The Dark Throne (17 page)

“I can’t braid like that,” I said dumbly. I swallowed and took a deep breath. Filter on, filter on…I’d been able to function perfectly normally around Luca before this moment, hadn’t I?
Perhaps you didn’t like him quite so much then as you do now,
said the little voice that hid in the shadows of my mind.

“The only way you will learn is by practicing,” countered Luca. “So I think that would be a very good skill for you to have.”

I had to smile. “You’re conscripting me to be your hair-braider, is that what’s happening?”

He grinned. “Indeed, I like the idea of your fingers running through my hair.”

My cheeks heated even as I tried to smile to cover the warmth rising in my body. “What was it you came over here to do, exactly?”

Luca offered his hands again. “Even the fiercest of shield-maidens are allowed to accept a bit of help when they have healing wounds.”

I opened my mouth to say that I was just fine, I’d manage on my own, but his earnestness stopped me. Luca didn’t offer his help out of condescension or some misplaced idea that women didn’t belong in the hunt; he saw me as a fellow warrior who could use his strength for a moment, and he freely offered it. I nodded and placed my foot in his hands. He boosted me onto Nehalim’s back without even a breath of effort. He mounted his own
faehal
beside Nehalim and I could feel him watching me as I gathered the reins. I knew that Nehalim would carry me safely whether I held the reins or not; but all the same I gripped them carefully, managing to keep the pain to a dull twinge. Almost without thought, I drew twin sparks of
taebramh
from the well behind my breastbone and sent them down my arms, soothing my aching hands. I checked that my plain blade laid comfortably against my leg—I’d normally strap it to the saddle, but I didn’t want to deal with the buckles, and I’d ridden before with my sword at my hip.

Nehalim raised his head and snorted as Kianryk wove between the two mounts. I glimpsed silver Rialla slip out the gate of the courtyard with Beryk, and Vell touched her heels to her mount’s sides, following the wolves, Gray and Finnead on either side of her. I glanced at Luca as we began moving forward, our
faehal
following their kin of their own accord. Luca was already looking at me, and he held my eyes with his own gaze for a long moment, anticipation suffusing his face. He grinned, and I grinned in reply, and we urged our
faehal
to a quicker pace as we passed through the gate and flowed out of the Hall of the Outer Guard in the long line of warriors riding out to hunt Malravenar’s greatest, darkest beast.

Chapter 10

O
ur shadows raced alongside us, skimming over the ground, and the contingent of Glasidhe warriors raced above us, small comets shooting through the bright blue of the noon sky. We rode through the silvery trees of the fallow orchard, the scent of ripened fruit hanging sweet in the air. I remembered walking through this orchard when we’d first arrived at the Hall of the Outer Guard, Calliea leading us through the trees in the night, Tristan drawing a rune on the beautiful white gate of the Hall. I glanced at Luca and he gave me a slight nod; somehow I knew that the memory of our arrival, sweat-stained and battle-worn, sat at the front of his mind as well. My hands stung as a raw wave of sorrow flashed through me—Murtagh had followed us through this orchard, through that gate; and perhaps there would be those among us now who would never see these trees again. But I took a breath of the sweet-scented air and reminded myself that Murtagh gave his life to fight against the very darkness we rode out to kill. Now in the bright shadow-dappled light, our
faehal
cantered down the aisles of the orchard and the Glasidhe wove through the branches of the trees at dizzying speeds. So much was different and yet the trees still stood in the same straight rows that had emerged ghost-like from the darkness during that first night.

The Sentinel Stones flared ahead of us as Vell passed, sparks rippling through the air between the great obelisks, flashing brightly for the High Queen, and fading with each passing rider. I took a deep breath and tried not to flinch at the strange feel of hands gliding over my skin as Nehalim carried me past the Stones. The Sidhe warriors hoping to return as a part of the
vyldgard
rode in a pack, weaving their mounts about each other, eyes bright with anticipation. We settled into a traveling pace, quick but sustainable for both rider and mount. I saw Calliea racing her
faehal
against a Seelie warrior with blue-dyed braids, both of them crouching skillfully on the backs of their fleet mounts and riding with wild abandon, threading through the loose formation, the tall grasses bending and parting from the wind of their passing. Now and again a ripple sketched the movement of one of the wolves, bounding about the edges of the main body of riders. A sense of electric excitement hovered over the company, a sort of collective feeling that swept over us all, and I looked at Luca with raised eyebrows. Nehalim closed the distance between us without even a twitch of the reins, even as I drew in a breath to speak.

