Sacrifice: The First Book of the Fey

by Rusch, Kristine Kathryn

  “Who is the boy’s father?” Nicholas asked Lord Stowe.

  “He’s a farmer near Killeny’s Bridge. Apparently he joined up early on, and then when his son joined, he stayed with him, to protect him. He’s never been near the King, and he’s never met anyone more important than a Danite, so far as we can tell.” Lord Stowe had done his homework before bringing the boy in. But Nicholas did understand why they didn’t want him anywhere near the King. His father was taking enough risks talking with the Fey prisoner. He didn’t need another.

  “I come to Lord Stowe, sir, to ask him to rescue my father. But then his people poured holy water on me—and it glowed. But I feel fine. I do.” The boy shook. His terror was almost palpable.

  Nicholas stood. “What happens when you touch him?” Nicholas asked Lord Stowe.

  “Nothing. I can pour holy water onto my hand when I’m touching him. He glows and I don’t.”

  Nicholas nodded. He touched the damp spots on the boy’s tunic. The area felt warm from the boy’s skin. But there was no glow, nor any transfer of great power, so far as Nicholas could tell.

  “What did they do to you, boy?”

  “He was there for a number of days,” Lord Stowe said. “I will brief you later.”

  So too much to recite in a short visit. “Did they give you anything before you left?”

  The boy shook his head. “Just the clothes. I wore them to Jahn, but when we found the green glow, I took them off. The glow stays.”

  “The clothes glow, too,” Lord Stowe said.

  Nicholas touched the boy’s skin. It was soft, not the skin of a laborer, and tanned. But again he found nothing unusual. “Did you come to Lord Stowe of your own free will?” he asked.

  Lord Stowe started. Apparently he had not thought to ask that question. But, then, he hadn’t heard most of the stories from the Fey prisoner.

  The boy nodded. “I come to ask him if he would rescue my father.”

  Nicholas let go of the boy. He was afraid to ask the next question, afraid he might not want to hear the answer. “Where are they keeping your father?”

  “In their place, the Shadowlands,” the boy said. “It’s horrible there, all gray with nothing growing. It’s like they put a box in the sky. Please. I could hardly stand it. My dad loves the green. He’ll go crazy in there.”

  All gray with nothing growing. Nicholas couldn’t even picture it. “I’ll do what I can,” he said, uncertain even what that was. His father said he had a plan for bringing down the Fey, but they had had plans before.

  Lord Stowe patted the boy’s shoulder. “I’ll rejoin you outside in a few moments.”

  The boy nodded, turned, and stopped. Then he turned again, bowed, and backed out of the room in proper fashion. When he had shut the door behind him, Nicholas took a deep breath and leaned against the window seat.

  “They did something to him, didn’t they?”

  Lord Stowe nodded. “But we can’t tell what it is. As far as we know, his story is accurate, and I had Theron—the man who led the attack—check him over. He recognized the boy, said there was nothing different. Although Theron did say there was a third man taken prisoner. When I asked the boy, he got tears in his eyes and refused to talk about it.”

  “Dead?”

  “I don’t know,” Lord Stowe said. “I think we have to assume this boy is dangerous in some way, a way we can’t comprehend yet. I recommend placing him in protective custody until we can figure out what to do with him.”

  Nicholas tugged on his ponytail. “He seems very concerned for his father.”

  “I believe that’s genuine,” Lord Stowe said. “But the Fey might be using that as a way to lure us into Shadowlands. I think we tell the boy we’re doing what we can, but stay away from their Shadowlands for the time being.”

  Nicholas sighed. “Choices. I dislike these choices. You were going to tell me what happened to him inside.”

  Lord Stowe smiled. “Apparently, he and his father got lenient treatment because one of the Fey women took a liking to the boy.”

  “Seems odd that she would let him go in that case, doesn’t it?”

  “No. He shows a curious loyalty to her.”

  Nicholas frowned and stared at the door. It was sturdy oak, but with the boy just outside, Nicholas didn’t feel safe. Actually, that was wrong of him. He hadn’t felt safe since he’d learned of the various Fey magicks, and how close they had come to doing away with him.

  “I was thinking, Highness, of keeping him under guard at my place,” Lord Stowe said.

  “Why would you do that?”

  “So that I can watch over him.”

  “No,” Nicholas said. “The quarters are safer.”

  “Beg pardon, Highness, but I disagree. If we have the same guards watching over him in my place with strict procedure, we’re better off with him there. You can check me each time I come into the palace and do the same with the regular guards. In the quarters too many people have access to him.”

  “What about the man who led the attack? Can the boy stay with him?”

  Lord Stowe shook his head. “Too risky. That man is the one who brought the Fey prisoner to us. We have no idea if he has been infected by a different kind of magic.”

  “And you brought the boy to me. The same kind of problem could exist.” Nicholas smiled. “I see your point, Lord Stowe. Have a contingent of twelve guards rotating every few hours watch him. Set up an elaborate check and double check with holy water. I’ll inform my father of him and see what we can come up with between the two of us.”

