Sacrifice: The First Book of the Fey

by Rusch, Kristine Kathryn

  “You won’t be,” the Rocaan said.

  “But I will. If you make me Rocaan, you won’t be able to make me believe. And I will make this a hollow, empty place like those other men did.”

  “They did not destroy the Church.”

  Matthias unhooked the edge of the tapestry and covered the window. The scene was a familiar one: the building of the courtyard and the Blessing of the workers. “You just told me they might have,” he said. “You said they failed to act when needed. No Rocaan has followed the path set by the Roca. No Rocaan. How could an unbeliever do it?”

  “You won’t have to,” the Rocaan said. “I will.”

  “And if you fail—“ Matthias thumbed the edge of the tapestry, unwilling to look at the Rocaan. “If you fail, I will not even have the hope of belief. There will be nothing left in this place.”

  “I will not fail,” the Rocaan said.

  SEVENTY-THREE

  Scavenger shoved his hands into his pockets as he walked, feeling lighter than he should have been feeling. No pouches, no equipment, no blood. He had been clean for almost a week—longer than he had ever been in his adult life.

  The road was quiet. The trees draped over it like a canopy, and the shadows carried a chill. Sunlight didn’t make it through that canopy, except in small dappled specks. Birds chirped overhead, and occasionally something crashed in the underbrush. He concentrated, though, on each and every sound. He didn’t want to be caught, a lone Fey, walking calmly down a road outside the city of Jahn. But he couldn’t hurry back as the Islander King had wanted him to. He needed to think.

  For a week he had not felt like himself. He had been someone important, someone a King spent time listening to. At nights, when the King was gone and only the guards remained, Scavenger dreamed of his own people: Caseo threatening to kill him, Rugar looking through him, Solanda calling him a troll. They had no concept of how important he could be. Just because he lacked magick didn’t mean that he lacked intelligence.

  And now he needed that intelligence more than ever, because he wasn’t quite sure how he would explain his absence, especially if some of the other Red Caps had seen him fighting with the Islanders. If he claimed he had been captured, he would die. Returned prisoners were not celebrated; they were murdered as potential spies. It didn’t matter that the Islanders were not sophisticated enough to think of that themselves. The Fey were, and that would be enough.

  He needed a story, and it had to be a good one. It also had to be as close to the truth as he could make it, because he was a terrible liar.

  The edge of his foot caught a rock, and he nearly stumbled. He stuck out one arm for balance and then continued. He had only one thing he could say. He would say that he ran away because he was frightened of Caseo. Then he found two Islanders in the woods—no, he couldn’t say that. Because if he killed them, then where was the skin? And if he didn’t, he was back to the first problem. Everyone would think he had been captured and polluted. It would take so little for them to turn on him. He had no value there.

  The big tree that led into the clearing was just ahead. He would say he ran away from Caseo, but he wouldn’t say anything more. If someone had seen him with the Islanders, then he would make up a story, but the less he said, the better off he would be. Besides, it wouldn’t matter for long. When he killed Rugar, no, one would care where he had been. They would worry only about themselves.

  He stopped by the tree to catch his breath. Of course, he had yet to figure out how to kill Rugar. That thought had haunted him since the King had brought it up. Rugar was a leader, a Visionary. He had guards around him at all times.

  Except in the Shadowlands.

  Even then, though, his daughter was around, and more than Rugar, Scavenger was afraid of Jewel. He had seen her in battle. She was fierce. He didn’t want her to catch him.

  And that was the crux of it, really—being caught. He could kill Rugar. Killing any Fey was not difficult. They bled just like everyone else. The problem was not to let the powerful ones understand they were under attack, so that they could attack first.

  Scavenger stepped into the clearing, bracing himself for the stench of bodies. But the air was fresh there, and except for some bloodstains and scuff marks on the ground, there was no sign that any battle had taken place. They had managed to get everything cleaned up since he had gone.

  A path had been worn to the Ground Circle marking the Circle Door. A lot of traffic lately. He was about to cross into the Ground Circle when he heard voices.

  “. . . don’t know why he wants bones.”

  “And all broken up. I wish we could just toss ‘em like we usually do.”

  “I think he’s going crazy.”

  “No sleep they say since he started working on the poison.”

  They were talking about Caseo. And he recognized the voices. Vulture and Uences, two of the Red Caps. Vulture worked often. Uences was older and preferred to work only during battle. It must have taken a lot of effort to get her out of the Shadowlands.

  He braced himself for the recriminations about his absence. He still didn’t have a complete story, but he had enough. He rounded the Ground Circle and followed the sound of voices.

  “No sleep can destroy anyone’s mind.”

  “Wonder what happens to a Warder when he goes crazy?”

  “Becomes Caseo.”

  “He’s just ambitious. Thinks he’s the Black King.”

  “He’s scary.”

  “No scarier than the rest of them.”

