Fey 02 - Changeling

by Rusch, Kristine Kathryn

  Then he let himself out of the Audience Chamber. He was shaking. His last act as Rocaan. His last act in the church. Now he would get as far away from it as he could. As far away from people as he could.

  He was demon-spawn. No one should get near him. No one would be safe.

  The guards had left, as he thought they would. That meant that someone knew what had happened.

  He stopped by one of the ornamental chairs and pulled off his filigree sword. He felt naked without it. Then he removed his sash and placed it on the chair. He couldn't remove his robe --he had no other clothes. He would worry about that later, when he got out of Jahn.

  Matthias let himself out of the side door. The sun was still shining. The air was still fresh, and the day was still lovely.

  He was the only thing that had changed.

  Demon-spawn.

  He would never go anywhere holy again.

  FIFTY-SEVEN

  The boy leaned against the building, his eyes rolled into the back of his head. Niche hovered over him, her hands barely touching him. Rugar sat across from him, seething. The Shadowlands swirled around them, gray and barren, more of a prison than a home.

  Rugar grabbed the boy's wrist. "Get back here," he whispered.

  "Don't hurt him," Niche said. "Please."

  Rugar ignored her and pulled the boy close. His body was limp. His consciousness was still in Nicholas's palace, in the golem, in the same room as his sister. The boy fell forward, hitting his head against Rugar's knee.

  Pain shot through his leg, but he ignored it. He put his hands under the boy's armpits and pulled him upright. "Get back here," Rugar said.

  "Please," Niche said. "He's a baby. Don't —"

  "He's not a baby," Rugar said without looking at her. "He already knows how to manipulate. I was wrong letting you raise him. You have corrupted him. I wanted to find that Enchanter, and your son led me to the palace."

  "I'm sure he didn't mean —"

  "He meant." Rugar shook the boy. "Get back here."

  Gift's head lolled back and forth. Niche crouched beside them. "Please, Rugar, don't hurt him. He can't hear you."

  Rugar pushed her. She flew backwards, the strength of his shove unnecessary for her light bones. She landed on the ground and cried once in pain.

  The boy opened his eyes. He had returned. "Mommy?" he asked.

  Rugar was holding the boy's arm tightly. "She'll be all right," Rugar said. "But you might not be. You were following the Enchanter's Link. Then you veered. Why?"

  The boy's face was gray. He swallowed, looking suddenly like his father. His small mouth worked.

  Rugar shook him. "Why?"

  "He saved my life," the boy whispered.

  "Gift." Niche sat up. Her injured wings looked flat and she didn't move from the place where she had landed. "Help Rugar. He needs you."

  "I don't need anyone," Rugar said.

  "But I thought you wanted him to find Coulter," Niche said. "Maybe if I ask, he will."

  "No." Gift's small jaw was set.

  Rugar pulled him close. "What did you say?"

  "I said no." Gift's eyes flashed like Jewel's used to when she was being stubborn.

  "No one says no to me."

  "I do," Gift said. "I hate you."

  He stated the words as if they were fact. They hit Rugar like a blow. "I don't care how you feel about me," Rugar said, pulling him so close that their noses touched. "I want you to find that Enchanter for me."

  "No," Gift said.

  "He didn't save your life," Rugar said. "I'm the one who brought you here."

  "I don't belong here," Gift said.

  "That's not true." Niche's voice wobbled with pain. She put one hand on the gray bottom to Shadowlands and slowly eased herself up. "You belong with Wind and me, Gift."

  Gift pulled his head away from Rugar's. "I belonged with my real parents. You stole me."

  "You're Fey," Rugar said. "You belong here."

  "I'm half Fey. Coulter told me."

  Niche gasped. Rugar let go of the boy's left arm and placed his hand behind the boy's head, holding it still. "You are my grandson. You are to be loyal to me."

  "I hate you," Gift said. "You're a mean old man."

  The back of the boy's neck was fragile. One quick turn and he would be gone. Rugar wondered if he knew that.

  He nearly squeezed, then shoved the boy away. Gift slammed into the building so loud that the sound echoed through Shadowlands.

  Niche stood, blood dripping from her injured wings. "He's a child. He doesn't know any better."

  Rugar got up and stood beside her. "He knows what you taught him."

  "I never taught him to defy anyone."

  Rugar clenched his fists. He had done enough damage this day. "I thought having him raised by a family would be good for him. I thought it would teach him about love and respect. I was wrong."

  Niche raised her chin so that she looked directly at him. "We did teach him about love and respect. That's why he's protecting Coulter. The boys were best friends."

  Rugar grabbed her wrist and pulled her close. Her bones shattered beneath his fingers. She whimpered. "You failed to teach him to respect family. He's not Fey. He's not anything."

  A little body slammed into Rugar. Arms circled his waist and a head pushed against his stomach.

