The Crown of Bones (The Fae War Chronicles Book 2)

by Jocelyn Fox

  We hadn’t spoken of the conversation that had taken place just before the Vaelanmavar had arrived at the forest barracks, accusing both Finnead and me of treachery and arresting us. I somehow found my voice. “So you believe that I’m not in love with Ramel now?”

  He had the grace to look slightly embarrassed. “It was stupid of me to assume such a thing in the first place, when I hadn’t talked to either of you about it.”

  A knot loosened in my chest. “Ramel thinks of me as a friend,” I said in relief. I hadn’t known how to approach the subject with my sword-teacher and mentor, since I hadn’t even thought of it as an issue until Finnead had explained it all to me.

  “Ramel thinks of you as a younger sister,” Finnead corrected me, still holding my hand.

  “As long as we’re being honest, I guess I should tell you that he did kiss me, once.” My cheeks burned with a blush. “But only once. And he said he wouldn’t tell anyone.”

  “He was true to his word,” the dark-haired Knight replied with a small smile.

  “It doesn’t bother you?” I asked, barely daring to breathe.

  He remained silent for a long, torturous moment. And then that small, enigmatic smile turned up one corner of his perfect lips. I waited miserably, wishing that I could decipher his expression. He stood. I guessed he was about to walk away, and I sat kicking myself for telling him about my kiss with Ramel at such a delicate moment. Trust me to get my foot in the door and then blow it all to hell.

  Finnead gently pulled on my hand, and I stood. There was barely any distance between us, his bare chest brushing the cloth of my loose shirt. He leaned toward me, his other hand encircling my waist gently. He kissed me softly, almost tentatively, leaving me breathless with the thrill of electricity coursing through me. His lips were soft and warm, but he tasted of an icy power, something sharp and wild. There was also the coppery taste of his blood from the cut on his lip, but that was lost in the rush of fire wrapping around me. I pressed closer, melding my body to his, and his hand tightened around my waist. Too soon, he pulled away. I stared at him speechlessly, caught in the fathomless blue of his eyes.

  “Now it doesn’t bother me,” he said huskily, his smile very male and satisfied.

  I blinked, still trying to regain my ability to speak. Finally I said, “Fair enough.”

  Finnead’s small enigmatic smile disappeared. His face settled into the cool, aloof expression that he wore like a shield. He looked away from me and his mouth tightened into a hard line, so different than the full kissable lips pressed against mine just a moment ago. “Tess, just because this battle is over does not mean the war is over.”

  I swallowed and nodded. “I know. Trust me, I know.” The Sword thrummed in its sheath. The hairs on my arm stood up, and I looked down. My war-markings glowed emerald green. So the markings faded, but not permanently. I pulled my sleeve up and watched the shimmering green whorls on my arm pulse in time to the thrum of the Sword, like a second heartbeat against my skin.

  “War-markings,” murmured Finnead. He ran a hand through his hair and then turned away from me abruptly, gathering his shirt from the bed and pulling it over his head in one graceful movement.

  I watched the shimmering green slide through the graceful curves that the Sword had carved beneath my skin, wondering if the design was permanent or if the Sword could change it on a whim. Or maybe I could change it. I narrowed my eyes and concentrated, but the emerald glimmer flowed unperturbed. Maybe it was because my lips still tingled from Finnead’s kiss. I felt a blush heating my cheeks.

  Finnead went very still. “This should not happen again.”

  Lowering my arm, I glanced at him with a frown. “I can’t really control when the markings go all radioactive.” And then I realized with a sinking feeling that he wasn’t talking about my glowing skin art. “I…” I didn’t know what to say. My stomach tied itself in knots around my spine. I cleared my throat but didn’t trust my voice.

  He looked at me steadily, expression unreadable. “The war is not over, Tess. It may not be over for a long while yet. And I think it best if we do not allow ourselves to be involved in…distractions.”

  “Distractions,” I repeated flatly. He waited silently until a flicker of recognition surfaced on my face. I pushed down the raging storm erupting within me, letting him see only that glimmer of understanding. I would not let him see my weakness. I swallowed hard. I pressed my lips together and looked away from him. “You sure know how to confuse a girl,” I said tightly, a spark of anger suddenly blooming in my chest. “That’s an impressive turn-around, even for a Sidhe.”

