The Mad Queen (The Fae War Chronicles Book 5)

by Jocelyn Fox

  Calliea’s breath caught at the sight of the room. It reminded her almost painfully of the airy circular rooms of the Seelie outpost where she’d first met the Bearer in the flesh; rich colors adorned the walls and the floor, shades of cobalt, scarlet and emerald, interspersed with the furs of animals from the Northern wilds. The entrance brought them up squarely in the center of the circular room. Three different beds were interspersed along the curved wall, made up of cushions, furs and blankets. A claw-footed tub situated under the one window of the room steamed gently, and a wardrobe of dark wood stood along the wall a few paces from the tub. The room lacked the grandeur and polish of the High Queen’s chambers where she held council, but Calliea could see the appeal of this hideaway tucked into one of the towers, high above all the roiling intrigue and prying eyes.

  “It’s…beautiful,” Calliea said finally.

  “Gray quite enjoyed it, once she gave up telling me that it wasn’t furnished to befit my station.” Vell strode over to one of the piles of cushions and fell into it with a sigh, dropping her mantle of High Queen as surely as shedding a cloak. She pointed to the tub. “You need it more than I do. I can smell you from here.”

  “Well, that’s what comes from a hard day of defeating the Unseelie Queen and stealing the Crown Princess,” retorted Calliea.

  Vell snorted. “Not stealing. Liberating.”

  “Right. Liberating.” Calliea pulled off her shirt and then paused.

  “My clothes in the wardrobe should fit you,” Vell said with a yawn.

  “Are there wards on this place?” Calliea asked as she unlaced her breeches and pulled off her boots. Every inch of her skin ached in anticipation of the feel of the hot water sliding over her body.

  “Of course there are,” Vell murmured, half dozing. She opened one eye and arched the matching eyebrow. “You could feel them yourself, if you exerted a bit of effort.”

  Calliea frowned. She’d never been able to sense the Vyldretning’s workings before. But then again, she reminded herself, she hadn’t been one of the High Queen’s Three before.

  “You’ll get used to it,” Vell said, replying sleepily to Calliea’s internal monologue.

  “I don’t know whether I’ll get used to that,” replied Calliea.

  “What, me knowing what you’re thinking?”

  “You replying to what I’m thinking,” said Calliea. Then she froze mid-grin. What kind of person was she to find anything amusing? Her cousin was dead. She’d watched Gray blasted into nothingness by Mab’s fireball earlier in the day. How was it possible for her to smile at all?

  Vell sat up on her pile of cushions, her golden eyes searing even across the distance between them. “Calliea, do you know what happened the day after I came back to find my home razed to the ground?”

  “No,” Calliea said through numb lips. She stared at the bathtub, longing to get in but somehow rooted in place, naked as the day she was born and not caring about that at all.

  “We – Beryk and I, that’s who I mean – we were trekking through the forest, making our way south, and this…” Vell swallowed what sounded like a hiccup. Calliea glanced at her. The High Queen’s mouth quivered as she collected herself to try to tell the rest of the story…not in sorrow, but in laughter. “This deer and her fawn jumped out of the brush. We startled them. Beryk was barely more than a pup, and I wasn’t much more than a pup myself either.” She pressed her lips together. “So, if you can picture it…we’re running through the forest, these deer are scared out of their wits and leap into the air, crashing across our path…Beryk and the fawn collide, but Beryk is so startled he’s just scrambling to get away from this delicate little thing, and I give this high-pitched yelp – all right, a scream – because it startled me too…”

  A giggle escaped Vell, and Calliea found herself smiling too as she envisioned it. “And for a solid quarter hour I am just…rolling…on the forest floor laughing. I couldn’t stop. It was so funny.” She laughed at the memory. Calliea found herself chuckling too, almost involuntarily. Vell collected herself and continued. “What I’m saying is that…life goes on. Terrible things happen, and you’re still allowed to smile at something funny, or look forward to a bath.” She took a deep breath and released it. “It isn’t fair. When I was younger I thought that there was some sort of order, some logic to who lived and who died and what happened.”

