by Jocelyn Fox
“If you mean to ask me whether I’m crazy from what Ramel did, I don’t think I am,” she replied with a little smile. “Or if I am, I don’t realize it. Is that the same thing?”
Incredibly, Finnead heard himself chuckle. Ramel crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair. Molly’s smile widened as she looked fondly at Ramel, the heat from her earlier gaze only an echo in the depths of her eyes. She pulled her cloak tighter about her shoulders. She felt the cold more acutely than either of the Knights. Finnead supposed that was her mortal half.
“How?” He directed the single word at Ramel. His hands suddenly felt empty and useless. He gripped the hilt of the Brighbranr and it pulsed comfortingly under his touch.
“I combined three of the restorations that we had tried in the past,” said Ramel, his eyes alight. He leaned forward in enthusiasm, but before he began his explanation, rattling chains sounded from the dark cell. Finnead swept up the branch of candles from the table, not flinching as the hot wax spilled onto his wrist. With three long strides, he crossed the chamber, the halo of light around the candles flickering. It seemed as though the light struggled to beat back the shadows beyond the silver bars. They had learned that the light of one candle was not enough to strain through the darkness.
The chains rattled again, an almost bell-like sound. Finnead tasted the bitter tang of old anger at the back of his throat. The chains were silver, and delicate as far as chains went, but worked with the Queen’s own power. It still angered him that Mab chained her own sister like a convict…but then again, she had chained him as well. And, he reminded himself staunchly that in the most literal sense of the word, the princess was a killer. Though she’d been under Malravenar’s power, she had still killed dozens of Sidhe fighters.
The flickering candlelight spread over the floor and finally reached the figure in the center of the cell. It looked like the princess had leapt from her narrow bed to the center of the small space, landing in a predatory crouch. She growled as the light wavered over her, turning her face away from the candles and hissing.
“Andraste.” Finnead said her name in a low voice. He wasn’t sure why he tried to speak to her anymore. She showed no recognition, no spark of rational thought. It was as though they had chained a wildcat in the silvery cell. The only sign that she recognized her imprisonment at all was the bitter cold that rolled through the room and the passageway beyond. At first, Finnead had thought it had been Mab, and the Queen may have indeed reawakened part of Andraste’s power with the touch of her own. But it had not been cold at first, not until Queen Mab had left and failed to return. Finnead tried to tell himself that the ice encasing every object in the room proved that Andraste still thought and felt. He tried to tell himself that it was her rage and bitterness at her abandonment that led her to freeze her prison.
But the cloaked figure squatting in the center of the cell bore little resemblance to the lithe, graceful princess who had once been the future of the Unseelie Court. She growled again, louder, one clawed hand darting out to paw at a shadow created by the dancing candle flame. The silver chains pooled about her as she pressed her hands flat on the floor and shifted her weight in one direction, then another. She made nonsense sounds in a low voice, stopping to growl at another shadow that slipped across the floor.
“I do not know if it will work on her,” said Ramel quietly from beside Finnead, his voice grave.
Andraste whined softly to herself.
“I know,” Finnead replied in a tight voice.
“We thought it might be best not to discuss this with anyone else,” Molly said, the candlelight bringing out the gold flecks in her eyes. “It might raise hopes that we can’t afford to disappoint.” She looked away. “Not even Tess. I want to tell her, I know she’ll be happy, but I’m…afraid.” Ramel touched her shoulder comfortingly.
Finnead nodded woodenly. “I understand.”
Something like relief passed briefly over Molly’s face. “Thank you.”
He shook his head and turned away from the glittering cage. “No need to thank me. You two are the only ones who still come.”
“We’ll keep trying,” promised Ramel.
The frost glittered on the walls of the cell as the Unseelie princess began to laugh, her voice echoing around them in a cacophony of madness.
Chapter 10
“Lady Bearer.”
Tess marked her place in the leather tome. She’d returned from the practice yard to find a stack of books on the small table in her sleeping quarters, an accompanying note tucked under the base of the little taebramh lamp.
Tess –
These volumes are about to be in high demand. As far as I know, they were lost in one of the fires set during the battle, so no one will be expecting them to be returned.
