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

by Jocelyn Fox

  I gave him a tight smile in answer and turned back to Murtagh. “About to be busier.” I took a deep breath. “I’m taking him with me. His Walker-form is already at our camp in the…at our camp,” I finished lamely.

  Bren shook her head. “It’s not possible, Tess.”

  But Ramel said nothing, giving me a considering look. “It seems that not much is impossible for our Bearer.”

  “I think it will only work with other Walkers,” I said. I looked at Ramel. “How are the gardens?”

  “Not doing particularly well, given the circumstances,” he replied.

  “I always loved walking in the rose bushes,” I continued, hoping he’d get my message as I busily stripped the blankets from Murtagh. A strangely sweet scent hung faintly around him, as though Mab had adopted a new perfume and it lingered about him, even as she ushered him into Death’s embrace.

  “The rose bushes are still thriving,” Ramel replied. “Never fear.”

  “Good. Glad to know there’s some beauty left here.” I looked at Bren and Ramel. “I’ll be back, if I can.”

  “No.” Both Ramel and Bren spoke forcefully at the same time.

  I raised my eyebrows.

  “You will not risk your life again coming here for us,” Bren said fiercely. She tugged at her black armband. “Those of us that wear this will find our own way.”

  I realized what she was saying. Those who mourned for Finnead were loyal to me. Those who wore the black armband were secretly declaring their allegiance to the Bearer. “Doesn’t she still feel your thoughts?” I whispered.

  “These are dark times,” replied Ramel, but he said it as though it was a good thing.

  “Take care of the Glasidhe, and stay safe.” I resisted the urge to give Ramel another hug.

  Ramel nodded. “Aye, my Bearer.” He sounded every inch a warrior taking orders from his captain. I drew my shoulders back, tried to look the part.

  “All right,” I whispered. I looked at my hands, turned them palm up and traced their contours with my eyes. And then I plunged them into Murtagh’s chest.

  I dove into his body. It felt wrong, and every shred of my Walker-form rebelled at being forced into a body not my own. His bones were like liquid fire, piercing me. I held the scream against my teeth, unleashed my taebramh, and threw us toward the seam in the ether.

  As heavy as Murtagh’s Walker-form had been, his body was a hundred times heavier. And then I stopped trying to drag him. I snapped my Walker-form into the place where his belonged, despite how wrong it felt, and then moved us. The sensation changed from that of weight dragging behind me to something like a heavy suit, ungainly and uncomfortable but easier to shift. The room dissolved around us, and we slid through the invisible boundary into the ether.

  I realized that Murtagh’s body couldn’t breathe as we traveled through the ether. It felt as though we were lumbering gracelessly, blundering through the fabric of heaven, rather than the slick speed of an insubstantial soul. I gritted my teeth and drove us forward. At the edge of my mind I noticed that the pain increased, the longer I stayed in his body. It felt as though his body were trying to devour my Walker-form, acid fangs tearing into me. I felt us drawing nearer to the forest, and then there was a sensation like a rubber band snapping within Murtagh’s head. For a moment I panicked, thinking he’d died—and then how would I escape? It was a selfish thought, but immediately relieved as we started traveling faster. I realized that we’d crossed the Darinwel. I’d broken Mab’s hold on Murtagh.

  As we neared the camp, Murtagh’s body seemed to pick up speed on its own. Something like an asteroid entering the atmosphere, I supposed. The close proximity of his Walker-form drew us closer and closer. I felt the seam approaching. I’d have to time this just right, exiting Murtagh’s body just as his Walker-form entered it. I wasn’t exactly sure what two Walkers in one body would do, but I didn’t want to find out. The pain intensified, his body’s efforts to reject me growing stronger as we approached his body and hurtled farther away from Mab.

  I felt his body suddenly jerk downward. Gravity. Ground fast approaching. I threw myself backward with all the force I could muster, unleashing my taebramh. The edges of my vision blurred with emerald fire, and then faded. I slammed back into my body and jerked in Finnead’s grasp, gasping, dragging in huge breaths of air as though I’d been drowning. My entire body hurt, throbbing threads of pain wrapped around every muscle. I bit back a groan.

