He had won the Isle, but he didn't hold it.
The loss of the King, the loss of his great-grandchildren — and their ability to injure him — had caused panic among his own people.
He would put that panic to rest.
He threw on his cloak and headed for the door. He passed the empty Fey lamp and shook his head. The golem's soul should have been here. It disturbed him that it wasn't.
Rugad opened the door. A breakfast waited outside as he had commanded. He stopped, sipped the water, and then took the slices of bread, leaving the rest for his guards.
"I will not finish this," he said to the guard who faced his door. The guard knew, as all his guards did, that they were allowed his leftovers. It was one of the perks of serving the Black King.
The two hours' rest he had gotten had made him even more tired. If he were being honest with himself, he would admit that the defeats had gotten to him as well. Amazing how such small things, a few setbacks of the right type, were enough to demoralize even the strongest men.
And he had focused too much on Wisdom and not enough on the real problem. Wisdom had been dealt with. Rugad had learned that the Islanders' King was in the northern mountains somewhere, and the golem was gone.
This was progress.
He would have to treat it as such.
But first, he had to raise the morale of his own people.
He had taken some time with his appearance that morning, making certain he wore the polished boots and his darkest cape. His hair flowed freely about his face, making him look younger and having the effect of hiding some of the worst bruises from the day before. He wore a scarf, something he had done as a younger man, to hide the scar around his throat.
No need reminding the troops that he had been injured.
He no longer had his full voice, but on this day, he didn't need it.
He took the stairs two at a time, finishing the bread as he went. He nodded to each Fey he passed, and they nodded back, most of them looking surprised at his recognition.
If he had to look each and every one of his people in the face in order to raise their morale, he would do so. The word would not get out through Jahn and the surrounding countryside that the Black King was injured, too injured to rule them.
That would cause even more dissension.
When he reached the base of the stairs, he saw his new assistant, Selia, standing by the main doors. She had her hands behind her back, her posture perfect, her demeanor fine — or it would have been, if she weren't rubbing her thumb and forefinger together nervously.
"Selia," he barked. The word came out as a rather loud nasal rasp. It sent a shuddering pain all the way down his throat, but he didn't mind. It was a small price to pay for a voice that carried.
She jumped, then nodded when she saw him.
"Is my carriage ready?"
"Yes, sir," she said. "I have extra guards who are willing to go alongside — "
"No," he said. He wanted minimal guards, and none in the carriage with him. The rumors had started because of his injuries. He wanted to show his people that he had no fear of this Isle, and that he was strong enough to take care of himself. "Only the Spies as we talked about and the Wisps floating above."
"Yes, sir." She bowed her head.
He came closer to her, put a finger under her chin, and lifted her face toward his. "You don't like that, do you, Selia? The fact that I go out unprotected?"
She chewed on her lower lip. He wondered if she were even aware that she was doing it.
"No, sir," she said softly.
"You do not believe in your own people? It's them that I go to see."
"But what of the Islanders, sir? If they see you alone and unprotected—
"They'll kill me?" he asked. He knew morale was bad, but he didn't realize how bad. The Black King should be invincible, not a sniveling weakling that his own people had to worry about each time he showed his face.
He had never suffered a morale problem of this nature before.
He would solve it.
He would solve part of it now.
"Yes, sir," she said. "I'm afraid they might have a chance."
He tilted his head back so that he was looking down on her. He let his nail dig into the skin covering her jaw.
"You believe that I will go out among my own people, survey the damage we have wreaked on a city that once stood tall and proud and untrampled, and that some rogue Islander will get through the hundreds of Fey, get close enough to me, and injure me?"
She blinked once, but that was enough. He saw the doubt creep into her face.
"I hadn't thought of it like that, sir."
"What has happened to me," he said, taking the time to explain to her because as his spokesman, she would have to explain to others, "is normal when the Black Family has dissension in its ranks. You don't know that because the Black Family has been unified in your lifetime, and in mine. But the separation caused by my son's blunders have created this mess, which I am repairing. No random Islander can touch me. My great-grandchildren don't dare. Their father's power has been taken from him."
Rugad smiled. Selia's eyes widened.
"Nothing," he said with emphasis, "can harm me."
"But in your rooms," she said then covered her mouth, looking terrified. He could see the thought on her face. She was already protecting her tongue.
Good.
Wisdom's example would stay with her always.
Rugad's smile grew. "The golem. You feel that he damaged me?"
"You have injuries, sir." She spoke through her hands because she was smart enough to realize that she had started the conversation, so she had to finish it.
"Yet you think nothing of some of our soldiers who have seen Domestics to heal arrow wounds or sword slashes from the attack on the Isle."
"Sir?" she said, letting her hands drop.
