The guard stopped outside the door near Jewel's suite, and knocked. When the nurse pulled the door open, Stowe understood. The nursery. Nicholas was in the nursery.
A wave of heat floated out the door, and on it, the choking sound of a child crying. The nurse peered at both the guard and at Lord Stowe.
Stowe clicked his heels together, and nodded to her. "Please tell the King that Lord Stowe is here to see him."
"He's na seeing anyone," the nurse said.
"I think it important that I see him."
"Let him in." Nicholas's voice came from the room, sounding strong and sure of itself.
The guard looked in the door. "Do ye wan me ta stay, Sire?"
"No, thank you," Nicholas said. "You may return to your post."
Stowe also thanked the guard, then slipped into the nursery. The room was large. A fire burned high in the hearth. A cradle stood in the center of the room. Sebastian sat on the floor beside it, sobbing as if his tiny heart had already broken. The nurse went to him, picked him up, and cradled him to her chest.
"Maaaaaa!" the boy wailed.
Stowe shuddered. He hadn't even known the boy could talk, let alone understand that his mother was dead.
Soft couches and chairs lined the back of the room. A bed with curtains stood in one corner. Rugs covered the area before the fire. Two chairs sat beside the fireplace, and the nurse sat in one, holding Sebastian tightly. He didn't move as he cried. He just clung to her and sobbed.
Nicholas stood beside one of the windows, looking out. He wore his fighting clothes --a dark blouse and black trousers. In one arm, he held the baby.
Stowe closed the door behind him. A cat stood up near the hearth, turned around three times, and lay back down. It was a golden tabby, and before it settled, it looked at him with its large black eyes as if measuring him.
The cat sent a shudder through him. He remembered the woman who had come to his estate years ago, claiming a cat had stolen her child. Alexander had banned all cats after that.
Nicholas followed Stowe's gaze. "I'll explain in a moment," he said.
Stowe walked over to Nicholas. The boy looked a hundred years older, his face gaunt. His eyes no longer had a gleam in them. They were dull and dark. A day's growth of beard was on his chin, and his clothes hung around him.
The baby, on the other hand, looked fat and healthy. She had a Fey face — sharp cheekbones, swooping eyebrows and a thin mouth. Her head was covered with dark hair. She had the look of Nicholas in her face, but Stowe couldn't say where. He just felt there was a resemblance.
He reached out, tentatively, and touched her small fist. She opened her eyes. They were a startling blue. Then her fingers wrapped around his. Her grip was amazingly tight.
"Blue eyes," he said.
Nicholas nodded.
"I guess I'm used to the Fey," Stowe said. "It surprised me."
A small fond smile crossed Nicholas's face. "She looks like her mother."
"She does," Stowe said. Her skin was darker than his and very soft.
Sebastian's hiccuped sobs eased. Nicholas looked over his shoulder toward his son. The nurse had a hand protectively around the boy's head.
"He's been crying off and on since yesterday," Nicholas said.
"Tis the most he's done his whole life," the nurse added, speaking softly. "Poor baby."
The cat sat up and yawned, then padded over and wove around Nicholas's legs. It looked up at Stowe and yowled.
"Solanda," Nicholas said in a chastising voice.
"A Fey named cat?" Stowe said. "I thought they'd been banished."
"I changed the decree this morning." Nicholas ran a hand over his daughter's hair.
"You know about the cat that stole children?" Stowe said. "They said it looked like this one."
The cat bumped Nicholas's leg, then sat beside him and purred loudly.
"Jewel explained it to me," Nicholas said. "We're safe from it."
"How do you know?" Stowe asked.
"I just know," Nicholas said.
The baby's grip loosened on Stowe's finger. She made smacking sounds with her little toothless mouth. He touched her cheek. It was soft as down.
"She's beautiful," Stowe said.
"Yes." There was pride in Nicholas's voice. "You sound surprised."
Stowe sighed. The moment had come. "Nicholas, you've had a lot of shocks this week. If you would like me to come back, I will."
Nicholas shook his head. "You have news for me. You wouldn't have come straight here if you hadn't." The shadows beneath his eyes were so deep the skin looked folded. A few silver hairs mingled with his blonde bangs. He was only in his twenties, and yet he had lived through more this week than most experienced in a lifetime.
"The news can wait," Stowe said.
"I would rather have everything at once," Nicholas said. "I would rather know what I'm up against."
Stowe couldn't tell if Nicholas had the strength for this or if he were merely pretending. "The guard told me that the Rocaan caused this. Is it true?"
Nicholas nodded and turned his head toward the window. The view from the nursery was of the bridge and the towers of the Tabernacle beyond. "I haven't decided how to handle that yet. I threatened his life yesterday."
"Do you know why he did this?"
