The Dark Throne (35 page)

The heavy table had been overturned, maps strewn everywhere, and a smoldering hole marked the spot on the largest map where Merrick had plied his scrying-glass. Merrick. My breath hitched, and my eyes found his still form even as Gray leapt lightly over the fallen table, landing unerringly by Merrick’s side. Finnead strode around the table, his eyes kindling with fury when he saw me lying on the ground.

“Did it hurt you?” he asked quickly, kneeling, the Brighbranr still bare in his hand. I swallowed and shook my head, not trusting my voice yet. He followed my gaze toward Merrick, and we both watched silently as Gray worked intently over the young navigator. He jerked, and I let out the breath I’d been holding; but then my chest tightened as Merrick cried out wordlessly. Finnead touched my shoulder and I nodded. He moved past me to help Gray. Merrick thrashed, trying to escape their hold, his face pale and his eyes wild. With an effort, I lifted the Sword, sliding it home into the sheath on my back. Then Vell knelt in front of Merrick, her two Named Knights holding him steady with a firm but gentle grip. My heart twisted at the animalistic terror written on Merrick’s face—his mind clearly hadn’t returned fully from wherever he’d been pulled by the Dark creature.

“Tess, find the scrying-glass,” Vell said, her golden eyes intent on Merrick.

I didn’t have the breath to reply, but I scoured the floor until I spied a circular lump under one of the fallen charts. I pushed myself across the tent in an awkward sort of crawl, my hand stinging sharply in protest as I grabbed the scrying-stone. It was uncomfortably warm in my hand, resurrecting my memory of the burning-hot fire of the Crown of Bones. But I shook my head, crawled back to Vell, and placed the scrying-stone in her outstretched hand.

Vell’s shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath, and she held the scrying-stone to her lips, the glass misting with warm fog. She bowed her head, placed one palm on the scrying-stone and gripped Merrick’s shoulder with the other hand. Finnead and Gray watched tensely. One of Gray’s hands hovered near her dagger-hilt. The air in the room tightened, and Vell’s knuckles showed white as she gripped the scrying-glass. Her body jerked and stilled. I could barely breathe for the thickness of the power pressing down on us. Vell leaned over Merrick, who fell back limply, eyes open and staring. She sealed her lips over his mouth and breathed into him, something rippling
through
her and into him with her exhalation. Finnead caught Vell as she shuddered and lost her balance. Merrick gasped and drew a long breath; Gray pressed a hand to his shoulder and said something to him in a voice too low for me to hear. He blinked, his eyes fully present with the spark that made him our intrepid navigator.

“Vell?” My voice came out gravelly but more than the croak I’d expected.

Finnead held Vell in a strange sort of embrace, her forehead resting on his shoulder. I didn’t feel even the slightest prick of jealousy—I just wanted her to stop shuddering and answer me. Finally, with a concerted effort of will, Vell stilled herself and raised her head. After another moment she drew back from Finnead, who wordlessly released his grip.

“That took a bit more effort than I’d anticipated,” the High Queen said hoarsely, looking down at the scrying-glass in her palm. Finnead handed her a waterskin, and she gulped a few swallows thirstily. Her voice was stronger when she spoke again. “It caught hold of Merrick and used him as leverage to come through the scrying-glass. It pulled him through…though I think you tackling him interrupted the process.”

“It changed places with him,” I said, nausea rising in my stomach. I looked at the scrying-glass. “You pulled him back.”

Vell nodded. “He hadn’t yet been bound. The channel was still fresh.” She grimaced. “It felt like the burrow of a bone-rat.”

I looked questioningly at Finnead. He gave a little nod of his head that I took to mean he’d explain the definition of a bone-rat to me later. But I understood Vell’s meaning—the path through the ether had felt like a furrow gauged by a disgusting creature. I didn’t remember any particular feeling like that when I’d followed Titania’s trail to her prison—but then again, I didn’t know what had carved that tunnel.

“My queen,” said Merrick hoarsely, pushing himself upright. Gray sat back, making no attempt to assist him.

“Arrisyn,” said Vell, almost gently.

Merrick bowed his head. “I am sorry. I failed you.” A bluish pallor still clung to his skin, but it faded with every passing moment.

Vell shook her head slowly. “No. You did not fail me.” She held up her hand to silence Merrick’s half-born protest. “You could not have known that a creature lay in wait.” She paused. “I did not truly grasp the peril of what I asked.”

