The Iron Sword (The Fae War Chronicles Book 1) (12 page)

She slid her fingers under my chin, holding my jaw with her thumb and forefinger. I couldn’t help the small sound of pain that escaped my clenched teeth: an icy-hot agony bloomed where the Queen’s skin touched mine. I resisted every instinct to jerk back.

“Do you know who we are?” asked Mab softly, her thumb tracing a sensual circle on the softest part of my neck.

“The Queen,” I said breathily, “of the Unseelie Court.”

“Our word,” continued the Queen, “is life and death. Prepare thyself, young mortal.”

Mab’s switch to archaic English somehow struck another chord of fear in me, bringing visions of medieval fire and brimstone, witches burning at the stake. Her grip tightened as she brought my chin up, forcing me to meet her gaze.

I tried my best not to scream. I didn’t know if I succeeded. Mab’s silver gaze pierced me like a bullet, and then I was swallowed by her eyes and the physical pain was the least of my worries. Razor-sharp claws raked over my soul, tearing at the most tender parts of me, ripping at my most intimate and cherished memories. I tried hard not to let her see my part in the death of the
garrelnost
, or my thoughts of Finnead. I
felt
the Unseelie Queen within me, her presence alien, her beauty stripped away, leaving only the most dangerous parts of her as she wended her way through my innermost being. Dimly I heard gasping, choking noises, laced with little bubbling sounds of pain.

Fatherless mortal
, said Mab in my head,
you are such an uncertain young thing—and yet…there is something…

I desperately drew up my last reserves of strength, putting everything I had into shielding my memories of the battle with the
garrelnost.
A burst of pain exploded in my skull as she tried to break my last defenses. I bent all my will at turning her gaze away…and then I thought faintly through the pain that perhaps building a
wall
wasn’t the best way to defend my memories—perhaps I could just make her slide around them. So I concentrated on my memory of Finnead plunging his sword into the hideous beast, pushing it to the front of my mind. I carefully encapsulated my part in its death, smoothing it over like a river-rock, compressing the memory until it sat, small and hard, in the very back of my mind. The Queen’s touch flowed over it, catching the image of Finnead instead.

I dimly felt Mab’s surprise before she pulled her hand away, turning her eyes from me, leaving me gasping. The whole ordeal had lasted less than two or three minutes, but I felt as though I had just run a marathon, sweat sliding down my back beneath the green gown, my right arm throbbing gently in its sling as I tried to catch my breath. Bren was at my side again.

“Vaelanbrigh,” said Mab, her beautiful voice sending shivers down my spine.

“My lady,” said Finnead in a tight voice, bowing slightly.

“Pray tell, why did you omit the most interesting piece of your journey in Doendhtalam?” Her voice, now soft rather than commanding, sounded much more dangerous.

“My lady?” Finnead looked up at the Queen impassively. Dread soured my stomach.

“Not only do you bring a mortal here, breaking the High Code,” said Mab, the star in her crown pulsing softly as she spoke, “you failed to tell us that you had slain a creature of the Deadlands.”

All the Sidhe went very still. The Deadlands? I felt a small bloom of hope that I had succeeded in shielding the most important part of the battle with the beast.

“And,” continued the Lady of the Dark Court, “this young human’s presence seems to serve no purpose. You have revealed our presence unduly.”

I took a shaky breath. I’d succeeded in keeping the most important memory I had from the Queen of the Unseelie Court. I figured now I had to convince her that I was worth something. “That’s not true,” I said. The Queen turned her eyes sharply to me. “Your Majesty.”

“Not only a useless mortal,” purred Queen Mab, her silver eyes alight again, “but an impudent one.”

I almost laughed, that the Queen of the Unseelie court had used the same words as little Glira to describe me. I must just have that effect on people, I thought with rueful amusement. I was pretty sure Guinna’s grip on my arm would leave bruises. Nothing for it now. “With all due respect, Your Majesty,” I said, my voice gathering strength as I spoke, “I would have found a way to follow Molly here anyway.” All the Sidhe were listening to me now. I took another deep breath. “She’s my best friend.” I tried to think in terms they would understand. “We are as blood. Like sisters. I couldn’t let her come here alone.”

