The Dark Throne, page 12
“Never fear,” she said gleefully, “tis only Forsythe on his loyal steed Gyre!”
“I just don’t like things flying down around my head,” I muttered defensively.
“There will be many steeds flying during the dragon hunt!” Flora said. “Perhaps the Wild Court will understand us a bit more than the Courts of Night and Day, once they have tasted the freedom of flight!”
“Or maybe they’ll learn that it’s much better to have your feet on the ground, especially if you’re not born with wings,” I pointed out.
Flora laughed again. “Ah, Tess-mortal, always so serious!”
I smiled. “I’ve fallen from increasingly higher heights since we embarked on this little journey, and I wasn’t particularly fond of the experience.”
“Falling and flying are completely different!”
“If you say so,” I said as we reached my room. I ducked again as Gyre dove through the doorway, a hands’-breadth above my head, and Flora giggled. I sighed.
“First wolves, now hawks?” Sage said skeptically from his chair by the fire, leather-bound book in his lap. “The Hall is turning into a regular menagerie.”
“When will you two not have to watch me to make sure I don’t die?” I replied.
Sage grinned. “That’s a tall order indeed, Lady Bearer. Please don’t repeat that to either of our illustrious Queens, or you might find yourself with two permanent shadows.”
I rolled my eyes at him and sat on the bed, sliding off my boots. “Two very restless permanent shadows, no doubt.”
Sage stretched languorously, book still in one hand. “I’m liable to become accustomed to sitting in chairs by warm fires, reading books.”
“You mean being lazy and becoming soft?” I retorted as I began to unwind the bandages around my hands.
“First you call me fat, then soft,” Sage said, surveying himself. He lifted one corner of his shirt to reveal defined muscles on his lithe frame. “I’m not quite sure your descriptions are accurate.” The firelight played on his tawny skin, sharpening the lines of division down his abdomen and the furrow of muscle just below each of his hipbones.
Flora hummed in appreciation. I heard a wicked giggle from somewhere up in the rafters of the room: Farin had obviously reclaimed her territory and was enjoying the view as much as her cousin.
I had to laugh. “Keep your shirt on, I’m just kidding.”
He grinned playfully at me. “I can certainly take off my shirt if you’d like, Lady Bearer.”
I rolled my eyes again. “If I want a mindless distraction, I’ll be sure to let you know.”
Sage laughed. “You certainly know how to make a man feel desired. Mindless distraction,” he repeated with a chuckle. Then he raised an eyebrow. “As opposed to a very mindful distraction?”
“Hush,” I muttered at him as my cheeks heated. Though you’re closer than you’ve ever been to taking what you want from both of them, a naughty voice in the corner of my mind pointed out with wicked glee. I took a deep breath and focused on making little sandwiches again out of the bread and cheese on my bedside table. Sage smiled and turned back to his book, while Flora gave a little giggle as she alighted on the table. I ignored them both, began to eat my food and waited for the blush to fade from my cheeks.
I ate and washed my face, and felt more than a little grateful for the softness of the bed and the runes for rest and restoration that flared into life as I drew the covers over me. I felt Flora’s slight weight on the pillow by my head. Tomorrow, I thought as I let my mind drift toward sleep, tomorrow I would rise early, and prepare a bag for the dragon-hunt…then perhaps I would feel the hilt of my sword in my hand again…I slid into sleep holding that thought close to me, taking comfort in the prospect of once more wielding a silver-flashing blade in my fire-baptized hands.
When I woke, the embers of the fire smoldered in the hearth, banked and tended, but the chair by the fire sat empty. Flora muttered sleepily as I sat up, her hair standing up in a pretty little shock of blue as she uncurled herself from my pillow like an awakening cat. Something had roused me from slumber, but I couldn’t remember what it was until I heard it again: the toll of a bell, bright and clear through the stones of the Hall. The bell beat a quick, steady rhythm. It was a summons, and I didn’t have to be told its purpose. Flora’s wings snapped to attention and quivered, her aura sparking with excitement. Farin dove down from the rafters, a miniature comet. Flora flew up to confer with her cousin as I slid from bed, rubbing the last vestige of sleep from my eyes.