  Vulture and Uences were standing near a pile of skeletons just inside the woods. The flesh was gone, and so were the organs. If Scavenger hadn’t known better, he would have thought the bodies had been there a long time.

  He cleared his throat.

  Both Vulture and Uences looked up guiltily. Vulture was covered with brown stains, his clothing filthy, his hair standing on end. Uences looked cleaner—she had obviously not been pulling the flesh off bodies—but patches of sweat stained her shirt under her arms and down her back.

  “About time,” Uences said. “Do you know how long we’ve been waiting for someone to relieve us?”

  “They promised somebody at dawn. We haven’t seen anyone except that Domestic they have doing the running.” Vulture held a tibia. He used his knife and sliced the edge of the bone away as he would whittle on a piece of wood, putting the shavings into his pouch.

  Scavenger opened his mouth, about to give the answer he had planned, when what they said reached his brain. They thought he had come from inside. No one had noticed he was missing. A little shiver of anger went through him. He could have been killed by the Islanders and no one would have cared. No one at all.

  “Didn’t they tell you I was coming?”

  Uences shook her head. A strand of hair fell alongside her face. “They don’t tell us anything. I don’t even think they care what happens to us as long as we get the work done.”

  “And Caseo has this thing about Islander bones today. Yesterday it was Fey bones. The day before it was kidneys. I don’t think he knows what he’s doing,” Vulture said.

  Caseo certainly seemed to know when Scavenger had gone to see him, but Scavenger said nothing. The less he said, the better off he would be.

  “He just likes to keep us busy,” Uences said. “We’ve never had to strip bones before, not even in L’Nacin.”

  “How do you remember L’Nacin?” Vulture asked. “You were a baby.”

  “I was a girl. My parents served there. They came home covered in blood. I would have remembered if they had to do bones.”

  The two of them must have been arguing throughout the entire job. Scavenger was glad he hadn’t been there. “Which of you do I replace?” he asked.

  “Me.” Uences stuck her knife into its small sheath, let the bone she was holding drop, and handed him her half-filled pouch. “I don’t do this kind of work.”

  “Now, wait one damn minute,” Vulture said. “I haven’t slept in two days. Yo
u can wait until the next relief comes.”

  “As if there’s going to be a next relief,” Uences said. “They promised me I could leave at dawn. Does it look like dawn to you?”

  “No,” Vulture said. “I can barely see. Next thing you know, I’ll cut off my own finger.”

  Scavenger looked back and forth between them. He really didn’t want to work with Uences, but he knew what it was like to slave for days with no recognition. He also knew that whoever went inside now would probably be back in a few hours when Tazy sent for replacements.

  “How long have you worked, Uences?” Scavenger asked.

  “Since twilight,” she snapped at him. “And they only provided one Fey Lamp—and the souls in that one were withering. How do they expect you to do good work when you can’t see? Talk about almost losing a finger. I almost lost two of mine in the dark.”

  “I’m sorry,” Scavenger said, knowing he would be even more sorry in a few hours. “But I’m going to relieve Vulture.”

  Vulture clapped him on the back so hard, the sound rang through the forest. “My man!” He grinned. “I finally get to sleep. And I don’t have to listen to her chatter anymore.” He put his knife in its scabbard, handed the scabbard to Scavenger, and threw the finished pouch on the pile of pouches to wait for the Domestic. Then he took the half-filled pouch from Scavenger’s hand and made a show of giving it back to Uences. “Have a good time, all,” he said, and scampered for the Circle Door.

  “What did you do that for?” Uences picked up a bone and began shaving it, her cheeks red. “I have seniority.”

  “And he needs to sleep sometimes.”

  She brought her face up. “Let me tell you something, little man,” she said, using the tip of her knife to emphasize her words. He took a cautious step backward, and she followed. “I have seniority. That ain’t much, but it’s something. Red Caps don’t get respect, or love, or even like, but we do get seniority, which gives us the permission to do whatever we want whenever we want. I earned that, and that’s about all I will have ever earned. When you get to my place, you’ll understand that seniority is more important than sleep. It’s more important than food. It’s more important than anything.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Scavenger took out Vulture’s knife and grabbed a femur.

  “Don’t ‘yes ma’am’ me,” Uences said. “You’ll understand when you’re my age and have nothing to show for years of work. Years of filthy, stinking work and the taunts and the lack of respect. You’ll understand.”

  “I’m sure I will,” Scavenger said.

  She pushed the tip of her knife against his breastbone. “Are you making fun of me?”

  He grabbed her wrist with his free hand. The knife could shred him in a matter of moments. “No,” he said as evenly as he could. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  She apparently took him seriously, for she removed the knife.

  “I’m sorry,” he said softly, “about letting Vulture go.”

  She grinned for the first time since he arrived. “Don’t worry about it, kid,” she said. “If I had really thought I should go, I would have. Seniority, you know. You got even less power than I do.”

