by Jocelyn Fox
“Come now, Tristan,” the female voice responded with laughter like bells. “Tisn’t anything more than a dead ‘griff, why so squeamish?”
I slowly gained awareness of my body, lying awkwardly in a prone position. I tried to remember what I’d been leaning on when I slipped into darkness…I blinked, and coughed, remembering a warm pelt beneath my fingers, a heavy head on my shoulder.
“Hold,” said the woman, all trace of gaiety gone from her voice.
I forced my eyes open and sucked in another breath, rolling to my side. I couldn’t see much in the dimness beneath the cadengriff wing; ash rose in a small cloud as I moved, my body painfully stiff. With a glance I saw that I was alone, with only a vague imprint in the ash where Vell and Beryk had lain. I slid my dagger from my boot, acutely aware that if these strangers meant me harm, I would probably have to unleash my taebramh because there was little I was good for physically.
I heard Beryk’s low rolling growl and Vell’s impossibly calm voice. “Looking for something?”
Relief rushed over me even as I berated myself for my stupidity. Of course Vell wouldn’t leave me, I thought. I gathered my legs under me and pushed at the cadengriff wing, coughing as my movement dislodged another fall of gritty ash. I stumbled awkwardly away from the creature, my eyes watering at the gray light that now seemed as bright as a noon sun. When I finished coughing and swiping at my eyes with a grimy sleeve, I looked up to find Vell standing statue-still in front of me, arrow nocked to her bow and pointed unwaveringly in the direction of three blazingly golden Sidhe mounted on beautiful faehal. Beryk stood a small distance away from Vell, lips drawn back silently from gleaming white teeth.
Two of the Sidhe had gleaming blades pointed down at Vell. The third rider closest to Beryk held a golden arrow nocked to a bone-white bow.
“Yes,” said the Sidhe in the center of the three. “We are looking for something, in truth.”
Beryk growled low in his throat. The Sidhe with the bow drew back his arrow slightly, face impassive. Vell raised her eyebrows challengingly. I had no doubt that she was about to say if they were looking for a fight, they could have one, or something to that effect. But then the Sidhe’s piercing green eyes shifted beyond Vell to me, and she sheathed her blade in a decisive motion. Without a word exchanged, the riders to either side of her lowered their weapons. The Sidhe looked at me and said, “We’re looking for you.”
Vell didn’t lower her bow. I responded to the suprising statement by launching into a coughing fit. My eyes watered, I couldn’t breathe, and I promptly sat down ungracefully on the ash-layered ground to hack my lungs out. Finally I could breathe enough to calm myself and open my eyes, and I found all three Sidhe looking at me with varying expressions. The female Sidhe who had spoken wore a hint of a smile, while on her right the swordsman looked a bit confused, as if I wasn’t exactly what he’d expected. The bowman, who seemed at first glimpse to be the youngest of the group—but age was always tricky with Sidhe—glanced at the female Sidhe with a look that plainly said, Really? This is what we’ve found?
I accepted Vell’s offer of a hand up, nodding to her gratefully. Then I brushed myself off perfunctorily, dagger still in hand, turned to the Seelie Sidhe and said, “Tess O’Connor, Bearer of the Iron Sword. Pleased to meet you.” I coughed a little again and grimaced at the haze of fine ash still lingering in the air.
“The pleasure is all ours, Lady Bearer,” said the female Sidhe, her voice once again beautiful as bells.
“The honor is ours,” said the swordsman, his eyes glimmering.
I glanced at Vell. “This is…” I paused. Should I introduce her as a herravaldyr? The heir to the restoration of a people thought dead? Marked by the White Wolf? “…Vell,” I finished. She nodded almost imperceptibly, lowering her bow but keeping the arrow nocked. “And Beryk,” I added. The sable wolf’s ears swiveled at the sound of his name and he gave his laughing wolf-grin, showing off his dagger-long teeth.
The female Sidhe’s piercing gaze shifted to Vell. “I have heard tales of the valor of the North. I did not think I would ever have the privilege of meeting a warrior and her wolf.”
I couldn’t help but smile since I knew what Vell was going to say before she said it.
“He’s not my wolf,” Vell replied coolly, seeming unflattered by the warm words from the Seelie. “He’s his own wolf, not owned by anyone.”
