Fey 02 - Changeling

by Rusch, Kristine Kathryn

  "In the first, Jewel did not come. In the second, the Black Robe touched her directly with poison and she died in the Hall. In the third --well. We have lived the third."

  "So she shouldn't have come," Nicholas said. His voice sounded thick, as though he had a lump in his throat. "I asked her to come."

  The Shaman put her hand on his. Rugar had never seen the Shaman so tender with anyone. She favored this Islander boy, and Rugar could not tell why. "If she had not come, her actions would have ended your marriage. You would have set her aside, and there would have been war."

  "You came because of that third Vision," Rugar said. "It's no better than the second."

  "It is much better." Even the tone the Shaman used with Rugar was different than the one she used with Nicholas. She spoke to Rugar with a layer of contempt. "We have the child. In the second, the child died."

  "So you came here to make certain the baby was born."

  The Shaman tugged Jewel's sleeve to her wrist. "I thought it best. Until I realized what you had done."

  "But you know this will be all right."

  "No," the Shaman said. "I know nothing. I only saw the baby in the firelight. I did not know how deeply you disturbed the waters of the future. I hope you did so with Vision."

  Rugar straightened. His heart was pounding. He had Seen nothing, and he should have Seen this. This affected him directly. It affected the family. It affected them all. "I am the best Visionary in the history of the Fey."

  "Until Jewel," the Shaman said. "And you killed her."

  Nicholas was kneeling. His face was whiter than the linen on his robe, his eyes nothing more than sunken blue bruises. "Matthias killed her," he said.

  "Your holy man would not have acted if Rugar had listened to me." The Shaman turned to Rugar. Her entire being radiated power. "I told you that Jewel took the path for peace. I told you to follow her. But your ego brought you to Blue Isle, and your fear forced you to bring the only person whom Rugad would have chosen to take your place on the Black Throne. Fortunately for us, Rugar, your father is still alive. He will not give the Black Throne to Bridge unless nature forces his hand."

  "So I can still become Black King," Rugar said.

  "See the man who bargains for his future over the body of his dead daughter. No, Rugar," the Shaman said. "Black Kings may lose their Sight, but they never assume the office Blind."

  "I'm not Blind," Rugar said.

  "You are Blind. If you had Sight, you would have known about this day. It is to my shame that I did not realize how Blind you were. I thought you loved Jewel enough to prevent her death. I did not realize that you didn't even See it."

  "Jewel did." Nicholas's voice was soft. "She told me. She first saw me in a Vision. The day we met, she asked me what Orma Lii meant. She pronounced it wrong. Later she told me that I had said that to her in a Vision. I said it to her this afternoon. In my own language, I asked her if she were all right, and I didn't remember. I didn't know."

  A tiny light glowed from the Shaman's hand around Nicholas's. He didn't seem to notice, but Rugar did. The Shaman valued the boy. She knew something about him, too. Something she wasn't telling.

  "Did Jewel tell you of this Vision, Rugar?"

  He didn't answer. The Shaman would block his move to become Black King, and now Jewel was dead. And probably Gift. Rugar's heart twisted. Little Gift who had had a Vision earlier than anyone in history. He would have been so strong.

  But this baby girl was strong. This Shifter. A child born to Visionary parents had to have Vision. This newborn girl would have Vision and the ability to Shift. That would make her very powerful.

  "The new child is a Shape-shifter," Rugar said. "An Islander can't care for a child like that. Let me take her to Shadowlands. She'll be —"

  "No," the Shaman said. "You will not touch that child."

  "She's my granddaughter. She could be Black Queen someday. I have the right to make certain she will survive her babyhood."

  "And so do I." The Shaman let go of Nicholas. She reached across Jewel and grabbed Rugar's hands, placing them on Jewel's forehead. The skin was spongy, the bone gone. "This is what you do, Rugar. This is what you caused. Jewel told you her Vision, didn't she? You ignored it for your ambition, just as you ignored my warnings."

  "I told Jewel not to marry the boy," Rugar said. He tried to pull away, but the Shaman was too strong. She held him tightly. "We thought the Vision was about the wedding."

  "You should have heeded the Vision, Rugar," the Shaman said. "When did she first have it?"

  The spongy mass beneath his hands was caving inward. Jewel's hair brushed against his fingertips. It felt like oily hemp, not like hair at all.

  "I don't know," he said.

  "She said it was in Nye." Nicholas held his hands over theirs, then slid them back. "Please don't hurt her."

  "It's too late for that, child," the Shaman said. "He hurt her when he decided to come here. The Vision in Nye would not have been about a marriage. When did she have it?"

  "She said when she was waiting for her father to finish planning the trip with his father." Nicholas clenched his fists and held them to his chest.

  Rugar glared at him, then pulled his hands away. They were covered with blood, bone, and flesh. "Why didn't I melt?" he asked.

  "Because the poison seeps inward," the Shaman said. "Even if she had lived, she would not have had a mind left."

