by Jocelyn Fox
Ramel looked at me with a new light in his gray eyes, still holding my sword. “You’re really serious about learning.”
I shrugged with one shoulder, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “I don’t like sitting around and being useless.” I looked out the long windows of the hall, then back at Ramel. He swung my sword in an arc through the air, making the blade whistle. Then we sat down on the smooth floor. He folded his legs neatly beneath him and I sprawled out comfortably. He spoke about strategy ,conditioning, and practice—all the ingredients of a great swordsman, he told me. Then the conversation drifted comfortably into silence. I looked over and saw Molly and Finnead were sparring with wooden blades, Finnead clearly moving very slowly and deliberately, allowing Molly to see openings in his half-speed defense. I watched for a few moments. Molly scored a touch on Finnead with the tip of her wooden sword. They stopped and Molly smiled. I saw the glint of an answering smile from Finnead. For some reason my stomach tightened, and I let myself turn away.
“Well,” I said to Ramel, “what now?”
“Now we rest, and you think about what I’ve taught you, and when you have it all straight in your head, that’s when you practice,” Ramel replied firmly.
I nodded. “I’ll practice for as long as I’m here.”
“That’s a very reasonable statement,” said Ramel. “A logical way of looking at things.”
I smiled. “In my rarer moments of practicality, I try to think like a sane person.”
Ramel laughed a little. “My dear, if you thought like a sane person, you wouldn’t be talking to me right now.”
“Why not?” I adjusted my sword-belt at my waist.
“Because, pretty little doendhine,” Ramel said teasingly, “no mortals believe in faeries anymore. It is all children’s stories and fantasy tales.”
I poked him in the shoulder with one finger. “Well, as far as I can tell, you’re very real, so there’s not really any use running around yelling about the impossibility of it all.” I smiled. “Besides, here I get to learn how to use a sword. Outside of Renaissance Fairs and geeky reenactments I’d never get to do that in my own world.”
Ramel nodded, running one hand over his copper curls. “You are very right about that, my dear. It’s becoming a lost art, our style of fighting.”
“Your style of fighting?”
“Well,” Ramel said, “you mortals have to get ideas from somewhere, and some of the best ones were from us, of course!”
I laughed a little. “Next you’ll be telling me that the Fae invented the light-bulb, not Thomas Edison.”
Ramel shook his head emphatically. “That’s one invention we won’t touch. Artificial light, not from flame or sun—we don’t like it at all, not even those of us that have some mortal blood in our veins.”
We settled into comfortable silence again and I lapsed into thought.
“You have a question,” Ramel said to me after a few moments. He stood and stretched with a leisurely air. “I can see it in your eyes. And it’s all right, you can ask it of me.” He balanced my sword point-down on the floor, grinning. “After all, if you couldn’t tell, I have a bit of mortal blood in my veins. I suppose that makes me a bit sympathetic.”
I looked at Ramel with fresh eyes. Now that he mentioned mortal blood, I could see it in the copper of his hair, the broader proportions of his muscular chest and arms. While he still possessed the pale complexion and cat-like grace of the Sidhe, I liked to think that his warmer personality was a part of his mortal heritage. I wanted to ask how much mortal blood he had, what that meant for him in the Court, but I suppressed my curiosity. I stood awkwardly and straightened my tunic. “I was just wondering,” I said, “if you know why Molly is so important here.”
“Ah,” said Ramel, “this would be an answer best told over some good food.” He stepped close to me and sheathed my sword, giving me a brotherly pat on the back before turning and leading me out of the hall. “And I really shouldn’t be the one telling you, because I’m really not supposed to know myself, but,” and here he turned and smiled at me over his shoulder, “boyish good looks and charm still count for something even in these dark days, my sweet mortal.”
I shook my head and smiled at him. He reminded me of Liam, a little bit…and somehow, even though I felt the familiar ache in my chest at the thought of my brother, the pain wasn’t as sharp as usual. I wondered if that was a good thing, if it was really me or just the influence of Faeortalam. After our training session, which had lasted at least two hours including all the time spent afterward just sitting and talking about strategy, I felt as though I knew Ramel as well as an old friend.
