The Mad Queen (The Fae War Chronicles Book 5)

by Jocelyn Fox

  Chapter 28

  Calliea sighed as the heat of the bath soaked into her aching body. She’d contemplated going to the Bearer’s quarters – she’d heard Tess suggest it as she’d walked from the healing hall – but she had decided that she’d defied the High Queen enough for one day. She’d brewed up a portion of the tea that Sage had given her when he’d released her from the healing ward. It didn’t have white shroud, but it still made her body relax as it washed away the pain. She sank into the warm water and let herself revel in the floating sensation, both from the bath and from the herbs.

  The Vyldretning had fashioned more permanent quarters within the cathedral in the time after the battle at the Dark Keep. For those first few weeks, their attention had been focused mostly on honoring the dead and caring for the staggering number of wounded. Calliea hadn’t minded the little compartment that she’d shared with Tess. It made her feel like they were still on the road in the Deadlands, all three Courts moving in unison if not exactly harmony, brought together in their battle against Malravenar. When she’d returned from the mortal world, the Vyldretning had directed her to more permanent quarters: a well appointed chamber just a moment’s walk from the High Queen’s rooms. Calliea hadn’t lived anywhere so fine since her time at the Saemhradall, which felt like a lifetime ago. In the first few days that she’d occupied the room, it was a bit different every time she returned, a plush rug added or the colors of a wall hanging changed to better suit her tastes. The casual power of the Vyldretning’s enchantment only reinforced her certainty that she served a Queen far more formidable than her demeanor suggested.

  Calliea took a breath and sank beneath the surface of the warm water, trying to wash away the curl of shame that wriggled like a worm in her stomach. She’d thought that rescuing the Unseelie woman was the right thing to do, and she didn’t necessarily regret it. Nevertheless, the Vyldretning’s reprimand dug into her as painfully as her lingering scars from the mace of the shadowy figure in the Unseelie dungeon. Had she made the decision that would plunge them into war again?

  She pushed her head out of the water, sliding against the bottom of the bathtub. She slipped and grabbed for the side. A starburst of pain erupted from her ribs at the sudden movement, and a wordless sound somewhere between a gasp and a grunt escaped her. After slowly positioning herself against the curved back of the tub, she lowered her arm and waited until the pain faded to a dull ache. Her fingers found the tentacles of scar tissue snaking out from the mace’s impact point. She remembered the visceral force of the weapon slamming into her side, the strange numbness and the heaviness in her chest. Another little worm of guilt wriggled as she thought about the Unseelie Vaelanmaver. She’d thought about him as she recovered in the healing ward, wondering what kind of scars he bore from the glass orb that she’d smashed into his handsome face.

  It wasn’t his fault, really, that he was bound to Mab, she thought, tracing the ridges of the scars on her side, even her own light touch eliciting a shiver of anticipated pain. If they plunged into another war, this time between the Courts, the horror of the carnage would be amplified by the terrible fact that the enemy dead would be Sidhe. They’d be killing those who looked like them, who shared their history, who could be them but for the crucial fact that they had been born into a different Court and bound to their cruel Queen. She swallowed hard. Would she be able to put an arrow into the chest of another Sidhe? Would she be able to ply her whip against Unseelie warriors? Her stomach roiled with sudden nausea.

  A knock sounded at her tapestry entrance. She heard Merrick’s voice and gave the tapestry permission to let him enter. Her quarters were not as securely warded as those of the Bearer or the High Queen. She did not have the taebramh to spare, especially now.

  A smile lit Merrick’s face as he saw her in the copper tub. “I picked just the right time to visit.”

  She smiled too, a bit hazily. “I need to sleep after this.”

  “It is quite enough for me to see your beautiful face,” he said. The sincerity in his voice made her heart squeeze. Sometimes she still didn’t know what she’d done to deserve this earnest, loyal man. A mischievous spark entered his eyes. “Though I won’t say that I don’t enjoy the rest of the view as well.”

