whether Ramel had picked up the saying from Finnead, back when he’d been a squire to the fastest-rising young Knight in Queen Mab’s service. I saw that Finnead wore his midnight-dark scarf folded and tied like a shemagh, like I’d tied my own, and the part of my mind that wasn’t blissfully admiring his beauty wondered what experiences he’d had in the mortal world, doing Mab’s bidding as a young Named Knight.

“That’s the plan,” I said after too long a pause for my reply to make much sense, but we both pretended not to notice.

“Speaking of plans,” he said, this time truly picking up the thread of conversation, “Vell just outlined the battle plan. Has she told you?”

I shook my head mutely, content to let him carry the burden of enunciating real words.

“I’ll have the ground force. Gray has the Valkyries. Arcana will be positioned by Vell, and that’s where you’ll be as well, a good distance away from the actual battle.” He looked satisfied at that and I raised an eyebrow, remembering myself enough to feel a slight sting of irritation. “Vell will be working the spells on the wings and whatever other elemental sorcery she deems necessary, so she won’t be very attuned to her immediate surroundings.”

Suddenly my belt-pouch felt heavier. Still listening to Finnead, I slid a few fingers into the pouch surreptitiously. My fingers encountered smooth stone, and from the tingle in my war-markings I knew I now carried the nine smooth dark stones that had been forged from the shards of iron in the Royal Wood. Or perhaps there was only five, because I’d used four to mark the points of the compass on the banks of the Darinwel, and I couldn’t clearly recall gathering them back up after using them to extract the blood-oath of safety from the siren. But I’d find out later. Plenty of time to count stones that I was suddenly carrying again, or perhaps had still been carrying all along, when I wasn’t standing before a handsome dark-haired Knight of the Wild Court.

“Since you’re Arcana’s second,” Finnead continued, “you’ll become the captain of the High Queen’s guard if something happens to the Evermage.”

I nodded. “If the Evermage becomes a crispy critter, I get to be the boss. Got it.” I wrinkled my nose. “Vell agreed to this guard?”

“She understands its necessity,” said Finnead, just as Vell threw in from somewhere behind him in a growl:

“That doesn’t mean I like it!”

“That doesn’t mean she likes it,” said Finnead without skipping a beat, and I smiled again. He blinked. “What’s so amusing?”

“I like this Wild Court Knight,” I said before I could think too much about the words and trip over them. “You’re much more…free.”

Finnead considered the statement for a moment. “I’d point out, Lady Bearer, that you’re not basing this conclusion on very substantial evidence.”

I spread my hands. “It’s not really a conclusion, more of an observation. You seem more…spontaneous. Lighter.”

Finnead raised his eyebrows. “Spontaneous?”

“Well,” I amended, “as far as spontaneity goes, that’s never really been the Unseelie strong suit—”

And I found my words quite suddenly silenced by that eminently kissable mouth, as Finnead, seemingly intent on proving said spontaneity, drew me against his body, one hand about my waist and the other behind my head, fingers wrapped in my braids. Fire rushed through my veins and roared in my ears as Finnead kissed me thoroughly—a passionate kiss, his urgency born of the looming battle and his newfound freedom. His lips tasted like new snow and pine—the direflame, I realized distantly. I surrendered to the whirlwind, pressing myself against him and sliding my arms about his sides, wishing that I wasn’t wearing gauntlets and armor and all manner of ridiculous impediments to feeling his skin upon mine.

After a long moment, I dimly became aware of wolf-whistles and teasing shouts being aimed in our general direction by the other warriors close enough to witness our embrace; I disentangled one arm enough to raise a gauntleted fist with all but one finger folded down primly under my thumb; and the delighted laughter and renewed whistling reassured me that one symbol, at least, remained the same between the two worlds.

I drew back after what seemed like both an eternity and an instant, my arms still about Finnead. He gazed down at me with that quintessentially male satisfaction gleaming in his eyes from the depths of that savage war paint; and I rolled my eyes at him.

“My dear Lady Bearer,” he said, the edges of his voice subtly ragged, “please keep in mind that I am now a Knight of the Wild Court, and as such, have license to as much spontaneity as I deem fit.” He punctuated his statement with a fast-as-thought kiss to the tender part of my neck just below my ear.

I tried to look nonchalant, knew I failed miserably, and said anyway, “That’s not really a conclusion, just more of an observation at this point.” I let myself grin a little. “I’ll need more…substantial evidence.”

Finnead chuckled just as Vell appeared, eyes flashing fiercely and hands on her hips.

“If you two are done mooning about like twitter-pated snowcats,” she said, the wicked spark in her eye betraying her amusement, “we have a dragon-hunt to conduct.”

“As you command, O High Queen,” replied Finnead, disentangling his fingers from my braids.

Vell pointed at him sternly. “I just let you have a very passionate moment with the Lady Bearer here—”

“Oh, you let him?” I said with a snort.

“—But I will not let you sass me. Go gather your warriors and make your preparations.” Vell folded her arms over her chest, scowling, the Crown gleaming on her brow. I couldn’t tell if she was joking, and Finnead bowed soberly to her before striding away, his faehal trotting obediently after him.

Vell kept her scowl firmly in place, watching until the warriors of the ground force surrounded Finnead, obscuring him from view; and then her sour look faded and she glanced at me with a raised eyebrow. “Well, that took too long by half.”

A surprised laugh burst from me. “Oh, you were just waiting for us to have a ‘passionate moment’?” I made air-quotes with my fingers around Vell’s words, grinning.

“Last night before the battle and all, I wasn’t so sure that you weren’t having more than a moment with Luca,” Vell replied. “I don’t think Finnead was so very sure either. There was enough of that sort of thing going about camp…which is entirely appropriate, if you ask me.”

I snorted again. “That’s ridiculous.”

Vell shrugged and grinned, her teeth gleaming even in the dingy gray light. “Not so very ridiculous, Tess. You have a habit of underestimating both your own power and your own beauty.” She laughed in devilish delight. “Ah, look, that makes you blush more than kissing my handsome dark-haired Knight in broad daylight!”

I swatted at her shoulder half-heartedly. “I was doing alright until you came along!”

“In any case, come on then. I have to make you properly battle-ready.”

“What does that mean? Shouldn’t I be…preparing something?” I protested as Vell seized my arm and dragged me toward her roan faehal.

“What do you have to prepare?” she demanded. “You have the stones in your belt-pouch, and that’s all you’ll need as far as I can tell. Leave the other warriors to their work for a moment and let me have some fun.”

“You say that like you’ve been deprived lately,” I grumbled as she released my arm and sat on her haunches, rummaging through her packs where they’d been stacked neatly on the ground. I took her cue and unloaded Nehalim, stacking my provisions next to those of the High Queen.

“You’re right, I shouldn’t be complaining,” Vell said as she made a triumphant noise, seizing a small silver canister from her pack. “I am getting to run my very own dragon-hunt.” The silver case was about as long as my hand, and nearly as wide. Vell expertly flipped a hidden catch and the case sprang open, revealing what looked to me at first glance like an artist’s palette of paints. Cleverly crafted little dishes held an assortment of colors, from bright cobalt blue to golden yellow and a searing scarlet. “Sit,” commanded Vell, and I folded my legs, settling in front of her in the dun-colored, ash-flecked dirt. “I should’ve done this before the direflame, but it won’t hurt its effectiveness,” she assured me, extending two fingers over the paint-case and eyeing the colors with consideration. “Close your eyes.”

I wondered if she was going to give me the dark mask-like paint that adorned her Three. But I closed my eyes before I saw her fingers dip into a hue, and I sat obediently still as I felt Vell’s fingers traveling confidently over my skin. I tried to visualize the pattern, holding the feel of each stroke in my head; but Vell kept retouching lines, and I lost track. Finally, her fingers gripped my chin and she turned my head from side to side, examining her work. I opened one eye enough to squint at her. She shook her head.

“Your ridiculous expression ruins the effect a bit, but you look fierce,” she said with a hint of self-satisfaction in her voice.

“No war paint for you?” I retorted, resisting the urge to purloin the silver case and look at my reflection.

“I use a different kind of paint,” she said.

“I have no idea what that means.”

“You’re not meant to know what it means. But you’ll see, later, the White Wolf willing.” Vell touched the pearly white marks on the side of her throat with two fingers at the invocation.

A shrill whistle pierced the low hum surrounding the warriors’ preparations. I stood quickly, dusting off my breeches. My hands traveled over the Sword’s strap across my chest, the belt about my waist, and the sheaths in my boot-tops. For a moment I wished that I’d had time to practice stringing a bow again.

“You’re no more than a passing shot,” murmured Vell, making me look sharply at her; but her golden eyes focused on something I could not see. Beryk slid under her outstretched hands, ears pricked, lupine gaze following that of the vyldretning. Vell’s fingers curled into Beryk’s fur, and after a few breaths she knelt, pressing her forehead against his midnight-dark nose as I’d seen her do countless times. She cupped Beryk’s magnificent head with her hands, thumbs tracing the delicate outline of his alert ears; the black wolf gazed solemnly into her eyes and she began to speak in a low voice in the Northern tongue. I looked away, feeling as though I was trespassing. The Sword vibrated a low warning in its sheath, just soon enough that I didn’t jump when Arcana spoke from behind me in her toneless voice.

“I am told you are to be my second.”

I turned, met the flat lifeless eyes of the Evermage—the Morrigan—and said, as steadily as I could, “Yes.”

“This is not a traditional arrangement. If you were truly my second, I would be able to draw on your power.” A strange scarlet glow flickered in the back of Arcana’s throat as she spoke, glimpsed only as her lips moved.

“There’s better chance of me putting a collar on that dragon and calling it my pet,” I said acidly. The Caedbranr’s chuckle shivered in the air about me.

Arcana laughed her strange, gurgling sound of amusement. It sounded like a choking man’s dying breath, a wheeze and gasp not heard on this side of life. I forced myself not to shudder, keeping my gaze focused on her blank beautiful face with its strip of scarlet war paint. When I let myself truly look at Arcana’s face, I saw the eerie resemblance to Vell, which only added to the Evermage’s eeriness.

“You do not trust me,” said Arcana.

“No,” I replied honestly.

Arcana stretched her girlish lips into a chilling parody of a smile. “Perhaps you are more clever than I first thought.”

I shrugged. “Maybe. We’ll see.”

Arcana laughed again, and this time I wasn’t able to suppress my shudder. “We shall, brightly burning Bearer. We shall indeed see.”

The Caedbranr remained silent but I felt its power coiling behind my breastbone, poised to strike. But Arcana gave a strange stiff little bow and turned her body, the gray light glimmering on her silver breastplate.

Beryk bounded past me, his tail held jauntily high; and a short distance away I saw the tawny flash of Kianryk, and a silver streak that must have been Rialla as they joined Beryk, loping away over the dun-colored hills. I wondered what Vell had whispered to Beryk.

“With me, Tess,” said Vell quietly, more sober now as she reluctantly tore her gaze from the black wolf fading into the distance. She swung up onto her faehal and I followed suit, mounting Nehalim. We rode to the crest of the next hill. A hot wind suddenly stirred the dust about Nehalim’s hooves, and he tossed his head. I glanced at Vell, sitting upright and picturesque as a sculpture, a marble carving of a Viking goddess dressed for war.

“It comes,” she said with a gleaming grin.

Chapter 13

Gray stood before her two dozen Valkyrie, the gray light striking their breastplates, reflecting incandescently onto their mounts and the ground, a pale echo of the bright auras of the Glasidhe warriors hovering overhead. The Valkyrie stood by their faehal, and the faehal wore gleaming harnesses, the beautifully crafted wings suspended on either side of their bodies. At some unheard command, the Valkyrie moved into a circle around us, moving gracefully but keeping a good distance from one another, watching the wings on either side of their mounts. The faehal stepped with delicate poise, their ears swiveling, liquid eyes watching their riders and Vell. They seemed to understand the momentous event coalescing around them.

“Time to learn how to fly,” said Farin into my ear, her wings twitching with excitement.

“I’m staying firmly on the ground, thanks,” I murmured in reply.

Vell held a long ivory wand—that was the word my mind supplied, though this object was somewhere between a staff and a rod, almost as thick as my fist and as long as my shin. Luca and Chael stood behind Vell, Arcana watching unblinkingly from a few paces away. Finnead was absent, already with his ground forces, formed in a wedge of riders spread from the base of the hill; I stood just behind Arcana, a position that gave me a good angle to keep the Morrigan in my peripheral view, even as I watched Vell.

“Her father was herravaldyr, but her mother was volta, and her mother’s mother before her,” whispered Farin.

“How do you seem to know everything about everybody?” I asked quietly, watching Vell draw complex symbols into the dirt with the wand. Staff, I decided, was a better word. “And what’s a volta?”

“People tend to forget about us,” replied Farin. “Learning much about others, that is one of the benefits of being small and forgotten, sometimes.” She hummed thoughtfully. “The voltur are the Northern seers and diviners. Women with great power. The Courts called them the North-witches.” She lowered her voice. “Some say even the Sidhe Queens feared them.”

I blinked and wondered again at the tangled web of fate; Vell truly embodied her people’s power, the daughter of both a king and a mage. Had she decided not to tell me about her heritage because it opened the wounds of her past? Or had she never expected to call forth the power of her volta blood, as she had never expected to be fully herravaldyr, leading others of her kind?

As Vell finished drawing her inscription, the hot wind blew over us again, kicking up a whirl of dust, but her symbols remained untouched. Vell murmured an incantation, so low that I couldn’t make out the words. But I could hear the melodious rhythm of her voice and saw the sureness in her hands as she drew another line of symbols, the design foreign yet somehow undeniably powerful. The scent of pine and snow rose from her like steam as she reached out a hand, and Luca offered a silver bowl; she scooped a handful of pale powder from the silver bowl and poured it from the bottom of her fist over the inscription, still murmuring her song-like incantation. The pale powder sizzled as it hit the ground; for a moment it covered the dirt like gleaming snow, and then some invisible force drew it into the lines of the carved glyphs, every single gleaming grain pulled into the inscrutable letters. The inscription emanated its own light, like gently pulsing lines of starlight laid into the dirt of the hilltop.

In one hand Vell held her white staff, but in her other she now held a dagger, though I hadn’t seen her draw it; and I pressed my lips together, knowing what was probably going to happen next— and not liking it. Farin patted my ear as though to allay my uneasiness.

“Not much needed, I don’t think,” she whispered. A hush fell over the hilltop as Vell drew the dagger over the white skin of her bare forearm. Dark blood welled up slowly, stark against her pale skin. She dripped her blood over the inscription, stepped back and licked the dagger clean, wolf-like as her tongue lapped at the dark drops. A breeze lapped at the edges of the circle, cool and different than the wind forewarning the dragon’s approach. Chael offered his silver bowl, amethyst eye inscrutable as Vell mixed her blood into the bowl’s contents. She continued her incantation, almost hymn-like now, her voice rising in a haunting and fierce melody. The cool breeze twisted through Vell’s voice as she dipped her staff into the silver bowl, Chael following one step behind her in a choreographed movement that reminded me of an altar-boy following a priest during Mass. Vell walked the circle of the Valkyrie, her voice rising into a high and undulating song as she marked each warrior’s breastplate and each of the faehal’s wings with her ivory staff. The Valkyrie watched, some through eyes half-lidded in hazy anticipation of the rush of battle, some with the spark of blood lust already surfacing in their beautiful faces. All looked beatific as Vell marked them, radiant with the prospect of cleaving the skies on their newly winged mounts.

My war-markings tingled at the tightening of the air inside the circle of Valkyrie. Vell marked Gray last, and as she drew her ivory staff over the breastplate of her Knight, the hill began shuddering, a low and insistent vibration, like the hoof-beats of a faraway army. I felt the Caedbranr watching in interest, a tendril of its power sliding down my arm, probing closer to the inscription dug into the dirt. Farin grabbed my ear as a gust of cold wind suddenly assaulted the circle, whirling about the glowing glyphs, lifting the pale powder into a funnel of luminescence. I tugged my scarf up over my mouth and nose as the wind grew stronger; I had to brace my legs and lean into the force of the gale, gasping at the shock of the cold. It felt as though a blizzard engulfed us, but rather than snow, shining swirls of white cut swathes through the air. The whirlwind shifted and moaned, Vell’s unbroken song carried through the wind; I narrowed my eyes against the growing brilliance, and just as the light crested, bright as noon sun shining down on fresh snow, it settled onto the Valkyrie, drenching riders and mounts and wings with white light. The howling wind reached a crescendo as Vell sang a high, commanding word; shielding my eyes, I saw her drive her staff down into the center of the glyphs. The earth shuddered, the wind convulsed, and then the air settled and the light faded.

I blinked against the after-images imprinted on my eyes by the brilliant light. Vell still sang softly, her legs folded beneath her—though I hadn’t seen her move; her hands still gripped her staff, which glowed faintly. Tendrils of light, thin as spider-silk, floated from the staff to each of the Valkyrie and their mounts, fading into invisibility even as I watched. I let my scarf fall away from my face as I turned my gaze to the faehal, my eyes widening in wonder. The faehal stood pawing at the ground, magnificent, folding and unfolding their living wings, turning their heads to inspect their new appendages. It seemed as though all who had been touched by the ivory staff were more beautiful than moments before: brighter colors shimmered in the coats of the faehal, reds and greens and blues; and the armor of the Valkyrie shone with its own soft silvery aura.

After a stunned moment, in which the warriors looked down at their own hands and flexed their fingers even as their mounts tested their control of their new wings, Gray blinked and shook herself slightly. A wave of hot wind flowed over the hilltop again. My skin prickled in warning, the wind familiar, linked in my mind to limb-freezing terror and the glimpse of a nightmare creature. I looked at Vell, but she continued to sing softly, one hand now drawing glyphs in the air with two fingers.

“To the sky,” commanded Gray, a fierce, wondrous joy in her words.

“The beast approaches,” said Farin, leaping from my shoulder to thrust her shimmering blade at the gray clouds.

As the Valkyrie adjusted their saddles, now sitting behind the great joints of their faehal’s wings, Arcana turned to me, saying in her blank beautiful voice, “If you are going to put up any defenses around the High Queen, now would be the time.”

I frowned and almost asked Arcana exactly what she meant, but then, pricked by the Caedbranr, my hand slid into my belt-pouch. Four smooth dark stones sat in my palm when I opened my hand.

“You have used these stones before,” said Arcana. “Good.”

Gray mounted her winged faehal, eyes alight with excitement. Each of the Valkyrie carried two of the massive dragon-spears, and a bow with a quiver strapped to the flanks of their mount, filled with a half-dozen thick arrows. They also carried great coils of silver rope, and some carried grappling hooks and silver weights like those I’d seen affixed to the great net. Gray’s mount shook his head, and she touched his sides with her heels. He had been a beautiful creature before the wings, a palomino with a pale gold coat and silvery mane; now his wings shimmered deep gold and bronze, silver and snow-white and blue-grey. He tossed his head, tested the balance of his spread wings, and plunged down the hill at a gallop. I heard Gray give a wild cry of exhilaration as I lost sight of her on the slope of the hill; and then I saw her, a fantastic vision even for this world of magic, her faehal gaining height with each stroke of his powerful wings, his legs still moving at a gallop in the air. Farin gave a whoop of triumph, arrowing through the air to join the troop of Glasidhe now streaming toward Gray. Calliea was the second Valkyrie to take to the air, her heart-shaped face bright and fierce, her golden whip coiled at her belt. In twos and threes, the Valkyrie raced down the hill and leapt into the sky, their mounts taking to the air with such grace that it was hard to believe they hadn’t been born with their gleaming wings.

Vell did not watch her winged warriors take to the sky. She stared into nothingness, her golden eyes dark with concentration as she sang and sketched invisible runes in the air.

“She weaves the wind under their wings,” said Arcana, now standing beside me. A copper spark drifted from her mouth as she spoke. “I will stand outside your protection.”

“You’re not going to stand inside, with Vell and me?” I asked warily.

“How can I protect my Queen if I am being protected myself?” said the Morrigan, walking her strange gliding walk until she stood a small distance away from me. At her simple explanation, I wondered at my distrust of her; but then I told myself that an ancient goddess would be cunning, and more than capable of making me believe her loyalty. And for that matter, if I were inside the circle, I wouldn’t be able to take part in the battle either. The thought made me hesitate, but then the Caedbranr spoke into the tumult of my mind.

You must choose to use what strength you have regained wisely, the Sword said. Though you are my Bearer, you will not be able to both protect yourself as well as the High Queen if you choose to fight.

I took a deep breath. I didn’t like the idea of being sealed inside the protection with Vell, but if that was my role to play in this battle, I would perform it to perfection.

And besides, added the Sword, you are not part of the choosing of the vyldgard. Therefore, it is not your battle.

Every battle against the Darkness is my battle, I replied emphatically.

While your fervor is no more than I expect from a child of Gwyneth, it is idealistic. You must conserve your power to face your true enemy, not a hunted beast.

“Tess,” said Luca, interrupting my silent debate with the Caedbranr. “You are staying here with Vell?”

“Yes,” I said. I showed him the stones in my palm. “I’m going to cast a protection around her.” I grimaced. “And me, I suppose.”

“That puts my mind at ease,” said Luca. “Chael will stay with you as well.”

The lithe ulfdrengr nodded at me, his amethyst eye grave. “I will contribute what power is mine to your protection.”

I nodded. “All right.” I gave him the stones; in a strange way I could still feel them as he carried them, placing one stone at each cardinal point of the compass. The concept of a diamond of protection seemed to be almost universal throughout the Fae races that wielded some form of taebramh. I’d created my first diamond instinctually on the banks of the Darinwel, perhaps guided unconsciously by the Sword or by past Bearers. During my convalescence in the Hall of the Outer Guard, I’d read a book detailing the use of runes and objects of power. Sage and Calliea had proven to be facile in conversation about both healing and the use of taebramh, though neither of them used it regularly themselves. So I held the process in the back of my mind, even as my taebramh uncurled languorously; I remembered the feeling of casting the last protection much like I remembered the feeling of drawing a blade or leaning forward into a run.

I looked at Luca.

“Be safe,” I told him, my throat tight.

“There is no glory in safety,” he replied with a grin. “But I will find you after we kill this beast, and we will drink to its death.”

I smiled, his confidence buoying me. “A toast to the death of the dragon. I like it.” Then I glanced over at Arcana. “Arcana won’t be within the protection, but the protection would have to be broken for anything to happen to Vell.”

“You have a warrior you can trust with you,” said Luca with a nod. “Chael may not say much, but he is loyal.”

“That’s without question. I’m just…letting you know. About Arcana.”

Luca grinned. “Perhaps the Evermage thirsts for blood just as we do.”

“I have not seen a dragon hunt in a millennia,” said Arcana. “It will be interesting.”

Luca laughed. Then he took my face between his warm calloused hands, kissed my forehead and leapt onto his mount, galloping down the hill to join the ground forces led by Finnead.

“The stones are laid,” said Chael.

I tore my eyes away from Luca’s diminishing figure and drew one of the small daggers from my boot-top. I tugged off one dark gauntlet and pressed the blade into my forearm, opening a small shallow cut, just deep enough to draw blood. It didn’t escape me that I’d winced at Vell doing just this only moments ago. She remained focused on her song and her runes, eyes staring into the distance.

I walked the perimeter of the small protective diamond, smearing my blood on each stone; for extra reassurance, I marked Chael’s forehead with my blood, and pressed my thumb to Vell’s forehead as well. She didn’t flinch at my touch, her entire consciousness focused on her windweaving and the wings. I drew a rope of my taebramh from the well behind my heart, and let it flow down my war-markings, careful to direct it to allow Vell’s power free travel both into and out of the diamond. My blood called to my power, and the stones flared, a white-hot line of taebramh running between them. Chael offered me his blood; he’d only pricked himself, a dark drop welling up from the pad of his finger. Lost in the rush of power and intent on building an impenetrable protection, I opened my mouth and he slid his finger over my lips. His blood tasted sweet, and the flood of his sharp icy power streamed into me like a cold mountain river. I laid his power into the protection, weaving it with my own, drawing ropes of shining taebramh up and over us in glimmering arcs, connecting each of the stones both on the ground and in the air; and when I was finished I broke my connection with the spell. I would be able to access the protection again, if I needed to reinforce it with more power, but there was no sense in draining my reserves before the battle. As I looked out from within the diamond, the air shimmered slightly; it was like gazing across a hot parking lot in the heat of summer.

The protection softened the next wave of hot wind, muting it to a warm ripple that would have been pleasant but for the knowledge that it came from a dragon’s wings. I stared into the sky and my breath caught in my throat as I saw the roiling black cloud of smoke, towering like the anvil cloud of a terrible storm. I pulled my scarf up over my mouth and nose; even muted by the protection of direflame and my own wards, being doused with dragon-smoke was not an experience I wished to repeat. Chael watched stoically, standing on Vell’s other side. The next rolling blast of hot wind brought a rush of ash and grit through the air, but again it was merely a warm current about us, and the smoky ash drifted about the protection but did not cross the shining lines of my taebramh. I breathed a small sigh of relief.

The ground forces now spread themselves in a long line two ranks deep; I glimpsed Finnead at the center of the line, and Luca beside him. Why did they both have to place themselves in the most perilous position, I wondered, my chest tightening with anxiety as another blast of hot wind flattened the sparse grass against the hill. Vell’s singing changed in pitch and her hand drew runes faster and faster, her fingers twisting and sketching at such a speed that I had to look away, slightly dizzy. I glanced up at the sky, just in time to see the dragon smoke and ash swept away before a strong cold wind, which rushed against the foreboding black cloud and stripped away some of its menace. But as the gale streaking through the sky from the hilltop pushed back the dark smoke, it revealed, piece by terrible piece, the great beast we hunted.

I followed the outline of the great serpentine form with my eyes, my heart beating faster as I measured the impossible size of the creature; it defied any sense of logic, and our warriors, in the sky and on the ground, suddenly looked tiny and vulnerable against the monstrous beast. Its bat-like wings, capped at the joints by long thorny spikes, sliced through the sky, each arcing stroke propelling the dragon a staggering distance through the air, generating that tempestuous blast of searing wind. I swallowed hard against the bitter fear rising in the back of my throat. The Caedbranr sent its power through my war-markings, but the emerald glow did nothing to comfort me. Scales the grey color of scorched wood covered the dragon’s massive body, the edges of each scale black and shining like the carapace of a beetle; and as the leviathan moved, its body undulating with each stroke of its wings, I glimpsed the dark red glow of a burning ember beneath its scales.

The dragon’s long tail cut through the thinning smoke, sweeping behind the beast just as I remembered, tipped with a mace of wicked spines. Its back legs were heavily muscled, reminiscent of a horse’s hindquarters, if one could compare the massive beast to a horse; and its forelegs were jointed like those of a lion, made for propelling its incredible bulk into the air. Almost unwillingly, my eyes followed the long serpentine neck, and I shuddered as I saw the dragon’s head. Its huge triangular head, crowned with four long arching spikes, seemed too massive even for its gargantuan neck, the ash-gray of its body darkening to gleaming, sinister black. Its eyes were slits of scarlet, its nostrils slashes; but what struck me most were the teeth bristling from its jaw. Its teeth were black, gleaming black bone, mottled with scarlet, each fang large enough for me to see even at this distance; and as I watched, the dragon, still at least a league away, opened its massive jaw and bellowed a tongue of flame.

Vell’s hand suddenly swept in a fierce arc, and the cold wind took hold of the dragon’s fire, dragging it up and into the sky, away from the warriors on the ground. The dragon lashed its tail and thundered its challenge, its roar shaking the ground beneath us like an earthquake. My body went cold with fear. The Caedbranr watched tensely, its power coiled behind my sternum. I checked the four stones of the protection, and they were glowing brightly, undisturbed. Vell’s knuckles showed white from her grip on the ivory staff, and a slight sheen of sweat glistened on her brow.

“The vyldretning is strong,” said Chael in the ringing silence that followed the dragon’s roar. He gave me the hint of a smile. “Even as a child, she was stronger than the rest of us put together.”

I raised my eyebrows; that was the most I’d heard Chael speak since we’d rescued him, on top of the revelation that he’d known Vell when they were children. But just as the Sword’s reassurance didn’t allay my trepidation, Chael’s words didn’t loosen the knot of anxiety in my throat. Vell seemed not to hear, her eyes now fixed on the great beast flying toward the ranks of warriors waiting to slay it and earn their place in her vyldgard. I turned my attention back to the dragon, just in time to watch the first attack by the Valkyrie.

Three of the Valkyrie streaked down in front of the dragon, perilously close; I recognized Calliea with a jolt when a golden whip lashed out to kiss the dragon’s massive nose. The other two riders launched their massive spears, and without even seeing if their missiles hit their marks, the riders wheeled their winged faehal and dove for the ground, stretched low over their mounts’ sleek necks.

One of the thick spears hit the center of a black scale and fell away from the dragon harmlessly; but the other hit home, sliding between two scales near the dragon’s left nostril. Calliea’s whip left a crack on the dragon’s scales. The beast reared back its head in surprise and rage, its tail whipping through the air in agitation as it quickly flattened its wings, lunging after the three Valkyrie who had dared to strike the first blow. The first snap of its jaws barely missed the slowest of the winged faehal. Then the three changed their direction suddenly, shooting up into the sky at a near-vertical angle, their mounts straining and pumping their wings faster and faster. The dragon swung its head toward them, and extended its great wings to follow, menacing jaws half-parted already in anticipation. Vell twisted her rune-sketching hand and brought her cupped palm up slowly, as though lifting something invisible in her hand, a single droplet of sweat rolling down her pale face. I looked at the riders in time to see their faehal shoot upward with the speed of an arrow released from a longbow. Within two breaths, Calliea and the other two Valkyrie were no more than specks against the sky. The dragon stretched its massive length upward in pursuit.

“Where are the other Valkyrie?” I murmured to myself, searching the sky, but I couldn’t find them in the darkness of the clouds.

“We are the hunters,” Chael said in a low voice, his face alight with anticipation as we watched the dragon climb higher and higher, chasing the Valkyrie into the thin cold reaches of the sky. And then, again, I saw the gold flash of Calliea’s whip, inciting a bellow of rage this time from the dragon as it snapped at her; my breath caught in my throat—I couldn’t see the Valkyrie, they were too high above the earth. I could only hope from the dragon’s second roar of rage that it had missed its target. After a moment I picked out three specks plunging toward the earth, falling so fast I feared they were dead, but the dragon followed, folding its wings against its back. The unfathomable bulk of the dragon lent it great speed, and it gained quickly on the three Valkyrie. I bit my lip, watching helplessly, but when I glanced again at Vell, I saw her wolf-like smile.

“And now the trap is sprung,” said Chael, his amethyst eye blazing.

The remaining Valkyrie appeared suddenly, just below the dragon, unnoticed as it plunged intently after the three offending riders; but I saw with a rush of delight the massive net stretched between them, and the great weights affixed to the net. The dragon’s wings were pinned to its back in its dive, and the Valkyrie flew with the great net on an angle to intercept the beast. The dragon dove, the Valkyrie flew past the dragon and the net hit the dragon’s back. The Valkyrie held to their edges of the net and used their momentum to swing the huge weights attached to the thick silver rope over to the opposite side of the dragon, completing the cocoon of the net.

A great shout rose up from the forces on the ground as they saw the dragon suddenly wrapped in the net, jerking and writhing as it plunged toward the earth. The sharp spikes on the dragon’s wings cut through dozens of the net’s ropes, sending silver coils flying as it struggled; but the Valkyrie regrouped, dove after the dragon again, more silver ropes in their hands, tied to barbed spears. One by one they arrowed down from above and plunged their spears into the dragon along its vulnerable spine, piercing the folds of its leathery wings and flying with their rope under the dragon’s belly, over its back, tightening the bindings about its wings. The dragon’s struggles suddenly took on new urgency; I cried out in protest as a sweep of its barbed tail caught one of the Valkyrie, smashing into mount and rider with terrible force. Vell made a sound as though the air had been punched from her stomach, bowing for an instant over the ivory staff; her hand reached out, swept a gentle curve, slowly lowered to the ground. I watched as a zephyr caught the limp rider and broken faehal. They drifted like autumn leaves to the ground, set down gently behind the lines of the ground forces. I saw one of the other healers gallop toward them even as dark blood stained the dirt about their still forms. I couldn’t see the rider’s face, but there was no golden whip and no robin’s-egg-bright breastplate, so I knew at least it wasn’t Calliea.

The dragon had torn through most of the silver net, loose rope flailing about its massive body, but a dozen strands of silver rope still stretched over its wings, looking fragile as spider-silk. It was enough to keep it from spreading its wings, and the Valkyrie harried it, firing huge arrows from their oversized bows, the missiles like splinters against the mass of the beast. The dragon plunged toward the ground, gaining speed, writhing and bucking, the Valkyrie careful now to avoid its lashing tail. Every so often I saw the flashing gold of Calliea’s whip, and the silver gleam of Gray’s breastplate in the wheeling formation of Valkyrie.

Vell growled and flattened her hand, bringing it to her eye-level and pressing it down toward the ground. The dragon’s speed increased even further and it gave a bellow of confusion as winds buffeted its body, hitting its scales with such force that cracks appeared in fine webs across its body. I felt the surge and swell of Vell’s power flowing through the protection. The dragon roared defiantly and unleashed a tongue of fire at one of the Valkyrie; Vell screamed and I watched in horror as the rider and faehal plummeted toward the ground—but they were not engulfed in flames. The direflame, I realized in a heady rush of relief. The force of the flames must have knocked them unconscious, but hadn’t set them afire. With a ragged gasp Vell caught the rider but missed the faehal, and the beautiful winged creature crashed into the ground. I winced and looked away. Vell set the second Valkyrie down next to where three healers labored over the first fallen rider.

The dragon, thrashing as it plummeted toward the earth, swiveled its head on its great sinuous neck and fixed its gaze on the hilltop. On Vell. Its malevolent scarlet eyes bored into me, and I unconsciously threw my hands out as I reached for the protection. The dragon threw a whip of white-hot flame from its ravening maw, even as it hurtled downward, and the stones flared, the wall of protection shimmering into visibility not a moment too soon. The impact of the flames hit me physically, vibrating through my link to the diamond of protection and throwing me bodily backward. I felt firm hands steady me as I spread my taebramh through the glimmering wall, grimacing in concentration, pushing at the air with my hands in an unconscious echo of my power’s movement. The dragon-flame rushed along every side of the diamond, lasting much longer than any ordinary fire, throwing itself against the protection with unnatural force. My skin prickled as the air warmed. The Sword gave one defiant clarion tone, and the flames dissipated with an evil hiss. I shuddered and dropped my hands, gulping in a breath as sweat rolled down my face. As my vision cleared—the whole struggle had lasted only a moment, though it had felt like an hour—I saw the dragon give a last desperate writhe and heard Vell give a low snarl of satisfaction.

“Brace yourself,” said Chael, crouching down next to Vell. I quickly dropped to one knee, and still barely managed to keep my balance as the dragon hit the ground with bone-jarring force, the remaining Valkyrie still raining down arrows upon it. The ground bucked beneath our feet for a long moment and then settled, dust rising like smoke, swirling about the mammoth beast.

War cries rose from the ground force as Finnead held his blade aloft and urged his mount into a gallop, rushing headlong toward the great fallen creature. I stared at the dragon, unable to comprehend its size—it was as though a mountain had been dropped from the sky, blotting out the horizon. Vell let out a ragged breath, her body sagging over the staff, her hand still wrapped about it, and she picked up the thread of her song again. I hoped it would be easier for her now that the dragon was on the ground—I didn’t like the gray pallor of her skin or the sweat rolling down her face.

Just as the ground forces neared it, the dragon awoke from its stunned stupor, thrashing and writhing anew, its struggles shuddering through the ground up to the hilltop. I walked to the very edge of the protection, watching breathlessly as the line of warriors reached the dragon. A sweep of the dragon’s tail connected with the leftmost flank of the warriors’ line, sending at least a half-dozen warriors and their mounts sprawling, dark blood arcing through the air. I tasted bile in the back of my mouth. I wished suddenly that I was down on the field in the dust and the blood—at least then I’d be able to do something other than watch helplessly from the hilltop.

As the warriors closed in on the dragon, a dozen pairs of fighters leapt down from their mounts and ran toward the beast on foot. I watched one of the pairs in amazement, one dark-haired warrior carrying something I thought was a spear, until he set its sharpened end in the earth and his partner swung an axe down, striking the stake with the flat of the axe and driving it into the ground. The dragon had fallen at an angle, and I saw another set of pairs riding hard toward the opposite side. The Valkyrie harried the dragon’s eyes, distracting it while the ground riders streaked around its massive bulk. Before the second set of riders reached their positions, one of each of the first pairs unshouldered a longbow, the bitter end of their ropes tied to a great arrow. Amazement and respect for the perfectly choreographed plan rose up within me as I watched the warriors shoot the ropes over to the other side of the dragon. Not all of the second set of riders had made it to the other side of the dragon, despite the Valkyrie’s efforts; the dragon caught one pair in its claws, and the beast crushed several riders beneath its massive neck as it flailed. I stopped counting the dead, stopped trying to look at their faces. I would add their names to my inscribed blade after the dragon lay defeated. I gripped the pommel of my plain blade until my knuckles turned white.

The second set of riders carried huge barbed spears set with hoops of metal at the end of the haft. One rider darted down from their mount to retrieve the line, some cutting it from the arrow with a flash of their dagger; and the second readied the spear. As soon as the first rider tied the line through the hoop of metal at the end of the spear, knotting it faster than thought, the spearman launched the missile upward, and a waiting Valkyrie caught it deftly in midair. The Valkyrie plunged the spears through the dragon’s wings, and as the weapons drove home I realized the cruel efficiency of these weapons: the more the dragon struggled, the more it would damage its own wings by the force of its thrashing, and tear its own flesh with the barbs of the spears. For an instant, I felt a flash of sympathy for the massive beast, wondering if it, like Luca, was enslaved within its own body by the malicious forces of Malravenar; but then the dragon roared, scarlet eyes fixing on the closest rider, and it caught the Sidhe in its jaws, swallowing the warrior with terrifying ease. My sympathy evaporated, replaced by the utter certainty that this beast was evil. I looked frantically for Luca and Finnead. Every rider now seemed to have a grappling hook or barbed spear in their hands, sending more and more ropes over the dragon, the Valkyrie plucking the arrows and spears from midair, redirecting them on both sides, until the dragon’s back bristled with more spears than its own spines. One line, then two, sailed over the dragon’s neck, and a fearless Valkyrie streaked under the dragon, soaring up over its neck and shooting the line back down to the ground.

“Do the same for the tail,” I whispered raggedly, watching the mace of spikes crash into yet another rider.

A higher, desperate chord entered the dragon’s bellows. It ripped at the earth with its claws, sending rocks and huge chunks of debris flying through the air like missiles launched from trebuchets.

“Hold the line!” Luca roared, his voice loud enough to me to hear clearly. He was on foot now but still visible among the mounted riders, hefting a spear with a haft as thick as my waist in one hand, carrying a massive axe in the other. My breath caught in my throat as Luca strode toward the dragon’s head. A handful of lines pinned down its neck but it still struggled, gouts of fire erupting from its jaws.

“The axe!” I heard a bright clear voice yell as a Valkyrie swooped down low. I saw now that each Valkyrie had a Glasidhe on their shoulder, the small warriors advising the Sidhe on the finer points of fighting a battle from the air. Luca tossed the axe into the air even as the dragon reared up its head, fixing Luca with a malevolent scarlet eye. Calliea caught the axe deftly, leaning off her winged faehal at an impossible angle. Time slowed. Luca roared his challenge at the dragon, drawing back his spear as the dragon opened its jaws. Calliea crouched on the back of her faehal as the valiant mount carried her toward the dragon’s head.

Luca launched his spear into the open maw of the dragon.

Calliea leapt from her winged faehal, axe held in one hand, her body a graceful deadly arc.

Luca’s spear punched through the back of the dragon’s neck as Calliea landed squarely between the dragon’s eyes. She ran lightly up the dragon’s head, keeping her balance even as the great head jerked, her free hand uncoiling her golden whip. The whip flashed as she wrapped it about one of the great spines crowning the dragon’s head.

Fire erupted from the dragon’s throat. As if from a distance I heard myself scream wordlessly as the fire engulfed Luca. Calliea dove between the long, vicious spikes, swinging herself by her whip onto the back of the dragon’s head, Luca’s axe flashing as she landed and drove the axe into the base of the dragon’s skull.

The dragon shuddered, throwing back its head, the flames abruptly smothered. Calliea caught herself by one arm, her whip wrapped about her wrist, and her feet found unlikely purchase on the spearhead that had punched through the dragon’s neck. She jerked the great axe free in a spray of gore and screamed a battle cry as she drove the blade home again, and once more.

Luca lay unmoving before the dragon. He would be crushed when the beast fell. I took a step forward, but the Caedbranr suddenly flared, freezing my limbs with a rush of power. I fought it uselessly.

Do not break your protection. Not until the beast is dead.

A stream of the vilest curses I knew flowed through my head as I fought against the Sword’s relentless grip on my body. I could barely breathe, its hold on me was so tight; but then I stopped struggling as I suddenly caught sight of a familiar faehal galloping toward Luca. The dragon convulsed beneath another blow of Calliea’s axe, and now there were other Valkyrie landing lightly on the dragon’s body, driving their blades beneath its scales. The beast swayed, smoke and blood gushing from its maw. Finnead leapt down from his faehal and lifted Luca bodily, sliding the big Northman over his shoulders, still holding his shield on his left arm. He turned to his faehal, looking as though he was going to throw Luca over his mount; but then the shadow of the dragon fell over him. As one he and the faehal broke into a run.

The dragon’s death rattle sounded like a thousand trees snapping under the force of a gale. Calliea leapt back onto the back of her winged steed, holding the gory axe aloft. The great head crashed down, and I lost sight of Finnead and Luca in the cloud of dust and debris. Vell shuddered and collapsed, releasing her grip on the ivory staff. Chael was immediately at her side, lifting her limp form onto his knees. I held my breath as he held his hand before Vell’s lips.

“She lives,” he said tersely. “Go.”

“It’s dead,” I said, looking at the fading scarlet eye of the great dragon; the Sword released me. I broke the protection around the High Queen with a swipe of my hand, peeling back the layers of my taebramh ferociously, and started running down the hill, toward the dust and carnage of the choosing of the vyldgard.

Chapter 14

At the base of the hill, Nehalim drew up beside me, the whites of his eyes showing and his nostrils flaring at the scent of the dragon. I unceremoniously threw myself onto his back, coughing in the dust, my lungs burning as I belatedly pulled at the scarf around my neck.

“Luca and Finnead,” I wheezed, hoping that the white faehal understood. Nehalim flicked an ear back toward me and tossed his head, surging forward through the whirling cloud of dust. I wrapped one hand in his mane and crouched low over his neck, pressing my scarf to my face with my other hand. The air I breathed through the scarf tasted cool and sweet. The Sword hummed on my back. I thought briefly that I should stop—I was a healer, I should be aiding the half-dozen healers already working with focused intent over broken bodies. But if Finnead and Luca needed help, I had to get to them quickly, and there would be time enough to help the other healers later. I was going to race to the sides of the men I loved.

I started in shock at my own thought—the men I loved. A thrill mixed with the terrible fear pressing on my chest, making it hard to breathe. Nehalim wove through the ghostly figures of the surviving warriors. I nearly choked as a triumphant shout rose from the throats of the vyldgard. I wanted to yell at them, to remind them that dozens of warriors struggled for their lives, or had already died. But the rush of victory flooded through the scores of Sidhe, even as healers worked to save the lives of their fallen brothers and sisters.

The massive bulk of the fallen dragon loomed before us, emerging like a sudden steep escarpment from the dust-wreathed battlefield. Smoke and dust curled around the corpse, dulling the black gleam of its scales. I shuddered as I glimpsed its great open eye, now the color of dried blood, staring sightlessly into the dirt. Nehalim tossed his head and shied away from the great dead beast. I slid from his back and patted his neck, scanning the ground frantically. In the distance, I heard a wolf howl. My heart squeezed in fear.

The dragon smelled metallic, like the tang of blood and the hot iron scent of a forge; beneath the blood and smoke I tasted the foul stench of rotten flesh, even through the silky cloth of my scarf. I coughed and tried not to retch, forcing myself to focus on finding Finnead and Luca. I couldn’t get enough breath to call out, but then I saw a faint plume of dust rise from behind one of the dragon’s great curving head-spikes. I ran toward the movement, losing my footing in dirt suddenly muddy with the black viscous blood of the dragon. I put down a hand to regain my balance, thanked whatever deity would listen for my thick leather gauntlets, and scrambled across the remaining distance, stumbling a few more times. I heard a cough and a curse from behind the massive curve of the spike. My heart leapt but then sank—the horn was thicker than I was tall, impossible for me to climb even if I jumped. Briefly I thought of leading Nehalim to the side of the horn and then standing on his back to climb it, but I glanced back at the loyal faehal and saw the terror in his eyes. Bringing him closer might break him in spirit, even if he made it through the viscous mud. I hit my fists once against the curve of the massive spike in frustration, and then I used it for balance as I ran down its length until it tapered to a manageable height.

I threw myself over the dragon’s horn with all my usual grace, nearly getting stuck with one leg on either side, but I pushed hard with my hands and landed in an undignified tangle on the other side, cursing as gore soaked into my breeches. There was another cough and another curse, accompanied by the sound of movement. I looked up and saw Finnead and Luca, gore-stained and streaked with dust, their hair matted with mud. Finnead was the one moving, and Luca sprawled face-down. Finnead didn’t see me yet; they were a good distance away, but close enough for me to see the pain and determination on Finnead’s face as he reached Luca and dragged the ulfdrengr onto his back. I clambered toward them, every step a challenge, the blood-soaked ground churned to mud.

I didn’t have the breath to speak. My lungs burned as I plunged through the muck, watching helplessly as Finnead leaned over Luca for a long moment, listening. The dark-haired Knight suddenly drew back his hand and slapped Luca hard across the face; for an instant nothing happened, but then, faintly, Luca gasped. My knees softened with relief—not helpful when climbing through ankle-deep mud. But, I thought to myself, it was far, far better than the alternative.

Finnead sat back on his heels, coughed and then seemed to remember the scarf about his neck. He pulled it up over his nose, heedless of the mud and gore staining the cloth; and then he gripped the front of Luca’s jerkin and hauled the semi-conscious ulfdrengr up out of the mud, steadying him against his own knees. Luca coughed and I saw Finnead’s hands tremble as he pulled the scarf up over Luca’s mouth and nose. He patted Luca’s chest twice, firmly, and I heard him say wearily, “Well met, brother.”

I finally reached them as Finnead leaned his head back against the dragon’s neck. He barely opened his eyes at my approach.

“Why is it,” I rasped, “that you two are always nearly getting killed?”

A faint smile touched Finnead’s mouth and he opened his eyes fully, gazing hazily up at me. “Perhaps because we know it will get your attention.”

I gave half an exasperated laugh and impulsively slid an arm around Finnead, steadying Luca with my other hand. I pressed my forehead into Finnead’s shoulder and something between a strangled gasp and sob escaped my mouth. Then I took a deep, lung-searing breath, tugged at the scarf over my mouth and nose and blinked fiercely at the tears suddenly gathering at the corners of my eyes. At this point, though, we were all so soaked with sweat and gore that a few tears would probably go unnoticed. Then I turned my half-embrace into a thorough inspection. Finnead didn’t protest, which worried me. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes again.

“Hey.” I tugged off one gore-encrusted gauntlet and touched Finnead’s cheek. “Stay awake for me.”

“I’m perfectly awake,” said Finnead without opening his eyes. “But slaying a dragon is tiresome work.”

I shook my head. He bit back a groan when I slid my hands behind his back, feeling lightly for injuries where I couldn’t see.

“Where does it hurt?” I asked quickly.

“I’m fine,” he said, one eye opening under a raised eyebrow. “Though I’ll be sore for a while. Tend to Luca.”

As though he’d heard his name, Luca coughed and stirred. Finnead gripped his shoulder and steadied him wordlessly. I slid through the muck on my knees.

“Luca, open your eyes for me,” I said firmly, loosening the laces of his stiff leather vest. Luca grimaced and coughed again, his eyes stirring beneath his eyelids; then he blinked rapidly, his ice-blue gaze unfocused. I laid my bare hand against the side of his muddy face and he winced at my touch. I frowned but said soothingly, “That’s it, come and rejoin us now.”

The howl of a wolf split the air, and Luca’s eyes sharpened. He swallowed thickly and looked up at me, then turned his head and looked at Finnead. With a grunt, he levered himself into a sitting position. I sat on my heels beside him, ready to steady him if necessary. Luca tried to speak, but failed, coughing instead; and he settled for giving a slow nod of thanks to Finnead.

“Don’t mention it,” Finnead murmured.

I found with relief that the waterskin tucked into a pocket on the side of my satchel had survived my headlong gallop across the dusty field. I pressed the skin into Luca’s hand and he managed to lift it to his lips, gulping down three long swallows without pause. He held out the water to Finnead, who took it and pulled a draught, then handed it back. Luca poured some of the remaining water over his head, and as some of the mud and gore washed away, I saw with concern that Luca’s skin shone a bright, angry red. Luca took another swig, then glared at the dead bulk of the dragon and spat to the side.

“Hylfitt,” he swore, “that fire was hot.”

Finnead chuckled. Luca looked at him and then grinned as well. He seemed to notice me fully for the first time since awakening, and toasted me with the waterskin.

“A drink to the death of the dragon!” Luca said, tipping it back again.

I couldn’t help but grin at his bedraggled triumph. I wiped a small patch of his skin clean with his scarf. “For being blasted full-on by dragon-flame, I suppose you’re lucky to get away with mild burns.”

Luca made a dismissive motion with his free hand, but then stopped me as I began my healer’s inspection, gripping my arm as I went to press against his ribs with my palms. He took another swig from the water-skin.

“A few cracked ribs, I think,” he said.

I raised my eyebrows but then remembered the force of the flames hitting the invisible wall of the protective diamond. “Is that all?”

He shrugged with one shoulder. “Not bleeding, so I’ll be fine.”

“You know as well as I do that bleeding is only one thing that can kill you.” I sighed. “Can you both walk?” I eyed the steaming dragon blood pooling in the muck about us. Thankfully they’d fallen in dirt that had turned to mud, but I didn’t know if the cooling dragon blood still had caustic effects, and I didn’t want to find out. “Nehalim is just over there.”

“Lovely, just over there,” said Finnead without moving.

“Are you hiding something from me?” I asked, fixing him with a severe look that had absolutely no effect, since Finnead had closed his eyes again.

“Being fallen upon by a dragon is no small thing,” he said. “Give me another moment.”

“Wait, the dragon fell on you?” I repeated, my voice curving up an octave in alarm.

“No need to panic, Tess,” Finnead said, opening his eyes and looking at me calmly. He smiled. “Remember, I’m very hard to kill.”

I stared at the carcass behind him. “Yes, but that’s…. massive.”

“I agree, but it was just the neck of the dragon, and it was just for a moment.”

“Just for a moment,” I said wonderingly, shaking my head. I leaned forward. “Let me examine you properly.”

“Tess,” said Finnead firmly, “I’m sure there are those injured far worse than I who could benefit from your skills—” He jerked and grimaced at his own reaction when I touched his left forearm.

“Broken,” I pronounced, feeling the displacement of the bone, ignoring the curdling in my stomach. “But if that’s all that happened from being fallen upon by a dragon, then I’d say you’re in good shape.”

“It was less of being fallen upon and more of a deflection,” Finnead said musingly. He grinned as Luca looked at him. “Couldn’t let you have all the fun…and the Queen would have been very angry with me if I’d let the dragon crush you.” His eyes gleamed as he glanced at me. “The Queen, and others.”

“Yes, I’m very fond of you both, let’s discuss it over tea and crumpets,” I snapped, feeling the blood rush to my cheeks. “Come on then. If you’re well enough to crack jokes, you’re well enough to walk. Let’s go. Up.”

“So authoritative,” said Luca under his breath to Finnead.

“Tea and crumpets?” Finnead repeated with a chuckle.

I sighed in exasperation and watched as both men struggled to stand, attempting to mask their pain with expressions of stoicism.

“You two are ridiculous,” I said, mostly to myself, as I saved Luca from toppling into the mud, inserting myself under his arm and steadying him with an arm about his waist. I felt his breath hitch and we adjusted so that he was leaning on me more with his arm on my shoulders, minimizing my direct contact with his ribs. I glanced over and saw Finnead making his way just behind us, left arm held across his stomach. He gave me a little nod of reassurance.

As I helped Luca clamber through the muck—he was heavy—I said in realization to Finnead, “That’s your shield arm. You deflected the dragon with your shield?”

“Yes. My shield had a bit of power behind it. The vyldretning helped.”

“That makes more sense.”

“Are you saying I was only able to deflect the dragon because of the shield?”

“It was an enchanted shield, from what you just said,” I pointed out.

“Mildly enchanted, on the scale of these things, and it shattered. Which I think is why my arm broke.”

“Oh, mildly enchanted, I see.” I glanced over my shoulder in time to see Finnead’s quick grin, which turned into a slight grimace as he navigated a particularly nasty patch of mud. “Was your spear enchanted, Luca?”

“Not to my knowledge,” he said, slightly out of breath.

“See? Luca didn’t need an enchanted spear to kill the dragon—”

“I didn’t kill the dragon,” said Luca.

“Well, you’re right,” I said, “technically Calliea killed the dragon with your axe, but it was really a culmination, I think…”

“Isn’t this a heartwarming sight,” said Arcana, crouching atop the dragon’s corpse.

I jumped, Luca stumbled, and I went down on one knee but kept him from completely losing his footing. He held his breath as we struggled upright. “Sorry,” I said quietly, looking up again at the Morrigan, sitting on her haunches like some carrion crow atop the neck of the dead monster, her eyes gleaming from the strip of scarlet war-paint. “I’d think you’d be glad to see your fellow Knight whole,” I said out loud to Arcana.

The Evermage slid down the dragon’s neck, a distance of at least four or five times my height, and landed lightly in front of Finnead. She smiled her dead smile. An amber spark escaped her mouth. “I am glad the Queen’s power is not diminished.” Arcana studied Finnead for a moment, tilting her head to one side as she looked at his arm. “That needs to be set.” She held out her hands, palms up, her flat eyes fixed on Finnead, watching him intently. My skin prickled and I felt as though I was observing a challenge, a contest of wills. His face smooth of any emotion, Finnead placed his arm in Arcana’s hands. I felt Luca tense but I couldn’t look away. Arcana closed her child’s hands around Finnead’s arm and, still staring at him, set the bones with a twist and crack, the raw strength in her movement terrifying. Finnead’s body tightened and he paled, but he kept his feet, staring down at Arcana. I felt grudging admiration despite my exasperation at his obstinacy.

Arcana pushed up Finnead’s sleeve and ran her fingers over his lividly bruised skin, checking the alignment of the bones. She made a considering sound and her fingers wrapped around his arm again. Finnead took a deep breath, his face still impassive.

“Enough,” I said.

“Oh, brightly-burning Bearer, you don’t like others touching your pretty playthings,” Arcana said, her voice sliding sinuously through the air. “I am only assisting my fellow Knight, who is bound to the High Queen, as am I.” She released Finnead and glided toward us. I set my jaw and stepped in front of her, blocking her path to Luca.

“I don’t know what game you’re playing,” I said in a low voice, looking down at the Morrigan in her pretty almost-woman body, “but if you wish to help those in need of healing, I suggest you put your skills to use with the other healers.”

She cocked her head. “As should you.”

The bright-copper scent of fresh blood wafted over me with the Morrigan’s words. We stared at each other for a moment and then Arcana chuckled, leapt up onto the dragon’s head-spike in a spider-like jump, and disappeared.

I turned quickly to Finnead, even as he put his good arm against the dragon for balance. “Are you all right?”

“Relatively speaking,” he replied in a tight voice. “But I doubt Vell will let Arcana lay hands on any other vyldgard. She is not particularly gentle.”

I shook my head. “I don’t know why you let her do that to you.”

“Dominance,” murmured Luca. “It was a test of wills.”

Finnead smiled a little. “It needs to understand that I don’t fear it.” He took a deep breath and pushed away from the dragon. We slogged onward, toward the edge of the dragon’s head-spike.

“It would have needed to be set anyway,” Finnead pointed out reasonably.

I shook my head slightly. “I would set my own arm before I’d let her touch me.”

“That would be an interesting sight,” said Finnead.

“I’d figure it out.” I breathed a sigh as we reached the end of the long, curving spike, finally able to walk away from the mountainous corpse. As we ventured out onto firmer ground, Luca gave my shoulder a squeeze with his hand and then relinquished his hold; Finnead, too, was walking with surer strides, as though he gained more strength with the growing distance to the dragon-corpse.

I spotted Farin as she separated from a small group of Glasidhe flying above us; she dove down and bowed to both Finnead and Luca with a flourish.

“The dragon is dead,” she announced in her high bright voice. “Long live the vyldgard!”

“Long live the vyldgard,” agreed Finnead solemnly; I envied his self-control as I tried to hide my smile.

“There shall be much feasting and celebration of the evil beast’s death!” Farin continued, landing on my shoulder. “Oh,” she added, directing her voice toward Luca, “the wolves are coming! They’re just over the hill—there!”

I looked up at the hilltop where I’d stood with Vell and glimpsed a tawny streak flashing across the ground. Clouds of dust still hung low over the ground like fog, making figures shadowy and ghost-like. Nehalim snorted and shook his head, distaste plain his eyes. “I know,” said. “We’ll be away from this thing soon.”

“Kianryk and I will be just behind you,” said Luca.

I nodded, pushing away my instinct to watch both Luca and Finnead with every step. They were warriors. “See you at camp.” I swung up onto Nehalim’s back and Finnead pulled himself up behind me with an exhalation of effort; he slid his right arm about my waist, holding me lightly for balance as Nehalim carried us over the dusty field.

A cool wind sprang up and swept away the fog of dust as we slowed and came to a stop near the makeshift triage, where the other healers glanced up briefly; a winged faehal switched its tail, foam-lathered flanks gleaming in the gray light as it watched the healers working on the wounded. My chest tightened as I took in the sight of at least a score of gravely wounded Sidhe, with more being carried over by those still able to walk. I searched until I found Calliea, her golden braids and the whip coiled neatly at her hip identifying her more readily than her once-bright breastplate, now black with dragon gore. She knelt next to a gasping bright-haired Valkyrie.

“The Queen requests my presence,” said Finnead in a low voice. “Go on, I’ll be fine.”

I slid down from Nehalim’s back and strode over to Calliea, my stomach turning at the blood spattering the dirt. Nehalim shook his head; I felt both him and Finnead watch me until Finnead murmured a Sidhe word to the faehal and they slipped away silently.

“Tell me what you need,” I said to Calliea, slipping my satchel of supplies off my shoulder and unrolling it.

Calliea barely looked up from cutting away the straps of the Valkyrie’s mangled breastplate—it looked as though the prone Valkyrie been hit by a giant mace, the enameled surface of her armor punched through as though it was paper thin, the edges ripped and gnarled, smeared with blue-black blood. I swallowed hard but turned to my bandolier of herbs and instruments, finding the packet of pale snowmoss that would stop the bleeding, and then something for the pain. My fingers worked of their own accord as I tried not to hear the wheeze at the back of the Valkyrie’s throat when she breathed.

“Settle now, Rhan,” said Calliea as she peeled the armor away from the Valkyrie’s chest. I stared at the mess of darkly gleaming blood and white flesh and shining bone, my heartbeat suddenly roaring in my ears. The Caedbranr prodded me sharply. I coughed and took a deep breath and set my jaw.

“Tess,” said Calliea. I looked up and she held my gaze. “Stick with me, we’ll work as a pair. Just listen to what I say, all right?”

I nodded, too grateful to her for offering her partnership to be embarrassed about my lack of bearing. I lost track of time as we worked over Rhan, Calliea directing me or asking for a certain herb or instrument from my kit; my hands became slick and shining with blood, no matter how often I wiped them on my breeches. I pushed conscious thought from my mind, reducing my focus to Calliea’s voice and my hands, sewing ragged flaps of skin together with neat, precise stitches, packing shallower wounds with snowmoss, checking the pulse at Rhan’s neck every so often. Then Calliea sat back on her heels and squeezed Rhan’s shoulder with one hand, though the Valkyrie was now unconscious.

“That’ll do for now,” she said. And we moved on to the next broken warrior. Those who hadn’t trained extensively as healers still helped with rudimentary aid. I’d known that Sidhe bodies were essentially the same as my own, just stronger—more difficult to kill, in the words of one dark-haired Knight; but seeing shattered bones and tourniquets tied tightly around limbs hammered home the reality of our war. It was real. It would claim some lives, and irrevocably change others. One warrior gripped my arm hard enough to bruise as Calliea worked to save his leg, nearly ripped asunder below the knee; his face twisted in a rictus of pain, but he watched her every move, trying not to show his terror at the prospect of losing his limb. Life as an amputee among the strong and beautiful Sidhe…I let him grip my arm and slipped a bit of powdered lady’s-veil his cup of water. After a few moments, he relaxed just a bit, the sheen of panic leaving his eyes. Calliea glanced up at me and gave me a nod of approval.

After what seemed like hours, the first intense wave of life-saving efforts ebbed; the fighters we saw now had serious wounds, but they weren’t on the brink of death. I ran out of most of the herbs in my kit, and a passing healer silently dropped a bundle by my knee as he walked down the line, distributing supplies. A warrior I didn’t recognize brought us a waterskin; we both took long swigs and then wiped our brows and went back to stitching and bandaging. Now and again Calliea would show me a new technique or gently correct my approach to a certain wound. I found it oddly comforting to be back in the role of student. It reminded me of Eamon and Ramel. As we continued to work, I gradually became aware of the activities around us: able-bodied warriors helping to move the most gravely injured to a newly erected tent, the cloth silvery against the dirt and scorched trees; friends checking on their battle-companions, lighting campfires, scrounging out the makings of a meal. I felt my own stomach rumble despite my distaste at the smell of roasting meat—something about the scent of dead things and fire reminded me of the dragon.

Finally the triage area was clear, the rows of prone warriors gone, leaving a stretch of churned, blood-spattered dirt. Calliea and I stared at each other for a moment, and then I blinked. I let myself think again. My hands shook as images from the day flashed through my mind’s eye; and as I caught sight of the layers of blood on my hands, I turned my head to the side and retched. My mostly-empty stomach had nothing to surrender, and I spat bile disgustedly into the dust.

“That was your first battle triage, wasn’t it,” said Calliea, handing me a sprig that smelled something like mint. I chewed it gratefully, and a bright wintry taste chased away the sourness in my mouth.

“There was—some, after the battle in the Royal Wood,” I said. “But nothing on this scale.”

“Well,” Calliea said, grimacing as she unbuckled her gore-encrusted breastplate, “you did all right, for a novice.”

I smiled tiredly, leaning back on my hands. “I guess I am still a novice when it comes to healing.”

“You never stop learning. That’s part of what makes it so interesting,” she continued conversationally, though the edges of her voice sounded raw and tired. A passing healer paused and offered Calliea the contents of a steaming basin; she drew out two hot cloths and passed one to me. I swiped the damp steaming cloth over my face first, and then cleaned the blood from my hands and arms as best I could.

“How long have you been training as a healer?” I asked Calliea.

“Only a few decades,” she replied casually. She plucked a silver-capped little skin from her satchel, opened it and took a quick swig, tipping the skin quickly as though drinking from a flask of liquor. My suspicion was confirmed as she smiled a little tiredly at me and offered it. “Want some? It helps to take off the edge.”

Weariness settled into my bones as I reached out and took the skin without asking what exactly it was that I’d be drinking. When I tipped it to my lips, a drink that tasted faintly like whiskey burned past my lips and down my throat. I swallowed hard to keep from coughing. “Thought that was going to be something like vinaess,” I remarked when I found my voice again. Warmth radiated from my stomach, chasing away the chill in my limbs and softening the edges of the recent memories seared into the forefront of my mind.

“Vinaess is for children and softheads,” Calliea said disdainfully.

I chuckled suddenly, wondering what the Unseelie Court would think of Calliea’s proclamation.

“You drank it at Darkhill, didn’t you,” the Seelie healer continued, motioning with her flask. “Seems to fit.”

I smiled. “I hope you don’t hold all those from the other Court in such low esteem.”

Calliea took another swig and considered as she swallowed. “Finnead’s all right. Only because he actually gives a damn about everyone else.”

I thought of Ramel, Bren, Donovan, Emery…. and Murtagh. “Not all of them are selfish. And besides, didn’t your Court turn only to yourselves when your Queen was imprisoned?”

“What were we supposed to do, with the Dark One imprisoning our Queen and her Three? Tuck tail and run to Mab? She would have made us all drink her blood and open a vein for her.” Calliea spat to one side.

The Caedbranr hummed gently in the back of my mind. I took a deep breath and smiled wearily, the expression feeling strange. “All I’m saying is that the day is coming when we will all need to fight together.”

“Aye.” Calliea grinned, eyes dancing wickedly. “And I’ll welcome their swords, but it doesn’t mean I have to kiss their asses.”

I laughed in surprise. “Are you sure you didn’t journey into the mortal world at any point?”

Calliea stretched, cat-like. “A certain brand of humor transcends worlds.”

I chuckled again.

“Ah, there you are, Lady Bearer!” I looked up and picked out the figure behind the familiar voice. Merrick grinned at me, mud smeared across his youthful face, his silver scarf illuminating his gray eyes even with the grime. “Hiding in the dust and blood, I see?”

I raised an eyebrow, which was about my limit for facial expressions now. Anything else would have been too much of an effort. “Not hiding. Just trying to be useful.”

He chuckled. “As if casting a diamond of protection about the High Queen is not useful enough.”

I shrugged. “I could say the same to you, being a scout and fighting in the battle.” I eyed his left arm, which he held against his body. “What happened?”

“Shoulder came out again,” he said dismissively. “I threw one spear too many, I suppose.”

“Those spears weren’t ordinary weapons,” I said.

“You should really have a sling for that,” said Calliea, straightening and turning toward Merrick.

Merrick’s eyes widened slightly as Calliea stepped closer. “It’s nothing. I’m sure there are others—”

“Nonsense,” said Calliea, rifling through her satchel with a vengeance. She paused and swept one arm out, encompassing the bare ground. “Do you see anyone else waiting?” She grabbed a roll of linen triumphantly and drew one of her small silver daggers, the blade flashing as she cut a length of cloth.

I leaned back on my hands and watched my former navigator color slightly as Calliea deftly tied the linen into a loop and stepped close, arranging the sling around his neck with a critical eye. When she touched his arm, sliding the cloth around his forearm, he swallowed hard.

“Am I hurting you?” she asked. “If it’s still paining you, especially if it’s hurting more than after it was set the first time you injured it, you should let me examine it.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” I said, just as Merrick said quickly, “No, it’s just a bit sore.”

“Well, if my apprentice says it’s a good idea, it must be so,” said Calliea, quickly sliding the sling off his arm. Merrick gave me a stricken look over her shoulder. “Sit. And slide your shirt up.”

Merrick opened his mouth, Calliea raised her eyebrows, and he sat, raising a small cloud of dust with his movement.

“Do you need my help?” I asked.

“No,” Calliea replied absently. She waited for Merrick to slide his shirt up over his head, which he did gingerly.

“You know,” I said conversationally, “Merrick saved my life from a skin-wraith. That’s how he hurt his shoulder the first time.”

“Is that so,” murmured the Seelie healer, slender fingers prodding at Merrick’s lividly bruised shoulder.

“Yes. We were attacked in the forest by a pack of skin-wraiths, controlled by a Dark sorcerer, and one leapt at me. Merrick threw himself between the creature and me. He spitted it with his sword, but it took him to the ground and the impact popped out his shoulder.”

“How interesting.” Calliea moved Merrick’s arm slowly. He clenched his jaw.

“It was very brave of him,” I said.

“Not nearly as brave as slaying a dragon,” Merrick said, unabashed admiration in his voice. Then he caught himself and cleared his throat. Calliea paused and looked at him quizzically. She sat back on her heels.

“Looks like it was set fine. If it’s still sore in a few days, find me,” she said.

“I think a follow-up is definitely appropriate,” I said. I widened my eyes innocently when Merrick looked at me in exasperation. Calliea glanced between Merrick and me, narrowed her eyes and then stood. She stretched, linking her hands over her head and leaning back. Merrick swallowed again and averted his eyes almost guiltily, suddenly busying himself with arranging his sling again.

“I’m going to find something to eat,” Calliea said, turning toward the fires. “Tess?”

“Coming,” I said, stifling a groan as I heaved myself to my feet. I held out a hand to Merrick. He took it and I leaned back, levering him upright. He looked at me dazedly, dragging his eyes from Calliea as she walked away from us. I couldn’t help but smile.

“What’s so amusing?” the Unseelie navigator said almost defensively.

“You like her,” I said, raising my eyebrows suggestively.

“I—well—that is to say—” Merrick stumbled, rubbing the back of his neck with his good arm.

I grinned. “I’ll keep putting in good words for you.”

Merrick cleared his throat. “Ah…thanks, but I…” He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “It’s hopeless.”

I sobered, glancing after Calliea. “She lost the man she loved, and it broke her heart. You picked a tough one. Just be patient.” Then I shook my head. “Look at me, dispensing romantic advice as though I’m some expert.”

Merrick chuckled. “It’s true, Lady Bearer, that your romantic liaisons are the subject of many thoughts, I am sure.”

I sighed. “Incorrigible gossips, all of you!” The smell of roasting meat wafted over us again, and this time my stomach rumbled insistently. “Hungry?”

“Famished,” replied Merrick. We turned and began following Calliea.

“Killing a dragon is hard work,” I said as we headed into the heart of the camp.

“Try tracking a beast that prefers to fly,” replied Merrick.

“Good point,” I conceded. As we found ourselves motioned toward a fire with a steaming pot hung over it, I took a deep breath, let it out, and glanced over at the hulking carcass of the dragon, knowing that we’d crossed an invisible boundary into the last months of the war for the soul of the Fae world.

Chapter 15

A tall Seelie warrior handed us bowls of steaming stew, and my stomach growled voraciously.

“Nothing tastes so good as food after a battle,” Merrick commented as we both dug our spoons into the bowls.

I chewed my first mouthful contemplatively, not caring that it was just this side of too hot. “I can’t decide if this tastes better than the first bowl I had after I woke up after Brightvale. It’s close.”

We stood beside the gray healing tent, wolfing down our stew as though the hot food could chase away the sudden lull left by the end of the battle. I noticed my hands starting to shake again. I clamped down on my spoon and gripped my bowl harder, ignoring the protest of my still-tender scars. As we ate, I tried to distract myself from the sudden empty feeling in my chest by trying to find familiar faces in the sudden bustle of the vyldgard camp. I picked out Calliea, talking to one of the other Valkyrie at the edge of the firelight; but I didn’t see Vell or any of her Three. In the fading sunlight, I spotted the wolves in a grassy hollow a small distance away from the campfire. Beryk watched the comings and goings of the warriors alertly, his forelegs stretched out sphinx-like. His posture conveyed a sort of satiated pleasure, his sable tail sweeping through the grass every now and again. Silver and black Rialla lay curled to one side of him, nose tucked under her tail, already sleeping unconcernedly—she reminded me of Chael in her silent disregard, the way that she moved within a group yet separately, always following her own instincts. Kianryk lounged to the other side of Beryk, his golden pelt bright against the dull dirt. As I watched, Kianryk yawned, then stood and shook himself, glancing at Beryk. After a moment—perhaps Beryk gave some silent signal of approval, I thought in fascination—Kianryk loped away, circling the edge of camp until he passed from my view.

“So you want to be part of the vyldgard?” I asked Merrick, swallowing my last spoonful of stew. I almost swiped the last bits of meat from the bowl with my fingers, but then remembered the blood that had coated my hands not an hour past, and set the bowl down instead.

Merrick grinned. “Who would not want to be part of the Wild Court? It is new and young and…free.” He sobered, and when he turned his face to me again, his expression brought me back to when he’d asked me to be a part of the band of warriors riding to the Seelie Court. “If I am to fight against the Shadow, I want to follow a worthy leader.” The hint of a smile touched his mouth. “That’s why I asked to be part of the expedition to the Seelie Court.”

“I thought it was because of your impeccable navigational skills,” I interjected.

Merrick gave a little nod. “That, and the fact that you were someone I wanted to follow.”

I felt my face heat, a blush kindling in two hot points high on my cheekbones. “I didn’t ask for this,” I said, somehow feeling defensive, “but I’m glad that you saw me that way.”

“It’s not just me, Tess,” Merrick said, almost gently. “You think that we would have had as many wishing to join the vyldgard if not for the vyldretning’s close friendship with you?”

“My friendship with Vell has very little to do with her being the High Queen,” I retorted.

“It has everything to do with the High Queen and the Bearer of the Iron Sword being willing to die for one another,” Merrick replied seriously.

My hand absently found the hilt of my engraved sword at my hip, fingers tapping against the crossguard as I absorbed Merrick’s words. “There’s truth to that statement,” I said quietly, my mind turning to the many times that Vell and I had defended one another and fought together on the journey across Faeortalam. Then I cleared my throat, wrenching myself away from memories. Time enough to reminisce when things settle down, I told myself. “So.” I glanced around the camp, noting that more fires had been lit—the main fire blazed taller than me in the center of camp, with at least a half dozen smaller fires ranged about it in a rough semicircle. “What happens now?”

“Now we tend to the wounded and catch our breath,” Merrick said. His gray eyes glimmered. “We wait to see if the Shadow takes notice of his beast’s death.” He grinned as a wolf’s howl split the darkening air. “And perhaps the vyldretning will choose at least some of her court.”

At the wolf’s howl, the camp began to quiet from its feverish activity, movement coalescing around the leaping flames of the central fire. Merrick motioned and we silently made our way to stand with the others around the fire, our shadows dancing as if in celebration. The fire cracked and snapped, and I wondered suddenly where they’d gotten the wood, when the trees were so scarce and stunted. I looked closer into the flames and glimpsed the outline of a spear, and a shield. The ruined weapons from the dragon-hunt fueled the fire; and before this blaze, awash in flickering golden light, the warriors had built a pyre of broken spears and shattered shields, and laid their dead upon it.

My stomach twisted and I suddenly fought to keep down my stew as my eyes traveled down the long line of still, beautiful faces. They had been prepared as best their comrades were able, but blood and dust clung to their bodies. Somehow it only illuminated the tragic beauty of these dead Sidhe. So many. I swallowed hard, wishing I could look away; but the Caedbranr hummed firmly in its sheath on my back, its voice pressing against my spine, telling me to count the cost.

“A score killed outright,” Merrick said just as I silently arrived at the total in my own head. “More may succumb to their wounds.”

I looked down the long line of dead again, just to be sure; I didn’t see the Valkyrie named Rhan among the dead. But something within my chest wrenched painfully as I recognized the young warrior who had been so concerned about losing his leg. If only he had just lost his leg, I thought, pushing down a rising wave of anguish, compressing all my emotion into a small space between my ribs. I gripped the hilt of my plain blade, and smoothed my face. I was the Bearer of the Iron Sword. Merrick had reminded me that I was a leader. That meant I had to be strong. That meant I couldn’t show my pain at seeing these warriors on the pyre. Didn’t it?

The wolf howled again, closer, and then another deeper voice joined the first. The air about the pyre grew tight with anticipation; as before, I didn’t know where it started, but warriors began beating blades on shields, and those that didn’t have shields struck their closed fists against their own breastplates, and stomped a rhythm into the dirt, dust rising like smoke about us. I found I didn’t care about the dust, latching onto the energy, using it to climb out of the sorrow still stinging in my chest.

The rhythm deepened along with the shadows, and when next the wolves sent up their song, a dozen warriors threw back their heads and howled with them, eliciting a fierce frenzy. Warriors beat their shields and breasts faster, the flames dancing higher and higher as we all gazed in rapt anticipation at the hilltop where we somehow knew the vyldretning would appear. The Sword sang a high clear note, adding its voice to the howl of the wolves and the warriors, and I grinned fiercely, somehow forgetting the sadness that had clung to the inside of my ribs. And then Vell strode over the hill, a bloody blade in one bare hand and her ivory staff in the other. Her face gleamed scarlet in the last light of the sun, and her warriors howled as they realized she wore the blood of the slain dragon in ragged streaks across her fierce beauty. I wondered briefly when she had ventured to the corpse to gather the cooled blood.

I use a different kind of paint.

The vyldretning’s Three walked just behind her, all three abreast, no longer wearing their armor but dressed much the same otherwise. Gray held the gleaming silver bowl that had been used in the hilltop sorcery; steam rose from it in small cautionary curls, and Gray walked with a careful smooth tread. On one side of Gray, Finnead strode with a bloody spear in one hand, the haft scarred and scorched; and Gray’s other side, Arcana walked empty-handed, her arms straight at her sides, her dead eyes staring straight ahead. But even the eerie Evermage couldn’t dampen the spirit leaping around the fire. The rhythm beat faster and faster, like a heartbeat speeding with adrenaline, the wolves’ howls layering with war cries. It seemed as though there were an infinite number of warriors around the fire, a never-ending sea of dust-streaked lithe bodies and gore-smeared paint and gleaming blades, with the pyre and the flames pulsing in the center of this living, roaring creature. The Glasidhe flew in dizzying patterns above the sparks, adding their own bright cries to the din, their auras more and more intense as the dark deepened.

Vell strode down the hill, golden eyes flashing; Luca and Chael waited at the base of the hill, and Kianryk suddenly appeared, bounding before them into the great mass of warriors. The warriors greeted the grinning wolf with another roar, and the huge tawny wolf threw back his head and howled, a long, deep sound that vibrated through my ribs, trailing away into a high bright note. I caught a glimmer of a grin from Luca as he and Chael took up positions on either side of the pyre. I wondered for a moment if I, too, should be a part of Vell’s carefully choreographed pageant; but then I shrugged the thought away, letting the tide of fervor wash over me again.

Vell stopped a small distance from the pyre. The firelight gleamed on the Crown. As the vyldretning halted, the thrumming fervor of noise reached a crescendo, crested, and quieted, like a wave breaking over us. She raised her chin, and it was silent save for the hungry whirl and crack of the flames. When she spoke, she did not yell, but her voice rang out, washing over the mass of warriors to the farthest reaches. “Well met, my brothers and sisters.” She nodded gravely, and then thrust a fist up into the air and shouted, “Well met!”

The crowd answered her with a roar and the sudden sharp movement of raised fists; we all heard and responded as one, the High Queen’s passionate voice reminding us again of the rush of battle. The Caedbranr gave me a small prod, reminding me of my place.

Remember you are the Bearer, its voice said calmly in my mind.

I growled at the Sword and began to push its words away; as Merrick had said scant moments before, who would not want to be a part of this joyously wild and fierce gathering, with its Queen and her bright-flashing eyes, her Three with the power rolling from them like a thundercloud. But then I paused, taking a deep breath of the smoke-tinged air. The Sword was right; I knew I was not one of the vyldgard. I stood apart, always. The Caedbranr quieted, but I felt it circling in the back of my head in the shadows of my thoughts, lurking in the thicket of my unconscious mind. Yet I turned my attention back to the High Queen, not even bothering to feel irritation, letting the swell of passion buoy me again into that fierce well of joy.

“Mark this day,” Vell said, “for it will be recorded in the annals of history as the day we struck the first blow of the war to end the Shadow!” The blood on her face gleamed in the firelight as another roar rose from the throats of the warriors. Then Vell held up her hand, and it was instantly quiet. When she spoke again, her grave voice carried an echo of the grief that I pressed down in my chest. “But before we feast in celebration, we must pause in mourning. We must acknowledge the sacrifice of our companions.” She gazed out into the mass of gathered warriors, and somehow I felt as though she looked right at me; every warrior must have felt the same, for we all leaned forward slightly, caught by the depth of emotion in the vyldretning’s golden eyes. “But also mark this. Our brothers and sisters did not pass from this world in cowering fear.” Fierce pride kindled in her voice. “They did not shiver and hide when the shadow of evil passed overhead. They chose to fight, and we will feast with them once again in the halls of the gods, when our journey in this life is over!”

I briefly wondered if the Sidhe warriors believed in the Northern religion of warriors and gods, but it didn’t seem to matter—another roar, this one the loudest of all, rose into the night air.

“Beloved ones, stand by your honored dead,” the vyldretning commanded, and warriors slipped out of the crowd like shadows, striding over to stand by the head of the dead they had known, their beautiful faces stoic but sorrow-worn. They each carried an unlit torch in one hand. Vell turned her head and this time there was no mistaking—she looked directly at me, a summons in her eyes. Merrick saw it too, urging me forward with a light touch to my arm. So I drew back my shoulders and strode forward, into the dancing circle of light, passing the pyre of the dead and the silent line of Sidhe standing by those they’d loved in life, and now saw in the stillness of death. Luca and Chael passed me as I neared Vell, walking toward the great fire with unlit torches in their hands.

“Your plain blade,” Vell said to me in a low voice. “It will record the spoken names of the dead?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

“Then let us honor our dead.” Vell raised her chin and strode forward, sheathing her bloody blade and thrusting her ivory staff into her belt. I fell into step beside Gray, who followed Vell solemnly with the steaming silver bowl. Vell stopped at the head of the first body on the pyre. She gripped the shoulder of the warrior who stood by the pyre, and said something in a low, earnest voice to him. Though I stood barely a stride behind her, I couldn’t hear Vell’s words; but I saw the sorrow and pride in the face of the warrior to whom she spoke, and I suddenly knew that all who had hunted and fought the dragon would follow the vyldretning until the end of their days.

Vell turned, and Gray offered the silver bowl. Vell dipped two fingers into the dragon’s blood and solemnly marked the forehead and the breast of the dead warrior; I unsheathed my plain blade, the names already inscribed near the hilt gleaming in the firelight. I held the blade horizontally, balancing its cool weight on my flat palms. Vell turned to the warrior.

“Keiran Whitecloak,” the warrior said, naming the dead.

“Keiran Whitecloak of the Seelie Court,” I said. The inscription began to appear on the bright steel of my blade.

Vell shook her head. “No. Keiran Whitecloak of the Wild Court.” She gripped the mourning warrior’s shoulder again as he closed his eyes at her pronouncement.

“Keiran Whitecloak of the Wild Court,” I repeated quietly, pride in Vell blooming in my chest.

We moved to the next warrior, and the next body; and though the ceremony was much the same, I could see that Vell’s conversation with each surviving warrior was unique and heartfelt. After five names had been inscribed on the plain blade, I saw Vell’s lips quiver as she marked the sixth body with the dragon’s blood; tears began to gather in her eyes as we continued down the long pyre. By the twelfth repetition, she wept silently, a tear sliding down her cheek every so often; and I felt tears prickling in my own eyes in response. I realized suddenly that it was the first time I’d seen fierce Vell shed tears, but far from making her seem weak, it endeared her all the more to the warriors whose shoulders she clasped. They gazed at her with awe and longing—even as they spoke the names of their beloved fallen, they wished to draw blades with the High Queen once more. Their loyalty shone even through their sorrow. The crown on Vell’s brow glimmered in the dancing firelight. Gray and I moved in step after Vell, not speaking a word save for when I repeated the names of the dead. It seemed as though hours had passed by the time we reached the end of the long pyre, and I felt exhaustion creeping up under the weight of the ceremony’s emotions. But Vell seemed not to be tired at all, her eyes still bright and her head still high as I spoke the twentieth name to my blade.

We stood to one side of the pyre. Luca and Chael, starting from opposite sides, walked down the long line, lighting the torches of each warrior standing by their dead. Luca finished first and returned to Vell, handing her the blazing torch. She stepped forward. The warriors raised their torches as she held hers aloft. The torchlight shone on the traces of tears that had cut through the dragon’s blood on Vell’s face.

“Until we meet again in the halls of the gods!” she shouted, and as one the warriors threw their torches onto the pyre, backing away slowly as the fire caught hold of broken spears and shields.

Beryk slunk with silken movement through the crowd of warriors, Rialla appeared regally on the other side of the fire, and huge Kianryk stalked at the edge of the firelight. Beryk threw back his head and howled, and as the wolves wove their voices in a song of mourning, Vell took a deep breath and began to sing. I fought the urge to stare at her. First tears, and now song…tonight was certainly a night of firsts for the High Queen. This was far different than her incantation on the hilltop. Though Vell’s voice was not the sweet soprano or smooth alto of a seasoned singer, she carried the melody of her song well, and she knew how to project her voice. I saw Chael stiffen as he heard the first notes of the song, and he looked at Luca; Luca raised his eyebrows, and Chael inclined his head slightly, the hint of a smile on his lips. Then there were three voices raised in what I realized to be a Northern song of mourning, a song sung by the ulfdrengr to honor their dead. The melody was wilder than the Sidhe song I’d heard after the battle in the Royal Wood; the language of the North sounded fierce, and as the song drew on, Vell picked up the tempo, Luca and Chael following her lead. Chael began to sing harmony, weaving his lilting tenor in a haunting pattern around Vell and Luca’s steady voices. I listened, transfixed, as the song slowly transformed from one of sorrow and mourning to a fierce exultation, a celebration of the warriors’ strength and valor. Though the three ulfdrengr still sang in their own tongue, a matching ecstasy shone in the eyes of the Sidhe warriors. The pyre blazed, and the song of the proud, fierce ulfdrengr rose with the smoke into the dark dome of the night sky.

The fierce exultant song reached a crest, and the wolves howled; though the flames of the pyre danced unabated, a sudden breathless silence descended in the wake of the last chord. Vell strode back toward the hilltop, and we all moved with her, until the host of warriors was spread at the base of the hill, and Vell stood on the rise of the hill in the last golden reaches of the firelight. Finnead and Gray stood on either side of the vyldretning; a copper spark betrayed Arcana as she lurked in the shadows just beyond the light.

“We have honored our dead,” said Vell, voice ringing through the darkness, “and now we will honor the living!”

Gray stepped forward with the silver bowl of dragon’s blood. A ripple of anticipation swept through the gathered warriors as they realized the meaning of Vell’s words. A little burst of adrenaline tightened my chest. I was nervous, but not for me—I wouldn’t be named one of the vyldgard, yet I still watched Vell in anxious exhilaration, waiting for her to anoint her chosen. I saw a flicker of excitement in Gray’s eyes as her gaze swept out over the assembled Sidhe, and Finnead wore his small secretive smile. I wondered if they already knew whom Vell would choose. Merrick, standing by my shoulder again, drew in his breath.

Vell nodded to Finnead. He gracefully slipped into the crowd and emerged with two warriors in tow. Beryk herded another young warrior toward Vell, and in this way they gathered the chosen at the base of the hill; the vyldretning soon faced a score of warriors, dusty and bloodied, bandaged and bruised. But the vestiges of the battle against the dragon only underscored the awe radiating from the warriors—some of them tried to maintain their smooth masks, but I could still see their euphoria in their eyes. It was as though they were being given the thing they most wanted in the world, and disbelief tinged their joy. The Caedbranr uncurled and stretched lazily behind my ribcage, watching again with a bit of interest.

Freedom.

The Sword spoke the word so softly that my mind almost didn’t catch it.

They are joining another Court. It isn’t as though they’re able to walk away, I replied, watching as the warriors knelt in a long line facing Vell. Beryk stalked down the line, inspecting each warrior, his massive head even with their own; none of them flinched, and the black wolf returned to Vell’s side.