“Come on then,” he said.
We walked over to a small niche at the end of the hall. There were a few basins of water and cloths folded neatly on a shelf, much like towels folded at the campus gym. I followed Ramel’s lead, rolling up my sleeves and washing my face and the back of my neck. The towels were much softer than they looked, and the water was somehow warm, despite the fact that I couldn’t see any sort of pipes or other heating devices. As I followed him toward what I hoped was the dining hall, I said, “Can I ask you another question?”
“Of course,” Ramel said easily, winking at a group of Sidhe ladies gliding past. They smiled at him and looked at me with interest—not impolitely, but with a sort of fascination that I found a bit embarrassing. It was equal parts the kind of fascination displayed by schoolchildren at the zoo, seeing the chimpanzees for the first time; and the haughty yet interested disdain of the senior girls at school evaluating the freshmen at the beginning of every year. I wondered if I passed their inspection. Then I cleared my throat and when there were no other Sidhe in sight, I said to Ramel, “Is the knight who brought me here…the Vaelanbrigh…is he always so…cold? And rude?”
Ramel glanced at me, his warm brown eyes surprised; and then he burst into a great rolling laugh that echoed through the passageway. I jumped a little—Finnead’s laughs were small and enigmatic, and Allene had only smiled. So Sidhe were allowed to laugh after all. Or maybe it was just excusable in the ones with mortal blood, I amended to myself.
When Ramel finished laughing, he put a huge, brotherly hand on my shoulder as we continued walking. “Oh, I’d forgotten how good it is to have a conversation with a mortal.” He winked at me conspiratorially. “I still do sometimes, you know. Friends with the Keeper of the South Gate. I’m especially fond of Philadelphia, and those wondrous heart-stopping sandwiches.”
“Cheese steaks?” I offered incredulously, not quite sure what to make of Ramel’s admission.
“Yes, that’s the name,” Ramel said, grinning. “And I’ll be allowed to go through the Gates all I want—officially of course—soon anyway. The Queen just has to set me my Task and I’ll be one of the higher knights. Not a Named Knight, of course, but still.”
I shook my head, smiling. “Why was what I said so funny? Please, enlighten me.”
Ramel smiled as we came to a large double-door. Enticing smells filled the hallway, and my stomach grumbled. “Oh, I shall, pretty one. You see,” he said with a more serious tone, “I haven’t ever seen a Named Knight take such a vested interest in a mortal. He risked his position in Court, you know, to bring you here and have you healed. He broke the High Code.” Ramel lowered his voice. “It would have been within the Queen’s rights to strip him of his title and have him executed.”
I shivered. “You do that here? Executions?”
Ramel suddenly looked very much more Fae, and less jovial. His eyes shone with that peculiar light that I could never quite describe even in my own mind. “Oh, yes, Tess O’Connor. Treason is punishable by death. And there are punishments, some known only to the Queen herself, that are more terrible than death, that would make the greatest Knight beg for his throat to be slit as a mercy.” He smiled mirthlessly. “You
think we are some fair and beautiful race of perfect beings, some utopian world that is beyond pain and death. Our sufferings are not mortal sufferings, just as our concerns are not mortal concerns…but all the same, there are ugly things in Faeortalam, Tess, and you would do well to remember that.”
“I will,” I said.
The hall that we entered was a long room, larger than the gymnasium but with a lower ceiling and small windows. Rows of long tables occupied the space, most of them empty; but there was a buzz of activity near the far end of the room, and Ramel led me toward it. I suddenly became very self-conscious of my hair, escaping its pins by now, and the loud sound of my footsteps behind Ramel’s cat-quiet walk. One of the long tables was set with the makings of a large meal: I saw loaves of bread and platters of round cheeses, and strange fruits piled in colorful dishes. There were jugs of water and laetniss and some drink that tasted faintly like milk, but sweeter. I sat next to Ramel and he filled my plate for me, pointing out dishes that he especially liked. Other Sidhe came and sat with us, and ate, and left. A few talked to Ramel, none to me; but they all glanced at me with that same mixture of curiosity and disdain that I had seen earlier in the eyes of the Sidhe women passing us in the hallway.
