The Iron Sword (The Fae War Chronicles Book 1) (35 page)

Vell shrugged. “I’m only a bit Unseelie, but their coloring is strong. It gets passed down easily.”

For some reason I thought of small dark-haired children—
my
children. I paused, fingers stilling in the midst of fastening my belt-buckle. Where in the world had that image of young bright faces
come
from? I hadn’t ever experienced an intense yearning to be a mother—I was too young for that, I supposed. But this didn’t feel like a daydream, it felt more like…like something I was sure would happen one day, an idea that would explain itself over time. I shook my head and buckled my sword-belt with a vengeance, making the leather creak in protest.

Vell took large flat rocks and stacked them in a cairn over the dying embers of the fire.

“What do we do now?” I said, feeling the still of the cool morning press down on the top of my head as I stood and gazed into the inscrutable shadows of the forest.

“Well, I don’t know what you’ll do,” Vell said. “I’m going hunting.”

“Is it safe? If Malravenar’s forces are out there, I mean.”

“Oh, they’re out there. And no, it isn’t safe. But nothing is anymore.” Vell showed her teeth in her wolfish grin. “But they still fear the teeth of a North-wolf. We made sure of that.”

A growl rumbled in Beryk’s throat and his lip trembled over his long white teeth at Vell’s words.

“I will come with you,” Forsythe said. “If you will assent to an escort, Lady Vell.”

Vell looked at the Glasidhe, narrowing her honey-colored eyes; and then she shrugged again.

“I’m not looking out for you if you can’t handle yourself in the woods,” she said warningly as she turned away, unwrapping her bow-string while she walked. Beryk trotted at her side, and I lost Forsythe’s courteous reply in the heaviness of the gray silence.

I stood by the piled stones for a moment longer, and then I turned back toward the barracks, intending to find Ramel for some sword-practice. I took out my boot dagger, twirling it idly. I dropped it, and I growled at my ineptitude, longing to twirl daggers like Flora and Farin. My finger dripped crimson and I sighed, inspecting the cut. It wasn’t deep, but it bled enough to attract attention. I swung my quiver down from my shoulder, intending to use one of the spare cloths in it for a bandage. The strap got caught on Gwyneth’s pendant, pulling at my neck, and I grabbed at the pendant with one hand and the strap with another, trying to release the pressure against my windpipe. I untangled the pendant and quiver-strap, heedless of the blood still dripping from my finger. It wasn’t as though I was going to some sort of pageant, anyway; a few bloodstains were par for the course at camp anyway.

I located one of the spare cloths and tied it around my finger. Suddenly, Gwyneth’s pendant heated against my neck. I hissed in surprise and pain, the iron burning-hot against my skin. Pulling the cord over my head, I held the pendant out at eye-level. The simple circle glowed the dull cherry-red of forge-heated iron as I watched incredulously. A few drops of my blood glistened on the curve of the metal. Flora hovered by my shoulder.

“Finally,” I heard her say under her breath.

Then, distantly, I heard the clear call of a silvery trumpet. The single clear note sent the camp into motion, sentries running to their posts and others readying their bows and swords. I went to put the cord of Gwyneth’s pendant over my head again but the iron
hissed
as though it had been plunged into water after being heated. I held it away from me, resisting the urge to drop it. Goosebumps crawled up my arms as the pendant glowed with a white-hot heat. No one around me seemed to take any notice, as a second clear trumpet-call hung in the air. I watched the pendant, feeling the heat of it on the bottom of my hand. Somehow it didn’t singe through the leather cord…and then the pendant began moving, small tendrils of the iron curling out from the pendant.

“What’s it doing?” I asked Flora, who was watching unconcernedly.

“Telling you something you should have known long ago,” she replied.

“Telling me what?” I said, my heart jumping strangely.

Flora’s aura glowed a deep, serene blue that I had never seen before. “Watch.”

The tendrils of iron twisted around one another, curling about the outside of the pendant and then meeting at the bottom of the curve. In fascination I watched as a small iron tree grew before my eyes at the center of the pendant, spreading its low branches to the curve of the iron circle.

“I know that tree,” I breathed as realization washed over me in a cool wave.

“As you should,” Flora said softly.

The iron tree in the center of the pendant was a tiny but exact replica of the river-tree.

“Why is it showing me this?” I took step backward, as if that would put distance between me and the revelation of the pendant.

Flora flew an annoyed circle around my head, and then perched lightly on my wrist. “Think, Tess! You are not stupid. The Last Bearer’s blood runs in your veins!” She fluttered her wings. “My people have known this secret, we have safeguarded it in case Gwyneth’s blood never returned to the True Land. But you are
here
, and
she
will tell you!”

