He laid the skin on the shield. On this side also the boy had maintained protection arm's length away. The dark blood ran down, staining the table, and marking the side of the shield.
A child, even an enchanted child, normally had shields that were attached to the body, not feet away.
Rotin looked at Touched and straightened her eyebrows in surprise. Suddenly she was as interested in this boy as he was.
He hoped that was a good thing.
The shield sparkled as the boy tried to strengthen it. Rotin put pieces of flesh on all sides, then top to bottom, working quickly. Touched did the same. The boy was too young to think his way out of this predicament. If he had dropped the shield and moved, he wouldn't have been trapped, but now, because they had touched the shield on all sides, he couldn't drop it.
Although he could punch a hole in it and crawl out.
Touched moved rapidly, blood running down his hands and into the sleeves of his black robe. His fingers were red, the nails black with blood. The stench had grown worse.
Rotin opened her second pouch.
The boy had buried his head completely, apparently placing all of his concentration on keeping the shield in place. The shield's shape was becoming apparent. It was a half-bubble around him with good curve and strong form.
The bubble seemed to end on the table.
But the boy was smart. Touched remembered that much from their earlier encounter.
He opened his second pouch and crouched, placing the pieces of skin under the table.
Sure enough, the bubble was complete. It put the boy in a protective circle.
Rotin saw what Touched was doing and did the same. They worked quickly and silently, slapping long pieces of skin on the bubble and creating a crazy patchwork in the air. Blood dripped from the bottom of the circle onto the floor. The floor was slightly uneven, and as the puddle formed, a small trickle ran toward the door, as if part of the boy were trying desperately to escape.
Touched finished the bottom first. When he stood, he could barely see the boy through the gaps in the skin. The skin was flat and had adhered so well to the bubble that it was beginning to look as if the boy were trapped inside a circle of flesh.
Rotin had opened her final pouch. She pulled out the strands of skin and pasted them to the gaps in her side of the shield. As Touched worked, he could see the underside of the skin. It looked like a blood-covered river, with tiny tributaries and dry patches. The skin was translucent, so the light in the room filtered through.
The boy watched Touched as he finished placing his pieces of skin on the gaps. The last strand covered an area about as big as Touched's hand. The boy raised his head, his mouth open as if to protest, as Touched covered the last visible spot with skin.
"Excellent," Rotin said. "We have him now."
No protection, no nothing. The skin's blood magic broke the spell. Touched grabbed a towel near the front of the table and started to wipe his arms. Rotin was inspecting their work.
"Very, very good," she said. A bit of ancient blood smeared the side of her face. Her bald head seemed small compared to the circle of flesh next to her. She looked at Touched and grinned. "Should we test it?"
"Why else build it?" he asked. The blood wasn't coming off. It had been a long time since he was this covered. He would have to go to the Domestics when he was through and ask for help cleaning his hands and arms.
"Ready?" Rotin asked.
Touched shook his head. "Give me a moment." He came over to her side of the table. Her work was sloppier than his, her skin overlapping in places. There were no gaps, however, not even tiny ones.
She rolled up the sleeve on her robe. "All right," she said. "Here goes."
She shoved an arm through the mass of flesh. It quivered, then adjusted. It looked as if the ball of flesh had eaten to her elbow. Rotin leaned forward.
"He's moving," she said. Touched couldn't tell if her tone held triumph, irritation, or both.
Make it stop!
The mental blast hit Touched so hard he nearly fell backward. He caught the edge of the table to steady himself.
Rotin didn't seem to notice. She had shoved her arm into the flesh bubble all the way to her shoulder.
Did we hurt you? Touched Sent back.
Make it stop!
Terror came with the Sending. That was what had sent him backwards. Complete, total terror.
The boy had probably never seen anything like a preliminary shield breech. He probably hadn't even known what his shield looked like outside of his head.
Did we hurt you? Touched Sent again.
Keep away! Keep away!
"Better pull out," Touched said to Rotin.
She glanced at him, frowning.
"The boy is Sending. He's terrified."
"The first breech is always frightening," Rotin said, but she pulled her arm out. Her skin was covered with long black streaks from the sides of the bubble. The hole in the bubble closed immediately.
"So he's a weak one," she said.
"No," Touched said. "That Sending was strong."
"He couldn't take my physical touch. Imagine a real one."
"He's just a boy," Touched said. "I don't even know if he's reached six years."
"Old enough to shield."
"But too young to know all the tricks."
"No one taught him," Rotin said.
"He learns quickly enough." The bubble below had surprised Touched. The boy was gifted and brilliant.
"Let's see how quickly," Rotin said. She squinched her face. Touched learned quickly too and this time he recognized the look. She was going to Light-Send again, another attack, like the ones he had leveled at the boy.
