by Jocelyn Fox
Ramel leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. “So you’d like to hear about the knights that were killed.”
The heavy sadness in his voice made my chest hurt. “If it’s too hard to talk about…”
He shook his head. “No. The best way to honor the dead is by speaking of them as they would have liked, with honor and respect.”
“You knew them,” I said.
“Yes.” Ramel looked across the gymnasium as he spoke, his eyes unfocused. “Haldrian was killed first. We’d been hearing rumors, whisperings on the wind about dark shadows creeping from the Deadlands. But there have been whispers before, and nothing ill came of it, so we didn’t pay it much heed.”
“I didn’t know the Sidhe…” I stopped, unsure of how to phrase my question.
“You didn’t think we could die,” Ramel said.
“Yes.”
“It is very hard to kill a Sidhe,” he said, staring straight ahead again. “There are only a few…methods…that truly work. There are more ways to hurt, but to kill takes a special knowledge and certain amount of…talent.”
“And Malravenar knows how to kill.”
“He enjoys pain more,” said Ramel darkly. “He has been known to… torture. Draw out suffering. But now it seems he is turning his attention to death.”
“Why the change?” I asked softly.
Ramel shook his head. “I would not want to know the motives of the Enemy. I would not want to see the workings of his mind.” He took a breath. “In any case, Haldrian was a young knight. He’d completed his task only about five years ago, and was knighted by the Queen on the Winter Solstice of that year. Most of the young knights are assigned to patrols along the border, for their first few decades.”
I smiled a little. Decades.
“Besides Darkhill, there are Glemhdin and Maeltan, and then on the far Southern border Queensport. Those are the largest holdings, and then there are countless small castles and manors between. The patrols are mostly a formality, just to teach the greenest knights how to live on the road. Every now and again there’s a troll that wanders down out of the North or a dragon that awakes in the Edhyre Mountains that has to be convinced not to go about pillaging.” He smiled mirthlessly. “To think I’d actually be grateful to be assigned to a patrol now.” Shaking his head, he continued. “There was a patrol passing by the Mordland Woods—those are just south of the Edhyre, about as far as we go on patrols. And they were ambushed during the night by fell things that they couldn’t see—or so they said. Swords and arrows worked against them, but it’s hard to fight an invisible enemy. When the fray was over, Haldrian had an arrow in his side. That would be painful but not fatal if it were any normal arrow.”
“But it wasn’t a normal arrow,” I said, almost in a whisper. The sounds of swords clashing rang across the gymnasium as one of the practicing pairs launched into a skirmish with uncovered blades. I watched their swords glitter in dizzying arcs and feints.
“It was tipped,” said Ramel. Then he checked himself and took in a sharp breath, his face draining of what little color it had.
“Tipped with…?” I prompted, though I knew the answer already. The horrible burnt smell of the iron sizzling through the flesh of the garrelnost rose in my memory, powerful enough to make my stomach turn a bit. I swallowed hard.
“That…is not for me to say,” Ramel replied, saying the words with some difficulty. “I cannot tell the weakness to a mortal.”
“Can’t?” I asked. “Or won’t?”
He glanced at me, and I noticed he looked rather gray. “Cannot, Tess…I cannot. The Queen’s power enforces the High Code on this point. It has been so…even before the Code itself…” He closed his eyes for a moment, grimacing slightly. “Even now, just thinking about it…I can feel it pressing down on me.”
“So you’ll burst into flames or something? Spontaneous combustion?” I asked mischievously, unable to restrain myself.
Ramel gave me a long-suffering look. “If you are going to insult me at least try not to do it…with horrible clichéd notions.” His skin had passed from gray to a pale blue, and sweat that hadn’t been there a moment before gleamed on his forehead.
“For goodness’ sake,” I said quickly, “if it hurts you that much, don’t even think about it.”
He took in a struggling breath. “But, Tess…” And he looked at me with an emotion I didn’t want to understand written on his face. “You should know, so you can….” He shut his eyes again without finishing his sentence, sweat rolling down his face.