I might have been imagining things, but I thought I saw a minute change come over the Queen’s cold features at the mention of sisters.

“Your Majesty,” said the long-haired man behind Finnead, “if I may.”

“Speak, Vaelanmavar,” the Queen said, still facing me.

“The Vaelanmavar,” said Bren softly into my ear, “is another of the named Knights. He bears the Mavarbranr, the Dark Sword.”

The Vaelanmavar stepped forward and made an elegant bow. “My lady, even though the Vaelanbrigh broke the High Code in bringing this mortal here, perhaps we can find a use for her.”

I disliked being talked about like a horse up for auction, but I decided it would probably be in my best interests to keep my silence now and let the Knights deal with the Queen…although I wasn’t quite sure if the Vaelanmavar was on my side, by the way his lips curved in a small, insidious smile as he gazed at me.

“By all rights,” continued the Vaelanmavar, “her blood should water the Dark Tree in five minutes’ time. But, if she displeases Your Majesty in the future, it is just as easily done.”

I saw Finnead’s white-knuckled grip on his sword-hilt. My heart beat so hard I thought the Sidhe could probably hear it. Guinna moved beside Finnead, her delicate fingers resting on his shoulder. She said something very quietly into his ear, but he kept his hand on his sword-hilt.

Queen Mab regarded me silently for a moment. I carefully avoided her gaze.

“Though it is against the High Code,” she said finally, “I am the Queen, and thus my word is law.”

As if this was a cue, all the Sidhe bowed their heads. Except Finnead, who gazed at me with that same expression: his handsome face smooth and unreadable, his eyes tumultuous.

“The mortal Tess O’Connor will remain here until she has rendered such services as may deem her worthy in our eyes,” Mab said. After another moment, she finally turned away from me. “Let us go to table.”

I heard Bren breathe a sigh of relief. I closed my eyes as the silver bells swept over me again, the sound now inciting a feeling of dread rather than detached, dreamy intoxication. When the bells had faded, I opened my eyes again. The Queen and her attendants were gone.

“Come on,” said Bren, not unkindly. “Let’s get you to a seat.”

It took a moment for me to move. Bren patiently kept her hand on my arm until she was sure I was steady enough on my feet to walk on my own.

“So,” I croaked, “what was all that?”

Bren opened the door, golden light spilling out into the hallway. “That was the Queen of the Dark Court testing you, deciding whether to kill you or let you live.”

“I’m guessing I passed?” I said scratchily.

“With conditions,” Bren said over her shoulder. She paused for a moment and then said, “Let’s not speak of that anymore right now. Enjoy the celebration.”

We stood at the edge of a vast chamber with a vaulted ceiling. Windows ran down the length of the hall, much as they had in the gymnasium, except these were nearly three times my height, and almost twice my height across. The hall reminded me of the glossy prints of Gothic cathedrals I had seen in art books. Small orbs floated here and there with no apparent support, no chain or string that I could see. Each held a red-wax candle, and the bubble-like orbs, glistening softly in their own light, drifted in small groups above the heads of the gathered Sidhe. Dark blue banners hung from the walls, a silver shield embroidered on each long cloth. On the shield there was a spreading tree, and star above the tree. I vaguely remembered the spreading tree from the seal on Molly’s letter.

“That is the device of the Vaelanbrigh,” explained Bren. “His color is blue, and that is his shield.”

I tried to take in the grand scale of the hall, the time it must have taken to decorate it so lavishly. “It’s so…extravagant.”

Bren nodded. “That is the way of the Queen. She is dangerous, but rewards those who serve her well.”

I shivered. “And I suppose that includes me, now.”

“Yes. Either you serve her well, or you will die.” Bren shook her head. “I’m sorry if that sounded harsh.”

“It’s all right,” I said as we came to our seats, which were thankfully a good distance away from the raised dais at the front of the hall. “I just…need a few minutes to absorb it all.”