  He knew that. He knew that very well. He sighed and settled in to work. Soon someone would replace him. When they did, he would go inside and kill Rugar, just as he promised. And the hell of it was, he could kill Rugar in front of a thousand Fey, and most would never notice him. They would notice only that Rugar had died. The Red Caps might see Scavenger, and those who did wouldn’t be angry at him for the deed.

  They would cheer.

  SEVENTY-FOUR

  Nicholas had built a fire in the west-wing library. He welcomed the warmth on his right side, even as he sat in his favorite window seat overlooking the servants’ quarters. He had finally decorated the room a bit, adding cushions and a few chairs since he spent so much time alone there. He was hoping for a glimpse of Charissa. He had been dreaming of her every night, passionate dreams in which he held her in his arms. But midway through she always turned into the Fey woman he had captured, and his passion increased. The desire he felt for that woman, the fact that he hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind for over a year, disturbed him more than he cared to admit to anyone.

  A knock on the door startled him. He thought he had complete privacy. He got out of the window seat. “Who is it?”

  “Lord Stowe.”

  Nicholas grabbed the vial of holy water he now kept beside him at all times, unstopped it, and hid it in his right hand. “Come.”

  Lord Stowe opened the door and closed it very carefully. Nicholas kept his distance. He no longer trusted anyone, not until they proved themselves. He tossed the open bottle at Lord Stowe. When Stowe caught it, water splashed all over him. He smiled.

  “Nice test, Highness.” He crossed the room, clutching the vial, and handed it back to Nicholas. Half the liquid was gone. Nicholas replaced the stopper and put the vial in his pocket. He did not apologize. He didn’t have to.

  “I have a young man outside,” Lord Stowe said, “and he has quite a story. I think you should talk with him.”

  “Me?” Nicholas asked. “What can I do? Why aren’t you taking him to my father?”

  “I’m not sure he should get near your father, and someone needs to hear this besides me.”

  “Anyone can go near my father if you test with holy water.”

  Lord Stowe smiled. “Wait until you see what happens when you try that.”

  The hair on the back of Nicholas’s head prickled. The idea of danger intrigued him. “Where is this man now?”

  “Outside the door,” Lord Stowe said. “With several guards. I would like to bring him in without the guards, if that’s all right by you.”

  “What am I seeing him for?”

  “His story,” Lord Stowe said. “It’s quite fantastic.”

  “Do you believe it?”

  “I won’t prejudice you, Highness, one way or another.”

  Nicholas walked back to his window seat and perched on it as if it were a chair. A few days before he had hidden another bottle of holy water beneath the cushion. He moved the cushion aside slightly to see if the vial was still there. It was, with the same strand of hair wrapped around its cork that Nicholas had placed there.

  “All right,” Nicholas said. “Show him in.”

  Lord Stowe bowed and backed to the door, then stood and pulled the door open. He spoke for a moment to someone in the hallway; then a man came in—a boy, actually, a few years younger than Nicholas. He was squarely built with a hint of future power. His face was gaunt and acne-scarred, and his eyes were dark blue and wide with fear.

  “Highness, if you please, your holy water,” Lord Stowe said as he held out his hand. With his other hand he pushed the door closed. Nicholas left the stopper on the vial this time and tossed it at Lord Stowe. He caught it, took the stopper off, and sprinkled some on the boy.

  Where the water touched the boy, it turned green and glowed for a moment before fading away. If they had poured a bucket of holy water on him, the entire boy would have glowed.

  “What are you?” Nicholas asked.

  The boy bowed and remained bent until Lord Stowe spoke softly to him. Then the boy stood. Lord Stowe put his hand on the boy’s back and propelled him forward until they were only a few feet from Nicholas.

  “My name is Luke,” the boy said. “I live with my family near Killeny’s Bridge, or I did until I volunteered to help fight the Fey.”

  “You were born here on the Isle?” Nicholas asked.

  Lord Stowe was watching the boy with concern on his face. He hadn’t taken his hand off the boy’s back.

  “Yes, sir. I didn’t glow green till they sent me back, sir. I don’t know what it is!” The boy’s voice rose with each word, wobbling in panic. The panic, Nicholas realized, was not from the boy’s proximity to the Prince, but from the green glow itself.

  “Yet nothing happens to you, except the glow?”

&
nbsp; The boy nodded.

  “He was one of the Fey prisoners,” Lord Stowe said. “They set him free.”

  Now Nicholas’s attention was fully caught. “They set you free?”

  “Yes, sir. My father, he bought my freedom, sir, by promising to stay with them forever and telling them all they needed to know about Islanders.”

  Nicholas glanced at Lord Stowe, whose gaze met his. The concern on Lord Stowe’s face mirrored the concern Nicholas felt. “What does your father know?” Nicholas asked.

  “Not much,” the boy said. “I doubt they got much from the bargain. He don’t even go to Sacraments, beg pardon, sir.”