The Iron Sword (The Fae War Chronicles Book 1) (23 page)

Chapter 21

T
rue to his word, Wisp let no one disturb my sleep. When I woke I had no memories of any dreams at all, much to my relief. I turned my head and there was Wisp, sitting cross-legged next to my pillow on the bed just as he had when I’d gone to sleep, his aura pulsing softly. I yawned and scrubbed at my eyes with the heel of one palm. Light filtered softly through the curtains drawn around my bed, painting shadows around me.

“How long did I sleep?” I asked Wisp in a gravelly voice. I winced at the stiffness in all my limbs.

“Almost a full day,” Wisp replied, hovering above the bed now. “We fetched you some food. Manifestation is very difficult and exhausting, even for experienced Walkers, and you brought your sword with you as well.”

I yawned again as I leaned forward, stretching my legs. As the vague tiredness of a long sleep receded, I realized that despite my sore muscles, I felt very well rested. I swung my legs out of bed and drew back the curtains.

“How are you feeling?” Flora asked concernedly.

“A little sore,” I admitted, dropping my arms down as I touched my toes. “But other than that, I actually feel really good.”

“Well,” said Flora.

“What?” I said, looking at her in confusion.

“You feel quite
well
, not good,” the Glasidhe said with an air of primness.

“Among her many hobbies, my sister feels the need to study grammar,” Forsythe said dryly from my desk, where he was sharpening his sword with a miniscule stone.

“And I learn new things about faeries every day,” I said in an undertone as I opened the doors of my wardrobe. I grabbed a green shirt and a pair of fawn-colored trousers, slipping behind the curtain of the shower-area as I pulled my sleeping-shirt over my head. After a moment’s consideration, I decided that a shower was definitely in order.

I felt a vague sense of relief as the warm water washed the smoke out of my hair—I wasn’t sad to part with the last reminder of my harrowing journey into the Seelie lands.

“Tess, may I please come in? I won’t look, but I must talk to you,” said Flora.

“We’re both girls,” I said. “Doesn’t bother me. And there’s a shower-curtain anyway.”

Flora laughed a little, her voice becoming clearer as she slipped inside the curtained niche. Then she became serious again. “Tess, there’s something I must tell you.”

I worked the bar of soap between my hands, watching the lather build up and cascade over my fingers. “All right.”

“We did as you asked, which is what should have been done,” Flora began. “I went to a lady of the Court who said she knew you. I found her in the garden.”

“Good,” I said. “Guinna was a good person to tell.”

“I told her of the destruction of the Saemhradall, and the capture of Titania.” Flora paused, and when I was silent she continued. “She said that she wished a Knight were here, one of the Named that you both knew.”

“Finnead,” I said, his name sending a strange shiver through the deepest part of me. I scrubbed my elbows intently, trying to ignore the fluttering feeling in my stomach.

Flora paused again, the sound of my suddenly intense scrubbing filling the silence.

“Guinna told me,” Flora said quietly, “that she went to the Queen.”

“So Mab knows of my powers,” I said, trying for an indifferent tone and for the most part, I thought, succeeding.

“Yes,” replied Flora. She sounded apologetic. “I am sorry, Tess. There was no other way to show them that I wasn’t just spinning a wild tale. The Sidhe seem to think the Glasidhe are prone to fantasy…which we are at some times,” she admitted, “but not in times such as these.”

“It’s all right, Flora,” I said, standing beneath the hot stream of water, letting it rinse away the soap and soothe my suddenly agitated mind. “She would’ve found out sooner or later, in any case.”

“Perhaps, but perhaps not,” the Glasidhe replied. “I am sorry if I betrayed your confidence.”

“You didn’t betray anything, Flora. You did what you thought was best. For all we know, Darkhill may be Malravenar’s next target, now that the Bright Court is in danger of falling.”

Flora remained silent as I shut off the flow of water. After wringing my hair, I pushed back the curtain and reached for the towel hanging on a wrought-iron hook. I wrapped the towel around myself and stepped into the niche. Flora sat perched on the back of the chair on which I’d laid my folded clothes. She politely averted her eyes, wings moving idly like those of a balanced butterfly. Her careful silence aroused my suspicion as I dressed. Rubbing the towel over my wet hair, I waited patiently. Flora avoided my gaze.

“Flora,” I said softly, “is there something else I need to know?”