  "You let her go!" Gift cried. "Let go!"

  He grabbed with all his strength, then kicked Rugar repeatedly. With his free hand, Rugar pried Gift loose. Then Rugar put his hand on Gift's skull and pushed him back. The boy flailed at him. Niche didn't fight at all.

  "Madam," Rugar said to her, ignoring the boy slapping his hand, "I still have use for your child. See to it that next time he obeys me."

  Then he let go of her. She fell to her knees and cradled her wrist against her chest. Her hand flopped forward, useless.

  Rugar turned to Gift and grabbed the boy's flailing hands with one of his one. "You, child, are flesh of my flesh, blood of my blood. You may hate me, but you will do as I say."

  Gift struggled, but Rugar didn't tighten his grip as he did with Niche. "I'll never listen to you."

  "Someday, you'll have to," Rugar said.

  "Someday you'll die," Gift said. "And I'll laugh."

  "Gift," Niche said wearily. Her eyes were dark circles on her face.

  "You may laugh," Rugar said. "But you'll take my place."

  "No," Gift said.

  "You have to," Rugar said. "You're my grandson."

  "I don't have to do anything you say."

  "Gift," Niche said again, warning in her tone.

  "I don't! I hate you! I will always hate you!"

  Rugar let go of the boy's hands. This would get them nowhere. They had already gone nowhere. "Then hate me," Rugar said. "It will do you no good. You can't fight what you are."

  "I'm not you," Gift said.

  The boy's eyes flashed as he spoke. All traces of his father were momentarily gone from his face. "Not yet," Rugar said.

  He turned his back on them, and headed to his own cabin, unwilling to fight this any longer. The boy had failed him, and would continue to fail him. As long as Rugar was around, the boy would treat him as the enemy. Niche and Wind had raised him incorrectly. Rugar should have seen that from the Naming Day. Gift was not the name of a warrior, but of a precious coddled child. Precious coddled children ultimately rebelled.

  Like Jewel had.

  The mist swirled around Rugar's boots. Behind him, he heard Gift exclaiming over his mother. Soon the boy would go for help. No one would rebuke Rugar — no one could — but they would all watch him warily, more warily than they had.

  These years in Shadowlands had taken away their fight. He was the only one left who wanted to control Blue Isle. And he would, with or without Gift's help. They had been trapped inside this Shadowlands for five years. No one had even taken the ships out of the First Shadowlands in two years. A few more wouldn't matter.

  He would get the Enchanter back, but
first he would do something he should have done weeks ago.

  He would bring his granddaughter home.

  The Shaman had spooked him while he was grieving. He should never have listened to that old woman. She had made it clear that she never liked him, and would do anything to supplant him. She had told him to stay away from his granddaughter because she didn't want him to have the child's power.

  But the child belonged in the Black Family. The power was his until he decreed otherwise. He would raise her properly, and make her gifts work for the Fey.

  He had seen Solanda at the child's side. Guarding a baby with a cat seemed preposterous at most, silly at best.

  Besides, Solanda was sworn to him. She would do what he asked.

  She would give him the child.

  FIFTY-EIGHT

  Titus watched the door close. The Rocaan was gone. Suddenly the Audience Chamber seemed empty.

  "Shouldn't we go after him?" Titus asked.

  Porciluna was staring at the door, his expression blank. He appeared to be as shocked as Titus was. "I don't think so," Porciluna said. "I think for the first time in years, he made the right decision."

  That's because you want to be Rocaan, Titus thought but didn't say. He couldn't say anything. Yet.

  He walked to one of the chairs and sank into it. The cushions were hard as wood. When King Alexander died — which seemed like years ago even though it had only been a few weeks — Titus had believed that the Rocaan cared for nothing but power.

  Now he was walking away from it as if it mattered not at all. And Titus, who had only wanted to worship in his own way, was suddenly in the middle of a struggle he only dimly understood.

  If he had realized the day before that the Rocaan had been thinking of this when he passed along the Secrets, Titus would never have accepted them. He wasn't an Elder. He didn't have the experience or the training to work the complicated political paths that he would have to walk now. Already he knew that he would have to make decisions he had never considered before.

  He would have to give the Secrets to the Elder chosen by the Council.

  Or he would have to refuse.

  He leaned his head back. The glass in the chandelier glimmered in the light of a single torch. The ceiling panels were carved. He had never noticed that before. All the little details in the Tabernacle. Rocaanism was a series of tiny details, some centuries old.

  He wasn't ready for this. He would never be ready for this.

  "We need to call the Elders together," Porciluna said.

  "I'm not an Elder," Titus said and sighed.

  Porciluna was silent for a moment. "Right now we have no time to discover what you are. We have to find leadership for the Tabernacle."

