"Really, Solanda, she's our guest." Burden said from behind her. He spoke Fey.
"Guest?" Solanda answered in the same language, but Burden had already moved past her. He wiped his hands dry on his pants legs. Then he extended a hand to the woman.
"Welcome," he said in Islander. "We don't often get visitors in the Settlement."
The woman had to shift her vial of poison from one hand to the other. Solanda shuddered as the woman took Burden's hand, half expecting him to start melting. But he didn't. The woman's other hand held the vial tightly.
"My name is Burden," he said. "I run the Settlement."
"Magda," the woman said.
"We don't have much by way of refreshments," Burden said, "but we can at least offer you a chair out of the mud." He turned, as if to lead her away, but she let go of his hand.
"Actually," she said, "I came because I saw a cat run in here."
"A cat?" Burden faced her again. Solanda pulled her robe even tighter. She felt her nakedness for the first time in years.
The woman nodded. Her eyes had that zealot's gleam that Solanda had seen too often. "A golden one. The worst kind. It threatened my boy."
"Oh, for —" Solanda began, but stopped when Burden held up his hand.
"Threatened?" he asked.
"You know they steal children, don't you?" the woman said, her voice low.
"No," he said. "I hadn't actually realized."
Solanda rolled her eyes. She had heard that many times. She should have killed the old woman the day she took Coulter from her. Coulter was an Island child with a powerful magic. If the truth be told, Solanda had rescued him. These pathetic creatures wouldn't know how to raise a magical child.
Ever since, though, the rumor persisted that cats stole children.
"They do," the woman said. "They come in the middle of the night and steal the child away."
"It's daylight," Solanda said dryly. The woman glanced at her as if she had forgotten Solanda was there.
"Actually," Burden said as if Solanda hadn't spoken at all, "cats can't steal children. That's a story someone made up to scare people. Cats spy on unsuspecting people, and they are often quite cruel, but they never ever go after children."
"Cruel," Solanda muttered. He would pay for that remark.
"I heard it," the woman said, "from someone who knew."
"Who, I'm sure, heard it from someone else who knew. But your King reacted badly to rumor, I'm afraid. Cats are God's creatures, like the rest of us."
God's creatures? Solanda frowned. She had never heard a Fey use that expression. Nor had she ever heard a Fey compare himself to an Islander and get away with it.
The woman was actually listening to Burden.
Solanda crossed her arms over her chest, and leaned back on her heels. This bore some real attention.
"Yes," the woman said. "I suppose they are."
"I'm sure the cat was just interested in seeing if you had any food."
"It did look thin," the woman said.
Solanda bit back a retort. Thin, indeed. She was prettier than any other cat roaming Jahn. Fine thick fur, a sleek healthy figure. The woman had no right to call her thin.
"And it probably wanted food. You can't blame it for that," Burden said.
"No," the woman said. "I guess you can't."
Burden smiled and patted the woman on the shoulder. She didn't flinch, nor did she bring up her vial of poison. "I suggest that maybe in the future, you might want to leave out some milk for the cats, and encourage your neighbors to do the same."
"Milk gives cats diarrhea," Solanda said, unable to keep silent any longer.
The woman looked at Solanda and blinked, as if waking. "It would be breaking the law," she said.
Burden's mouth formed a thin line, but by the time the woman had turned back to him, he had the same genial expression on his face. "Some laws aren't right."
"That's true," the woman said. Then she smiled at Burden, and Solanda thought she caught a bit of flirtatiousness in the look. "I guess I should go back. My boy's outside."
"Next time," Burden said, "maybe you can come in for a bit of warmth."
"Maybe," the woman said. She picked up her skirts, turned, and walked out of the gate. She held the vial loosely in her left hand. As she passed through, two of the other Fey closed the gate behind her.
Solanda waited until she could no longer see the woman before speaking. "You really diffused that," she said.
Burden shrugged. "It's fairly easy if you talk to them."
"I suppose it is," Solanda said. "We'll see if she leaves out…milk." Solanda shuddered a bit as she said the word. Milk always smelled wonderful and made her very sick.
Burden left the gate and started down the path. Solanda followed him.
"You know, that fire sounds pretty good right now."
"Right now, I have to work," he said. "We don't have much daylight left."
"Right now," Solanda said as firmly as she could, "you have to talk to me."
He stopped walking and sighed visibly. He couldn't refuse her. Only Visionaries, Shamans, and occasionally Spell Warders had the right to countermand Shape-shifters. "I hope this won't take long," he said.
She ignored his tone. She finally understood the reasons behind it. "It won't," she said. "And you'll be grateful."
"You're always so sure of yourself, aren't you?"
She grinned. "Always."
