The Dark Throne (27 page)

I chuckled suddenly, wondering what the Unseelie Court would think of Calliea’s proclamation.

“You drank it at Darkhill, didn’t you,” the Seelie healer continued, motioning with her flask. “Seems to fit.”

I smiled. “I hope you don’t hold
all
those from the other Court in such low esteem.”

Calliea took another swig and considered as she swallowed. “Finnead’s all right. Only because he actually gives a damn about everyone else.”

I thought of Ramel, Bren, Donovan, Emery…. and Murtagh. “Not all of them are selfish. And besides, didn’t your Court turn only to yourselves when your Queen was imprisoned?”

“What were we supposed to do, with the Dark One imprisoning our Queen and her Three? Tuck tail and run to Mab? She would have made us all drink her blood and open a vein for her.” Calliea spat to one side.

The Caedbranr hummed gently in the back of my mind. I took a deep breath and smiled wearily, the expression feeling strange. “All I’m saying is that the day is coming when we will all need to fight together.”

“Aye.” Calliea grinned, eyes dancing wickedly. “And I’ll welcome their swords, but it doesn’t mean I have to kiss their asses.”

I laughed in surprise. “Are you sure you didn’t journey into the mortal world at any point?”

Calliea stretched, cat-like. “A certain brand of humor transcends worlds.”

I chuckled again.

“Ah, there you are, Lady Bearer!” I looked up and picked out the figure behind the familiar voice. Merrick grinned at me, mud smeared across his youthful face, his silver scarf illuminating his gray eyes even with the grime. “Hiding in the dust and blood, I see?”

I raised an eyebrow, which was about my limit for facial expressions now. Anything else would have been too much of an effort. “Not hiding. Just trying to be useful.”

He chuckled. “As if casting a diamond of protection about the High Queen is not useful enough.”

I shrugged. “I could say the same to you, being a scout and fighting in the battle.” I eyed his left arm, which he held against his body. “What happened?”

“Shoulder came out again,” he said dismissively. “I threw one spear too many, I suppose.”

“Those spears weren’t ordinary weapons,” I said.

“You should really have a sling for that,” said Calliea, straightening and turning toward Merrick.

Merrick’s eyes widened slightly as Calliea stepped closer. “It’s nothing. I’m sure there are others—”

“Nonsense,” said Calliea, rifling through her satchel with a vengeance. She paused and swept one arm out, encompassing the bare ground. “Do you see anyone else waiting?” She grabbed a roll of linen triumphantly and drew one of her small silver daggers, the blade flashing as she cut a length of cloth.

I leaned back on my hands and watched my former navigator color slightly as Calliea deftly tied the linen into a loop and stepped close, arranging the sling around his neck with a critical eye. When she touched his arm, sliding the cloth around his forearm, he swallowed hard.

“Am I hurting you?” she asked. “If it’s still paining you, especially if it’s hurting more than after it was set the first time you injured it, you should let me examine it.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” I said, just as Merrick said quickly, “No, it’s just a bit sore.”

“Well, if my apprentice says it’s a good idea, it must be so,” said Calliea, quickly sliding the sling off his arm. Merrick gave me a stricken look over her shoulder. “Sit. And slide your shirt up.”

Merrick opened his mouth, Calliea raised her eyebrows, and he sat, raising a small cloud of dust with his movement.

“Do you need my help?” I asked.

“No,” Calliea replied absently. She waited for Merrick to slide his shirt up over his head, which he did gingerly.

“You know,” I said conversationally, “Merrick saved my life from a skin-wraith. That’s how he hurt his shoulder the first time.”

“Is that so,” murmured the Seelie healer, slender fingers prodding at Merrick’s lividly bruised shoulder.

“Yes. We were attacked in the forest by a pack of skin-wraiths, controlled by a Dark sorcerer, and one leapt at me. Merrick threw himself between the creature and me. He spitted it with his sword, but it took him to the ground and the impact popped out his shoulder.”

“How interesting.” Calliea moved Merrick’s arm slowly. He clenched his jaw.

“It was very brave of him,” I said.

“Not nearly as brave as slaying a dragon,” Merrick said, unabashed admiration in his voice. Then he caught himself and cleared his throat. Calliea paused and looked at him quizzically. She sat back on her heels.

“Looks like it was set fine. If it’s still sore in a few days, find me,” she said.

