The Dark Throne (40 page)

“If I were you,” said Calliea conspiratorially, “I would take all the sleep I can get now. We won’t be sleeping much on the road.” She made a face at the prospect.

I chuckled. “Sometimes I think people forget that I’ve traveled across most of Faeortalam by this point. I’m still probably not as seasoned as most but still, I’ve had my weeks on the road.” I tilted my head, considering. “Months, I guess.”

“I don’t doubt your experience,” she replied as she shook the wrinkles from her shirt. After she pulled it over her head, she grinned as she fixed her white-gold hair. “And I’m not complaining about leading one of the vanguards.”

“I’d hope not, since you were the one who suggested it,” I said with a smile, sliding out from the furs and looking for a pair of breeches. I looked guiltily at Calliea’s side of our little compartment, everything arranged neatly, her clothes folded in small stacks; my eyes traveled over to my side (and it wasn’t a long journey) and it was every garment for itself, tossed haphazardly about my sleeping furs. I pulled on a soft gray pair of breeches and began tidying the rest of the disaster zone. “So you’re still working in the ward, even with preparations to ride out?”

“My ward shift is only the morning,” replied Calliea, “so that leaves me the rest of the afternoon and evening. And anyway,” she grinned, “I’ve discovered that commanding the Valkyrie means that people are willing to
do
things for me. I only have to decide what needs to be done, and I have three or four warriors actually doing it.”

“They’ve adjusted quickly in the change in leadership then.”

Calliea shrugged, buckling her belt and checking the twin daggers she carried while on shift. “I think they’re grateful that I’m around a bit more, not silently called away every few moments.”

I frowned, stacking my folded shirts into a pile that quickly went a bit lopsided. “Is Gray still a Valkyrie, then? Is that why she wasn’t exactly thrilled with your plan to ride out?”

“She’s still a Valkyrie, aye, all of us who fought against the great beast will always bear the name. But her mount was killed in the battle. Caught by the tail, I think, and Gray jumped clear—though she hasn’t talked about it to anyone.”

“And I’m guessing that the High Queen isn’t advocating that Gray takes another winged mount.”

“No one has said anything aloud, but I think it’s Gray’s choice.” Calliea looked almost sad for a moment, her eyes sober as she contemplated her cousin’s loss. Then her heart-shaped face lit with a mischievous smile. “But here’s a question for
you
, Tess.” She raised one eyebrow delicately. “Will you be riding out with the vanguard commanded by Finnead, or the one commanded by Luca?”

I laughed. “Will no one ever tire of this ridiculous gossip?”

“It’s not gossip if it’s true,” said Calliea. “And anyway, I nursed you from your wounds after Brightvale. I watched Luca sit by your bedside for nigh on a week. We had to practically force him to eat, and he slept maybe five or six hours that entire time.”

“Luca is my friend.” My words fell flat even to my own ears, but I pressed on doggedly. “I saved his life, and he’s saved mine. He has a good perspective on things, and I appreciate his friendship.”

“Finnead is
delicious
, don’t get me wrong, but I do think you ought to give Luca a fair chance.” Calliea dodged the shirt I threw at her.

“Don’t you go taking sides too,” I growled at her good-naturedly.

“
Oooh
, who else has taken sides?” She clasped her hands together and leaned forward, grinning in delight.

I rolled my eyes at her. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”

She chuckled. “Just a bit of light-heartedness amidst all the blood and gore.”

“True.” I sighed. “Though I wish my love life—which is very
tame
compared to what people are thinking, I’m sure—wasn’t the main source of entertainment.”

“It isn’t,” Calliea replied, shaking her head. “Mostly just me and a few others who actually know you, speculating.” She smiled. “Most others are too intimidated by you, Finnead, Luca, or all three of you to say anything aloud.”

I retrieved the shirt I’d thrown and folded it again, depositing it on the little pile. Though I’d never achieve the precision that somehow seemed a part of Sidhe nature, my side of the small compartment looked immeasurably better than when I’d awoken. “Well, I suppose that’s the benefit to wielding an ancient weapon of incredible power.”

“And consorting with the most
fearsome
eligible bachelors,” added Calliea.

I laughed. “You’re as bad as Farin.”

