The Iron Sword (The Fae War Chronicles Book 1) (43 page)

Preview of Book 2

Continue reading for a preview of Book Two of the Fae War Chronicles,

THE CROWN OF BONES

Coming to Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kindle and Nook May 2014!

Prologue

Q
ueen Mab, ruler of the Unseelie Court and all its lands, monarch of the Night and the Winter, once the most powerful being in any world, was not accustomed to defiance. She stood before her delicately carved throne, her slim figure stiff with anger. Fingers of frost crept across the marble around her, and a deadly chill hung in the still air. Her courtiers had left at the first signs of her burgeoning fury, sweeping low curtseys and bowing deeply to their queen before striding away with cat-quiet steps. They feared their queen’s wrath, and the Sidhe feared few things. Only the Walker and the Vaelanseld remained. The silence in the throne room quivered like a live being with her fury. Frost crackled as it reached across the marble floor.

The Fae queen looked down at the Walker, who waited before her on one knee, his face downturned in deference.

“What is your name, Walker?” Mab asked, her voice cool and smooth, counterpoint to the anger blazing in her fathomless eyes. The stars set into her diadem illuminated the kneeling young Sidhe with a harsh white light, but even under such scrutiny he looked up at her calmly.

“Murtagh, your Majesty,” he replied, keeping his green eyes carefully focused on his queen’s lips rather than her eyes.

Mab gazed down at him. His face shone with youth, his pale skin yet undimmed by worry or hatred. He wore his russet hair slightly shorter than custom, but it became him, sharpening the angles of his boyish face into the beginnings of handsomeness. In a century or so, he would catch the attention of many a beautiful woman. The frost spread across the flagstones and reached the young Walker, swirling around him in patterns as delicate as a snowflake. He shivered slightly at its icy touch.

“Murtagh,” Mab said silkily, settling back onto her throne with liquid grace, her eyes slightly hooded. She said nothing more, tilting her head slightly as she watched the young Walker. He bowed his head again and waited. He waited for a long time, remaining perfectly still while Mab observed him.

The Vaelanseld watched his queen carefully as she surveyed the young Walker. He felt her anger, still burning hotly beneath her cool exterior, and her fury was all the more frightening in its flawless concealment. Once, when he had been a young knight, not yet one of the Three, he had gone Maying with the queen and her Court, and he remembered her beautiful face glowing with happiness, her perfect pale lips curved in a smile. But that was long before the great tragedy, the murder of the young princess whose name he could not speak even in his mind, because it was forbidden, and Queen Mab knew all. He carefully directed his thoughts away from that fateful event. He was the oldest of the Three now, and he was the closest to his queen, reading her moods like a Seer peering into a looking-glass, divining her tempers for the rest of the Court. He stood silently by her side, but readied himself to intervene should her fury be misdirected at the young Sidhe kneeling respectfully—fearfully. The boy was afraid, though he hid it well. Reading his Queen had given the Vaelanseld practice and honed his skills. He saw the fear in the depths of the boy’s eyes, divined it from the boy’s slight shiver as the frost caressed him, sliding over his boots and up to his knees.

Finally, after what seemed like hours—what could have been hours—Mab spoke again. “Tell me what you have discovered, Walker.”

A small, almost imperceptible shudder traveled through Murtagh’s lithe body as he raised his face again to the queen. “My Queen,” he began respectfully, his voice fair and courteous, “I Walked to the barracks in the forest as I was instructed. From far away, I smelled death and saw smoke. When I came to the barracks, I saw there had been a terrible battle. I could not go as close as I desired, because there was…a barrier.” He faltered slightly and stopped.

“A barrier?” the Vaelanseld asked after a glance at the queen. “A wall built about the camp?”

Murtagh shook his head. “No, my lord. Not a wall. An invisible barrier which I could not cross. I have never felt anything like it before, and I saw the mortal girl and several others digging in the earth precisely where the barrier began.” He took a breath and steeled himself. “They drew out of the ground pieces of the Weakness.”

Mab made no movement to betray her surprise, but the Vaelanseld saw her eyes sharpen upon the young Walker. “Continue,” he told the boy tersely.

“The mortal girl wore a scabbard upon her back. It looked to be of no importance, old and well-used, but then…I felt it. I do not know how, but I felt it and I knew what it was even beneath the battered sheath.”

Mab leaned forward slightly, ever so slightly, her eyes hungry.

“My lady,” said the Walker, his voice trembling slightly, “the mortal girl has come into possession of the Iron Sword.”

The Vaelanseld took a step forward as Mab straightened sharply from her languid pose.

Murtagh kept very still and raised his chin slightly despite the queen’s sudden movement. “And, my lady,” he continued, “she knew of my presence.”

“You revealed yourself?” the Vaelanseld asked stridently.

“No,” Murtagh replied firmly. “The mortal girl looked at me…and she saw me, even though I did not wish to be seen, even though I was concealing myself.” He paused. “My lady, I saw the Vaelanmavar being led through the camp with bound hands and a guard.”

Mab hissed slightly through her teeth, the sound sliding through the air like wind through the trees at night. “And the girl,” she purred, a hint of some dangerous predator slinking among the shadows of her words, “is she bound by blood to the Sword? Has she marked it for her own?”