One can never truly be free. The free fall one by one. The united fight.

“I hate it when you speak in riddles,” I muttered at the Sword. As I looked at the long line of kneeling warriors, I only vaguely recognized a few faces. Indignation swept through me, but I didn’t look at Merrick. I guessed it would be hard enough for him to maintain composure without any sympathetic glances.

But there is a great measure of freedom in this new Wild Court, the Sword mused in the back of my head. This new young Queen is interesting.

Awfully chatty tonight, aren’t you, I thought grumpily at it, crossing my arms. A thin thread of emerald light shone through the fabric of my shirt—my war-markings didn’t want to be forgotten, apparently. My skin prickled as power unfurled on the hill. Vell would be breaking the bonds that these Seelie had with Titania, and sealing them to her.

“Brothers and sisters,” Finnead said, stepping forward, his drowning-blue eyes gleaming from that deep scarlet paint, “do you swear your fealty to the High Queen?”

“I do.” The warriors answered in a low rumble.

“Do you swear your fealty to each other, and all others of the vyldgard, now and future?”

“I do.”

I thought suddenly of Catholic ceremonies, the Mass at Easter and Christmas; I took a deep breath, caught off balance by the unexpected memory of my former life.

It is not so different, the Sword whispered.

“And do you swear to uphold your honor, and the honor of the vyldgard, and the honor of your Queen, by all your actions, being true and virtuous in word and deed?”

“I do,” they replied.

Gray stepped forward now, bowl out-held, and Vell dipped her hand in the blood. She approached the first warrior, her power tightening the air, and the warrior turned his face up to her, closing his eyes at the last moment as she swept the dragon blood onto his skin. A sudden jolt vibrated through the air, as though a great string had been plucked, and the warrior on his knees arched up suddenly, gasping. Vell murmured several words in the Northern tongue and then stepped back from the warrior with a nod. She moved down the line, dipping her hand into the blood and painting the face of each warrior; and each time, there was a sudden tightening and release of the humming power in the air. The breaking of their former bonds, I thought, and the forging of new ones.

When the vyldretning marked the face of the last warrior, she stepped back, held up her bloody hand and said, “The First Score of the vyldgard!”

The First Score stood as one, bowed to Vell—some more deeply than others—and then they clapped each other on the back and gripped each other’s forearms, most still looking a bit disbelieving that they’d actually been chosen.

A celebratory shout rose from the other warriors. I blinked in amazement—how were they not discouraged, dismayed that they had not been marked as one of the First Score? Was it truly enough for them that they remained here, near the High Queen, at the edge of this glorious new Court? If it had been Unseelie warriors, I would have been able to understand—an image of Mab flashed through my mind, and I shivered as I remembered the cold icy power digging through my head. But these warriors had been bound to Titania, not Mab. I wondered if the Seelie Queen was truly as good and pure as she seemed. My war-markings prickled as the Sword vibrated in amusement, catching my thoughts.

Then Vell added to the wild revelry of the moment, saying with a wicked glint in her eye, “Virtuous in word and deed…never fear, beloveds, in the vyldgard you may pursue all the pleasures of life, so do not think that means anything else.”

The warriors greeted Vell’s pronouncement with a raucous cheer; I chuckled in surprise as Finnead and Gray both grinned, looking distinctly wolf-like, beautiful and dangerous as they stood behind the vyldretning. Finnead hefted the scorched and scored spear that Luca had launched into the maw of the dragon; and Vell held up a hand. Again I wondered when they’d retrieved this relic of the battle. The yells and cheers slowly quieted.

“I have watched you all fight valiantly, and strike a blow against the Shadow on this day,” said Vell, serious once more. “And these First Score are merely the first among you to be marked by my hand and my power, but they will not be the last!”

A roar of approval met her words. It was like a dance, this call and response between the vyldretning and her warriors.

“But though I have marked my First Score, there are two who distinguished themselves beyond even these warriors.” Vell smiled. “I will give them new names, and they shall hold places of honor in my Court.”

Beryk loped into the crowd toward us, and my heart leapt. The sable wolf stopped before Merrick, summons in his intelligent golden eyes. Merrick drew back his shoulders, unable to hide the burst of sudden joy spreading over his face. I felt an answering smile curving my lips. Merrick strode toward Vell, and Beryk disappeared to the other side of the crowd. The warriors parted, and Calliea emerged, looking stunned as she followed Beryk toward the High Queen.

Calliea and Merrick knelt before Vell, and Finnead intoned their oath to the vyldgard, the words exactly the same as moments before with the First Score. I smiled like an idiot, proud of my young navigator and the Seelie healer who had become my friend.

“Merrick, of the Unseelie Court,” Vell said, dipping her hand into the dragon’s blood, “I name you Merrick Arrisyn of the Wild Court. You will be called Eaglesight, for you led my scouts in tracking this great beast.”

Merrick bowed his head briefly after Vell marked him, and she put her other hand briefly on his shoulder.

“You will be chief among my scouts and messengers, and you will be my navigator when the task demands.”

“As you command it,” Merrick answered. Vell nodded and smiled down at him. Then she stepped over to Calliea.

“And you,” the vyldretning said, her golden crown shining on her brow. “Calliea Queenscousin of the Seelie Court. You struck the deathblow to the dragon, and you will be named Laedrek, Dragon’s Bane.” Vell drew the dragon’s blood across Calliea’s face. Calliea trembled as Vell’s power compressed and then released. “You shall be first among my winged warriors, and I will call upon you to lead them in the coming battles.”

“As you command it.” Calliea echoed Merrick’s words, but her voice was barely more than a whisper.

I looked at Gray, suddenly certain that I would find jealousy on her face, but Gray wore a faint proud smile as she looked down at her cousin. Gray was one of the High Queen’s Three, and she was beyond jealousy, even in the loss of the command of the Valkyrie. Only in death would she truly be superseded, and she would be beyond this world if that ever happened.

Merrick and Calliea stood, and to the delight of the other warriors, Vell embraced them both. Then she drew back, and called out, “Enough formality! Now to feasting, and celebrating the beast’s death!”

The gathering erupted into fierce exultation; I slid through the crowd toward the hill and glimpsed Gray embracing Calliea. Finnead clapped Merrick on the back, and the newly named Arrisyn looked more stunned at this than his baptism into the Wild Court. I made my way up the hill, my legs protesting at the incline.

“Dragon’s Bane and Eagle Sight,” I greeted Calliea and Merrick with a smile. “I wish I’d earned a new name.”

“You could have your pick of any number of names,” Vell answered breezily, her regal composure traded for her more typical sarcasm, golden eyes dancing in amusement. I wondered if the Crown spoke to Vell like the Sword spoke to me, helping her dance between her visages.

“And I’m sure they’d all be very flattering,” I replied, raising one eyebrow.

“Of course,” Vell grinned. She glanced at Calliea and Merrick. “Are you two going to stand there staring for a few more hours, or would you like to join in the celebration?”

“Come, cousin,” Gray told Calliea, “let us drink to your new name!”

Calliea accepted her cousin’s offered arm with a slightly wary expression, but as they walked, the newly named Laedrek relaxed and even smiled a little.

“Have you ever even gotten drunk?” Vell asked Merrick with narrowed eyes.

Merrick colored. “I’ve drunk enough in my time.”

Vell snorted. “In your time. That’s what, a century?”

I chuckled. “Don’t embarrass him too much, Vell, he’s already had a tough afternoon.”

“I’m the High Queen, I may embarrass whomever I please,” Vell answered glibly.

“I didn’t know you brought liquor on the journey,” I said, trying to change the subject; but Vell continued to study Merrick, crossing her arms.

“Of course we brought liquor,” replied Vell. “Victory requires celebration, and a celebration requires libations.”

Arcana appeared at the edge of my vision as she slid away into the shadows. For an instant, she held my gaze with her dead eyes; and then she slipped into the darkness.

“You know what Arcana did to Finnead?” I asked Vell quietly, staring after the Morrigan.

“Yes,” she answered, not taking her eyes from her navigator. “There was no lasting harm.”

“Discussing me while I’m not present to defend myself?” Finnead’s voice came from behind me. I groaned inwardly. “I do believe that’s called gossiping, my good Lady Bearer.”

I turned and smiled. “I was just making sure that Vell knew the particulars of the afternoon’s events.”

“Ah, you mean this?” Finnead held up his left arm, the imprint of a splint clear under his shirtsleeve.

“Yes, I mean that,” I said, my jubilation at the naming of the Wild Court fading slightly.

Vell suddenly lunged and captured Merrick’s arm with a predatory grin. “Come now, my navigator! Time to celebrate your naming.”

“Celebrate my naming,” Merrick repeated faintly as Vell dragged him bodily away.

“Yes,” Vell said as they strode down the hill. “In other words,” she said gleefully, “I’m going to get you drunk!”

“Gods have mercy on poor Merrick,” Finnead said with a small smile, watching the High Queen disappear into the crowds of camp.

Finnead and I stood on the hill, above the wild revelry beginning to take hold of the camp. I gazed out into the darkness and then back at the celebration.

“There is a watch posted,” Finnead said. He smiled. “Even if the Dark One sends attacks tonight, we will not be caught unawares.”

“Good,” I said. “Let me see your arm.”

To my surprise, Finnead offered his arm for my inspection. I pushed up his shirtsleeve, examining the splint. Beneath the binding, his bruised skin was mottled blue and green.

“It’s a well-made splint,” I conceded.

“It should be. Vell did it herself,” Finnead replied.

The sounds of merriment seemed very far away as I rearranged his sleeve, pulling it back down over the splint. “No carrying a shield for a while, then.”

“Probably a week or so.”

“Those are broken bones,” I stated flatly. “There’s no way they’re healing in a week.”

Finnead caught one of my hands and traced the silvery lattice of scars across my palm and up my wrist with his good hand. I shivered at his touch. “You should not have healed as fast as you did, either. But that’s the way of the world when you are gifted with power.”

“You should really have a sling,” I said, my voice softening.

“Your concern is touching,” he murmured, smiling to reassure me of the sincerity of his words. “Truly, Tess. It is…different, having someone who cares when you are hurt.”

“I care about you all the time, not just when you’re hurt.” I looked at him earnestly, captivated by the deep blue sheen of the firelight on his raven-wing hair.

He smiled. “You are thinking of what I said, near the dragon.” He stepped closer. “But I know there are much better ways to get your attention than nearly getting killed, Tess.”

I found an answering smile curving my lips…and I decided not to fight it anymore. Why did I struggle so hard against my attraction—no, my love, I corrected myself—for Finnead? The depth of emotion certainly scared me, because it carried with it the possibility of loss. The terrible fear that had consumed me when the dragon fell echoed in my chest. But what was life without love?

I took the second step forward, closing the distance between us. Finnead took me in his arms. The emotions of the day roared back, flooding me with sorrow and relief.

“You’re trembling,” he murmured with a frown.

“Loving you is terrifying,” I said, tilting my face up so I could look into his eyes. “I thought for few moments that I’d lost you.”

He pressed his lips together. “To be honest, I wasn’t so sure for a few moments myself.”

“Thank you, though….for saving Luca.”

“We are brothers,” Finnead answered. “When you fight alongside someone long enough, you’re bound to save each other’s lives every so often.”

I smiled a little. “You’re both good men.”

“We’re both rogues,” Finnead corrected me with an answering smile.

My smile widened. “Well…I suppose I’m very attracted to rogues, then.”

The sounds of revelry drifted up into the night sky around us as I took Finnead’s face in my hands and raised myself onto my toes to kiss him deeply, grateful beyond words that he was not lying on the still-burning pyre below us.

Chapter 16

It seemed as though time stood still as I thrilled at the feel of Finnead’s lips upon mine. I slid one hand through his hair, the sting of my healing palms muted beneath the swift current of passion racing through me. Finnead cupped the back of my neck with his good hand, his fingers tracing patterns of fire on my skin. And then, with a long sigh, he gently drew away, smiling at my wordless murmur of protest. He rested his forehead against mine, his eyes dark as the night sky above us, his war paint still untouched. I took a shaky breath.

“It would be easy to lose ourselves in one another,” he said softly, “and believe me, in this moment I would like nothing more.”

I smiled a little, knowing what he would say. “You know, rogues typically aren’t so responsible and duty-bound.” I took another breath and looked into his eyes. “And if all you ever do is kiss me, I might go a bit crazy.”

Finnead chuckled and pulled me a bit closer to his lithe body, letting me feel the extent of his desire. “You might go a bit crazy?” he said a bit hoarsely, eyes glimmering in amusement. “Try coming off a few centuries of celibacy.”

I swallowed hard, trying to find my voice with such clear evidence of his passion pressing against me; the fire low in my belly flared and I moved my hips, just a little. Finnead closed his eyes and tilted back his head. “I find it hard to believe that there weren’t any beautiful young things at Darkhill who caught your eye.”

Finnead looked down at me. “You think that I’d be able to use someone in such a way?” he said huskily.

“There are worse things,” I replied softly, “than taking pleasure in the beauty of life.”

“You have been listening to Sage and Gray for too long,” he replied with a faint smile. “There is nothing wrong with pleasure for pleasure’s sake. But…” He swallowed. “When there is a darkness in your soul, pleasure will not heal it.”

Despite our serious words, fire still raged through our bodies; my heart still beat quickly in my chest, my breath coming fast as though I’d just finished a run. But I thought about Finnead’s words, albeit with a small part of my mind not consumed with memorizing the feel of his body against mine. “I don’t pretend to know a lot about the life of a warrior back in the mortal world,” I said, “but Liam has told me a few stories. About teammates who have seen and done terrible things, and they look to women or liquor or drugs to numb the pain they feel.”

“I was tempted more than once,” Finnead said softly, his eyes distant now. “But with rage and pain so close to the surface…it would not have been pleasure for long.”

I pressed myself closer to him, brushing my thumb along the nape of his neck. “So what is the path to healing the darkness?” I asked, thinking of my own fierce joy at the destruction of the creatures in the Royal Wood, and the rush of heady triumph when I’d siphoned the siren’s power to bring Finnead back from beyond the veil of death.

“Time,” Finnead answered. “And love.” He smiled a little. “Perhaps cliché once again, but…patient love from friends, at first. And then, later…” His smile widened as he tucked an errant strand of hair behind my ear.

I blinked as a thought struck me. “Did Mab…did she forbid you from courting other women, after the princess was killed?”

I felt Finnead’s shoulders stiffen for a moment, and then he forced himself to relax. “Sometimes, Tess, you say what others only think.”

In apology, I leaned close and kissed the soft part of his neck just below his jaw. He shuddered and his arms tightened around me again. The melody of a wild song drifted about the hill as the revelry intensified. Finnead left my question unanswered, instead capturing my mouth with his own again. The sapphire in the pommel of the Brighbranr pulsed with a slow, steady light, intensifying as our kiss deepened. I grasped his shirt with one hand and pulled the edge loose from his breeches with a tug, his sharp intake of breath kindling a raw feeling of satisfaction in my chest. He took my lower lip between his teeth as I slipped my hand beneath his shirt, exploring the hard planes of his stomach with light fingertips, spreading my hand flat over his firm chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart under my palm. I traced the smooth puncture scars just beneath his collarbone, left by the claws of the syivhalla; and, lightly, I slid my hand around his side, finding the raised edges of the scars patterning his back. He stiffened, but I kissed him and ran my other hand through his hair, still gently exploring the latticework of scars with my fingertips, my touch feather-light. After a long moment, he shivered, pulled me closer, and his own hand left my neck to explore, trailing down my back, lingering at my hips, dipping lower. I smiled against his mouth as he made it very clear that he enjoyed the firm curves of my muscled body. I found my fingers pausing at his waist, my fingers finding the hardness of his hipbone among the smoothness of muscle, thumb brushing the delicious carved indentation leading lower…he groaned and caught my wrist gently, faster than thought, his breathing ragged as he leaned back his head and closed his eyes.

“Tess,” he said hoarsely, “if you touch me…there…well, there are limits to my gentlemanly ways.”

“I thought you said you were a rogue,” I whispered, flexing my hand slowly against his grasp.

“A rogue can still be a gentleman,” he countered, giving another little groan as I brushed his hip with my thumb. He swallowed and took a small step backward, enough to break physical contact. “And besides,” he continued, his voice stronger now as he opened his eyes and gazed down at me with a raised eyebrow, “we don’t exactly have private accommodations.”

I snorted. “Apparently that doesn’t stop the Wild Court, or those that wish to be a part of it. At least according to Vell.” I shrugged. “And you know, she’s only its Queen.”

Finnead chuckled. “I’ll give you that, but you and I are not just warriors wishing to be a part of the vyldgard.”

“I know. You’re one of the High Queen’s Three, and I’m the Bearer,” I said in the voice of a student reciting a memorized lesson. I tried very hard not to look disappointed and knew I failed.

“I’m not saying that I don’t want this…that I don’t want you,” Finnead said. He reached over and smoothed my hair gently. I turned my face into his hand; he rested his fingers against the curve of my cheek. “I love you, Tess. I want you perhaps more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.”

Different warmth glowed in my chest at his tender words and the softness of his touch.

He drew in a breath and let it out slowly. “And it’s because I love you that I want to do this properly. Not rushed, out here.”

“There’s a few tents down in camp,” I pointed out brightly.

Finnead chuckled. “You’re nothing if not persistent.”

“I’ve been told it’s one of my more charming qualities,” I replied with a smile. I sighed. “You’re right. I know. I just…” I grinned. “I forgot a little, how much fun this is.”

“Oh, my love, you have no idea,” Finnead said, tantalizing promise in his eyes and wickedness in his grin. He leaned close and brushed a kiss over my lips, and then stepped away, running his hands through his mussed hair and then gazing down at himself ruefully as he tucked his shirt back into his breeches. He met my amused look with a smile. “Well. Sit with me for a few moments, until I’m…presentable…enough to join the revelry?”

“Are you sure anyone would notice?” I said.

“Oh, they would notice,” Finnead replied in such a harried voice that I laughed.

“See, you have plenty of willing young beauties to choose from,” I said with a lascivious waggle of my eyebrows.

Finnead settled onto the hill and leaned back on his good elbow, resting his splinted arm across his stomach. He shook his head. “Incorrigible.”

I grinned and lowered myself to the ground next to him, leaving a small distance between us but not so much that I couldn’t lean my head on his shoulder if I chose. My body hummed with the afterglow of our passionate kiss, but as the excitement ebbed, tiredness set in again. I tried to suppress a yawn, but then gave up and stretched my jaw.

“It’s been a long day,” I said defensively as Finnead gave me a sideways look. “There were many….events.” I grimaced as I reached for a more descriptive word to capture the chaos of the day and found none readily available in my mind.

“Many events,” he repeated, bemused. “I suppose that’s true.”

“It’s very true,” I agreed. “We tracked a dragon. Vell did her volta thing up on the hill. I drew a diamond of protection. You all killed a dragon…and nearly got killed yourselves.”

“Busy day,” Finnead agreed.

“How is it, being one of Vell’s Three?” I asked after a long moment. We gazed down at the celebration below us, the enthusiastic revelry building with each passing minute. Shadowy figures danced about the fire in sinuous patterns, moving to the beat of deep-throated drums and the melody of voices raised in fierce sweet song. The pyre still burned before the great fire, and I suddenly understood that the warriors were now celebrating the lives of the lost, their wild abandon a tribute to their spirits.

“It’s different,” Finnead replied softly. “Mab had been queen for centuries when she chose me as the Vaelanbrigh.”

I realized this was the first time I’d heard Finnead speak openly about his time bound to Mab, and I almost held my breath, waiting for him to continue.

“In a court that is already established…it’s a very different process, becoming one of the Queen’s Three. It is very deliberate. There are traditions to be upheld, favor to be curried…it is not as simple as being skilled with a blade.”

“I didn’t really see you as the type to play politics,” I commented.

“I wasn’t as open about my ambition as some,” he replied. “Which, I think, is part of why Mab favored me. She appreciated subtlety.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed,” I said sourly.

Finnead chuckled. “I know you do not particularly like Mab. But she will be coming soon. They are already calling it the Council of Queens.”

“Who’s this elusive ‘they,’ and why do they seem to have an opinion on everything?” I leaned back on my hands, wincing slightly at the sting in my palms. Then I sobered. “Are you nervous, about meeting Mab again?”

Finnead remained silent.

“You know she thinks you’re dead.”

He smiled wryly. “Because I was, for a few moments.”

“Semantics. You drowned. People are brought back from drowning all the time.” I shifted uncomfortably. “And we already had this conversation, so…”

“So you’d rather not be lectured on the dangers of necromancy?” Finnead finished for me, taking the bite out of his words with that lingering smile.

“Exactly.”

Finnead tilted his head to one side. “To be honest, I don’t know how she will react. She has always been very…possessive.”

“She’ll probably take it as an insult that you are one of Vell’s Three now.” I watched the dancers moving about the firelight. I swallowed. “I suppose I should tell you then…Ramel knows. That you’re alive.”

Finnead stiffened slightly, one of those minute Sidhe movements to which I was now attuned.

“When I went back to rescue Murtagh, after I was Walking with Liam and then Murtagh appeared in the ether…I fell into a kind of society meeting I think, in Darkhill. In my old rooms.” I smiled a little at the memory, despite my trepidation at the carefully blank look on Finnead’s handsome face. “Murtagh was dying, because Mab was draining him. She hadn’t chosen your successor yet. And Ramel…he was the one leading this meeting, and I couldn’t…he was grieving for you. They all thought you were dead. I couldn’t lie to them.”

“Of course,” Finnead said tightly. “But better to protect them from the wrath of Mab than their own grief. Grief heals. Mab’s punishments sometimes do not.”

“I know. I’d apologize but it doesn’t make any difference.”

“Not anymore,” Finnead replied.

I frowned. “What do you mean, not anymore?”

“Tess,” he said almost gently, “I spoke to the vyldretning about this very issue while you were still healing. Our first messenger to Mab carried a letter penned by Vell herself.”

“She told Mab that you’re one of her Three?”

“Yes, among other things.”

I blew out a breath of relief. “That makes me feel so much better.” I leaned forward, balancing my elbows on my knees and pressing my face into my hands. “I was worried.”

“Sometimes you forget that there are others working on solving the problems of this world.”

“Or solving the problems that I’ve created,” I muttered.

“You solve many more problems than you create,” Finnead pointed out. The Sword emphasized his statement with a soft peal, its sheath vibrating against my back.

“Great, now you’re colluding against me,” I told the Caedbranr. Finnead chuckled and the Sword gave another silvery note, its voice lingering in the night air.

“But to go back toward your original question,” Finnead rejoined. “We are all learning what it is to be part of this new Court. Vell certainly has her own ideas, but she’s asked Gray and I, on occasion, for our experiences.”

“That’s true, she has an expert of both Seelie and Unseelie. And then there’s the Morrigan.” I pressed my lips together. “Can you feel the Morrigan?”

Finnead shook his head. “No. We are like spokes on a wheel, and Vell is the center.” He paused, considering. “Sometimes, through Vell, I can feel echoes. Or what I think are echoes of the Morrigan. That happened before as well with Mab, though she controlled it far more tightly.”

I yawned again.

“Come on then, before you fall asleep.” Finnead leapt lightly to his feet. I glared up at him enviously. He extended his good hand and helped me stand. I grimaced at my protesting legs and looked down at the gaiety in hesitation.

“After a drink and a turn around the fire, you’ll want to stay up all night,” Finnead told me.

I smiled and followed him down the hill. “If you say so.”

We plunged into the revelry as though we were diving into a lake—all at once we were submerged in countless shimmering sensations, song and dance and the heat of the flames against our skin, the burn of liquor down my throat as I swallowed, the pleasant hum in my blood as the drink took hold. I noticed with mingled surprise and satisfaction that Finnead stayed close to me, sometimes even twining his fingers through mine; we watched the dancers and felt the drums in our chest like our own heartbeat. I glimpsed Vell at the center of a shifting amalgam of warriors, Merrick still at her side, Beryk watching the celebration from his post by the healing tent with half-closed golden eyes.

Luca leapt onto a log by the great fire, standing almost as tall as the leaping flames. His golden hair gleamed in the shifting light as he raised his cup and shouted to all assembled, “To the death of the dragon!”

The warriors roared Luca’s toast back to him, raising their own cups. Finnead and I joined in without a second thought. I took a long swallow from my cup and when I looked back at Luca, he was gazing at Finnead and I with a small smile on his face. I bit my lip, realizing the potential for wounded pride even through the warm haze of liquor, but Luca raised his cup again in my direction with a nod, and drank again. I grinned and toasted him in reply, leaning into Finnead as I drank. Finnead slid his arm about my waist.

“You have had quite a bit to drink, Lady Bearer,” he murmured into my ear. I nuzzled into his neck.

“First time I’ve had…a lot….since your little party,” I said. He looked at me quizzically. I waved my free hand descriptively. “You know, with the banners and the bitch queen who dug through my head.”

“Bitch queen? I hope you’re not talking about me,” said Vell.

“I think you’ve had enough to drink,” Finnead said at the same time.

I giggled. “Ah. Giggly. Yes.” I handed my cup to Merrick, who seemed only too happy to take it. “Always been a lightweight,” I commented to everyone.

Vell laughed, a high bright sound. “Of course you are, Lady Bearer.”

I narrowed my eyes at her, trying to scowl, but the effect was ruined when my smile appeared after barely more than a second. Vell’s eyes danced in amusement.

Gray slid close to me, her beautiful face alight with wickedness and liquor. “You two certainly make a lovely pair,” she breathed into my ear, her hand skimming over my shoulders, feather-light.

“Glad you think so,” I replied with an answering grin.

“So this means your Northerner is free to enjoyments of his own choosing?” she purred.

Finnead gracefully left my side, making his way toward Merrick and Calliea, sliding a deep blue gaze of promise and desire over his shoulder as he walked away. Just the look in his eyes made my body tighten like a string waiting to be plucked. I swallowed and turned my attention back to Gray, who suddenly seemed very close, and very shining—white teeth and golden hair and bright eyes like chips of emerald.

“Firstly,” I said, the warmth in my chest preventing me from feeling any real irritation at her closeness or her question, “Luca isn’t my Northerner. And secondly….no idea why you’re asking my permission.”

“Don’t take offense, my dear,” Gray said quietly, eyes glittering in the firelight. “It is merely a mark of respect.” She smiled, looking distinctly wolf-like. Vell was rubbing off on her Three. “It is always easier when women work things out between ourselves, I think.”

I shrugged with one shoulder, a wisp of annoyance threading its way through the warm haze. My thoughts sharpened as the conversation continued. “If you say so. I’ve never really gotten along with most women.”

Gray raised one eyebrow. “I can’t imagine why.”

“Look, if you came over here to ask my permission, you have it,” I said. “It’s Luca’s decision, not mine.”

Gray inclined her head gracefully, still close enough that I could feel the whisper of her breath on my skin. “You do not constantly have to defend yourself, Tess,” she said softly, almost gently. “Not everyone is looking for a fight.”

I took a deep breath. “You’re right.” I smiled.

“There,” Gray said with an answering smile. She reached up and brushed a strand of hair away from my face. I blinked. Her smile sharpened for just an instant, but then a bout of laughter erupted from behind her, and she turned to rejoin the merriment. I released the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, and searched the constantly moving crowd for Finnead. The warriors gave me a small amount of space as I walked, some touching their foreheads in obeisance despite the revelry; I did my best to nod at each of them. Vell’s choice of liquor fortunately seemed to carry all the pleasurable effects of intoxication, with little of the drawbacks. A haze of pleasurable, buzzing warmth enveloped me, but I was still steady on my feet.

I passed a little knot of warriors, and then paused, backtracking. Calliea stood at the center of what looked to be a ring of admirers—men and a few women who gazed at her with something akin to hero-worship. Though Sidhe were too graceful to look truly uncomfortable, she held herself stiffly and didn’t show her teeth when she smiled at the tall Sidhe trying to capture her attention with his story.

“Excuse me,” I murmured, sliding through the outer edge of the group. A few of the warriors gave me resentful glances until they recognized me, and then my path promptly cleared. Perhaps there were advantages to being famous. Or infamous. Whichever applied to me.

“Calliea, good, glad I found you,” I said. “I need your help…um…with my hands.” I held up my bandaged hands and smiled.

“Of course,” Calliea said, a bit too quickly. “If you’ll excuse me,” she said to the group of admirers, following me as I wended my way back out of the little throng.

I giggled as soon as we were out of earshot. “I don’t really need help with my hands.”

“You just think you don’t,” Calliea said. “But you should probably wrap them before going to sleep. And thanks.”

I waved one hand in the air. “Of course. What are friends for if not to rescue you from bad blind dates and adoring crowds.” I hicupped and grinned. “And my hands’re….perfectly fine. See?”

Calliea deftly caught my wrist and inspected the now-dingy bandage circling my palm. “There’s a bit of fresh blood here. Come on. I’ve had enough of this celebration anyway.” She led the way now, skirting the edge of camp back towards the healing tent. I skimmed the crowd but still didn’t see Finnead. I shrugged. Vell had probably tasked him with something.

“Hey fur-face,” I greeted Beryk as we passed, roughing the fur at his neck with one hand. He grinned and his tail swept over the grass in reply.

“We’ll probably need to work the morning watch anyway tomorrow,” she said conversationally, ducking into the gray healing tent.

“Is there enough room in here for us to…” I trailed off, staring in wonder. Though the tent was a good size from the outside, it was palatial within, and curtains of different jewel tones neatly cordoned off different sections.

“A bit of warp and weft in the fabric of the tent,” Calliea said with a smile at my nonplussed expression. “Good to know you can still be surprised.”

“Well…you guys keep pulling new tricks…rabbits….out of your hat,” I said, almost losing the thread of my sentence more than once.

Calliea quickly checked behind an emerald-green curtain. “Good. I had a feeling this one would be saved for you.”

“I told him there were places,” I muttered as we slid into an alcove that was small but cozy, walls created on four sides by softly shimmering fabric that somehow seemed very solid. Even the ground was covered by deep blue cloth, and I immediately felt guilty for my mud-encrusted boots. An enchanted lantern glowed softly in the corner. I noticed there were two sets of furs, and my saddlebags had already been brought…or perhaps they’d been conjured. I didn’t really care either way.

“You’re sleeping here too, right?” I asked, making it more of a statement than a question.

“I thought it might be good for both of us,” Calliea replied, pouring a packet of fresh-smelling herbs into a steaming silver basin that I was fairly certain hadn’t existed a moment ago. Maybe the liquor was finally getting to me.

“Unless,” I amended quickly, thinking of Merrick, “you have someone else…”

“I’m just going to be sleeping, no matter where I am,” Calliea replied.

“Okay then, stay here.”

“I can do that.” Calliea smiled. “It’ll make it simple for us to take the watch in the morning. Let’s wash up then, and I’ll see to your hands.”

We shed our clothes industriously. I set the Sword carefully by my furs, and Calliea handed me a soft cloth soaked in the warm fragrant water. I closed my eyes blissfully as I wiped the lingering war-paint and dust and direflame from my face; I hadn’t realized I felt so grimy until I began to wash. My head still hummed with the liquor.

“How did all of this get here?” I asked, digging out a shirt and breeches from my bags.

“If you’re talking about your packs, Luca brought them in. If you’re talking about the tent and everything else, the vyldretning handled it all. She said something about using a bit of her power to make everyone more comfortable.”

“Is this big enough to house everyone?” I asked in an awed whisper.

“Some will still want to sleep under the stars. But anyone who desires a place will have one.” Calliea smiled. I noticed her cheeks glowed rosily, and felt a bit vindicated—I wasn’t the only one whom the liquor had affected. “Let me see your hands.”

I obediently sat, suddenly very tired, and held out my bare hands. Calliea brushed salve onto my palms, and I sighed at the coolness of the ointment on my skin.

“Leave them bare for the night,” Calliea said, and somehow that made me very happy. I hadn’t slept without bandages on my hands since I’d awoken in the Hall of the Outer Guard. “I’ll wake you in the morning.”

“Thanks,” I murmured with a sleepy smile, sliding over toward my furs.

“Oh. Here. Drink at least half of this.”

I took the water-skin and downed several large swallows, handing it back to her with another murmur of appreciation. And with that, I felt exhaustion settle over my shoulders, and I sank blissfully onto the furs, thinking as I closed my eyes that after a dragon hunt, sleep felt very sweet indeed.

Chapter 17

I awoke in my dream and suppressed a sigh. Though I’d first reveled in the feel of Walking, it now seemed that this talent took hold on the nights that I most needed sleep. I stretched, standing beside my sleeping form in the dim tent; and then I frowned as I felt a tug, like the pull of a string tied behind my breastbone. I felt for the seam between Faeortalam and the ether and slipped through it into the whirling-star darkness. The power of the Caedbranr still circled in my chest, not quite awake. I reasoned that the Sword would warn me if this summons carried me into danger. I flew through the ether like an arrow rocketing through the night sky, bursting through clouds of dizzying color, sunsets and sunrises, rainbows and vivid blue skies all woven into a kaleidoscope of brilliance.

Finally I felt myself slow, the force pulling me through the ether lessening until I followed it of my own volition. The colors wavered and shimmered about me as I slipped into a particular pocket of the ether, and when I realized where I was standing, a dizzying wave of half-forgotten memories rose in the back of my mind. I touched a blue rose with my fingertips, the heavy bloom nodding at my touch. The rosebushes primly bordered a winding white gravel path. I walked a small way down the path, listening to the sound of my footsteps, remembering how I’d relished the crunch of the delicate stones beneath my small feet.

“So you have not forgotten how to Walk. That, at least is encouraging, ma saell doendhine.”

Still feeling disoriented, I nonetheless grinned as I saw Ramel, leaning insouciantly against a pale birch tree in one of the garden’s many alcoves. He smiled in return and inclined his head.

“Well met, Lady Bearer.”

“Well met, Vaelanbrigh,” I returned, arching my eyebrow as I closed the distance between us with long strides. My former sword-teacher and I gazed at each other for a long moment, and then I launched myself at him, embracing him fiercely. He chuckled and returned the hug, then held me out at arm’s length, inspecting me. When his gaze reached my hands, he scowled, seizing my wrist to better look at the scars and my still-raw palms.

“When the High Queen was crowned, I was holding the Crown of Bones,” I explained with a shrug. Ramel looked at me sharply. “There were flames and such. It was very exciting.” He grinned at my deadpan statement. “But I can still hold a sword, so there’s that.”

“Aye,” he agreed, “there’s that.” He squeezed my shoulder with his other hand and then released me.

“Neat trick, that summoning string,” I said conversationally.

Ramel grinned. “You liked it more when you were just a wisp.”

I took a deep breath and swallowed, memories rising like insidious fog from the depths of my unconscious mind. “Yeah. I noticed the venue hasn’t changed.” I tried to smile and failed. “You know I stopped coming back here, after my dad died.”

“It wasn’t this place that killed him,” Ramel said.

“But when he died, I stopped believing in it. I thought that maybe I’d…maybe I’d destroyed it or something.”

“It would take great power to truly destroy something in the ether.” Ramel’s hand strayed to the hilt of the sword he wore at his waist. A ruby flashed in the pommel, and I caught a faint whiff of its energy, probing at me. I brushed it away almost carelessly. Ramel raised an eyebrow.

“Power like Malravenar has, apparently,” I replied, deciding not to ask if Ramel had been testing my power, or if the new Brighbranr had been acting on its own. They were both tied to Mab, and I didn’t doubt that she’d sent him here. Then my mind turned to the pocket in the ether where Liam and I had reconstructed our childhood home…and the night that I’d returned to find it razed to the ground, embers glowing amid the charred skeleton of the house. I took another slow, measured breath and turned to the delicately carved white bench beneath the birch. I sat down and leaned back, crossing my legs at the ankles. “So,” I said, looking up at Ramel, “what does Mab want to know?”

Ramel smiled, a little ruefully. “You don’t think I just wanted to visit with the pretty little doendhine who has grown up to be such a fierce Bearer?”

“No. You’re one of Mab’s Three now.”

“Does that mean we cannot be friends?”

I looked away, unable to meet the earnest question in Ramel’s eyes. “No. You’re still my friend. But I feel as though she’s listening to every word we say.”

“Mab isn’t the enemy, you know.”

“I know that, Ramel, but she hasn’t exactly treated me with civility,” I replied.

“She didn’t kill you,” he pointed out.

I stared at him. “Yes, sparing my life was so magnanimous of her.”

“You’ve been studying your vocabulary, good Lady Bearer. I shall have to remember that one.” Ramel smiled, but then sobered when I didn’t join him in the joke. He sighed slightly and sat down on the opposite side of the bench. “I called you here, Tess, because I wanted you to know that we will be joining you soon. Any ill will you bear toward Mab would be best forgotten.”

“First of all, you didn’t call me here. You…invited me, and I accepted your invitation. And secondly, I will be perfectly civil to Mab, which is still more than she offered me; but you can’t expect me to welcome her with an embrace.”

“Far be it from me to try to change the heart of a woman,” muttered Ramel.

I closed my teeth on the sharp retort readily supplied by my indignant pride, instead watching the blue roses nod in an unfelt breeze.

“But my counsel of cooperation is not the only reason I wished to speak with you,” Ramel said. “We have felt the veil thinning, the fissures opening. Such tears in the fabric between the mortal world and our world….they unbalance the forces that be.”

I raised one eyebrow. “The forces that be? What are those?”

“Frankly, I don’t have time to go into the details. Suffice to say, there’s a delicate balance holding all of existence together. The Great Gate was carefully constructed, wards placed upon it, layers of power to ensure that the Gate did not disrupt the forces between the worlds. The same with the Lesser Gates.” He paused. “Mab closed the last of the Lesser Gates in her domain before we left Darkhill.”

A chill traveled down my spine unbidden. “The one I came through.”

“Yes.”

I swallowed. “So there’s no way to travel between the two worlds anymore.”

“No.”

“Not an official way, anyway.” I looked over at Ramel. “Finnead traveled through one of the tears in the veil, to escape a dragon.”

Ramel nodded to himself. “That was what we felt, then.”

“You can’t still feel Finnead like when he was Vaelanbrigh, can you?” I asked suspiciously.

“No. His link with Mab is broken. She did indeed think that he was lost, for a while. Until the High Queen’s message. But the Queens can feel the passage of every being through the fissures in the veil.”

“What do you mean, feel?” I narrowed my eyes.

“Tess, the tears in the veil are like wounds to the land. The Queens’ power is through the land itself.” Ramel spread his hands. “A fantastic amount of energy vibrates through the tear in the veil when people pass through it.”

“How painful is it?” I asked as I slowly realized Ramel’s meaning.

Ramel shook his head. “I don’t want to see it again, I’ll say that much. Or feel it, for that matter. But I know it wasn’t just Finnead.”

“There were a few more with him,” I allowed reticently.

“Ah, Tess, things will not be the same between us, eh?” Ramel smiled a bit, though his eyes were wounded.

I sighed. “I’m sorry, Ramel. I’ll do my best.”

“Then that’s all I can ask.” He reached over and touched the lacy scars at my wrist gently. “That was one hell of a power surge, when you crowned the High Queen.”

“I was just the conduit,” I said.

Ramel chuckled. “I never would have guessed that you, the mortal girl that Finn dragged through the Gate, would end up crowning that Northern mercenary as High Queen.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Northern mercenary? I’d speak with a bit more respect.”

“What she is now doesn’t change what she’s been before,” Ramel replied unrepentantly.

“I’d prefer if we continued our conversation civilly, or I’d like to go get some real sleep.” I leaned back on the bench and watched the green leaves flutter overhead.

“Civility is always an option,” Ramel said, his eyes glimmering. “And perhaps I wanted to make sure you still remembered how to Walk, as I’ve said before.”

“It’s a hard skill to forget,” I muttered, “especially when people summon you for no good reason at all.”

“You’re rather grumpy,” Ramel remarked, stretching. “I assume it’s been a long day and you’d rather be sleeping.”

“That’s part of it,” I admitted.

Ramel sobered and leaned toward me, resting his elbows on his knees. “And, Tess, I also wanted to tell you…I’m very proud of you. We all are.” He glanced at his arm, and I saw that he still wore the black armband I’d seen during my brief incorporeal visit to Darkhill.

I shook my head. “Thanks. But you can tell me that again after we’ve put the big bad to bed.”

“What you still have to do doesn’t change what you’ve done,” Ramel replied with a little smile.

“You and your cleverness.” An answering smile formed on my lips, almost against my will.

“It’s been said…if you can’t be the most handsome man in the room, you had better be the most clever.” Ramel arched an eyebrow. “Never had much use for that quote, anyway.”

“I’m guessing you fancy yourself both the most handsome and the most clever, now that Finnead is gone.” I smiled lazily as he narrowed his eyes.

“I knew it was going to happen eventually,” Ramel said. “And yes, I’m definitely the prettiest at Court now.”

“Wait, you knew what was going to happen?” I asked in suspicion.

Ramel grinned. “You and Finn.”

“You’re the only one who ever calls him that, you know.”

“It makes him sound much less stuffy.”

I chuckled. “Do you have a nickname to make you seem less stuffy?”

“First of all, I’m not stuffy in the least, which you already know. And don’t try to change the subject.”

“Why would I try to change the subject?” I gazed up innocently into the quivering, tender green leaves of the birch tree, watching its slender limbs sway gently in that same invisible wind. Somehow, my irritation at Ramel’s call to this little pocket of the ether subsided beneath a swell of contentment and familiarity. I had spent some of the happiest moments of my childhood here with the Lady in White and Ramel.

“Because you don’t want to tell me all the details of your dalliance with the tall, dark and handsome Sidhe man with whom you’ve fallen desperately in love.”

I looked at Ramel sharply. “There’s nothing desperate about it.”

He gave a crow of delight. “Oh, this is simply lovely.”

“Simply lovely?” I repeated, mimicking his excited inflection. “Did Mab castrate you when she made you Vaelanbrigh?”

“Hardly.” Ramel smiled a very male smile. “Even with a touch of mortal blood, being the Vaelanbrigh has its privileges.”

I shook my head. “Unlike you, I don’t need to pry into my friends’ personal business.”

“So we are friends!”

“You’re ridiculous,” I said with a laugh.

“I’ve been called worse.” Ramel laced his fingers together behind his head and leaned back against the trunk of the birch. “But just remember, ma saell doendhine, that I kissed you first.”

“Be sure to keep that memory preserved well, because it’s never going to happen again.”

“If Finn has, ah, staked his claim, then I shall stay well clear.” Ramel grinned. “Don’t want to test the new High Queen.”

“There’s no staking of claims necessary,” I replied. “I’m a grown woman, and the Bearer of the Iron Sword. So I’m pretty sure I can make my own decisions.” Even, I thought, a decision that might not end with Finnead and I riding into the sunset together. The thought didn’t startle me; it floated through my mind with the prescient clarity of a truth recognized in a dream.

“Duly noted, Lady Bearer,” he said gravely.

“Ridiculous,” I repeated with a smile. We sat in companionable silence for a few moments. “Why did you choose this particular place?” I murmured. A bright blue sky shone between the lattice of the birch’s branches and its tender green leaves; but there was a sense of frailty, as though at any moment the sky might dissipate, revealing the whirling colors of the ether.

“Safety,” he replied. “I know this particular place very well, and some of the old wards are still left on it.” He motioned with his elbow in response to my questioning glance. “We placed some enchantments on the place when we built it.” He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “You weren’t the first child that we thought had power. But we didn’t know how right we were at the time.” A faint smile touched his lips. “And then you proved it yourself when you escaped on the day I was charged to bring you to Court.”

“I thought you were looking for Molly, all this time,” I said.

He shrugged with one shoulder. “Some of us knew that there are many paths to the same truth. We needed a Bearer. The Queen believed the half-Fae child was destined to bear the Sword. Some of us thought differently.” He looked at me and tilted his head. “You think you’re the only child of Gwyneth?”

“Of course not,” I replied automatically, “I have a brother.” Ramel chuckled. I wondered if I’d ever truly understand the entire tangled web of fate and chance and happenstance that had led me here, to this precise moment; I could barely understand my own choices, much less decipher the decisions on the other side of the veil that had taken place in my childhood. “I don’t have the time or the energy to play investigator,” I said. “I’m not going to dig through the layers to try to figure out who knew what and when.” I echoed his shrug. “I’m here, and I’m the Bearer.”

“You’re here, and you’re the Bearer,” Ramel agreed. He slid a glance at me. “So what exactly made yesterday so long and taxing? It must have been rather significant, to put you in such a bad mood in my company.”

“We killed a dragon,” I said matter-of-factly. “Or rather…Finnead and Luca and the Valkyrie and all the rest of the warriors who wish to be part of the vyldgard killed the dragon. I kind of watched.”

“I’m sure it was quite a sight.” Ramel tried to conceal his surprise, only partly succeeding. I didn’t bother to hide my smile. Then I sobered.

“We lost some warriors.” I paused. “Murtagh died. In Brightvale.”

Ramel drew in a breath. “I suspected.” He unlaced his fingers and ran one hand through his hair, a gesture that reminded me of Finnead. In the back of my mind, I wondered if Ramel had picked up the habit during his time as Finnead’s squire.

“He Walked with me to free Titania from Malravenar’s prison. We had to break her manacles. It took everything I had, and some of his power as well.” I sighed. “I took what I needed from him. He gave it freely. And I told him to bring us back, no matter the cost.” I swallowed.

“He wanted to be a part of this great fight,” Ramel told me. “When I returned to Darkhill, he sought me out. He wanted to be of service somehow.” A long moment passed. “Even if he would have known at the beginning that it would cost him his life, he would have chosen the same path regardless.”

“He was truly courageous,” I agreed quietly. A little smile touched my lips. “The look on his face, when I saw him in the Royal Wood….I’ll remember that for as long as I live, I think. He was just so…surprised.”

“He was good at what he did,” Ramel said. “Mab does not place her favor lightly.”

“He was favored?” I said sharply. “You know why he found me, right? I was talking with Liam in the ether and he appeared. He was dying.”

“We could not help him,” Ramel said, his face suddenly grave. He looked at me soberly. “So he found one who could.”

I sighed. “I just…I don’t understand Mab, Ramel. A queen is entrusted with the safety of her subjects. From what I saw, she didn’t really take that part seriously.”

“If you’re referring to the fact that she took power from a few to protect the whole of her kingdom from the encroaching shadows, I would caution you before you judge her,” Ramel replied in an uncharacteristically quiet voice.

“You’re honor-bound to defend her.” I crossed my arms. “So I suppose we’ll just have to agree to disagree.”

“Agree to disagree,” Ramel repeated, bemused.

I arched an eyebrow. “I’d be happy to keep arguing, if you’d like.”

Ramel shook his head. “I’d rather you tell me the story of this dragon killing.”

“I’m sure you’ll hear it soon enough. How long until you arrive?”

“Geography is a tricky thing right now,” Ramel replied, “and you took one of our best navigators when Merrick joined you. Our head navigator, he’s a bit….ancient.” Ramel searched for another, gentler word, but then gave up and shrugged.

“I’m sure it’s interesting, pulling all the Scholars and Librarians from their bookstacks into the field again.”

“That doesn’t cover the half of it.” Ramel ran one hand through his hair with a grimace. “There was a bit of talk of leaving a rearguard with those who are years removed from fighting, but the queen declared that this war shall be our last if we do not prevail…and so all will travel, and fight if they can.”

I blinked. “So you’re telling me the entire Unseelie Court is on the move? Traveling here?”

“Yes.”

“How many is that?”

Ramel shook his head. “Thousands. I couldn’t rightly say.”

“Holy hell.” Even in the ether, detached from the waking world, I couldn’t wrap my mind around it. The whole host of Unseelie, armed for war, headed in this direction…combined with the splendor of Titania’s Court...the thought filled me with both an amazed hope and an unnamed dismay. I took a deep breath. “How is…everyone, then? Emery and Donovan, and Brenn? Guinna?” After a slight pause, I added, “Molly?”

Ramel spent a moment in thought before he answered. “Emery is still a bit withdrawn, but it’s no more different than those of us who have seen the depths of the war against the darkness. Donovan has been made squire to the new Vaelanbrigh—” Ramel twirled one of his hands lazily in mimicry of a bow—“and that is working out quite well. The Queen tasked Bren with selecting the most vital volumes from Darkhill’s collection to bring on the journey, so most think that she will be named Chief Scholar soon, though that’s ruffled the feathers of a few of the older Scholars.” He chuckled as though he enjoyed the thought of their discomfort. “Guinna is well, though I do not see much of her these days. And Molly…”

I didn’t miss the shift in his tone of voice. “I said I wouldn’t pry into your personal business, but there’s no need for prying with the look on your face.” I smiled and raised one eyebrow.

“Before the Queen named me Vaelanbrigh, after we returned from the Royal Wood, I helped her,” Ramel explained. “She was very…lost. Without her memories, she had no sense of who she was. So I helped in what ways I could.” He smiled slightly. “She will never be the girl you knew in the mortal world, but she remembers a few things here and there, and she is more herself than she was right after they released the binding on her Fae half.”

“Well, I’ll never be the girl she knew in the mortal world, either,” I pointed out, “so I suppose that makes it a bit easier. Everyone changes. I’m just glad to hear that she had someone to take care of her.”

Ramel shook his head. “She needs no one to take care of her.”

“Even better. Someone to…be her friend,” I amended.

“We are great friends,” said Ramel mildly, “but I believe you are implying much more with your impish smile, Tess.”

“Perhaps I am.” I let my smile widen. “It just makes me happy when my friends are happy.”

“It is a simple pleasure that we have often missed lately,” Ramel replied gravely. We stared up into the tree for a long moment.

“So,” I said, turning my thoughts back to serious matters. “What’s Mab’s plan, then?”

Ramel narrowed his eyes with a little grin. “Ah, turning the tables now, fair one. Trying to gain a bit of information to take back to your queen?”

“I don’t have a queen,” I said stiffly. “I’m the Bearer.”

“Of course,” Ramel agreed, but I read his true opinion in the set of his mouth as he acquiesced and the flash in his eye that accompanied his easy words.

“You’re right,” I said quietly. “Things will never be the same between us.”

“But we will still be friends,” Ramel replied. “Just perhaps of a different sort than what we once were.”

I nodded and leaned my head back against the birch tree.

“It’s been a tiring day for you, Tess,” came Ramel’s voice, echoing a bit. “It will be good for you to sleep, and sleep without dreaming.”

I felt the tug of his words, the opposite of the insistent pull that I’d felt earlier, shepherding me back toward the path in the ether that would lead me to my physical body. I opened one eye, squinting at Ramel. “You’re awfully bossy tonight.”

He smiled. “Just trying to make up for calling you here.”

I nodded again, this time sleepily.

“Come on then, up you come, can’t take a nap here.” Ramel gently set me on my feet. I blinked up at him, fascinated by the glimmer of the ether-light on his reddish curls. He kissed me on the forehead with brotherly affection; I hugged him fiercely, the haze of tiredness making me sad that I was about to leave him.

“We’ll see each other soon enough,” Ramel reminded me, squeezing my shoulders. “Now go and rest up.”

“Sorry we argued,” I said in a sleep-drunk voice. He smiled, roughed my hair with one hand, and nudged me down the path.

“See you soon, Tess.”

Ramel’s voice echoed in my ears as my feet followed the white gravel path of their own volition. The pull, this time more of a gentle beckoning, made it easier for me to slip through the ether. The kaleidoscope of colors—dawn and sunset, midnight and high noon—blurred together as I spun back toward the palatial tent on the barren plains; and I barely registered the warm-glove feeling of slipping back into my physical body before I sank into the plush darkness of a deep, welcoming sleep.

Chapter 18

I woke from my deep sleep to the sound of movement. I opened one eye, glimpsed Calliea pulling on a shirt and breeches and groaned in protest when she noticed that I was awake.

“We’re the morning shift,” Calliea said mercilessly, nudging my shoulder with one delicately pointed bare foot.

I sighed, blinked and dragged myself into a sitting position. “Do we at least get to eat breakfast?” I croaked, rubbing my eyes.

“Gods, you sound terrible,” Calliea said. “And of course we’ll eat breakfast.”

I glanced around our little tent compartment and saw Calliea’s breastplate, once again a shining robin’s-egg blue. There were a few scratches and a long gauge on the left side, bare silver showing through the enamel; but all the gore had been meticulously cleaned from the armor, the leather of the straps newly oiled and the brightwork gleaming in the light of the dim lantern.

“How long have you been up?” I asked in mingled disgust and awe.

“A while,” she answered vaguely.

I shook my head as I slowly coaxed my body into motion. My entire body ached, and my mouth was hot and dry. I remembered the force of the dragon-fire as it pummeled my protection and wondered just how much I understood about even my own power. Or, I thought, it might just be all the liquor I drank last night…most likely a combination of the two. I winced and stretched my legs before standing, running my heads briefly over my braids. They’d do, for the morning after a dragon hunt. I tugged at the hem of my shirt, smoothing some of the wrinkles; on second thought, I dug through my pack and found a leather vest, lacing it up quickly. I slid the strap of the Sword over my head, rolling the stiffness out of my shoulders as the familiar weight settled between my shoulder blades.

“Ready?” Calliea arched an eyebrow. She’d also managed to weave her hair into one sleek long braid, the feathers and dye mysteriously gone.

“How are you so chipper,” I muttered, following her through the curtain.

“We slept for almost eight hours,” she replied reasonably. “Or rather, you did.”

I did feel rather rested, all in all; the aching muscles were probably to be expected, after yesterday’s events. “I didn’t sleep for eight hours. At least half of that was spent Walking.”

Calliea slipped out the front entrance of the palatial tent. Cold gray light washed over me as I followed. The morning air sat oddly still and stagnant, a flat sky pressing down overhead, the thick clouds hiding the sun.

“Walking where? And with whom?” Calliea asked. A long table stood mere steps from the tent, reminiscent of the banquet tables in the Hall of the Outer Guard; and a simple yet abundant spread of fare stretched down its length. I glanced back at the unassuming silvery tent, which now looked to be of reasonable dimensions, and then stared at the table. Then I shrugged and began gathering my breakfast.

“Well,” I said, “an old friend wanted to talk. So we met in the ether.” I paused and then decided not to hide anything from Calliea. I trusted her. “He’s one of Mab’s Three, her new Vaelanbrigh.”

“Hm,” said Calliea noncommittally, biting into an apple. She nodded to a few warriors. The camp still seemed rather subdued. The celebration had probably lasted well into the morning, if I had to guess. I stuffed a piece of cheese into some bread and took a bite, chewing contemplatively as I glanced up at the sky. Calliea offered me her waterskin and I took a long pull, washing down the first bite of breakfast.

“Is this normal? The sky, I mean,” I said, squinting up into the oppressive grayness.

“No,” Calliea replied. “The land is dead. The sky is dead. It is poisoned, and it will only get worse as we draw closer to the Great Gate.”

“Will that affect the power of the queens?” I asked quietly, suddenly somber. “If the land is dead, and the queens draw their power from the land….”

Calliea tilted her head. “I think that the queens will make the land anew.”

“That seems like a pretty tall order.”

“So did finding the Bearer,” the Laedrek replied, arching one eyebrow. “And crowning the High Queen.”

“And, for that matter, killing a dragon,” I added with a smile. Calliea grinned.

“Besides,” she continued, “there are already signs of life in this earth again.”

“I don’t understand.”

Calliea paused, as if checking an invisible clock; and then she said, “Oh, they won’t miss us for a few moments. Come on.” Still finishing her apple, she led me through the camp with long strides. We walked carefully through long forms of slumbering lithe figures, past the gray and white ash of the funeral pyre; a lone sentry nodded wordlessly at us, and we climbed to the crest of the hill that separated our encampment from the battleground where the dragon had been slain.

Even with the still air, I caught the scent of rotting meat as we stood at the top of the hill. I gazed down at the dead dragon, its hulking carcass still in shadow in the dim gray light. I swallowed hard, feeling my breakfast crawling back up my throat.

“Vile creature,” muttered Calliea, her lip curling in revulsion. She spat to one side. As she turned, I noticed something in the light of the morning that I hadn’t seen in the torchlight of the night’s celebrations. I reached out and caught Calliea’s arm.

“The dragon’s blood burned you,” I said.

Calliea raised her face obligingly. “Yes, in a few places where the direflame had worn thin during the battle.” The burns looked almost healed, though it had been scarcely a day, leaving pearly pink marks on Calliea’s tawny skin. I stared at the pattern, too fascinated to be polite—somehow I knew she wouldn’t mind, and in fact she smiled a little as I examined her face. There was a splatter pattern about her left eye, a splash of pearly marks across her jaw, and long pinkish streaks down her throat. Her right ear was almost entirely covered with the nacreous scars.

“It would have been much worse without the direflame and my armor. And the vyldretning gave me some salve after the Naming.”

“Did it hurt?” I asked, flexing my own hands.

“Not nearly as much as yours did, I imagine,” Calliea replied. “Mine was merely blood, hot from the heart of a dragon. You might as well have held the heart of a star.”

“Our scars will tell the tale for us if we survive,” I said with a wry smile. The Caedbranr thrummed on my back at my last phrase. I’d acknowledged the possibility of death or defeat. But the Sword merely thrummed once, and Calliea didn’t correct me. Instead, she gazed down at the hill beneath our feet, smiling.

“Look.”

I followed her motion, and blinked in amazement. At the center of the hill, where Vell had knelt with her ivory staff, a small new tree unfurled its tender green leaves. I stepped carefully around it, gazing at its beautiful slender trunk and smooth bark. Already as tall as my hip, the sapling promised height in its young branches, which stretched farther than my arms’ span. Blades of grass pushed through the dull dirt of the hilltop, highest and greenest around the young tree’s trunk.

“Everything is happening so fast,” I murmured. I swept my eyes over the ground of the hilltop, and I saw that at the four points of the compass, where I’d laid the river-stones on the dirt, something else was growing. I stepped closer and sat on my haunches.

“So Vell plants a tree, and I plant brambles?” I asked with a little laugh, looking at the still-green but unmistakably thorny vines.

“They’re not brambles, Tess,” said Calliea. I glanced back at her, and she smiled. “They’re roses.”

“Roses.” I stood and wiped my hands on my thighs. “Interesting.”

Calliea shrugged. “Beautiful, yet—”

“Tough, thorny, yeah, I get it,” I finished for her, waving one hand in the air. We smiled at each other. I glanced over my shoulder at the dead dragon. “How long until the other little beasties start scavenging?”

“They already have,” said Calliea dismissively. “They just prefer the cover of darkness.”

I made a sound of disgust in the back of my throat and looked at the beautiful little tree one last time to wipe the sight of the dragon from my mind’s eye. “We’re working the morning shift, right?”

“Yes,” Calliea said as we walked back down the hill toward camp.

“I’m on your hip again?” I asked, trying to sound business-like rather than hopeful and failing.

“If by ‘on my hip’ you mean working with me, yes,” Calliea replied with a smile. Her dragon’s-blood scars caught the light, shimmering faintly as she turned her head. My heart contracted with a flash of jealousy—even Sidhe scars were more beautiful than I could ever hope to be. But I firmly tamped down on the emotion: my job was not to be beautiful, it was to be the Bearer, and all that entailed. In the next few hours that meant I would be a healer, putting my skills—such as they were—to good use.

“Oh,” Calliea said as we threaded our way back through camp, “just as a reminder….not that I think you would, after what I observed yesterday, but the vyldretning has said that no power be used in healing.”

“No taebramh?” I wondered suddenly if Finnead had told Vell about my dalliances with what he termed necromancy. What did I call it? I thought as we walked. I called it dancing on the line between life and death, which was itself very blurred sometimes.

“Exactly,” said Calliea. “It’s just an overall policy, I suppose to conserve everyone’s strength.”

“And perhaps she doesn’t want any more beacons for Malravenar’s beasts to track,” I added.

Calliea shrugged slightly. “I doubt it matters. We made a statement yesterday, killing the dragon.”

“True. I suppose a dragon carcass at the border of the camp is quite a calling card.”

Calliea pushed aside the entrance to the tent and strode down the main corridor, toward another gray curtain. When we slipped past that curtain, all the hum and noise of a healing ward enveloped us, though it had been silent in the corridor. I turned.

“Where are you going?” Calliea caught my arm.

“Oh, just back to our compartment. I forgot my…satchel.” I blinked as Calliea handed me one of a dozen identical satchels, laid out neatly on a table by the entrance.

“It’s easier if everyone has the same kit, once the dust settles,” Calliea explained. “We just drop these back on the table after shift, and they’ll be refilled.”

I nodded. “Makes sense.”

Suspended globes of light lit the healing ward, spaced evenly between the rows of the wounded. On either side of a wide center aisle, warriors lay on beds of furs much like those in our own little tent compartment. It was still very much a camp hospital, though again I was impressed by the size of the tent and the comfort of its furnishings. A handful of other healers wearing identical satchels moved down the rows.

“There’s at least six on duty at any given time,” Calliea said. “Wait here for a moment, and I’ll see who we’ll be relieving.” She slipped down the center aisle, silent as a shadow, and conversed in a low voice with a slight, silver-haired Seelie. Calliea nodded, and the silver-haired healer motioned to two other healers, who, after a brief word from her, wearily deposited their satchels on the table and slipped out of the ward.

“That’s Maeve,” said Calliea as she returned, gesturing to the small silver-haired woman. “She’s been healing longer than I’ve been alive. And she’s wicked with a spear.”

“Good to know,” I said. I expected to feel surprised, that the healer in charge of the wounded had a reputation for deadliness with a spear, but little about the Sidhe surprised me anymore. I settled the strap of the satchel over my shoulder, untangling it from the strap of the Sword; and then I looked at Calliea and said, “Okay. Where do we start?”

For the next hours, I focused solely on helping Calliea tend to the wounded. It was soothing, in a way, to push all thought of the future from my mind, to collect my consciousness and concentration in the simple yet profound tasks of healing: changing blood-soaked bandages, checking the set of broken limbs with delicate probing fingers, washing gore from bruised flesh. I didn’t count how many wounded we tended, but it was enough that I would have lost track if I’d tried; the Sword remained silent, for which I was strangely grateful. The Caedbranr’s words in my head would have drawn me back into thoughts of looming battle. I preferred the simplicity of both physical and mental exertion. It left little room for musing on war, though I was dealing with the aftermath of a battle in the broken bones and torn limbs of the Sidhe warriors.

I didn’t know how much time had really passed, only that my supplies in my satchel were about half gone. It was a few moments before I registered Vell’s presence, and even then it was only because Beryk ghosted up to me, watching me with solemn golden eyes as I bandaged a deep gash on a Valkyrie’s arm. The Valkyrie was one of those who’d been knocked from the air by a sweep of the dragon’s spiny tail, with the gash on his arm the least of his injuries. A cloth soaked in a potent sedative wrapped his other arm—the arm was the only part of his body not stitched together or bruised or broken. I could tell by sight that the cloth was still damp; when the sedative needed to be reapplied, I’d have to wear gloves so it didn’t soak into my own skin. I watched the Valkyrie’s face for a moment, wondering if he dreamed, or merely lay wrapped in featureless darkness. Beryk raised his head and joined me in gazing down at the still warrior.

“Hey, fur-face,” I said softly. I reached up and moved the orb of light to the Valkyrie’s feet, near the aisle. With a twist of my wrist, I dimmed the light, glanced down at the Valkyrie to make sure we could still see the rise and fall of his chest, and stepped back into the center aisle, wiping my hands with a cloth that I kept tucked into my belt. When I turned to move to the next pallet, I caught sight of Maeve, deep in conversation with Vell. The golden circlet glimmered against Vell’s dark hair, catching even the muted light of the healing tent with its brilliance. I tilted my head, thinking that perhaps it was just my eyes, tired from concentrating for the past hours; but no matter how I blinked, the radiance hovering about Vell remained. The High Queen created her own light. It shimmered about her as she moved, a softly glowing aura that whispered of incredible power. I squinted down at Beryk.

“You see that she’s glowing too, right? And not metaphorically.” I looked at the sable wolf for a long moment, trying to discern any difference about him, but Beryk was as always just Beryk—though, I thought, he’d been different from the first moment I’d encountered him, drenched under the river-tree. Beryk huffed out a breath that may or may not have been a response to my question, gliding past me down the center aisle. I followed him, wiping my hands again. Calliea straightened from where she was stitching a wound, gave me a brief nod and bent again over her work.

As I approached the head healer and the High Queen, Beryk slid past the pair, disappearing into the rest of the tent. One of Maeve’s silver eyebrows arched fractionally, but that was all the surprise—or perhaps disapproval—she showed at a wolf walking among the wounded. I waited a respectful distance from the two, and I felt the Caedbranr’s power awaken, circling lazily in my chest. Being near Vell or her Three seemed to rouse the Sword.

I waited and watched. From the way that Calliea had spoken about her, I gathered that Maeve was a respected elder, but the Sidhe didn’t show age as mortals do. Physically, Maeve looked only a little older than Gray or even Calliea; somehow I knew that her hair had always been silver, like Rowan the White, the captain of Titania’s Outer Guard. But there was an air of experience and authority about the slender healer. She spoke to Vell without the awestruck wonder of the younger Sidhe.

After a few moments, the High Queen gave a regal nod to Maeve, who replied with an elegant half bow. A new pair of healers appeared at the entrance to the ward, and Maeve turned to Calliea. The wordless communication didn’t surprise me, but it took a moment for my mind to translate after hours of concentration. Calliea wiped her hands and touched my elbow as she slid past.

“We’ve been relieved,” she said to me. Then she touched two fingers to her forehead, her obeisance directed toward Vell. “My queen.”

“My Laedrek,” replied Vell with a half-smile. The use of her vyldgard name brought an answering smile to Calliea’s lips. “How are the wounded?” Vell asked, her eyes roaming the ward.

“I expect Maeve will have told you,” Calliea said, a little frown marring her smooth forehead.

“I am not asking Maeve. I am asking the Laedrek.” Vell brought her gaze back to Calliea, a quiet intensity behind her words. “You must understand. You are not one of my Three, but as foremost among my First Score, I expect you and the Arrisyn to be my eyes and ears as my Three cannot be. I demand your honesty.”

Calliea bowed her head briefly. “Yes, my queen.” She raised her eyes to meet Vell’s piercing stare. “There are many gravely wounded. Half the Valkyrie’s number lie in this ward, with at least six close to the boundary between life and death. It will be many days until all these fighters will be ready to travel, much less ride to battle.”

Vell nodded, the light glimmering on her crown. “And there are enough healers, and enough supplies?”

“Yes, my queen.” Calliea offered Vell her satchel. “Each healer carries one of these for their shift, and they are refilled by the apprentices and those who are not gifted with healing skills.”

“You mean those who have never bothered to learn.” Vell raised one eyebrow slightly. She took Calliea’s satchel and rifled through the depleted contents, then returned it and nodded. “I trust you will keep me updated on your Valkyrie.”

Calliea raised her chin. “I will.”

Vell turned to me. “Lady Bearer, we need to speak. Your shift is over, is it not?”

I looked at Calliea, who nodded. “Yes.”

“Good. Then we shall walk.”

Slipping the strap of the satchel over my head, I followed Vell, rolling my shoulders to ease the stiffness in my muscles. I deposited the satchel on the table by the entrance, where a young Seelie with a bandage on his brow promptly scooped it up. When he raised his eyes after slinging the straps of the empty satchels over his shoulder, he gave a start, his eyes widening slightly into an expression of awe as he recognized the High Queen and the Bearer of the Iron Sword. My tiredness dissipated; I caught the young Seelie’s eye and gave him a wink and a grin. His mouth fell open just slightly and then we swept through the curtains.

“Feeling cheeky today, are we?” Vell murmured to me over her shoulder, raising her eyebrows.

I shrugged. “Maybe I just want to remind everyone that I’m not so different from them.”

“Except for the fact that you were mortal once, and now you bear the most powerful weapon this side of the veil,” said Vell. We passed through the main entrance of the tent, emerging into the wintry light of the Deadlands.

“Well, yes,” I admitted. “Except for that.” I blinked as I took in the three additional tents now erected around the huge stone ring where the embers of the great fire lay banked and smoldering. “Everyone’s been busy this morning.”

“One tent wouldn’t hold all the warriors in this world,” replied Vell reasonably.

“It seemed like a pretty big tent,” I said.

“A bit of workings in the warp and weft, nothing more.” Vell flicked her wrist. She led me to the smallest tent of the three, set a small distance apart from the others. Though it was plain gray on the outside, we entered a simple yet well-appointed interior. The walls of the tent were deep scarlet, reminding me of the war paint that had adorned the faces of Vell’s Three; a white bear pelt covered the ground beneath a rough-hewn waist high table, which was covered in maps. Long scarlet curtains hid what I surmised to be sleeping quarters; several compartments lined the far side of the tent, and the center curtains were drawn back. I glimpsed Vell’s armor, neatly laid on a low table, and a precisely rolled pallet atop the spotted skin of a snow-cat.

Merrick bent over the map-table, his young face tense with concentration, passing one hand over the black mirror-like surface of his scrying-stone. He didn’t look up at our approach, twisting his fingers in the air above the scrying-stone as the surface suddenly writhed with color and movement. Vell joined Merrick at the table, leaning slightly over the map, her eyes intent on the surface of the scrying-stone. The navigator adjusted the scrying-stone once more, and then gave a small sound of triumph. Vell leaned closer; I slid over to her side and gazed down at Merrick’s instrument.

“Found ‘em,” said Merrick in a slightly smug voice, the strain of keeping the scrying-stone focused weighting his words. His hair curled against his forehead, damp with sweat.

“I knew you would,” Vell murmured.

As I looked into the lens of the scrying-stone, I saw, as if from the eyes of a bird, a great host moving across a gray landscape. Banners snapped in the wind, and hooves churned the ground into dust. I leaned forward, my heart tightening in my chest—for an instant I thought it was the Unseelie host, armored in their dark colors with banners flying. But it was not the Dark Queen’s court. Beneath the lens of the scrying-stone, Malravenar’s army blackened the hills, a seething mass of gray and black and sickly green, the colors of decay and death, nightmares made corporeal. The tattered, stained banners bore the sigils of the ulfdrengr halls that the Darkness had overrun, and at the forefront I spied a blood-smeared long banner of white, worked with gold—a trophy from the Saemhradall. On other poles beneath the banners, the armored host held aloft skulls. My stomach heaved, and I pushed myself back from the table, taking deep breaths.

Vell studied the scrying-stone intently, her face hard with anger. Merrick turned the complex dials of the scrying-stone at her quiet request. His hands began to shake, even as he slid the scrying-stone over the map toward Malravenar’s stronghold.

“Show me all you can, Arrisyn,” Vell said in a steely voice, noticing his trembling.

Merrick didn’t reply, simply nodding as he took in a deep breath, sweat standing out on his forehead now. The Sword hummed a low, warning tone. I stepped over to Merrick’s other side.

Gray and Finnead strode into the tent silently, apparently summoned by Vell. They joined her wordlessly, watching the scene in the scrying-glass as it flew over countless hills, all teeming with Malravenar’s horrific creations. Merrick slid the scrying-stone across the map, his breath coming in ragged gasps now. I tensed. I understood that Vell needed to know as much information as possible about our enemy, but I didn’t remember this high of a cost to Merrick when he’d used his instruments to navigate across Faeortalam. Then a suspicion emerged into the full light of my conscious thought, and I said softly but warningly to Vell, “Are you sure that nothing can come through the scrying—”

A strangled cry escaped Merrick’s lips as black smoke boiled from the surface of the scrying-stone, whirling into a column of darkness and fire. I tackled Merrick, breaking his contact with the scrying-stone; where my skin touched his, I felt a flash of frost, as though skeletal frozen fingers wrapped about my arms. He convulsed beneath me and I rolled to my knees, my hand reaching for the hilt of the Sword. Hot wind screamed through the tent, shaking the ground beneath our feet, flames lashing out from the writhing core of dark smoke. A black tentacle emerged from the seething mass, wrapping about Merrick’s leg and dragging the unconscious navigator toward the table.

“You will not take him!” I screamed, my voice lost in the roar of the blistering wind. I drew the Sword. Its power flared, hotter and brighter than I’d ever felt it, surging down my war-markings, filling me until I felt my skin splitting. The Caedbranr’s bare blade shone as bright as a star in my fist, and I brought it down on the tentacle of darkness, severing it. The whirling column of smoke wavered, a shrill note entering its screaming winds. Shouts from outside the tent blended into the cacophony of the creature’s maelstrom.

I felt Vell’s power burst like a supernova, a cold wind suddenly springing up to tame the heat of the dark-thing’s flames; the Caedbranr pulsed with emerald fire that met Vell’s bright blaze, enveloping the whirling column of darkness. The creature—for it was a creature of some sort, though it didn’t have a corporeal body that I could see—lashed out at us. I felt the hot sting of a cut as a tentacle swept across my left arm, its dark matter as sharp as a blade. The feel of blood sliding down my arm kindled an indignant rage within me, and I added my own taebramh to the bright pulse of the Sword. With a snarl, I lunged forward and plunged the Caedbranr through the writhing pillar of black smoke. My vision exploded with white-hot light and an invisible force slammed into me, driving me to the ground.

I gasped through the sudden pain in my chest, but the Sword sent a little surge of power through its hilt into my palm. The tender skin of my newly healed scars stung, a sharp bright pain that drew me back from the brink of blackness. I blinked and dragged in a breath, wincing at the agony slicing through my ribs; but I looked about the tent, saw that the Dark-thing had disappeared. As hearing returned over the ringing in my ears, I heard Vell snapping out orders and the bustle of movement as her warriors obeyed. I pushed myself up onto my elbows, still struggling to see clearly through the wavering shadows. With a flick of her wrist, Vell sent an orb of light aloft, throwing the scene into stark relief.

The heavy table had been overturned, maps strewn everywhere, and a smoldering hole marked the spot on the largest map where Merrick had plied his scrying-glass. Merrick. My breath hitched, and my eyes found his still form even as Gray leapt lightly over the fallen table, landing unerringly by Merrick’s side. Finnead strode around the table, his eyes kindling with fury when he saw me lying on the ground.

“Did it hurt you?” he asked quickly, kneeling, the Brighbranr still bare in his hand. I swallowed and shook my head, not trusting my voice yet. He followed my gaze toward Merrick, and we both watched silently as Gray worked intently over the young navigator. He jerked, and I let out the breath I’d been holding; but then my chest tightened as Merrick cried out wordlessly. Finnead touched my shoulder and I nodded. He moved past me to help Gray. Merrick thrashed, trying to escape their hold, his face pale and his eyes wild. With an effort, I lifted the Sword, sliding it home into the sheath on my back. Then Vell knelt in front of Merrick, her two Named Knights holding him steady with a firm but gentle grip. My heart twisted at the animalistic terror written on Merrick’s face—his mind clearly hadn’t returned fully from wherever he’d been pulled by the Dark creature.

“Tess, find the scrying-glass,” Vell said, her golden eyes intent on Merrick.

I didn’t have the breath to reply, but I scoured the floor until I spied a circular lump under one of the fallen charts. I pushed myself across the tent in an awkward sort of crawl, my hand stinging sharply in protest as I grabbed the scrying-stone. It was uncomfortably warm in my hand, resurrecting my memory of the burning-hot fire of the Crown of Bones. But I shook my head, crawled back to Vell, and placed the scrying-stone in her outstretched hand.

Vell’s shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath, and she held the scrying-stone to her lips, the glass misting with warm fog. She bowed her head, placed one palm on the scrying-stone and gripped Merrick’s shoulder with the other hand. Finnead and Gray watched tensely. One of Gray’s hands hovered near her dagger-hilt. The air in the room tightened, and Vell’s knuckles showed white as she gripped the scrying-glass. Her body jerked and stilled. I could barely breathe for the thickness of the power pressing down on us. Vell leaned over Merrick, who fell back limply, eyes open and staring. She sealed her lips over his mouth and breathed into him, something rippling through her and into him with her exhalation. Finnead caught Vell as she shuddered and lost her balance. Merrick gasped and drew a long breath; Gray pressed a hand to his shoulder and said something to him in a voice too low for me to hear. He blinked, his eyes fully present with the spark that made him our intrepid navigator.

“Vell?” My voice came out gravelly but more than the croak I’d expected.

Finnead held Vell in a strange sort of embrace, her forehead resting on his shoulder. I didn’t feel even the slightest prick of jealousy—I just wanted her to stop shuddering and answer me. Finally, with a concerted effort of will, Vell stilled herself and raised her head. After another moment she drew back from Finnead, who wordlessly released his grip.

“That took a bit more effort than I’d anticipated,” the High Queen said hoarsely, looking down at the scrying-glass in her palm. Finnead handed her a waterskin, and she gulped a few swallows thirstily. Her voice was stronger when she spoke again. “It caught hold of Merrick and used him as leverage to come through the scrying-glass. It pulled him through…though I think you tackling him interrupted the process.”

“It changed places with him,” I said, nausea rising in my stomach. I looked at the scrying-glass. “You pulled him back.”

Vell nodded. “He hadn’t yet been bound. The channel was still fresh.” She grimaced. “It felt like the burrow of a bone-rat.”

I looked questioningly at Finnead. He gave a little nod of his head that I took to mean he’d explain the definition of a bone-rat to me later. But I understood Vell’s meaning—the path through the ether had felt like a furrow gauged by a disgusting creature. I didn’t remember any particular feeling like that when I’d followed Titania’s trail to her prison—but then again, I didn’t know what had carved that tunnel.

“My queen,” said Merrick hoarsely, pushing himself upright. Gray sat back, making no attempt to assist him.

“Arrisyn,” said Vell, almost gently.

Merrick bowed his head. “I am sorry. I failed you.” A bluish pallor still clung to his skin, but it faded with every passing moment.

Vell shook her head slowly. “No. You did not fail me.” She held up her hand to silence Merrick’s half-born protest. “You could not have known that a creature lay in wait.” She paused. “I did not truly grasp the peril of what I asked.”

Merrick raised his eyes to the High Queen. “I will raise the image again for you.” His hand found the scrying-glass, lying by Vell’s knee.

Vell covered Merrick’s hand with her own. “Not today, Arrisyn. Today you have done well. You showed me what I needed to see. I will ask you to be my eyes again in time, but we will put protections in place.” She waited until Merrick nodded, and then she let him take the scrying-glass. He immediately cradled it in his palms, examining the intricate knobs and inspecting the smooth surface for damage. Then Vell turned to me. “Tess?”

I gave her a lopsided smile and a thumbs-up. My bones ached, still pulsing from the aftershocks of the tremendous power that had rushed through me.

“Take her to rest in my sleeping-quarters,” Vell said to Finnead.

“I can hear you,” I said irritably. “And you should probably rest in your own sleeping-quarters after pulling someone back from leagues away.”

“Fine. Take Tess to rest in your sleeping-quarters,” Vell amended, flashing a grin at Finnead. I sighed and shook my head, though an answering smile came to my own lips unbidden.

“As you command,” replied Finnead, raising one eyebrow slightly at his Queen’s humor but still standing protectively close. He wasn’t in the mood to indulge in the ribald teasing of the Wild Court after the sudden shock of the creature’s appearance and the fierce short battle against it. I followed Finnead toward one of the curtained compartments. He pulled aside the curtain and as I slipped inside, Kianryk barreled into the tent, followed closely by Luca. Vell spoke quickly to the ulfdrengr. Part of me wanted to know what she was saying, but weariness tugged at me. I sighed in frustration. I heard the rustle of maps as the overturned table was righted and its display restored. Someone muttered about getting a few rocks to protect the maps against any further winds of sorcery, and I heard Vell chuckle.

“We are going to set an overwatch,” Finnead said quietly, letting the curtain fall behind him. A silence too complete to be natural enveloped us. I glanced at the neatly organized setup: armor set on an unfurled white fur, clothes folded neatly to one side, a sleeping pallet comfortably composed of several thick mottled gray furs.

“Where did all of this come from?” I mused aloud yet again, my tired mind forgetting to filter my thoughts.

“Sit,” said Finnead. “Please,” he added at my baleful look. “Vell brought back Merrick, but you destroyed the creature.”

“Pretty sure she helped with that as well.”

Finnead shook his head. “She threw up defenses and then encircled the tent so it wouldn’t be able to escape. You were the one to put your blade through it.”

“Guess I’m a pretty good bodyguard then,” I said with a grin. I lowered myself carefully to the furs and then groaned.

“Are you hurt?” asked Finnead quickly, kneeling again beside me.

“No,” I said with a little breathless laugh. “You already asked me that, remember? This is just really comfortable.”

Finnead stared at me blankly, and then after a moment smiled and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m afraid I must get used to this again.”

“Used to what?” I raised my eyebrows. “A woman in your sleeping quarters?”

He chuckled. “Well, yes….although these circumstances were not at all what I had in mind.” Then he sobered. “I am not accustomed to feeling fear for another person this keenly.”

I shook my head. “Don’t let it distract you. Remember? That’s why you didn’t want to get tangled up in this in the first place.” I shifted irritably.

Finnead reached out and covered my hands with his own. I stilled.

“Tess,” he said firmly but gently, “I am not ‘tangled up’ in anything. I am in love with you, and that is something different entirely.”

I couldn’t deny the burst of warmth in my chest when he said the words, but I suppressed the giddy smile trying to worm its way onto my lips. Instead I said quietly, “I like hearing those words, Finnead. I love you, too. But as we’ve said before, we can’t let this become a distraction. The last thing I want is you putting yourself in danger because of your fear for me.”

“We are all battling against the Darkness to save what we love,” Finnead replied. He leaned closer, kissed me softly, almost chastely, barely brushing my lips with his own and yet setting fire to my blood. “I am just fortunate enough to have what I love right here, in front of me, reminding me of all the reasons to fight.”

I felt incredibly daring as I reached up and ran my fingers through his raven-wing hair. His eyes went half-lidded with pleasure, and I smiled a little. “You’re right.”

He opened his eyes fully. “Wait. Say that again, a little louder?”

I chuckled and shook my head. “You heard me.”

Brushing a stray strand of hair from my face, Finnead smiled and kissed my forehead. I leaned into him, luxuriating in the feel of his solid, muscled arms holding me. “I can’t stay, Tess,” he murmured into my hair.

I nodded, suppressed my disappointment and drew back. “No rest for the weary.”

“Isn’t it ‘no rest for the wicked’?” He raised one eyebrow.

“Either way. Accurate.” I shrugged and smiled.

“It would do you good to have a few hours’ sleep. Or at least rest for a while,” Finnead said.

“As much as I want to argue with you, I think you’re right,” I said, slipping the strap of the Caedbranr over my head and laying the Sword by my side. I pulled my boots off my feet and leaned back.

“Twice in one day you’ve admitted that I’m right,” said Finnead. “I’ll have to mark this as a legendary afternoon.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” His drowning-blue eyes gleamed. “As it happens, I have other things to occupy my dreams.”

I chuckled. “You’re ridiculous.” He stood as I laid back. I blinked up at him. “Be safe.”

He nodded. “Always.” When he left, the light in the little compartment dimmed, and silence washed over me, swaddling me in comfort. I waited until the curtain hung completely still, and then I reached over and plucked one of Finnead’s neatly folded shirts from the pile. I held it to my face and breathed in the scent of him, imagining that he lay next to me as I drifted into sleep.

Chapter 19

“Do you think she’s asleep?”

The whispered question came from somewhere up above my head.

“I would assume so, since her eyes are closed.”

The two Glasidhe failed at their attempt to be stealthy as the combination of their whispers and auras wormed its way into my slumber.

“But it is only the afternoon! Why would she be asleep?”

I opened my eyes and squinted at Forin and Farin. “It’s called a nap.”

“We woke her,” said Forin in chagrin, chastising his twin.

“Only a lazybones sleeps in the afternoon,” replied Farin primly, brightening her aura as I sat up and rubbed the sleep from my eyes with the heel of one hand.

“Or someone who sent a Dark creature back through a scrying-stone,” said Calliea, slipping into the small compartment. Forin crossed his arms and gave a reprimanding look to his twin. Farin’s aura rippled with a blush. “With all your scouting talents, I thought you would’ve heard of the events of the afternoon by now.”

“I told you it wasn’t an exaggeration,” Forin said in a low voice.

“Well, no need to be so smug,” Farin replied, fluttering her wings in irritation. Her voice took on a defensive tone. “I know very little of scrying-glass sorcery.”

“To be fair, I didn’t know that things could come through the scrying-glass either,” Calliea said with a little half-shrug. She let the curtain fall behind her and settled on her haunches by the furs, holding out a steaming mug in my direction.

“I miss coffee,” I grumbled, but I took the mug anyway. “Thanks.”

“Those who traveled to your world before the closing of the gates also have mentioned coffee,” said Calliea musingly.

I sipped gingerly at the hot liquid in the mug and tilted my head. The brew tasted similar to a strongly spiced chai, rich and sweet. “This isn’t bad, whatever it is.”

“It’s called kal.” Calliea smiled faintly. “I only just learned to make it. Luca and Chael have been teaching the First Score to make the food and drink of their people, if you can believe it.”

A chuckle escaped me as the image of brawny Luca and taciturn Chael giving cooking lessons rose in my mind’s eye. “I’m sure that’s an….experience.”

Calliea widened her eyes. “I wasn’t a good cook before all this, and having a giant wolf stare at me while I try traditional ulfdrengr recipes doesn’t help matters.”

My chuckle bloomed into a full laugh, which caught in my throat and turned into a cough. I swallowed another mouthful of kal. Forin and Farin finished a fiercely whispered conversation overhead; Forin bowed in our direction and slipped out of the compartment, the curtain barely stirring at his passage. Farin swooped low, stopping abruptly at eye-level. I blinked the neon after-trail of her dizzying movement from my vision.

“May I stay with you, Tess-mortal?” the Glasidhe warrior asked. “If another Dark-thing appears, I would like to vanquish it with you.” She bared pointed teeth in a predatory grin.

“By all means, keep me company,” I said. Farin promptly alighted on Finnead’s armor, settling on the shoulder and folding her legs beneath her. I shifted and winced at my still-sore legs, but moving felt good. I brought my legs up and rested my mug on one knee, leaning back on my other arm. I turned back to Calliea. “When’s our next shift?”

She smiled and shook her head. “No next shift for you. Maeve’s orders.”

I sighed. “I don’t need to be treated with kid gloves. I’d rather be useful.”

“I’d say that destroying that smoke-creature was useful.”

“Point taken. But you know what I mean.”

“If you mean that you never feel as though you do enough,” Calliea said, “I understand all too well. But all have their place, and for now yours is with the High Queen.”

“I’m not bound to the High Queen,” I replied, taking another sip of kal to give my mind time to filter my words. “If I want to work in the healing ward, I’d hope my help would be welcomed.”

Calliea gave me a long look, her heart-shaped face uncharacteristically grave. “I am not saying your help would not be welcomed. I am just saying that there are others who have taken on the task, and we cannot do what you must do.”

A low hum from the Caedbranr filled the small compartment. I nudged the scabbard with one toe. “Of course you have input when it involves taking sides,” I muttered at it. The emerald in the pommel glimmered at me in lazy amusement.

“Tess,” Calliea said in a softer voice, “I understand that you want to help, I truly do. But please trust me when I say that the vyldretning needs your help more than the wounded in the healing ward.” She smiled wryly. “What I meant before was to say that your talents and mine are not quite interchangeable.”

I nodded. “I understand.” I gazed up at the cloth of the tent overhead. “I don’t like it, but I understand.”

Calliea touched my shoulder briefly and then stood. “I’d still appreciate a visit every now and again.”