“Oh, I’m sure that cheeky little flit has some very pointed opinions.” Calliea checked her belt, fingers brushing over her dagger hilts and her belt-purse. “Right then. I’m off, see you around noon.” She covered the distance to the green entrance curtain in two strides and then turned. “Oh—I saw that you have a bow again. Good choice, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

I glanced over to our weaponry store, my bow propped up beside Calliea’s robin’s-egg blue breastplate. “I’ll gladly take your opinion on
that
choice.”

With a last chuckle, Calliea slipped out of the little compartment, leaving me to complete my preparations for the morning’s practice session in silence. The afterglow of our easy, friendly conversation warmed me as I pulled on my boots. I’d truly made friends here, I thought in contentment, and then a bolt of guilt struck me as I realized that the easy conversation with Calliea echoed the friendship I’d once shared with Molly. I sat on my furs and leaned my elbows on my knees as I let the memory wash over me: Molly and I, the fateful morning after Wisp had slipped through a tear in the screen of our bedroom window. We’d gone running that morning on the dusty trails of the Hill Country, and she’d teased me about my latest romantic mishap with a gorgeous rugby player who hadn’t quite measured up to my standards in the intelligence department. I smiled. Molly hadn’t realized her own allure—she attracted our male peers like moths to a flame, fascinated by the exotic flash of her cat-like eyes and the faint undercurrent of
otherness
that pulsed just beneath her pale skin. Then again, I’d been more focused on my schoolwork and training in preparation to follow in Liam’s footsteps than on dating; and sometimes Molly acted as both my manager and my chaperone, deftly arranging double dates. “So that you don’t have an excuse to stand the poor bastard up, because then you’ll be standing
me
up too,” she explained to me gleefully as I realized her pattern early in our friendship.

“Tess-mortal!”

Farin’s exuberant greeting put an end to my reverie. I looked up and grinned at the Glasidhe. “Want to come watch me spar, Farin? You can give me tips on how to improve my technique afterward.”

“I will be happy to lend you my expertise,” replied the diminutive warrior seriously, landing on my shoulder. She giggled. “Especially if your sparring partner is the blonde one.”

“If you’re going to be cheeky you can fly instead of riding on my shoulder,” I told her as I gathered my weapons, buckling my plain blade about my waist and slinging my bow and quiver over one shoulder.

“’Twasn’t meant to be
cheeky
, just observant,” said Farin innocently.

I carefully settled the strap of the Caedbranr over my chest, hand touching the hilt behind my shoulder out of habit. The Sword seemed content to continue sleeping, or whatever it was that the blade did; all I knew was that its power curled behind my breastbone, quiescent and docile.

“So the High Queen has decided that you aren’t riding out with us?” I asked, leaving the tent to find the long table set with the morning meal. A few others moved about in the dawning light, but little was spoken. I grabbed a piece of bread and cheese and a handful of dried fruit.

“We are in her service, by orders of our own queen, and so it is her word we follow, no matter what our own desires,” replied Farin. The flutter of her wings brushed against the side of my neck, light as the touch of a feather.

“Very prettily said.” I pressed the dried fruit into the bread and sandwiched the cheese on top, finishing my breakfast as I walked through camp toward the practice rings. A shadow passed overhead, and I grabbed at my sword-hilt, my heart suddenly hammering; but then I recognized the sleek form of a winged
faehal
.

“There are watches set in the sky too,” said Farin, patting my ear. “So that no flying creatures can attack the camp.”

“Right,” I said, swallowing down the rush of adrenaline. Well, at least my blood was up before practice, I thought.

“And yes,” continued Farin, “I am learning to speak more politely. Sometimes. When I am not killing things.”

“That sounds like a decent compromise.” The makeshift forge came into sight, and I glimpsed a closely shorn golden head, bent intently over the embers in the forge. Though I intended to walk by without creating a distraction, Thea looked up as she reached for a piece of wood resting by the anvil.

“Chael has you up early,” I said by way of greeting. She answered my smile with a grin.

“I could say the same for your sparring partner, my lady,” she replied.

I shrugged with one shoulder. “It’s a good use of my time, until we ride out.”

“And making blades is a good use of ours,” said Thea practically. She rubbed at her cheekbone with the back of one hand, leaving a smear of ash across her tawny skin. “Fire won’t stoke itself, my lady, so please excuse me.”