  “It would be best if we do not allow ourselves to be involved in distractions,” he repeated again, voice emotionless.

  “Save it,” I told him, the green markings on my arm shining so brightly that they showed through my shirt. “I thought we were done playing games.” I shook my head. “But I guess not.” I looked at him flintily. “You don’t want any distractions. Fine. I understand. But just don’t expect me to waste away, pining after you like a lovesick little girl.” I grabbed the Sword, my movements abrupt as I slung the strap over my head. My braid tangled in the strap and I had to pause, gracelessly yanking at my hair until it came free. I settled the Sword on my back with what dignity I had left, anger and hurt mingling in my chest.

  My glare heating the space between us, I adjusted the Sword’s sheath, moving it into a more comfortable position. Anger I could show. Anger pushed him away, made him think that I was strong enough not to feel the sting of his cutting words. The Sword vibrated slightly against my back, a comforting hum against my spine. “We’re going to start out on the road this afternoon.”

  With those parting words, I turned on my heel and strode from the healing room, my lips still burning from the kiss of the Unseelie Knight standing silently behind me.

  Chapter 4

  I carefully closed the door of the healing room behind me, leaning against it for a moment and closing my eyes. I took a deep breath, pushing down the anger coursing through my veins. As I calmed myself, the pulsing emerald fire streaming down my war-markings slowed. I stared down at my hand, watching the swirls of green on my hand until they faded to glimmering traces.

  “Lady Tess!” said a vaguely familiar voice.

  I carefully composed myself before turning to the speaker, a slight young Sidhe with a shock of dark hair and silvery gray eyes.

  “It’s Merrick, my lady,” he said quickly, before I could even open my mouth. “You helped heal me, before the battle. You and the Vaelanbrigh.”

  “I remember,” I replied, smiling. If Merrick had been mortal, he probably would have only been about sixteen or seventeen. As it was, he had at least a hundred years on me. “I see you’re much better now.”

  He rubbed his chest with one hand unconsciously at my mention of his wound. “Yes, my lady, I am. I was well enough to fight in the battle.”

  “It looks as though you aren’t any worse for wear from that,” I said.

  “Only because I made it out after the battle had started, and it was only a few minutes until you appeared, my lady, and swept the battlefield with your power. We were all very impressed.” He smiled, his eyes dancing with a youthful impishness.

  “When you say you only made it out after the battle started,” I said, raising one eyebrow, “it sounds as though you’re saying you snuck out.”

  Merrick shifted uncomfortably. “When you say it like that, my lady, it makes me sound like a child who escaped his nursemaid.”

  “I meant it as a jest,” I said quickly, understanding immediately that Merrick’s young age was a sore point of contention for him. “I’m sure that the rest of the company was grateful for another blade in the battle.”

  Brushing his unruly dark hair from his forehead, Merrick looked at me earnestly. “I hope so, for what little good I did, my lady.”

  I smiled a little and shrugged. “When I first got to Darkhill, I was pretty fairly useless. I’m sure yo
u’re far handier with a blade than I am even now, in any case.”

  Merrick smiled in response. He took a deep breath. “My lady, I have a question for you.”

  “Fire away.”

  He looked at me curiously.

  “Go ahead and ask it,” I rephrased, suppressing a chuckle.

  “May I accompany you and the Vaelanbrigh to the Seelie Court?” The question burst out of him in a rush of youthful enthusiasm, his gray eyes shining with hope. Then he stopped and visibly retrained himself, a cool aloofness settling over his features. I could still see the eagerness beneath the veneer. “My lady, I would greatly appreciate being given the opportunity to prove my worth as a member of the party traveling to the Seelie Court.”

  I considered. “Why is it that you want to accompany us?”

  “Tis a chance not often encountered, to go on such a grand quest,” he replied in a carefully measured voice.

