The Iron Sword (The Fae War Chronicles Book 1) (18 page)

“That’s a sure sign,” said Forsythe from somewhere above me, “that our lessons should be over for today.”

I stubbornly stood with my sword, balancing its tip against the floor. “I won’t be able to sleep, so we might as well keep going.” I shifted my grip to my left hand again, even though the muscles in my shoulder and back felt like stretched, taut rubber bands that would snap at a sudden movement.

“If you still want us to teach you, sit down,” Flora said authoritatively.

I didn’t miss the look that the two trooping Fae exchanged at the sigh of relief that escaped my lips after I lowered my aching body down onto my desk chair. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, instead probing at the wooden floorboards with the tip of my sword.

“You’ll dull your blade, poking about like that,” Flora said after a moment, not unkindly. Forsythe landed lightly on the desk.

“You probably don’t know,” he told me, “that the Sidhe brought the masters of every style of swordsmanship here to their Courts from the mortal world.”

I looked at Forsythe in interest. “I remember reading something about that.” But I’d merely skimmed the history books, and the book about mortal visitation.

Forsythe nodded. “The Sidhe respect skill in mortals.” He looked up at me. “Almost as much as they respect courage.”

I shook my head as I caught his implication. “They don’t respect me, Forsythe. How could they? I’ve been here barely two weeks, I still get lost in the halls and can’t even hold my own against Ramel for more than two minutes in a sword-bout. I managed to get myself bound here by Mab until I do something that impresses her…and I haven’t seen Molly for over a week.” I sighed. “She’s the whole reason I got tangled up in this mess, and I don’t even know if she’s all right.”

“The half-mortal one?” Flora asked.

I frowned. “Yes. Why, have you heard something?”

“We do not eavesdrop,” said Flora with a stiff sort of pride, “but sometimes the Big Folk don’t realize we’re in the room, or in the passageway, when they talk of private matters.”

I could tell that the whole eavesdropping issue was a sore spot for the Small Folk, so I nodded and said, “Of course, I understand.”

“I heard,” continued Flora, “that they unbound your friend, and she’s a wild one.”

“A wild one?” I repeated.

“Back when Sidhe men and women took mortal lovers, there were many more half-mortal children,” said Forsythe. “And if they wished to live in the mortal world, they required a charm to protect them from suffering the Weakness all their lives.”

“It would take a lot more than just a charm to protect a half-mortal now,” I said.

Flora and Forsythe nodded together.

“Yes,” Flora said, “and so when the child was born she had to be bound.”

“Bound, like I’m bound by the Queen’s word?”

“No. It is much, much more powerful. A soul-binding is like…severing the Fae part of the soul from the mortal part. There has to be a barrier around the Fae half.” Flora searched for better words.

I found them for her. “It sounds like sewing up the Fae half of the soul, keeping it in a little pouch separate from the mortal part.” I couldn’t help a little shiver. “That sounds painful.” It brought to mind the tiny, twisted feet of Chinese girls, barely recognizable after years of tight bindings.

“Oh, it is.” Wisp landed on the desk next to Flora. “I witnessed it.” He shook his head in distaste. “I’ve never heard a mortal infant make those sounds before, and never since, either. Not pleasant, a soul-binding, and not easy.”

“Does it…permanently harm the soul?”

“Not if it’s done right,” answered Wisp. “It isn’t a soul-severing.” All three glows’ light dimmed a little at the mention of soul-severing.

“So the Fae part of Molly’s soul…it was locked up all these years.” I sat back in my chair and prodded at a splinter in the floorboard with my sword, unable to help myself despite Flora’s baleful look. “That explains why she always seemed so distant. Having only half your soul would do that to a person.”

“Mortals are remarkably adaptable, though,” Forsythe said seriously. “I’ve seen, in your world, those little creatures that like the sun, with tails and scales?”

“Lizards,” I said.

“Yes, that’s the name for them. Lizards. And there are some of them that grow back their own tail if it’s cut off.”

I made a face at Forsythe. “Is that what you do in my world?” I asked sourly. “Go around cutting tails off poor little lizards?”

Forsythe crossed his arms over his chest and stared up at me defiantly. “I was trying to see if they would be any good as mounts. Unfortunately they’re much too stupid to be taught anything at all.”

“Some would say that’s a trend with the mortal world,” Wisp said devilishly. I had the feeling that he was trying to make me smile, and he succeeded.

“In any case,” Forsythe continued, “you mortals are very good at adapting.”

“You learned swordplay with your left hand first,” pointed out Wisp, “when you like using your right hand. When I watched you, before I came to you in the dream, you held
everything
in your right hand. It never ceases to fascinate me.”