“The rescue party hasn’t returned,” she said quietly, “and there is reason to believe that they have been attacked as well.”

My stomach dropped sickeningly. Donovan, Ramel, Emery, Finnead—were they all alive, or had they fallen at the hands of the Shadow?

“Just because they haven’t returned doesn’t mean anything bad has happened,” I said firmly, half to Flora and half to myself to push down the disquieting uneasiness wrapping around my spine.

“One of the healers with them was a Walker,” Flora explained. “It is a common enough talent in the Sidhe. It is very unusual for a mortal to possess it.”

“Okay,” I said, “so what? I don’t really care that it’s rare for me to be a Walker. What happened?”

“It’s usually customary for a patrol to check in every day with the Knight that has remained at Darkhill,” explained Flora.

“How do you know all this?” I asked. “I thought you were at your own court at the Three Trees with Lumina for most of your life.”

“I was a part of the court at the Three Trees,” allowed Flora, “but I’ve traveled with Unseelie patrols before. When relations between the Sidhe and the Glasidhe were easier, before the great Shadow began seeping from the Deadlands, we served as scouts for patrols. And we are long-lived as the Sidhe, Tess.”

“Fine.” I didn’t like hearing the edginess in my own voice, and the nervousness growing in my belly made me anxious. If there was one thing that I’d learned in Faeortalam, it was that more often than not my gut feelings were right—and I hoped fervently that this time would be the exception. “So what happened?”

“After I had told Guinna about the attack on the Saemhradall, the Walker appeared to give the Vaelanmavar the customary report. I was not there, but I was told that something went horribly wrong. The Walker…he…vanished.”

“Meaning that he died,” I said grimly.

“Yes,” whispered Flora. “And the Vaelanmavar told the Queen, but Mab ruled that she could not risk the lives of any more of her knights or guards until the
fendhionne
was ready to ride into the Deadlands.”

“She’s not sending them help,” I said quietly.

“They are on their own,” affirmed Flora.

I swore under my breath while I braided my hair, pulling the braid tighter than necessary. The almost-painful tug of my hair as I plaited the three pieces somehow calmed me, keeping my anxious anger at Mab under control until I was ready to face it. “And how long until Molly is ready to ride into the Deadlands?” I asked.

Flora remained silent.

“Flora,” I said, “how long?”

“I don’t know,” the glow answered finally.

I growled in frustration, until an idea occurred to me. “Does the Queen still trust the Vaelanmavar?”

“Why would she not?” Flora responded in surprise. “She would strip him of the Mavarbranr if she did not trust him as one of her Three.”

“Well,” I said, “Mab may trust him, but I don’t. How do we know he’s not setting up that patrol?”

“Why would he want to do such a thing?”

“He hates Finnead. I think he’d like to see him dead. When he…when I talked to him the other night, he called Finnead an upstart. I think he’s jealous.”

“Jealousy can be deadly,” said Flora thoughtfully. “But with the threat of Malravenar, there is no time for petty rivalries.”

“Tell that to the Vaelanmavar,” I said. I thought hard. “What are the limitations on Walking? Can I go out and try to find the patrol?”

“You must speak to Wisp about that,” said Flora. “I have seen Walker-power before, but I don’t know specifics. I wasn’t blessed with the gift.”

“Gift,” I snorted as I pushed aside the curtain and strode out into my room. “Wisp,” I said as I found socks and began pulling on my boots.

“Yes?” Wisp said, hovering at eye-level.

“Can I Walk wherever I want? What are the limitations?”

“If you are thinking about going out after the patrol,” Wisp said, “that is a very bad idea. Even if you were experienced, you must know where you are going. You must have an image in your head, or you must have another take you there. Otherwise you may be lost in the ether.”

“The ether?”

“The between-place, the Walker-paths,” said Wisp. “It is between reality and dream, the place from which the
taebramh
flows. That’s the basis of your power, you know, our power, Tess. The
taebramh
.”

I remembered the pulsing veins in the wall outside the healing-room, and Allene’s admonishment when I’d been about to touch them out of curiosity. Now I wondered whether I was so drawn to that flowing white fire because it called to something in me, the same something that Titania had unleashed.

“But Sidhe Walkers draw on the
taebramh
that is already here,” Wisp continued. “Most Sidhe can become Walkers if they really try. Mortals, on the other hand, do not have the innate ability. And you, Tess…you are different. You
make
the
taebramh
.”

