The Iron Sword (The Fae War Chronicles Book 1) (11 page)

“I wish everyone wouldn’t stare,” I said softly to Ramel as a group of younger-looking Sidhe sat down, sneaking covert glances at me between passing dishes to each other and filling their plates. “It makes me feel like I’m a freshman in high school again.”

“We apologize,” said a young woman with blue ribbons in her hair. She smiled, a bit uncertainly. “It’s just that most of us have never seen a full-blooded mortal before.”

“Oh.” I glanced at Ramel, who immediately put down his fork and smiled charmingly at the lovely girl who had spoken. “I…it’s all right, I mean, I’m just not used to being…the center of attention.”

She nodded, sliding a smile toward Ramel and then turning her attention back to me. “I suppose it would be disconcerting.” She looked at the others in her group—another young woman, and three young men. Then she said, “I’m Bren, and this is Guinna.”

“I’m Tess O’Connor,” I said. “Pleased to meet you.”

Guinna inclined her head gracefully. I estimated she wouldn’t even come up to my shoulder if we stood next to each other.

“That’s Emery,” continued Bren, pointing to the young man sitting beside Guinna. “And that’s Donovan.” The Sidhe sitting on Bren’s other side winked at me with one vibrantly green eye. “And sitting beside Ramel there is Ronan.”

I looked at Ronan and saw he had the same coppery hue in his hair as Ramel. “Are you two related?”

Ronan grinned and elbowed Ramel. “In a manner of speaking, I suppose. Cousins of a sort. Through the Sidhe side, not the mortal one.”

“I see,” I said. I picked up my fork and was about to continue eating when Bren leaned forward.

“So is it true?” she said in a low voice. “Did the Vaelanbrigh fetch the
fendhionne
from the mortal world?”

“Yes,” I said.

“And he fought a
garrelnost
single-handedly, to defend her?”

“Where did you hear that?” I asked casually.

“Oh,” said Bren, “it’s the talk of the Court right now. After all, the Vaelanbrigh has only held the Brighbranr for barely more than a year and the Queen is sending him on such…important tasks.”

“Why would fetching Molly be such an important task?” I asked. Ramel pretended to reach for a dish of potatoes but instead elbowed me. I ignored him.

“Well,” Bren said, “we don’t know for sure of course but—”

“Bren,” Emery said, “perhaps we shouldn’t be discussing matters of the Court with…Tess.” I knew he was about to say
with a mortal
, and I was vaguely annoyed that he had changed his mind.

“She wouldn’t be here if the Queen did not approve of her presence,” pointed out Guinna in a lovely lilting voice, putting her hand on Emery’s arm.

“That’s true,” Ronan agreed. “And the Queen would not have let Ramel start training her if there wasn’t some use for her in the Queen’s mind.”

“Then I may tell her what I please, Emery,” Bren said, emphasizing her point with her fork. I suddenly had the feeling that these particular Sidhe were young, probably about my own age in however they measured their time; and they possessed a refreshing candor, a sort of playful disdain for the conventions of the Court that Finnead and Allene clearly held so dear.

“I have heard,” Bren said, and I found myself leaning in a little toward the table to hear her better, “that the Queen intends to send the
fendhionne
after the Iron Sword.”

The other Sidhe, Ramel included, went very still, as if transfixed by Bren’s words. The image of Molly as I had seen her in my dream in the healing-room came suddenly into my mind: she held a glowing gray sword, and was crowned by blue fire…

“But,” Guinna said quietly after a few moments of suspended silence, “isn’t the Sword…lost?”

“The Queen must know where it is,” Emery said.

“Perhaps one of the other Knights discovered its location,” said Ronan.

“Is it in the mortal world?” Donovan asked, glancing between Bren and Ramel.

“Well, it can’t be, because then why would they have brought the
fendhionne
here?” reasoned Emery.

“Wherever it is, it will be a terribly dangerous journey,” Bren said with conviction. “The Sword is never given up easily.”

I sat silently as the young Sidhe mused more about the Sword, and Molly. Then, when there was a lull in the conversation, I asked, “Why is it that they would need a half-blood to retrieve the Sword? Why not one of the Knights?”