"I knew that the creature was a golem when I chose to be alone with him. He was a creation that looked like my great-grandson and, I feared, harbored family secrets that no one but myself dared hear. When I learned from him what I needed to know, I destroyed him. He was a dangerous bit of magick that we didn't need roaming the Isle."
A slight frown built between her brows. "So you have war wounds?"
"I am the leader of this invasion," Rugad said coldly. "It is only natural for me to bear a bit of the burden of it as well."
"Right, sir," she said. She shook her head a little as if she had to physically reorganize her thoughts. "I will not add any guards to your trip. It was foolish of me to even inquire."
He put a hand on her arm. "It was not foolish," he said. "Inquiries I like because I can approve or disapprove of them at will. Wisdom made the mistake of taking the action before consulting me. See to it that you don't do that."
"I will never make that error, sir."
"Good," he said. "I put you here for your talent at Charming and for your common sense. See to it that I benefit from both."
"Yes, sir," she said.
He nodded to her, then went through the doors.
The carriage was open, as he had requested. It was black with a slight dip in the center and a step on the side. Two seats faced each other in its main section, and another seat was along front for a driver, something Rugad didn't need. Two Horse Riders made up the team, and he was familiar with both of them.
They would take his instruction directly.
He loved the look of them. Two Fey appeared to be riding on back of the horses, although from the side, it was clear that they had no legs, that their torsos sprung from the horses' backs. The Riders were male and female. In deference to him, they wore a uniform over their torsos, something he knew was quite uncomfortable for Riders in their animal form. He nodded his pleasure and used the small railing to get into the carriage.
All of the insignia of the Isle's ruling family had been removed. There were still the faint marks of swords on the sides of the carriage. The cushions had been obviously — and hast
ily — replaced with black velvet cushions, Domestic-spelled for comfort.
He sat down and clucked softly, letting the Riders take the lead. This was Selia's first test. If she had deviated from his instructions, he would know it immediately.
But apparently she hadn't. The Riders took the carriage on a wide arc around the palace. All along, Fey had turned out, despite the earliness of the hour.
They saluted him, or bowed, or nodded slightly. Fey did not applaud or cry out at ceremonial events, like so many other cultures did. Fey cried out during battle. This was merely a review, an acknowledgment, a way of establishing Fey dominance.
He nodded in return. At times, when the carriage was going slowly enough, he stood, as if to inspect something.
There was nothing to inspect while they were on the palace grounds. He had seen them all from his windows, and knew that they were relatively unharmed. The only damage had come from the attack the Islanders' King, Nicholas, had started, and that was minor: a few marks in some of the side buildings, bloodstains all over the flagstones, which had taken some Domestic a week to clean properly, and a badly trampled area on one side of the garden.
But the palace was an island of normality in the ruined city. He had seen that from his window as well.
And the ruins, as he would remind his people, had come through their good work.
Without Jahn, there was no Blue Isle. The heart of Blue Isle was its city, and it would soon have a new and different sort of central government, one that answered only to the Fey.
If any Islanders turned out this day, they would learn that as well.
He doubted that any of them would show their faces.
He stood as the carriage went through the gates of the palace. More Fey lined the central road, so many in fact, that they stood five deep in order to see him. He had done this sort of thing before; he had reviewed the troops after a great victory, but then, as now, it had been optional to come see the Black King.
In the past, only a small portion of his troop had come out to see him. He hadn't minded. It meant the rest were working or resting after a job well done.
This time, it seemed, everyone had turned out.
To see if he lived?
To see if he were in good health?
Apparently.
He did not smile. It would have been inappropriate to smile. But he did nod when he saw familiar faces. The carriage took him slowly toward the river, and the great bridge. He would see, and perhaps applaud, the destruction of the Tabernacle, home to the Black Robes. Then he would go neighborhood by neighborhood, inspecting the damage, perhaps ordering another building burned.
He would have to stand through all of this, to prove to them that he was fine, even though he had been better.
They didn't need to know that.
Morale was bad enough, and none of his injuries were life-threatening.
Any longer.
Blue Isle had nearly had him, twice, and that was all it would get of him. From this point on, the Isle belonged to him, and he was letting his people know it.
And he was confirming the victory that he knew he already had.
Remembering it.
Feeling it.
The injuries had taken their toll on him as well, as had the surprise at being bested.
He should have been pleased. If he wanted confirmation that he had made the right decision in coming to Blue Isle, the two times his great-granddaughter and her golem had taken him were proof enough.
And despite the difficulty he had had with the golem, he had done what he could when he saw his great-granddaughter. He had taken the first step toward making her a true member of the Black family, something he had not had time to do when he contacted his great-grandson.
His great-granddaughter would make a superb leader of the Fey. She had the fire, the intelligence, and the magick.
She would be among the best.
Now all he had to do was get rid of her father and bring her to him.
That was all it would take to secure the Isle.
Two small acts.
And he knew he could accomplish them.