A neatly folded pile of clothes waited for me at the foot of the bed, with a leather satchel beside them. I picked up the satchel first, measuring its weight before opening it and laying out the contents on the bed: a fine healer’s kit, instruments tucked into pouches on a leather roll, vials labeled in a neat, small hand and packets of different herbs, along with fastidiously rolled bandages. There was even a small thick book, well made and bound in leather. I flipped through the pages, finding both recipes for salves, ointment and tea, as well as more arcane knowledge that I didn’t recognize at first glance. I wrapped the book in its little oilskin cover and tucked it back into the satchel, reorganizing all the instruments to my liking before putting them away as well. The tolling of the bell did nothing to calm my suddenly shaking hands. I’d faced danger before, certainly, but this felt completely different—we were seeking the great beast, we were hunting the most dangerous creature in Faeortalam, and those who wished to serve the High Queen in her Wild Court would do so with laughter on their lips and defiance in their eyes.
As I quickly changed into my clothes for the hunt—simple shirt and breeches, and a soft quilted vest over my shirt—another voice joined the clarion call of the bell. I listened to the wolf’s long beautiful howl, and then a second wolf took up the call to hunt as the first voice faded, and after the second there was a third, creating an endless undulating song that had no pause. It was like when the wolves ran together through the shadows, weaving between each other, fluid and primal. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up as I listened for a moment, then shook myself and focused on my preparations. I wound a few lengths of clean linen around each of my hands; then I walked around the foot of my bed, toward where the Sword leaned against the headboard, and stopped short. The armor I’d worn into Brightvale gleamed, spread on a dark green cloak by the Sword; there were new gloves and a scabbard I didn’t recognize. I knelt, the wolves and the bell still singing in my ears as I picked up the black scabbard. It was a short yet elegant sword, made in the Seelie style, the hilt black leather worked with gold. Without fully grasping the hilt, I slid the blade from its sheath, and my breath caught in my throat. Names gleamed on the blade in beautiful script, running parallel to the sharp edge and flowing down toward the point. I heard footsteps but I continued to examine the blade, unable to take my eyes from its deadly beauty.
“It is as you asked,” said Calliea from behind me. “And it is worked with forge-magic, so you need only to tell it the names of the fallen that you wish to add.”
I felt grateful for this gift, made so beautifully and so soon after I’d asked; then I shivered at the prospect of whispering the names of the dead to this blade after every battle. But I had asked, and I would honor it. I nodded. “It’s magnificent.”
The Caedbranr hummed reprovingly. I narrowed my eyes at its battered old sheath. “Hush. There’s no need to be jealous. You’re part of a prophecy and a legend, so I’d think that’s quite enough.”
“I thought I’d heard you talking to that blade before,” remarked Calliea.
I shrugged and said, “Sometimes it even talks back.” The Sword hummed its sound of amusement. I slid the new blade back into its gleaming black sheath and stood, facing Calliea. She wore raiment much the same as mine, with her golden whip coiled at her waist and her body bristling with daggers of all sizes. Her hair was woven in complicated braids and there was a thick cobalt line hand-painted down the very center of her heart-shaped face, down the bridge of her nose and over her lips and chin. She’d eschewed coloring her hair, but there were several red hawk-feathers bound into her braids and a spine of silver rings ran up one of her ears. I smiled a little as I recognized the red feathers from Gyre. Calliea must have made friends with Forsythe while I was asleep.
“Come,” she said, striding forward, “we must be swift.”
“Is anyone else wearing armor?” I asked. I realized too late that my question made me sound like a child worried about what the other kids would be wearing to school.
“Finnead and Gray,” replied Calliea, “and all of the Valkyrie. Maybe half of the ground riders.”
“The Valkyrie?”
“Didn’t you learn any of your mythology?” Calliea asked as she helped fasten my breastplate. “Too tight?”
I shook my head to both her questions.