  "I still say we go after the Rocaan," Titus said. It would be easier. He was arguing the easy path, something he used to ridicule others for. But now he understood it. If they found the Rocaan before he got too far, Titus wouldn't have to make any choices.

  Porciluna clapped a hand on his shoulder. Titus found himself looking at the underside of Porciluna's chin. Porciluna's skin was soft and acne scarred. It smelled faintly of rosewater. He didn't look happy.

  "You think he should have chosen you," Titus said.

  Porciluna started. "An Elder would have been a logical choice to keep the Secrets," he said. "That's what the 50th Rocaan did."

  "And then kept that Elder in charge even when he shouldn't have been." Titus shook his head, and pushed out of the chair. Already he felt older than he was. "When the Rocaan told me that he was choosing me for the Secrets, I argued against it. But he said that it was the best choice. I would never have any expectations of becoming Rocaan, so I wouldn't try to kill him. That was yesterday. It seemed like he wanted to stay in the position then."

  "Something happened in the keep," Porciluna said.

  "He murdered the Fey."

  Both men whirled at the third voice. Elder Reece stood in the door. He didn't seem as nervous as usual, as if the crisis had somehow given him strength. He was standing straighter, and his thinness made him seem powerful for the very first time. Apparently neither Porciluna nor Titus had heard him come in.

  "Murdered?" Titus said.

  Reece nodded. "The man's dead, and the guard says he tried to stop the Rocaan. This time there can be no claim of accident."

  "But the Fey tried to kill him," Porciluna said.

  "Still it would make things clear that the Rocaan is out to get the Fey."

  "I see nothing wrong with that," Porciluna said.

  Reece sighed. "But the King does. The Rocaan left, I would guess, before the King can arrest him for the murder of the Queen. He did us a favor."

  "By leaving?" This conversation was moving too fast for Titus. He was afraid, however, that all conversations would move too fast for him from now on. These men knew so much more than he did.

  Porciluna nodded. "By making us choose a leader now, he prevents a long period of turmoil in the Tabernacle. We have never had a Rocaan arrested. We would have debated procedure until we were old men."

  "But now he's fleeing justice," Titus said.

  "That's probably why he wanted to leave so quickly," Porciluna said.

  "That's another reason we should find him."

  "No," Reece said. "He did us a favor. We can do him one."

  "The King's guards will catch him anyway. He has nowhere to go. He won't get far."

  "I don't understand any of this," Titus said. "A man commits murder, not once but twice that we know of, and we let him go? It makes no sense. We're supposed to be leaders in this community. We're supposed to know right from wrong."

  Porciluna glanced at Reece. "The boy has a point. We need to make a decision tonight about the new Rocaan. When we make the announcement, we'll say that we knew of Matthias's flaws for a long time now, and were trying to deal with him."

  "That's not what I meant!" Titus said. "We need to find him, and to bring him to the King ourselves. And then we need to figure out what to do about his position. No Rocaan has ever resigned, just like no Rocaan has ever been arrested. What's the difference between one and the other?"

  "The future of the Tabernacle," Porciluna said. "If we let the Rocaan be imprisoned, then we can never be leaders in this community again."

  "But how can we be leaders if we do something like this? Just because people don't know doesn't make it right."

  Porciluna and Reece looked at each other. Titus's cheeks warmed. That look implied that he was young, that he didn't know what he was talking about, that he had no understanding of the world.

  And he didn't.

  "It's our job to make these kinds of decisions," Porciluna said.

  But Titus wasn't going to let go. "I thought it was our job to follow God's will."

  Porciluna shrugged. "It will be God's will if the guards capture Matthias."

  "God would have stopped him if he hadn't wanted him as Rocaan. God would have stopped the killings, too."

  "That's dangerous ground," Reece said. "We can't know if God ever condones killing."

  "Not even killing of Fey?" Titus asked. The Rocaan's argument had been that Fey were demons and therefore not worthy of life.

  "Any killing at all."

  "But we kill to eat," Titus said. This was what angered him about the Rocaan, this arguing about words without listening to the heart of a subject.

  "Do you condone killing Fey?"

  Titus shook his head. "But I think we should always listen to the man God appointed Rocaan."

  "Another man appointed the Rocaan, not God."

  "Acting with God's still small voice speaking in his ear!" Titus said.

  Again the two Elders glanced at each other. Titus felt his flush deepen. "You're not going to tell me that the still small voice doesn't exist," he said quietly. "I know it has. I've heard it."

  Porciluna nodded almost imperceptibly at Reece. It was well known that Reece was the believer of the two.

  "Have you heard it on e
very decision?" Reece asked.

  "No, but if you hear it once, then you know it's working in the other cases," Titus said. He couldn't believe he was having this discussion with Elders. He had had it as a young Aud, with other young Auds, some of whom became Rocaanists only because their family asked them to. But Elders should have worked this out a long, long time ago.