Sacrifice: The First Book of the Fey

by Rusch, Kristine Kathryn

  He flinched as if she had hit him. Then he looked into the fire as if it would provide answers. “I need time to think about this,” he said.

  “I know,” she said softly.

  “We may need to see the Shaman.”

  She nodded. Then she flung her braid back over her shoulder. She wasn’t sure if she had won a victory or lost something precious. “There’s one more thing, Father,” she said.

  He didn’t look up. “Go ahead.”

  “I think I’m going to let the prisoner Luke go free. The young boy. I believe if I do that, I can get somewhere with his father.”

  This time Rugar did look at her. “You’re convinced of this?”

  She nodded. “It was a deal I made with the father. He’s had time to think of it. If I let the boy go free, I will do so only after I have received valuable information.”

  “If you let the boy go free,” Rugar said, “make sure he will still be useful to us.”

  Jewel grinned. “I’ll make sure he’ll help us whenever we want him to.”

  FIFTY-EIGHT

  Theron’s hands were shaking so badly that Kondros had to double-check his knots. The little Fey man sat docilely in the chair, his hands tied behind him, and his feet tied to the chair legs. They had come to Kondros’s house, as close to the palace as they could get without going into the gate. To call the place a house was to be charitable. A bootmaker had the front of the building, and Kondros a room in the back, off the bootmaker’s apartments. The building smelled of hides and tanned leather, appropriate since the little man reeked almost as badly.

  The little man hadn’t struggled at all. He had gone to the chair willingly and not protested when Theron tied his hands behind his back. Theron wouldn’t let the little man out of his sight. His neck still hurt from the knife cut, and he was terrified that the little man was going to use some kind of spell on him, make Theron do his bidding because he had now touched Theron’s blood.

  Cyta had gone for Monte. The three men had decided on the way back that they wanted to involve someone close to the King, but they didn’t want to risk anyone too close. They didn’t know if the little man planned a trick on them or not.

  The room was small for three people. It would be crowded with five. The little man had one of the four chairs that surrounded a table, and Kondros sat on the mat in the far corner of the room. The fireplace took up one wall. There was no window, and the door opened onto an alley with a lot of traffic. They kept the door closed, even though the room was stuffy.

  Theron didn’t even have room to pace. His forefinger touched the slash on his neck. The scab was in place now, and he didn’t feel any different. Maybe the stories he had heard were lies made up by the Fey so that the Islanders would be frightened of them.

  Kondros had placed a bottle of holy water on the table. After checking the knots on the little man’s wrists, Kondros sat down beside the bottle and let his fingers play with its sides. The little man’s eyes kept darting to Kondros’s fingers, and then to Theron’s face. Clearly, the little man was frightened of that water. That fear, more than anything, made Theron believe the little man had told them the truth.

  Without warning the door opened inward, making Theron scramble backward. Kondros grabbed the holy water, and the little man squeaked his protest. Cyta came in, his face red and sweaty from exertion, followed by the captain of the guards. Monte was a small man, powerfully built, who stood straighter than any other Islander Theron had ever met.

  Monte slammed the door behind him and walked over to the little man. He wrinkled his nose as he got close, as if he couldn’t believe the stench. “Why didn’t you men clean him up?” Monte asked.

  “He won’t let us bring water near him,” Theron said.

  “Smart creature, aren’t you?” Monte asked.

  The little man licked his lips. “Who are you?” he asked in Nye, his voice shaking.

  Monte hooked his booted foot around the leg of the chair behind him, pulled it forward, and sat down. “I understand you want to join our side,” he said in Nye. “That’s an odd request.”

  “They tried to kill me,” the little man said.

  “It’s their job,” Monte replied. He glanced—once—at the holy water near Kondros’s hand.

  “No,” the little man said. “My people. They tried to kill me.”

  Monte leaned forward and put his elbow on the table so that his face was closer to the little man’s. “And why would they do that?”

  Theron’s shaking had grown worse. The situation bothered him. He pulled a chair and sat on it too, arms crossed tightly over his chest. What if the little man was the beginning of some odd invasion force? What if he was going to take over Monte and the rest of them, and then get to the King?

  “I’m not important to them,” the little man said.

  Monte chuckled softly. “Not important? With as many men as they’ve been losing, everyone has to be important to them.”

  The little man shook his head. “I’m a Red Cap. I take care of the dead, and that gives me no value. I have no magick. I am not worth anything to them.”

  “It seems,” Monte said, “that you have a lifelong problem. It would make no sense for you to defect now.”

  “They tried to kill me.” The little man spit out the words with such force that Theron resisted the urge to back away.

  “You said that,” Monte replied as if the little man had shown no anger at all. “But I don’t understand why.”

  “They’re trying to find out how that works,” the little man said, nodding toward the vial of holy water. “They wanted to experiment with some of it on me.”

  “Why would they want to do that?” Monte asked. “They already know it will kill you.”

  The little man shook his head. “They think it might have no effect on people who lack magick.”

  Cyta and Kondros glanced at Theron. What an explanation. If it was true, then the Roca had given them a very potent weapon indeed. Only Monte didn’t move.

  “How do we know you lack magick? We have only your word on that,” he said.

  “If I had magick, I would not be sitting here trussed like this.”

  “Unless you were trying to infiltrate us. Unless you were trying to make us believe you are something other than what you are.”