Nicholas licked his lips before replying. The baby watched Stowe, her eyes alight with an intelligence he had never seen in a baby this young. "He did it," Nicholas said, "because he believed I was wrong. He believed I should set Jewel aside, deny these children, and start again. He thought Arianna would be — like Sebastian."
Arianna. A Fey name. Stowe said nothing about the name, though. "I seem to remember Sebastian being alert in his first few days."
"Something changed him." Nicholas glanced at the cat. "Some think his Fey grandfather might have hurt him, but Jewel was convinced it happened at the naming ceremony. We'll have no ceremony for Arianna. She has her name already."
A Fey name. They blamed the name for Sebastian's condition. Odd and interesting. "You didn't want to set Jewel aside?"
"She is — was — my wife. Setting her aside never crossed my mind." Nicholas turned back to Stowe. "Even if it had, it would have been wrong. The Fey would have turned on us. The war would have continued, and the deaths —" His voice broke. "I guess that's where we'll be now."
"But I don't understand," Stowe said. "If the Rocaan was that opposed to the marriage, why didn't he stop it before it actually happened?"
"He tried," Nicholas said. "He almost refused to perform it. My father convinced him. I think Sebastian's condition, and my father's death made the Rocaan decide that Jewel had no place here. He thought that the Fey killed my father, but he had no proof."
"He does now," Stowe said.
Wood snapped in the fire. Sebastian took a deep breath. The cat mewled softly. The nurse was watching them all.
Nicholas sighed, then leaned his head against the window frame. One more burden. But Nicholas was strong. In some ways, he was stronger than his father. The boy had fought in the war, and then fought to marry the enemy, to form a truce.
He had to be strong now. If he wasn't strong, the country would disintegrate, and he knew it. Unlike his father, Nicholas had no one to take his place.
Finally he said, "Jewel was afraid a Fey had killed my father. She told me that it sounded like something a Fey would do. She actually went to the Settlement to see if they knew something about it." He bowed his head and placed his lips against his daughter's ear. "Why isn't she here now?" he murmured.
The cat sighed heavily and fell across his feet.
"It's not the same," Nicholas said. "It'll never be the same."
Then he opened his eyes, kissed his daughter's forehead, and carried her to the cradle. He gently set her inside it, then covered her with a soft white blanket. The cat jumped on the changing table beside the cradle and curled up on a clean cloth diaper.
"What kind of proof do you have?" Nicholas asked.
"A witness. A man who saw a Fey there, a Fey man carrying a bow and arrow."
Nicholas shook his head. "What were they thinking?"
"Apparently someone in the Fey camp was as upset about the way things were going as the Rocaan was."
Nicholas snorted. "Wouldn't that stun Matthias? Show him that he was just like the dreaded Fey."
"This is serious, Highness," Lord Stowe said.
"I know it is," Nicholas said. "Someone murdered my father, and then the Rocaan killed Jewel. She thought he was right. She thought someone was trying to get her closer to the throne."
"Would she have gone along with it?"
Nicholas shook his head. "She wanted us together. She thought it best for the Isle and for the Fey. And she had such high hopes for this little one."
Stowe looked down on the baby. "Below, they're saying she's a monster."
"Jewel?" Nicholas said.
Stowe shook his head. "The baby. You'd better let the public see her, and soon. Let them know that she is different from her brother."
Sebastian was asleep, his hand tucked against his mouth. The nurse was rocking him just a little. She was staring out the window, pretending that she didn't hear the conversation. Stowe hoped she was trustworthy. If she wasn't, Nicholas would be in even more trouble.
"A monster." Nicholas made a sound that was half a laugh and half a sob. "That's my fault. I ordered the kitchen staff out at the wrong time. Her birth was difficult. She wouldn't even be here if the Fey hadn't acted fast. Jewel was dying. They got the baby out while they could. They saved her, even though they could do nothing for Jewel. Now what do I do? Get revenge on them? The loss of Jewel was their loss as well."
"Do you plan revenge against the Rocaan?" Stowe asked.
"He killed my wife." Nicholas's voice was hard. Suddenly Stowe recognized the look in Nicholas's eyes. They weren't empty. They were full of rage.
And hatred.
The ice in Stowe's stomach grew. "Nicholas," he said. "The Fey were planning to fight us before Jewel died. They killed your father. Her death was an escalation in a war they already started. We need the Rocaan. He's the one who provides holy water."
"I should remain close to a man who murdered my wife? A man who makes a weapon that can kill my children?" Nicholas shook his head. "You're being unrealistic, Lord Stowe."
"Your responsibility is to the Isle, Highness."
Nicholas whirled. "Yes, it is. Jewel had a Vision for this Isle. She believed that if the Black King came, he would be able to conquer the holy water. She thought that the only way to maintain Isle traditions was to bind the Fey and the Islanders together."
"I remember," Stowe said. "I was there when she proposed the marriage."
