The Dark Throne (70 page)

“And why exactly do they hate each other’s guts?” Duke asked over his shoulder from his post watching our backs.

“It is not exactly hate, but it is far from love,” said Calliea. Duke made a confused face at her.

I sighed. “I guess it’s kind of like really avid sports fans or something like that.”

Duke contemplated that for a minute. “Rival high schools.” He nodded. “We had a rival high school, meanest sonsabitches you’d ever meet. I wouldn’ta spit on ‘em if they were on fire.”

“Um…sure,” I said, unable to hide a bemused smile despite the tense situation. Something about Duke’s accent combined with his serious delivery made it very funny to me. Then Calliea gripped my arm hard. Merrick misjudged Robin’s next move, and he leapt
into
a thrust of Robin’s sword. My stomach tried to jump into my throat. With a grunt of effort, Robin twisted the blade in mid-thrust so that it swung wide and only grazed Merrick’s shoulder, rather than running him through. Merrick stumbled and put a hand up to his shoulder, and his fingers came away dark with blood. Robin dropped his sword and turned to his friend, but the gathered Unseelie surged forward, their anger now palpable. Calliea muttered a curse and we plunged into the melee. I heard other oaths behind me as Liam and the other three men realized we were moving.

I unceremoniously pushed and shoved my way through the crowd, applying my elbows liberally. The Seelie faction leapt forward to meet Unseelie, and I felt a sudden jolt of adrenaline as I heard the hiss of blades unsheathed. Calliea and I redoubled our efforts and struggled through the press of bodies until suddenly we emerged into a little ring of space left in the very center of the roiling mass, the eye of the whirling storm. Robin was shouting at the Unseelie who held him fast by the arms, trying to get back to Merrick, who was now on one knee. A few of the Unseelie already held naked swords, and the Seelie beside Merrick unsheathed their own blades with merry grins, as though it was all a wonderful game to them.

Luca emerged from the Seelie ranks, parting them as a rock parts a river, and he immediately lifted Merrick to his feet, mindful of the bare blades pointed at the Unseelie fighter despite his wound. I heard Robin shouting about the Wild Court and prideful idiots; and Merrick added his own voice, though neither of them could be clearly heard above the increasing volume of epithets hurled by both sides. Luca kept a firm grip on Merrick, watching the Seelie fighters warily.

“There will be more bloodshed,” Calliea said into my ear, “if we don’t do something.”

It was the blade raised to Robin’s throat that undid me. I felt my anger burst into flames, my war-markings blazing a bright and sudden emerald as I reached over my shoulder and my fingers met the hilt of the Iron Sword. It vibrated eagerly beneath my touch. Calliea leapt to the side as I unsheathed the Sword with a booming ring like that of a great bell. It blazed brightly in my fist, and those nearest threw up their arms against the blinding light. The edges of my vision faded into white fire.

“Enough!”
My voice sounded like a thousand voices, like all the Bearers shouting with me, layered with that great echoing ring. The Sword underlined the two distinct syllables with two slaps of power, and the crowd instantly fell into stunned silence, some of them stumbling from the physical blows. With effort, I pulled back the blazing light until the Sword no longer burned like a fallen star in my hand; my chest heaved as I gathered the power back into myself, and sheathed the Sword. It settled with a satisfied hum into the scabbard on my back. My war-markings still blazed through my shirtsleeve. I took two strides forward and put my hand on Robin’s shoulder. The Unseelie released him in dazed compliance. With as much dignity as he could muster, he straightened and walked over to Luca and Merrick. Calliea knelt by Merrick’s side now, binding his wound with quick hands.

The gathered Seelie and Unseelie stared at me. I drew back my shoulders. “It is enough that you already do not trust each other as brothers and sisters should.” My voice rang over their heads, and they listened. “It is beyond my power of understanding that you should make more enemies of each other when we have more than enough ahead of us.”

At that statement, a few of the Unseelie looked away, and some of the Seelie had the grace to appear ashamed. I raised one eyebrow.

“And not only were you brazenly insulting each other, but you were insulting each other over fighters who belong to a different Court entirely.” I shook my head. “So if you
must
cheer on a match between your two Courts, by all means, the ring is yours…but if another blade is drawn in anger this night or any night hence, I shall
personally
address it.” I looked left and right, ensuring that both sides of the crowd felt my gaze. Finally I heard the sound of a blade sliding back into its sheath, from somewhere in the back of the Seelie contingent; and then the silver flash of swords was all around as all the gathered crowd followed suit.

