The Iron Sword (The Fae War Chronicles Book 1) (9 page)

Chapter 9

T
he room beyond the door felt different than the healing room: freer, less constricted, less…
powerful
. But I felt a little cold, and I realized the power of the healing room had felt like a thick blanket wrapped about my shoulders, cushioning me against the alien feelings of the Fae world. Allene motioned for me to go through the door. I stepped into the room, glimpsing a window above a desk, candles set in tall elaborate holders, and a low bed against the far wall, just visible behind a dark blue curtain. Molly sat with her back to me at the desk, her dark head bent over what looked like a scroll. Then she turned and stood when she saw me.

“Tess!” she said joyfully, crossing the room in a few quick strides.

Despite the pain in my arm and the unanchored feeling of drifting about in this alien world, I couldn’t help but grin when I heard Molly’s exclamation. She hugged me carefully but happily, mindful of my arm in its sling. When she drew back, I noticed the change in her face. Her skin seemed a bit paler, her eyes brighter; and when she moved to the side, the light played on her hair, shimmering in auroras of deep blues and greens and purples like a raven’s wing. She was still Molly…but somehow
more
like herself than I had ever seen her. I couldn’t find the words for it, even in my head. It was like there had been a fog around her, when we had been in the human world, or a veil of filmy gauze, and the power of the Fae world burned the fog away, ripping the veil in two to reveal Molly as she should have always been.

“Tess, it’s so good to see you out of bed,” she said. “Here, you can sit at the desk.”

I took the chair by the desk, glancing out the window. A copse of those strangely glowing trees crowned the slight hill beyond the glass, except these trees were not silver but a dark gray, with softly shimmering green leaves. Somehow they looked more like earthly trees, and the sight comforted me.

“Isn’t it wonderful?” Molly said.

I looked at her. She was gazing out the window, the strange light in her eyes that I had seen at Crownhill, and when I had first told her about my dream with Wisp. But here, in Faeortalam, the light was not strange anymore. It fit with the trees and the wildness of the land, the beauty of the Sidhe and the danger behind their grace. I felt a quick stab of loneliness: Molly truly and completely belonged here. She knew it, and I could see it.

Then Molly looked at me again. “Not your arm, or any of that.” Her lips turned downward in a familiar expression of distaste. “I still need to talk to the Bright Knight about that.”

“The Bright Knight?” I gave Molly a blank look.

She shook her head and smiled. “I keep forgetting you’ve been asleep all this time. Sorry.”

I blinked and said, “Well, would you mind enlightening me?”

Molly laughed a little. Along with the fog, some of her serious nature had lifted as well, I thought. “The Bright Knight. We know him as Finnead.”

“Oh,” I said intelligently. “That’s his title, then?”

“His official title, in the Sidhe tongue, is Vaelanbrigh
,
Knight of the Bright Sword. He bears the sword called Brighbranr.”

Something deep in the back of my head clicked into place. “That’s what Wisp said, when he told me to help kill the
garrelnost
. He said, if Finnead lost the Brighbranr, the
garrelnost
would kill him.”

Molly tilted her head to the side for a moment, looking at me silently with her eerily illuminated eyes. It was as if she was looking into the moon above me, and I saw the light reflected in her face; but she was gazing at me, and there was no moon, only the wall of the room behind me. “It would’ve been hard to kill the Vaelanbrigh,” she said finally. “He’s the strongest of the three named Knights at the Court.”

I held my tongue and didn’t ask what named Knights meant. I’d had enough of asking questions and feeling uninformed. If I needed to know, I would somehow find out on my own.

“So it was Wisp in your ear, then?” Molly continued. “I wondered how you knew to use the iron.”

I shrugged. “I would have figured it out anyway,” I said. “Wisp just nudged me in the right direction.”

“It’s good he did,” said Molly, “because even if the
garrelnost
hadn’t killed the Vaelanbrigh, it would have killed me and probably you too.”

I smiled mirthlessly. “And then the Sidhe would have been disappointed. What a shame.”

Molly perched on the edge of the desk. “You know, Tess, they’re not all bad.” She suddenly sounded a lot more like college student Molly, and less like half-Fae Molly. “Finnead almost drew his sword on a Gatekeeper, when he wouldn’t let you through at first.”

I shivered a little at the memory, the sickening pain of my arm blended with the silver light and the unbearable noise and the cord cutting me in half. “Corrigan. That was the Gatekeeper.”

Molly nodded. “They have a very strict code of honor, the Sidhe. Especially the Knights. They can’t be in anyone’s debt, because their loyalty has to be wholly to the Queen.”

I felt my heart fall a little. “So Finnead had to discharge his debt to me because that’s part of his job. I saved his life, or helped anyway, so he had to save mine.”

“More or less,” Molly agreed.