“I wish everyone wouldn’t stare,” I said softly to Ramel as a group of younger-looking Sidhe sat down, sneaking covert glances at me between passing dishes to each other and filling their plates. “It makes me feel like I’m a freshman in high school again.”
“We apologize,” said a young woman with blue ribbons in her hair. She smiled, a bit uncertainly. “It’s just that most of us have never seen a full-blooded mortal before.”
“Oh.” I glanced at Ramel, who immediately put down his fork and smiled charmingly at the lovely girl who had spoken. “I…it’s all right, I mean, I’m just not used to being…the center of attention.”
She nodded, sliding a smile toward Ramel and then turning her attention back to me. “I suppose it would be disconcerting.” She looked at the others in her group—another young woman, and three young men. Then she said, “I’m Bren, and this is Guinna.”
“I’m Tess O’Connor,” I said. “Pleased to meet you.”
Guinna inclined her head gracefully. I estimated she wouldn’t even come up to my shoulder if we stood next to each other.
“That’s Emery,” continued Bren, pointing to the young man sitting beside Guinna. “And that’s Donovan.” The Sidhe sitting on Bren’s other side winked at me with one vibrantly green eye. “And sitting beside Ramel there is Ronan.”
I looked at Ronan and saw he had the same coppery hue in his hair as Ramel. “Are you two related?”
Ronan grinned and elbowed Ramel. “In a manner of speaking, I suppose. Cousins of a sort. Through the Sidhe side, not the mortal one.”
“I see,” I said. I picked up my fork and was about to continue eating when Bren leaned forward.
“So is it true?” she said in a low voice. “Did the Vaelanbrigh fetch the fendhionne from the mortal world?”
“Yes,” I said.
“And he fought a garrelnost single-handedly, to defend her?”
“Where did you hear that?” I asked casually.
“Oh,” said Bren, “it’s the talk of the Court right now. After all, the Vaelanbrigh has only held the Brighbranr for barely more than a year and the Queen is sending him on such…important tasks.”
“Why would fetching Molly be such an important task?” I asked. Ramel pretended to reach for a dish of potatoes but instead elbowed me. I ignored him.
“Well,” Bren said, “we don’t know for sure of course but—”
“Bren,” Emery said, “perhaps we shouldn’t be discussing matters of the Court with…Tess.” I knew he was about to say with a mortal, and I was vaguely annoyed that he had changed his mind.
“She wouldn’t be here if the Queen did not approve of her presence,” pointed out Guinna in a lovely lilting voice, putting her hand on Emery’s arm.
“That’s true,” Ronan agreed. “And the Queen would not have let Ramel start training her if there wasn’t some use for her in the Queen’s mind.”
“Then I may tell her what I please, Emery,” Bren said, emphasizing her point with her fork. I suddenly had the feeling that these particular Sidhe were young, probably about my own age in however they measured their time; and they possessed a refreshing candor, a sort of playful disdain for the conventions of the Court that Finnead and Allene clearly held so dear.
“I have heard,” Bren said, and I found myself leaning in a little toward the table to hear her better, “that the Queen intends to send the fendhionne after the Iron Sword.”
The other Sidhe, Ramel included, went very still, as if transfixed by Bren’s words. The image of Molly as I had seen her in my dream in the healing-room came suddenly into my mind: she held a glowing gray sword, and was crowned by blue fire…
“But,” Guinna said quietly after a few moments of suspended silence, “isn’t the Sword…lost?”
“The Queen must know where it is,” Emery said.
“Perhaps one of the other Knights discovered its location,” said Ronan.
“Is it in the mortal world?” Donovan asked, glancing between Bren and Ramel.
“Well, it can’t be, because then why would they have brought the fendhionne here?” reasoned Emery.
“Wherever it is, it will be a terribly dangerous journey,” Bren said with conviction. “The Sword is never given up easily.”
