The Dark Throne (16 page)

“Nehalim is already prepared,” Calliea said to me as I drew abreast of her. She grinned fiercely. “Seems a waste for a healer to be riding such a great battle steed, but who says you are to be just a healer, eh?”

“Well, the High Queen, for one,” I answered as Calliea pushed open one of the sides of the great doors and we entered the Hall.

A maelstrom of purposeful sound enveloped me; I felt like I’d been underwater and had just broken the surface into the raw sounds of the bright air. It was difficult to tell how many Seelie warriors had put forth their names for the chance to be a part of this new young Court, but after a quick sweep of the Hall with my eyes, I estimated there were at least a hundred Seelie riders preparing for the dragon hunt. I grinned involuntarily as I took in the vibrantly colored hair, braided and bound in strips of leather, ornamented with feathers and wrought-silver ornaments; every beautiful Sidhe face bore war-paint, some in intricate designs that must have taken hours to apply, others with handprints across their faces that made me think of joyous abandon and newfound freedom. They hefted the thick spears and rolled the thick rope net with its weights into a compact cylinder that must have weighed more than all of them put together; but a handful of them, on the command of a tall Seelie warrior with white-gold hair dyed scarlet, hefted the net onto their shoulders in one smooth motion and carried it from the Hall.

“You don’t have to escort me, you know,” I said to Calliea with a smile. “I can practically feel you vibrating with excitement.”

She looked at me in disdain. “I don’t
vibrate
.”

“It’s a turn of phrase,” I said, raising my eyebrows. “I thought you Seelie were supposed to be a little more well versed in mortal sayings.”

Calliea gave a shrug, her wrinkled nose interrupting the bold cobalt line. “We were forbidden from venturing into the mortal world just the same as our brethren in the Winter Court.” She brushed an invisible speck of dust from her supple leather gauntlets, and then strode over to one of the long tables. I trailed behind her, content with watching the purposeful preparations. When I turned back to Calliea, she said, “Help me with the buckles?”

In surprise, I stepped forward to fasten the buckles of her breastplate. “I thought you said it was mostly the Valkyrie wearing armor.”

Calliea turned and grinned at me. “I did.” Her breastplate shone a bright robin’s-egg blue, vivid but somehow not garish. It made her beauty all the fiercer. “I will be riding with my cousin in the Valkyrie ranks.”

On impulse I threw my arms around Calliea’s neck. She froze at my impromptu display of affection, remaining perfectly still until I drew away. I cleared my throat in embarrassment. “Hugging usually isn’t my thing but….you’ve helped me a lot, since I’ve arrived here. So thank you. And please don’t get yourself killed.”

“If I died I would miss all the excitement,” replied Calliea, raising one eyebrow, “and that would be no fun at all.”

“No fun at all indeed,” I said. Then I straightened, looking up at the cathedral ceiling. Dozens of Glasidhe flew about the great beams, and I saw with a smile that the small warriors had set up their encampment in perhaps the most private quarters in the entire Hall. The bells had stopped ringing, and the wolves’ howls had faded into echoes. The bustle and industrious hum of preparation slowly quieted. I turned, following Calliea’s suddenly focused attention. Vell stood in front of the great doors, flanked by her Three, resplendent in a scarlet breastplate, red as blood soaking into snow, the image of a wolf worked in silver and white upon her chest. A red cloak swept back behind her, edged in the silvery mottled fur of some Northern creature of snow and pinned at the throat with a gleaming ruby. Her dark hair was bound up in what seemed to my eyes like hundreds of braids, a more complex echo of her favored style, the braids twisted and gathered in a fierce ridge down the center of her head. The ends of her braids were decorated with carved ivory beads, the contrast stark against her raven locks. Below her woven hair sat her crown, gleaming golden across her forehead and intensifying the hue of her gaze. The rest of her raiment was black: shirt, gauntlets, breeches, and supple knee-high boots. She looked every bit the part of the High Queen, and my chest swelled with sisterly pride.

