The Lethe Stone (The Fae War Chronicles Book 4)

by Jocelyn Fox

  “And you were lovers,” said Liam, almost to himself.

  Finnead nodded, his gaze faraway. “Yes. Our love was chaste at first, like most young love…and Andraste feared her sister’s displeasure. She wanted to please the Queen in all things.”

  “I don’t know what young love looks like in your world, but in my world it’s hardly chaste most of the time,” said Liam with a chuckle. Then he considered. “That’s the first time I’ve heard her name. Andraste. It’s a beautiful name.”

  “It is the name of an ancient moon goddess,” said Finnead. He smiled a bit wryly. “Appropriate, I suppose, for a princess of the Court of Night and Winter.”

  “Tell me about her,” Liam said softly. “All everyone ever talks about is how she’s broken. How she did terrible things because of Malravenar’s hold over her. Tell me about her when you fell in love with her.”

  Finnead searched Liam’s face for a long moment, as if trying to divine his intentions. Finally, he nodded and settled back in his chair, taking a deep breath. “It was almost three centuries ago, I think, that I met Andraste. She was little more than a girl, just barely a hundred years old. She was already beautiful, as you’d expect from the younger sister of Mab. Mab herself was a gay and bright young Queen. She went Maying with Titania every year, and they exchanged gifts on the Winter and Summer Solstices.”

  “That certainly sounds like a different world,” said Liam.

  Finnead nodded. “It was. I was a young squire then, working toward becoming a full Knight. It was my heart’s desire…until I met Andraste.” A slight smile appeared on his lips. “One day I was at the practice yards and there was a commotion. The princess had grown tired of her tutors, carefully selected by her sister the Queen to ensure the young princess grew into an educated young woman. Andraste had asked Mab to allow her a swordmaster, and the Queen indulged her. But the old Knight sent to teach Andraste would not spar with her for fear of the Queen’s displeasure if the Princess were injured, and he taught Andraste some pretty flourishes with a blade but no real swordsmanship. So, she braided her hair and pinned it up under a cap, put on her plainest shirt and breeches and stole away to the practice yards.” His smile widened. “She was a very pretty boy, to be honest, pretty enough that some were suspicious. But she lowered her voice with a simple rune and cast a bit of a glamour over the rest of her, so that she was not immediately recognizable. And then she proceeded to insult everyone within earshot until one of the young pages lost his temper and challenged her to a sparring match.”

  Liam chuckled. “It sounds a bit like what Tess would do.” A slightly pained expression crossed Finnead’s face, and Liam resolved not to mention his sister again. He pressed his lips together. “I’m sorry, I won’t interrupt again. Please go on.”

  Finnead nodded. “Well, the pretty flourishes that Andraste had learned from the old Knight didn’t stand up very well to even a page, and he promptly knocked her into the dirt. They were using quarterstaffs, as pages aren’t allowed to use practice blades. But she sprang up again and demanded a rematch. He knocked her down again, and then a third time, but she lasted longer with each bout. And she had pluck, so he finally took a few minutes to show her some of the mistakes that she was making. And then Mab’s Vaelanseld swept into the practice yard on a thundercloud, looking for her on Mab’s orders. Thankfully, the Vaelanseld didn’t see that page knock Andraste down, or else he probably would have been executed right then and there.”

  Liam thought that the Vaelanseld could have probably inferred that the young princess had been knocked down from the dirt on her breeches, but he kept his word and didn’t interrupt.

  “The Vaelanseld couldn’t very well lay hands on Andraste, and she knew it, but I remember her staring defiantly at him all the same when he roared that if she were a squire and not a princess, he’d have whipped her for her deceit. She replied in a very prim voice that if she were a squire and not a princess, no one at all would care that she was in the practice yards.” Finnead chuckled softly. “She had such fire in her eyes. I think a few of the pages fell in love with her right then.” He paused, lost in his recollections. “It was almost half a year before she slipped away to the practice yards again, but the second time we recognized her and spirited her away to a far corner. One of the pages kept watch for the Vaelanseld.” He chuckled again. “When he came looking for her, the pretty slim squire was nowhere to be found. Oh, he was furious, but he couldn’t very well bring us all up on charges of treason with no evidence.”

