Sacrifice: The First Book of the Fey

by Rusch, Kristine Kathryn

  She had given this meeting a lot of thought, ever since her father had returned with news of his defeat. They had killed the religious leader, and they still had the Black King as a threat on the horizon. They weren’t entirely powerless.

  It only felt that way.

  The key, her grandfather would have told her, was to act as if they still had all of the power. But she knew that the Islanders could keep whittling away at the Fey on the Isle until none were left. She had to count on the fact that the Islanders didn’t know that. She had to buy time. She had to make an offer that would someday work in the Fey’s favor.

  Her father came up beside her. She half turned her back on him. He would sit at her side, and if he said anything, she would stop him. She would undercut him in front of the Islanders. She should have had a Warder on her other side, but she needed someone she trusted.

  She needed Burden.

  She should have listened to him since the First Battle for Jahn. He had said her father was Blind. She should have listened.

  On the hill on the other side of the bowl stood Nicholas, the King, and an adviser. As previously agreed, the Fey guards made their way down the rocky slope to the flat surface at the same time the Islander guards did on the other side. They brought some Black Robes, probably knowing that the religious representatives would strike more terror into the Fey than anything.

  They were right.

  When the guards were in place, Jewel, her father, and Burden made their way down the hill. Jewel watched as Nicholas, the King, and the other adviser kept pace with them. They all arrived on the flat stone surface at the same time. So many details, so much delicate negotiation, even before this meeting could start. They crossed the stone together, reached the table, pulled back the chairs, and sat with the unison of people used to ritual.

  The wind wasn’t as harsh in the bowl, although the spray had turned into a fine mist that coated everything with water. Jewel pushed the stray strands of hair off her face. Nicholas was staring at her with the fascination that she remembered. In the year since she had seen him, his face had acquired an almost Fey-like leanness, and lines had formed around his mouth. She longed to touch him, to see if his skin was rough. He no longer looked like an untried boy, more like the man who held her with such tenderness in her Vision.

  She hoped today’s meeting would change that Vision.

  Nicholas sat to his father’s right, across from Jewel’s father. Burden and the Islander adviser sat on Jewel’s right. Jewel and the Islander King sat in the middle.

  Jewel swallowed. She nodded at all of them, then started the proceedings since she was the one who had called them.

  “My name is Jewel,” she said in the language of the three Islanders who faced her. Her words sounded stilted, even to herself. Adrian had coached her long and hard on the next few sentences. “I am the Black King’s granddaughter. My father, Rugar, is the one who met your Rocaan at Daisy Stream. My adviser, Burden, will listen in as well. I will be speaking for the Fey. I would hope, once the formalities are passed, that we can speak in Nye, since my Islander is still limited.”

  “It is nice,” the King said in Nye, already acquiescing to her needs, “to learn who you are. My son Nicholas sits with me, and my adviser, Lord Stowe. I will negotiate for Blue Isle.”

  Jewel nodded at his kindness. “I called this meeting because I believe it to be in all of our interests to call a truce.”

  “I thought the Fey don’t negotiate,” the King said.

  Rugar began to speak, and Jewel grabbed his thigh. She dug her fingers in so tightly that he had to pry them loose. “The Fey have never lost before,” she said, amazed at her ability to say the words. When she had rehearsed this, alone, they had stuck in her throat. “We would like to return to Nye.”

  Her father’s hand froze on hers. He had not expected her to say that. She even knew what he was thinking: they couldn’t return to Nye in defeat. He would never be able to stand before his father again.

  Nicholas’s eyes were wide. He was watching her closely. She did not allow herself to look at him, although she felt his presence, as strong as her own.

  The King’s smile was gentle. “You know we can’t allow that. You will return with more ships and more Fey, and finally overrun us.”

  “You would have our oath that no such thing would happen,” Jewel said, trying to conduct this negotiation as skillfully as she could. If they did return to Nye, they would do exactly as the King said. But if she could convince him otherwise, they might have a chance to leave this Isle of defeat.

  The King rested his hands on the damp wooden table, fingers clasped. “And if you broke your oath, what then? We simply fight in a war we did not want in the first place.”

  She pushed her father’s hand away from hers. His emotions were distracting her. He hadn’t wanted this meeting either, and he had insisted on going along only so that he would knew what she was doing.

  “Well, then.” Jewel pushed her chair out and leaned back. Panic flared in Nicholas’s face, then disappeared. She wasn’t sure what he thought. Was he afraid she would attack them? “We have a problem. You could slaughter all of us, if you could find us all, but that’s only a temporary solution.”

  Her father was stiff beside her. Burden hadn’t moved. He was the good listener she had thought he would be.

  “Temporary?” the King said. “We could go back to our lives.”