The High Queen’s Three all wore much the same uniform: silver breastplates with a wolf worked in scarlet upon their chests, dark grey cloaks, shirts and breeches, and black gauntlets and boots. I wondered distractedly how they’d convinced Arcana to don the different clothes. Arcana’s dark hair was braided in a simpler style, but I was still impressed; it was like seeing a snake wrapped about a beautiful girl’s shoulders, docile for the moment but still flicking its tongue to taste the air. The Three also wore the same face-paint: a thick line across their faces from temple to temple, the paint such a dark red that it looked almost black. Their eyes glittered from within the dark swath of paint, drowning-blue and copper-sparked and laughing green, giving them a fierce and mysterious look. Then I saw that Finnead and Gray carried circular shields, distinct from the more rectangular shields favored by the Seelie warriors. They handled the shields easily on their arms; and as Vell strode forward with her Three behind her, I saw that the shields bore the image of a white wolf, laid into the metal with the same ivory substance out of which the beads Vell’s hair were carved. Then I remembered how I’d wondered what use the Northerners found for the bones of their slain enemies. But rather than shiver I felt a fierce satisfaction that the bones of Malravenar’s beastly creatures had been made into the shield crests for the High Queen’s blood-blessed warriors, and carved ornaments for the head of the High Queen. It showed the rest of those that would be a part of the Wild Court that monsters, too, could die, and their High Queen had killed them, and her Three wore the bones on their shields as proof.

The High Queen and her Three halted, all four of them at once. Beryk materialized out of the shadows. The great sable wolf glided across the Hall and pressed his head under the Wild Queen’s hand. He turned his head and sniffed at Gray’s shield, then showed his teeth to it as he smelled the bones of his enemies. Gray’s eyes brightened in amusement. Vell ran her fingers through the black wolf’s fur. She raised her chin.

“Now we go to hunt the most dangerous creature that has roamed our world in our lifetimes,” she said, and though it didn’t seem to me like she raised her voice, her words carried into the farthest corners of the Hall. The Sidhe had arranged themselves in two long ranks, one in front of each table, moving without taking their transfixed gazes from the Queen they wished to serve. “But even more than that, you go to hunt to prove yourselves, to earn your place at the Wild Court.” Beryk showed his long white teeth. “Though you are not all
ulfdrengr,
I am, and my Court shall be as a pack, with each warrior earning their place at the hunt. For a wolf who does not hunt has no place in the pack, and a wolf who shies from danger has no place in the hunt.” Her golden eyes roamed the Hall, fierce behind her words. “Do not endanger yourselves needlessly, but do not turn away from danger. I will brook no cowards in the Wild Court.” Her words settled into the tight silence; it was as though the young Seelie warriors were dying of thirst, and her voice was water. They drank it in and leaned forward, eager for more. “My Three will be your Captains, and they have chosen their seconds from among you.” Vell paused, took a breath, her golden eyes shining as she showed her teeth. Beryk shifted under her hand, sensing her excitement. “Now is the time of broken blades and spilling blood.” Her voice rose. “Now is the time of broken bones and spilling flames!”

I didn’t understand her words but I felt myself caught up in the tide of fervor sweeping the Hall, rising with the High Queen’s voice.

“Now is the time of broken breath and spilling sweat and the sweet taste of an enemy’s death!”

Finnead and Gray began to beat their shields with closed fists, and the Seelie warriors followed, a drumbeat of war-fervor counter to the pounding of my heart in my ears. Vell strode down the center of the Great Hall, drawing the rest of us after her. I walked beside Calliea, whose gaze was fixed on the gleam of Vell’s crown ahead of us. We flowed down the Great Hall like a tide, the Seelie warriors now beating on their shields as well; I saw Kianryk weave his way down the far side of the Hall. When he reached the great doors to the courtyard, the great tawny wolf raised his head and howled. I jumped in surprise as Calliea threw back her head and howled in answer, her voice bright and high and eerily close to the wolf-song. Suddenly it sounded as if there were a whole pack of wolves in the Hall, howls rising above the beating of the shields as we spilled out of the doors and down the steps, and I saw Vell laughing fiercely as she leapt up onto a beautiful faehal, its coat a dappled reddish roan. Scores of
faehal
awaited their riders in the massive inner courtyard, their coats gleaming in the high noon sun, already saddled and provisioned as if by the working of some invisible servants. Beryk danced about the
faehal
’s hooves, then stood before Vell’s mount in view of all the assembled warriors and gave a great deep-throated howl that swallowed all the other sounds. In the shuddering silence that followed, Vell raised one gauntleted fist, and shouted, “
Skynd vid veidr!”