  Liam tilted his head to the side. “I know I said I wouldn’t interrupt,” he said with a grin, “but I do have a question. Couldn’t Mab have just listened in on your thoughts? From what I’ve heard, that’s the baseline for the Sidhe Queens.”

  Finnead shook his head. “It was a different time then, you must understand. The rebellion shook both Courts to the core. To prove our loyalty, we had to take the blood oath to Mab and accept our baptism from the fountain by the Dark Tree.”

  “So she was Queen, but not all-powerful,” said Liam.

  “Powerful, but not so suspicious,” said Finnead. “In those days, Queen Mab trusted her subjects. Loved us, even.” His voice lowered regretfully. He stared at his hands for a moment before continuing. “So Andraste learned how to fight with a sword. A few of the older squires became Knights, and they instructed their own pages and squires about the mysterious squire that appeared every so often in the practice yards. None of us exposed her secret.” He sighed. “I was the best with a bow out of the older squires. Andraste asked me to teach her archery.”

  “She became very good at it,” Liam murmured.

  “Yes,” said Finnead heavily. “Neither of us could have known at the time how her talent would be twisted. She was a natural. Her practice with the sword had made her strong, and she devoted herself to archery wholeheartedly.”

  “Still keeping it a secret from Queen Mab?”

  “At first. But archery is a more ladylike pursuit than swordsmanship, and archery practice didn’t require her to scuffle with the page boys in the dirt.” Finnead shook his head. “Andraste loved Mab, but she began to chafe under her sister’s watchful eye. As the princess neared her age of majority, the subject of a suitable marriage began to be a topic of conversation.”

  “I thought the Sidhe were not so strict about the idea of marriage,” said Liam, thinking of his conversations with Vell.

  “Andraste was not any girl,” said Finnead. “Mab could not have children. So it would be the princess’s son or daughter who would inherit the throne, centuries hence.”

  “Mab and Titania aren’t immortal?” Liam asked skeptically.

  “Immortal in a sense, yes. But, as with the First Queen, they might well tire of their throne and this world someday. So Mab thought it prudent to create a line of succession. Andraste was furious at the thought. She loved reading mortal mythology – ironic, I know, as we are a part of the lore in your world,” he admitted with a smile. “She was particularly fond of the Greeks and Romans. She thought to be like Artemis or perhaps one of the Amazons.” Finnead paused. “I had loved her for a long time already. Maybe even since that first day in the practice yards. I didn’t dare hope that she felt the same, especially since she so often railed against the idea of marriage and children when she stole away to meet me in the Royal Wood. We met to practice archery,” Finnead clarified with a raised eyebrow.

  “Of course,” said Liam, chuckling.

  “Though she wanted to secure her line, Mab could afford to wait. Andraste had not yet even reached her age of majority. She hoped that perhaps her sister would choose a suitable lover of her own accord.”

  “Which she did,” guessed Liam.

  Finnead nodded. “Yes. It was the natural progression, I suppose. We had been friends for years, and I became a Knight just as she reached her age of majority. Her love spurred me to work hard to rise in Mab’s favor, to be considered worthy of her sister’s hand.” He fell silent, staring down
at his hands. Liam waited for him to continue, but he remained lost in his own thoughts. Perhaps that was the point at which the story became painful. Liam knew from Vell and Tess that Finnead had been escorting the princess with her ladies when they had been attacked and taken prisoner. Beyond that, the story contained nothing but regret and sorrow.

  “Do you still love her?” Liam asked quietly. He knew the answer, but he wanted Finnead to say it out loud to banish the dark thoughts visible behind his eyes.

  “Yes. I have always loved her,” said Finnead. He drew in a long breath. “Sometimes, though…it is more difficult now than when I thought her dead.”

  “Now you have to think about all the terrible things she endured,” said Liam. Others shied away from the subject. The least he could do was offer Finnead a listening ear.

  “Yes. All the terrible things she endured because I told Mab that she was dead.” A heavy note of bitterness and self-loathing leavened Finnead’s voice.

