Tazy nodded. "If he can be found, we'll do it." He clicked his heels together, opened the door, and let himself out.
Touched sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. He still wasn't used to giving orders. Perhaps he had done it wrong, or perhaps Tazy's attitude was bad, like everyone's seemed to be around here.
They would look hard now, but their opportunity was probably gone. Each day that went by hurt them and Touched's spell. The boy was probably suffering from Overs. They had to catch him while the symptoms were really bad and he wanted to return. Because the next stage after Overs was an exhilaration as the senses met the world. Once the boy reached that stage, he would never want to come back.
Touched opened his eyes. His fists were still clenched. No one understood his frustration, or how much anger was beneath it. He had finally found a solution to the poison, and the solution had fled. Enchanters came along once a generation. The next Fey Enchanter might be born on Blue Isle, but it would probably be born on Nye.
Useless to them here.
Even an infant would be useless.
Coulter was the right age.
But Coulter was Islander.
The Fey had to find him before he realized that.
SIXTY
Nicholas crouched in front of his son. Sebastian had a small lump on the side of his head. The bruise had expanded oddly so that it almost looked as if his skin had cracked. Nicholas touched the injury gingerly. Sebastian flinched but did not turn away. His eyes were wide, trusting, the same as they had always been.
But Solanda and the nurse claimed that for a few moments, he had been someone else.
The room was stifling. Solanda kept the tapestries open during the day, but the nurse always built a roaring fire. The baby routinely kicked off her blankets. She loved to lie naked in the heat. Solanda said that was a sign that her second form might be a comfort-lover like a cat. Nicholas hoped so. Some of the other forms that Solanda had described sounded very unappealing in a daughter.
"He seems fine," Nicholas said. He gently ran his hand through Sebastian's hair. The boy's hair was black like his sister's. Hers, however, was fine and soft. His was coarse and rough, almost straw-like. He smiled a little as his father caressed him. Nicholas didn't touch his son very often.
"He didn't a little while ago," Solanda said.
"Twas frightening," the nurse said. "He dinna look like our boy."
He wasn't "our" boy, but Nicholas said nothing. He hadn't really acknowledged the child until shortly before Jewel died. He cupped the back of the boy's skull, cradling it. It felt solid and strong, as if it could hold a real brain instead of the damaged one it had.
Then he leaned over and kissed the boy's forehead. Sebastian looked up at him — and slowly smiled.
Those smiles were so rare, so precious. Nicholas smiled in return. Our boy. Our boy was a sweet child, even if he wasn't a very bright one.
Nicholas rose and gripped the edge of the mantel for balance. Solanda hovered near the cradle. She wore a long loose robe and her feet were bare. The nurse said that Solanda sometimes Shifted in front of Sebastian. Nicholas would have to talk with her about that. He found it inappropriate that his son saw his sister's caretaker nude, even if his son was slow and young.
"What do you think happened? Do you think he did something when he hit his head?" Nicholas asked.
Solanda glanced at the baby. "I think someone else was using his body," she said.
"Beg pardon?" the nurse asked. She stood also, leaving Sebastian to play in the middle of the floor. "How can it be that someone twould steal into me boy?"
"He's not your boy," Solanda said, her words echoing Nicholas's thoughts. "He's not really anyone's boy."
"Except mine," Nicholas said.
"Be careful what you own," Solanda said. She appeared about to say more when someone knocked on the door.
They all turned. The guards had orders not to interrupt. Either this was important or something had gone wrong.
Nicholas nodded to the nurse. She opened the door. Lord Stowe was behind it. He wore his riding clothes, and they were dust-covered. He looked as if he had ridden a long way.
"May I see you, Highness?" he asked.
A shiver ran down Nicholas's back. He was beginning to dislike seeing Stowe. He had started associating Stowe's presence with bad news. Nicholas excused himself and left the room.
A guard stood beside the door, staring vacantly at a spot somewhere above their heads. Nicholas and Stowe walked a short distance from the guard so that the conversation couldn't be overheard.
"A Danite came to my home a little while ago with some information you need to hear," Stowe said.
"The Fey killed Matthias this time," Nicholas said. He was amazed that the hope he felt carried into his voice.
"No," Stowe said, "he resigned."
Whatever Nicholas had expected, it wasn't that. He frowned at Stowe, then walked toward the gallery. Jewel's portrait stood out even from a great distance away.
"Resigned?" Nicholas asked.
Stowe came up beside him. "Resigned and immediately left the Tabernacle. No one knows where he went."
"And you came to me immediately?"
Stowe shook his head. "They said Matthias resigned after he went to the keep. So I went there. He murdered the Fey."
"The prisoner."
"Yes."
"I told you he murdered Jewel."