  Vell leaned over Murtagh. She expertly applied her knuckles to the sensitive spot on his breastbone. I ignored Finnead’s sudden grip on my arm and scrambled forward, my limbs clumsy. Vell stiff-armed me away as I nearly fell atop the both of them. Instead I landed hard on my hip in the leaves, the sound of a sword being unsheathed ringing in my ears.

  Murtagh coughed and sucked in a breath and coughed again. Vell nodded in satisfaction and rolled him to his side, patting his back briskly. She’d stoked the fire while we were gone. Dancing flames painted our faces orange. Two pairs of lupine eyes gleamed in a pocket of shadow a good distance away. I pushed myself up into a sitting position, Vell rolled Murtagh onto his back, where he lay, blinking dazedly; and just behind me, Finnead said in a low, deadly voice, “In the name of the Dark Tree, someone had better explain what is going on before I skewer him.”

  I flexed my fingers. Soreness lingered in my joints, but it didn’t seem as though Murtagh’s body had inflicted any lasting damage. I pushed myself to my feet, wavered and then steadied. “I brought him back.”

  “From…?” Finnead didn’t lower his sword.

  “Darkhill,” I replied simply.

  Finnead turned his head and his night-dark eyes bored into me. I shifted and then stopped, raising my chin. “You did…what?” he said slowly, his voice even lower.

  “I brought him back,” I repeated, enunciating each word very clearly, “from Darkhill.”

  Finnead’s face tightened. He turned and disappeared into the shadows, sword gleaming as he sheathed it in a silently savage motion. I turned, and then thought better of it.

  “Let him go,” Vell said, helping Murtagh sit up.

  “Why is it that no matter what I do, he’s angry?” I murmured tiredly, rubbing my temples with the tips of my fingers.

  Vell didn’t answer me, rifling through her healer’s bag industriously and adding pinches of herbs to an earthen mug. She kept on hand firmly on Murtagh’s back, helping him stay upright as she poured steaming water from a little teapot into the mug. Leaves rustled beneath her knees as she shifted, wrapping an arm around Murtagh’s shoulders and lifting the mug to his lips. A liquid shadow detached itself from the night, resolving into Beryk. The black wolf paced sinuously around the fire, the flames painting his midnight-dark fur with red and gold. He padded behind me and leaned his shoulder into me, and I gratefully wrapped an arm around his neck, twining my fingers in his silky fur. He watched with his eerily intelligent eyes as Vell ran her hands expertly over Murtagh’s body, checking for other injuries with a businesslike air even as Murtagh made a small sound of indignation. Vell silenced Murtagh with a look.

  I leaned back into Beryk’s solid warmth. My bones ached, echoing with traces of the liquid fire that had tried to devour me while I’d inhabited Murtagh’s body. I tilted my head and marveled at the change that had already swept over Murtagh’s face in the mere moments since I’d broken Mab’s hold on him. Even in the firelight I could see the color returning to his face—or rather, his face returning to the pale marble smoothness of the Sidhe from the greyish pallor of looming death. Beryk made a sound low in his throat that reminded me of Lila, the way she’d curled up around me when I’d fallen from my bike and skinned my knee. The black wolf pressed his huge head against my neck and I reached one hand up, rubbing behind his ears. He panted happily, pink tongue lolling over his gleaming white teeth. His golden eyes closed in contentment. Despite my aching body, I smiled.

  “So, my not-so-invisible Walker, you’ve come to join our merry little b
and,” Vell said, sitting back on her heels and watching Murtagh in the firelight. “Not too much the worse for wear, now that the Winter-witch’s grip on you is broken.”

  “Don’t call her that,” Murtagh said instantly, his voice hoarse but strong.

  Vell gave a little disbelieving huff, shaking her head. “She tried to use you as her own personal power source, and you still bend the knee to her.”

  “Last I checked I’m laying down,” Murtagh replied, lifting one eyebrow. He grimaced as his voice cracked.

  “Hmph,” Vell grunted, unimpressed by Murtagh’s wit.

  Murtagh raised his chin, his eyes traveling across the latticework of branches and night sky arching over us. “Where are we?”

  Vell glanced at me before answering him. She stood and walked around the fire, her boot-steps barely audible. “Don’t worry about that for now.”

  The Unseelie Walker pushed himself into a sitting position with liquid grace. Vell turned and faced him, planting hands on her hips. “Did I tell you that you could move?”

