The Dark Throne (30 page)

“You have been listening to Sage and Gray for too long,” he replied with a faint smile. “There is nothing wrong with pleasure for pleasure’s sake. But…” He swallowed. “When there is a darkness in your soul, pleasure will not heal it.”

Despite our serious words, fire still raged through our bodies; my heart still beat quickly in my chest, my breath coming fast as though I’d just finished a run. But I thought about Finnead’s words, albeit with a small part of my mind not consumed with memorizing the feel of his body against mine. “I don’t pretend to know a lot about the life of a warrior back in the mortal world,” I said, “but Liam has told me a few stories. About teammates who have seen and done terrible things, and they look to women or liquor or drugs to numb the pain they feel.”

“I was tempted more than once,” Finnead said softly, his eyes distant now. “But with rage and pain so close to the surface…it would not have been pleasure for long.”

I pressed myself closer to him, brushing my thumb along the nape of his neck. “So what is the path to healing the darkness?” I asked, thinking of my own fierce joy at the destruction of the creatures in the Royal Wood, and the rush of heady triumph when I’d siphoned the siren’s power to bring Finnead back from beyond the veil of death.

“Time,” Finnead answered. “And love.” He smiled a little. “Perhaps cliché once again, but…patient love from friends, at first. And then, later…” His smile widened as he tucked an errant strand of hair behind my ear.

I blinked as a thought struck me. “Did Mab…did she forbid you from courting other women, after the princess was killed?”

I felt Finnead’s shoulders stiffen for a moment, and then he forced himself to relax. “Sometimes, Tess, you say what others only think.”

In apology, I leaned close and kissed the soft part of his neck just below his jaw. He shuddered and his arms tightened around me again. The melody of a wild song drifted about the hill as the revelry intensified. Finnead left my question unanswered, instead capturing my mouth with his own again. The sapphire in the pommel of the Brighbranr pulsed with a slow, steady light, intensifying as our kiss deepened. I grasped his shirt with one hand and pulled the edge loose from his breeches with a tug, his sharp intake of breath kindling a raw feeling of satisfaction in my chest. He took my lower lip between his teeth as I slipped my hand beneath his shirt, exploring the hard planes of his stomach with light fingertips, spreading my hand flat over his firm chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart under my palm. I traced the smooth puncture scars just beneath his collarbone, left by the claws of the
syivhalla;
and, lightly, I slid my hand around his side, finding the raised edges of the scars patterning his back. He stiffened, but I kissed him and ran my other hand through his hair, still gently exploring the latticework of scars with my fingertips, my touch feather-light. After a long moment, he shivered, pulled me closer, and his own hand left my neck to explore, trailing down my back, lingering at my hips, dipping lower. I smiled against his mouth as he made it very clear that he enjoyed the firm curves of my muscled body. I found my fingers pausing at his waist, my fingers finding the hardness of his hipbone among the smoothness of muscle, thumb brushing the delicious carved indentation leading lower…he groaned and caught my wrist gently, faster than thought, his breathing ragged as he leaned back his head and closed his eyes.

“Tess,” he said hoarsely, “if you touch me…there…well, there are limits to my gentlemanly ways.”

“I thought you said you were a rogue,” I whispered, flexing my hand slowly against his grasp.

“A rogue can still be a gentleman,” he countered, giving another little groan as I brushed his hip with my thumb. He swallowed and took a small step backward, enough to break physical contact. “And besides,” he continued, his voice stronger now as he opened his eyes and gazed down at me with a raised eyebrow, “we don’t exactly have private accommodations.”

I snorted. “Apparently that doesn’t stop the Wild Court, or those that wish to be a part of it. At least according to Vell.” I shrugged. “And you know, she’s only its Queen.”

Finnead chuckled. “I’ll give you that, but you and I are not just warriors wishing to be a part of the
vyldgard
.”

“I know. You’re one of the High Queen’s Three, and I’m the Bearer,” I said in the voice of a student reciting a memorized lesson. I tried very hard not to look disappointed and knew I failed.

“I’m not saying that I don’t want this…that I don’t want
you
,” Finnead said. He reached over and smoothed my hair gently. I turned my face into his hand; he rested his fingers against the curve of my cheek. “I love you, Tess. I want you perhaps more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.”