I was relieved and pleased to find that Ronan and Emery were sitting at our table, which was mostly comprised of young Sidhe close in age to Bren and her friends. Silver cups filled with a dark-red liquid sat at every chair, and for a horrible moment I thought it might be blood—but then I smelled it and found that it was definitely some type of wine. Ronan and Emery had plainly been at the table for a while already, indulging in the heady drink, for they greeted me enthusiastically, with much more animation than I had seen in them at lunch.

“Well, look,” said Ronan triumphantly to the table beside us, “we have the
doendhine
at our table! Didn’t I tell you!” And one of the other young Sidhe grumbled, pressing a gold coin into Ronan’s open palm.

“If I helped you win a bet, I should get part of the profits,” I said teasingly to Ronan, eager to push the ordeal with Mab to the back of my mind.

“She’s a savvy little thing!” exclaimed Ronan, his pale cheeks flushed slightly.

“Fiery,” agreed Emery, observing me with his slate-gray eyes. I grinned at them both.

“We,” said Ronan, gesturing grandly with one hand, “were just talking about you, actually.”

“I would have never guessed,” I said in a mock-serious tone. Bren chuckled beside me.

“Is it true, in the mortal world, that you have perfected machine-horses, like the mighty Vaelanbrigh tells us?” asked Emery, leaning forward and putting his elbows on the table.

“If you mean motorcycles, then yes,” I said. “The Vaelanbrigh does ride one, when he’s in our world.”

Bren sighed. “What I wouldn’t give for permission to go on a cultural expedition. It’s not fair really,” she said, putting down the cup that she had already drained, “that the Knights get to have all the adventures in your world. I
know
all about it, I’ve even taught some lessons to the Knights, but I don’t have
permission
to go through the Gates.”

I watched in fascination as Bren’s cup refilled itself, the wine flowing from the edges of the cup inward, like a reverse water-fountain.

“Now Bren,” said Ronan, “don’t go spoiling everything by complaining!”

I expected Bren to get a bit angry at Ronan, but instead she laughed. I looked down at my cup, shrugged and took a big swallow. To my chagrin, it burned going down my throat, worse than any liquor I’d ever drunk. I started coughing, much to the amusement of Ronan and Emery, and Bren had to clap me on the back. Then I noticed a delicious feeling of warmth and contentment spreading from my belly. Steeling myself, I took another, smaller swallow, and the table applauded raucously when I didn’t cough. I grinned and saluted them with my cup. Ronan raised his too.

“To Tess, a mortal who can hold her
vinaess
,” he said loudly.

“Well, we’ll see about that,” said Emery as he raised his cup for the toast. The table laughed, and we all took a swallow. Bren set about introducing me to all the young Sidhe at the table, each of which seemed more eager than the last to meet me. I felt like a celebrity…and I let myself push Mab’s pronouncement into the back of my head, trying to forget the feel of her invisible claws on my soul amid the laughter of the younger generation of the Unseelie Court.

Chapter 12

T
he celebration lasted long into the night, the red-wax candles in their glittering orbs burning down into molten pools of scarlet. At one point, I glimpsed Molly, sitting beside Finnead up on the dais. She wore a vibrant blue gown, silver ribbons woven into her hair. She looked beautiful; but her face was pale, her lips tight and unhappy. A spark of concern flared briefly in my mind, and I even thought of walking up to the dais, to make sure she was all right. But the sore spots on my jaw where the Queen had gripped me still stung, and I settled back into my chair, listening to the lively conversation between Ronan and Emery. I’d stopped drinking a few hours before, after a few cups of the
vinaess
had set my head to spinning. From what I saw, the Sidhe could definitely hold their drink—Ronan and Emery, while they were both a bit more animated than usual, were still coherent and making intelligent conversation. I was pretty certain I would have been under the table if I’d taken advantage of the never-empty cup to its fullest extent. Instead I sampled all the delicious, strange foods on the table, tasting small bits of one and then another until I was satisfied.

“I say we tip our arrows, and see if that kills them,” said Ronan.

“Tipping arrows,” replied Emery coolly, “is against the High Code.”

“Well, they haven’t really displayed any qualms about using it on
us
,” Ronan said heatedly, his eyes flashing.