“I do not know, my queen,” Murtagh murmured. “All I know is that she saw me when she should not have, and something in her power called to mine.” He lowered his gaze for a moment. “If I may, your Majesty, venture my…opinion.”

Mab waved one hand gracefully, eyes glittering like shards of ice. The Vaelanseld watched with a hard gaze.

“I believe she has been bound to the Sword, though I know little of such matters,” the young Sidhe added humbly. “How else would a mortal have seen me? Her power…it reached out and
touched
me. It tasted my power, and it deemed that I was not a threat, but it told her that I was there, and she saw me. I also overheard a conversation, in the camp, between two members of the patrol. They said it was only by her power—her power through the Sword, my lady—that the battle was won, and the Shadow driven back, if only for a short time. By their account, she saved them.” Murtagh shook his head. “There was the North-woman with her, my lady, and her wolf. The black wolf.”

The Vaelanseld glanced at Mab’s hands. Her hands were the first to show her anger—other than her eyes, and he couldn’t very well look into her eyes. One of her hands rested on the arm of her throne, and it looked as though she was merely grasping the smooth wood calmly, but the Vaelanseld saw her knuckles, the bone showing starkly through her pale skin as her grip tightened. He turned back to the Walker. “The Queen thanks you for your service. You are free to go.”

Murtagh stood and bowed—it was well known that the Vaelanseld spoke for the Queen from time to time. He turned on his heel smartly and left the throne room. As the great doors slammed shut behind him of their own accord, he heard the beginnings of the Queen’s scream of fury, and he ran.

“My lady, please,” said the Vaelanseld calmly as icy wind shrieked around the throne room. “Such behavior does not become you.”

Mab carved her fingernails into the wood of her throne. “Many things do not become me,” she snarled, her face twisted in fury. She threw herself from the throne and paced before it thunderously, the sound of the bells on her hem crashing over the room like waves breaking on great rocks before a storm.

“My lady,” the Vaelanseld said again, in a reproving tone.

She wheeled upon him. “What would you have me do?” Her mouth thinned. “My power wanes so that I cannot even survey my own realms without the help of a Walker just past boyhood! It is all I can do to keep the Shadow from the gates of Darkhill—and that—that mortal
whelp
has been bound to the Great Sword.”

The Vaelanseld faced down her tirade unmoved. “She escaped you, your Majesty, and it is understandable that you…dislike…her because of that insult, but the Sword has been found. It is on the field of battle against the Shadow, and that is something we should count among our blessings.”

Mab stood carefully still, listening to her oldest and most trusted Knight. She stared into the distance and then, finally, sank down upon her throne, passing her hand over her eyes. “No-one shall hear of this,” she said with a hint of weariness in her voice.

“As always, I am yours to command, my lady,” the Vaelanseld replied smoothly. The Queen would not apologize for her outburst—it was not the way of queens to do so, and he did not expect it.

“I dreamed that the Vaelanmavar had erred, but I did not think it was a foretelling,” Mab said, an expression of icy serenity reclaiming her beautiful face. “And still I do not know. If the mortal girl and her companions are treasonous, there is a possibility that the Vaelanmavar is still faithful.”

“The Vaelanbrigh is with them as well,” the Knight reminded his Queen.

A small bitter smile touched Queen Mab’s lips. “So I lose one or the other of my Knights, and this mortal girl bears the Iron Sword instead of the
fendhionne
of the Prophecy.” She shook her head slightly and said silkily, “What a strange turn of events.”

“Indeed, my lady,” said the Vaelanseld, touching the hilt of the Eldbranr. “Indeed.”

About the Author

Jocelyn A. Fox is the author of the epic fantasy novel The Iron Sword, the first book in The Fae War Chronicles. Her second novel, The Crown of Bones, will be published in the spring of 2014.

  Jocelyn was born near Philadelphia, and spent her childhood in the idyllic setting of Lancaster, Pennsylvania. After reading The Chronicles of Narnia in the second grade, she devoured every book in the school library and began creating elaborate games based in fantasy worlds that she and her younger brother and sister would play out in the back yard. While she played field hockey, ran on the track team and played flute in the school band, she always made time for a good book and, as she grew older, for writing her own stories. She entertained her friends in middle school and high school by writing epic fantasy stories, which still reside in black-and-white handwritten journals in her closet.

  Her thirst for real-life adventure led her to the United States Naval Academy, where she chose to study English amidst the rigors of military training. The duality of analyzing Shakespeare, Whitman and Emerson while learning the basics of martial arts, military strategy and leadership helped form the foundation for the strong female characters in her writing. Jocelyn continued to read throughout her time at the Academy, using books as an escape from the stress of the demanding institution.

After graduation, she reported onboard an East Coast-based destroyer, where she completed training as part of the security reaction force and the Visit, Board, Search and Seizure team. She also graduated from the Navy’s Surface Search and Rescue Swimmer school and serves as a rescue swimmer for her ship. She is constantly awed and humbled by the courage, tenacity and sacrifice of the men and women with whom she has the privilege of serving. Their fighting spirit and sense of fellowship inspire her every day, and her military experiences provide her with ample material to ground her fantasy world in the reality of the modern warrior.

You can find her on:

Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/author.jocelyn.a.fox

Twitter:
http://www.twitter.com/jafox2010

Amazon Page:
http://www.amazon.com/Jocelyn-A.-Fox/e/B0051DX7G0/