  “You know that’s not entirely true,” Liam said firmly. “Look, you can wallow in self-pity if you want. But you can’t change the past.” He nodded to the book on the table. “All you can do is try to change the future.” He stared at the book for a long moment, considering. “Maybe this is a crazy idea. But…if you’re going to give up your memories of Andraste so that Vell can put her back together with the Lethe Stone…what if you told me those memories before they’re erased?” He looked at Finnead steadily.

  Finnead frowned. “What would that accomplish?”

  “Maybe,” said Liam slowly, “I could tell you those memories again, once she’s herself. I can be your failsafe. Your backup. And since we’re both bound to Vell, you can sense when I’m lying. You’d be able to tell that I was telling the truth.”

  “Being told my memories will not restore them,” said Finnead, his brow furrowed slightly.

  “No, but maybe…maybe I could help bring the two of you together again,” said Liam. The gravity of his proposal settled heavily onto his shoulders.

  “Why are you making this offer? You owe me nothing,” said Finnead. “And I haven’t been particularly pleasant, these past weeks since the battle.”

  “You’re one of Vell’s Three. Your happiness – or unhappiness – affects us all, in a way,” said Liam truthfully. He shifted in his chair. “And why do I need to have an ulterior motive? Maybe I just want the story to have a happy ending.”

  Finnead smiled briefly. “You have the same soft spot for romance as your sister.”

  Liam laughed. “Well, that’s the first time I’ve been told that. I’ll take it as a compliment.”

  “You should. The Bearer’s heart of gold is already a bit legendary.” Finnead grinned. “And…I accept your offer. I will tell you my memories of Andraste, but they are only for your ears,” he cautioned. “It will be difficult to bring all of those memories into the light.”

  “Better you tell them to me before you lose them,” pointed out Liam.

  Finnead nodded. “You’re right.” He looked up at the ceiling, considering where to start, when Liam straightened, feeling the sudden tug on the invisible string that stretched from his chest back to Vell. Finnead looked at him sharply as he felt it too. Their Queen was calling them.

  “She’s usually not this insistent,” Liam commented as he stood and slung the strap of the satchel over his shoulder again.

  “Something must be happening,” Finnead replied ominously as the summons sharpened painfully.

  “Something big,” agreed Liam as they stretched their legs into long strides, leaving the ancient book behind them on the table. Vell’s beckoning call increased yet again, spurring them into a run. They reached her chambers just as sweat began to slide down Liam’s back from the headlong sprint. Gray was already in the Queen’s chambers, fully armored and tightening the straps on Vell’s breastplate. When she finished, Vell turned to them and swept a hand to their armor, laid out neatly on the table. Beryk paced restlessly about the perimeter of the chamber, backlit briefly by the embers of the fire.

  “Get ready,” the High Queen said, her golden eyes grim. “Mab has asked for a Council. Something significant has happened in the mortal world, and we might be on the brink of war.”

  Chapter 30

  Ross hadn’t felt this exhausted since her last double shift on the ambulance in the city. She thought disjointedly that she needed to call the firehouse and leave Vivian’s phone number for her contact information since her phone was still fried from its close encounter with Luca. The lights in the house had gone out after the fireworks display put on by Tess and the bone sorcerer. She’d reset the breakers in the fuse box on the side of the house after making sure that Vivian was taken care of – the red-head had been carried inside very gently by Niall, and the pale-haired Sidhe had set her broken arm quickly and easily while she was unconscious. Ross had shuddered at the terrifying strength in his quick movement. Someone that strong could as easily snap a neck as set a bone back into place, but she thanked him quietly as she splinted Vivian’s arm. A full-body check didn’t reveal any other obvious injuries. Every instinct told her to take Vivian to the hospital, but her friend surfaced into consciousness for long enough to tell her fuzzily but firmly that she did not want to go to the hospital. Vivian had a phobia of hospitals, and doctors in general and, luckily for her, Ross was fairly confident that she and Duke could handle this injury with their own skills.