“Well I’ll leave you to look it up on your own, we haven’t the time to talk. But the Valkyrie is the name of Gray’s winged force. There.” Calliea stepped back. I settled the strap of the Sword over my shoulder, and buckled my new plain blade about my waist, relishing the feel of a blade against my hip again. In the tops of my boots went two silver daggers, and only then did I grab my healer’s satchel and turn to face Calliea.
“We’re preparing in the Great Hall,” she said shortly, her flashing eyes betraying her excitement. Without waiting for my reply, she turned on her heel and strode briskly from the room. I followed, my heart beating like a drum in my ears, counter to the tolling of the bells and the howling of the wolves calling the Wild Court to the hunt.
Chapter 9
I stretched my legs to keep up with Calliea’s long stride as she walked through the corridors toward the Great Hall. She held her body differently, now that the call to the hunt lingered in the air: some of the softness about her had dispersed, and she was every inch the warrior preparing for battle. Flora and Farin wove a neon trail above us, and then Forsythe joined on his red hawk. As we turned a corner and the great double doors of the Hall came into view, Forin joined his kin. I didn’t notice which one of them started it, but a Glasidhe war-hymn soon accompanied us, high bright voices twining in a melody as mournful and fierce as the wolves’ howls.
“Nehalim is already prepared,” Calliea said to me as I drew abreast of her. She grinned fiercely. “Seems a waste for a healer to be riding such a great battle steed, but who says you are to be just a healer, eh?”
“Well, the High Queen, for one,” I answered as Calliea pushed open one of the sides of the great doors and we entered the Hall.
A maelstrom of purposeful sound enveloped me; I felt like I’d been underwater and had just broken the surface into the raw sounds of the bright air. It was difficult to tell how many Seelie warriors had put forth their names for the chance to be a part of this new young Court, but after a quick sweep of the Hall with my eyes, I estimated there were at least a hundred Seelie riders preparing for the dragon hunt. I grinned involuntarily as I took in the vibrantly colored hair, braided and bound in strips of leather, ornamented with feathers and wrought-silver ornaments; every beautiful Sidhe face bore war-paint, some in intricate designs that must have taken hours to apply, others with handprints across their faces that made me think of joyous abandon and newfound freedom. They hefted the thick spears and rolled the thick rope net with its weights into a compact cylinder that must have weighed more than all of them put together; but a handful of them, on the command of a tall Seelie warrior with white-gold hair dyed scarlet, hefted the net onto their shoulders in one smooth motion and carried it from the Hall.
“You don’t have to escort me, you know,” I said to Calliea with a smile. “I can practically feel you vibrating with excitement.”
She looked at me in disdain. “I don’t vibrate.”
“It’s a turn of phrase,” I said, raising my eyebrows. “I thought you Seelie were supposed to be a little more well versed in mortal sayings.”
Calliea gave a shrug, her wrinkled nose interrupting the bold cobalt line. “We were forbidden from venturing into the mortal world just the same as our brethren in the Winter Court.” She brushed an invisible speck of dust from her supple leather gauntlets, and then strode over to one of the long tables. I trailed behind her, content with watching the purposeful preparations. When I turned back to Calliea, she said, “Help me with the buckles?”
In surprise, I stepped forward to fasten the buckles of her breastplate. “I thought you said it was mostly the Valkyrie wearing armor.”
Calliea turned and grinned at me. “I did.” Her breastplate shone a bright robin’s-egg blue, vivid but somehow not garish. It made her beauty all the fiercer. “I will be riding with my cousin in the Valkyrie ranks.”
On impulse I threw my arms around Calliea’s neck. She froze at my impromptu display of affection, remaining perfectly still until I drew away. I cleared my throat in embarrassment. “Hugging usually isn’t my thing but….you’ve helped me a lot, since I’ve arrived here. So thank you. And please don’t get yourself killed.”
“If I died I would miss all the excitement,” replied Calliea, raising one eyebrow, “and that would be no fun at all.”