He shook his head, as if her confidence overwhelmed him. Then he veered off the path onto a mud trail that made her already cold feet even colder. She really shouldn't talk to him. It went against her nature, against Fey custom, against everything she knew. Custom dictated that when a person wasn't smart enough to discover a truth on his own, he didn't deserve to know it. But times were different. Burden was on his own here, without a Shaman or a Warder. Without even subtle guidance.
If he knew, he might be able to help the Fey.
Solanda had to weigh that fact against tradition.
The mud trail went past several cabins until it stopped in front of a small square one. This cabin was at least in good repair, but it was half the size of all the others.
"This is yours?" she asked.
"Did you expect me to be like Rugar?" He climbed the two steps leading in the door, and pushed the door open. The scent of ancient smoke fires rose from within.
She had expected him to be like Rugar. She had expected Burden to take the best cabin, the best site, and the best wood. He had done none of those things. The cabin was near the riverbank and probably got flooded each time the waters rose. The wood looked thin and worn. The floorboards creaked when she stepped on them.
"There's a mat," he said. He was already kneeling in front of the fireplace, laying out the wood.
She wiped her feet on the mat, and noted that the bottom of the robe was covered with mud. She would track no matter what she did.
He struck the tinderbox, and instantly had a small flame. The wood was dry and lit quickly. Solanda held up the skirts of her robe so that they wouldn't drag on the floor. She stopped as close to the fire as she dared.
The heat felt wonderful against her legs and feet. She longed to have a soft place to curl up and rest. She hadn't slept warm in two days.
"So," Burden said. "What was this urgent thing you had to discuss?"
Solanda sighed softly. No nap. Not yet. "Have you spoken to the Shaman?"
Burden was only standing a few feet from her, but at her question he moved farther away. He was on the other side of the windowless room, in the shadows. Apparently his powers were a touchy topic.
"I know I'm not a Visionary," he said.
"Very few of us are," she said. "I'm not talking to you about the Settlement. I think your lack of Vision is clear. I'm talking about your magic."
"Solanda, I heard that feline Shifters were cruel, but I'm not prey. Really."
That was the second time he had used that word, and she was trying to do him a favor. She
drew herself up to her full height and let go of the robe. It fell loosely around her body, but did not open.
"If you're not prey," she snapped, "then why are you hiding in the dark?"
He wiped his hands against his pants, apparently a habit he had developed since he had come to live in the mud, and came closer to the fire. Here he looked impossibly young, his features softened by the flame. She hadn't been around for his birth and she didn't pay much attention to him until he became Jewel's closest companion in Infantry. But if he trained with Jewel, he had to be near Jewel's age — about 23 or so. Too young for this kind of work. Just as Jewel was. Way too young.
"Good," Solanda said. "I can see your face." She licked her lips and realized she had not had anything to drink since she stopped at a puddle that morning. "Now, grant me the courtesy of your polite attention."
He nodded.
"I asked if you had seen the Shaman because I was wondering if she took the time to tell you about your powers."
"I haven't see the Shaman since Jewel's wedding," Burden said. "And I haven't spoken to her since we left Nye."
"I thought so." Solanda pushed herself away from the fireplace. "Have you water?"
Burden smiled. "Too much."
"In the house?"
He nodded, bent over, and produced an earthenware pitcher and mug. The water he poured for her was cool and fresh. The minor Domestics he had managed to snag had a few talents.
Solanda drank the entire mug's worth, then set it on the mantle of the fireplace. At least Burden had used stone for that. It appeared to be the only luxury in the place.
"So you have done no work on your magic abilities?"
"It should be obvious," he said, his tone sharp. Then he put a hand over his face. "Sorry. I'm just not pleased with the way my life has gone."
She almost commiserated with him. Almost. But she understood and he didn't. The key was to make him understand.
"Have you always insulted your betters?"
He brought his hand down. In the flickering light, he looked very young. "I didn't mean to insult you."
"I know," she said. She would have to speak with caution. He was very defensive. "I was asking the question seriously. Have your betters always heard your words as insults?"
He frowned as he considered. Almost unconsciously, he pulled over a stool and perched on it, his right foot hooked in the rungs, his left on the ground. "Not before Shadowlands," he said. "In Shadowlands, I couldn't say a single thing Rugar wanted to hear. Or Jewel, toward the end."
"And you didn't think it odd?" Solanda asked.
"I thought perhaps I was overstepping my bounds. But someone had to. Rugar didn't see clearly and Jewel was caught up in something else altogether —"
Solanda waved a hand to silence him. She didn't want to hear his justifications. They didn't matter.
"Yet other people listen to you," she said. "Others of lesser importance."