“No,” I snapped, grabbing his shoulder as he wavered, swaying on the bench. “Stop it.” I leaned forward and whispered furiously in his ear, “Stop it, because I already know. I know that iron is the great weakness of the Fae.”
Ramel glanced at me in confusion. “But…the Queen…”
“I kept it from her,” I said, still in a whisper.
Ramel blinked, and took in a breath, and some of the blueness left his face. All of a sudden I was very aware that our faces were scant inches apart as Ramel turned slightly toward me. A tense moment hung between us as he stared at me. Then I cleared my throat and sat back, taking my hand from his shoulder.
“You kept it from her?” he repeated in a low voice.
I nodded, smoothing out the edge of my tunic with my palm. “Yes.”
Ramel sat back and was silent for a moment. Then I jumped as he laughed, his voice echoing out into the wide space of the gymnasium.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
“You,” he said.
I stared at him, stung by his words. “I fail to see what is so amusing about me.”
Ramel shook his head. “Tess, if I didn’t laugh, I think I’d be running away from you instead.”
“You’re joking.” I scowled at him.
“I swear to you on the Queen’s honor that I’m telling the truth,” Ramel said seriously. “You had the strength to shield a part of your mind from the Queen of the Unseelie Court. Aside from Titania, she is the most powerful being in Faeortalam.”
“Except for maybe Malravenar,” I pointed out, and then I immediately wished I hadn’t said it.
“Do not ever say that again,” Ramel said, his voice deadly soft. “For your own safety.” He shook his head. “You are brave, and strong, my dear, but you need to learn to temper your words, or think more about them before you say them.”
I nodded. “Sorry. I will.”
“Good.” Ramel leaned back again, a grin splitting his face. “You are full of surprises, my pretty mortal.”
“And you are full of superfluous compliments,” I answered back. Ramel just grinned more. I hated to make his smile fade, but I felt an insistent curiosity, a burning need to know the stories behind the three murdered Sidhe knights. “So Haldrian…he died from the arrow?”
Ramel sobered. “Yes. When one of us…when that is used…” He shook his head. “It takes a very strong knight, usually one of the Named Knights, to even come close enough to the injured to carry them from the battlefield, if they can’t move themselves. And it takes a very strong Sidhe to even remain conscious when they are wounded like that.”
The beginnings of an idea tickled the back of my mind. “You can’t even try to help them?” I asked quietly.
“That’s the worst part of it, Tess. Haldrian died alone, confused…probably afraid, when he should have been surrounded by his comrades.” Ramel stopped and took a breath. “They couldn’t even bring his body back to Darkhill for proper honors. They had to light his pyre by flame-arrows.”
I grimaced, realizing that I had underestimated the severity of the damage that iron could do to the Sidhe. It made sense that they would guard that knowledge closely; and I knew now that I had casually mentioned a very apt comparison when I’d compared the
Iron Sword to an atomic bomb. “And the other knights?”
“The second attack was closer to Darkhill, on the Baenswold Moors to the south of the Mordland Woods.”
“Titania’s kingdom, that’s to the west?” I asked.
“The south and west,” Ramel replied. He held out one palm and drew an imaginary line. “I’ll get you a proper map so you can study. The Bright Court’s domain starts just south of Queensport, but to the west of the Edhyre Mountains. The Darinwel River runs most true to the border, besides the markers.”
“Markers?”
“Stone markers, set up back when there were still accords, sometime around when your Queen Elizabeth was alive.”
“So,” I said, putting together the map in my head, “To the North, that’s where the Great Gate used to be?”
“Yes. There were really no borders then, but today it is slightly in our domain. Not that it matters,” he added darkly. “And the North, that is where the Enemy bides his time. On the Baenswold Moors, there were more of the creatures, some of them like the one you killed, Tess, and then others that no one could rightly describe. The knights found this time that flaming arrows worked better against them, and they had the Vaelanbrigh with them. That was, I think, the point when he became the Queen’s favorite.”
