The Dark Throne (8 page)

I raised one eyebrow. “That sounds mysterious and a little bit enticing, I’ll admit, but I think that’s a topic for conversation when we’re not fighting a war.”

Sage grinned. “On the contrary, when there is battle on the horizon and the possibility of death for every warrior who rides out against the enemy….that’s when life’s pleasures taste the sweetest.”

The memory of Finnead’s lips rose into my mind unbidden. Unlike Calliea, Sage held my gaze and his grin only widened as he observed the hot blush staining my cheeks. I cleared my throat. Sage chuckled.

“There’s no need to be so
puritan
, my Bearer,” he said lightly. “You are beautiful, and powerful, and there are many who would vie for your favors, though none perhaps so successfully as the former Vaelanbrigh.”

I forced myself not to drop my eyes. “We’ve travelled together for a long time.”

“Yes, and from the stories I’ve gathered you’ve both saved each others’ lives more than once. But companions in battle do not always make good companions in bed.” Sage raised one eyebrow.

My war-markings prickled. I met Sage’s raised eyebrow with my own. “And you helped to save my life on more than occasion as well, but that doesn’t mean you can be rude.”

The Seelie healer chuckled again. “Calliea was right to pretend she was blind, rather than face your wrath.”

I smiled and shook my head, the tense moment broken by that sly Seelie humor. My stomach growled, further lightening the mood. I opened my mouth to ask Sage if there was more food, but then I saw that my boots were standing at the edge of the bed, and there was a folded set of clothing laid neatly nearby. The Sword hummed a little as I stood beside the bed, one hand extended cautiously in case my legs decided to give out again. Though I had to wait a moment for my heartbeat to stop sounding in my ears like a drum, I took a few deep breaths and walked to the edge of the bed. I glanced at Sage.

“I’m not going to watch,” he said, reading again, “but I can’t leave you to your own devices just yet. If you fell and broke your arm trying to get dressed, I’m sure I’d end up turning on the spit in the Great Hall.”

I grumbled something unintelligible at him beneath my breath but conceded. My distaste for sitting in bed all day overpowered my discomfort at his presence while I changed clothes.

“There’s water in the pitcher over there,” Sage said without a prompt. I rolled my eyes at him, though he still seemed absorbed in his book. I poured water from the translucent blue pitcher into the matching basin, marveling at the casual beauty of the everyday objects crafted by the Sidhe. Mindful of my still-raw hands, I gingerly wet the washcloth and cleaned my face and neck. The water smelled faintly of mint. After I finished, I turned my attention back to my clothes. After a quick glance to make sure Sage was still reading his book—he was, albeit with a faint smile on his handsome golden face—I stripped, gratefully shedding the loose shirt and trousers I’d been wearing for the better part of a week. The black breeches fit me like a glove, and there was a soft cream-colored undershirt with a deep green shirt to wear over it. The boots were not my worn traveling boots, I realized with a pang of something like regret; they were supple calf-high leather boots, dyed a deep, rich mahogany that shone red in the firelight. Of course the boots fit me as though made for my foot. I wiggled my toes in delight at the feel of the well-worked leather. There was a belt to match the boots, and a pair of soft gloves.

After buckling my belt, I stared at the gloves for a long moment before realizing that whomever had chosen my clothes had given me a way to hide my new scars. I looked at my hands, touching the stippling of white and red lightly with one finger. Sage turned a page in his book, the noise loud to my ears. I left the gloves folded neatly on the edge of the bed.

“It was not meant to offend,” Sage said quietly.

“I’m not ashamed of my scars,” I retorted too quickly as I strode around the edge of the bed. I picked up the Sword with the same ginger motion that I’d held the washcloth, holding the familiar, well-worn scabbard mostly with my fingertips. I pulled the broad leather strap over my head, settling the Caedbranr into its familiar place along my spine, the hilt at my right shoulder. The weight felt good and right, and the Sword hummed in what I thought was pleasure.

Though I rejected hiding my scars, I compromised by winding a clean strip of linen around each palm, covering the still-open wounds in the very center of my hands. I checked my hair lightly with my fingertips; Vell’s braids had withstood the test of sleep, or at least hadn’t completely unraveled from what I could feel.