"I know, Highness," Stowe said. "I'm sorry."
"I am too," Nicholas said. He gazed at his wife. The portraitist had captured her features but not her aliveness. The painting had a flat, unlifelike quality. He missed her. He missed her with each moment, with each thought, with each glance at their children. She would know what Sebastian's strange behavior meant, and she would find a way to care for Arianna without leaving her in the hands of strangers.
Our boy. Soon Arianna would be their girl.
Not if he could help it.
"Highness?"
Nicholas nodded and turned toward Stowe. "Let's send guards for him. He's ours now."
"It's not that easy, Highness." Stowe spoke slowly as if he had the words memorized. He had had time to think this through. He must have known what Nicholas's reaction would be.
It wouldn't have been that hard to determine.
"I think it's quite straightforward," Nicholas said. "He's no longer Rocaan and he's committed another murder. He needs to be punished like any other citizen."
"Highness," Stowe said, "you can't look vindictive here."
"Can't?" Nicholas raised his eyebrows. "To whom? To the Islanders? That would be a problem, wouldn't it? But what about the Fey? They expect revenge. I'll look weak if I don't take it."
"You don't need to take it," Stowe said. "Matthias made that easy for you. He's gone. That's all they need to know."
Nicholas shook his head. That wasn't all he needed to know. He needed to know that Jewel's murderer would be punished. He needed to know that Matthias would not go on to live a healthy and full life.
"You need to let him go," Stowe said. "As King."
Nicholas would take that under advisement. He clasped his hands behind his back to hide their shaking. "Who's the new Rocaan?"
"That's the problem," Stowe said. "There isn't one."
Nicholas suppressed a sigh. "Then they expect me to lead?"
Stowe shook his head. "The council is meeting now. The Elders will choose a new Rocaan."
"And holy water?" Nicholas asked. He was of half a mind about it. Part of him worried that no one could make it any more and the other part was relieved. His children wouldn't die the same kind of death his wife did.
"Matthias left the Secrets with a Danite."
Nicholas half smiled. Matthias, for all his professed lack of ambition, had certainly had a lot of it. "A Danite." Nicholas chuckled. "At least he kept the Secrets with someone."
"At least," Stowe said. "He listened to you that much."
"Maybe more," Nicholas said. "He
knew I wouldn't let him get away with Jewel's murder. This second killing would have been the last straw."
"Sire, one more thing."
Nicholas hated that tone. He knew the one more thing would be bad news. "What?"
"The dead Fey is Burden."
Jewel's friend. The one who ran the Settlement. The one who had kissed Jewel shortly after she died. Burden. Who had sat beside her and guarded her like a lover the day she proposed her truce with the Islanders.
Had Matthias known something Nicholas hadn't?
"So Burden led the Fey to assassinate Matthias?"
Stowe nodded.
"You hadn't told me that," Nicholas said.
"There is only so much a page can relay. I didn't see you scrambling to the keep to find out more about the incident."
"I didn't care if they killed Matthias or not. I figured if they did, it would make my life easier. I didn't want to know their plans, because then my kingly side might have to fight with my husbandly side. I didn't want that."
"Now you don't have to worry," Stowe said.
"Yes, I do," Nicholas said. "Matthias is trying to kill everyone associated with Jewel. I have her children in that back room. As long as he's alive, I'll worry. I'll worry every moment of every day."
SIXTY-ONE
Gift sat on the porch of the Domicile, his short legs extended into the mist. The Domestics made him wait outside even though he wanted to be with his mother. He had had to run for a Domestic to bring his mother to the Domicile, and then they had had to levitate her. She couldn't walk on her own.
When he told them that his grandfather had done it, the Domestics stopped asking questions. It was as if his mother's injuries had appeared out of the air. Her skin was gray, and she was babbling something about keeping him safe. But he had kept her safe.
As best he could.
If he had known that his grandfather was going to hurt her so badly, he would have helped more. He might even have given his grandfather a peek at Coulter.
Maybe.
He worried that his grandfather had seen too much of his sister. She was so tiny and beautiful. Sometimes Gift went to visit her just to escape the grayness of Shadowlands. She always laughed when she saw him and waved. Even though she was tiny, she recognized him.
A tiny wisp of light floated toward him, then grew into his father. He looked frightened.
"I couldn't find you anywhere," he said. "Where's your mother?"
"Inside," Gift said.
He didn't need to say any more. Everyone knew that when people went unexpectedly into the Domicile they had to go to be healed.
His father shrank to his wisp form and slid in under the door. Gift wished he could do that. He would become very, very small and go inside and see what they were doing to his mother.
