The Iron Sword (The Fae War Chronicles Book 1) (34 page)

“At least you don’t have any mortal blood,” I said light-heartedly.

“That would really tip the scales,” Vell agreed darkly before she realized I was joking. I shrugged and smiled a little to show her I wasn’t offended. “Sorry. No harm meant, but that’s all I would need.”

We stood silently and gazed into the deepening dusk.

“Shouldn’t someone send a message back to Darkhill?” I said. “The Queen would surely send some help if she knew of Malravenar’s plan.”

“Perhaps she would, and perhaps she would not,” Vell replied quietly. Beryk spotted a rabbit and he shot off into the growing darkness, merging with the shadows as he chased after his prey. “I put little stock in their Queen.”

“If you’re part Sidhe, isn’t she your Queen as well?”

“She sent us no help when the Dark One spread his shadow over the North.”

I took a breath, pushing down the fear sinking its icy claws into my spine. “So what shall we do?”

Vell shrugged. Beryk came trotting back through the long grass, the rabbit in his jaws, still kicking futilely. “We can hide in the barracks like frightened little creatures,” said Vell, taking the rabbit from the wolf carefully, its blood running over her hands as it kicked fitfully, marble eyes glassing over, “or we can stand and fight valiantly, though we stand little chance.” She snapped the rabbit’s neck in one quick, violent motion. Its legs stilled. “Either way, we will die.”

I let out a shuddering sigh, trying hard to control the tremor in my voice. “If it’s all the same, I’d rather not die here. I have a family, back in my world, and I think they’d miss me if I was gone.”

“Then you have more than some,” Vell said darkly. “Even if you die you will have someone to mourn you. Be thankful for that.” She adjusted her grip on the limp rabbit, holding it by its feet. Then she shook her head, tucking her hair behind her ear with no regard for the blood slicking her fingers. “But enough depressing conversation. Do you know how to skin a rabbit, Tess?”

“Nope. And I’m guessing you’re going to teach me.”

“Follow me,” Vell said, slinging the rabbit over her shoulder and starting toward the practice-fields. Beryk licked his lips, watching his prey disappear, but then he turned and trotted off again into the shadowed grasses, intent on catching his own meal now that he had taken care of his mistress.

Chapter 28

I
turned the spit carefully over the fire, jumping a little as a spark landed on my arm.

“Slower,” said Vell from a few feet away, sitting cross-legged with her arrows out again, finishing her inspection of her quiver. “If you turn it as fast as all that, it won’t ever cook.”

I slowed down the spit, watching grease sizzle up out of the rabbit meat. True to her word, Vell had taught me how to skin a rabbit—but she had done so by thrusting the limp creature into my left hand and her own dagger into my right hand. I’d learned by doing, which she said firmly was, of course, the best way to learn.

“This way you’ll
remember
,” she said.

“Or you just want me to do all the work,” I rebutted lightly, grimacing as yet another spark landed on my wrist.

“There are benefits to being learned in the ways of the world,” Vell said primly, settling back on her elbows.

“I still can’t believe that they’re allowing fires out in the open like this,” I mused aloud.

“Well, Malravenar obviously already knows our location, if he’s building the iron-ring,” Vell pointed out reasonably. “Not much more of a signal that we could give him, unless you lit yourself up like a
taebramh
-torch again.”

Beryk trotted into the circle of firelight, dragging a small deer behind him, stopping barely an arm’s length away from me. He settled on his haunches and ripped into the carcass, spilling dark blood into the grass. I stared, transfixed with morbid fascination as the deer’s glistening innards spilled out into the firelight.

“Beryk, manners,” Vell said to the black wolf sharply. Beryk growled a little but took one of the deer’s hind legs in his mouth and dragged the deer to the opposite side of the fire.

“He was all right,” I said in a dazed voice, looking over the fire at the wolf tearing into his kill.