"We are bound. My children show that. And yes, maybe Sebastian isn't what we had hoped, but Arianna will be more than we can hope for. I think Jewel's Vision was an accurate one, and I will fight for it, no matter how the Rocaan tries to ruin it."
"And what if the Fey try to kill you?"
Nicholas looked at the cat. It had its head on its front paws. Its eyes were half open. "They wouldn't dare."
"They killed your father."
"Jewel is no longer here to take my place."
"Do you seriously believe the lords would let Sebastian rule?" Stowe asked. "The baby is too young, and even if she were old enough, she's female. She can't."
"I know the problems," Nicholas said.
"This is something we'll have to resolve, and quickly. If something happens to you —"
"I know the problems," Nicholas said again. His voice was firm. "I will have a solution for you tomorrow. Gather the lords after lunch in the audience room. Tell them to come with open minds."
"What are you going to suggest, Highness?" Stowe asked.
"I don't know yet," Nicholas said, "but I can guarantee you that it will be something which will not jeopardize Jewel's Vision. We are going to make Blue Isle safe if I have to fight every lord, Rocaan, Elder, and Fey to do so."
TWENTY-EIGHT
Shadowlands was as bleak as ever. The Circle Door closed behind Burden, shutting out the greens of the forest, the fresh pine smell of the air, and the chirping of the birds, leaving him shrouded in gray. Gray ground, gray walls, a gray box around him and everything inside. Sometimes he wondered if that gray reflected the gray in Rugar's mind. But he knew better. He had been in different Shadowlands before. They all looked like this. The Fey simply weren't supposed to live in them for so long.
No one sat on the Meeting Block, and the doors to the cabins were closed. Smoke came from the roof of the Domicile and from the Spell Warders cabin. Some of his own people were standing near a wood pile in the back, but he did not go to them. He had not given any orders for people to come here. They had, though, expecting trouble after Jewel's death. The Shadowlands was, more than anything, safe.
Hanouk stood by herself, as if she had set a personal vigilance to see if he would come through the door. He nodded at her, but he didn't want to talk with her. If she wanted to return to the Settlement, that was her right. She had always told him she preferred the world outside, that it was her domain. Perhaps she should have dominated it more than she did. Perhaps if she had, Jewel would still be alive.
Burden wiped his hands on his pants. A Charmer, Solanda had said. Someone who got other people to do his bidding with a minimum of effort.
He would need that ability now.
There were no familiar paths in Shadowlands, only buildings rising out of the grayness. He already missed the mud and the rotten wood, the rain and the floods and the smell of cooking from the Islander houses outside the Settlement.
He wouldn't be able to stay in here very long.
He walked through the cabins to the second largest. Jewel and Rugar had built their cabin to be a meeting house at first, then took it over once the Domicile was completed. Burden had always thought that unfair, but Rugar was the one who made the Shadowlands. It existed because he did. He was the Black King's son, and subject to special privileges. Those privileges, though, were a fact of Fey life. Something Burden had hoped to change, with Jewel's help. When she married the Islander prince, she had abandoned Burden. She had abandoned them all.
Still, when he last saw her, she sounded like the Jewel of old. She seemed wiser from her experiences, willing to make the changes needed to let a place like Shadowlands thrive.
When he had leaned over her body in that hideous kitchen, the place he had first seen as a young Infantry man, he had made her one last promise: No matter what it took, no matter how many years he worked, he would avenge her death. He would do it alone if he had to.
He hoped he wouldn't have to.
The steps leading to Rugar's cabin were covered with dry mud. It had dried in the form of boot prints down the middle, as if caked boots had climbed them some time in the past. Burden stepped around the footprints, and stopped on the stoop.
Fey peacetime tradition allowed a mourner three days alone before he had to face the rest of the people. It gave the mourner the chance to work through the grief, to let the emotion of the event overwhelm for a short time. It also allowed the great warriors to cry in private, where the tears would not compromise the image of strength they presented the rest of the time.
Peacetime tradition.
Even though there were no battles raging, Burden did not consider this peace. Rugar would not have the luxury of mourning the daughter he helped kill.
Burden pounded the wooden door with the side of his fist. The knocks sounded heavy, furious, and strong. They echoed throughout Shadowlands, a weak echo that damped after the first circle, as if a great hand had clamped down on the noise.
A door in the cabin behind Burden opened, but Burden didn't turn. He knew the others wouldn't approve of his visit to Rugar. He didn't care.
He knocked again, more insistently this time.
Finally the door opened. Rugar stood before him, a changed man.
This R
ugar had deep haunted eyes, long lines around his mouth, hair stringy and unkempt. He wore a shirt stained with the morning's meal, and his pants were untied. He blinked at Burden before it became clear that he recognized him.
"What?" he said.
Fey 02 - Changeling Page 29
