Fey 02 - Changeling

by Rusch, Kristine Kathryn

"Let me in," Burden said.

  Rugar shook his head. "I got three days."

  "Let me in now, or we'll have this discussion in front of everyone."

  "In three days."

  "No," Burden said. "Right now."

  He pushed past Rugar and let himself into the cabin. It was cold and dark. A single candle rested in its own wax on the table, the wick flickering in the darkness. The room had the faint odor of urine. A chamber pot stood beside the door. Rugar hadn't even left the cabin to relieve himself in the community baths.

  She had been dead less than a day. It was amazing that a man could let himself go so quickly. But, apparently, that was what this period of mourning was for.

  Burden had no need of it.

  "I have three days," Rugar said. He still stood in front of the open door.

  "You have no time at all. Close the door." Burden walked over to the fire place, crouched, and started building a fire.

  Rugar stared at him for a moment, then pushed the door closed. It shut with a snick.

  Burden layered the wood on top of kindling. When he had made a good base, he took the tinder box and lit the fire. It took a moment for the kindling to catch but when it did, the fire spread through the wood. Burden replaced the grate and stood.

  "You have no time at all. The mourning period is for peaceable Fey, not for Visionaries and warriors."

  "My daughter died," Rugar said.

  "And the Shaman says you had a hand in it. Before she died, Jewel came to me wondering if I had killed the Islander king. She said it sounded like a Fey job. I suspect it was. How did the mud get on your stoop, Rugar?"

  "Yesterday." Rugar waved a hand. His movements were vague, unfocused. "I brought it yesterday."

  Burden shook his head. "The mud's too old for that. And there's none inside. If you had tracked it in here yesterday, it will still be here, like your piss."

  Rugar looked down. "I was supposed to have privacy."

  "You're not going to get it," Burden said. "You didn't let any of us know that you were escalating the war again. Have you a solution to holy water?"

  "If I did, do you think I would have let Jewel die?"

  "Then you better have had a damn good reason for killing their king."

  Rugar sighed and slumped into one of his chairs. The faint odor of unwashed flesh rose from his clothes. "I have her son," he said.

  "What?" Burden crossed his arms. "What good will that thing do us?"

  "Not the thing," Rugar said. "It's a golem. Her son. The actual boy. The Wisps stole him when he was less than a week old."

  Burden sat heavily in the nearest chair. It had no cushion and the impact stunned his spine. A real child. Not the slow-moving creature that they had all figured to be the product of an Islander and a Fey, but a real flesh and blood being. "What do you expect to gain?" Burden said. "When Nicholas learns this, he will have even more reason for revenge."

  "The child is a Visionary," Rugar said.

  Burden shook his head. "Now I know you're making light with me. The boy is three years old. To have powers at that age is impossible." Then he frowned. "Didn't the Shaman say the boy was dying?"

  Rugar nodded. "I checked on him as soon as I returned to Shadowlands. He had a strange bout, a reaction, I guess, to Jewel's passing, but he's fine. After my mourning, I was to talk with his stepmother."

  Burden leaned forward, put his elbows on his knees and wiped his eyes with one finger. A Visionary at the age of three. A child with more powers than the Fey had ever seen. A baby girl with Shape-shifting abilities born to a Visionary. Jewel had been right after all. The union between Islander and Fey made them both more powerful instead of less. Burden pinched the bridge of his nose.

  "You ruined Jewel's chances of survival," he said.

  "What?" Rugar looked up and blinked at him.

  Burden let his hand fall to his lap. "You ruined any chance of that alliance succeeding. If the Islanders had been allowed to see the gifted child born to their King instead of the thing you replaced him with, then Jewel's alliance would have worked. You ruined her from the start."

  Rugar shook his head. "I was helping her. I was helping us."

  "I don't see how," Burden said. Bile had risen in his throat. He had to swallow to keep it down. Rugar had done more to hurt the Fey than anyone else ever could have.

  "A Fey child couldn't be raised in an Islander world," Rugar said. "The moment the boy showed any precociousness, someone would have sprinkled him with poison. You saw what that holy man did to Jewel. Imagine that happening to a defenseless child. As soon as I can, I'll get his sister as well."

  "You will not," Burden said. He stood. "You will not interfere any more than you have done. I was there when the Shaman said that little girl should not come to Shadowlands. The Shaman still has her Vision. You do not."

  "I have something better," Rugar said. "I have my grandson's Vision."

  "Did your precocious grandson see Jewel's death?"

  The bluster Rugar had a moment before subsided. He leaned back in his chair and looked at the fire. The flames played across his face, making his features dance. "Yes," he said softly. "He did."

  "And you did nothing? You prepared for nothing?"

  "He was a child," Rugar said. "It was his first Vision, and it was very confused. I had no idea the mother he saw on the ground was Jewel. I had no idea that what he called yellow people were Islanders. It's only in hindsight —"

  "It's not in hindsight," Burden said. "You're just unwilling to admit that you had been warned and did not take appropriate action. Of course you've gone Blind. You never deserved Sight in the first place."

