"How could he use Luke? Luke was outside Shadowlands."
"Burden has Charm. Solanda brought him to the awareness of that, and Luke was Charmed. He was also given many orders so that he would be useful to us if anything happened to you. But that was the key, Adrian. As long as you kept your bargain, Luke would remain untouched."
Adrian felt as if he had just been punched in the stomach. He was glad he was sitting down. "I had been warned not to bargain with the Fey. I knew that you people never kept your word. I had just thought that this was different."
"It was different in two ways," Mend said. She put her hand on Adrian's. He pulled away. "First, Jewel made the bargain with you and she's dead. Second, it was to our advantage that we maintain that bargain."
"And it's not any more?"
Mend bowed her head. "Burden wasn't thinking clearly."
"Such an excuse for using my son as a weapon."
Her jaw worked as if she were trying to find the words to express what was on her mind, but couldn't. "Burden loved Jewel."
"And I love Luke. I gave my entire future so that Luke would have one. And you people Spelled him and Charmed him and made a mockery of what I did." Adrian stood up. The cabin seemed even smaller than usual. He was glad now he hadn't gotten involved with Mend. Glad that he had found his own way in this place. Glad the only person he had truly allowed himself to care about was the other Islander.
"It was just a protection," Mend said. "We always make protections. It is our way."
"Just as it's your way to break agreements." Adrian rubbed his temple. His whole body was shaking with the rage he felt inside. "What a fool I've been. A stupid, stupid fool."
Mend watched him from the cot, her hand resting in the spot he had vacated. "Not all of us are bad," she said. "I came to you as soon as I found out."
"And what do you expect me to do now? Warn my son? I'm sure he knows about your little spells."
She shook her head. "We broke the agreement," she said. "I think you're free to go."
He held his breath. Of all the things he had expected her to say, this was not one of them. Had they other powers he didn't know about? Could they read his mind? Did they know he had already decided to leave, taking Coulter?
"I'll help you," she said. "I think this is wrong. I will open the Circle Door for you and you'll be free."
"And Luke will die."
She shook her head. "I'm not sure anyone will even notice when you leave. You haven't had duties for a long time."
Again, his thought. A chill ran down his back even though the cabin had grown too hot. "You'll know," he said.
"Adrian, you and I have been friends. Good friends, I thought."
"A man cannot be friends with his captors," he said.
"I'm not your captor. I'm willing to set you free."
"After five years! What did you people do to Luke during those five years?"
"Nothing, Adrian." She turned her hand over so that the palm was out. A small, but obvious supplication. "You saw him each year as we agreed. You know that."
He shook his head. "I only know what he told me. And you people could have Spelled him to tell me anything."
"Adrian." Her voice was soft. "I took a risk, coming to you."
"Did you?" he asked. "Did you really? Or are you merely here to tempt me. I'm in the way, aren't I? I no longer have a use to you people, so you'll kill me and continue to use my son as a weapon."
"We could use him without killing you," she said. Her cheeks were flushed. He was clearly making her angry.
"Then why not just slaughter me in my sleep? Why go through such a ruse?"
"Good question." She stood and pushed past him, grabbing the door. "Perhaps you should ponder it as you remain in this prison of your own choosing. I gain nothing from helping you. It's better for the Fey if you die. Yet I offered, at great risk to myself. I offered."
She shoved the door open and left. Adrian winced as the door slammed shut behind her. He had done that wrong. Clearly wrong. But the closeness of her words, her decision to tell him now, unnerved him. No waiting for Coulter any longer. If they were going to leave, they had to leave now.
Adrian paced around the small room. Coulter had gone to see Gift. If Rugar was there, the escape would be ruined.
But that was a risk Adrian would have to take.
He rummaged through his clothes pile until he found the clothes he was captured in. The Domestics had cleaned them at his insistence. They had wanted to throw out the clothes instead. He hoped they hadn't Spelled the clothing, but there was less of a chance to have Spells woven into his Islander clothes than in the Fey clothes he now wore.
He put on the shirt. It hung on him. He had known that he had lost a lot of weight since he came into Shadowlands, but not how much. The sleeves were torn on the wrists and the shoulders — flayed from his bindings and the beatings — but there were no bloodstains.
The pants fit so loosely that he had to double-knot the waist. His boots were long gone. He had only the soft shoes the Fey had given him.
It had been so long since he had seen the sun that he wasn't even certain of the season. He might emerge in winter, and then he would need the shoes. But if it were summer, he could leave the shoes in the Dirt Circle.
He had to get out of here quickly, before anyone noted the clothing.
He pushed open the door and looked both ways. The Sprites were messing with the weather again — they should have given up long ago — and the mist was thick and damp. He stepped into it, actually glad for the cover it gave him. He rounded the large Domicile and headed for the Wisps' cabin.
