Nicholas held Matthias against his chest, twisting the tip of the knife slightly as if he were about to core an apple. Matthias stiffened with pain.
"Your wife's death was God's will," Matthias said.
One movement. One simple movement and Matthias would live no longer.
"As is yours," Nicholas said.
"Then go ahead." Matthias's trembling had increased. "Kill me."
"The Words forbid it." Nicholas let Matthias go. "And unlike you, I follow the Words."
Matthias turned, the movement a bit stiff as he favored his back. His face was pale.
"The Fey will kill you," Nicholas said. "The question is when."
"They can't get me if I stay in the Tabernacle."
"Don't be so certain," Nicholas said. "They've been here before. They also have other ways, as that boy showed you. You will die and I won't protect you."
"What protection can you offer from those creatures?" Matthias actually sounded hopeful, as if he believed that Nicholas would save him.
As if Nicholas would want to.
"None," Nicholas said. "If they succeed in killing you, it will be God's will. But if you die with the Secrets untold, you will destroy the religion you were sworn to protect."
Matthias's right hand slid to his back, rubbing the spot where Nicholas had turned the knife. "And whom would you suggest I tell the Secrets to?" Matthias asked. "The Elders want me overthrown."
Nicholas's dirk had blood on it. He continued to hold it, the weight a comfort in his hand. "A schism in the Tabernacle," he said, mimicking Matthias's mocking tone. "How delightful."
"You wouldn't think it delightful if one of the other Elders ran the Tabernacle."
"Any of them would be better than you, Matthias."
"The Old Rocaan believed none of them worthy of taking his place."
"Yes," Nicholas said. "He put you into office. Look what wonders that has done for Blue Isle."
Matthias's gaze flickered down to the knife. A tiny bit of blood dripped off its tip. "I did the right thing for Blue Isle," he said.
"No, Matthias." Nicholas stepped forward, still holding the knife tip out. "If you had done the right thing, we would not be arguing now. The country would be united and at peace instead of on the brink of war. You did not do the right thing."
Matthias took one step back. "We would still be at war. The Fey murdered your father."
"One Fey, and I even know who it was. I would have been able to get to that Fey with Jewel alive. I doubt I can now."
"Who?" Matthias asked.
"It no longer matters," Nicholas said. "You took our advantage away."
"Advantage. You sound as if we're playing a game here. We're talking lives."
Nicholas took another step forward. Matthias was again pressed against the window. This time, Nicholas placed the tip of the knife against Matthias's heart. "We've been talking lives from the beginning. You have made this worse than it was. You, Matthias, and now we're talking your life. I will not protect you from the Fey. I would give you to them if I could. If you value the lives you were sworn to protect, then you will give up the Secrets."
"To whom?" Matthias glanced down at the knife. Sweat beaded on his forehead. He was truly afraid, and Nicholas, for the first time in his life, enjoyed someone's fear. "If I give them to the Elders, they'll kill me."
"It's what you deserve."
"But we can't have that in the church."
"Why not?" Nicholas said. "We had it just a few days ago."
"It wasn't the same."
Nicholas grabbed Matthias's collar, pulling his face close. Matthias had to bend at the waist to prevent the knife from penetrating his chest. He brought up one hand, his right hand, and it was smeared with blood from his back.
"It is the same," Nicholas said very softly. "Just because you didn't value Jewel's life doesn't mean that God didn't. Many of us valued her. Your opinion is not the only one."
"But I'm a leader in the church. The Beloved of God."
"And horribly misnamed, because I'm willing to wager that God isn't very happy with you right now."
"You don't know the Mind of God."
"And neither do you."
They were both breathing hard. The cool river breeze caressed Nicholas's forehead, keeping him calm. A bead of sweat ran down Matthias's cheek and dripped onto his robe.
"I won't give them the Secrets," Matthias said. "They'll kill me."
Nicholas let him go. Matthias staggered, caught the edge of the window with his left hand, and steadied himself.
"Then teach the Secrets to me," Nicholas said.
"To you?" Matthias stood, wiped the hair off his face with his right hand, leaving a small spot of blood on his temple. "You haven't the training."
"No," Nicholas said. "But at least I understand what the Roca was trying to do. When he offered himself to the Soldiers of the Enemy, he was trying to prevent war, prevent death, not trying to cause it."
"I wasn't trying to cause anything," Matthias said. "I thought you were next. I thought she would slaughter you and try to steal our Island that way."
It sounded plausible. For one brief moment. But Nicholas knew better. "Jewel was too smart for that. She knew that you and the others would depose her as soon as possible. You might have even killed her."
"I was just thinking of you," Matthias said.
