The Dark Throne (48 page)

The Valkyrie landed delicately on the flat gray dirt. We all focused on caring for our
faehal
, the low murmur of conversation only intermittent. Once the sleek Fae creatures flicked their tails and ambled off into their own group to nuzzle each other and settle into sleep, we began our own nightly rituals. There was no wood for a fire, so I set a little ring of lights overhead. I saw a few of the vanguard looking at the
taebramh
lights contemplatively. I wondered if they’d create their own, now that they’d seen mine. For the camp lights, I still severed the bond between the light and the well of my
taebramh
behind my breastbone; but I did give the flickering, flame-like balls their own little reservoir of fuel, like oil in a lamp. Once that ran out, they’d fade into the darkness.

“Very useful,” commented Luca, setting his pack down next to me. I smiled at him and shrugged, dampening my scarf with a bit of water and wiping the dust from my face.

“I’m pretty terrible at navigation,” I confessed, “so it’s good I can contribute something.”

Luca chuckled, his serious demeanor tucked away now that we’d dismounted and the watches were set. We had about six hours before dawn, and the watches would rotate every two hours so that everyone could get at least four hours of sleep. With both the Valkyrie and the vanguard in the rotation, only half of us would stand watch each night. Luca was standing the pre-dawn watch, and I’d been assigned the first watch for the next night. I folded my cloak so that I didn’t have to lie on the dusty ground, and used my healer’s pack as a pillow. Kianryk padded into the ring of flickering light and lay down, gazing at me with solemn ice-blue eyes as he rested his great head on his paws. Luca settled down against the wolf, folding his hands over his stomach. He still wore a dagger at his waist and his axe lay within easy reach. I brushed my fingers over the hilt of the Caedbranr where it lay in its sheath beside me.

“Our Walker already reported to Vell?” I asked in a voice barely more than a whisper.

Luca nodded, smiling. “Yes.”

“What’s funny?” Despite my racing thoughts, my tired body tugged me toward sleep.

“You’re used to leading,” Luca said, his own voice sluggish. Kianryk’s eyes closed to pale slits, and then shut completely, the wolf’s breathing slow and even.

I agreed with a wordless murmur and then smiled as I realized his point. “Sorry.”

“It’s good to have someone who isn’t afraid to keep me in line,” Luca replied with a quiet chuckle.

I gave a little sound of amusement; and then I lost my thread of thought as I slid into sleep, my exhausted body finally overpowering my racing mind.

Chapter 25

A
gentle but firm hand shook me awake. I grimaced, knowing even before I moved that I was sore. As I blinked and opened my eyes, I remembered the mission of the vanguard, and I pushed my discomfort into the back of my mind. My soreness paled in comparison to the peril that Liam faced. I stood and shook out my cloak, stretching my legs as I slipped the strap of the Sword over my head. Then I sighed as I realized I’d forgotten to put on my armor, so I placed the Caedbranr safely on my rolled cloak and strapped my breastplate onto my chest. After settling the Sword onto my back, I found Nehalim already waiting for me patiently in the morning twilight, flicking his tail as I saddled him and arranged my pack behind the saddle. Getting into the saddle proved to be a challenge with my stiff and sore legs, but I managed it without making too much of a spectacle of myself. I tried to coax myself fully awake, chewing on some
kajuk
as I watched the Valkyrie leap into the sky.

This day passed much the same as the one prior: the Valkyrie flying in a wedge above us, scouts shooting toward the horizon at intervals; our
faehal
’s fleet hooves churning up fine dust from the barren ground, wreathing us in a strange semblance of gritty fog; some songs rising up from the fierce column of warriors, and then long intervals of relative silence, our eyes searching the bare landscape for any threat. The sun rose in the east and reached its zenith overhead. We stopped a few hours before sunset just as we had the day before, Luca speaking with Niamh and Robin unrolling his map. I wove the little lights again, tossing them before us to light our way; and when we stopped for the night I wordlessly checked Nehalim for any sores or chafing as I brushed his coat, a little cloud of dust rising from his body with every stroke. He blew out a breath in enjoyment as I rubbed his legs, feeling for any burrs out of habit though we hadn’t passed through anything resembling underbrush. I patted his shoulder to let him know I was done; and after I deposited my pack and saddle in a neat little pile, I set up the camp lights and prepared for my first watch.

