The Dark Throne, page 4
Forin grinned fiercely. “It is the vyldretning. She is a herravaldyr. Of course it is trial by combat. We do not yet know what she will choose.”
I sighed and closed my eyes. “Of course it is. Like we don’t already have enough to worry about.” I heard the door open and Vell swept into the room on a tide of snow-scent.
“You look much better,” she said. “Though we have to do something with your hair.”
“Hello to you too,” I retorted.
Calliea followed Vell with another steaming bowl in her hands. I looked at it eagerly, picking up the spoon before she even set it down on the table.
“Hungry, I see. That’s good,” Vell said.
I gave her a wordless sound of agreement—my mouth was already full with a bite of the most delicious stew I’d ever tasted. Luckily it had cooled enough on its way to my room that I didn’t burn my mouth…that was the last thing I needed right now, I thought as I overloaded my spoon and it fell from my fingers back into the bowl.
“Well, I’ll do something about your hair while you eat, then.” Vell carried the extra chair over to my bedside. “Sit.”
I obediently slid out of bed, still holding my spoon, and sat in the chair. Vell began combing my hair, pausing for each bite and working while I chewed. Calliea wisely went back to whetting her blade. Perhaps Sage had warned her about the High Queen, I thought in amusement.
I finished the bowl of stew—with only a few more spoon mishaps—just as Vell finished combing my hair.
“Perfect timing,” she murmured, her long nimble fingers dividing my hair into several thick strands. She set to work braiding each strand and then deftly interwove them, creating an intricate braid that I knew I’d never be able to produce on my own. “Lovely,” she pronounced as she finished.
“Thanks.” I almost raised one hand to feel her work, but then thought better of it.
“Now the hands. Do you think you can get the bandages on your own?” Vell moved to the other table and began her brisk gathering of vials and herbs.
“These are all tricks to get me to use my hands more,” I grumbled. “But yes, I can get them.” I growled a few curses as I worked out the wrapping pattern of the bandages, but I eventually unwound my right hand, and my left hand went much faster. The center of my palms still glistened red, but I held my hands up to the light and examined them with a critical eye, pretending that I was looking at someone else rather than myself.
“Healing well,” Vell said, taking my left hand in her own. “In two or three days you’ll be able to hold a sword.”
The Caedbranr gave an eager hum at her words. I smiled. I was just as eager to feel the familiar hilt of the Iron Sword in my grasp again. When I realized Vell didn’t say “you can try holding a sword,” I felt a rush of gratitude at her confidence. “So,” I said conversationally as I began my hand exercises and Vell began mixing the salve, “where are your shadows today?”
Beryk, who had ghosted into the room unseen, perked his ears up as he appeared by my side. I chuckled. “Not you.” The sable wolf sat by my chair and watched me rotating my wrist with serious eyes.
“Finnead is just outside the door,” Vell said. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted to see him…or if he wanted to see you.” She slid a glance at me, one eyebrow raised.
I shrugged. “Doesn’t make a difference to me.” But a little thrill rushed through me. I couldn’t decide whether it was apprehension or excitement.
“Well, in any case, I thought I should at least wait until you had your hair braided.”
“Definitely more presentable,” I agreed, switching to my other hand. The burns were still painful, but nothing like they had been the day before. I wondered if Vell had put a bit of her power into the salve, watching her closely as she mixed it.
“Yes,” she answered my thought, “I did put a bit of something extra into it.”
I wrinkled my forehead. “Are you sure you’re not just telepathic in general now?”
Calliea smiled as Vell shook her head. “I’m not telepathic. I just know you. And you know healing, so it’s not too hard to figure out that you’d be suspicious.”
“Not so much suspicious as grateful.” I flexed my left hand, watching the white lacy scars from the blisters ripple as I moved.
“No need for that. What’s a bit of sorcery between friends at this point?”
I shrugged and smiled. “True.” I offered my hands obediently at Vell’s motion. “So tell me about the choosing of your vyldgard.”
Vell wrinkled her nose. “Oh. That.”