I crossed my legs and looked at the room. The walls were different in this room, made of dark bricks and mortar that were nearly the same color; I touched a finger to the wall near the desk and found the stone to be strangely smooth. Long embroidered wall-hangings, too small to be properly called tapestries but still stunningly beautiful, covered most of the walls. The one window was opposite the door, and there was no fireplace as there had been in the healing room. I slid in the chair and looked at the books on the desk, idly flipping a few pages. I rubbed a finger against one corner of the heavy material. “What’s this? It’s not any kind of paper.”

“I think it’s some kind of vellum. The Librarian wouldn’t exactly say.”

I glanced up in surprise and interest. “They have a library?”

Molly shook her head and smiled. “It’s not the kind of library you can just check out books. It’s more like a record-hall. Like…the Library of Congress or something.”

Looking down at the book beneath my hand, I examined the strange letters. It looked like something of a cross between Russian and Arabic, with flowing lines and dashes and diamond-shaped accents all running across the page smoothly. “And you know how to read this?”

Molly nodded. “Glira taught me a little, back at school. The rest I learned from Godric. He’s the record-keeper.” She smiled a little. “He’s very old, even among the Sidhe.” She tilted her head to one side. “Actually,” she continued, “he reminds me a little of Professor Black.”

Molly and I had taken a history class together our sophomore year to fill our elective slots. I couldn’t help but grin at the memory of Professor Black, an incorrigible professor well into his seventies with a shock of white hair and an old-fashioned cane, with which he would famously awaken sleeping students in spectacular and humorous fashion. “Does he slam his cane onto dozing students’ desks like Black did?” I asked.

Molly considered. “Well, he doesn’t have a cane. But then again, he does seem like the type…” She shook her head. “I still can’t believe Banging Black gave me a C, after I spent all those hours writing that paper on the role of women in ancient Greek theatre…”

“Well, first of all,” I said dryly, “you’re the only one who ever called him Banging Black. It sounds dirty, so I’d appreciate it if you’d just stick to calling him professor.”

Molly looked affronted. “It’s a good nickname! You know, because he slams his cane onto everyone’s
desks
, and it’s not my fault that it didn’t catch on.”

“And secondly,” I continued, “women weren’t allowed to act in ancient Greek theatre, so maybe that’s why he gave you a C.”

“They
should
have let women act, though,” Molly replied. “That was exactly my point.”

I shook my head, smiling as I turned back to the book on the desk. “So what’s this…Godric…character teaching you all about, then?”

“Well, most of this is just histories of the Courts. The best histories are written in their Old Tongue. They adopted mortal language as their Common Tongue, back in the days when mortals visited the Courts. The Sidhe, they can learn languages in a heartbeat,” Molly explained, flipping through pages, as though I understood Sidhe writing and could peruse the contents. I put my finger down on a page that flashed by as I saw a picture, flipping back to the illustration. The style reminded me of the illuminated Bibles I had seen under the glass in art museums. I leaned in close over the book. The illustration took up the entire page. A golden-skinned woman with hair red as flames sat on a throne, and to one side there was a beautiful pale woman with raven-black hair. On the red-haired queen’s other side, there was another pale woman, almost a mirror image of the other except that she had hair so golden it was almost white. Both of the beautiful women standing by the red-haired queen’s throne wore crowns as well; and behind the golden-haired woman, there was a flaming sun, and a lush rolling green hill. Behind the dark-haired woman, a crescent moon hung in the sky, and the same rolling green hill shone silver in the night.

“Is that…Queen Elizabeth?” I said wonderingly.

“Hm,” said Molly, leaning over my shoulder. She looked at the opposite page, tracing the words as she read them. On the bottom half of the page, there was another picture. This time the woman with the white-gold hair had her hand on the shoulder of the red-haired queen, who was dressed in silver armor. The two women stood on a cliff overlooking the ocean, and in the misty distance there were ships bearing red banners. The ships clouded the horizon, they were so numerous, and as I looked at the picture I felt a thrill of fear that I was sure had come from the red-haired queen in armor. I gazed down at the picture and felt her fear at the ships sailing toward her land on the gray waters. Entranced, I turned the page, ignoring Molly’s protest, and in the next picture the red-haired queen held a gray sword that shone with an eerie glow, and the fair-haired woman stood beside her. The dark-haired woman had disappeared.

