The Dark Throne (20 page)

“Today,” she said, voice echoing through the silence as though she shouted, “today we hunt!” She thrust her fist into the air, and the assembled warriors followed suit with a shout. As the sound echoed into the dawn light, Vell stepped forward and beckoned to me. “Walk with me, Tess?”

The gathering fragmented as riders returned to their saddles and packs, now invigorated with the promise of action. Finnead clasped Merrick’s shoulder as I passed, nodding at the young navigator whom he’d scorned at the beginning of our journey. Again I felt that twitch of avenged pride. I reached Vell’s side, feeling decidedly underdressed in just my shirt and breeches. Just like Finnead and Gray, Vell looked as though she hadn’t laid down her head during the night, her fierce ridge of braids just as crisp as when she’d shouted Northern words in the courtyard. I resisted the urge to put my hand to my own hair.

As our strides carried us away from the grassy knoll, Vell suddenly sighed. We kept walking until the voices of those behind us faded to a murmur. When she stopped and turned back to me, she looked like just Vell again. She still wore the crown on her brow, but there was something different about her eyes and her face, something she’d cast off like her scarlet cloak. “Tess. How are your hands?”

I smiled a little but obligingly held out my palms for her inspection. Even after my sword practice, the bandages were still white. Vell unwound the linen from my right hand and nodded.

“You’ve been using salve on them. Good,” she commented.

“Yes,” I said. “But you didn’t call me over here just to ask about my hands.”

“I can’t ask about a friend’s health?” she asked severely.

“Don’t be offended. I just know you have a lot on your mind.”

“Said the Bearer to the High Queen,” she retorted, one eyebrow arched.

I smiled again. “Point taken. What do you want to talk about?”

“Well, first of all, I do really need to talk to you, but I also just needed a break.” She took a deep breath, glancing back toward the camp. “It’s…” She shook her head and spread her hands.

“Overwhelming sometimes. I know,” I finished for her.

“Well, you don’t know
exactly
, but yes, something like it, I’d imagine,” she said, eyes flashing with humor.

“It’s true, I’m not a queen,” I admitted, shaking my head. “But I’d just like to point out, I think proportionally speaking, it’s about the same. Ordinary mortal to Bearer of the Iron Sword,
herravaldyr
to High Queen…” I made weighing motions with my hands.

Vell laughed. “Good point. But you’re right, I didn’t want to talk to you just to compare stories of unexpected inheritance of power.” She sobered. “I had Finnead and Gray pick their seconds. Arcana is…well, Arcana, so she didn’t pick one. I was hoping that you’d stand in.”

I rested my hand on the hilt of my plain blade at my hip. “Are you asking me to be Arcana’s second, or is it something more than that?”

Vell pulled at one of her gauntlets. “In name, you’d be Arcana’s second. It makes sense, you’re the only one other than me who has greater power than her.”

“Only Gray and Finnead know that she’s the Morrigan,” I pointed out.

“But everyone knows she’s a creature of ancient power,” Vell replied. “The Evermage, remember?”

“I know. I’m just trying to understand what you’re really asking me,” I said.

Vell looked into the distance, at the dawn-blushed horizon. “I’m not really sure myself, Tess. I think that what I’m asking is for you to…be there.” She turned her gaze back to me. “If something goes wrong with this hunt—if something happens to me, you need to keep Arcana in check.”

“You’re afraid that if something happens to you, the Morrigan will side with Malravenar,” I said slowly. “Then why did she bind herself to you in the first place?”

Vell shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t know whether it was a compulsion, whether the Crown of Bones forced it on her, or whether it was of her own free will.”

“The Crown of Bones contained a remnant of her own power. Or a fragment of
her
. It would be strange if it forced her.”

“I’ve heard of stranger things, Tess.” Vell shifted. “We have to go soon and get ready. But will you promise me that?”

“Of course,” I said without hesitation, even as my stomach curdled at the thought of matching power with the Morrigan. “Vell, you don’t even need to ask. I’m here. We’re in this together.”

Vell smiled. “I know. Mostly everyone treats me differently now. And I guess I’ve been treating everyone differently as well.”

“It’s part of what you have to do. You’re the High Queen.”

“Just because I’m the High Queen doesn’t mean I can’t still have friends. Does it?” Vell asked, a strange naked desperation on her face.

