Would the Black King kill one of his own, even one as odd as Sebastian?
Con didn't know. But he did know this: If he went alone to the palace, he would die. If he went with help, he might have a chance of survival.
And if he survived, he might be able to rescue Sebastian.
Con bowed his head one more time. He said a short prayer for Sebastian, asking God to protect him while Con brought help. He tried not to ask anything for himself. He tried not to ask forgiveness for failing his Charge.
He tried, but he could feel the emotion of it beneath the prayer. He knew he wasn't fooling God any more than he was fooling himself.
His hands were shaking. He finished the prayer, then stood. He glanced at the pile of tumbled crates. They looked like shattered toys sticking out of the mud. Like a child's sculpture gone awry.
He couldn't rebuild it. That would take even longer.
He would have to go back.
He would have to get out of the tunnels on the other side of the river.
He could only hope that the Fey were already gone from the cavern.
He couldn't fight them. He needed his wits, now more than he ever had.
"Please, God," he whispered. "Please." And he wasn't sure whether he was asking for help for himself, for Sebastian, or for both of them.
Then he knew: He was asking that he and his new friend would make it through this crisis together — alive.
THIRTY-EIGHT
"They will distract you," Gift's mother said, looking at the Cap and Leen. They were standing a bit farther up the stairs, watching him. Leen had her arms crossed. The Cap was frowning as if he were trying to figure something out. "Come with me where we can talk in private."
Gift hadn't moved since he told the Cap to back off. He was watching his mother — or the shade of his mother — or the image of his mother — with a deep attention to detail. Her braided hair moved when her head did. Her eyes, dark and black like any pure Fey, glistened with tears when she saw him. She had no lines on her face, and her skin had the resiliency of youth.
She had been older than that when he saw her in his Visions. And older yet when he saw her through Sebastian's eyes. He had a vague memory of her, too, a memory that was rising as he spoke to her. A memory of her face looming over his, of her voice in the next room, laughing with his real father. And then the arrival of tiny people above him, wrapping him in a blanket, cocooning him as they floated him out the window, telling him he was going home —
"Gift," she said again, as if she knew his attention was wandering. "Please, come with me."
No matter who she looked like, he knew better than to go off with her.
"They won't distract me," he said.
"They already have. And they're afraid of me. Look at that Red Cap" — she spat the word, as if she hated Red Caps. Maybe she was his mother. Maybe she really was here. "He's staring at me as if he thinks he should be able to see me."
"Why can't he?" Gift asked.
She reached out and touched his face. Her calloused fingers rubbed against his slightly pointed ears, then caressed his rounded cheeks, and finally touched his blue eyes.
"You look like your father," she said softly, in wonder, as if she couldn't believe it. "Like your father if he were Fey."
Gift stepped back so that she couldn't touch him any more. "Why can't Scavenger see you?"
The Cap looked up at the mention of his name. Leen froze too. They were watching Gift intently. Even though he had snapped at them, their presence reassured him. They wouldn't let anything harm him.
At least, not anything they could see.
"No one educated you at all, did they? My father took you to Shadowlands and gave you no education whatsoever."
That judgmental tone again. Gift wasn't sure he liked it. And he especially didn't like the implication against his adoptive parents, Niche and Wind. The very thought of their names sent pain through him.
"I was raised Fey," he said.
"But not a warrior."
Another sore spot. How was she finding all of them? "What has that to do with you?"
She smiled and tugged on her jerkin. "I preferred being a warrior. Those Visions at the end were merely confusing." Then her smile faded. "You have Visions, don't you?"
"I'm not going with you anywhere nor am I telling you anything until I know what you are," he said.
The Cap crossed his arms. Leen moved closer. Her hand remained on her knife's hilt.
Gift could see them move through the corner of his eye. And so could his mother. Her eyes flickered toward both of them, and then she smiled.
"They're so protective of you. That's good, but not necessary."
"It's becoming more and more necessary," he said. "the longer you delay in telling me what you are, the less credence I'm going to give you."
She sighed. "You, of all Fey, should know what I am. That you do not shows a failure in your education on the part of your grandfather."
"I never spoke to him."
"That's clear," she said. "I don't know why he had to take you when he didn't treat you as befits a Black Heir."
"He didn't tell me anything," Gift said.
"And neither did the Shaman?" His mother sighed. "She should have Seen your Vision. She should have nurtured it."
Gift said nothing. He had no idea why the Shaman hadn't helped him more. He had rarely seen her when he was a boy, and when he did, she had studied him as if he were something she had never seen before.
Still, she had given him advice about a great number of things.
But only when he asked. And he didn't ask a lot.
He wasn't going to ask what this woman before him was again. If she didn't tell him, he would take the Cap and Leen and leave this place. He would assume she was a Vision conjured by the strangeness of this cave. Or he would guess that she was a manifestation of Islander magick, something that his mixed heritage allowed him to see.
She tilted her head back. Her eyes shone, as if he had done something to make her proud. "You're stubborn, too. Of course you are. Your father and I were both stubborn. We were so stubborn that when we clashed swords neither of us wanted to give. And you don't want to give, either. You really won't come with me, will you, unless you know what I am."