Gift's cabin.
By Shadowlands standards, the Wisps' cabin was small. By his standards, it was huge. They had an extra room to work with, space enough for three people, when he and Coulter were crowded with two.
He rapped on the door and took a step back when it opened. Niche answered. Her bandaged wings looked fragile and useless, bound to her back, her eyes shadowed and haunted. It probably wasn't easy raising Rugar's grandchild. A thankless, ugly task at best.
"I am supposed to bring Coulter to the Domicile," he said in Fey.
Gift sidled up beside her and clung to her legs. In action and gesture, he was closer to a young boy than Coulter had ever been.
"He's not here," Niche said.
Adrian sighed. He hated this part. A lot of Fey wouldn't trust him with children, not even an Islander child. "He came here a while ago. It's important that he get to the Domicile. They want me to bring him."
"He hasn't been here," Niche said. "If he were, I would let him go with you."
Adrian looked at Gift. The boy's face was eerie. His features were Fey, but his look belonged to the Royal House of Blue Isle. He was so clearly Nicholas's son that Adrian wasn't certain why he had to be told in order to see it.
"I never seen him," Gift said. His eyes were large, frightened.
Coulter had nowhere else to go. Sometimes he hid by the Domicile, but Adrian had walked past his spot. Coulter had been very clear; he wanted to see Gift. After that, they would leave. When Coulter was clear, he did what he said he would.
"Not at all?" Adrian asked.
"Why are you doubting my son?" Niche said.
Nicholas's son. The thought came unbidden, but Niche didn't seem to react to it. Perhaps they couldn't read minds after all.
"I'm not," Adrian said. "I just know Coulter. When he says he's coming somewhere, he does it."
"How come they don't like him?" Gift asked.
Niche looked down at him, a frown on her face. "Who?"
Gift watched Adrian. "My grandfather. My grandfather and his friends, they don't like Coulter."
Adrian went cold. The experiments. Touched and Rugar had no reason to wait. The next time they saw Coulter, they would take him.
"Do you know where Coulter is?" he asked Gift.
The boy shook his head.
Adrian looked at Niche. "When two people are Linked," he
said, "can they see each other across that Link?"
"Sometimes." She said the word slowly as if she were thinking through it.
Adrian crouched in front of Gift. "Can you See Coulter?"
Gift glanced at his mother, looking even younger than his years. She nodded at him. He closed his eyes. Adrian could almost see the boy stretching across Shadowlands.
"No." Gift's voice sounded very far away. "He's wearing a wall."
A wall. Adrian glanced at Niche, but she didn't seem to understand the reference either. A wall.
I blocked them, Coulter said.
With a wall?
Adrian put his head in his hands. He was already too late.
FORTY-TWO
The door closed behind Nicholas.
Matthias collapsed against the wall, and slid toward the floor. His feet wouldn't hold him any more.
He had thought he was going to die. He had thought Nicholas was going to kill him.
Matthias's back ached, his heart was pounding, and he could barely breathe. He was bleeding, too. He could feel the blood running down his skin. He had touched his back and his fingers came away bloody.
Damn Nicholas. Damn them all.
The door had barely closed when it opened again. Two Auds came in, the Auds he had assigned as guards.
Seeing him like this. So weak and frightened.
"Get out," he said, his voice still strong.
"But Holy Sir," one of the Auds said, "we had to see if you were all right."
"I'm fine," he said. "Get out."
"Holy Sir —"
"Get out! This is a place of private worship. I am praying. Get out."
The Auds backed out and closed the door. He leaned his head against the wall and caught the faint odor of blood mixed with the scent of the river. Blood. His blood.
He would have to get someone to look at that wound.
Nicholas. That arrogant boy. Telling Matthias that he was more of a believer than Matthias was.
Neither of them believed.
Perhaps that was the problem.
Matthias took a deep breath. It was difficult. He had been breathing shallowly since Nicholas arrived. The fear had nearly overwhelmed him.
That was the second time in two days he had been afraid for his life.
The second time he had not turned to the Holy One for help.
He shook his head. The 50th Rocaan had never been a scholar. He probably hadn't remembered the stories that separated the church, even when Matthias had brought them up. He probably thought unbelief a problem that Matthias could solve.
But he couldn't. If anything his disbelief was getting worse.
There was a knock and before he could answer, the door opened.
The Aud guard stood there with a Danite.
Young Titus, the one who had brought Nicholas down.
Titus, the believer. Matthias had envied him for so many years. Envied the boy's belief.
"See?" the Aud whispered. "The blood?"
"I told you to get out," Matthias said to the Aud.