“Hold on,” said Molly. “Don’t turn the page again.” She put her finger down, tracing the words again. Her voice took on a grave, studious tone as she began to read aloud. “And Queen Titania gave unto the mortal Elizabeth the fealty of the Bearer of the Iron Sword, and with this power Elizabeth, the Queen of her own land in the Adjoined Realms, defeated a great host come to conquer her people. And in return Elizabeth withdrew her friendship from Queen Mab, and the mortals of her kingdom thought the night their enemy.” Her forehead creased as she continued. “After the death of Elizabeth the Iron Sword was lost. The True Bearer of the Sword did not reclaim her birth-right. There were no more…chords? That doesn’t make any sense. I can’t figure out this word, I’ll have to take it to Godric…”

“After the death of Elizabeth,” said a familiar voice, “the Iron Sword was lost. There were no more accords with the rulers of the Adjoined Realms, and the Great Gate was sealed, and discord was sewn between the Courts of the Night and Day.”

“Oh,” Molly said, still in deep thought as she struggled to read the book, “so that’s what this accent here means, it’s not
chords
it’s
accords
, it didn’t make sense that there wasn’t any music—“

I poked Molly in the arm, interrupting her scholarly ramble. “Hello, Finnead.” It had been Finnead who had finished Molly’s translation, standing a small distance behind us. I hadn’t heard him enter the room, but Sidhe walked as quietly as cats. I congratulated myself on greeting him without a stutter or blush. He had swapped his dark jeans and black t-shirt for soft boots and trousers, and a deep blue tunic. Now he wore his sword openly, strapped at his side in a well-worn scabbard.

Finnead inclined his head slightly. “Hello, Tess O’Connor.” He paused, then continued. “I’m glad to see you are well.”

I shrugged as best I could with my arm still strapped in its sling. “As well as can be expected, I suppose.”

His fathomless blue eyes regarded me coolly. “I see that you are educating Tess, Molly.”

Molly cleared her throat a little. “I was practicing reading when Tess came in, Vaelanbrigh.”

“Oh,” I said innocently, “am I not allowed to call you Finnead? Do I have to call you by your official title as well?”

A ghost of an aloof smile tilted up one side of Finnead’s mouth. He didn’t answer me, instead saying to Molly, “It is time for your lessons.”

Molly glanced out the window at the glowing trees. There were no clocks, so I supposed that the glow of the trees helped tell time in some way. “I was expecting Ramel to come by, since he’s been teaching me all this time…”

“Ramel told me that you were ready for more advanced lessons,” Finnead replied in his detached voice. I frowned a little. He seemed much more aloof in his own world than in ours. But perhaps that was really his true personality, and in the mortal world he forced himself to be more engaging. The difference, I thought, really wasn’t all that great anyway, because in the mortal world he had still been an aloof, coolly smug and altogether irritating sort of person—except after I’d saved his life, and he’d carried me in his arms as gently as a lover.

“The Queen thought it best for me to teach you,” Finnead said to Molly. After his greeting, it was as if I had suddenly turned invisible. I might as well be, I thought, because after all, I was only a mortal he saved out of some misbegotten sense of honor. With his honor satisfied and, I supposed, his reputation intact, he seemed to have forgotten my existence except to extend the courtesies and polite bits of conversation that were obviously expected here in the Court.

Molly walked over to the corner of the room and opened a wardrobe. She drew out her own belt and sword. I felt a small twinge of jealousy as she buckled the sword around her waist. She stopped and turned to Finnead and inclined her head. “I am honored to be taught by the Vaelanbrigh, if that is the Queen’s desire.”

I stood and walked over to the wardrobe. Molly looked at me with a wary expression. I looked inside the wardrobe. “Is that an extra sword?”

“Yes,” Molly said. “That one’s heavier. They weren’t sure at the armory which would suit me so Ramel had me take both. Now that I think of it,” she added hastily, sensing my intent and trying to head me off, “I should probably return it—”

I picked up the sword with my left hand, a bit awkwardly. “No need to return it,” I said to Molly with my best innocent smile. “If I’m here, I might as well learn.”

I saw Molly’s eyes flicker from me to Finnead, standing silently somewhere behind me. “I know you want to learn, but your arm…should you really be doing this on your first day out of bed?”

Leaning the scabbard against the side of the wardrobe and steadying it with my foot, I drew the sword out of the scabbard with my left hand, nearly slicing into my own leg. Drawing swords out of scabbards was no easy business, I found out very quickly, especially when you are using your uncoordinated hand with your other arm in a sling. But I hefted the sword in my left hand, ignoring the clatter of the scabbard as it slid down to the floor. Somehow the weight of the sword felt right, even though my grip was awkward. My hand fit well on the pommel. I opened my mouth to make a remark to Molly, and suddenly I was aware of another body close to mine, a body that radiated energy.

“First of all,” said Finnead, “your grip is all wrong.” He reached out and rearranged my grip on the sword. My arm began to shake from holding up its weight. I clenched my teeth and ignored the burning in my muscles. “And second of all,” he said, his face very close to mine, his eyes boring into me like live coals, “don’t ever draw your sword in such close quarters again until you have received proper instruction.” He stepped away. “You could have killed someone.”