“He’s not a pup anymore,” Vell said in the tone of an annoyed mother. “He knows better than to eat right in front of strangers. Not that you’re exactly a stranger,” she amended, “but you aren’t used to wolf-ways.”

Beryk looked up at me, blood dripping from his muzzle, his golden eyes glowing in the darkness, mingling with the flames of the fire.

“I suppose I’m not,” I heard myself say faintly. Then Vell was pushing me aside, taking the spit-handle from me and saying in irritation that I was going to let the meat burn.

“I know you’re just learning, but even a dullard can see when it starts to smoke,” she said.

“Sorry,” I muttered, watching as she lifted the spit from over the flames, delicately testing the meat with the tip of her dagger. I lay back on the cool grass, listening to the crackle of the fire and the small tearing noises coming from Beryk’s direction, watching the bright-burning stars appear in the curve of the sky.

“Do you think the stars will sing tonight?” I asked softly.

“No,” Vell replied, her voice heavy. “They see much more than we do, and they probably know what’s going to happen soon.”

“When do you think?”

“Maybe tonight,” the Northerner replied. “Maybe tomorrow, or tomorrow night. Who can say.”

“The waiting is the worst part.” I sat up, tucking my legs underneath me.

“But at least when you’re waiting, you’re alive,” Vell said. She grinned mirthlessly and pushed one half of the still-skewered meat toward me with the flat of her blade.

I took the meat, shuttling it between my fingertips until it cooled a bit, testing it gingerly with my tongue. As I took my first bite, Vell finished her portion, and the way she licked her lips reminded me of Beryk. After I swallowed, I said, “Do you…talk to Beryk?”

Vell glanced at me, wiping her fingertips on the grass.

“I’m sorry if that’s a rude question. I have no idea what’s courteous anymore.”

“First of all,” Vell said with a grin, “that’s a lie, because you took to most of the ways of the Court like a duck to water. I can tell how they talk to you, and how they look at you. You’re one of them. Or as close as you can be, without blood.”

I considered. “I suppose. I don’t know. I know I’m different, though.”

“Of course you are—that’s why they’ve kept you around as long as they have,” Vell replied frankly. “Honestly, I’m surprised Mab didn’t kill you after the Vaelanbrigh brought you through the Gate.”

“Does everyone in this world know that story?” I asked in irritation.

“Mostly,” Vell grinned. “You know, up North we’ve never had the same fascination with mortals as the Courts. Something to do with our level of civility, I guess.” She showed her teeth in a fierce white grin, adding another small log to the fire. “In any case, though, with all that’s been happening…a shred of hope is better than none at all.”

“Molly is the one from the prophecy, not me,” I pointed out.

“Prophesies are slippery things,” she replied.

I thought about that for a moment. “You never answered my original question.”

“No, I guess I didn’t. Yes, I
could
talk to Beryk in wolf-tongue, if I wanted. If a Northerner is wolf-kin, we’re born with it. Most of the time we roll around on the floor with wolf-pups as playmates, and we’re encouraged to learn their talk.” She shrugged. “But it’s hard on the voice, when you get older, and civilized folk tend to stare.”

“Understandable,” I said. “So you can talk to any wolf, not just Beryk?”

“Beryk and I have our understanding. I don’t necessarily need to talk to him to let him know what I’m thinking. But a strange wolf, yes, I could talk to them. How much they understand, it all depends. Northern wolves are the smartest.”

Beryk made a small noise of agreement, raising his head from the deer again. Vell took out her coiled bow-strings, unraveling each oiled packet for inspection. I felt lazy, just laying and staring at the fire, so I got out my daggers and sharpened them, though I’d honed their edges barely a day ago.

“Do you miss your family?” Vell asked quietly without looking up.

“Yes,” I answered honestly. “Mostly my brother, Liam. He’s…he’s away at war, in my world.”

“Your country is at war?”

“I suppose. It’s complicated.”