“Of course. I’m still your apprentice. I’ll come bother you when you’re off watch.” I grinned up at her. She flashed me a quick smile before sliding past the curtain. I finished my kal, watching the shadows pooled in the folds of the curtains, unlit by Farin’s brightly burning aura. Setting my empty mug aside, I stretched my legs a bit more and then stood, straightening the sleeping furs and neatly folding the shirt I’d appropriated, resisting the urge to pull it over my head and feel the fabric against my skin. Farin fluttered her wings and crossed her ankles, leaning back on the shoulder of Finnead’s armor.

“Does it smell like him?” she asked slyly.

“You should stop being so nosy if you want to help me vanquish the next Dark creature,” I replied, raising an eyebrow at the fierce little Glasidhe.

“Don’t blame me for asking,” Farin said with a giggle.

I stood in the middle of the compartment and surveyed my work. It wasn’t as crisp and neat as when Finnead arranged things, and I couldn’t quite put my finger on the reason, but it would do. I put a hand to my hair, sighed at the halo of frizz and flyaways and shook my braid loose. With my fingers as a comb and the limitations of my braiding skills, I couldn’t replicate Calliea’s handiwork, but I managed to wrestle my hair into a passable plait. I pulled on my boots and slung the Sword’s strap over my head. Farin leapt from her perch on the armor to take up her customary position on my shoulder, small hands touching my ear momentarily as she gained her balance. I waited until she was settled and then pulled the curtain aside, stepping into the main area of the Queen’s tent.

The murmur of voices immediately enveloped me. I blinked as my eyes adjusted to the deep, velvety shadows and the sudden points of light hovering above the map-table, suspended like miniature stars in the dusky upper reaches of the tent. Finnead, Gray, Luca, Chael, Merrick and Calliea gathered about the table. So Calliea hadn’t left me to go back to the healing ward; she’d left the council briefly to check on me. Vell stood with her back to me, her knuckles resting lightly on the edge of the table as she contemplated the large map spread before her. A coppery spark in the pool of darkness in the corner caught my eye. I could just make out Arcana’s slim outline.

Vell looked over her shoulder. “Ah, Lady Bearer. Come and join the discussion.”

I pulled back my shoulders slightly and strode across the tent. Vell looked at Gray, who wordlessly stepped to one side, freeing a space by the High Queen. My eyes swept over the huge map, painstakingly inked on pale, supple leather, stretching the entire breadth and width of the table, with a neat roll by the edge of the table nearest us. I felt my eyebrows rise incredulously at the scope and detail of the map. “This looks like all of Faeortalam.”

“Most of it,” replied Merrick. “There’s some uncertainty as to the exact borders of the Deadlands, and there’s the possibility that the mountains have shifted in the Far North….but a good portion, yes.”

“So what are we discussing,” I said, noting that the marks representing attacks by Malravenar’s creatures had been copied onto the map. I found our position by spying a skillfully rendered skull with massive headspikes—the dragon’s grave. A small distance to the southeast, a sketched tent represented our camp. A small carved set of figurines for a game something like chess had been commandeered, the figure of an archer with a drawn bow standing near the symbol for the camp.

“War plans,” said Vell. She tapped a finger near a mounted knight to the south of us, near the Hall of the Outer Guard. “Titania and the Seelie forces are underway from the Hall. They will still most likely reach us before the Unseelie Court.” Her finger trailed delicately over the map, passing over forests and plains and then the ravening gorge of the Darinwel, stopping at another carved knight. I smiled a bit: the carved knight representing the Seelie was white, and the figurine for the Unseelie was black, with the archer standing for the vyldgard painted scarlet. “It might be as long as a fortnight, perhaps even two, before the Unseelie complete their journey.” Vell spread her hands over the map, resting just her fingertips on the surface. “We must decide what to do in this time.”

“Reconnaissance,” I said immediately. I saw Finnead look at Gray pointedly, one eyebrow raised; and Gray shrugged. My hackles rose slightly. “I know that I’m not necessarily as trained as all of you, but I’ve done my own research, in my own way. I understand basic tactics.”

“With the dragon dead, we should scout from the air,” Calliea said quickly on the heels of my words, making me think that she’d been advocating for this course of action before her brief respite from the council to check on me.

“There are too many unknowns,” replied Gray, shaking her head.

Vell watched and listened to the exchange, her golden eyes unreadable.

“We cannot advocate caution in the face of this final battle,” protested Calliea, her delicate face fierce with emotion. “Caution and delay in facing the Shadow has already caused too many deaths. We will finally be united, three Queens under one banner, and if my share of peril is to fly the skies without knowing the creatures which I will encounter, so be it.”

“We do not even know if the faehal will remain winged,” Gray rejoined.

“They shall,” said Vell with a quiet air of authority.

Calliea gestured triumphantly. “We killed the dragon, the greatest threat to our forces from the air. On our scouting missions, surely Malravenar will send his other winged creatures, and we will dispatch them before the final battle.” She raised her chin defiantly at her cousin. “So we will serve a dual purpose: scouting and drawing forth the enemy’s airborne weapons.”

“The idea has merit,” said Finnead levelly. Gray looked at him sharply, but he remained impassive. I wondered why Gray opposed Calliea’s plan so staunchly—was it that the newly-baptized Laedrek had been given command of the Valkyries, whom Gray had led into the battle against the dragon?

“How many of your Valkyrie are fit to fly?” Vell asked in that same quiet yet authoritative voice. The air around her shimmered slightly and the crown gleamed on her pale brow.

“Eighteen,” Calliea answered promptly. She paused. “And there are three faehal who were not injured, though their riders were. If you would allow me to choose three additional warriors, that would bring it up to twenty-one.”

“I do not think it will be an easy thing, to give these mounts to other riders,” Vell said. “But do what you think best, Laedrek.”

Calliea blinked but then bowed her head. “As you command, my queen.” She raised her gaze to the map. “We will travel in three flights of six, or seven if the new Valkyrie are ready to ride out.” Leaning over the table, she took a piece of sharpened charcoal and lightly drew three smooth arcs leading from our camp into the heart of the Deadlands. “One flight will cover the lands to the north, one to the west, and one to the south. With your approval, my Queen, I will lead the western flight.”

I eyed the trajectory of the western arc—it traveled directly over the site of the Great Gate, arrowing into mountains that looked sinister even just drawn on a map. Of course Calliea would choose to lead the most perilous mission. Merrick stared down at the map grimly, and Gray glanced between Calliea and Vell. A strange calm settled over Calliea as she kept her gaze on the High Queen, awaiting the final verdict. Vell contemplated the map thoughtfully.

“Finnead,” she said finally. “How many of your mounted force are ready for battle?”

Finnead didn’t answer as quickly as Calliea. After a moment he said, “At least threescore.” He examined the routes Calliea had sketched. “Fifteen for each vanguard,” he said.

“You would not be comfortable with less?” Vell mused.

“A dozen for each, but I do not want to sacrifice too much power for speed. The fastest Dark forces we have encountered were in the air; we should be much faster than any creatures on the ground.”

“The key word being ‘should,’” I muttered, swallowing against the knot forming in my chest. Farin patted my ear and then leapt from my shoulder, bowing to Vell.

“The Glasidhe will gladly fly with the Valkyrie,” she said.

“Thank you for your steadfast friendship, Farin, and you shall fly with the Valkyrie in our final battle,” said Vell seriously to the diminutive warrior. “Yet I would ask you to stay, and lead your people here, as messengers and helpmeets for the time being.”

“We fight the Shadow as you do,” replied Farin with another bow.

Vell looked at Finnead. I felt something shiver through the air between them—a thought vibrating down their connection, I mused. Finnead nodded slightly. His eyes found mine as he said, “I will lead the western vanguard.”

My stomach twisted and before I could close my teeth on the words I said, “I’m going.”

Vell straightened and turned to me, a half smile playing on her lips. “Bored already, Tess?”

I recovered my composure and replied with a grin, “Of course.”

“I will lead the northern vanguard,” said Luca from across the table. “Can’t let everyone else have all the excitement.”

“That leaves the southern vanguard,” said Vell, crossing her arms as she gazed down at the map again.

“I will go,” said Merrick.

“No, Arrisyn.” The High Queen shook her head, her voice calm, the denial almost perfunctory, the greater portion of her attention still focused on the map. Then she looked up and saw the chagrin on Merrick’s face, quickly hidden behind his Unseelie mask but visible for a moment nonetheless. “Your thirst for battle is admirable, but I cannot send all of my most trusted warriors afield at once.” She smiled wryly. “In case you forget, I have not been a queen for very long, and I still seek advice from my closest advisors.”

The tension around the table eased slightly.

“Finnead, choose your commander for the southern vanguard,” Vell continued.

Finnead nodded in acknowledgement, his focus returning to the map as he studied the layout of the lands he would be traveling. The lands we would be traveling, I corrected myself. The Sword hummed a little in anticipation.

“He will know you are there,” Arcana said from the shadows.

“I don’t care what he knows,” replied Calliea. Vell smiled a little.

Arcana tilted her head. “Bravado counts for little against this Dark host.”

Two spots of color appeared high on Calliea’s cheekbones. “It is not bravado, you—”

“Peace, Laedrek,” commanded Vell. Calliea closed her mouth around her next words but her eyes glimmered with anger. Vell didn’t reprimand Arcana, though I thought I felt a tightening of that same invisible connection between the Queen and the most enigmatic of her Three. Her next words sliced through the air, delivered in the calm, cool voice that I now associated with Vell the High Queen rather than Vell the ulfdrengr. “If you have any constructive words of caution for those about to begin this scouting mission, we will hear them.”

Arcana looked at Vell blankly for a long moment. A copper spark drifted from her mouth when she opened her lips. I wondered briefly if the sparks that flew from the deity-remnant’s mouth could set the tent on fire, or if they were only heatless bits of light. “Do not underestimate the creatures of Malravenar.” She paused, her emotionless eyes sweeping over the gathered council. “The Darkness is cunning. It does not merely wish to extinguish the light of life because it is its nature—though that is true as well.” Another fleck of fire, colored scarlet rather than copper, leaked from the corner of Arcana’s mouth, drifting lazily downward like a fallen leaf rather than spiraling upward like an errant firefly. “The creatures of the Dark Lord hate the light. Some do not possess the intelligence to understand why, but the most dangerous are those of his legion who know that life illuminates their cravenness. True and free living creatures underscore their twisted, monstrous origins.”

I thought suddenly of the black-robed sorcerer, standing on the edge of the cliff above the Darinwel, sending a garrelnost onto the bridge behind us as flames rose before us. My hands clenched as I remembered the alien force of his voice inside my head…and the terrible sound of bone breaking as the sorcerer broke loyal, fierce Kavoryk’s neck with a flick of his hand. I swallowed against the sudden thickness in my throat, straightening as Arcana turned her head and looked at me.

“The Bearer has tasted the hatred of the Dark,” said the deity inhabiting the body of the almost-woman who had been Vell’s sister. She swiveled her head back toward the table, dead eyes resting on Calliea. “You, Laedrek, felt it at the Saemhradall.” The spots of color on Calliea’s cheeks spread hotly as her eyes kindled with a deeper rage. Arcana shifted her gaze to Luca. “You know the voice of hatred.” Luca’s shoulders tightened. Arcana’s eyes slid to Finnead. “And you, most esteemed of Knights, have felt its touch.” Her full lips smiled humorlessly. “You bear its scars.”

Finnead said nothing, his beautiful face inscrutable. No one gave any indication that they knew specifically about Finnead’s scars; perhaps the deity had somehow gleaned the fact of their existence from their connection through Vell. Gray maintained her mask of quiet dignity, but I thought I saw a flash of something like irritation, just for an instant, in her emerald eyes. Out of all gathered, she was the least experienced in tangible encounters with Malravenar’s creatures.

“Words of caution that we will heed,” said Finnead smoothly after a long moment of silence, “but caution cannot be our byword in this war, as the Laedrek has already said.” He nodded gracefully at Calliea.

Vell leaned over the table again, spreading her fingertips over the map as though she wished to draw the ink through her skin, absorbing every detail of the coming battlefield into her body. Her golden eyes scanned the routes again. Arcana withdrew into the shadows, like a sea snake sinking back into its murky cavern.

“Arrisyn,” Vell said, “how long for these routes?”

The navigator dutifully considered the map. “A fortnight will take each vanguard to the foothills of the southern reaches of the Edhyre here.” He pointed to the mountain range that stretched from the Deadlands to the Far North in a curving arc. “But I must say that my estimation is for the ground forces. I am not well acquainted with the speeds of our flying steeds yet.”

“Ensure that is rectified.”

Merrick blinked but recovered. “Yes, my queen. I will discuss it with the Laedrek.”

Vell nodded, still studying the map. Finally she straightened and crossed her arms. “Three days, and you will ride out. Bring me the list of the warriors embarking this journey in the morning, and then I will meet with the wing and vanguard commanders tomorrow at dusk, and each night until departure.” She looked at me. “Lady Bearer, since you’ll be traveling with them as well, would you attend?”

“Happy to contribute,” I replied with a little smile. Vell’s queenly façade slipped and she grinned at me, teeth gleaming.

“Any other contributions?” she asked the tent at large. All she received in reply were a few smiles, so she nodded briskly. “Right then. Time to go see what our formidable camp cooks have produced for tonight.”

And with that, the war council was summarily dismissed. Merrick began rolling the maps on the table, trying to remain indifferent when Calliea stepped forward to help him. Farin hovered over their heads, offering advice on the methodology of storing maps in her high, bright voice. I suppressed another smile—the Glasidhe were experts of a sort in the storing and preservation of delicate objects, as their size dictated; I was equally sure that Merrick possessed some knowledge on the subject as well, but he accepted Farin’s advice seriously, only a faint smile betraying his good-natured amusement.

Over to the side of the tent, Gray spoke to Finnead, her eyes flashing angrily. Though I tried to catch the words of their conversation, all I heard was the tight, rapid rhythm of Gray’s words, contrasting sharply with Finnead’s low, measured responses. A light touch at my elbow drew my attention.

“I’ve heard tell eavesdropping isn’t polite,” said Luca, a glimmer of amusement in his ice-blue gaze. “But then again, I’m mostly a savage, so I know little about these things.”

I grinned despite myself, feeling my cheeks heat slightly. “You’re right. It’s not polite. But sometimes I forget myself.”

He shrugged a little. “It means you aren’t a slave to etiquette and all the rules of proper behavior. It’s not a bad thing.”

“But it is rude,” I agreed. “And slightly awkward, so thanks.”

“No thanks needed.” He gestured toward the entrance of the tent. “Join me for dinner?”

“Only if you brought your specially crafted utensils,” I replied with a grin.

“Of course. I am always prepared.”

“The mark of a true warrior.”

“We should practice your bladework after the meal, and then perhaps find you a bow.”

My fingers twitched in anticipation as I thought about holding a bow again, nocking an arrow, drawing the string back in one smooth long pull. I loved handling a sword, but there was a nameless sweet satisfaction in sending an arrow sailing through the air to pierce a target at a long distance. I imagined it was much like the satisfaction a sniper gained from their work. Liam’s voice rippled through my mind. Reaching out and touching a target hundreds of yards away, there’s nothing like it.

“That sounds like an excellent idea,” I said. “Except….um. I’ll meet you outside.”

“I’m in no rush,” said Luca easily.

My face heated further as I crossed the tent and pulled aside the curtain to Finnead’s sleeping quarters, hurriedly snatching up my plain blade from where I’d forgotten it, buckling the belt about my waist as I walked back toward the table. Luca grinned at me. I narrowed my eyes and he softened his grin into a smile.

“Tess, I saw the tail end of that whole mess with the smoke creature,” he said almost gently. “Finnead almost had to carry you to his quarters. You needed rest.”

“He didn’t carry me,” I muttered defensively as we emerged from the tent into the dusky evening light. I blinked. The day had slipped by me while I’d been sleeping. We walked toward the center of camp, past the smaller fire-rings toward the large, main fire pit that had been appropriated for the cooking of meals.

Luca paused and reached out, lightly holding my shoulders. His hands were warm through my shirt, and I had to look up to meet his earnest gaze. “I am not some stripling given to fits of jealousy and pettiness.” The ulfdrengr smiled reassuringly. “I have told you before, and I will tell you every time you need to hear it, I will always be your friend. If someday you decide you want more from me, I will gladly give you all that I have. But if that day never comes…” He shrugged slightly. “That is the way of life sometimes.” His eyes turned grave. “There was a time that I would have welcomed death. I thought the world had lost its wonder. I had seen so much death, done such terrible things…” He shook his head and smiled again. “No doubt you have had some version of this conversation with Finnead.”

I raised my eyebrows in surprise. “That’s…. disarmingly perceptive,” I finished honestly, at a loss for any other words.

Luca chuckled. “We are alike in many ways, your knight and me.”

“Well,” I said as we walked toward the enticing scent of roasting meat, “I’ll tell you one thing that’s different, you’re a much better sparring partner. Finnead tried to teach me something about handling a blade, back in the early days of my time in Faeortalam. I think the word he used was ‘hopeless.’” I grinned at Luca’s laugh. I realized I liked making him laugh. The Sword hummed contemplatively. Quiet, you, I thought good-naturedly at it, and its amusement rippled through my ribs as we drifted into the line behind a great steaming cauldron of stew.

“Your hand-crafted spoon, as demanded,” said Luca in mock seriousness, handing me the wooden spoon I’d used our first night in camp. With a grin, I took it, and we talked about different approaches to swordplay as we waited for our meal in the fading gray light of the Deadlands.

Chapter 20

After an evening meal of stew and a hard chunk of bread—apparently there were limits even to the High Queen’s ability to keep stores fresh—Luca and I made our way over to the open practice fields. At the edge of the camp proper, just before the fields, we passed what I recognized after a moment as an armorer’s forge, or as close an approximation as they could build with rough materials. Two Sidhe stoked the fire with intent focus, a blade resting on a black anvil a small distance away. Through the smoke and air-wavering heat, I glimpsed a lithe figure approach the anvil, and I heard him speak in a low voice to the two Sidhe manning the fire. I slowed to watch, and Luca matched my pace, smiling. There was a rack of weapons by the smith’s forge, some plainly waiting to be repaired but others whose owners no longer had need of them. I shivered a little as Luca examined the bows, selected two longbows and two quivers, slinging them over his shoulder.

I realized that one of the Sidhe stoking the fire was a woman, though she wore her flaxen hair shorter than some men. The other assistant handed the smith a pair of heavy gloves, and then the woman gripped the sword in a pair of tongs and slid it into the hottest embers of the fire. In what seemed to me like a strangely short amount of time, she withdrew the blade, now white-hot, and laid it on the anvil. The smith hefted a hammer and struck the blade in a shower of sparks. I blinked, took a few more steps to get a better look, and stopped.

Chael wielded the hammer expertly, his amethyst eye glittering as he hit the glowing metal with a series of precise blows, each impact ringing with the sweet symmetric sound of a bell. Sweat gleamed on his forehead, and he wore a strip of cloth tied like a bandanna to keep his silver hair well out of his eyes. His shirt clung to him and I saw that though Chael had been truly skeletal when we’d rescued him, he was now well-muscled—lithe and lean, though not as slender in build as some of the Sidhe. His shoulders, broad for his size, still spoke of his ulfdrengr blood.

“Out of the two of you, I’d have guessed you were the smith,” I said to Luca.

“I can forge a blade readily enough,” replied Luca with a grin, “but Chael, he’s truly got the touch.”

I smiled as I heard the pride in Luca’s voice.

“His weapons are works of beauty,” Luca continued. “Deadly as one could wish a weapon to be, but still made with art.”

“I’m guessing that Chael helped Conall at the Hall before we rode out,” I mused.

“Helped him? Probably taught him a thing or two.”

I nudged my elbow into Luca’s ribs. “Cockiness is not attractive.”

“That’s not true.” He grinned devilishly. “There’s a thin line between cockiness and arrogance, and I walk it deftly.”

“Deftly,” I repeated with a chuckle. We watched Chael for a moment more; the ulfdrengr didn’t notice us, he was so absorbed in the blade before him. I touched the hilt of my plain blade and wondered if Chael had helped to forge the fine blade that bore the names of our valiant dead.

Women like bright, shiny objects, but apparently for me that means those of the sharp and deadly variety, I thought with a wry smile. The Sword’s chuckle vibrated through my ribs.

“It took him a while to get back to making blades,” Luca said, quietly now, “after they took his eye with one of his own-made daggers.”

A horrible thought struck me. “Did he make the dagger that was bound to your hand?”

Luca’s eyes went distant. “No. He could not have crafted such a thing.”

Something like a growl escaped me. “They’ll pay for torturing him, and you.”

“Oh yes.” An animal light sparked in his eyes and his reply was more answering growl than words. His jaw tightened. “But the one who tortured Chael is already dead, though her body is still used by Arcana.”

I swallowed hard, my mind conjuring Chael’s beauty before the scars—how he must have shone among the children of the ulfdrengr. Had his hair always been silver-white, or was that from the torture as well? I firmly clamped down on my wandering thoughts. “Let’s go practice,” I said, voice slightly ragged.

Luca gave a last look at Chael, then turned and led me to the practice fields. Enterprising warriors had crafted makeshift archery targets by stuffing a few shirts with rags and mounting them on spear shafts. Warriors had marked the featureless land into rings, mostly just by carving lines into the dirt; other than the archers’ makeshift targets, there was really no other requirement for sword practice other than a blade, a willing partner and space. The Sword hummed softly in anticipation as we passed small groups of Sidhe: pairs sparring, a group of younger warriors listening intently to a teacher whom I recognized as one of the Firstscore, and some individuals running through drills on their own, all moving their blades with singular focus. A few archers sent arrows sailing through the air, shifting their position between three lines drawn farther and farther from the targets. Though dusk began to dim the gray light of the Deadlands, it was still bright enough for practice, and I noticed torches already prepared to light a few of the rings past dark.

We found an empty practice ring; to my gratification, few of the warriors paused in their drills or sparring as we walked past. I still caught surreptitious glances from a few of the younger Sidhe, but they quickly returned to their practice, especially after a few of them caught blows from their sparring partners as reward for their distraction. I slipped the strap of the Sword over my head and coiled the leather neatly, laying the hilt of the Sword on the bundled strap. The emerald in the pommel winked at me, as though the Sword would be observing our practice through its one green eye. Luca deposited the longbows and quivers at a respectful distance from the Sword. Then he drew his blade, smiling at the sound.

“Give me a few minutes to warm up,” I said, drawing my blade from its sheath as well. The gray light shone on its silver length, highlighting the names engraved in flowing script near the hilt. I ran my finger lightly over the names; the forge-magic warmed to my touch, like a cat purring. Though the names looked etched into the surface of the sword, the blade remained silky smooth, still as unmarred as the day it had been forged. I thought in appreciation yet again of Conall’s skill, and his generosity in making me such a fine blade imbued with sorcery. The runes laid into my plain blade, though, were just runes, crafted to respond to a very specific set of instructions. No sentient power lurked in this sword.

My right hand tingled as I ran through some drills, delighting again in the feel of a well-balanced blade in my grip. After a few drills, I tossed my sword into my left hand and completed a set of drills on the other side. The muscles in my legs burned slightly and I felt the prickle of sweat beginning to bead on my forehead; I touched my toes a few times, blade still in hand, and then turned back to Luca. His sword, I’d noticed during our previous session, was different, something between a broadsword and the slimmer blade that I favored and which most of the Seelie carried. It made sense, that a Northman would want a blade commensurate to his size. I thought of Kavoryk and his huge battle-axe. I pushed down a sharp flash of sorrow and set my footing, facing Luca. He raised his eyebrows in silent question, I nodded and quick as thought our blades clashed.

I learned the hard way that Luca moved as fast as a wolf springing for the kill. I’d grown used to sparring against faster, stronger opponents—that meant nearly everyone, when I’d first started learning the art of swordplay. But as I matched blades with Luca, I was reminded yet again that I was no longer the mortal girl carried through a lesser gate by the Vaelanbrigh of the Unseelie Court. My sword flashed and my feet danced, my body responding and moving without conscious thought. Luca certainly still held an advantage of strength, but I found in slight surprise that I could match his speed, and with effort even outstrip him; so I forced him to follow me about the practice ring, striking fast and dancing away, feeling like a boxer taunting a larger opponent.

We were almost equally matched—my light-footed speed kept Luca from using his considerable strength. As I blocked an arcing sweep of his blade and leapt away, I realized it would be a contest of endurance. Sweat slid down my back, but I noted with satisfaction that Luca’s shirt clung to his muscled torso as well. His ice-blue eyes glittered as I sidestepped about the perimeter of the ring, using the short respite to slow my gasps of exertion into long, measured breaths. I focused on the center of his chest, waiting for it to telegraph his next movement; even so, I didn’t have the time to dance away from a vicious two-handed downward sweep. A grunt of effort escaped my lips as I blocked Luca’s blade, the impact jarring my hand and vibrating through my bones; I tightened my entire body as Luca bore down, but he still drove me down to one knee. If I stayed in this position, I’d need to yield, so I put every iota of strength into a violent push, gaining me a small respite from the grinding downward force. I used the moment to twist my blade out of the lock and roll sharply to the left, using the fist that held my sword to push myself up from the ground as I tried to put some distance between Luca and me. My right hand throbbed from the aftershock of blocking such a strong sweep, so I tossed my blade into my left hand, shifting my stance. Luca grinned and followed suit as he advanced on me, now holding his blade in his left hand as well.

He attacked, I blocked and danced away; I slipped close to deliver a whirlwind of strikes, and he defended without strain. We both breathed heavily, but we pressed on, unwilling to admit weakness. My blade pierced his guard once but he knocked it away fearlessly with his gauntleted forearm. He tried to catch me again in a body-to-body lock, but I took care to maintain my distance except when delivering my own blows. Then something in Luca’s stance shifted, warning me that he was about to execute an unexpected movement. I wasn’t fast enough to avoid his complex sweep that caught my blade at the hilt. I felt the leverage, knew that he was about to twist his blade and pry mine from my hand; and something within me refused defeat. In that long moment, I shifted my weight, and as Luca wrenched my blade from my hand, I unleashed a kick at his side. My shin connected solidly with his ribs as my blade sailed through the air, landing in the dirt at the edge of the practice ring. A strange beast within me reared up as Luca took a step to the side, looking more surprised than hurt at the impact of my kick. I let out a little snarl as I let my momentum carry me, following the kick to his side with a front kick snapped out from my other leg, hitting Luca solidly in the chest and pushing him backward; but his huge hand closed around my ankle, wrenching my foot upward and sweeping me from my feet. I broke the impact with my arms, slapping the ground as I landed, but the fall still stole the breath from me. I tried to roll toward my sword, but Luca pinned me down and tossed his blade aside.

I growled and struck at him with an elbow, but he deflected my strike with his forearm and then caught first that wrist, then the other in one large hand. I bucked wildly, trying to use the strength of my legs to throw him off balance, but he merely grinned down at me. I bared my teeth defiantly; he chuckled, and then suddenly the rush of wild fight within me dimmed, and I stopped struggling. As I stilled, I realized the sensuality of our position: Luca straddling my hips, one hand pinning my wrists above my head, his weight shifted forward to still my struggles. But though a different kind of heat began to run through my body, I caught my breath enough to say formally, “I yield.”

Luca released my wrists and sat back, still straddling me in full mount. I’d had some instruction in ground fighting at school but hadn’t gone in-depth with any one discipline. Now I wished I’d earned a black belt, just to wipe that trace of satisfaction from Luca’s handsome face. But it was only a trace, only perhaps the innate feeling of victory, with no malice or triumph behind it.

“If you’re going to kick a man during a fight, best hit him where it hurts the most,” he advised me, raising one eyebrow.

“I’m not going to kick you in the balls to win a fight,” I retorted.

“If I let a kick through, I deserve it,” he said seriously. “Though that would make me think twice about sparring with you again.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” I narrowed my eyes. “Are you going to let me up? I already yielded.”

“That’s another thing,” said the ulfdrengr, grinning his predatory smile. “You can’t yield in a real fight.”

“I know that, but this isn’t a—” I didn’t get to finish my sentence as Luca suddenly lunged forward again, pinning me down with his weight and making it difficult for me to breathe.

“Nearly everyone you fight will be bigger than you,” he said, serious again, “so what are you going to do?”

I arched my back and used my legs to try and throw Luca off balance, twisting my weight to one side and then the other; but he merely pressed a forearm into the softest part of my throat, increasing the pressure steadily.

“Stop thinking in terms of escaping,” he said, a bit of a growl in the back of his voice. “Think in terms of inflicting pain. Incapacitating. Killing.”

My rudimentary wrestling knowledge flitted through my mind, thoughts bouncing discordantly through my head as I struggled. Spots danced on the edge of my vision as Luca pressed down on my throat, cutting off my air.

“If you’re taken down to the ground like this in a battle, you will die if you don’t keep your head. There is no escape. Fight, Tess.”

I barely heard his words. A scrap of coherence kept repeating itself: Luca wouldn’t hurt me. Luca wouldn’t hurt me.

Then my eyes met his, and it was like looking into the eyes of a wolf as it lunged to kill a deer: primal, wild and not safe. I could barely breathe. My thoughts narrowed to a pinhole of basic need.

Inflicting pain. Incapacitating. Killing.

With one arm on my throat, Luca held my wrists with his other large hand; I jerked, got a hand loose, and before he could regain control I smashed my elbow into the side of his head, the impact vibrating up my arm. The pressure on my throat eased slightly and I hit him again. He grunted and his weight shifted to the side. I drove my heels into the ground and twisted my body to the same side, using his own momentum against him. I gasped a full breath as we rolled and I found myself on top, though Luca’s legs were still wrapped about my waist. I stood in a crouch, his legs heavy about me, and knew I only had a few seconds at the most until he closed his legs like a vise and drove me down to the ground again. I mercilessly drove my elbows into the sides of his legs, striking at the sensitive part of the inner thigh; and his lock about me loosened enough for me to twist my way free.

There is no escape. Fight, Tess.

Without conscious thought, my hand found my dagger at my belt and the blade flashed in my grip as I dove onto Luca. He moved to tackle me and I drove my knee into his side, laying him out flat again; and then the point of my dagger pressed into his throat, hard enough to pierce the skin. I heard a low growl as I stared, transfixed, at the fat drop of blood welling beneath the tip of my blade.

Luca lay silently, watching me with gleaming blue eyes, until I blinked and shuddered. I threw my dagger to the side.

“Holy hell,” I said shakily, looking down at the smear of blood across Luca’s throat and the beginnings of a bruise spreading on one cheekbone. I glanced up and saw Kianryk sitting at the perimeter of the practice ring, gazing at me intently. The wolf’s low growl subsided and he settled onto his forepaws, still watching us alertly.

“I’m sorry, I just…I lost control.” I swallowed.

Luca pushed himself up onto one elbow, wincing slightly. “No. If you’d lost control, you’d have turned me inside-out with your emerald fire.” He smiled. “You did exactly what I wanted you to do.”

“Hit you?” I asked flatly. “You know, if you enjoy that type of thing, I’m sure there’s many who’d oblige—”

Luca’s laugh cut my words short. “Aye, and I’m not denying that a bit of roughness in love is all well and good.” He sat up, brushed at a trickle of blood at the corner of his lip. “But you know already the purpose behind that little exercise.”

“To make me feel terrible about hitting you?” I muttered rebelliously.

“Tess,” he chuckled.

I sighed. “You wanted to show me that I can’t stand on rules of courtesy or sportsmanship when my life is at stake.” I gave him a flat look. “I just don’t like the way you did it.”

“Your striking is effective, but it would take much more than that to truly hurt me,” Luca replied.

I scowled. “That doesn’t mean I like it. What is it with you men and your invincibility complexes?”

“So I take it I’m not the first.”

“Don’t be snide. You know perfectly well what I mean.”

Luca stood, brushed the dust from his legs, and offered me a hand. I picked up my dagger and with the other hand accepted his help; he pulled me to my feet as though I weighed no more than a child. After he released my hand, he gave my shoulder a squeeze.

“Don’t be angry with me, Tess,” he said earnestly. “Now you know how it feels to actually fight. Truly, this is the way we teach striplings and their pups to fight.”

I took a deep breath and felt my anger fade. It was more anger at myself, that I’d let myself lose control and hit Luca. But I started to understand his point. When my vision had begun to go black at the edges and all I could think about was a sweet full breath, I released my inhibitions. There was a time and a place for courtesy, but it wasn’t when you were flat on your back fighting for your life.

“Next time I’ll just let myself pass out,” I said, raising one eyebrow.

Luca smiled. “So next time I won’t use that method.”

“Are you sure I didn’t hurt you?” I asked in a softer voice, my eyes serious as I leaned forward, inspecting his face.

“Do you think Kianryk would be lounging about like a lazy pup if I was truly hurt?” he replied, but he patiently let me examine the blossoming bruise on his cheekbone. The second blow of my elbow had opened a cut on his forehead just above his eye, but it was already clotted.

“How are your ribs?”

“Earning their keep.” He grinned. “Sore, but you didn’t do any more damage than the dragon.”

“So you’re saying I need to work on the power behind my kicks,” I said, raising an eyebrow.

He chuckled. “We can work on that in the morning, if you’d like.”

“We’ll see how we both feel,” I replied noncommittally, though something within me leapt at the thought of sparring with Luca again. I squinted up at the sky. “Still light enough for archery?”

“Always light enough,” Luca replied. “Enemies attack at twilight and in the darkness of night, too.”

“Very true.” I picked up my plain blade, quickly wiped the dust from it and sheathed it. After I settled the Sword onto my back again, we picked up our bows and quivers, striding toward the archery lines. Kianryk loped alongside us, his golden pelt pale in the scant light. The dusk draped shadows about us, deepening the gray dirt to charcoal, our shadows sharp black silhouettes. I hefted the longbow in my grip: it was a bit heavier than my old bow, but it still felt good in my hand. I’d know if I was going to keep it after sending a few arrows downrange, but I was impressed with Luca’s choice for me. Luca gave me one of his gauntlets as a makeshift arm guard, since I wasn’t familiar with the whip of this bow’s string. My old bow had been so finely made and perfect for me that I hadn’t needed a guard on my left arm. The released string of my old bow had whispered over the cloth of my shirt, but nothing more.

We found two unused targets near the end of the archery line. A few torches burned halfway between the targets and the first line marked in the dirt, throwing flickering light across the ground. I drew an arrow from my quiver, nocked it to the bow and slowly drew it back, evaluating the smooth resistance of the bowstring and the weight of the bow in my left hand. I aimed for the target, let my breath settle into the pause at the bottom of an exhalation, and released the arrow. It arced through the shadows and stuck, quivering, into the upper left portion of the target. I nocked another arrow, adjusting my aim for this new bow. The second arrow struck the target nearer to center but still decidedly outside the bull’s-eye.

Luca drew back his first arrow, the muscles in his shoulders and arms standing out against his shirt. His bow was nearly half again as long as mine, and the force of his arrow punching into the target knocked the supporting spear backward slightly. I looked at his target and arched an eyebrow.

“Is there any skill that involves killing things that you haven’t mastered?” I asked, only partially teasing. Luca only grinned in reply. I rolled my shoulders and stretched a little, feeling the balance and weight of the bow in my hand as I envisioned my next arrow flying smoothly into the target. I adjusted my stance to account for the slightly heavier feel of the unfamiliar weapon, drew back my next arrow, exhaled and let it fly. Despite my visualization, it veered wide, striking the target low and to the right.

“Vell was right when she said you were better with a sword,” Luca commented.

“If I need to shoot something with a bow I’ll shoot it,” I replied firmly. “I’m definitely not as good as you or Vell, but I’m guessing you were given a bow and arrow before you could even walk.”

Luca smiled and made a noncommittal sound. “We are warriors.”

“How about I just let you do the shooting for both of us,” I replied, surveying his now decidedly crooked target, knocked askew from the force of his arrows—which still clustered neatly around the bulls-eye. Luca didn’t reply, turning his focus to the target again as he nocked an arrow.

“What do you think we’ll encounter, on these scouting missions?” I asked as I counted the arrows left in my quiver with my fingertips.

“Dark creatures,” said the ulfdrengr, his hair shining golden even in the dimming light of dusk. “Malravenar will know, as Arcana said. There’s no element of surprise left to us in this war. There’s only good planning and then…” He shot two arrows at once into the target as I watched enviously. “Pristine execution of that plan. I don’t believe we outnumber the Dark creatures that Malravenar has created, or those he has tempted into his thrall with promises of power once the shadows reign.”

I thought of the sirens in the Darinwel. “Do you think there’s many creatures who were once free and now bend the knee to Malravenar?”

Luca shrugged. “I do not pretend to know.” He pressed his lips together. “But what I do know is that I will kill every creature that stands in my way until I no longer have breath in my body.”

We shot a few more arrows in thoughtful silence. Then I said, “You know, I’ve been thinking. I don’t know whether Malravenar wants to close the Gate. That’s the opinion of most in the Unseelie Court, and I think in the vyldgard. I understand that severing the ties between Faeortalam and the mortal world would be somewhat satisfying, assuming that Malravenar holds dominion over this world.” I nocked another arrow, drew it back, and sent it wide of the bulls-eye. “Damn. But what I mean is that….from what I’ve heard, I’d think Malravenar would want to open the gate, send his creatures through, try to gain a foothold in the mortal world.”

Luca tilted his head to the side as he considered my statement. “I see your point.” His quiver empty, he lowered his bow and turned to face me. “But I would ask you to consider this: does it really matter? Does it matter whether Malravenar wants to open the Gate or close it forever? Either he seeks dominion over our world, or he seeks dominion over our world and the mortal world.” He spat to the side. “It makes no difference to me.”

“I see your point.” I had two arrows left. I tossed one to Luca and nocked the other. Watching him in my peripheral vision, I waited until the moment he released his arrow and then I shifted my aim, shooting at his target. His arrow planted solidly in the ring just outside the bulls-eye, and my arrow hit the outer edge of the bulls-eye. I raised my bow in triumph, grinning impishly at him until he laughed.

The only other archer left on the line had taken a target at the opposite end of the line. We caught his eye and he nodded at our raised bows, signaling that he understood we were going forward of the line to retrieve our arrows from the targets. Though Luca’s arrows were buried almost half their length in the target, he slid them out easily, whereas I had to tug on my arrows a bit. I inspected each arrow before depositing it in my quiver, looking for any damage to the arrowhead or the fletching, feeling the shaft with my fingertips for any cracks. My batch of twenty arrows all survived the target practice, but Luca found two broken arrow-shafts in his target.

“I think that means you need to shoot from farther back,” I said with a laugh in the back of my voice. “Or maybe just, you know, stop being so freakishly strong.”

Luca pointed at me with one of the broken arrows. “My freakish strength serves me well, so I think I’ll just shoot from the farthest line tomorrow.”

I smiled and slung my bow over my shoulder as we began walking back toward camp. In the flickering light of the torches by the practice lines, I glimpsed a vyldgard warrior, half hidden in the shadows, his back to camp as he watched the shadows intently for any sign of an attack.

The camp was not as raucous as the night before, but the strains of a wild tune floated through the air, twining about the leaping flames of the main fire. The warrior playing the tune had a sort of wooden pipe, simple but true in tone; she nodded to use as we passed, grinning around the mouthpiece of her instrument. Another warrior had produced a drum, and voices made up the rest of the accompaniment. The piper motioned to an empty space in the circle, clearly inviting us to join. I smiled and shook my head, but then Luca glanced down at me.

“Come now, give the warriors a glimpse of the fabled Bearer,” he said with a grin, his voice pitched for my ears alone.

I scowled half-heartedly at him but then relented. “Only if you stay with me,” I told him, raising my eyebrows.

“Of course! I wouldn’t abandon you to merriment alone,” he replied.

So we set down our bows and quivers and joined the Sidhe sitting in a circle near the fire. The song was a call-and-response in the Sidhe tongue. A bright-haired Seelie that I recognized as one of the Firstscore sang the male part, and the female singer, to my surprise, was the shorthaired woman working the forge with Chael. The woman looked at me and then raised an eyebrow at her singing partner, who nodded, and they switched seamlessly into Common Tongue. They alternated singing each verse, and I listened, fascinated and impressed by both the clarity of their voices and their ease at translating the song. The song spoke of two lovers heading to battle; at first both man and woman reassured the other that they would survive in triumph, but as the song went on, each of the pair told the other that if only one of them could survive, they hoped it would be the other. And by the end, the woman, singing sadly but fiercely, spoke of her fallen love, asking him to wait for her in the halls of the gods as she washed his body and touched his face for the last time. Tears prickled my eyes and I swallowed against the tightness in my throat as the gamine Seelie sang the last verses, which was the warrior’s last love song to her beloved as she stood by the pyre and watched the smoke rise into the sky. The drums had stopped, and the piper let her melodic accompaniment fade into silence. The singer continued alone until she sang the last lingering note, her voice subsiding until it was just the crackling of the fire and the sighs of those listening.

I surreptitiously swiped at my eyes and then murmured to Luca, “Damn, I thought this was going to be a fun sing-along.”

In the silence, my voice sounded much louder than I’d intended, and my face heated as my words carried over the circle. But to my relief, the gathered warriors seemed to think my comment was amusing. A few even chuckled out loud. The shorthaired singer raised an eyebrow at me, letting me think for a moment that she was offended; but then she grinned and called out, “Let’s give the Bearer what she asked for, eh?”

The warriors responded with a rousing cheer of approval as the piper launched into a decidedly upbeat song, and the drummer grinned as he kept pace, his hands moving over the taut drumskin at staggering speeds.

“This song is in Sidhe, Lady Tess, but you can learn one line!” the singer called teasingly to me, eliciting another round of yells and laughter from the rest of the warriors. I grinned and they began the song, which had us all clapping our hands to keep the beat. After a few rounds, I learned the line we called back and sang it with gusto, much to the delight of the others in the singing-circle. Even Luca sang, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes. These warriors seemed so young, I thought as we continued through the rollicking melody. They were eager to prove themselves, but how many of them would lay cold on a pyre in the coming days, just like at the end of the previous song? How many friends would they mourn? How many lovers would they lose?

While my thoughts ran rampant, I tried to keep a happy face as we sang. At the end of the song, I felt a strange sense of relief as I smiled and stood, thanking the singer.

“Thea, my lady,” she introduced herself with a grin. “Apprentice of both swords and songs.”

My smile widened. “Seems like you have an accurate assessment of your skills and passions.”

Thea dipped her head. “Hope to see you again at the circle, my lady.”

I found myself too tired to correct her. Keeping the mask of light-hearted enjoyment was incredibly taxing. So instead I dredged up another smile and picked up my bow and quiver, wanting nothing more than the privacy of my little sleeping quarters in the tent. There, no one would see my exhaustion and sadness. But I found I wasn’t walking alone as I headed for the great tent.

“The sadness will come and go,” said Luca. “Sometimes it is anger, sometimes it is sadness. Sometimes it is just feeling nothing at all.”

I swallowed. “Feeling empty.”

He nodded, his handsome face in shadow. We passed by the Queen’s tent; light flickered from within, illuminating silhouettes gathered near the table. I sighed as we continued walking.

“It just seems so sudden. I was really enjoying the first song, even when it turned sad, but then I started looking at the other warriors in the circle, and thinking about which of them would end up on a pyre soon. I couldn’t stop thinking about that. They all look so….young,” I said, knowing full well that all of the warriors in the camp were at least a hundred years older than me.

“Age in years doesn’t always equal experience,” said Luca as though he could read my thoughts. “But many of these warriors have seen their share of battle. They know what peril lies ahead.” We reached the great tent, its gray fabric shimmering slightly even in the darkness.

“I understand,” I replied. I stared into the darkness, letting my mind travel through its morose thoughts again.

“Tess.” Luca’s voice was as gentle as the hand he laid on my shoulder. “You cannot let these thoughts consume you. The warrior’s sadness, it is something I have seen among the ulfdrengr.”

“So what do I do?” I looked up at him earnestly, hoping that he’d tell me of an herb to take or a rune to sketch on my skin, even as I knew that wasn’t the solution.

“Keep busy,” he said, eyes glimmering. “Train hard, push your body to exhaustion. It will help you sleep. Don’t turn to liquor, though getting your hands on enough might be difficult here and I don’t see you as the type to do that.” He looked seriously down at me. “I think the best medicine, Tess, is to have a person who will listen when you feel this way. It isn’t weakness to speak of it with another warrior.”

“Are you volunteering for the job?” I asked, trying to keep my voice light.

“Of course. I am your friend, and I am a fellow warrior.” He smiled faintly. “And I’ve seen much of what you have battled, and more; so I think I will be able to understand your feelings.”

Gratefulness at Luca’s unwavering loyalty and unflinching friendship rose up within me like a tide, washing away the deep sadness lingering in my chest. On impulse, I leaned forward and hugged the big ulfdrengr. After a heartbeat of hesitation, his muscular arms closed about my shoulders. I laid my head against his chest and let the warmth of his body comfort me. He held me closely but not too tightly, letting me decide when to pull away.

“Thanks,” I said as I stepped back. “It’s been a long day.”

He smiled wordlessly.

“Swords tomorrow morning?” I asked brightly.

He nodded, and I smiled. I slipped through the entrance of the tent and then paused. Only then did Luca let out the breath he’d been holding. I turned and watched him surreptitiously through the sliver of visibility between the tent and the entrance curtain. Kianryk appeared as Luca ran one hand through his hair and scrubbed his face with the other; the great golden wolf whined low in his throat.

“You can say that again,” Luca said under his breath to the wolf. “Gods above, that woman will be the death of me.”

Kianryk huffed a clearly annoyed breath, and Luca chuckled, one large hand rubbing the wolf behind his ears.

“You just wait til you find a lady wolf that turns you inside out,” he said, and I watched until the ulfdrengr and wolf disappeared into the shadows, melting away like beautiful ghosts into the darkness.

Chapter 21

True to Luca’s word, I slept soundly after the day’s physical training. I found the compartment with the emerald curtain and slipped inside, finding Calliea already asleep. She didn’t stir as I stealthily stowed my weapons and laid the Sword by my bed of furs. I shed my shirt and breeches and wiped my face and body with a cloth dampened in that mysteriously steaming silver bowl; then I pulled on a new shirt and curled up on my furs, dimming the light overhead with a flick of my fingers. I dropped into a deep and dreamless sleep, exhaustion dark and velvety about my body. I woke when Calliea twisted the little globe of light into existence again. She paused guiltily in her preparations for her shift in the healing ward as I stirred.

“You can go back to sleep,” she said. “It’s only just after dawn. I’m sure the vyldretning will send for you if she needs you.”

“I’m sure she will,” I said, my voice crackling with sleep. I yawned and then found myself to be actually awake. I stretched experimentally and found a few sore spots, but nothing unexpected.

“If I were you,” said Calliea conspiratorially, “I would take all the sleep I can get now. We won’t be sleeping much on the road.” She made a face at the prospect.

I chuckled. “Sometimes I think people forget that I’ve traveled across most of Faeortalam by this point. I’m still probably not as seasoned as most but still, I’ve had my weeks on the road.” I tilted my head, considering. “Months, I guess.”

“I don’t doubt your experience,” she replied as she shook the wrinkles from her shirt. After she pulled it over her head, she grinned as she fixed her white-gold hair. “And I’m not complaining about leading one of the vanguards.”

“I’d hope not, since you were the one who suggested it,” I said with a smile, sliding out from the furs and looking for a pair of breeches. I looked guiltily at Calliea’s side of our little compartment, everything arranged neatly, her clothes folded in small stacks; my eyes traveled over to my side (and it wasn’t a long journey) and it was every garment for itself, tossed haphazardly about my sleeping furs. I pulled on a soft gray pair of breeches and began tidying the rest of the disaster zone. “So you’re still working in the ward, even with preparations to ride out?”

“My ward shift is only the morning,” replied Calliea, “so that leaves me the rest of the afternoon and evening. And anyway,” she grinned, “I’ve discovered that commanding the Valkyrie means that people are willing to do things for me. I only have to decide what needs to be done, and I have three or four warriors actually doing it.”

“They’ve adjusted quickly in the change in leadership then.”

Calliea shrugged, buckling her belt and checking the twin daggers she carried while on shift. “I think they’re grateful that I’m around a bit more, not silently called away every few moments.”

I frowned, stacking my folded shirts into a pile that quickly went a bit lopsided. “Is Gray still a Valkyrie, then? Is that why she wasn’t exactly thrilled with your plan to ride out?”

“She’s still a Valkyrie, aye, all of us who fought against the great beast will always bear the name. But her mount was killed in the battle. Caught by the tail, I think, and Gray jumped clear—though she hasn’t talked about it to anyone.”

“And I’m guessing that the High Queen isn’t advocating that Gray takes another winged mount.”

“No one has said anything aloud, but I think it’s Gray’s choice.” Calliea looked almost sad for a moment, her eyes sober as she contemplated her cousin’s loss. Then her heart-shaped face lit with a mischievous smile. “But here’s a question for you, Tess.” She raised one eyebrow delicately. “Will you be riding out with the vanguard commanded by Finnead, or the one commanded by Luca?”

I laughed. “Will no one ever tire of this ridiculous gossip?”

“It’s not gossip if it’s true,” said Calliea. “And anyway, I nursed you from your wounds after Brightvale. I watched Luca sit by your bedside for nigh on a week. We had to practically force him to eat, and he slept maybe five or six hours that entire time.”

“Luca is my friend.” My words fell flat even to my own ears, but I pressed on doggedly. “I saved his life, and he’s saved mine. He has a good perspective on things, and I appreciate his friendship.”

“Finnead is delicious, don’t get me wrong, but I do think you ought to give Luca a fair chance.” Calliea dodged the shirt I threw at her.

“Don’t you go taking sides too,” I growled at her good-naturedly.

“Oooh, who else has taken sides?” She clasped her hands together and leaned forward, grinning in delight.

I rolled my eyes at her. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”

She chuckled. “Just a bit of light-heartedness amidst all the blood and gore.”

“True.” I sighed. “Though I wish my love life—which is very tame compared to what people are thinking, I’m sure—wasn’t the main source of entertainment.”

“It isn’t,” Calliea replied, shaking her head. “Mostly just me and a few others who actually know you, speculating.” She smiled. “Most others are too intimidated by you, Finnead, Luca, or all three of you to say anything aloud.”

I retrieved the shirt I’d thrown and folded it again, depositing it on the little pile. Though I’d never achieve the precision that somehow seemed a part of Sidhe nature, my side of the small compartment looked immeasurably better than when I’d awoken. “Well, I suppose that’s the benefit to wielding an ancient weapon of incredible power.”

“And consorting with the most fearsome eligible bachelors,” added Calliea.

I laughed. “You’re as bad as Farin.”

“Oh, I’m sure that cheeky little flit has some very pointed opinions.” Calliea checked her belt, fingers brushing over her dagger hilts and her belt-purse. “Right then. I’m off, see you around noon.” She covered the distance to the green entrance curtain in two strides and then turned. “Oh—I saw that you have a bow again. Good choice, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

I glanced over to our weaponry store, my bow propped up beside Calliea’s robin’s-egg blue breastplate. “I’ll gladly take your opinion on that choice.”

With a last chuckle, Calliea slipped out of the little compartment, leaving me to complete my preparations for the morning’s practice session in silence. The afterglow of our easy, friendly conversation warmed me as I pulled on my boots. I’d truly made friends here, I thought in contentment, and then a bolt of guilt struck me as I realized that the easy conversation with Calliea echoed the friendship I’d once shared with Molly. I sat on my furs and leaned my elbows on my knees as I let the memory wash over me: Molly and I, the fateful morning after Wisp had slipped through a tear in the screen of our bedroom window. We’d gone running that morning on the dusty trails of the Hill Country, and she’d teased me about my latest romantic mishap with a gorgeous rugby player who hadn’t quite measured up to my standards in the intelligence department. I smiled. Molly hadn’t realized her own allure—she attracted our male peers like moths to a flame, fascinated by the exotic flash of her cat-like eyes and the faint undercurrent of otherness that pulsed just beneath her pale skin. Then again, I’d been more focused on my schoolwork and training in preparation to follow in Liam’s footsteps than on dating; and sometimes Molly acted as both my manager and my chaperone, deftly arranging double dates. “So that you don’t have an excuse to stand the poor bastard up, because then you’ll be standing me up too,” she explained to me gleefully as I realized her pattern early in our friendship.

“Tess-mortal!”

Farin’s exuberant greeting put an end to my reverie. I looked up and grinned at the Glasidhe. “Want to come watch me spar, Farin? You can give me tips on how to improve my technique afterward.”

“I will be happy to lend you my expertise,” replied the diminutive warrior seriously, landing on my shoulder. She giggled. “Especially if your sparring partner is the blonde one.”

“If you’re going to be cheeky you can fly instead of riding on my shoulder,” I told her as I gathered my weapons, buckling my plain blade about my waist and slinging my bow and quiver over one shoulder.

“’Twasn’t meant to be cheeky, just observant,” said Farin innocently.

I carefully settled the strap of the Caedbranr over my chest, hand touching the hilt behind my shoulder out of habit. The Sword seemed content to continue sleeping, or whatever it was that the blade did; all I knew was that its power curled behind my breastbone, quiescent and docile.

“So the High Queen has decided that you aren’t riding out with us?” I asked, leaving the tent to find the long table set with the morning meal. A few others moved about in the dawning light, but little was spoken. I grabbed a piece of bread and cheese and a handful of dried fruit.

“We are in her service, by orders of our own queen, and so it is her word we follow, no matter what our own desires,” replied Farin. The flutter of her wings brushed against the side of my neck, light as the touch of a feather.

“Very prettily said.” I pressed the dried fruit into the bread and sandwiched the cheese on top, finishing my breakfast as I walked through camp toward the practice rings. A shadow passed overhead, and I grabbed at my sword-hilt, my heart suddenly hammering; but then I recognized the sleek form of a winged faehal.

“There are watches set in the sky too,” said Farin, patting my ear. “So that no flying creatures can attack the camp.”

“Right,” I said, swallowing down the rush of adrenaline. Well, at least my blood was up before practice, I thought.

“And yes,” continued Farin, “I am learning to speak more politely. Sometimes. When I am not killing things.”

“That sounds like a decent compromise.” The makeshift forge came into sight, and I glimpsed a closely shorn golden head, bent intently over the embers in the forge. Though I intended to walk by without creating a distraction, Thea looked up as she reached for a piece of wood resting by the anvil.

“Chael has you up early,” I said by way of greeting. She answered my smile with a grin.

“I could say the same for your sparring partner, my lady,” she replied.

I shrugged with one shoulder. “It’s a good use of my time, until we ride out.”

“And making blades is a good use of ours,” said Thea practically. She rubbed at her cheekbone with the back of one hand, leaving a smear of ash across her tawny skin. “Fire won’t stoke itself, my lady, so please excuse me.”

I liked that there was no note of apology in Thea’s voice. Here was a woman who knew her job and did it well, with no excuses. “Of course.”

“Good practice to you,” she said. She held the broad board in front of the pale new flames of the fire, and seemed not to notice me watching as she traced a complex rune on the board with a little stick of sharpened charcoal. Her lips moved silently and then she swept her hand over the rune, collecting most of the charcoal on her palm but leaving a faint gray imprint on the board. The rune flared with the white-hot light of a roaring fire and she blew the rune-dust into the forge. The flames leapt and even at my distance I felt a sudden bloom of heat. Thea grinned into the fire and spat into her hand, rubbing the last of the rune-dust across her collarbones.

“How many mages and sorcerers does this camp contain,” I mused softly to myself, resuming my walk toward the practice fields.

“Thea is not a mage or a sorcerer,” Farin said into my ear with a laugh. “She knows some runes for the forge, is all.”

“Oh, just some runes,” I repeated with a smile.

“Runes are easy,” said the Glasidhe dismissively. “Anyone with a bit of patience can learn them, though different applications take different levels of skill.”

“How so?” I asked, passing a few fellow early risers warming up with their blades. Either the lingering shadows afforded me some level of anonymity, or the sight of me had lost its novelty to some extent.

“Well,” Farin explained, “a single use rune is pretty rudimentary. It takes effect right then, and expends itself. But if it’s a rune that takes effect later, or only under certain circumstances—like your sword with the names of the dead—that’s much more complex.”

“I see.” I wondered if I could learn runes. Would the roaring fire of my taebramh consent to such constriction? I wasn’t entirely sure. I knew without thinking it that the power of the Sword wasn’t to be used with any runes. It was a creature unto itself, not to be fenced in by the restrictions of a shape drawn in the dirt. In any case, I’d been doing just fine on my own, and the Sidhe hadn’t seemed to think it necessary to teach me runes either.

“You are practicing with the blonde one,” Farin breathed with an airy, almost girlish giggle.

I ignored Farin and nodded in greeting to Luca. Kianryk was nowhere to be seen. “Morning.” As I got closer, I noticed the livid bruise splashed across his cheekbone. I groaned. “You said I didn’t hurt you.”

“Nothing permanent,” he replied.

Farin giggled again, though I couldn’t see the humor in our exchange; and the Glasidhe leapt from my shoulder, hovering overhead for a moment before diving to examine Luca’s bruise, touching his cheekbone delicately with one small hand. She chattered something to Luca, too quickly for me to catch, but I did see the glimmer of Luca’s grin before Farin shot upward, turning a few loops in the lightening sky.

I opened my mouth and then closed it, deciding not to add any more fuel to the fire, so to speak. Instead, I deposited my bow and quiver and the Sword at the edge of the practice ring.

“Leave all your blades,” said Luca, unbuckling his own sword belt. I raised my eyebrows slightly but complied. “You might want to take the Sword, though. We’re going for a warm-up.”

I slid the strap of the Caedbranr over my head and tightened it slightly. I grinned at Luca, the old familiar anticipation at a morning run coursing through my body. “All right then. Let’s go.”

I followed Luca as he set the pace, his long legs eating up the ground easily, choosing a speed somewhere between an easy run and a sprint. It was the distance-eating lope of a wolf on the move, I decided with a wry smile. It was almost too easy to equate ulfdrengr tendencies to their lupine counterpart. We passed the outermost sentry of camp, who watched us with an expression of slight amusement. Luca led us in a sweeping loop about the perimeter of the camp, increasing the pace until I felt a slight burn in my lungs and stretched my legs to match his stride. We sprinted up the hill on the opposite side of camp, pausing for a short rest by the tree that now stretched higher than my reach. Grass covered the top of the hilltop in a fresh circular cap, and a few of the rambling briars bore tightly pursed rosebuds. The fresh living scent of the hilltop somehow combated the sickly sweet stench of the dragon’s carcass. I turned and surveyed the massive corpse. Bone gleamed ebony through its flesh in some places. Scavengers had savaged the sightless rust-colored eye, so that now there was merely a skeletal socket, its ghoulish gaze aimless. As I watched, something slithered in the darkness beneath the dead dragon’s wing. I shivered as I thought of the carrion beasts so close to our camp.

“The beasts that feed on it are afraid of us,” said Luca in quiet satisfaction. “They shrink from the borders of our camp because they know we will kill them as we killed the dragon.”

I nodded and then turned my attention back to the little oasis blooming on the crest of the hill. “Strange, that such a beautiful little tree grows within sight of such ugliness.”

“Death is ugly, but there is no malice in death itself. Once a beast is dead, it returns to the earth. Though the dragon was evil, its flesh shall feed this tree.” Luca smiled.

“There’s a sort of poetic justice there, I guess.” I considered the carcass. “It’s not poisonous? The dragon’s flesh.”

“Its blood was hot enough to burn while it lived, and it thirsted to maim and devour, but it is made of flesh just like you and me…though that is not true of all the Dark creatures.”

“That’s what I was getting at,” I said, thinking darkly of the sorcerer at the bridge. I stretched my calves, pressing my heel into the dirt and leaning forward. “Ready to head back?”

In answer, Luca sprang back into his long-legged stride, and I leapt to catch up. We completed our circuit of camp under the same slightly amused gazes of the other sentries, arriving back at the practice rings pleasurably warm and sweating lightly. Farin returned to our practice ring from where she’d been observing another pair sparring, but when she realized that Luca intended to teach me striking and grappling, she courteously excused herself and went back to the other practice session, where she gave advice and corrections during each break in action. The two Sidhe listened to her intently, and she circled their ring with an air of authority that outmatched her small frame. I smiled and then focused all my attention on Luca’s lesson. He started with the basics, holding his hands out for me to punch, and I closed my teeth on the protest that I knew how to punch. The ulfdrengr began learning to fight as children, before they even learned to walk, so I industriously performed every task Luca set before me, determined to learn as much as I could from him. We spent the better part of an hour on the variations of a punch, and by the end of that time I realized that I’d thought I knew how to punch, and even a whole semester of boxing at school hadn’t taught me as much as Luca in an hour. Luca patiently adjusted my stance and minute aspects of the way my fist hit his hand, how my hips and shoulders rotated, the angle at which I held my forearm relative to my target—no detail was too small to escape his attention, and every correction found me eking a bit more power out of my body.

“You’re not getting much practice,” I pointed out as we took a short break, my knuckles stinging as I grabbed my water-skin. My hands ached vaguely but the scars on my palms were surprisingly supple. I silently thanked Calliea for ensuring that I kept applying salve to the healing skin.

“Teaching is practice,” he replied. “It tests your knowledge and your understanding of the movements. There’s no better way to preserve skill than teaching.”

I made a thoughtful sound as I gulped down a few mouthfuls of water. “All right, what’s next?”

“Let me see your hands.” He examined my obediently extended hands with professional detachment, fingertips grazing my tender knuckles lightly. “Enough striking for this morning. Let’s do some ground-work.”

By the end of the next hour, we were covered in dust and sweat, and I was exhilarated. Learning to fight with a blade had been fascinating, but this was another level of fighting that sparked my imagination. It wasn’t merely fighting with a blade or an arrow, it was using my entire body as a weapon, and I found I liked the feeling. By the time we took our next break, the practice rings around us had filled, and there were a few warriors warming up while they waited for a ring to clear.

“Shall we finish up with some traditional sparring?” I asked, pushing an errant strand of sweat-dampened hair behind my ear. In reply, Luca went over to our weapons, unsheathed his sword and tossed me my bare blade. We took up our stances, but this sparring session didn’t have the urgency of the day before. I understood that this was truly a practice session, and tried some complex moves that I’d seen others execute, meeting with limited success. We ended with a series of blocking drills. Finally Luca nodded, and we gathered our weapons.

“That felt good,” I said, settling the Caedbranr along my spine.

“It’ll be more of the same tomorrow morning,” Luca replied, “but remember what we went over today. I don’t want to repeat myself.”

“No mistakes. Noted,” I said drily.

Luca chuckled and shook his head as we made our way over to the archery lines. “There’s a difference between making an honest mistake and being careless. Being careless means you aren’t focused, and sloppiness leads to death on the battlefield.”

I nodded soberly. “Avoiding that is kind of the end goal here.”

We each shot a quiver of arrows in companionable, focused silence and then turned back toward camp. The ring of metal striking metal greeted us as we neared the forge. But this time, Chael wasn’t wielding the hammer; he stood to one side and watched as Thea struck the metal, lithe muscles standing out in her bare arms. She paused, and he moved forward to critique her work, examining the blade and speaking quietly as she listened intently. I didn’t think either of them saw us as we passed, but Luca gave a nod in the forge’s direction nonetheless.

Farin resumed her post on my shoulder as we gathered the noon meal from the table—it was much the same as breakfast, but I was too hungry to care. I listened with a smile as the Glasidhe regaled me with tales of her morning teaching young Sidhe to wield blades more dangerously. I used the time in the afternoon to take inventory of my supplies, seeking out Calliea to replenish my stock of herbs in my healing kit.

“Have you made your decision yet?” she asked, raising one eyebrow as she repacked her own satchel from the morning’s shift in the ward. We stood at a supply table tucked in a quiet corner in the back of the huge tent.

“About what?” I replied distractedly. “Do you have any lady’s veil? I can’t seem to find it…”

“Here. We powder it rather than just dry it,” she explained, holding up a vial filled with pale powder. “And you know what I mean.”

“Is it more effective powdered or just more convenient to store?” I uncorked the vial and tipped half the powder into one of my own small containers.

“Stop avoiding the question.”

“I’m not avoiding the question, I’m just trying to understand some of the finer points of Seelie healing,” I retorted. “And no, I haven’t made a decision. I just assumed I’d be going with the western patrol.”

“Finnead’s patrol,” said Calliea triumphantly.

“Your patrol too,” I pointed out. “Maybe I just want to travel with you.”

Calliea gave a snort. “Other people may believe that, but don’t try to fool me.”

I shrugged. “Believe what you will.”

“Don’t be a spoilsport, Tess,” Calliea said, something of a purr in her voice. She suddenly reminded me of Gray, and I eyed her suspiciously.

“Are you going to go train with the Valkyrie?” I asked, both of us fully aware that I was changing the subject.

“Yes. Afternoon training sessions until we leave.”

“Have you decided what you’re going to do with the mounts with injured riders?”

“Leave them here,” Calliea answered promptly in a quiet voice. She paused in her selection of supplies. “It seems to help them, knowing their mounts are here. The injured riders, I mean. If you haven’t noticed, those three faehal spend most of their time near this tent.”

“I’m sure that the moment they’re able, those riders will be out spending time with them.”

Calliea nodded. “I can’t sacrifice that bond just to gain three more warriors for this mission.”

I smiled. Calliea looked at me, perplexed.

“I fail to see what’s amusing about that,” she said tightly.

“It’s not amusing at all. I just was thinking that Vell made a very good choice when she made you commander of the Valkyrie.”

“Oh.” Calliea blinked at my compliment, and turned back to gathering herbs, her heart-shaped face thoughtful.

Just before dusk, I walked to the Queen’s tent. Beryk sat just outside the tent, a sable sentinel. He ruined his dignified air by jumping up to put his forepaws on my shoulder, swiping his sandpaper tongue over my chin. I laughed and roughed his ears with my hands, then teasingly wrestled with him, shifting our weight in one direction and the other until he huffed and knocked me playfully to the ground, grinning as he stood over me.

“You win, fur-face,” I told him, smiling as I brushed the dirt from my legs. He shook himself thoroughly, raising a small cloud of dust, and resumed his statuesque pose. I chuckled and walked into Vell’s tent. The wing and vanguard commanders were already gathered about the table: Finnead and Luca, and the third vanguard commander, a white-fair Seelie woman with fierce eyes introduced to me as Elwyn. Identical twins, both clad in dark leather breastplates, stood behind Calliea. I tried to place the familiarity of the twins’ faces, attempting to study their looks without being too obvious, but the one standing to the left of Calliea caught me and smiled.

“We’re Maeve’s daughters,” she said, as if that explained everything.

“Took to cleaving flesh from bone better than stitching it back together,” said her twin from the other side of Calliea, raising one eyebrow puckishly. “Though our dear mother has a reputation with a spear, we are much more well versed in the killing arts.”

“Tess, this is Niamh, and this is Maire,” said Calliea.

“You got it backwards,” the one Calliea had named as Niamh said accusingly. “I’m Maire, and that’s Niamh.”

Calliea sighed. “This is my punishment for choosing you as my other wing commanders.”

“You chose us because we are simply peerless at killing things while airborne,” said the twin that Calliea had named as Maire with a predatory grin. She tossed her braided hair over one shoulder. “And we were just joking. You had it right the first time.”

“At least there will only be one of you to each wing when we set out,” Calliea said, turning back to the chart. I wondered what Farin would make of these impish Sidhe twins, and tucked the thought into the back of my mind before it made me laugh aloud.

A wintry breeze curled through the tent and the idle talk about the table trailed into silence. Vell swept through the entrance, clad in a simple shirt and trousers but still unmistakably regal. Finnead and Calliea repeated their introductions. Maire and Niamh bowed their heads respectfully to the Queen, their serious expressions stark contrast to just moments before. Vell studied them, her golden gaze thoughtful.

“You have not been blood-baptized yet,” she said to the twins. “Elwyn is among the Firstscore, but you two are not vyldgard.”

“Not yet, gods willing, my queen,” replied Maire.

“We shall earn our baptism in the coming weeks,” said Niamh with a quiet ferocity.

Vell smiled and nodded at them. “Fight well and I have no doubt that shall be the case.” Then she turned her eyes to the rest of the table. “Now, what have you discovered during your preparations? What problems require my attention?”

The discussion lasted long after darkness fell. After reviewing the three routes, Vell quizzed each vanguard and wing commander on the composition of their unit, and the strengths and weaknesses of each warrior. On that last point, she remained dissatisfied.

“We will hold drills with our wings tomorrow,” said Calliea, “and we will correct the inadequacy, my queen.”

“The vanguards will do the same,” said Finnead, blue eyes inscrutable. “We will not fail to meet your expectations again.”

Vell said nothing, staring down at the map. Finally she straightened. “You must all understand that with such a small fighting force, it is imperative to know the details of each warrior’s fighting style. You must know your men and women so well that to think of them is as to think of yourself.”

The wing and vanguard commanders nodded, and I found myself nodding along with them.

“Yesterday I said three days,” continued Vell. “If I am satisfied with your preparation tomorrow evening, you will leave the following morning.”

I saw the glimmer of a grin from Niamh and Maire.

“Unless there are any questions, I believe that will be enough for tonight.” The High Queen gave a nod of dismissal. Before I could follow the others, she said, “Tess, a word, if you would.”

When all the others had left, even Finnead and Luca, Vell sighed and threw herself down onto a pile of furs, casting off her mantle of High Queen just as surely as throwing off a cloak. She pinched the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger. “Gods, but sometimes I can’t stand to hear myself.”

Without waiting for an invitation, I took a seat next to Vell on the furs, stretching my legs out in front of me. “Is it like there’s something speaking through you? I’ve had that sometimes, with the Sword. Like all the Bearers before me using me as a mouthpiece.”

“There hasn’t been a High Queen before, so no, it’s not really like that,” replied Vell tiredly, a hint of irritation in her words. “It’s more like…it’s more like being bound up in a damn corset. When I’m doing my duties as queen, the power…compresses me.”

“When have you ever worn wear a corset?” I asked curiously.

“Never mind that,” she snapped. Then she sighed again. “Sorry. I’m not mad at you.”

“I know,” I replied, surprising myself with the serenity in my voice.

“I don’t regret being crowned,” said Vell quietly. “Not that it would do a lick of good if I did. But sometimes I wonder why…why being herravaldyr wasn’t enough. Herravaldyr and volta, to tell the truth, though I thought my father’s blood was stronger than my mother’s until after they were dead. I wonder why I had to inherit this.”

I shrugged. “I don’t have the answer to that.”

“I know you don’t. It just feels good to be able to say it aloud. I trust my Three, but they still see me as the Queen.”

“I see you as the Queen.”

“You crowned me. It’s like you were the midwife at my birth or something. You have some perspective.”

I chuckled a little. “Me, a midwife. Now that’s a metaphor I haven’t heard.”

“You know what I mean.” Vell leaned back on her hands. “It just takes getting used to, all this bowing and scraping….which happens no matter what I think of it. And seeing the fear in their eyes.” She shook her head, silencing my protest. “Don’t deny it, Tess. If you looked hard enough, you’d see it when they look at you too. They know we’re on their side, fighting with them, but there’s fear. Mixed with love, for some, but it’s still there.”

“We can’t really do much about it.” I paused thoughtfully. “Except show them that we’re always going to fight with them. Fight for them.”

“I know.” Vell smiled a little, tilting her head. “Are you sure you want to go? With the vanguard, I mean.” She swallowed. “I could use you here.”

I realized that I was perhaps the one true confidant left to Vell as the High Queen. Pressing down my growing disappointment, I said carefully, “If you need me here, I’ll stay.”

Vell pressed her lips together, golden eyes downcast. “No. I don’t need you, truth be told. I’m just being selfish.” She gave a little laugh. “Everyone so serious around me, I might go crazy by the time you get back.”

“Well, maybe you just need to trust someone else a bit more? I know that’s a tall order.” I thought for a moment. “What about Merrick? You’ve known him longer than anyone else who’s staying here, and I’d bet my life on his dependability.”

“Trusting is hard for me,” Vell replied softly. Then she smiled wryly and looked at me. “But you’re right, Tess. I can’t survive being Queen in total isolation, and I can’t keep you here in a little golden cage next to me.”

“You of all people would never put anyone in a cage, golden or otherwise,” I said.

“So if you’re going, do me one favor?”

“Name it.”

“Travel with the northern vanguard. Finnead has Calliea as his wing commander, and not that I don’t trust Niamh, but I’d rest a bit easier knowing that Luca has you as well.”

“What about Elwyn and the southern vanguard? She’ll have Maire,” I pointed out.

“Elwyn is one of the Firstscore, and the southern vanguard will also be traveling a less perilous route, as relative as that is these days.”

I swallowed against the maelstrom of emotion suddenly waging war in my chest: disappointment at not being able to travel with Finnead, excitement that I would be able to continue my fighting lessons with Luca, and guilt at that excitement.

Vell touched my shoulder. “I know you love Finnead, and I wouldn’t ask this of you…but I have this feeling.”

That got my attention. “A feeling like a vision?”

“Nothing so specific as that, but something like a premonition.” Vell frowned, trying to find the words to describe it. “I think something is going to befall the northern vanguard, and it might seem like I should keep you out of harm’s way…but this feeling tells me that you’ll be able to help them, whatever it is.”

“Have you told Luca?”

Vell shook her head. “It’s too vague.”

“He trusts you with his life. We all do,” I said, almost gently. “I’m not saying you need to tell him, but I’m sure he would appreciate it.”

“I don’t want him to think that I’m callously sending him to his death. Which I might be doing anyway,” Vell said bleakly. When she looked at me, there was something like fear in her eyes. “Don’t be angry with me, Tess. Please. I can’t explain it. If I knew what was going to happen, I could maybe help more, but…” She trailed into silence, shaking her head.

“Even if you knew what was going to happen, what’s to say you could change it?” I leaned forward, hesitating for just a moment, but then I gathered Vell’s head onto my shoulder, embracing her. She shuddered and leaned her forehead against my neck. We sat like that for a while, one of my hands tracing comforting circles on her back. Finally Vell sat back and pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes.

“Stupid,” she muttered as she regained her composure.

“You have feelings too, even if you are the High Queen,” I told her with a little smile.

She grinned at me. “When did you grow up to be so all-knowing, Tess?”

I snorted. “All-knowing? Hardly. If I was all-knowing, I could sort out all my own emotions, too, and you see how that goes on a daily basis.”

“Practicing fighting with Luca, practicing kissing with Finnead,” Vell said with a little smile.

“I love Finnead,” I said. “I just hope he’s truly healed enough from his past to love me the way he says he does.” I stopped, wide-eyed at my own words.

“His scars are deep, but from what I can tell, they’re just scars, not wounds.” Vell sat back on her hands again. “Only time will tell, though. War either ignites love or snuffs it out, nothing between from what I’ve seen.”

I blinked. “And this experience is from war in the North?”

She shook her head. “Not a tale for now. It’s already hard enough for me to send the vanguards out.”

“Fair enough.” My stomach rumbled, reminding me that we’d skipped evening meal in the intensity of the planning meeting. I stood and Vell followed suit. “Care to join me for dinner? Or I can bring food back here, if you’d like.”

“You’re not my servant,” Vell said. “So we’ll go get food together…and bring it back here.”

I laughed. “Good compromise. Let’s go then.”

And before we stepped outside her tent, Vell and I once again became the High Queen and the Bearer of the Iron Sword, because that was what the warriors fighting against the shadow needed us to be.

Chapter 22

The next day passed in a whirl of activity. I rose with Calliea before dawn, and she didn’t take her shift in the healing ward. We both walked to the practice fields. A light mist wreathed the ground, rendering the scene surreal in the morning twilight: the Valkyrie standing with their winged faehal, checking their weapons and their saddles; the vanguard warriors stood apart in their own small groups. Calliea went to the Valkyrie, conferencing with Maire and Niamh. Soon after, the Valkyrie mounted their winged steeds and took to the sky, wheeling above the practice fields in arrow formations, diving and shooting arrows at targets they’d placed beyond the archery line and practice rings. I watched in fascination. As the sky lightened further, I saw several Glasidhe join the Valkyrie. I wondered how long the faehal could sustain flight—whether they’d fly for the majority of the journey ahead, or travel by ground and launch into the sky at the sign of an airborne threat.

As the vanguard warriors began dividing into their groups, I spied Luca and Finnead. Elwyn gave me a nod as she strode past, toward her vanguard. I felt strangely nervous as I neared the two men.

“Good morning, Tess,” Finnead said. “Ready for a full day of drills?”

“Of course.” I smiled and then swallowed. Why did this feel like a betrayal? “I’m going to travel with the northern vanguard, so I’ll be drilling with them.”

Something flickered in Finnead’s drowning-blue eyes but then it was gone. Even though I’d gotten better at reading Sidhe expressions, sometimes I still couldn’t catch the fleeting emotions that passed over his face, gleaming for an instant before being hidden by his well-practiced mask. “I thought the Queen might ask you to travel north.” He nodded. “It balances the vanguards well.”

I found it hard to meet his eyes. “I just wanted to let you know.”

He nodded and then strode over to the warriors who comprised the western vanguard. I followed Luca toward the third group, running my eyes over them. A few looked familiar as members of the Firstscore.

“The Bearer will be traveling with us,” said Luca to his warriors, and though they kept their composure admirably, I couldn’t miss the brightening of eyes and straightening of shoulders. I glanced at Luca and he nodded slightly.

“I’m the Bearer, but I’m not the captain of this vanguard,” I said. “Since we’ll be scouting together as members of the company and, gods willing, fighting together, call me Tess.” That got a bit more of a reaction: raised eyebrows and murmurs, some warriors shifting uncomfortably. “If you find the familiarity offensive,” I said, raising my voice to cut over the swelling undercurrent of whispered words, “then choose not to talk to me at all.” The murmuring stopped as suddenly as if cut by a knife. For a long moment, the vanguard stared at me, and then one bold young warrior grinned. An answering smile formed on my lips.

“I, for one, appreciate your humility, Tess,” the cocksure youth said, emphasizing my name.

I chuckled. “We’ll see how that humility holds in the practice ring.”

A few other grins glimmered among the gathered warriors, and seamlessly we turned our attention back to Luca.

“Pair up,” the big ulfdrengr said tersely. “One on one sparring for the next half hour, and then switch partners. Robin.”

The youth who’d spoken with such swagger a moment before saluted Luca jauntily. “Yes, my captain?”

Luca had to hide a grin. “You’re partnered with Tess. Try to keep up.”

Robin bowed slightly to me. I sized him up as we headed to a practice ring. We were evenly matched in height, but Robin held a bit more muscle on his frame than me. I rubbed my thumbs over the lacy scar tissue on my palms.

“Bugger me, but you smile just like they do,” he said as he rolled up his shirtsleeves. His hair gleamed red, a tone between the deep robust color of a robin’s breast and the gold of ripened wheat. “Meaning the wolf warriors, and no disrespect, of course.”

“Of course.” I let my grin linger for a moment more, and then asked as we stretched, “Were you named for your hair?”

“Not many know of robins, since we don’t have them in our world,” replied the Seelie warrior. “But my mother traveled to Doendhtalam in her younger years, and she did indeed name me for the bird with the red breast.”

“Harbinger of spring,” I said, almost to myself. Robin wore his hair longer than most Seelie men, tousled into what I would have called a mohawk if he’d been a college student in my old life. I drew my sword and warmed up my arm, practicing only with my right hand. I watched Robin out of the corner of my eye as he ran through a few drills. With his build, he was probably just as quick as me; I suspected that Luca had paired him with me not only as recompense for his cheekiness, but as a challenge to my skills. “Challenge accepted,” I murmured to myself.

“What was that, Tess?” called out Robin, his sword arcing gracefully through the air.

“Ready?” I asked, facing him and settling my blade in my hand. My skin prickled with anticipation.

“Oh, yes,” he grinned, and we were off.

Luca signaled the end of the half hour with a sharp whistle. Robin and I stepped back from each other, sweat-drenched, panting and grinning in satisfaction. We’d both gained two touches on the other: Robin had proven his quickness and slipped his blade through my guard to press delicately against my breastbone, and I’d responded in the next match by sending his sword flying across the ring in an echo of the move that Luca had used on me the previous day. And we had both felt the sharp edge of the other’s sword laid broad against the side of our neck.

“You weren’t holding back, were you?” I asked him with narrowed eyes as I wiped the sweat from my face with my sleeve.

“Lovely Tess, if I had been holding back, you would have gutted me both literally and figuratively,” Robin replied with a wink, taking a drink from his water-skin.

“Do you have a cousin in the Unseelie Court?” I thought of the coppery glint in Ramel’s hair, and his penchant for fond flattery.

Robin laughed. “No. Not that I know, at least.” He shrugged. “But it’s entirely possible, either way. Why do you ask?”

“You remind me of someone,” I said, taking a swig of my own water. “He’s one of Mab’s Three now.”

“I shall take that as a compliment, then,” replied the young Seelie, toasting me with his canteen.

Luca strode over to our practice ring. “Two things you learned about the other fighter during this session.” He nodded at Robin.

Robin studied me and took another swallow of water before answering. “While she was taught traditional Unseelie swordsmanship, Tess has taken a bit of the style of everyone she’s ever seen fight and wrapped it into her own. She’s adaptive.” He paused. “And she didn’t learn with her right hand originally.” He smiled at my look of surprise. “You invert some patterns when you’re tired, which suggests that you first learned them with your left hand.”

Luca nodded and turned to me. “Tess?”

“Robin is quick, but that’s expected for his size. He doesn’t put his whole strength into his strokes, making his opponent believe that speed is his only talent, but he’s very strong as well. He just uses it in short bursts at critical moments.” I considered the young Seelie. “And he likes to fight pretty. He favors some embellishments to make his strokes look graceful, things like that.”

Robin merely smiled at my critique. “You only live once, so why not be beautiful?”

Suddenly Luca had his blade in his hand, and I stepped back as he leapt forward with terrifying speed, launching a dizzying attack on the hapless Robin. The young Seelie fighter countered the ulfdrengr’s vicious blows for longer than I expected, but after a few moments Luca knocked his blade from his hand and Robin fell hard to the ground. Luca laid the tip of his broad blade against Robin’s throat and growled, “Beauty is secondary. Skill and strength keep you from getting killed.”

I almost moved forward to separate them, but then Luca reached down and hauled Robin to his feet, giving him a brotherly slap on the back that conveyed both forgiveness for Robin’s remark and encouragement after his defeat. He gripped Robin’s shoulder and said to the smaller fighter, “You’ve got heart and you have skill. Don’t trip over your own feet trying to look pretty for the lasses. I intend to bring every warrior who rides out with me back to this camp.”

Robin stared up at Luca with hero-worship written across his face. “Aye, captain.”

“And stop calling me captain,” Luca muttered, sheathing his blade.

As I watched Robin gaze at Luca’s retreating figure, I was suddenly very certain that Robin wasn’t concerned about looking pretty for the lasses. I hid a smile and busied myself with wiping down my plain blade, sliding it back into the sheath at my hip. I looked up at Robin’s bright laugh.

“Observant,” he said, raising one eyebrow. “Or I was just blatant for a moment. I couldn’t help it.”

I smiled. “My prom date was one of my best friends in high school, and let’s say he appreciated that my gown was reminiscent of Audrey Hepburn more than the fact that I filled it out in all the right places.”

“I only understood half of that, but are you suggesting we are going to be friends?” Robin grinned.

I smiled. “It looks like a good possibility.”

Another sharp whistle commanded us to rotate partners. Robin saluted me with two fingers and moved off to the next practice ring.

Luca ran the northern vanguard through our paces. We sparred with three more partners before the first long break, and then the Valkyrie joined us for a discussion on the tactics of a battle fought from both land and air. I listened more than I talked, and I enjoyed watching Luca take command of this little group of warriors. By the end of the afternoon, even the older warriors among them looked at Luca with respect, and though he was sometimes taciturn when he gave his orders to the group as a whole, he won them over through individual interactions, like his aside with Robin.

At the end of our group discussion with the Valkyrie, Luca conferenced with Finnead and Elwyn. Niamh’s winged faehal, a delicate yet muscled roan mare, shook her head and flicked her tail restlessly. Niamh soothed her, stroking her muzzle with one hand while she watched the ground commanders. I wondered if Calliea had told the twins that the Valkyrie were to defer to the leadership of the ground force’s commanders; then I brushed the idea away. Though Calliea wasn’t as forward as the leaders of the vanguards, there was no doubt that her Valkyrie had their own loyalties to her.

When Luca returned to us, there was a gleam in his eye that kindled an answering spark in my chest. We all straightened and hands went to hilts without conscious thought. “First test,” he said. “A battle against the southern vanguard, and then we will fight the western guard.”

“Why are we fighting twice?” a short but solid female fighter asked.

Luca grinned. “Well, the winner is to fight Finnead’s lot, and of course that’ll be us.”

A riot of laughter and war cries erupted from our small group—from the sheer wall of sound I would have guessed us to be a group of fifty, not two dozen.

“There are no rules other than remembering that these are our brothers and sisters,” Luca said when the cheers died down. “Don’t draw blood intentionally. If you have a blade to bare skin, let them yield. We all must still fight when we ride out. But the best way to prepare for a true battle is to train realistically.”

We all nodded, our eyes intent on Luca.

“You are all skilled individually, but fight together. Fight as a pack. That is how we win.”

Finnead’s vanguard had ranged into a huge circle, encompassing the practice fields and archery lines. The Valkyrie quietly joined the ground forces, their mounts watched over by Calliea and the fighters of her wing.

“Flying is matchless, but there’s a certain satisfaction to fighting on foot,” Niamh said with a smile, unsheathing two long, thin blades.

“Twin blades for a twin. How fitting,” commented Robin as we spread out over our half of the battlefield. My heart beat double-time in excitement; Robin and Niamh stood to my left, and Luca to my right.

“No time for courtesy, Tess,” Luca told me, hefting his blade.

“I take that to mean kicks are allowed?” I replied.

Before he could answer with anything more than a grin, Finnead stepped forward, standing halfway between the two lines of warriors. He raised his arm, looked from the southern vanguard to the northern vanguard, and swept his hand downward in the starting signal. Exuberant war cries rose above the field as the two lines of warriors leapt toward each other; from our side, I heard the howl of a wolf echoed by Sidhe throats, cutting eerily through the tumult.

I’d almost forgotten the exhilaration of sprinting with a sword in my hand, stretching my legs and looking ahead to the foe. I found my anticipation still edged with a bright sharp fear, though I knew there was no true enemy on the training fields. The two vanguards surged toward each other and crashed together like a great wave upon a cliff, the sounds of blades meeting blades ringing through the air. Dust kicked up by our feet rose like fog, wreathing our legs and twining about our flashing swords.

The two vanguards were well matched, which was as it should have been: the size and speed of the Sidhe warriors were much the same. My first opponent was a bright-haired woman with a cobalt handprint across her face; we danced and parried within the chaos, the numbers still even in those first few moments, dictating that every sword had its opponent. She darted forward with a quick jab and I leapt back, barely avoiding the tip of her blade. I quickly countered, lunging into a complex attack, which she deftly blocked. We locked blades and I bore down on her, finding in surprise that I seemed to be the stronger of the two of us. Her eyes widened slightly and I let a little grin play on my lips. She stumbled, and before she could recover there was a blade laid delicately along her neck—a blade that wasn’t mine. My opponent pressed her lips together and sheathed her sword, raising her hands in the universal sign of defeat as she walked toward the sidelines of the practice field. I glared at Robin.