I liked that there was no note of apology in Thea’s voice. Here was a woman who knew her job and did it well, with no excuses. “Of course.”

“Good practice to you,” she said. She held the broad board in front of the pale new flames of the fire, and seemed not to notice me watching as she traced a complex rune on the board with a little stick of sharpened charcoal. Her lips moved silently and then she swept her hand over the rune, collecting most of the charcoal on her palm but leaving a faint gray imprint on the board. The rune flared with the white-hot light of a roaring fire and she blew the rune-dust into the forge. The flames leapt and even at my distance I felt a sudden bloom of heat. Thea grinned into the fire and spat into her hand, rubbing the last of the rune-dust across her collarbones.

“How many mages and sorcerers does this camp contain,” I mused softly to myself, resuming my walk toward the practice fields.

“Thea is not a mage or a sorcerer,” Farin said into my ear with a laugh. “She knows some runes for the forge, is all.”

“Oh, just some runes,” I repeated with a smile.

“Runes are easy,” said the Glasidhe dismissively. “Anyone with a bit of patience can learn them, though different applications take different levels of skill.”

“How so?” I asked, passing a few fellow early risers warming up with their blades. Either the lingering shadows afforded me some level of anonymity, or the sight of me had lost its novelty to some extent.

“Well,” Farin explained, “a single use rune is pretty rudimentary. It takes effect right then, and expends itself. But if it’s a rune that takes effect later, or only under certain circumstances—like your sword with the names of the dead—that’s much more complex.”

“I see.” I wondered if I could learn runes. Would the roaring fire of my
taebramh
consent to such constriction? I wasn’t entirely sure. I knew without thinking it that the power of the Sword wasn’t to be used with any runes. It was a creature unto itself, not to be fenced in by the restrictions of a shape drawn in the dirt. In any case, I’d been doing just fine on my own, and the Sidhe hadn’t seemed to think it necessary to teach me runes either.

“You
are
practicing with the blonde one,” Farin breathed with an airy, almost
girlish
giggle.

I ignored Farin and nodded in greeting to Luca. Kianryk was nowhere to be seen. “Morning.” As I got closer, I noticed the livid bruise splashed across his cheekbone. I groaned. “You said I didn’t hurt you.”

“Nothing permanent,” he replied.

Farin giggled again, though I couldn’t see the humor in our exchange; and the Glasidhe leapt from my shoulder, hovering overhead for a moment before diving to examine Luca’s bruise, touching his cheekbone delicately with one small hand. She chattered something to Luca, too quickly for me to catch, but I did see the glimmer of Luca’s grin before Farin shot upward, turning a few loops in the lightening sky.

I opened my mouth and then closed it, deciding not to add any more fuel to the fire, so to speak. Instead, I deposited my bow and quiver and the Sword at the edge of the practice ring.

“Leave all your blades,” said Luca, unbuckling his own sword belt. I raised my eyebrows slightly but complied. “You might want to take the Sword, though. We’re going for a warm-up.”

I slid the strap of the Caedbranr over my head and tightened it slightly. I grinned at Luca, the old familiar anticipation at a morning run coursing through my body. “All right then. Let’s go.”

I followed Luca as he set the pace, his long legs eating up the ground easily, choosing a speed somewhere between an easy run and a sprint. It was the distance-eating lope of a wolf on the move, I decided with a wry smile. It was almost too easy to equate
ulfdrengr
tendencies to their lupine counterpart. We passed the outermost sentry of camp, who watched us with an expression of slight amusement. Luca led us in a sweeping loop about the perimeter of the camp, increasing the pace until I felt a slight burn in my lungs and stretched my legs to match his stride. We sprinted up the hill on the opposite side of camp, pausing for a short rest by the tree that now stretched higher than my reach. Grass covered the top of the hilltop in a fresh circular cap, and a few of the rambling briars bore tightly pursed rosebuds. The fresh living scent of the hilltop somehow combated the sickly sweet stench of the dragon’s carcass. I turned and surveyed the massive corpse. Bone gleamed ebony through its flesh in some places. Scavengers had savaged the sightless rust-colored eye, so that now there was merely a skeletal socket, its ghoulish gaze aimless. As I watched, something slithered in the darkness beneath the dead dragon’s wing. I shivered as I thought of the carrion beasts so close to our camp.