  “If that’s your only reason, then I’m afraid I’m going to have to say no. We can’t afford to take everyone who wants to shine up their name with some glory.” I grimaced. “Besides, I have a feeling it isn’t going to be a particularly glorious quest.” I looked Merrick in the eyes. “It’s going to be a long, hard journey, and I don’t think all of us will survive.” I had to bear down hard to keep my voice from shaking when I admitted that the dangerous journey would probably claim lives.

  “I do not want glory,” Merrick replied, the youthfulness gone from his face as his eyes hardened.

  “Then why?” I asked quietly, watching him carefully.

  “My shield-brother was killed in the battle.” His voice was soft and deadly now, every trace of uncertainty and enthusiasm replaced with a coldly burning fire, lighting his eyes with the Fae-spark. “We grew up together, training to be knights under the same master. He was closer to me than blood.”

  My heart twisted sharply as his words reminded me of Molly. I had come to Faeortalam because of Molly, because we were as close as sisters. And then Mab had unbound the Fae half of Molly’s soul, obliterating her memories of her life in the mortal world. Even now, a familiar anger burned low in my chest at the very thought of Mab slipping her way through Molly’s mind, erasing every cherished memory of our friendship.

  “I must avenge his death,” Merrick continued with that soft, deadly anger running through his voice like a swift current. “And if I go back to Darkhill, I will be bound by the Queen’s word, waiting uselessly.” He stopped short, pressing his lips together before he could speak any words of true treason. I wondered, not for the first time, if Mab’s power truly extended over all her subjects, no matter where they were in her lands, and if she could hear any words of treason uttered against her.

  “Do you think you’ll be satisfied, after this journey? You think that the anger will just go away?” I asked him. I moved restlessly away from the door of the healing room. “Would you like to take a walk with me?”

  “If you wish it, my lady,” Merrick replied gracefully.

  “Call me Tess,” I told him as we walked toward the door of the barracks. “If you’re going to come, you need to get used to less formality.”

  Merrick paused as the implication of my words struck him. “Truly? My lady, I—I mean, Tess, I…”

  I turned and grinned at him. “Don’t get so excited, Merrick. You still have to meet the other members of our little group before you decide if you still want to come.”

  He looked puzzled. “Are there members of our group which would cause me to reconsider?”

  I merely shrugged, walking through the long grass toward the edge of the woods. “Depends on what would make you reconsider.” I spied the tip of a black tail in the long grass at the edge of the practice-field.

  “We’ve all seen the North-wolf, my lady,” Merrick said, catching on quickly.

  “If you keep calling me that, I’m going to say no just on principle,” I told him. “And it’s one thing to have seen Beryk.” I let myself grin a little. “It’s quite another to interact with him personally.”

  “Personally? I don’t—” Merrick’s words were muffled by a swath of black fur, a blur that sprang liquidly out of the grass and onto him with no warning at all. When the dust settled, I leaned in over Merrick, who looked up at me with slightly wide gray eyes. Beryk panted happily in Merrick’s face, showing just enough of his white teeth that I was certain it was intentional.

  “Well,” Vell said, appearing out of the shadowy forest like a wraith, a small deer slung over one shoulder, “looks like Beryk found a new friend.” She grinned and her own teeth glinted.

  “Merrick has requested to join our little expedition,” I told her. She stopped and considered the young Sidhe pinned under the black wolf.

  “Your wolf is…very heavy,” Merrick managed to say by way of greeting.

  Vell raised one eyebrow. “He’s not my wolf. But he is heavy.” She nudged Beryk with the butt of her bow. He merely looked at her, tongue lolling long and pink over his sharp teeth. “He has a mind of his own.”

  “I can…see that,” panted Merrick, trying to wriggle out from beneath Beryk. Beryk perked his ears and watched him for a moment, shifting his weight to foil the escape attempt. Then he grinned his wolf-grin, tugged at Merrick’s shirt with a flash of teeth and released him. Meryk sat up and rubbed his chest. I realized with a twinge of concern that the wolf might have been exacerbating Merrick’s just-healed wound, but Merrick looked at me and smiled. Beryk crouched down into his play-stance, tail waving enthusiastically. Merrick got to his knees, then tackled the wolf with a flash of speed. I watched them for a moment, appreciating Merrick’s lithe athleticism. Even with the Sword, I wasn’t as fast or as seamlessly smooth in my movements as the Sidhe.