"I don't think the people who've settled this place are of lesser importance," he said.
That defensiveness made it difficult to speak to him. The Shaman had failed in her duties. She should have pulled this boy aside when he was in Shadowlands. Solanda would have a talking with her when she returned.
"According to Fey rankings, they are," Solanda said. "The highest magic you have here is a Weather Sprite."
"Hanouk is talented."
"Hanouk controls the clouds. If we were still in Nye with the Black King, she would never be invited to his home let alone sup at his table."
Burden brought his other foot up so that it too hung from a rail. The position made him look like a small child, huddling, awaiting punishment.
"But they all listen to you, don't they?" Solanda asked.
"All but Hanouk sometimes," he said.
"Like that woman did today."
He shook his head. "She was easy. The Islanders are always easy, if you approach them right. Most people don't approach them right."
"Most people can't Charm," Solanda said.
He brought his head up so fast he had to put a hand on the stool seat to keep his balance. "What?" he whispered.
"I can Charm, although I usually choose not to," she said, ignoring him. "It's easier in feline form, though, I have to admit. I don't have to say stupid things. But a pure Charmer, those are rare. I haven't seen one since we entered Nye. The skill is so very subtle that it's hard to recognize. But there are some tells."
"Tells?" He was still whispering.
She nodded. "The biggest is that Charmers anger those that aren't susceptible. You had no chance with Rugar. A Visionary will not listen to a Charmer. A Visionary had his own version of truth. The fact that Jewel wouldn't listen toward the end only confirms something I suspected — she started having Visions of her own here on the Isle. The Shaman, Enchanters, the Spell Warders, and Shifters will never succumb to your talents. But Domestics, particularly inexperienced minor Domestics, Weather Sprites, Wisps, and most of the military will listen to anything you say. If that woman is any indication, Islanders are sheep."
He licked his lower lip, then bit it. Finally he said, "You mean I have magic?"
"My friend, you wouldn't look like you do if you didn't. And I would guess you came upon it somewhere in the middle of the Infrin Sea, before we entered the mouth of the Cardidas. No one noticed in the battle, and once we got to Shadowlands, it became a problem rather than something to be diagnosed."
"But there are no Charmers on the Isle," he said. "They're all in Nye."
Solanda nodded. She understood the dilemma. She had been born in a war camp and had apparently Shifted the moment she hit air. If the Domestic tending her mother hadn't had experience with Shifters, Solanda would have died then. No one in her family had ever Shifted. No one in the camp had. For the first three years of her life, three very important years, Solanda had learned about Shifting alone.
"I think we'll need to take you back to Shadowlands, and let you talk to the Warders," Solanda said.
"No," Burden said. "I belong here. Everyone depends on me."
"They depend on you because you Charmed them," Solanda said. The heat from the fire had gone all the way through her. It was all she could do to keep from asking Burden if he had a rug, and if she could curl up on it. "If you left, they would realize that they're living in mud and broken down buildings."
"It gets better in the summer."
And worse in the winter, she thought, but said nothing.
"Rugar doesn't want me back," Burden said.
"Of course not," Solanda said. "Your power conflicts with his."
Burden straightened his legs and got off the stool. He walked over to the fire and peered into it as if it had all the answers to his problems. "You're not going to tell him, are you?"
"About you?" Solanda asked. "Of course."
"You are?" Burden's voice rose. "You can't, Solanda."
"I tell him everything. That's part of my job."
"You're a Shifter. You're the best of the best."
"I am still Fey," she said softly. No matter who she was, she still had a debt. No one let a debt go free.
Burden suddenly looked at her, really looked at her, as if trying to peer into her soul. "Why are you here?" he asked.
"Because a woman was chasing me with Holy Poison," Solanda said.
"No," Burden said. "Outside Shadowlands."
"To see what the reaction is to the King's death."
He nodded. "It's been amazingly quiet, hasn't it? If a Black King had been assassinated, there would be riots in the street."
The thought sent a chill through Solanda. He was right, of course. The Fey never took the death of major leaders well. The Islanders were moving through this as if it were the norm. Rugar's Vision was failing him. If his intent had been to cause civil unrest, he had failed.
Then Burden gave her the appraising look again. "How did you know about the King's death? The criers hit the streets this morning."
Solanda didn't answ
er. It was not his place to know her duties. Besides, she hadn't known of the King's death either. Hers was just a highly educated guess.
Burden put a hand on the mantle as if bracing himself. "Jewel was here yesterday. She said a Fey killed Alexander. It wasn't you, was it, Solanda?"
"Please," she said in the most haughty tone she could manage.
"If not you," Burden said slowly, "and if it were Fey —"
Fey 02 - Changeling Page 14