“I think a follow-up is definitely appropriate,” I said. I widened my eyes innocently when Merrick looked at me in exasperation. Calliea glanced between Merrick and me, narrowed her eyes and then stood. She stretched, linking her hands over her head and leaning back. Merrick swallowed again and averted his eyes almost guiltily, suddenly busying himself with arranging his sling again.

“I’m going to find something to eat,” Calliea said, turning toward the fires. “Tess?”

“Coming,” I said, stifling a groan as I heaved myself to my feet. I held out a hand to Merrick. He took it and I leaned back, levering him upright. He looked at me dazedly, dragging his eyes from Calliea as she walked away from us. I couldn’t help but smile.

“What’s so amusing?” the Unseelie navigator said almost defensively.

“You
like
her,” I said, raising my eyebrows suggestively.

“I—well—that is to say—” Merrick stumbled, rubbing the back of his neck with his good arm.

I grinned. “I’ll keep putting in good words for you.”

Merrick cleared his throat. “Ah…thanks, but I…” He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “It’s hopeless.”

I sobered, glancing after Calliea. “She lost the man she loved, and it broke her heart. You picked a tough one. Just be patient.” Then I shook my head. “Look at me, dispensing romantic advice as though I’m some expert.”

Merrick chuckled. “It’s true, Lady Bearer, that your romantic liaisons are the subject of many thoughts, I am sure.”

I sighed. “Incorrigible gossips, all of you!” The smell of roasting meat wafted over us again, and this time my stomach rumbled insistently. “Hungry?”

“Famished,” replied Merrick. We turned and began following Calliea.

“Killing a dragon is hard work,” I said as we headed into the heart of the camp.

“Try tracking a beast that prefers to fly,” replied Merrick.

“Good point,” I conceded. As we found ourselves motioned toward a fire with a steaming pot hung over it, I took a deep breath, let it out, and glanced over at the hulking carcass of the dragon, knowing that we’d crossed an invisible boundary into the last months of the war for the soul of the Fae world.

Chapter 15

A
tall Seelie warrior handed us bowls of steaming stew, and my stomach growled voraciously.

“Nothing tastes so good as food after a battle,” Merrick commented as we both dug our spoons into the bowls.

I chewed my first mouthful contemplatively, not caring that it was just this side of too hot. “I can’t decide if this tastes better than the first bowl I had after I woke up after Brightvale. It’s close.”

We stood beside the gray healing tent, wolfing down our stew as though the hot food could chase away the sudden lull left by the end of the battle. I noticed my hands starting to shake again. I clamped down on my spoon and gripped my bowl harder, ignoring the protest of my still-tender scars. As we ate, I tried to distract myself from the sudden empty feeling in my chest by trying to find familiar faces in the sudden bustle of the
vyldgard
camp. I picked out Calliea, talking to one of the other Valkyrie at the edge of the firelight; but I didn’t see Vell or any of her Three. In the fading sunlight, I spotted the wolves in a grassy hollow a small distance away from the campfire. Beryk watched the comings and goings of the warriors alertly, his forelegs stretched out sphinx-like. His posture conveyed a sort of satiated pleasure, his sable tail sweeping through the grass every now and again. Silver and black Rialla lay curled to one side of him, nose tucked under her tail, already sleeping unconcernedly—she reminded me of Chael in her silent disregard, the way that she moved within a group yet separately, always following her own instincts. Kianryk lounged to the other side of Beryk, his golden pelt bright against the dull dirt. As I watched, Kianryk yawned, then stood and shook himself, glancing at Beryk. After a moment—perhaps Beryk gave some silent signal of approval, I thought in fascination—Kianryk loped away, circling the edge of camp until he passed from my view.

“So you want to be part of the
vyldgard?”
I asked Merrick, swallowing my last spoonful of stew. I almost swiped the last bits of meat from the bowl with my fingers, but then remembered the blood that had coated my hands not an hour past, and set the bowl down instead.

Merrick grinned. “Who would not want to be part of the Wild Court? It is new and young and…
free
.” He sobered, and when he turned his face to me again, his expression brought me back to when he’d asked me to be a part of the band of warriors riding to the Seelie Court. “If I am to fight against the Shadow, I want to follow a worthy leader.” The hint of a smile touched his mouth. “That’s why I asked to be part of the expedition to the Seelie Court.”

“I thought it was because of your impeccable navigational skills,” I interjected.