“It’s strange,” I said above the pounding of hooves and the occasional jubilant war cry. “I’ve thought of the Sidhe as so…proper, ever since I’ve been in Faeortalam!”

Luca grinned. “Perhaps all they needed was an excuse to let their inner wildness show.”

“They came to you, didn’t they, asking about how to dress, and the customs of your people,” I said.

“Yes. Chael was not very approachable, and the
vyldretning
had other responsibilities,” he replied. “It is good to see war paint again. It is not the same, but it is a way to honor our dead.”

I winced. Luca certainly didn’t mince words—there was no euphemism, no phrase dancing around the hard truth that the
ulfdrengr
were a people exterminated by the evil seeking to rule the Fae world. “Are there any more who might have survived?”

Luca flexed his scarred hand. “I don’t think so. I survived because…” He shrugged. “I was given a strong body by the gods. But my mind was weak.” His eyes darkened and his
faehal
tossed its head as his grip on the reins tightened. “They recognized that. My body survived all their tortures, but they broke my mind.”

“I didn’t mean to dredge up the memories,” I said, pushing down my own memory of Luca as I’d first seen him, scarred and emaciated, the cursed dagger bound cruelly to his hand, its hold on his mind painful yet not absolute.

“It is the truth of what happened, and no amount of regret can change it,” he replied with that bold honesty.

“You kept fighting it,” I reminded him. “I don’t know whether you remember, but when you first attacked us, you told me to kill you.”

A humorless smile turned up one side of his mouth. “I should have done it myself, but…” He shook his head. “I hoped Kianryk was still alive…so to kill myself would have been to kill him.”

“But you still told me to do it.”

He nodded. “Yes. I would’ve been able to reunite with Kianryk in the great halls of the gods, knowing it was not by my hand that he died.”

“I’m glad I didn’t kill you,” I said. “I’m glad that Vell has other
ulfdrengr
to help her build her Court.”

“It will still be a challenge, I think, to create something new from what once was, and those who wish to be different than what they are now,” Luca said. He smiled. “Is that the only reason you are glad you didn’t kill me?”

“Well, now I have new employment as your hair braider,” I pointed out, “and that’s a great opportunity I would’ve never had otherwise.”

Luca laughed and I grinned. The Sword’s low hum vibrated along my spine, comforting in its familiarity.

“I’m going to add that to my official titles,” I continued, encouraged by the sound of Luca’s laugh. “Tess O’Connor, Bearer of the Iron Sword, Descendant of Gwyneth, Defender of the Fae and Braider of
Ulfdrengr
Hair.” I grimaced. “That sounds a bit ridiculous, doesn’t it?”

“Marked by the White Wolf and Painter of Battle Runes,” suggested Luca. He raised one eyebrow. “I’ll add to your responsibilities and you can have a more dignified title.”

“Painter of Battle Runes,” I mused, letting my burgeoning smile play on my lips. For once I would not be embarrassed about my attraction to Luca. He was my friend, a battle-tested warrior who had fought beside me, and we were riding out on a hunt again. His easy forthright manner made our attraction seem as natural as the wind sweeping over the rolling hills and the brilliant blue of the sky overhead. My attraction to Finnead seemed tangled and complex in comparison, but the brightly burning desire that the dark-haired Knight inspired within me seemed to make me forget my misgivings whenever he was near.

“I will have to teach you runes as well,” said Luca.

“Naturally,” I agreed with a smile.

“Battle runes and braiding. It will be a rigorous course of study,” he continued, eyes glimmering in humor.

“I’ll do my best to be a good student,” I replied. He chuckled and we both leaned back in our saddles, letting the sound of thundering hooves fill the air about us.

We rode through the deepening gold of the afternoon, our fleet mounts’ long strides devouring the rolling hills. A part of me felt more at ease, now that I was on the back of a
faehal,
riding once more toward the unknown. As the shadows deepened about us, Farin swooped down from the formation of Glasidhe flying above the main body of riders. She landed on my shoulder in her customary position, but I could feel the difference in the weight of her slight form: she carried daggers and a quiver of arrows at her hip, and wore her own perfect miniature breastplate, shining like a coin in the late afternoon light. After she steadied herself with a hand on the curve of my ear, she said, “The Sidhe scouts will probably meet us tonight. They have been riding hard toward the Queen. Merrick has been busy with his maps, guiding them back from seeking a dragon!”