  “Beryk’s in a playful mood today,” I commented to Vell.

  “He’s still a very young wolf,” she replied, “and he’s had to act twice his age over the past few days.”

  “Haven’t we all,” I agreed, sobering at the thought of the gruesome battle.

  Vell looked at me sharply. “Don’t you do that.”

  “Do what?”

  “Go all misty-eyed whenever anyone mentions the battle.” Vell glanced about the edge of the practice-field and decided that it was as good of a place as any to make our last meal before starting our journey. She slung the deer down from her shoulder with a practiced ease and a casual strength that made me a little jealous. “It was your first battle, yes, so you’ll always remember it,” she continued, kneeling by the deer and drawing a knife liquidly from its sheath. “But there will always be another battle.”

  She slit the dead deer’s throat in one quick motion, its dark blood spilling onto the green grass. Its glassy eye stared up at me accusingly as Vell skillfully cut the slits in its hide that would allow her to skin it. I stood over the deer, gazing down into its liquid brown eye, already glazed over with the cloudiness of death. Beryk growled at Merrick playfully, and I heard them scuffling again in the grass. I knelt in the cool grass and drew my dagger, breathing in the sweet coppery scent of the deer’s blood.

  “Show me,” I said to Vell, and her golden eyes met mine in a crystalline moment of understanding. She nodded slightly, just once, and then bent over the deer, her dark braid falling over her shoulder as she slid her knife beneath its skin.

  By the time we finished butchering the deer, blood coated my arms up to the elbow, and my fingernails were black with gore. But I looked with satisfaction at the pile of meat that we’d sliced from the carcass. Vell had made Beryk stay away until she’d finished skinning the deer and we’d taken our cuts of venison. Then she let the black wolf have the rest of the carcass. Beryk latched onto the hindquarters of the deer and dragged it away through the grass. I caught one last glimpse of that accusing stare, but I set my jaw defiantly, still holding my bloody dagger in one gore-slicked palm.

  Vell separated the meat into two piles, a large one and small one, and began to cut the largest portion of meat into long strips. “
Normally drying and smoking takes days, but my people have learned how to do it much faster. It comes from having to move with the wolves.”

  She instructed me to build a fire. Merrick, recovered from his play-session with Beryk, helped me gather branches from the forest’s edge. I built a fire-ring of rocks and stacked the wood. With a furtive look at Vell, who was still busily carving away at the venison with her dagger, I called up a small spark of taebramh, my eyes half-lidded as I brought to mind fire and heat, flames leaping through grass and dancing on the skeletal remains of branches. My war-markings tingled as the taebramh flowed from my chest down my arm, and I heard Merrick murmur something under his breath. I pointed at the wood stacked in the fire-ring, breathing out slowly. When I had no more air in my lungs, a tiny flame jumped from my outstretched finger to the dry branches. The fledgling flame burned white for an instant, and then as it caught, it settled into the pale gold of normal fire.

  “That’s handy,” commented Merrick.

  I scowled at him. “Would you like me to blow it out and let you go at it with flint and tinder?”

  “Flint and tinder is easier than two sticks,” Merrick replied, suppressed laughter dimpling his cheeks and making him look impossibly young to be carrying a sword by his side.

  “Fair enough,” I told him, “but I’m not a particular fan of either. Never quite got the hang of it.”

  He shrugged. “Your way works very well, my la—Tess.”

  I grinned at him. “Good boy,” I told him, as if I was training a dog.

  His cheeks reddened very slightly, but just enough for me to tell that he was blushing. I chuckled and sat back on my hands.

  “Hey, pup, you can turn the spit,” Vell told Merrick, sliding a thick slice of venison onto the sturdy stick she had pared down to serve as the spit.

  Merrick glanced at her in confusion.

  Vell gave me an exasperated look. “Please tell me the tag-along knows something about road life.”

  “I spent half a decade with the Northern patrols,” Merrick replied, affronted.