The nurse made a small squeak, and placed a hand protectively over Sebastian's head.
"It's all right," Nicholas said reflexively, although he wasn't sure if it was. This was the creature that he had heard about. The one who had appeared before the odd deaths five years before, the one who stolen the baby from a settlement near Daisy Stream. The one who had provoked his father's decree outlawing cats.
"The Shaman is wrong," the woman said. Her voice was husky and feral. Her long vowels almost sounded like meows. "That child will need expert care."
"How can the Shaman be wrong? She's the expert among you." Nicholas didn't know that. He had merely assumed that from the way the others had been treating her.
"Shamans are experts, yes," the woman said. "But she's young and inexperienced. That's the only reason the Black King let her come. There hasn't been a Shape-shifter in nearly a century. I'm the last. The Shaman who birthed me assigned me my own Domestic, and I still came close to death seven times before the end of my first year."
"You steal children," Nicholas said, mostly because he didn't want to think about what she had said.
"Oh, of course, especially when I think their magic will be ignored. But I can't very well steal this one, can I? The Shaman made that clear. This little girl can't go into Shadowlands or her evil grandfather will --I don't know --force her to turn into the Black King or something." The woman rolled her eyes. Her face and tone held a layer of contempt that sounded almost familiar. "It's time to face my heritage, I think."
"Face your —"
"Didn't Jewel teach you anything?" The woman sighed again, and placed on hand on a slender hip. "Of course not. Jewel didn't need to. She thought she'd be here."
Nicholas tightened his grasp on his daughter. She was quiet, her tiny face turned toward the woman's voice.
"It is said that Shape-shifters steal babies because they can't have any of their own. The Shifts get in the way, they say. It's actually a misunderstanding of the Shifter way. I can hold my form for as long as I want. But we're delicately attuned to the magic within others and cannot bear to see it mishandled --ah, you don't care. You just want to know if I'll take that little girl from you."
He said nothing.
"I can't. And I won't. I'm here because you need help raising that child. The only help you'll get is me."
Nicholas put his arms around his new daughter. She was all he had left of Jewel, all he had left --in some ways --of himself. He turned his back on the woman and paced through the kitchen, cradling the tiny, warm form to his chest. When he left this room, he would have to find a way to bury Jewel without the help of the church. He would have to comfort his own people. He would have to face Matthias.
And he would have to protect this little girl from her grandfather, for reasons he didn't entirely understand.
Nicholas stroked the baby's soft black hair. It was long already, but the Shaman was right. The baby's skin was tan --darker than his, but lighter than a Fey's.
She Shifted, this little girl, formed other shapes, and that threatened her somehow. The Fey's Shaman thought he would be able to take care of her, but what if that were another ploy, another way to show the Islanders' ineptness.
A way to kill without committing the crime herself.
What had Rugar said? The Shaman would lose her powers if she killed someone. But did that mean she could leave a child with someone who couldn't care for it? Would that be considered killing?
And if so, why would she do such a thing? Because this little girl was important? Because Rugar wanted her?
Or because she was the last link between the Fey and the Islanders?
He kissed the baby's soft head. Already she had taken a place in his heart. Lord knew he had room. Everyone else he loved had left during the same week.
"How do I know I can trust you?" he asked without turning around.
"You can't," the woman said. "But she can."
Suddenly she was beside him, her hand reaching over his, stroking the baby's hair. The woman moved silently. Everything about her was catlike, and eerie.
"She's not even an hour old. She was born on the day her mother was murdered. Her grandfather sees her as a bit of territory to be squabbled over, and her father has no idea what she is." He looked in the woman's eyes. The pupils were not round, like human pupils, but oblong, like a cat's. "She can't trust anything."
"That's where you're wrong." The woman reached into his arms and tilted the baby's head so that he could see her chin. "That birthmark on a Fey makes them a Shifter. I have one. We are sisters under the skin. No one understands what it is like to be two creatures at the same time except another Shifter."
The woman let go of the baby's head. The little girl gurgled and snuggled closer to Nicholas. The movement warmed him.
"The Black King's family has always used us. They find a way to hook us and then we become theirs, creatures that are forced to run little errands, to risk our lives for things so petty that no one would remember what we have done when we died. That is what it is like for those born outside the Black King's family. Imagine what would happen to a member of it."
Nicholas couldn't. The machinations of Fey politics were beyond him. "What can you do for her?"
"Help her learn to control her Shifts early. Help her choose her second form. Help her to gain the wisdom and independence she'll need to survive in this world you brought her into."
"What do you get from this?" he asked.
A smile played at her lips. "I get you to remove the decree against cats. I get my freedom within Jahn."