“To lower ourselves to their level would be less than honorable,” contended Emery, taking a slow sip from his goblet.

“Is it more honorable to stand by and watch more die?” Ronan growled.

“The Knights and the Guards know full well their duty,” said Emery, his voice deadly soft against Ronan’s heated tone.

“Who are they talking about?” I said in an aside to Ramel, who was sitting and listening intensely to the conversation. He had been jovial and in a good humor, until Ronan and Emery had started the discussion of these mysterious enemies.

“The Knights of the Court,” said Ramel, “and the lesser knights, of course, swear their full loyalty to the Queen. They dealt much in mortal affairs, in the old days before the Code, so they do not swear by the Code, even though they are duty-bound to obey it. The Queen’s Guards are much the same, but the Guards are also bound to uphold the High Code at any cost.” He looked at me gravely. “Which is why Finnead didn’t lose his head, after bringing you here. The Knights came before the Code. He called upon the old loyalties.”

I thought about my next words carefully. “Is it true a Knight is duty-bound to repay any debt, so that he can be fully loyal to the Queen?”

Ramel nodded. “Loyalties cannot be halved, or quartered, not when lives are at stake.” He gestured to Ronan and Emery, whose conversation slowly edged toward true argument. “Ronan is a knight, and Emery a Guard. There are some…disagreements sometimes.”

I turned by attention back to Ronan and Emery as their voices rose sharply.

“Just because the Guards are bound to the Lady’s Keep does not make us any less worthy of respect,” Emery said, his face deadly pale, his gray eyes shining.

“And just because the Guards are bound to the Lady’s Keep, they think they may pass judgment on the knights who defend the rest of the Lady’s realm,” replied Ronan, green eyes blazing like witch-fire. “When the creatures from the Deadlands attack the Keep itself, perhaps then you will listen to us!”

“If the knights perform their duty then the creatures will never reach Darkhill,” argued Emery.

“Emery,” said Ramel, his voice reprimanding.

“Peace, brothers!” thundered Donovan at the same time.

The table fell silent.

“Tonight,” Donovan said, “is supposed to be a celebration.”

I sat quietly, barely daring to breathe, willing them to keep talking.

“Well,” Bren said softly, her beautiful face uncharacteristically grave, “it is hard to be merry when there is little to truly celebrate.”

“We are celebrating the Vaelanbrigh’s return with the
fendhionne
from the mortal world,” Donovan said, but he sounded so much like an actor reciting a particularly bad script that even I didn’t believe him.

“Why isn’t there anything to celebrate?” I asked quietly, meaning for my question to be heard only by Ramel, but the sudden lull in conversation allowed the whole table to hear. Ramel sat silently, his face uncharacteristically grave. “Ramel,” I prodded, frowning at the sudden pall cast over the mood. “Does it have to do with…the Deadlands?”

I felt the eyes of all the Sidhe seated at the table fasten upon me. Ramel, too, turned his gaze on me, hot with the Fae-fire.

“Where did you hear that?” Bren asked softly from across the table, her mellifluous voice pitched low—so that others would not overhear, I realized.

“The Queen,” I whispered. “She…said that Finnead had not reported to her that he’d slain a creature from the Deadlands.”

Bren paled. “He said he killed a dreadful beast…but not a Deadland creature.”

“It was a
garrelnost
,” I said.

“No,” Ronan said, shaking his head. “You don’t understand, Tess. There’s
garrelnosts
, as there has always been…and then there’s
garrelnosts
bred in darkness and fed on death. They’re much stronger, much more terrible.”

“Well,” I said, “I’m sorry I didn’t know the difference.” I gave Ronan a small, deadly sweet smile. “You’re right. I don’t understand, because no one will explain to me what’s actually going on.”

“You are not even supposed to be here,” Emery pointed out in his cool, logical way. I caught his gaze and held it, trying to transmit every bit of anger and confusion roiling within me into my eyes. He didn’t look away, but the expression on his face changed from aloof to considering.

