by Jocelyn Fox
Vivian swallowed. “Okay then. Sign me up for witch lessons. Let’s do this.”
Chapter 6
“My Queen, with your permission I will go to the healing wards to see those of my Valkyrie still healing, and then to the paddocks.” Calliea inclined her head to Vell. Years of experience in the Seelie Court allowed Calliea to retain her composure, but she feared that soon her impatience would creep insidiously through her careful mask of calm. The need to see her warriors and her faithful winged faehal sharpened into a physical pain, an ache like a hook anchored behind her collarbone, pulling her toward the fighters she had commanded in the great battle for the city.
The Vyldretning sat at the head of the council table in the pavilion, her polished black boots propped up on the table and her chair tipped back on its two back legs. Queen Titania and her Knights had taken their leave nearly an hour before, but Vell had asked Tess, Merrick and Calliea to repeat the tale of their journey in Doendhtalam, stopping her occasionally to ask questions. Then the High Queen had stared into the distance for a long while, tapping thoughtfully on her breastplate every now and again.
“Vell,” said Tess. “If you want to talk more, let’s go to your quarters. After everything we just discussed, I think it would be best if we didn’t linger out in the open like this.”
“If anyone would be so brazen as to attack us in broad daylight in the streets of the White City, I would destroy them,” said Vell, finally drawing her eyes away from whatever fascinating invisible scene she’d been studying.
“My lady,” said Calliea again. Gray gave her a warning look, but she ignored her cousin. “I beg your leave to go to my warriors.”
Vell blinked and sat up, sliding her feet off the table. “Laedrek, forgive me, I thought you’d already gone! Yes, go to your Valkyrie.” She stood and looked over to Merrick. “And Arrisyn, you want to go as well?”
Merrick grinned. “Yes, my lady.”
“However did I guess,” replied the High Queen dryly. “In any case, come to my quarters after you’ve finished your tour. I suspect that the Lady Bearer and I will still be there.”
“As you wish, my Queen,” said Calliea. Merrick strode quickly across the pavilion and when he reached her, she turned on her heel and neatly fell into step beside him.
“The city is much improved in the days since we left,” commented Merrick, peering up at the gleaming white façade of an impressive building.
“Hopefully that is not the only thing that is improved,” replied Calliea. Contrary to her hope, the pull of the hook behind her breast only worsened as they neared the cathedral. Merrick touched her shoulder; he knew better than to try to slow their pace as she took the steps two at a time.
“Would you like me to speak to Maeve, ask if anything significant happened?” he said as they neared the great doors.
“And what kind of commander would that make me if I looked to you to soften the blow?” said Calliea, one hand finding the coil of her whip at her belt for comfort.
“One who cares deeply for her warriors,” said Merrick. “I have always admired that about you.”
They reached the top of the long flight of stairs and she did pause long enough to smile affectionately at Merrick. At first, she’d thought the formerly Unseelie navigator too quiet for her liking. But during the journey across the Deadlands, she’d slowly begun to see the brave, dedicated man behind his unassuming attitude. In fact, she’d come to understand why the Bearer and now the High Queen valued Merrick as a warrior and as an advisor. Only when she’d begun to understand his steadfast devotion to duty and his skills as both a fighter and navigator had she really noticed his physical beauty. “Thank you for coming with me,” she said.
“I care for our wounded brothers and sisters as well,” he reminded her gently.
She nodded, brushing her thumb over the coiled curve of her whip.
“Did I ever properly thank you,” he said, his gray eyes warming, “for saving my life in the mortal world?”
“You’ve spoken the words,” she said, raising an eyebrow, “but there will be time enough for proper thanks later.”
He smiled. She held his gaze for a moment, relishing the way her body heated with no words and no caresses; then she took a breath and felt her momentary merriment drain away, somberness taking hold of her again.
“I will follow you, Laedrek,” Merrick said.