"And maybe not even then."
She sighed. Then she looked up and spread her hands. A light shone across her face. He couldn't see the source of it. It bathed her, flushed her skin, made her seem even more alive. He felt another presence in it, or a thousand other presences. The cave itself grew warmer. The water in the fountain splashed higher. The swords swung on their pegs, and the chalices rattled on the shelves.
The Cap stared at the swords. Leen looked at the chalices. Those manifestations, then, were real. It appeared to be only his mother that they couldn't see.
Finally she lowered her hands. The light faded. The swords stopped swinging, and the chalices stopped rattling.
"What was that?" the Cap whispered. His voice echoed throughout the cave.
"I don't like it here, Gift," Leen said.
He ignored her. He was watching his mother. The flush still warmed her cheeks. She looked even younger yet.
"I have to break the rules for you," she said. "And I don't know what magickal demand breaking them will cause. You understand that for every deliberate change in magick, there is an equal and unpredictable change?"
He had never heard that. He raised his chin slightly. "Are you warning me?" he asked.
Leen's hand seemed to tighten on the knife.
"I have to," his mother sounded plaintive, as if she too were frightened. "To talk to you freely breaks the bonds of my form. If I don't warn you, I could do even more harm."
"And you want me to accept the risk?"
"Or to accept me without question," she said.
He stared at her. His mother. Jewel. The wife to his father, King Nicholas. The woman who was murdered the day his sister was born. The woman whose name no one sp
oke in his presence, except Sebastian, who had mourned her until he died.
"Accepting without question is foolish," he said.
"For that would be faith," she said. "And only Islanders believe in faith. But you are half Islander, Gift."
"I was raised Fey," he said.
That comment made her blink and move away from him. She tugged on her jerkin, then glanced around the cave, as if she were seeing it for the first time.
"Yes," she said. And he thought he heard sorrow in her voice. "You were raised Fey."
He didn't care how she felt. He wasn't even sure she really existed, and if she did exist, if she was his mother or some other manifestation, something Islander or worse, something from their religion.
"So you have to tell me."
She nodded. Once. Then appeared to take a deep breath. He didn't even know if she breathed. If she existed. All he knew was that she was invisible to the others.
The two who did not have magick.
Or Islander blood.
"I am a Mystery," she said softly.
"Obviously." He was in no mood for games.
"No, Gift," she said. She turned toward him, and her gaze met his. Her eyes were dark, intense, as if she could will him to understand. "I am a Mystery. I became one of the Mysteries. You should know what they are. And I had to consult a Power before I could tell you."
By the Mysteries, Fey sometimes said. By the Powers.
And to explain unusual events: That must be one of the Mysteries, or That was sent by one of the Powers.
He felt cold.
"I've never heard of this," he said.
"I have protected you since you were three," she said. "I showed you how to rebuild Shadowlands as it collapsed around you."
"I didn't see you then," he said.
"Something about this place makes me visible," she said.
"What, exactly, about this place?" he asked.
She bit her lower lip. "I cannot tell you."
"Then I cannot believe you," he said.
She shook her head. "I am restricted in what I can do. I will lose all my powers if I do too much, and it will damage you as well."
"How convenient," he said.
She ran a hand along the side of her face, as if she were checking to see if her hair remained in place. "Someone will be here shortly," she said. "Someone you know and trust. She will explain to you what this place is."
"She?" he asked. He didn't know any women that he trusted.
Except Leen.
And she was already here.
"You asked to hear me out, Gift," his mother said. "We have already touched the magick. We may as well finish what we can."
"You are a Mystery," he repeated.
The Cap looked at Gift sharply. The Cap's small face flushed, and then he looked at the air where Gift's mother was, as if he could will himself to see her.
"Yes," she said.
"Why you?" Gift asked. "Why not my real parents, Niche or Wind?"
"They weren't your real parents," she said softly.
"They raised me." He hadn't meant to yell at her. But the words came out that strong. They echoed through the cave, resounding back at him.
They (they) …
Raised (raised) …
Me (me) …
She nodded, her gaze not meeting his. "They did," she said.
"You didn't even know I was gone," he said.
"Oh, I did," she said. "I just didn't understand it."
The Cap had moved closer. He started to reach toward the air where Gift's mother was, and Leen grabbed his hand.
"Let them talk," Leen said.
Apparently she believed now that Gift saw something. She may even have had an inkling as to what it was.
"Small comfort," Gift said.
"You were such a bright baby," she said as if she hadn't heard him. "And then, one day, you weren't. I thought it was me. I thought I had made the wrong choice. I thought the old wisdom was wrong. It said that Fey blood mixed with non-Fey blood produced talented children. It kept the magick fresh. I thought maybe something didn't work with the Islanders."
"It worked," Gift said. All the cooing about his amazing abilities as a child. His sister's ability to Shift so easily. He still remembered her bird form flapping over him, its blue eyes beady, intent on his. She had wanted to kill him that day. She would have, too, if other Fey had not intervened.