  She nodded. “Until the Black King comes to Blue Isle, looking for his son and granddaughter.”

  “Why hasn’t he come yet?” Nicholas asked. The question wasn’t impertinent: he sounded curious, as if he had been wondering this for a long, long time.

  “He has the details of his own rule to deal with on Galinas. He expects us to report back to him. There is quite a window of time for that—wars are never quick and easy things—and if we haven’t reported back after what he considers to be too long, then he will send ships for us.”

  “Too long?” Lord Stowe asked. His face betrayed no nervousness, but his voice shook a little. “What’s that?”

  Jewel shrugged. “Three years, five, ten. I don’t know. If my grandfather has died, it will take a bit longer because my brother will have to get used to the reins of power. Once he is used to being Black King, he will come here.”

  “Eventually,” Rugar said in his command voice even though he didn’t know what Jewel was trying to do, “the Fey will come to Blue Isle in such numbers that we will rule this place.”

  The King took his hands off the table. A little pool of dryness outlined the place where they had been. “Such threats do nothing for your position,” he said. “We can still wipe you all out.”

  Jewel leaned forward. “If you were able to wipe us out,” she said softly, “you would have done so already. You have had several chances, and you have never managed to destroy us.”

  “Given time—” Lord Stowe started.

  “Given time,” Jewel agreed, “we would probably die. But you don’t know how much time you have. If the Black King does arrive while you’re still killing us, you are in even more trouble. And so are we.”

  Rugar stiffened beside her. Burden shifted slightly in his seat. Neither of them knew what she was going to do or what she was going to offer. She had discussed this with no one, even though she had been thinking about it for weeks.

  Go with the magick, her grandfather would say. And she was.

  The King started to speak, but she put up her hand. “Give me just a moment to explain,” she said. “You can kill us, small group by small group, but some of our people will survive. It is just our way. You can’t reach all of the magicks at once. We, on the other hand, would live in constant fear, making small raids on your people and holding skirmishes in order to survive. We would probably find a place like Daisy Stream, which is easy to defend, and take it over, and then there would be battles for that spot. More of your young people would die, and so would our people—one at a time, slowly and painfully, and
with no gain.”

  “It seems we would gain if you go away,” Lord Stowe said.

  Jewel gave him a gentle smile. She saw how they were playing this. The King was the reasonable one, while he had given Stowe the opportunity to argue the extreme position. She didn’t quite know Nicholas’s role yet. She was sure she would find out.

  “But that’s my point, Lord Stowe,” she said. “We won’t go away. You might have a year or five or maybe even a decade without us. But then the Black King will arrive, and he will have no mercy for you. You will have killed his troop and his family. In those circumstances the Black King cannot show mercy, or someone might try such a thing again.”

  “You obviously have a plan, something to propose that will benefit all of us?” the King said.

  The mist still fell, thin and cold, leaving little drops on her skin and her hair. It felt as if the sky were crying. She licked her lips, felt the cool water on her tongue. She did not look at her father as she spoke. “I propose an alliance,” she said.

  “Between us?” the King said, his voice rising with surprise.

  Jewel nodded. “It must be an alliance that the Black King recognizes. One that he cannot break.”

  “There is no such alliance,” Lord Stowe said. “The Fey are known for betraying agreements when the agreements no longer suit them. We would be fools to negotiate such a thing.”

  “You would be, yes,” Jewel said, “unless we can offer you something that would make the alliance impossible to betray. Something the Fey would have to agree to. Something your people would have to honor as well.”

  “What do you have in mind?” the King asked.

  Jewel raised her chin. Her heart was pounding and her mouth was suddenly dry. “I would like to marry your son.”

  Burden gasped beside her. The King’s pale face turned even whiter. Lord Stowe opened his mouth in surprise. Rugar grabbed Jewel’s arm and she shook his hand off. But Nicholas stared at her, his blue eyes warm. He appeared thoughtful, as if the idea had not occurred to him before.

  “Marriage is sacred among the Fey,” Jewel said before anyone else could speak. “We mingle bloodlines, we mingle magick. We do not do such a thing lightly, and marriage vows cannot be broken. From what I understand, anyone married within your religion cannot break those vows either, and members of the royal family, once pledged, are wedded to that person for eternity, even into death.”

  The King’s smile was a shaky attempt to cover his discomfort. “Eternity, yes, but we are allowed to remarry after death. The family grows bigger then.”

  “So,” Jewel said, “I take that to mean you agree with my proposal?”

  The King’s smile grew wider but did not reach his eyes. “No. It’s out of the question.”

  Nicholas put his hand on his father’s, then leaned forward so that his face was closest to Jewel’s. She could feel the warmth of his skin. Her gaze met his. His eyes were a deep blue.