SEVENTY-EIGHT
Shooting pains ran through her leg.
Arianna cursed again as she allowed herself to get pulled back to her foot marker. She rubbed the leg, waiting for the pain to ease.
She had made it farther this time, but she had still stopped herself. One false thought, one change, and she would be back here, where she started.
She had no idea how much time had passed. This darkness was unchanging, and she had no way to mark the time.
A person could go mad here, over time. No sound. No light. No smells. Nothing.
Totally and irrevocably mad.
She could feel the edge of panic creep up, and she fought it back down.
Arianna?
A voice she had never heard before echoed far away.
She shook her imaginary head. And she had caused it. She had caused that sound by worrying that she wouldn't ever hear anything again.
Arianna?
If she were going to make up a sound, though, wouldn't it be something else, like the sound of blood rushing through her veins or the sound of her lungs breathing in and out?
And if she were to make up a voice, why not use one she was already familiar with, instead of this one? This voice was deep and husky, with a lot of youth in it, the promise of a voice that would someday settle into something other than what it was now.
Arianna?
And it sounded as if it were calling for her.
Was it her great-grandfather? Had he come back?
But she had heard his voice, and it sounded nothing like this. Besides, it spoke with a Fey accent mixed with Nye emphasis on the Islander language. The Black King was fluent in her native tongue, but he had learned it from nonnative speakers. It had shown, even when he had been trying to hide it.
The pain in her leg was gone. The voice had given her something else to think about.
Arianna?
What harm would it be to shout back, even if it were her great-grandfather? He could show her the way out, and then she could fight him. Even without Sebastian's help, she had managed to trap him. The Black King wasn't as all-powerful as he thought.
Sebastian. Her heart ached at the thought. What had he been doing? He had been hiding, alone, and then he had managed to save her. He had seemed so wonderful in this place, without his stone body to slow him down.
Arianna!
The voice sounded a bit strained now, as if it were creeping into panic. What would cause someone to panic? Was she actually hearing something outside herself? Was the person panicking because of something Arianna was doing? Was she Shifting without being conscious of it? Babies did. Maybe Shifters who didn't have control of their own bodies did too. Maybe that's why Solanda had warned her that any Shifter who got terribly ill died.
Or maybe the voice was inside her. She hadn't closed those doors as Sebastian had told her to do.
The thought made her imaginary body tremble.
Hey! Arianna shouted. I'm here! I can't get out! Mark your way!
There was no answer. She sighed. She had made up the voice. She would have to gather control of her mind and try to find the way out again. It sounded so easy, controlling one's mind, but it wasn't. It was the most difficult thing she had ever done.
Arianna? Call me again. It's really dark back here.
Her heart leapt. This time, she hadn't been thinking of the voice at all. Maybe it did belong to someone else.
But who?
Look, she said, trying to keep her excitement down. Maybe it would be better if I found you.
There was a pause before the answer. He had to be very far away.
Nope, he said. I have some talents you don't. It's better if I come to you.
All right, she said. You want me to sing or something? Or maybe not. I don't sing well in this form.
Of course she could switch to a robin. She did
n't really have to Shift. She didn't have control of her body. She didn't know which part of her body she was in, exactly, just somewhere in the brain, she assumed, and she wasn't even sure about that.
You can do whatever you want, he said. I finally got used to the darkness, but some conversation might help.
Who are you? she asked.
It took less time for his replies to reach her now. She could sense someone approaching.
Perhaps she was wishing again.
My name is Coulter.
Coulter, she said. Do I know you?
I think you do now, he said. Two people can't get a lot closer than this.
I mean outside. Have I met you before?
No, he said.
Then how did you get here?
I'm traveling on your father's Link. We don't have a lot of time on it either. My powers are large, but time-limited.
Where's the Shaman? Why isn't she helping?
There was a pause, but Arianna didn't think this one was caused by distance.
She helped as much as she could. She got you to me.
A light appeared in the distance. It was faint, and it seemed to be moving.
Are you wearing light? she asked.
I thought it would be easier, he said.
The light illuminated gray, winding coils that were as large as tree limbs. They seemed tightly packed together and if she looked at them closely, she could see blood and other liquid moving through them.
Was this her physical brain? If so, where was she exactly?
Then he turned the corner.
She had been expecting a Fey.
Instead she saw something she had never seen before. A tall blond Islander boy with upswept eyes and high cheekbones. He had pointed ears and was startlingly handsome.
Breathtaking, in fact, if she had had any breath to take.
What are you? she asked. Are you a half-breed like me?
I don't know, he said. Then he spread out his hands. The light moved with him. He glowed all over. I don't really look like this. Except in my own mind. That's how this works, you know. Your own image disappears. Your self-image appears. You'll see me soon enough. I'm not much to look at, really.
The Resistance: The Fourth Book of the Fey (Fey Series) Page 49