“That’s two for me,” he said, grinning.

“Another moment and my blade would have been at her throat,” I snapped, hefting my blade and watching the sparring warriors about us warily.

“Our captain told us to fight as a pack!” called out Robin cheerily, diving back into the fray. He leapt into another pair’s duel, promptly pressing the point of his blade into the back of the southern fighter’s neck. My irritation vanished as I found myself drawn into his orbit, becoming part of a whirling storm of blades that grew larger and larger, a pack that singled out the southern vanguard’s warriors mercilessly. Elwyn realized our strategy and tried to gather the remnant of her vanguard, but we had become an inexorable force, with warriors guarding the backs of those actively fighting, two of our warriors to every member of the southern vanguard. Luca joined us after he dispatched Elwyn’s largest warrior to limp toward the boundary of the circle. I dimly became aware of shouts of encouragement from the outer ring—it was like a sporting match, with members of the vyldgard calling out for their teammates.

There was only a half-dozen of the southern vanguard still in the fight. We pressed in on them, over double their number—even with our dominant strategy, there were still some of our fighters watching from the sidelines, wiping trickles of blood from shallow cuts and nursing some bruised pride. I laughed and hefted my blade in my grip. Elwyn glimpsed me through the wall of warriors pressing in on her small band. She pointed her blade at me and I gladly obliged her, leaping into the little ring and locking swords with the leader of the southern vanguard. She had more experience than I in swordsmanship, and it showed. I struggled to block her sword, pushed to the limits of my speed and knowing that she’d prevail when I slowed. But just as I tired, my strokes becoming less crisp, less forceful, Elwyn suddenly faced not one but three fighters: Robin’s red hair flashed to my left and Luca pressed in from the right. Elwyn lasted impressively against our onslaught, but even as fast as she was, her blade simply couldn’t block three weapons at once, and she yielded with Luca’s broadsword pointed at her breastbone. She grinned at us, eyes flashing.

I emerged from the focus of fighting Elwyn to find only one pair left sparring, and I blinked to clear my vision before my mind confirmed that I wasn’t seeing double. The twins were fighting, Niamh and Maire both wielding long twin blades. Robin raised his sword, grinning as he stepped forward, but Luca shook his head. Robin obediently faded back into the circle of northern fighters, and we settled back to watch the epic display of swordsmanship. The twins were not tall, but they moved like great cats, their limbs liquid and boneless as they leapt at each other, teeth bared, meeting and clashing and whirling away to circle each other again. They wielded their blades too fast to see clearly, pivoting and pirouetting with arcing flashes of silver, their white-blonde manes wild with their sweat and speed, tawny skin slick and gleaming. I wiped sweat from my own brow and caught Robin’s eye; I glanced at the twins and gave him an appraising look. He grinned and shook his head.

Even the twins could not fight forever, though they sparred on their own for what seemed like just as long as the rest of the battle. One of the twins—I’d lost track of whom was who—launched an attack too quick to follow, leaping into the fierce movements, her blades singing through the air. Her sister fended off the onslaught and it seemed as though she might recover, but the attacking twin didn’t relent, increasing in speed, pressing faster and faster until with a wild cry of triumph she slid a blade past her sister’s guard and pressed the edge against her neck.

The defeated twin grinned up at the victor. In the moment of celebration, Robin leapt past me and slid his blade to within a hair’s breadth of the triumphant twin.

“Are you with northern or southern?” he asked her, eyes gleaming.

“I’m Niamh,” she said, injured pride in her voice. “I’d thought you would recognize me—I’m only in your wing, after all—”

Robin’s eyes flicked to the twin sheathing her blades. He caught the swallowed laugh and quickly lowered head. With a twist of his wrist, he neatly drew a single drop of blood from the tender skin at the throat of the victorious twin. He grinned at her scowl.

“You’re Maire,” he said, raising an eyebrow, “and you were about to take me as the last casualty of the fight with that little ruse.”

Maire tossed her head and sheathed her blades. “It would’ve worked, too, had my lovely sister been able to contain herself.”

Niamh laughed. “One cannot blame you for trying, sister, but equally you cannot blame me that your vanguard could not stand up to my pack of wolves.”

Maire grinned. Robin thrust his sword into the air and Niamh threw back her head and howled. I looked at Luca as the other warriors of the vanguard took up the howl. A shiver slipped down my spine. If I closed my eyes, I would have sworn I was truly standing among a pack of wolves. Luca nodded slightly, a half-smile on his lips, but I glimpsed an undercurrent of sadness in his eyes as he stood among his vanguard, listening to them howl to the sky in victory.

I slid closer to him, not saying a word, hoping that he’d understand I stood next to him as both a warrior in his vanguard and a friend. Again there was that slight nod, and he straightened his shoulders as the howls shuddered into silence, and the vanguard turned to him as one.

“We live and we die as one,” he said in a voice that carried over the entire field. “Well fought.”

The fighters remaining on the field dissolved into little knots and groups as we walked toward the perimeter to reunite with those of our number who hadn’t made it through to the end of the skirmish. The cuts and bruises were examined, at first to ensure that none of our fighters needed the skills of a healer; but then it became good-natured ribbing, with those who had made it through to the end commenting on the injuries and ill fate that had befallen those who’d found themselves on the sidelines. I grinned and shook my head when I heard Robin exclaiming over a friend’s scratch with dramatic flair.

“He’s a bit loud for my taste, but he’s a good fighter,” Luca said as we passed a water skin between us.

I chuckled. “I think his sharp tongue made it essential for him to become skilled at fighting.”

Luca toasted me with the water skin. “Probably true.”

I stretched my legs idly. “So we get to skirmish the western vanguard now?”

“Don’t sound so eager,” Calliea said with a grin as she approached us. “Though I suppose I’d be eager too, if I routed another group like that.”

“Our captain gave us a very good strategy,” I replied. “One that our fighters embraced whole heartedly.”

“Well, we have plenty of light left, so rest up before our skirmish!” she said, twirling a little dagger end-over-end idly.

I tugged at my shirt, peeling the cloth away from my sweat-soaked skin. The strange air of the Deadlands pressed down around us, oppressive and heavy. I wished for a breeze and wondered how much effort it would take Vell to permanently change the weather of this grey and desolate place. I wandered over to the Valkyrie camp, letting my eyes rest on the beautiful winged faehal. While on the ground without a rider, they folded their huge gleaming wings along their back, reminding me of the swans that I’d watched gliding over the lake as a kid. They seemed well adapted, for all that they’d had their wings for less than a fortnight. Most of them wore no bridle, and though I couldn’t see them clearly under their wings, the faehal wore slim little saddles. It looked like some of the riders had rigged extra straps along the side of their saddles for extra security in the air.

“Is there any kind of quick release to the straps?” I asked curiously as Calliea stroked her mount’s pale neck.

“Depends on the rider,” she replied. “This is uncharted territory, so we’re learning as we go. Some riders like leg-straps, but I prefer one about my waist, and yes, mine does have a release I can manage with one hand.”

“No reins,” I commented.

“Don’t need them,” Calliea said brusquely. “They’d only get in the way.”

My mind supplied another question, but before my lips formed the words, the Sword suddenly awoke, its power expanding painfully in my chest, the sheath on my back rattling with intense vibrations. Calliea’s faehal pranced backward nervously as I doubled over, gasping.

“Tess?” Calliea’s hands were on my shoulders; she hissed as another surge of power ripped through me, knocking the breath from me as surely as a punch to the gut. I heard her call out in a commanding voice. “Finnead! Luca! Something’s happening!”

Clenching my jaw, I caught hold of the Sword’s power with my own taebramh. The Caedbranr had been startled awake, I thought grimly, and it dug its claws into me like a surprised cat—though that analogy was about as accurate as comparing Beryk to a golden retriever. The rattling on my back only increased in tempo. Breathing hard, I pushed down the pain enough to straighten, reaching over my shoulder to grip the hilt of the Sword, quieting the loud rattle. The scars on my palms burned as the Sword’s vibrations traveled through my hand, up my arm, into my bones.

“What is it?” I gritted out. I didn’t have the composure to speak to the Sword silently. It was all I could do to keep its whirling fire contained within me. The Caedbranr didn’t answer. Peripherally, I noticed that Calliea had tactfully moved a small distance away from me. White fire blurred the edges of my vision. I tightened my grip on the hilt of the Sword as I tightened my grip on its power within me. A small bright object shot past me. I heard Calliea swear profusely.

Sweat broke out on my forehead and I shivered, not sure whether I was hot or cold, my body still damp from the skirmish. Then the waves of nausea hit me, one after another, until I doubled over and retched, losing my grip on the Sword and almost losing my control over its power. The white fire pulsed in my eyes, becoming all I could see for an instant as I spat into the gray dust on my hands and knees, my entire body trembling with the force of the power rolling through me. I summoned what strength I had left and clamped down on the Caedbranr.

“Tell me what’s happening,” I panted, my fingers digging into the dirt. Through my hands, I felt a slight tremor. I blinked, but then my eyes widened as it came again. I hadn’t imagined it. The ground was beginning to shake.

The Sword finally answered me. Its words came as close to a cry as I’d ever heard in its stoic, androgynous voice.

The earth bleeds.

“The earth bleeds,” I repeated in a hoarse voice.

“Tess!” Calliea grabbed my arm and levered me upright, almost bodily carrying me as she started at a near-run back toward camp. I couldn’t see clearly enough to understand what was happening, but I could feel the tremors in the earth becoming stronger.

“The earth bleeds,” I said again dazedly.

“That’s one way to put it,” Calliea said with a grunt, her voice tight with discomfort. “Help me out, Tess.”

I concentrated on using my feet to carry my weight, but then my grip on the Caedbranr’s power slipped and Calliea gave a little sound of pain, so I decided to focus on compressing the Sword’s fire, keeping it in its space between my ribs. I turned my head to find Elwyn and Niamh next to us, Finnead held up between them. His ocean-deep eyes stared into nothing and the color drained from his face, his lips tinged blue. I didn’t have the breath to call out to him. I heard Luca roaring orders behind us to the rest of the vanguards and Valkyrie.

The earth bucked beneath our feet. Calliea navigated the rolling ground adroitly, pulling me along with her; Elwyn and Niamh almost fell with Finnead, but they recovered. We ran through camp—or rather, Calliea dragged me. A violent tremor shook the ground as we fell through the entrance to the Queen’s tent. Calliea released me, rushing forward. Through my hazy vision I saw Vell on the ground, writhing as the tent swayed with the earthquake. Gray clasped one of Vell’s hands in a white-knuckled grip, her teeth bared in a grimace of pain. Arcana knelt by Vell’s head, her child-small hands hovering near the High Queen’s temples. Finnead knelt by Vell’s other side, taking her other hand in his own.

A ragged cry escaped me as agony sliced into my chest. Vell’s body created an impossible arc, lifted from the ground by the force of this alien pain. We couldn’t fight it. It wasn’t a physical enemy. Hot tears of helpless anger trickled down my cheeks. Merrick was suddenly beside me, supporting me wordlessly. It felt as though the ground was going to split beneath us, swallowing us whole. I tried to say Merrick’s name but choked on the sound as another wave of agony crashed over me; he held me as I shuddered and gasped, my hands clenching his shirt. Dust rose from the ground in clouds and the huge, solid table danced along the floor—it felt as though we were on a ship tossed in a storm, the ground beneath us changing direction with the whims of a raging sea. I lost all sense of myself, struggling to keep the emerald fire of the Caedbranr and my own taebramh from shattering me, riding the strange swells of nausea with grim focus, gulping down air between the vibrating pulses of alien power. After a few long moments, I finally felt a release in the pressure of the Sword’s taebramh against my breastbone. The Caedbranr remembered itself, and with a gentleness it had never before offered me, it slid its power like cool water into my aching bones, weaving a protection around me until I finally caught my breath, the pain now manageable.

I didn’t know whether it had been minutes or hours since the earthquake had begun; time seemed to flex along with the ground, settling reluctantly back into its linear progression. Finally I was able to think beyond my next breath. I swallowed hard and found my face pressed against Merrick’s chest, my cheeks wet with tears; one of his arms encircled my shoulders in a firm grip, and his other hand cupped the back of my head. As he felt me stir, he cautiously released his hold, letting me sit back on my heels. I blinked shadows away from my vision, taking a slow, shuddering breath. When my sight returned, I saw Merrick gazing at me with concern, his gray eyes wide.

I put one hand on the ground to keep my balance as I coughed and finally caught my breath again. Out of the corner of my eye I glimpsed Merrick’s shirt, torn in more than one place from my convulsive grip. I touched a rip by his shoulder, grimacing. “Sorry,” I rasped.

He caught my elbow as I tried to stand. “Vell.” My voice came out a croak. I managed to grab the edge of the still-upright table and lever myself to my feet. Second time in as many days that I’d had to scrape myself off the ground by this table, I thought in irritation. The Sword sent a bit of that lovely cooling power to my throat. I took a breath and savored it.

Sometimes we forget you are a very young Bearer.

It wasn’t the Sword speaking; it was the layered voices of the Bearers who had gone before me. I could hear Gwyneth’s voice at the forefront. My free hand unconsciously touched the circular pendant at my throat. Goosebumps raced down my arms. It had been a long time since I’d heard the voices of Bearers past.

Vell sat with her knees drawn up before her, and her head resting on her knees. She looked young, too, in that moment, even with the glimmer of the circlet in her dark hair. Finnead and Gray knelt on either side of their Queen, and Arcana had faded back into the shadows. Finnead looked up, relief written across his face as he saw me standing by the table. I raised my eyebrows in silent query and he nodded. We were all shaken, but whole.

What just happened? I asked the Bearers silently, hoping that they hadn’t retreated into the depths of the Sword again. For a long moment, I thought that they’d gone, leaving me with the stoic voice of the Caedbranr. But then the chorus of women spoke again, their voices tender, as though they were speaking to a daughter or a beloved sister.

The veil was torn, and creatures of darkness slipped through. An exchange of sorts.

Slipped through into where? An exchange of what? I thought in sudden panic. Had Malravenar found some other dark world rife with twisted creatures, an army ripe for his harvesting? The image of the Dark forces marching under their bloodstained banners and skulls rose in my mind’s eye.

Into your world, dearheart, said Gwyneth and the other Bearers, almost gently.

For a strange moment, vertigo took hold. This is my world, I thought disjointedly, clutching at the table, my breath catching in my throat as a barrage of memories flooded into my head, reminding me forcefully that this had not always been my world, that once I had been a little girl in pigtails, with an older brother who played baseball with our dad in the yard, and a mom who hung our laundry out on a clothesline to dry in the summer sun. The impossible normalcy and innocence of the memory overwhelmed me, striking deeper than the pain of the alien power. The smoldering wreckage of my childhood home rose as the next image—I’d seen it in the ether, Walking. Shivers wracked me as I suddenly questioned if that had been a warning. A portent. My chest ached and I swallowed hard against the urge to be sick again.

“Tess?” Merrick still held my arm, watching me closely. I shook my head wordlessly, gathering myself for another question. I had to find out as much as I could from the women who had borne this weapon before me.

How many, and where? I asked, envisioning a pack of garrelnost ripping through Times Square, the neon lights lurid on their mottled fur, screams rising against the skyscrapers. Helplessness rose up within me like bile. What was the use of wielding this power if I couldn’t do anything?

Steady, said the voices of the Bearers, though it sounded almost entirely like Gwyneth now. Do not let this cloud your mind. Only a handful of creatures forced their way through the veil. Gwyneth paused. I gripped the table with white knuckles, waiting. Her voice began to fade and she spoke quickly. It was not only Dark creatures that traveled through the veil into your world. Another pause. Echoes, as if she was speaking from an ever-increasing distance. Find them, Tess.

“Find who?” I cried out. Merrick tightened his grip on my arm, sharing a quick look with Finnead.

Gwyneth didn’t answer me with words; but moving under a will not my own, my fingers dipped into my belt-pouch, brushed aside the smooth weight of the river stones, and closed on that rough piece of dusty fabric that I’d carried with me since Luca had pressed it into my hand. For the second time I opened my fingers to reveal my brother’s nametape, but this time my hand trembled as I realized breathlessly that Liam was in Faeortalam, and I had to find him before Malravenar did.

Chapter 23

I stood staring at my brother’s faded, dusty nametape for a few long moments, brushing my fingertips over the raised embroidery of our last name, the dark spots of old blood stiff beneath my touch. The Caedbranr stirred, nudging me almost gently.

“Thank you,” I whispered to the Sword. Its protection had helped me regain my head in time to understand Gwyneth’s warning. And I wasn’t entirely sure that I’d have been able to endure the bone-breaking pain for much longer with my sanity intact.

You can endure much more than you think, the Caedbranr replied to my last thought.

I swallowed against the sourness in the back of my throat. I know. It doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate the help sometimes.

You are the Bearer, the Sword replied simply, and fell silent.

“Tess?” Merrick touched my elbow again tentatively.

I blinked and turned to face the navigator. Calliea stood just behind him, observing with wary eyes. “Thanks. To both of you.”

“When one of the Queen’s Three and the Bearer both go down in tremors and the earth starts shaking, it’s not hard to know that something bad is happening,” Calliea said with an arched eyebrow.

I glanced over at Vell. She faced away from me, speaking quietly with Finnead and Gray. “Well, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t comfortable dragging us here. Where are Elwyn and Niamh?”

Calliea gestured to the front of the tent. “They’re standing guard outside. As you said, it was a bit…uncomfortable…being close to you.”

“But I didn’t hurt you?” I asked as I glimpsed a patch of dark blood on the wrist of Calliea’s shirt. She followed my gaze and grimaced, showing me that she’d pulled her shirt over the heel of her hand to dab at her bleeding nose.

“Just a bit of a reaction to the Sword’s power, I think,” she said with a dismissive flick of her wrist.

“Merrick?” I narrowed my eyes at the young navigator, trying to spot any injury. He put up his hands with a smile.

“I didn’t bear the brunt of it. By the time Calliea carried you in here, you had it mostly under control. Plus,” he added with a wry smile, “I think I’m a bit more conditioned to it.” His eyes darkened. “What did it tell you?”

I raised my eyebrows. “You can even tell when I’m talking to the Caedbranr?”

“Your eyes go distant. You’re listening hard, but not to anything we can hear.”

I blew out a slow breath. Should I tell them all about Liam? Would it be simpler if I just went on my own to find my brother? Could I ask them to help me on a perilous search for one I loved, especially in the middle of this war? I didn’t even know if I’d be able to leave and forsake my duty to find Liam. And just as all of those questions whirled in my head, they were all answered by the calm, steady words that Merrick spoke next.

“Whatever it is, Tess, we are all here to fight with you,” he said, his youthful face solemn. Calliea nodded behind him. Her eyes darted to the nametape in my hand. I followed Calliea’s eyes to Liam’s nametape and took a deep breath.

“I think there are a few more mortals in Faeortalam now.”

Calliea stared at me; Merrick looked sharply over at Finnead, who nodded solemnly in signal that he had heard my statement. I swallowed against the sudden dryness in my throat and closed my fingers around the dusty strip of cloth, slipping it back into the pouch on my belt.

“How do you know?” Calliea asked quietly, her eyes gleaming with focus.

“The Bearers that have gone before me…sometimes they speak to me through the Sword,” I replied. After the chaos of the earthquake, the silence pressing down around me seemed amplified and foreign, like the calm after a storm. “And they said that an exchange of sorts just occurred.”

“The veil was torn,” said Vell. “The veil between the worlds.”

I nodded. “A few of Malravenar’s creatures slipped through into the mortal world…and a few mortals came through into this world.” I paused. “I don’t know if it was an equal and opposite reaction, or if they chose to come through willingly, or they were kidnapped—but one of them is my brother, Liam.”

“Liam saved our lives, in your world,” said Merrick.

I rubbed my thumbs into my palms restlessly, feeling the raised edges and pearly smoothness of my scars. “Yes. He’s a soldier, a warrior. One of the best.” I took another deep breath. “But even the best would be unprepared to come through into an entirely different world.”

“Into an entirely different war,” said Finnead.

Vell gazed at me solemnly, her golden eyes large in her pale face, the circlet gleaming against her dark hair. “Are you sure that it is your brother, Tess?”

“Truthfully? No.” I shook my head, shifting my weight in frustration, trying to choke down the knot of worry already forming in my stomach. “I only know what Gwyneth told me through the Sword. And I don’t know where he is, or why he would have been brought through the veil.”

“Sometimes it’s not for us to know the underpinnings of all the events of the world,” said Vell almost distractedly, her mind already working intently on the problem at hand. “But this enemy does not do things without reason.” A crease appeared on her brow and she strode over to the table, snatching up a piece of parchment and a stick of sharpened charcoal. She motioned to Merrick and he quickly joined her, their two dark heads bent over the parchment.

Questions chased each other in my mind, whirling into a maelstrom. What did Malravenar hope to gain by tearing the veil and dragging more mortals into Faeortalam? Had he simply been testing a weapon, or had it been another one of his sorcerers? Was Liam wounded, still fighting, surrounded by Dark creatures? Had he already been captured? I clenched my fists but then realized suddenly that someone had spoken my name. I looked up to find Finnead looking at me.

“Sorry, what?” I said dazedly.

“We could make this a part of the vanguards’ mission,” he said, looking to Vell for approval. The High Queen still bent over the map with Merrick, her pale fingers moving quickly as she pointed at several different locations.

“With the Valkyrie in the air, our search radius will be quite large,” Calliea added.

“We don’t even know where they are,” I said.

“We do,” said Merrick instantly. “Or,” he amended, “we might.” He didn’t even turn to look at me as he spoke, unwrapping the protective cloth from around his scrying glass. Calliea wordlessly helped him unroll the large map of Faeortalam, their movements crisp and focused. She watched as he set the scrying glass on the map. I looked over Vell’s shoulder and saw that she had quickly sketched a landscape on the piece of parchment, her drawing surprisingly detailed. Merrick kept looking over at the sketch as he slid his scrying glass across the map.

I stared down at Vell’s sketch. It was as though we stood on the summit of a mountain, gazing out across a mountain range, the land rocky and wild. Dense forest covered the mountainsides. The ground dropped away sharply before our feet, a sharp incline of scree and dirt. I looked over to the large map of Faeortalam. Merrick slid the scrying glass over the Edhyre Mountains, the great range in the north of Faeortalam which stretched down from the far northern reaches, bordered the Seelie lands and curled into the Mab’s kingdom. I glanced at Vell.

“How did you know?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” she said, watching Merrick. “I got a glimpse, and I could feel where the veil was split. I don’t know if they came through in the same place, and they most certainly won’t stay in the same place, especially if they’re being hunted.”

I winced, but then reminded myself that this wouldn’t be the first time that Liam had been hunted through the mountains by an enemy intent on killing him. The Sword hummed in its sheath. I wasn’t certain if it was trying to be comforting or whether it was agreeing with my thought that Liam was a very capable fighter.

“I don’t want this to distract us from the bigger picture.” I had to choke out the words, because every fiber of my being wanted to saddle Nehalim and ride as fast as I could toward the mountains. My brother was in trouble, in a strange world with no idea of the magnitude of the Dark forces at work. “I can’t say how much I appreciate the offer of help, but this wouldn’t tip the balance. It’s not worth the risk.”

“We wouldn’t let our own warriors be held captive,” Calliea looked up at me, still holding down the edges of the large map with delicate hands.

“As the vyldretning has already said, the Shadow does not act without purpose,” said Finnead. “By rescuing them, we are thwarting him, though we might not know his full plans.”

“And we have rescued captives before,” said Vell. “When my people needed rescue, you helped me. Now it is my turn to help you.”

I nodded silently, unable to speak over the sudden rush of gratitude that closed my throat. I clenched my jaw and breathed deeply until I brought my emotions under control. “Thank you.”

“No need for thanks,” said Vell. “You have fought for us ever since arriving in our world. You have already done the same and more.” She pressed her lips together thoughtfully. “And I have to think that there is a reason why your brother was brought through the veil.”

I shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. We’re of the same bloodline, obviously, so I don’t know whether that…” I trailed off suddenly, arrested by a thought. I looked at Vell and swallowed. “It might have to do with the fact that Liam can see the future.”

Finnead swore softly and Merrick looked up from the scrying glass with raised eyebrows. Vell glanced at him and he hurriedly returned to his task.

“He’s a Seer,” said the High Queen. “And he is of the Bearer’s blood.” She shook her head. “Just being of the blood alone might have been enough reason, but if Malravenar can twist a Seer to his own purposes…”

“Liam would die before he’d help Malravenar,” I said hotly.

“He might very well be of more use to Malravenar dead,” the High Queen replied.

I made a sound as if I’d been punched in the stomach. Vell’s face softened suddenly, the countenance of the High Queen falling away for just a moment as she reached over and gripped my hand hard.

“But we will find him before that happens,” she said fiercely. “I swear it.”

The air rippled with Vell’s power. It eased the knot in my stomach only slightly. I knew with certainty that I’d carry that worry like a stone in my gut until I put my hands on Liam’s shoulders, looked in his eyes and knew he was safe and whole.

“If we find their location, only one vanguard would be necessary for the rescue,” said Calliea, gazing down at the map.

“It all depends on the concentration of Malravenar’s forces, and whether they’ve already been captured,” said Finnead.

“Liam will use his abilities to help them evade capture, if he can,” I said. “We met in the ether, before we reached Brightvale.”

“And a Walker, too?” murmured Gray, her emerald eyes glittering.

“I suppose that’s what happens when you’re descended from ancient priestesses,” I said.

“More like mages,” said Vell distractedly, brow creased as she directed Merrick to focus his scrying glass over a particular mountain.

“A bloodline of power,” I said with a hand gesture. Vell gave a little hum of agreement to my change in definition. “In any case, he told me that he uses the visions to keep the guys in his unit alive when they go into battle. As best he can.”

“Better than what most can do,” said Calliea, “and I mean most Sidhe.”

Vell glanced at Finnead. “The other vanguard commanders. And the twins.”

With a silent nod, Finnead strode across the tent. He reappeared a few moments later with Niamh and Maire close behind him. Elwyn and Luca arrived in the High Queen’s tent with sweat gleaming on their brows.

“The perimeter of camp is secure,” said Elwyn.

“We doubled the watch, both aground and aloft,” Luca added with a nod to Calliea.

“Good,” said Vell. She turned away from the table, and her vanguard captains and the Valkyrie arrayed themselves before her respectfully. I forced myself to stop watching Merrick as he slid his scrying glass over the map.

“Malravenar tore through the veil between the worlds,” Vell said bluntly, surveying her commanders. “The earthquake was a physical side effect of the power distortion.”

“Is it a permanent tear?” asked Niamh.

“No. I do not think it will last. It has none of the precision or guidance of the wards required to open a Gate. Though the ability to tear through the veil is worrisome, it is not my primary concern,” continued Vell. “Anyone with enough power can force their way through the veil for a short time. What will require your action is what—or I suppose I should say who—came through the veil from the mortal world.” She paused, her gaze meeting mine in a silent question. I nodded slightly. “A small group of mortals came into our world. We do not know how many of them there are, or where exactly they are, though Arrisyn is working on that part. But what we do know is that one of them is a Seer, and he is of the Bearer’s blood.”

“My brother,” I added in a quiet but firm voice.

A moment of silence followed my words, punctuated by the small dry sound of Merrick’s scrying glass sliding across the map. I heard a few soft clicks as Merrick deftly adjusted the small knobs on the sides of his device.

“So we don’t know where they are,” said Maire.

“Or how many,” said Niamh.

“But we do know that they’re mortal, and one is a Seer,” rejoined Maire, her words flowing seamlessly with those of her twin. The two women glanced at each other and grinned.

“Sounds like the perfect setup for a daring rescue,” finished Niamh.

Vell held up a hand and the twins instantly sobered. “It should go without saying that the capture of a Seer could be disastrous in our war against the Shadow. But I’ll say it nonetheless to underscore the gravity of the situation.”

“We beg forgiveness, my Queen,” said Maire smoothly as she and her sister bowed their flaxen heads. “My twin and I spoke too lightly.”

Giving Maire nothing more than the suggestion of a nod, Vell continued. “Arrisyn will continue to search. But even if he does not find the exact location of the Seer and his companions, the vanguards will depart at first light on the scouting routes we previously established.” Vell looked at each of her commanders in turn. “So now your mission is twofold, both scouting and rescue, if you should find them. I expect a full report each day at dusk, delivered by a Walker from your vanguard.”

I thought for a moment that Murtagh would be in camp to receive the reports from the Walkers, and then I remembered belatedly that Murtagh was dead. A stab of sorrow pierced my chest, amplified by the tight worry for Liam. I clenched my fists and wondered angrily when I’d remember who among my friends was dead, so I could stop surprising myself into fresh sadness at the realization that they were gone.

“If you fail to send your Walker, I will wait until first light and then send one of the Walkers from camp to your last known location. If my Walker cannot establish contact, they will return and I will send a pair of Glasidhe as messengers.” Vell paused. “Keep the Arrisyn apprised of your location. He will track you on his map through your daily reports, and if need be use his scrying-glass to locate you. Or to let me check in on you.” The High Queen smiled faintly. “Gather your people. Ensure you will be ready to ride at dawn.”

As one all the warriors bowed their heads in assent. Niamh paused as she followed Maire from the tent, reaching out to touch my arm.

“We’ll find your brother, Tess,” she said with such sincere reassurance that it brought the tightness back to my throat. I nodded and tried to smile. She squeezed my arm and then left. Elwyn gave me a brisk nod as she passed. Vell turned back to the table, talking in a low voice with Merrick; Calliea searched through the stored maps at Merrick’s direction until she found a more detailed map of the Edhyres.

“I’ll wait for you just outside,” said Luca to me, just as I said, “I’ll be out in a minute.” The ulfdrengr smiled and patted my shoulder. He stopped at the table briefly to speak to Vell.

Finnead walked over to me. I found it difficult to meet his eyes. I swallowed. So much emotion whirled within me that it made me feel wooden and numb. Finally he stepped forward and slid two fingers under my chin, raising my face gently until I looked at him. I clenched my jaw but a few tears slipped down my cheeks. He brushed them away with his thumb.

“Don’t cry for your brother,” he told me quietly. “He is a warrior among warriors, and he is not dead.”

I nodded and took a deep breath. It seemed like that was all I’d been doing since the earthquake, nodding and trying to breathe through my emotions, I thought in irritation.

“We’ll find him,” Finnead continued firmly.

I managed a lopsided smile. “I know.”

He hugged me, but didn’t let the embrace linger. I was glad, because if he’d allowed me to feel the security of his strong arms about me for too long, I probably would have lost the last vestiges of my composure. He kissed my forehead. I shook my head at his gentlemanly attempt at restraint, pulling him close and kissing him on the lips, my mouth hot against his cool skin. Yet the kiss failed to ignite its usual fire. The faint stirring felt nothing like the usual whirlwind that engulfed me when we kissed. Somehow it felt hollow. The realization unsettled me, but I didn’t have the time to examine it closer in the wake of the afternoon’s events. I drew back and looked up at him, hoping that he couldn’t sense my lack of passion.

“I must go to my vanguard,” he said almost gently. “We may not see each other in the morning.”

I attempted a smile. “Be safe or be deadly.” It was one of Liam’s favorite phrases.

Finnead nodded. I couldn’t discern the emotion shifting behind his handsome face, flickering briefly in his deep blue eyes. Without another word, I turned and walked toward the entrance of the tent, gripping the hilt of my plain blade so hard that my knuckles popped. “Let me know if you find them,” I said over my shoulder to Merrick. He didn’t reply, his dark head bent over the table.

I glimpsed a flash of golden pelt as soon as I emerged into the dusky twilight. Kianryk fell into step beside me. He slid his great head under my hand. I tightened my fingers into the thick fur at his neck as we walked toward Luca. The ulfdrengr didn’t turn or acknowledge us. I stood silently for a few moments, just breathing, feeling a bit better in the open air despite the fact that it was the strange heavy air of the Deadlands. The Caedbranr held its silence. Kianryk stood beside me, the warmth from his body radiating up through my hand.

Finally I said emphatically, “I hate feeling helpless.”

“So don’t,” replied Luca, looking up at the darkening sky. A few stars’ light struggled through the strange dome of flatness that hovered over us; I wondered if it was another subtle effect of Vell’s presence. I didn’t remember seeing stars on any of the other nights.

“How do I not feel helpless?” I slid my fingers through Kianryk’s pelt.

“Feel something else.” Luca’s pale blue eyes gleamed in the half-light as he finally looked down at me. For a moment I did feel something else—a bit of indignation, mixed with curiosity and strange heat, because my first thought flew to the lukewarm kiss I’d just shared with Finnead. Would kissing Luca ignite that flame? And would that burn away this gnawing worry? I shocked myself with my thoughts. Luca must have read my face, because he chuckled. “Not that, Tess.”

A hot blush burned in my cheeks. “I didn’t say anything,” I muttered.

Luca let the moment pass, the silence soothing my indignation. Then he said, “Perhaps anger would better focus you for the task ahead.”

I frowned, but then I began to understand the sense in his words.

“Worry distracts a warrior. Anger drives a warrior.” Luca raised his eyebrows, an expression barely visible in the deepening shadows. “So get angry.”

I stared down at the dusty ground, searching silently for the spark that would kindle anger. Then I remembered the piercing sorrow of realizing yet again that Murtagh was dead. I thought of Murtagh, picturing the surprised look on his face when I’d first told him that I could see him, spying on us for Mab. Then I thought of Kavoryk and his steadfast loyalty, his savage protection that had ended in his unhesitating sacrifice on the cliff before the Darinwel. I recalled the still, beautiful faces of the Sidhe dead on the pyre after the battle with the dragon, and the smaller bier that had burned in the clearing of the Royal Wood. I called up their faces in my mind until the sorrow curled into a flame within me. I pictured Liam, conjuring my vengeful emotions when he’d been injured during his first deployment. And the wooden block of worry in my chest caught fire. I straightened.

“Good,” said Luca. “Think of the destruction you will wreak on your enemies. You will make them realize that it was the worst mistake of their miserable existence to threaten your brother.”

A low growl rumbled from Kianryk as he sensed my mounting fury. Now I remembered the feel of thrusting my blade into twisted Dark creatures, cleaving flesh from misshapen bone. And rather than shrink from it, I embraced it. I bared my teeth as I gave my own growl. “I will end them.”

Luca nodded. “Yes. You will.” He gripped my shoulder with a massive hand. “Stoke the fire of your righteous anger. Use the time we are traveling to focus your mind until it is as formidable a weapon as your power and your blade.” He gave me a moment to absorb his words. I nodded, and then he said, “Come. We must gather the vanguard and make our preparations.”

Kianryk padded forward and I slid my fingers from his fur, but he still shadowed me as I followed Luca toward the outskirts of camp. Most of the vanguard was already assembled around a fledgling fire. The low murmur of voices died as we approached and Niamh held up a hand for silence.

“The enemy is hunting a Seer,” said Luca. “He is the brother of the Bearer, and he was brought through the veil into this world scant hours ago.”

To their great credit, none of the warriors so much as blinked, listening intently to their captain. I picked out Robin in the crowd, his red hair gleaming in the new light of the fire.

“We will travel the same route northward, and we will search for the Seer as well as scout for Dark forces. The missions are one and the same now.” Luca paused and surveyed the vanguard. “We ride at dawn. That means depart at first light. I will have no patience for stragglers.” He leveled a hard look at the gathered group. “Make your preparations and get some rest. It will be a long day tomorrow.” He gave a sharp nod of dismissal and the vanguard immediately fragmented into industrious activity. Luca watched for a moment and then said to me, “Would you like to go through our packs together?”

“Of course,” I said lightly, my ember of anger tucked neatly behind my ribs. I wondered how I hadn’t mastered this neat little trick earlier. “I should make sure you pack your spoon.”

Luca chuckled. We set off toward the healing tent to fetch my pack and our healing supplies, and despite the soreness lingering in my body from the agony of the earthquake, and the vestiges of worry dissolving like smoke in my chest, I found that I was truly looking forward to riding out in the morning on our mission to find my brother…and kill any Dark creatures we encountered along the way.

Chapter 24

I stared up into the darkness, combing through my thoughts one more time before inviting sleep. I lay by the embers of our vanguard’s fire, my pack as a pillow and my traveling cloak as a blanket. Nehalim drowsed nearby with the other mounts, freshly curried, oil rubbed into his hooves and legs, his silver mane and tail plaited. Luca had taught me how to paint the complex designs on Nehalim’s pale flanks. The other warriors of the vanguard and Valkyrie ringed the warmth of the fire in various postures of rest: some were already asleep, some spoke softly with each other, and a few whetted their blades with long silver whispers, staring into the glowing coals. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Kianryk ghosting around the outer perimeter of the sleeping warriors. I smiled slightly. We had a great advantage, with a wolf for an extra sentry.

I ran through the preparations we’d completed yet again in my mind. I’d restocked my healing supplies and stashed extra kits with several riders. I carried two sets of clothes in my pack, along with two large skins of water and several packets of kajuk along with other food. I’d asked Luca where the dried meat had come from—I hadn’t seen any deer or other wildlife since we’d departed from the Hall—but he’d only smiled enigmatically in answer. And then I’d spent a good amount of time preparing Nehalim for the journey, talking quietly to him as I worked. As always, I felt that he understood me, his liquid, intelligent eyes alertly following my movements, his delicate ears swiveling at my words.

I’d tested the edges of my blades and found them all well whetted; I examined every buckle and strap of my saddle, reins, belt and scabbards for signs of wear, finding nothing that needed immediate repair. I found myself with nothing left to do but sleep, but that proved a difficult task. My worry for Liam still knotted my stomach. I gazed up at the fathomless sky, trying to keep my mind blank, willing my limbs to settle, even going so far as to close my eyes, inviting sleep. But just as I slid into slumber, an image flashed before my mind’s eye: Liam captured, bound to a pole, his olive-drab shirt torn and his camouflage pants stained dark with gore. A bruise curved around one of his eyes, and blood dripped from his nose. I jerked awake, heart pounding, my fingers closing around the hilt of the dagger I wore at my belt even during sleep.

I sat up and took a few deep breaths, trying to calm my racing pulse, swallowing down the sudden rush of adrenaline. I rubbed at the scars on my palms with my thumbs.

“I’m guessing it is not the pain of your hands that keeps you from sleep,” Luca said quietly.

“It’s impressive that you can move so silently, given your size,” I replied. “Reminds me of Kavoryk.”

Luca shrugged, settling down on his haunches an arm’s length away from me. “Some of the same blood runs in our veins. Being large does not mean I cannot be silent, just like being small does not mean you cannot be strong.”

A smile wavered on my lips. “And you always have an apt turn of phrase to prove your point.”

Luca chuckled. We gazed into the embers of the fire for a long moment. “Do your hands hurt?” he asked.

I shrugged. “Not really. They ache sometimes, and the skin is very sensitive in some places.”

The ulfdrengr held out one big hand. “I said I’d teach you how to care for them.” I blinked at him and then gave him my left hand. He held my hand gently but firmly and began kneading my palm with his thumbs. I stiffened, expecting a flare of pain as he touched the thickest scar tissue, pressing along my palm in a smooth and practiced motion. A twinge of discomfort flashed through my hand now and again, and there was still that ache beneath it all, but it almost felt as though he kneaded a strained muscle, pleasure mixed with pain.

“Injured flesh must be coaxed back to full function,” he explained in a low voice. “Torn muscle must be kneaded after it heals. Joints must be rotated.”

As another long moment passed, I felt the stiffness leave my body, seeping away as a sense of comfort enveloped me despite the moments of deep discomfort. I watched Luca’s strong hands as he worked, scars still visible on his right hand where cords had been punched through his flesh, binding a cursed dagger to him. He set my left hand aside and beckoned toward my right hand. The scars on the palm of my right hand were thicker, the lacy marks curling up onto my wrist, mingling with the emerald of my war-markings.

“Does your hand still hurt?” I asked softly, watching Luca’s face as he worked, his ruggedly handsome features filled with calm focus. He remained silent for so long that I thought he hadn’t heard my question.

“Yes,” he said finally, “though it is only for you that I make this admission.”

“I suppose that means you trust me not to ruin your tough-guy reputation.” I sighed as he worked the flesh between my thumb and forefinger, finding a little knot in the muscle that I hadn’t even realized existed.

“It isn’t a reputation, it’s a fact,” Luca replied in his more typical teasing tone. His thumbs smoothed the edges of my scars; I swore I could feel the rough edges of the damaged skin slowly melting back into my palms, obedient beneath his strong fingers.

“Well,” I said, glad for the darkness as sudden heat rushed to my cheeks, “since you’ve worked on my hands, will you teach me to work on yours?”

I heard Luca take in a long breath. He chuckled softly. “You surely know how to torment a man.”

I moved to take my hand from his grasp, but he closed his fingers over mine.

“Only meant as a joke,” he continued, “so don’t take offense.”

“I just want to help you as you’ve helped me,” I said, a bit defensively. “This is a good technique that I could use later in my healing.”

“Of course,” he said, pressing my hand between his own. Then he released me but gave me his right hand. I could barely see in the low light of the dying embers, but I traced my fingertips lightly over his skin, feeling the different character of his scars, comparing them mentally to my own.

“You already know the first step,” Luca said with a slight note of approval. “Evaluate by sight and by feel.” He placed his other hand on his knee. “Compare to the other side of the body, if you can.”

I ran my fingers over Luca’s good hand, realizing how much different it felt than his scarred hand; and how little I had seen him allow it affect his daily activities. He didn’t favor the hand during swordplay or even striking practice, but as I felt the knots of scar tissue under my fingertips I knew it had to pain him every day. I experimentally pressed my thumb into his palm, using medium pressure; I felt him stiffen but I suspected it was the same reaction as I’d had, the instinct to protect an old wound.

“Start at the base of the palm and work toward the fingers,” the ulfdrengr instructed quietly, sitting very still. Most of the voices around the dying fire had quieted; the silence pressed around us, punctuated only every now and again by the sound of restless movement, or a sentry pacing about the perimeter in the darkness. For the first minutes, Luca directed the hesitant pressure of my thumbs; then, as I became more attuned to the complexities of his hand and understood the purpose of each stroke, he relaxed, letting me work silently. I slowly stretched each of his fingers and then his palm. He sighed as I worked on the worst of the scars again. I felt a comfortable companionship with him, a friendship that admittedly spiked into a primal desire every now and again; but even though he was a wild Northman, Luca still adhered to a sense of chivalry, though it was distinctly different than the Sidhe mentality.

Ruggedly handsome and polite, I thought to myself in amusement as I slowly decreased the intensity of the pressure on his palm, ending with a few feather-like touches. Luca flexed his hand slowly.

“You’ll let me do that every so often, now that I know how,” I murmured.

Luca chuckled. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

I smiled, gratified that I could be useful to so competent and fierce a warrior and friend.

“But now,” he said, “you need to sleep, Tess. The days of travel will be long and hard.”

I swallowed, drawing my knees up to my chest. “I don’t want to dream.”

“I suspected as much. Your brother?”

“Yes,” I whispered. “I keep seeing him, captured.”

“Well, you are not the Seer, are you?” Luca’s golden hair glimmered in the darkness.

I shook my head. “Not as far as I know.” The Caedbranr hummed a little in agreement. I slid a finger through Gwyneth’s pendant, the metal warming beneath my touch. “Do you know a rune or anything?” I couldn’t keep the hopefulness out of my voice.

“There are runes for nearly everything,” said Luca, “but that does not mean they should be used.”

“I thought you were going to say something like that.” I sighed and rested my chin on my knees, staring at the barely-glowing ruin of the fire.

“I’ll stay here, if you’d like, but I do not want you to take my offer as one of self-interest.”

I lifted my head and looked over at Luca. “If you want to stay, you can. But I don’t want you to take my acceptance of your offer as teasing you.”

Luca made a considering sound. “Well. It seems as though we’re both afraid of offending the other. I’ll tell you if anything you do gives offense, if you’ll do the same.”

“Sounds perfectly fair,” I said. “That way we don’t have to worry about tip-toeing around one another.”

“I have never tip-toed in my life,” Luca replied.

I chuckled as I slid back down onto my cloak, resting my head on my pack for a pillow once again. I still sensed Luca sitting beside me; after a moment he moved and I felt his hand settle on my head, his thumb stroking my hair in silent comfort. I focused on the simple pleasure of his touch, closing my eyes and finally letting sleep carry me into darkness.

We rose before dawn, our silhouettes stark against the grayness of twilight. Few words were spoken, which suited me perfectly fine. I wasn’t much for conversation this early in the morning. I focused on rolling my cloak and strapping it to my pack; I saddled Nehalim and slipped the simple bridle over his nose, even as he tossed his head and pranced, dark eyes gleaming with excitement. I lifted my breastplate over my head and silently tightened the straps, thinking with a rueful smile of the first time I’d worn this armor, which seemed like years ago now. No one came to me to say farewell, and I accepted it as part of the new Court’s warrior tradition: no good-byes and no emotion on the morning of a journey. I did glimpse Calliea as the Valkyrie gathered for her last instructions. She sat astride her winged faehal, her robin’s-egg blue breastplate gleaming even in the faint morning light, the gouges from the dragon still visible in the bright color of her armor. She looked like an artist’s imagining of a goddess of war: blade at her hip, back straight and chin raised as she surveyed her warriors, the golden braid of her hair glimmering about her head in an echo of a crown. Her faehal shook her head and flexed her wings; Calliea quieted her mount with a touch.

I turned my attention back to Nehalim. I checked all my gear one more time for good measure, and then I heaved myself up onto his back, having come to grips with the fact that I’d never be able to leap effortlessly into the saddle like the Sidhe or the ulfdrengr. The sun rose, and the Valkyrie launched into the air, dappling us with the shifting shadows of their mounts’ swift wings. I looked out over our gathered vanguard; the other two groups were barely visible in the early morning twilight as they readied for their journeys a short distance away.

Luca moved to the head of our vanguard, astride one of the largest mounts, one axe strapped to his saddle and the other across his back. He wore his broadsword on his other hip, and I could pick out several other daggers strapped to his body, visible even in the half-light. He surveyed his gathered warriors, then gave one brisk nod, turned his mount and touched his heels to its sides. Without any prompt from me, Nehalim quickly moved to the head of our forming column, positioning himself at the right flank of Luca’s mount. Kianryk materialized out of the shadows, keeping pace with the faehal easily. We flowed over the hill, some of the vanguard saluting the small tree at the crest, the roses with blooms now half-unfurled and the little tree unfurling new green leaves. Carrion birds scattered into the sky as we rode past the carcass of the dragon, now skeletal in places; I glimpsed glowing, baleful eyes watching us as scavengers hid in the recesses of the monstrous corpse. I pulled my scarf up over my face as we passed, unable to suppress my disgust at the stench of decay. But then we were past, the air still heavy but not foul with rot, and I sat straighter in the saddle as the weak light of the sun broke over the Deadlands.

Luca placed the rising sun on the vanguard’s right flank; the core components of navigation remained the same in Faeortalam as in the mortal world. We rode north, our faehal’s hooves thundering over the gray dirt. I soon missed the companionship of Forin and Farin. I watched the Valkyrie keeping pace with us overhead, their graceful forms stark against the flat gray sky. They flew in a loose arrow formation, reminding me of geese—if geese were deadly and graceful, the stuff of myth and legend. As we rode further from the camp, pairs of the Valkyrie broke off from the formation periodically, their faehal stretching their wings and speeding over the horizon, scouting ahead and then cutting a wide arc back to the group. Luca watched each pair, and the lead rider swooped low and gave him a signal that I came to recognize as “all clear:” hand flat, palm parallel to the ground, swept straight from the chest. I watched the other Valkyrie and noticed them signaling each other in the air when it was time for another pair to scout, or to switch the leader of the formation; I marveled at the astonishing speed at which they’d developed their own silent language. It had barely been a full month since their creation, and they moved with the familiarity and ease of a group of warriors that had been training together for years.

I picked out Niamh by her white-gold hair and the golden stripe painted down the flank of her faehal. She watched both Luca and her other riders; I noticed that she didn’t fly as a scout, letting her riders handle the task while she ensured that the formation kept pace with the ground riders. Our formation was much looser than that of the Valkyrie, a sort of diamond shape that flowed and flexed with the whims of the individual riders. Luca didn’t seem concerned with keeping us in any strict order. He looked relaxed but alert as we rode through the morning, the sun now high over our shoulders.

We didn’t stop for a noon meal. I felt a small bit of pride at the fact that I’d anticipated this fact; I’d packed kajuk and some bread in one of my belt-pouches. We’d each packed a few bricks of a kind of grain and oats mixture for the faehal, in case the desolation of the Deadlands continued into the mountains. I wondered how long we could go without finding water. Then I reminded myself that Luca—and many of the vanguard—were experienced travelers, and I had some experience myself, from our journey to the Seelie stronghold.

A few hours before sunset, Luca called a halt. I slid from Nehalim’s back and grimaced as I stretched my legs. I offered my faithful mount a few handfuls of oats, which he ate delicately from my hand, his muzzle velvety against my skin. We both drank some water and then he shook his head and pawed at the ground, as if to say that he didn’t need a rest. I chuckled and patted his smooth neck. Two of the Valkyrie still circled overhead like great birds of prey, keeping watch for any approaching danger. I took a deep breath and stretched, lacing my fingers together and pressing my hands overhead, muscles protesting. I was suddenly very grateful for the elegant Seelie craftsmanship of my armor: I’d barely noticed my breastplate during the day’s ride. It was so light and fit so perfectly to my torso that it felt as though I was merely wearing another shirt.

After checking for chafing beneath all the straps against Nehalim’s body, I patted his shoulder and he huffed a breath, impatient to travel onward. I found Luca in conference with Niamh and Robin, a traveling map held between them. When I looked skeptically at Robin, he grinned and said with a little bow, “I’m the navigator for this motley crew.”

I smiled. “It doesn’t surprise me.” Beneath his light-hearted façade, the young red-haired Seelie was determined to earn his place among the Wild Court. I stepped closer, gazing down at the map, which was inked on a pliable, well-tanned pelt. This map, clearly produced specifically for this journey, focused on the Deadlands and the mountains to the north, painstakingly copied from the larger map that Merrick had unrolled in the Queen’s tent.

Robin produced what looked to my eyes like a more complex compass; he glanced at the map and then at the dial of the compass. Luca looked up at the sun and then down at our shadows. I waited for them to pronounce their calculations. Out of all of the military science courses I’d taken in college, I’d been the worst at navigation, hopelessly bad at both preparing nautical charts and navigating through the woods with a compass and a map. The Caedbranr hummed in sleepy amusement in its sheath, its equivalent of opening one eye and chuckling. I smiled a little too, the sting of failure so far in the past that I could see some of its humor.

“Are we heading for their last known location, or slightly south of that?” Niamh asked, breaking the silence.

My breath quickened. Known location? Merrick wouldn’t have found Liam in his scrying glass without telling me…would he? Had he been told not to tell me? Questions whirled in my head. I bit my lip and swallowed my words, waiting for Luca’s reply. As more and more doubt rose in my mind, I coaxed the little ember of anger into a flame again and let it burn away my anxiety. It didn’t matter who told me what, as long as we found Liam and I destroyed any creature that had the temerity to hurt him.

“The Arrisyn didn’t actually see them,” Robin replied. “He found what looked like their entry point, and some evidence of a fight, but they’d already left. Corpses of a few nasty creatures, and that’s all.” He tapped a marking on the map that I estimated still had to be at least a week’s hard travel away from our current position, if not more. “My recommendation is to continue toward their entry point. We do have to take into account at some point, though, that they’re moving.”

Luca looked at me. “Would your brother be able to See us coming, Tess?”

I pressed my lips together and then shook my head. “I don’t know. I didn’t really get to talk to him for long about his abilities. It’s possible, but we shouldn’t count on it.” I looked at the map but didn’t really see it, thinking. “What is for certain is that he won’t stay in one place, especially if they’re being hunted. That’s just part of his training.” I swallowed. Liam and his team all carried knives and other blades in preparation for a worst-case scenario; most of them had long metal screwdrivers strapped to the outside of their packs, the handles taped for grip, making it a long and deadly improvised weapon. One member of his platoon even favored a tomahawk. I’d learned this both from observation of Liam’s various packs and tools in his sparsely furnished apartment, and from our email exchanges over his training and deployments. But even though I knew they prepared for worst-case, Liam and his teammates were used to utilizing modern weaponry. I wasn’t certain, but those weapons were probably useless pretty soon after coming through the veil. I thought of my old wristwatch, stashed in my backpack in Darkhill, the hands frozen at the exact time that Finnead had carried me through the Gate. Even if they could use their weapons, they had limited ammunition.

“We’ll continue on this heading,” said Luca, “and we will need to send the scouts out further as we draw nearer to this point.” He slid his finger across the map toward the mountains. I glanced at the horizon, unable to glimpse even a hint of change in the flat gray land. Then Luca gave a brisk nod and Robin rolled up the map, quickly strapping it to his pack. We mounted again, the Valkyrie launching back into the air without the benefit of any hills; and we rode on, our pace slightly faster as the sun sank toward the western horizon. I rode with Luca and Robin, mostly silent, the Sword’s power awakening every now and again as though to check on me. I slid one finger through the loop of Gwyneth’s pendant, left alone with my thoughts. The riders behind us sang songs and raced the Valkyrie overhead now and again, a pair of riders on the ground keeping pace with the winged scouts shooting overhead. Luca seemed unsurprised with the almost festive air of the vanguard. Kianryk contributed to the restrained merriment, weaving through the column and even sprinting off with the scouts once. That brought a slight smile to Luca’s face.

Despite our swift faehal, I still couldn’t see any sign of the mountains as dusk fell over us, the sun sinking below the horizon in a bloody smear of scarlet. The strange sunset sent a thrill of foreboding through me. I distracted myself by weaving little balls of light from sparks of my taebramh, tossing them aloft to light the vanguard’s way.

“If there are creatures about, let them come,” Luca said when I asked him if he was concerned that the lights gave away our position. Once the lights left my hands, I couldn’t get them to travel fast enough to keep pace with the riders, but I discovered that the lights flickered out after I’d traveled a certain distance away from them if I didn’t connect them to me with a thread of taebramh. So I tossed the unconnected little lights in front of us, and they drifted along in the current of our passage until the last rider had passed through its nimbus of illumination; and as I traveled away, the light flickered out like a fading spark. The lights were simple and took almost no effort to create, but the members of the vanguard enjoyed the sight of the gently floating balls of light, and the constant activity of weaving the little bits of sorcery proved a pleasant preoccupation for me. A few times a Valkyrie swooped low over our formation, appearing out of the dark sky like an incredible owl diving for prey, catching a flickering ball with a triumphant grin.

Thanks to my illumination, born out of boredom and continued out of necessity as darkness fell completely, we rode well into the night. Finally Luca raised his hand. Our faehal slowed to a walk almost as one, tossing their heads and snorting as we halted and slid from their backs. Without the distraction of weaving the lights, my body forcefully informed me of my tired legs and aching back. But I smiled a little, because I knew that until I was used to long days of riding again, each day would be tougher than the last.

The Valkyrie landed delicately on the flat gray dirt. We all focused on caring for our faehal, the low murmur of conversation only intermittent. Once the sleek Fae creatures flicked their tails and ambled off into their own group to nuzzle each other and settle into sleep, we began our own nightly rituals. There was no wood for a fire, so I set a little ring of lights overhead. I saw a few of the vanguard looking at the taebramh lights contemplatively. I wondered if they’d create their own, now that they’d seen mine. For the camp lights, I still severed the bond between the light and the well of my taebramh behind my breastbone; but I did give the flickering, flame-like balls their own little reservoir of fuel, like oil in a lamp. Once that ran out, they’d fade into the darkness.

“Very useful,” commented Luca, setting his pack down next to me. I smiled at him and shrugged, dampening my scarf with a bit of water and wiping the dust from my face.

“I’m pretty terrible at navigation,” I confessed, “so it’s good I can contribute something.”

Luca chuckled, his serious demeanor tucked away now that we’d dismounted and the watches were set. We had about six hours before dawn, and the watches would rotate every two hours so that everyone could get at least four hours of sleep. With both the Valkyrie and the vanguard in the rotation, only half of us would stand watch each night. Luca was standing the pre-dawn watch, and I’d been assigned the first watch for the next night. I folded my cloak so that I didn’t have to lie on the dusty ground, and used my healer’s pack as a pillow. Kianryk padded into the ring of flickering light and lay down, gazing at me with solemn ice-blue eyes as he rested his great head on his paws. Luca settled down against the wolf, folding his hands over his stomach. He still wore a dagger at his waist and his axe lay within easy reach. I brushed my fingers over the hilt of the Caedbranr where it lay in its sheath beside me.

“Our Walker already reported to Vell?” I asked in a voice barely more than a whisper.

Luca nodded, smiling. “Yes.”

“What’s funny?” Despite my racing thoughts, my tired body tugged me toward sleep.

“You’re used to leading,” Luca said, his own voice sluggish. Kianryk’s eyes closed to pale slits, and then shut completely, the wolf’s breathing slow and even.

I agreed with a wordless murmur and then smiled as I realized his point. “Sorry.”

“It’s good to have someone who isn’t afraid to keep me in line,” Luca replied with a quiet chuckle.

I gave a little sound of amusement; and then I lost my thread of thought as I slid into sleep, my exhausted body finally overpowering my racing mind.

Chapter 25

A gentle but firm hand shook me awake. I grimaced, knowing even before I moved that I was sore. As I blinked and opened my eyes, I remembered the mission of the vanguard, and I pushed my discomfort into the back of my mind. My soreness paled in comparison to the peril that Liam faced. I stood and shook out my cloak, stretching my legs as I slipped the strap of the Sword over my head. Then I sighed as I realized I’d forgotten to put on my armor, so I placed the Caedbranr safely on my rolled cloak and strapped my breastplate onto my chest. After settling the Sword onto my back, I found Nehalim already waiting for me patiently in the morning twilight, flicking his tail as I saddled him and arranged my pack behind the saddle. Getting into the saddle proved to be a challenge with my stiff and sore legs, but I managed it without making too much of a spectacle of myself. I tried to coax myself fully awake, chewing on some kajuk as I watched the Valkyrie leap into the sky.

This day passed much the same as the one prior: the Valkyrie flying in a wedge above us, scouts shooting toward the horizon at intervals; our faehal’s fleet hooves churning up fine dust from the barren ground, wreathing us in a strange semblance of gritty fog; some songs rising up from the fierce column of warriors, and then long intervals of relative silence, our eyes searching the bare landscape for any threat. The sun rose in the east and reached its zenith overhead. We stopped a few hours before sunset just as we had the day before, Luca speaking with Niamh and Robin unrolling his map. I wove the little lights again, tossing them before us to light our way; and when we stopped for the night I wordlessly checked Nehalim for any sores or chafing as I brushed his coat, a little cloud of dust rising from his body with every stroke. He blew out a breath in enjoyment as I rubbed his legs, feeling for any burrs out of habit though we hadn’t passed through anything resembling underbrush. I patted his shoulder to let him know I was done; and after I deposited my pack and saddle in a neat little pile, I set up the camp lights and prepared for my first watch.

Luca stationed sentries at every point of the compass around the camp, with a roving perimeter sentry who checked in with each stationary watch a few times each hour. I was assigned the northern post. Our perimeter wasn’t very large, but even with my lights still hovering over the camp, I could barely make out the silhouette of the eastern and western sentries. The roving watch was a slim Seelie who called to mind Farin with her spritely movement and air of alert energy. She wore her head of tightly coiled golden curls loose, save for a band of leather worn like a bandanna to keep her hair out of her eyes.

“Moira,” she introduced herself in a low voice on her first round. She grinned. “And I already know you, Tess, so no need for introductions.” She carried her bow with an arrow already nocked, held with the sharp tip pointed toward the ground. The posture reminded me of Liam in one of his deployment pictures, his rifle held casually but alertly, muzzle pointed at the dirt. “So,” Moira continued, “if you see any movement at all, just whistle.” She put two fingers to her mouth in pantomime, holding her arrow steady on the bow with the forefinger of her right hand.

“I can’t whistle,” I admitted sheepishly.

Moira’s face lit with glee. The similarity to Farin intensified. “Oh, that’s rich.” She tilted her head, springy curls bouncing with the movement. “Well, just send up a flare then. And yell, if you need.”

“Flare and yell. That I can do.” I grinned in reply. My inability to whistle wasn’t new. Liam had tried to teach me many times, but the best I could manage was using the top of an acorn held between my thumbs to produce an ear-splitting, shrill noise.

“And if I don’t come by for long enough that your hackles are raised, best send a flare up then too.” I couldn’t tell the exact color of Moira’s eyes in the darkness, but she turned her pale gaze out into barren wilderness beyond our camp. “Stay sharp. Only two hours and then time to rest.”

“Will do.” I rested my hand on the hilt of my plain sword at my waist, and then out of habit more than anything I touched the hilt of the Caedbranr above my shoulder. The Sword vibrated silently at my touch, and I stared out into the darkness, wondering what creatures lurked before us.

Moira checked in with me like clockwork. I began to measure the time by her rounds; I estimated that a circuit of the camp and checking in with the other three sentries took her about fifteen minutes. So after her third stop at my post, I figured about an hour had passed. I scanned the darkness in segments, searching the horizon and then giving my eyes a short break, looking down at my hands or the hilt of my sword; then I swept the landscape in increasingly closer sectors, looking for movement to alert me to the presence of a threat. It would have been easy to let my mind wander, especially as the lights over the camp dimmed and then sputtered into darkness. The silence enveloped me. I tried to keep my mind blank, focusing on keeping watch, stretching my legs every now and again, moving in a small circle so that I was both keeping my post and staving off the tired fog of a long day of travel. I wondered if Liam felt this way on watch, holding security for a silent encampment. I kept trying to clear my mind, but I found that I was able to both scan the darkness and think about Liam, because keeping watch was doing my part on the journey to find him. I thought about how he’d react to the new scars dappling my hands, and I wondered if he had any new scars of his own. That brought me dangerously close to thinking about him as a prisoner, captured and beaten; I shook my head and gripped the hilt of my sword until my knuckles turned white.

“Thinking about something that makes you angry?” asked Moira, her voice quiet yet clear.

I nodded but didn’t trust my own voice, instead feeding my internal flames with every long, measured breath. Moira’s touch surprised me enough that I jumped, but she didn’t laugh; she gripped my shoulder and said, “We’ll find your brother.”

I nodded and stared out into the darkness. Moira patted my shoulder and said as she glided away, “Watch turnover is soon. I’ll be coming by with the next roving patrol and your relief.” She didn’t wait for a reply, disappearing into the shadows on her way to the western post. I took a deep breath and almost wished for a Dark creature to appear on the horizon, so that I could have the satisfaction of spitting it on my sword. But the night remained still, the moonless sky pressing down overhead and the ground flat and dusty beneath it, the landscape made alien by its lack of life.

Watch turnover was a quick but thorough affair; Moira walked by with the new roving patrol and my relief. I quietly explained my method of scanning the darkness in sectors, and after the new sentry assumed his post, I nodded to Moira and walked into camp, finding my pack and falling asleep on the bare ground without even remembering to spread my cloak beneath me.

We settled into the routine of a long journey. I imagined that this might feel something like one of Liam’s deployments: the same landscape every day, the same tasks to accomplish, watch to stand and ground to cover. We had our mission, and the small deviations from our routine provided enough relief to prevent absolute boredom. I talked with Robin about the training he’d undergone with Merrick to become the company’s navigator. Moira rode with me for part of one morning and I discovered that she, too, had an older brother, but he was with the main body of the Seelie Court traveling from the Hall of the Outer Guard. I realized I hadn’t talked to any Sidhe who had more than one sibling, and Moira explained that just as taebramh had begun to weaken along with the connection between Faeortalam and Doendhtalam, so too had it become increasingly arduous for the Sidhe to conceive and bear children. Since Sidhe were so long lived, it had always been harder for them to procreate, especially when compared to mortals; that made a certain sort of sense to me. To Sidhe, Moira said, most mortals seemed like soft-pelted rabbits, living only for a few seasons and bearing whole litters of kits. Most Sidhe women had at least one son or daughter in their long life. But, she explained, after the closing of the Great Gate, there had been few children born, and most of those had died of strange illnesses in their youth.

“That seems ominous,” I commented, frowning as I combed through my memories and realized that I actually hadn’t seen any Sidhe children during my entire time in Faeortalam. “But my friend Molly is half-Fae.”

“Ah, the fendhionne,” said Moira.

“It’s been a while since I heard that word.”

She shrugged elegantly, her mane of curls swaying like an undersea creature. “I don’t know for certain if your friend is a product of this, so forgive me, but there was a faction in the Unseelie Court who advocated taking mortal women to bear children. They theorized that they could bind the mortal half of the child, or create a process to eradicate it altogether.”

“Taking mortal women to bear children?” I repeated. “I’m guessing this wasn’t an idea to reopen the Gate and take mortal lovers.”

“No. From what I was told, it was not a matter of love but of survival. We knew that the Dark Throne no longer sat empty. This group also said that half-mortal children would grow more quickly so they could be used as warriors in the fight.”

I felt a little sick. “Let me guess. The leader of this faction was the Unseelie Vaelanmavar.”

“Yes, although he never had a half-mortal child himself. His faction did not long hold favor with Mab, and there were only a few children conceived. His brother had a child, though.” Moira turned keen eyes to me. “Your friend, I believe.”

“It’s a bit rude to discuss her origins so intimately without her, don’t you think?” I tried to keep my voice light, but I couldn’t help the undercurrent of anger. Was that why Molly’s mother had refused to acknowledge her lineage? Had she escaped from the Unseelie Court and hidden in the mortal world, terrified of the coldhearted Sidhe who’d fathered her child? I swallowed hard at this new, chilling possibility. “Were there any other children born from this plan?”

“It was not my Court,” said Moira reflectively, “so I do not rightly know. But rumors held that there were a handful, no more than a dozen.”

A sense of vertigo enveloped me. If there were more than a dozen half-Fae children, why had Mab chosen Molly? What were the chances that it had been her, out of all of them, and I’d been her best friend? A child of Gwyneth and a child of the Unseelie, hidden away in the mortal world, becoming best friends through the winding threads of chance. Then I shook my head. “Wouldn’t taking women to bear Fae children break the rules that Mab set herself? It doesn’t make sense to me.”

The weak light glinted along the corkscrews of Moira’s curls. “I cannot rightly say that I know the truth of it all—only that those rules applied to the Court, but perhaps not its Queen.”

“Even as cruel as I think Mab is, it would be a new low to kidnap girls and bring them to the Unseelie Court to have kids,” I said, even another part of my mind pointed out that Mab had essentially kidnapped Molly. She’d sent Finnead as a very handsome messenger, but neither of us had mistaken the threat behind the beauty.

“As I said, I do not know the whole story,” replied Moira. “I do know that my generation was one of the last not to be afflicted with the strange sicknesses that killed many children after us.”

“Perhaps there’s some sort of connection,” I mused. “Something either conjured by Malravenar or caused by the poison spreading from the Gate.”

“Regardless of its origins, it has been a plague on our people.”

“At least the Courts have survived,” I said, thinking of the ulfdrengr.

“Some would say we are only echoes of what we once were,” replied Moira, “but it seems as though the fading of our people has been arrested by you and the High Queen. The power gained by the High Queen has overflowed into the rest of us. We’ve all felt it.”

“Is that why you want to be a member of the vyldgard?” I asked. It had become a private game for me to try to discern the motivation of each warrior to join the Wild Court.

“I want to feel alive,” said Moira simply. “I want to go on adventures and crack the bones of life and suck the marrow out.” She grinned. “And great adventures are never found in the well-lit rooms of elegant castles.”

“Well,” I said, thinking of the great briar hedge surrounding Brightvale, “at least not in elegant castles that haven’t been bespelled for some reason.”

“Quite right,” said Moira with the easy good nature of the Seelie, but her eyes flashed with the Fae spark even as she smiled. “What else shall we discuss?”

I turned the topic of conversation to archery, which Moira began to dissect with great enthusiasm. But for the rest of that day, I couldn’t stop thinking about Molly’s mother, a young woman who’d been spirited into the Fae world not to bear an ancient weapon of power, but to bear a child. The idea filled me with both sadness and an anger that I added to the flame flickering in my chest.

On the eighth day of the journey, a different sort of anxiety began to hook its claws into my mind. Every day I scanned the horizon for some inkling that the earth was changing, buckling into great mountains in the distance; and every day the ground remained flat save for some small hills like those we’d seen back by the Queen’s camp. Each day seemed to stretch longer than the last. I couldn’t find any satisfaction in the long hours we traveled, because the horizon remained stubbornly flat; I took no comfort in the fleet speed of our faehal, because it felt as though we remained in place, the ground still gray and dusty and lifeless. We began to ration our water carefully, and though the Fae steeds were hardy as well as fast, they still needed some sustenance. Nehalim finished the last of the oat-and-grain bricks I’d packed. The Valkyries’ winged steeds ate more than their earthbound counterparts, and to conserve energy the Valkyrie still flew, but soared higher in search of thermal winds that allowed them to coast with wings spread wide. Even Kianryk accepted some kajuk from Luca, though he wrinkled his nose at the dried meat. The warriors of the vanguard who had been given to song remained quiet for most of the day as we pressed on with grim determination. I noted in the back of my mind that I’d definitely begun to smell as though I’d been traveling for a week, but we all stank of sweat and dust, even the beautiful Seelie, so I at least took a bit of ironic comfort in that. We sent our Walker every night to report to the vyldretning, and he returned every night with the news that the western and southern vanguards had met no success in finding anything but flat barren lands, much less Dark creatures or the Seer.

I stood my watches with grim focus; the rotation was an even one, so Moira remained the roving sentry assigned while I was at the northern post. I wondered if the western and southern vanguards still trekked across arid land as we did, or if they’d found a sweet spring or rushing river of clear cold water. Though the air became colder as we pressed on—a small comfort that we weren’t traveling the same stretch of gray dusty land every day—we found no water, and I began to reserve what I had left for Nehalim. I rode with my scarf pulled up over my face, but dust still coated my mouth and throat. Luca gave me a few pieces of a pungent, lemony plant that he explained helped ease thirst; following his instruction, I tucked the strong-tasting, sour leaves into my cheek, my mouth flooding with saliva. It helped for a few hours, and then the plant lost its taste and my mouth became dry and dusty again.

I stopped counting the days; I measured my time by looking forward to the next mouthful of water I allowed myself at noon and in the evening. We all looked drawn and dry, our eyes red from the dust and our lips cracked, the strong Sidhe showing that they were flesh and blood just as much as I was. How the faehal pressed on with such speed, I didn’t know; perhaps it was desperation, knowing that we didn’t have enough supplies to go back, so the only salvation lay in the wild lands ahead. The festive joy of the vanguard compressed into hard determination.

“There’s no way I’m going to die of thirst without getting to kill any Dark abominations,” Moira said in a grim, gravelly voice as we pulled ourselves up onto our mounts for another long day. The Valkyrie now took shifts in the air to conserve their mounts’ flagging strength. I wished, not for the first time, that the Sword or Gwyneth’s pendant functioned as a water divining rod—I’d even asked the Caedbranr a few times, my hope fading with each day as it remained silent. I supposed that this was one of those challenges that I had to solve on my own, without the intervention of the ancient power that slept in the Sword. To my relief, no one had asked me why I couldn’t find them water, or split the earth open to find hidden springs. I don’t think I could have borne the task of telling them that I was just as helpless as they were, and just as thirsty…though after a while, I learned that sharp, bright thirst dulled to an ache. My body hurt, and even strong Nehalim showed signs of the hardship, displaying little of his usual high spirits. He still pushed the pace of the other mounts, acting as a leader within the ranks of the faehal, but he did so with a joyless determination that mirrored our own.

I began to think about what would happen if we were attacked. We could still fight—all of us would fight to the death, certainly; but in a few short weeks we’d been transformed by the barren landscape. Luca blamed himself, which I expected, but I still tried to make him see that the fault didn’t rest entirely on his shoulders.

“You can’t prepare for every possibility,” I pointed out in a raspy voice. “We brought more water than the other vanguards, but we expected the Deadlands to break before this.”

“Expectation and reality are two different things,” he said, his hand resting on Kianryk’s head. The wolf seemed to be faring the best out of all the warriors and beasts of the vanguards, and Luca didn’t look as parched as most of us. The cold was beginning to help, tricking our bodies into thinking that we didn’t need as much water.

Finally, we emptied our last waterskin. The Valkyrie flew in pairs now. We still had some rations left, but the saltiness of the kajuk and the dryness of the bread only underlined our thirst. As we pressed onward, a strange breeze suddenly sprang up, sweeping down from the north and bringing with it scents that took me long moments to recognize: green, growing things, and earthy wet soil….and the bright frosty scent of ice. I lifted my face into the wind, pulling down my scarf, and Nehalim’s ears swiveled forward in sudden interest. He tossed his head in a rare display of energy. I blinked, feeling as though I was emerging from a dream. I strained my eyes, and in the mist on the horizon I suddenly made out hills. Not the rolling hills of a gray and barren plain, but jagged hills that foreshadowed mountains. I grabbed Luca’s shoulder in sudden joy, and he grinned at me, our throats too painfully dry for words.

We pressed on through the afternoon, the promise of the mountains in the misty distance and the tantalizing scent of water on the wind. Just before sunset, the pair of Valkyrie in the air flew ahead to scout. They were gone for so long that another pair of tired faehal labored into the sky, and Luca watched the horizon intently. That pair, too, disappeared, but after about an hour we made out a pair of returning Valkyrie. I frowned, a prickle of unease standing up the hairs on the back of my neck. Luca signaled for all to be alert, and some drew their blades; as they neared us, the Valkyrie were yelling something rather than signaling. Their mounts gleamed strangely in the light of the setting sun. And then as they landed in a flurry of limbs and wings, I realized that the faehal were soaking wet, snorting, eyes gleaming and bright. Hope surged in my chest.

“A mountain river!” yelled one of the Valkyrie, soaking wet herself. She pulled a soaked and bulging skin of water from her faehal’s back, her partner doing the same. They’d carried back as much water as their mounts could handle. Luca held up a hand and the vanguard halted, those behind us not realizing the magnitude of the Valkyrie’s discovery until they began passing the full flasks of water around the company. I spilled water into the shallow bowl from which Nehalim drank, refilling it for him several times and grinning at his little sounds of enjoyment, not caring that I split my lip, a bit of blood seeping from the dry, cracked skin. The second pair of Valkyrie returned, soaking wet as well and bearing their own full flasks. We watered our mounts and Luca gave almost a full water skin to Kianryk, who panted in pleasure, tongue hanging over his gleaming white teeth. After Nehalim’s thirst was sated, I made sure there was enough water to go around—and there was, thanks to the second pair of Valkyrie. I sat on the ground and drank the cold water until my head hurt from its iciness. It was the sweetest water I’d ever tasted, and I felt as though I’d never have enough. I even poured a little onto the top of my head, shivering as it ran in quick rivulets down the back of my neck and over my temples.

The Valkyrie gave the details of the river’s location to Luca and Robin, and the rest of the winged contingent leapt into the air with new energy.

“We’ll secure the river for you!” Niamh yelled to Luca with a salute, following the rest of her warriors as they joyously sped ahead.

We were all so relieved and sated that Luca merely grinned and mounted his faehal again. Kianryk bounded ahead of us as we cantered toward the distant promise of the mountains. As we drew closer to the river, the freshness of the wind intensified. I licked the coppery blood from my split lip and grinned anyway, imagining the pleasure of washing my face…or plunging my whole body into the icy river, just as the Valkyrie had done. The grayness of the ground began to turn a deeper, richer hue, no longer dust but rocky soil.

Someone in the vanguard, a woman with a bright strong voice, struck up a song, a rollicking melody about the perils of traveling with wolves. I suspected she made it up on the spot, but in any case, it had us all grinning like fools, even Luca. Nehalim shook his head and pranced a bit in time to the song; I laughed, the sound foreign to my own ears but sweet as a bell. Then I felt strangely guilty for my exuberance. We didn’t know if my brother and his teammates were safe, or even still alive. What right did I have to be happy when they could be starving or injured, stranded in a strange world? Luca drew his mount up beside me and peered intently at my suddenly pensive face.

“Would your brother want you to scowl at everyone and take no joy in life?” He raised one eyebrow, the slight curls of his hair gleaming in the light of the setting sun. Over the weeks of our journey, he had stopped shaving, and his scruffy, white gold beard gave him an even more roguish look. I hadn’t really ever been attracted to men with goatees or mustaches, but there was a difference to Luca’s rugged handsomeness—there was no affectation there. His choice not to shave had little to do with vanity and everything to do with a realistic practicality; it reminded me of the pictures I’d seen of Liam and his teammates with bristling, wild beards during their deployments. I smiled a little.

“I’m seeing my brother everywhere I look,” I said.

“It would be natural. You will see him soon, so you are thinking about him.”

“In our military—the group of warriors that protects our nation—men have to shave every day,” I continued. “They can have mustaches, but not beards.”

“What is a mustache?” Luca tilted his head in curiosity.

I chuckled at his mispronunciation. “It’s when you shave everything but your upper lip.” I laid my forefinger across my own upper lip in demonstration, grinning at his nonplussed look.

“That sounds impractical,” he told me matter-of-factly. “Why go to the trouble of shaving all except one part?”

“Valid point. Most men look pretty ridiculous with mustaches. Some of them grow one as a joke or only while they’re away on deployment. Because I think that most women agree with you.” I grinned. “Anyway, I noticed that you have a bit of a beard right now, and it reminded me of Liam because on his deployments they can grow beards. In the part of the world where they work most of the time, beards signify that you’re a man. Being clean-shaven makes it obvious that you’re a foreigner, or they could also think of you as a boy rather than an adult.”

Luca made a contemplative sound, gazing at the hills in the distance in thought. Then he turned back to me. “Do the men of your world carve other designs in their beards for vanity’s sake?”

I raised an eyebrow, thinking. “Well, I guess you could call a goatee a design.” I explained the style of a goatee, unable to hide my amusement at Luca’s indignant reaction. “Oh, and then there are handlebar mustaches.” I described the reinvigorated art of waxing one’s mustache into fanciful curlicues. “In some cities there are bars that have contests for the best mustache. Most of the time ‘the best’ means ‘the most ridiculous.’ Oh. Bar….um, a tavern? Someplace with beer and liquor.”

“Ah. A mead-hall,” Luca agreed gravely.

“Yeah. Mead-hall,” I said, feeling not for the first time that I had traveled back in time to the days of knights and castles. Hell, we’d fought a dragon, and we wore armor, so if the shoe fits…I smiled.

“Your mortal men seem a bit fanciful,” said Luca. Kianryk appeared, streaking up from the back of the column and bounding into the distance. “If a man must braid his hair or his beard for battle, then it is to please the gods and water the ground with the blood of the enemy.”

“That’s a very—practical—way of thinking.” I couldn’t think of a stronger word, so I left it at that.

“And if a shield maiden that a warrior wishes to please prefers a man to shave off his beard, it is one of the strongest declarations of love.”

“Also good to know.” I knew we were straying into potentially volatile territory, but I was enjoying this conversation entirely too much to cut it short for comfort’s sake.

Luca looked at me in mock seriousness, fair brows drawn down over his glacial eyes. “Must I shave my beard for you, fair shield maiden?”

I reached out and rubbed my fingers against the scruff on Luca’s chin. He maintained his serious face, though his eyes danced with laughter. “Perhaps later,” I said, tilting my head and pretending to examine the merits of his beard. “It does give you a very fierce aspect.”

Luca drew back his shoulders and expanded his chest. “Fierce aspect. That is a ringing endorsement.”

“What if I asked you to shave it into a mustache?” I asked mischievously.

Luca grimaced. “I do not think a mustache would lend to a fierce aspect.”

I laughed. “I think you’d look fierce no matter what. But don’t worry, I won’t ever ask you to wear a mustache.”

Luca grinned. “Good. Kianryk would have never let me forget it.”

“If your beard gets long enough, you should let me braid it,” I said.

“We’ve already established that if anyone shall braid my glorious mane, it shall be you,” said Luca with an exaggerated toss of his head.

I laughed and then looked at him with narrowed eyes. “You did a very good job of distracting me from my depressing thoughts.”

“What are friends for?” he replied, but there was a certain glint in his eyes that made my face heat, and the fingers I’d used to touch his face tingled as though an electric current ran through them. He smiled, and we rode on in companionable silence, drawing ever closer to the mountains in the misty distance.

Nehalim tossed his head and picked up his pace as the fresh wind spoke of tantalizingly close water. He slid into a fluid canter, and the rest of the vanguard followed suit. The sun balanced on the horizon behind our shoulders, but now there were more shadows than our own in the twilight. Long grasses swayed in the wind, and we had seen a handful of trees, mostly scrubby pines, stubborn and twisted. Just the sight of grass lifted my spirits, and another song wended its way through the company, some riders singing counter to the melody. Even the fading light of the sun seemed more alive, the shadows deeper and richer, the sky a deep blue darkening into bruised purple at the horizon. We had passed beyond the border of the Deadlands, and I felt that even though this wild land felt the poison of Malravenar, it refused to succumb. I wondered if we’d make the river by dark. The Valkyrie covered distance exponentially faster in the air than we did on the ground, even with our quick faehal. The land began to roll into low swells, and by the time velvety darkness draped its curtains around us, we were wending our way through rocky hills, studded with striated rocks and wild with long grasses.

I decided I didn’t care if we made the river that night. Just the cold wind and the sweet scent of grass and trees was enough for me. A few hours after sunset, one of my floating orbs startled a rabbit, throwing its shadowy resting place into sharp relief. The rabbit darted off into the tall grasses and Kianryk shot after it with a delighted yip. I almost felt sorry for the little creature—I felt such happiness when I glimpsed its furry body hidden among the rocks. We were truly in a living land again. When Kianryk reappeared, trotting alongside the faehal and licking his chops, his look of satisfaction prompted me to imagine the delicious taste of a roasted rabbit after our weeks of kajuk and hard bread. My mouth watered and I smiled at myself.

We could even see a sliver of moon in this northern land. Stars pierced the velvety dome overhead, and though I hadn’t seen the stars sing since that night in the garden in Darkhill, I still reveled in the cold silent beauty of the night sky. Just before it seemed we wouldn’t make the river that night, and I was wondering if the Valkyrie would return to us or if we’d have to stand all the watches ourselves, we glimpsed the flickering light of a fire in the distance. I grinned at Luca as he urged his mount onward, threading through the increasingly wild hills.

We heard the river before we saw it, and the sound of water rushing over rocks had never before seemed so musical to me. Kianryk bounded ahead of us and then returned with a wet muzzle, cavorting about our faehal like a pup, leaping into the air and snapping playfully. Nehalim set the example, projecting a sort of equine disdain for the wolf’s antics, merely snorting and shaking his head. We found ourselves following a sort of rocky path between the hills, whose sides now rose at a steep angle on either side of us. I watched the hillsides carefully, setting aside my excitement at the nearness of the river as I thought that this would be a perfect place to set an ambush. Luca thought the same, for he was watchful as well, and Kianryk switched from leaping about to prowling silently ahead of us.

We followed a curve in the natural path between the mountains—the hills on either side of us reared so high that they were no longer hills—and the bright cheer of a campfire greeted us, throwing shadows behind the rocks and painting the mountainside with shades of gold. We emerged into a glen between three mountains, and between the two mountains opposite flowed the river. Trees dotted the shoreline, too sparse to be called a forest but too numerous to be counted; the Valkyrie had made camp a small distance from the river’s edge on a flat rocky expanse. A heavenly scent drifted on the air along with the smoke of the campfire, and I saw with sudden hunger that the Valkyrie were roasting meat over the fire on several improvised spits. The winged faehal grazed in the long grass beyond the camp, moving in and out of the trees like shadows, flicking their tails in contentment. Nehalim blew out a breath and I patted his neck as I slid from his back.

“Took you long enough,” said Niamh with an impish smile, giving Luca and me a nod of greeting.

“It’s farther on foot than by air, though you already know that,” I said as the rest of the vanguard filtered into the clearing and dismounted, the low hum of activity filling the air as we unsaddled our faithful faehal and commented on the beauty of the wild mountains.

“We’ve already had our fill, so the meat is for you,” said Niamh. “And we’ll take the watch tonight, since we’ve just been lazing about in the sun for the evening.”

“We hunted,” pointed out another Valkyrie in mock protest.

“Yes, and shooting things from the wing is also far too enjoyable to count as any sort of real work,” retorted Niamh.

“They don’t know that,” muttered the young Valkyrie with a rebellious little grin.

We were all in far too joyous spirits to allow anything to offend us. I found it surprisingly relaxing not to worry about weaving lights for the camp; we started a second campfire and gathered fallen wood from around the trees. And even though my stomach growled at the scent of roasting meat, I walked to the river’s edge after sending off Nehalim to graze and rest with his fellows. This river didn’t sound as violent as the roaring Darinwel, but I still gazed out into the darkness and wondered how deep and fast the water ran.

“Niamh told me there’s a little pool down this way, if you’d like to come,” said Moira, walking briskly along the rocky shore. She held up a little bundle in her hand. “And I have soap!”

“Well, that seals the deal.” I picked my way through the rocks and followed her a short distance down the shore. We could still see the flickering campfires and the dark silhouettes moving about the flames, but we were far enough away that the sounds of the mountains surrounded us: the wind rustling through the trees, the river rushing over rocks, even the sound of small animals darting through the long grasses every now and again.

A little brook ran off from the river, pooling among several large slabs of rock before burbling off through the trees. With no hesitation, Moira stripped off her shirt and trousers, clad only in her boots as she climbed over the side of the rock slab and slid into the cold water with a squeal. I only saw her naked long enough to form an impression of tawny smooth skin and rippling muscle, feminine curves juxtaposed against a warrior’s physique.

“Come on, don’t be a prude!” Moira called, grinning as she created a froth of suds from a sliver of soap.

I sighed, glancing back toward camp. “It’s not you seeing me naked that I’m worried about,” I muttered as I shed my shirt and trousers. I set the Caedbranr carefully within sight on one of the large rocks. I wondered at the wisdom of soaking my boots, but I didn’t want to cut my feet on any unseen rocks, so I followed Moira’s lead and left them on, feeling a bit silly as I clambered over the lip of the pool in nothing but my calf-high leather boots.

The water of the pool was bitingly cold. I gasped and hugged myself as I slid into the water, goosebumps springing up every bit of my bare skin; but it also felt absolutely amazing to immerse myself in water, feeling the dirt float away from my skin. The pool was just below chest-high, so we bent our knees a bit until the water covered our shoulders; Moira passed me a sliver of soap and I lathered my face and neck; then I focused on cleaning the essential bits with the rest. Moira disappeared underwater and came up grinning, holding up a handful of pale wet sand like a prize. It was more silt than traditional sand, but we found that it rinsed off well, and we used it to scrub our legs and arms until I felt truly clean for the first time since we’d left the Hall of the Outer Guard. My stomach growled audibly and I laughed.

“Time for some food, I think,” said Moira, rinsing the last of the sand from her arms. The slight current in the pool carried our dirt and grime away downstream. We climbed out of the water and pulled on our clothes; I shivered at the cool night air and wrinkled my nose at the smell of my clothes, resolving to awaken early and wash them properly before we set out in the morning. With the Sword settled again on my back, we walked back to camp. I found myself appreciating Moira’s easy companionship; she wasn’t overly talkative and had a practical air that balanced her impish Seelie humor. While I didn’t think we’d ever have a relationship like that I shared with Calliea or even Merrick, I liked the fact that she wasn’t intimidated and treated me like any other member of the vanguard.