She nodded and stepped through the great doors, her strides carrying her unerringly toward the healing wards. Though her journey into Doendhtalam had seemed much longer to her than several days, the relative lack of change in the healing ward only reinforced the briefness of her absence. About a dozen healers still walked down the rows of pallets, though Calliea thought that more pallets were empty now than when she’d last visited. She scanned the healers for a glimpse of Maeve’s silver hair, but the master healer was nowhere to be seen, so she nodded to the nearest healer on duty and began her slow walk down the center aisle. It seemed fitting to her somehow that the first Valkyrie who came into view was one who had perhaps lost the most in the battle over the White City.
“Where is your faithful mortal shadow, Niamh?” Calliea said, forcing a teasing gaiety into her voice despite the prickle of unease in her stomach at Niamh’s paleness and the shadows beneath her eyes. Niamh had looked healthier before she’d awoken, she thought darkly. Perhaps the grief of losing her twin was too much to bear.
But Niamh smiled gamely, though the expression looked pained on her drawn face. “I managed to convince him that it would do me no good if he fell ill because he refused to eat. Or sleep. Or move from my bedside.”
“May I sit with you?” asked Calliea, walking around the edge of the pallet toward the cushion set as a seat by its side.
“Of course, Laedrek.” Niamh pushed herself upright, pulling a pillow behind her with a practiced motion that belied how little time she’d been awake.
“I’m going to go visit with Sage,” said Merrick from the foot of Niamh’s bed.
“And Robin,” said Niamh with a chuckle that turned into a dry little cough. Calliea tried not to look alarmed at the rattling sound.
“Perhaps he’s convinced his shadow to give him a bit of space too,” Merrick replied.
“Oh, no, neither of them want that,” said Niamh, a spark of amusement brightening her tired eyes for an instant. Calliea couldn’t help but compare the wan creature before her with the golden, laughing Valkyrie who had dueled her twin on the practice grounds of the Deadlands in a whirl of dust and flashing blades.
“Well then, I’ll go visit Sage and Robin.” Merrick bowed to Niamh slightly.
“Give them my regards, Arrisyn,” said Niamh. “And…” She paused to take a breath. “It is good to see you…hale and whole. Quinn told me the story…of the battle.”
Calliea swallowed, trying to suppress the fear beginning to uncoil its tendrils within her chest.
“I’m happy to be back, Niamh,” said Merrick, and then he slipped away. A shadow passed over Niamh’s face for an instant after his words, wrenching pain surfacing in her eyes. Calliea thought that perhaps she was thinking that while Merrick had returned, her twin Maire never would. Though Calliea didn’t particularly enjoy showing physical affection, she reached over and covered Niamh’s hand with her own. Niamh closed her eyes, but then her fingers tightened around Calliea’s hand and she opened her eyes again.
“I am glad that you were…able to bring him back,” Niamh said quietly in her stilted speech, taking a breath in the middle of her sentence again.
“Perhaps you should save your strength to talk to Quinn,” suggested Calliea.
Niamh chuckled and coughed again. “He talks enough…for both of us.”
“Well, that does sound like him,” Calliea replied dryly. “You should’ve heard him before you woke up. He was reading books to you night and day.”
“I heard him sometimes.” Niamh nodded. “I was…drifting.” She looked up at the silken ceiling of the
tent above them. The survivors of the great battle had erected the tent in the great cathedral in the bloody aftermath of retaking the city from Malravenar’s creatures.
Calliea pressed Niamh’s hand and felt her throat tightening. She couldn’t ignore the great unspoken weight between them. “I am so very sorry about Maire,” she said huskily.
Niamh looked at her sharply. “Why would you be…sorry about Maire?” the pale Valkyrie rasped, her eyes blazing in her pale face.
Niamh’s sudden anger caught Calliea off guard. “I…” She swallowed. “Because I almost lost one I loved, and he was returned to me.”
“You should not be…sorry that she is dead,” Niamh said, her chest heaving. “I am not…sorry that she is dead...because she died…as a great warrior…facing the enemy…and fighting the darkness.” Her face twisted. “I am only…sorry…that I did not…die with her.”
“Oh, Niamh,” Calliea said softly, searching for words and finding none amid the ache in her chest.
“I am told…that when I fell…I must have inhaled…some sort of poison,” said Niamh bitterly.