My stomach tightened at that, for a reason I couldn’t quite understand. I thought of Finnead, standing straight and still beside the moonbeam-clothed Queen.
“He brought her back the head of a Deadlands creature,” Ramel continued, ignoring the look that I was certain had flashed across my face at the mention of Finnead. “A hideous thing, but a handsome battle-prize. And he put Arentha, the wounded knight, on his mount, and fought his way out on foot so that she could die in peace among friends, not on the battlefield with the smell of blood still in her throat.”
“Arentha,” I repeated. “There are female knights?”
Ramel nodded, balancing his blade point-down on the floor. “A handful. That is why the Queen took the loss hard, and sent the Vaelanbrigh to find the half-blood child.”
“And the third death?” I asked.
“Nearly on the borders of Darkhill itself, just before the border of the Royal Wood. The Vaelanseld barely escaped, and he could not bring the wounded with him.” Ramel’s eyes darkened. “They found no body to bury.”
I shuddered. And then, with the slow clarity of flame catching hold of a candle-wick, the idea that had been wriggling in the back of my head made itself known. “Ramel,” I said slowly, “if this happens again…if the knight can survive the ride back to Darkhill…or if I could ride out fast enough to them…” I turned my face to Ramel, a small smile curving my mouth. “I can take it out. I can touch it. These arrows they’re using, they won’t hurt me any more than a sharp edge would in my own world.” My smile grew a little. “They could be saved.”
Ramel tilted his head slightly, an answering smile forming on his lips. “How your eyes shine with that idea,” he murmured. “That’s brilliant. I doubt anyone has thought of that yet. Surprises and surprises.”
He trailed off, and I realized I had leaned forward with the passion of my new idea, and now Ramel leaned in close as well and before I knew what was happening there was an electrifying heat near my lips and Ramel’s mouth was pressed against mine and my mind stuttered and blinked, shutting out coherent thought in favor of savoring the taste of him, the alien sweetness and the strain of mortal boyishness on his lips. And then he drew back suddenly, taking a ragged breath.
“Sorry,” he said.
I looked at him and after a moment regained my ability to speak, my lips still tingling from the electric-shock feeling of kissing a Sidhe. “Don’t apologize. You’re not sorry.” My voice came out slightly raspy.
He grinned roguishly. “You’re right, as usual, my dear. I’m not.” He winked at me. “I couldn’t resist. And now I have bragging rights.”
I narrowed my eyes sharply. “Bragging rights?” I heard the bite in my words.
Ramel raised one eyebrow. “Well, of course. I was the first to steal a kiss from the pretty little doendhine, the first mortal to grace the Unseelie Court for five hundred years.” But then he winked again and I knew he was only joking. I rolled my eyes at him.
“Can we spar again?”
“If you like,” said Ramel, still grinning cheekily.
“Don’t go as easy on me this time,” I said as we stood, even though I could already feel the soreness building in my arm. When I got back to my room, I decided, I would test out my sword in my right hand. My arm had stopped aching, and it just felt sort of rubbery and weak. Another surprise to add to my arsenal, I thought with a small smile as we assumed the ready stance.
“Ready?” I asked Ramel.
“Always,” he replied with a roguish grin, and then I thought of nothing else but the bright flash and clang of our swords as they came together.
Chapter 14
After Ramel left me at my door, I slipped inside and lit the candles in the wall-sconces. The shower in this room flowed into a claw-footed bathtub, which I found immensely charming, and I planned to test it out. But first, I slipped my right arm out of my sling, hissing as I flexed my wrist. Sore still, but no more sore than my legs after a particularly long, hard run. I unsheathed my sword with my left hand, made a few passes, and then carefully transferred the blade to my right hand. Sharp pain immediately shot up my arm, but I managed to keep my grip, resting the blade point-down on the floor. I dragged over the chair from my desk with my left hand, and sat down, my sword to the outside of my right leg. Biting my lip in concentration, I forced myself to raise the sword until my wrist was fully flexed, and then lowered it slowly again to the floor. It hurt, but I managed to lift it six more times before my wrist froze with stiffness. I was sweating again, and my arm throbbed, but I felt a twinge of satisfaction as I sheathed my sword.