“Yes, that.” I tilted my head. “It sounds important. And dangerous. Trial by combat?”
“It’s not individual trial by combat,” Vell said, “so you don’t need to worry about that. And yes. I need to see the skills of those that would be a part of my pack.”
“Will they be bound to wolves?”
“That remains to be seen,” Vell replied evasively. “An ulfdrengr cannot be bound to just any wolf.”
I paused while flexing my thumbs. “Does that mean you’ll have to wait until there are pups?”
Beryk grinned his wolf-grin, tongue lolling over his teeth.
“Well, you’re very forward. Perhaps, but not necessarily. If there is not a litter born to ulfdrengr companions, we could find a litter of unbound pups. It’s just a tricky business, finding the right ones.” The pearly markings of the White Wolf gleamed on Vell’s throat as she turned her head, reminding me that not only was she High Queen, but she was also entrusted with the task of creating a new tribe of wolf-warriors from the remnants of her proud, fierce people.
I nodded. “Makes sense.” I crossed my legs and sat with my back against the headboard. It felt good to stretch my legs. “So when are the trials? Who is fighting whom? How exactly does it work, if they’re not fighting each other?”
Vell put her hands on her hips. Beryk gave a little bark of amusement at my rapid-fire questions. I noticed that Calliea hesitated in whetting her blade for just a moment, and Vell’s gaze flickered over to the young Seelie warrior. “I cannot rightly say what my method will be. Only that it will test a warrior’s skills in every aspect.”
“So it probably won’t just be trial by combat,” I commented, examining the latticework of white and red scars now patterning my palms and wrists. It was beautiful, in its own way, the mark left by the fire and the power of the Crown of Bones. The emerald whorls of my war-markings intertwined with the scars, creating a nebula of silver and green on my palm and wrists.
“If you think only of swords and fighting another warrior when you think of combat, then you are not letting your mind explore the true meaning of war,” Vell said.
I thought for a moment. “When will this be taking place? Can you tell me that, at least?”
“Soon.”
I sighed. “What I’m getting at is that I’d like to watch, if I can, and perhaps serve as a healer if you have need of one.”
Vell tilted her head. “I’ll consider it.” She placed rolls of clean bandages on the bedside table along with a small bowl of ointment. “Here are clean bandages. Be generous with the salve.”
I nodded. “Got it, boss.”
Vell rolled her eyes at me and then said to Calliea, “Let her do it on her own.”
Calliea silently inclined her head. Beryk bounded over to the bed, suddenly taller than a moment ago, and huffed wolf-breath in my face before dragging a sandpaper tongue up the side of my face. I managed to swipe the back of my hand behind his ears in some semblance of a playful swat, and then he leapt away after Vell, black tail raised as jauntily as a banner behind him.
“Love you too!” I called after him, wiping my face with my sleeve and chuckling. I decided to bandage my right hand first, reasoning that I’d be able to wrap my left hand with my already-bandaged but more facile right hand more easily than vice versa. When I reached for the little bowl of salve, I saw Calliea staring after Vell, a distant look in her eyes. Balancing the little bowl on my knee, I said conversationally, “You want to be part of the vyldgard.”
Calliea looked at me sharply. Then she raised her chin. “Yes.”
I smiled. “You don’t have to answer like I challenged your worthiness to compete.” The greenish salve was cool on my skin but it had a bite. I grimaced as I slowly worked it into my palm.
“I have always been questioned,” Calliea said.
“In what sense?” I concentrated on wrapping my right hand.
“Being a cousin to the Queen, but not rising to any position of prominence in the Court...it leads to whispers and rumors. I have been a disappointment most of my life.”
“Sounds like it’s other people’s expectations that make it difficult.”
Calliea returned to whetting her blade, the strokes of the stone against the metal a bit more savage now. “I was an awkward child, slow to grow and not particularly gifted at either scholarly pursuits or the art of war.”