“Of course not,” I said. “Vell, of
course not
. I’ll always be your friend. Just try not to throw me into any more tables, okay?”

Vell smiled faintly. “Sorry about that. Arcana was being especially difficult that day, and I was still getting the hang of…” She waved her hands in the air. “Distributing the power, I guess.”

I laughed. “Fair enough.” Then I sobered. “But nothing’s going to happen to you during the hunt, Vell. We’re going to go kill this dragon, all of us together.”

“It is war, and death does not care if he reaps a queen or a cripple,” Vell replied, serious again.

I couldn’t come up with a light-hearted reply, so I followed Vell as she began striding back toward camp. Finally I managed, “So who designed your breastplates, and where can I get one?”

She glanced at me with one eyebrow raised. “You’re incorrigible, Tess.”

I grinned. “I try. Sometimes I even succeed.”

Vell shook her head and I saw a faint smile on her lips even as her demeanor changed, and she was once again the fierce
vyldretning
as we threaded through the purposeful chaos of camp. I made my way back to my saddle and packs, and found Nehalim grazing nearby. He raised his magnificent head, a long blade of grass sticking out of his mouth as he gazed at me solemnly. I chuckled. “You are the picture of equine grace,” I told him. He flicked his tail and finished chewing his breakfast.

“That was much more than just a few minutes,” scolded Farin as she swooped down on me, landing on my shoulder without asking for permission.

“I didn’t expect to suddenly have sword practice and then a big announcement this morning,” I said by way of apology.

“I suppose I shall have to forgive you,” Farin said haughtily.

“Oh, you shall?”

“Yes.” She sniffed. “I am a most generous friend.”

“I agree, indeed you are.” I smiled as I gave Nehalim a quick groom before sliding the saddle onto his back. Dust dulled the runes on his gleaming coat, but I decided against taking the time to retouch them. Luca saddled his mount nearby, his twin swords at his hips.

“Tess!”

I straightened from tightening the girth on my saddle as Calliea cantered up to us on her fleet
faehal
. I blinked. Her face gleamed wetly, and she wore a scarlet scarf wrapped around her neck.

“What’s with the new fashion statement?” I asked. “And what’s on your face?”

“I don’t care what anyone says, your bluntness is part of your charm,” Calliea replied cheekily, sliding down to the ground with boneless grace. “And to answer your question, I suppose you haven’t looked completely through your pack. Remember how you were asking about our defense against the dragon-smoke?”

I quickly dug through my pack until I found a small bundle that wasn’t provisions or a spare set of clothing. My scarf was a brilliant emerald green, the fabric sliding through my fingers like water, and bundled in the scarf was a clay pot, stopped with wax. I pried away the seal. A silvery gelatinous substance filled the pot to the brim; it smelled like the air before a storm, like clouds heavy with water. I dipped a finger into the pot experimentally. The jelly-like concoction felt cool and slippery, echoing the texture of the scarf. Calliea’s face and neck gleamed with the strange mixture; she’d applied it to every visible patch of bare skin.

“All of the clothing we are wearing was treated with this,” said Calliea. “It’s called…well, I can’t pronounce the Northern name.” She made a face. “Suppose I’ll have to work on that. But it translates to something like direflame.”

“Direflame?” I repeated. “If something’s dire…it means it’s bad. Why…?”

“I don’t know.” Calliea shrugged. “I didn’t name the stuff. I’m probably translating wrong anyway. But what I do know is that it’ll protect us against the smoke…and against the dragon-flame. Hopefully,” she added in a low voice.

I rubbed a glob of the stuff between my fingers. “All over my skin, even my hair?”

“Some didn’t do their hair, they’re just going to pull up their scarves, they said. But I would rather have to wash my hair a dozen times to get the direflame out than be burned bald,” replied Calliea. Farin giggled in my ear. I conceded Calliea’s point.

“What’s in it?” I asked, trying to decipher if there was any familiarity at all in the scent of it and the cool slippery texture between my fingers.

Calliea raised her eyebrows. “It’s best not to ask. But I heard something about powdered siren’s scales—them being creatures of water and all. Willow bark taken from the tree during a full moon, and burned to white ash. Moonlight gleaned from ice, and a few other things.”