“Because,” Ramel answered immediately, “the Sword is not a weapon that can be wielded by the Fae. It was forged from the cooling metal of a star that had fallen from our world into yours, one of the rarest of events, and one of the most powerful. Only a mortal can wield it, because its power is so great. Only the strongest Sidhe can hold it for more than an instant. It is a great weapon, one we have safeguarded for centuries to prevent its power from falling into the wrong mortal hands. And now, with the High Code, the Queen must have thought it safer to bring a
fendhionne,
one strong enough to pass through the Gate and yet with enough mortal blood to wield the Sword.
”

“It’s like…an atomic bomb for Sidhe,” I said. Most of the group looked at me in puzzlement, but Bren and Ramel’s faces remained grave.

“Let’s not speak of that here,” Bren said. “The thought of it saddens me.”

“Bren,” Ramel explained to me as Donovan and Emery began discussing archery, “is studying under the Chief Scholar of Mortal History. She’s his most promising student, and someday she will probably be Chief Scholar, or even Advisor to the Queen herself.”

I nodded, trying to process all this information. I finished eating, and sat listening to the conversation until the good food and the tiredness from sword practice combined to make me profoundly sleepy. Ramel noticed my desperate attempts to keep my focus on the conversation, and said smoothly, “Well, I must escort my charge back to her quarters. One of the Scholars will be arriving there soon to tutor her.”

Bren made a face. “Just make sure she doesn’t get Ulrich. He’s a nasty old stick-in-the-mud.”

“Bren,” chided Guinna, “must you always talk as though you were only two hundred again?”

“Three hundred is the new two hundred,” replied Bren. She looked at me. “Don’t they have a saying like that in your world? Did I get it right?”

“Ah,” I said, “well, it’s something like that.”

Bren smiled happily, clearly pleased. “Good.”

Ramel guided me away from the table after I had said my goodbyes to my new acquaintances.

“Bren is
three hundred
?” I asked in an incredulous whisper as we walked away.

“Our time doesn’t work as your time does,” said Ramel, smiling at my wonderment. “But yes, she’s about three hundred. Our age of majority is two hundred fifty of our years, but really a Sidhe is still considered very young until about three hundred.”

I glanced at Ramel. “How old are
you
?”

“Three hundred twenty four.”

I shook my head. “I don’t know what to say to that.”

“Then say nothing.” Ramel smiled at me. “Just another difference between our world and yours. It isn’t something that is meant to be understood.” He motioned. “Your new quarters are just ahead.”

We reached my door and Ramel made a little bow. “Were you serious about a Scholar coming to teach me?” I asked suspiciously.

“No,” Ramel laughed. “But I could try to find one, if you would like.”

“I’d like that,” I said. “I want to learn as much as I can while I’m here.” I tried to copy the face Bren had made at the table. “Just not Ulrich. Apparently he’s a nasty stick-in-the-mud.”

Ramel laughed. “Well, I shall come fetch you for the evening meal then, my pretty mortal. Just wait until you are at table in the Great Hall! You’ll create quite a stir!”

“Fabulous,” I said dryly. “I can’t wait.”

With a last grin, Ramel showed me how to open my door and then left. I walked into my new room, unbuckling my sword-belt with one hand. Setting my sword against the side of the wardrobe, I let myself fall onto the soft bed, sliding into sleep almost instantly.

Chapter 11

I
awoke to a soft knock on my door. Sitting up, I grimaced as I realized I’d fallen asleep in my clothes and tried to shake the wrinkles out of my tunic as I swung my legs out of the bed. With my arm situated securely in its sling again, I swiped at my hair with my left hand. I opened the door to find Bren standing outside. I must have looked surprised, because she said, “Ramel thought it might be better for me to come and see that you’re situated in your room, that you have everything you need.”

I stepped aside and motioned for her to come into the room.

“How are you feeling?” she asked me. I noticed that she was wearing a different outfit than earlier—no leggings and tunic now, but a long flowing dress with full sleeves belted at the waist with what looked like woven silver.

“Better than when I first arrived,” I said truthfully.

“There are many rumors about how you arrived here,” Bren said.

“Oh?” I said, trying not to betray my curiosity.

“I’m supposed to help you get dressed for the celebration tonight.” Bren perched on the edge of my bed, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “And I will. But first, I have a question for you, if it’s all right.”

I smiled a little. “I don’t see anything wrong with a few questions.”

“I’m sorry, everyone always tells me I’m such a gossip and I know it’s not polite…but…is it true that the Vaelanbrigh carried you here in his arms?”