Vell nodded. “That is one thing between this world and yours that stays the same. They try to box battle up with a neat little word, one definition. But killing is messy. It’s always complicated.”

I looked down at the dagger gleaming gently in my hand. “I’ve never actually killed anyone. A person, I mean.”

“Malravenar’s servants are not people,” Vell replied, voice laden with heavy bitterness. “They are all twisted, shadows of evil spirits raging against their flesh-cages. Killing them is not messy. It is the simplest thing in the world.” Beryk growled low and long at her words.

I thought of the shadow-creatures that I’d killed at the Saemhradall. I hadn’t felt any guilt at all at killing them, which I would expect if I killed a Sidhe or a human. “I’ve killed one of them before. And it didn’t feel like killing.” I took a breath, pausing in sharpening my blades. “Does that make it more dangerous? Killing living beings and not feeling remorse or guilt?”

“When it is for survival, when you must kill or be killed, you’ll be surprised what you will do,” Vell said darkly.

We lapsed into silence. Shadowy figures moved quietly through the darkness outside the radius of our small fire’s light: sentries moving to change watch-stations, soldiers gathering supplies for their own use, swapping bow-strings for daggers and arrows for sharpening-stones. An air of tense watchfulness pervaded the camp, even with the small cheery fires burning on the practice field, and the smoke curling from the chimneys of the barracks.

I finished sharpening my blades and rolled my cloak into a camp pillow. I wondered briefly if Kaleth would wonder where I was…but I knew the Sidhe took particular pride in the care of their mounts, and those assigned to the stables would look after him well.

“There you are,” a small voice said.

I lifted my head and saw Flora, flanked by Forsythe and Wisp. Beryk followed the glows curiously with his gaze, and looked as though he was about to snap at one when Vell murmured something to him, half a world and half a growl. The black wolf went back to gnawing on a deer bone, but the Glasidhe kept well above him, just to be sure.

Flora and Forsythe landed lightly on the grass next to me. Wisp rolled himself into a wad and cannon-balled onto my stomach. I swatted at him in mock annoyance, giving way to a grin after a moment.

“We heard that you threw a giant across the room,” Wisp said without preamble, his eyes lighting up with mischievous glee.

“Was he really three times your size?” Flora asked, settling herself in the curve of my elbow. Forsythe perched on my bent knee.

“Near enough, I guess,” I answered truthfully.

“Wait until I tell Farin!” Wisp said gleefully. “That ought to teach her to call me a tale-teller.”

“You do embroider on the truth sometimes, Wisp,” I said.

“I tell the truth with a flourish,” he rebutted.

I noticed Vell gazing down at the Glasidhe, her golden eyes barely suppressing her fascination. “How rude of me,” I said. “Flora, Forsythe, Wisp, this is Vell, of the North-Country. Sorry if I didn’t sit up to introduce you,” I added to Vell, motioning to the entrenched Glasidhe.

Forsythe made his signature courtly bow. “A pleasure to meet you, Lady Vell.”

“Just Vell, please,” she replied. “Pleased to meet you as well, Forsythe.”

“Is that your wolf?” Flora asked, leaping up from my elbow to circle lazily around Beryk.

“Well, he’s his own wolf,” Vell replied, “but I suppose if he’s anybody’s, he’s mine.” She scratched Beryk’s thick neck-fur affectionately, and his golden eyes went half-lidded in pleasure.

“Does he want to eat me, is the more important question,” said Wisp as he joined Flora.

Vell chuckled. “He wondered what you would taste like before he knew what you were.”

“At least he’s smart enough to recognize the difference between prey and…well, us,” Flora said, adventurously descending to examine Beryk from a closer perspective. The wolf watched her with just as much fascination. “Can I see your teeth?” Flora asked, and to my surprise and amusement, the black wolf opened his mouth, pink tongue lolling over sharp white canines. Flora went so far as to touch one of his teeth, her small hand barely covering the sharp tip. She back-winged a bit, and Beryk closed his jaws. “Impressive,” she told him. He grinned at her.