The female Sidhe inclined her head in acquiesance.
“So now you know who we are,” I said, “and we still don’t know your names.”
“Truth,” said the swordsman with a hint of a laugh in his voice, “but she is quite as impatient as we thought she might be.”
“Or perhaps I just like to know where I stand with people,” I countered seriously. The Sword thrummed on my back, the first time it had stirred since our sprint through the forest.
“Point to you, Lady Bearer,” the swordsman said. I didn’t correct him on the use of my title. Better for the Seelie to know me from the first as what I was now. He slid down gracefully from his mount and his two companions followed suit. The faehal, which weren’t wearing bridles and only the barest suggestion of something that looked like a saddle, watched me alertly, their liquid eyes intelligent as they clearly followed the conversation. I missed Kelath with a sudden sharp ache.
“I am Sage,” the swordsman said with a half-bow that he made look natural and effortless. “Our patrol leader is Gray, and there on the end is our young one Tristan.”
Gray smiled as she was introduced, fully aware of the irony of her name—there was nothing gray or drab about her. Her golden-white hair shone even in the weak light of the Borderlands, and her skin, though pale, was not as pale as the Unseelie, with rosy color suffusing her cheeks and lips. Even her pale eyelashes caught the light like spun silk, framing brilliantly green eyes. She was taller than the Unseelie women, and though she was still slim she was not willowy, her stance conveying a confident strength.
I expected Tristan to grimace at his introduction, but he merely shrugged a bit as if to say, Well, it’s true. When he met my gaze, I detected a small amount of something like awe in his eyes, and then as he looked at Vell that awe was tempered by wariness, as though he wasn’t quite sure how to react to the presence of a herravaldyr.
“Sage, Gray, Tristan.” I gave each of them a nod. Gwyneth’s pendant slipped out from beneath my charred shirt as I leaned over to slide my dagger into the sheath in my boot. My muscles twinged as I stood; it felt like waking up the morning after boxing class coupled with a hard workout, finding bruises and stiffness in places I hadn’t remembered were there. Just from what I could see on the bare skin of my forearms and hands, I was sure my face was completely covered in dark gritty soot from the dragon-ash; but I looked directly at Gray and asked, “How far are we from Brightvale?”
“Impatient and blunt,” murmured Sage, loud enough for me to hear.
I shrugged. “I prefer to be direct.”
“No mincing pretty words and dancing about the subject,” agreed Vell pointedly. She hadn’t relaxed her watchful stance, her gaze shifting between Sage and Tristan before settling on Gray. The herravaldyr recognized another alpha female, so to speak, and she was watching her closely.
Sage looked to Gray, who gave another bare nod without taking her eyes from Vell.
“We are a fortnight from the Outer Guard’s post,” Sage said.
“It is unusual for us to venture so afar afield in the Borderlands,” added Tristan, “but the fire-breather came too far south for our liking.”
Gray’s full lips thinned and Tristan abruptly silenced himself. I wondered if the Seelie were telepathic, or if they were all so attuned to their leaders’ shifts in mood. It was a bit too reminiscent of Mab for my comfort, but then again, perhaps I needed to be reminded for all my friendships, the Sidhe’s perilous beauty masked a lethal power.
“Do you think it was hunting?” I asked, circling back to their earlier conversation.
/> “If it was, we beat it to the prize,” Gray said, smiling a deadly smile. Vell raised her eyebrows incrementally, unimpressed. Then Gray laughed, her voice cascading golden around us. “Come now. We are being as ridiculous as striplings on the practice field. Let us be friends.” She extended her sword-calloused hands to Vell, who looked at them like they were alien things. I almost stepped forward to try to ease the awkwardness, but Beryk slid past me and shoved his nose unceremoniously into Gray’s waiting hands. The Seelie’s emerald eyes widened slightly in surprise but then glimmered with amusement or pleasure, I wasn’t sure which, as she smoothed her palms over Beryk’s sable coat, heedless of the layer of dragon soot. Gray murmured something in the Seelie tongue in her mellifluous voice, rubbed behind the big wolf’s ears—his eyes went slitted and his tongue lolled in pleasure—and then smiled at Vell.