“I am sure your mother is working diligently on a solution,” said Calliea.
“My mother…is lost…in grief,” replied Niamh. “How can she…even look at me…when I have the face…of her dead daughter?” Her eyes widened and her lips trembled as she continued. “Sometimes…when I see…my own reflection…I think for an instant…that it’s her.” She took a breath and coughed. “They burned her…before I awoke.” Her throat worked as she swallowed. “I didn’t…see her. I didn’t…say goodbye.”
“I don’t know what to say,” admitted Calliea.
“No one does,” replied Niamh, staring up at the cavernous tent overhead. They sat in silence for a few moments.
“Would you like me to braid your hair?” Calliea asked finally. Niamh looked at her, surprise flashing briefly across her face. Then she nodded. It took them a moment to find a position that was both comfortable for Niamh and afforded Calliea a good angle to braid her hair, but they managed it. Calliea found a silver-backed brush in the small wicker basket by Niamh’s pallet that held her small personal sundries. As she brushed Niamh’s white-gold hair, less lustrous than she remembered but still beautiful, Niamh finally seemed to relax. Calliea lost herself in the task, her nimble fingers creating an intricate braid that would also be comfortable when Niamh laid her head back onto her pillow. Twice Niamh coughed and Calliea had to pause while her body shook. The second time, Niamh wiped away a trickle of blood from her lips with a kerchief.
“They say…my faehal…may never fly again,” Niamh said quietly as Calliea finished the braid. “My beautiful…Selaph…never fly…again.” She clenched her jaw, biting down on another brittle cough. “Just as well…since I…would not be able…to ride her.”
“You don’t know that,” replied Calliea, pinning the end of the braid into place.
“I cannot even…speak a full sentence,” retorted Niamh.
“You have more time to heal,” she said reassuringly.
“Perhaps…the damage…is permanent,” Niamh said. “No one…can tell me.”
“Because our healers have not often encountered such injuries,” said Calliea in weary agreement. She mulled over Niamh’s earlier statement: if the Valkyrie fighter had landed amidst the fires sparked by their assault on the city, wouldn’t that mean that she, as commander of the flying warriors, was partially responsible? How had she not foreseen the possibility that their new, deadly weapons could wreak havoc upon her own fallen as well?
“Quinn says…that is the way…of war,” Niamh sighed. “He says…that he knows…of warriors who have…fought on after losing…a hand or an eye…or even a leg.” She smiled humorlessly. “But…I do not think…he knows of any…who fought on…after losing their lungs.”
“You’re awake and you’re talking to us,” said Calliea firmly. “And that’s what’s important.”
“Thank you…for trying to be so…convincing,” Niamh said with another painful smile. “But it is tiring…to hear everyone…try to tell me…that everything…will be all right.”
“I’m not going to tell you that,” said Calliea, hooking her thumb through her coiled whip. “Because I don’t know that. But what I will tell you is that I’ll go visit Selaph, and see what can be done. That, I can do.”
“And you will…tell me of her?” Niamh asked. “Honestly…no pretty words…or euphemisms.”
“No pretty words or euphemisms,” agreed Calliea.
“Then that…at least…gives me a small thing…to look forward to,” said Niamh, lying back on her pillow. She closed her eyes briefly. “I tire…so easily…Laedrek.”
“You will get stronger,” Calliea said firmly. She wished she believed it with the same steadiness that she managed to put into her voice. But for now, she squeezed Niamh’s hand briefly and then stood. The wounded Valkyrie looked a bit less disheveled with her white-gold hair now wrapped in an intricate braid about her head. Calliea felt marginally encouraged as she made her way to the next cot that held one of her warriors.
After visiting with three other Valkyrie still recovering from their injuries, Calliea felt thoroughly exhausted. It wasn’t a physical exhaustion, but an emotional one. She was reminded again of how fortunately she had fared during the great battle over the city…though until a few days ago, she’d thought that she lost Merrick. And could she truly count herself fortunate when her Valkyrie still lay broken and bloodied, some mourning the loss of their magnificent mounts?