P.S.: You still owe me some updates to our records, and not only of the mortal world at this point.
The message hadn’t been signed, but Tess had recognized the handwriting as belonging to Bren. She’d left a stack of books in Tess’s room once before, what seemed like years ago at Darkhill. Now Tess used this carefully folded note as a bookmark; she’d meant to burn it after reading it, but somehow the words written by one of her oldest friends in Faeortalam held a strange comfort. After insomnia had sunk its claws into her again tonight, she’d slipped out of the little compartment, leaving Robin sleeping peacefully. The dining hall had been nearly deserted in the early morning hours; a taebramh light provided just enough light for her to read. She blinked muzzily, her eyes refocusing after so long reading the small, precise calligraphy of the Unseelie Scholars. The Glasidhe messenger waited courteously, his light dimmed in the darkened dining hall . He hovered an arm’s length away from Tess, hands clasped neatly at the small of his back like a soldier waiting for his orders.
“I don’t believe we’ve met,” said Tess, her voice hoarse from disuse.
“No, my lady, and it is my distinct honor to serve Queen Vell and thus the Lady Bearer,” replied the Glasidhe. “My common name is Haze, my lady.”
Tess squinted at him, blinking again. “You bear a very strong resemblance to a very dear friend of mine, Haze.”
From within the nebulous light of his dimmed aura, Haze grinned, cementing the connection that Tess had already made between his elfin, pointed face and Wisp’s boyishly pretty looks. “Wisp is my cousin, my lady. He has always been the more fortunate of the two of us.”
Tess already felt the smile stretching her lips, but she raised an eyebrow and asked, “And why is that, Haze?”
“Because he has met more mortals than any of our kin, and he was the messenger who brought the summons to the Bearer,” Haze replied guilelessly. He paused and then bowed. His downy hair shone silver. “Forgive me if I have been impertinent in lamenting my cousin’s good luck.”
Tess leaned back in her chair, stretching. “Nothing to forgive, Haze, unless you’re interrupting my late-night reading simply for the thrill of it.” She smiled to soften the sarcasm.
“Oh! Forgive me once again, my lady. I am usually much more prompt in delivering my messages, but meeting the Lady Bearer for the first time is exciting, even to one as experienced as I,” said Haze, a hint of an impish gleam whirling in his aura. “Queen Vell sent me to ask if you’d be so kind as to meet her in her quarters.”
“Imagine that, both of us insomniacs,” replied Tess, linking her hands together above her head to stretch more thoroughly before standing.
“My instructions are to lead the way for you, if you wish to accept the Queen’s invitation.”
“I can catch up on my reading anytime.” She stood, tucking the book under one arm and grimacing slightly at the lingering stiffness in her knees. With her free hand, she picked up the Caedbranr’s strap from where it had hung over the back of her chair and slipped it over her head in a practiced motion. “Lead on.”
Haze led her through the maze of the great tent’s hallways. Tess thought, not for the first time, that the pathways s
hifted according to the identities of those traveling through them. It was also strange that she rarely encountered others in the halls, though she knew hundreds, probably thousands, of Sidhe dwelled in the great tent beneath the ruined dome of the palace. If she concentrated, she glimpsed motion at the edges of her vision, a barely visible rippling as though some great hand shifted the fabric of reality, or maybe just the fabric of the tent, amended Tess, remembering Vell’s words when they’d first used the great tent on the journey through the Deadlands. A bit of sorcery in the weft and weave, she’d said with that gleam in her golden gaze. Tess stopped trying to watch the ripples, a headache gathering behind her eyes.
Haze led Tess to a magnificent scarlet tapestry. A black wolf prowled on the field of red, so life-like that Tess blinked again, wondering for an instant whether it was actually Beryk standing in front of this great tapestry. She put a hand out and felt the smooth, silky surface of the magnificent work, reassuring herself that the golden-eyed wolf was simply a life-like depiction of the fierce Northern Herravaldyr. But then the tapestry warmed under her touch and the wolf moved beneath her hand, his fur sliding beneath her palm and the sting of seeking sorcery bubbling over her skin. She withdrew her hand as if burned and hastily stepped back from the tapestry, a growl of surprise rumbling in her throat.