"You were thinking of yourself, and your hatred, and your revenge." Nicholas waved the dirk to punctuate his words. "Do you know how I know? I know because you aren't justifying this with scholarship. You're trying to justify it with emotions, and you don't understand how emotions work."
"I know how emotions work," Matthias said. "If I give you the Secrets, you'll kill me."
"I can't kill you and step into a proper place within Rocaanism," Nicholas said. "As usual, you worry about yourself before others."
"The Rocaan chose me."
"He made a mistake."
"If he made a mistake, then let God strike me down."
"God will," Nicholas said, "in the form of the Fey. And when you die, the Secrets die with you. Selfish to the end, Matthias. You will be the one — all by yourself — who destroys an ancient religion, maybe even a nation. All by yourself."
"You're not convincing me to trust you with the most sacred parts of Rocaanism, Nicholas," Matthias said. "I was your tutor. I know the contempt you hold for this religion."
"I hold no contempt," Nicholas said, "for anything except you."
Matthias's mouth thinned. His eyes held something dark — hatred? Nicholas didn't want to think about it. It no longer mattered. He shrugged. "I'm doing right by my people," he said. "When you're dead, and the people come to me wondering why we can no longer worship, and no longer protect ourselves against angry Fey, I'll tell them I came to you and you refused to help them."
"Who is trying an emotional argument now, Nicholas?"
"Emotion?" Nicholas held up the knife. "Be glad I don't let emotion rule me like it rules you, Matthias. If I did, we would never have talked. You'd be dead already."
"Threats again. Nicholas, you will never get the Secrets from me. You may as well stop trying." Matthias crossed his arms in front of his chest. "If you kill me now, you'll be to blame for the death of Rocaanism."
"I told you already, Matthias, that I do my duty as King, no matter how much it hurts me," Nicholas said.
"If you understand your duties as King," Matthias said, "then you understand why I cannot give you the Secrets. The Roca separated these jobs for a reason. I am the spiritual side. You are the physical side. It is by the Roca's words that we are separate."
Nicholas smiled. It was clearly not the reaction that Matthias expected. He tried to back up, but couldn't since he was already braced against the wall.
"Finally," Nicholas said. "The scholarly argument. Too little too late, Matthias."
"I won't give them to you, Nicholas."
Nicholas tucked his dirk in his boot. The blade was cool
, the blood sticky against his foot. "That's your choice. It won't matter to you much longer anyway. By this time tomorrow, you'll probably be dead."
"Even a timetable," Matthias said. "Are you sure you're not helping these Fey get to me?"
"I offered," Nicholas said. "They refused my help."
Matthias went white. "You're not serious," he said.
"I'm quite serious," Nicholas said. "You deserve to die for what you've done. Any other murderer would already be part of the Infrin sea."
"I thought you said you care about our people," Matthias said.
"I do," Nicholas said. "Rocaanism would still be a religion without you. The difference was this: if the Fey had taken you in exchange for my father's killer, we would no longer need holy water as a weapon. Any Danite can Bless water. We would still have lived in peace."
"That would never have worked," Matthias said. "The people wouldn't have stood for the murder of the Rocaan."
"I'm sure Porciluna would have helped them accept the change," Nicholas said.
"You're a cold man," Matthias said.
"If I am, it's because of what you've done to me," Nicholas said.
"You're going to let them kill me," Matthias said.
Nicholas shook his head. "No," he said. "I'm just not going to stop them. I've warned you. I've done all I can do."
He turned and walked toward the door, half wondering if Matthias would attack him.
"Nicholas?" Matthias said.
Nicholas stopped. He kept his back to Matthias.
"Ask them to stay away from me. They listen to you. If you do that, I'll make sure I share the Secrets."
Nicholas bowed his head. "Nice try, Matthias," he said. "But the Fey don't listen to me any more. You've seen to that."
"I demand protection," Matthias said. "If not for me, then for the religion."
"Denied." Nicholas spoke firmly. "You can protect the religion yourself by giving away the Secrets. As for you, you cannot demand anything from me."
"Nicholas, we have to work together here."
"That's right, Matthias. We should have worked together. Instead, you took the fate of Blue Isle in your own hands." Nicholas looked over his shoulder. Matthias was still standing against the window, his face white with fear. "When the Fey come for you, Matthias, realize that I will not help you. In fact, I will be praying that your death will be twice as slow and four times more painful than Jewel's."
Matthias said nothing.
Nicholas nodded to him. "I suspect this will be the last time we see each other. I will not miss you."
"You've become as heathen as they are," Matthias said.
"No," Nicholas said. "If anything, I have finally begun to understand the power of faith." He looked at the man who murdered his wife. "You're a lucky man. You still live. I suggest you make the most of your last few hours in this world. If the Words are to be believed, those few hours will be the last moments you ever spend without feeling pain."