The pendant finished constructing the river-tree, and then I felt a strange tugging sensation in my hand.

“Give it just a spark,” Flora instructed.

Watching warily, I let the tiniest spark of
taebramh
travel down my arm and into my fingertip. The pendant—or whatever invisible entity controlled the pendant, I thought—tugged again, and the spark left my finger, drifting like milkweed-fluff down toward the iron circle. When the
taebramh
-spark hit the metal, it touched off a small, silent explosion. It was like watching a tiny supernova. The white fire raced around the circle, up through the roots of the tree and through its branches, around the circle again and then stopped, glowing, a sliver of white fire in the trunk of the miniature river-tree.

“What…?” My own voice was distant to my ears. It was a moment that I knew was important, so important that time slowed around me and the world fell away as my whole being focused on that glowing sliver of silver in the iron of the miniature tree. I looked closer and saw that the white fire was not just a splinter in the trunk. It was a sword, and it was in the river-tree.

Chapter 29

“I don’t understand,” I said, my voice shaking.

“Of course you do,” Flora said. She flew to my shoulder and said into my ear, her voice low and intense with passion, “The Sword, the all-important and all-consuming weapon, the instrument of victory, it is in the river-tree!”

“Why?” I asked faintly.

“Gwyneth placed it there, deep in Mab’s kingdom. She was not a Seer, but she could feel the line of her blood stretching through the ages and she knew that her daughter would come to the river-tree in time.” Flora tugged at my earlobe. “You had better put that away,” she said, meaning the pendant.

As I watched, the white fire of the
taebramh
faded, but the miniature iron tree remained in the center of the pendant, and down near the bottom of the outer circle, two perfectly circular drops of blood glistened like rubies. I touched the blood-drops experimentally, and they were hard as stone. I shook my head. “This place will never stop surprising me,” I muttered as I slipped the pendant over my head again.

My mind tried to wrap itself around the revelation I had just received.

“Your blood released its power,” Flora said.

I sat down by the still-warm cairn of rocks over the dying fire. “What if I hadn’t cut myself trying that stupid trick this morning?”

“Everything happens for a reason,” the Glasidhe replied serenely.

The silver trumpet-call sounded a third time, unmistakably closer now.

“What
is
that?” I asked, just as Wisp barreled into sight, flying for all he was worth.

“Tess-mortal,” he said breathlessly. “They are coming! They are coming!”

I scrambled to my feet, hand going to the hilt of my sword. “Malravenar’s forces are closing the trap?”

“No, no! Not
them
!” Wisp shrilled excitedly. “The
fendhionne
! She comes by the road from Darkhill, with her escort!”

“Are you sure, Wisp?” I asked, pulling my shirt up over the pendant.

“Have I ever given reason for you to doubt me?” Wisp demanded, feigning insult.

“Of course not,” I said. I fastened my cloak about my shoulders to ward off the morning chill, trying to brush the wrinkles out of my tunic. Should I go out to the road, to meet Molly? I turned and looked back at the barracks, and while some Sidhe were walking toward the road in small knots, I glimpsed two familiar figures standing in front of the barracks. Wisp kept pace above me as I walked quickly through the long wet grasses, my boots darkened by dew.

Ramel stepped forward as I drew nearer. “There you are, Tess,” he said. “I didn’t see you in the room last night.”

“I slept by the fire with Vell,” I answered distractedly, gazing in the direction of the trumpet-call.

“You shouldn’t associate with that wild Northerner,” he muttered, mostly to himself.

“I like Vell,” I said, too preoccupied to show true annoyance. “Shouldn’t they…I mean, isn’t it stupid to announce their presence so loudly? Don’t they know about the trap?”

“Either they know about it, and they do not care, or they do not know about it and it ceases to matter anyway,” Finnead replied grimly. He looked at Ramel, and then at me, clearing his throat meaningfully.

“I’ll go to meet them,” Ramel said. He touched my arm and winked at me, then strode off toward the path, leaving me looking after him in confusion. Flora tugged on my ear once and flew after Ramel, Wisp trailing in her wake.

“Tess,” Finnead said, turning toward me.

“Finnead,” I said at the same time, the awful guilt I’d felt when I’d mentioned his scars writhing in my stomach again. He started to speak again but I held up a hand and he acquiesced into silence, his blue eyes inscrutable. “I apologize for speaking of things that I don’t understand,” I said slowly, hoping he heard the sincerity in my voice.

He nodded once. “Ramel told you how I received the scars?”

Surprised, I answered, “Yes. But please, don’t be mad at him—“ I stopped when Finnead shook his head.

“I am indebted to Ramel, more than I could ever explain,” he said. “Ramel was the first to truly offer me friendship after…after I returned from the darkness.” He glanced at me. “He’s taught you well. I hear that you almost bested him, the other morning.”