  Calliea self-consciously moved her arm to cover the majority of the ugly scar on her side, even though the suds in the bathwater already mostly hid it. She couldn’t meet his eyes. It wasn’t that she questioned the truth of his words; it was that she didn’t feel beautiful in the least with the angry red tangle of scars on her side. Merrick didn’t comment. He merely went to the fireplace and began working on lighting a fire. She felt strangely grateful for his silence as she hastily washed her hair and touched the rune on the side of the copper fixture that caused the water to drain. Rinsing the last of the soap from her hair and body with the cooling water in a silver pitcher set on the floor by the bathtub, she grabbed her towel, ignoring the protest from her body at the sharp movement. Wrapping the length of soft cloth around her body and hiding the hideous sprawl of scarlet on her side made the knot in her stomach loosen a bit.

  “You know,” said Merrick quietly, watching newborn flames leap on the log in the fireplace, “Tess has scars on her hands from being burned by the Crown of Bones.”

  “I know,” said Calliea, swallowing. “I know that it’s…ridiculous. I thought that if I ever received a wound with such a scar, I’d be…proud, I suppose. I thought that it wouldn’t bother me in the least.” She hunched her shoulders. “But it does. I don’t know why.”

  “It hasn’t been that long,” said Merrick, turning to face her. The tenderness in his eyes almost undid her. “I think you should be patient with yourself.”

  Her smile trembled on her lips. “How is it that you know me better than I know myself sometimes?”

  He chuckled. “Perhaps because you demand more from yourself than from anyone else.” He turned back to the fireplace and picked up the silver poker, unobtrusively giving her privacy as she dressed. She pulled on a loose shirt and soft breeches, hanging the towel to dry on a hook by the fire.

  “You’re not wrong,” she said to Merrick. The feeling of floating hadn’t disappeared when she’d gotten out of the tub. Every time she blinked, it took effort to open her eyes again. Merrick carefully put his arms about her. She pressed her face into his shoulder, breathing deeply of his unique scent. “How did the scrying go?” she murmured.

  “As Vell suspected, Mab has turned her energy to things other than concealing her Court,” Merrick replied.

  She drew back, feeling her eyebrows draw into a line. “You saw the Princess?”

  He nodded. “Yes. I’ve made my report to the Bearer and the Vyldretning.” A shadow passed through his gray eyes. “I would prefer not to speak of it again for a while.”

  She blinked but nodded. Her head felt disconnected from the rest of her body.

  “You’re falling asleep on your feet,” said Merrick gently. “Let’s get you into bed.”

  With his steadying arm around her shoulders, she made it to her bed, lying down gingerly so as not to disturb the little beast that lived in her side. The pain had calmed into a mere grumble. She felt Merrick smooth a tendril of her hair away from her face. She wanted to ask him to stay, but only a wordless murmur escaped her lips, and she tried to reach for him instead. He caught her questing hand and brushed a kiss across her knuckles.

  “I will be here,” he said.

  His voice echoed in her mind as she let herself drift into the welcome darkness of exhausted sleep. When she awoke, she wasn’t sure if she’d dreamed. She remembered strange snatches of anxious scenes and hoped she hadn’t alarmed Merrick. He’d drawn a chair close to the fire, an open book propped on his knee. He was deeply absorbed in reading and didn’t realize she was awake. She took the time to study his profile, her eyes tracing the strong line of his jaw and the unexpected sensuality of his lips. His brow creased in thought at something that he read in his book. Fondness war
med her, and she found she didn’t want to disturb him, so she lay in bed and watched him for a while, slowly letting her awareness of her body expand, a habit she’d developed in the first days after the raid. Waking up all at once had been too overwhelming.

  Her legs felt a bit stiff from her ride on Kyrim, but she could tell that she wouldn’t be sore after a good stretch. Her side ached dully, as it did nearly all the time, but that was merely background noise now. A headache pressed at the backs of her eyes, probably because the tea that she’d drank before sleep had lost its effectiveness. She looked up at the ceiling and decided that she wasn’t going to take any more for a while. The prospect of enduring all the small hurts that plagued her body now wasn’t exactly cheering, but she had to start somewhere.