  She’d found Merrick bare-chested in the study, runes covering his torso and his arms. He looked better than she had ever seen him, closer to his true self, she guessed, his gray eyes luminous and alert. He’d promptly slipped outside to help with whatever he could. Mayhem had been shut inside the house for the duration of the battle and consequently had left scratch marks in the paint of the door from her attempt to dig her way through to her mistress. When Luca reappeared with the big tawny dog by his side, introduced fondly as Kianryk, Ross had blinked as her eyes tried to tell her that it wasn’t a dog, it was a wolf, a huge golden wolf. But then her double vision had settled and a peculiar buzz whispered over her skin. She suspected it had something to do with Kianryk’s red collar, which Luca regarded with equal parts resignation and loathing. Strangely, Mayhem had bellied up to the big tawny dog, head low in supplication. She’d licked Kianryk’s chin, causing Luca to chuckle. Ross had raised her eyebrows but shrugged. Far be it from her to understand the inner workings of her faithful canine.

  Luca carried a grimacing Tess into the house. She had some impressive road rash from her fall on the driveway. The gravel had gouged furrows into her left arm, hip and thigh, with a few stones stuck in her skin for good measure. Kianryk followed them into the house and lay by Tess’s feet as she sat on the couch. Her right knee was swollen and bruised, from a mailbox post, Tess explained a bit sheepishly. Duke pulled the first aid kit over and sterilized a pair of large tweezers in anticipation of digging the gravel from Tess’s wounds. She frowned but stoically extended her arm.

  Ross looked at Duke. He nodded to indicate that he had the situation under control. She checked on Vivian again, and then ventured out into the yard. A smoking crater marked the impact of Corsica’s spell-orb. And about twenty years away from that sat her poor, burned out truck, now the center of industrious activity. The dark-haired one with the black armor – Ramel, she remembered – lay flat on his back, pale as death, his head lolling to the side as Molly and Jess worked to remove his mangled breastplate. Jess pressed two fingers to Ramel’s jaw every few minutes. Ross felt relieved that Ramel was alive, though she couldn’t have said why she felt relieved that a total stranger was alive. Her shoes crunched through the flash fried grass.

  “What happened?” she asked, though she had an idea just from the damaged breastplate and the blackened shreds of Ramel’s shirt.

  “He was tackling the bad guy and got caught in the blast,” said Jess tersely. He made a sound of triumph as he succeeded in cutting through the last strap on the breastplate, made hard to access b
y the twisted metal. Ross took a deep breath and tried not to breathe through her nose. The scent of burned flesh always stirred up memories that she’d rather remained buried.

  “Can I do anything to help?” she asked.

  “See if Niall can come out,” said Molly in a voice thick with repressed emotion. “I think we’ll need him when this comes off.”

  “Already here,” Niall said, striding across the yard.

  Corsica appeared around the side of the house, still bearing her sodden cloak in her arms. The silver-haired woman paused to watch a bird flit from one tree to another, her face filled with childlike wonder. Tyr passed her and tugged her onward.

  Ramel jerked when Jess and Niall carefully pulled the breastplate from his chest. Molly hissed through her teeth as she saw Ramel’s skin, swearing effusively in a language foreign to Ross’s ears. The breastplate had protected his chest from the fire of the blast, but beneath the bruises already blossoming on his ribs, Ross saw a raw red wound over his heart. She traced the shape with her eyes. It was a rune, but unlike any of the ones that she’d seen Merrick or even Tyr draw. It was sinuous and serpentine, and it sent a shudder down Ross’s spine without her quite knowing why. She just felt the wrongness of it. Then she glanced at the breastplate, resting on the grass where Jess had tossed it in disgust. The underside of the breastplate, the part that fit snugly against Ramel’s chest, bore the same rune as the wound on Ramel’s chest, except that on the underside of the breastplate the rune was crafted from a length of thin, gleaming metal. The breastplate had punched the rune into Ramel’s chest, and no doubt he was reminded of it every time he moved.

  “What monster would do something like that?” she said, mostly to herself.

  “Queen Mab,” replied Molly in a hard voice. Then she bent over Ramel and talked to him in a quiet, quick voice, brushing back his ash-laden hair.