The Dark Throne (18 page)

Vell was not concerned about secrecy, and so within short order there were several blazing fires crackling among the low rolling hills, their smoke white against the dark sky. I quickly unsaddled Nehalim, sending him off to graze with a pat on the neck and a quick word of thanks. He flicked his long white tail and joined the other
faehal
gathering at the crest of a little ridge, their forms silhouetted against the sky. I settled down in the long grass a short distance away from one of the great fires. It blazed so hotly that I could still feel its warmth radiating through the still night. I arranged my plain blade, my satchel and my supply pack in a little pile, spreading out my blanket across the fragrant grass. I remained standing for a while longer, grateful to stretch my legs after the long hours of riding, massaging my sore hands as I watched the other warriors moving in the shadows. Farin remained nestled against the curve of my neck.

The camp took on the air of a festival, and I wondered if any of Malravenar’s lesser creatures were lurking in the shadows, tasting the smoke of our fire and yearning to taste the warmth of our blood. Then I saw that here and there among the darkness silent sentinel figures stood, watching the darkness beyond the golden light of the fires, allaying my fear of being taken by surprise at least.

Those Seelie who were not on watch made short order of roasting meat and singing songs, melodies weaving through the sparks and smoke. One of the warriors began dancing about one of the fires, fierce and joyful, and I watched in amazement—I had never seen the Sidhe act with such abandon. Eyes and teeth flashed, painted faces gleamed. The song sounded ferocious, and the dancers were beautiful in their violent movements. Someone began beating time on their shield, making the wood and metal boom as loud as any drum.

“They are free,” whispered Farin into my ear. “Those who wish to join the
vyldgard
, they have had a thirst in their soul their entire lives. Perhaps they never put a name to it. But now they know, and they are set free to be wild.”

“What if they don’t become a part of the
vyldgard
?” I asked quietly as more Sidhe joined in the dance about the fire, their lithe strong forms silhouetted sharply against the flickering flames.

“Those who are truly wild, those who are answering a calling only they can hear…they will not fail,” said Farin confidently. “It is their fate, just as it was yours to bear the great weapon against the darkness.” Her small hand stroked the tender skin of my neck.

“Prophecies are slippery things,” I said quietly in agreement.

Kianryk appeared, ghosting out of the shadows beyond the firelight, his silence and grace unnerving for such a huge beast. He turned his great head and gazed at me with his ice-blue eyes. Farin trilled a greeting in the Glasidhe tongue, and the tawny wolf grinned, tongue lolling over his gleaming teeth as he trotted over to a space about an arm’s length beyond the edge of my blanket. He pawed at the ground, inspected the grass, then turned a circle and settled onto his belly, his back to the fire, intelligent eyes scanning the darkness beyond the camp. Farin patted my ear and flew over to the big wolf; within moments she had one of Kianryk’s massive front paws turned over, inspecting the black pads meticulously and chattering in her high bright voice. Kianryk watched her with eyes half-lidded in lupine pleasure, but his ears still swiveled alertly at the sounds drifting through the night air.

“Mind if we join you?” Luca asked, his own saddle and weaponry slung easily over one shoulder, held in place with one hand; in the other hand he held out a bowl that gave off savory steam.

“Well, it looks as though Kianryk is already settled, so I suppose that means you can join as well,” I replied with a smile.

He dropped his saddle and packs with a grunt of effort. “Good. That was getting heavy.”

I shook my head. “You could carry me for a whole day and not tire.”

“I only carry you when you’ve been knocked unconscious from one heroic escapade or another,” Luca clarified. “Here, hold this.”

I obediently took the large wooden bowl from his hand, breathing in the scent of roasted meat and vegetables. Luca efficiently unrolled his blanket and organized his packs. We both settled cross-legged on our blankets, backs to the fire. He produced two carved wooden spoons and handed one to me.

“This looks more like a ladle!” I said, holding up the huge utensil to the light.

Luca leaned over and plucked the spoon from my grip. “If you’re going to criticize my utensils, you can eat with your hands like a savage.” He raised his eyebrows at me in mock reproach. “I carved these myself.”