“Maybe I’m not supposed to be here,” I said hotly, “but I’m here now, and apparently I’m stuck here until I can pull off some superhero stunt that’ll make Mab smile. Because as it is, Emery, she was peachy-keen on killing me, and I’d rather not be killed in a world that’s not my own for a reason that I know nothing about.”

Emery inclined his head slightly, still holding my gaze. “You make a valid point,
doendhine.
”

“Goddamn it, my name is Tess,” I snapped. And then I sat back in my chair and folded my arms across my chest. “You know,” I said. “This whole stiff-upper-lip business, it should really stop if you want me to try and help you.” I shook my head. “It’s like you’re under siege, on the losing side of a war, but no one wants to admit the damages.” I gestured with my good hand for emphasis. “I mean, you can put up facades on the burnt-out buildings so that it still looks like everything’s all right. And I’m guessing that’s what this is.” My sweeping arm encompassed the whole Great Hall, the celebration with the floating candles and banners and never-empty cups. “It’s all a goddamn façade, because apparently you’re all falling apart on the inside, bad enough to scare the Queen into mind-strafing me—”

Bren cleared her throat lightly. “Tess,” she interrupted gently but firmly.

“What?” I turned my blazing eyes on her but she didn’t flinch.

“If you are trying to make a point,” Bren said, “it is made, and made very…emphatically. But I do not think anyone, myself and perhaps Ramel excluded, understands your cultural references to Sionntalam.”

I folded my arms and sat back again. “Then you explain. I don’t know how.” I shrugged, suddenly feeling very deflated. “I just want to know what’s going on, Bren. I’ve been thrown into this…I mean, I came here because of Molly…but I want to help as best I can. I don’t want to be useless.”

“That is understandable,” Donovan said in his deep, calm voice. He looked up and down the table, meeting eyes with each Sidhe in turn. Then he glanced about, making sure that the tables nearest us were still engaged in their own raucous conversations. Then he nodded to Ronan. “What do you think, Ronan?”

“Let us tell the tale to Tess,” Ronan said. “She knows nothing about the shutting of the Great Gate, or the Deadlands…or Malravenar.”

“Please let’s not say that name at this table,” Bren said, her voice shaking. I felt a chill at the fear in her voice.

“It needs to be said, and I will say it aloud as many times as I like,” Ronan replied to her. “Cowering in fear is no way to live.”

“I am not cowering in fear, Ronan Rowanshield,” snapped Bren, her voice taut as she rose slightly from her seat, “but there’s no need to frighten Tess with bedtime stories and nightmares.” Ramel put a hand on her arm, and after a moment Bren sat back in her chair.

“She is bound here until the Queen releases her,” Ronan pointed out.

I waited. Ronan looked at Bren, who looked away; and then he glanced at Ramel, who nodded.

“Emery?” Ronan said. “You’re a better teller of the tale than I.”

Emery inclined his head. “When shall I start the tale? From the shutting of the Great Gate?” he asked the table at large.

Before I properly thought about it, I said, “The Great Gate was shut after the Iron Sword was lost.”

Ramel grinned at the looks from the other Sidhe at the table. “She may be a mortal and a pretty thing, but she’s got a sharp mind.”

“You all talked about it a bit at table this afternoon,” I reminded them.

“So we did,” Emery agreed, glancing at Bren. “But I shall elaborate, if you don’t mind.”

I smiled. “I’m eager to hear it.” I took a sip from my cup to encourage him, listening attentively.

Emery sat up a little straighter, placed his hands before him on the table, and the rest of the group settled back into their chairs, ready for his story. “After the loss of the Iron Sword, and the discord between the Queen of the Bright Court and our own Dark Lady—” he inclined his head gracefully—“it came to the attention of the Knights at that time that a plague had come upon the lands to the west of the Dark Court’s domain, at the edges of the Edhyre Mountains. As this was the border of the Dark Queen’s power, the place where her domain mingled with the dominion of the Bright Court, neither Lady possessed enough power singly to overcome the sickness killing the lands. And the Great Gate, the fabled portal which drew so many mortal dreamers into our fair realm, stood at the center of the troubled lands.”