"Forgive me, Holy Sir, but —"
"He asked me to see you," Titus said. He nodded at the Aud, then pulled the door closed. "You're bleeding, Holy Sir. He was worried for your health."
"My health is fine." It was his strength that wasn't. He couldn't take many more shocks to his system.
"Beg pardon, Holy Sir, but a man is not fine when he leaves a bloody smear along the wall."
"Young Nicholas thought to teach me a lesson." Matthias smiled. As if Nicholas could teach him anything. Nicholas had been his pupil and a poor pupil at that.
"And did he, Holy Sir?" Titus remained by the door. His head was unadorned and he wore no shoes, proclaiming himself in the world of Danites as a true believer. His black robe was spotless.
"No." Matthias had to get up. He had to show Titus he was all right.
Matthias put a hand on the cold stone floor and pushed. His feet slid from under him, and he almost fell. Titus crossed the room quickly and crouched beside Matthias.
"I'm fine," Matthias said.
"You're bleeding."
"A little," Matthias said. "Nothing serious."
"You let me see." Titus had stopped using formal titles. He moved to Matthias's right side and twisted Matthias's robe, touching him more intimately than anyone had touched him in a long time. "I can't see — oh, here it is."
Matthias closed his eyes. The area around the wound throbbed. Titus's fingertips made the throbbing worse.
"It's small," Titus said. "Just deep enough. What did he do?"
Matthias knew that Titus wouldn't leave him alone until he told. "He used the tip of his knife to remind me of his anger."
Titus nodded. "You're lucky, Holy Sir. He could have killed you."
"He wouldn't have killed me."
"Nothing is certain in this world any more," Titus said. Something in his tone made Matthias open his eyes. Titus still crouched beside him, his fingertips stained with Matthias's blood. The blood was a light red.
"You don't approve of me, do you?" Matthias regretted the question the moment he asked it. But he was so alone and so exhausted. He wanted something, a crumb of anything, even if it was begged-for affection.
"I believe murder holds no place in the high ceremonies of this church." Titus sat down, grabbed the hem of his robe, and ripped.
"Murder?" Matthias asked. How could everyone think the death of a Fey murder?
"The death of the queen should never have happened."
"It was God's will," Matthias said.
"If God had willed it, she and the first child would have died at birth." The hem of Titus's robe came off all the way along the bottom. Strands hung around his pale hairy legs. He took the ripped portion of the robe and held it out. "Forgive me, Holy Sir, but I think we need to bind that wound to staunch the bleeding."
Matthias leaned forward. The stretch pulled the skin along his back, making him wince at the pain. Titus wrapped the hem around him about Matthias's sash and pulled tight. "My," Matthias managed. "It might stop my breathing as well."
"It will help. I volunteered to work with the wounded during the Invasion. Yours is a small wound."
Matthias heard the implications behind Titus's words. Trivial. Unimportant. The suffering you proclaim is an act to give you sympathy. Perhaps it was.
"Forgive me, Holy Sir, if I speak out of turn, but you could have died this afternoon. You nearly died last night. I heard parts of your discussion with King Nicholas. He is right. You need to pick a successor. Someone else needs to know the Secrets."
The Secrets, the Secrets. Didn't anyone care about him? Matthias sat up. The hem was tight across his ribcage.
"I thought you didn't believe in church-sanctioned death," Matthias said. Deep breaths hurt.
"I am not thinking of holy water," Titus said. "That's an entirely different discussion."
For a Danite, he had no fear. Titus was half Matthias's age, and had one quarter the experience, yet he felt he could lecture Matthias.
"It's the same discussion," Matthias said. "Whoever possesses the Secrets knows how to defeat the Fey."
Titus leaned back. The blood had dried dark on his fingertips. "They say, in the Aud dormitories, that your scholarship enabled the 50th Rocaan to use the holy water as a weapon."
Matthias shook his head. "It was an accident, that discovery."
"But the decision to use the water after that accident, after that discovery, was made because you argued for it. You used the Words Written and Unwritten to show the Rocaan how to justify the use."
"Justify," Matthias said. "How do you know that the Roca didn't leave us the water for just this reason?"
"You twist logic well, Holy Sir, but logic doesn't always serve the faithful."
The throbbing had settled into a dull ache. "Don't paraphrase the Words to me," Matthias said. "Sometimes one must use logic to understand the Words."
"No," Titus said. "One must use faith. If it s
eems wrong to the heart, it is wrong. You have used the holy water as a weapon, as a tool to commit murder. Not just one death, but hundreds, rest at your feet. The King was right to come to you. His own logic was wrong."
"Nicholas was reacting. He will understand what I did, in time."
Fey 02 - Changeling Page 45