I smiled. “Well, that’s entirely different then.” I reached for my stolen spoon and Luca drew it back, just out of my reach, forcing me to lean almost entirely across his body. He deftly caught the bowl as I lost my balance, setting it swiftly to one side without even sparing it a glance; and I put my hand down on his thigh, just above his knee, to catch myself. I found myself almost laid across his lap, my torso twisted as I’d reached for the spoon. Luca’s eyes shone luminous in the shadows as he gazed down at me, a small smile playing on his lips, something deeper than mere amusement in his expression. My cheeks heated but I didn’t draw away. I felt the warmth of his breath brush across my cheeks; my hand ached on his thigh from the pressure of my weight, but I didn’t want to move. The fire backlit his broad shoulders and played along the golden strands of his braids, deepening the contrast of the dark painted runes against his pale skin. He didn’t move, watching me with that strangely satisfied yet hungry look in his eyes. I realized suddenly that Luca was the patient one. Luca desired me, perhaps even more intensely than Finnead; but despite his
ulfdrengr
nature—or perhaps because of it—he was painfully patient, willing to wait. He was like a wolf crouching in the long grass, hidden and silent but undoubtedly still hunting. He was just waiting, not chasing.

I smiled at Luca, reached out and slid my spoon from his hand, shivering at the delightful spark of heat as my skin brushed against his. I let my body lean against him for just a moment, long enough to feel his muscles tighten, and then I gently pushed myself back onto my blanket. I held up the spoon and smiled. “Elegant craftsmanship,” I said, reaching for the bowl of stew and scooping out a chunk of meat. I slid the meat into my mouth, chewed in contemplation and swallowed. Then I looked at the spoon again. “Yet functional.”

“I strive for that balance in all aspects of my life,” replied Luca, dipping his own spoon into the bowl.

I tilted my head. “You do have a certain rugged elegance about you when your hair is braided like that. And I guess it’s functional, keeping your hair out of your eyes and all.”

Luca laughed, and we made short work of the rest of the food, passing it back and forth as though we’d sat by a fire and shared a meal from a single bowl hundreds of times. I drew my legs up in front of me, resting my wrists on my knees, idly stretching my fingers with small movements.

“You should let the wounds breathe,” Luca commented, leaning back on his hands.

I shrugged in ambivalence, but then thought better of it and carefully unwound the bandages from my palms, grimacing as the last layer caught on a bit of the scab. I inspected my hands in the flickering golden light, watching the latticework of silvery scars gleam unnaturally. Some of the mottled skin still held its angry scarlet hue, making the white latticework stand out even more distinctly. The scars frothed up past my wrist, the red and silver pattern slowly fading. On my sword-arm, my war markings still flowed down my forearm, painted in shifting whorls; but where my war markings met the scarred skin, the fluid emerald lines turned a deeper hue, so dark they were almost black, as though the flames had scorched the intricate design.

“It will take a few weeks to get used to the scars,” Luca said quietly, now holding up his own scarred hand, his skin still puckered slightly in a row of pockmarks down the outer edge of his palm and in another row near his thumb, where cords binding his hand to the cursed dagger had been punched through his flesh. “And when you are healed, I will show you how to knead the scars so they remain supple.”

“I still don’t remember sometimes, right away,” I replied musingly, still turning my hands in the light, fascinated by the unfamiliar pattern of my new skin. “I see my hands out of the corner of my eye, and I think they belong to someone else. Just for a second.” I flexed my hands, watched the scabbed wounds in the center of my palms stretch, felt the vague itch and pull of healing skin at the edges of the scabs. “It’s like watching a stranger. Seeing someone in a mirror.” I shrugged. “I don’t know. That sounds silly, I guess.”

Luca shook his head. “Don’t discount your own experience. You’ve done and seen much more than your years would warrant.”

I smiled a little. “Yeah, I can’t say I expected to be doing this when I’m supposed to be finishing college.” I sobered at the thought of what I was missing in my own world, and that led me to the thought of what—or rather who—had brought me into this world in the first place. I rested my hands on my knees again, staring out into the darkness. “I wonder if she’s coming with the Unseelie Court. Molly.”

“She is the half-mortal,” said Luca. I looked at him in surprise. He smiled. “You think the legend of the Bearer is not already a story told to all who will listen?”

“I’d hardly say it’s a legend,” I muttered.

“All legends started with some true story,” he replied. “It just so happens that you are one of the few who have become legendary while your story is still unfolding.”