Luca stationed sentries at every point of the compass around the camp, with a roving perimeter sentry who checked in with each stationary watch a few times each hour. I was assigned the northern post. Our perimeter wasn’t very large, but even with my lights still hovering over the camp, I could barely make out the silhouette of the eastern and western sentries. The roving watch was a slim Seelie who called to mind Farin with her spritely movement and air of alert energy. She wore her head of tightly coiled golden curls loose, save for a band of leather worn like a bandanna to keep her hair out of her eyes.

“Moira,” she introduced herself in a low voice on her first round. She grinned. “And I already know you, Tess, so no need for introductions.” She carried her bow with an arrow already nocked, held with the sharp tip pointed toward the ground. The posture reminded me of Liam in one of his deployment pictures, his rifle held casually but alertly, muzzle pointed at the dirt. “So,” Moira continued, “if you see any movement at all, just whistle.” She put two fingers to her mouth in pantomime, holding her arrow steady on the bow with the forefinger of her right hand.

“I can’t whistle,” I admitted sheepishly.

Moira’s face lit with glee. The similarity to Farin intensified. “Oh, that’s rich.” She tilted her head, springy curls bouncing with the movement. “Well, just send up a flare then. And yell, if you need.”

“Flare and yell. That I can do.” I grinned in reply. My inability to whistle wasn’t new. Liam had tried to teach me many times, but the best I could manage was using the top of an acorn held between my thumbs to produce an ear-splitting, shrill noise.

“And if I don’t come by for long enough that your hackles are raised, best send a flare up then too.” I couldn’t tell the exact color of Moira’s eyes in the darkness, but she turned her pale gaze out into barren wilderness beyond our camp. “Stay sharp. Only two hours and then time to rest.”

“Will do.” I rested my hand on the hilt of my plain sword at my waist, and then out of habit more than anything I touched the hilt of the Caedbranr above my shoulder. The Sword vibrated silently at my touch, and I stared out into the darkness, wondering what creatures lurked before us.

Moira checked in with me like clockwork. I began to measure the time by her rounds; I estimated that a circuit of the camp and checking in with the other three sentries took her about fifteen minutes. So after her third stop at my post, I figured about an hour had passed. I scanned the darkness in segments, searching the horizon and then giving my eyes a short break, looking down at my hands or the hilt of my sword; then I swept the landscape in increasingly closer sectors, looking for movement to alert me to the presence of a threat. It would have been easy to let my mind wander, especially as the lights over the camp dimmed and then sputtered into darkness. The silence enveloped me. I tried to keep my mind blank, focusing on keeping watch, stretching my legs every now and again, moving in a small circle so that I was both keeping my post and staving off the tired fog of a long day of travel. I wondered if Liam felt this way on watch, holding security for a silent encampment. I kept trying to clear my mind, but I found that I was able to both scan the darkness and think about Liam, because keeping watch was doing my part on the journey to find him. I thought about how he’d react to the new scars dappling my hands, and I wondered if he had any new scars of his own. That brought me dangerously close to thinking about him as a prisoner, captured and beaten; I shook my head and gripped the hilt of my sword until my knuckles turned white.

“Thinking about something that makes you angry?” asked Moira, her voice quiet yet clear.

I nodded but didn’t trust my own voice, instead feeding my internal flames with every long, measured breath. Moira’s touch surprised me enough that I jumped, but she didn’t laugh; she gripped my shoulder and said, “We’ll find your brother.”

I nodded and stared out into the darkness. Moira patted my shoulder and said as she glided away, “Watch turnover is soon. I’ll be coming by with the next roving patrol and your relief.” She didn’t wait for a reply, disappearing into the shadows on her way to the western post. I took a deep breath and almost wished for a Dark creature to appear on the horizon, so that I could have the satisfaction of spitting it on my sword. But the night remained still, the moonless sky pressing down overhead and the ground flat and dusty beneath it, the landscape made alien by its lack of life.