“You look perfectly presentable, if a bit wan,” Sage told me as he closed his book and stood languorously.

“Well then, our first stop will be to get some food to take care of that,” I said, resigning myself to an escort.

“Oh come now,” the young Seelie healer said, “I’m not so very terrible company.”

I smiled. “It’s nothing against you. It’s just a dislike of babysitting in general.”

“I’m not quite sure what that means, but it’s a mortal term that I’ll be sure to use in the future.”

I laughed despite myself. “You just said you don’t know what it means!”

“I have the general idea,” said Sage, smiling as he opened the door. The sigils carved into the mantelpiece flared as I approached, and I felt the slight sensation of small hands gliding over me as I passed through the doorway.

“Whose spell was that?” I asked as we stepped into the hallway.

“The High Queen,” Sage replied simply. “Come, then.”

I followed Sage down the passageway, stretching my legs to keep up with his strides. Once again I marveled at the tapestries and paintings hung on the stone walls. Rather than torches lining the walls, delicately crafted globes hung suspended from the arched ceiling of the passageway, emanating a clear, unwavering white light not produced by any flame.

“The Hall has been much restored by Queen Titania’s return,” Sage said with quiet pride.

“I see,” I said, resisting the urge to reach up and touch one of the globes as we passed, or prod it with a tendril of my
taebramh
. Poking at Titania’s magic with my own hadn’t worked out very well for me in the past. We turned down a larger passageway, passing several Seelie in various states of dress—some were outfitted as though they’d just come from standing watch at the gates, their armor gleaming in the silvery light of the globes; some dressed for the training-yard, scabbards at their sides and bows over their shoulders; and a few looked as though they’d just come from their chambers, dressed much as I was. All seemed to recognize me, and bowed their heads in respect as we passed. I felt the familiar awkward embarrassment at such gestures; I slid one finger through Gwyneth’s pendant at my throat, rubbing its familiar curve to settle my nerves.

We came to another split in the passageway and turned onto yet another larger hallway. At the end of this hallway there was a door made of silvery wood, and by the time we reached it I felt a little winded. Sage certainly hadn’t slowed his pace to accommodate me, which I strangely appreciated. He pulled the door open and immediately a swell of noise cascaded into the hallway, the sound of many people gathered, the subtle crescendo of conversation seasoned by the sound of cutlery.

“It’s nearing the end of the hour but there’s food aplenty,” said Sage as he led me through the doorway. I followed him despite my sudden misgiving, and found myself at the edge of the Great Hall. Along one side, a long table that ran the entire length of the hall was set with plain but abundant fare: loaves of bread, cheese, steaming platters of meat and roasted vegetables and pitchers of drink. The rolling swell of conversation quieted as the Sidhe noticed me, silence spreading like a ripple down the great table. I felt my face begin to burn and I tried to think of a witty line that would make them all turn back to their food. My mind remained stubbornly blank and I stood dumbly at the head of the table, feeling their eyes on me like a thousand pinpricks.

“And here I’d heard such tales about the courtesy of the Summer Court!” Farin’s voice cut sharply through the stillness. The Glasidhe left a neon trail as she sped over to hover above my shoulder, trailed closely by Forin, who took post above my other shoulder. “But here you stare at the Bearer as though you know not who she is or what she’s done, and the first time she’s been about! For shame!” Farin’s aura flared as she scolded the hundreds of Seelie warriors. I glanced up at her, felt a smile on my lips, and I held out my hands and shrugged slightly in the general direction of the table, telling the gathered Seelie wordlessly that the fierce Glasidhe had better be obeyed. I saw the flash of grins hidden quickly in cups and heard a few chuckles as the low rumble of conversation resumed.

“There,” Farin said in satisfaction.

“Thank you,” I said with a smile.

“Insufferable rudeness shan’t be suffered,” she said decisively.

I suppressed my chuckle at Farin’s authoritative—if endearingly repetitive—statement. Sage grinned. I followed him to a pair of open seats and wasted no time in filling my plate with generous helpings of every dish offered. “What?” I asked as Sage eyed my plate. “I’ve been in
bed
for a week. That means not eating a lot. That means I’m
hungry
.”

Sage glanced down the table at a few of his comrades. “I think they’re taking wagers on whether you’ll finish all of that.”