“Looks like Beryk made a new friend,” I said to Vell in an undertone, watching in amusement as Flora continued to inspect Beryk. Vell, watching the two, grinned.

“He’s always been the charmer,” she said with a shrug.

Wisp convinced Beryk to open his mouth again and, determined to outdo Flora, he flew
into
the wolf’s mouth. Beryk, surprised, closed his jaws instinctively and then promptly spat Wisp out. Wisp, unharmed except for a substantial coat of wolf-drool, shook his arms out distastefully and then decided it was only fair that Beryk cleaned up his own mess. If ever a wolf looked scandalized, it was Beryk as Wisp used the fluffiest part of the wolf’s black tail as a towel. Vell had to hide her grin behind her hand as the wolf looked to her for rescue.

“Don’t look at me,” she told the wolf, voice bright with amusement. She cleared her throat. “He’s probably a tenth of your size.”

Beryk whined.

“I know you’re too well-bred to hurt anyone smaller than you,” Vell said with a hint of pride.

“Wisp,” I said, “would you come here, please?”

Beryk gave me a look of profound relief and gratitude as Wisp zipped over to me, settling on my shoulder. Flora he seemed to actually like, as the Glasidhe delicately inspected his foot-pads. Her small hands found a few thorn-tips still embedded in his skin, and his tongue lolled in relaxed bliss as she moved from his left forepaw to his right.

“I’m going to try and get some sleep,” I said to no one in particular.

Forsythe alighted in front of Vell and asked her politely if she would mind answering a few of his questions. Flora combed through Beryk’s tail, untangling the hairs that Wisp had abused; and Wisp curled beneath my ear, as ready as I was for some rest. I rolled to my side, feeling the warmth of the fire on my back, and an odd sense of calm settled over me as I closed my eyes.

I drifted in and out of sleep for a few hours. Vell must have stayed awake, because the fire was well-tended, its heat never wavering. I heard her talking in a low voice to Flora and Forsythe now and again, and the quiet movement of the camp continued throughout the night, the silent watchfulness never abating. And even though I didn’t dream, I felt rested when the cool gray of morning swept a blanket of dew over me. I rolled my shoulder a little, to wake Wisp, and then sat up, stretching the stiffness of sleeping on the ground out of my back as best I could.

Vell had gone to sleep, after all, her head resting against Beryk’s belly. The black wolf, though, gazed at me impassively, Flora curled against his chest. I glimpsed Forsythe sleeping against the wolf’s back.

“They like you,” I told him softly.

He grinned a little, golden eyes eerily intelligent as he gazed at me.

Wisp poked at the embers of the fire with a little stick, and I helped him by putting on a log. Vell woke at the slight sound.

“Don’t bother putting any more wood on the fire,” she said. “We won’t have fires tonight.”

A slight breeze rippled through the cool morning air. Beryk lifted his nose to it, and a growl vibrated deep in his throat.

“They’ll be here by night,” Vell said, putting a hand on Beryk’s back. Whether it was for her own comfort or to settle the wolf, I couldn’t tell. She stretched her legs and her arms methodically, and then took the tie out of her long black hair, combing it with her fingers until it rippled over her shoulder silkily. I watched as she braided her hair quickly, fingers moving with supernatural speed; and she neatly fastened the braid in a knot at the nape of her neck with one long pin. I settled for shaking out my hair and twisting it into a rough bun.

“Your hair is a beautiful color,” Vell said, picking up her daggers and sliding them into their various hiding-places.

“Thanks,” I said, surprised at the girlish compliment from the tough Northerner.

“The Unseelie, they all have dark hair, and then most of the Seelie are so golden they’re almost white-haired,” explained Vell. “It’s rare to have an in-between sort of color, like yours.”

“Well, it’s not surprising considering that I’m neither Seelie nor Unseelie,” I pointed out, slipping my own dagger into the sheath at the top of my boot.