One of her wings looked crushed against her back. The other wing had flapped around almost like she couldn't control it. They were both bleeding from the tips. Her hand flopped from her wrist. She had been defending him when it happened. And he didn't have the strength to fight his grandfather.
Yet.
Gift hoped Coulter was safe. If all of this was for nothing, Gift would never be able to forgive himself. Coulter had said they didn't belong, and Coulter had been right. No wonder he wanted to leave Shadowlands. He wanted to be as far from Gift's grandfather as he could be.
Gift wanted to be as far away too. But he wanted to take his parents. He hadn't forgotten his grandfather's anger at the way they had raised Gift. It made him shudder to think that his grandfather might have raised him. His entire life would be different.
It still might be. He wasn't certain what his grandfather would do to him. Nor what would happen to his mother. Gift had never seen her looking so fragile, not even when Coulter accidentally hurt her trying to save Gift. The fact that the Domestics wouldn't let him inside frightened him more than anything.
His father hadn't come right back out. Either they hadn't seen him or something was happening. Gift leaned against a post. His father would tell him when everything was all right. All he had to do was wait until then.
Waiting would take forever.
He wished Coulter were still here. When Coulter had told him through the Link that he was going to leave, Gift had cried out like a baby. Now he wished he had asked questions. He missed Coulter. He was half tempted to see if he could find Coulter through the Link, but he was afraid his grandfather would jump in as he had the last time. That had been wrong. It had felt wrong, and it had led to this.
Suddenly the world spun. Gift grabbed the post for support. It was still there, solid beneath his hands, but he couldn't see it. Bright light shone through cracks in the grayness. The floor was shaking. People were hurrying out of buildings, screaming and crying. Wind was blowing through his hair and it smelled fresh. Chunks of the sky split and fell around him. Big hunks of gray nothing landing on the ground, then falling through it.
His grandfather's cabin collapsed through the holes in the ground and shattered when it landed on the dirt below. The Circle Door was spinning crazily as people jumped through it, rolling away from the Dirt Circle. Big tall spindly things surrounded the dirt circle — Burden had once told him those were trees — and they were bright green. Gift had only seen green that bright in his dreams, in the world where his sister lived.
Another cabin collapsed and another and another. The Domicile was shaking. His mother was in there. She wouldn't be able to fly. His father floated past him, telling him to get out. People were pushing each other over to get to the Circle Door. The Domestics were leaving. No one was helping his mother.
Gift ran toward the Domicile, his slight weight punching holes in the ground. His feet caught in the holes, but his speed kept him from falling all the way through. He got to the Domicile —
— and found that he was already leaning against the post, splinters digging into his palm. The post had pushed his mouth open and it was dry. Drool slimed his chin. He sat up and wiped his face with his sleeve.
The grayness surrounded him as it always had. The mist had grown thick around his feet. The Domicile was all right, and no one was screaming. His heart was still pounding too fast, though. He felt as if he had survived a nightmare.
Then he looked around for Dream Riders but saw none. His grandfather was nowhere around either. Gift was alone. He had been alone all along.
He took a deep shuddery breath. Everything was going wrong. It would go worse. He had to tell someone that he had had a Vision. The whole place would be ruined. People would hurt each other trying to escape.
No one would save his mom.
He had to tell someone but he didn't know who to tell. His grandfather would know what to do, but his grandfather had hurt people. Gift couldn't see his mother, and his father hadn't come back yet.
He was alone.
Completely alone.
SIXTY-TWO
Adrian crouched by the river bed. The pants Scavenger had stolen for him were too tight. They dug in all the wrong places. But Adrian had to wear stolen clothes. His own clothes were too dangerous.
Coulter crouched beside him. The boy's new clothes were too big, but he didn't seem to mind. In the last three days, he had gone from being terrified of new things to revelling in them. Scavenger had said that was normal as well. Once the senses got used to the load, the body celebrated. Coulter would spend hours studying a leaf or a blade of grass. More than once Adrian had to explain to him that sometimes these plants could poison him because Coulter loved to taste everything. It was almost as though he were going through a stage of his babyhood all over again.
Scavenger cradled their old clothes close to his chest. The river bank rose up here and moved a bit inland. This area was sheltered by trees on either side and by tree branches above. The only way the three of them could be seen would be from the river itself.
Scavenger had assured Adrian that no one would look from the river.
This outing terrified Adrian, but it was the f
irst step in their plan to fool the Fey. After they got rid of the clothes, they would head out down the road. Scavenger claimed that the searchers would be looking for two people, not three. They would keep Scavenger properly bundled so no one saw his Fey features.
The Fey, Scavenger had said when proposing this plan, wouldn't think a thing of him. They always believed their own kind were taller and slimmer than Islanders, forgetting the Red Caps, as always.
Fey 02 - Changeling Page 60