I took full advantage of the claw-footed bathtub to soothe my aching muscles, luxuriating in the steaming-hot water until I lost track of time and almost fell asleep. After three years of living with a roommate, I enjoyed the solitude of my own room, my own small corner of the world. I wrapped myself in a towel and wandered around the chamber. My room, unlike Molly’s old room, was not decorated with tapestries. Instead, mine had delicate paintings, done in a style that reminded me of Renaissance art just as the architecture of the Great Hall reminded me of a Gothic cathedral. One painting depicted what looked like a May-pole celebration, with Sidhe ladies in flowing gowns and flowers in their hair. The gathering was in a green rolling field, in the silver of twilight. I peered closer in interest: they were mounted on creatures that looked like horses, but I could see by the details that they were subtly different, the faery-mounts. For one, they were colors that I had never seen in a horse: the majority of them were dark colors, because I supposed that was the general trend in the Unseelie Court. But the dark faery-mounts shone with deep lustrous blue and green, and the paler horses—ones that would have been a dark, dappled gray if they were mortal horses—showed pale azure and mossy green in the lighter parts of their coats. The faery-mounts looked lighter than horses I’d seen in our world, slimmer in the body with delicate legs, but I had no doubt that these Fae creatures could be as fierce as lions. I wondered if the knights trained war-horses.
At the center of the picture, nearest the May-pole, was the Queen, recognizable even in the painting. She rode a mount as black as a starless night sky. A pale disk hovered above her head, much like halos in religious artwork, and she still wore the circlet with the star-gem. But something about her face was different. She was smiling, and there was a graceful beauty in her limbs that made me think she was going to dance as soon as she slipped down from her saddle. Riding beside her was a dark-haired knight who looked vaguely familiar. I thought for a moment, and then I realized that it was the Vaelanmavar. His hair was
shorter, and he looked younger too, wearing a red tunic and astride a dapple-blue mount.
I stood looking at the painting for so long that my hair dried from my bath, and still I felt as though I had to learn something from the painting. Why had the Queen been so happy and beautiful and full of life then? Was the threat of Malravenar truly enough to transform the lovely Queen from the painting into the cold and terrifying Sidhe who had combed through my mind with razor-sharp claws? After examining the painting for a while longer, I recognized Allene, riding in the Queen’s party. Her face was grave but still light and beautiful. The largest change I could see was her eyes. When she had tended me, her eyes had been, for the most part, weighted with an unspoken sadness. The skillful artist managed to convey joy through her eyes in the painting.
Finally I stepped away from the painting and got dressed, stretching my arm. The heat of the bath had loosened my muscles well. As I pulled on my shirt, I found myself wishing that I had come to the Court in happier times…in the times before the High Code. It was novel and new, being treated like a celebrity; but as I glanced over at the painting again I thought that I would have much rather have gone Maying with the Unseelie Queen and her Court, rather than watch them prepare to battle an evil that threatened to destroy their world. The beauty of the Court, the arches of the Great Hall and the windows in the gymnasium all struck me again as hollow, an exterior held together by threads of desperation and far-off hope and resignation. They were putting on a brave face, and doing what they could, but the more I talked to Ramel and Bren and Ronan, the more I thought that they knew their chances were slim. I wondered what I would have seen if I had been able to look into the mind of Queen Mab, if she cherished the memories of riding with her ladies and knights about the May-pole.
I discovered a special peg on the side of the wardrobe for my sword-belt. After hanging the blade carefully, I sat on the bed and wondered what to do for the rest of the day. Then I noticed a stack of books on my desk that hadn’t been there that morning, and a handwritten note tacked to the top cover.