I raised my eyebrows as I lifted my fork. “Well, if you’d like to make a few coins I’d jump in on the bet.”

The food, though simple, tasted just as heavenly as that bowl of stew. With every bite, I felt stronger, and by the end of the meal—during which I not only finished my first plate, but also had second helpings of the bread and cheese—I felt almost normal. Farin alighted on my shoulder as I finished my last piece of bread.

“Impressive,” Sage said.

I ignored him. “Farin, what’s been going on while I’ve been asleep?”

“Come,” she said with a tug on my ear. “I will show you!”

I followed Farin as she zipped across the Great Hall to another table running down the opposite wall. However, this table was laid with implements of war rather than steaming platters of food. An air of industry surrounded those working at the tables, especially at the end nearest to us. They were absorbed in fletching arrows and perfecting the balance of spear shafts…but I frowned. The arrows and spears were much larger than normal, the shafts of the arrows nearly three times thicker than typical and the arrowheads as long as daggers. The spears, too, were longer and as thick as my wrist, banded and capped with silver and a great blade on the end. There was also thick silvery rope laid out in great coils, which two Seelie shield-maidens were weaving into what looked like a great net. Two more young women attached silver weights at intervals on the net. I frowned.

“Farin,” I said, “what’s all this for?”

But Farin had abandoned her post above my shoulder and was now deep in conversation with a silver-haired shield-maiden she seemed to know very well. The Sidhe woman wore her hair in a style I hadn’t seen during my time in Faeortalam: some of her hair was woven in tiny intricate braids, and the rest loose, with the bulk of it drawn up into a high ponytail, the center of it teased along her head in a way that I suddenly recognized as similar to a Mohawk. The ends of her silvery hair were dyed a shockingly vivid blue. I glanced at the two young women weaving the net, and saw that they wore less intricate but similar styles, vastly different than the sleek braids or lustrous loose mane customarily worn by the Sidhe women. As one of the weaving women turned, I saw that half her face was painted in a complex design, the blood-red paint stark against her golden skin.

“Lady Bearer, it is good to see you on your feet.”

I knew it was Gray before I turned. “Thank you. It’s much better than lying in bed,” I replied with what I hoped was a nonchalant smile. Gray was as stunningly beautiful as I remembered, but now with a wild edge: she, too, wore a few braids in her hair, but let the rest tumble about her shoulders in a cascade of golden waves, a blue and green feathers woven into her shimmering mane, the contrast stunning. Two parallel lines of cobalt paint highlighted the sharpness of her left cheekbone, and the asymmetry only emphasized the perfect balance of her beautiful features. I suddenly felt very plain and lackluster.

The industrious air about the great long table intensified as a handful more Sidhe joined in preparing the strangely oversized weapons. Two more weavers joined on the net, and one of the Seelie men, his right eye circled with the same cobalt paint worn by Gray, carried to the table several saplings to strip and perfect for spear shafts.

“What is all this?” I asked Gray, my curiosity getting the better of me. The Sword hummed a little in its battered sheath.

A fierce glint surfaced in Gray’s eyes. “It is part of the choosing of the
vyldgard,
one of the tasks set forth by the
vyldretning
.”

“Making giant-sized arrows and spears and a net,” I said flatly.

Gray laughed, her voice as lovely as bells. “The weapons are not the task.” Her eyes glimmered. “They are to accomplish the task, but I suspect you know that, lovely
doendhine
.”

I suppressed my irritation at Gray’s use of Ramel’s nickname for me, and waited for her to enlighten me. She grinned, the light glinting on her white teeth.

“It is for a dragon hunt.”

A shiver trickled down my spine. I smelled the acrid stench of the dragon and feel the hot air of its wingbeats again, and I resisted the urge to pinch myself to banish the sensory memory.

“Apparently the High Queen holds a grudge against the beast for forcing her to hide beneath a carcass,” Gray continued almost merrily, her eyes flashing.

I swallowed against the sudden bile in my throat, now enveloped by the ghost-scent of the dead, decaying odor of the
cadengriff
as we huddled against its vile, bloated form. “Yes, that was quite an experience.” I swallowed again. “This hunt is to kill the same dragon?”