"I haven't caused any Islander pain," Matthias said.
"Except me." Nicholas bowed once, mockingly imitating the respectful bow due a Rocaan. "Good day, Matthias. May the hand of the Holy One take my words to God's ear."
"God doesn't listen to unbelievers," Matthias said.
"I know." Nicholas smiled. "I have faith in that. You'd do well to remember it yourself."
FORTY-ONE
Adrian sat on the edge of the cot. One of the candles was guttering, sending flickering light throughout the tiny room. He was shaking. Somewhere, during these long years, he had accepted the fact that he would never leave this gray place. Now, when the opportunity presented itself, he was frightened.
Coulter had left a few moments before to tell Gift about the strange occurrences. Adrian had hinted that Coulter ask Gift to come with them, but didn't say so outright. He didn't know Gift. Gift was a little boy who might not be able to keep things quiet. Gift might run directly to his grandfather, the last place Adrian wanted him to go.
He was putting Luke at risk; he knew that. But he had a plan for that as well. He would go directly to Nicholas and tell him that Rugar held his son in Shadowlands. With the force of Blue Isle behind him, they might be able to make Luke survive.
They might not.
But it was a risk he would have to take. Adrian's life was not the only one at stake any more. Coulter was important too. Knowing the Warders, they might kill him to find out the secret to his "powers."
Adrian stood and scanned his small cabin. He had nothing to take with him. The clothes he wore were Fey made — he would get rid of those as soon as he could. He had collected nothing, owned nothing since he arrived in Shadowlands. All this time, he had done nothing to make his existence permanent. He was a prisoner in a very large cell.
He had promised Coulter an hour. He could give him that.
But only that.
Any more and Adrian might lose his own resolve. He clasped his hands behind his back and paced, causing the candle to gutter farther. If Coulter truly had magical powers, then Nicholas needed to know that as well. The Islanders might have always had the power to completely defeat the Fey, they just might not have known it.
Now, with Coulter's abilities, they would know.
And if Coulter learned magic as Fey children did, then perhaps, Adrian — or Nicholas — could find a disgruntled Fey to teach them.
Anything was possible. He had learned that this afternoon, with Coulter sobbing on his chest.
Anything. Even magic where there had been none before.
A knock on his door made him start. His heart raced before he caught himself. The panic didn't belong. Most Fey just let themselves in. Only two people knocked.
Coulter and Mend.
Adrian pulled the door open, expecting Coulter. Instead Mend stood there, looking small and frightened. She slipped past him.
"Close the door," she said in Islander. Her mastery of the language was good, but her accent was so strong that most Islanders would never be able to understand her.
He closed the door behind her, fear a palpable thing. Had Rugar discovered his plan already? Was Coulter all right? He couldn't even ask without endangering the boy.
"I only have a moment," she said. "Then I have to be in the Domicile."
She took his hand and led him to the cot. She pulled him down beside her, and for a moment, he thought she was going to make love to him. She had tried, more than once, but he had refused. He was not going to accept this place any more than he already had. If he had allowed himself to fall in love with Mend, he never would have made these plans with Coulter. Adrian would have lost himself entirely.
Not that she wasn't beautiful. She was. All the Fey women had an ethereal charm that he found very appealing, Mend even more so. Her dark hair fell past her knees, and she left it unbound, contrary to custom. Her eyes were as sharply pointed as her ears, and the line of her eyebrows defined the ridges of her forehead. Her nose was slender and delicate, her lips dusky rose. So many nights he had lain awake on this very cot, thinking of her.
Even though he knew that sometimes the Fey used attraction as a trap.
"What's so urgent?" he asked.
"I should not tell you this," she said. She took his hands in her own. Her hands were slender like the rest of her body, her fingers longer than his. "But I cannot be silent. You have kept your side of this bargain in good faith."
He stiffened. Whenever the Fey spoke of his bargain, they usually did so with derision, as if they would never have made such a trade themselves. But Mend had asked him about it many times, and she had never spoken with a lack of respect. She had always seemed interested and compassionate.
"The last night your son was here, he was in the Domicile." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "We Spelled him and his clothes so that we could track him."
"Jewel said you would do that."
"Then we left him. Others saw him. I know they Charmed him. And I know they gave him to Dream Riders for false memories
. But until today I did not know what else they had done."
"Charmed?" Adrian asked. The translations were so poor in Islander. "Tell me in Fey."
She shook her head. "Those spells are minor. It is this one you need to know of. Burden used your son as an Assassin."
"What?" Adrian asked. "Is he all right?"
"I believe so," Mend said. "But I don't know."
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