"It seems like very little."
"You've never had small boys chase you with knives." She pushed her hair away from her face.
He brought up his arm, blocking her access to his daughter. "If I am to trust you with her, I need the truth from you. Always."
The woman shrugged. "The truth as I know it."
"Then tell me why you do this."
"For the child," the woman said. "That much is true. And for the decree." Then the smile crossed her lips completely, slitting her eyes, and making her look wholly feline. "But I do it for revenge."
The calmness in her remarks made him cold. "Against whom?"
She looked up. Tiny dark freckles dotted her cheeks like whiskers. "Rugar."
She spoke the name slowly and with such hatred that Nicholas backed away.
"Yes," she murmured. "Rugar. He wants this little girl. He'll never have her. There are ways he could steal her, you know. It's been done before."
She looked at Sebastian. A chill ran down Nicholas's back. Was Rugar the reason that Sebastian had no mind? "He stole my son?" Nicholas asked.
The woman nodded.
"But my son here now," Nicholas said.
She made a small huffing sound as if she couldn't believe how stupid he was. "You believe that is your son?"
"What else could he be?"
She shrugged. "A bit of stone? A lump of clay?"
He frowned. That child was not stone. Nicholas had touched him, had been touched in return. If the child wasn't theirs, Jewel would have known.
The woman peered at him for a moment, and then when he didn't respond, she made the huffing sound again. "It doesn't matter," she said softly. "I will help your daughter, not you."
"You'll make sure she doesn't end up like my son?"
The woman smiled. "I'll guarantee it."
That was all Nicholas needed. Somehow Rugar had interfered with his son, probably to ruin the marriage, but this woman would make certain he couldn't do it again.
The woman put a hand to the baby's lips. "I'll protect her, and raise her, and make her strong."
"She's my daughter," Nicholas said.
The woman smiled at him. "Delicious irony, no?" She walked over to Jewel. "The thing is, Jewel wouldn't have been able to raise this child either. It takes special skills to form a Shape-shifter."
"Jewel was talented."
"Yes." The woman crouched besid
e Jewel. The woman was so sleek and well formed that the muscles in her legs, back and buttocks showed with each movement. "Jewel was talented. But not in my kind of magic."
She plucked at Jewel's sleeve, then brought her face close to Jewel's head. Nicholas walked back to his wife's side. The woman's nose twitched. She was actually sniffing the corpse. When she saw Nicholas, she grinned, but there seemed to be a bit of embarrassment in the look. "Cat tendencies," she said. Her voice was soft. "I never liked Jewel much, but she didn't deserve this. I suppose I'm here for that too. The Shaman is right. Jewel would still be alive if it weren't for her father."
"Or Matthias."
"I trust you'll take care of that creature." She put her hands on her knees and leveraged herself up. "I personally would slit him from throat to gullet. You are probably more refined than that."
Not the way he was feeling. Not at the moment.
The nurse was watching all of this, and obviously understanding none of it. Only Nicholas, his father and a few of the lords had learned Fey. Her arms were wrapped around Sebastian as tightly as Nicholas's were around his daughter.
The woman followed his gaze. "I suppose that tends to the baby's needs?"
"The nurse?"
"Whatever it is. Besides frightened. I don't do diapers, bottles, or vomit. Just training, intelligence and Shifts."
Nicholas smiled in spite of himself. The smile was almost involuntary. The woman's energy pleased his aching and tired soul. "I will monitor everything you do," he said.
"Please." Her tone had an air of condescension. "If that child were in any danger, you would have no clue. I didn't have to show myself to you, after all. I could have taken her in the night, like I did Coulter." She shook her head. "Mistake there. Such power, and all of it goes to Rugar. Still, the boy is young, and the power won't develop until adolescence. You should thank your god for that. If the boy's power existed now, you Islanders wouldn't stand a chance."
Nicholas didn't know what she was talking about. He didn't care. The baby had wet his hand. "Will she Shift again soon?"
The woman shrugged. "Probably not. Babies tend to involuntarily Shift in moments of fear or stress. The danger comes after the first month or so, when they tire of staring at the world, and want to test new muscles. Arms, hands, feet --and Shifting."
"What next?" Nicholas asked.
The woman plucked the nurse's shoulder. "Looks like the King's daughter needs diapers," she said in Islander.
The nurse looked at Nicholas for confirmation.
"It's fine," he said. "Let's get Sebastian comfortable and see what we can do for his sister. I'll watch over him."
The nurse took off her cloak and wrapped it on the floor, then she set Sebastian in it. She shot a wary glance at the woman, then went into the kitchen proper. Something was burning in the ovens, probably whatever the chef had asked Burden to watch.