A beam of light shot from Rotin's eyes. Touched set up his own block in front of the bubble. When the light bounced back to Rotin, she stopped Sending, and the light disappeared.
"You're making things worse," she said to Touched.
He shook his head. "That's a boy in there. Little more than a baby. He's talented, but weak. If you kill him, we have nothing."
"I won't kill him," Rotin said.
Touched crossed his arms over his chest. "Your Light-Send is too strong. I won't let it through."
"You will," she said. "Because I head the Warders."
"No one heads the Warders," Touched said. "Not really. And you can do nothing to me."
"Touched, I can have you removed —"
"When the Black King comes." Touched smiled for the first time since he brought the boy into the cabin. "Which may be never."
Rotin sighed. She obviously realized that threats wouldn't work. "All right," she said. "I'll be gentle."
"Swear," Touched said. "On your powers. Swear."
She tilted her head toward him. Her expression convinced him that she had no intention of being gentle. "What would you do to me if I wasn't?"
"This boy is our only chance to understand Islander magic. Our only chance. If you hurt him, I would have to hurt you."
"Idle threats, Touched. I'm more powerful than you."
"No," Touched said. "You used to be."
"You can't harm me," she said.
"Anyone can harm you," he said. "All they have to do is catch you after you've taken a few herbs."
Her face hardened and she turned away. She had clearly heard the truth of that statement. "I won't hurt him," she said through gritted teeth.
"Good," Touched said. He remained behind her, arms crossed, waiting. She sent a very weak light through the bubble's skin barrier.
The boy screamed.
"Is that all right?" Rotin asked with a hint of sarcasm.
"Perfect," Touched said. "Just perfect."
FORTY-FOUR
Nicholas dismounted and handed the lathered horse to Ejil. The groom frowned at him — Nicholas had run the horse hard — but said nothing. He murmured words of comfort to the horse and led it into the stables.
Stowe and Monte rode in behind him. Nicholas turned his back on them and w
alked across the courtyard. The ride hadn't calmed him. If anything it had left him more agitated.
The servants in the courtyard gave him a wide berth. He must have looked as furious as he felt. Matthias had all but said that he had intended to kill Jewel. He had said that Nicholas would be better off without her.
Better off.
The idiot.
No one was better off now.
And Matthias wouldn't listen. He wouldn't give the Secrets away, which would put the entire kingdom in crisis. The Fey would kill Matthias — it was only a matter of time — and when they did, Rocaanism would die with him.
It would all rest on Nicholas's shoulders. The people wouldn't understand why their power and their religion had completely disappeared.
Of course, the Fey hadn't managed to kill this Rocaan so far. They had stopped trying after Nicholas had married Jewel. Who knew what kind of tricks they had now.
Nicholas's cape fluttered behind him as he walked. He felt like Rugar — both powerful and powerless. He hadn't been able to figure out how to use his strengths yet. He had been King for a little over a week, and in that time, he had barely had time to think, let alone learn.
He could use his father's advice at the moment.
Or Jewel's.
He yanked open the kitchen door only to find it stuck. Lord Stowe had his hand on the top of the door.
"Forgive me, Sire," Stowe said. "But Monte and I need to talk with you."
"I'm through talking," Nicholas said. He needed to get away from the duties for a little while. He needed to spend time with Arianna, to remember why he even tried at all.
"I think not, Sire." Stowe held the door firmly. "I know this is irregular, but you need our help."
Nicholas needed help, but he wasn't sure he wanted to admit it, at least not to one of his lords. "Let me by, Stowe."
"Highness —"
"Stowe, the mood I'm in it would be best not to trifle with me."
"I'm not trifling, Highness."
And he wasn't. He was looking at Nicholas with the same expression Nicholas's father sometimes used, a bit of compassion mixed with stubbornness.
"All right," Nicholas said. "As we walk."
"Highness, this matter had best be discussed in private."
"As. We. Walk. Understand?"
"Yes, Highness." Stowe took his hand off the door. Nicholas pulled the door open and entered the kitchen. It smelled of warm bread and curing meat. The blood near the hearth fire had been cleaned up, but he still saw Jewel there, her body lifeless as it gave life.
Monte flanked him on one side, Stowe on the other, as they had done when they went to see Matthias. The roar of the hearth fire seemed loud. The chefs were pounding meat to tenderize it, and some of the serving women were shouting at each other across the room. A few of the servants saw Nicholas and bowed as he passed. He waved a hand, indicating that they should ignore him.
"Highness," Stowe said, "the incident with the Rocaan —"
"Was my choice," Nicholas said. "He murdered my wife."