“Ah, I did not know you had not encountered one of the Vyldretning’s sentinels before,” Haze said from over her shoulder. “I apologize once again, Lady Bearer.”
Tess stiffened. Her growl of surprise died in her throat and her eyes widened as emerald light blazed down her war markings, throwing the tapestry into sharp relief and illuminating the corridor with sudden brightness. The Caedbranr reached out and investigated the wolf on the tapestry, its taebramh circling once in an emerald swirl and then entering the scarlet field, taking the form of the primal wolf that Tess had seen a handful of times when they’d first encountered the ulfdrengr. The black wolf in the tapestry suddenly looked very two dimensional, then the Caedbranr tilted its wolf head and the black wolf was suddenly no longer solid, but a writhing mass of runes flowing over one another in silvery bands. Haze made a sound that could have been interest or shock. Tess watched warily. The Sword-as-wolf nosed at the rune wolf, eliciting an indignant exclamation from somewhere behind the tapestry.
Vell stormed into the hallway, brushing aside the tapestry and nearly barreling into Tess. The Vyldretning spun on her heel and looked at the Sword-as-wolf, which peered back at her out of the tapestry, the rune-wolf now seemingly frozen.
“You’ve proven your point,” said Vell. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t ruin my rune crafting.”
The Sword-as-wolf swung its primal head toward the two-dimensional impression of a wolf, the runes flowing more sluggishly now. Tess shook herself and reached for the Sword. It was like flexing a muscle that she’d forgotten she possessed. In the end, she wasn’t sure whether the Caedbranr was heeding her or just being polite, but the Sword-as-wolf gave a very lupine grin, stepped out of the tapestry and padded back to Tess. It stood beside her for a moment before dissolving into a rush of emerald fire that whirled back up her war markings. Vell touched the image of the wolf on the tapestry with two fingers, and the black wolf shook itself, a few silvery runes dripping from its fur as though it had just emerged from wading in a river.
“Good evening to you too,” said Vell pointedly, raising an eyebrow.
Tess shrugged. “Sorry. It was being…cantankerous.”
“That’s a really big word to say that it was being a pain in the ass,” the Vyldretning replied dryly.
The Sword’s chuckle vibrated through Tess’s ribs. She smiled. “Never thought I’d be happy to feel it laughing in my bones again.”
The black wolf in the tapestry yawned, its pink tongue lolling over sharp silver teeth, and settled down onto its belly, ears still pricked watchfully.
“Well, no harm done,” said Vell, brushing away a fading rune from near the wolf’s tail. She chuckled. “Though I don’t think I’ve felt anyone poke at one of my craftings quite like that before.”
“Like you said, pain in the ass.” Tess grinned.
“Come on then. I have khal, if you want some. Calliea is actually getting quite good at making it.” Vell slid past the tapestry and Tess followed, Haze still hovering just over her shoulder.
The room on the other side of the wolf tapestry reminded Tess of both the Vyldretning’s old tent, in which she’d held her war councils and planned the dragon hunt, and the rooms at the Hall of the Outer Guard. Embers glowed in a stone hearth, and great beams supported the hexagonal ceiling. Rather than the chandelier that had graced the Queen’s tent, Vell had somehow fashioned the ceiling of this tent to look like the night sky, stars providing dim light from overhead. A full moon hung suspended in the center of the room.
“Is this still in the tent?” Tess mused aloud.
Vell made a noncommittal sound. She motioned to the assortment of seating arranged in a haphazard semicircle around the hearth. “Take your pick. Oh, and thank you, Haze. Would you like to join us for khal?”
“It would be my honor, my lady,” said the Glasidhe.
“It’ll be here in just a moment.” Vell took one of the seats by the fire. The sitting area was really little more than a circular platform piled with furs and a few cushions. Tess chose the oversized cushion between Vell and the hearth. The slow, pulsating warmth of the smoldering fire felt like a cloak draped over her shoulders.