“Welcome to the club,” I said, wincing as I wrapped the linen around the raw spot on the center of my palms. “I don’t know how common it is for Seelie children, but mortal kids all have their own awkward phase, some more than others.” I smiled ruefully. “I had zero coordination even though I’d been enrolled in gymnastics and dance lessons since I could walk.” I flexed my bandaged right hand experimentally and held it up for Calliea’s inspection. She nodded her approval. “Besides, from what I’ve seen, you’re doing just fine now.”
Calliea smiled bitterly. “When the Saemhradall fell, and you saved my life….I was the only survivor. Some thought that very suspicious. They didn’t believe that the Bearer had saved me.”
“Titania brought me there, before her Walker-form was captured.”
Calliea didn’t reply. She stared into the fire, blade gleaming across her lap. “Perhaps she was saving her own kin, and that was all.”
“Or maybe you have a higher calling to fulfill,” I said. Then I grimaced. “That sounded a lot more serious and less cliché in my head.”
“It is a possibility,” allowed Calliea. She turned her gaze to me. “But for those of us that are not foretold in prophecies, we must make our own destiny.”
“I think that’s a very good plan,” I replied. “Prophecies are tricky things anyway.”
Calliea raised her eyebrows. “Indeed.” She sheathed her blades with a decisive silver snap. “I may not be one of the High Queen’s Three, but I will place my blade and my life at her service, and in the making of the vyldgard I have hope that all will be taken by merit, not expectation.”
“I have a feeling you won’t be disappointed,” I said. “There. Not bad, right?” I held both my hands out. My fingers had almost returned to their normal size, and the pain was manageable without any elixirs or concoctions that could send me back to sleep unwillingly. Calliea walked over to the bed and turned my hands over, examining my work with a critical eye.
“Not bad,” she agreed. Then she returned to her chair by the fire and drew two slim daggers from her boot-tops, setting the whetting stone to the first blade’s edge with determined fervor. I watched her slide the stone down the edge of the finely crafted dagger, her movements sure and her eye critical.
“Why were you at the Saemhradall?” I asked quietly, moving my gaze from the dagger shining in the firelight to Calliea’s face. She looked older than when I’d first seen her through the fire and smoke wreathing the Seelie hall.
“It is a place where we went for healing,” she said. “A place away from Court. I believe in your world it might be similar to a monastery, in the sense that it was quiet and peaceful.”
“A quiet retreat,” I repeated, hoping that Calliea would answer my question but wondering whether I’d overstepped the bounds of our relatively young friendship.
“I was healing from a great loss,” she said softly, staring into the fire. “I thought for a time that perhaps I did not wish to go on living.”
I sat silently as Calliea stared down at the blade in her hand. After a long moment she looked up at me.
“I do not wish to speak about the details. But my cousin sent me to the Saemhradall to heal.”
“I didn’t realize that Sidhe…” I tried to find the words to finish the sentence gracefully and failed.
“That we are living, breathing, feeling creatures? That we feel pain deeply, perhaps even more deeply than mortals?” Calliea took a breath, turning her head away from me, and her whole body shuddered. When she raised her face again, the beautiful mask was in place, her features carved from gold-kissed marble. “So you see, Lady Bearer,” she continued in a perfectly measured tone, “I wish to be a part of the vyldgard.”
“Even though Gray was the one who sent you away, and she is one of the Three?”
Calliea’s eyes sharpened again. “You do not hesitate in asking intimate questions.”
“I’m sorry if I went too far,” I said softly, shifting uncomfortably in the bed. I didn’t realize how much I emphasized my words with my hands until they were swathed in bandages, unusable.
“You are certainly an interesting one.” Calliea tilted her head. “I do not begrudge my cousin her decision. She is a great warrior, one of the greatest our Court has seen in long years…or at least, that’s what the elders say.” She looked down at the dagger in her hand, shifting the blade to make the flames dance along its silver length.
“Don’t you think there’s the possibility she sent you to the Saemhradall because she cares about you?” I asked the question quietly. Calliea kept her eyes on her dagger, but a frighteningly cold smile lingered on her lips. I supposed that was my answer because Calliea continued on without any other acknowledgement, as though the idea didn’t merit any closer examination.