  Lord Stowe bowed. As he stood, he said, “One other thing, Highness. A woman saw me just before the boy came. She swears that a cat stole her baby.”

  “What?” Nicholas said. “A cat?”

  Lord Stowe nodded. “A golden cat who changed into a woman in the moonlight. The woman sounded a bit deranged to me, but since things have been quite odd around here this last year, I thought you would want to know.”

  “I do want to know,” Nicholas said. He braced his hands on the window seat, letting the sharp stone edge bite into his palm. “What did the cat do with the child?”

  “Took it to the Shadowlands,” Lord Stowe said.

  “And you’re sure it was an Islander child?” The stone was turning Nicholas’s hands cold.

  “Positive. It was too old to be Fey, for one thing, and the woman could name its parents.”

  “I thought she was its mother.”

  Lord Stowe shook his head. “The Fey murdered the parents. She rescued the baby and hid it until the Fey left.”

  “So they may have been after this child before.” Nicholas’s mouth was dry. That cat was connected to the Doppelgängers. Maybe the child was one too.

  “So it would seem.”

  Nicholas nodded. “Thanks for letting me know. When you take care of the boy, let me know what you’ve done with him.”

  Lord Stowe bowed again, apparently understanding the dismissal. He backed away and let himself out, closing the door behind him.

  Nicholas closed his eyes and fell against the window seat cushions. All of this was too much. That cat—if it was only one cat—had a lot to do with the problems happening near the palace. And the boy, touched by the Fey in a way that was not comprehensible yet.

  Or maybe he was Fey. Maybe they had discovered a way around holy water. But if that was true, why hadn’t he attacked Nicholas? Tried to take a place in the palace?

  The Fey never did things logically. After a year of battling them, Nicholas knew that much. He sighed and sat up. Time to talk with his father. The only thing he could hope was that his father’s plan was a good one.

  SEVENTY-FIVE

  Caseo’s hands were shaking. He had to stop working or he would spill. He sat in one of the chairs, and it squeaked under his weight. The cabin was cold. He had been inside for days. He couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten.

  Touched was sitting in the other chair, staring at the ceiling as if it
had secrets to reveal. Two Warders were asleep in the back room, and the others had gone to their own places for sleep, being too afraid to spend much time in this place, near the poison.

  Caseo wished he could sleep, but his mind was too busy. After the discussion with Touched and Rotin a few days ago, he had dreamed a solution: an elegant spell with twists and turns that befitted a Master Warder. But when he awoke, he couldn’t remember the details of the spell, only the sense of it. He had sent for Touched and explained what he could remember before he forgot it, and since then the two of them had worked almost nonstop. They were no closer to a solution, but it seemed to them as if they were.

  Sometimes that sense of confidence made all the difference.

  At least Caseo knew what direction he was going in. Touched had been right. They needed to create a spell of their own. But Caseo had come up with the aspects of the spell that would make it work for the Fey.

  The spell would have to make the poison deadly to Islanders, and Islanders only. It would have to be cast from a distance, and in a situation of extreme stress. Only a handful of Fey could throw spells, and even fewer could do so under stress. His best choices were Warders themselves, or Weather Sprites. But there were too few Warders to waste, and the problem with Sprites was that they usually worked in private. The same, for that matter, could be said about Warders. Domestics might be able to do the work, but they would have to be right over the poison, and that was too dangerous. Still, as Rotin had pointed out, better to lose a few Domestics than not to solve the problem at all.

  Caseo shifted his feet. They brushed against something on the floor, and a tingle ran up his leg. A bit of magick. He glanced down. The robe that Quest had brought in. Robe and sword. Religious icons, Quest had said before he ran off to a meeting with Rugar. Quest had promised to come back, but never had. Caseo had forgotten about the robe until now.

  “Touched,” he said.

  Touched was still staring at the ceiling. He didn’t appear to hear Caseo.

  “Touched!”

  Slowly Touched leaned forward. His eyes focused on Caseo. “What if—“Touched’s voice rasped. “What if we forget about Sprites and Domestics? What if we use an Enchanter?”

  Caseo resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “A great idea,” he said, “except that we don’t have an Enchanter with us on this trip.”

  Touched blinked and frowned. “But we do. We have one in camp. Can’t you feel it?”

  Caseo couldn’t feel it. He had never been able to feel Enchanters. It was one of his only failings as a Warder. But he was not about to admit that to Touched. “I will check with Rugar. If we have an Enchanter in camp, it is not something he wants others to know.”

  Touched bit his lower lip, then let go. He had bite marks in the flesh. “It would work as an Enchanter spell. An Enchanter has the distance and the power, and he wouldn’t have to work a bottle at a time. He could do it all at once.”

  The idea was brilliant, but worthless without an Enchanter. If the boy was feeling one, then something odd had happened. Perhaps one of the children had come into puberty with full Enchantment powers. But Caseo would have had hints. Enchanters, like Shape-Shifters and Warders, showed their powers from childhood. Only in glimpses and promises, but the powers existed. He would have known if Rugar had brought an Enchanter.