Merrick raised his eyes to the High Queen. “I will raise the image again for you.” His hand found the scrying-glass, lying by Vell’s knee.

Vell covered Merrick’s hand with her own. “Not today, Arrisyn. Today you have done well. You showed me what I needed to see. I will ask you to be my eyes again in time, but we will put protections in place.” She waited until Merrick nodded, and then she let him take the scrying-glass. He immediately cradled it in his palms, examining the intricate knobs and inspecting the smooth surface for damage. Then Vell turned to me. “Tess?”

I gave her a lopsided smile and a thumbs-up. My bones ached, still pulsing from the aftershocks of the tremendous power that had rushed through me.

“Take her to rest in my sleeping-quarters,” Vell said to Finnead.

“I can hear you,” I said irritably. “And
you
should probably rest in your own sleeping-quarters after pulling someone back from leagues away.”

“Fine. Take Tess to rest in
your
sleeping-quarters,” Vell amended, flashing a grin at Finnead. I sighed and shook my head, though an answering smile came to my own lips unbidden.

“As you command,” replied Finnead, raising one eyebrow slightly at his Queen’s humor but still standing protectively close. He wasn’t in the mood to indulge in the ribald teasing of the Wild Court after the sudden shock of the creature’s appearance and the fierce short battle against it. I followed Finnead toward one of the curtained compartments. He pulled aside the curtain and as I slipped inside, Kianryk barreled into the tent, followed closely by Luca. Vell spoke quickly to the
ulfdrengr
. Part of me wanted to know what she was saying, but weariness tugged at me. I sighed in frustration. I heard the rustle of maps as the overturned table was righted and its display restored. Someone muttered about getting a few rocks to protect the maps against any further winds of sorcery, and I heard Vell chuckle.

“We are going to set an overwatch,” Finnead said quietly, letting the curtain fall behind him. A silence too complete to be natural enveloped us. I glanced at the neatly organized setup: armor set on an unfurled white fur, clothes folded neatly to one side, a sleeping pallet comfortably composed of several thick mottled gray furs.

“Where did all of this
come
from?” I mused aloud yet again, my tired mind forgetting to filter my thoughts.

“Sit,” said Finnead. “Please,” he added at my baleful look. “Vell brought back Merrick, but you destroyed the creature.”

“Pretty sure she helped with that as well.”

Finnead shook his head. “She threw up defenses and then encircled the tent so it wouldn’t be able to escape. You were the one to put your blade through it.”

“Guess I’m a pretty good bodyguard then,” I said with a grin. I lowered myself carefully to the furs and then groaned.

“Are you hurt?” asked Finnead quickly, kneeling again beside me.

“No,” I said with a little breathless laugh. “You already asked me that, remember? This is just
really
comfortable.”

Finnead stared at me blankly, and then after a moment smiled and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m afraid I must get used to this again.”

“Used to what?” I raised my eyebrows. “A woman in your sleeping quarters?”

He chuckled. “Well, yes….although these circumstances were not at all what I had in mind.” Then he sobered. “I am not accustomed to feeling fear for another person this keenly.”

I shook my head. “Don’t let it distract you. Remember? That’s why you didn’t want to get tangled up in this in the first place.” I shifted irritably.

Finnead reached out and covered my hands with his own. I stilled.

“Tess,” he said firmly but gently, “I am not ‘tangled up’ in anything. I am in love with you, and that is something different entirely.”

I couldn’t deny the burst of warmth in my chest when he said the words, but I suppressed the giddy smile trying to worm its way onto my lips. Instead I said quietly, “I like hearing those words, Finnead. I love you, too. But as we’ve said before, we can’t let this become a distraction. The last thing I want is you putting yourself in danger because of your fear for me.”

“We are all battling against the Darkness to save what we love,” Finnead replied. He leaned closer, kissed me softly, almost chastely, barely brushing my lips with his own and yet setting fire to my blood. “I am just fortunate enough to have what I love right here, in front of me, reminding me of all the reasons to fight.”

I felt incredibly daring as I reached up and ran my fingers through his raven-wing hair. His eyes went half-lidded with pleasure, and I smiled a little. “You’re right.”

He opened his eyes fully. “Wait. Say that again, a little louder?”

I chuckled and shook my head. “You heard me.”