Merrick gave a little nod. “That, and the fact that you were someone I wanted to follow.”

I felt my face heat, a blush kindling in two hot points high on my cheekbones. “I didn’t ask for this,” I said, somehow feeling defensive, “but I’m glad that you saw me that way.”

“It’s not just me, Tess,” Merrick said, almost gently. “You think that we would have had as many wishing to join the
vyldgard
if not for the
vyldretning
’s close friendship with you?”

“My friendship with Vell has very little to do with her being the High Queen,” I retorted.

“It has everything to do with the High Queen and the Bearer of the Iron Sword being willing to die for one another,” Merrick replied seriously.

My hand absently found the hilt of my engraved sword at my hip, fingers tapping against the crossguard as I absorbed Merrick’s words. “There’s truth to that statement,” I said quietly, my mind turning to the many times that Vell and I had defended one another and fought together on the journey across Faeortalam. Then I cleared my throat, wrenching myself away from memories. Time enough to reminisce when things settle down, I told myself. “So.” I glanced around the camp, noting that more fires had been lit—the main fire blazed taller than me in the center of camp, with at least a half dozen smaller fires ranged about it in a rough semicircle. “What happens now?”

“Now we tend to the wounded and catch our breath,” Merrick said. His gray eyes glimmered. “We wait to see if the Shadow takes notice of his beast’s death.” He grinned as a wolf’s howl split the darkening air. “And perhaps the
vyldretning
will choose at least some of her court.”

At the wolf’s howl, the camp began to quiet from its feverish activity, movement coalescing around the leaping flames of the central fire. Merrick motioned and we silently made our way to stand with the others around the fire, our shadows dancing as if in celebration. The fire cracked and snapped, and I wondered suddenly where they’d gotten the wood, when the trees were so scarce and stunted. I looked closer into the flames and glimpsed the outline of a spear, and a shield. The ruined weapons from the dragon-hunt fueled the fire; and before this blaze, awash in flickering golden light, the warriors had built a pyre of broken spears and shattered shields, and laid their dead upon it.

My stomach twisted and I suddenly fought to keep down my stew as my eyes traveled down the long line of still, beautiful faces. They had been prepared as best their comrades were able, but blood and dust clung to their bodies. Somehow it only illuminated the tragic beauty of these dead Sidhe. So many. I swallowed hard, wishing I could look away; but the Caedbranr hummed firmly in its sheath on my back, its voice pressing against my spine, telling me to count the cost.

“A score killed outright,” Merrick said just as I silently arrived at the total in my own head. “More may succumb to their wounds.”

I looked down the long line of dead again, just to be sure; I didn’t see the Valkyrie named Rhan among the dead. But something within my chest wrenched painfully as I recognized the young warrior who had been so concerned about losing his leg. If only he had just lost his leg, I thought, pushing down a rising wave of anguish, compressing all my emotion into a small space between my ribs. I gripped the hilt of my plain blade, and smoothed my face. I was the Bearer of the Iron Sword. Merrick had reminded me that I was a leader. That meant I had to be strong. That meant I couldn’t show my pain at seeing these warriors on the pyre. Didn’t it?

The wolf howled again, closer, and then another deeper voice joined the first. The air about the pyre grew tight with anticipation; as before, I didn’t know where it started, but warriors began beating blades on shields, and those that didn’t have shields struck their closed fists against their own breastplates, and stomped a rhythm into the dirt, dust rising like smoke about us. I found I didn’t care about the dust, latching onto the energy, using it to climb out of the sorrow still stinging in my chest.

The rhythm deepened along with the shadows, and when next the wolves sent up their song, a dozen warriors threw back their heads and howled with them, eliciting a fierce frenzy. Warriors beat their shields and breasts faster, the flames dancing higher and higher as we all gazed in rapt anticipation at the hilltop where we somehow knew the
vyldretning
would appear. The Sword sang a high clear note, adding its voice to the howl of the wolves and the warriors, and I grinned fiercely, somehow forgetting the sadness that had clung to the inside of my ribs. And then Vell strode over the hill, a bloody blade in one bare hand and her ivory staff in the other. Her face gleamed scarlet in the last light of the sun, and her warriors howled as they realized she wore the blood of the slain dragon in ragged streaks across her fierce beauty. I wondered briefly when she had ventured to the corpse to gather the cooled blood.