  Rugar didn't move. "Say what you want," he said. "I did not know."

  Burden paced in the small cabin. He touched the table where Jewel had once sat, fondled the cup she had preferred. He would never see her again, never talk to her again, never have the chance to apologize to her for all the things he said. All the things he had thought.

  "It was your mistake that brought us to this place," Burden said. "Your lack of Vision that allowed us to get slaughtered by these Islanders, and your lack of wisdom that prevented you from listening to the others around you."

  Burden walked to Rugar's chair, put his hands on the arms, effectively trapping the older man. Rugar turned toward him, eyes dull, and hopeless.

  "You're going to listen to me now," Burden said. "We have a responsibility in all of this. But so do they. We have never survived by hiding. We have never made our way in this world by sneaking around and ignoring our Visions. We are a world power because we have abilities that we use."

  Rugar didn't move. He was watching Burden as if Burden were a child having a tantrum.

  "We also have a responsibility to Jewel. The Black King's granddaughter was murdered when she was operating in good faith with the enemy. We must seek revenge."

  "We can't," Rugar said. "Their holy man makes the poison."

  "You have always been a weak man," Burden said. "It was your weakness, your desire to be something greater than you are, that brought us here in the first place. You never acknowledged your limitations, you never listened to your betters. You just brought us all with you and doomed us to this life. And then, when your daughter tried to improve it, you abandoned her and kidnapped her child. You're not a leader, Rugar. You're certainly not a Visionary. You're a weak and pathetic man who thinks only of himself."

  "You have no right to talk to me that way," Rugar said. "I'm in mourning."

  "See? Only of yourself. I have every right," Burden said. "There is no time for mourning. We have to make their holy man pay. Once we do that, we will be able to negotiate with Nicholas again."

  "Their holy man could kill more Fey by himself than Nicholas could with his guards in a month," Rugar said. "For all we know, the poison is a part of the holy man. Quest died too quickly for us to discover if we can ever get near their holy men."

  "Quest," Burden said. He clasped his hands together. He hadn't b
een this angry in years. "Quest was a Doppelgänger who sacrificed himself for a solution we never got. Then Jewel sacrificed herself. All because of your mistakes. One of your greatest mistakes was a failure to use our resources. Our Warders found a way to slow the effects of the poison. How come they haven't found an antidote?"

  "They've been working on it," Rugar said.

  "Working on it? For years? If Caseo were still alive, he would be appalled by that. How long has it been since the Warders left Shadowlands? Have they tried other methods of discovering what creates the poison? Did any of them ask for help from the Settlement or from Jewel? Of course not. The one thing that could save us all, and you let the Warders piss the advantage away, encouraging them to hide in here while your daughter sacrificed her life for us." Burden paused to take a breath.

  Rugar finally sat up. His face was only inches from Burden's. "We have limited talent among our Warders."

  "Of course we do," Burden said. "You cover them with additional excuses. Since Caseo died … or finding a solution is difficult … or we have limited talent. You never look at the situation. Is Rotin still among the Warders?"

  "Of course she is," Rugar said, adopting Burden's tone. "We have only lost one Warder."

  "And I suppose you still allow her to play with her 'herbs.' How can a drugged mind find any creativity, Rugar? Have you even chosen a leader for the Warders now that Caseo is dead?"

  "It's their duty to choose a leader," Rugar said.

  "And they always choose the oldest, not necessarily the best. You know better, Rugar. It is our lives you're toying with here. Go in there, discover the best Warder and put that person in charge. Get rid of the drugs, give the Warders a deadline with real consequences, and see if they come up with a solution for you."

  "I can't give the Warders consequences," Rugar said, and closed his eyes.

  "Yes, you can," Burden said. "If they haven't found a solution by whatever time you set, kick them out of Shadowlands. Make them search for answers on Blue Isle --which is where they should be looking anyway."

  "And lose our Warders?" Rugar said. "You're the one who is short-sighted, Burden."

  Burden grabbed Rugar by the shoulders and pulled him forward. Rugar opened his eyes, but his expression remained impassive. Burden crouched beside him so that their faces were close. "What have the Warders done for us since we came to the Isle, Rugar? Any new spells? New ideas? If they had all died in the First Battle of Jahn would we have noticed? Yes, they slowed down the effects of the poison, but Jewel died anyway. They have made no difference at all. If you force them to work, they will make a difference."

  "I cannot force answers where there may be none," Rugar said.

  "Your father could, and did," Burden said. "So did your daughter. Learn from that."

  "You want me to divide this community," Rugar said.

  "I want you to get revenge for your daughter," Burden said. "I want you to save our lives."

  "Killing their holy man will only create more problems."

  "Like killing their king did?"