Watch turnover was a quick but thorough affair; Moira walked by with the new roving patrol and my relief. I quietly explained my method of scanning the darkness in sectors, and after the new sentry assumed his post, I nodded to Moira and walked into camp, finding my pack and falling asleep on the bare ground without even remembering to spread my cloak beneath me.

We settled into the routine of a long journey. I imagined that this might feel something like one of Liam’s deployments: the same landscape every day, the same tasks to accomplish, watch to stand and ground to cover. We had our mission, and the small deviations from our routine provided enough relief to prevent absolute boredom. I talked with Robin about the training he’d undergone with Merrick to become the company’s navigator. Moira rode with me for part of one morning and I discovered that she, too, had an older brother, but he was with the main body of the Seelie Court traveling from the Hall of the Outer Guard. I realized I hadn’t talked to any Sidhe who had more than one sibling, and Moira explained that just as
taebramh
had begun to weaken along with the connection between Faeortalam and Doendhtalam, so too had it become increasingly arduous for the Sidhe to conceive and bear children. Since Sidhe were so long lived, it had always been harder for them to procreate, especially when compared to mortals; that made a certain sort of sense to me. To Sidhe, Moira said, most mortals seemed like soft-pelted rabbits, living only for a few seasons and bearing whole litters of kits. Most Sidhe women had at least one son or daughter in their long life. But, she explained, after the closing of the Great Gate, there had been few children born, and most of those had died of strange illnesses in their youth.

“That seems ominous,” I commented, frowning as I combed through my memories and realized that I actually hadn’t seen any Sidhe children during my entire time in Faeortalam. “But my friend Molly is half-Fae.”

“Ah, the
fendhionne
,” said Moira.

“It’s been a while since I heard that word.”

She shrugged elegantly, her mane of curls swaying like an undersea creature. “I don’t know for certain if your friend is a product of this, so forgive me, but there was a faction in the Unseelie Court who advocated taking mortal women to bear children. They theorized that they could bind the mortal half of the child, or create a process to eradicate it altogether.”

“Taking mortal women to bear children?” I repeated. “I’m guessing this wasn’t an idea to reopen the Gate and take mortal lovers.”

“No. From what I was told, it was not a matter of love but of survival. We knew that the Dark Throne no longer sat empty. This group also said that half-mortal children would grow more quickly so they could be used as warriors in the fight.”

I felt a little sick. “Let me guess. The leader of this faction was the Unseelie Vaelanmavar.”

“Yes, although he never had a half-mortal child himself. His faction did not long hold favor with Mab, and there were only a few children conceived. His brother had a child, though.” Moira turned keen eyes to me. “Your friend, I believe.”

“It’s a bit rude to discuss her origins so intimately without her, don’t you think?” I tried to keep my voice light, but I couldn’t help the undercurrent of anger. Was that why Molly’s mother had refused to acknowledge her lineage? Had she escaped from the Unseelie Court and hidden in the mortal world, terrified of the coldhearted Sidhe who’d fathered her child? I swallowed hard at this new, chilling possibility. “Were there any other children born from this plan?”

“It was not my Court,” said Moira reflectively, “so I do not rightly know. But rumors held that there were a handful, no more than a dozen.”

A sense of vertigo enveloped me. If there were more than a dozen half-Fae children, why had Mab chosen Molly? What were the chances that it had been her, out of all of them, and I’d been her best friend? A child of Gwyneth and a child of the Unseelie, hidden away in the mortal world, becoming best friends through the winding threads of chance. Then I shook my head. “Wouldn’t taking women to bear Fae children break the rules that Mab set herself? It doesn’t make sense to me.”

The weak light glinted along the corkscrews of Moira’s curls. “I cannot rightly say that I know the truth of it all—only that those rules applied to the Court, but perhaps not its Queen.”

“Even as cruel as I think Mab is, it would be a new low to kidnap girls and bring them to the Unseelie Court to have kids,” I said, even another part of my mind pointed out that Mab had essentially kidnapped Molly. She’d sent Finnead as a very handsome messenger, but neither of us had mistaken the threat behind the beauty.

“As I said, I do not know the whole story,” replied Moira. “I do know that my generation was one of the last not to be afflicted with the strange sicknesses that killed many children after us.”