“No fun at all indeed,” I said. Then I straightened, looking up at the cathedral ceiling. Dozens of Glasidhe flew about the great beams, and I saw with a smile that the small warriors had set up their encampment in perhaps the most private quarters in the entire Hall. The bells had stopped ringing, and the wolves’ howls had faded into echoes. The bustle and industrious hum of preparation slowly quieted. I turned, following Calliea’s suddenly focused attention. Vell stood in front of the great doors, flanked by her Three, resplendent in a scarlet breastplate, red as blood soaking into snow, the image of a wolf worked in silver and white upon her chest. A red cloak swept back behind her, edged in the silvery mottled fur of some Northern creature of snow and pinned at the throat with a gleaming ruby. Her dark hair was bound up in what seemed to my eyes like hundreds of braids, a more complex echo of her favored style, the braids twisted and gathered in a fierce ridge down the center of her head. The ends of her braids were decorated with carved ivory beads, the contrast stark against her raven locks. Below her woven hair sat her crown, gleaming golden across her forehead and intensifying the hue of her gaze. The rest of her raiment was black: shirt, gauntlets, breeches, and supple knee-high boots. She looked every bit the part of the High Queen, and my chest swelled with sisterly pride.
The High Queen’s Three all wore much the same uniform: silver breastplates with a wolf worked in scarlet upon their chests, dark grey cloaks, shirts and breeches, and black gauntlets and boots. I wondered distractedly how they’d convinced Arcana to don the different clothes. Arcana’s dark hair was braided in a simpler style, but I was still impressed; it was like seeing a snake wrapped about a beautiful girl’s shoulders, docile for the moment but still flicking its tongue to taste the air. The Three also wore the same face-paint: a thick line across their faces from temple to temple, the paint such a dark red that it looked almost black. Their eyes glittered from within the dark swath of paint, drowning-blue and copper-sparked and laughing green, giving them a fierce and mysterious look. Then I saw that Finnead and Gray carried circular shields, distinct from the more rectangular shields favored by the Seelie warriors. They handled the shields easily on their arms; and as Vell strode forward with her Three behind her, I saw that the shields bore the image of a white wolf, laid into the metal with the same ivory substance out of which the beads Vell’s hair were carved. Then I remembered how I’d wondered what use the Northerners found for the bones of their slain enemies. But rather than shiver I felt a fierce satisfaction that the bones of Malravenar’s beastly creatures had been made into the shield crests for the High Queen’s blood-blessed warriors, and carved ornaments for the head of the High Queen. It showed the rest of those that would be a part of the Wild Court that monsters, too, could die, and their High Queen had killed them, and her Three wore the bones on their shields as proof.
The High Queen and her Three halted, all four of them at once. Beryk materialized out of the shadows. The great sable wolf glided across the Hall and pressed his head under the Wild Queen’s hand. He turned his head and sniffed at Gray’s shield, then showed his teeth to it as he smelled the bones of his enemies. Gray’s eyes brightened in amusement. Vell ran her fingers through the black wolf’s fur. She raised her chin.
“Now we go to hunt the most dangerous creature that has roamed our world in our lifetimes,” she said, and though it didn’t seem to me like she raised her voice, her words carried into the farthest corners of the Hall. The Sidhe had arranged themselves in two long ranks, one in front of each table, moving without taking their transfixed gazes from the Queen they wished to serve. “But even more than that, you go to hunt to prove yourselves, to earn your place at the Wild Court.” Beryk showed his long white teeth. “Though you are not all ulfdrengr, I am, and my Court shall be as a pack, with each warrior earning their place at the hunt. For a wolf who does not hunt has no place in the pack, and a wolf who shies from danger has no place in the hunt.” Her golden eyes roamed the Hall, fierce behind her words. “Do not endanger yourselves needlessly, but do not turn away from danger. I will brook no cowards in the Wild Court.” Her words settled into the tight silence; it was as though the young Seelie warriors were dying of thirst, and her voice was water. They drank it in and leaned forward, eager for more. “My Three will be your Captains, and they have chosen their seconds from among you.” Vell paused, took a breath, her golden eyes shining as she showed her teeth. Beryk shifted under her hand, sensing her excitement. “Now is the time of broken blades and spilling blood.” Her voice rose. “Now is the time of broken bones and spilling flames!”
I didn’t understand her words but I felt myself caught up in the tide of fervor sweeping the Hall, rising with the High Queen’s voice.