I sat silently as the young Sidhe mused more about the Sword, and Molly. Then, when there was a lull in the conversation, I asked, “Why is it that they would need a half-blood to retrieve the Sword? Why not one of the Knights?”
“Because,” Ramel answered immediately, “the Sword is not a weapon that can be wielded by the Fae. It was forged from the cooling metal of a star that had fallen from our world into yours, one of the rarest of events, and one of the most powerful. Only a mortal can wield it, because its power is so great. Only the strongest Sidhe can hold it for more than an instant. It is a great weapon, one we have safeguarded for centuries to prevent its power from falling into the wrong mortal hands. And now, with the High Code, the Queen must have thought it safer to bring a fendhionne, one strong enough to pass through the Gate and yet with enough mortal blood to wield the Sword. ”
“It’s like…an atomic bomb for Sidhe,” I said. Most of the group looked at me in puzzlement, but Bren and Ramel’s faces remained grave.
“Let’s not speak of that here,” Bren said. “The thought of it saddens me.”
“Bren,” Ramel explained to me as Donovan and Emery began discussing archery, “is studying under the Chief Scholar of Mortal History. She’s his most promising student, and someday she will probably be Chief Scholar, or even Advisor to the Queen herself.”
I nodded, trying to process all this information. I finished eating, and sat listening to the conversation until the good food and the tiredness from sword practice combined to make me profoundly sleepy. Ramel noticed my desperate attempts to keep my focus on the conversation, and said smoothly, “Well, I must escort my charge back to her quarters. One of the Scholars will be arriving there soon to tutor her.”
Bren made a face. “Just make sure she doesn’t get Ulrich. He’s a nasty old stick-in-the-mud.”
“Bren,” chided Guinna, “must you always talk as though you were only two hundred again?”
“Three hundred is the new two hundred,” replied Bren. She looked at me. “Don’t they have a saying like that in your world? Did I get it right?”
“Ah,” I said, “well, it’s something like that.”
Bren smiled happily, clearly pleased. “Good.”
Ramel guided me away from the table after I had said my goodbyes to my new acquaintances.
“Bren is thre
e hundred?” I asked in an incredulous whisper as we walked away.
“Our time doesn’t work as your time does,” said Ramel, smiling at my wonderment. “But yes, she’s about three hundred. Our age of majority is two hundred fifty of our years, but really a Sidhe is still considered very young until about three hundred.”
I glanced at Ramel. “How old are you?”
“Three hundred twenty four.”
I shook my head. “I don’t know what to say to that.”
“Then say nothing.” Ramel smiled at me. “Just another difference between our world and yours. It isn’t something that is meant to be understood.” He motioned. “Your new quarters are just ahead.”
We reached my door and Ramel made a little bow. “Were you serious about a Scholar coming to teach me?” I asked suspiciously.
“No,” Ramel laughed. “But I could try to find one, if you would like.”
“I’d like that,” I said. “I want to learn as much as I can while I’m here.” I tried to copy the face Bren had made at the table. “Just not Ulrich. Apparently he’s a nasty stick-in-the-mud.”
Ramel laughed. “Well, I shall come fetch you for the evening meal then, my pretty mortal. Just wait until you are at table in the Great Hall! You’ll create quite a stir!”
“Fabulous,” I said dryly. “I can’t wait.”
With a last grin, Ramel showed me how to open my door and then left. I walked into my new room, unbuckling my sword-belt with one hand. Setting my sword against the side of the wardrobe, I let myself fall onto the soft bed, sliding into sleep almost instantly.
Chapter 11
I awoke to a soft knock on my door. Sitting up, I grimaced as I realized I’d fallen asleep in my clothes and tried to shake the wrinkles out of my tunic as I swung my legs out of the bed. With my arm situated securely in its sling again, I swiped at my hair with my left hand. I opened the door to find Bren standing outside. I must have looked surprised, because she said, “Ramel thought it might be better for me to come and see that you’re situated in your room, that you have everything you need.”