  Calliea shook her head. “There isn’t.”

  “No, there isn’t,” Vell agreed firmly. “But that also means that sometimes bad things happen to the best people, and we can’t do anything about it.” She shifted in her nest of furs. “If it is within my power to control, I will change it. But death…I can’t change that.”

  “You could,” said Calliea without thinking.

  Vell leveled a severe look at her. “If I began playing the part of a deity, deciding who to draw back from death and who to let go, what would that make me?”

  “A goddess of sorts.”

  “And I am no goddess,” said Vell firmly.

  Calliea smiled wryly. “Just the High Queen of all Faeortalam.”

  Vell nodded. “That’s right. Just the High Queen of this entire world. That’s all.”

  Heaving a sigh, Calliea felt some of the tension drain from her body. Vell was right. Gray wouldn’t want her to hang her head and mope about. She drew up the memory of her beautiful bright cousin in her mind.

  That’s right, Gray said, arching an eyebrow and pinning Calliea with her vibrant eyes. You’d better uphold the family tradition, little cousin, and serve the High Queen even better than I.

  With Gray’s words echoing in her head, Calliea slipped into the warm water of the bath. As she scrubbed the grime and gore from her skin, she rifled through the memories of her cousin. Far too often they’d thought themselves in competition with one another, and Calliea had always been jealous of her older cousin’s blessings. Not only had Gray been breathtakingly beautiful, even for one of noble Seelie blood, she displayed unnatural alacrity and talent at nearly everything she set her mind to learn. Calliea had taken up the unusual weapon of the whip out of a desire to be skilled at something her cousin had never touched. Gray had already distinguished herself many times over in training and qualification when Calliea had just begun; though they were not sisters, they might as well have been, for how often Calliea heard the comparison.

  Calliea watched with interest as the layer of filth in the tub swirled away, siphoned off by some clever rune-work in the construct of the tub. She’d thought they used taebramh often in the Seelie Court, but it permeated nearly every aspect of their existence here in the burgeoning Vyldgard. She scrubbed her skin again with the soap that smelled faintly of lavender. The scent soothed her as she let her mind wander over more memories of Gray.

  At least they’d reconciled before her death. At least they were both baptized into the Vyldgard. It felt like little comfort, like a candle flame against a howling blizzard of grief, but she clung to it. At the end of Gray’s life, they had even considered themselves friends again, perhaps for the first time since they were children.

  The cathedral rumbled with a sudden tremor. Calliea dropped the soap and sprang out of the bath, dripping, grabbing her coiled whip.

  “As pretty a picture as that is, you don’t need to rush to defense,” said Vell without moving from where she’d curled into the pile of furs. She yawned unconcernedly. “Get back in the water before you catch a cold.”

  “What is it then?” said Calliea, still holding her whip but restraining herself from snapping it from its coils.

  “Just Titania, opening a Lesser Gate,” replied Vell languidly. “Told her I couldn’t help. Too tired from the Lethe Stone.” She shrugged. “Well. I could help. But she can manage it.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m the High Queen,” said Vell. She closed her eyes and leaned back. “Of course I’m sure.”

  Calliea grudgingly laid her whip within easy reach and climbed back into the ste
aming tub. The water had refreshed itself during her absence. Then she frowned. “Why is Titania opening a Lesser Gate now?”

  “So that the Bearer can go finish her task in Doendhtalam,” said Vell.

  Calliea sat back in the tub, stunned into silence. Today had been an eventful day indeed: the attack on the Vyldgard, the liberation of the Unseelie Princess and the defection of one of her guards, and now the Bearer traveling into the mortal world again after Queen Titania opened a Lesser Gate that had been sealed for centuries.

  “Well,” Calliea muttered to herself, sliding down to submerge herself up to her chin, “I hope Tess at least had time for a bath.”

  Chapter 41

  As the truck slid to a halt on the driveway, Vivian relaxed her body from where she’d been braced against the side of the truck bed, keeping her head from slamming against any of the hard surfaces when they hit a bump. She stared up at the sky, lightening now in preparation for dawn. Without the roar of the wind, her own breath sounded loud. She rolled to her side and then sat up, rubbing her arms. “All right?” she asked Tyr.