The heat of the fire provided a perfect counterpoint to the cold of the water. I helped myself to a large portion of roasted meat—there was more than enough to go around, and there would be leftovers for a morning meal. The industrious Valkyrie had also found a sort of tuber among the long grasses, and they’d roasted the pale green cylinders in the hot coals of the fire. The plant tasted like something between a potato and a carrot. Any meal after a long sensory deprivation seemed especially magnificent.

So it was with a full belly and a clean body—if not clean clothes—that I wrapped myself in my cloak for the night. I listened to the quiet conversations of those still awake and gathered about the fire, and I felt the light cold breeze on my face. If Liam and his teammates were among these mountains, I thought sleepily, they would find a way to survive in the wild land, just as they’d done in the mortal world. With my body pleasurably sated and my mind less worried than since we’d started our journey, I drifted into sleep.

Chapter 26

In the morning, I felt better than I had in weeks. All the water I cared to drink and the generous meal had done wonders to refresh my body; I was surprised but grateful at the sudden change. Shadows still draped over the camp despite the lightening of the sky overhead. I’d slept soundly but I judged that I didn’t have the time to wash my clothes. Such was the price of a good night’s rest, I thought, shrugging to myself as I found the leftover meat, still shiny with grease. I found Robin, Luca and Niamh taking their breakfast while studying the map.

“What are you thinking?” I asked Luca quietly, squinting at the map in the half-dark as I chewed thoughtfully. Even the last of our hard bread was palatable when eaten with a bit of rabbit.

“We’re still at least a few days’ south of where we think they came into our world,” said Luca.

“Could be as much travel time as another week,” said Robin, glancing at the increasingly rough terrain of the mountains in the distance. “And that’s assuming we stay in the valleys, or follow the river…but that might not be the best position if we encounter any creatures.”

“And if Malravenar is tracking the Seer, we will no doubt encounter his forces,” agreed Niamh. “We can double our search radius and I can send out scouts twice as often, now that we aren’t short on food or water. But it would still be a perilous position to be trapped in a valley, fighting uphill.”

“Can your steeds carry double?” asked Luca, looking at Niamh.

“If need be, but not for more than a few hours,” replied the Valkyrie captain. “And it depends on the size of the riders.”

“If you see the Seer and his companions on your search, and it’s safe to do so, bring them back to us in the air,” said Luca. He held up his hand at Niamh’s protest at the word ‘safe.’ “I know you are warriors. But this was the point of both a ground force and one in the air. I do not want you to dive headlong into danger.”

“He is one of the purposes of our mission,” said Niamh. “We are willing to place ourselves in peril. Isn’t that why the vyldretning sent us, so that the Dark One does not have a Seer to twist to his uses?”

“And if you throw your Valkyrie into battle and they all fall, who will watch over us as we travel?” Luca asked.

“We have not always had Valkyrie to watch over us from the sky,” said Niamh. Robin raised his eyebrows at her valid point.

“But now we do,” replied Luca in a firm voice, “and you change the possibilities of battle in this war. Understand that the Seer is most definitely a priority, but if you cannot land, protect him from the air until we arrive.”

Niamh still looked dissatisfied with these orders, but she inclined her head in acceptance. I looked at the map thoughtfully.

“Is this the only river within good distance of the tear in the veil?” I asked, feeling my forehead crease as I frowned.

“We do not know for certain, but it’s likely,” replied Robin, studying the map. “The details of these mountains are not well mapped.”

I wished futilely that Merrick and his scrying glass had traveled with us, but I pushed the thought aside. “If this is the only river, then they might travel along it,” I said. “I don’t know for sure…I haven’t been trained as they have. But I’m just thinking that they might try to follow the river out of the mountains. Or at least use it as a reference point and a water source while they’re evading capture.”

“It makes sense,” conceded Robin, glancing at Luca.

After a long moment, the ulfdrengr pronounced, “We will travel along the river today. Send out your scouts twice as often and keep a good watch from the sky.”

Niamh’s eyes sharpened, her silvery hair bright in the new morning light. “Always.”

Robin rolled up the map at some silent signal from Luca, and we went our separate ways. I found Nehalim already waiting for me by my pack, pawing the rocky ground and shaking his head impatiently. His nostrils flared as he scented the wind and his ears swiveled at sounds that I couldn’t hear. I smiled at his eagerness to continue on our journey.

“Looks like a good meal and a night’s rest did you some good, too,” I commented to him as I tightened the girth strap of the light saddle. He snorted in reply as I strapped my pack behind the saddle. My boots had dried by the fire in the night, and they hugged my feet snugly, but it wasn’t an unpleasant feeling. A biting chill lingered in the early morning air, so I fastened my cloak about my shoulders. Nehalim followed me over to a knee-high rock; I climbed onto his back from the rock and received a strange look from Moira, already astride her own faehal.

“Work smarter, not harder,” I told her, which earned me an even more quizzical look as the Seelie rider dissected the unfamiliar expression. I heard her repeat it to herself in soft amusement as we began riding.

As the sun rose over the river valley, we continued northward, leaving evidence of our passing in the cold ashes of our fire and the bones of the animals the Valkyrie had hunted. Our pace was still quick, the sure-footed faehal picking through the rocky terrain and weaving through the tall thin trees with their customary grace and speed. I noticed as the day wore on that Nehalim was increasingly tense, his delicate well-formed ears rotating sharply toward every sound. I suspected that what I’d interpreted as impatience that morning was probably because he was sensing enemy creatures, not because he merely wanted to begin our travels. I told Luca as much. He nodded.

“Kianryk scents it as well, though I do not know how close the creatures may be,” he said, his muscled frame alert yet still sitting easily on his mount. “Be watchful but not anxious.”

I patted Nehalim’s neck reassuringly. “At least we know it’s coming.”

Luca didn’t reply, scanning the thin shadows of the trees with his pale gaze. The trees made it harder for us to watch the Valkyrie overhead, but each pair of scouts still signaled Luca with their silent language. As the sun reached its zenith, our shadows small and compact beneath us, Nehalim shied at a rabbit that sprinted out of the underbrush across his path. I grabbed his mane to keep from falling, my heart pounding loud in my ears at the sudden rush of adrenaline. Then when I took a deep breath to steady my nerves, I smelled the faint odor of decay on the wind. I looked sharply at Luca and he nodded silently, signaling the rest of the company behind us to stay alert. I glanced up as the shadow of a Valkyrie slid over us; a pair of scouts had just returned and it would be about half an hour until the next pair spurred their winged mounts into the airborne equivalent of a gallop. They still hadn’t seen anything. I wondered how far afield they were flying, and how long it would be until they saw the Dark creatures—or dead things—that we could smell on the wind. My skin prickled in anticipation.

We emerged from the scrubby forest onto a stretch of bare, rocky riverbank. The river stretched wider and shallower here than when we’d first found it between the low mountains. Though I felt very exposed without the branches of the trees stretching over us, I thought that at least we could see the Valkyrie, and the ground surrounding us. I stretched my shoulders, settled the Caedbranr on my back and flexed my feet idly, relieving the tension in what muscles I could while we were riding. The mountains stretched up into the icy blue of a cloudless sky around us. I wondered when we’d see snow, pulling my cloak tighter about me as the wind picked up.

Then a sharp sound split the amiable chatter of the river, a crack that was at once unnatural and familiar. I straightened in the saddle, forgetting completely about the cold as I listened. There it was again, and then three in a row—rat-tat-tat—echoing against the sides of the mountain. My stomach dropped and my heart leapt, both at once.

“Gunfire,” I said through bloodless lips, looking at Luca with wide eyes, my heart racing with the sudden certainty. “Luca, it’s them!”

Luca quickly signaled for a pair of Valkyrie scouts to investigate, pointing in the direction that the sound seemed to originate; it was hard to tell, with the sound bouncing about the trees and rocks. It was coming from the other side of the river, perhaps even from over the mountain on that side. What I thought was the sound of a second weapon joined the first, bursts of three and four shots followed by deliberate shots at well-spaced intervals.

I turned Nehalim’s head toward the sound. Luca touched his heels to his mount’s sides, and he was already plowing into the river as I followed right behind him. I glanced back and saw the anticipation shining on the faces of Moira and Robin and the other warriors of the vanguard as they drew their blades and urged their faehal into the water. The Valkyrie wheeled overhead, arrows nocked to their bows.

We’d found my brother, and we’d also found the enemy.

Nehalim surged through the river. Though it looked shallow—and it was, as far as rivers went—the water still frothed up over my boots. My faithful mount tossed his head and drew abreast with Luca. The air over the river was so cold that we could see our breath in frosty clouds. My mind raced. There was more than one teammate with Liam, but I couldn’t tell exactly how many just from the echoing gunshots. I guessed that they were using rifles from the linked bursts, and I marveled that they still had ammunition after almost three weeks. Then I pushed the speculation from my thoughts as we emerged, dripping, on the other side of the river, and Kianryk bounded ahead of us. I heard a shrill series of whistles, almost too faint to make out, from the direction in which the scouts had disappeared around the mountain; Niamh sent another pair rocketing in that direction.

We pushed the faehal to a canter but didn’t dare a gallop over the rocky, uneven terrain; as it was, a few mounts stumbled as we raced along the river. Even with our speed, I wanted to go faster. I stared ahead and at the sky, watching for a pair of scouts. Finally I saw a single Valkyrie streaking toward us, the rider pressed low over her winged steed’s neck, the faehal stretched out, slender legs mimicking a gallop as its great wings beat the air with determined speed. Her mount sliced through the air so fast that the rider dared not release her grip to signal; instead she yelled to Niamh, who directed all but two of the remaining Valkyrie toward the sound of gunfire. As the panting scout recovered, soothing her lathered mount with one hand, Niamh swooped low and said to Luca, “About a league’s distance ahead! There are at least four garrelnost and a dozen skin-wraiths, with quite a few smaller creatures. The Seer and three companions are well up the mountain, fighting from an entrenched position.”

I shivered at the mention of the wolf-creature that had been my first encounter with Malravenar’s Dark creations.

“We killed the two cadengriff harrying them from the air,” continued Niamh, “and the rest will shoot as they can from the wing.”

We had only two Valkyrie with the vanguard now. Niamh flew just ahead of us, and the recovering scout took up the rearguard. We traveled as fast as we could over the rocky ground, the faehal beginning to show signs of exertion. Sweat laced Nehalim’s flanks as we rounded a curve in the valley. I looked up the side of the mountain and in the distance I saw the Valkyrie fighting from the air, darting down beneath the tops of the trees and shooting upward again. The staccato reports of gunfire were louder now—not echoes. The Caedbranr hummed in its sheath and my war-markings tingled as emerald light glowed from beneath my sleeve. I drew my sword, the engraved names of our dead stark against the shining silver of the blade.

Niamh flew up the mountain and then circled back. She leaned down as her mount kept pace with us, just high enough that its wings cleared our heads, brushing back my hair with the wind of its flight. “The Seer says they will have no more bullets soon.” The word was foreign on Niamh’s tongue, and she almost split it into two: bul-lets.

“That means they’ll be down to knives and whatever else they have,” I said. “We’ll be fighting uphill, but I don’t think we have another choice.”

A few more bursts of gunfire erupted from the mountainside, and then there was silence, punctuated by the war cries of the Valkyrie as they fired arrows from the air.

“Tell them we’re coming,” Luca said with a feral grin. Kianryk threw back his head and howled; half a dozen answering howls erupted from the vanguard, and as one we surged up the mountainside, weaving between the trees, guided by the flight of Niamh overhead. I wrapped my left hand in Nehalim’s mane, focusing with grim determination on keeping my balance as he leapt over a fallen tree and sprang up the steep grade of the mountainside. The Caedbranr’s hum rose into a clarion tone. My war-markings blazed emerald, and Gwyneth’s pendant warmed at my throat. It seemed every source of my power strained toward this battle along with my heart, as the sudden hope of Liam’s rescue sweetened the heady rush of bloodlust surging through my chest, fed by the roaring flames of my anger.

A skin-wraith crashed through the trees, ribbons of decaying flesh hanging flayed from its grotesque body. Moira ran it through with one clean stroke, and it was crushed beneath the hooves of the faehal behind her, its screech suddenly reduced to a wheezing gurgle. A catlike creature with blazing scarlet eyes hissed and leapt at me; Nehalim danced to the side and I sliced the creature from head to tail as it sailed by. We pressed onward up the mountain, the steep grade studded by rocky outcroppings. A thunderous growling and snarling split the air as Kianryk hurtled through the trees locked in combat with a huge garrelnost. Luca leapt down from his faehal and seamlessly sprinted toward the wolf. At the moment the ulfdrengr was within reach, Kianryk heaved the garrelnost onto the ground, pinning it by the throat, and Luca brought his axe down on the creature’s head with a roar.

An arrow sliced down from above and pierced the eye of another garrelnost. Robin galloped past me and drove his blade into its other eye, springing down from his saddle to heave his blade free. He danced away from the snapping, slavering jaws of the misshapen creature and dealt it the deathblow. I turned my attention back to our path through the trees, just in time to see a fanged toad-like beast leaping at me. I steeled myself—I didn’t have the time to bring my sword to bear—but then suddenly grabbed onto Nehalim’s mane as he reared, striking the creature with his front hooves and trampling it viciously, gore splattering his legs.

“You’ve been waiting for a chance to do that!” I gasped, laughing as I slapped his neck. He snorted and leapt forward up the slope once more. The sounds of battle rose around us, echoing among the trees, fierce war cries interspersed with shrieks of dying creatures and, once or twice, the surprised yell of an injured warrior. It seemed as though we’d been laboring up the slope for hours, though I knew it couldn’t have been that long; and then I heard a shout in a voice that was as familiar to me as the sound of my own voice. I looked up, and glimpsed a flash of camouflage pants at the top of a rocky outcropping. My heart leapt and I urged Nehalim on. Abominable creatures swarmed over the rocks, intent on their target despite the carnage wreaked by the vanguard rising behind them and the Valkyrie swooping down from the sky like avenging angels. Four men at the center of the rocks used the outcropping as a natural shield, fighting from the high ground. I couldn’t tell immediately which was Liam. Nehalim rapidly closed the distance to the outcropping; I dispatched two skin-walkers, beheading them without a second thought. Kianryk leapt past me, his tawny fur mottled with gore.

The men on the outcropping fought with knives now, and the Valkyrie tossed a spear to one. He hefted it experimentally and then threw it with deadly aim into a skin-walker, retrieving it with calm precision and driving it into the skull of the twitching corpse for good measure. The men focused their attention to the southern, downhill side of the rocky outcropping; a nearly sheer wall of rock rose up behind them, shielding them from attack at that angle. But the lone remaining garrelnost, smaller and nimbler than its larger brethren, managed to slink around the side of the outcropping, out of sight below a tumble of rocks. The Valkyrie saw it and shot several arrows into it, but it seemed not to notice. I saw it prepare to leap onto the ledge. Kianryk was busy ripping apart what looked like a huge, strangely mottled bear. So it was up to us, I thought with grim resolution. Nehalim read my mind, and I felt the muscles in his hindquarters coil with just enough time to lean forward and grab his mane.

With a magnificent leap, Nehalim propelled us over the great jutting rock of the outcropping, landing behind the four men; almost immediately after we landed, the garrelnost hurtled over the rock on the opposite side. The men dove out of its path, regrouping at the far side of the ledge. A Valkyrie dove low and struck the garrelnost with her blade; the creature swiped at the winged faehal viciously and caught its wing in its claws, but the valiant mount heaved itself upward, carrying its rider out of danger. In the moment in which the garrelnost was distracted by the aerial threat, Nehalim leapt forward and I drove my sword down into the beast, the rank stench of its mottled fur filling my nose. It thrashed and I pulled my blade free as Nehalim danced aside, keeping us between the wounded garrelnost and the four men. There wasn’t much room on the outcropping and suddenly I was certain the garrelnost would strike at Nehalim’s unprotected belly; without giving myself time to think, I leapt down from his back just as the garrelnost lunged upward. Nehalim wheeled and whinnied as the garrelnost’s claws struck my breastplate rather than his stomach. The force of the impact drove the breath from me. A starburst of pain exploded in my chest and my boots skidded across the rocky ground. I fell and rolled to the side, holding my sword clear even as I struggled to draw in a breath.

Breathe when it’s dead.

The singular purpose of my thoughts narrowed to driving my blade into the garrelnost. As if from a distance, I felt my lips stretched in a snarl, heard my challenging yell and the beast’s furious growl. I plunged my blade into its chest as it leapt at me. It was a very small garrelnost but it still drove me to the ground again, the back of my armor hitting the rocks. I threw up my other arm as the garrelnost went for my face, driving my forearm into its throat and barely keeping its glistening teeth from grazing my cheek. I gagged at the fetid breath rolling over my face. My right arm was trapped beneath its weight. Power surged through my war-markings, and I growled defiantly, straining with every bit of my strength to keep those jaws from closing on my throat.

I expected a thunderous fireball from the Sword to blast a hole through the chest of the garrelnost, but what I got was the gleaming length of a long flathead screwdriver shoved into its eye, and then a spear unceremoniously shoved down its throat by a heavily tattooed, muscular arm. Two pairs of large, dirty hands heaved the beast’s weight off me. I coughed and levered myself to my feet, my first priority wrenching my sword from the foul carcass. And then, when I had my gore-drenched blade safely in my hand again, I turned to find two large, bearded men looking at me with a mixture of amusement and respect.

“Hey, Lucky,” said the one with tattoos covering every inch of skin on his arms, right down to his wrists. “You didn’t tell us you had a hot Amazon for a sister.”

Liam turned from retrieving his knife from the body of a skin-walker that had managed to crawl over the front of the outcropping. “Screw you guys,” he said without looking up, the tone of his voice somehow annoyed and affectionate at the same time.

“Dude,” said the fourth man, smaller than the other three and wiry in build. He spoke with a Southern twang. “Are we dead? Is this Valhalla?”

“We’re not dead,” Liam said, still absorbed in retrieving his various weapons. I could only stare at him, smiling slightly, as I breathed slowly, trying to work past the pain lancing through my ribs. The men were grimy and they smelled like, well, men who hadn’t had a shower in a month, but they all seemed relatively unhurt.

“Right, right, another world and all that bullshit,” said the one who’d shoved the screwdriver into the eye of the garrelnost.

The one with the tattoos on his arms gave me a questioning look, his deep brown eyes taking in the gauges on my breastplate. I gave him a thumbs-up with my unoccupied hand, though the motion made me grimace.

“I mean,” said the Southern one, “there’s beautiful women flying around on winged horses. Seriously, I think we’re in Valhalla.”

Nehalim nosed my shoulder gently. I patted his neck reassuringly, scanning the rocks. It sounded as though the rest of the vanguard had caught up, dispatching the last of the creatures that had evaded their blades.

“Literally and figuratively, I think the cavalry has arrived,” said the one with the screwdriver, clambering up to look over the rocks.

Finally I felt like I had enough breath to speak. “We thought you guys could use some help.”

Liam looked up sharply. “Holy shit.” He crossed the space between us with three huge strides, and then I was in my brother’s arms. I made an involuntary sound of pain and he immediately released me. “Tess! About time you showed up. That appearance was a good party trick.”

I coughed and grimaced, motioning toward Nehalim. “He’s fast. And he jumps well. But it sounds like you knew I was coming.”

“She tackled that thing,” said the man with the tattoos, nodding toward the dead garrelnost.

“You killed it,” I told him. “Thanks for that.”

“Anytime,” the man replied with a grin. He wore his black hair in a short ponytail and a dark beard obscured most of his face. The tawny brown of his skin made the colors of his tattoos stand out vividly.

Liam held me at arm’s length and inspected me. He paused, turned and punched the tattooed man in the shoulder. “You should have killed it before it tackled her.”

“Hey, she saved our asses,” his teammate replied good-naturedly.

I grinned and then looked overhead as Niamh yelled down to me.

“Tess, Luca requests that you all come down from the rocks. He knows there is little room up there.”

I saluted her with two fingers, clenching my teeth at the flash of discomfort as my ribs twinged sharply. “So, there’s a group of us…I think you’ve met Luca before, Liam.”

“Solid dude,” my brother said by way of agreement.

“You aren’t nearly as surprised to see me as I thought you’d be,” I commented as they gathered their various sharp objects, tucking them back into their appropriate sheaths and straps. They picked up their rifles and clipped them into their slings despite the empty gray magazines littering the ground of the outcropping.

“I knew you were coming,” Liam replied simply. “I just had to convince these boneheads that none of this was a figment of their imagination.”

“Valhalla, man,” muttered the wiry Southern operator.

“I should introduce you,” said Liam, as though to remind himself. He pointed to the tattooed, dark-haired man. “That’s Quinn.” His finger shifted to the man who’d stabbed the garrelnost with his screwdriver. “Jess.” And then finally, he motioned to the smallest member of his team. “And that disbelieving idiot is Duke.”

“Noah,” said Duke rebelliously.

“I feel like there’s a story behind ‘Duke,’” I commented dryly, raising one eyebrow.

Liam grinned and Duke scowled, but I could tell his expression was mostly for show. “Oh, there is. I’ll be sure to tell you later.”

“Can’t wait. Well, time for you to meet my team,” I said with a grin.

“There are more beautiful Amazons to meet? I’m totally down,” said Quinn.

I chuckled and Liam merely rolled his eyes. Nehalim gracefully picked his way over the outcropping of rock. We followed. I surreptitiously watched Liam and the other three members of his team; their dirty, torn camo pants and t-shirts were in varying states of disrepair, stained in some places with old and fresh patches of blood, but none of them moved like they were seriously injured.

The corpses of Dark creatures littered the sloping ground. Jess gave a low whistle. The Valkyrie circled overhead and then landed a small distance away in a little clearing. As soon as I emerged over the rocks, I heard a shout of triumph; others of the vanguard took up the yell and I couldn’t help but grin as I made my way over to Luca. The ulfdrengr stood with an axe still in one hand, spattered with black gore but looking every inch the victorious warrior. His eyes flashed as he saw the gauges on my breastplate.

“I’m fine. Garrelnost tried to gut me, that’s all,” I said with a grin. “You already know Liam?”

Even as I spoke the words, Liam stepped past me and gripped Luca’s forearm in greeting.

“We meet again,” said Luca.

Liam grinned. “In your world instead of mine this time.”

Luca grinned in reply. “So now you’ve had a taste of war in our world.”

My brother ran his hands through his shaggy blonde hair. I couldn’t miss the curious glances directed at him and the other men as the warriors of the vanguard gathered around us. “It’s been a hell of a ride. I didn’t quite understand it at first, even with what Tess told me…and let’s just say that Duke especially seems to think that we’re dead and in Valhalla.”

The ulfdrengr laughed. “If you were dead, I would think that you would be more occupied with pursuing beautiful women than fighting creatures of Darkness.”

Liam shrugged. “Before today we didn’t see any beautiful women at all.”

Luca shook his head and grinned. Then he raised his voice to the rest of the vanguard. “Set camp in the clearing for tonight. Dress your wounds and rest. I will send our Walker to the Queen so that she will know we have found the Seer.”

At his last statement, howls of celebration rose from the warriors as they moved toward the clearing, cleaning blades and inspecting minor wounds. I glimpsed Robin limping, and another fighter being half-carried toward camp, but to my relief we hadn’t lost any warriors in the uphill battle to reach the stone outcropping. As the company dispersed, Liam introduced his three teammates to Luca. Jess seemed the oldest out of all of them, a few threads of silver in his chestnut hair betraying him; a deep scar cut a furrow across his cheek and lifted one corner of his mouth slightly, and his serious gray eyes felt as though they could see my every thought. Quinn seemed about my brother’s age, easy-going yet deadly when necessary; and Duke was the youngest by personality and experience if not actual years. They were a bit of a motley crew, but all good teams were, I thought. You couldn’t rely on another person’s strengths to compensate for your weaknesses if you were all exactly the same.

Jess, Quinn and Duke followed behind Liam and me as we made our way through the trees toward the clearing where the Valkyrie had already landed. Moira glanced at me as we passed the last trees before the open land; I saw that she was sketching runes into the bark and I nodded my approval. She smiled and continued her work. I paused to clean my plain blade in the long grass. Liam stopped with me and his teammates drifted to a halt around us, an easy unspoken pact between them. I could feel my brother watching me as I scrubbed the gore from the sword. He held out his hand questioningly before I sheathed it. I offered him the hilt and he tested the balance, peering down at the engraved names.

“Those are the names of our dead,” I said quietly, before he could ask. He looked up at me, his green eyes an echo of my own gaze. It was jarring, almost like looking into a mirror. He hefted the blade and then gave it back to me. I sheathed it and we turned back toward the center of camp.

Kianryk appeared silently out of the shadows and trotted up to us, blue eyes inquisitive yet unmistakably wild. Jess froze, a dagger appearing in his hand and his gaze pinned to the wolf; Duke swore, and Quinn said, “That’s the biggest damn dog I’ve ever seen.”

“He’s not a dog, he’s a wolf,” I said, standing unconcernedly beside the four men as I watched their reactions.

“He’s got the same eyes as Luca,” murmured my brother, a frown creasing his forehead. “I wasn’t sure I understood that right, but I got the idea.”

“One of your visions?” I asked quietly.

“A glimpse,” Liam replied, shaking his head. The dagger disappeared from Jess’s hand, but he still watched Kianryk warily. Quinn strode forward until he was only an arm’s length from Kianryk. The wolf’s nose wrinkled and his eyes narrowed as he sniffed at the man. Quinn stood stoically. Then Kianryk yawned and turned, padding off into the forest.

“Well, that was anticlimactic,” said Quinn.

“You probably smell too ripe for him to want to take a bite out of you,” offered Duke, though he hadn’t been willing to step close to the tawny wolf.

“Speaking of smelling ripe,” I said, raising one eyebrow, “there’s a river at the base of this mountain, if you want to wash up.”

Duke sniffed himself. “Aw, and get rid of this deliciously manly odor? Better’n any cologne, I’m tellin’ ya!” He grinned.

“Yeah, let me know how that works out for you,” I replied dryly.

“So…what you’re saying is…I have a chance with these gorgeous creatures,” the wiry fighter said in his distinct Southern twang. I shook my head and deferred to my brother, who chose to ignore the smallest member of his team in favor of setting up a little corner of camp. I heard Quinn talking to Jess in a low tone but I couldn’t hear exactly what they were saying, reprimanding myself silently for trying to eavesdrop anyway.

“You okay for now? I have to go take care of my…horse,” I said.

“We’ll be right here,” Liam told me with a nod.

“If you need anything, just ask someone. They all know who you are.”

Liam smiled at me and then he turned to his teammates. I left them talking quietly in a loose circle.

A new fire crackled in the center of the clearing, ringed by stones. Fighters emerging from the forest added armfuls of firewood to the pile already stacked by the stone ring. I found Nehalim grazing in the long grass at the edge of camp among the other faehal. I slipped off his bridle and the light saddle. Amazingly, my pack had remained strapped to my saddle during the headlong rush up the mountain. Nehalim nosed at my shoulder as I ran my hands over his legs, checking for any wounds; I found a few scrapes from our scramble among the rocks, but nothing severe. Still, just to be sure, I unrolled my healing kit and rubbed some salve over the cuts. I murmured a word of thanks and patted his shoulder when I finished. He bunted my chest with his nose—very gently, as though he remembered the garrelnost taking me to the ground—and then flicked his tail and returned to grazing.

I carried my pack over to the other side of camp, dropping it with a sigh at a fair distance from the fire. I unfastened my cloak and folded it by my pack, wincing as my sore ribs protested. My first attempt to unbuckle my breastplate ended with my hands braced on my knees as I tried to catch my breath and see straight again.

“You have bruised ribs at least,” Luca said, dressed in a fresh shirt. He tossed his own pack next to mine. He didn’t ask if I wanted help; he just stepped forward and began working on the buckles. That small movement alone made me wince. After he loosened the straps, he waited patiently for me to raise my arms. When he lifted the armor over my head, I simultaneously felt as though I’d float away and expand, both at once, without the slight compression and extra weight of the armor around my torso. We both looked down at the long furrows gauged into the breastplate by the claws of the garrelnost.

“If you’re going to tackle garrelnost every chance you get, I’m going to make sure you’re always wearing armor when we ride out,” commented Luca. I grinned and stopped myself from laughing in time to avoid the lancing pain from my ribs.

“Anything broken?” the ulfdrengr asked, serious now. His hands moved as though he wanted to check me for wounds just as I’d run my hands over Nehalim moments earlier; my face heated slightly at the thought.

“Not that I can tell. It just knocked the wind from me and bruised me a bit,” I answered honestly. I scanned the camp and spotted the area where one of the other healers had set up a station for dressing wounds. There were only a few fighters waiting; most had tended to their own injuries or enlisted the help of a friend. I picked up my healing kit and turned back toward Liam and his teammates. “I’m going to go see if I need to stitch any of them up. Want to help?”

“I doubt you need the help, but I’ll come along for the conversation,” Luca said.

As we crossed camp, I spotted one of the vanguard’s riders stretched out on the ground, seemingly asleep, hands folded neatly over his stomach. One of his companions sat cross-legged nearby, holding a stained shirt in his hands and examining a tear in the fabric, a needle and thread laid out on his knee.

“Our Walker?” I asked, but it was more of a statement than a question. I was vaguely relieved that I hadn’t had to use my abilities as a Walker on the journey thus far.

“Yes. He’ll probably be gone for a while, since Vell will most likely have orders for us.”

“Is Vell your commanding officer?” Quinn asked as we approached the small group. The four men had borrowed two cloaks and disassembled their rifles atop them. As I watched, Quinn tossed a small cog-like cylinder to Jess. Liam handed over the same part, and Jess now had four identical little cylinders lined up on his corner of the cloak.

“I guess you could say that,” I replied belatedly, watching with interest. “I thought you were out of ammunition.”

“We are,” said Liam.

“But we don’t know what yahoos are running around,” said Jess. He held up one of the cylinders. It was about as long as my pinky finger and it looked like it had a gear attached to one end. “Easy solution is to keep the bolts with us.”

“I still say we should go with the firing pin,” said Duke, holding up a needle-like silver part.

“You wanna carry around the firing pins, go right ahead,” replied Jess. “Just realize I’m gonna shove my hand up your ass and use you as a meat puppet when you lose mine.”

Quinn snorted. “He said when, not if. Remember last time?”

“Hey, that was one time and I found it.” Duke glared at Jess. I wondered how many cautionary tales featured the wiry Southerner. Every team had the kid who couldn’t do anything right, but it didn’t seem that Duke was the type who made mistakes all the time. He just probably couldn’t keep his mouth shut and that made him a convenient target, I decided.

“Those bolts are an important part of the firing mechanism of the rifle,” I explained to Luca. “If they’re missing that piece, then they can’t be fired, even if someone managed to steal them and find more bullets.”

“Look at you, Bug, remembering your rifle anatomy lessons,” Liam said.

I made a face at him. “At first hearing my nickname again was nostalgic, now it’s just annoying.”

My brother merely chuckled and turned back to his teammates. Jess produced a coil of olive-drab cord from his pocket, measuring out an arm’s-length and cutting it with his knife. He melted the ends of the cord with his lighter to keep it from fraying, a process that Luca watched with an air of professional interest. Jess threaded the cord through the hollow center of the bolts, tying each securely in place, and then he knotted the ends of the cord into a loop. He slipped the cord over his head and tucked the bolts beneath his shirt. “Can’t do that with a firing pin.”

“You realize you’re our Frodo now,” said Quinn. Jess gave him a sideways look. “You know, one Ring to rule them all? Except you’ve got our bolts. Like…four bolts for men, doomed to die.”

I laughed.

“See? Xena, Warrior Princess over there gets it.”

Jess merely stared at Quinn. “Doomed to die?”

“It’s part of the rhyme…forget it.” The tattooed man shook his head. “Uncultured savages, all of you.”

“Says the guy who killed a wolf with a screwdriver,” Duke pointed out in an undertone.

“It’s called a garrelnost,” I offered as I unrolled my kit.

“We’ll find a place to stash these,” Liam pronounced, looking down at the various components of weaponry laid out on the cloaks. “They’re just dead weight.”

“What about when we go back? We’ll get our asses handed to us for losing ‘em,” said Duke. Quinn touched the butt of his rifle almost lovingly.

“If you pack them into a couple of bundles, we could manage carrying them,” I said after glancing at Luca, who nodded. “If we have to drop them at any point, we’ll know that they can’t be used against us.”

“That’s a good compromise for now,” allowed Liam. “Make it happen.”

And with an efficient speed that left me staring with one eyebrow raised, Quinn and Jess stacked two rifles on each cloak, folding a layer of cloth between the weapons, and then rolled them into tight bundles, tied shut with a few more lengths of Jess’s handy cord.

“It looks like none of you have any major problems, but do any of you need stitched up?” I asked.

Quinn eyed the vials and pouches of my healing kit. “You a doc?”

“We’re all trained to an extent but yes, I’ve done some time as an apprentice.” I thought about telling the guys that most of the healers in Faeortalam, even the junior ones, had been practicing their art for a century or more; after amusing myself by picturing their reactions, I decided to ease them into all the details of their new reality.

“An apprentice,” repeated Liam.

“So proper. Are we sure we didn’t get sucked back into medieval times?” Quinn squinted at Liam.

I sighed. “First of all, if you’d please answer my question. And then I’ll show you why you didn’t travel through time.”

“Bossy. I like her,” commented Quinn.

“You’re only calling her bossy because she’s a chick,” said Jess.

Quinn tilted his head and considered. “True. I apologize. You are very…assertive. Bold. I still like it.” He grinned, his teeth white against his dark beard and brown skin.

“Anyone need stitches?” Liam steered them back to my question. The men checked themselves over.

“Negative,” said Jess.

“I’m good.” Duke gave Liam thumbs-up.

Quinn examined a long, sluggishly bleeding gash on his shin. “I got myself pretty good on one of those rocks, but looks like it should be fine.”

“Don’t try to be macho,” I told them, surprising myself at how easily the slang of my old world rolled off my tongue.

“Yes, ma’am,” replied Duke with a little salute. He looked at Luca contemplatively. “Don’t suppose you’ve got any dip, do you?”

“He doesn’t have any dip,” I answered for the ulfdrengr.

“Damn,” muttered Duke. “No dip in Valhalla.” Then he looked at my healing kit. “Any chance I could get one of those?”

“Team medic,” Liam explained to me in an aside. “Lord help us.”

“I heard that. And my stitches are the prettiest stitches you’ll see this side of Kandahar,” Duke proclaimed. My brother grinned.

“What’s the Dungeons and Dragons proof you’re going to show us?” Quinn asked. He hiked up his camo pants at the thighs in a practiced motion and sat down, the other three following suit, leaving me and Luca standing in front of them. I rolled up my right sleeve, exposing my war-markings; I dipped into the well of my taebramh and sent a spark rolling down the emerald whorls, igniting them into dazzling light.

“Dude,” breathed Duke, leaning forward. I smiled a little at his fascination.

Just for good measure, I wove a little ball of light and tossed it overhead. Duke’s eyes were wide and Liam wore a small smile. Jess’s expression didn’t change at all, and Quinn looked at me with consideration.

“Now my question is, how do I get a glowing tattoo? Because that’s wicked cool,” he said with a grin, flexing his forearm and making his own tattoos ripple.

I smiled a little self-consciously as the emerald fire racing down my arms faded. “I don’t think you’d like the process much. It was involuntary.”

“So what are you?” Jess asked. There was no rudeness or even curiosity in his voice, just a blunt forthrightness.

“Tess is the Bearer of the Iron Sword,” said Luca, imbuing my title with a sense of mystery and power that I felt I couldn’t have replicated. The four men remained silent, obviously waiting for one of us to expand on Luca’s statement, so I took a deep breath. I wasn’t going to escape their scrutiny that easily.

“The Iron Sword is a weapon that was passed down through an ancient line of mortal priestesses,” I explained, touching the hilt of the Sword at my shoulder. “It was lost for hundreds of years. Only a mortal, or one with a lot of mortal blood, can wield the Sword because of the nature of its power. It can be deadly to Sidhe. The Queen of the Unseelie Court summoned my best friend Molly into the Fae world because she was the subject of a prophecy. Which turned out to be true, but not in the way that they thought…because I came through the veil with Molly.” I waited for exclamations of surprise or disbelief, but the men just watched me and waited. It was like staring down a pack of wolves. “Long story short, I was the first mortal in this world in five hundred years. And after a while I figured out that I was the heir to the Sword.” I spread my hands. “And here I am.”

“Tess makes light of her triumphs since she has come into this world,” said Luca. I scowled at him. He grinned and put up his hands. “Yet her story is not mine to tell.”

“Is that why they wanted you?” Quinn asked Liam. “To use as collateral against your sister because she has this magical sword?”

“Partially,” said Liam. He looked up at me and then back at Quinn. I frowned. Hadn’t he told his teammates about his ability? “Look, this is a lot to absorb. Let’s just go get washed up and eat some real food for once.”

“We’ve been here for over three weeks, brother,” said Quinn. “We’re not going anywhere. We can wait on a bath for five minutes so you can tell us what’s really going on.”

“We can tell when there’s something you’re holding back from us,” Duke added, his demeanor now serious.

Quinn and Duke stared intently at Liam, who shifted, his eyes flickering to Jess. The older man nodded slightly. Quinn frowned but he kept his silence while Liam took a breath and spoke. “I have…abilities.”

Quinn pointed at my arm. “Like glowing-tattoo abilities?”

“Not exactly, but it’s because we’re of the same bloodline. The priestesses or whatever.” Liam paused. “You know how sometimes I’m a little too quick, or a little too good at guessing what’s going to happen next when we’re in the middle of a shitstorm?”

I pressed my lips together to keep from smiling at my brother’s expressive profanity. I was surprised I hadn’t heard more expletives from the other men, but I suspected they were actually trying to be polite.

Duke jumped up. “You can see the future. I knew it!”

Jess raised an eyebrow as if to say to Liam, Told you so. I surmised that Liam had probably told his senior team member but for some reason he hadn’t felt it necessary to tell the younger two. Though before today, I reasoned, they hadn’t had any interaction with the Fae other than with the creatures they might have encountered in the mountains. Without any tangible proof that they were in another world—maybe he hadn’t even been completely certain himself—my brother had focused on keeping his team alive and in good spirits.

“You could have told us,” Quinn said quietly, his dark eyes fixed intensely on my brother’s face. “It’s not like we trust each other with our lives or anything.”

“What would your reaction be if someone told you they could see the future?” Jess interjected, matching his volume to Quinn’s words.

Quinn pressed his lips together. “Probably the same as if someone had told me we’d be sucked through a damn portal into another world. But here we are.”

Liam ran one hand through his hair. I wondered if I should leave him to talk to his team privately. It felt a little bit like I was trespassing on a sensitive conversation.

“You’re right,” he said to Quinn finally. “I should have told you. You’re my brothers, and I was wrong to keep it from you. I just didn’t want you to think I was crazy. Hell, sometimes I thought I was crazy.”

Quinn’s look turned to one of consideration. Then he smiled, his teeth glimmering white between his full lips. “We already knew you’re a special kind of crazy.”

Jess chuckled and Duke grinned. I got the feeling that it was a private joke between them.

“Yeah.” Liam rubbed his chin, smiling ruefully. “A special kind of crazy and a special kind of dumb, sometimes.”

“Hasn’t killed us yet,” replied Duke, finishing what I was certain was a well-worn refrain.

“So how does it work?” Quinn asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

“It’s hard to explain. The future isn’t set. It’s always shifting, and the farther into the future, the more possibilities there are because of all the choices leading up to that moment in time. I get glimpses of what I call the threads, all interwoven and tangled up because they all result from different choices. If I can pick it apart, or figure out the main choice leading up to an outcome, then I can work backwards.”

“The butterfly effect, man,” said Quinn musingly, leaning back on his hands.

“Why haven’t you won the lottery yet?” Duke demanded. “If I could see the future, I’d totally cash in and buy a jet.” He considered. “A jet with a stripper pole,” he amended.

Liam laughed. “Of course you would.”

As if at a silent signal, Jess stood and Quinn followed suit, stretching.

“The river is straight downhill,” said Luca. “Probably about an hour’s walk on foot.”

“Walking? Who said we were walking?” Duke grinned at Quinn and then sprinted out of camp. To my surprise, the large brown man ran after him.

“They have no appreciation for the fact that we might run into zombies out here,” said Liam. He glanced at me. “Or whatever names you’ve given to these horror-show critters.”

“Oh, to be young and stupid again,” replied Jess dryly as he followed at a more reasonable lope.

Liam gave me a quick hug. “We’ll talk when I get back, Bug.”

“Looking forward to it,” I replied with a smile. As Liam disappeared into the trees, Luca signaled to Niamh. In short order, a pair of Valkyrie climbed above the treetops, winging almost lazily down the mountain in the direction of the river.

With my brother and his teammates gone, my thoughts rushed into the silence in my mind. My hands shook slightly as I checked the vials and pouches of my healing kit, making sure every herb and instrument was in its proper place before I rolled it closed. Luca and Niamh spoke in quiet voices for a few moments, and then the silver-haired Seelie nodded briskly, walking back to the center of camp and directing the watch setup.

“Tess,” said Luca, turning back to me. “How are you?”

I smiled a little. I’d expected him to ask if I was all right. It was easier to skate by that question than this one. “I’m…thinking. A lot.” I took a deep breath and straightened, my healing kit neatly packed. I looked at the ulfdrengr and shrugged. “I feel like I should be really relieved. And I am. I’m so glad that Liam is safe.” I sighed. “But it’s just…different. It’s not like we’re at home. It’s not like he just got back from deployment.” I shook my head. “He’s gotten dragged into this war, and then there are the other three. I can’t imagine what they’re feeling. I don’t know how it happened, but they’re stuck here too.”

“They are all warriors,” said Luca.

“I know. It’s just…and I know this has absolutely nothing to do with anything, but I don’t feel like it’s fair for them to have been sucked through the veil with no choice in the matter.” I spread my hands and then crossed my arms. A few of the vanguard had already managed to shoot a pale-pelted deer; Robin carried it into camp draped over his shoulders, a smear of dark blood across his cheek luridly contrasting his bright hair and cheeky grin.

“You were brought into this world without much choice,” said Luca quietly. “You chose to stay by the side of your friend and fight. Those men, they are brothers, and they chose the same.” He paused. “I don’t think that’s the only thing on your mind, though.”

I smiled. “So perceptive for a wolf-warrior.”

Luca grinned. “Perhaps I pay such close attention because it you are important to me.”

“You’re unusually perceptive all the time,” I said. I hesitated, but then I reminded myself that Luca had become one of my truest friends in Faeortalam. He’d proven time and again that he deserved my trust. “I’ve been thinking about Finnead too.”

“It would only be natural,” Luca said, his voice carefully neutral.

“Well, yes…but these thoughts are more like questions,” I said softly. I pressed my lips together and watched Robin and a few other of the vanguard warriors lashing a length of rope about the hind legs of the deer, preparing to haul it over a tree branch and skin it.

“If you would like to talk to me about these questions, I will listen as a friend,” Luca said.

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I know. But I don’t think it’s fair of me to rely on you for relationship advice, given our…situation.”

Luca smiled. “Our situation?”

I looked sharply at him and caught the glimmer of amusement in his pale eyes. An answering smile curved my lips, even as the air heated between us at the prolonged gaze. “You know exactly what I mean.”

“All too well,” he replied after a long moment.

I walked over to my pack and deposited my kit. “I’m going to go help Robin dress that deer. Let me know when our Walker returns?”

Luca nodded. Then, right before I turned to walk toward Robin, Luca reached out and delicately gathered me into his arms, his big hands gentle in consideration of my bruised ribs. After a split second of surprise, I leaned my forehead against his solid chest, sliding my hands beneath his arms.

“I am glad your brother is safe, Tess,” Luca said.

The flood of relief that I’d expected earlier now rushed through my body like a tidal wave. I let it wash over me, the warmth of Luca’s embrace a comforting counterpoint to the sudden weakness in my knees. I took a deep breath and then carefully extricated myself from his arms, pushing away the compulsion to tilt my head up and brush my lips over his. “That makes two of us.” I smiled and squeezed Luca’s arm in thanks. He brushed a thumb across my cheekbone, pale blue eyes focused with unnerving intensity on my face. Then he winked at me and smiled, breaking the tension.

“Time to go help cook dinner,” I said brightly, hoping he didn’t hear the husky current of heat in my voice as I turned and walked across camp.

Chapter 27

Robin and the other hunters had shot two deer—one of the Valkyrie had actually shot the first one, he explained, and picked out the other one from the air for the ground hunters.

“There’s some advantage to having eyes in the sky,” he said as we skinned the deer he’d carried into camp. They’d already field dressed the carcasses with typical Sidhe speed, and in short order we had the best cuts of meat speared on sturdy spits, waiting to be placed over the fire when it grew hot enough. Kianryk obligingly dragged the carcass into the trees when we finished.

“Lazy-bones,” muttered Robin good-naturedly.

Shadows lengthened as the sun set behind the mountains. I retrieved my cloak as the air took on a biting chill. We stoked the fire to roaring, and by the time the newest mortals in Faeortalam emerged from the trees with wet hair and freshly scrubbed skin, the scent of roasting meat hovered in a heavenly cloud over the camp. The four men wore new clothes, carrying their camouflage pants and shirts in rolled bundles—although Jess had opted to continue wearing his more nondescript olive-drab pants, still drying from being washed in the river. I grinned at Liam. “You guys look like proper members of the company now.”

Quinn ran his hands through his damp, wavy black hair. “I think we need swords if we really want to blend in.”

“Or an axe,” said Duke, looking covetously at Luca’s weapon.

Liam chuckled. “Bloodthirsty savages.”

“Hungry savages,” agreed Quinn, inspecting the roasting meat. Moira, turning one of the spits, watched him with a very carefully blank Sidhe expression, conveying no emotion save for the glitter of her pale eyes. But I thought I saw a flash of interest pass over her dangerously beautiful face.

“You obviously managed to keep yourselves fed since coming through,” I said.

“Duke’s our corn-fed Southern boy, so he knows how to hunt. And all of us are good shots, obviously,” Liam said. “But we had to keep moving and stay beneath the radar. That limited us a little bit.”

Next to the fire, there was a cloak spread out with a variety of berries and plants gleaned from the forest, including more of those pale green tubers. I wasn’t sure whether it was Sidhe knowledge or ulfdrengr tradition that had netted us this bounty, but I didn’t quite care as I selected a few of the plump berries. My stomach rumbled in anticipation. I glanced at Luca. “Is our Walker back yet?”

He shook his head. “He’s been gone a long time, but that does not mean anything is wrong necessarily.”

“Did we have any time limit?” I asked, frowning. Moira and Robin lifted the roasted meat from over the fire onto a separate set of forked branches set upright in the ground. The haunch of deer sizzled and hissed as it cooled. I tried to keep my thoughts focused and my stomach distracted by savoring a few of the berries.

“No. Vell may be keeping him until the other Walkers report at dusk,” Luca said.

“What’s a Walker, and who is this Vell we keep hearing about?” Quinn rubbed his beard with the palm of his hand.

Once again I realized how much they didn’t know, and how much I’d learned and lived since coming through the lesser gate in Mab’s kingdom. “Let’s get food first, and I’ll explain.” I nodded toward the fire. “You’re the newest members of the company, so I’m pretty sure everyone is waiting for you to eat first.”

“Not gonna argue,” said Duke. A few extra sets of bowls and utensils had been scavenged from among the company’s packs—though I suspected that Luca had directed a few members to pack extra clothes and necessities for any potential rescued mortals. We carved out generous portions of still-hot meat. I licked my scorched, greasy fingers after filling my bowl. The low hum of warriors enjoying a hard-earned hot meal after a day of fighting filled the camp.

Quinn found a log and claimed it as his seat; Duke sat on the ground and leaned back against the end of the log. I found myself in a casual circle with the four men, Luca, Niamh, Moira and Robin, who gave me a grin as he settled down next to Jess. I ate a couple of roasted tubers to settle my stomach while I waited for the meat to cool to a more palatable temperature.

“So,” I said, “Vell is also called the vyldretning. She’s the High Queen, head of the Wild Court, also called the vyldgard.”

“She’s the one I told you to crown,” Liam said with a nod. “I saw a bit of that, you holding something burning in your hands and that column of fire funneling down into her. It looked intense.”

I held up my right hand, showing them my palm. “It was intense. I have the scars to prove it.” I smiled. “Anyway…um, I’m doing a terrible job of explaining all this.” The Caedbranr chuckled, vibrating in its sheath on my back. Quinn looked at the Sword sharply. “Yeah, it does that sometimes. Okay. Let me start from…well, not the beginning, but a lot farther back. When I came into Faeortalam—the Fae world—there were two Courts, the Seelie and the Unseelie Courts. The Seelie Court is ruled by Queen Titania, and the Unseelie Court is ruled by Queen Mab.”

“Like straight-from-legend Mab and Titania?” asked Quinn with a slight edge of incredulity.

“Yes. Although from what they’ve told me, some of what was written about them in our literature was propaganda of sorts. The Unseelie Court isn’t evil, though there are some unsavory characters there, and apparently they were into the darker sides of things for a time. But in any case, the broader picture is that Unseelie identify with night and winter, and they’re dark-haired and pale-skinned. The Seelie favor summer and the sun. Most of the riders here are Seelie—there’s a bit more variation in how they look but most of the time they have light hair and kind of golden skin.” I paused. “Have I missed anything major so far?” I asked the circle at large, glancing at Niamh and Moira. They merely grinned and continued eating. I ate a mouthful of meat and chewed thoughtfully, trying to streamline my narrative in my head. “All right then. The two Courts both have their lands and their strongholds—Brightvale and Darkhill. Or…had. Brightvale was recently destroyed, and I’m not sure about the exact status of Darkhill right now. Anyway. Separate Courts, though in the past they apparently mingled pretty extensively. Each Queen has three Knights that are bound to her, the best and brightest of her warriors. They’re like an extension of her. About five hundred years ago, right around the time that the Sword was lost, Queen Mab’s sister was kidnapped and killed by the forces of a rising threat.”

I took another bite of meat and then continued to explain the events that had led up to Molly and me coming through the lesser gate, and then Vell’s crowning as the High Queen. Even though I tried to keep the story as simple as possible, it lasted long after we were done eating. I told of our encounter with the sirens and finding the Crown of Bones, and then our journey to Brightvale and rescuing Titania from Malravenar’s prison in the ether. Every so often, one of the men would interrupt to ask a specific question, usually about a Sidhe word I’d used or to clarify something about my power or the power of the Sidhe. I finished by telling the story of the dragon hunt, and then the earthquake that had signified their passage from the mortal world into Faeortalam.

“So there are really three Courts,” Quinn said. He seemed to be the most interested in the intricacies of this new world.

“Yes, now there are. Vell is the High Queen, and she’s in the process of creating her Court.”

“Are we going to meet up with these other Courts? How’s that going to work?” Jess leaned forward, his grave eyes watching me with a level gaze.

I glanced at Luca. “We’re waiting on word about that. But the other two Courts are traveling toward Vell’s camp right now.”

“Where do you fit into all this?” Liam asked Luca.

“I am an ulfdrengr,” Luca replied, eyes gleaming in the light of the fire. “The vyldretning was the heir to our people before she was crowned by the First. She was our herravaldyr. So we follow her out of allegiance to our own people.”

“We?” Liam repeated questioningly.

“There are only three ulfdrengr who survived the destruction of our people.” The ulfdrengr looked steadily at my brother. “Vell was the only free warrior after the harrowing of the North. She offered her skills as a hunter and tracker to the Unseelie Court.”

“She found me,” I said with a smile, remembering that rainy night.

“And she has a wolf too?” interjected Quinn. “I just want to make sure I’m understanding all this. Because it sounds like I might want to sign up to be an ulfdrengr.” He pronounced the word almost perfectly, earning a grin from Luca.

“Yes, we are all wolf-chosen,” replied Luca. He touched the white scar on his neck where the White Wolf had marked him. Among the more pressing considerations of day-to-day survival, I’d almost forgotten our encounter with the wolf god of the ulfdrengr. “Gods willing, we will choose more warriors after this war.”

I thought of silver-and-gray Rialla and sable Beryk. I wondered if Kianryk could find an ordinary wolf to take as his mate, or if he would be content to be the guardian of the pack. It felt odd to think of what would happen after the war. I couldn’t really wrap my head around a Faeortalam without threat lurking in every shadow.

“All right, Tess?” asked my brother. “You look a bit sad suddenly.”

I shrugged. “I just realized that I don’t know what peace looks like in this world.” I paused. “I’ve known that we were at war ever since I came through the gate.”

“At least the enemy in this war is pretty cut-and-dry,” said Duke.

“Sometimes not as cut-and-dry as you’d think,” I replied darkly, thinking of Allene, transformed into a skeletal creature with dark fire flickering in its eyes. I pushed the image away. “Anyway. Now you know most of what’s going on around here…your turn. How did you end up in Faeortalam?”

“It’s really not a very exciting story,” said Liam, but Quinn and Duke leaned forward eagerly, eyes shining at the chance to tell their side of events.

“We were out on patrol,” said Quinn, “and all of a sudden there’s this earthquake.”

“The sky goes all dark,” contributed Duke, spreading his hands over an imaginary landscape. “Thought it was Judgement Day or someone had used a nuke or somethin’.”

“And then these things—I don’t know if they were men or what, because they were all wrapped up in black—grab Liam,” continued Quinn. “Of course we all unload on the fu—on them. Not about to let ‘em snatch up our team leader.”

“We saw a couple of those wolf-things, the big nasty ones. We killed one.” Duke nodded in satisfaction.

“Basically we’re just fighting our asses off, wondering what kind of voodoo shit is going on, and we get pulled through this wormhole.” Quinn made a sucking sound and brought his hands together. I chuckled. “Dumped us in the middle of the mountains, just spat us out quick as you please.”

“It sucked,” muttered Duke.

“Our delicate little flower here puked his guts out,” said Quinn with a grin, nudging Duke with his foot. Duke told him to go put his judgment in a very uncomfortable place.

“Most of our gear was fried coming through,” Jess said. “Night vision goggles, comms gear, anything with electronics, most of it melted right then and there.” He grimaced. “We smelled like burnt plastic for a couple of days.”

“So we dumped most of our gear, kept the basics, went slick and hauled ass,” finished Quinn.

“I miss my plate carrier,” Duke said in an undertone, sounding like a kid who’d lost his favorite baseball glove.

“Ballistic plates don’t do shit against things that don’t shoot bullets,” Jess said.

“Well, we get to upgrade to armor now, right?” Duke looked hopefully at me.

“And here I thought Quinn was the Dungeons and Dragons nerd,” Liam said beneath his breath.

Quinn grinned. “You’re just jealous that some of my nerd-knowledge might actually come in handy.”

Duke tilted his head and then nodded. “Valid.”

I smiled. For guys that had been dropped in the middle of the wilderness and survived for a couple of weeks on their own, they were resilient. “You didn’t see any of it coming, right before they snatched you?” I asked Liam. “From what you’ve said, it sounds like your visions are pretty consistent when it comes to physical danger.”

He thought for a moment. “I had a weird feeling, but I couldn’t really see what was wrong. Maybe because the threat was coming from a different world?”

“Maybe your fortune-telling noggin wasn’t calibrated to detect those kinds of beasties,” Quinn offered.

“An expert assessment if ever I heard one,” Jess said sardonically.

I frowned. “Why spit you out in the mountains? Why not just take you right to Malravenar’s stronghold?”

“It takes a great deal of power to pierce the veil,” said Niamh. “Perhaps the pathway was not so controlled as the Enemy thought, or more than one mortal entering the tear unbalanced it.”

“Once we were through, I could See clearly again,” said Liam. “It was pretty simple to evade them.”

I looked sharply at Luca. “Was this just a diversion? Do you think he’s planning to attack while we’re out here in the mountains?”

“It’s possible,” allowed Luca. “But you know that we couldn’t justify even the possibility of a Seer coming into enemy hands.”

“He probably knows that too,” I said thoughtfully.

“Apparently you’re kind of a big deal,” Quinn said to Liam in a low voice.

I shook my head in frustration. I felt like I was staring at a puzzle, unable to fit the pieces together. “Using my brother as bait…it’s a possibility. It fits. I just don’t understand why.”

“Who is this guy?” Quinn asked. “I mean, I get that he’s the super-villain extraordinaire of this world, but…who is he? What’s the motivation?”

“I wish I had an answer,” I said, staring down at my hands, watching the firelight play over my lacy scars. “I don’t know anything other than he’s very old and very powerful. He wants dominion over this world.” I shrugged.

“Deranged powerful bad guy. Got it,” said Quinn. “Next question is, what can we do to help?”

I looked at the tattooed man in surprise. He gazed calmly back at me. His three teammates mirrored his serious look, awaiting my answer. I blinked.

“We can always use more warriors,” I said finally. “We’d be honored if you’d fight with us.”

“You got it, ma’am,” said Duke. “Do with us what you will.”

“We totally just enlisted in the army of elves and light, didn’t we,” said Quinn with a grin.

“Please don’t call them elves,” I said, eyebrows raised. “They’re Sidhe.”

“I don’t mind being called an elf,” said Robin puckishly. “There’s a certain mortal charm to it.”

“On the serious side,” I said, “just so we’re clear. This isn’t a dream. If you die here, you’re dead.” I let that sink in, but it didn’t seem to faze the four men. I supposed I shouldn’t have been surprised at their ready acceptance of peril, given their occupation. “And we don’t know the timeline for being able to transport you back to the mortal world, or even if that will ever happen.”

A long moment of silence stretched over our little group, the quiet broken by the drifting sounds of song and celebration from around the main fire. Then Jess cleared his throat.

“I know these boys well enough to speak for all of us when I say that we’re always looking for the next adventure,” he said. “And when that adventure involves kicking some ass in the name of righteousness and the forces of good, that makes it even better.”

“Hell yeah,” said Quinn.

“Righteousness and the forces of good,” crowed Duke in agreement.

Liam grinned and raised his cup. We all followed suit, including Niamh and Robin. “To a long adventure of ass-kicking and righteous fury.”

Duke let out a yell as we all drank and Niamh answered with a full-throated howl; then suddenly from in the darkness behind us, Kianryk added his voice to the melee, startling the men. Liam laughed at his own surprise and our circle dissolved into easy conversation, the shadows deepening about us as the moon climbed higher in the velvet sky.

After another hour or so catching up with Liam and talking with his teammates, I felt confident in their ability to fend for themselves in the camp, and I went in search of Luca. I found him deep in conversation with the vanguard’s Walker. The Seelie Walker looked as though he’d just finished an arduous trek: exhaustion pressed dark shadows under his eyes, and he moved as though even standing upright was a hard task. I felt a slight prickle of irritation that Luca hadn’t included me in his initial conversation with the Walker, but then I reminded myself that he probably hadn’t wanted to interrupt my time with Liam. I also reminded myself that Luca was the commander of this vanguard, and although I wielded the most powerful weapon in this world, I still respected his authority.

Kianryk glided over to me, his sinuous grace beautiful to watch. I combed my fingers through his golden pelt and rubbed behind each of his great ears. He uncurled his tongue, letting it loll over his gleaming teeth. After a few more moments, Liam clasped the Walker by the shoulder and dismissed him with an order to go to sleep.

“Where is Niamh?” Luca asked as he turned toward me. He, too, looked a bit worn, the shadows carving his face more severely than usual.

“Here,” answered the Valkyrie captain, appearing silently. She tactfully approached on the side of me that wasn’t occupied by a huge tawny wolf.

“Good,” said Luca. “The forces of Mab and Titania have joined the vyldgard,” he continued without preamble. “The three Queens have held council.”

I wished I could imitate Jess’s low whistle of amazement. “That must be quite an army.”

“The greatest this world has ever known,” said Niamh, her eyes glimmering in the firelight.

“The Queens were not of one mind when the question of strategy arose,” continued Luca. “The Seelie Queen wished to pursue a more cautious approach. The vyldretning, as we knew before we left, wants to strike at the heart of Malravenar’s stronghold.”

“And Mab?” I asked. My mind was racing. If Mab’s forces had joined those of the Seelie Court and the vyldgard, Molly and Ramel and everyone I had known from Darkhill would be encamped right now by the skeleton of the dragon.

“The Unseelie Queen proposed a middle ground,” Luca said.

I raised my eyebrows in surprise, crossing my arms. “It seems far-fetched that Titania and Vell disagreed, and Mab was the mediator.”

“I’m sure it was not quite that simple,” said Luca. “But in the end, they have created an ambitious plan.”

“So we’ll be riding back through the Deadlands to rejoin the army,” I said, grimacing at the thought of trekking back over the barren, dusty lands. Even though we’d only skirted the borders of the poisoned land dominated by Malravenar, I didn’t look forward to a return trip.

“I’m guessing there’s a twist to this plan,” said Niamh, watching Luca’s face carefully. “As long as I get the opportunity to wreak some havoc, I don’t particularly care about the details.”

“Tess,” said Luca, “Vell requests that you Walk to the Queens’ Camp in the morning, so she can explain the plan to you in person. She says she’ll send you a guide that you’ll know.”

I sighed. “I knew I wasn’t going to get away with a vacation from the ether.” My stomach tightened. Even though I’d Walked to meet Ramel in the blue rose garden, the feeling of Murtagh dragging me back into Brightvale with the last of his strength still dominated my thoughts about Walking. The Sword hummed a little—in reproach or commiseration, I couldn’t tell. I narrowed my eyes. “So we’re not traveling back through the Deadlands?”

“Oh, we’ll be traveling,” said Luca with his wolfish grin. “I’m just going to let Vell explain it to you.”

“You’re afraid I’d shoot the messenger?” I arched an eyebrow with an answering grin.

“Well, you’re really not that good of a shot, so….” Luca shrugged. Niamh laughed and I had to chuckle as well.

“So we hold here?” the Valkyrie asked, her voice now business-like again.

“Yes. No watches in the air. Ensure there are warning runes at a good distance.”

Niamh nodded and strode away.

“Warning runes need trees,” Luca explained to me. “It’s not worth the energy to create them if you’re only scratching them into dirt.”

“Do the trees themselves help warn us?” I closed my eyes slightly as the forest breeze rippled over my skin.

“Sometimes,” he replied, “though most of them are deep asleep now.” He gazed out contemplatively into the darkness.

“Speaking of sleep,” I said, stifling a sudden yawn, “I’m going to grab some while I can, especially if I’m going to be Walking for as long as I think I might be tomorrow.”

Luca nodded. “I’ll wake you at first light.”

“Is our Walker coming back with me as well?”

“No. I don’t want to send both of you at once.”

“Ah, here I was the alternate Walker and didn’t even know it.” I smiled as I slipped around sleeping figures, toward where I estimated my pack to be. I glimpsed Jess and Liam sitting on their log not far away, immersed in quiet conversation; I squinted and made out Duke and Quinn, both asleep already. Duke slept curled into a tight little ball and Quinn sprawled on his back with a ballcap pulled low over his face. Liam glanced over at me and I flashed him a thumbs-up in silent question. He answered with his own thumbs-up and a little nod. Satisfied, I wrapped myself in my cloak to ward off the increasingly cold night air. It was only as I slipped into sleep that I realized I’d forgotten to lay aside both my boots and the Caedbranr, and I didn’t have the energy to pull back from the comforting darkness.

As soon as I awoke in the gray gloom of early morning, I immediately regretted my decision to wear the Sword during the night. The sheath dug uncomfortably into my back between my shoulder blades, and I could already feel the painful knots from my awkward sleeping position. I groaned in protest as I untangled myself from my cloak and sat up. There was nothing for it but to try to work out the kinks in my muscles by moving, so I pushed myself to my feet and stretched before hunting for the leftover meat. “Rookie mistake,” I muttered to myself, idly checking my braided hair with one hand as I unwrapped one of the packets of roasted meat. The Caedbranr chuckled. “You’re just around for the comedy these days, aren’t you,” I said grumpily. I downed a portion of the meat, poking at the banked embers of the fire with a long stick, watching the sparks rise into the twilight. I wondered how Mab and her Court had received Arcana…or, for that matter, Finnead.

“You’re up early,” Liam commented, eyeing the cold meat still left in my packet. I gave it to him and he smiled in thanks.

“I have to go check in with Vell,” I said, staring at the silhouettes of the treetops, the interlacing branches dark against the lightening sky.

“What, you can just transport yourself or something?”

“Not exactly, but almost,” I allowed. “It’s called Walking. I guess you can think of it as my soul or spirit—whatever you want to call it—transiting between one place and another by using these hidden pathways.”

“Is that part of being the Bearer?” my brother asked.

“I found out I could Walk before I officially became the Bearer, but I don’t know. Maybe it’s part and parcel, maybe not. I mean, you Walked when you met me in the ether, so I guess it’s just in our blood.” I smiled at Liam’s look of consideration; it was the expression he wore when he was thinking of novel ways to use his many skills. “I know the Sword amplifies my abilities. I had some power before I was baptized, but nothing compared to what I have now.”

“Interesting. On that note…I want to show you something else. Without the other guys around,” said Liam, licking his fingers as he finished off his breakfast.

“I have a few minutes before I have to go. What have you got, big brother?”

Liam glanced back over his shoulder, checking to make sure that his teammates were still asleep.

“I don’t know why you think you need to hide your abilities from them,” I said quietly. “They obviously trust you and you trust them.”

Liam ran one hand through his shaggy hair. “I know. I just…I want to understand it myself first before I have to explain it to them.”

I nodded. Then Liam extended one of his hands, palm up, a look of concentration on his face. I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my face as a flickering flame appeared in his hand, the core of the fire a flat silver that reminded me of the empty gray rifle magazines on the ground.

“Runs in the family,” I said, calling up a tiny spark of my own taebramh, creating a floating flame that danced over my own palm. “It’s called taebramh.”

“Taebramh,” repeated Liam. He stared at the hypnotic fire. “Can you teach me how to use it?”

“I can try. I’ve really just learned by feel,” I said. “And everyone is different. Some use runes to give direction to their power, etched into objects or even onto their skin. I guess you could say I just use it freeform. There’s not really a set of rules that I’ve been taught, other than if you use too much of your own taebramh, you can die.” I closed my hand over the flame, extinguishing it. A bit of white smoke leaked out between my fingers. Liam dropped his hand and the little silver fire disappeared.

“I don’t want to rely on my mojo as a weapon yet,” he said.

“I’m sure Luca and Niamh can get you set up with swords. Maybe even an axe or two,” I said, proud that I’d picked up on the unspoken request. “I’ll probably be gone for a few hours. Just do me a favor and don’t let me get trampled while I’m away.”

Liam smiled. “I doubt you need me to protect you, but I’ll step up to the plate if necessary.” He gave me a one-armed hug and ruffled my hair, despite my belated squawk of protest. After grabbing another packet of meat, he walked back over to the log, greeting a just-awoken Jess with a nod.

I found Luca at the edge of camp, looking out into the forest, Kianryk sitting still as a statue by his side. The wolf didn’t move as I approached, though Luca turned and gave me a silent nod. Gaze fixed on something I couldn’t see, Kianryk slid liquidly into the shadows, nose scenting the wind.

“Is he hunting?” I asked in a voice barely more than a whisper.

“Of a sort,” Luca replied noncommittally.

I stood beside him and looked out at the shadows. I made out the still figure of one of our sentries, quietly keeping watch. Dew glistened on the undergrowth. I watched a long-legged white spider weave her web between two branches, marveling at the minuscule precision of her movements.

“Do you have any message for Vell?” I asked.

Luca shook his head. “No. I gave the full report yesterday.” He glanced at me. “They’re calling it the Army of the Three Queens.”

“A bit grandiose, but accurate,” I allowed. “So they’re on the move then? Let me guess, Mab took offense to camping by the carcass of a dragon.”

“You could ask her,” Luca suggested.

“Right, because we were on the best of terms to begin with,” I said, shaking my head.

“Merrick has been tracking the bulk of Malravenar’s forces through his map sorcery,” Luca continued. “The Queens are moving to intercept him.”

I frowned. “That can’t possibly be their plan.” I looked at Luca. “Smashing together two armies and seeing which one outlasts the other? That’s very… medieval.”

Luca only smiled. “You need to go see Vell so she can explain it to you properly.”

“I don’t see why you can’t explain it,” I muttered. Luca didn’t answer me. I wondered whether he even knew the entire plan, and then I chastised myself silently for my surly thoughts. “Sorry,” I said. “I’m just not a morning person.”

“I have observed this already, and it doesn’t offend me,” replied Luca, an amused gleam in his eyes.

I sighed. “Well, no use in procrastinating. I shouldn’t be more than a few hours. I told Liam that you could help them with weapons and such.”

“That I can,” said Luca. He gazed into the shadows among the trees for another moment and then strode back toward camp. I made my way back to my pack and cloak, still in disarray from the night’s sleep. I shook out my cloak and carefully arranged the Sword by my pack. The emerald in the pommel blinked sleepily at me. Only a small distance away, Niamh folded her legs and sank to the ground with boneless Sidhe grace. She gave me a small nod as she set out her blades to sharpen and spilled her quiver to examine the arrows for broken feathers and cracked shafts. I smiled a little, recognizing her post as the watch guarding my unconscious body; but we said nothing to one another. I lay down on my cloak and folded my hands over my stomach, closing my eyes.

I slid into the ether the instant that I reached for the seam between the waking world and the stuff of dreams. The speed and ease with which I plunged into the pathways surprised me—it felt almost too simple, as though I’d been halfway to Walking already—but I regained my focus and waited by the border I’d just passed, wondering who Vell would send as her messenger. Then a miniature shooting star hurtled across my vision, changing paths abruptly and curving toward me, cutting through the mist and the faraway kaleidoscope of color. I couldn’t help my smile as I watched the comet resolve itself into a Glasidhe.

“Tess-mortal!” Wisp pulled up just short of colliding with my face, the tip of one iridescent wing brushing my nose.

“Wisp,” I said fondly. “You’re hard to see so close.” I moved back just enough so that I could see the Glasidhe without straining my eyes. Moving through the ether felt strangely weightless, almost like floating in water, especially when I wasn’t hurtling toward my destination. “That’s better.”

“It is so very good to see you again, Tess-mortal,” Wisp said, his aura flickering with bright gold and blue, like a beautiful candle flame.

“I’ve missed you,” I said, smiling.

“And I, you,” Wisp replied with an elegant little bow. He still wore the little down-feather behind one ear, just like when he’d come through the tear in the window-screen. But now he wore armor: a dark breastplate that shone like the carapace of a beetle, black pointed-toe boots and gauntlets on his arms, daggers bristling at his belt. His wild, boyish face carried a new gravity.

“You look very fierce,” I told him, and I meant it.

“You look very battle-hardened,” he replied, swooping down to seize one of my hands in his small grip. His fingers delicately traced one whorl of dappled red-and-white flesh.

“New scars to prove it,” I agreed.

“You are all the more intriguing because of your scars,” pronounced the Glasidhe, letting my hand drop as he flew to hover in front of me again. “But look at me, losing focus so easily. It is just so good to see you!”

“I’m grateful that Vell sent you as my guide,” I said.

“Oh, yes. It is always much safer with a guide.” Wisp nodded gravely.

“Let me guess,” I said, thinking of my foray into Darkhill to rescue Murtagh. “There’s wards or protections or booby-traps. Something of that sort.”

“Yes!” said the Glasidhe gleefully. “The High Queen sent me to make sure that you arrived in good time.”

“How nice of her.”

“It is indeed, and I am happy to be of service to both the Bearer and the High Queen,” said Wisp, landing on my shoulder and patting my ear with one small hand. “Come on then. They will be waiting for you.”

The journey through the ether became much easier with Wisp directing me down the appropriate paths. I didn’t have to focus on my destination, and the sensation of floating through the spinning clouds of color became almost enjoyable.

“Tess-mortal, you will be amazed,” said Wisp, guiding me with little pushes on my ear in the direction that he wanted me to go. “Such magnificence, all gathered in one place!”

“I’m sure it’s awe-inspiring,” I said, thinking about the cool elegance of the Unseelie Court, the blazing golden beauty of the Seelie, and the wild perilous splendor of the fledgling vyldgard. “Has everyone been getting along?”

“There were a few tense moments,” admitted Wisp. “Some fistfights and a couple of attempted duels.”

“I would’ve thought the Sidhe were above petty fistfights,” I murmured, adjusting my course at Wisp’s direction.

“Nearly there,” said the Glasidhe. “Well, at first when the three Courts met, it was almost chaos. And then the Queens used their power and—” He clapped his small hands. “It was mostly the High Queen. She was truly marvelous. I think that the other two Courts were just too stunned and surprised to resist her, and then the other Queens stepped in as well.”

“Even Mab?” I asked.

“A bit more to the east. No, that way is east.” Wisp tugged hard on my ear, pointing in the appropriate direction. “You still have a terrible sense of direction.”

I laughed. “I didn’t know that you counted that as one of my shortcomings.”

“We all have our weaknesses,” said Wisp forgivingly. “And yes, even Mab. I think she will always be difficult to like, but she is not as cruel as I think you expect.”

“She dug through my mind without my permission. That counts as cruel in my book.”

“When you have ruled for hundreds of years, holding unimaginable power, it might be easy to lose sight of what others might find painful.”

“You don’t need to make excuses for her,” I said.

“Just don’t be rude during this council,” said Wisp. “Please, Tess-mortal?”

“Only because you asked nicely,” I replied, only half joking.

“Do you want to see the army?” Wisp asked. “We can approach from the sky.”

“Sounds like fun,” I said. Wisp leapt from my shoulder.

“Follow me closely. There are defenses even from the air,” he cautioned.

“I’ll be right behind you,” I reassured him. Wisp wriggled into the seam between the ether and reality, and I slid after him.

Chapter 28

We emerged into the blinding blue of a bright morning sky. Even with the muted sensations of Walking, the cold still bit into my insubstantial form. If I’d had to breathe in my Walker form, I was sure it would have emerged as a cloud of ice crystals from my lips. Instinctual panic sliced into me as I realized we were hundreds of feet above the ground.

“You are lighter than air,” said Wisp in my ear, as though he could read my thoughts. “For this, you do not need wings. Do not be afraid, Tess!”

I didn’t answer, all my energy focused on taking in the magnificent sight below us. I remembered the horror I’d felt at the glimpse of Malravenar’s forces, the bloodstained banners and bleached skulls held aloft over the monstrous Dark army. Now, the hope and pride surging within my chest overtook the intensity of that horror. The Army of the Three Queens covered the land, stretching to the western horizon, the stunning vision emptying my mind of conscious thought for a long moment. To the north, I picked out golden banners bearing the Seelie crest of a rising sun interwoven with vines and heavy-headed roses; and to the south, I saw midnight-blue flags depicting the Unseelie sigil, a graceful tree with the moon and stars in its branches. Finally, to the east, at the forefront of the great force, scarlet banners flew above the warriors, a golden crown and flames hovering above a fierce wolf on the crimson field.

I couldn’t begin to estimate the number of warriors riding beneath these banners. Spears rose like a thicket of trees, armor glinted in the weak sun of the Deadlands, and dust rose up in clouds above the great host, churned by the dancing hooves of the innumerable faehal. As my eyes followed a plume of dust, rising smoke-like among the bright banners, I saw the Glasidhe, their collective auras bright as a star, holding their own sky-blue banner with three trees picked out in gold, the sun on one side and the moon on the other.

“Come,” said Wisp with a tug at my ear. “They are waiting for you.”

I followed Wisp as he led me lower, still stunned by the overwhelming sight of all the warriors in Faeortalam riding out for the last and greatest battle. We wove our way down through the cloud of dust, and I felt the slight warm touch of inquisitive wards brushing past us, crackling with power and protection. I couldn’t see clearly through the gritty cloud, but I still felt the sensation of sinking lower and lower through the air. A great horn bellowed a deep call over the warriors as we emerged from the blinding dust, and I found myself only a few feet above the ground, facing the three Queens at the head of their host.

“Stay with me?” I murmured to Wisp.

“I’ll return,” he said, patting my ear as he stopped resisting the siren call of his physical body, his small ethereal form zipping away. I planted my feet on the dusty ground and looked up at the three Queens on their faehal: Titania to my left, resplendent in bright silver armor, a snow-white cape embroidered with green vines and red roses sweeping over the hindquarters of her mount; Mab on my right, wearing armor that gleamed with rippling light like the depths of a stormy sea, her coldly burning star diadem resting on the lustrous waves of her unbound dark hair; and finally, directly in front of me, there was Vell in her scarlet breastplate with the white-and silver wolf, the crown of the High Queen across her brow and her dark hair braided in its fierce ridge again, her golden eyes flashing as she gave me half a smile. I gave her half a bow, an answering smile on my face. Then I sobered as I nodded to both the Seelie and Unseelie queens.

Vell dismounted, her faehal stamping and snorting. The horn, I realized, must have signaled a halt to the massive army behind her. At the edges of my vision I saw sentries gallop onward, halting and setting a perimeter at a small distance from the forward edge of the forces. Titania slid down from her mount, her pure white cape unblemished even as she strode forward through the dust. Mab dismounted last, her black faehal tossing its head until Ramel came forward to quiet it. I glanced at my old friend, resplendent in the same darkly gleaming armor as the Unseelie Queen, a blood-red ruby flashing in the pommel of the sword at his belt. He caught my gaze and gave me the barest of smiles before turning his attention back to the Queen’s mount.

Wisp reappeared, arcing over Vell’s shoulder. I tightened my ghostly Walker form, creating enough substance that I couldn’t see the ground through my outstretched hand. The beginning of a headache throbbed low in the base of my skull, warning me not to overreach in making my Walker form too much a part of the physical world. Wisp alighted on my shoulder as though it were perfectly normal for a Walker to become half-substantial; his diminutive form felt heavier than usual.

“Well met, Lady Bearer,” said Queen Titania gracefully.

“And to you as well, Queen Titania,” I replied with as much formality as I could muster.

“How fares the northern vanguard?” asked the High Queen, her golden eyes intent on my face.

“We have recovered the Seer and his three companions.” I knew that right now, Vell was the High Queen and I was the Bearer, but I still had to push down the impulse to grin and give her a sarcastic reply. I had a feeling that would ruin our stately bearing, and that just wouldn’t do in front of Titania, and especially not in front of Mab. “There was a Dark force pursuing them, but none of them were gravely wounded, nor were any of our warriors seriously injured in the battle.”

Vell grinned, a flicker of personality seeping through the queenly mask. “It is always good to wreak havoc on our enemies without any losses.”

I gave another nod. “Our captain has led us well. He told me that you requested my presence.” I felt the coldness of Mab’s impenetrable gaze as the Unseelie Queen stared silently at me. Wisp patted my ear in silent encouragement.

“Yes,” said Vell.

“We have refined the plan of our final assault,” said Titania. “The combined wisdom and experience of three Courts allowed us to consider the feasibility of many ideas.”

“This plan will take place after we’ve ridden back to join the army,” I said, more of a statement than a question. Of course Vell would need her Three—Finnead would need to return with his vanguard, and I needed to bring the power of the Sword to bear on Malravenar.

Something flickered in Vell’s golden eyes. Mab turned her head to look at the High Queen; the sudden freedom from her gaze hit me as an intensely physical sensation, as though a weight pressing in on me from all sides had suddenly lifted. I swallowed and took a deep breath, suddenly grateful that I was only half substantial. I didn’t really enjoy Walking anymore, probably because it reminded me of the ease with which I’d slipped between life and death. But right now I was thankful that I didn’t have to physically experience the power tightening the air as some unspoken struggle took place. Finally Mab looked away, and Vell took a deep breath.

“No,” the High Queen said. “You will not be joining our forces.”

“What about the other vanguards?” I asked. “Surely you aren’t asking us to fight on our own, or simply wait until the final battle is done.” I tried not to show my confusion.

“I recalled the southern and western vanguards almost a fortnight past,” said Vell, her face almost as smooth and unreadable as those of the Sidhe queens.

Her words fell like stones into my mind. I blinked but kept my expression as calm as I could. I could play at this game of courtesy and velvet inscrutability as well. I waited silently despite the questions raging through my mind.

“Your discipline has certainly improved, little mortal,” murmured Mab silkily.

I forced myself to meet her eyes. No hounds howled, no waves crashed, no bells sang through my mind. I felt a prickle of triumph and I made my voice steely. “I am the Bearer of the Iron Sword.”

Mab tilted her head slightly. A small, infuriating smile lifted her beautiful lips. “So you are.”

“The southern and western vanguards should rejoin us within two days,” continued Vell as if my exchange with Mab hadn’t happened. “And then we will ride to meet the Dark host.”

I wanted to cross my arms, but I forced myself to keep my hands at my sides. The last thing I needed was to look like a petulant child in front of these magnificent women. “So you will have your Three in the battle. What is our role?”

“We must face Malravenar in his physical form,” said Vell. “He has created a fortress, a henge near the scar which was once the Great Gate.”

“Wasn’t the Great Gate between the Seelie and Unseelie lands?” I asked, unable to pretend that I understood this twist in the geography I’d gleaned from my studies in Darkhill.

“We slid it eastward, when we realized the poison seeping from it,” said Titania. “It was not an easy task, but there are many layers to this land, not all of them immovable.”

“So as long as the poison was outside your borders, you didn’t have to think about it.” I couldn’t help myself. Wisp squeezed my ear warningly.

“We thought that perhaps if the locus of the Gate was pushed farther from our seats of power, it would diminish in power itself and dry up, like a lake after the river feeding it has been diverted.” Titania looked at me serenely. I remembered her sisterly embrace and felt ashamed at my accusation. But her small smile told me silently that I didn’t need to apologize.

I nodded. “All right. So Malravenar has his fortress near the Great Gate.”

“We believe the Seer was, at the least, a diversion,” said Vell. “If the enemy had captured your brother, there would certainly have been dire consequences. I recalled the southern and western vanguards when the Arrisyn located the Seer.” The vyldretning held up a hand at my wide eyes. “Just listen. Merrick located your brother a few days after the vanguards had set out, but then lost him again. You were still hundreds of leagues away from him, and a Seer is exceedingly hard to track. But I knew he was in the north. So I called back the other vanguards. The other Courts arrived. We held council and refined this plan.”

I took a deep breath and nodded. I wanted to ask why Vell hadn’t told us that Merrick had seen my brother in his scrying-glass, but then I thought that perhaps she’d told Luca, and he’d been the one to withhold it from me. Then I shook myself slightly. It didn’t matter. Vell was the High Queen. “All right, tell me this plan.”

“It will come at great cost,” said Mab. I decided I was imagining the slight undercurrent of sadness in her cold voice.

“It must be us who face Malravenar,” said Titania, spreading her hands to encompass me and the other two queens. “He wishes to destroy us, so we must destroy him.”

I tilted my head to one side, considering. “I think that was already a given, but it’s poetic.”

“Yes,” said Vell. “And we have discovered more about what created Malravenar.”

“He seeks to destroy us because of the source of our power,” said Mab.

I frowned. “The Morrigan.” The First, worshipped as a deity in the mortal world…and a remnant of which resided in one of Vell’s Three. I began to understand the sudden knowledge about the origins of Malravenar, and I wondered if Arcana had given up her secrets willingly.

“Long ago, he was the consort of the First Queen. The most powerful mage of his era, though that word as we understand it is perhaps not enough to describe the greatness of what he was,” Titania said, her mellifluous voice grave. “He became enamored with the darkest depths of his art. The First Queen warned her lover not to stray into the shadows, but the power over life and death was too tempting for him to resist.”

I felt a chill as I remembered the strange ease of slipping into the realm just beyond life, the gray cliffs appearing in my mind’s eye.

“The Morrigan bore a daughter,” continued Vell. “And just as she reached the flower of her womanhood, this daughter fell terribly ill.” A slight breeze lifted dust into the air around us. “And though she loved her daughter more than life itself, the First Queen could not save her. Knowing her father was walking deeper into the paths of shadow, the daughter begged her mother not to let her father resurrect her.” Vell took a deep breath. Somehow the story, though it was thousands of years old, was still hard to tell. Both of the Sidhe queens looked reflectively at the ground. “So the Morrigan placed wards of secrecy around her daughter and held her as she died, whispering the words of safe passage into the halls of the gods. And when her daughter lay still and cold, the First Queen placed her body on a bier of roses and burned it until there was nothing but ash.”

“Ash cannot be resurrected,” said Mab in a low voice.

“When the consort of the First discovered the death of his daughter, he plunged into the darkness, deeper than he had ever gone. He could not resurrect his daughter’s body. In his rage and grief, he took an infant girl and drowned her, placing his dead daughter’s soul in the babe when he resurrected the infant.” Vell’s golden eyes were hard. I felt sick as the terrible origin tale continued. “But the Morrigan’s daughter had a strong soul, and she fought against her unnatural bondage in this new body. So the babe died again, and when the Morrigan discovered what her consort had done—when the mother of the murdered child prostrated herself before the throne, weeping—she banished Malravenar and named him cursed.”

“How was this not known before?” I asked quietly.

“It took a great amount of power for Arcana to remember,” replied Vell. “I would not have known how to draw the knowledge from her on my own.” She paused. “So in retribution for the death of his daughter and his banishment, Malravenar vowed to destroy the Morrigan and all her power. The power she had used to keep their daughter’s death secret, and the power she used to banish him from the bright, beautiful realm. The power that she later bestowed upon the queens.”

I took a moment to absorb the harrowing story. “So…now we know more about him. Which is good, I guess. But what’s the plan to defeat him?”

“Still impatient,” said Mab, but I ignored her.

“The bulk of our force will engage his army. It will be a hard fight,” acknowledged Titania.

Vell drew a small, silken gray pouch from her belt-purse, holding it out to me. It was as light as a bird in my palm, and at Vell’s nod I gently tugged the drawstrings apart. There were two objects in the pouch: a silver ring, too big to wear on a finger but too small to fit around a wrist; and a small glass orb, perfectly round and about the size of an egg. Where the light hit the ring, I glimpsed runes moving like oil on water over the silver surface. The orb’s translucent surface held no runes. “You couldn’t give this to the company’s other Walker.”

“Not all have your talents,” replied Vell with a smile.

I examined the runes on the oddly sized silver ring, but I felt no flash of recognition. And the orb seemed wholly ordinary, albeit that it was lovely in its simplicity, a perfect sphere.

“They may not look like it, but these took us nearly a fortnight to perfect,” said Titania.

“The silver ring will create a portal to our location tonight,” explained Vell, drawing an identical ring from her belt-purse.

“A portal like the tear in the veil?” I stared at the simple object.

“No. That was traveling between worlds. This is traveling within our own world. We created a spell that forms a pathway through the ether. The ring on this end will construct the other side to the portal.” Her golden eyes gleamed as she opened her other hand and showed me a blood-red ring. “With only one ring, the emergence point is fixed.”

“That sounds complex,” I murmured. I frowned. “If the silver rings are for us, what’s the red one for?”

Vell smiled her wolf-like smile and said, “To kill the enemy in his stronghold.”

“The process of creating these enchantments was fascinating,” Wisp whispered into my ear. “There were many rounds of trials before it was perfected.”

“Now,” said Vell, closing her hand around the scarlet ring again, “you need to listen carefully, Tess.”