“Merrick?” I said in slight surprise. Now that I thought of it, I hadn’t seen our intrepid navigator since I’d awakened in the Hall.

“Of course. He is the best navigator and so naturally the High Queen wished the best to find this dragon for her.” She patted my ear. “Though the scouts are on swift steeds and read their maps well, we can fly faster, when it is called for!” I heard rather than saw her fierce grin.

“I had no doubt,” I said seriously. “The Courts wouldn’t ask your service as scouts and messengers if you were not swift.”

“Swift and dangerous!” Farin said, brandishing one of her daggers for emphasis.

“Indeed,” I agreed. I smiled. “I’m glad you’re with us, Farin.”

“I could not pass up the chance to take part in a dragon hunt!” the intrepid Glasidhe warrior replied, as though this was a perfectly logical conclusion and needed no further explanation.

“Who were the Glasidhe scouts? Are they still with us?”

“Glira was one,” said Farin. “Though she does not like the finer arts of killing beasts, so she stays with Lady Lumina and rests her wings.”

“I met Glira in my world, before all this,” I said musingly. “She has a particular fondness for chocolate.”

Farin snorted. “Greedy little glutton, of course she does. How she is so fast when she eats as she does, I do not know.”

“Farin,” I said in mock reproach. “I thought you always spoke courteously of your kin.”

Farin giggled into my ear. “She is my distant kin and therefore I am allowed to speak most
discourteously
of her if I wish!”

I laughed. “Oh, so that’s how it works, does it?” I glanced up at the glimmering formation of Glasidhe warriors, but to my disappointment I didn’t see a red hawk flying among them. “Forsythe isn’t with us. Did Flora come?”

“She stays with her brother and the queen, except when given orders otherwise,” Farin said, settling herself on the ledge of my collarbone and dangling her feet against my breastplate. She leaned back on her hands, flicking her wings idly.

“It sounds as though Forsythe’s injury changed them both,” I murmured.

“He very nearly died, and was crippled for a long while, from what I am told.”

“And Wisp?”

“He is the most skilled Walker among us. Lumina desired him to remain with her.”

Farin tilted her little heart-shaped face up toward me, her aura dim enough for me to make out her pretty features, fragile and fierce both at once. Her wings caught the burnished gold light, breaking it into a thousand rainbow fragments that glimmered and sparked as she moved. The Glasidhe’s beauty struck me anew; I remembered the first time I’d seen Wisp as he darted through a rip in the screen of a darkened window, his small form illuminating the upper reaches of a little cabin in the Texas hills. Now I looked at Farin with fresh eyes, wondering again at her delicate dragonfly wings, her luminous skin and perfect lithe limbs and shock of downy hair, blue as a robin’s egg.

She tilted her head. “Why do you stare at me so, Tess?”

I chuckled. “Sorry. There’s just a lot of time to think as we’re traveling. I’m remembering a lot of different things, and I just realized again how beautiful you are.”

Farin’s aura darkened with a blush and she ducked her head, much to my surprise: the indomitable Farin, slayer of gore-crows and my ever-valiant traveling companion, embarrassed by a compliment.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable,” I said. “Sometimes I forget that this isn’t my world, and when I remember, it makes me look at everything as though I’m seeing it for the first time again.”

Farin kicked her legs and fluttered her wings. “I am not often told I am beautiful.” Her blush faded and she grinned up at me with her little pointed teeth. “I suppose it is because I am so fierce.”

I smiled. “I’d agree with that assessment entirely, Farin.”

She leaned back on her hands again, once more at ease, but from her grin I could tell that she was pleased that someone had looked beyond her warrior exterior and seen her beauty, even if that someone was merely a mortal drawn into Faeortalam by the tangled strings of fate. Farin smiled for the better part of an hour, and that was entirely worth making her blush. She hummed portions of Glasidhe songs in her clear high voice as we rode on in the deepening dusk, her aura becoming more defined as darkness fell. I was beginning to think that we were going to ride through the night—and I was grudgingly preparing myself to forego the sleep that my body craved—but then the riders ahead of us slowed, and stopped. The
faehal
tossed their heads and the rising moon shone on the silver of our breastplates as we dismounted. I realized that Luca had ridden beside me all day, and now as we dismounted he was still within arm’s reach. I didn’t know whether to be flattered or offended that he thought I needed a bodyguard. I settled for simply taking pleasure in his company, appreciating his silent presence.