I shrugged. “I still lost.”

“But you fought well. That is worth something,” Finnead replied.

I scuffed the toe of my boot in the dirt, flattening a few stalks of grass. “Fighting well and winning are two different things.”

“When you fight well, you keep your honor, and no one can say otherwise,” Finnead said firmly, and I knew he wasn’t speaking about my sparring session with Ramel. We watched the purposeful movement of the sentries and off-duty soldiers for a moment. “Apology accepted,” he said finally. “So you need speak no more about it.”

“Thanks,” I said quietly.

“Now, let me speak my piece, and promise you won’t interrupt.” He raised one eyebrow at me until I agreed. Then he took a breath. “Tess, I want you to take Kaleth and leave. He might be a bit sickened by the iron, but if you give him a spark of
taebramh
he’ll be fine.”

I opened my mouth, then remembered my promise not to interrupt, and stood there silently feeling as though I’d been punched in the stomach.

“Nothing good will come of this battle,” Finnead said, gazing out over the clearing toward the woods. I saw the dark specks of crows circling a ways off. “Our fate has been sealed, but you may still be saved.”

He stood there, silent and inscrutable and heartbreakingly handsome, until I couldn’t keep quiet any longer. “I won’t go,” I said fiercely, voice shaking. “If that’s what you think of me, that I’d cut and run just before the battle—well then, you don’t know me at all.”

He shook his head. “I don’t think that you would leave of your own will.”

“I’m a good fighter—you said it yourself! And if you don’t want me on the front lines, fine, I’ll stay with Eamon and Allene.”

“Even the healers are taking up their bows in this battle, Tess. We do not expect any quarter,” Finnead said grimly.

“I won’t go,” I said stubbornly, putting my hands on my hips. “If you must know, Vell already told me I should leave. Or she told me I could. And I’m still here.”

Finnead smiled. “By the stars, you must be the most stubborn mortal I’ve ever met.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I said, keeping my hands on my hips as I glared at him.

The knight was silent for a moment, looking down at his boots as he spoke again. “Would you leave if Ramel asked it of you?” he said slowly, as if the words pained him.

“If Ramel asked it of me?” I repeated. “I don’t give a damn who asks me, someone will have to drag me out by my ponytail.”

He chuckled. “So even your love would not convince you. I should have had him ask you in any case. Your…distaste…for me is well known.”

“Well known to whom?” I asked incredulously. “And what are you talking about, my love?”

“It was a natural progression,” Finnead said quietly, that same pained note in his voice. The silver trumpet sounded again, just beyond the fringe of trees now. “He began as your sword-teacher, and was your first true friend in this world. And he has mortal blood, too.”

“I could really care less who has mortal blood and who doesn’t,” I said, my head spinning in confusion.

“You must understand, Tess, he helped bring me back, out of that terrible darkness,” the Vaelanbrigh continued, his voice shaking. It was clear that it pained him to talk about his relationship with Ramel. “He was my squire, yes, but before that he was my friend, and because of what he did for me…I promised myself that if ever there were anything he and I both wanted, I would step back. I would let him have the happiness that he deserved.”

I stared at Finnead. “Are you saying…?”

“Never mind what I’m saying,” he said heavily. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters,” I said fiercely, a high and sudden hope bursting in my chest. I took a step closer to him. “What exactly is it that you think Ramel wants?”

The pain on his face was terrible to see. It twisted my heart, and I wanted to reach up and touch his face with the tips of my fingers, but instead I clenched my hands into fists and waited for him to answer. The one word fell from his lips as though wrung from him by torture.

“You,” he said heavily.

I took a breath, trying to slow the spinning of my head. I blinked dizzily. “Me?” I repeated incredulously. Then all the pieces fell into place, all the troubled looks and heavy glances, the pain that had come into his eyes when he’d looked at Ramel, then looked at me. “You self-righteous ass,” I said wonderingly. “You thought you were being noble by letting Ramel have what
he
wanted?”

Finnead looked uncertain, startled by the anger in my voice.

“Did you ever think of asking me what
I
wanted?” I asked in amazement.

After a moment, he said, “Do you not want to be with Ramel? Are you not in love with him?”

The strange hope in his voice kindled an answering ache in my own chest, an ache I had felt so many times since being carried through the Gate in his arms. I clamped down on it angrily. “No,” I said stiffly. “I am
not
in love with him, and if you had taken just a moment to consider that I’m not just a
thing
that both of you
wanted,
you might have thought of asking me before making an ass of yourself.”