“That sounds appropriately complex,” I murmured, wondering how exactly one harvested moonlight, but deciding that was a question best asked at a later time. “So…I guess it would be best to have a partner, to get at places I can’t see,” I said begrudgingly.

“Yes,” replied Calliea as she leapt up onto her
faehal
. “Looks like you already have a very fine candidate just a few paces away.” Her blue eyes sparkled wickedly.

“Wait, what? No—I thought
you
were—you’re ridiculous!” I called after her as she wheeled her mount and cantered away, her laugh trailing like a ribbon in the air behind her.

“When will everyone start minding their own business,” I grumbled to myself.

“Probably when you stop minding their teasing so much,” Farin replied.

“I wasn’t asking you,” I retorted.

“I know,” she said sweetly.

I sighed and patted Nehalim’s neck as I walked over to Luca. “Did you know about this?” I asked, holding up the clay pot.

My question was already answered, if I’d just taken a moment to observe, because Luca had his own clay pot in one hand, slathering the direflame onto his neck. His painted runes gleamed, entirely intact, beneath the thick yet transparent direflame. Kianryk stood behind him, watching the process with distrust.

“I feel like I’m smearing Vaseline all over my face,” I said to myself as I followed his example. I couldn’t help but wince as I spread the viscous substance over my skin, but overall the feeling wasn’t unpleasant. The direflame was thick and cool, and it was easy to believe that it would protect my skin from the dragon-smoke. My hands itched with the sensory memory of burning flesh even as I pushed the fleeting thought of dragon-flame from my mind.

“It isn’t so bad,” Luca commented, but he sounded as though he was trying to convince himself as well.

“What about the wolves?” I asked. Kianryk looked at me and yawned.

“Their pelts protect them,” replied Luca, “and they will stay well away from the smoke in any case.”

I spread the gel across my face and down my neck. Farin dipped her small hands into the pot and worked on one ear; her fingers tickled my earlobe and I concentrated on suppressing my laugh. “At least I know my ears won’t burn,” I commented to Luca as Farin moved to the other side of my head. He smiled and held out his clay pot. I set my own pot down and took his, feeling the warmth of his hand still on the clay.

“It would probably be best if you sat down,” I said with a grin. “You’re too tall for me to reach the top of your head, and it would be a shame if you were burned bald.”

Luca shook his head. “That wouldn’t do at all.” He sat cross-legged on the grass and I started spreading the direflame onto his head, working the gelatinous substance into his golden braids and making sure I didn’t miss any patches of scalp. Luca sat carefully still. I finished with his hair and crouched behind him, sitting on my haunches as I scooped another dollop out of the pot with two fingers. He shuddered slightly as I touched the back of his neck. I felt my own cheeks heating in response. I slid my fingers beneath the collar of his shirt, making sure there was a good amount of overlap between the cloth and the direflame-protected skin.

“There,” I said. “Do you need me to check the front of your neck?”

“It’s covered,” he said, his voice slightly husky. “I’ll do yours.” He stood and motioned for me to sit. I fumbled with his pot of direflame, almost dropping it.

“Oh, I thought that Farin was going to do that,” I said.

“I am only the ear expert!” chirped Farin with a little giggle.

“Of course you are,” I muttered.

“Farin is right,” Luca said as he took the pot of direflame from me and waited for me to sit. “Your friends only tease you because your embarrassment is quite endearing.”

“Endearing?” I glared at him as I sat down, crossing my legs grumpily. “I’m glad others get enjoyment out of my discomfort.”

Luca chuckled, his large hands steadily working the direflame into my braids and scalp. It felt disarmingly good. For a moment, I resisted, but then I relaxed beneath his hands and let my eyes roll back as they’d been trying to do.“It is endearing because you are so very sensitive about a matter which you really shouldn’t feel any embarrassment,” he said.

“Since when did you become a great scholar on….feelings?” I finished lamely. I sighed. “I know. But how else am I supposed to feel about it?”

“I do not know how it works in your world, Tess,” Luca said, moving from my braids to my neck with warm, adroit fingers, “but in this world, and especially among my people, women choose their mates. Their lovers,” he amended. “And if they wish to have more than one lover, or none at all, well, that is their choice.”

I felt my eyebrows rise almost to my hairline. “You’re suggesting I take more than one lover?” My voice came out as a squeak.