  He didn’t answer her. She tried to reach him through their connection, but it felt like trying to open a locked door. But he sat up, silver hair disheveled and lurid bruises beginning to bloom on his pale face. He was moving, and that was enough for her right now. She swallowed down the prickle of unease. The implications of her fight against Corsica hadn’t entered her mind until after the truck had careened onto the highway and they focused on bracing themselves against the ride. Corsica and Tyr had spent centuries together. There had been a relationship there. But what was she supposed to do? Let Corsica kill her? Tyr’s silence rankled her.

  She turned her mind to the battle that they had just won. All right, maybe not won, but they all got out alive and that was a win in her book. She slid toward the tailgate. The earth still shimmied and the air vibrated. She knew in her bones what it meant, and that more than anything brought a smile to her face. She was a Paladin. She knew things now.

  “We gotta get inside,” Duke said as Vivian popped the latch on the tailgate and slithered down to the ground, putting one hand on the truck briefly for balance.

  “Why,” came a hoarse word from Ross.

  “Because someone is opening a Gate!” Vivian replied. She knew in the back of her head that grinning after such a taxing fight probably wasn’t kosher, but she just felt so alive, energy crackling through her. Or maybe that was her taebramh. It had never felt so present before. Now she felt as though sparks fizzed through her blood, permeating every inch of her body.

  Ramel stood at the door, sheltering the Glasidhe against his chest. He winced as he touched the iron handle of the screen door but he kept the screen door open with one foot while he turned the knob of the main door. Vivian was pretty sure they’d locked up when they left, but it swung open anyway. Niall followed close behind Ramel.

  “A Gate?” Ross said uncomprehendingly as Duke towed her toward the front door.

  “A Gate!” repeated Vivian. “A passageway between the worlds!” Her heart leapt at the thought. She was a mortal, but she was a Paladin of the Bearer’s blood, and part of her belonged to the Fae world. Her newly discovered senses – her Paladin senses, she decided to call them – told her that the Gate would open soon. She felt the place where the veil between the worlds stretched thin, the power of the Gate opening about to be unleashed. Her mind supplied the comparisons of drawing back a fist for a punch, raising a sword for a savage downward blow, coiling a body in preparation for a leap.

  “Inside, inside!” she urged the others. “They’ll be done soon!”

  Duke managed to get Ross through the door, Mayhem whining on the other side. Vivian grabbed the handle of the screen door and waited for Tyr, though she knew that he’d be able to grasp the iron with little effect because of his years in the mortal world and the spells they’d woven upon themselves to survive. He wouldn’t meet her eyes as he strode past. She ran her eyes from the top of his head to his boots, trying to see if he was injured. It looked like he was walking stiffly, but she couldn’t tell. A mild commotion ensued in her peripheral vision as Ross fainted. Duke caught her handily and laid her on the floor. Mayhem whined again and licked Ross’s face.

  The runes flared as Vivian shut the door behind her. The air tightened. Her pulse increased. They were opening the Gate at the back of the property, near the creek bank. One of the Glasidhe, perched on the arm of the couch, pressed their hands over their ears and growled a wordless protest against the discomfort of the Gate. Tess probably still thought that the bone sorcerer raged in the glowing cage Merrick had crafted with Tyr’s help, and that was guiding her placement. Sound seemed to fade. The whole house shook. And then Vivian gasped with the feeling of release as the Gate cleaved through the veil, connecting the Fae world and the mortal world. She heard someone else draw in their breath sharply, but the opening of the Gate occupied the forefront of her awareness. The Gate felt like a thread tied to her ribs, tugging her toward it. It wasn’t a painful sensation, just something that she’d never felt. It also felt very near to hunger. She wanted to walk through the Gate into the Fae world. Her skin tingled at the thought.

  “Everyone alright?” Duke said loudly into the sudden silence.