  Calliea pushed herself onto her elbows and pushed aside the furs covering her legs. Merrick marked his place in his book and set it on his chair as he stood.

  “What time is it?” Calliea asked.

  “It’s morning,” he replied.

  It had barely been dusk when she’d finished grooming Kyrim and Vell had sent her to her quarters, but Calliea didn’t feel any surprise. She felt herself nod. “Did you get any sleep?”

  “Yes,” he replied, and he didn’t elaborate. “Come eat breakfast with me.” He gestured to the small table in her quarters, and her stomach did rumble as she saw the spread of food set out on it: freshly sliced bread and jam, cold cuts of meat and cheese, and a steaming pot of khal.

  “Are you trying to tell me that I don’t eat enough?” she asked, raising an eyebrow as she slid out of bed and padded over to one of the chairs.

  Merrick looked wounded. “Can’t I just want to enjoy a meal with you?”

  “Of course,” she said quickly. “I suppose we really haven’t had much of that lately.”

  She busied herself with spreading jam on a piece of bread and pouring herself a cup of khal. He joined her at the table and began loading up his own plate with food. After she’d eaten her first helping, she sipped at the khal, sighed and sat back in her chair.

  “So, tell me. What happened last night in the Bearer’s quarters?” she asked.

  “I went to tell the Vyldretning what I’d seen in my scrying glass,” said Merrick. “The Queen was there along with her Three, the Bearer and Guinna. It was like a war council.” He poured himself more khal, grim-faced.

  Calliea’s mouth went dry and she drank more khal before she spoke. “What did Guinna say about the state of the Unseelie Court?”

  Merrick ran one hand through his dark hair. “You heard what she said to the Queen in the healing ward. It was much the same, with gorier details.” He shook his head. “It truly sounds as though Mab has gone mad.”

  “You were once part of her Court,” Calliea ventured quietly. “Does it surprise you?”

  He sighed. “I suppose that’s a question I should become used to hearing,” he said in an undertone. He thought for a moment. “Yes and no. Yes, because even when Mab made a decision that might have seemed cruel to some, I always thought that she must have justification. She must have known something that I did not, because she was the Queen.” He paused. “I do not remember much about the time before she required the blood oath. Finnead was a full Knight before the oath, so he has a better memory of it. But then he also rose to serve as one of her Three after she imprisoned him for years.”

  Calliea leaned forward in interest. “I don’t know this tale.”

  “Not many outside the Unseelie Court do,” replied Merrick. “Most know that he was one of the Princess’ escorts on her journey to the White City. Malravenar attacked their group and captured him, the Princess and one of her ladies.”

  “He was held and tortured, yes,” said Calliea. “But when did Mab imprison him?”

  “When he returned to Darkhill,” he said heavily. “I was too young to even be an apprentice in the navigators’ guild. But I remember hearing of it from my older cousins.”

  “I still don’t understand why.”

  “Because Finnead survived when Andraste did not, and in her grief Mab suspected Finnead of disloyalty. She said that the imprisonment was for his own protection as well as the protection of the Court, because there was no way to tell if he had been bespelled by the Enemy.”

  Calliea snorted. “It seems highly unlikely that a Sidhe Queen couldn’t tell if one of her Knights had been ensorcelled by a dark power.”

  “It did not seem so unlikely to us,” said Merrick. “Remember, it was the early days of the war. We did not even really understand we were at war at all, in those days, even though garrelnosts roamed the Royal Forest.”

  “None of us really understood Malravenar’s power until it was almost too late,” Calliea said. For a moment, her memory transported her to the tranquility of the Saemhradall, the morning sunlight filtering through the arched windows of the graceful building, the silence healing and complete. When she’d heard the first screams, she hadn’t understood, not until the first creature prowled through the open doorway, its muzzle wet with blood. She’d killed it by using one of the graceful silver candle stands as a spear, and then she’d tried to run to her quarters. They didn’t allow weapons at the Saemhradall, but she’d packed her whip at the bottom of her pack and they hadn’t seen it, or hadn’t cared. And then the ghostly form of the Bearer had saved her, appearing suddenly and plucking a blade from the air.