Different warmth glowed in my chest at his tender words and the softness of his touch.

He drew in a breath and let it out slowly. “And it’s because I love you that I want to do this properly. Not rushed, out here.”

“There’s a few tents down in camp,” I pointed out brightly.

Finnead chuckled. “You’re nothing if not persistent.”

“I’ve been told it’s one of my more charming qualities,” I replied with a smile. I sighed. “You’re right. I know. I just…” I grinned. “I forgot a little, how much
fun
this is.”

“Oh, my love, you have no idea,” Finnead said, tantalizing promise in his eyes and wickedness in his grin. He leaned close and brushed a kiss over my lips, and then stepped away, running his hands through his mussed hair and then gazing down at himself ruefully as he tucked his shirt back into his breeches. He met my amused look with a smile. “Well. Sit with me for a few moments, until I’m…presentable…enough to join the revelry?”

“Are you sure anyone would notice?” I said.

“Oh, they would notice,” Finnead replied in such a harried voice that I laughed.

“See, you have plenty of willing young beauties to choose from,” I said with a lascivious waggle of my eyebrows.

Finnead settled onto the hill and leaned back on his good elbow, resting his splinted arm across his stomach. He shook his head. “Incorrigible.”

I grinned and lowered myself to the ground next to him, leaving a small distance between us but not so much that I couldn’t lean my head on his shoulder if I chose. My body hummed with the afterglow of our passionate kiss, but as the excitement ebbed, tiredness set in again. I tried to suppress a yawn, but then gave up and stretched my jaw.

“It’s been a long day,” I said defensively as Finnead gave me a sideways look. “There were many….events.” I grimaced as I reached for a more descriptive word to capture the chaos of the day and found none readily available in my mind.

“Many events,” he repeated, bemused. “I suppose that’s true.”

“It’s
very
true,” I agreed. “We tracked a dragon. Vell did her
volta
thing up on the hill. I drew a diamond of protection. You all killed a dragon…and nearly got killed yourselves.”

“Busy day,” Finnead agreed.

“How is it, being one of Vell’s Three?” I asked after a long moment. We gazed down at the celebration below us, the enthusiastic revelry building with each passing minute. Shadowy figures danced about the fire in sinuous patterns, moving to the beat of deep-throated drums and the melody of voices raised in fierce sweet song. The pyre still burned before the great fire, and I suddenly understood that the warriors were now celebrating the lives of the lost, their wild abandon a tribute to their spirits.

“It’s different,” Finnead replied softly. “Mab had been queen for centuries when she chose me as the Vaelanbrigh.”

I realized this was the first time I’d heard Finnead speak openly about his time bound to Mab, and I almost held my breath, waiting for him to continue.

“In a court that is already established…it’s a very different process, becoming one of the Queen’s Three. It is very deliberate. There are traditions to be upheld, favor to be curried…it is not as simple as being skilled with a blade.”

“I didn’t really see you as the type to play politics,” I commented.

“I wasn’t as open about my ambition as some,” he replied. “Which, I think, is part of why Mab favored me. She appreciated subtlety.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed,” I said sourly.

Finnead chuckled. “I know you do not particularly like Mab. But she will be coming soon. They are already calling it the Council of Queens.”

“Who’s this elusive ‘they,’ and why do they seem to have an opinion on everything?” I leaned back on my hands, wincing slightly at the sting in my palms. Then I sobered. “Are you nervous, about meeting Mab again?”

Finnead remained silent.

“You know she thinks you’re dead.”

He smiled wryly. “Because I was, for a few moments.”

“Semantics. You drowned. People are brought back from drowning all the time.” I shifted uncomfortably. “And we already had this conversation, so…”

“So you’d rather not be lectured on the dangers of necromancy?” Finnead finished for me, taking the bite out of his words with that lingering smile.

“Exactly.”

Finnead tilted his head to one side. “To be honest, I don’t know how she will react. She has always been very…possessive.”

“She’ll probably take it as an insult that you are one of Vell’s Three now.” I watched the dancers moving about the firelight. I swallowed. “I suppose I should tell you then…Ramel knows. That you’re alive.”

Finnead stiffened slightly, one of those minute Sidhe movements to which I was now attuned.