  Murtagh paused. His gaze flickered to me and then back to Vell. A hint of uncertainty entered his voice as he replied, “No.”

  “Then be a good court-bred and stay put.” Vell coupled her authoritative words with a glare. Murtagh, with an expression of disbelief and slight confusion on his face—as though he couldn’t really believe that he was obeying this strange Northwoman—slowly lowered himself back down onto his elbows. He glanced at Vell. She raised her eyebrows and pointed down. With a sigh Murtagh laid all the way down again, crossing his arms over his chest with a slight air of petulance. I stifled my smile. Beryk shifted behind me and laid down as well, as though in solidarity with Murtagh. He rested his chin on his paws. I slid down too, laying on my side with my head resting on Beryk’s side. I listened to the deep steady thump of the black wolf’s heart. His breaths moved my head up and down, but not in an unsettling way. The movement soothed me. I thought groggily that I should tell Merrick and Finnead what I’d learned, that I should introduce Luca to Murtagh and check on Rialla and Chael and Kianryk. But my body settled easily into exhausted sleep, and I thought gratefully that this would be a sleep so deep that my Walker-form would be hard pressed to travel for the rest of the night.

  Chapter 23

  A delicious scent drew me from my deep sleep, tantalizing my growling stomach and making my mouth water. I blinked and stretched, wincing at the pull of sore muscles and the sharp cutting pain of the claw wounds in my thigh. Sunlight filtered through the latticework of branches overhead, and by its golden hue I could tell it was already midmorning. A prickle of panic needled my spine—why hadn’t anyone woken me? Why weren’t we on the trail again, pressing toward the Seelie Court? I rubbed the heel of my hand across my eyes and tried to shake some of the weariness lingering in my limbs.

  “Tess-mortal! You are awake!” piped a voice close to my ear. Farin zipped around to face me, her aura as bright and chipper as her voice.

  “Why didn’t anyone wake me?” I asked, my voice gravelly. I swallowed and frowned.

  “You needed sleep,” she replied sagely. “River swimming and siren battling and cliff climbing tire even the most robust warrior.”

  “Ah.” I nodded. It was true, we’d packed about a month’s worth of action into two days. Had it really been only two days? Had we awoken yesterday morning and set off for the cliff, Finnead, Merrick, Vell, Kavoryk and I? A sharp pang of grief pierced my chest when I thought of Kavoryk. With the film of numb tiredness gone, the reality of his death fully dawned on me. I had known him for such a short time, and yet he had pledged his life to me. And given it, without second thought.

  “You slept a whole day!” Farin informed me, bringing me out of my sad reverie. I pushed down the grief adeptly, a honed skill that returned to me easily.

  “What?” I threw off the sleeping-skin and hunted for my boots. “What do you mean, I slept for a whole day?”

  “Exactly that. You slept, after bringing the Walker back, and then kept sleeping. Lady Vell thought it best not to wake you, and the new wolf and wolf-warrior slept as well.”

  I pulled on my boots and looked about the small camp. The fire closest to me had burned down to embers, and a second fire snapped and crackled a short distance away. Merrick tended a spit over the fire, turning what looked to be several rabbits and a small deer. Another wave of the mouth-watering aroma enveloped me. I brushed at the wrinkles in my shirt, gave up with a shrug and decided to try my hand at standing. My sore muscles protested and I couldn’t walk without a stiff limp, courtesy of my wounded leg, but I hobbled my way toward Merrick nonetheless. He glanced up from tending the meat.

  “Good morn, Lady Bearer,” he said, with an impish gleam in his eyes. He sketched a half bow as he turned the spit.

  I shook my head. “Stuck with roasting duty again, I see.”

  “Only because Vell says Murtagh should have another day to rest from his…transport…here,” Merrick replied quickly. “Because you know, he’s the newest member of the group now.”

  “So he’ll have roasting duty once he’s well,” I finished with a grin.

  Merrick nodded, one side of his mouth lifting in an answering smile.

  “Well, fair’s fair,” I said. “Where is everyone?”

  “Beryk and Vell are out hunting. Or rather, hunting more,” Merrick clarified. “Luca is over there, with Chael and the two wolves. Finnead is….”