“Mortal dreamers,” sighed Bren with a far-away look in her eyes. “I’ve read about them. Poets and artists…and some warriors too, Tess. War-fighting is its own art, in a way.”

I wondered why Bren looked at me so emphatically when she talked of warriors.

“Ah, to have been alive before the Code,” said Ramel longingly. “Such nubile young mortal women, all curves and rosy cheeks and—“

“Ramel,” I said. “Please.”

He glanced at me and grinned. “I only speak the truth, fair one.”

I shook my head as his eyes twinkled. Emery waited patiently.

“At first,” continued Emery after the side conversation died into silence, “the Gate’s own power was enough, the wards and seals upon it so great that it stood unaffected by the blackness that killed every living being it touched. But then, as the plague grew and spread, the Great Gate, too, became infested with the sickness. It was not,” he said to me, glimpsing my questioning look, “a sickness of the body. It was more a sickness of the soul that sapped all the will to live from its host, and grew and fed on death. Then the pestilence began to seep into the Gate, and no power could stop it. It began to travel in the veins of Faeortalam itself, the flows of
taebramh
. And it began to poison the dreams of your world, gaining a foothold among mortal minds.”

“That was a dark time,” said Bren in a low voice.

“The Queens came together for the last time,” said Emery, “each with her three Knights with drawn swords by her side, and they bore the perils of the poisoned land to seal the Great Gate.” Emery paused. “They sealed the Gate with such power that only one thing in this world or the other could open it again.”

“The Iron Sword,” I said.

Emery nodded. “And the Iron Sword can do other, terrible things: sever the soul from the body, bend men’s minds, take life with just a thought of the bearer.”

I shivered to think that one person could wield so much power.

“It was once used for good,” Emery continued. “Once it was the foundation of the accords between Doendhtalam and the two Queens. But it was lost by the last Bearer, and the Great Gate was sealed, and even now the lands that were afflicted by the old soul-sickness still lie blackened under the moon, breathing poisonous mists into the night. It harbors creatures foul and twisted, creatures which otherwise would have no hold in Faeortalam.”

“Like the
garrelnost
,” I said.

Emery nodded. “Those lands are called the Deadlands, and it is peril to journey through them.”

“And…Malravenar?” As I said the name, I saw Bren flinch slightly. Names have power, for good or ill, in the world of the Fae, I remembered.

“He is an Enemy of the Courts,” Emery said softly. “Some think it was he that created the plague of old. We do not know for certain, or perhaps the Queen knows and she does not say, as is her right. But he is a very old and very strong Enemy, and like the plague he feeds on fear and death.” Emery locked eyes with Ronan. “Which is why we should not fear him, though he is a great and perilous foe.”

Ronan nodded, and Bren made a sound in her throat that might have been a snort as she drank a few swallows from her cup.

“The Enemy…” Ramel cleared his throat. “Malravenar, it is said, has been breeding creatures of shadow in the Deadlands. Some even say he is raising an army of the Dead.”

“Foolish talk,” said Donovan in his firm way.

“Who knows what is foolish and what is not,” replied Ramel. “But there have been three knights killed in the past fortnight alone, with the Vaelanseld himself barely victorious in the last skirmish.”

“Vaelanbrigh, Vaelanmaver and Vaelanseld,” I said. “Those are all the Named Knights?”

“Yes,” said Ronan. “The Vaelanseld bears the Eldbranr, the Ancient Sword. He is the oldest of the three Knights, and it is said that the Eldbranr was forged in the same fire as the Iron Sword.”

“What is the name for the Iron Sword, in your language?” I asked.

Emery shook his head. “That is not for us to know. It is so old that its name is part of its power.”

I thought, putting all the pieces together in my head. “I’m guessing the Iron Sword is the only weapon that can kill this Malravenar?”

“We hope,” said Bren softly.

“But what we know is that the Enemy is searching for the Iron Sword,” said Ronan. “He is searching for it and when he finds it, he will twist it to his own dark purpose.”

“I have heard,” Donovan said slowly, carefully, “or at least this is the rumor in the barracks from those who have served in the Western Reaches, that he means to sever the bonds between Faeortalam and Sionntalam.”