  “We trusted our Queen,” said Merrick, his voice drawing her back to the present. “How could we have lived otherwise? We understood that after the Princess’s death, she became…harder. Crueler, even. But she was still our Queen.”

  “Titania is not guiltless herself,” said Calliea. “She bade us all flee as she battled Malravenar, but when she was captured, and her Three frozen…” She shrugged. “Who was left to lead us?”

  “In this new world without the Enemy and in this new Court, I had hoped for it to be different,” Merrick said.

  “Vell is different,” said Calliea firmly.

  “The crown weighs heavily upon her sometimes.” Merrick looked down into his cup of khal.

  Calliea nodded. “Sometimes I think that she wants nothing more than to simply be an ulfdrengr again.”

  “A herravaldyr,” said Merrick. “She would have been the leader of their people.”

  “Or perhaps she would have been a volta, because she has that blood in her veins as well.” She smiled. “Listen to us, debating the finer points of Northern society.”

  “A society whose people were slaughtered and captured wholesale because our people did nothing,” pointed out Merrick. He stabbed a piece of cold meat vengefully.

  “And we come full circle,” murmured Calliea. She pressed her lips together. “It sounds as though you have already staked out an opinion on the possibility of war against the Unseelie.”

  “Not war against the Unseelie,” Merrick rejoined quickly, his voice firm. “War against Mab. War to overthrow Mab.” His gray eyes gleamed with passion.

  “And is the Vyldretning convinced of this war’s necessity?” Calliea felt a cold pit opening in her stomach. “How can we even go to war against a Queen without going to war against her people? In her madness, won’t she kill as many as she can?”

  “She is already killing her people,” said Merrick in a low voice. “If we know of what is happening and we stand by, that makes us complicit.”

  “Do you think you could sight down the shaft of an arrow and let fly against a Sidhe?” demanded Calliea. “There has been no love lost between our Courts for centuries, yet to kill one another? To regard each other as enemies in the truest sense of the word?”

  “Our former Courts,” Merrick reminded her firmly. He took a steadying breath. “And if I must, I will. I cannot leave those who were once my family to suffer under a mad queen.”

  Hot words bubbled up in Calliea’s throat. Didn’t Merrick understand that they’d barely survived the last war? Didn’t he understand that she’d be devastated if she lost him? Didn
’t he think of her at all when he decided to throw himself headlong into danger? Then she thought of the raid, and her own near death, and the realization that she’d very nearly left him calmed her in a strange way. How could she demand that he keep himself out of danger when she would not abide by such a request herself? She took a deep breath and a bracing swallow of khal. The warm liquid slid down her throat and thawed her belly somewhat, where a cold dread had started to take root.

  “What Guinna said…and what I saw, Calliea…I cannot believe that a Queen would do such things to her own people. She has kept the truth of it from most of them, but they are beginning to understand her descent into the pit of insanity. What would you do if the ruler who holds your very life in her hands, who could squeeze your heart in your chest until it stilled, went mad?”

  Calliea swallowed. “I’d probably run, like Guinna.”

  “The Vyldretning is making Guinna Vyldgard tonight,” Merrick said in a low voice. “To protect her.”

  Calliea heard herself make a sound of involuntary protest. “That is not a reason to make a warrior Vyldgard. Is she even a warrior?”

  “She fought in the war against Malravenar same as us,” Merrick replied.

  “That isn’t what I meant. Fighting out of necessity is different.”

  “She had the courage to defy Mab,” pointed out Merrick.

  “Did you know her from your days in the Unseelie Court?”

  “Yes.”

  Merrick’s quiet answer sliced into her with unexpected force. She kept her gaze fixed on Merrick until he set down his cup and took a breath.

  “She is older than me by half a century, but I regarded her with a certain amount of longing when I was younger.” He shrugged. “Nothing ever came of it.”

  Calliea’s throat tightened. She wished she were above this petty jealousy, but Merrick’s admission still stung. Perhaps he’d find delicate Guinna more to his liking, especially since half her body wasn’t covered by an ugly remnant of a horrific wound.