  Vivian blinked the spots from the edges of her vision. She quickly canvassed the room. Ross was still out, but Duke had sat back from checking her vitals, so there wasn’t an emergency there. Tyr leaned against the wall near one of the windows, peering outside. Niall had uttered that other gasp, Vivian realized. The Seelie Knight pressed one hand to his chest, breathing heavily. Ramel sat on the other half of the couch, staring up at the ceiling listlessly.

  “Niall?” she asked, closing the distance between them. For the first time since they’d escaped the warehouse, icy tendrils of fear wrapped her spine. “What’s wrong? Niall?”

  “The Gate,” said Ramel without looking at her. “His connection to Titania is strengthening.”

  “His taebramh,” said Vivian in understanding. She reached out to touch Niall, grasp his shoulder in support, but jerked her hand back when he began glowing. Stepping back, she stared in awe as fiery bits of taebramh appeared and swirled down into Niall, like a miniature blizzard. He gasped again and shuddered. Vivian had the horrible feeling that the restoration of his taebramh was a far from pleasant experience…but it would be worth it. She grinned.

  Niall lifted his head as the glow faded, brushed a strand of pale hair away from his face, and said drily, “Enlighten me as to what is so amusing.”

  Vivian felt her grin widen. “You’re back.”

  Niall chuckled. “I never left.”

  “Your taebramh did!” Farin corrected him saucily.

  The Gate had affected them all, Vivian realized. All of the Fae looked a bit…brighter. More alert. She wondered if she looked any different.

  Ramel blinked and stared at his hands. Confusion clouded his handsome face. “I do not…understand,” he said quietly.

  “Don’t understand…?” Vivian gestured for him to elaborate with one hand.

  “I’m free,” Ramel said, uncomprehending wonder in his voice. “I don’t feel her anymore. It was faint after the explosion, after the rune in the armor was broken…but now I don’t feel her at all.”

  “Mab. You mean you don’t feel Mab anymore? How is that possible? I thought death was the only thing that could break the bond of one of a Queen’s Three.” Vivian looked from Niall to Ramel, waiting for an explanation.

  “The fendhionne,” said Niall in a low voice.

  “She freed me.” Ramel stood and ran one hand through his hair. “By all the gods, she freed me.”

  “Why would she do that?” asked Vivian. She wished she could ask Tyr, but he was still sulking in the bedroom, unresponsive to her tentative approaches to open their silent communication.

  “We loved one another,” replied Ramel quietly. “At the heart of all this…at the beginning of all this…we loved one
another.”

  “She’s using the river stone with a piece of Malravenar’s spirit,” pointed out Vivian, “and she’s colluding with the bone sorcerer and Corsica.” She paused. “Past tense for Corsica.”

  “Severing your bond with Mab will weaken the Unseelie Queen,” said Niall.

  “Only for a short amount of time,” said Ramel with a frown. “She will just baptize a new Vaelanbrigh.”

  Vivian saw Ramel’s hand move to touch the hilt of a sword that was no longer at his hip. Her stomach dropped as his eyes widened in recognition.

  “The Brighbranr,” Ramel said. “A weapon forged with the Queen’s own power, turned against her.”

  “Your fate isn’t bound to Mab’s anymore,” said Vivian. “Don’t you want to see her defeated?”

  Ramel shook his head. “I don’t know. I feel like I’m…I feel like I just stepped into a new world. Like the past months have all been a dream. There are many things I don’t understand.” Then his face smoothed into the beautiful mask that Vivian had come to understand meant that a Sidhe had mastered their emotions.

  Farin leapt off the couch into the air, her aura flaring so brightly that Vivian shielded her eyes. “The Bearer! The Bearer is coming into the mortal world again!” The fierce little Glasidhe zoomed down and tugged at Vivian’s shirt. “Come, young Paladin, come, I must introduce you!”

  “I was introduced to Tess before,” said Vivian, though her diminutive sword-teacher’s antics brought a smile to her face. The opening of the Gate amplified the rush of power that dulled the aches and pains she knew existed in her body, and the prospect of being introduced to the Bearer of the Iron Sword as the first Paladin in centuries flooded her with heady anticipation.