I let out a slow silent sigh of relief, reminding myself to find Beryk a suitably juicy reward for saving the moment.
“Come then,” said Gray, one hand still stroking Beryk’s ears. “We shall travel together.”
There wasn’t any way to refuse gracefully, especially not since these Seelie would be our key to Brightvale, which was why we’d traveled so far. But what had happened to Luca, Finnead, and the others? And why was I hesitant to tell the Seelie immediately that we’d been separated from the rest of our little band while evading the dragon?
As I turned over these questions in my mind, an inexplicable weariness settled into my limbs. It pressed down on me like a heavy blanket, and when I took a breath all I could smell was dragon-smoke. I frowned. My skin soot-smeared skin tingled. “Is there…” My voice came out as a thread of sound. I cleared my throat and tried again. “Is there any particular effect of ash from dragon-smoke?” I glanced at Vell, trying to gauge whether it was just me or whether she was just stoic enough not to show that it felt as though weights had been tied to my wrists, dragging at my shoulders. When one of the Seelie replied, their voice sounded far away.
“The sleeping-smoke,” said the one with the bow. Tristan, I thought to myself hazily. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Vell waver in her tense posture. It was merely shifting her foot as though widening her stance, but to me it was as though she’d staggered.
“The scroll did speak of a secondary, delayed effect,” I heard Sage say musingly.
The definition of the gray landscape began to blur. I couldn’t see their faces properly and my lips were numb. Thinking was like forcing my way through knee-deep mud. “Five more…with us…separated.” Each word was an effort that took its own concentration. “Two…Northmen…three…Sidhe.”
“Two wolves,” added Vell in a thick voice.
I felt my body from a detached distance, noting in muted surprise that I was on my knees, staring at the gray ground. Hands were on my shoulders. I lifted my head and with the last of my focus, said, “Find them.”
I heard Gray but my vision dimmed further.
“Sage, take them back to camp. Can you manage both?”
“The Bearer is the worse off, I’ll take her and come back for the wolf-warrior.”
I made an incoherent sound of protest. The hand on my shoulder tightened as if in reassurance.
“I’ll…manage,” said Vell in a low, tight voice. Her Northblood obviously gave her some sort of immunity to the majority of the ash’s effects, I thought jealously, wishing disjointedly that I could move my own body, though whoever was moving me was very careful and it felt good to have someone else thinking about what came next.
“If any harm comes to the Bearer, I will put my blade through you myself,” Gray’s lovely voice said.
“Not if I do it first,” gritted out Vell.
“If any harm comes to her,” Sage’s voice rumbled against my back—I’d been spirited up onto his faehal without my knowledge, “then I will put my own blade through my heart.”
Bold pledges, I wanted to say, now stop threatening to kill the Sidhe who is supposed to ensure I don’t die from dragon-induced paralysis…but I couldn’t even manage to blink. Not that I could see much anyway. My eyes were like an out-of-focus camera, providing only blurred smears of color. I could barely feel if I was still breathing and I quelled a spike of panic. I’d just have to trust that my body remembered to do what it had been doing for two dozen years. And Sage. I suppose I had to trust Sage, even though I met him ten minutes ago. And he had a sword pointed at me for a good portion of the time since our initial introduction.
“Calm now, my lady,” Sage’s smooth voice said into my ear. “I know you cannot feel much, but if you allow your mind to panic, your body will follow.”
From the pressure across my chest I knew he had an arm around me. I tried to slow my racing thoughts. My focus must have worked because Sage murmured his approval. I could tell we were moving.
“How far?” I heard Vell’s voice, still strained but still indelibly Vell. “And have you the proper medicines?”
“Dragonsbane,” answered Sage promptly. “It’s difficult to find but we stored some away after we first spotted the fire-breather. None of our patrols have gotten close enough to be doused in ash, though.”
We were moving fast. Wind whipped tears into my eyes…eyes that I couldn’t blink. I made a little sound of frustration. Sage shifted gracefully behind me and leaned me back against him, limp as a rag doll, tucking my face against his warm neck and shielding my eyes with his hand. I didn’t even have the grace to blush. I couldn’t feel anything anyway.
“How far?” asked Vell again doggedly.