  Nicholas made a small cry. Blood ran from Rugar's hands onto his wrists.

  "You knew, Rugar," the Shaman said. "You knew and you ignored for your own glory."

  "But I Saw her, in this palace, holding a baby. It seemed right." He wanted to wipe off his hands, but didn't feel right doing so on the legs of his pants.

  "It seemed right because you wanted it to seem right. You did not check with me or the other Shamans. And you did not check with your own daughter, the daughter of two Visionaries, to see if her Vision had come yet." The Shaman glared at him. "You killed her, Rugar, as clearly as if you had placed that poison on her yourself."

  He shook his head, stood, and backed away. He had been a good father. He had given Jewel what she wanted. She had been a brilliant fighter, a strong person, a good daughter. He had helped her move forward. Bringing her to Blue Isle had been for her own good as well as his own.

  "Now, you want the child. Do you have a Vision for her, Rugar?"

  He held up his hands. The blood had run past the wrists to his elbows.

  "Of course not," the Shaman said. "If you had Seen her, you would have known Jewel was pregnant, and you did not. You didn't think of the child until we tried to save it."

  "Jewel Saw her." Nicholas sounded numb. "Jewel Saw her only a few days ago."

  "When I decided to come here," the Shaman said.

  "She Saw her in the palace."

  The Shaman nodded. "This baby shall remain with her father."

  "But he can't care for her. Shifters require magic."

  "Yes," the Shaman said. "And Vision. And love. Her mother had the Vision. Her father will give her the love."

  "And who will provide the magic?"

  "Not a Blind man," the Shaman said.

  Rugar shook his head. Finally he grabbed a towel from one of the tables and wiped off his hands. The blood had dried between his fingers. He couldn't get it off. "I want the child."

  The Shaman stood. "You will not have her. As long as I live, the girl lives here. If I discover that you have stolen her, I will bring her back. If you tamper with her, I will come after you, Rugar."

  "And do what?" Rugar said. "I lead this company."

  "I am the only one who can challenge your power, Rugar. And I will."

  Rugar shook his head, then pointed to the body of his daughter. "You can do nothing to me that hasn't already been done."

  "Ah, but I can, Rugar, and I will. I will take my place at the Black King's side, pronounce judgment and execute you if I must."

  "You'll lose your powers."

 
"It is a price I am willing to pay."

  Rugar glanced over her shoulder. Mend was holding his granddaughter. The little girl had thick black hair and a delicate face. She would look like Jewel. "The girl is that important?"

  "You are that destructive," the Shaman said. "Now get out of this place and do not come back."

  Rugar didn't move. "I can bar you from Shadowlands."

  "You can," the Shaman said, "but I do not think it wise."

  "You won't survive among the Islanders."

  "She will," Nicholas stood too. "She will have my protection."

  She smiled at him. "Thank you, boy, but I will return to my home. Rugar knows as well as I do that if he banishes the Shaman, the Fey will not follow him. He may be the Leader, but that is only because he has war powers. We do not need war powers here. We need Healers. And Rugar, no matter how talented you are, you cannot heal."

  The little girl had her eyes open. They were deep like the Shaman's. The Shaman was right. The Fey would not follow him if they thought he banished the Shaman. But she had not Seen him take Gift. She would not know when he took the new baby either.

  Neither would Nicholas. The boy didn't realize that the thing he called a son was no more son to him than the ovens were. No Fey would ever tell him. Fey believed Islanders inferior. Not even the Shaman would tell him because his inability to see proved his inferiority. Once Rugar took the baby, no one would come after her.

  Rugar took one last look at Jewel's mutilated body. Then he walked around the Domestics, and headed for the door.

  "Rugar," the Shaman said. "Think on your daughter. Before you take any action, remember her."

  He stopped, and closed his eyes. Jewel, her thin body warm beside his on the deck of the wedding barge. We beat the Visions, Papa. She had seemed so sure that day, so sure the Vision she saw had been about her wedding, not about her death. But the Visions always win. She didn't know that.

  He hadn't known that.

  Until now.

  "I will never forget my daughter," he said, and left.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Rugar's head was bowed as he walked, his back stooped. He was not the tall, proud man he had been when he confronted Nicholas and Jewel in the corridor only hours before. Nicholas watched him go, but said nothing. He allowed his own shoulders to sag slightly in relief.

  The Fey women had rigged up a bottle with a nipple and were feeding the baby. She was cradled in one of the women's arms, her head tilted back, drinking hungrily. Sebastian slept in the nurse's arms, his face beautiful in repose. Two difficult children. One who could not think for himself and one who could not hold her human form.

  And his wife, dead at his feet.

  "What are the Islander death customs?" the Shaman asked.

  Nicholas blinked. He didn't know how long he had been standing in one position, staring at the door Rugar had left through. It took a moment for the Shaman's words to register. "I think," he said slowly. Another decision. This time about Jewel. "I think she would want to be buried Fey."