  Rugar stood, forcing Burden to let go of him. But the effort to stand appeared to be all that Rugar had in him.

  "If you don't lead, I will," Burden said.

  "You can't," Rugar said. "No one will follow you."

  "Like no one followed me to the Settlement?" Burden stood as close as he could to Rugar.

  Rugar took a step back. "I'm the Leader here."

  "And they're all waiting for you to do something," Burden said. "Your daughter was murdered. Fey do not let that happen."

  "Jewel had a treaty with those people."

  "A treaty which you broke before her death. Don't hide behind things you never believed in, Rugar. You subverted that treaty the moment you stole Jewel's child."

  "I didn't steal the boy," Rugar said. "He belonged here."

  "Without his parents' permission? When he was supposed to represent the unification of both states? The improvement that Jewel sought? I agree with the Shaman, Rugar. You engineered your daughter's death. You did it slowly and over time, probably from the moment you agreed to have her come to Blue Isle. Were you afraid your father would pick her to take the Black Throne, passing you over entirely? That would have been humiliating, wouldn't it?"

  "I had nothing to do with Jewel's death," Rugar said. His voice rose. "The holy man killed her."

  "Maybe I'm wrong about you," Burden said. "Maybe you have Vision. Maybe you saw Jewel's death from the beginning and that's why you brought us all here. Well, Rugar, what does the future hold? More Fey deaths? A union with Blue Isle? Or is your father due at any moment?"

  "The situation here is as it has always been," Rugar said. "We're in Shadowlands, besieged by the outside, and my father is nowhere in sight."

  "Because," Burden said, "your father did not believe us worth rescuing. He wanted you dead, Rugar, just like you wanted Jewel dead. It makes me wonder what you want for her son."

  "The boy has Vision."

  "And so did Jewel."

  They stared at each other, breathing in unison, their chests rising and falling together as if they had just had a pleasurable joust instead of a verbal tussle.

  "You should get out of here," Rugar said.

  "I think I will." Burden walked toward the door. He grabbed the handle and stopped. "But I want you to realize something. If you do not act, I will. The holy man will die, the Warders will work on the antidote, and the Fey will become powers again."

  "You can't do that without my help."

  "I can and will. No one believes in you any more, Rugar."

  Rugar hadn't moved. He was still breathing hard.

  So was Burden. The anger that had brought him here had not abated. "One more thing," he said. "The Shaman thought your grandson died. You care enough to find out that the boy lives, but not how he lives. Or what saved him. The Shaman thought the boy was doomed without her help. I remember. I was there. Have you ever wondered what really saved him? I would wager the Shaman had nothing to do with it."

  "Sometimes," Rugar said through his teeth, "even the Shaman is wrong."

  Burden shook his head. "Not like you," he said. "No one has ever been quite as destructive to our people as you have."

  TWENTY-NINE

  They made him sit in a small room off the Great Hall. Tel rubbed his hands on his knees. The tiny window was actually an old arrow slit. He was in an ancient part of the palace. Lord Enford had promised that the King would be here soon.

  Tel hoped so. He couldn't stand being inside Islander dwellings unless he knew that the Islanders had no interest in their awful religion.

  He stood and walked the length of the room, from door to arrow slit, then back again. There wasn't much point walking the width. The room was the size of a closet, and the four chairs that lined its walls had the look of old furniture little used. He almost felt like a prisoner, although he knew they had no reason to suspect him of anything.

  As far as they were concerned, he was a groom with a story, not a Fey. If they knew what kind of Fey he was, they never would promise to bring the King into such a small room. They would have to stand near each other. Tel could find a knife, leap across the room, and be transforming into the King before anyone realized what had happened.

  He just didn't want to.

  He never wanted to leave this post as groom.

  He owed a debt to Jewel.

  He also wanted to do something about Matthias. If Tel could strike a blow against the Tabernacle — a damaging blow — he would. And after hearing about Jewel's death, he knew he could.

  The door opened. Tel froze in place, uncertain what kind of greeting he faced. He had seen a lot of reactions this morning, from anger to disbelief to barely hidden joy, and he wasn't sure which he would get now.

  Lord Enford entered. He was shorter than most Fey but tall for an Islander, and slender to the point of gauntness. His complexion was an unhealthy waxy yellow, and his hair was thin in front. It hung down his b
ack in a thin queue. No matter how much wealth and opportunity some people had, they still looked as if they would die tomorrow. Lord Enford was one of them.

  "The King will see you," Lord Enford said.

  Tel's throat closed up. Enford had come into the room alone. This meant more travel through the corridors of the palace, more chances of seeing someone who might be religious, more opportunities to touch holy water.

  "Follow me."

  Tel nodded. Enford went out the door, the skirt of his robe swaying, and entered the corridor. Tel had to hurry to keep up. Enford moved silently, but Tel's boots slapped the polished floor. He made himself swallow. He had come this far. He could go to the King.