“Just to one of the supply caches,” Sage answered obliquely. Vell growled at him and he replied, “Maybe half a league as the crow flies. A quarter hour, on a mount laden double.”
I wondered if he was pushing his mount too hard, flying across the wasteland like this with two riders.
“The dragon’s poison only paralyzes,” the Seelie rider told Vell. “Immobilizes prey. We think the fire-breather has terrible eyesight, so it’s a failsafe, in case it misses something on the first go-round.”
Lovely, I wanted to say. Paralyzed by dragon-ash so I could serve as an appetizer to a beast from the bowels of hell itself. And then I thought…what about Luca and Chael? And Finnead? And Murtagh and Merrick? Was I the only one who’d gotten a dose enough to put me down, or were they lying somewhere defenseless on the open flat plain of the wasteland?
“Steady now,” said Sage. “Almost there.”
I couldn’t feel my own breath but I was sure I was starting to hyperventilate. I couldn’t feel the Sword. I couldn’t feel my own taebramh. No white fire to burn away the numbness.
Sage’s voice was far away. “Hold now, stay with us.”
We were moving in a different way.
“Here. Wash her down as best you can, if you get the ash off her skin it might help. I’ll be back as fast as I can.” Sage’s words blurred together in my mind, he was talking so quickly. I wondered why he was in such a rush.
The smeared colors of my staring vision shifted abruptly. Something vibrated beneath me in a staccato refrain. Hoofbeats. Galloping away. Vaguely there was a feeling that I thought was perhaps coolness. Someone moving my arms, scrubbing at my hands, working up to my elbows. My shredded shirt hadn’t been much protection, I thought disjointedly. The coolness moved to my neck, pressing against my jaw.
Vell’s voice sounded tinny. “Tess, so help me, wake up.”
And she unceremoniously dumped the remainder of the water onto my face. For a moment it was like jumping into a pool with no warning. I couldn’t hold my breath and my body rebelled. I couldn’t feel much but I felt the piercing pain in my chest as wracking coughs shook me.
“Are you trying to drown her?” came Sage’s sharp voice. The Seelie rider sounded slightly breathless.
“Do you have it?” Vell snapped.
“The texts didn’t say how to apply it,” Sage said.
“Hedge our bets. Give me some.”
I felt them working over
me. Hands on my arms again, rubbing something onto my skin, and then fingers delicately parting my lips. I came back to my body slowly, the dragon-ash wearing off as gradually as it had settled over my limbs.
My vision returned before I was able to move. I still couldn’t blink, and my eyes stung, but I saw Sage bending over me, a sheen of sweat glistening on his golden skin. His hair was the deep rich color of a wheat field in the summer sun, and at the moment it was disheveled, sticking up slightly on one side as though he’d run one hand through it. At his temples, his hair curled, damp with sweat, and the slightly pointed tips of his Sidhe ears were barely visible through the thicket of his golden mane.
While I waited for control of my limbs to return, I studied Sage and noted the differences between the Seelie and Unseelie. The most apparent was their coloring—the Seelie were golden and bright and shining like a summer afternoon, and the Unseelie were cold and beautiful as moonlight on snow. It was like trying to compare two equally masterful paintings done in different styles.
After what felt like hours, I was able to blink. Tears filled my eyes at the simple relief of closing my eyelids for just a moment over my dry and aching eyes. I felt every exquisite detail of the tears sliding down my cheeks, and with that it was as though a dam had burst open. My taebramh raged into a fireball in my chest and in a rush of emerald-tinged white blazed through my limbs, igniting my war-markings into tingling traces of fire. When the flood of my power receded, I sat up and coughed a few times, blinking away the sparks from the edge of my vision. Automatically my hands checked the Caedbranr, my fingers finding the cool worn leather of its pommel, secure in its battered sheath across my back. It pulsed under my touch, as though welcoming me back to the land of the living.
Lot of good you did, I thought at it grumpily.
I looked up and met Sage’s awed gaze. Vell sat on her haunches beside him with the ghost of a smug smile on her face.
I coughed once more and flexed my fingers, noting that they’d applied some sort of herbal paste to my skin. Then I swallowed and said in a scratchy voice, “Let’s not do that again. No more dragons.”