“What?” I stared at Wisp in confusion, thinking that I misheard him.

“Certain mortal souls…they
make
the
taebramh.
They are like a well, a source of power. Once they are unleashed…they are very powerful.” He paused gravely. “Almost as powerful as the Queens themselves. There has not been a mortal Walker in centuries.”

I blinked. For some reason, part of what Guinna had said to me in the garden came floating back into my mind:

“Her name was Gwyneth, and she was a very powerful priestess. One you might call a sorceress…Come to think of it, there’s something of her about your eyes…and your limbs. She was tall, just as you are, and she could handle a bow like no other mortal I’ve seen…Then again, that was at least five hundred years ago, in your time.”

“How many centuries, exactly?” I asked Wisp carefully.

Wisp flew in a contemplative circle before answering. I sat very still, waiting. “Four, maybe five.” He hovered in front of me for a moment. “Now that you have reminded me of her…your eyes…”

“I look like her,” I said shakily. “Guinna told me that, the night we talked in the garden.”

“Priestess blood runs strong,” Lumina said suddenly. “Even through centuries. And the power waits. It sleeps, until the right moment, until the right child.”

“So I might be a descendant of this priestess?” I asked.

“You are strong enough to be her daughter,” answered Lumina. “I remember her. She was the most powerful Walker to come to the Courts. There were other Walkers in her time, because the
taebramh
ran strong in the people of her island, but none as strong as she.”

I shivered a little. “And what did she do…while she was here?”

The Glasidhe remained silent.

I stood, trying to stop the trembling of my hands by clenching them into fists. “Please answer me. What did she do?”

After a long moment, Forsythe spoke. “She was the last Bearer of the Iron Sword.”

I sat down, feeling as though the wind was knocked out of me.

“She was also a friend of the Glasidhe,” added Flora, “just as you are, Tess.”

I shook my head. “How did no one know? Don’t the Sidhe remember her?”

“Sidhe memories are long, but many were young when she was here, more interested in taking mortal lovers and seeking pleasure in life.” Lumina drifted upward. “The Courts were not always as grave as they are now. They were once a place of merriment, with little care and little thought to the future.”

“And now that they might not have a future, they aren’t so fun anymore,” I said grimly. I sat back in the chair. “So if I am a descendant of this Gwyneth, can I do more than Walk?”

“Perhaps,” said Lumina carefully.

“Like what? What else could she do?” I sat forward, leaning my elbows on my knees, watching the Glasidhe intently.

“She was a powerful sorceress, as well as a Walker,” said Lumina. “She could call upon the power of the
taebramh
in her waking.” The Glasidhe princess paused. “There are precious few Sidhe that possess that power, and even fewer mortals.”

“Right,” I said with a deep breath. “Call upon the power of the
taebramh
while I’m awake. I don’t suppose she left an instruction manual?” I asked hopefully.

“There might be some of her writings in the Great Library,” said Wisp thoughtfully, much to my surprise. “But then again…they might have been burned.”

“Why would they have been burned?” I asked. Wisp looked away. “Wisp,” I said in a cajoling voice. “Please tell me. I need to know.”

“The blame for the loss of the Sword,” said Wisp slowly, without his usual mischievous tone, “is often placed upon her. Elizabeth, while the Queens gave her the power of the Sword, was not rightly the Bearer. Ultimately, it was Gwyneth’s responsibility. She was banished from Faeortalam when the Sword was lost.”

A prick of painful empathy stabbed at my heart as I thought of what it must have been like for Gwyneth, banished from the world that she had vowed to serve by being the Bearer of the Iron Sword.

“And because the Sword was lost,” continued Wisp, “the two Sidhe Queens became estranged, and their power waned.”

I blew out a breath. “So basically, they blame my ancestor for everything that’s wrong with their world.”

Wisp shrugged a little. “Her name has faded into memory, unless it is brought up by those that knew her. Five centuries, even to the Sidhe, is sufficient time to forget.”

“But not forgive,” I said heavily, wondering what had happened to Gwyneth. Had she grown weary of the burden of power, and disappeared into the mortal world? Clearly she had children, or else I wouldn’t be imbued with her power. “Do you know if her children were half-Fae?” I asked suddenly.