“As the Bearer commands, a
friendly
match?” asked one tall Seelie warrior, bowing to me and addressing the Unseelie group at large.

After a moment an Unseelie fighter stepped forward. With a little start I finally recognized Emery. He nodded to me and then spoke to the Seelie warrior. “I would be glad to cross blades with you as brothers.” They gripped each other’s forearms, and I finally sighed. I nodded to Emery and then yielded the practice ring to them, striding quickly over to the little knot moving away from the ring, Luca and Merrick at its center.

“That was magnificent,” said Calliea with a grin. My anxiety eased—if Calliea was smiling, Merrick’s wound wasn’t serious.

“Who are you, and what have you done with my little sister?” Liam asked with another smile, squeezing my shoulder. We paused a small distance away from the practice ring. Duke slid over to Robin; I noticed that the team medic had acquired his own small healing pack.

I waved their words away. “Just doing what had to be done so that those idiots didn’t kill each other. We can’t afford to lose anyone.”

“I, for one, greatly appreciate your intervention,” said Robin, wincing as Duke dabbed at the shallow cut on his neck from the Unseelie blade.

“I doubt they’ll forget your words very soon,” said Luca.

“Or that hit with the Sword,” added Merrick, his voice only a little hoarse.

“It wasn’t too much, was it?” I asked, suddenly stricken by the realization that I’d just unsheathed a weapon deadly to Sidhe in their midst. “I mean…I had a handle on the power, I just wanted to make a point.”

“You made your point,” said Robin with a chuckle. “It was like a good punch to the stomach. Two good punches, actually.”

“Not too much,” Calliea reassured me. “Although it didn’t exactly discriminate.”

“Sorry,” I muttered.

“Nothing worth apologizing over,” Robin said brightly. Duke finished cleaning the cut and Robin immediately walked over to Merrick. “However, I must apologize for your shoulder.”

Merrick waved his good hand in dismissal. “It was my own error that landed me afoul of your blade, and you redirected it as best you could.” The young navigator smiled, though he looked a bit pale. “It’s good I don’t need both hands for my scrying-glass, though.”

“Oh, it’s not as bad as all that,” said Calliea reprovingly. I glanced at her thoughtfully—it sounded like there was
affection
in her voice.

“It’s bad enough that you should probably see Merrick to his sleeping quarters,” suggested Robin with a roguish waggle of his eyebrows. Calliea rolled her eyes at him but to my surprise she actually took charge of Merrick and walked him away toward the main tent with her arm about his waist, even though he seemed to be walking with perfect steadiness.

“He will thank me tomorrow for that wound, mark my words,” said Robin. I swatted him before he could leap away this time. Liam chuckled.

“I think that’s quite enough action for us tonight,” said Duke, wiping his hands on his trousers.

I suddenly felt very tired. “I agree.”

“You’ll probably have your quarters to yourself tonight,” continued Robin incorrigibly. I laughed and as a group we walked back toward the camp of the Wild Court.

Chapter 35

T
rue to their word, the Seelie and Unseelie did not raise their swords or their voices against each other at the common practice grounds after that day, though I wasn’t entirely convinced that my intervention was solely to thank for their civil behavior. Vell asked me with raised eyebrows if I was
quite
sure that I hadn’t ever mothered any children, because from secondhand accounts I had made all these centuries old, fearsome warriors feel as though they were being scolded for misbehavior.

“If they hadn’t been acting like unruly idiots, I wouldn’t have had to scold them,” I replied lightly. Vell laughed.

And so the days of traveling and training continued. Merrick’s wound healed quickly—“really nothing more than a scratch,” he told me brightly. I thought about pointing that out to Calliea, who used the excuse that she needed to change a poultice or check the stitches in Merrick’s shoulder more than once as she slipped out of our sleeping-quarters. But it was almost like a joke between us, her excuses a thin gauzy veil that blurred the details just enough for both of us to be content with grinning at each other. Not that Calliea was overly concerned with propriety; I realized that for a few days she was, in her way, trying to protect my emotions. After all, my conversation with Finnead had not exactly taken place in a private venue. Finally, well into the second week of travel, I sat cleaning my blade from an earlier skirmish. The creatures set against us were still no match for the vast numbers of the army, but it was enough to keep us watchful.