  “It would have to be a true marriage,” Nicholas said.

  “Nicky!” his father said.

  Nicholas ignored him. He was staring at Jewel with an intensity Jewel had seen only once—when they had met in battle. She felt the spark between them. They were equals, whether he had magick or not.

  “I mean for it to be a true marriage,” she said. “I do not suggest such things lightly.”

  “Jewel, a nonmagick bloodline—”

  “Hush, Papa,” she said.

  “A true marriage,” Nicholas said, as if her father hadn’t spoken, “means, for Islanders, children.”

  Jewel nodded. It wouldn’t be hard to make children with this man. She had thought of it often enough. “Children would be the only security,” she said. Then she looked at the King. “If I am with child when the Black King arrives, or if we have a child already—if the bloodlines are mingled—the Islanders become honorary Fey.”

  “So we lose after all,” the King said bitterly.

  “No,” Jewel said. “It is the only way you can win. The Black King will not attack the Isle. There will be no more war, and your family remains in power. You will continue to rule, and then Nicholas, as it is done here, and then our child. Nothing changes except that one day Blue Isle will have an important position in the Fey Empire, not as a conquered place, but as a place where Fey rule.”

  “Jewel,” Burden whispered. “You can’t do this. You have no authority—“

  She whirled on him. “I am the Black King’s granddaughter. I have all the authority I need.”

  He leaned back, away from her. She had never turned on him before, not in all their years of friendship. She had never had to.

  The King was watching her. When she turned her attention back to him, he said with a seriousness she hadn’t expected, “I need to talk with my son.”

  “Please do,” she said. It would give her a moment to calm her own people.

  The Islanders withdrew to the edge of the bowl. They huddled together so that the Fey couldn’t see their faces.

  “You have no right to do this,” Rugar said in Fey. “You pollute the Black King’s bloodline.”

  Jewel sighed. “I have every right. We have married into nonmagickal families before. It always makes the magick stronger. You know that. It is the best way.”

  “But the Black King will have to acknowledge these people.”

  “Only the ones I designate as family,” Jewel said. “I may choose to designate no one but my own children.”

  “Jewel,” Burden said, “you can’t copulate with that thing, not even for the sake of the Fey. You can’t—”

  “I can do as I choose,” Jewel said. His self-interest at this time angered her more than her father’s blundering. “What, did you think that you and I would become mates? If I am going to chose a nonmagickal being, Burden, I will choose someone whose blood will enhance my line.”

  A flush built in his cheeks, and he stared at her, his eyes wide.

  “You need to think of someone other than yourself, Burden,” Jewel said. “If this works, and the Black King never comes, we have a chance to rebuild our own force. The children will grow. We will have new fighters, new Doppelgängers, new Shape-Shifters. We can develop a new strategy and, with my help, know where the weaknesses are in the Islander defenses.”

  “It seems wrong to me,” Burden said.

  Rugar was watching the Islanders speak. Finally he turned to her, a frown bringing the tips of his eyebrows down. “Jewel,” he said so softly only she could hear, “all of those people were at that ceremony in your Vision.”

  “Except Lord Stowe,” she said.

  “A wedding is a ceremony, Jewel. You will make your Vision come true.”

  She shook her head. “No, Papa. If I do this right, I make that Vision a false one. We control the ceremony. In that Vision I was caught by surprise. It will not happen. We will allow none of their poison near us during the service. It has to be a condition of this agreement.”

  Rugar took her hand, thereby giving her his permission. “You take a large risk, daughter.”

  “Without some risk,” she said, “we will not survive.”

  EIGHTY-EIGHT

  The mist tasted of salt. Nicholas’s ponytail was heavy and wet against the back of his neck. He wished he had clothes like the Fey, clothes that kept the water off everything but his skin. This bowl near the Stone Guardians was a dismal place, even though the sky was blue and the air smelled fresher than anything near Jahn.

  His father glanced over his shoulder. The Fey were sitting at the table, Jewel in the center, arguing with her father and with the young man beside her. She seemed thinner than she had been before, but her thinness only accented her cheekbones. Her exotic eyes flashed with intelligence and humor each time she looked at Nicholas, as if remembering their first meeting. And when he had said he would marry her, he felt a flush of warmth that she seemed to feel as well.

  “You had no right to speak,” his father said in Islander. “I was conducting this negotiation.” />
  “Marry a Fey, boy, what were you thinking of?” Lord Stowe asked.

  Nicholas took a small step backward, his calves hitting the rock incline. The mist fell around him like a soft rain. “I was thinking of several things,” he said. “While it seemed to me you were reacting and not thinking at all.”

  His father’s eyes narrowed. Water beaded on his face, making him look older. “You have no right, Nicky—“