"Yes, Sire, but —"
"But?" Nicholas was glad he was walking. If he were alone in a room with Stowe, he would grab the man by the throat. "No but, your lordship. She's dead, and Matthias killed her."
"We heard the conversation, Highness," Monte said. He spoke softly, his words barely carrying above the din.
Nicholas took the twisting servants' stairs. He had slid down those in the middle of a battle the day he had first seen Jewel. The stairs were wide enough for two men. Monte, as befit his rank, dropped back.
"Did you?" Nicholas said. The noise of the kitchen was fading away.
"Aye, Sire." Monte sounded chagrined, as if he could apologize for this entire conversation with his tone. "We thought we'd better talk with you before this went too far."
"Did you?" Nicholas kept his voice flat. They were dangerously close to overstepping. He was only allowing this because he felt so alone, because he needed guidance no matter how it came. "You listened in on a private conversation and feel you have the right to comment on it."
They had reached the landing. Stowe slowed his steps, but Nicholas didn't. He pivoted and continued up. "It affects us," Stowe said.
"Everything I do affects you," Nicholas said. "That's the nature of the relationship."
"Yes, sire, but this one is dangerous."
Nicholas stopped one step up so that he could look down on both men. Stowe's face was drawn, and Monte's was tight with fear. They were no more comfortable with this moment than Nicholas was.
He wasn't going to make them any more comfortable, either.
"Tell me now," he said, "and I'll consider what you have to say."
Stowe nodded his head once. "Sire, if the Rocaan dies without the Secrets, we could all die."
"I doubt that. The Fey won't attack at once."
"But when they do we have no recourse," Stowe said. "We lose to them. Rugar would lead us."
"Rugar won't lead us. I have the children."
"Babies," Stowe said, "and, forgive me, Sire, but one is feeble. We cannot wait for them to grow. We won't last two days without holy water."
"You're all afraid for your skins," Nicholas said and started back up the stairs.
"Highness!" Monte's voice was piercing between the stone walls. "Please."
"No," Nicholas said. He continued to climb. No one was on the second floor. The hallway was shrouded in darkness. "I don't think you men understand. I want them to kill him. I'd have killed him myself if I could have."
He stopped at the top of the stairs and took a deep breath. He hated coming this way, but he hated going through the Great Hall even more. Jewel's body was gone, but he still saw it there whenever he closed his eyes. The only memories he had of her at the moment were of her death.
Stowe stopped beside him. "We do understand that, Sire," he said softly. "But that's not in the state's best interest. Forgive me for speaking out of turn, Sire, but you need to consider Blue Isle."
"I am considering Blue Isle," Nicholas said. "I didn't kill him this afternoon."
"Then allow us to protect him." Monte blurted the sentence from behind Nicholas.
Nicholas turned. "Protect the man who murdered your Queen?"
"Arrest him then, Sire. But don't let him die," Stowe said.
"Arrest him? And then what? The people will turn against me as clearly if I arrest him as they would if I murdered him myself."
"Not if you say you're going to investigate what happens. Not if you force him to appoint an acting Rocaan."
"It's never been done," Nicholas said.
"There's never been a need," Stowe said. "There is now. The Words don't provide for this nor does Church history. But it could be the first step in you taking over for the Rocaan. You could even bill it as such."
"Then Matthias just plays us like a mouse, toys with us, and never gives us the Secrets. If he knows the Secrets are worth his life, he will keep them until he dies of old age. No." Nicholas walked down the corridor, his boots slapping against the stone.
Monte hurried after him. "Sire, please, then just let us guard him. You said you thought the Fey would strike in the next few days. Let us make certain they don't. Then you can settle this with the Rocaan."
"You aren't understanding me," Nicholas said. "I want him dead."
Stowe caught up to Nicholas and Monte. He turned to Monte. "Leave us," he said.
"But I thought we were to discuss this together."
"So," Nicholas said. "You planned this on the ride back. How charming."
"Highness," Stowe said. "Please. Let me speak to you. Alone."
Nicholas sighed. He would never get rid of them if he didn't have a real discussion. "All right. Leave us, Monte."
Monte nodded, bowed, and hurried back down the stairs toward the kitchen. Nicholas shoved his hands in the pockets of his breeches.
"Make this quick," he said to Stowe, "because you're pushing every favor you've got."
> Stowe crossed his arms, apparently unwilling to be intimidated. "It's time you listen to me, Highness, not as a king, but as a young man. You've lost everything that's important to you this week, and you're not thinking clearly. If you allow the Fey to kill the Rocaan, that will be the last assassination. We will go to war. And with the Rocaan dead, we will have no chance at winning. None at all."
Fey 02 - Changeling Page 47