I shrugged, trying to remain aloof at the mention of Finnead. My body had other plans though, a current of white-hot heat racing through my belly as the image of his face as it had looked when he leaned over me in the Texas dirt rising unbidden in my mind’s- eye. “Yes, it’s true.”

“Interesting,” Bren said, a smile tugging at her lips.

“Why is that so interesting?” I asked.

“Oh,” replied Bren, “it’s just that….the Vaelanbrigh is famous for his aloofness.”

“Just because he carried me doesn’t mean he wasn’t aloof,” I said.

“No,” Bren said, “you misunderstand. He has been, since the Queen knighted him—not since he took up the Brighbranr, but before that, when he was an ordinary knight—he has never been seen to touch another soul except out of courtesy or extreme necessity. Not one of the Fae, not another mortal.”

I frowned. “But…my situation was a necessity.”

“Why would it have been necessary?” Bren shook her head. “The Vaelanbrigh risked his title and his life to save you. It was not necessary.”

“But…” I stopped and looked at her, confused. Then, from somewhere, a small bloom of anger warmed my chest. Finnead had taken all the credit for killing the
garrelnost
. If I hadn’t stepped in…I remembered the glistening foul claws of the beast and suppressed a shudder.

Bren cleared her throat. “Let’s get you dressed for meal, shall we?”

I opened my mouth to tell her that I had killed the
garrelnost
—or mostly, anyway—but then closed it again, a thread of doubt tugging at my mind. Finnead had carried me with infinite care, and I remembered the gentleness of his hands as he had examined my arm. Was there a reason he hadn’t told anyone of my part in the death of the hideous beast? A thought wriggled in the back of my mind. I allowed it to surface, and I remembered what Finnead had said to me through the haze of pain as he’d carried me to Darkhill. Something about not telling anyone that I knew about iron, that it was dangerous for mortals who knew the Sidhe’s weaknesses. I closed my mouth. That settled it, then. Although it rankled me, I was happy to let Finnead take all the credit if that would mean less trouble.

While I had been thinking, Bren had walked over to my wardrobe and opened it. “Good. They’ve given you a whole set of suitable clothes.” She pulled out a deep green dress. “This will set off your eyes nicely. It is always to one’s benefit to make a good first impression.”

“By good, you mean pretty?” I asked dryly.

Bren laughed. “I’ve read about mortal sarcasm, but I’ve never quite understood it until now.” She held out the dress to me. “I can’t wait to tell Egbert about my conversations with you.”

“Egbert?” I struggled not to laugh at the name.

“The Chief Scholar,” Bren said, sifting through more of my wardrobe’s contents. She motioned to the dress with one hand. “Put that on and I’ll find a belt and shoes for you. Then I have to fix your hair.”

I touched my hair with one hand, finding that the pins were indeed coming out. I decided not to let self-consciousness get the better of me, so I stripped down to my underwear, sliding the green dress on over my head and carefully pulling my injured arm through the sleeve. After rearranging the sling, I stood and waited for Bren to finish her perusal of the wardrobe. She turned with a belt in her hands, one of black leather with a design wrought in silver on the edges. I took it and buckled it around my waist; Bren adjusted it for me—apparently the Sidhe women actually wanted larger hips, so they put the belt low instead of cinching it at the waist. She handed me silver slippers and I slid them onto my feet, finding without surprise that they fit perfectly.

Bren sighed—with envy? I couldn’t quite believe that a woman who could pass for a marble Renaissance carving would be envious of me. “You’re much…
curvier
than any of us.” She slid me half a grin. “You’ll have to be careful. Stick close to me, if you want.”

“Careful of what?” I blinked.

Bren laughed, a sound that rose in the air like bells ringing. “Careful of the younger men at Court. You know,” she said slyly, “Ronan was quite taken with you.”

I thought of Ronan and his vibrantly green eyes, his mahogany-dark hair and teasing laugh. He was certainly handsome. “I don’t want any trouble,” I said honestly.

“Oh, my dear, it’s no
trouble
,” said Bren, her voice almost a purr. “You see, the High Code was set down before we were born—nearly five hundred years ago. The older ones, they remember mortal lovers. We don’t, so nearly every young Sidhe of the male persuasion is…intensely curious.”