  “Brooding?” I asked drily, half in jest and half seriously. Merrick shrugged slightly.

  “We have all taken turns reinforcing the runes about the camp,” the young navigator continued. “And we had a watch as well, though it seems nothing occupies these woods.”

  “Except some game that makes for good hunting.”

  I turned at the sound of Vell’s voice. She strode purposefully into camp, the carcass of a small deer slung about her shoulders. Beryk materialized next to her, somehow managing to slide through the shadows despite the bright morning sunlight filtering through the green branches overhead.

  “Well, it looks as though we’ll eat well today,” I replied, my mind strangely slow to provide words. My limbs still felt heavy, and I tried to stretch some of the weight out of them.

  “Sleeping for two days will leave you a bit stiff,” Vell commented, lifting the deer from her shoulders with a deft motion and little effort. She picked up a carved wooden bowl and held it beneath the deer’s throat, catching the blood that spilled out when she slit its skin. I watched as she caught the ruby-red steaming liquid, and to my slight surprise my stomach didn’t turn at all. I was turning into a proper hunter, I thought to myself with a sort of grim pride. Without looking up, Vell explained, “Blood is better than water, for those that are recovering from wounds or illness and need something like a meal but aren’t ready to eat yet.”

  “That makes sense.” I nodded, storing the information in the back of my mind. “How are they doing?”

  “Much better, now that they are with their man and their wolf. Chael might lose an eye, but Rialla will see for him well enough.”

  “When do you think they’ll be ready to move?” I loathed myself even as I asked the question. But Vell smiled a little and nodded at me.

  “You’re learning,” she said.

  “Learning what?”

  “How to be the pack-leader. How to keep pressing forward, driving your weakest along with the pack.”

  “You make it sound so brutal.” Her description left a foul taste in my mouth.

  “Life is brutal, Tess. War makes it even more so.” Vell took the steaming bowl of blood in both her hands and stood. “They will be ready by this afternoon.”

  I nodded. “See to it that they are.” The words left my mouth before I realized I had even thought them, and I started a little at the cold efficiency in my voice. Vell’s smile grew a little wider and she bowed her head slightly in acknowledgement, steam from the bowl of blood wafting up into her face and twisting ethereally befor
e her golden gaze. Then she turned and slid through the shadows, her footsteps silent like the hunter that she was.

  Before I could turn back to Merrick, I caught another movement among the trees out of the corner of my eye. My wounded leg twinged in protest as I automatically lowered into a watchful crouch, my hands ready to unsheathe a blade quicker than thought. I scanned the tall pale trunks of the trees again, and the flicker of movement resolved into Finnead, gliding unconcernedly toward camp with his graceful stride. His eyes slid over me, evidencing no surprise, his painfully handsome face blank as a canvas as his gaze settled on Merrick. Damn him; why was he so hard for me to read? I wanted to growl in frustration, both at how much it irked me that I felt as though I were staring at an inscription written in Arabic when it came to deciphering his moods—and at how much emotion he elicited from me, even in my annoyance. I remembered his hard anger at me, the clipped tone of his voice when he spoke to me after I’d brought Murtagh back, saving him from certain death at Mab’s hands. Undeserved anger, surely.

  “The runes are holding well, Navigator,” Finnead said as he approached the fire.

  His voice kindled a wave of heat that washed over me and settled low in my body, burning near my navel; and my irritation rose as well. I raised my chin and took a deep, slow breath.

  “My thanks for inspecting them,” said Merrick with a nod of his head. He stood and checked the meat on the spit. “Done.”

  With as little effort as I would lift a small stick, Merrick casually moved the spit with the deer and rabbits to a stand fashioned from two forked branches. I was reminded yet again how incredibly different the Sidhe were from ordinary people. Then a slight breeze shifted the leaves of the canopy overhead, and my war-markings glimmered emerald in the golden lattice of sun. “Point taken,” I murmured, and the Sword stirred in its spot just below my breastbone, curling up again contentedly like a lion basking in the sun. Looking up, I cleared my throat. “Good morning to you, too, Finnead,” I said lightly.

  He didn’t take his eyes from the rabbit he was butchering with small precise slices of his bright shining dagger. “So we are back to merely observing the courtesies of the day?”