“I always listen carefully,” I retorted, still examining the silver ring and the glass orb. Titania hid a smile and Vell narrowed her golden eyes.

“Of course you do,” the High Queen said dryly. “The ring takes a large amount of power to function properly. Each person that travels the pathway means that it will take more power to keep it stable.”

“The more people, the more power. Got it.”

“The ring is specifically to move you,” said Vell.

“But I can move others with it as well,” I clarified.

“Yes, but it will take a good amount of power,” replied Titania.

“How much power are we talking?” I looked at her intently. “Equal to or less than what it took to free you and crown Vell?”

She smiled slightly. “Perhaps a bit less than that.”

I nodded. “I’ll take it into consideration.”

“Well, regardless of whether you decide to take anyone else with you,” said Vell impatiently, “the rest of the plan is pretty simple. We bring our army to meet Malravenar’s host in the heart of the Deadlands. And then, when the battle has begun, and his attention focused on annihilating the entirety of our world’s warriors, we will use this portal to emerge into the heart of his fortress.” She held up the hand holding the scarlet ring.

“The orb will glow when we make camp for the night,” said Titania. Mab remained silent. “That will be the signal to use the portal.”

“So who all is coming, when we go to face Malravenar?” I asked softly. “I understand the general thought process…but isn’t leaving the army…isn’t that leaving them leaderless?” It seemed to me a very heartless choice.

Mab surprised me by laughing, a mirthless sound. “Our warriors are fighting for their very existence. They need no leader to know that if they flag or fail, it means certain death.”

“We will have our captains among our forces still,” said Titania, her voice sharp counterpoint to Mab’s coldness.

“What if Malravenar sees us coming? What if he refuses to meet us in his physical form? And wouldn’t he have wards and protections at his stronghold?”

“We are too powerful for his minions to kill,” replied Mab. The star in her crown pulsed softly with her words. “And it is our blood he needs for his dark purposes. Even if he has wards, he will let us through.”

“And Tess,” said Vell, “you are the only one of us whose power does not originate with the First. He still needs your blood to break the Seal, but you are the one he will fear.”

“If he even feels fear anymore,” I said softly, gazing down again at the simple objects in my hands.

“Oh, he feels fear,” Mab said, a quietly vicious undertone to her voice. “He does not fear death, as he knows its secrets. He fears imprisonment.”

“So we are going to ensure he becomes intimately familiar with that fear,” said Titania, her eyes flashing with the Fae-spark. I caught a glimpse of the terrifying warrior-queen, the other side of the beautiful, benevolent Seelie ruler. It was all the more disconcerting because I expected it from Mab, but not Titania.

“The Sword created the river-stones,” said Vell. “From iron, no less. We are going to imprison him in four stones. One for each Court, and one for the Bearer. So make sure you don’t forget them in the northern wilds.”

“I’m beginning to wonder if anything in this world is a coincidence,” I said, mostly to myself. My war-markings tingled, even in Walker form.

“Perhaps we have just made use of the opportunities before us,” said Vell.

“That could also be true.” I slid the orb and the ring back into their silken pouch. “So. Is there any special activation rune or anything I should know?”

Vell shook her head. “I will activate the orb, and your orb will activate the ring. You need to be ready to supply it with power.”

I nodded. The ache in the back of my head grew stronger: I was starting to feel the effects of Walking and carrying physical objects. “I need to get back to camp while I’m still strong enough to make sure these come through too.” I cupped one hand around the pouch tied to my belt, feeling the curve of the orb and the circle of the silver ring beneath the fabric. “Do you know how long it will be until the battle?”

“Arrisyn estimates a fortnight, but it could change,” said Vell.

“Our time grows ever shorter,” the Unseelie Queen said to all of us, or perhaps none of us.

Vell reached out and gripped my forearm in the ulfdrengr fashion. “I am looking forward to meeting the Seer tonight.”

“He and his companions will be honored,” I replied, squeezing her arm and smiling a little. With just a simple statement, Vell reassured me that she understood I wouldn’t leave the vanguard stranded in the mountains, even if the other queens thought it imprudent to use my power to transport them. Then she stepped back. I gave Mab a respectful nod, which she seemed not to see, or ignored; and Titania put her hands on my shoulders, once again that sisterly queen.

“May your blade be sharp and your arrows true,” she said to me. I knew somehow it was an old Sidhe benediction, a blessing to send off a warrior. So I nodded and covered her hands with my own. She released me, and I prepared to return to our camp in the northern mountains. Wisp leapt from my shoulder as I reached for the seam between the ether and the waking world.

“My lady!” cried the valiant little glow. I wasn’t sure which queen he addressed, but I paused. “I request to accompany the Bearer.”

“Have you made this request of Lumina?” asked Vell, her golden eyes regarding the Glasidhe warrior with respect and, I thought, a certain fondness.

“Yes, my lady,” said Wisp with a courtly bow.

“If the Bearer wishes it, you are welcome to journey with her,” said Vell.

“Of course the Bearer wishes it,” I said with a smile as the Glasidhe turned to ask me. “Come on, then. You can meet my brother.”

“I have heard there are four mortals at your camp,” said Wisp rapturously. “I will have the honor of meeting the greatest number of mortals of any of my people!”

“Well, then, how could I refuse you that honor?” I grinned and felt a little bit better as I slid through into the ether, Wisp ensconced once again on my shoulder. I cupped my hand carefully around the silk pouch at my belt, and let the pull of my physical body begin to spin me through the nebulous beauty of the ether, Wisp’s weight on my shoulder a comforting counterpoint to my dark thoughts.

Chapter 29

I slammed back into my physical body with a distinct lack of grace, jolting awake and gasping. Niamh looked up from sharpening a long, slim dagger, raising one eyebrow in question. I coughed and frowned at the headache tightening behind my eyes, but gave her a thumbs-up. Apparently the Sidhe now accepted my habitual gesture as a sign of functionality, because she turned back to her blade. I checked my belt and found the silken pouch still tied securely to it, the orb unbroken and the silver ring still strangely light within it. Wisp burst into existence beside me, nearly blinding me with his aura. He landed promptly on my shoulder and dropped dramatically onto his back, leaning against the curve of my neck and exclaiming, “It has been too long since I transported myself! I’m winded!”

I swallowed and tested my voice. “I didn’t know that the Glasidhe were so talented at navigating the ether that you could bring your physical form through. I thought that was just a talent of mine because of the power of the Sword.”

“We cannot do it often,” said Wisp, “and it helps to have a Walker who knows the way with us, just as it is easier for you to go places with a guide.”

I rubbed my eyes and chuckled. “Do you have a headache too?”

“No,” the indefatigable Glasidhe answered, hopping onto his feet again. His small hands massaged my temple.

“It’s been a while since I’ve transported anything through the ether,” I confessed.

Wisp patted my ear. “It is probably the last time in a long time that you will need to Walk. Tonight will not be Walking!”

I took a deep breath. “I guess that’s one way to look at it.”

“We put aside some of the noon meal for you,” said Niamh over the silvery sound of whetting her blade. She motioned with her dagger at a wooden bowl within arm’s reach of my cloak. My stomach rumbled at the sight of the food, even though I hadn’t recognized my hunger until that moment…probably because I hadn’t inhabited my physical body for the last few hours. I stretched my legs as I ate the cold meat and bread with my hands.

“Thanks,” I said to Niamh, who hadn’t moved. She just grinned at me, and I stood and rolled my shoulders, trying to ease the stiffness in my body. Walking was always more taxing than just sleeping. I wondered if I tensed my muscles or moved while I Walked; I contemplated asking Niamh but decided against it. After all, I didn’t know if I’d ever Walk again. I pushed the dark thought from my mind.

“It is quite beautiful here,” Wisp said, letting himself drift down from overhead with the lazy motion of a floating feather. “It almost reminds me of the forests about the Three Trees.”

“It’s better than the Deadlands,” I allowed, slipping the strap of the Caedbranr over my head. “Come on. I don’t think you’ve met most of these warriors. I’ll introduce you.”

“And then introduce me to your brother and his three mortal companions,” said Wisp firmly, his voice eager.

“Of course. I wouldn’t want you to miss out on holding the title of the Glasidhe who has met the most mortals.”

“It is not so much the title that I crave,” replied the diminutive messenger contemplatively. He grinned, his boyishly handsome face impish. “It is the bragging rights.”

I chuckled as I scanned the camp, walking past the pale, flickering fire, new flames nestled atop redly glowing embers and a bed of white ash. Wisp, following me at eye level, made a sound of astonishment and appreciation when he spotted one of the winged faehal. The gray steed’s wings gleamed almost white where they joined his back and graduated to shades of blue and purple, deepening until his pinion feathers and the tips of his wings were almost black.

“Quite a masterful creation,” Wisp breathed, spinning and flying backward to continue admiring the Valkyrie’s mount as I strode toward the practice space set up at the edge of the clearing. There were half a dozen Sidhe warriors sparring, ranging from slow movement and pattern practice to full-speed bouts. And then on the right side of the space, Luca stood watching Liam, Quinn, Jess and Duke as they learned the basics of swordsmanship from their Sidhe partners. I didn’t know Liam’s partner by name, but Moira stood across from Quinn and Robin had taken it upon himself to teach Duke. Kianryk lounged against the sun-dappled base of a huge oak tree, watching the proceedings with half-lidded eyes.

“It looks like they’ll be quick studies,” I said to Luca by way of greeting. He glanced down at me and smiled.

“They are eager to learn how to fight in our world,” Luca agreed. “Though the small one keeps insisting he would be better with an axe.”

I shrugged. “Maybe you should give him one.”

“After he learns the basics of a blade,” said the ulfdrengr, “perhaps.”

“Such a stickler,” I mused. “First you pass judgment on mortal men and their mustaches, now you deny them their request for an axe…” I stopped as I saw the considering look on Luca’s face. “I’m joking. Mostly. But from what my brother has told me about his teammates, if one asks for an axe it’s probably for a good reason.” I shrugged.

“It’s a good idea,” said Luca. “Perhaps you’re right…perhaps I am being too hard on them.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “The warriors know that the final battle will be soon. They are restless, trapped up here in the northern wilds.”

“I am very good at lightening moods,” said Wisp, grinning as he dove between Luca and I. “Or so I have been told,” the Glasidhe added modestly.

“Luca, this is Wisp,” I said. “He was the messenger who brought Molly the letter summoning her to Mab’s court.” I smiled. “It seems like years ago now.”

“And I said during that very first meeting that I thought you had priestess blood,” Wisp said.

“You did, now that I think of it. Of course, I thought it was all a dream.”

“It is good to meet you, Wisp,” said Luca, the Glasidhe’s light-hearted nickname sounding odd coming from his lips.

“I will not interrupt the mortals’ blade practice,” said Wisp. “It is important they learn.”

“Well, too late,” I said, as my brother caught sight of me and signaled for a break.

“Five minutes, and then we’ll be back at it,” Liam told his three teammates. Quinn took the opportunity to let Moira examine his sleeve of tattoos, and to Duke’s delight Robin produced a small, light axe. Luca shook his head but suppressed a smile.

“So what did you find out on your ghost adventure, Bug?” Liam asked, sheathing his sword as he walked toward us. I thought enviously that it had taken me hours of practice just to be able to sheath a sword without nearly stabbing myself.

“First of all,” I said, “I’m not a ghost when I’m Walking. I’m just doing a little incorporeal travel.”

Liam waved his hand. “Whatever you say.”

“Ghosts are the spirits of the dead,” Wisp agreed gravely. Duke looked sharply at the diminutive Fae. “We are not ghosts.”

“It talked,” said Duke, still holding the axe Robin had given him.

“It can hear you,” Wisp informed the wiry man.

Duke squinted at the Glasidhe, while Quinn was still deep in conversation with Moira and Jess was practicing a sequence of basic movements with his blade, moving slowly and deliberately through the pattern.

“Liam, Duke, this is Wisp,” I said, motioning to the small Fae. “He’s a Glasidhe.”

“So…wait, are you telling me that Tinkerbell is real?” Duke said suspiciously, watching Wisp hover in the air.

“Tinkerbell was not her true name,” Wisp replied seriously, before I could say anything. “But yes, she was a very accomplished assassin.”

“Tinkerbell as an assassin,” Duke repeated weakly. “Right.” He looked at Robin.

“Don’t look at me to contradict the greatness of the most legendary Glasidhe assassin of her time,” said the red-haired Seelie with a puckish grin.

“I’m just going to start assuming that every single fairy tale I’ve ever heard is real,” said Duke in his Southern accent, shaking his head as he swung his axe through the air with a practiced hand.

“Most of them probably have some truth to them,” Wisp agreed.

I untied the silk pouch from my belt and held it out to Luca. “While the kids discuss fairy tales, take a look at what Vell gave me.”

“Ah. So that is why she specifically needed you to Walk,” Luca said, carefully revealing the silver ring and glass orb. The objects looked even smaller in the center of his big hand.

“I have the apparently enviable skill of being able to transport solid objects while I’m Walking,” I explained in an undertone to Liam.

My brother stared at the glass orb and silver ring, his eyes unfocused, a strangely distant expression on his face. “A portal. A portal to the Dark Throne.” He breathed heavily for a moment, and then shuddered and blinked. “That was a particularly messy one.”

“What did you See?” I asked, curiosity sharpening my voice.

“There are so many choices and possibilities, and that was only the first glimpse,” Liam said, rubbing his hand over his eyes. “As different choices narrow down the outcomes, I should be able to See a little clearer. The visions come in waves. If it’s an important event, I’ll usually get the first hint of it a few days out. The first ones are always blurry and difficult to read.”

“Are you all right?” I asked him in concern, putting a hand out to steady him as he swayed.

“Just nauseous,” he grunted, swallowing hard.

I turned back to Luca. “Vell called back the other two vanguards a fortnight ago. Did you know that?”

Luca frowned. “No. It was discussed as a possibility, before we left…if the Arrisyn located the Seer, that the Queen might call back those vanguards that were not headed in the right direction.”

“I know it’s within Vell’s authority. She’s the Queen. I just…thought she would tell us.” I shrugged.

“Would knowing the other vanguards’ journeys were ending have made ours any different?” Luca asked.

“You’re right. It wouldn’t have made a difference. If anything, it would have made me more determined.” I hooked one finger through the pendant at my throat.

“I don’t think that’s possible,” commented Luca.

Liam chuckled then grimaced as the movement apparently brought on another wave of nausea. He put his hands on his knees, and I reached over and rubbed his back absently.

“Hey, Luck, we’re starting without you,” called Quinn.

Liam gave a thumb’s-up. Then he leaned away from me and retched very quickly and quietly. I had a sneaking suspicion that he had a lot of practice at throwing up with minimal interruption to his activities.

“Who’s the delicate little flower now?” Duke asked, grinning. My brother traded his thumb for another choice finger, and his teammates laughed as they turned back to their partners. The clash of their blades filled the air around us.

“So the plan,” I said quietly to Luca.

“These objects open a pathway to travel back to the vyldgard,” said the ulfdrengr, watching the runes move slowly across the surface of the silver ring.

“Yes.” I nodded. “Vell said to be ready tonight.”

“And then, once we have rejoined the army?”

“Malravenar has built his fortress in the Deadlands, where the Great Gate once was,” I said. “We knew his forces were on the move many weeks ago. Merrick saw them in his scrying stone. But the plan is that the Army of the Three Queens will engage the Dark Army, and once they’ve joined in battle, the three queens and their Three will use another ring to strike into the Dark Keep.”

Luca said nothing, waiting for me to continue. Liam was listening now, too, wiping his mouth on his sleeve as he straightened.

“Tonight, when the army makes camp, Vell will activate her orb, which will signal us by activating our orb. A short time after the orb starts glowing, the ring will create the portal, which I’ll keep open with my power.” I took a breath. “Vell said that I have to go through. But she also said that others could travel through it as well. It just takes more power. I just don’t know how much power it will take with each additional person. I’ve never really held a physical pathway open.”

“There are others here with their own taebramh, even if they have not bothered to learn how to use it.” Niamh had silently appeared on Luca’s other side. I wondered how long the commander of the Valkyrie had been listening. “Even if we started our journey now, and rested only when the faehal absolutely needed it, we still wouldn’t be able to reach the Queens’ Army before the battle is joined. I speak for all the Valkyrie when I say we would rather follow you into the dragon’s lair than be left in the mountains to wonder about the fate of our world.”

“It’s always better to be in the thick of things than on the sidelines,” Liam said in agreement.

“Look, I appreciate the fact that everyone wants to come with me. I really do.” I couldn’t keep my rising frustration from coloring my voice. “But I don’t know how to do this. I don’t understand how it works and I’ll be lucky if I just manage to get myself through this portal when Vell signals.”

“We won’t let you go alone,” said Niamh. “We will link our power to yours and you will use that to get us through.” She raised her chin, her pale hair glimmering in the sunlight filtering down through the branches of the forest. “Even if one of us must stay behind.”

“If by ‘stay behind,’ you mean die, I won’t do it,” I snapped. My voice caught. “I already killed one friend by drawing from their power. I won’t do it again.”

“Murtagh made his own choice,” Luca said gently, slipping the orb and ring back into the pouch. He held it out to me. I took a deep breath and tied it to my belt again, my hands shaking slightly.

“Once the battle is joined, and the queens use the second portal into the Dark Keep,” I said in a quieter voice, “the queens will bind Malravenar’s spirit within four of the river-stones.” At Liam’s questioning look, I pulled one of the smooth dark stones from my belt-pouch. “Right when I became the Bearer, Malravenar created a trap with shards of iron. He used the iron to create a kind of fence around the company. After we won the battle, the Sword transformed the shards of iron into these stones.” I rubbed my thumb over the stone’s gleaming surface. “I’ve carried them with me ever since, and I’ve used them more than once to focus my power. Mostly to create protections.”

“You have gone through some serious stuff,” murmured my brother, brushing the stone with one finger. To my surprise, the stone hummed a little at Liam’s touch.

“Apparently it likes you,” I said dryly.

“I’m flattered,” my brother replied.

“I guess our family has a certain connection with magical inanimate objects.” I slipped the stone back into my belt-pouch.

Liam grinned. “If I didn’t have my own run-ins with weird mojo, I’d ask you to repeat that sentence.”

“Just wait,” I told him. “To get the full experience, you need to have a conscious object rattling around in your head.” I tapped the hilt of the Sword.

“I already have visions rattling around in my head, and that’s confusing enough.” Liam rubbed his eyes again.

“What did you See about the portal into the Dark Keep?” I asked him in a quiet voice. Luca and Niamh were speaking in a low voice about the watches for the night.

My brother shook his head. “No.”

“You couldn’t See clearly, or you just don’t want to tell me what you Saw?” I pressed.

Liam didn’t answer.

“Don’t make the mistake of thinking that you have to protect me,” I said quietly.

He smiled a little at that. “Even when you have more scars than me, Bug, you’ll always be my little sister.”

I touched his arm. “I know. I get that. You’ll always be my big brother.” I smiled. “But what I’m trying to say is that if you saw something, please tell me. I’d rather know.”

“Would you really rather know, Tess?” Liam shook his head. I dropped the hand that I’d laid on his arm. “It’s not certain. Things can change. These are all just possibilities. I’m not going to tell you what I saw in a vision so that you can obsess over it.”

“I think you’re not really giving me enough credit,” I said, trying to keep my voice reasonable.

Liam gave a mirthless smile. “No, I’m speaking from experience here, Tess. I can tell when a vision is shaky. There’s no use driving yourself crazy over it.” He shifted his gaze to his teammates. “It took me a while to figure out how to pick out the ones that were reliable. And this world seems to have knocked my senses out of balance.”

I gazed up at the trees around us, trying to see Faeortalam through new eyes. My memories of forests in the mortal world seemed pale and puny compared to the majesty of these mountains. The trees were not as tall as those in the Seelie forest, nor were there the close-woven shadows of the Royal Wood in Mab’s kingdom; but an undercurrent of wildness in the air made the wind sharper, the light brighter, the colors of the tender-green leaves and night-dark soil more intense.

“It’s strange,” I said. “Sometimes I forget this isn’t really my world.”

“It may not be the world you were born in, but it sounds like it’s the world you were born for,” replied Liam.

“I guess you could say that.”

Niamh glided past us toward the sentries. I didn’t miss the look of frank feminine curiosity she gave to Liam, but I did look away in time to miss my brother’s response. The last thing I needed right now was to deal with Liam romancing all the Sidhe ladies, I thought grumpily.

Perhaps you are being a bit…hypocritical, the Caedbranr purred in my mind.

I don’t need your opinion on my brother’s conduct, or mine, I thought in irritation.

“Tess,” said Luca, “would you like to join the practice session?”

A strange little jolt of energy hit me when Luca said my name, and I drew my plain blade with a grin.

Case in point, the Sword whispered wickedly. I felt its power circling sinuously behind my ribs. Would it be so terrible to live fully in the face of death?

Are you saying that I’m going to die? I asked as I followed Luca into the practice ring. The four men ran through drills with their Sidhe partners, the movements still slow enough to be deliberate but with a speed and confidence that I hadn’t gained until I’d practiced with my blade for long hours in my room at Darkhill. I knew that their years of training had conditioned them to pay attention to detail and pick up new skills uncommonly well, but I was still jealous.

As your brother has said, the future is not a certainty, the Caedbranr replied evasively, vibrating slightly in my hands as I laid it beside Kianryk at the foot of the closest tree. I also untied the pouch from my belt and placed it next to the Sword. “Make sure nothing happens to that,” I told the golden wolf, who yawned in reply but shifted his great forepaws to rest on either side of the silken purse.

Luca and I took up our stances a few paces away from Liam and his sparring partner. For the first time, my awareness of my brother and his teammates faded away as we ran through a few drills to warm up our muscles. I focused solely on the feel of my sword in my hand, my boots treading lightly on the fallen leaves, my eyes following the flash and turn of Luca’s blade. As we finished our drills, most of the warriors had concluded their sparring sessions, other than the four mortal men and their partners. Luca sidestepped into the large open space, raising his eyebrows at me in silent question. I swayed from side to side, giving my legs a last quick stretch; and then I grinned at him and we leapt toward each other with raised blades.

As in our previous sparring sessions, I tried to use my speed to my advantage as we danced through the dappled shadows of the trees, forcing Luca to follow me as I circled him and darted in for quick, probing little attacks. He blocked my blade with ease, but I wasn’t trying to pierce his defenses right away. He launched a few of his own offenses, but I forced him to move quickly to reach me, and spun away after countering his attacks. In my peripheral vision, I noticed that we had more room around us; without sparing the thought as to the reason, I made good use of the space, feeling sweat roll down my back even with the chill in the air as I kept my footwork light and my blade fast. I lost track of time, my focus narrowing to our flashing swords and the sting of my scars against the leather of my hilt’s grip.

Finally Luca caught me, feinting a low attack and then swinging his blade in a half-crescent arc, catching my high block and bearing down on me with a grin. I tightened my entire body, straining up against his sword with every fiber of my being. The muscles in Luca’s shoulders and arms stood out against his sweat-dampened shirt as he doubled the pressure grinding down on my blade; I gritted my teeth against the almost unbearable sensation. And then, in the moment right before he overpowered me, when he thought momentum and strength had gained him victory, I threw myself to the side, my blade sliding against his with a screech. He stumbled off balance but still managed to wrap his sword about mine, wrenching it from my grasp. But I didn’t need my sword for my next move—I whirled, all this taking just an instant, and swept his supporting foot neatly, following him to the ground and snaking my arm about his throat even as he tried to tuck his chin to defend against my movement. With a flash of triumph, I hooked my heels around his inner thighs and locked in the chokehold, squeezing my forearm toward my bicep with all the strength I could muster. He rolled and I grunted at his weight on top of me—I couldn’t see around his broad shoulders, and I had to fight the sense of panic that automatically surged within me at the crushing sensation. A lance of pain flashed through my still-sore ribs. But I doggedly held on, and his huge hands couldn’t find even the barest separation between his neck and my arm. Dimly I heard cheers and yells—of encouragement for Luca or me, I didn’t know—and I waited for the ulfdrengr to tap my arm in submission. It was a universal signal, even here in the Fae world. But he suddenly went limp, and a few things happened at once: Kianryk growled loudly in my ear, wolfish breath washing over my face; I let go of Luca; and several pairs of hands separated us. I saw a pair of boots interposed between the big wolf and me, who stopped growling the instant that I released Luca.

I scrambled to my knees, and Luca was already sitting up with a cough and a rueful grin, rubbing his throat with one hand. I looked up to find Liam, Jess and Duke staring down me with varying expressions of bemusement.

“I thought you were going to tap out,” I said to Luca by way of apology.

“I don’t think he knows what that means,” said Duke with a grin at Luca’s expression. “A man after my own heart.”

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Luca asked me instead, his voice slightly hoarse.

I laughed, leaning back on my hands. “No. Ribs are still sore, but I brought it on myself.” I grinned at him.

“I should probably take you seriously when we spar now,” the big ulfdrengr said, rubbing the back of his neck. I hit his shoulder teasingly.

“So you’re implying that you weren’t taking me seriously this whole time?” I arched one eyebrow in mock offense.

“I was still sparring you as a master spars with a student,” Luca replied.

“You’ve certainly learned a lot since I had you throwing right hooks in the backyard,” Liam said to me, offering a hand. I accepted it and he hauled me to my feet. He brushed the dirt and leaves from my shoulders. “And hell, you’re all muscle now.”

I spread my hands. “Riding every day and fighting with a sword are better workouts than anything I could dream up on my own.”

“She climbed a cliff once as well,” Luca said, grinning unapologetically when I shot him a look of reproach. “To escape sirens,” he added.

I sighed. “I might have left out the details of the cliff-climbing when I told you the condensed version of our journey.”

Liam shrugged. “You’re here and you’re whole, so why would I feel any kind of way about it, Bug? Sounds like you’ve held your own and then some.”

“So there’s beautiful warrior women—and men—on winged horses,” said Duke, adding the acknowledgement of the male Valkyrie when Robin raised his eyebrows, “and there’s sirens. Any other dangerous creatures that could seduce us that we should know about?”

“The Valkyrie are hardly in the same category as the sirens,” said Niamh, her voice like cool silk. “I would say our capabilities in both warfare and seduction are far superior.” She flashed a mischievous smile at Duke. “And we don’t need a poisoned kiss to convince our partners.”

Quinn slung one brown, tattooed arm about Duke’s shoulders. “Brother, you’re blushing.”

Niamh’s smile widened into a predatory grin. I almost felt bad for the mortal men; it seemed a bit unfair to let the Seelie women unleash their considerable charms upon them. But Quinn patted Duke’s face teasingly, said in a low voice, “She’s too tall for you anyway,” and then returned Niamh’s grin with a look of his own. The Valkyrie commander raised one eyebrow in consideration, her blue eyes traveling over Quinn’s well-muscled body. The mortal men had a different look than the Sidhe or the ulfdrengr: they displayed a raw physical power, unsoftened by Sidhe elegance or the ulfdrengr’s wolf-like sinuous grace. The four of them were different, Liam with his height and Jess with his broad shoulders, Quinn with his solid frame and Duke with his slim but muscled form—but they had all honed their bodies for the singular purpose of war. And just as I saw the Sidhe and the Northern warriors as otherworldly, so too must we as mortals seem to them, I realized. I hadn’t had much occasion to think about it in recent weeks.

“We will break camp an hour before dusk,” Luca said, putting an end to my musings.

“I’ll gather the Valkyrie,” said Niamh.

“And I the vanguard,” said Robin with a nod to Duke. “Keep the axe.”

“May I ask, will you be flying this afternoon?” Wisp asked Niamh courteously, giving me a little salute as he followed the Valkyrie commander.

“You have only to ask, my friend, and we’ll stretch our mount’s wings,” Niamh replied. Wisp hovered above her shoulder, his high bright voice asking polite questions as they moved toward the makeshift paddock. I retrieved the silk pouch and the Caedbranr from their resting-place between Kianryk’s great front paws; the wolf stood, shook himself and padded off into the shadows without even a glance at me.

“Thanks,” I called after him, tying the strings of the pouch to my belt and again marveling at its light, fragile weight. I settled the Caedbranr on my back and stood for a moment staring into the forest, watching the green-painted shadows dance over the trunks of the trees, the cold sunlight shivering in golden splinters on the fallen leaves. What would this forest look like, I wondered, if we failed? I thought of the dead twisted trees in the Borderlands, and the barren dust of the Deadlands. I slipped a finger through the curve of the pendant at my throat, and it warmed comfortingly at my touch. I felt sudden gratitude for this quiet moment, standing under the interwoven branches of the great trees. I knew that in a moment I would have to join the gathering warriors and listen to Luca explain the plan and give orders. Once we stepped through the portal and added our blades to the ranks of the great Sidhe army, the headlong rush into war would truly take hold. For now, just for another moment, I stood and reveled in the sound of the wind rustling through the leaves overhead.

Chapter 30

The shadows of the trees painted long swathes of darkness over the remnants of our mountain camp. The cool wind lifted flakes of gray ash from the dead fire, drawing them up into the air in spirals. The northern vanguard stood in a semicircle in the clearing, three ranks deep, each warrior standing beside their mount. The Valkyries’ faehal folded and extended their shimmering wings restlessly. Luca stepped forward and turned to face the gathered warriors.

“It has been an honor to lead you,” he said simply. “And now, we go to join the final battle against the forces of Darkness.” He paused. “If I do not live to see our world at peace, I will go to the halls of the gods knowing that I led its finest fighters in this war.” His golden hair caught the light of the setting sun. A chill ran down my spine at the absolute silence among the warriors as they drank in Luca’s every word. His eyes shone with fierce pride as he looked over us. “So now I say to you once more, as our queen said to us at the beginning of this journey: Brejda sverd eda hefja skjoldr!”

“Draw your swords and raise your shields,” Robin translated for Liam and his teammates, transfixed by the impassioned ulfdrengr. The warriors of the vanguard roared the words back to him, raising their swords and their battle-scarred shields.

“Vedga manlig eda araed!”

“Fight with valor and courage,” the red-haired warrior said in a low voice. The hair on the back of my neck stood up at the wordless war-cry rising from the collective throats of the vanguard. Luca lowered his voice and we all leaned forward breathlessly.

“Sja dagr syna myrkyr inn daga gyr,” he said, enunciating each word firmly. “For this day, and every day we fight, we show the darkness that the dawn approaches.”

No cheer greeted this last pronouncement, but the shining eyes and chests heaving with passionate breath served as silent reply to Luca’s words.

“Hell of a speech,” murmured Liam to me. I smiled and looked at Robin.

“Since when are you a trained translator of the Northtongue?” I asked in a voice barely more than a whisper.

“Since I’ve been studying with our illustrious vanguard commander this entire journey,” he replied with his typical bright grin.

Wisp landed on my shoulder, his small hands grasping the curve of my ear for balance.

“As we join the Army of the Three Queens, fight with honor, but always remember, you were a part of the northern vanguard.” Luca smiled, drawing answering smiles from the warriors. I patted Nehalim’s neck and then walked forward, drawing the glass orb and silver ring from their pouch. I paused and then turned to face the vanguard, my eyes sweeping over the assembled fighters.

“I will always remember that you helped to save my brother and his companions,” I said, “and for that, you will have my gratitude.”

Kianryk slid sinuously into the clearing, his muzzle dark with blood. The tawny wolf gazed at the vanguard for a long moment; and then he raised his great head and howled. Answering howls rose from the gathered warriors. I glimpsed Duke and Quinn glance at each other, grin, and join in the eerie chorus. I smiled, but then a rising hum from the Caedbranr demanded my attention.

“Show time,” I murmured, taking a deep breath and raising my hands. My war-markings tingled as emerald light raced down my arm. The orb warmed in my palm, the glass suddenly opaque with swirling white smoke.

“When the orb glows with light, you must give the ring your power,” said Wisp into my ear. I’d discussed our strategy with Luca and Niamh at length as the sun had dipped low in the sky; we couldn’t agree on the order that the vanguard should travel through the portal. I wanted Liam to go through first, with Luca or maybe Moira; but Niamh pointed out that, like it or not, I was the member of the vanguard most important to the final battle. Finally I agreed. I would go through first with Liam. Niamh and two others with taebramh would anchor the portal in the mountains, while I fed it power from the other side. They’d be the last to travel through the pathway.

Now, with the shadows deepening around us, the orb in my hand filled with smoke and the Sword’s hum grew into a bell-like tone that vibrated through my bones. The smoke in the orb swirled faster and faster until a miniature maelstrom raged within the glass, and the Caedbranr’s voice swelled until the orb trembled. In my other hand, the silver ring warmed to the touch and the runes swirling over its surface took on a golden sheen. The silver ring expanded before my eyes, and my hands, moving of their own volition, brought the two objects together, the ring sliding over the glass orb. A sudden wind rushed through the clearing, circling us, sweeping my cloak about my legs. My war-markings pulsed with light, the intricate design showing through the fabric of my shirt and the palm of my right hand blazing with emerald fire.

Then a pinpoint of white light appeared in the center of the orb, burning brightly through the white smoke. Wisp grabbed my ear and said something, but his words were lost in the clarion bell-tone of the Caedbranr and a new, high note emanating from the orb. I felt a hand on my shoulder and knew it was Niamh, preparing to give taebramh to the portal. The pinpoint of light grew brighter and larger until the entire orb burned like a miniature star, though somehow I still looked into it without shielding my eyes. I felt a tug, an asking, in the whorls of my war-markings, and I let my taebramh flow down my arm and into the silver ring. It drank my power with the single-minded greed of a suckling infant. I felt its pull through my veins and my heart beat loudly in my ears, but then Niamh stiffened with a small cry, and I felt the ring latch onto her power as well.

The wind whipped around us and suddenly the burning orb of light folded into itself with a silent explosion that I felt in my chest. And then I wasn’t holding the ring or the orb anymore, though there was still that voracious draw on my taebramh. The portal shimmered before us, suspended in midair, like a huge pane of glass through which we could glimpse a blurred and frosted vision of another place. I lowered my hands and Niamh released my shoulder. I glanced back at her and she gave me a tight-lipped nod, her silvery hair streaming about her face in the wind. The other two members of the vanguard who had volunteered to anchor the portal each placed a hand on her shoulders, and then they, too, stood transfixed, their taebramh flowing through Niamh and into the portal in a river of shimmering fire.

Liam walked toward me, Nehalim’s lead in his hand. There was no hesitation in his step and I felt a little rush of pride at how well my brother had accepted this new world and all that could happen within it. I looked at Luca, who stood opposite Niamh, ready to direct the vanguard through the portal as quickly as possible. He nodded. I touched the hilt of the Sword, hooked one finger through Gwyneth’s pendant, and stepped into the portal, my brother following close on my heels.

The sensation of the portal felt nothing at all like I’d anticipated; there was none of the nausea-inducing vertigo of a journey between the mortal world and Faeortalam, and no sense of rushing speed like when I traveled through the ether while Walking. As I walked into the portal, coldness enveloped me. My vision blurred and sounds became muffled and distorted, as though I were underwater. I forced one leg in front of the other, leaning forward slightly against the gelatinous resistance of the portal; and then my ears popped and I stumbled into dusky air tinged by the scent of campfire smoke. I coughed and blinked, and noted in the back of my mind that Vell, Merrick and Gray stood a few paces away, watching the portal.

But I focused all my attention on feeding the portal, holding my right hand close to the silvery border, my taebramh streaming into the opaque hole cut through the air. Liam stumbled through the portal, slightly dazed; Nehalim gently pushed him to the side, the faithful faehal using his muzzle to guide my brother. I glimpsed Merrick moving forward, hand outstretched in greeting. Then the edges of my vision went white as the portal demanded more power. I didn’t count the number of warriors as they traversed the portal, but I felt each one of them as though a string was being pulled through my stomach, an odd and slightly painful sensation. But I clenched my jaw and endured it, watching the border of the portal and sensing it well enough to know when to add a bit of power and when I could let it merely draw from me what it wished. I also felt Niamh and her two companions holding it steady on the other side.

The moments dragged on as the northern vanguard emerged from the portal. I felt Wisp patting my ear in encouragement, and as if from a distance I heard Vell saying something, but keeping the portal steady demanded so much of my focus that I didn’t have the spare energy to recognize her words. The warriors traversing the portal were coming through almost at a run now, some even riding their faehal—though the Valkyrie mounts had to clasp their wings tightly to their backs in order to fit through the gateway. Duke, Jess and Quinn came through with their forearms held protectively over their eyes. My forehead prickled with sweat. I felt Niamh falter, and the portal wavered for an instant. I put both hands against it and with an effort of sheer will forced it to remain open; two more Valkyrie came through at a run, their passage drawing a gasp from me. There couldn’t be many warriors left in the mountains. I felt light-headed, my heartbeat rushing in my ears, my body trying to protest against the drain on my taebramh. It felt almost like the portal was a wound and I was losing too much blood through it. I felt my knees go soft and fought it, but went down on one knee, my right hand still pressed against the side of the portal. Luca and Kianryk slid through the gateway, the wolf shaking himself thoroughly after he emerged, and Luca leading a riderless Valkyrie mount. I felt rather than saw the two warriors who had been helping Niamh stumble through the fading portal, one of them falling to his hands and knees, retching.

The portal shuddered. I felt someone grab my shoulder but I wrenched myself away, determined not to let anyone pull me away from sustaining the gate until all of the northern vanguard traveled through it. Gritting my teeth, I shoved my left arm through the gateway, immersed up to my shoulder. A strong arm encircled my chest, keeping me from falling entirely through the portal. I felt Niamh’s hand grip my forearm, and I closed my hand around her arm, pulling as hard as I could. The portal was closing, half the size it had been just a moment before, dwindling by the second. Niamh’s hand emerged from the portal, bone-white, and immediately there were two hands grasping it alone with mine. We yanked her through the portal bodily, no time for gentleness, and she slipped through just as the gateway closed with another silent explosion that shuddered through us.

I lay on my back, gasping, with no memory of falling. The earth spun beneath me. I shut my eyes but that seemed to make it worse, so instead I focused on the stars, barely visible against the dove-gray darkening sky. I rolled to my side and saw Niamh, still incredibly pale, splayed on her back with limbs askew. But euphoria suffused her face as she stared up at the sky, a hazy smile on her lips.

“Arriving in typical dramatic fashion, I see,” said Vell, raising one eyebrow.

I leaned back on my hands and grinned up at her, still slightly dizzy. “You know I can’t resist a grand entrance.”

Vell chuckled. Beryk streaked past, a sable blur pursued by a tawny flash that I assumed was Kianryk.

“Come on then,” Vell said to me. “Can’t leave the Bearer sitting in the dirt.”

Luca offered me his hand and I took it gratefully; the world spun as the ulfdrengr pulled me to my feet, but the horizon and sky settled back into their proper places after I took a few deep breaths. Gray knelt by Niamh, who smiled up at her dreamily. Merrick stood next to Liam and his three teammates, already deep in conversation with my brother. From the light in the Sidhe’s eyes, I assumed they were discussing different methods of navigation.

Finally my vision cleared and I felt steady enough to truly observe our surroundings. We had landed in the middle of the vyldgard camp, the same gray tents a small distance away, fires flickering about us in the dusk. A great banner with the sigil of the Wild Court waved majestically above the tent in a ghostly wind. I had the feeling that there were runes carved into the pole or woven into the banner itself. The Army of the Three Queens stretched in both directions, as far as I could see, fires dotting the barren landscape and warriors moving like living shadows. I turned a full circle, unable to fully comprehend the magnitude of the fighting force.

“It’s the greatest army this world has ever known,” said Vell, watching me try to take it in. She smiled.

“It will be even more fearsome when all your vanguards and Valkyrie return,” I replied.

“Yes,” Vell replied. Her golden eyes shifted away from me. “Both the southern and western vanguards are expected to rejoin us tomorrow.”

“But not nearly in so dramatic a fashion,” I amended. I heard Luca chuckle softly.

Vell didn’t reply, staring off into the distance for a long moment. Then she blinked. “Let’s hope not.”

“Well, let me introduce you to my brother,” I said. Wisp flew over to me and bowed slightly, hovering at eye-level.

“My Bearer,” he piped, “I shall inform Lady Lumina of your return.”

“As you see fit, Wisp,” I replied with a smile. “Thank you.”

Wisp saluted me with the down-feather from behind his ear. “It is always my honor!” He shot away like a miniature comet.

“The Glasidhe have set up several camps,” Vell informed me. “The main body of their Court is with the Lady Lumina, who camps in Seelie territory. Some of the messengers and scouts prefer Unseelie, though, and of course the wildest little ones stay with us.” She smiled, her teeth gleaming. “They are fierce and loyal, though they do not wish to give their allegiance to me.” She shrugged with one shoulder as we walked toward Liam and Merrick. The other members of the northern vanguard moved purposefully about this small section of camp, caring for their mounts and preparing to light their own fire. None of them seemed to have suffered any ill effects from their journey through the portal. Even the two fighters who’d helped Niamh anchor the portal in the mountains strode with lithe grace through the camp, none the worse for contributing their taebramh.

As we approached, I caught a few phrases of the conversation between Liam and Merrick—Liam was showing Merrick his watch, which the Unseelie navigator examined with avid interest.

“So this is the altimeter, and here’s the compass,” Liam explained, pointing out the different military features. “The timepiece itself froze when we got sucked through, but the compass seems to still be working, though it swung around pretty wildly the first few days.”

“Interesting,” murmured Merrick. “I wonder if the lines of influence are the same between Doendhtalam and Faeortalam.”

“Lines of influence…you mean magnetic fields? I suppose they might be,” Liam conceded.

I cleared my throat. Merrick looked up and immediately bowed to Vell, who gave him a regal nod. Her golden eyes glimmered as she gazed at Liam. For a moment, the Seer and the High Queen evaluated each other. I tried to see them as they must have seen each other: a tall, well-muscled mortal man with shaggy golden hair and sharp green eyes, a number of scars visible on his face and hands; and a fierce, strong woman with her raven hair braided in a ridge down her head, a circlet shining across her forehead, and her golden eyes made all the more startling by their keen intelligence. I let them look at each other for a long moment and just as I was about to introduce them, Liam bowed slightly from his waist. I watched, bemused. The Sword watched in its way, too, still alert from the journey through the portal.

“Liam O’Connor,” he said. “My sister speaks highly of you.”

Vell studied him as he straightened. “She speaks highly of you as well.”

Liam smiled slightly, one of his cheeks dimpling. I pressed my lips together to suppress my own smile. My brother had definitely attracted his share of beautiful women, but comparing Vell to ordinary women in the mortal world was like comparing Beryk to a daschund.

“So you are the Seer,” Vell said, almost to herself.

“Yes. And you are the High Queen,” Liam replied seriously. “Would you like to meet my teammates?”

“Of course I would like to know the mortals who will be raising their swords with us.” Vell’s eyes glimmered. So Liam introduced Jess, Quinn and Duke. Jess gave a serious nod, Quinn managed a rather courtly bow, and Duke said very gravely, “Ma’am, it’s our pleasure to go to war with you.”

“And it is our honor to have you fight alongside us,” said Vell.

“With your permission, we’ll go set up our camp for the night,” Liam said.

“Of course. I look forward to speaking with you during tomorrow’s travel about your Sight,” answered Vell.

“I would gladly ride with you, but we don’t have mounts.” My brother managed to look apologetic, as though coming through the tear in the veil without faehal was somehow his fault.

“We have mounts for you,” Vell replied, raising one eyebrow, “assuming you know how to ride.”

Liam smiled. “Not as well as you, I’d guess, but we’ll manage.”

“Hell, I was riding before I could walk,” Duke contributed earnestly in his thick Southern accent.

“Then we’ll speak tomorrow, Liam O’Connor.” Vell gave him a nod, which he rightly interpreted as a gentle dismissal. Vell watched the four men turn and walk away, Duke and Quinn animatedly discussing the best location to set up for the night. Liam glanced over his shoulder at Vell, and I let my grin spread across my face as he realized I’d caught him looking. He grinned at me and gave me a thumbs-up, which I returned. My brother’s easy affection warmed my heart. We’d always been close, but now I felt like we were almost equals, and he wasn’t treating me like a child anymore, though I knew he’d always be protective.

“What fascinating creatures,” Vell murmured.

I laughed out loud. She looked at me sharply, as though she’d forgotten I was standing beside her, and then she grinned, her mantle of regal queenliness falling away.

“I know he’s your brother, but he is fascinating,” said Vell.

“Guess it must run in the family,” I replied with a shrug.

Vell chuckled. “I see your time in the wilderness did nothing to dull your humor.”

“I’d hope not. Humor was one of our only pleasures left,” I said, shaking my head as I thought of the last struggling days of travel across the barren Deadlands. Then I frowned. “This is a vast army. We didn’t carry enough water for our journey with just the vanguard…I’m not understanding how you’re able to make ends meet.”

Vell waved a hand through the air. “Each of the queens calls up a spring when we halt for the day.”

“You call up a spring,” I repeated. “You make water come from the ground, just like that.” I snapped my fingers.

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s not as easy as that,” Vell admonished me. “But it is something that must be done.”

“So I’m guessing you don’t ride with Titania and Mab every day.”

“No. We gathered to speak to the Bearer.”

“Well. I’m honored.”

Vell narrowed her eyes at me. “You should be. It’s still a little awkward, all three of us in one place.”

Merrick emerged from the great gray tent and strode over to us. “My queen, the vanguard Walkers await you with their daily reports.”

“Thank you, Arrisyn.” Vell gave me a considering look. “Care to join, or are you too tired from the portal?”

I snorted. “Takes more than a little portal to tire me out.”

“If I didn’t know you, Tess, I’d think you’re becoming a little bit conceited,” Vell said as we walked toward the tent.

“Confidence isn’t arrogance,” I replied.

“How many of these sayings did your brother teach you?” Vell mused. I grinned and poked her shoulder as Merrick held the tent entrance open for us.

“Guess you’ll have to ask him tomorrow,” I said teasingly to Vell, winking at the navigator as we passed. He let a small smile curve his lips in reply.

The interior of the tent looked almost exactly the same as when I’d last been inside it. I glanced at the map-table, remembering the howling smoke creature. The Sword hummed a little in its sheath, bringing my attention back to the present. Two Walkers stood in the center of the tent, hands clasped respectfully behind their backs. They bowed simultaneously as Vell strode forward, unclasping her cloak and tossing it onto the back of a chair.

“Let’s not waste any time,” she said briskly. “Southern, you first.”

The Walker from the southern vanguard obediently stepped forward and bowed. “We continue to ride hard, my queen, and we have skirmished twice with Dark scouts today.”

“Any casualties?”

“Two wounded, but not seriously. We estimate our distance from the main body of the army to be twenty leagues as the Valkyrie fly. Commander Elwyn intends for us to rise well before dawn and finish the ride tomorrow.”

“Very well.” Vell turned her attention to the Walker from the western vanguard. “And how is it with the western vanguard?”

The Walker took a deep breath. “We lost a warrior today, my queen, in a pitched battle against a Dark host twice our number.”

My stomach clenched, and Vell’s hands formed into fists at her sides. “Who?”

I drew my sword, the engraved names dark as pitch against the silver of the blade.

“Bowen, my lady.”

I felt guilty at the rush of relief that slid through me when I didn’t recognize the name. I whispered the name to my sword and slipped a spark of taebramh down my war-markings into the hilt of the blade. Runes glimmered and swirled on the silver surface, visible for a bare moment as the name appeared in flowing script. I felt the sword shudder, and the runes went dark. Sliding the blade back into the sheath at my hip, I turned my attention back to the Walker.

“Five wounded, my queen, two seriously,” the Walker continued. “The Vaelanbrigh called upon his power to give us a chance to outrun the Dark host.”

The High Queen nodded as though this wasn’t news to her; she’d probably felt it through her connection with Finnead. “Have you stopped for the night?” she asked.

“No. We ride on,” the Walker said. He grimaced slightly. “It is difficult to Walk while riding double, but it must be done.” He paused. “My queen, the archer was seen again today.”

Vell cursed. “And let me guess, he is responsible for the wounded.”

“Four of the five,” confirmed the Walker with a nod.

“Damn him,” growled the vyldretning. She took a step forward. “My message for Finnead is this: ride hard, and reach the army. We will meet the Dark host in battle, and we will destroy this archer who has hunted you.”

The Walker bowed. “Aye, my lady.”

Vell turned her attention back to the southern vanguard’s Walker. “And for Elwyn, tell her not to let her guard down, not even when she nears our position. Send a Valkyrie messenger ahead to inform us of your arrival.”

“I shall pass the message, my queen,” the Walker replied with a bow.

“Dismissed.” Vell nodded to them, and they faded from sight. I tilted my head in consideration. Walkers did look a bit like ghosts.

“Who is this archer?” I asked.

“A Dark archer, hunting the western vanguard. One of Malravenar’s Black Guard, I think. He was sent out from the Dark Keep just as the other two vanguards reversed their course.” Vell threw herself down into a chair, staring moodily down at the map on the table. “Killed two of the vanguard on the ground and one Valkyrie so far. Wounded eight now, and most of his arrows are poisoned.”

“Of course.” I sighed and pulled out the chair next to Vell. “We’ll kill him,” I said encouragingly. It was almost comical: me reassuring my friend that we’d kill someone, in such a heartening tone.

“Even if I do it with my bare hands,” Vell agreed, a murderous light in her eyes.

“You can’t kill every Dark creature with your bare hands,” I pointed out.

“For this one, I will make an exception,” she said softly, her Northern accent shaping her words for the first time in a long time. Silence stretched around us; I leaned back in my chair and gazed up at the glowing lights suspended overhead. Finally Vell propped her boots up on the table and laced her fingers behind her head. “So, tell me of your journey.”

“Our Walker gave you good reports?” I asked.

“Yes, but you heard the format. They are very…dry.” Vell smiled a little. “Anything really interesting happen?”

I chuckled. “Other than opening a portal to here? Not really.” I paused. “I’m grateful that we found my brother and his teammates. I still don’t understand Malravenar’s aim in trying to kidnap him, but…” I shrugged. “I suppose I won’t understand everything all the time.”

“Especially not when you are dealing with a mind that has traveled deep into the reaches of Darkness,” Vell said quietly. “He might well have had a use for your brother that would horrify us.”

“Takes a lot to surprise me, anymore,” I replied. We both stared up at the floating lights for a few long moments. “So…I was told that there was some tension when the Seelie and Unseelie Courts met.”

“Tension is an understatement,” Vell replied dryly. “For a few days, I though we were going to be fighting each other rather than the enemy.”

I shook my head. “Another thing I don’t understand.”

“Look at us, being so introspective.” Vell grinned. “I remember when my measurement of a good day was how many Dark creatures I gutted.”

“Well, there’s a few good days coming up then,” I said, raising my eyebrows.

“You know what I mean…that was the only thing I had to worry about. That and keeping you alive.”

“I suppose you’ve done a pretty good job of that.” I smiled.

“You became surprisingly adept at surviving on your own.”

“Such a ringing endorsement.”

“What do you expect? It’s true. You went from the soaked and bedraggled mortal that I found beneath the river tree to a fearsome warrior in your own right, never mind the fact that you’re the Bearer.”

“And you went from a rebellious mercenary Northwoman to High Queen.”

Vell looked at me sharply and opened her mouth to contradict me, but then our eyes met and we both burst into laughter. It felt good to laugh, even with my aching ribs and the headache tightening the back of my skull. When our laughter finally subsided, Vell stretched her arms over her head and said, “By the White Wolf, I needed that.”

“Merrick and Gray haven’t been keeping you properly entertained?”

Vell snorted and gave me half a smile. “They’re too busy coordinating messengers between the Courts, spying on Malravenar’s forces, training the Wild Court and reporting to me about all of it to have a sense of humor anymore.”

“Poor Merrick. However is he going to court Calliea without a sense of humor?”

Vell burst into laughter again. “Aye, poor bedeviled Arrisyn.”

I shook my head and sighed. “Well, I need to go make sure Nehalim is settled for the night.”

“You’re welcome to sleep here if you wish,” said Vell offhandedly.

“After a few weeks of sleeping on the ground, it would be a welcome change.” I smiled.

“Oh,” said the High Queen as I stood, “I’ll be conducting a blood-baptism at the vyldgard’s main fire tonight for the northern vanguard.” Her golden eyes glimmered. “Apparently my baptism of Merrick made me highly unpopular among certain factions of the Unseelie.”

I thought of Ramel and the black armband he still wore. “Perhaps not as unpopular as you might think.”

Vell shrugged. “In any case, there isn’t much Mab can do about it.” She folded her hands behind her head again. “If a warrior wants to try to join the vyldgard, it is their choice.”

“It might be one of the first real choices they’ve had,” I thought aloud.

“Too close to the truth for Mab to feel any comfort,” agreed Vell. “Like we’ve said before, Mab is very…possessive, and not just of her favored knights. Titania thinks that the Wild Court might help to heal the wounds between Night and Day. We don’t belong to either, but all my warriors were born from their Courts and still have strong ties there.” She snuck a sidelong glance at me. “Thought you had to go see to your valiant mount.”

“That I do.” I smiled. “It’s just good to be back.”

“Good to have you back.” Vell grinned her lupine grin and then went back to staring at the ceiling. As I walked toward the front of the tent, Kianryk and Beryk barreled past me, nearly knocking me from my feet. I heard Vell exclaim a wordless greeting, and I glanced over my shoulder just in time to see her dive to the floor, wrestling with Kianryk. Satisfied that I wasn’t leaving Vell alone and staring pensively into the distance, I slid out into the darkness.

I found Nehalim already groomed and fed in the makeshift paddock that the northern vanguard had constructed. The faehal could have jumped the silver rope with no problem, but it was as though they were courteously staying within the area marked for them. The white faehal flicked his tail and trotted over to me. I rubbed his nose with the palm of one hand.

“We’ve traveled a long way together, hmm?” I murmured to him. His delicate ears swiveled and his dark liquid eyes regarded me with recognition. I patted his neck. “And still a long way to go. Seems like it’s taken a long time to get to this point, but what we have before us…I can’t really wrap my mind around it.”

Nehalim pushed his nose into my chest in a rare display of affection. I smiled and rested my forehead against his for a moment. Then he blew out a breath that smelled like sweet grass and drew back.

“See you tomorrow morning,” I told him. He swished his tail and rejoined the other faehal.

“Your pack and saddle are by the fire,” said Luca from behind me.

I turned. “Thanks. You know, I don’t expect you to do my chores for me.” I softened the statement with a smile.

He chuckled. “You were worrying about something more important.”

I shrugged with one shoulder. “True, but I can still do my own chores.”

“I’ll have to ask your brother if you were always this stubborn.” Luca raised an eyebrow.

“He’d laugh at you. I hated chores when I was a kid.”

“That’s not what I said. I said I’d ask him whether you were always this stubborn.”

“Oh. Then yes. Maybe even more than I am now, actually.” I grinned. “I was kind of a terror when I was a kid sometimes, from the way he tells it.”

“I am not surprised.”

I scowled in mock anger, but Luca grinned and I couldn’t hold the expression. I gave in and smiled. I was smiling a lot tonight, I thought, probably because my brother was safe and we were back in the company of the Wild Court….and perhaps because Luca’s smile kindled an answering warm glow within me.

“Have you eaten yet?” I asked Luca. “Don’t worry, I have my own spoon.”

“Then by all means, let us find our evening meal,” the ulfdrengr replied.

“You know, Vell said she’s going to baptize the warriors from the northern vanguard tonight.” I narrowed my eyes at Luca. “That isn’t news to you.”

“Our company fought well,” he replied as we walked through the camp, following the scent of roasting meat. We found the main fire around which the vyldgard had built their camp. The heat warmed our skin as we stood in line for our portion. I ignored the murmurs that accompanied our appearance, and after a few moments the warriors of the vyldgard turned back to their conversations. The stew for the night had a bit less meat than the food prepared at the camp by the dragon’s corpse, but it was still hearty fare. My headache receded as I ate, and the shaky feeling left my legs. I glimpsed Liam at the center of a group of Sidhe, Quinn seated to his left side. Both men looked entirely at ease, Liam with his elbows resting on his knees and Quinn with legs stretched in front of him, talking with the other warriors of the vyldgard as though they’d known each other for years. I felt a little prickle of jealousy, thinking of how awkward I’d felt during my first interactions with the Sidhe in Mab’s court. Then I pushed the envy away. It was a good thing that my brother and his teammates didn’t need me to watch over them, and the vyldgard warriors accepted them readily, albeit with a bit of curiosity.

Luca and I talked about different aspects of ground fighting as the fire burned low, the warriors casting long shadows over the ground. Vell emerged from her tent, Gray and Arcana flanking her as she strode to the center of the vyldgard camp. Conversations and songs faded into silence as Gray knelt before the vyldretning, holding a familiar silver bowl above her bowed golden head. Vell held her ivory staff in one hand, and a dagger in the other; no dragon’s blood streaked her face, but she held up the dagger and opened a shallow cut on her own arm, her face impassive as she watched her dark blood trickle into the silver bowl. The air tightened around us as long moments passed. Finally Vell exchanged the dagger for her ivory staff, pressing it against her bleeding arm, and the scent of snow swirled around her, softly glowing light spreading in threads over her skin, like frost on a pane of glass. The shallow cut disappeared beneath the web of white light, and when Vell drew her staff away from her skin, there was only the trace of a silver scar. She shoved her bloody dagger into her belt, and dipped her fingers in the bowl, drawing dark streaks across her pale face.

One by one, she called the names of the northern vanguard. I found myself smiling, just as I had smiled when she’d named Merrick and Calliea to the Firstscore. Niamh was the last to be baptized. Tears streamed down the Valkyrie commander’s face as she knelt before the vyldretning; she shuddered in ecstasy as Vell marked her forehead with blood, the wild power of the vyldgard rushing around her and then through her. Her smile was beatific but her eyes were fierce as she stood and faced the gathered warriors, who sent up a great shout for the newest members of their Wild Court.

Chapter 31

I awoke in the morning to someone poking me relentlessly in the shoulder. I growled at them and tried to roll over, but the finger became a whole hand, shaking my shoulder. I sighed and sat up, blinking tiredly. Vell sat on her haunches an arm’s-length away, eyes and crown glimmering gold in the darkness.

“Well, you’re still not a morning person,” she said.

“Some things never change,” I replied, stretching.

“Come on, then. We break camp quickly in the morning.”

I yawned. “All right. You don’t need to tell me twice.”

Vell disappeared, presumably to go issue queenly edicts about the day’s events; I blearily braided my hair and brushed the wrinkles out of my shirt.

“Are you decent, Tess-mortal?”

“Yes, Wisp,” I answered, and the Glasidhe zipped into my little curtained room. He wasted no time in making himself useful, swooping down to attack the buckles of my armor as soon as I pulled my breastplate over my head. I stifled another yawn and murmured my appreciation as I adjusted the Caedbranr along my spine. With my saddle laid over my arm and pack slung over my shoulder, I left the tent, which was now suddenly bare of all its furnishings. I resisted the urge to stay and watch the process of packing the enchanted tent—I had a sneaking suspicion that it would just deflate itself and compress into a neat little square of cloth. Wisp settled himself on my shoulder as I walked toward the paddock.

A determined bustle filled the camp. The fires were already buried beneath a layer of dirt, and everywhere I looked there were vyldgard warriors preparing for the day’s journey.

“Not long now,” said Wisp said musingly.

“Not long until what?” I asked, grabbing a chunk of bread and cheese as I passed the remnants of the meal from the night before.

“Until it is all decided,” replied the Glasidhe messenger with gravity.

“And it will be decided in our favor, if I have anything to do with it,” I replied.

“I have told others of your bravery, but now they will be able to see for themselves.”

I felt my cheeks heat as I found Nehalim and laid the saddle over his back. “Well, I don’t know how many people will be able to see it.” I realized that the queens may not have told everyone of their great plan, and so in one of my rare moments of restraint, I held my tongue.

“True,” agreed Wisp, “we will all be fighting.”

“Exactly.” I strapped my pack behind the saddle, ensuring that my healing satchel was readily accessible. I wondered briefly if I should consider splitting my time riding with the three Courts, so I didn’t create the perception that I favored the Wild Court. Then I dismissed the idea. These next few days could be my last. I wanted to spend them with those who meant the most to me.

“You are thinking dark thoughts.” Wisp tugged on my ear to get my attention.

“Hard not to sometimes, with the battle looming,” I replied softly, checking the cinch on the saddle one more time. Nehalim tossed his head. I patted his neck and said to Wisp, “Hold on.” When I felt his hands grasp my ear, I slipped my foot into the stirrup and heaved myself into the saddle. I smiled as I thought, not for the first time, about how second-nature travel had become to me. My muscles were stiff but not sore after the long days of the past month. “We’re riding with Vell,” I told Nehalim, letting him have his head as we wove through the riders forming up for the day’s ride. I folded my scarf as we went, laying it over my head and crossing each side over my mouth. As I finished tying the knot and pushed the scarf down onto my neck, I heard a familiar voice.

“So that’s how they all learned to tie their scarves,” said my brother, pulling up beside me on a roan faehal.

“Had to pass on the lesson,” I replied, eyeing Liam. He wore a dark breastplate with a plain shirt beneath and dark trousers, though he still wore his dusty combat boots. “Didn’t they have boots big enough for you?”

He grinned. “They offered, but I just wanted to keep at least this one thing.”

“I can understand that.” I smiled. “And you look pretty comfortable in the saddle.”

“Riding is a useful skill,” he replied. “Not everywhere is accessible by Humvees, and it’s faster than foot.”

“Right.” I shook my head. “You know, as much as I don’t like the fact that you were dragged into this, I am grateful for all the training and experiences that you had in our world.”

“Well, I can say I didn’t ever expect to be fighting with a sword,” he replied, patting the hilt of the blade lashed to his saddle. “And I didn’t ever expect to become a human Magic-Eight Ball either, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned is that expectations are pretty much useless. Life’s gonna be what it’s gonna be, Bug, and it’s all in how you deal with what it throws at you.”

“True,” I nodded in agreement.

“I knew Tess-mortal must have gotten her level head from somewhere,” piped Wisp from my shoulder. Liam jumped a little in his saddle.

“Sorry,” he said, addressing the Glasidhe, “I did not see you there. Another thing I have to adjust to…”

“No offense taken,” replied Wisp courteously. “Most mortals do not believe in our existence. You and your companions have behaved very admirably given the circumstances.”

“Thanks,” said my brother with a smile. He rubbed his chin, scratching at the sandy stubble along his jaw.

“Hey, boss,” said Duke, cantering up on a smaller chestnut faehal, Quinn and Jess close behind him on their own mounts. Out of them all, Quinn seemed the least comfortable in the saddle, but even he kept his seat well as we threaded through the growing ranks of warriors.

“Good morning, mortal companions of the Seer,” said Wisp.

Duke grinned. “I see how it goes. You still get top billing, boss.”

Liam shrugged. “Can’t help it that I’m basically more awesome than you three nerds.”

“Whoa,” said Quinn, “who are you calling a nerd?”

“And what category are we talkin’ here, like as far as awesome goes, because I’m pretty sure I’m more awesome with the ladies than you are, if you know what I mean,” Duke said, leaning toward Liam and lowering his voice for the last part of his statement.

“Hey,” said Quinn, “let me remind you, short stuff, who sealed the deal last night.” He motioned to himself with his thumb, winking at Liam.

“It’s too early to hear your stories of masculine conquest. Though I doubt you were the one doing the conquering, if you did manage to intrigue a Sidhe woman,” I said, giving Quinn a skeptical look. Duke grinned and even taciturn Jess smiled.

“Hey, I don’t kiss and tell, but I am saying that the ladies like the tattoos and the brown skin.” He grinned cheekily at me, not deterred in the least by my narrowed eyes and raised eyebrow.

“Man, I don’t think you sealed the deal,” said Duke, shaking his head. “I think you pulled a Singapore.”

I looked at Liam in question. He shook his head, so I asked, “What’s ‘pulling a Singapore?’”

Duke’s face lit up as he launched enthusiastically into his explanation. “Ah. Well, see, we had a few days in Singapore this one time, and let me tell you, that place is crazy. Just…insane. And you know, there’s all these ladies there—me love you long time, you know? —and so we’re all at this bar—”

“Duke, she does not need to know this story,” Quinn said. I glanced back at quiet Jess and saw him suppress another smile.

“She asked!” Duke pointed out.

“You tell Singapore, I tell Melbourne, how about that,” the tattooed man replied.

“Aw, c’mon man, don’t be such a tenderfoot.”

“Hey, fair’s fair. Tess can learn why we call you Duke.” Quinn grinned, his teeth white against his black beard.

“Now I’m really intrigued,” I deadpanned.

“Duke is not your real name?” Wisp asked innocently.

“Wisp isn’t your true name either,” I pointed out to the Glasidhe.

“Well, that is true, but that is because our true names call us. I do not think it works that way for mortals.”

“Molly warned me not to tell anyone my full name, before all this started,” I said. “Good to know that it doesn’t work well on us mere mortals.”

“Where is Molly, by the way?” Liam asked. I immediately regretted giving him the opportunity to broach the subject. “I would’ve thought that you two would be riding together, with this whole epic gathering of all the Courts in one place.”

I shifted uncomfortably in my saddle and cleared my throat. “When they unbound her Fae half—and she’s half Unseelie—they wiped her memory. Last time I saw her was right after I’d been bound to the Sword, when I was getting ready to start the journey to the Seelie Court.”

“And she didn’t remember you?”

“No.” I shifted my gaze and looked ahead of us on the pretense of maneuvering through the last few ranks of warriors; but really I was hoping that Liam couldn’t see the guilt written on my face. We rode toward the great banner of the wolf, still waving in that invisible wind; I saw Vell on her war-charger, scarlet cape around her shoulders. Gray sat on her mount to the right of Vell, and even Arcana rode a faehal, her eerily blank face pale as bone in the rosy light of the rising sun. I drew Nehalim up beside Vell, grateful for the reprieve from Liam’s questions about Molly.

“You said you would like my brother to ride with you today?” I asked Vell. She nodded regally, but I didn’t miss the wicked glimmer in her eyes.

“Yes,” she replied. “I would very much like to speak with the Seer.”

I motioned with my head, and Liam guided his faehal forward to take a place on Vell’s other side. I stood in my stirrups, Wisp grabbing a lock of my hair for balance, and surveyed the vast lines of the Army of the Three Queens: the line of warriors stretched to the left and to the right of us, beyond the horizon. In the distance to our left I made out the standard of the Seelie Court, and to our right, if I strained my eyes, I glimpsed Mab’s banner at the limits of my sight. Duke gave a low whistle as he, too, took in the massive size of the fighting force arrayed for the day’s journey.

Vell turned and nodded to Gray. The golden-haired warrior lifted a white horn to her lips and blew a long, clear blast that echoed over our heads. Vell touched her heels to her mount’s sides, and the entire army moved forward like a giant lumbering creature, dust wreathing our faehal’s hooves as we began the day’s journey across the barren land before us.

“Who is that?” Quinn said, staring openly at Gray.

“That’s Gray. She’s one of Vell’s Three, and she’s way out of your league,” I replied without missing a beat.

“First of all, there’s nothing gray about her. Secondly, aim small, miss small,” Quinn said without taking his eyes from the Sidhe warrior.

“You ain’t that good of a marksman,” Duke said in an undertone, following Quinn’s gaze.

“You two should probably stop talking about her like she’s some girl at a bar who’d be dazzled by your war stories,” I said drily. “And she could probably kick both your asses at once.”

“Now I’m even more intrigued,” murmured Quinn.

“Womanizer,” I muttered.

My brother’s teammate looked at me sharply. “Now, that I’m not. I just have an appreciation for the finer things in life.” He glanced back at Gray. “I’m always a gentleman.”

I sighed. “All I’m saying is that romance should probably be the last thing on everyone’s minds right now.” Wisp discreetly took off from my shoulder, flying toward Vell and Liam. “See, even Wisp doesn’t want to hear it.”

Quinn chuckled. “Ah, you’ve seen some action but you’re still a baby. Don’t you know that that’s probably the only thing on a lot of people’s minds right now?” He raised his eyebrows. “When you can die tomorrow, you better make the most of today.”

“That doesn’t mean that you should just throw yourself headlong at anyone willing to even look at you twice,” I retorted, cheeks heating at Quinn’s label. “I’m not a child. I know how the world works.”

“Don’t get mad, little boss,” said the charismatic fighter. “I’m not saying to throw all the rules out the window. But I’m just saying that maybe you should give something a chance.” He raised his eyebrows at me, his voice brotherly, and then he motioned slightly with his chin. I followed his gaze and saw Luca riding a small distance away, talking to Merrick.

I felt my cheeks heat even further, and knew that my face was probably bright red at this point. “I...well, it’s not that I don’t want to…” I stopped, surprised by my own admission. “But there’s someone else. His name is Finnead.”

“So you two are an item?” Quinn raised his eyebrows at my sharp look. “Don’t get me wrong, we know you can fend for yourself, but you’re Luck’s sister and that makes you our sister, too.”

I smiled a little. Liam had tried to explain his unit’s broad definition of “family” to me a few times in the past, but I hadn’t experienced it firsthand until now. My thoughts moved from Quinn’s brotherly concern back to his question, and I hesitated. “I wouldn’t really say we’re an item.”

“Why not?” Quinn asked bluntly. “If he doesn’t have the stones to make you his one and only, he doesn’t deserve you.”

“It’s not that.” I paused in contemplation. “It’s hard to explain.” I remembered the feel of Finnead’s lips on mine, the whirlwind of heat rushing through my body, his lithe muscles pressed against me. Then the memory of our last tepid kiss intruded, though I tried to push it away. “We love each other. He brought Molly and I through one of the lesser Gates, the last one in the Unseelie kingdom. I wasn’t the Bearer then. They actually thought Molly was the one in the prophecy.” I paused. “He really only brought me through because I helped to kill a garrelnost and got myself pretty banged up. So his honor code dictated that he needed to save my life, I guess.” I shrugged. “Our relationship went from there. I’ve known him since the beginning of my time in this world.”

“So what’s there to stop you?” Quinn watched me intently, his eyes disarmingly perceptive.

I took a deep breath. “At first, I think it was the fact that I’m a mortal, and he’s Sidhe. He was one of Mab’s Three. Mab and I…let’s just say there’s no love lost.” I grimaced. “And then, after I became the Bearer, we were journeying to the Seelie Court. He didn’t want to detract from the mission.”

Quinn muttered something under his breath and turned it into a cough, looking at me innocently.

“Look, it’s not that he doesn’t love me,” I said, despising the defensiveness in my voice. “We’re just fighting a war here, in case you haven’t noticed, and both him and I are smack dab in the middle of it.” I sat back in the saddle in frustration. Nehalim tossed his head.

“Hey,” Quinn said almost gently. “I’m not trying to upset you, little boss.” He shrugged. “Sometimes it just takes a fresh pair of eyes on a problem to see the solution.”

I clenched my jaw. “And what do you see as the solution?”

He shook his head, smiling. “I’m not gonna take that bait. Liam’s probably going to kick my ass for upsetting you anyway.”

“If there’s any ass-kicking that needs to be done, I can do it myself,” I snapped. Quinn’s chuckle somehow irritated me even further. In the back of my mind, I understood that my frustration was mostly at myself, and Quinn didn’t deserve my sharp words. But I shied away from examining my emotions about my relationship with Finnead any closer. I wasn’t sure I’d like what I found if I did. “Look, you’ve known me for all of a couple of days. What gives you the right to say any of this?”

“I don’t have any right at all,” answered Quinn easily. “But like I said, sometimes it’s the outside eyes that see it clear.” We rode in silence for a moment. In the background, I heard Duke having a one-sided conversation with Jess about the differences between the Sidhe saddles and good Western tack. I took a deep breath.

“I shouldn’t have snapped at you,” I said finally. “You hit too close to the mark, and I didn’t want to hear it.”

“The heart is a tricky gearbox,” the big tattooed man replied.

“I wouldn’t think you’re certified to give advice on it,” I said, smiling. “Big, tough guy who kills people for a living.”

Quinn didn’t blanch at my description. “One of the last remaining savages. We’re an endangered species.” He looked at me, his brown eyes serious. “Dancing with death on the daily makes you face a lot of things head-on. So that’s how I know a thing or two about the heartbox.” He tilted his head to the side. “Mind if I ask a question?”

“You’re probably going to ask it anyway.” I smiled to soften my words, trying to make up for my harsh reaction moments before. “We’ve got a long day of traveling ahead of us, so you might as well.”

“This…Finnead. I haven’t met him, so I don’t know him. But from what you’ve said, the very first thing he did was rescue you.” Quinn looked at me for a long moment as his words sank in. “Are you sure he doesn’t still see you as a damsel in distress?”

I frowned. “That’s ridiculous. I’m not a damsel in distress. And yes, he rescued me, but only after I saved his life.”

“I didn’t say you are, I’m asking you whether he still sees you that way.” He looked into the distance. “Some guys, after they’ve been through a lot, they’re just not the same. They don’t come back all of the way. And sometimes that means that they can’t fall in love with someone who doesn’t need saving.”

I tried to ignore the sudden feeling of recognition that sank like a stone into my stomach. “Meaning…they need the person they’re with to be a damsel in distress?”

“Shrinks call it a hero complex,” Quinn told me with a rueful smile. “I had to work through it, at one point. Most of us do.” He shrugged. “But some guys can’t unpack it.”

“Finnead was captured,” I said in a low voice. “Hundreds of years ago, when this all began. He was escorting Queen Mab’s younger sister. I think he…I think he loved her. They were ambushed, and taken captive. He escaped, after being tortured. After watching them torture and kill her.”

Quinn gave a low whistle. “That’s heavy.”

I swallowed. “Yeah. It’s not something he talks about much.”

“I’m not trying to throw a wrench into anything,” said Quinn. “I’m just telling you what I see.” He glanced over to Luca again. “And that guy…he’s a hell of a fighter, and he’s solid. He loves you, anyone can see that, and I know for a fact that he doesn’t think you need saving.”

My chest tightened. “I thought it was against the rules to be in love with more than one person.”

Again Quinn took a few moments to think. “There are different kinds of love, little boss. Maybe you just need to sort out which is which.”

I sighed. “That’s just more confusing.”

“Life is confusing.” Quinn raised one eyebrow. I reached over and hit his arm. “Ow. Easy on the goods.”

“You’re supposed to be a big, tough savage, remember?” I reminded him. Luca’s voice suddenly surfaced in my mind: but then again, I’m mostly savage anyway.

My brother’s teammate rubbed his arm. “Yeah, well, you’ve got a heck of a punch, even when you’re just messing around.”

I laughed, but the whirling knot of emotions in my chest remained. Why did Quinn’s words spark such a sinking recognition within me? I felt like I already knew the answer to the question of Finnead and me, but I didn’t want to make it real by admitting it, even to myself. What kind of person did that make me, falling so easily out of love? Had I mistaken lust for love, despite all of Finnead’s courtly graces? I gazed out at the bleak horizon of the Deadlands and shifted again in my saddle.

“Hey.” Quinn nudged his mount closer to mine. “Don’t let it eat you up, little boss. Just let it settle for a few hours. It’s not something you have to decide right away. Or really ever, if you don’t want to.”

I smiled. “Nobody else has talked to me about it in quite the way you have.”

“Probably because they look at you and they see this legendary warrior.” He raised his hands when I shot him a sharp look. “I’m not making fun of you. I’m serious. A lot of the fighters, they’re in awe of you. So I wouldn’t expect them to be able to give you some brotherly advice.”

“I wouldn’t say legendary,” I muttered. Then I raised my voice. “Do you have any family back home?”

“Changing the subject.” Quinn smiled. “Sure. I’m the oldest of seven, so lots of younger brothers and sisters, a few nieces and nephews at this point.”

“But you’re not married?”

“Nah. You know what they say, they don’t issue you a wife.” He grinned. “But Jess is married, if you can believe that anyone would love that salty old hardass. Two daughters. Our old senior chief had to call in some favors a few years ago when Jess got himself hemmed up for threatening a boy who’d been harassing his oldest.”

“I’m not surprised,” I replied, thinking of all the stories that Liam had told me over the years.

“And Duke’s engaged, or at least he was when we left,” Quinn continued.

“I’ll do my best to make sure you all get back to your families, when this is over,” I said.

A strange look passed over Quinn’s face; then he smiled again. “Don’t go making promises you can’t keep, little boss.”

“Stop calling me that,” I muttered. “I’m not little, and I’m not your boss.”

“You’re the mini O’Connor,” Quinn rejoined, “and he’s the big boss, so that makes you the little boss. Plus, now that you complained, you’re stuck with it.”

I rolled my eyes. “Sure.”

Shadows suddenly rippled over us; I looked up and shaded my eyes, grinning at the beautiful sight of the Valkyrie flying overhead. And I thought I glimpsed fierce white-haired Niamh blow a kiss to Quinn as she swooped low on her winged mount.

“If I saw what I just think I saw, you should probably keep your hands to yourself down here,” I told Quinn. “Gray is…well, Gray, but if one of the twins has her eye on you…”

“Wait, she’s a twin?” Quinn looked as though I’d just told him he won the lottery.

“An identical twin,” I said with a smile.

“Lord help me,” he said, but his delighted grin belied his words. I shook my head and touched my heels to Nehalim’s sides, guiding him over toward Luca and Merrick, leaving Quinn staring up at the commander of the northern vanguard’s Valkyrie.

“This is a bit less eventful than I anticipated,” I said by way of greeting.

Merrick smiled. “Certainly, it’s less eventful than our journey to Brightvale. But I think it is the calm before the storm.” His gray eyes became unusually pensive. I wondered what he’d seen in his scrying-glass that dampened his usual good spirits. “The other two vanguards will be returning soon. The southern probably before the western, at this point.”

Elwyn’s vanguard would return before Finnead, I translated in my head. I glanced at Merrick. “Have you been watching them on their journey?”

“Yes,” he replied. “Usually every few hours, or at the direction of the vyldretning.”

“Have they encountered anything unusual?” I tried to keep my face neutral. Oddly, the Sword awakened at my question, a tendril of its power sliding down my war-markings.

“What exactly do you want to know?” Merrick replied. “No offense meant, Tess, but I’ve traveled with you for long enough to know that you have a very specific question in mind.”

“Last evening, the Walker from the western vanguard said they were being hunted by a Dark archer.” I met Merrick’s eyes. “Have you seen this archer?”

“Yes.” But Merrick said nothing more, though I waited silently.

“And? What do you know about him?”

“I can’t say,” Merrick said softly. “The High Queen orders me not to speak of it.”

I frowned. “Not even to me?” I almost said I’m the Bearer, but I closed my teeth on the words.

“I’m sure we’ll find out more when the vanguards return,” the Arrisyn said.

“In the meantime,” said Luca, “it looks as though your brother and companions are received well.”

“Yes,” I acknowledged. “Merrick, why aren’t you allowed to talk about the archer? I’d think that Vell would want us all to know the foe we’re facing.”

Merrick shifted in his saddle. “I cannot pretend to know the mind of the High Queen.”

I clenched my jaw in frustration. “I’d hoped that the Wild Court’s foundation would be composed of less secrets than the other Courts.”

“Tess,” said Luca, “something is weighing on your mind.” He reached out and touched my arm, drawing my gaze from Merrick to him. “Don’t let your frustrations lead to words you will regret later.”

“I just want to know what’s going on,” I said in quieter voice. Then, to Merrick: “I wasn’t criticizing the High Queen’s decision. I know that you’re following orders. You’re one of the most loyal people I know.” I smiled a little, trying to swallow my irritation.

“Of all people, I think you are one of the few allowed to criticize the High Queen,” replied Merrick lightly. “And of course I take no offense. Emotions run high in the days before a battle.”

“You are an authority on battles now?” Luca asked jokingly.

The navigator grinned. “As much an authority as anyone else, by this point.”

“Can we just talk about something…normal?” I asked almost plaintively.

Both men looked at me and laughed. I scowled, but then eventually gave in and smiled.

“What exactly is normal these days, Tess?” Merrick asked, still chuckling.

I sighed. “I don’t know! But just constantly talking about the battle makes me…anxious.”

“How are your hands?” said Luca.

“No better and no worse,” I replied, grateful for the change in subject…but my thoughts kept circling back to the archer, and Finnead…and Luca. “Still achy sometimes, but I’m used to it by now. Yours?”

“The cold in the northern mountains made my bones ache,” the ulfdrengr replied with blunt honesty. “Just in my hand.” He flexed his scarred hand in demonstration.

“Now that you mention it, my scars ached a bit more too,” I agreed.

The sun rose overhead and shortened our shadows as the hours passed. The great army moved at a steady pace, though Nehalim tossed his head occasionally, chafing at what he thought to be a slow speed. I rode with Merrick and Luca for a few hours, and then drifted back over to Quinn and Duke. They treated me to some amusing stories about Liam and each other, a few of which I’d heard before from Liam’s perspective. I kept an eye on my brother, but he remained deep in conversation with Vell for the entire morning. Occasionally I saw Vell grin, her golden eyes flashing and her regal poise falling away for a moment. I found myself smiling, glad that she was comfortable enough with my brother to let him see her true demeanor.

The Valkyrie flew overhead, occasionally sending out pairs of scouts. Nehalim continued to express his displeasure at the slow pace, tossing his head and occasionally breaking into a tight prance. At first the white faehal’s restlessness annoyed me, but then Wisp murmured into my ear, “All are feeling the anticipation.” I marveled, not for the first time, at the Glasidhe’s perceptiveness, and let Nehalim prance. We pressed on over the barren landscape, waiting for the vanguards’ return.

Chapter 32

A few hours past noon, Merrick straightened in his saddle, his gray eyes sharpening as he stared intently into the distance. I followed his gaze but couldn’t see anything. The Caedbranr thrummed in its scabbard, so I reasoned that something had to be happening. I watched, and after a few moments made out the silhouette of a Valkyrie flying low and hard, the winged faehal’s legs galloping through the empty air with the punishing tempo of its wingbeats. After a few more minutes, I made out a cloud of rising dust on the horizon, smudges in the dust resolving into riders pushing their mounts hard. The Sword pricked my arm with its power, my war-markings suddenly blazing emerald. I closed my teeth on a sound of surprise and guided Nehalim over to Vell. But just before I reached her, she put out a hand and steadied Liam on his mount. My heart surged into my throat as he slumped in the saddle, and Nehalim leapt forward when I touched my heels to his sides.

“Liam!” I pulled up beside Vell and tried to guide Nehalim behind Vell’s mount so that I could get closer to my brother.

“A vision,” said Vell tightly without looking away from Liam’s ashen face. Before I had time to absorb her words, Quinn drew his mount up on the other side of Liam and threw his own arm around Liam’s shoulders. Vell sat back into her own saddle. Nehalim shook his head and snorted, as if to say that he’d been right to ignore my attempt to ride to Liam’s side.

“I think the visions are more intense in this world,” she said to me, “and they’re happening more often, now that the battle draws near.”

“How is he going to fight like this?” I asked, watching helplessly as Liam finally drew a shuddering breath and straightened. Quinn said something to him in a low voice and he nodded. With a clap on the back, the tattooed man released Liam and let his mount drift back. I picked up my slack reins and this time Nehalim listened to me. I drew up beside Liam.

“Don’t look so concerned, Bug,” he said, raising his eyebrows.

“Your lips are blue,” I retorted, “and you nearly fell off your faehal.”

“But I didn’t.” He smiled gamely at me. “I can’t expect everyone to stop what they’re doing every time one of those slams into me.”

“What was this one?”

He took a deep breath and addressed Vell. “There’s a sizable force of Dark creatures pursuing the riders returning to us.”

“The ones on the horizon?”

“Them, and the ones behind them,” Liam replied.

Vell grinned and her eyes slid to Gray. “Sound the horn. Let’s go meet our vanguard.” Without waiting for the blast of the white horn, she kicked her mount into a gallop and the surrounding riders followed suit, the rest of the army cascading behind us. Nehalim gladly surged into his fleet-footed gallop, but I hauled on the reins and kept him apace with Liam’s mount, afraid he would fall. The clarion call of the horn hung in the air and the ground shook as wave after wave of riders leapt into a gallop. But my brother shook his head at me and smiled, shouting something that I couldn’t hear above the rushing of the wind in my ears. He pointed ahead to Vell, and then leaned over and slapped Nehalim’s hindquarters. I cursed and grabbed a fistful of silky mane as Nehalim shot forward, quickly closing the distance to the High Queen.

Beryk and Kianryk wove through the galloping faehal, their long lithe bodies stretched low to the barren ground, wreathed in dust. I tugged my scarf up over my face to counter the whipping wind. Then I glimpsed a silver-and-black streak join the other two wolves, and I grinned as Rialla took her place beside Beryk. But even though part of me exulted in this headlong rush toward battle, worry for Liam clouded my mind.

He is a warrior, just as you are a warrior. The Caedbranr’s words sounded in my head unbidden.

But this isn’t his war, I answered. Tendrils of my hair escaped my hasty plait and danced in the wind.

It is now, just as it is yours. Put away your worry and fight.

The vanguard had slowed, the Valkyrie overhead shooting arrows down into an unseen foe. I drew my plain blade from the scabbard lashed to my saddle. Vell’s sword flashed in her hand as she raised it overhead, sending up a fierce Northern war cry. Gray rode to her right, golden hair streaming unbound behind her; and Luca joined in the battle cry with his axe held aloft on my left. Wisp leapt from my shoulder and flew overhead, cutting through the air like a flaming arrow. In the rush of anticipation and heady excitement, it became suddenly very easy to heed the Sword, and I tucked my concern for my brother into the back of my mind.

The Valkyrie messenger reached us and wheeled his mount in midair, leaning low to shout his message to the High Queen, who did not slacken her mount’s pace but urged her faehal even faster. The ground shook with the thunder of the army’s galloping hooves, and as we neared the vanguard we saw the seething mass of misshapen creatures boiling around them, the warriors fighting in a desperate circle, surrounded on all sides by Dark creations that defied any simple definition or description. I leaned over Nehalim’s neck and watched through my wind-blurred vision as one of the riders was dragged from his mount by a huge ogre; a pair of Valkyrie dove down and attacked the monster before it brought its club down on the warrior. I hefted my sword in my grip, welcoming the bloodlust that surged into my chest. Another war cry rose up over the galloping ranks and I saw the warriors of the southern vanguard fight with renewed vigor as they saw our approach. I joined the cry, a wordless yell accompanying my raised sword; and then we were upon them, and the Army of the Three Queens swallowed the Dark creatures whole, crashing around them like the storm-whipped ocean around a solitary rock.

Nehalim and I plunged into the melee. I thrust my blade through a troll that wore a necklace of bones, and Nehalim wheeled to trample it with his hooves, dancing back as the creature thrust with its short sharp tusks in its death throes. A Valkyrie arrow punched through its eye, abruptly stilling its thrashing.

The dust and blood and turmoil of the battle wrapped around me, strangely familiar. Luca leapt down from his mount with a roar, his axe beheading the ogre threatening the fallen vanguard warrior. Without direction from me, Nehalim charged through the tumult to his side, and we fended off a few smaller creatures as Luca heaved the dazed fighter upright. A Valkyrie flew low and circled us, providing a scarce moment of reprieve. I reached down with my left hand, sword still held in the other, and with a push from Luca, the warrior gripped my hand and leapt up behind me on Nehalim.

“Hold on,” I shouted above the screams and shouts.

“Don’t have to tell me twice, Bearer!” came the terse reply and an arm around my waist.