“When I went back to rescue Murtagh, after I was Walking with Liam and then Murtagh appeared in the ether…I fell into a kind of society meeting I think, in Darkhill. In my old rooms.” I smiled a little at the memory, despite my trepidation at the carefully blank look on Finnead’s handsome face. “Murtagh was dying, because Mab was draining him. She hadn’t chosen your successor yet. And Ramel…he was the one leading this meeting, and I couldn’t…he was grieving for you. They all thought you were dead. I couldn’t lie to them.”

“Of course,” Finnead said tightly. “But better to protect them from the wrath of Mab than their own grief. Grief heals. Mab’s punishments sometimes do not.”

“I know. I’d apologize but it doesn’t make any difference.”

“Not anymore,” Finnead replied.

I frowned. “What do you mean, not anymore?”

“Tess,” he said almost gently, “I spoke to the
vyldretning
about this very issue while you were still healing. Our first messenger to Mab carried a letter penned by Vell herself.”

“She told Mab that you’re one of her Three?”

“Yes, among other things.”

I blew out a breath of relief. “That makes me feel so much better.” I leaned forward, balancing my elbows on my knees and pressing my face into my hands. “I was worried.”

“Sometimes you forget that there are others working on solving the problems of this world.”

“Or solving the problems that I’ve created,” I muttered.

“You solve many more problems than you create,” Finnead pointed out. The Sword emphasized his statement with a soft peal, its sheath vibrating against my back.

“Great, now you’re colluding against me,” I told the Caedbranr. Finnead chuckled and the Sword gave another silvery note, its voice lingering in the night air.

“But to go back toward your original question,” Finnead rejoined. “We are all learning what it is to be part of this new Court. Vell certainly has her own ideas, but she’s asked Gray and I, on occasion, for our experiences.”

“That’s true, she has an expert of both Seelie and Unseelie. And then there’s the Morrigan.” I pressed my lips together. “Can you feel the Morrigan?”

Finnead shook his head. “No. We are like spokes on a wheel, and Vell is the center.” He paused, considering. “Sometimes, through Vell, I can feel echoes. Or what I think are echoes of the Morrigan. That happened before as well with Mab, though she controlled it far more tightly.”

I yawned again.

“Come on then, before you fall asleep.” Finnead leapt lightly to his feet. I glared up at him enviously. He extended his good hand and helped me stand. I grimaced at my protesting legs and looked down at the gaiety in hesitation.

“After a drink and a turn around the fire, you’ll want to stay up all night,” Finnead told me.

I smiled and followed him down the hill. “If you say so.”

We plunged into the revelry as though we were diving into a lake—all at once we were submerged in countless shimmering sensations, song and dance and the heat of the flames against our skin, the burn of liquor down my throat as I swallowed, the pleasant hum in my blood as the drink took hold. I noticed with mingled surprise and satisfaction that Finnead stayed close to me, sometimes even twining his fingers through mine; we watched the dancers and felt the drums in our chest like our own heartbeat. I glimpsed Vell at the center of a shifting amalgam of warriors, Merrick still at her side, Beryk watching the celebration from his post by the healing tent with half-closed golden eyes.

Luca leapt onto a log by the great fire, standing almost as tall as the leaping flames. His golden hair gleamed in the shifting light as he raised his cup and shouted to all assembled, “To the death of the dragon!”

The warriors roared Luca’s toast back to him, raising their own cups. Finnead and I joined in without a second thought. I took a long swallow from my cup and when I looked back at Luca, he was gazing at Finnead and I with a small smile on his face. I bit my lip, realizing the potential for wounded pride even through the warm haze of liquor, but Luca raised his cup again in my direction with a nod, and drank again. I grinned and toasted him in reply, leaning into Finnead as I drank. Finnead slid his arm about my waist.

“You have had quite a bit to drink, Lady Bearer,” he murmured into my ear. I nuzzled into his neck.

“First time I’ve had…a lot….since your little party,” I said. He looked at me quizzically. I waved my free hand descriptively. “You know, with the banners and the bitch queen who dug through my head.”

“Bitch queen? I hope you’re not talking about me,” said Vell.

“I think you’ve had enough to drink,” Finnead said at the same time.