Finnead stalked before the High Queen’s mount, translating her words, a fierce stranger. “Now we go to the hunt!”

Vell’s face was alight with fierce joy, the words of her native language knifing through the air like arrows. “
Skynd vid dyr storr!”

“Now we go to the great beast!” Finnead shouted, his face almost unrecognizable to me, his voice strong and raw with an echo of the blood-thirst brightening his eyes, spilling over into him from the queen to whom he was now bound.

“Skynd vid drahg!”
It felt as though we all understood her, the tide of battle-joy still rising, anticipation suffusing the very air we breathed.

“Now we go to the kill!”

“Fyldgra dreki a hylgrind!”
Vell’s voice rang against the walls, against the shields of all the assembled warriors.

“We will track the dragon to the very gates of death!” Gray yelled, her green eyes alight as she circled her Queen’s mount opposite Finnead, one bright head and one dark, like the sun and the moon about the earth.

“
Brejda sverd eda hefja skjoldr!”

“Draw your swords and raise your shields!” roared Luca, appearing suddenly from the mass of waiting
faehal
, raising his own round shield, his golden hair braided tight against his head, runes painted down his neck, looking more rugged and alive than I’d ever seen him. He wore two broad swords in plain black scabbards, one on each side, and bore a massive axe strapped to his back. An answering roar swelled from the ranks of warriors, raised blades flashing in the sun. The auras of hovering Glasidhe sparked and crackled with energy above our heads.

“Vedga manlig eda araed!”

“Fight with valor and courage!” shouted Finnead.

“
Sja dagr syna myrkyr inn daga gyr!”
Vell held up her hand before one of her warriors translated. We collectively held our breath, every gaze fixed on the snow-luminous face of the
vyldretning
, the golden crown shining on her brow. Each word punched through the air of the courtyard, slicing through our bated breath. “For this day, we show the darkness that the dawn approaches!”

As if from one throat a battle cry erupted from the fierce painted Sidhe, and we surged forward toward the
faehal
. The wolves howled. Nehalim appeared in front of me, his dark liquid eyes gazing at me with patient intelligence. All around me the Sidhe warriors leapt onto their mounts, strapping the huge dragon-spears to their saddles, checking girths and reins and sliding hands along their mounts’ supple necks, whispering words in the Sidhe tongue to the
faehal
’s swiveling delicate ears. Among the
faehal,
I sighted a few with wings lashed to the traveling packs across the back of their saddles, the delicate bespelled frames laid one on top of the other and wrapped carefully in oilskin.

A flash of pain in my hands cut through the rush of adrenaline as I gripped the edge of my light saddle, and I grimaced, measuring the pain of that simple grip against the fact that I hadn’t even pulled myself onto Nehalim’s back. I hesitated, glancing over to where Vell sat easily on her mount, flanked by Finnead and Gray. I saw Finnead say something to Gray, eyes glinting from within the darkness of his war paint, and Gray laughed, her teeth white and fierce. I suddenly felt very small and stupid, not even able to mount my own
faehal
, standing next to my magnificent steed wishing like a silly girl that Finnead would glance my way. Then my cheeks burned. Perhaps it was better that he didn’t see my weakness. I flexed my hands, bit my lip at the sharp twinge, and pushed down the worry that I would reopen the wounds in the center of my palms.

“Here,” said a voice in my ear, low but still audible above the exultant sounds of the Wild Court preparing for the hunt. I turned my head, startled out of my thoughts, and found Luca very close, his body almost touching mine in the joyful chaotic crush of the courtyard as riders jostled for position and called war cries to each other. Out of the corner of my eye I saw that he had his hands laced together, ready to boost me onto Nehalim. I tilted my head back, acutely aware of his impressive height. My eyes traveled over the handsome ruggedness of his face, his full lips all the more sensual for the hard line of his jaw and the glint of blonde stubble on his skin.

“Who braided your hair?” I blurted. I wanted to cover my face with my hands, but my hands hurt. The filter between my mind and my mouth apparently malfunctioned when Luca was this close, probably because of the electric current jumping between us.

But Luca shrugged and said, “One of the women, I do not remember which one. Would you like to braid my hair before the next hunt, Tess?” His ice-blue eyes glinted.