"But I didn't know that then. I was taking such risks — " She waved a hand, as if she were speaking out of turn, as if it were inconsequential. "It was another life."
"You're beyond that now," he said, unable to contain the sarcasm.
She shook her head, as if she couldn't quite believe what she heard. "No," she said. "No. I am not done with that life yet. It is one reason I'm here."
"Oh?" he asked. "And my parents, they're done?"
"I don't know about them," she said. "I only know that I have never seen them. I know that not every Fey becomes a Mystery."
"Some become Powers?" he asked.
She put a hand on his mouth. Her fingers were cool, but not too cool. If he hadn't known, he would have thought she was still alive.
"Do not speak lightly of things you do not know," she said.
She was apparently waiting for his agreement. When he nodded, she removed her fingers.
"Not every Fey has a Mystery, and not every Fey becomes one. Some Fey have many, and all Mysteries guard more than one Fey," she said. "A Mystery is granted its greatest love and its greatest hate. And then we get to choose another living being. I chose you."
"So I am not your greatest love," Gift said.
She smiled, as if his comment did not bother her. "Nor my greatest hate," she said.
She could be flip about it, but he was not pleased. Deep down, the fact that he was not the most important person to his mother, even though she hadn't known him, hurt.
It hurt.
"Why choose me?" he asked, and he tried to keep his voice neutral. He thought he heard vestiges of the hurt in it, but he suspected that she didn't. She wouldn't.
Because she didn't know him.
Leen heard it, though. She frowned as she looked at Gift. Her hand was still on the Cap's wrist. He seemed to be waiting, waiting for her to let go so that he could investigate what was going on.
"Because you needed me then," she said. "Because of my ignorance, you nearly died."
"You saved me?" he asked.
She shook her head. "I wasn't a Mystery yet. Your friend saved you. Watch him. He's important."
"How?"
"Just watch him," she said.
"So I needed you then." Gift said, trying to get her to continue.
"You still do." She crossed her arms as if she knew he wouldn't like what she had to say next. "The urge you felt to come here, I gave to you. I wanted you to see me. I wanted to talk to you. I needed to talk to you."
"Why?" he asked.
"Because this is a crucial time, Gift, and you need my help."
He crossed his arms. So many people had been telling him he needed help, their help, as if he weren't capable of doing things on his own. Coulter had helped him and had cut off Gift's Links to others, resulting in Sebastian's death.
Sebastian's death hurt the worst because it could have been prevented. That live Vision of Sebastian exploding —
Gift shook his head. "And just how do I need your help?" he asked.
"You have powers," she said, "that you've never used. No one has trained you in your Vision. No one has taught you how to be a Visionary of the Black Throne. I can do that."
"From my understanding," he said, "my mother had not reached her full powers when she was near the Black Throne. She didn't know these things either."
She smiled. The expression was small and tight and pain-filled. "You understand well. But I'm — "
"A Mystery now," he said. "All-wise, all-knowing, and yet so unable to share. Forgive me if I don't believe you. Forgive me for thinking you're t
oo convenient."
"You need me, Gift."
"And you appear here, in this bastion of the Islanders' religion, a religion that kills Fey, to tell me that you are one of the greatest of the Fey."
"So you do know of the Mysteries."
"I was raised Fey," he said. "I told you that. But then, being a Mystery, you should have known it."
"I did know it," she said.
"What are you really?" he asked. "Something only Islanders can see? Some spirit that haunts this cave that attracts those most attuned to it?"
"I am what I said I am," she said.
"Oh, a Mystery, then. And you decide to appear to me now. You couldn't help me when I was three and dying, so Coulter had to do that. You couldn't help me when Shadowlands exploded — oh, wait. You said you did. Only I didn't know it. You didn't help me save my parents. You didn't save me when the Fey soldiers found us in the hayfield. Coulter had to do that again. Forgive me for not understanding what you've told me. Forgive me for believing that you want something else — "
"Gift," she said and her voice mingled with the Cap's.
Gift turned to the Cap, half afraid that she had somehow tried to speak through him.
"What?" Gift asked.
"If she is a Mystery, you need to listen," the Cap said.
Gift rolled his eyes. He couldn't help it. This had gone too far for him. "And if she isn't?"
"You'll know," the Cap said.
"Well, I don't know," Gift said. "And it's too convenient, here in this Islander cave."
"Convenient?" the Cap asked. "You were the only one who could see this place. We had to travel days to get here. This is not convenient."
"I could see it, and Coulter could see it. He is not Fey," Gift said.
"But he has magick," the woman said. "And it is equal to that of any Fey."
"And I suppose you know why that is," Gift snapped at her. "And I suppose you can't reveal it."
She didn't respond. She stared at him. "I'm here for you, Gift," she said. "And for you only."
"But I thought you could help your greatest love and your greatest hate, too."
"I said we were granted them," she said. "I did not say help. I chose to help you. I could have chosen many things. I could have chosen to hinder someone. I could have chosen to observe."
The Resistance: The Fourth Book of the Fey (Fey Series) Page 24