“Through! To the other side!” yelled Luca, astride his own faehal again, gore spattered across his pale skin. I raised my blade in agreement. The warrior behind me kept clear of my sword as we plunged through the maelstrom, switching his weapon into his left hand so he could still fight. My focus narrowed to the creatures in our path. I didn’t try to discern what the creatures were—some I’d seen before, but most were new to my eyes, strange combinations of misshapen limbs and cruel eyes. All I really cared about was avoiding their teeth, claws and blades, and thrusting my own sword into them. Gore ran in dark rivulets down the silver length of the blade that bore the names of our dead. I saw Vell, her eyes alight with battle joy as she cleaved a creature in two, snarling in triumph as the wolves took down another ogre as fluidly as if they were hunting a deer.

“Through!” came the cry to the vanguard, taken up by more than just Luca; they wheeled their mounts and followed us, leaving some of the Dark creatures shrieking in confusion, encircled completely by the Sidhe warriors.

With jarring suddenness, we emerged beyond the battle, the army now flowing completely around the remaining Dark creatures. I glanced down the front lines and saw a few other knots of Dark creatures, enveloped by the Seelie and Unseelie ranks. I didn’t know whether the creatures had tried to flee or if there had been separate groups, and I found I didn’t care. I stared down at the viscous black blood dripping slowly from my blade, watching it slide down the silver metal and trickle onto the bare gray ground. The air moving in and out of my heaving lungs suddenly sounded loud to my own ears as the shrieks of dying creatures and shouts of warriors receded farther and farther away. I shook myself and began to search through the ranks of fighters, my eyes passing quickly over each figure. I saw Vell, speaking to Gray with a bright grin, and Luca dismounted beside me, watching the extermination of the last few Dark creatures as he wiped the blade of his axe clean. My ears caught a distinctive accent, and I twisted in the saddle, turning toward the sound. With his Southern twang as a guide, I spotted Duke, and silent Jess—and I breathed a huge sigh as I saw Liam, blood-spattered but apparently unharmed, inspecting a gash on Quinn’s arm.

“Well-met, Lady Bearer,” said the fighter behind me as he dismounted, landing lightly on his feet.

“You should be thanking Luca, not me,” I replied with a smile, motioning toward the ulfdrengr.

“Oh, I shall,” came the reply, and with a little bow the warrior strode toward Luca.

I slid down from Nehalim’s back and quickly examined him. Blood stained his legs and belly, but none of it was his. I patted his shoulder. He snorted and pranced a few steps, as if to express his enjoyment of the battle. Smiling, I tugged a spare cloth from my pack, carefully wiping the length of my blade clean. I wondered briefly if I’d have to add any names to the sword, but then I sheathed it and mounted again, my heartbeat finally slowing to a reasonable cadence. I idly rubbed at a drop of black blood that had spattered onto Nehalim’s neck as he walked over to Liam, picking his way over the decimated remains of the Dark forces. The four men had dismounted, their faehal watching them with liquid eyes.

“Thought we’d seen some uglies in the mountains but whew, we got a real twisted mastermind here,” said Duke, shaking his head as he crouched by the corpse of an ogre, squinting as he inspected its mottled green and gray skin. He lifted the ogre’s ugly lips with the tip of one of his knives, examining the stained, tusk-like teeth with clinical interest.

“Yeah, well, doesn’t seem like most of ‘em are smart enough to wear armor,” replied Jess. The inspection of Quinn’s arm had been passed to the oldest member of the team, but he pressed the bloody handkerchief back over the wound after just a momentary glance. “Duke, stop poking at the dead monsters and get over here and do your job.”

“Aw, rub some dirt on it and shake it off,” Duke said nonchalantly, but he obediently stood and made his way over to Quinn.

“Everyone else good?” Liam asked.

“Check,” said Jess after he’d inspected himself, patting a particularly large patch of blood on his leg to make sure it didn’t conceal a wound he hadn’t felt in the rush of battle.

“I’m solid,” said Duke, tilting his head to one side as he peeled back the sodden cloth over Quinn’s arm.

“Tess?” Liam turned toward me.

“All good,” I replied. “Sorry, didn’t know I was included in that question.”

“Of course you’re included in that question,” Liam said, giving me a one-armed hug after I dismounted again. I pulled my healing kit from my pack.

“What do you need?” I asked Duke, peering over his shoulder. “I don’t know how long we’ll be stopped. Probably only for a few more minutes.”

“That’s fine, I only need three or four minutes,” the wiry Southerner replied. “Gonna put in a few stitches, brother.”

“Do what you gotta do,” replied Quinn, who was a little pale beneath his tattoos. The gash stretched from his left shoulder to his elbow, and it still bled sluggishly.

“Clean cut,” Duke announced after a close inspection. “Nothing in it that I can see.” He wiped away a trickle of blood with the handkerchief. “Don’t suppose you have steri-strips or Neosporin in that kit of yours.”

I chuckled. “No, but I have a needle and thread, and I can make an antiseptic salve while you stitch.”

“Old school. I like it.” Duke grinned as he accepted the offered needle and thread, his calloused fingers surprisingly nimble as he slid the thread through the eye of the needle on the first try.

“That’s because you’re not the one who’s gonna look like Frankenstein in a few minutes,” Quinn muttered.

“Don’t be a baby,” admonished Duke. “Least it didn’t slice through any of your tats.”

Quinn narrowed his eyes at the shorter man in reply but held his arm out forbearingly. I turned my attention to mixing the herbs for the salve, first rinsing my hands clean and scrubbing them dry on one of my spare shirts.

“Here,” I told Jess, handing him the little bowl from my healing kit. “Hold this.” He didn’t seem surprised and obediently held the bowl while I sorted through my vials of powder. I tipped a few different ones into the little bowl, carefully replacing the seal atop each vial. After adding a splash of water, I mixed the salve with my fingers.

“Perfect timing,” said Duke in satisfaction, snipping the threads of the last knotted stitch with the little scissors in his multitool.

“Not bad at all,” I said, surveying the neat line of stitches.

“I know, right? Almost like I have training or somethin’.” Duke grinned at me.

“This might sting a little,” I warned as I carefully daubed the salve onto the angry red line of the wound with two fingers. Quinn just shrugged with his other shoulder, watching the Valkyrie fly overhead. I finished applying the salve, tossed Duke a roll of clean bandages, and cleaned out my little mixing bowl, checking to make sure everything was in its proper place before I rolled up my healing kit and slid it back into my pack.

A Valkyrie landed gracefully a short distance from us, the backdraft from the faehal’s wings sending whorls of dust across our boots. Niamh hopped down from her winged mount, rubbing its neck and inspecting a bent pinion feather on one of its gleaming wings. Escaped curls of her white-gold hair created a halo around her head, but her flushed cheeks and disheveled braid only added to her impish charm as she turned toward us.

“If you had been a little quicker, that troll’s blade wouldn’t have caught you,” she said to Quinn, eyes glimmering.

“Well, we can’t all be avenging angels raining death from above,” he replied, an answering gleam in his brown gaze. Duke finished bandaging his arm and gave him a pat on the back, turning away with a barely concealed smile.

“What is an angel?” Niamh frowned. “I do not believe we have these creatures in our world.”

Liam and Jess followed Duke’s example, retrieving their faehal and following me back toward the front ranks of the army. I swallowed a laugh as we walked away, imagining Quinn’s reply.

“Will he be able to use the arm?” I asked Duke. “It didn’t look too deep, but…”

“He’s a tough bastard. It’ll hurt like hell, but he’ll use it all right.” Duke patted his faehal’s neck, glancing at Liam after my brother cleared his throat. “What? She’s just as grown-up as any of us, shouldn’t need to pussyfoot around her afraid of using a word that’ll offend her.”

I smiled. “Liam’s just overprotective.”

“You don’t say,” drawled Duke. He glanced at me in admiration. “You can hold your own as well as any of us.”

“And why shouldn’t I?” I raised my eyebrows.

“Well, you’re a girl,” Duke said. My brother rolled his eyes and Jess shook his head. I had a feeling this was a common topic of conversation.

“I’d think you’d be grateful for the change in scenery,” I said, remembering my conversation with Liam in the ether. He must have had the same thought, because we caught each other’s eyes and had to look away, clamping down on laughter.

“Oh, I’m very appreciative,” said Duke. “But you can’t blame me. Not like there are sword-slinging ladies in our world.”

I made a considering noise. “I think they just don’t sling swords. But they’re probably around. Maybe you just haven’t been looking in the right places.” I smiled.

“If you know of a magical club of lady warriors back through that portal, please just show me the way.” Duke widened his eyes.

“It’s hard to stay irritated at you,” I commented.

“Welcome to our world,” said Jess, just as Duke said, “It’s part of my Southern charm.”

“I don’t know whether charm is the right word…”

I felt strangely content as we made our way back to the front lines, walking with Liam and bantering with his teammates, stepping over dismembered Dark creatures like they were just features of the landscape. The Sword laughed a little, sending that prickling vibration down my spine and through my ribs. I even appreciated that, letting the feeling wash over me. We mounted our faehal again under the waving banner of the Wild Court. Elwyn sat on her mount beside Vell, a long gash down the side of her face; but the commander of the southern vanguard seemed not to notice her injury, speaking animatedly with the High Queen.

Vell glanced over at us and then frowned. Elwyn paused. “Did one of the mortals fall in battle?”

“No,” I replied, “Quinn is just, ah, having a conversation with Niamh.”

Vell raised one eyebrow and smiled slightly. “I see.” She turned back to Elwyn, who promptly continued her report.

I glanced around the High Queen. Gray spoke to one of the other warriors from the southern vanguard. And then I caught Arcana staring at me. The Morrigan sat motionlessly astride her faehal, her dark hair bound back in a simple braid. A copper spark slid past her slightly parted lips.

“She’s not creepy at all,” deadpanned Duke, following my gaze. I blinked and forced myself to look away. I thought I saw a small smile on the Morrigan’s face when I broke the stare.

“That’s not her real body,” I said quietly.

“So…is she dead?” Duke frowned.

“I don’t really know,” I answered honestly. “I don’t think she’s dead, but she’s a spirit that inhabits that body. A fragment of a much larger power.”

“Are you sure I’m not just hallucinating all of this?” Duke asked rhetorically. “Maybe we got blown up and I hit my head really hard and I’m in a coma.”

I shrugged. “Hard to prove otherwise beyond what I’ve already showed you, if that’s what you really think. But this is a pretty realistic hallucination, isn’t it?”

“True.” Duke gripped the haft of his axe. “Plus I think if I dreamed up a world, it would be a little bit different than this. Beer and four-wheelers and girls in bikinis, know what I mean?”

“You sound like a Southern cliche.”

“No need to be jealous.” He grinned. “This is more of Quinn’s fanboy dream than mine anyway. He’s into the whole nerdtron comic book superhero thing.”

I smiled. “Being a comic book nerd isn’t so bad.”

“Comic book,” repeated Wisp, swooping down to land on my shoulder. “I have heard this term before, Tess-mortal, though I have not had the chance to study them extensively.” He gave a little bow to Duke, who saluted him with two fingers; and then the Glasidhe continued, “I come bearing news. There is to be another council, probably tomorrow.”

“The final planning council,” I said.

“It will be most grand!” asserted Wisp. “The Three Queens, and the Bearer, and a Seer!”

I wondered silently about the queens’ expectations of Liam, but the blare of the white horn interrupted my thoughts. Nehalim tossed his head, as if to say that it was past time we got moving again. I guided him over to Vell’s side as the army slowly rolled into motion.

“Welcome back,” I told Elwyn as I passed her. The white-fair commander grinned.

“I hear you’re the one to be congratulated on the rescue of the Seer,” she said.

“Well, he’s my brother, so I had extra motivation,” I replied with a smile. “And Luca commanded our vanguard. Your congratulations should go to him.”

“Humble as ever, Lady Bearer.” Elwyn’s eyes flashed in amusement. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I should see to my fighters.” She turned her faehal’s head and disappeared among the ranks of warriors.

“Come ride with me, Tess.” Vell beckoned. Nehalim drew even with her mount, and I waited expectantly. The vyldretning said to Gray, “Ensure the messengers are sent to the other queens. We must remain vigilant for the return of our last vanguard.”

“Yes, my queen,” replied Gray, her beautiful face still glowing with the joy of battle. She wheeled her mount and rode down the ranks.

Vell watched her go for a moment, and then turned back to me. “Leading an army is difficult work.”

“I think that’s an understatement,” I said, my eyes traveling over the countless ranks of warriors stretching to either side of us and behind us. “And from what I’ve seen, you’re doing just fine.”

“Finnead’s experience would greatly help,” she said. Then she looked at me. “Are you glad he’ll be back with us soon?”

“Yes,” I replied, and then I paused. “Although I’ve been thinking. A lot.”

“Only thinking?” Vell tilted her head to one side, her gaze settling on Luca and then traveling back to me.

“Only thinking.” Oddly enough, I wasn’t irritated at Vell for bringing up the question. “Although thinking is more than enough, sometimes.”

“You sound like your thoughts trouble you.”

“I don’t want to be a cliché,” I muttered. “Letting my heart affect my head when we’re in the middle of a war.”

“Nonsense,” said Vell firmly. “There’s no law that says you can’t find love even in the most dangerous of places.”

I looked down at the barren earth beneath Nehalim’s hooves. Vell waited. Finally I said, “I thought I’d already made my choice. But there’s so many things going on right now…I’m afraid, to be honest. I’m afraid that if I let Finnead go that I’ll lose him, but I don’t want to lose Luca either. We’re heading into a battle where anything could happen. How terrible is that, not wanting to make a decision because I don’t want one of them to die?”

“You don’t want either of them to die,” corrected Vell, “and it’s not terrible. It makes sense. But here’s another thought.” She looked at me perceptively. “What’s worse, not living fully because you’re afraid of loss, or losing both of them because you’re afraid to live fully?”

I winced. “I’ll need another minute to wrap my mind around that.”

Vell smiled. “I’ve seen my share of death and destruction, and so have you. There’s no reason not to seize every moment we have left…with whomever you want.”

I thought of Finnead, the raven’s-wing sheen of his dark hair and the stormy blue depths of his eyes, the feel of his arms around me, all we’d shared and suffered together during my time in Faeortalam. “You know…one of my brother’s friends, he suggested that maybe Finnead still views me as a damsel in distress who needs his protection.”

“I can’t say if he views you as a damsel in distress, though I think…the idea has merit,” said Vell thoughtfully, “but to that I would add…perhaps Finnead has known you for too long. Has his perception of you changed as you have changed?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know.” We rode in silence for a moment, the sounds of the great army drifting around us. “I do know, though, that Luca views me as an equal. He teaches me as he would teach any other fighter. I appreciate that.”

“It is a unique quality in ulfdrengr men. They are not so constrained by tradition or courtesy,” said Vell with a little smile. “Though your brother seems to hold many of the same views.”

“It looks like you two had a lot to talk about,” I said with an answering smile.

Vell drew her shoulders back and sat up straight in her saddle, exaggerating her regal posture. “Even when facing the end of the world, Lady Bearer, one must appreciate handsome, intelligent men who can wield a sword.” She raised her eyebrows suggestively at the last phrase.

“I really don’t want to talk about my brother wielding any sort of metaphorical sword,” I said, wrinkling my nose. Vell gave a very unqueenly snort of laughter and turned the conversation to other topics as we rode onward, the sun sinking lower in the western sky, our great army pressing toward the poisoned lands ahead.

Chapter 33

“Are you sure you want to try this?” I raised my eyebrows at Liam. “Two battles today, and two visions, too.”

“I’ll just try it on my own if you don’t teach me,” Liam said, raising his eyebrows in return. “Does that remind you of anyone?”

I smiled and shook my head. “Using my childhood words against me. Not fair.”

“Completely fair, if it gets my point across.” My brother grinned.

We stood in the center of the Wild Court camp, our shadows long in the gathering dusk. The return of the western vanguard had happened much the same as the return of the southern: a Valkyrie messenger, riding hard; the army leaping forward, pouring over the flat Deadlands, engulfing the Dark force surrounding Finnead and Calliea’s warriors. Killing the Dark creatures surrounding them had felt much the same as earlier in the day. It was all beginning to blend together, the shrieks and shouts and scent of blood in the air, dust churned to gory mud beneath the hooves of dancing faehal. The force pursuing the western vanguard had been larger than the one earlier in the day, but it was still no match for the leagues of Sidhe warriors. In that second battle, though, we’d lost a few warriors. Their pyres still burned behind us, and their names now gleamed on my blade.

“What’s on your mind?” Liam crossed his arms.

I sighed. “Is it that obvious?”

“You’re my sister. I should know when something is wrong.”

I pressed my lips together. “Let’s finish this first, and then we’ll talk.” I stretched out my hands. “Okay. For me, when I call my taebramh, I visualize it as white fire. I feel it in my chest, so that’s where I see myself drawing it from, and it flows down my arms, like that…” My war-markings sparked to life as a ripple of taebramh flowed down their intricate curves. “Before I had my war-markings, I just thought of it sliding down to my fingertips. But only a little bit, like a spider’s thread.”

Liam narrowed his eyes in concentration, and a small bluish glow appeared at his fingertips. I smiled.

“And then you have to direct it. Think of what you want to do, visualize it in your head, and let it respond to your thoughts.” I wove a ball of light as I’d done during our journey through the northern wilds, tossing the softly glowing sphere into the air.

“You make it look easy,” muttered Liam, brows drawn together. Slowly, his taebramh swelled into a small circular light.

“Make sure you don’t let it continue to draw power from you,” I cautioned. “It’ll go out eventually, but it’s safer that way.”

With a flick of his wrist, Liam sent his small sphere up to hover next to mine. I grinned.

“Are magic lessons over?” Quinn asked, looking up at the floating lights.

“I think I still have a lot to learn,” Liam replied with a chuckle, watching as his light sputtered and then regained its steady glow.

“To be fair, I’ve been here a lot longer than you have,” I said.

“Also true,” allowed my brother.

I wove a few more lights and tossed them into the air, illuminating the area around the main tent and throwing into relief a figure busily drawing on a board. After a moment, the fighter placed the board on the ground and sketched a rune in the air. Flames leapt from the board and quickly gained height, burning brightly without any other wood.

“That’s handy,” said Quinn, raising his eyebrows.

“Thea knows some very useful runes,” I said. “She works with Chael in the forge. I’m guessing we’re running low on fuel for the fires.”

The shorthaired smith gave me a respectful nod as she stood and surveyed her handiwork.

“Might as well move these lights to a different part of camp,” I said, mostly to myself, wrangling my globes of light with a thread of taebramh. Liam followed me, not bothering to capture his flickering little sphere.

“So what’s bothering you, Bug?”

I used the time it took me to reposition the lights to think. “Well. Aside from everything else…Finnead’s vanguard returned and I’d expected at least an acknowledgement from him.” The sinking-stone feeling swirled in my stomach again; it had been lingering since the second skirmish.

“You thought there would be a joyful reunion?” My brother settled down onto the ground and patted the dirt beside him. I lowered myself with a sigh, repositioning the scabbard of my plain blade.

I hesitated. “Maybe not joyful. But something.”

“He’s the one that Luca saved, when they were in our world.” Liam leaned back on his hands.

“Yes.” I gave another sigh. “He’s told me that he loves me. So I guess I thought that he’d actually be happy to see me.” I winced as the moment replayed in my head: the dust settling from the second battle, Calliea’s faehal landing near the High Queen, the Laedrek sliding from her steed with a brilliant grin, bloody and triumphant; Finnead dismounting, pale and stoic, and bowing to Vell. I’d stepped forward, eagerness surging through me, a smile spreading unbidden across my face. He’d seen me, I’d felt the gaze of his drowning-blue eyes as surely as a physical touch—but then he’d turned away, speaking to Vell in an urgent low voice. Vell, her High Queen mantle firmly in place, had listened seriously, gazing down at Finnead from her mount.

“There were many things happening at once,” my brother said, “but you’re right, that doesn’t excuse him from at least acknowledging you.”

Shortly after the horn had sounded to remount our steeds, Finnead had finished his intense conversation with Vell, and galloped down the line toward the Unseelie banners. I’d caught Vell’s eye, brows drawn in confusion; but the High Queen had given me a little shake of her head, an apology in her eyes.

“He’s so hot and cold,” I growled in frustration. “One minute he’s professing his love, and the next he’s telling me that we need to set our personal feelings aside to focus on our mission.” I threw one hand into the air, and pushed away the little voice in my head whispering that perhaps I was the one being hot and cold now. Why else would my stomach feel like I’d just jumped off a cliff? “He wants to be a gentleman and safeguard my honor and all that ridiculous stuff.”

“Tell me how you really feel,” chuckled my brother. He sobered at my frustrated look, and then reached out, draping an arm around my shoulders. “Maybe it’s not so ridiculous to him.” He paused. “Look, Tess, you may be a legendary warrior in this world, but you’ll always be my Bug. If you want my advice, I’ll give it to you.”

“Of course I want your advice,” I said in exasperation. “Everyone else has been giving me advice without asking.”

Liam pulled me closer. I laid my head on his shoulder and sighed.

“Sometimes you love someone, but they’re not ready to love you back in the way you deserve,” my brother said in a quiet voice. I closed my eyes. “And maybe you don’t feel the kind of love that you’re looking for toward him, either. It doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with you. It’s just life sometimes.” We sat in silence for a long moment.

“How am I supposed to know if it’s the kind of love I want?” I whispered miserably. My brother tightened his grip on my shoulder, giving me a hug.

“I can’t answer that one for you, Bug,” he said, “but what I can say from personal experience is that…if something’s too up and down, if you’re riding a crazy rollercoaster, that’s exhausting. Rollercoasters are fun for the first few times around, but they’ll make you sick if you keep riding them.”

I smiled a little. “Is that a reference to Hershey Park?”

Liam chuckled, his shoulder moving under my cheek. “Sure it is. You made Dad ride the newest roller coaster five times in a row, and then I had to go with you when he tapped out.”

“It was a pretty awesome roller coaster, though,” I said.

“Until I threw up after the fourth time riding it with you,” Liam said dryly. I smiled and straightened.

“Thanks,” I said softly.

“What are big brothers for?” Liam raised his eyebrows.

“Other than falling through portals into other worlds and having visions of the future?” I retorted. He smiled.

“Do you mind if we join you, Lady Bearer?” Calliea approached us, holding up a plate bearing a couple of loaves of bread, pieces of cheese and kajuk.

“I don’t see anyone else with you,” I said, “but of course.”

“Merrick’s coming, he just had to finish a task for the Queen,” Calliea said, folding her legs gracefully. She squinted up at the sphere of light floating overhead. “That your handiwork?”

“Yes. Might as well do something useful,” I said with a smile. “Calliea, this is my brother Liam. Liam, Calliea. She was one of my healers after I crowned Vell.” I held up my scarred palms in demonstration.

“Tess always forgets to say that she saved my life first,” said Calliea, mischief dancing in her eyes as she offered the plate to Liam and I. At this point, even the stale bread tasted decent. I wondered idly if I’d ever get to have a good meal again; and then I blinked, startled by the insidious thoughts of mortality drifting through my mind.

“Seems like Tess takes humility to a new level,” my brother replied.

I snorted. “I think that’s a bit of the pot calling the kettle black.”

Calliea wrinkled her nose. “Your mortal metaphors are very counterintuitive sometimes. Why compare yourselves to pots and kettles?”

“I have no idea,” I replied seriously. Liam chuckled. We ate in companionable silence for a moment, and then Merrick emerged from the Queen’s tent. He ran a hand through his hair as he walked toward us, trying to neaten his disheveled appearance.

“Anything left for me?” the navigator asked as he approached. I watched him evaluate the possible places to sit: next to Liam, or next to Calliea. He wavered and turned toward my brother.

“Of course we saved food for you,” I said, “and this is my brother, Liam. But you can’t sit there…one of his teammates is coming to join us.”

“I think they’re all fine on their—” Liam stopped as I elbowed him clandestinely. “Yeah, Quinn’s going to sit there.”

I raised my eyebrows at Merrick. “So you should probably sit next to Calliea.”

Calliea raised her head at the mention of Quinn’s name. “Is Quinn the brown one? Oh, I doubt he’s coming to sup with us, I saw him quite…involved…in conversation with Niamh.” She smiled suggestively.

“One of the other guys is going to be here then,” I countered. I caught Merrick’s eyes and gave him a look of silent encouragement. He squared his shoulders and turned to Calliea.

“Do you mind if I sit here, then?” he asked courteously.

She gestured to the empty space with one hand. “Well, it’s open space, so anyone who likes can have it.”

“Although, Merrick, I’d much rather have you sit with us than just anyone,” I said. Liam frowned at me and Calliea gave me a strange look. I winced. All right, too much.

But then Calliea turned to Merrick as he settled onto the ground beside her. “Did you find what the Queen was looking for?”

Merrick pressed his lips together and glanced at Liam and me.

“Oh come on, it’s the Bearer and the Seer,” said Callie. “If they can’t hear it, no one should.”

Merrick glanced down at his piece of bread and then back to Calliea. “Yes. I saw it. Her. I don’t know what to call it.”

“Call what?” I looked between the two of them.

Calliea leaned toward me and said in a low voice, “The High Queen asked us not to discuss it with anyone.” She brightened. “But she does want to see you to discuss it.”

“Then why did you just ask Merrick about it in front of us?” I pointed out, raising an eyebrow.

“Because I’m incorrigibly curious,” Calliea replied, taking an emphatic bite from her last bit of bread.

I glanced at Liam. “You good for a few minutes?”

Liam grinned. “Don’t worry about me. I adapt.”

“Thanks for the food,” I told Calliea, brushing the dust from my legs. I strode toward the Queen’s tent, the great Wild Court banner planted on its staff in front of the entrance. Elwyn stood outside, hands clasped behind her back in a relaxed yet watchful posture. She gave me a half-bow as I approached.

“Lady Bearer, did the vyldretning summon you?”

“No,” I answered. “She didn’t summon me.” I smiled a little. “But she asked me to come and see her.”

“Forgive my clumsy words,” Elwyn said gracefully with a nod. “Not even the High Queen would summon the Bearer. She’s been speaking to her advisors since we made camp.”

“Thanks,” I said, walking past the vanguard commander, who gave me another nod and then turned her attention back to the dusty camp. I swept aside the tent flap, cooler shadows embracing me as I walked into the tent.

Vell stood before the table, which held maps, scrolls, sketches, the remnants of a carved set of figurines and a few small leather-bound books. Gray stood next to her, speaking in a low voice, and Arcana prowled around the edge of the table like a restless predator. Her expressionless eyes snapped up to meet mine as I entered. I held her gaze defiantly until she turned back to the table, cocking her head to one side in that unsettling mimicry of living motion.

“Tess,” said Vell. She motioned for me to join her at the table.

“Since when do you have a guard outside?”

“Not a guard,” said Vell, wrinkling her nose.

“Since the High Queen is sending messengers constantly to coordinate with the Seelie and Unseelie forces, it helps to have a commander to receive the messengers,” said Gray.

“And the Vaelanbrigh is a messenger to the Unseelie Court now?” I raised one eyebrow.

“If you’d just wait a moment, I’ll tell you why,” replied Vell, raising an eyebrow in return.

“If the vyldretning would choose to use one of her Three as a messenger, that is her decision,” said Gray carefully, her tone as neutral as if she were commenting on the weather.

“The brightly-burning Bearer does not like to see others decide where her playthings go,” said Arcana, her voice sliding low through the tent, like a snake slithering through the dust.

I turned sharply toward Arcana, but before I could say anything, Vell straightened and said, “Enough.” Her golden eyes bored into the shadows. “Arcana, go and check on the wards surrounding camp.”

Arcana stepped forward, bowed stiffly to Vell, and left the tent, her arms hanging limply by her sides.

“Perhaps that wasn’t wise to assign her such a menial task,” said Gray softly.

“I choose to use my Three however I deem necessary,” replied Vell, “as you just told the Bearer.”

Gray bowed her head slightly. “Yes, my queen.”

Vell inhaled deeply. “And besides, the wards about camp are not inconsequential.” She let out her breath in a long, low sigh, resting her hands on the table. “Now, Tess, come here and I’ll tell you what we’ve discovered.”

I stepped close to the table and looked down at the huge map, marked extensively now with notes in its margins, small sketches dotting its expanse and the figurines representing opposing forces positioned precisely. I looked at the red, white and black figurines, now all aligned in a row, and a strange thrill of anxiety rippled through me.

“We are perhaps over a fortnight’s hard ride from the White City,” said Vell, pointing at a sketch added painstakingly to the center of the Deadlands on the map. “It was once a great city to rival Darkhill and Brightvale, where all the people of this world converged.” She smiled mirthlessly. “Even my people, generations ago. It was a day’s ride from the Great Gate, and it fell to its inhabitants to welcome those travelers from the mortal world, and provision those preparing to journey from this world.”

I studied the small, detailed depiction. “It’s a ruin now.”

“Yes. When Mab and Titania moved the scar of the Great Gate, the White City was moved as well. It’s difficult to tell if distances will shift, as they did when we rode for the Darinwel.”

“But that’s not why Finnead went to the Unseelie camp.”

“No.” Vell shook her head, looking down at the map. “When he returned with his vanguard, Finnead told me that he had gotten very close to the Dark Archer. Close enough to see the Archer’s true face.”

“And?” Foreboding tightened my stomach at the sight of Vell’s grave face.

“The Archer is Mab’s sister, the crown princess,” Vell said softly.

I caught my breath. “That’s not possible. She’s dead.” But even as I protested I saw the truth in the downcast faces of both Gray and Vell. Neither of them met my eyes. “She’s dead,” I insisted. “I thought—Finnead saw her die.” I felt like the earth was opening beneath my feet. My heartbeat pounded loudly in my ears. “It’s not possible.”

“It is possible,” said Gray. “The Enemy has many dark secrets, and he will use them like blades against us.”

I shook my head. “I don’t understand. Is it like Arcana, or did she never actually die?”

“We don’t know,” Vell said. “It’s possible that Finnead only thought he saw her die. He didn’t speak of it in great detail to anyone, and by the time he escaped, he was half-mad from torture.”

“How could nobody have known, if she was still alive?” I shook my head again, trying to fathom the idea. “She was the crown princess. Wouldn’t Mab have known?”

“Malravenar shrouds his lands in powerful darkness,” said Gray.

“I didn’t know when two of my own people were held captive,” Vell said, a flash of anger in her eyes at the memory of Luca and Chael held prisoner.

“Why?” I asked. “What use would he have for her?”

Gray pressed her lips together and looked at Vell. The High Queen met my eyes. “She was the beloved of both the Unseelie Queen and the Unseelie Vaelanbrigh.”

I swallowed hard, trying to ignore the nausea swirling in my stomach. “I think what you mean to say,” I said in a measured voice, “is that she is the beloved of the Unseelie Queen.” I took a deep breath. “And the Wild Court Vaelanbrigh.”

A heavy silence pressed down on us. Gray turned to Vell and bowed her head. “My queen, with your permission I will go and speak to your armorer.”

Vell nodded. “I expect a report on our armament when you return. Tell Elwyn I’ll receive no messengers until I am done speaking to the Bearer.”

“Yes, my queen.” The golden-haired warrior bowed her head to Vell. She touched my arm as she passed me, a clear gesture of sympathy that caught me by surprise. I felt tears pressing behind my eyes, and I couldn’t swallow past the knot in my throat. The Sword circled in my chest, but the warmth of its power didn’t comfort me.

“You’re allowed to cry and you’re allowed to punch things, but you have to decide which you want to do,” came Vell’s voice. “It’s worse to be caught in the middle. Be angry or be sad.”

I looked up through my blurred vision, tears balanced on my lower lashes. Vell sat on the edge of the table, heedless of the maps, and rested her elbows on her knees, raising her eyebrows at me. I swallowed and wiped my eyes with the edge of my sleeve. “Someone told me once that it’s better to be angry than to worry. So I think it’s better to be angry than to be sad.”

“I’d give you a hug, but that’s not really my style,” said Vell dryly.

I gave a watery laugh. “True.” I pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes again. “This is just…a surprise.”

“That’s a bit of an understatement.” Vell picked up one of the carved red archers, turning it between her fingers. She tilted her head at the space beside her in invitation. I sat on the edge of the table, careful not to topple the remaining figurines.

“So you sent Finnead to tell Mab that her sister is alive?” I asked, watching the red archer turned over again and again between Vell’s pale fingers. The feeling of the earth opening beneath me had settled into a strange sensation almost like vertigo. I gripped the edge of the table and felt the wood beneath my fingers, using the texture of the grain to anchor myself.

“The alliance between us is one of necessity,” Vell replied quietly, “but still…I thought of what it would mean to me if my own sister were alive, and someone knew of it.”

I took a deep breath. “You’re acting very kindly toward someone who showed you nothing but scorn.”

“If I showed her nothing but scorn now that it was within my own power, that would make me no better than she,” the vyldretning said, pausing in her turning of the archer and pressing the pad of her thumb against the sharp point of the figurine’s drawn arrow. “And in the end it might lead to more bloodshed, if she does not think the Wild Court an honorable ally.”

“I wouldn’t put it beyond Mab to treat her allies badly,” I muttered.

“There’s no love lost between you and Mab, and trust me, I don’t really like her either,” Vell replied. “But these aren’t ordinary times.”

“And you’re not an ordinary ulfdrengr,” I added, “although that’s a bit of an oxymoron. In any case, you’ve acted as a queen should, I think.”

“I’m glad I have your approval,” Vell said, a glimmer of amusement in her eyes.

“You know what I mean.” My smile quickly faded. “So what happens now?”

“With the Archer?” Vell shook her head. “I can’t rightly say. Honestly, I wish there were a simple solution. We don’t know whether she’s alive, or dead, or enthralled…” The High Queen shrugged.

“Should it really matter?” I asked darkly. “She is an instrument of the Enemy now.”

“Luca was an instrument of the Enemy once,” Vell reminded me almost gently. “And you refused to kill him, even when he asked it of you himself.”

I swallowed, jarred by the switch from thinking of Finnead to thinking about Luca. “I know. Thanks for reminding me of the other part of this complicated situation.”

“It’s only as complicated as you wish to make it,” Vell said in her no-nonsense voice.

“No, I’m pretty sure it’s complicated without my wishing for it to be complicated,” I retorted, my voice heating. “I didn’t wish for Finnead’s first love to suddenly be alive. Or whatever she is.” Vell picked up a second figurine, a rider this time, examining it as if it were a precious jewel, turning every face of it to the light. “I mean, who else is going to suddenly reappear from the dead?” I asked in exasperation. “And what am I supposed to do now? I know that Finnead is going to be single-mindedly determined to rescue the princess, because that was his one failure, and he’s the one who said she was dead, and he’s all about honor and duty.” I hopped down from the table, pacing back and forth, unable to sit still any longer. The Sword hummed a low tone within its sheath. Somehow its voice slowed my racing mind, soothing my frantic thoughts.

“I can…feel certain things, through my connection with Finnead,” Vell said carefully. “And I can tell you some of these things, as your friend, but only if you want me to tell you.”

I pulled out a chair and sat heavily in it, suddenly weary. “You might as well. If he’s being his inscrutable self, I can use some insight.”

Vell nodded, her crown gleaming across her pale brow. Her eyes went half-lidded for a moment, her gaze distant. I waited. Then she blinked, and said, “He’s resolved to rescue her. When he first returned, I couldn’t get a clear read on his intentions. But now he’s decided.”

I clenched my jaw. “And do you think it’s a good idea?”

Vell pressed her lips into a thin white line. “I could force him to obey me. But I would rather not use my power to compel those closest to me.”

“You didn’t quite answer the question.”

“I think that anything other than focusing on the defeat of Malravenar is not a good idea,” Vell replied finally.

“In that light, sending the vanguards out to rescue Liam wasn’t a good idea.”

“You forget that Malravenar would make dark use of a Seer,” Vell reminded me. “As he has made dark use of Mab’s sister.”

I sighed. “True. But you don’t think it’s going to distract Finnead?”

“It has already distracted him,” Vell said a bit ruefully. “He was very…distressed when he returned to me.”

“I’m not sure what to do now.” I shifted in my chair. “I wish being the Bearer made me immune to all these ridiculous emotions.”

“Well, my crown doesn’t make me immune either,” returned Vell. “But you can choose your own actions even with all the feelings. We might not like it, but emotions remind us that we’re fighting for something.”

“Why do you have to be so sensible,” I grumbled.

“I’m not any more sensible than you. I just remind you of it when you need it.” Vell smiled a little. “And you do the same for me, believe it or not.” She set the figurines down on the map again and leaned back on her hands. “Now, the question is, what do you expect to accomplish by talking to Finnead?”

I considered the question for a long moment. “I don’t know that I could accomplish anything.” The sense of vertigo returned. I closed my eyes against it and then pushed it away, nursing that little spark of anger in my chest. Better anger than sadness. Better anger than anything else right now.

“You want him to answer the question for you,” said Vell.

“But I think I already know the answer.” I looked at her miserably. “I guess it would just be good to have closure.”

“Then ask him for closure.” Vell tilted her head to one side. “I don’t mean to sound cavalier at all, Tess. This must hurt. I know you love him, and he does love you, in his own way.”

I winced at the added phrase. “In his own way.”

“If you want the honest truth as I can see it, he never stopped loving the princess,” Vell said in that strange half-gentle voice again. “But when she was dead…or when he believed her to be dead, he loved her as one loves the memory of someone passed beyond this world.”

“And now that he knows that she’s not dead…it’s not a dormant kind of love anymore.” I took a deep breath. “I’ve been wondering for a while if he would be able to overcome the past enough to truly live in the present. I thought maybe it wasn’t fair to question his love for me by measuring it against his prior experiences. But now it’s not in the past.”

“No, it isn’t. She isn’t.” A considering look entered Vell’s golden eyes. She shifted her weight and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees again. Inspecting a callous on one palm, she said reflectively, “If I must force him to remember his duty to me first, I will. Because it isn’t just duty to me, it’s…well, it’s the fate of our world.” She shrugged and smiled a little at the grandiose words.

I sighed. “We can talk in circles around it all night. It doesn’t change the fact that Mab’s sister is alive, and Finnead still loves her.” I swallowed. “Maybe it would be easiest if he and I didn’t talk about it.”

“Easier, perhaps, but you’ve never been one to take the easiest path,” Vell pointed out. We fell silent for a moment. I tilted my head up and watched the glowing orbs arranged overhead like a chandelier. They hovered above the map-table obediently, forming several overlapping circles, like glowing pearls strung on an invisible wire.

“Does Arcana know?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“Has she offered any opinion on it?”

“Arcana believes that the Enemy wishes to twist the knife. Neither Mab nor Titania had daughters. So the crown princess was the closest equivalent.”

“He wants the queens to lose what he lost,” I said softly.

“He has been taking those we love for a long time, and now he plans to destroy us,” Vell replied in a quiet voice.

I looked at her consideringly. “You think that what happened to your people….you think that he knew that you were going to become the High Queen?” I shook my head. “I don’t buy it. He could have just killed you.”

A small, cold smile lingered on Vell’s lips. “Maybe he couldn’t kill me for some reason. It’s hard to kill what you can’t find. Or maybe he didn’t kill me because he wanted to see me suffer. As he’s making Mab suffer.”

“Are we just dong what he wants, then?” A chill crawled down my spine. “Are we springing the trap just as we did at the Darinwel?”

“Perhaps.” Vell stared into the distance. “But there’s no other path left to us.” And then she grinned her predatory grin. “I don’t think he knows about Arcana. And he’s underestimated us all.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened to me,” I replied with a smile. “So we have a few weeks of travel time.”

“Yes. I spoke to Liam about ensuring that he and his men are making good use of the time to train.”

“I don’t think you would’ve needed to tell him that,” I said. “They’re sharp.”

“Yes, they are fascinating,” murmured Vell, her eyes half-lidded and faraway.

I tilted my head. “Can I ask you something?”

Vell gave me a sly look. “You can, though if you’re going to ask me whether I find your brother intriguing, I would honestly tell you that I do.” She leaned back and linked her hands behind her head. “And then I can bet that your next question would be concerning the herravaldyr and Chael. Some people would assume that since we’re the only surviving herravaldyr, and our wolves are male and female, that we’d create the next generation of herravaldyr together.” She paused, her golden eyes glimmering as she watched me to ensure that I understood her meaning. “I’d tell you that wolves will choose their mates, but that does not always mean the warriors bonded to them will choose the same.”

I opened my mouth, closed it again and settled for a small smile. “So traveling and training are the words of the day.”

“Yes. And destroying whatever forces Malravenar sets against us.”

“I think that goes without saying. Today went well on that front.” I thought of the quick and decisive battles, really not much more than skirmishes: the inexorable force of the Sidhe army closing around the misshapen Dark creatures, like the ocean swallowing a tossed handful of pebbles.

Vell snorted. “Today was nothing.”

I thought of the vast Dark host we’d glimpsed briefly in Merrick’s scrying-glass. “Any creatures we kill now are one less to kill in the future.”

“As the absence of a handful of snow lessens an avalanche,” the vyldretning said. Then she took a deep breath and straightened. “I think that’s enough somber talk for this hour. Gray will bring me her assessment of the armory soon, and Merrick owes me his daily report.”

I nodded and stood, settling the sheath of the Sword more comfortably along my spine.

“Finnead should be back within a few hours,” Vell added.

“If he’ll even look me in the eyes, we’ll talk,” I said, my stomach twisting.

Vell nodded. “It’s your business, Tess, but remember that we go to war. There isn’t much time left for these matters.” Beryk flowed liquidly from the shadows at the back of the tent; I wondered if he’d been there all along. “There will be a Queen’s Council in four days, and every sennight until we reach the White City.”

“Is that an invitation?”

“Of course. The Bearer will always be welcome at my councils.” Vell underlined her serious words with a cheeky grin.

“Traveling, training and councils. Got it,” I said. Beryk flowed around my legs as I turned toward the tent’s entrance. I roughed his ears and his long pink tongue brushed against the back of my hand; then the wolf trotted back toward Vell, and I left them standing together under the softly pulsing light of the suspended chandelier.

Chapter 34

I slept that night in the little sleeping quarters behind the emerald green curtain, Calliea curled on one side and I on the other. Over the many days of the journey, we developed a pattern in the nights that we chose to sleep in the tent. Wisp kept us company until it was time to sleep, and then he’d bow and take his leave in his courteous way. Sometimes Farin built a little nest against Calliea’s bright blue breastplate, pressing her small hand against the furrows from the battle with the dragon as though touching a talisman or a holy relic. The days settled into a rhythm, much as they had on our journey into the northern wilds: we rose before dawn, stretching stiff bodies as we folded our cloaks and rearranged our packs. Sometimes the morning greeted us with thick, clinging fog that rolled wetly over the ground, transforming dust into a strange wet dirt, not quite mud but sticky and clinging. Riders moved like shadows through these misty mornings until the sun rose high enough to burn the fog away.

Every morning, I met Liam and his teammates, Calliea and Merrick, and Luca. We practiced our bladework in whatever time we had left before the clarion note of the white horn brayed out over the vast army. Others came and went in our little group: Robin joined us sometimes, and Niamh and Maire impishly dove into practice sessions, laughingly making fools of the men, who couldn’t be angry at their flashing eyes and puckish smiles.

“Keeps me from making the mistake of thinking that I’m actually any good,” Quinn said with a rueful smile one morning as he rubbed a bruise blooming where Niamh had caught him with the flat of her blade.

“Oh, you are very good at other things,” replied Niamh with a bright grin, “but you are only very average at swordplay as of yet.”

“You should probably switch sparring partners before the heat in your gazes catches anything on fire,” Robin commented with a raised eyebrow, looking between Quinn and Niamh.

“As if there’s anything to actually catch on fire out here,” Niamh retorted, wrinkling her nose and surveying the barren lands around us.

When the horn sounded each morning, we all packed away our blades and mounted our faehal. I noted with concern that although the army seemed to have a good supply of feed for our fleet steeds, Nehalim seemed a bit thinner as time went on, and his coat wasn’t as gleaming white. But he still regarded me with that same alert intelligence, and a few times he tossed his head and flicked his tail as if to challenge me to remark on it.

We rode through the long hours of each day, the Valkyrie flying overhead in great looping circles. I wondered aloud what the Seelie and Unseelie riders made of the winged faehal, and Robin informed me that he’d heard tales of envy from the other camps. I told him that his eyes danced a bit too gleefully at the discomfort of his former comrades, and he merely shrugged and grinned.

Those warriors who had been wounded on the vanguards’ journey or in the skirmishes upon the vanguards’ return healed as the days passed, except for two wounded warriors from Finnead’s vanguard. They died from the poisoned arrows of the Archer. I said their names in a low voice to my blade as Thea lit their pyres with one of her forge-runes, and we watched their shrouded bodies burn.

Finnead kept his distance, and I didn’t seek him out. Even sharp-tongued Robin and the mischievous twins held their silence on that subject, to both my surprise and relief. During the long hours of riding, we talked of many things, and the Sidhe became comfortable enough with Liam, Quinn, Jess and Duke that they asked questions about the mortal world. They never addressed their curiosity to me, as though they’d forgotten that I was a mortal, too. Not quite mortal anymore, whispered the Sword in my head affectionately one afternoon. The Caedbranr seemed to improve in its moods as we journeyed through the Deadlands, as it had when we’d grown closer to Brightvale.

While the Sword became more eager as the days passed, I couldn’t put a single name to the emotions running through me. I felt a strange combination of excitement and dread most of the time, and sometimes my whole body tensed at a single noise or shadow. Sometimes a nebulous fear rose up so strongly that it choked me—fear for my brother, fear for Vell and the immense responsibility weighing on her shoulders, fear for Luca. Though I tried not to admit it even to myself, I still felt fear for Finnead, too. I did my best to swallow it and carry on with each day’s work of training and traveling. A few times I almost asked Liam if it always felt this way before a fight, but I reasoned that he had never ridden with a great host toward a known battle. His fights had been sudden, sharp and loud with gunshots and quick movements—or so I imagined. This long wait almost seemed worse to me than the grim knowledge of what we faced ahead.

Skirmishes with small groups of Dark creatures occurred at least once a day at some point down the great infinite line of warriors that stretched beyond each horizon. The Glasidhe and the Valkyrie flew messages between the queens, and I rode close enough to Vell that I could keep track of the happenings within the army. Either Wisp or Farin often rode with me, sitting crosslegged on my shoulder or atop my knee. Forin was one of the fastest messengers, and he could be relied upon to deliver his missive even when there were gaunt-crows in the sky. Farin accompanied her twin sometimes, and in one memorable afternoon the two of them felled a large flying lizard that looked like a poor attempt to replicate the fearsome dragon—but it was about the same size to the Glasidhe as the dragon had been to us, remarked Luca as Kianryk lifted his teeth in a snarl at the ugly, broken corpse.

Each day when dusk spread shadows like a cloak over the great army, the white horn sounded again, and our faehal drifted to a halt without any command from their riders. And each day when we had set up our camp, Vell strode to the center of it with her ivory staff in one hand and her silver dagger in the other, sprinkled her blood in an arc onto the dirt and drove her staff into the ground. The dust became damp around her staff, and then it bubbled, and soon there was a spring burbling up from the barren ground. We left a trail of fresh little springs in our wake, each used by those in the army riding after us and then left to chatter to the sky. After a few hours, hints of green showed through the dust around the spring, and by the time the sun rose the next morning there was invariably a few vines winding their way over the ground, a sprinkling of flowers sometimes nodding their tightly pursed buds in the new long grass. I wondered at the energy this must have taken, but other than the pink line of her always-fresh scar on the pale white of her forearm, Vell showed no strain. From the messengers I heard that Mab and Titania performed the same rite for their own camps; I thought to myself that perhaps a single spring would not have been a terrible thing. The Courts still kept to themselves, except for the gatherings at the evening practice grounds.

After the first Queen’s Council—Mab stared at me in distaste, Titania smiled gracefully and Vell spoke bluntly, all no surprise—I walked to the communal practice grounds for the first time, gathering Calliea, Merrick, Luca and Robin on the way. My brother and his three teammates were already there, Liam practicing with Quinn and wiry Duke facing off against the much taller, bulkier Jess.

“They’re getting better,” remarked Merrick as we strode toward the sparring circles drawn in the dirt. Then Duke, caught in a cross-body lock with Jess, resorted to sweeping the bigger man’s feet out from under him, crowing in triumph when the older fighter landed on his back in the dirt. Jess waited until Duke turned his back and then sprang to his feet with a startling speed, promptly putting the younger man in a chokehold. Duke’s victory celebration was abruptly cut off as he tried to wriggle free; he finally tapped on Jess’ forearm, his face a robust shade of crimson.

“Even if their style leaves a bit wanting,” Calliea added dryly.

“Maybe a bit rough around the edges, but they get the job done,” I replied, watching Quinn and Liam spar with a critical eye.

“Style doesn’t win points on the battlefield, as I was once told by a legendary vanguard commander,” Robin said brightly. Luca raised one eyebrow, unimpressed, and I chuckled. Robin grinned. “They say in the Unseelie camp that the High Queen’s ulfdrengr companions are as fleet as wolves and thrice as deadly. Apparently you’ve killed trolls with your bare hands and leapt up a mountain quicker than those on faehal.” He spread his hands expansively.

Luca shook his head, amusement gleaming in his blue eyes. “I wouldn’t want to kill a troll with my bare hands—my skin would smell of troll for weeks!”

“The rest of it is near enough to truth,” I said with a devilish smile.

“I set them right on the account of the troll,” said Robin with mock sincerity. “I told them it wasn’t a troll but an ogre, and you killed it with one blow.”

“Well, my appearance at these sparring grounds will disabuse them of my myth,” said Luca mildly.

“Or confirm it,” retorted Robin. He leaped away from my hand as I tried to swat him. “Now, Lady Bearer, you have your own legend to uphold!”

“Oh, and what do they say of me?” I returned as we found an empty practice ring and began unsheathing our blades. I slipped the strap of the Caedbranr over my head and laid it at the edge of the circle. The emerald in the pommel flickered; the Sword hardly ever slept now. I felt its power rumbling beneath my skin like a second heartbeat.

“They say the Bearer can become invisible at will, and has the strength of ten men,” Robin said with a flourish. “And you have slain garrelnost with only a boot-knife.”

“That last part is closest to anything true,” I remarked, striving to copy Luca’s mildly amused tone.

“Not a boot-knife, but a horseshoe,” said Finnead.

I stiffened, and instantly disliked that I’d reacted so obviously to his voice. Blood rushed to my face. Damn him and his cat-quiet stride, I thought as he glided toward our little group, his handsome face half-hidden in shadow. I realized that my friends had continued with their preparations, but there was a wary watchfulness beneath their movements now. Luca did not move any closer to me, but he suddenly reminded me of Kianryk when the big wolf scented danger, every muscle coiled. A rush of gratitude for their steadfast loyalty washed away my embarrassment and made me determined to handle the encounter gracefully.

“It was a choice of either a horseshoe or a bent old spoon,” I said, proud of the steady coolness of my voice. “I thought the horseshoe made a better weapon.”

The barest hint of a smile ghosted across Finnead’s lips. I pulled back my shoulders and focused on a point somewhere above the Vaelanbrigh’s left shoulder.

“I don’t question your judgment,” replied Finnead. “It certainly accomplished your goal.”

I gave something like a nod, hoping that my face obeyed my command to remain composed.

“Don’t let me interrupt your practice session,” he said to the group. But they ignored him, continuing in rather unnecessary preparations until I said, “Go ahead and start without me. I’ll join you in a moment.”

Robin and Merrick moved into the practice ring; Calliea stared at Finnead for a long moment, her heart-shaped face unreadable, and then she turned and touched Luca’s arm, walking to the next unoccupied ring. After another long moment, Luca followed her. As the ring of their striking swords echoed in the darkening air about us, I turned back to Finnead. The sapphire in the Brighbranr gleamed at his hip; he rested a hand on the hilt of his sword.

“Is your blade awake most of the time now as well?” I asked.

“Yes. All the powers are stirring,” he replied, his eyes such a dark blue that they were almost black in the twilight. His face gleamed white as bone, paler than I remembered. I wondered if he was sleeping well, and eating; and then I pushed the thought away, trying to stiffen my resolve to remain aloof.

“The Sword seems…eager,” I said, glancing down at where the Caedbranr lay. The emerald winked at me.

“As I am,” said Finnead in a low voice. His grip on the Brighbranr tightened for a moment, and then he shook himself slightly.

I took a deep breath and waited, forcing myself to remain silent. I had thought about this meeting often over the past days, mostly as I lay listening to Calliea’s steady breathing, waiting for sleep.

Finally Finnead said, “I came to make my apologies to you.”

I cursed the sudden tightening in my throat. “What have you done that you need to apologize?”

Finnead looked down at the ground for a moment, his lashes coal feathers against the whiteness of his skin. I clenched my jaw. He was beautiful to me, even now. His shoulders moved once, and then he looked up again, face perfectly serene.

“I must apologize to you for the words I have said, and the promises I have made,” he said, enunciating every word with courtly grace. “I fear I will no longer be able to keep those promises.”

I am a difficult man to love, make no mistake. I expect nothing. But know that I will always love you, no matter what the future holds.

His words to me in the Hall of the Outer Guard echoed in my mind, as unwelcome as the memory of his kiss. I raised my chin and said in a calm voice, “You’ve made me no promises, and as for the rest…” I shrugged. “If it is no longer true, it is no longer true.” I swallowed hard and willed myself not to feel. Now was not the moment to give in to the luxury of emotions.

“I am not saying it is no longer true,” Finnead replied, a strange undercurrent to his words. “But I am now bound by duty and honor to another.”

“Duty and honor.” I felt the words like twin pinpricks, but the pain was small and familiar. I’d heard the words from him before, and my voice remained steady. “So you are bound to an instrument of the Enemy?”

He winced slightly at that, and I felt a twinge of regret at my harsh words. But still I kept my face smooth, and waited for his reply.

“If she is now an instrument of the Enemy,” he said in a low voice, “it is through my failings that she is so.” He met my eyes with his own. “I have been raised to great honors while she has been crushed in the depths of darkness.” He clenched his jaw, the Fae-spark flashing through his eyes like lightning through a great thunderhead. “I have lived in the light of day while she has existed in the bowels of despair.” His voice shook slightly. I felt an empathetic tug at his words. “The pain I cause now…I wish I did not, just as I wish I had not told my mistress of her sister’s death those centuries ago.” He straightened, and again his hand tightened on the hilt of the Brighbranr. “But any pain I cause now is nothing compared to what she has endured because of my failings.”

A dull ache pulsed in my chest as I listened to Finnead’s words; it was a sad, resigned sort of pain. Somehow I felt lighter, and I recognized a relief born from closure. I knew I would always care for Finnead, but now I acknowledged the fact that the better part of my love for him had been passion, a whirlwind that had swept me up but now had run its course.

“So I will rescue her, whatever the cost to me,” continued Finnead in a low voice. “And if I can, I must bring her out of the darkness.”

I nodded. “I see.” A light breeze whispered over my face; I heard the clash and clang of the swords in the practice ring with strange clarity.

“I have told you true, Tess, that I will always love you,” he said, his words strained, “but I cannot deny my duty to her.”

“Do you love her?” I asked.

Finnead closed his eyes briefly. Then he set his shoulders and looked at me and said, “Yes.”

I took a deep breath. “Then I wish you success, but I’d remind you that your first duty is to the High Queen.”

Again a ghost of a smile drifted across his lips. “Yes, Lady Bearer.”

We stood looking at each other for a long moment. Then something broke in Finnead’s eyes and he took half a step toward me, raising one hand as though to touch my face. I shook my head.

“No,” I said, surprised at the gentleness in my own voice. “I don’t want to part angry, but I don’t want to part conflicted, either.”

His hand drifted back to his side. “Thank you.” I thought his gaze flickered over my shoulder, to where I thought Luca would be in the practice ring—or I might have imagined it.

“You’ve nothing to thank me for,” I said. I rested my own hand on the hilt of my plain blade. “I’m going to go join the practice session.” I nodded to him. “Vaelanbrigh.”

He gave me a graceful half-bow. “Lady Bearer.”

I turned and walked toward Luca and Calliea, resisting the urge to glance over my shoulder. The Laedrek and the ulfdrengr finished their sparring session just as I came near. Sweat gleamed on Calliea’s brow. She looked me up and down, as if searching for physical injury. I met her gaze, wondering what she saw in my eyes; but she merely said, “Come, then, Tess,” and raised her blade in invitation. I gratefully raised my sword and soon the burn of my muscles chased away any other thought in my mind. I sparred Calliea, and then Robin; Luca watched us and made corrections.

I stood with Calliea by the first practice ring, watching Robin and Merrick face each other with raised blades and challenging grins. My sweat-dampened shirt clung to my skin, and I plucked at it idly. The torches illuminating the practice grounds in the darkness threw our shadows over the ground in long jagged shards. As I watched Merrick and Robin spar, I saw a gathering at the edges of my vision, a group of dark-haired warriors coalescing around one side of the circle. I glanced at Calliea, who nodded to tell me she saw them. And then, at the other side of the circle, drifting as though aimless but somehow all gathering opposite the dark-haired fighters, there was a group of Seelie, their tawny skin gleaming in the torchlight.

The Sword still lay on the ground at my feet. I picked it up and slid the strap over my head. The scabbard pressed my sweaty shirt unpleasantly against my back. I glanced over and checked that the four mortal men still practiced in their own areas, but as if he felt my gaze, Liam stopped and they all looked sharply in my direction. I turned my attention back to Merrick and Robin—they either hadn’t seen the crowd or they were ignoring it. They were fairly evenly matched, both lithe and quick, their swords flashing as they danced about the ring, springing on light feet toward each other, pivoting and leaping. I wished futilely that the crowd would disperse so that Calliea might admire Merrick’s skill.

I wasn’t certain whether the Seelie or the Unseelie were the first to call out, but in a matter of moments the practice ring rang with shouts, the Seelie encouraging bright-haired Robin and the Unseelie backing dark-haired Merrick. Tension began to tighten the air. I shifted uneasily and glanced at Calliea.

“What’s all this then?” said Liam, appearing at my elbow.

“It sounds like an underground fight over here,” Quinn commented, frowning as he took in the opposing groups.

“They think it’s Unseelie versus Seelie,” I said in a low voice.

“Little do they know they’re both Wild Court,” said Calliea with raised eyebrows.

“You think anything’s going to go down, boss?” Duke looked to Liam.

“Tess?” My brother bounced the question to me, but I didn’t miss the way he shifted his body so that he was between me and the nearest unruly group.

“There’s no love lost between the two Courts,” I said, “but I don’t know whether they’d actually fight.”

“I was still out with the vanguard, but I hear tell that there were a few brawls when the Courts first met,” said Calliea without taking her eyes from the two men sparring in the ring. There was probably a dozen or more of the two Courts on either side now; some Unseelie fighters pacing the edge of the ring shot venomous glances over at the Seelie, who responded with laughter-laced shouts.

“I don’t like the way this is headed,” I said to no one in particular, “but we can’t leave Merrick and Robin in the middle of this mess.”

Calliea murmured wordless agreement, her sharp eyes roving over both crowds. Liam gave instructions in a low voice to his teammates. I couldn’t make out his words.

“Where’s Luca?” I didn’t see him among the still-growing crowd—it seemed that both Seelie and Unseelie were looking for an excuse to hurl cheerful insults and glare at each other, respectively. In their usual bright way, the Seelie seemed to think it a great joke, and I could see that the laughter incited the Unseelie observers to more passion than just interest in a friendly sparring match.

“Should we stop them? I don’t know what will happen when one of them finally stumbles.” Liam had to speak the question almost directly into my ear, his breath tickling my neck. Some of the shouting was in the Sidhe tongue now, so I didn’t understand all of it—but I didn’t need to understand the words to hear the intent behind them. The rage of the Unseelie delighted the Seelie, which only served to fan the flames.

I shook my head. “If someone steps in, it might set it all off.”

“And why exactly do they hate each other’s guts?” Duke asked over his shoulder from his post watching our backs.

“It is not exactly hate, but it is far from love,” said Calliea. Duke made a confused face at her.

I sighed. “I guess it’s kind of like really avid sports fans or something like that.”

Duke contemplated that for a minute. “Rival high schools.” He nodded. “We had a rival high school, meanest sonsabitches you’d ever meet. I wouldn’ta spit on ‘em if they were on fire.”

“Um…sure,” I said, unable to hide a bemused smile despite the tense situation. Something about Duke’s accent combined with his serious delivery made it very funny to me. Then Calliea gripped my arm hard. Merrick misjudged Robin’s next move, and he leapt into a thrust of Robin’s sword. My stomach tried to jump into my throat. With a grunt of effort, Robin twisted the blade in mid-thrust so that it swung wide and only grazed Merrick’s shoulder, rather than running him through. Merrick stumbled and put a hand up to his shoulder, and his fingers came away dark with blood. Robin dropped his sword and turned to his friend, but the gathered Unseelie surged forward, their anger now palpable. Calliea muttered a curse and we plunged into the melee. I heard other oaths behind me as Liam and the other three men realized we were moving.

I unceremoniously pushed and shoved my way through the crowd, applying my elbows liberally. The Seelie faction leapt forward to meet Unseelie, and I felt a sudden jolt of adrenaline as I heard the hiss of blades unsheathed. Calliea and I redoubled our efforts and struggled through the press of bodies until suddenly we emerged into a little ring of space left in the very center of the roiling mass, the eye of the whirling storm. Robin was shouting at the Unseelie who held him fast by the arms, trying to get back to Merrick, who was now on one knee. A few of the Unseelie already held naked swords, and the Seelie beside Merrick unsheathed their own blades with merry grins, as though it was all a wonderful game to them.

Luca emerged from the Seelie ranks, parting them as a rock parts a river, and he immediately lifted Merrick to his feet, mindful of the bare blades pointed at the Unseelie fighter despite his wound. I heard Robin shouting about the Wild Court and prideful idiots; and Merrick added his own voice, though neither of them could be clearly heard above the increasing volume of epithets hurled by both sides. Luca kept a firm grip on Merrick, watching the Seelie fighters warily.

“There will be more bloodshed,” Calliea said into my ear, “if we don’t do something.”

It was the blade raised to Robin’s throat that undid me. I felt my anger burst into flames, my war-markings blazing a bright and sudden emerald as I reached over my shoulder and my fingers met the hilt of the Iron Sword. It vibrated eagerly beneath my touch. Calliea leapt to the side as I unsheathed the Sword with a booming ring like that of a great bell. It blazed brightly in my fist, and those nearest threw up their arms against the blinding light. The edges of my vision faded into white fire.

“Enough!” My voice sounded like a thousand voices, like all the Bearers shouting with me, layered with that great echoing ring. The Sword underlined the two distinct syllables with two slaps of power, and the crowd instantly fell into stunned silence, some of them stumbling from the physical blows. With effort, I pulled back the blazing light until the Sword no longer burned like a fallen star in my hand; my chest heaved as I gathered the power back into myself, and sheathed the Sword. It settled with a satisfied hum into the scabbard on my back. My war-markings still blazed through my shirtsleeve. I took two strides forward and put my hand on Robin’s shoulder. The Unseelie released him in dazed compliance. With as much dignity as he could muster, he straightened and walked over to Luca and Merrick. Calliea knelt by Merrick’s side now, binding his wound with quick hands.

The gathered Seelie and Unseelie stared at me. I drew back my shoulders. “It is enough that you already do not trust each other as brothers and sisters should.” My voice rang over their heads, and they listened. “It is beyond my power of understanding that you should make more enemies of each other when we have more than enough ahead of us.”

At that statement, a few of the Unseelie looked away, and some of the Seelie had the grace to appear ashamed. I raised one eyebrow.

“And not only were you brazenly insulting each other, but you were insulting each other over fighters who belong to a different Court entirely.” I shook my head. “So if you must cheer on a match between your two Courts, by all means, the ring is yours…but if another blade is drawn in anger this night or any night hence, I shall personally address it.” I looked left and right, ensuring that both sides of the crowd felt my gaze. Finally I heard the sound of a blade sliding back into its sheath, from somewhere in the back of the Seelie contingent; and then the silver flash of swords was all around as all the gathered crowd followed suit.

“As the Bearer commands, a friendly match?” asked one tall Seelie warrior, bowing to me and addressing the Unseelie group at large.

After a moment an Unseelie fighter stepped forward. With a little start I finally recognized Emery. He nodded to me and then spoke to the Seelie warrior. “I would be glad to cross blades with you as brothers.” They gripped each other’s forearms, and I finally sighed. I nodded to Emery and then yielded the practice ring to them, striding quickly over to the little knot moving away from the ring, Luca and Merrick at its center.

“That was magnificent,” said Calliea with a grin. My anxiety eased—if Calliea was smiling, Merrick’s wound wasn’t serious.

“Who are you, and what have you done with my little sister?” Liam asked with another smile, squeezing my shoulder. We paused a small distance away from the practice ring. Duke slid over to Robin; I noticed that the team medic had acquired his own small healing pack.

I waved their words away. “Just doing what had to be done so that those idiots didn’t kill each other. We can’t afford to lose anyone.”

“I, for one, greatly appreciate your intervention,” said Robin, wincing as Duke dabbed at the shallow cut on his neck from the Unseelie blade.

“I doubt they’ll forget your words very soon,” said Luca.

“Or that hit with the Sword,” added Merrick, his voice only a little hoarse.

“It wasn’t too much, was it?” I asked, suddenly stricken by the realization that I’d just unsheathed a weapon deadly to Sidhe in their midst. “I mean…I had a handle on the power, I just wanted to make a point.”

“You made your point,” said Robin with a chuckle. “It was like a good punch to the stomach. Two good punches, actually.”

“Not too much,” Calliea reassured me. “Although it didn’t exactly discriminate.”

“Sorry,” I muttered.

“Nothing worth apologizing over,” Robin said brightly. Duke finished cleaning the cut and Robin immediately walked over to Merrick. “However, I must apologize for your shoulder.”

Merrick waved his good hand in dismissal. “It was my own error that landed me afoul of your blade, and you redirected it as best you could.” The young navigator smiled, though he looked a bit pale. “It’s good I don’t need both hands for my scrying-glass, though.”

“Oh, it’s not as bad as all that,” said Calliea reprovingly. I glanced at her thoughtfully—it sounded like there was affection in her voice.

“It’s bad enough that you should probably see Merrick to his sleeping quarters,” suggested Robin with a roguish waggle of his eyebrows. Calliea rolled her eyes at him but to my surprise she actually took charge of Merrick and walked him away toward the main tent with her arm about his waist, even though he seemed to be walking with perfect steadiness.

“He will thank me tomorrow for that wound, mark my words,” said Robin. I swatted him before he could leap away this time. Liam chuckled.

“I think that’s quite enough action for us tonight,” said Duke, wiping his hands on his trousers.

I suddenly felt very tired. “I agree.”

“You’ll probably have your quarters to yourself tonight,” continued Robin incorrigibly. I laughed and as a group we walked back toward the camp of the Wild Court.

Chapter 35

True to their word, the Seelie and Unseelie did not raise their swords or their voices against each other at the common practice grounds after that day, though I wasn’t entirely convinced that my intervention was solely to thank for their civil behavior. Vell asked me with raised eyebrows if I was quite sure that I hadn’t ever mothered any children, because from secondhand accounts I had made all these centuries old, fearsome warriors feel as though they were being scolded for misbehavior.

“If they hadn’t been acting like unruly idiots, I wouldn’t have had to scold them,” I replied lightly. Vell laughed.

And so the days of traveling and training continued. Merrick’s wound healed quickly—“really nothing more than a scratch,” he told me brightly. I thought about pointing that out to Calliea, who used the excuse that she needed to change a poultice or check the stitches in Merrick’s shoulder more than once as she slipped out of our sleeping-quarters. But it was almost like a joke between us, her excuses a thin gauzy veil that blurred the details just enough for both of us to be content with grinning at each other. Not that Calliea was overly concerned with propriety; I realized that for a few days she was, in her way, trying to protect my emotions. After all, my conversation with Finnead had not exactly taken place in a private venue. Finally, well into the second week of travel, I sat cleaning my blade from an earlier skirmish. The creatures set against us were still no match for the vast numbers of the army, but it was enough to keep us watchful.

“I wonder if they’ll attack at night soon,” I said thoughtfully.

“The Queens’ wards are too strong for them,” Calliea replied, polishing her bright breastplate as she did every night. “They’d need at least a half dozen sorcerers to break the wards in a single spot.”

I hummed in agreement. Vell still didn’t show any outward signs of strain from creating the spring and placing the wards about camp each night; I wondered if Mab and Titania were handling the drain on their power as well. Arcana probably gave Vell a lot more power in her reservoir than the Sidhe queens, I thought idly as I scrubbed at a spot of dried blood on one of my daggers.

“Well,” said Calliea, setting her armor in its customary corner, beside her pack and neatly folded clothes, “I’m going to go check—”

“On Merrick’s shoulder, yes,” I finished for her with a smile. I looked up and met her eyes. “You don’t have to make excuses to me. I know why you did, but you don’t have to worry about dredging up hurt feelings or anything like that.”

Calliea folded her legs gracefully and gazed at me earnestly. “Truly, Tess? I count you as a friend, and I don’t want to cause you distress.”

I smiled. “I know. But just because whatever I had with Finnead is over, it doesn’t mean I don’t want you to be happy and in love.” I leaned forward and raised an eyebrow. “You are in love, aren’t you?”

A blush suffused Calliea’s tawny skin. “We haven’t said those particular words yet. But I…enjoy his company. He is very honest, and very…good.”

My smile widened into a grin. “What exactly is he so good at?”

Calliea laughed. “Oh, I didn’t mean it that way, I meant that he is just so very…” She spread her hands. “I suppose he’s…refreshing, in the sense that he has no guile, and no secrets.” A strangely shy smile touched her lips. “But you are also right about his…other skills.” Her eyes danced when she looked up at me. “Let’s just say he makes up for lack of experience with enthusiasm and natural talent.”

I laughed so loudly that I surprised myself. And then I found that my words had been a self-fulfilling prophecy: I didn’t feel any anger or sadness connected to Finnead when Calliea spoke about Merrick. I was just very happy that two of my friends had found each other, and were happy together. “I’m glad to hear it,” I said when we’d finished laughing. “But I don’t need any more details than that, all right?”

“Are you sure?” asked Calliea wickedly. “I’d be happy to let you live vicariously through me.”

“I don’t want to live vicariously with Merrick!” I laughed. “He’s like a brother to me!”

“Ah. Yes, that would be strange, I suppose.” But Calliea couldn’t suppress another smile. “Well then, I’m going. And his shoulder is perfectly fine, so you know. He just has a bit of a scar, a red line against his pale shoulder…” She smiled dreamily.

“Go, go.” I shooed her with my hands. “Have fun.”

“Oh, I will.” And with a last impish smile, she slipped out of our sleeping quarters. I sighed after she was gone, finished cleaning my blades and checked all the straps and buckles on my gear for any damage during the day’s skirmish. All my gear sat neatly in its pile—though still not as precisely folded and stacked as Calliea’s gear. I sat in silence for a few moments, listening to the subdued sounds of others moving through the tent, the murmurs of low voices and now and again the sound of blades whetted against a stone. I shifted restlessly. The emerald in the Sword’s pommel glimmered lazily. The scars on my hands prickled uncomfortably; I rubbed my right palm with my left hand, and then I grabbed the Sword, swung its strap over my head and strode out of the tent.

Figures moved here and there through the darkness, silhouetted for moments against the flickering light of the low-burning fires. I didn’t set out with any particular destination in mind; I just knew I was restless. Maybe a long walk about the camp would quiet my thoughts and let me sleep. A few warriors who passed closely enough that we could see each other’s faces nodded respectfully to me, but it was an unspoken courtesy that after the fires had died down and the songs faded into silence, warriors walked about the camp in silence unless they’d sought out a particular friend. Here and there, fighters sat with their blades across their laps, contemplating the silvery gleam of the weapon in the shadows; a few seemed to be meditating or praying, their lips moving silently. I passed another fighter moving through practice forms with his blade, his eyes focused on something I couldn’t see.

As I walked, I recognized a group of silhouettes about a little fire. My brother and his teammates tended to stay up a little later than me, maybe because they were used to functioning on less sleep than most. They all sat with their backs to me, four solid men contemplating the embers of their fire. Then I saw that Quinn slept to the side of the fire, one tattooed forearm across his eyes. I blinked and recounted, still arriving at four; the last two sat a bit apart, shoulders leaned conspiratorially toward each other. Quiet voices drifted over me. Liam and Luca. I paused, but they were too far away and talking too softly for me to make out words. The Sword wouldn’t approve of my nosiness anyway, I thought, smiling a little. I slipped away from their little camp, hoping that my brother and Luca had found good counsel with each other.

I let my feet and my mind wander, checking every so often to ensure that I wasn’t going to blunder past the sentries or accidentally set off one of the warning wards. Eventually I came to the common practice grounds, the neutral territory at the heart of this three-pronged encampment. I looked at the practice targets and picked up a few broken arrows, guessing whether they were crafted and shot by Seelie or Unseelie or Wild Court warriors. After a while I drifted over to one scuffed practice ring and traced the line in the dirt idly with my toe. I felt a bit tired, but my thoughts still circled anxiously.

“I need to convince someone to teach me that sleeping-rune,” I said to myself. I wove a small ball of light and softened its glow just enough to light my steps. Maybe the feeling of a blade in my hand would settle me. I hadn’t brought my plain blade, but unsheathing the Sword wouldn’t hurt anyone in an empty practice ground as long as I kept a tight hold on its power. The Caedbranr seemed almost happy to be out of its sheath, its fire slipping silkily under my skin but not struggling to break free of my control. I let my eyes unfocus as I ran through a few patterns. The deliberate motions felt soothing, both for my tight muscles and my uneasy mind. After an indeterminate time—it might have been ten minutes or an hour, I wasn’t entirely sure—my body was pleasurably warm, just shy of breaking a sweat. I paused and took a deep breath, switching the Sword to my left hand. Just as I began the patterns with my other hand, movement in the shadows caught my eye. I paused and watched, thinking that perhaps one of the wolves prowled this empty space at night. But the flicker of movement resolved into two figures, both lithe and graceful, one male and one female. I flexed my fingers idly around the hilt of the Caedbranr as I silently tried to identify them. The man’s gliding gait seemed familiar, and there was an echo of memory struck by the way the woman held her shoulders.

I sheathed the Sword quietly and sent my light arcing overhead with a flick of my wrist. Its soft glow caught the reddish gleam of the man’s hair and gleamed on the pale skin of the woman standing beside him.

“No need to skulk in the shadows, Lady Bearer,” said Ramel easily, though I was sure I’d surprised him.

“I’m not skulking,” I retorted. Ramel’s companion studied me with her cat-like eyes. I took another deep breath and nodded to her in greeting. “Molly.”

“Lady Bearer,” she replied gracefully, the intensity of her gaze counterpoint to her courteous voice.

I glanced at Ramel and couldn’t help smiling a little. “A walk about the camp in the cover of darkness?”

“No more unusual than the Bearer practicing alone with the Iron Sword,” the Unseelie Vaelanbrigh returned, though he also returned my smile.

“It is quieter at night,” said Molly, “and I find it easier when I am not the subject of constant stares.”

“I don’t think that ever gets easier,” I said with a little tilt of my head.

“It is very easy for you,” replied Molly, “because you are the Bearer. I am merely a half-mortal castaway.”

Ramel touched her shoulder lightly. “You know I do not like it when you speak of yourself in such terms.”

Molly looked up at Ramel and her eyes warmed. “Just because you do not like it does not make it any less true.”

“You were already very good with blades when we met last,” I said, thinking of Molly’s quick daggers at the Royal Wood. “I’m sure you’re even more skilled now.” Part of me wondered at the simplicity of the conversation—here was Molly, my once best friend, after months of separation and worry about her fate, and all I could think was to compliment her swordsmanship.

She smiled slightly. “Yes. I have learned much since you left.”

Her words carried no accusation but I still felt a twinge of guilt. “I’m sorry that I left. I had to…” I couldn’t find the words to finish the sentence and spread my hands.

“I know.” Her piercing eyes were just as disconcerting as I’d remembered, with the Fae spark still lurking in their depths. “As I said before, I don’t remember much of my life before I was made whole.” She shrugged slightly. “At first it was confusing, but only because I was grasping for the life I’d left behind me.” She paused and then continued. “When last we met, I told you I wanted to be friends once more. I had hoped that if I regained my friendship with you, I would regain some of what I had lost. But we are both different people now than we were then.”

I considered that for a moment and then I nodded. “You’re right. We are different people. But that doesn’t mean we can’t be friends now, in this world, after all this is said and done.” I let my gaze travel to Ramel too, only to find him looking down at Molly with something like protectiveness written on his face.

“If we survive, perhaps,” Molly replied. Her small smile appeared again. “I bear you no ill will, Lady Bearer, and wish you all success in our great endeavor.”

“Same to you,” I said. My right hand traveled to my hip, expecting to find the hilt of my plain blade; but finding it absent, I settled for hooking a thumb into my belt and wondering whether I should feel conflicted over the simplicity of this conclusion to my worrying.

“Perhaps we’ll see each other here again before the battle,” Molly said. I felt like I was a leaf that had been floating lazily in a stream and then was caught up by a sudden current, rushed through rapids and deposited spinning into calm waters again.

“Lady Bearer,” said Ramel gravely, a glimmer in his eyes betraying him as he gave me a solemn nod.

“Vaelanbrigh,” I returned just as gravely, letting my small smile turn up the corners of my mouth.

And with that, Ramel and Molly turned, disappearing into the shadows, leaving me to stare after them, my mind finally quiet. I touched the hilt of the Sword with two fingers for comfort, and then I pointed my feet back in the direction of the Wild Court camp, thinking that I’d certainly had enough excitement for one walk through the night.

Chapter 36

The next few days passed without incident, though my mind kept circling back to Molly and Ramel, and the way they’d looked at each other. I talked to Liam about the encounter, and he shrugged.

“Maybe this is harsh, but I think you wasted your worry,” he told me.

I squinted. “I don’t think it was wasted as much as it was misplaced. I felt guilty, which also kind of amplified it in my head. Besides, I’ll always care for her as a friend. It doesn’t stop me from wanting her to be happy.”

“Fair enough.” My brother nodded and tugged at his green and black shemagh. He grimaced. “One thing hasn’t changed between the last world and this one—the dust.”

I chuckled and listened obligingly as my brother vented about the annoyance of the fine dust that dogged us here in the Deadlands, just as it had hung about them in their faraway deployments. When he finished grumbling about the inconvenience of cleaning grit from rifles, he looked at me speculatively.

“You know, Tess, it seems like you’ve been a bit more settled these past couple of weeks,” he began. “Since that night on the practice grounds.”

I smiled. “You’ve waited long enough to bring it up.”

“I didn’t want to poke at anything that was too fresh.”

“I don’t mind talking about it now,” I reassured him.

“Good,” he said. “I’m glad.” But he didn’t say anything else for a few moments. We rode in companionable silence. Duke and Calliea’s nearby conversation about different methods of stitching drifted around us. Calliea’s winged mount half-spread his wings and flicked his tail restlessly. My brother cleared his throat. “I don’t know really how to say this. I haven’t given you advice like this before.”

I raised one eyebrow. “I can’t count the number of times you’ve told me to be careful around men.”

He chuckled and rubbed his blonde stubble with one hand. “True, but I’ve never given my seal of approval to anyone.”

I understood his meaning even as a few more pieces of the puzzle slipped into place. “I’m glad you and Luca have become friends.”

“You’re much more diplomatic now than in our younger years,” Liam said with a grin.

“Well, one of us should probably be diplomatic sometimes,” I teased.

“I know you’re probably tired of people trying to push you into something,” my brother continued. “And that’s not what I’m trying to do at all. It’s your decision, and if you’re satisfied with how things are, I get it. I’m just telling you as someone that loves you…Luca’s a good guy. I’d take him at my back any day in a fight, and I’ve seen how he treats you and how he treats others.” Liam nodded. “So that’s all I’m going to say.”

“Did he talk about me to you?” I asked quietly, feeling like a teenager again.

My brother grinned. “That I can’t say. Brotherly code and all.” His eyes caught mine. “But even if he hadn’t talked to me, I would still be able to see that he loves you.”

I smiled a little, but my heart fluttered and I swallowed hard. Luca was my friend, steadfast and loyal, and he also exerted a magnetic pull that was different yet very similar to what I’d felt before. I’d never been in love with someone that I also considered a friend, and I didn’t want to lose his friendship. But before my mind traveled too far down that path, the Valkyrie guard overhead whistled sharply, signaling an attack by Dark creatures. I pushed my thoughts aside and drew my plain blade, leaning forward in the saddle as Nehalim leapt forward with the rest of the warriors, eager to meet the enemy.

That night, my restlessness returned. Though my body was pleasantly tired, my hands ached insistently. I left Calliea sleeping in our little compartment, Farin curled against the bright blue breastplate.

I found Kianryk before Luca, and the tawny wolf cocked his head at me and yawned, his long pink tongue spilling over gleaming white teeth. Then he twitched his tail and loped into the shadows. I followed. He led me to the Queen’s tent but trotted past it, wending his way around a few knots of Wild Court fighters who preferred to sleep under the sky rather than in a tent. Beryk leapt out of the shadows and pounced on Kianryk; the big wolf rolled and tossed Beryk into the dust, none too gently. But the herravaldyr leapt up, golden eyes alight with mischief, and tackled Kianryk again. I cautiously stepped around them.

“Can’t sleep?” Luca asked. He and Chael had set up their own little enclave with a brightly burning fire dancing on a single piece of wood. The forge-runes glimmered like embers beneath the flames.

“Restless,” I said by way of agreement, rubbing one of my palms. Rialla lay a few feet away from Chael, watching Kianryk and Beryk wrestle with amethyst eyes. When Beryk glanced over at her in a pause in the action, she laid her head on her paws and feigned disinterest, her black-and-silver tail flicking through the dust. Chael chuckled, reaching over to run his fingers through the wolf’s fur, and I smiled, glad to see the lithe ulfdrengr at ease for once. When Chael turned back toward me, I noticed immediately that he didn’t wear his eyepatch, the scars about his blind eye shining silver in the firelight. He looked at me for a long moment, as if waiting to see my disgust; when I merely raised my eyebrow at him, he smiled in reply and then leaned back on his hands. I sat down next to Luca, wishing I could fold my legs as gracefully as Calliea.

Luca held out one hand in silent invitation, and I gave him my right hand, sighing as his strong fingers pressed into my scarred flesh. I tensed every now and again—jolts of pain throbbed through my hand as he worked on the worst scar tissue, but it was like the aching pain of a healing wound or a sore muscle.

“It’s strange, this waiting,” I said, looking at the flickering flames of their little fire. “Traveling every day closer to the final battle.”

Chael shook his head. “It will never be the final battle. Perhaps for some, but there will always be another enemy. Another struggle. Another fight.”

“You really think so?”

“Yes.” Chael’s good eye glittered in the shadows.

“Peace is an illusion,” said Luca.

“Aren’t you both rays of sunshine tonight,” I said dryly, obediently switching hands and giving Luca my left palm.

“We are warriors and realists,” replied Chael.

“Much like your brother and his companions,” added Luca.

“I’m glad you get along with them,” I murmured.

Luca chuckled. “I’ll always get along with any warrior worth his salt. And their thoughts on war are suspiciously close to my own.”

Now that I thought of it, the Northmen had both talked to my brother and his teammates with increasing frequency throughout the past weeks. Luca usually rode with our group, so I hadn’t thought it remarkable. But Chael always moved silently through the army, appearing and disappearing without warning, keeping mostly to himself; I’d actually glimpsed him speaking to Jess, a few days ago, and he’d been riding with us more often as the journey continued.

“And what are those thoughts?” I asked. Luca finished working on my hand and wordlessly gave me his scarred palm. I began kneading his scars as he’d taught me, gently at first and then with increasing pressure. Kianryk and Beryk appeared at the edge of the firelight. Rialla stood, stretched with luxurious leisure, and glided off into the darkness with the other two wolves.

“There is evil in every world,” Luca replied. “It takes many forms. But it is still evil, and good men must be willing to fight it.”

“Men and women,” I corrected him.

“Good warriors,” Luca amended, smiling. I glanced up at him as I worked. He’d let his golden hair grow longer during our travels, now wearing it tied back in a short ponytail at the nape of his neck, and stubble glinted along his strong jawline. Though our rations were basic, he hadn’t lost any muscle. If anything, he was leaner yet still muscular, the lines of his chest and shoulders visible even with his loose shirt. I noticed, not for the first time, the pleasurable heat that kindled in my stomach, something I’d grown used to feeling when I was close to him. I focused on working the little knots out of his hand, glancing up at him when he caught his breath.

“Am I hurting you too much?” I said quietly, brushing my fingers over the gnarled scars as I gave him a momentary break. I laid his upturned hand on my knee and slipped the strap of the Sword over my head, laying it to one side and stretching my arms overhead.

“It’s a good hurt,” he replied in a low voice. He looked down at his hand, large against both of mine. “May I ask you a question, Tess?”

“Of course,” I said lightly, but my stomach fluttered.

“Are you all right?” he asked with endearing sincerity.

I smiled. “In general, or specifically…?”

He raised his eyes to mine. “It must be very difficult, learning that the crown princess is alive and Finnead intends to rescue her.”

I brushed my thumb across his palm. “It wasn’t easy, but I had the feeling for a while that the past would rear its head at some point.”

“And so you are all right?” He shifted, but left his hand laid palm up in my grasp. I noted peripherally that Chael had silently disappeared.

That strange calm overtook me again, layering neatly atop the desire burning low in my belly. “Yes. He made his choice.” I looked at him and smiled as he met my eyes. For all that he was a brawny ulfdrengr, he looked sweetly vulnerable, hot hope tempered by world-wise caution written upon his face. I let the words flow from my lips without thinking too much about them; I felt that I owed Luca unsparing honesty. “I’ve experienced so much since becoming the Bearer….but that doesn’t mean that I haven’t made mistakes, or I’ve been right about everything.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” he said.

“I don’t have to, but I want you to understand. I want you to know that I doubted my feelings about Finnead long before we found out the crown princess was alive. I think I loved him, and maybe I still do, in the way I love my friends who have fought and almost died with me. But most of what I feel…what I felt for him was lust.” I gave a little shrug and a smile that was a bit sheepish.

“There’s nothing wrong with appreciating the beauty of the world,” Luca replied, a glimmer in his pale eyes.

“I guess not. But what I’m saying is that…” I felt my smile soften as warmth welled up in my chest. “I’m saying that I’ve finally realized that you’re the one I want to be with. You’ve been my friend and my teacher and we’ve fought side by side, and I haven’t ever questioned my love for you. I needed to sort everything out, and at the end of it all, there you are…the constant.”

An answering smile curved his lips. “Yes. I will always be here for you.”

I took his hand between my own, guiding it up to my face; his scarred palm pressed feather-light against my cheek, his thumb brushing over my lower lip. We both leaned forward, drawn inexorably toward each other by an immutable force, and when our lips touched it felt like the most natural thing in the world, something I had always known and yet waited my entire life to discover. My hands found his neck, and he gently drew me onto his lap, one hand on my hips and the other still cupping my face with infinite tenderness. His tongue parted my lips almost hesitantly, and a pleasant shiver ran through me at the sweetness of his touch and the gentleness in the huge calloused hands that held such strength and had wielded weapons with deadly intent in battle. I ran my own hands over his shoulders, feeling his muscles harden beneath my touch. He shuddered, drawing back from our sweet kiss, his hands holding me almost reverently about my waist.