  Besides, Enchanters were so rare that the Black King probably couldn’t spare one. It was quite normal for long-distance campaigns to operate without one.

  “It’s a good idea,” Caseo said, “but I think we have to stick with the Domestics and the Sprites for now. Better to work with the powers we have.”

  “Shame,” Touched said. “It was a good idea.”

  Caseo almost contradicted him. A good idea was one they could use. But he had been harsh enough with the boy lately. And at least he was visualizing spells. That was better than the other Warders were doing.

  “Did you get any others?” Caseo asked.

  “I was working on that one.” Touched bit his lip again. He would have to change that habit, or one day he would bite through.

  “All right, then,” Caseo said. “Do you remember what Quest said when he brought the robes in this morning?”

  “He said that it had caused lights to rotate inside the Circle Door when he arrived. Rugar made him take off the robe and sword, and then the lights stopped.”

  “Odd,” Caseo said. He kicked the robe again. The tingle ran through his leg. “Pick this up, would you?”

  Touched got up with a sigh. He wasn’t shaking like Caseo, but he had been working as hard and had gone pale with exhaustion. He crouched and put a hand on the black cloth, then drew back with a cry, as if it had burned him.

  “It’s alive,” he said.

  “It certainly has power, doesn’t it?”

  Touched looked at his hand. “It doesn’t seem to have hurt me. Quest wore this all the time?”

  “For a few days. He seems fine. Yet we have the small matter of the inside lights.”

  “Do they ever rotate?”

  “No, never,” Caseo said. “Shadowlands is a purely functional spell. Whatever is built into it serves a small purpose. The lights have always given us the information we have needed, but they have never acted on their own accord before.”

  Touched frowned and leaned back. “Are they Fey Lamps?”

  Caseo shook his head. “They are part of the Shadowlands itself. Just a construct from Rugar’s Vision. I almost dismissed the boy’s story this morning. Rugar’s Vision has been spotty, and that can sometimes create anomalies. But now I’m not so certain. You and I have both felt power from this robe, and I wager if I wake up the others in the back, they would feel it too.”

  “What does it mean?” Touched said.

  “I don’t know,” Caseo said. “Quest said these are religious garments, and the sword is a religious symbol, as is the poison. Perhaps their religion has a power they don’t understand or know how to use.”

  “What makes you think they don’t know how to use it?” Touched said.

  “Because if they knew, we would be dead. They would have defeated us,” Caseo said.

  “You can’t know that,” Touched said.

  Caseo smiled at him. “I can, and so can you if you learn to observe. This robe has enough power to jolt us, who happen to be guarded against other beings’ magick. It also has enough power to cause the Circle Door to behave strangely. Whatever you may think of these things, Touched, these are not small matters. It suggests a great power.”

  Touched ran a finger over the robe, wincing as he did so. “Then we need to study it as well. Maybe it holds the secret to the poison.”

  “Maybe,” Caseo said. He didn’t want to rule anything out. “But I think we can solve the riddle of the poison without it. If you say you have developed a spell for an Enchanter, then we are not far from developing one for others.”

  Touched dropped the robe. He wiped his hands on his own robe as if he were cleaning them off. “I think we should check with Rugar first and find out about the Enchanter we have here.”

  “No,” Caseo said. “That’s taking the easy way. He’s keeping the Enchanter from the rest of us for a reason. We’re better off with a wide-ranging spell; one that can be done by a variety of people.” He looked at Touched. “If you can devise a spell for an Enchanter, you can devise one for a Sprite.”

  Touched seemed to grow even paler, his eyes dark circles in his narrow face. “I work best with Enchanters,” he said.

  “We all do, boy,” Caseo said. “They fill in the gaps for us, make spells that are awkward seem elegant. But we don’t have a choice here. We will work with the Domestics and the Sprites.”

  “I can’t,” Touched whispered.

  Caseo froze. “You . . . can’t?”

  Touched shook his head. He wasn’t looking at Caseo. “My Domestic spells never work. And I don’t understand Sprites.”

  “Your Domestic spells seem to work fine,” Caseo said. He felt
odd—lighter than usual, as if part of him was elated that Touched couldn’t work and the other part was very, very angry.

  “Rotin helped. She’s always finished them.”

  The anger took over. Caseo had to struggle to keep the emotion off his face. “She has?”

  Touched nodded. “She said I wasn’t to tell you, but I don’t know how I could avoid it here. I can’t translate the spell over to the Domestics or the Sprites. My talent seems to lie in the large spells, like an Enchanter’s, or the bloody spells like the ones the Foot Soldiers use.”

  And here Caseo had always believed that Touched would be the next great genius of Spell Warding. Rotin had been playing with him, just as she had been playing with Touched a few evenings ago. Her manipulation was going to stop. Caseo would see to that. Touched was no more talented than the rest of them. In fact, he had the normal weaknesses that any new Warder had.