“During my time at the Saemhradall, I tried to find some spark of hope to drive me onward in a world without the one I loved. But all I felt was anger and emptiness.” She raised her gaze to me. “Until the creatures attacked. I killed a few of them, before they bound me, and the feeling of fighting against them….it was the first time I felt alive. And I thought it was a cruel twist of fate that I would die mere moments after realizing that I wanted to live again.”
I sat on the edge of the bed, absentmindedly rubbing my bandaged hands with light fingers, transfixed by Calliea’s voice.
“And then you appeared. You saved my life, and I knew that my purpose was to serve you and your allies in the fight against Malravenar.”
“You’re the first one in a long time to say his name out loud.”
“I am not afraid of him, or any of his creatures.”
“So why Vell, then?” I crossed my arms. “Why not just swear your sword to me and be done with it?”
“Because I feel it in a way I have not felt anything in a long while,” Calliea replied, emphasizing her words by touching her closed fist to her chest over her heart. “I feel her thirst for revenge against the darkness. And I feel that the Bearer and the High Queen…you are as sisters. To serve one is to serve the other.”
“You’re feeling a lot of things all at once,” I said.
Calliea nodded. “Yes.” She paused. “But it is better than not feeling anything at all. I have a purpose.”
We gazed at each other for a long moment. Then Calliea lowered her golden head and returned to whetting her blade.
“Thank you,” I said quietly, “for answering my question.”
Calliea didn’t reply, sending the whetting-stone down the length of her dagger with fierce concentration.
“So,” I said, lightening my voice to a conversational tone, “how long until the healers’ rotation is secured?”
Calliea shrugged with one shoulder but smiled a little. “Trust me, we have no interest in prolonging it.”
“That doesn’t make me feel like a burden at all,” I deadpanned. Then I paused, the murmur of voices outside the closed door filling the silence.
Calliea listened for a moment. “It is the Vaelanbrigh, I believe.”
I cleared my throat. “I would’ve thought he would be busy with his duties to the High Queen.”
“Not so busy that he hasn’t been getting regular updates. Your ulfdrengr may have been standing guard at your bedside, but the Vaelanbrigh was no less concerned,” she said slyly, sliding her dagger back into her boot top.
“You’re just as bad as Vell,” I grumbled.
Forin flew through the Glasidhe-sized circular entrance above the door. He hovered above the bed and gave me a half-bow. “The Vaelanbrigh wishes to know if you would allow him to visit you, my lady.”
Calliea raised an eyebrow at me. I wrinkled my nose at her, and then turned back to Forin. “Yes, that will be fine, just give me a moment, please.” I slid out of bed, pleased to find that my legs supported me just fine despite Calliea’s look of alarm, and sat on the chair by the bed. Somehow I didn’t relish the thought of Finnead visiting me while I lay in bed. I didn’t examine the feeling too closely. Calliea stood and strode over to the door; I gave her the barest suggestion of a nod, suddenly breathless as she opened the door and the Vaelanbrigh strode into the room.
Chapter 3
Finnead walked into the room with the same lithe cat-like grace that I remembered so well. He wore a simple midnight-blue shirt that set off his eyes impeccably, and the sapphire in the pommel of the Brighbranr pulsed with a new, brighter light. I drew my shoulders back, suddenly aware of my bare feet but thankful that Vell had braided my hair at least.
As Finnead stood beside the bed, I realized too late that there was nowhere for him to sit, but he didn’t look ill at ease. Instead he merely looked down at me with those drowning-deep eyes, and we stared at each other for a long moment. My face heated and the suggestion of a smile touched one side of his gorgeous mouth before he lowered his gaze and inclined his head, the firelight rippling through his dark hair with the blue and green sheen of the aurora in the night sky. Calliea murmured something about getting more water for the kettle and slid out of the room.
“It is good to see you with some color in your cheeks,” he said in a low voice.