“I wonder if they’ll attack at night soon,” I said thoughtfully.

“The Queens’ wards are too strong for them,” Calliea replied, polishing her bright breastplate as she did every night. “They’d need at least a half dozen sorcerers to break the wards in a single spot.”

I hummed in agreement. Vell still didn’t show any outward signs of strain from creating the spring and placing the wards about camp each night; I wondered if Mab and Titania were handling the drain on their power as well. Arcana probably gave Vell a lot more power in her reservoir than the Sidhe queens, I thought idly as I scrubbed at a spot of dried blood on one of my daggers.

“Well,” said Calliea, setting her armor in its customary corner, beside her pack and neatly folded clothes, “I’m going to go check—”

“On Merrick’s shoulder, yes,” I finished for her with a smile. I looked up and met her eyes. “You don’t have to make excuses to me. I know why you did, but you don’t have to worry about dredging up hurt feelings or anything like that.”

Calliea folded her legs gracefully and gazed at me earnestly. “Truly, Tess? I count you as a friend, and I don’t want to cause you distress.”

I smiled. “I know. But just because whatever I had with Finnead is over, it doesn’t mean I don’t want
you
to be happy and in love.” I leaned forward and raised an eyebrow. “You
are
in love, aren’t you?”

A blush suffused Calliea’s tawny skin. “We haven’t said those particular words yet. But I…enjoy his company. He is very honest, and very…
good
.”

My smile widened into a grin. “What exactly is he so good at?”

Calliea laughed. “Oh, I didn’t mean it that way, I meant that he is just so very…” She spread her hands. “I suppose he’s…refreshing, in the sense that he has no guile, and no secrets.” A strangely shy smile touched her lips. “But you are also right about his…other skills.” Her eyes danced when she looked up at me. “Let’s just say he makes up for lack of experience with enthusiasm and natural talent.”

I laughed so loudly that I surprised myself. And then I found that my words had been a self-fulfilling prophecy: I didn’t feel any anger or sadness connected to Finnead when Calliea spoke about Merrick. I was just very happy that two of my friends had found each other, and were happy together. “I’m glad to hear it,” I said when we’d finished laughing. “But I don’t need any more details than that, all right?”

“Are you sure?” asked Calliea wickedly. “I’d be happy to let you live vicariously through me.”

“I don’t want to live vicariously with Merrick!” I laughed. “He’s like a brother to me!”

“Ah. Yes, that would be strange, I suppose.” But Calliea couldn’t suppress another smile. “Well then, I’m going. And his shoulder is perfectly fine, so you know. He just has a bit of a scar, a red line against his pale shoulder…” She smiled dreamily.

“Go, go.” I shooed her with my hands. “Have fun.”

“Oh, I will.” And with a last impish smile, she slipped out of our sleeping quarters. I sighed after she was gone, finished cleaning my blades and checked all the straps and buckles on my gear for any damage during the day’s skirmish. All my gear sat neatly in its pile—though still not as precisely folded and stacked as Calliea’s gear. I sat in silence for a few moments, listening to the subdued sounds of others moving through the tent, the murmurs of low voices and now and again the sound of blades whetted against a stone. I shifted restlessly. The emerald in the Sword’s pommel glimmered lazily. The scars on my hands prickled uncomfortably; I rubbed my right palm with my left hand, and then I grabbed the Sword, swung its strap over my head and strode out of the tent.

Figures moved here and there through the darkness, silhouetted for moments against the flickering light of the low-burning fires. I didn’t set out with any particular destination in mind; I just knew I was restless. Maybe a long walk about the camp would quiet my thoughts and let me sleep. A few warriors who passed closely enough that we could see each other’s faces nodded respectfully to me, but it was an unspoken courtesy that after the fires had died down and the songs faded into silence, warriors walked about the camp in silence unless they’d sought out a particular friend. Here and there, fighters sat with their blades across their laps, contemplating the silvery gleam of the weapon in the shadows; a few seemed to be meditating or praying, their lips moving silently. I passed another fighter moving through practice forms with his blade, his eyes focused on something I couldn’t see.