I gazed into his eyes, waiting, yet strangely content. If only I could sit here, like this, not even kissing him, but just with his skin upon my own, I could be happy forever.

“Ah, Tess,” he said, my name sounding like an invocation on his lips. His pale wolf-eyes flickered in the firelight. “You’ve given me more than I deserve. More than I’ve hoped.”

I leaned closer to him again, giving him another soft kiss. “I want to give you more than this.”

His hands tightened about my waist at my words, making me gasp a little, but the heat within me surged at the sudden gleam in his eyes. “I’m yours, Tess.” He lifted me a little so that he could lay his cheek against my chest. I stroked his hair with one hand. His voice rumbled against my breastbone as he spoke. “I’ve been yours since the day you saved my soul from the darkness.”

I pressed my lips against his golden hair in a gentle kiss and then rested my chin atop his head. “I’ve never doubted it,” I said, and it sounded like the truest words I’d ever spoken.

Though I knew we both wanted so much more of each other, I was content to hold him with his head against my chest. It felt as though all the pieces I’d been struggling to put together had finally fallen into place, yet I didn’t regret a single moment of the uncertainty and pain that I’d experienced. It had all led to this crystalline serenity, my breath and his mingling warmly against my skin, his hands pressing lightly below my shoulder blades. As gently as he’d lifted me, I shifted my body until we lay down on his cloak, his head still resting on my chest. My arms encircled him and his brawny limbs entangled with mine until I felt as though we were like the twined roots of a tree, like we’d grown for years like this, legs and arms belonging to both of us at once. I smoothed his hair beneath my hands, he gave a great sigh, and with a look of utter contentment on the part of his face that wasn’t pressed into me, he fell asleep.

I listened to his steady breathing, one hand tracing idle circles on his broad back, and I stared up into the sky. Luca’s weight felt pleasant, solid, anchoring me to the ground as the stars wheeled overhead. The fire burned low—again I felt a professional appreciation for Chael’s skill with the forge-runes that tended the flames. And eventually, with Luca’s steady breathing as my lullaby, I fell asleep, thinking as I slipped into slumber that this was perhaps the most content I’d ever felt in Faeortalam.

I woke in the morning to a cold face and numb toes, the air biting at my skin; but the rest of me had remained warm with Luca’s body heat. He didn’t seem to feel the cold as I did, sleeping peacefully without a cloak for a blanket. As I blinked sleep from my eyes, I found that not only Luca had kept me warm: Kianryk had chosen to sleep against my other side, his head very near that of the ulfdrengr. For a moment, I lay still and watched them sleep, a little smile turning up one corner of my mouth. But then Kianryk opened his eyes and met mine. It felt as though I was looking into Luca’s eyes. I gently freed my arm and rubbed between the wolf’s ears. Luca stirred and pushed himself up with one arm, his hair only a little mussed. Kianryk stood, stretched and padded off into the morning mist.

Luca and I didn’t speak. We merely smiled at each other and then, feeling incredibly brave, I darted close and kissed him, feeling the curve of his smile subside against my insistent mouth. He brushed a loose tendril of hair from my face and responded in kind, the rough stubble on his chin a delicious contrast to his soft lips. Then there was a rustle from nearby, somewhere on the other side of the blackened board that had held our fire; after another few heartbeats, we parted. I turned and saw Chael just awakening, his head pillowed against Rialla’s ribs. The silver-and-gray wolf merely curled into a ball and tucked her nose under her tail when Chael moved.

The one-eyed ulfdrengr stood and stretched, glancing at us as he picked up the board and brushed the runes clean. He muttered something that might have been finally as he shook out his cloak and began to pack for the day’s journey.

I followed Chael’s example and stood, stretching the stiffness from my back. I picked up the Sword and settled the scabbard against my spine. It seemed that every time Luca and I caught each other’s gaze, we smiled; the Sword’s power turned lazily in my chest and for the first time in a long time, Gwyneth’s pendant warmed against my throat. I hooked a finger through the pendant and a feeling of motherly approval washed over me. Luca tilted his head slightly in question at my sudden grin. I held up the pendant between two fingers.

“Sometimes I get messages from the last Bearer,” I said, “or more like feelings. And she approves, I think.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear it,” Luca replied, his ice-blue eyes gleaming in amusement.

Rialla grumbled in protest as Chael spoke to her softly in the Northern tongue. She flicked her tail and with a great sigh stood and stretched, her amethyst gaze unamused as she surveyed us.

“I’ll see you at the usual meet-up spot,” I said, “I think maybe some practice with daggers this morning?”

“With practice guards on the edges of the blades,” said Luca, folding his cloak. “No more mishaps.”

“You’re the expert,” I said brightly. We smiled at each other one last time, and I made my way back through the camp toward the main tent.

Calliea looked up as I pulled aside the emerald curtain and entered our little chamber. She sat back on her heels and gazed at me thoughtfully, a slow smile spreading over her face. “You smell like wolf,” she informed me with badly hidden glee.

“Well, that’s because I slept against one last night,” I replied in what I hoped was a nonchalant tone. “I couldn’t sleep and I went to the ulfdrengr camp.”

Calliea slipped her breastplate over her head. I stepped close to tighten the straps at her side without being asked. “So you just had a desire to sleep in the open air.”

“Oh, exactly,” I agreed with a grin.

She seized me by the shoulders. “Tell me, did you at least kiss him? Please say you did!”

“I don’t see what business it is of yours.” Despite my words, I couldn’t stop the widening of my grin or the slightly self-satisfied note in my voice.

“It is a tiny bit of my business because I have watched you dancing about with both of them for ages, and I’m happy that you finally seem happy,” Calliea pronounced. She obediently turned so that I could fasten the other set of buckles on her other side, and gave me a sidelong glance and cleared her throat lightly. “You know, if you’d like the space to, ah, yourself, you have only to ask—what?” Her brows drew together when I slapped her armored chest lightly in reproach. “I’m only saying, Tess.”

“Well, I’m ‘only saying’ that I appreciate the offer, but…” I shrugged. “As much as it frustrated me before, I’m alright with taking it slow now.”

“Taking it slow,” repeated Calliea blankly.

“You know, not jumping into, ah, intimacy—” I stopped at Calliea’s laugh.

“I know what you mean, Tess,” she said merrily. “And you’re adorable, blushing like that.” She paused. I picked up my breastplate and slid it over my head, raising one arm to let Calliea tighten the straps. “It’s your choice, and even I cannot tell you different than your own heart,” she said finally.

“I think I already know what you would tell me,” I said with a chuckle. Calliea shrugged, her eyes dancing, and we both turned back to our preparations for the day’s journey. “We’re going to do some dagger work, I think, if you’d like to join.”

“Oh, of course I would,” she replied as we walked out of the tent with our saddles slung over one shoulder and the straps of our packs on the other, ready for yet another day of the journey across the barren plains.

Chapter 37

“Malravenar’s forces are gathering at the White City, and beyond,” pronounced Vell. She looked down at the map spread before her on the table. Titania stood to her right, and Mab to her left; the Three of each queen ranged down the table. Lumina surveyed the map serenely from one corner, Forsythe and Flora to one side of her and the silent Galax to the other. I stood silently at the far corner of the table, one hand resting idly on the hilt of the sword at my hip, listening to the last Queens’ Council. All told, we had traveled a month and a week. The last two sennights had brought tension and sparse rations. None went hungry, but our bellies were not exactly full either. Five days ago, Vell had sent messengers back through the army, telling all her warriors and the other Courts to fill their waterskins at this last fresh spring. All the Courts had shared the water conjured by the High Queen for the past week. Shadows still lingered beneath the Vell’s eyes, though she looked a bit better since she had stopped calling up the water from the barren ground. Titania now dressed in her bright-shining armor, her golden hair bound up in braids; and Mab seemed subdued, even preoccupied at times. I knew that she thought of her sister, and felt a strange flash of empathy for the Unseelie Queen.

“So the battle will join there,” said Ramel, leaning slightly over the table and examining the miniature sketch of the ruined city. He looked older than when I’d first met him in Darkhill, more serious. His hair gleamed with that faint spark of copper that I remembered so well.

“Fitting, that he should choose such a place,” murmured Titania.

“It gives his forces the advantage,” said Gawain at the side of the Seelie Queen.

Ramel nodded in agreement. “Would that we had a dragon of our own, to lay the ruins waste and all the enemy within along with it.”

“There are the Valkyrie,” said Gray, her bright eyes thoughtful. She looked at Vell. “We might create some spelled objects for them to carry and unleash from the sky.”

Vell grinned. “Indeed. Set the Laedrek to it.”

Gray bowed her head in acknowledgement.

“We will be glad to assist the Laedrek in devising these weapons,” said Lumina. “I believe that my master-at-arms would be most helpful.” Forsythe bowed slightly from the waist as the Glasidhe queen spoke of him.

“I’d be grateful for his aid,” said Gray gracefully.

“We could have guessed that the ruins would be his chosen battleground,” said Mab. Her new Vaelanmavar stood just behind Ramel. I didn’t know him, but he looked older than Ramel and younger than the Unseelie Vaelanseld. I thought tiredly about the seismic shifts in both Courts since Finnead had argued with the Warden and brought me through the Gate into Mab’s lands. Nothing seemed the same except for the Unseelie Queen’s cool indifference toward me.

“We have been making many plans, but we might sharpen them now that we are closer to the day of reckoning,” said Niall, Titania’s Vaelanseld.

“Much of our plan remains the same.” The simple golden band that the Crown of Bones had spun from liquid fire gleamed across Vell’s brow. “We will open our portal to the Dark Throne, and face him in the flesh. Break him and bind him.”

“Our forces will still need leaders,” said Titania.

“Yes,” Vell replied. “I propose that each of us leaves one of our Three as our commanders. We will still be able to draw on their power, and if all should fail they will know and rally what is left of our great army.”

Finnead stiffened slightly at Vell’s words. If he was chosen to lead the forces of the Wild Court, he might not have the opportunity to rescue the princess. Then again, who was to say that the princess would be in Malravenar’s keep? Perhaps she would be sent out onto the field of battle with her deadly poisoned arrows. But I also didn’t miss the light kindled in Gray’s eyes.

“And we will be taking a small force with us through the portal, will we not?” asked Mab. “We do not know what lies in the Enemy’s lair.”

Vell nodded. “A small fighting force, nimble enough to move quickly but well versed in the Enemy’s ways. We will finalize this group tonight.” Her gaze swept down the table. “The White City should be in sight tomorrow.”

A thrill of anticipation mingled with anxiety coursed through me. Only a few more days until we would face the enemy whose shadow had fallen over the Fae lands, darkening into an encroaching night.

“And so we should choose our standard-bearers,” said Titania. She turned to her Three. “Gawain.” The named knight sunk to one knee before the Seelie Queen. She placed one slender hand on his head. “You shall lead our Court in the great battle against this Dark host.”

“My Queen,” said Gawain in a low voice, “as ever, my life is yours to do with as you will. I only regret that I will not be at your side at the last.” He raised his gaze to the fair Seelie queen, such worship written on his face that it made my chest ache to see it. His pale eyes gleamed a little too brightly.

“Ah, Gawain,” Titania said tenderly, speaking only to him, the rest of us fading into nothingness around them. “You have been by my side for centuries, and you shall be at my side for centuries more. This will not be your last battle, valiant heart.”

Though Titania’s words sounded sure, I wondered if she truly knew that Gawain would not fall in the battle, or that we would succeed when we matched ourselves against the terrible power of Malravenar. Then Gawain bowed his head again and stood. Niall and Ailin each gripped one of his forearms, the love between them almost tangible. The Sidhe version of my brother and his teammates, I thought as I watched. The Sword hummed in its scabbard on my back.

Then Mab said, “My Vaelanbrigh shall lead the Unseelie Court.”

It took me a moment to remember that Ramel was now the Vaelanbrigh of the Unseelie Court. He bowed his coppery head, but there was no raw display of emotion from the coldy beautiful Unseelie Queen, nor did her knight fall on bended knee before her. The focus shifted to Vell. She stood at the head of the table, silently staring down at the map. I tried to guess her thoughts. Arcana would not lead an army—that would be like commanding a rattlesnake to join the hunt with wolves; and so that left Gray and Finnead. Did Vell trust that Finnead would do his part to vanquish the Shadow, if the enthralled princess was laid as bait before him? And did it really matter whether he was with the army or with us? The silence stretched around us as Vell considered.

“Gray,” said the High Queen finally. “You have proven time and again your courage on the field of battle. You will lead this army against the White City.”

Gray said nothing, but none could miss the flash of joy in her eyes as she bowed her head to the High Queen, and the barest hint of relief that surfaced across Finnead’s face before he regained his stoic composure.

“Lady Bearer,” said Vell, breaking my silent reverie. I raised my chin in acknowledgement. “You have the river-stones?”

In reply I drew the smooth dark stones from my beltpouch, holding them out in one palm. They seemed to grow heavier with the weight of every gaze in the council.

“Transformed from iron by the Sword,” Vell said. “A weapon of the Enemy, a trap broken by our Bearer and forged into what will be his prison.”

I made a mental note to ask Vell whether she’d drafted her poetic lines in this council while lying in bed last night.

“Let us each take ours now,” said Mab, looking with something like hunger at the stones in my scarred palm. I looked back at Vell, who nodded, and I walked my way around the table, offering the stones first to Vell, and then Titania, and finally Mab. The Unseelie Queen couldn’t resist a slight look of distaste as I drew near. For my part, I swallowed the scathing words trying to make it past my teeth and kept my face carefully blank as she selected her smooth river-stone. Her skin didn’t touch mine as she delicately lifted the dark oblong stone from my hand.

That left two stones in my hand. I blinked. The Sword had created nine stones. I’d lost four on the banks of the Darinwel, in the blood-magic that had saved Finnead’s life. Three for the Queens, one for me, and one lonely stone left with no pair and no purpose.

There may come a time when it will be of use, the Caedbranr said silkily in the back of my mind. I slipped the two stones back into my beltpouch.

“Before the soul binding,” said Vell in a quiet voice, “the Enemy’s physical body will need to be destroyed.” She met my eyes. “The Sword is the only weapon that will be able to break the wards of necromancy about him.”

I took a deep breath. “So I need to spear the big bad before you can finish your spell.” Titania smiled faintly, and Niall hid a grin. Mab looked unamused, but I caught Ramel look quickly away from me, his cheeks dimpling slightly.

Vell smiled but her eyes remained serious. “Yes. The Sword will release Malravenar’s spirit, so that we may bind it.”

“Unleashing the Sword could be deadly,” I said. “Not just for Malravenar. For all of you.”

“The spell will be woven already,” Vell replied.

“Why do you think we took these stones now?” Titania said with a warm smile.

“Gods willing, it won’t kill us instantly,” the High Queen continued. “The majority of our power will already be spent, in preparing the stones and creating the portal.”

I felt as though I stood on quicksand. “This is sounding less and less appealing,” I said with a sigh. “If the stones will already be prepared, why not just let me carry them? Why come?”

“Because he would merely kill you, if you were alone, or hold you prisoner until we came to him.” Vell spread her hands. “He needs us to break the Seal.” Her eyes glimmered. “We are offering him everything he needs to break the Seal, and destroy the remnants of the power that he so hates.”

“He needs the blood of the queens and the blood of the Bearer, if I remember correctly,” I said.

“As far as we know, yes,” Vell replied.

“As far as you know?” I felt half a dozen sharp gazes upon me at the tone of my voice, but I ignored them. “This feels…” I took a deep breath, actually thought about my words. “I’m not trying to say it’s not a good plan, or that I could come up with anything better. But…it feels like a shot in the dark.”

“A shot into the very heart of darkness itself,” said Vell in agreement. She drew back her shoulders and looked every bit the High Queen. “There are many things that could go wrong. We have not faced this enemy before. But this is our plan.” She raised her chin. “We bring the fight to him now, or he will tear us apart one by one.”

“We will end this before another moon waxes full,” said Mab, suprising me. I thought I heard something like emotion in her cold voice. “Malravenar has taken far too much from us already, and for that we will destroy him.”

Finnead’s jaw tightened at the Unseelie Queen’s words. I rested my hand again on the hilt of my sword, thinking of all the names engraved down its silver length. Kavoryk. Kaleth. Murtagh. All the others whom I knew only because I’d whispered their name to my blade as I watched their still faces wreathed in smoke on their funeral pyres.

“Ten warriors each for the force through the portal,” said Vell quietly. “We will send messengers tonight, and meet again when the City is in sight.”

With those words, the council dispersed. Mab swept past me, and the baying of hounds echoed faintly in my ears, ringing in my head as the Unseelie knights passed on cat-quiet feet. Titania touched my arm with one hand as she glided by the edge of the table, and the sound faded. I smiled a little in thanks.

You could make Mab hear it herself, if you wanted, the Caedbranr informed me.

What good would my butting heads with Mab do anyone at this point? I retorted silently.

There was a time when you would have shoved her baying hounds back into her own head, the Sword said, but you have grown. You have learned. There was something like pride in its androgynous voice.

Thanks, I replied, partly surprised and partly gratified. So perhaps I’m not such a stubborn mortal after all?

You are very stubborn, replied the Caedbranr. And in the end, it might be your stubbornness that saves this world.

“Tess?” Vell looked at me from the head of the table. Lumina and Flora hovered over the map, talking in low voices, but everyone else had left. “You still with us?”

I waved a hand at the Sword’s hilt. “Silent conversation. Sorry.” I pulled out a chair and sat down. Lumina leapt gracefully into the air; I gave her a nod of acknowledgement and Flora dove close to pat my ear affectionately before following the Glasidhe queen from the tent. Vell sat on the table and rested her boots on the back of the chair next to me. I looked at her consideringly. “What happens if one of you dies?”

“One of the queens?” Vell crossed her ankles. “Don’t know. Don’t really want to find out.”

“The Sword’s power, though…”

“You marked us in the Royal Woods,” Vell pointed out. “Why not do it again?”

“I should’ve thought of that.”

“Yes, you should have,” replied the vyldretning, “but you’re too busy worrying about this big battle to think straight.”

“That’s not entirely true,” I protested. Then I thought of Luca, and our sweet kisses each night. I’d slept under the open sky a few more times, wrapped in his arms. Each night was as lovely as the first. That overwhelming fear clutched at my heart when I thought of him being taken away from me. I took a deep breath and pushed the emotion down.

“You have to trust that those you love will fight their hardest to stay with you,” Vell said softly.

“I know he will,” I said. We sat silently for a long moment, and then Farin slipped into the tent, bowing courteously before Vell.

“A message for you, my lady,” he said.

“Thank you.” Vell accepted the little curl of parchment, her boots still propped on the back of the chair. She grinned as she finished reading the message. “The scouts report that the distance to the White City is not so great as we imagined. The Enemy is obscuring it with a veil, hoping to catch us unawares.” She looked back at the Glasidhe messenger. “Take as many messengers as you need to spread the word throughout the army that the battle will be joined tomorrow.”

Farin bowed again, gave me half a bow and zipped away.

“Tomorrow,” I repeated. I didn’t know whether I wished for more hours in the night, or less.

“Tomorrow,” Vell said in satisfaction. Her golden eyes flashed as she looked at me. “Tomorrow will be the last day that dawns with the shadow of the Enemy across our land. I’ll tear down his veil and our army will ride into the White City.” She rubbed her thumb across the smooth black curve of her river-stone. “Do you have any opinions on who should come with us into the Dark Keep?”

“I have a feeling you already have a list in your head.”

“Entirely true,” admitted Vell, “but I’m asking you.”

I leaned back in my chair. “Luca and Chael. Elwyn.” I thought. “Robin. Merrick.” Another pause. “All the Valkyrie will be engaged with their attack on the White City, or else I’d say Niamh and Maire.”

Vell nodded. “All good names, all ones I’ve considered as well. Good. We’re of the same mind then.”

“The final decision is yours,” I pointed out. “You’re the High Queen.”

“And you’re the Bearer.” Vell shrugged. “I know you’re not a part of my court, but I respect your opinion. As both my friend and the Bearer.” She slipped the river-stone into her beltpouch and drew one of her little daggers instead, turning it end over end. “I’m of a mind to take your brother and his companions.”

“Why? They’re not…they don’t have any power of their own, other than Liam, and they’ve greatly improved with their weapons handling but I’d say they’re still far from the best.”

“But they are warriors,” Vell said. “They understand that we are fighting evil.”

“I think every member of your Court understands that.”

“Would you rather have them in your sight or left to the tides of the battle in the White City?”

“I’d rather have them back in the mortal world, but that’s not really a viable option.” I narrowed my eyes as a thought struck me. “Liam had a vision, didn’t he? He needs to come with us.”

“Perhaps the Enemy has set another trap with iron,” Vell replied. “Liam told me that he Saw himself and his companions with us in the Dark Keep. Luca and Chael would be able to resist the poison long enough to fight, but full mortal blood is better.” She smiled as she twirled her dagger. “And besides, he is a protective brother. He wants to keep you within his sights.”

I sighed. “I should’ve guessed.”

“You did,” pointed out Vell mildly.

“You think we can afford to take four mediocre swordsmen with us?”

“I hear that Jess is quite good with a bow, and Duke has found some talent with an axe. But in any case, four mediocre swordsmen won’t turn the tide at the final moment. One Seer and three mortals who can stand iron might, though.”

“Liam’s gotten better with dealing with his visions, but he still loses touch sometimes. That doesn’t exactly make me feel good about dragging him into a high-stakes scenario.”

“He has dealt with it in battle before,” Vell replied. She paused in spinning her dagger and looked at me. “In the end, Tess, we must all play whatever part comes to us tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” I repeated numbly.

“For what it’s worth,” Vell said, all her queenliness falling away, “thank you for your friendship, Tess. Not everyone believed in me when I was just a Northern mercenary.”

I smiled. “Not everyone believed in me when I was just a mortal girl who happened to stick a horseshoe in a garrelnost’s eye.”

Vell chuckled. “And look at us now.”

I nodded. “Everything is so different. We’ve traveled far to get here.”

“And we have only a bit farther.” Vell sheathed her dagger and hopped lightly from her perch on the table. “Come on then, let me braid your hair for tomorrow.”

I laughed and obediently folded my legs beneath me, sitting in front of the chair and letting my old friend comb out my hair one last time.

I couldn’t rightly say whether the hours of that night passed slowly or with more speed than usual. A sense of wild anticipation filled the air of the vyldgard camp, and the night sky echoed with drumbeats and voices, dancers silhouetted against the high flames of the fires. We did not care if we were heard or seen, even this close to the White City—sentinels still stared into the blackness beyond the lines of the army, and the queens still raised their wards. But the night drew on, dark and clear and still, a night like many before it, I thought as I stared up at the barely visible stars. Our little group sat around a blazing fire, sharing a flask of biting bittersweet liquor. Luca sat beside me, his arm draped about my shoulder; I leaned into his warmth, memorizing the feel of his body against mine.

“For some it will be their last sunrise,” I said quietly.

“Any sunrise could be your last,” he replied. “We do not know what the next day holds.”

“Well, that’s not entirely true,” said Duke, toasting Liam with his cup. “Ol’ Magic Eight-Ball there can see the future in Technicolor.”

Liam shook his head. “Not quite in Technicolor, brother, but something like that.”

Calliea and Merrick sat next to each other, not quite touching; for all they were members of the Wild Court, the Sidhe habit of disdaining public affection still showed. But for them, it seemed to be enough to be near one another. Now and again they spoke just to each other in quiet voices. Merrick would travel with the queens, and Calliea with the Valkyrie.

“Have you seen past tomorrow?” I asked Liam, the question burning in my throat like a swallow of the liquor in my cup.

“I don’t need to see past tomorrow to know what’s going to happen,” Liam replied. Quinn clapped his shoulder.

“Because we are going to kick ass!” the tattooed man shouted, breaking the slightly somber mood about the fire. Duke added his own battle-yell and then jumped when Kianryk howled behind him. The big tawny wolf prowled into the firelight, grinning at the wiry Southerner. Duke good-naturedly joined in the laughter, even if it was at his expense.

We talked late into the night about our fire, the wild songs of the vyldgard rising around us. The Glasidhe who had been my companions at different points throughout my journey found our little enclave: Wisp, Forin and Farin, and Flora and Forsythe. They perched on my shoulders and knees, leaping from me to other members of our little circle, talking in high bright voices. I yawned but I didn’t want to go to sleep. I wanted to savor every last minute left. Finally, though, one of the runes on the board beneath our fire flared, and the flames died into little wisps of white smoke, leaving us with only the Glasidhe’s auras for light.

“Guess that means it’s closin’ time,” came Duke’s voice from the shadows. Quinn had disappeared with Niamh earlier in the night, and Jess had gone to sleep with his frayed ballcap pulled low over his eyes, unperturbed by the conversation and other noise about the fire. Kianryk settled behind Luca and me, laying his great head on his forepaws and promptly falling asleep. I slipped one finger through the pendant at my throat and stared up into the darkness of the sky. One more dawn, and we would face the Enemy. One more dawn, and the fate of this world would be decided.

I drifted unwillingly into sleep, my head pillowed on Luca’s shoulder, Farin curled in the curve of my neck and Flora lying along my collarbone. The soft glow of their sleeping auras pulsed in tandem with their breath. As my eyes closed, my last sensation before sleep claimed me wholly was the sound of Luca’s heart, beating dependably beneath my ear.

Chapter 38

I woke with a start. I hadn’t dreamed. I looked up at the dawn-tinged sky, waited to feel anything…any apprehension, or fear, or excitement. There was a dull sense of anticipation, mixed with gratefulness for the warmth of the wolf and the man next to me, but that was all. I sat up, stretched and slipped the strap of the Sword over my head, actions I’d performed on countless mornings before this morning. I looked down at Luca, his ruggedly handsome face young and innocent in sleep. I smiled and kissed him awake.

We met for one last blade practice in our customary place, our mounts shaking their heads restlessly as they waited for the day’s journey to begin. Our unshakeable little group would be splintered in a few hours: the twins atop their winged faehal would follow Calliea in the phalanx of Valkyrie; and the rest of us marked to step through the portal into the maw of darkness, leaving a battle raging behind us. I hoped I didn’t look nervous—no one else seemed to be, and it just wouldn’t do for the Bearer to look like her nerve was failing her mere hours before meeting the Enemy before his Dark Throne. The Sword paced like a caged animal in my chest, now and again straining eagerly toward the west, toward the White City and Malravenar.

When the white horn sounded, the twins looked at us, white-faced beneath their vibrant war paint, and then they leapt to each of us to give a hard, quick embrace.

“We believe in you,” whispered Maire in my ear, and then her sister hugged me and said, “We’ll watch the sunset as free people.”

The honest faith in their words almost undid me, but I merely returned their embrace and nodded, not trusting my voice. The Sword hummed, matching the voice of the horn lingering in the air. Nehalim stood still as a statue until I mounted; then he pranced and sidestepped, his delicate ears pricked and alert. I hadn’t painted him for battle. We wouldn’t be taking our faehal through the portal. He would be a spare mount for any of the Valkyrie who fell, or another vyldgard warrior in need. The thought of the return journey to the Hall of the Outer Guard—or wherever we decided to go—rang hollowly in my head, like a dream I couldn’t quite grasp. The thought of after was too far away, too nebulous.

Liam drew his mount up next to mine as we began this last day of the journey. “Hey, Bug.”

“Hey.” I tried to smile, but couldn’t.

“How are you feeling?”

“Really want me to answer that?”

He grinned. “You’ve been through a few scrapes before. This one isn’t any different.”

“I know you’re trying to make me less nervous,” I said in a breathless voice as the army moved forward, the standard of the Wild Court flowing in the wind ahead of us. “And thanks. But this is actually very different.”

“This one’s for all the marbles,” my brother said in unexpected agreement. “But what I mean is, the fighting isn’t any different. Don’t let it mess with your head.” He caught my eyes. “The basics stay the same. You kill them before they kill you. Got it?”

I managed a better smile, swallowing down the sudden surge of anxiety. “Got it.” We rode in silence for a moment. “Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“I know you said you haven’t Seen past today.” I swallowed again. “Please tell me that’s not because you’re going to die.” I started at his laugh. “I take that as a no?”

“Well, first of all,” Liam said, “how could I See my own death? Wouldn’t I be busy dying?”

I frowned as I tried to untangle the complexity of a vision. “I don’t know. I’ve never had a vision.”

“I don’t See what happens to me,” my brother said. “And I haven’t Seen past today because it’s…complicated. There are a lot of different threads, a lot of different outcomes. Think about it…this many fighters, this many possibilities. If an archer looses an arrow a second later or a second earlier, that’s two different scenarios right there. Someone ducks or doesn’t duck, or their horse shies, or they stumble at the right moment or the wrong moment.” He shook his head. “I’ve dealt with battles before, but nothing on this scale. Normally I can put blinkers on and focus on what I need, but there’s too much noise here.”

“Just promise me you won’t fall over in the throes of a vision when we’re in the middle of fighting Malravenar,” I said.

“Why do you think Jess, Quinn and Duke are coming along?” My brother grinned.

“Because they’re immune to iron, just like you and me. I’m being serious.”

“I’m being serious, too,” he countered, sobering.

I winced as the Sword’s power pulled particularly hard toward the western horizon, rubbing absently at my chest. “All right.” I wasn’t sure whether I was talking to my brother or to the Caedbranr.

“Tess?”

Liam’s tone of voice drew my eyes to his face.

“No matter what happens today,” he said, utterly serious now, “just remember that I love you.”

My chest ached. “I love you too, Liam.” We smiled tightly at each other. Liam reached over and squeezed my shoulder. Then Duke yelled something to him, and he turned to mediate some good-natured argument between his teammates.

At noon, the sun high overhead, the white horn sounded again, and we halted. I watched as Vell dismounted and strode forward, a strong lithe figure in her scarlet cape and armor emblazoned with the head of a wolf. She held her bow in one hand, and a single arrow in the other, the tip gleaming white as bone, like her ivory staff. I pulled my scarf over my nose and mouth as a sudden wing sprang up, dragging dust into the air and slapping foul air into our faces. Vell dripped her blood onto the arrowhead. Her lips moved, though I couldn’t hear her voice. Then she turned toward the western horizon and nocked the arrow. The wind suddenly reversed direction as Vell drew back the arrow in one smooth motion. A sudden burst of snow rushed past us, and Vell let the arrow fly, its arc higher and faster than any ordinary arrow. We collectively held our breath, the arrow dwindling to a tiny speck against the blue of the sky. And then there was a burst of white fire in the sky where the arrow had flown. The dusty earth rumbled beneath our feet. Nehalim put back his ears but held his ground. Like a curtain falling, the blue of the sky suddenly became bluer, the veil falling away in a shimmer of fire and snow. We stood at the crest of a great hill, looking down at the shining ruins of the White City…and the roiling mass of Malravenar’s army, crawling like black ants over the broken towers and fallen columns of the alabaster city below.

My stomach tightened in revulsion, but I only had a moment to look at the terrible spectacle. The horn sounded twice: the signal to gather the Queens, and their small nimble force to go through the portal. Nehalim turned of his own accord, cantering to meet the other warriors converging upon the banner of the Wild Court. The Sword fairly sang in its sheath, and my war-markings itched as they glowed with a fierce and sudden light. I took a deep breath and found Luca’s eyes. He grinned at me in fierce anticipation, and an answering grin formed on my own lips despite the tangle of nerves in my stomach.

The Seelie contingent arrived at a gallop, Titania’s steed outpacing all the rest. She rode magnificently, her silver armor gleaming in the sunlight, and she wore a white-hilted sword at her hip in a golden scabbard. I wondered idly if the Seelie Queen’s skill with a sword matched her sisterly kindness and grace. I searched the faces of her chosen Seelie warriors and found Sage among them. He gave me a nod as he reined in his excited faehal.

Queen Mab favored a statelier pace, and she drew up her midnight-dark steed without a word, her beautiful face pale in the noon light. I knew Ramel wouldn’t be among her retinue, but I saw Donovan and Emery. Beryk led Kianryk and Rialla on a chase through the legs of the faehal, and a few of the Unseelie mounts shied at the wolves’ closeness.

None of the queens gave a rousing speech. We all looked grimly at one another as we dismounted our faehal, and then Vell signaled to Gray. The vyldretning’s chosen commander gave three blasts on the white horn and wheeled her steed toward the White City, leaning forward as her faehal leapt into a gallop. The Valkyrie swooped overhead, bearing orbs that burned with a strange incandescent fire. The great army surged forward, parting around us. We stood in a strange circle of calm amid galloping steeds and flying banners and war cries. I silently called up my taebramh, and sent it to mark all the warriors in our small silent band, even the queens. I didn’t know whether my marking would stand up to the full power of the Sword. My taebramh floated through the air like disembodied candle flames, burned brightly against their foreheads for a moment and then sank into their skin, leaving only a faint mark like a pearly thumbprint. A few of the warriors winced at the touch of my power, but they recovered their composure quickly. Vell withdrew the scarlet ring from her beltpouch. The Seelie and Unseelie queens stepped close to her, and their warriors drew into closer ranks as the army flowed past us. The ground shook once and then again with small tremors as though from explosions. The Valkyrie had reached the skies above the White City. My heart beat faster in anticipation. The wind brought the scent of smoke and flames.

Then the ground trembled beneath our feet, and the air grew tight with power. The Sword rattled in its sheath and its white fire roared in my chest, filling my bones.

This day is your destiny, whispered a voice in my head, a voice that could have been the Sword or Gwyneth or my own thoughts. The last Bearer’s pendant heated against my throat. I clung to the sensation. My hands ached as a panel in the air shimmered and solidified, a frosted slice of glass foretelling the portal. Vell thrust her ivory staff into the gleaming air, and we drew our swords. The ice-breaking sound of the opening portal blended with the hiss of unsheathed blades, and then the first ranks of the chosen fighters leapt through the gateway, Seelie and Unseelie shoulder to shoulder. The portal widened. My hands shook. The Sword’s power surged and steadied me. Luca and Robin stood to either side of me. I couldn’t see Liam. Kianryk and Beryk bounded past us. Everything happened in still frames, small moments between my breath and my heartbeat. We strode forward, and then we were running. The portal loomed, coldness engulfed us, and we skidded into a moss-slick dark courtyard thick with the sounds of battle.

I instinctively threw up an orb of light against the thick shadows; it flared overhead to join a few other taebramh-conjured lights illuminating an already-grisly scene. Blood spattered the stones beneath my feet—blood from our warriors and blood from Dark creatures, darkening the stones. Blades flashed and taebramh blazed. I heard the snap of bone and the screams of the dying. But Robin and Luca were still by my side, and we fought our way across the courtyard, toward a massive set of metal-bound doors. As I fought, sliding my blade through one Dark creature and then the next, I slowly realized that the shadows magnified the screams and the blood, and a few of our fighters had gone down but it was not the massacre that I’d first feared. Behind us, I heard the despairing shrieks of misshapen creatures as the queens unleashed their power on Malravenar’s creations. The stones of the fortress about us groaned with the weight of night and day and the wildness of the northern mountains.

I didn’t know how long the battle in the courtyard lasted. Each moment weighed heavily on our limbs. Every breath felt like an hour, every heartbeat a long and booming toll in our ears. I glimpsed Kianryk, his muzzle dark and wetly gleaming as he tore his way through a throng of twisted creatures. I lost sight of the tawny wolf as two garrelnost converged on him. Beryk leapt past me, his sable fur matted with gore. Mab fought with grim intent, her dark eyes alight with the Fae spark as her blade flashed. Finnead and the Vaelanseld fought by her side, whirling about her like comets caught in her orbit. Robin fought next to me, his hair gleaming scarlet in the light of my taebramh. I fought with the blade bearing the names of our dead, the Sword still sheathed on my back, but the Caedbranr’s power roared down my arm and into my weapon. My muscles burned and sweat ran down my face—I still had to swing the blade, but any creature it touched fell away shrieking as white flames engulfed their misshapen bodies. Along with my burning-white power, I saw sparks of cobalt and gold and scarlet, erupting like deadly fireworks as the queens incinerated other creatures.

Luca knifed through the tumult as though he were wading through water, throwing creatures aside bodily, unleashing formidable kicks when both his broad blades were occupied. For a moment when I glimpsed him, I thought it was Kavoryk. There were too many creatures to kill for me to feel sadness at the mistake—the thought just appeared in my mind, and then it was gone, brushed away before the onslaught of a troll. In the whirling chaos, I saw my brother a few times, always within arm’s reach of his teammates, the four of them a deadly unit, shifting their formation fluidly. At one point, I beheaded a fanged toad that leapt at Quinn while his blade was buried in an ogre; he grinned at me in thanks and we both spun away to the next foe. The tide seemed neverending, and I thought that maybe we’d be here forever, eternally battling this ocean of twisted creatures. My lungs burned. I slipped in a pool of blood and fell, managing to keep my sword clear; a blur of mottled fur and claws hurtled into me, pinning me to the slick stones of the courtyard. I felt its hot breath on the back of my neck, but even as I steeled myself for the feel of its jaws piercing my skin, another form crashed into it, tearing it off me. One of the creature’s claws raked my back just below my neck, right at the edge of my armor; I gasped at the bright, hot pain but I lunged to my feet, sword held before me. Chael spared half a moment to clasp my shoulder encouragingly, turning from the disemboweled corpse of the creature. Rialla sprang over its dead bulk, a lithe silver streak in the shadows.

My awareness compressed into purely physical sensation, my mind empty of all thoughts. My body became the conduit for the Caedbranr, an instrument slicing through the waves of twisted beasts. For a time my arms and legs felt as though they were engulfed in flames, my muscles burning with exquisite pain as we continued to fight. Then I passed beyond tiredness into a kind of trance. It felt almost like a ritual: gore pooled blackly on the stones and blades flashed as warriors pivoted and danced, still graceful even in exhaustion. We pressed toward the great doors at the far side of the courtyard, every step forward hard-won. The beasts possessed no spark of intelligence; they hurled themselves at us one after the other, no sense of purpose or strategy uniting them. Their single-minded lust for blood was what saved us—finally, after what felt like hours of unswerving combat, every moment occupied by the fight for survival, the tide slackened. My war-markings blazed again as I spitted a skin-wraith and Robin beheaded it. My blade swung through empty air, no creature before its sharp edge. We panted and stared into the shadows, still half-crouched in our fighting stances. A few of the beasts skittered away into hidden passages. I straightened slowly and looked at Robin. He blinked a few times, swept the area around us with his gaze, and then gave me a tired grin.

One of the wolves howled, a long, loud proclamation of triumph and defiance. A few of the vyldgard warriors added their voices to the eerie sound. Goosebumps prickled across my sweaty skin. Some of the taebramh lights had flickered out during the battle, so I wove a large ball of light and launched it overhead, wincing as the cut on my back flashed suddenly with bright, hot pain.

The pale light from my taebramh washed over a scene of carnage. Those of us still on our feet stared at each other, almost unrecognizable under layers of spattered gore, our faces drawn with exhaustion. My breath caught in my throat as I counted the standing warriors: eighteen, not including the Queens. The courtyard pulsed with power; my eyes were drawn to Mab, the darkness about her swirling with stars and shimmering, icy green and blue. Donovan knelt before her, and she held a naked blade above his head, laid flat on her palms. Behind her, the lifeless eyes of the Unseelie knight who had been her Vaelanmavar stared sightlessly into the darkness. Emery lay beside him, his eyes closed, finally free from the ghosts that had haunted him since the Battle of the Royal Wood. I felt woodenly numb to the pain that I knew would crash over me later, when it was all over. For now, all I could acknowledge was a dreary satisfaction that I’d survived. My breath rasped in my throat, my chest aching emptily.

“Your brother and his comrades are alive,” said Luca. Several gashes stood out on his face and arms, but none of them looked serious from what I could see beneath the layers of filth staining his skin.

“Good,” I croaked, my dry throat protesting. At that news, at least, a spark of relief flared within me. Time seemed to undulate, stretching again into long moments as we took stock of our injured and dead. We didn’t have time for the proper rites; all those who could still hold a blade gathered around Vell and Titania. The two queens looked as blood-spattered as the rest of us, but no weariness strained their faces. I straightened my own shoulders at the sight. Mab finished baptizing Donovan as her new Vaelanmavar, the tight power about her suddenly vibrating and funneling into him. He took the Brighmavar without ceremony, the blade pulsing in his hand. Mab glided through the shadows and joined the other two queens before the massive gate in the wall of the courtyard. Titania, her tawny skin glowing in the darkness, raised her sword. Niall and Ailin strode past their queen, their blades held alertly as they approached the oily blackness of the great arched gate.

A few of the shadows coalesced, and a cloaked figure rose bonelessly from the ground. My heart caught in my throat as I recognized the sorcerer who had trapped us on the bridge across the Darinwel. My lips drew back from my teeth in a snarl of wordless fury, my exhaustion forgotten; but before I could move, the sorcerer flicked his wrist and an invisible force slammed Ailin into the wall of the courtyard, his sword-arm caught at an impossible angle. Titania shouted a single word, her mellifluous voice bright with anger, and golden flames enveloped the sorcerer. Niall lunged forward and plunged his sword through its chest, heedless of the flames; and the cloak collapsed with a silent explosion that made us all stagger. A few stones tumbled from the walls of the courtyard.

Ailin regained his feet, sword held in his other hand, his face white but determined. Now more warriors joined the front rank: Finnead and Donovan, and others whose names I didn’t know. Their swords glinted in the darkness. I caught my orb overhead and sent it sailing through the gate. The doors gleamed wetly in the light, as though they were soaked in blood. I kicked the smoking cloak of the sorcerer vengefully as I passed through the archway, and Robin gave me a little grin, his hair bright as flame in the lingering shadows.

We walked down a long dark corridor, the silence strange to our ears after the chaos of the courtyard. My orb of light followed us overhead, and now and again we glimpsed something slithering in the deepest recesses of the shadows, but nothing attacked. My skin prickled uneasily. The corridor was wide, but we strode carefully down its middle. Another set of great doors came into sight at the end of the corridor. These gleamed white as bone, white as the staff thrust into Vell’s belt. Our small company stopped before the doors, shoulder to shoulder, swords held warily outward, eyes watching the shadows. These doors were barred, a great studded lock at their seam.

Vell strode up to the doors, gleaming even more brightly than Titania. A hazy aura followed her as she moved, wrapping even her blood-drenched blade in soft light. She took her ivory staff from her belt, the crown blazing against her dark hair as she gathered herself and then thrust her staff into the gaping mouth of the great gray lock. The doors bowed outward, flexing as though from a great pressure within, and most of us instinctively shielded our faces—but Vell shouted a word and wrenched her staff, and the great doors exploded away from her, sharp shards arrowing away into the darkness beyond. Screeches and howls warned us that more creatures awaited us beyond the doors—and some had been unlucky enough to catch the spear-like remnants of the great doors.

“The only way out is through, and the only way through is forward,” said the High Queen, her voice not loud but echoing all the same, and she stepped past the doors into the darkness. We raised our blades and followed. I switched my plain blade into my left hand, and gripped the hilt of the Caedbranr with my right hand, its power surging and blazing brightly through my war-markings. My hands ached, and the cut on my back stung with sweat.

We stepped through the shattered doors and into what seemed to be a great cavern. Ghostly lights flickered in its far reaches, and my skin crawled as I saw the ranks upon ranks of foul creatures gibbering and hissing at us from the shadows, an echo of what we had faced in the courtyard. A cold malevolence squeezed our chests, a feeling separate from us but beckoning to our deepest fears. Our breath plumed in white mist before us.

“Why do they not attack?” Robin muttered from my side.

“Because he does not command them to attack,” replied Luca, his blazing blue eyes fixed on something in the center of the great cavern. I followed his gaze and a thrill coursed through me as I picked out the figure sitting on the throne, wrapped in the darkest of shadows. My orb of light still hovered overhead, and I sent it forward with a flick of my wrist. The terrible sounds of the creatures in the shadows intensified, and one cadengriff lunged out of the darkness, closing its jaws around a fighter’s arm; the three wolves immediately attacked, Beryk at its throat and Kianryk sinking his teeth into its belly, Rialla shredding its wings with single-minded ferocity. The fighter’s shout still echoed against the walls of the dark cavern as the creature coughed its last breath in a spray of blood. The other creatures howled, a cacophony rising about us, but they surged and roiled in the shadows, trampling each other in their bloodlust but not attacking.

The shadows coiled about the Dark Throne laughed at the light of my orb, twisting and twining like a great nest of snakes. The Three Queens together shone with a heartening and pure light. The silver glow of the star in Mab’s crown enveloped her, and golden rays emanated from Titania, rippling outward from the Seelie Queen like waves in a lake. And Vell shone with a light that tied both of the Sidhe Queens together, a light born from both the cold beauty of the brightly burning stars and the dancing heat of a midsummer sun. The Queens’ light pushed back the shadows and made it easier to breathe. The cold still prickled upon our skin. I thought dazedly that I hadn’t been this cold since my fall into the Darinwel.

My feet moved of their own accord, and the pendant at my throat heated, chasing away some of the iciness from the air about me. I knew in my bones that the Three Queens would bind Malravenar, but it was my place to face him. I sheathed my gore-spattered plain blade; I wouldn’t need it for this fight. I slid past Vell, her light bathing my skin. The sting of the cut on my back faded, and I felt a little less tired. My war-markings blazed and my footsteps echoed, each loud as the strike of a hammer. Every step took more effort than the last. Gwyneth’s pendant began to glow like a live ember at my throat, the rubies pulsing with the beat of my heart. I emptied my mind of everything except placing one foot in front of the other, until I stood alone before the dais of the Dark Throne.

My hand again found the hilt of the Caedbranr, and when my skin touched the Sword, the shadows suddenly parted before my eyes. The Sword leapt eagerly beneath my touch, its power whirling up to meet mine, crashing like an ocean wave in my chest. I looked up at Malravenar sitting upon his Dark Throne and drew the Sword from its sheath. When I released my hold on the Caedbranr’s power, the blazing blade sent a shock wave of blinding light into the darkest reaches of the cavern.

Malravenar stood langorously, his hands caressing the skulls set into the dark glittering stone of his throne. Though the power of the Sword cut through the shadows, my vision still blurred when I tried to focus on him. He was taller than Luca, broad and muscular; or he might have been shorter than me, slim as a boy. One instant he wore gleaming dark armor, made of the same shimmering dark substance as his throne; and the next he was dressed in a simple white shirt and dark pants, walking barefoot down the many steps of the dais. My head began to ache, but I gritted my teeth.

Malravenar stopped part of the way down the long straight stairs to his throne. He spread his arms, his face flickering first handsome and boyish, and then stately and aged. “I welcome you to the Dark Keep.” His voice was smooth and mellifluous, a sinuous darkness lurking beneath the beauty. He smiled, a sight terrifying and dazzling and savage all at once. “My honored guests, how I have longed for this day.”

The shadows coalesced around us again, beat back by the radiance of the Sword and the Queens, but behind us I heard our warriors gasping, fighting to draw breath.

“You have brought fine brave warriors with you into the heart of my domain.” Malravenar smiled again, and my eyes watered. I fought the urge to drop my blades and cover my ears to block out that silky, slithering voice. “Yet as much as I have enjoyed our games of war, you had only but to ask, beautiful maidens, and I would have opened my gates to you.”

“Opened your gates in exchange for our blood,” said Vell. Her voice sounded harsh and ugly after the perfect beauty of Malravenar’s words, like the croaking of a crow after a nightengale’s song.

“A small token of your allegiance,” acknowledged Malravenar with a graceful nod, descending the steps again. The shadows swirled around him like fog. I thought dreamily that he looked sleek as a panther prowling toward his prey…elegant and dark. “And after opening my gates to you, I will open another Gate.”

We stared up at him, transfixed—all of us, the Queens and me, as our warriors struggled for breath behind us. In a haze I thought that it would be easier if they would lie down quietly—what use was there in fighting this magnificent Dark being?

The Caedbranr flared, and its power bit me, or slapped me, I wasn’t sure which, hard enough to make me stumble to one side. I almost fell, but I dropped my plain blade with a crash and put out a hand, and there was a warm tawny body beneath my palm. The sudden movement sent a sharp lance of pain across my back. I dragged in a ragged gasp and straightened, my left hand still wrapped in Kianryk’s pelt. It hurt not to give in to the glamour about Malravenar: every breath felt like I drew in a mouthful of icy water, thick and stinging; my eyes ached and I tasted blood on my tongue. But I anchored myself with the feel of the great wolf beneath my hand, the blaze of the Sword, and the pain radiating hotly across my back.

“We have come to destroy you,” I rasped, my lips dry and cracked from the aching cold. I heard one of the queens stir behind me. With a monumental effort, I raised my chin and forced one of my legs forward. Kianryk moved with me, his great head bowed as though he walked into a mighty wind.

Malravenar looked at me and laughed, the sound shaking the distant vault overhead. I screamed as his voice sent daggers of pain lancing through my head, but I couldn’t hear myself over the great thunder of his laughter. A few of our company went to their knees and then fell, and didn’t move. My war-markings blazed so intensely that curls of smoke rose from my shirtsleeve, and the pendant at my throat seemed to melt into my skin. The Caedbranr strained forward, toward Malravenar, dragging three more steps from my frozen feet. A slim figure breezed past me, passing so quickly that I thought I’d imagined it, a shadow; something stung my arm, and then Malravenar stood at the bottom of the steps. The rolling echoes of his laughter faded. My hands ached and a single thought floated through my dumbstruck mind: We were wrong to think we could match his strength.

At that thought, the Sword dug a tendril of power into the cut on the back of my neck. Force him to focus on you, the ancient weapon commanded.

Break his hold on the Queens! cried Gwyneth and the Bearers in the back of my mind. He has your blood, and his servant goes to take theirs!

And so I let go of Kianryk, and I stepped forward again. I raised the Sword, and I said hoarsely, “You are not so powerful, when a mere mortal girl still stands before you.” My throat felt like it was on fire, but I smiled mockingly, feeling my lips crack. My limbs ached as I spread my arms in sardonic imitation of his earlier gesture. “I have said I come to destroy you, and yet here I am.”

Malravenar stood before me, an arm’s length away, no longer flickering between one guise and the next. He was about my own height, his features fine and delicate, a long straight nose and full lips that would not have been out of place on a beautiful woman’s face. The whites of his eyes were very white, his pupils very black, and the irises a red ring around them, dark as dried blood. His skin was the bluish gray of the dead, his lips tinged blue like those of a drowned corpse. He smelled sharply of hot metal—the scent reminded me of something that I couldn’t quite grasp.

The Sword blazed, but he stepped past it as I stared, frozen once again, and he reached up with one long-fingered hand to touch my face. I tried to scream but his eyes engulfed me, and the feel of his hand burning against my cheek faded. He reached into me and scooped out my spirit with his other hand, delicately; my Walker-form tried to writhe away, but he held me firm.

“This hurts less if you stop struggling,” he said in a voice that could have even been gentle, and now his words were only for me. I couldn’t have called them silent, because his voice enveloped me, but vaguely I sensed Vell and Titania and Mab stirring, then beginning to move even as my awareness of them faded. The great vaulted room dropped away. Malravenar and I stood opposite each other in an ordinary room, a fire flickering in the hearth. I realized with a jolt that the room wasn’t ordinary—every object within it, the table and two chairs, the cups on the table, the floor and walls, they were all composed of the same dark matter as the Dark Throne.

The Sword was no longer in my hand. Gwyneth’s pendant no longer pulsed at my throat. I faced Malravenar in a room of his own making, stripped of my weapons. I swallowed and turned to face him.

“Shall we sit?” he asked courteously.

“Bite me,” I snapped, crossing my arms.

Malravenar tilted his head and smiled. “I had forgotten the amusing tendency of mortals to show bravado in the face of an unwinnable enterprise.” His face darkened. “I could make you sit, if it pleased me.”

“If it pleased you,” I repeated mockingly, finding it easier to think when I was hurling epithets. “I doubt anything pleases you, you overbearing asshole.”

“Sit, and stop being rude,” Malravenar said mildly. I blinked. I was sitting in the chair before the fire, my legs crossed demurely, a cup of tea held delicately in my hand. Malravenar sat in the other chair, stirring his own tea with a gleaming little spoon. A thrill of fear coursed through me. “This is a much quieter place to discuss important matters.”

In my Walker-form, I didn’t have my heartbeat thundering in my ears, or the comforting sound of my own breath. I felt my own taebramh faintly, like the twinkle of a faraway star. There was only the hollow snap and crackle of the sparkling dark flames.

“Now,” said the Dark Lord, as if we were merely discussing the weather over a friendly cup of tea. “Tell me, Lady Bearer, do you truly wish to die?” When he pronounced my title, he made it sound as though he was humoring a child, a gently forbearing tone that both kindled a little spark of anger and deepened the fear rushing through my chest. The hand that held my teacup shook slightly. Malravenar continued without waiting for an answer. “I suppose that is a rhetorical question. I have not met many who wish to die, though your dark-haired knight reeks of his own self-loathing and is as close to it as I’ve seen.” He sipped at his cup contemplatively. I glanced down into the cup I still held dumbly in my hand—I couldn’t seem to put it down—and saw that it held not tea, but an inky liquid that gleamed with an oily darkness. It could have been blood, or it could have been shadow itself.

“If I must die, then I will,” I said. My hand shook so badly that the liquid in the cup sloshed over the side and onto my leg. Malravenar tsk-ed softly and took the cup from my hand, setting it on the table again. Here his skin was not the color of death, just incredibly pale—like Mab or any of her Unseelie knights. The spilled liquid spread in a warm dark stain over my thigh.

“There are few times when anyone must die,” said Malravenar. His eyes were still the color of dried blood, I noticed. “And I would find it distasteful to kill you.” He reached out and tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “In a way, you remind me of my own daughter. Willful, and sometimes disobedient.” He looked at me consideringly. “And your own father is dead.”

“You could never replace my father,” I said between clenched teeth.

“Oh, but I could,” he replied, and the air shimmered. Suddenly I wasn’t sitting in a darkly glimmering room but in the kitchen of my childhood home, and sitting across the table from me was my father. A strange and painful recognition surged through me, so intense that I had to blink away tears.

“This isn’t real,” I gritted out, clenching my jaw.

Malravenar, wearing my father’s face, smiled gently at me. Smiled my father’s smile, the one that didn’t show any teeth, the one that he only used when he spoke to Liam or me. I’d almost forgotten that smile, because photos hadn’t captured it; it lived in the recesses of my childhood memories, slightly foggy, the recollection fading with time.

“Oh, but it could be real,” my father said, the crow’s-feet at the corners of his eyes crinkling. He reached out and took one of my hands in his own.

“Your hands aren’t as big as I remember,” I murmured, staring down at my father’s hands clasped about mine on the well-used, scarred surface of our kitchen table.

“Because you’ve grown up, Bug,” he replied.

My breath caught in my chest. My throat ached. “Dad, I miss you so much.” Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes as I withdrew my hand from his and pushed my chair back from the kitchen table. I swallowed hard. “But you’re dead, and this isn’t real.”

My father leaned back in his chair. “Who’s to say what’s real and what isn’t?” He stood and put his hands on my shoulder. I felt the warm weight of his palms through my shirt. “Look at you, all grown up. Taller than your mother now, I think.”

I jerked back. “Stop. Just…stop.”

“Why?” Dad shook his head. “Why don’t you want to stay here with us, Tess?”

When he said “us,” my mother walked into the kitchen, holding Lila’s leash in one hand and her tennis shoes in the other. The golden retriever trotted happily after her, tail wagging furiously in anticipation of a walk. My mother looked up and flashed us a smile—the kind of smile that I hadn’t seen on her face since my dad died. Genuine. Happy.

“Because you’re not real,” I repeated, but the kitchen table felt incredibly solid when I put my hand down to steady myself.

“We are real if you want us,” my dad said warmly. “Just say the word.”

I took a deep breath, even though my Walker-form didn’t need to breathe. My hands tingled. “What word is that?”

My dad stepped closer, so close that I could smell the mingled scents of Old Spice aftershave and sawdust from his workshop. My eyes stung again. “Just stop fighting, Tess. Just stop fighting, and stay here with us.”

Stop fighting. I instinctively recoiled, even as the ache in my chest intensified. How many times had I dreamed about something this simple…and this impossible? I couldn’t count the times I imagined that I’d come in the door after a day of school and my dad would be at the kitchen table, drinking black coffee from a cracked mug and reading the newspaper. A strange fog blanketed my mind, but I shook my head all the same. “I can’t. I don’t…I can’t remember exactly why. But I know there’s people who need me, and I can’t let them down.”

“Let them take care of themselves,” my dad said gently.

I blinked. And then I smiled slowly. “That’s how I know you’re not real.”

The figure wearing my father’s face stood tall and impossibly straight, watching me with suddenly cold eyes.

“Where do you think Liam and I learned that we were supposed to take care of each other, and other people?” I shook my head. “You’re not my dad, and this isn’t real.” I pushed away from the table, and walked quickly through the house, ignoring Lila’s happy bark as she frolicked around my legs and my mom’s querying voice. I wrenched open the front door, stepped outside…

…And walked back into the darkly glimmering room, Malravenar still seated before the fire. I placed my hands on the back of my empty chair, knowing that he could probably force me to sit again but daring him to do it.

“You are so needlessly stubborn,” he said, staring into the fire. He placed his cup on the table and stood, facing me again. “Just remember that their blood is on your hands.”

The room faded, and we floated now near the vaulted upper reaches of the cavernous dark throne room, looking down at a roiling mass of Dark creatures, frothing around a handful of shining figures. I struggled to dive back down into my body, but Malravenar only chuckled.

“Perhaps if you watch a few die, you will change your mind,” he said, watching the battle with detached interest. He smiled as he watched a slim cloaked figure moving about a stone altar; from this height, I recognized the pattern of a circle and complex laid into the ground beneath the altar, the symbols darkened with age and nearly indistinguishable now but from above: the Great Seal. The hood of the slim figure fell away and I stared at the harrowed face of the Unseelie princess, too distant to see clearly; but I was still left with an impression of terrible sacrilege, blasphemy against the purity that had once inhabited the princess. And then I saw that she had set wards of iron around the Great Seal, gleaming darkly. How she endured them with her Side origins, I couldn’t guess, but none of our warriors would be able to pass the wards to stop her…none of our warriors except for my brother and his teammates.

I wrenched my eyes from the stone altar, though Malravenar continued to watch with expectant pride, like a teacher watching a pupil perform a difficult task. He didn’t see, as I saw, that the three Queens were no longer frozen. They moved as though against a gale, but Titania and Mab had reached the eastern and western points of the compass, only a few paces from Malravenar’s still figure. He stood immobile, his hand still on my cheek. Vell knocked several Dark creatures aside with her white staff, and decapitated a skin-wraith without so much as a glance.

Keep his focus. It was just a whisper, but I heard it.

“Change my mind about what?” I said. Malravenar looked at me. “I can’t consider it if I don’t know what you’re asking.”

Malravenar smiled with that terrifying beauty. “Not only stubborn but slow.”

“It’s hard to think when you’re being assaulted on all sides by shadows and blood,” I retorted.

“On the contrary, that is when you should think the clearest,” the Enemy replied. “But I will elucidate.” He held my eyes with his own.

A few more moments, murmured the Sword, or Gwyneth.

“Join me,” he said, all his dark magnificence shining in his words. Somehow even in his insubstantial form, he seemed more, and the shadows coiling about him only underlined his splendor. “With me you shall be a darkly burning flame, and you will consume all.” A seductive image rose before my eyes: myself, imbued with a strange otherworldly beauty, my hair not golden but black as night, a nimbus of darkness about my face as I raised a black blade in my hand, shimmering with a fire that did not produce light but drew it into itself and devoured it. Malravenar’s words wrapped about me as I stared, transfixed, at this eclipse of myself. “You shall be the dark goddess of this world, feared and worshipped above all others.”

Then as I stared at the shimmering vision, several things happened all at once: in the peculiar way of a child hearing its parent’s voice, I heard Liam cry out in the battle below. The vision dissipated and I turned, desperately trying to see my brother in the churning chaos. Malravenar hissed in displeasure and I felt him begin to pull me back toward the dark room—or perhaps a dark dungeon. A small slim figure broke through the roiling lines of Dark creatures, running toward Malravenar’s body with an odd stilted gait. I fought his inexorable gravity with all the strength I had left, and then Arcana reached up with one child-small hand and wrenched his grip from my body.

I hurtled down through the shadows and slammed back into myself, falling backward with the force of my reentry. Copper sparks flew from Arcana’s hand where she gripped Malravenar, the smell of hot metal overwhelming and acrid. I tried to regain my feet and slipped in blood—not my own, but everywhere blood and gore pooled blackly on the dark stones.

“Enough,” Arcana said, looking incredibly small as she tilted her head up to meet Malravenar’s eyes.

He laughed, but it was not the overwhelming thunderous laugh that knocked us all senseless. I thought I saw a glint in his eye. “I should have known you would ally yourself with these meddling children.”

“They are my children,” said the Morrigan clearly, sparks drifting around her, creating a hazy copper aura.

“You had a child once,” replied Malravenar. “My child.”

“And she died. As you should have let her rest in peace, so should I have guessed that you would walk this dark path.”

I finally struggled to my feet with the undignified use of the Caedbranr as a crutch. I coughed and tasted blood in the back of my throat. The battle still swirled around us, but there were enough of our fighters to keep this small circle protected. I glimpsed Robin, gore smeared across his face, fighting side by side with Sage; and Finnead, the Brighbranr gleaming blue in his hand. But that was all I saw before I turned back to Malravenar.

Your stone, Tess! It was Vell’s voice in my mind this time; I fought the urge to laugh and fling my arms wide and invite all comers into my head—was there anyone who hadn’t spoken silently in my mind? My fingers didn’t want to work. Every part of me ached, but I finally loosened the strings of my beltpouch, slid clumsy fingers inside, and palmed the smooth cool riverstone. I stood opposite Vell, at the fourth point of the compass. The diamond was a bit lopsided, I thought grimly, but it would have to do. I placed my stone on the bloody ground, and something shuddered in the air.

“You think to trap me?” thundered Malravenar, his gaze snapping from the Morrigan to me. He knocked Arcana aside and she skidded across the stones, coming to rest in a still heap near Mab. The Unseelie Queen didn’t flinch, her mouth moving steadily in an incantation. The stone I’d just placed on the ground trembled, and then began to rattle against the floor.

“You think to trap me,” repeated Malravenar, in an amused voice, “but you will still lose this battle. The Gate will open.” And he looked over into the shadows, drawing them back like a curtain, to the small altar at the foot of his dais. A slim hooded figure stood before the altar, holding a shining black cup. A chill crawled down my spine: our blood was already in the cup. The figure I’d thought I’d imagined—the one that had breezed past me, toward the Queens…it had been the Dark Archer. The crown princess.

“You have brought me all I need,” said Malravenar silkily.

“Stop her!” I shouted, and my voice echoed, amplified by the Caedbranr’s power. Even as the queens continued their incantation, and the stones began to glow, the cloaked figure held the cup of blood above her head. I saw Liam and Duke, fighting their way toward the black altar; and Luca, leaping through the battle as though he had wings. My brother reached the cloaked figure first, his blade raised. The air shimmered, or flickered. I didn’t see the princess move, but Liam clutched at the dagger that appeared in his side. I closed my teeth on the scream that bubbled up through my throat. Liam fell. Duke leapt over him, but with a flick of her wrist the cloaked figure slammed him against the base of the altar. He crumpled into a motionless heap. Luca ran toward the altar just as the princess poured the blood from the black goblet; the Great Seal cracked and a burst of darkness sucked all the light out of the cavernous room. All of it happened in an instant.

For the space of a single heartbeat we floated in that blackness, and then blood and shadows and light rushed back. The riverstones shone like miniature suns, and a dark hole as black as they were bright engulfed the dark altar, swallowing Duke’s still form even as Luca reached him and caught hold of his arm. I felt like my heart stopped as Luca disappeared—he was there and then he was gone, and now the Gate pulled my brother toward its maw. Merrick, his face pale, dove past the iron wards and caught Liam by the shoulder as the blackness engulfed his legs. Jess ran to his teammate’s side, his face grim as he heaved Liam up and they struggled against the pull of the Gate. I couldn’t see Merrick anymore—one moment he was helping Jess pull Liam free, and then he slipped. My vision wavered. I saw forms rushing toward and away from the shimmering, shifting blackness. The ground shook beneath our feet. It felt as though the seams of the world were giving way, and we were seeing into the brightness and darkness of eternity. Malravenar raised his hands and laughed, and then I heard Vell scream, “Now, Tess! Now!”

The Caedbranr’s fire exploded within me, white fire drowning my vision. I took one step forward, and then another, thinking sluggishly that my body felt as heavy as a sack of stones. As Malravenar exulted, I raised the Sword in both hands and thrust it squarely through his chest.

Chapter 39

Malravenar’s body offered surprisingly little resistance, the Caedbranr cleaving through him up to its hilt. The Sword blazed, the blade lost within the bonfire of leaping white flames. I fell to my knees, watching dazedly, feeling the pull of power from within my own chest feeding the inferno. My sleeve caught fire, but it didn’t burn me. I was fire. I felt it leaping and twisting, biting at the Enemy’s physical body.

Malravenar stopped laughing, and though the flames raged around him, I watched in quiet fascination as his hands went to the hilt of the Sword. He tried to pull it out of himself and failed, the blade sticking fast in his chest. His beautiful face twisted in sudden realization as the fire devoured him, his gray skin darkening and crackling, revealing bone as black as pitch beneath his flesh. The fire whirled and screamed in triumph as he opened his skeletal teeth in a soundless howl. Hot gray ash whirled through the air as Malravenar’s bones crumbled. A writhing shadow remained, spitted on the Sword. I crawled forward, my hands dark with blood and dust. Then the three Queens stood around the shadow with me, the two Sidhe queens with their swords in their hands, and Vell with her ivory staff. Wind swirled around us, echoing the shade’s struggles. I reached out, grasped the Sword, and again levered myself to my feet. Dimly I became aware that a wall of white fire burned around us. The three Queens blazed with their own power: night and day stretched above us, and snow swirled in the air. As one, they said words foreign to my ears, but their voices vibrated through my bones with their power; and as one, they struck down into the shade of Malravenar with their blades and ivory staff.

The shade shrieked, cleaved into four pieces. Each blot of darkness sped to a corner of the diamond, sucked neatly into the four stones. The cavern rumbled and shuddered, and I thought tiredly amidst the Dark creature’s shrieks of despair that I didn’t have the energy to escape a tumbledown throne room again. The wall of white fire collapsed, incinerating a few creatures; and then Vell and Mab plunged into the waning battle, Vell striking creatures with her staff and her blade, yelling Northern war-cries and wearing a fierce smile. Mab carved a path toward the shuddering, shimmering black hole that was the Gate, still plucking at the seams of reality, still drinking in the light around it. The Unseelie Queen seemed to grow taller as she approached the Great Seal. She walked regally around the edge of the Gate, and brought her sword down squarely on the dark altar, cracking it in two. There was no great wind or silent explosion. The Gate simply disappeared, the cloth of reality smoothing back into place, and no crack remained in the Seal.

With the binding of Malravenar and the closing of the Gate, the earth stopped trembling. The shadows retreated, losing their malevolence, becoming merely shadows. Some of the remaining Dark creatures slunk away into the recesses of the room, and the warriors who remained on their feet slew the rest, grimly. Titania touched my arm, holding out one of the river-stones to me. I took it, and it felt strangely heavy. Runes rippled across its surface. I wished that I didn’t have to touch something that contained part of Malravenar’s spirit, but it was an ordinary sort of disgust, like watching a particularly ugly spider from the opposite side of a window. I slipped the stone into my belt-pouch wearily with my left hand, my right still gripping the Sword.

Quinn approached me at a limping run, blood darkening one of his knees. “Tess, you need to come. Now.”

I remembered suddenly the dagger in Liam’s side and felt like I was going to be sick. The Sword, quiet and spent, stirred enough to send a ripple of power through me, enough that I lifted its blade and clumsily sheathed it, hissing as my hand peeled bloodily from the hilt. I reached out to Quinn, and he grabbed my arm. We hobbled through the field of fallen Dark creatures and pale motionless faces of our dead—I forced myself not to look, not until Quinn pulled me to a stop and there was Liam, lying on the ground a short distance from the broken altar. I fell to my knees beside him. Jess had already ripped Liam’s shirt away, pressing the wad of cloth around the dagger that protruded from Liam’s ribs.

“Where’s Duke? Where’s Sage?” I asked hoarsely, recalling only after I spoke that Duke had disappeared through the Gate. “They should be working on him…they should be…” My words ran dry as no one answered.

“I’ll find Sage,” said Quinn, gripping my shoulder. Jess remained silent, staring at the dagger that rose and fell with each ragged breath that passed my brother’s lips.

“Liam.” I gripped his shoulder, stared down at his pale face and tried not to hear the rattle in his chest. “Hey, it’s me.” I tried to push back the tears in my eyes, even as I reached for my own taebramh.

No, said the Caedbranr almost gently. You have just imprisoned one necromancer.

Liam opened his eyes, just barely, just enough for me to see their green glimmer. His lips moved but he couldn’t piece together enough breath to speak. I grabbed his hand. “Don’t try to talk. It’s okay. One of the healers will put you back together.” I tried to smile encouragingly and failed. Jess looked at me over my brother’s chest, lines deepening around his mouth as he shook his head.

Over Jess’s shoulder, I glimpsed Finnead, bent over the prone form of the Unseelie princess. The Dark Archer. The one who’d stabbed Liam. I felt my lips draw back from my teeth in a wordless snarl, but before I could say anything, Liam’s hand moved beneath mine. I turned my attention back to my brother. He struggled to breathe, and I watched him helplessly, trying to recall any sort of healing knowledge that would be useful in this moment.

Jess swore under his breath. “Have to take this dagger out.”

“He might bleed to death,” I protested.

“He’s already dying because he can’t breathe,” the older man said unshakeably. “Hold him.”

I gritted my teeth and held Liam’s shoulder. Jess steeled himself and drew out the dagger in one quick motion. Liam shuddered, and Jess pressed down again on the makeshift bandage.

“He is dying.” The Morrigan stood at Liam’s feet, gazing down at him as he gasped and jerked. “He cannot hear our words anymore.”

“Get away from him,” I snapped. Arcana met my eyes, and for the first time I saw a flicker of something like emotion on her face. She looked…weary. One of her arms was charred to the elbow—the hand that she’d used to grip Malravenar. The copper sparks drifting from her mouth spilled over her lips slowly, like oozing threads of blood.

“Do you wish me to leave when I may save him?” she asked in her level voice. I saw Jess swallow hard, watching the strange woman-child out of the corner of his eye.

“No,” I said vehemently, startling myself with the passion in my words. “I will not let you wear his body. No.” Liam coughed. Pink foam flecked his blue lips. I clenched my jaw as hot tears spilled down my face. I looked back up at Arcana. “I would rather he die in peace than have his body worn by you.”

“I will not be wearing his body. I will heal his body,” the Morrigan replied.

“We just imprisoned one necromancer,” I said, the Sword’s words rising readily to my lips.

“It will not be through necromancy. It will be a fair trade,” said the remnant of a deity. “Your brother will probably inherit some of my power, and maybe a distant echo of me in his head. But I am weary of this world, as the one who gave me this body was, and I will trade what is left of my life for his.” She tilted her head in that eerie copy of natural motion. “Is death preferable still?”

Jess reached over and grabbed Liam’s face, too urgent to be gentle. “Hey. Hey, boss, stay with us.”

“You’re one of Vell’s Three,” I said to Arcana, even as I watched Liam’s face turn paler and heard his breath slow.

“So he shall be one of her Three,” she replied, undeterred.

And then Vell was there, a terrible fear in her eyes beneath her regal bearing, her blade and her staff stained with gore. Her golden eyes found mine and she nodded.

“Tess,” Jess said warningly, “he’s going.”

“You must choose now,” said Arcana. I gripped my brother’s hand and looked down at his still face.

“Do it,” I said through numb lips.

“Back. All of you,” said the Morrigan as she advanced. Though revulsion flickered across Jess’s face, he was slow to leave his teammate, as I was slow to release my brother’s hand. Vell grabbed my shoulder and pulled me away as an alien power rippled through the air. Liam shuddered and choked. Arcana pressed her hand against his side and then lapped up his blood from her palm. Vell stiffened beside me—feeling the proceedings through her link with Arcana, I guessed.

It was over quickly. Copper sparks coalesced into a jagged shard of light, which slid like another dagger into the wound in Liam’s side. My brother jerked, Arcana smiled beatifically and held out her hands to someone we couldn’t see, and then she slumped to the side. Vell closed her eyes and swayed suddenly, but then Liam coughed and color rushed back into his face. The High Queen took a deep breath, opened her eyes and gave me a nod.

Jess peeled away the blood-soaked remnants of Liam’s shirt from his side, and there was no wound but a scar that gleamed copper against his skin. I sagged in relief.

“Thank you,” I said to Vell shakily.

“It was the Morrigan who offered. Even I could not have forced her to that,” she replied. Then she raised one eyebrow, a gleam of humor in her tired eyes. “And besides, did you think you’re the only one who loves Liam?”

I smiled a little at that, and then the clutching fear surged back as her words reminded me of Luca. “Where’s Luca?” I cast about, looking at the corpses surrounding us with a shudder. Most were Dark creatures, with one Seelie and one Unseelie fighter whom I didn’t know by sight. Somehow, even though I’d seen him disappear, I expected Luca to appear out of the shadows.

“He got…sucked through.” Liam sat up with a grimace, Jess helping him but watching him warily all the same.

“I…I saw, but that doesn’t mean…” I grasped at words, my voice failing.

“The black hole. Whatever it was. He tried to push me clear and get to Duke, and it sucked him through. And your navigator too, I think.” Liam prodded his side experimentally, his surprise turning into thoughtfulness as a bit of copper gleam escaped his lips.

I swallowed hard. “Well, at least they’re not dead.”

Vell looked away at my words. “They might be,” the High Queen said.

“No,” I said fiercely. “They went through the Gate into the mortal world.” I stood, and touched the hilt of the Sword over my shoulder, feeling its comforting solidity beneath my fingers. “So we’ll open the Great Gate again, and I’ll go through to get them.”

“It is not so simple,” said Mab, striding over to us with her star diadem shining brightly.

“Oh, it’s very simple in my estimation,” I retorted. “Malravenar is gone. Imprisoned,” I amended. “And those three fought for us. They helped us do that. We owe it to them.” I looked behind Mab to where Finnead gathered the limp cloaked form into his arms. “And if you can expend power to try to save someone who might be beyond reach, then so can I.” I looked Mab squarely in the eyes, catching the spasm of anger that crossed her face.

“For now,” said Vell, touching my elbow, “we must focus on our wounded, and return to our army.” Beryk appeared at her side, his dark fur matted in several places with gore. Kianryk loped over to the dark altar, sniffed at it and showed his teeth to it; but he kept scenting the air restlessly where the Gate had opened. He whined low in his throat and looked about the cavern, then settled on the ground in the middle of the Seal, laying his head on his paws.

“For now,” I agreed heavily. I looked at Mab and then I looked at Vell. “I won’t stop until I bring them home.”

Vell smiled a little. “I’d expect nothing less.” Her hand drifted to Beryk’s head, and then she called out to Kianryk in the Northern tongue. He raised his head and then hesitantly left his post, glancing back at the bare ground as though he, too, expected Luca to appear at any moment. My chest ached. “I will help you. Luca and Merrick are both my people still.”

I nodded silently, and then we set about the grim task of finding the wounded and counting the dead. Of the thirty warriors we’d brought through the portal, twelve remained. Sage survived, but would likely never raise a blade in his right hand again. Mab’s Vaelanseld lay unconscious from grave injuries, and the wound Ailin had taken from the Dark sorcerer in the courtyard worried Titania.

I didn’t miss Liam’s look of relief when Quinn waded back through the carnage to report that the way out of the Dark Keep looked clear. The tattooed man looked slightly confused and a bit suspicious when he saw Liam on his feet, but then he just shrugged and accepted it as one of the many implausible things he’d seen since crossing into this strange world. Vell talked quietly with Liam for a few moments. I watched my brother’s face as I bandaged Quinn’s knee. His eyes widened briefly, but Liam seemed to accept his new position without much need for clarification. I gave him a hard, wordless hug, and he ruffled my hair as I ducked away. But despite my happiness at Liam’s wholeness, I still felt bone-weary, somehow more tired than after I’d crowned Vell in Brightvale. I felt…empty.

“Shouldn’t we be hastening to the White City to help the rest of the army?” I asked Vell as the survivors carried their fallen comrades to a clear space in the center of the room. A group of warriors traveled to the courtyard and brought the bodies of those who had died there to the bier before the Great Seal. Seelie, Unseelie and Wild Court laid side by side in death. I watched Robin and another member of the vyldgard carry Elwyn’s still body reverently. My throat tightened.

“We spent far longer here than we realized,” said Vell without elaborating. “The battle is won, but at great cost.” She smiled humorlessly. “Sometimes the connections between a Queen and her Three are useful.”

We burned the bodies of our fallen, watching the smoke rise whitely into the dark cavern. Vell sang her wild Northern song, and her remaining handful of vyldgard joined her, their voices echoing through the shadows. Chael stood between Rialla and Beryk, his amethyst eye traveling every few moments to where Kianryk lay mournfully on the Seal. I retrieved my plain blade from where I’d dropped it before the dais. I spoke each name to it softly, and then we bowed our heads for a long moment of silence. We left the funeral fires burning behind us, and I hoped vengefully that the fire would spread to the entire throne room and burn it to the ground. I felt the weight of the darkly glimmering stone in my belt pouch, heavy now with Malravenar’s struggling spirit; and I vowed silently that losing Luca would not be the price I paid for our victory. Beryk and Rialla glided over to the Seal and circled Kianryk, finally convincing the great tawny wolf to stand and follow them as we made our way out of the great cavern.

We found our way through the Dark Keep, which now just seemed a drafty old castle in disrepair, cobwebs spangling the corners of the halls, our footsteps raising dust as though no one had walked these halls in hundreds of years. I stayed beside Liam, reaching out every now and again to give him a one-armed hug, which he returned with the same fierce affection each time; Kianryk padded along beside Vell, but paused every so often to stare back toward the throne room. The tawny wolf seemed more confused than anguished, which I told myself meant that Luca was still alive, just not here. Beryk and Rialla flowed silently around him, touching him with their noses and padding through the shadows.

When we finally emerged from the front gates of the Dark Keep, sunlight poured around us. We staggered, blinking, into the brightness. The wolves slid away and disappeared. It felt like days had passed since we’d stepped through the portal. I thought of the sensation of wavering time in the courtyard, and the struggle through blood and shadows in the throne room. Perhaps it had been days. A small contingent awaited us, the banners of the three Courts flying gaily above the riders. As one, the riders dismounted, most of them lowering themselves down to one knee.

Gray stepped forward and bowed deeply to Vell, her golden hair bright in the sun, the wolf blazoned on her armor bisected by two new deep furrows from the claws of some Dark creature. Bandages bound one of her wrists and the opposite thigh, but she still moved gracefully. “My Queen,” she said, her eyes gleaming with love and pride, “we have brought your mounts, so that you may ride to your Court in victory.”

Vell smiled and put her hands on Gray’s shoulders. “You led the vyldgard well. It is your victory as well.”

Gray bowed again, and then she turned in my direction and touched her forehead in obeisance. “Lady Bearer.”

I nodded in acknowledgement, not trusting my voice; and with that, we found our mounts. Nehalim whinnied joyously when he caught sight of me; someone had painted him with bright cobalt designs. I wondered how long the battle had lasted…and for that matter, how long we’d stayed in the Dark Keep. I squinted suspiciously at the sun.

“How many days have we been gone?” I asked. Vell only smiled tiredly at me as she inspected her own fine-boned faehal. She grimaced at the scarlet trappings but resigned herself to it. Gray answered me instead.

“Three days, Lady Bearer. You’ve been gone for three days.”

I sighed and tapped the hilt of the Sword at my shoulder, unable to do anything but accept it. I glimpsed Finnead with the princess laid across the front of his saddle, her head resting on his shoulder; he’d kept the hood of her cloak drawn across her face, and his own face was grim. I felt a small, strange twinge of jealousy—at least he could hold the princess in his arms. The cut on my back ached in counterpoint to the pain in my chest as I thought of Luca, torn from his world and thrown through the Gate. I patted Nehalim and went to help the remnants of our party mount their faehal. Robin and I helped Sage onto his faehal. He gazed at me with slightly unfocused eyes, swaying in the saddle, his right arm bound to his chest in a makeshift sling. Then he grimaced and I grabbed his good shoulder as he almost fell from his mount.

“Don’t think I can…sit the saddle,” he gasped apologetically.

“I’ve got it,” said Robin, leaping lightly up behind the wounded Seelie.

I grasped Sage’s hand briefly. “You’ll be good as new in no time.”

“Might need a…nursemaid for a while,” he replied, struggling to keep his smile from turning into a grimace.

“You watched over me at the Hall,” I said, “so it would be only fair that I return the favor.” Then Sage leaned back against Robin and his smile faded as he closed his eyes, held securely by the red-haired vyldgard fighter.

It took the better part of an hour to ensure that our wounded were secure on their mounts. The sun settled into a red sky as we finally set out from the Dark Keep, the three Queens and I at the front of the formation. I’d balked, but Vell had insisted with characteristic stubbornness. So we rode side by side, the vyldgard banner raised proudly behind us with the standards of the Seelie and Unseelie Courts on either side. When we emerged from the shadows of the Dark Keep, Valkyrie appeared in the sky above us. There were only a handful of Valkyrie, and they, too, looked battleworn: nearly every mount had a broken pinion feather or long bloody scratches marring their fine gleaming coats, their riders bearing similar injuries.

“I’ll have to tell her about Merrick,” I murmured when I caught sight of Calliea on her winged mount.

“We all knew the dangers,” said Vell, but sorrow pressed lines into her face. Now in the light of the sunset, she looked tired, gore still staining her skin and shadows under her eyes. “It does not make it easier,” she added in a quieter voice, “but we all knew the dangers.”

And so, bloodstained and weary, the three Queens and the Bearer rode in victory from the Dark Keep, carrying their stones with the imprisoned spirit of the Enemy. The remnants of the army—and it was still a great army, despite the toll of the battle—had gathered on the plain before the White City. The ruins of the magnificent city rose a small distance from the base of the mountain on which the Dark Keep stood. A rocky path twisted down the side of the mountain, just wide enough for four mounts to walk abreast. Titania and Mab, like Vell, bore signs of the battle, but their ethereal beauty still shone even beneath the grime and gore. A great roar rose into the air when the warriors caught sight of their queens. Nehalim tossed his head and pranced, knowing very well when his rider was the one for whom the masses cheered. I listened to the sounds of celebration and felt the Sword’s power settle contentedly within my chest. I raised my face to feel the last rays of the sun on my skin and gave a great sigh. I was the Bearer of the Iron Sword, and I had vanquished the Enemy, but a long path still stretched before my feet.

“Don’t know about you, but I’ve had enough of this stately procession,” Vell said with a sudden grin, breaking into my solemn thoughts. The weariness on the vyldretning’s face fell away, and for an instant we were once again just a Northwoman and a slightly bedraggled mortal girl, riding together toward adventure. “Race you!” Vell shouted. She gave a Northern war cry and kicked her mount into a gallop, raising a cloud of dust behind them. Mab looked vaguely disapproving and Titania suppressed a smile.

“I suppose we shouldn’t let her win,” I said to Nehalim, who snorted in agreement. I leaned forward and he leapt into a gallop, following the High Queen into the light of the setting sun.

Author’s Note

The journey for Tess and me began on a winter day in Annapolis over six years ago when I was a midshipman. Both writing the books and my military experience has been an incredible voyage from the start. I hope that you, through joining Tess, feel like you’ve lived a little bit of the adventure too.

I’ve struggled with the idea of writing this Author’s Note for a while, so forgive me if I’m not as eloquent as most authors in their thanks. First and always, I have to thank my parents. Mom and Dad, words can’t describe my gratitude for your love and support, from when I was a bookworm kid with a penchant for writing stories to my days as a midshipman and then on to my first deployment as an ensign in the Navy and beyond. It’s meant the world to me to have your encouragement. To my brother and sister: thanks for being my original test audience, back when G.I. Joe and Barbie went on epic quests that I carefully crafted into elaborate stories. To Erin: from my best friend to my editor, you’ve been on this roller coaster with me from the start, and I can’t thank you enough for your steady guidance and sharp eye for nuance. To Krista Walsh, thank you for being my sounding board and fellow adventurer into the wilds of indie publishing. To all the rest of my friends, too numerous to name here, who reached out to me with support and encouragement on my creative journey, I appreciate all your kind words. And to the original Show Ponies, the Rough Sea Crew, thanks for accepting me as a “regular guy” and making sure I didn’t die while we were out having adventures on the high seas; you showed me the true meaning of camaraderie and teamwork. To the rest of my brothers and sisters in arms, watch each other’s backs and stand firm. It’s my honor and privilege to serve alongside you.

To the design team: Peter and Caroline at Bespoke Book Covers, Maureen Cutajar at Go Published Formatting Services, Ilana and the team at Nailed It! Media, and Joelle at Moxie Design Studios—thank you for your unflagging professionalism and unparalleled work ethic. I write the stories, but you all package them prettily and top them with a bow.

Finally, to my readers: I’m so very grateful for all of you. Your passion for reading and for my books has been my armor against self-doubt and uncertainty. I can only hope that I’ve given you equivalent joy through my writing. Since publishing my first novel independently in 2014, I have been giddy with excitement every time a new reader enthusiastically tells me their favorite character or their reaction at a certain scene; it’s been incredibly rewarding to connect with readers all over the world through social media. I can honestly say that the excitement still hasn’t dimmed and I look forward to many more years of our symbiotic relationship.

Now that I’ve said my thanks, I’d also like to say to everyone reading this book: go live your dream. Once upon a time, I was just a kid who read voraciously, wrote stories in black and white journal notebooks and dreamed of being an author one day. If you have a vision, if you have an adventure that calls to you in your blood and won’t let you go, even when you sleep—go after it. It will be hard at times, but it will also be incredibly joyful at others; it will be absolutely terrifying and indescribably wonderful. At the end of many years—perhaps at the end of all of your years— you’ll be able to say that you rose to the challenge and fought hard. All it takes is the decision one day to pursue that dream. Then wake up the next morning, and decide to pursue it again. And again. And again.

The brave may not live forever, but the cautious do not live at all. Be brave and leap.

Jocelyn A. Fox

28 March 2016

About the Author

Jocelyn A. Fox is the bestselling author of the epic fantasy novels The Iron Sword and The Crown of Bones, the first two books in The Fae War Chronicles. The Dark Throne is her third novel. She is in the military by day and an author by night; she likes dogs more than she likes most people, drinks too much coffee for her own good and is constantly looking for her next adventure in real life or in a good book.

She is constantly awed and humbled by the courage, tenacity and sacrifice of the men and women with whom she has the privilege of serving. Their fighting spirit and sense of fellowship inspire her every day, and her military experiences provide her with ample material to ground her fantasy world in the reality of the modern warrior.

You can find her at www.jocelynafox.com, or on the following platforms:

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www.facebook.com/author.jocelyn.a.fox

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Amazon Page:

www.amazon.com/Jocelyn-A.-Fox/e/B0051DX7G0