She found Merrick sitting with Robin by Sage’s bedside. The sight of the three of them cheered her slightly. Sage, at least, seemed in good spirits, though whether that was from the healing of his wounds or the nearness of Robin, she couldn’t rightly say. Sage saluted her with his good arm as she approached.
“Laedrek,” he said, dipping his head. “It is good to hear of your return from Doendhtalam so soon after you set out with the Bearer.”
“I’m surprised Tess isn’t here herself,” commented Robin, running his fingers through his red hair.
“None of us are the Bearer’s keeper, Robin,” said Calliea with a grin. “You know that as well as anyone.”
Robin shrugged. “So tell us the riveting story of your adventure into the mortal world. Merrick here has been infuriatingly close-lipped.”
“The Arrisyn already has a reputation for keeping to himself,” said Sage, “though I didn’t think that applied to his friends.”
Calliea raised an eyebrow. “Oh, you’re presuming that you’re his friends?”
Robin sat back in his chair and dramatically placed a hand on his chest with a gasp. “You wound me, lady dragon-slayer.”
She almost corrected him on that account – Luca had thrown the spear that had been half the deathblow, and thrown her his axe besides, but she held her tongue. “What do you want to know about our adventure? The Queens have already heard of our exploits, and none of it is going to change with the retelling.”
“On the contrary,” countered Robin, “all of it is going to change with the retelling. The Lady Bearer is already a legend, and the Arrisyn and the Laedrek are fast joining her.”
Merrick chuckled and Calliea rolled her eyes.
“You don’t believe me?” said Robin, affronted. He looked at Sage. “Would you like to verify the validity of that, please?”
Sage smiled. “For the right price.”
“Extortion and blackmail, you rogue,” said Robin in mock reprimand, but his bright eyes glimmered as he leaned over the bed and leisurely kissed Sage.
Merrick glanced at Calliea with a question on his face.
“Just because they’re all right with kissing in front of everyone doesn’t mean we will,” she said firmly.
Robin laughed as he sat back in his chair. “And there’s the famous fierceness of the Laedrek.”
“I’d hope that my reputation for fierceness has to do with fighting in battles, not speaking to my friends
,” replied Calliea. Did the whole Court really think that she was fierce in everything? she wondered with slight alarm. Merrick reached over and touched her arm, just as he had on the front steps of the cathedral.
“Your fierceness has to do with your firm belief in everything you do,” said Merrick, looking at her steadily. “It’s quite entrancing, actually, to be in love with a woman who knows her own mind with such surety.”
Calliea heard her own sharp intake of breath as Merrick so casually announced his love for her. They hadn’t used that word to describe what was between them, not until now, and peripherally she was aware that Sage and Robin glanced at each other and then back at her and Merrick with knowing smiles.
“Circling back to my original assertion of your legendary status,” said Robin after a long moment of breathless silence, “I believe I’ve paid the price for my corroboration.” He raised an eyebrow at Sage.
“You aren’t quite at the level of the Lady Bearer or Queen Vell, but among us ordinary fighters, there is a bit of awe,” said Sage.
“Awe doesn’t do anyone any good,” muttered Calliea, feeling the blood rush into her cheeks as Sage’s words broke the silent spell in the wake of Merrick’s pronouncement. The word echoed again in her head like the peal of a struck bell. Love. Merrick had just said that he loved her. No, she corrected herself, that hadn’t been exactly what he’d said; he’d said he was in love with her. Was that the same? Why did she feel like a girl again? She’d had lovers in the past, and the death of her last lover had driven her to the Saemhradall what seemed like years ago now. Why did this man, formerly Unseelie, so quiet and assured, turn her inside out?
“In any case,” Sage continued, “I remember telling the Lady Bearer about the Exiled.”
“Queen Titania is not going to be angry that we’re discussing this?” Robin said, his voice tinged with concern as he brushed Sage’s hair away from his forehead.
Sage smiled and caught Robin’s hand in his own. “The Queen cannot be angry when the Bearer, the Laedrek and the Arrisyn have all seen the truth of my words. My Queen does not take our memories, though we abide by her wishes when she does not want us to speak of certain things.”