  "We do not bury our dead," the Shaman said. "We use them."

  "Use?" He had to come out of this stupor. He swallowed, turned, and faced her. Even she was taller than he was, and she was bent with age.

  "Forgive me," she said softly. He realized then that she was speaking flawless Islander. "Our customs developed during war. We take the skin and use it to create magic. Some of our people use the blood in their spells. And the bones become tools for the weavers and the other Domestics."

  The idea made his stomach churn. But so did the thought of putting Jewel into the ground, where she would, over time, disintegrate into nothing.

  "I think she would prefer that."

  The Shaman shook her head. "We cannot use her that way."

  "Because she is the Black King's granddaughter?" He didn't understand their customs. He would never understand their customs.

  "Because the poison robs us of our magic. We can only use magical beings for the death rituals. Parts of the nonmagical go to the Warders for experiments. Those experiments would not be fitting for Jewel."

  Experiments. On skin he had touched, a body he had loved, a woman who had been strong and feisty and brilliant all at one time. "I don't know how we can bury her," Nicholas said. "It was the Rocaan who killed her."

  The Shaman watched him for a moment. "It would be more appropriate to keep her with you."

  He couldn't think about it. He didn't know what to do. Her own people didn't want her. He would take her. He wanted her, always. "I'll figure out what to do," he finally said.

  "Good," the Shaman said. "Mend, fix another bottle. Then give him the child."

  The Fey women started collecting their things. The woman holding the baby handed her to another woman, and began preparing a new bottle.

  "Wait," Nicholas said. "You're not just going to leave her with me?"

  "Of course," the Shaman said. "You're her father."

  "But I've never --what if she changes again?"

  "Change her back," the Shaman said.

  "I can't. I'm not Fey."

  "She got her wild magic somewhere," the Shaman said. "It had to come from you. She is your daughter. No full Fey child would have such pale skin and such blue eyes."

  "I don't know how to keep her in one piece," he said. "Please. Help me."

  The Shaman smiled. "You will do fine."

  "No," Nicholas said. But the woman holding his newborn daughter handed the baby to him. She was light, weighing no more than his sword, and warm in her makeshift blankets. Her features were small and wrinkled, and she had a tiny birthmark on her chin.

  "I will check with you when I can," the Shaman said. "You will send word to Shadowlands if there will be a ritual for Jewel."

  "Wait!" Nicholas said. "Please, tell me, will the baby be all right? My son, he --isn't --and if this child isn't, then I don't know what I can do."

  "Your son," the Shaman said slowly, as if she were mulling over the words. "Your son is lost to you. Jewel called this child the future. She is right. This baby is more precious than anything on the Isle."

  "Then help me care for her."

  "I am," the Shaman said. She nodded to the women. They took their belongings, and left through the same door Rugar had. The Shaman left last. She did not look back.

  Except for the scent of garlic, it was as if they had never been in the palace.

  Nicholas turned to Burden.

  "What should I do?" he asked.

  Burden's too-thin face looked haggard. His eyes were bright with tears. "Listen to her."

  "Can you help me?"

  Burden shook his head. Then he paused next to Jewel, and lightly touched her hands. He murmured something too soft for Nicholas to understand, then stood and left with the others.

  The nurse huddled in the corner, watching him, her lower lip trembling. Sebastian slept in her arms. His skin looked old and cracked, as if the grief had broken something inside him. The cat was curled next to the fire, but it was watching Nicholas. The baby gurgled, and reached her tiny hands toward his face.

  This morning he had awakened and thought he would end the day in a feast celebrating his coronation, his wife beside him, his child as yet unborn. Instead, he stood alone in the kitchens of the palace, holding the baby that he hadn't even acknowledged until this week, his wife dead at his feet.

  "I don't know how to care for you," he said to the child in Fey. Not that she would understand Fey. She was too young to understand anything. But it was easier to deal with her than the body of her mother.

  "I do." The voice that spoke sounded familiar. It took him a moment to recognize it as one of the Fey voices that had been consulting over Jewel.

  He glanced around, but the kitchen was empty except for the nurse and himself. The nurse looked as startled as he did.

  "I always said Islanders had no imagination." The voice sounded exasperated. "Look here."

  "Where?" he asked.

  "The fire, you
idiot."

  The cat was sitting up, her front paws pressed together, her black eyes staring at him. He had never seen a black-eyed cat before. The cat sighed.

  "You would think a man who took a Fey to wife would be able to see beyond surfaces. But Jewel never was very deceptive that way."

  The cat stood and stretched its long form, tail curling behind it. Then its mass wavered like a heat dream on a hot day, shimmering before him, changing, growing. The fur receded, revealing skin the color of gold. Then the shimmering stopped. A woman crouched on her hands and knees. She stood, completely naked. She had small breasts and narrow hips, but her hair wasn't dark like most Fey. It was tawny. She had a birth mark on her chin, and a feline look to her face. Even so, she was the most beautiful woman Nicholas had ever seen.