I felt my cheeks flaming. “Well, I don’t intend to let any of them satisfy their curiosity,” I said firmly, proud that my voice didn’t waver.

Bren laughed again. “Trust me, they can be very persuasive.”

I shrugged. “I’m a stubborn mortal.”

Bren shook her head, and cocked it to one side, that curious gleam lighting up her eyes again. “You’re not thinking about a certain
Knight
, are you?”

“If you mean the Vaelanbrigh,” I said smoothly, “then no. Why would I? He shows me no more attention than he would a….a piece of furniture.” I resolutely refused to meet Bren’s gaze, focusing instead on rearranging my sling. I hoped she didn’t see the slight tremor in my hands, or that I was biting the inside of my lip.

After a moment, Bren said, “Well, let me fix your hair before we go to meal.”

I obediently sat on the edge of the bed and Bren knelt behind me. Her deft fingers rearranged pins, tucking strands here and there, so lightning-fast and light that I barely felt it. She hummed a sweet melody to herself as she worked. I liked her more for it, and the soothing sound helped me relax. I found that I had tensed during our conversation. The idea of a Sidhe lover…one of the handsome young men with Adonis-like faces and shimmering hair…the idea did make me go weak at the knees. But it was a weakness that I didn’t like. The thought of being looked upon as a rare sort of delicacy, to be tried for the satisfaction of raw curiosity, made me very uncomfortable. I told myself that I would stick close to Bren, and if I saw Finnead I would ask him about his version of the
garrelnost
’s death that those in the Court had heard, if I was really in the danger he had told me from knowing about iron. No more than that, no less.

“All right,” Bren said, slipping off the bed gracefully, “let’s be on our way. We wouldn’t want to be late to your first event in the Great Hall.”

I followed Bren out the door. “Is there something special about tonight, that everyone is eating in the Great Hall? Or do you do that every night?”

“The Queen is celebrating the successful return of the Vaelanbrigh,” replied Bren. “It was a high task she set him, and he succeeded.”

“A party in honor of Finnead,” I said. “I’m sure that’s exactly what he loves.”

“He doesn’t enjoy celebrations in his honor, for the most part,” said Bren. Then she looked at me. “Oh. Mortal sarcasm. I apologize, I am still learning to sense when you’re not being serious.”

I shook my head. “Don’t you ever joke around? Or is it always business around here?”

“We haven’t had much reason to joke, as you say, lately,” Bren replied.

“It has to do with the war, doesn’t it?” I said, remembering our conversation with Glira. It seemed ages ago, the meadow on Crownhill and the chocolate bar melting slightly in the sunlight.

Bren stopped suddenly and turned toward me, eyes blazing. “Do not say anything more about that.” She took a deep breath. “For the purposes of tonight, you must be a pretty, harmless mortal. Do not test the boundaries of the Queen’s patience.” Her eyes bored into mine. “The Vaelanbrigh risked
your
life as well, bringing you here. You need to remember that, and watch your words.”

I closed my mouth. Bren held my gaze for another long moment, and then turned, motioning for me to follow her again. The hallway widened as we went, and we passed through a courtyard paved with smooth white stones, a large tree towering in the middle of it. Bren led me to a large door on the other side, and then through a succession of antechambers. “We’re not using the main entrance,” she said. “Ramel thought it best if you made your entrance unobtrusively.”

“Fine with me,” I said. Bren stepped forward and I went to follow her.

Then I heard the sound of bells, coming from the opposite direction that we had just traveled. I turned toward the sound, it was so lovely and silver—much like the silver sound that had engulfed me crossing through the Gate, but this sound was gentler, more beautiful in its subtlety. It fell like a veil over my senses, intoxicating and soothing. I wanted more than anything to hear those bells for eternity. Some part of me realized that I was bewitched by the sound, and I tried to fight it, but it was a very small part of me, and the bells were so very beautiful…I took a step forward, and then I heard Bren curse. Out of the corner of my eye I saw her grab for my arm, except I had turned so that she was by my right side, and her hand closed on my right forearm. The pain bursting from my arm brought me sharply back to reality, and I heard myself gasp. I heard a stream of words from Bren, low and urgent, “Come
on
, those are the
Queen’s bells
and by the Great Gate if she
catches
you here—if she sees you before she’s
sent
for you—”