“So this is where my brother spends his days,” Tess said conversationally, adjusting the Sword’s sheath so that the strap didn’t dig into the tender scar at the top of her back.
“Your brother spends his days leading one of my reconstruction teams and tending to other tasks,” Vell replied smoothly.
“Reconstruction teams?”
“A very…new…term, yes, one that he taught me,” the Wild Queen said. Vell somehow looked like she’d settled into her new role, despite the fact that she wore her hair in a simple braid and dressed plainly in a white shirt and dark breeches. Her only jewelry was the thin golden circlet gleaming across her brow. No additional ornaments spoke of her power, but a quiet self-assurance and acceptance radiated from her. She caught Tess gazing at her with circumspection and raised an eyebrow. “Something you’d like to tell me?”
“You look like you’ve grown into being Queen,” Tess replied with a little smile.
“I don’t know whether to be offended or take that as a compliment,” Vell said. Haze flew to the other side of the room under the pretext of inspecting one of the rafters, but Tess heard his bright chuckle.
“I guess it’s a compliment.” Tess shrugged and smiled. “Means you look…queenly.”
“Fantastic.” Vell rolled her eyes.
“Okay, that just squashed it.” Tess grinned.
“What, you mean rolling my eyes isn’t queenly?” Vell placed her hand over her heart melodramatically. “I am wounded.”
Tess chuckled. “It takes a lot more than that to wound you.”
Vell sobered. “True, and I’m glad for that.” She glanced at the leather-bound volume sitting by Tess’s knee. “Some light nighttime reading?”
Hefting the tome in one hand, Tess passed it to Vell for her inspection. “One of the more senior Unseelie Scholars is an old friend from my time in Darkhill.”
“Didn’t know you still had friends in Mab’s court,” Vell murmured, reading the title of the book and opening it to the first page.
“Not all Unseelie are quite as misanthropic as Mab,” Tess pointed out.
“Cantankerous…misanthropic…you’re talking like quite the Scholar yourself tonight.”
Tess waved a hand. “Sorry. It’s something my brain does when I’m tired, mostly after I’ve been reading a lot.” She grinned. “I can’t think of normal words, only the ones with more than three syllables.”
“And that is exactly the reason why I am not going to have any Scholars in the Vyldgard,” said
Vell, her golden eyes intent as she continued reading. “I’ll leave the stuffiness to the other two Courts. It seems they’ve got it covered.” She turned the page and read for another moment, then snapped the book shut.
“Easy,” said Tess. “That’s an old book.”
“If it’s withstood the centuries, it’ll withstand me,” said Vell with half a gleaming grin, handing the book back to Tess. “But I’m glad to see you’re researching the Gates.”
Tess nodded. “It was slow going until Bren left these for me. Her note implied that the material referencing opening the Gates would either be destroyed or restricted soon.”
“Mab being difficult,” Vell said, staring into the embers of the fire.
“No surprise there,” agreed Tess with a sigh.
“Ah, I hope I’ve brewed enough,” Calliea said, crossing the room with a tray bearing a copper kettle and mugs.
“Where did you come from?” Tess demanded, searching the walls of the room for other doorways and finding none. She realized that the entrance concealed by the scarlet tapestry had also melted away.
“I thought you’d gotten lost, Laedrek,” Vell commented with a glimmer of humor in her eyes.
“No, just scorched the first batch,” Calliea replied with a grin. Her bright hair was braided and pinned about her head, and at her belt Tess glimpsed the coil of her golden whip. “Oh, and I, ah, convinced the watch rotation at the kitchens that we routinely sample the first batch of scones.”
“Of course. How else would we ensure that our fighters are being fed a quality breakfast?” Vell said.
“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day,” agreed Tess. Her stomach rumbled as the scent of the freshly baked scones reached her nose. Calliea set the tray down on the low table in the midst of the chairs and moved to pour the khal, but Vell waved her away, grumbling something about letting others brew the stuff but certainly being able to pour her own damned khal. Calliea watched as Vell took a sip; apparently it was acceptable, because Calliea grinned, grabbed a scone and sat in one of the higher chairs with a satisfied flourish.