Brushing a stray strand of hair from my face, Finnead smiled and kissed my forehead. I leaned into him, luxuriating in the feel of his solid, muscled arms holding me. “I can’t stay, Tess,” he murmured into my hair.

I nodded, suppressed my disappointment and drew back. “No rest for the weary.”

“Isn’t it ‘no rest for the wicked’?” He raised one eyebrow.

“Either way. Accurate.” I shrugged and smiled.

“It would do you good to have a few hours’ sleep. Or at least rest for a while,” Finnead said.

“As much as I want to argue with you, I think you’re right,” I said, slipping the strap of the Caedbranr over my head and laying the Sword by my side. I pulled my boots off my feet and leaned back.

“Twice in one day you’ve admitted that I’m right,” said Finnead. “I’ll have to mark this as a legendary afternoon.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” His drowning-blue eyes gleamed. “As it happens, I have other things to occupy my dreams.”

I chuckled. “You’re ridiculous.” He stood as I laid back. I blinked up at him. “Be safe.”

He nodded. “Always.” When he left, the light in the little compartment dimmed, and silence washed over me, swaddling me in comfort. I waited until the curtain hung completely still, and then I reached over and plucked one of Finnead’s neatly folded shirts from the pile. I held it to my face and breathed in the scent of him, imagining that he lay next to me as I drifted into sleep.

Chapter 19

“D
o you think she’s asleep?”

The whispered question came from somewhere up above my head.

“I would assume so, since her eyes are closed.”

The two Glasidhe failed at their attempt to be stealthy as the combination of their whispers and auras wormed its way into my slumber.

“But it is only the afternoon! Why would she be
asleep
?”

I opened my eyes and squinted at Forin and Farin. “It’s called a nap.”

“We
woke
her,” said Forin in chagrin, chastising his twin.

“Only a lazybones sleeps in the afternoon,” replied Farin primly, brightening her aura as I sat up and rubbed the sleep from my eyes with the heel of one hand.

“Or someone who sent a Dark creature back through a scrying-stone,” said Calliea, slipping into the small compartment. Forin crossed his arms and gave a reprimanding look to his twin. Farin’s aura rippled with a blush. “With all your scouting talents, I thought you would’ve heard of the events of the afternoon by now.”

“I told you it wasn’t an exaggeration,” Forin said in a low voice.

“Well, no need to be so smug,” Farin replied, fluttering her wings in irritation. Her voice took on a defensive tone. “I know very little of scrying-glass sorcery.”

“To be fair, I didn’t know that things could come through the scrying-glass either,” Calliea said with a little half-shrug. She let the curtain fall behind her and settled on her haunches by the furs, holding out a steaming mug in my direction.

“I miss coffee,” I grumbled, but I took the mug anyway. “Thanks.”

“Those who traveled to your world before the closing of the gates also have mentioned
coffee
,” said Calliea musingly.

I sipped gingerly at the hot liquid in the mug and tilted my head. The brew tasted similar to a strongly spiced chai, rich and sweet. “This isn’t bad, whatever it is.”

“It’s called
kal
.” Calliea smiled faintly. “I only just learned to make it. Luca and Chael have been teaching the First Score to make the food and drink of their people, if you can believe it.”

A chuckle escaped me as the image of brawny Luca and taciturn Chael giving cooking lessons rose in my mind’s eye. “I’m sure that’s an….experience.”

Calliea widened her eyes. “I wasn’t a good cook before all this, and having a giant wolf stare at me while I try traditional
ulfdrengr
recipes doesn’t help matters.”

My chuckle bloomed into a full laugh, which caught in my throat and turned into a cough. I swallowed another mouthful of
kal
. Forin and Farin finished a fiercely whispered conversation overhead; Forin bowed in our direction and slipped out of the compartment, the curtain barely stirring at his passage. Farin swooped low, stopping abruptly at eye-level. I blinked the neon after-trail of her dizzying movement from my vision.

“May I stay with you, Tess-mortal?” the Glasidhe warrior asked. “If another Dark-thing appears, I would like to vanquish it with you.” She bared pointed teeth in a predatory grin.

“By all means, keep me company,” I said. Farin promptly alighted on Finnead’s armor, settling on the shoulder and folding her legs beneath her. I shifted and winced at my still-sore legs, but moving felt good. I brought my legs up and rested my mug on one knee, leaning back on my other arm. I turned back to Calliea. “When’s our next shift?”