Bren turned me roughly and grabbed my other arm, pulling me hard toward the door. The pain from my arm made me dizzy, and I didn’t see the small stone step before the door. My foot caught and I landed on my knees, hard. Bren swore again, this time almost frantically, then the sound of the bells caught hold of me and my knees buckled as I felt my mind swelling with the silver sound. Bren hauled me bodily to my feet, her slim pale hands supernaturally strong. The bells rolled over me like a tide. I realized we were standing still, backs to the door, and Bren was very pale, paler than she had been even though I thought that impossible. She went very still, except for her hand gripping my left arm, holding me up. With an effort I got my feet under me just as a small group of Sidhe rounded the corner of the passageway, walking through the ebb and flow of the bell-sounds.

My eyes were immediately drawn to the woman walking in the center of the party. Her pale skin
shone
, the glow that I had only seen in brief flashes in the other Sidhe manifesting in full force in her proud features. I couldn’t fix the memory of her face in my head—it was like a shooting star, or a sunset, or starlight on the waves of the ocean, something constantly changing and achingly beautiful. On her brow sat a silver circlet, set with a single gem that I would have sworn was a star, pulsing softly. Her night-dark hair flowed down her back and over her shoulders. She wore a silver dress that could have been spun out of moonbeams, and on the hems of her sleeves and the edges of the gown’s train, there were small silver bells, sparkling even in the dim light of the hallway. And with a jolt I saw that walking beside the beautiful woman—the Queen, I knew without a doubt—wearing a silver vest that matched her gown and a gleaming black scabbard at his side, was Finnead.

I felt Bren pull on my arm, and I saw that she had sunk into a low curtsey, head bowed. The sound of the Queen’s bells flowed around me, pulling here and there at my mind like the current of a cold stream. I sank into what I thought could pass for a curtsey, hearing my own breath loud in my ears as I bowed my head and stared at the flagstones of the floor. Bren’s grip on my arm kept me anchored to reality, counterpoint to the silver bells.

Then the sound of bells faded, and a beautiful, terrible voice spoke. It was like hearing wolves howling and cold harsh rain and the soft chords of a harp, all at once, an intricate balance of exquisite loveliness and wild danger. “So here is the mortal you would have given your title and your head to save, my Knight.”

The Queen’s voice hurt my ears. Finnead made no reply. My legs began to tremble. Bren’s grip on my arm tightened. I kept my eyes on the floor, not daring to even glance up, pushing down the fear that suddenly clogged my throat, goose-bumps racing up and down my arms.

The Queen said something in a low voice to one of the other Sidhe in her party—her attendants, courtiers, I realized. I heard light footsteps, and a hand on my good arm. “The Queen wishes to look into your eyes,” I heard a familiar voice say in my ear. I raised my eyes a little and saw Guinna, her beautiful face serene except for her eyes. Her gaze held a spark of concern, almost worry—worry?—for me. Bren released my arm and I stood, wavering a little. Guinna, her head just barely reaching past my shoulder, kept a firm hold on my arm. I kept my eyes downcast as Guinna led me forward, struggling to keep my breathing even and my step steady.

“Look up,” Guinna said in a low voice. “And do not flinch.”

Fear turned my limbs to ice. I suddenly knew that I couldn’t have moved even if I had wanted; I was frozen in place, and it was terrifying. The beautiful, soft-spoken Queen frightened me more thoroughly than the
garrelnost
, more than passing through the Gate when I thought I was dying. At least then I’d had Finnead’s gentle arms around me. I looked at him for a desperate instant—and to my surprise he was looking back at me, his blue eyes intense with an emotion I couldn’t immediately place. I saw him take half a step forward, and one of the other men behind him—a tall fellow with long dark hair—put a hand on his elbow. Finnead clenched his jaw and stood his ground as the Queen glided forward. I raised my chin a little as Guinna stepped away, breaking eye contact with Finnead and taking a deep breath.

I focused my gaze on the Queen’s crown. She was only a fraction taller than me. I could have reached out and touched her, but every instinct in my body screamed at me to run, to put as much distance between me and this beautiful, perilous woman as possible. I clenched my good hand into a fist resolutely.

“We almost beheaded our favorite Knight,” said Mab in her soft silvery voice, “because he deemed it proper to save you.” She slowly raised one pale hand. “We must see, then, if his judgment was sound.”