“So even though half her soul was bound up, Molly never really knew it was gone.”

“Exactly,” affirmed Forsythe.

I stretched my legs, kneading at the stiff muscles with my knuckles. “And is taking off the binding as painful as putting it on?”

Forsythe did not answer. I wasn’t sure if that meant yes or no, so I looked at Wisp.

“It isn’t quite common practice to take the soul binding off, once it’s in place,” Wisp said. “In older days it was so that the child could live a normal life in the mortal world.”

“If I was half-Fae, I would want to make the decision myself,” I said firmly, propping my left heel up on my right knee so that I could work on a knot that had formed in my calf after the hours of sword practice.

“You forget, Tess,” said Flora calmly, “that in Faortalam there are far more powerful beings than a half-mortal child.”

“First of all,” I replied in a voice just as velvety smooth, “Molly is not a child, just as I’m not a child. And second of all,” I said as I put down my left foot and started to work on my right calf, “Molly
is
the most powerful being in Faeortalam right now. Or if not the most powerful, the most important.”

“Why do you say that?” Wisp said in a slow, careful voice.

I chose not to look up from my leg, trying to appear unconcerned as I replied nonchalantly, “Because she can wield the Iron Sword, of course.”

A stunned silence descended over my desk, pressing down like a heavy warm palm on the top of my head. After a moment I couldn’t help myself. I looked up. Although they were silent, the Glasidhe’s auras burned as bright as miniature stars.

I set my leg down, and held my hands loosely in my lap even though my fingers itched to keep moving. “Do you know anything about the Iron Sword?” I felt a small flush of pride at the unbroken calm of my voice.

But the small Fae seemed not to hear my question. I couldn’t see their expressions, or even where they were looking, because of the bright flare of their glows. And then all at once they leapt from the desk and flew faster than thought over to the other side of the room, leaving neon trails in my field of vision. Frowning, I watched as they congregated on the pillow where Lumina had lain, sleeping. Galax gently awoke the princess, and she stood, the purer, whiter light from her aura mingling with the rosy dawn-hues of Wisp, Flora and Forsythe. They talked in quick, low voices—or rather, from what I could gather, Flora and Forsythe and Wisp were talking, and Lumina listened. After a few moments, I gave up on eavesdropping and stood, wincing at the pull of already-sore muscles. I hung my sword on its peg in my wardrobe, and grabbed a clean shirt and trousers before heading to the shower niche. With the way the Glasidhe were preoccupied, I doubted that they would even notice I wasn’t sitting at my desk anymore.

The hot water felt wonderful on my sore muscles, but standing under the steaming stream failed to calm my racing thoughts. I sighed through my teeth, frustrated. My mind galloped wildly away from me, image after image flashing through my mind. Some of the images surprised me, and some of them took my breath away.

I thought about Liam, and the last time I had seen him before he had boarded the military transport plane that would take him to Afghanistan. He’d looked at me, his green eyes shining with the excitement of adventure. And he’d told me not to worry, that he would be absolutely fine, that nine months would fly by like no time at all.

Was time still passing in the mortal world while I was here? Was there a massive search for Molly and me, a manhunt for the mysterious motorcycle rider who had spirited away two pretty young college students? Had the state troopers shown up at my mother’s door back in Pennsylvania, telling her that they were very sorry but her daughter was now a missing person?

A reflexive rush of anger tingled in my fingers at the thought of my mother. I saw in my mind her face, still beautiful but beginning to show its years. I saw her as I looked down from my window at home, watching as yet another man showed her to our front door, and yet again she was not satisfied with anything she could find. A good handful of decent men had courted her in the years since my father’s death, and although at first I was a little angry—a natural instinct, I think—I accepted it eventually, and even grew to like the idea of having a step-father. As a teenager I began to see that it would’ve done Liam good to have a father figure. Maybe he would have stopped worrying about me so much. Maybe he would have been able to smile a little more often.

I worked soap into my hair, creating a rich lather and letting the water sluice down over my chest and stomach. There was a kernel of bitterness buried deep in my heart that I could face now, so far away from home, in a different world. I had felt it, but I’d never put a name to it. I was bitter toward my mother, because she wore her grief like a veil, and pushed everyone away. Oh, sometimes she would date someone for a few months, and the first few times Liam got his hopes up. Mom’s boyfriend came over to the house, watched football games with Liam on television, then threw around in the back yard, talking about women and the world (as Liam understood them at the time). Liam would begin to like him, form a sort of bond; and then the guy would just disappear. I hated watching Liam’s hope die in his eyes, and I think I might have begun to hate my mother for it. More than a decade after my father’s death, and she didn’t allow herself to feel anything, probably not even for Liam and I.