I waved one hand in the air. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Luca merely smiled.

“Anyway,” I said, “I just…I’ve been thinking, lately, about what I’d say to her, if she is coming.”

“What would you need to say?”

I shrugged. “That I’m sorry I left her. I didn’t really think much about it at the time, because I was so focused on what needed to be done.”

“You had a mission.”

“Yes. I….well, have you heard that part of the story?”

“Why don’t you tell it, if you’d like,” Luca suggested. “We have time.”

I found my satchel and unrolled my bandolier of healing supplies. “I’m going to make something for my hands while I tell it.”

“Always doing more than one thing at once,” he said with a chuckle.

I shrugged. “It’s the way I’m programmed.” While my hands were busy checking the pouches for their herbs, I rifled through my mind, trying to decide where to start the story. “Well. After we were brought to Darkhill, Molly and I were separated, at first because I was healing, and then because they were preparing her to fulfill the prophecy…they thought she was going to be the Bearer, since she had enough mortal blood that she could survive wielding the Sword for a short time. At least that was their theory….”

And I told Luca everything. Everything, from the very beginning, and somehow, though I’d started with the intention of simply outlining events and glossing over some of the more unpleasant experiences, I found myself digging deep into my memories…and then becoming absorbed in them, examining them as I hadn’t done since I’d set out on my journey across Faeortalam. I told Luca about my encounter with the cruel Unseelie Vaelanseld, and my kiss with Ramel. I described how Bren had given me the pendant that would ultimately lead me to the Sword, and I told him about how I’d won Kavoryk’s respect by brazenly boasting that I could throw him across the room, before he knew I had my own
taebramh.
I told him about Moryn lending me his whetting-stone the night before he died. I recounted the night that Malravenar’s creatures attacked the barracks in the Royal Wood, shivering as I remembered my terror as the
cadengriff
tore through the branches of the tree which I’d climbed to escape other beasts on the ground; and I tried to describe my feeling of elation as I rode Beryk through the forest, to the river-tree, and spoke to the ethereal figure of the last Bearer, my ancestor, Gwyneth. The Sword hummed in its sheath on my back as I told Luca of how I drew the Sword from the heart of the ancient tree, Gwyneth binding me to the blade, blessing me as her successor. And then the fierce joy of riding back through the forest, bursting into the clearing, incinerating Malravenar’s creatures with my newfound power. I described, with a small smile, Murtagh’s confusion at my ability to see him, when he’d first Walked to spy on us at Mab’s bidding. And then that same morning, Merrick’s heartfelt request to join my band of warriors riding to the Seelie Court, his plea resonating after he told me that he had been Moryn’s sword-brother, and he had watched Moryn’s corpse burn on the war pyre.

I found myself telling him, almost against my will, about my attraction to Finnead, my fascination with his enigmatic manner and his drowning-deep eyes; about how Finnead had saved me from the poison left on the blade by the
syivhalla
in the forest barracks, and how Beryk had saved Finnead during the cleansing ritual. My cheeks heated when I spoke about Finnead’s passionate encounter with the tree-nymph who agreed to try to heal him when it became clear that he was still poisoned from the
syivhalla
’s touch. And I told him about Vell, about how she had been such a steadfast friend and loyal companion that I very quickly trusted with my life. I faltered a little when I talked about meeting Liam in the ether, and then saving Murtagh from certain death at Mab’s hands. I told the story until the night that he and Rialla attacked us in the forest, and then I stopped. I looked down at my hands, long since salved and stretched, probably ready to be bandaged again; and then I looked at Luca, trying to gauge his reaction.

“Tess,” he said, almost gently, “you have lived many lives, since you’ve come into this world. Our world. What do you have to be sorry for?”

I swallowed against the sudden thickness in my throat. “There’s more than one thing I could be sorry about, I guess. But with Molly…I’ve been thinking about it a lot, lately, now that we’re here….or rather, we rescued Queen Titania. That was my original mission. Molly… she was my best friend and I left her. I…I
forgot
about her, Luca, I got so caught up in my own importance that I somehow thought it was okay to just leave her behind. She was my best friend. She was like a sister to me. She was the reason that all of this even happened. Because I loved her and I didn’t want her to go into danger on her own.”