"You asked what we do first," the woman said in Fey. "First we make introductions. My name is Solanda. I shall call you Nicholas. If you insist on Highness or some other slop, the deal is off."
The smile touched his lips again. It was good he could smile. He needed to know that he would feel lighter emotions again. "Nicholas is fine."
"Good," she said. She paused over Sebastian, then shook her hand. Nicholas had seen cats make that gesture with a front paw when they were near something that disgusted them. "Jewel allowed you to name this lump, didn't she? Big mistake. Probably part of the reason Rugar won that round. Fey children need Fey names." She walked over to Nicholas and peered into the baby's face. "We'll go back to my generation. No 'meaning' names. That's a L'Nacin tradition, not a Fey one." She ran a hand over the baby's head. "We're going to call her Arianna."
"She's also Islander," Nicholas said. Then he stopped. He remembered this discussion with Jewel. I swear, she had said. It was easier to make the child than it is to name him.
Solanda shook her head and rolled her eyes. "Arianna was a great Shape-shifter who disappeared into enemy lines when she was a toddler. She took as her second form that of the general who adopted her, and after he died, used his visage to convince his troop to surrender to the Fey."
"What an auspicious name," Nicholas said dryly.
"It is a name worthy of her talents and her future. Go ahead," Solanda said. "Name her as you named your son."
Nicholas sighed. The day had defeated him. "Right now, one name is as good as another."
Solanda peered at him. Then she turned as the nurse approached carrying towels torn up as diapers. "You must decide where this child will sleep. I would suggest boarding her in a crib in your room until Rugar realizes he cannot steal her."
"I'll take care of everything," Nicholas said. There was no one else to. And he had hours before he could even think of sleep. First he would care for Arianna. Then he would take care of Jewel. "I'll need you to stay with Jewel and scare off anyone who tries to touch her."
"Ah," Solanda said. "The evil feline. It could get me killed."
He looked at her sideways. "I'll rescind that decree soon. Until then, I think you can take care of yourself."
She chuckled, then slipped into her feline form. Her body shifted, molded, compacted. Fur grew on her skin. Only her eyes remained the same.
"I promise you, Nicholas the Highness," she said when the change was complete. "We will bring this girl up right. She'll be prepared for anything her grandfather throws at her."
"I hope you're right," he said, looking over his daughter's head at the body of his wife. "I really do."
THE SCHISM
[The Following Day]
TWENTY-FIVE
His whole body hurt. He woke slowly, his eyes glued together by sleep and tears. Gift had the feeling that Coulter was on the bed next to him, but when he opened his eyes, he was sleeping alone. But he wasn't in his room. He was in the front room, the door closed and bolted. He was lying on the rug, but someone had put something soft — a pad? — underneath it. His mother sat on a cushion, her wings bandaged and taped to her sides. Her eyes had deep shadows under them and she appeared thinner than she had before.
She had been hurt.
Dying.
And she had cried when she saw him, and cursed his grandfather, and told Gift that she loved him.
Or had she?
A fire burned in the fireplace, the smell of woodsmoke at once comforting and alarming. He had just been somewhere near a fire. In his dreams …
"Gift?" His mother asked. She half-stood, as if she needed a better view of his face. "Gift?"
He lifted a hand. White light dripped off it like water. "Mommy," he said. "I had a bad dream."
"We all did, little sweetness," she said. "It's over now."
But it wasn't. Not the way he felt. He felt as if the dream had been true. For the first time in his life, he wanted to see his grandfather. His grandfather had been there, in that strange room with the Domestics and the yellow people. His grandfather had cried for the woman on the mattress.
Gift's throat was sore and his forehead felt like something bad had happened to it. He brought up his hand, dripping white light, and touched his forehead. The skin was smooth. His hair fell over it, as it should have, and his head felt solid.
Somehow, he had thought it shouldn't.
"What happened?" he asked. His voice was raspy. When he spoke this time, he noticed that his stomach hurt too. And the back of his legs.
"We don't know, honey," his mother said.
"What happened to you? Who hurt your wings?"
She shook her head. "It's over now," she said.
"What's this white stuff?" He held out his arm. The white dripped off it and splashed on the floor. The light spread like water before disappearing into the wood.
"It made you better," she said. Her eyes wouldn't meet his when she spoke. For the first time in his life, he realized that his mother didn't want to tell him what had happened.
Gift closed his eyes. He saw the woman — (Mother?) — on a mat
tress in a strange room his grandfather called a kitchen. She wasn't moving. Beside her stood a yellow man holding a little baby. He was watching a cat.
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