Despite my harsh words, a small smile spread across Finnead’s lips. To my astonishment, he closed the distance between us and rested his hands lightly on my shoulders. “Tess,” he said, “if I survive this war, I swear that I will never again disregard your thoughts in so callous a manner.” He took one of my hands in his own and brought it to his lips, kissing the tender skin on the top of my hand slowly, agonizingly. All the anger drained from my body, leaving me weak-kneed.

“Apology accepted,” I said, struggling to keep my voice level despite the golden glow engulfing my body, springing from the feel of his lips on my skin.

“That wasn’t an apology,” he said, correcting me gently. “That was a promise.”

“Then you should say
when
you survive this war,” I said, “because I won’t accept anything less than that.”

He nodded. “When we survive this war, then.”

“Good. A knight and a gentleman always stands by his word,” I reminded him.

“Of course,” he said with a grin.

“How touching, Vaelanbrigh,” rang out a voice across the clearing.

I stiffened, that voice striking a chord of coppery fear deep within me. Finnead let go of my hand slowly, with an unhurried air, and turned to face the Vaelanmavar, who was riding a pitch-black Fae charger across the clearing. Riding just behind him, seated on her own delicate mount, was Molly. Several other Unseelie knights rode in a loose group about them, and they all had a slightly shifty look that I didn’t like very much at all.

“I was not informed that we would have the honor of your company, Vaelanmavar,” Finnead replied in his commanding voice, words ringing out over the clearing for all his gathered company to hear.

“The Queen saw fit to send me here, to take command of this bravery-proven company of faithful soldiers,” the Vaelanmavar said. I noticed with a jolt that he wore a black eye-patch over one eye, the cord holding the patch in place blending with his dark hair. Then I shifted my gaze to Molly, and my heart sank. Her beautiful face, even more Fae than when I had seen her last, carried no trace of recognition when her eyes settled on me. A look of distaste settled over her otherworldly features, her nose wrinkling slightly and her perfect lips turning down prettily in ladylike disgust.

“Uncle,” she said in a cold, smooth voice.

The Vaelanmavar turned in his saddle, bowing his head slightly. “Yes, my dear?”

My skin crawled at the too-sweet affection in his oily words. My mind reeled—the Vaelanmavar, Molly’s uncle? It couldn’t be. It was too disgusting of an idea to contemplate, that she was related by blood to that snake of a Sidhe.

“Who is this…
woman
, standing just behind the Vaelanbrigh?” Her voice carried an aloof curiosity. I wished I could hear the old Molly again, even her sarcasm.

“She is merely a mortal,” the Vaelanmavar replied in a quiet voice, his words still carrying through the air for us to hear—which was clearly his intent. “Pay her no account, my dear niece. She means nothing to you, and carries no importance.”

My jaw clenched. I went to take a step forward, but suddenly Ramel was by my side, gripping my elbow, and Emery was at my other side, sliding his shoulder in front of me smoothly and blocking my path. I gritted my teeth but let them restrain me.

“You should watch your tongue,” Emery said coolly to the Vaelanmavar, “or your other eye might be in danger.”

I felt a rush of gratitude toward Emery as the Vaelanmavar’s face flushed, almost imperceptibly, at the reference to his eye.

“It seems as though your men have become impudent, Vaelanbrigh,” the mounted knight said.

“We say only what is true,” Emery responded as Finnead merely shrugged unconcernedly.

“Uncle, I feel as though I know her, though I acknowledge her inferiority as a mortal,” Molly said, each word enunciated delicately in that detached voice.

“That is because she is a witch,” the Vaelanmavar said as he dismounted. He walked forward and tossed the reins to Emery. “Take my mount to the stables.”

Emery raised one eyebrow coolly and led the black charger away, murmuring to it in the Sidhe tongue.

“Well, is she of account or isn’t she?” Ramel asked the Vaelanmavar, squeezing my elbow slightly. “Because I’ve heard tales of mortal witches and, to tell the truth, I wouldn’t want to tangle with one.”

A rather large group had gathered behind Finnead, and I heard their murmurings. I couldn’t tell if they were murmuring about me or the Vaelanmavar, and I shifted uncomfortably.

“Look at the girl squirm,” the Vaelanmavar said, smiling nastily, his one eye glittering with malice. “She knows that I speak truth, when I speak of her witchery.”

“I’ll show you witchery,” I growled.

“I wouldn’t test her,” Ramel said. “She threw Kavoryk, there, across the room, without just a twitch of her finger.”

Ramel’s mention of his name gave Kavoryk the chance to push his way through the crowd. He took up a stance in the space vacated by Emery, and the feel of his solid bulk by my side pushed away a little bit of the crawling fear still skittering up my spine every time the Vaelanmavar spoke. I felt phantom fingers close around my throat, but I raised my chin and looked at him challengingly.