I sighed, turning to rinse my hair. Even if the state troopers notified my mother, or she got a frantic call from the Jacksons, she would probably nod and then shut the door or hang up the phone. My mother was a glacier, cold and massive and unmoving.

The sputter of the hot water interrupted my introspection. Apparently the supply of hot water wasn’t endless in Queen Mab’s palace, I thought, smiling wryly as I turned the knobs and shut off the shower. I wrapped myself in one of the large, soft towels and sat on the small wooden stool by the bathtub, trying to think about nothing in particular. But I couldn’t help wondering why the glows had responded so intensely to my mention of the Iron Sword. I got dressed and braided my damp hair, and slipped back out into the main room. It had become habit to arm myself, even in my own room, so I buckled my long dagger at my waist in its well-worn sheath.

The small Fae were still gathered around Lumina on the bed. I walked toward them, thinking that they would certainly hear my footsteps, but when they didn’t pause in their conferencing, I cleared my throat softly. Wisp detached from the little group and alighted on his favorite perch, tucking himself just behind my ear. I walked over to the desk and sat down, my back to the bed now.

“What’s going on?” I asked softly.

“We didn’t know that you knew of the Iron Sword.”

“So what does it matter if I do?” I replied, unable to keep the edge from my voice. Even though my busy mind wouldn’t let me sleep, it didn’t mean that I wasn’t tired.

“It matters,” said Wisp carefully, “because the Small Folk have always had a part in protecting the Sword.”

“Really,” I said skeptically.

“Yes,” Wisp replied, sounding a little affronted. He tugged on my hair a little. “Just because we’re small, Tess, does not mean that we cannot do something. Just like just because you’re mortal does not mean you are not useful.”

“Thanks, Wisp,” I said acidly, “that makes me feel so much better.” I sat back in the chair jerkily, and felt Wisp grab at my ear to keep his balance. “You know, I was just an afterthought. I was just brought here to satisfy some stupid sense of honor.”

“Honor is not something to be talked about lightly,” said Wisp softly, but I overrode him.

“I don’t really care,” I said hotly. “I serve no real purpose here, and I’d really rather just go home.” A wave of longing for Liam and familiar things suddenly engulfed me, crashing over me like a stormy wave breaking on the shore. I stood abruptly, and this time Wisp did lose his balance, but his wings whirred, bringing him up in front of my face. I resisted the strong urge to shoo him away with one hand. I felt anger rushing through me, and I couldn’t pinpoint the source. It was like an oil well had ruptured somewhere deep in my chest and this rage was just billowing out, clouding the depths of my soul with slick dark anger. In the back of my mind, a small part of me resisted the anger, protesting that I wasn’t being myself: I had never given in to such vague and all-consuming rage, not when my father died, not when my mother pushed us all away, not when Liam left for war. I tried to take a breath but the anger was choking me. I had to get away, and I ducked around Wisp, reaching for the door of my chamber blindly, like I was drowning and that door-handle was the hand of a rescuer to pull me from the water.

“Tess!”

I heard Wisp call out my name as I stumbled into the hallway, but I pulled the door shut behind me and ran. I picked a direction and I ran as hard as I could, stretching my legs into a long stride, my booted feet pounding against the floor of the passageway. And the harder my heart beat, the harsher my breath tore from my throat, the more I felt the sea of anger roiling within me receding. It wasn’t going away, it wasn’t calming, but as my already-tired legs began to burn, I envisioned the ocean of rage contained in a glass tank, and I built the walls of the holding-tank out of my physical pain, making the glass thick and glossy with sweat, as hard as the pounding of my feet against the ground, as strong as the clenching of my jaw. Finally, when I slowed down, drenched in sweat, I realized that I’d been running blindly, with no real path, and no real idea of where I’d ended up. I leaned against the passageway wall, breathing hard and feeling my pulse pounding through every inch of my body. My legs shook, and I slowly slid down the wall, sitting in the dim passageway with sweat sliding down my back.

It was very late—or early, I supposed. I was sure that it was well past midnight, which was why I hadn’t encountered any Sidhe in my mad dash through the halls of Queen Mab’s palace. But just as soon as I had finished congratulating myself on my luck, I heard footsteps. Hastily I stood and tried to smooth out my hair, pushing at the inevitable fly-away strands that escaped my braid.

A familiar-looking Sidhe walked around the bend of the passageway. I stood up as straight as I could and tried to look unconcerned. Maybe I could just walk forward and pass him, and nothing would come of it, but a warning tingled in my spine as I recognized the Sidhe: he was the Vaelanmavar, the one who had assured Queen Mab that I could be killed easily if I proved to be too much trouble. I stiffened but kept walking, trying not to make eye contact.