  The little man bowed his head and shook it once, as if he couldn’t believe the position he was in. Then he licked his lips and tilted his head back. “I have never done anything like this before,” he said. “I wouldn’t even consider it if I were back in Nye or on the continent. I would just run away, resign, or join some of the Fey who have chosen to stay away from the wars. But I have no choice here. I can’t stay in the Shadowlands. If I do, they will experiment on me in my sleep, and I can’t live alone outside of the Shadowlands, because if I do, one of you Islanders will kill me. So I thought if I came to you, if I told you things you didn’t know about us, maybe you could help me, but you won’t trust me.”

  “We have no reason to,” Monte said. “We have only your word. And that is worth nothing to us.”

  The little man exhaled loudly. Theron sat stiffly, his fingers again creeping to his neck. “He didn’t kill me,” Theron said, uncertain why he was defending the little man.

  “Of course not,” Monte said. “Why should he? You were his way to me. Or to the King. What’s your real plan? Assassinate the King?”

  The little man shook his head. “We’ve had people closer to your King than I am.”

  “The girl,” Monte said. “We know.”

  “No,” the little man said. “You don’t know. The only thing we have in our favor at the moment is your awful ignorance. And that ignorance could get you all killed. I am willing to betray everything I was raised on for safety. I am the key to your winning this war.”

  Monte glanced at Theron. “Let me see that wound,” he said. He tilted Theron’s neck back, and Theron winced at the pain as the scar pulled. “I hope you don’t mind if I clean it with
a bit of holy water.”

  Theron frowned. “Holy water’s not for—oh,” he said as he understood. “I don’t mind.”

  Monte grabbed the vial from Kondros. The little man cringed as if he expected the water to come toward him. Monte poured a bit on his handkerchief and dabbed at Theron’s neck. The kerchief came away bloody.

  “Well,” Monte said. “He didn’t enchant you.”

  “I can’t,” the little man said. “I have no magick. Would I smell like this if I did?”

  Monte ignored him. He handed the vial back to Kondros, spilling a drop on Kondros’s hand. Kondros grinned at him and wiped the drop away.

  “He already tested me at the palace,” Cyta said.

  “Good test,” the little man said, his voice shaking. “None of our people would survive.”

  “Want me to touch you?” Monte asked.

  “No!” The little man screeched the word. “I said I would help you! What more do you want?”

  Monte shrugged. “Maybe you won’t die, if you lack magick, as they say.”

  The toes of the little man’s boots pushed at the plank floor. He backed the chair up as far as it would go. “No. I don’t believe that. There are Red Caps missing. I think they died from the poison like everyone else. Please. Please. I am making you an offer. Please. Don’t kill me. Please.”

  Monte sighed and set the vial down. He put the kerchief down beside it. Theron’s heart was pounding. The little man’s fear was infectious.

  “All right,” Monte said. “I’ll accept your offer. But you will have to do things on my terms. I will not take you anywhere near the King, and you will answer every question I put to you. I will have a guard on you at all times, with holy water beside him, and if you make so much as one wrong move, we will spray you. Is that clear?”

  The little man’s mouth worked but nothing came out. Finally he nodded.

  “If your information is not useful, we will kill you. If your information is wrong, we will kill you. Is that clear?”

  The little man swallowed. “Yes.” The word came out as a near whisper. Theron truly believed the little man was terrified. “What happens when you learn that I’m telling you the truth?”

  “We’ll negotiate then. At the very least, we’ll let you live. And if you are telling us the truth, that is more than your people were willing to do.”

  The little man nodded and looked away. Monte pushed his chair back and stood. “I want you men to take him to the guard barracks. We’ll put him in the keep alone, and one of you will guard him tonight. Tomorrow I will have new guards posted. Until you hear from me, though, none of this has happened. I don’t want word to get out in this city that we have a Fey prisoner.” He glanced at the little man. “If it does, I may not be able to keep my word about keeping him alive.”

  “We won’t say anything,” Theron said. Then he looked at his companions. “Will we?”

  They shook their heads. They both crouched without Theron saying another word and started untying the little man’s feet.

  The little man was watching Theron. When he saw Theron’s gaze on him, he mouthed, “Thank you.”

  Theron nodded, not wanting to have a Fey indebted to him. Once the Fey man was in Monte’s prison, Theron hoped he would have nothing more to do with him.

  Monte was watching them help the little man to his feet. “Whatever else happens, men,” he said, “you did the right thing by bringing him to me.”

  Theron wasn’t so sure. He had wanted something more decisive to come from this meeting—a way to kill all Fey quickly, or even better, a way to rescue his friends.

  FIFTY-NINE

  Tel paced Andre’s chambers, reviewing the Midnight Sacrament. Andre’s memory of the ceremony was very detailed, so detailed that Tel found it confusing. He knew if he relaxed and let his mind take over, he would be able to perform it correctly, but he wasn’t sure he could relax. One slip, and he would die.

  Damn that Solanda. She had sent him here, to this place of death, to discover a secret that he couldn’t know unless he became their religious leader, or Elder Matthias. If Tel took over either of those two men, he could send the secret back to Shadowlands, and stay here, substituting real water for the poison and protecting his people that way.

  Only he wasn’t a real hero, and he was frightened. He might not live through the night.

  The sound of horse’s hooves and a voice shouting at the gate made him hurry to the window. In the darkness he could barely see the Danites standing guard at the gate. A horseman stood there, talking with them. He heard the voices floating over the air and leaned forward to see if he could make out what was being said.

  When he heard the name Nicholas, he froze. The Prince was back on an urgent matter. Had they discovered the bones in the stable? Had something else happened? He didn’t know, but his mouth had gone dry. The guards stood away, and Nicholas’s horse hurried through the gate into the courtyard.

  Tel leaned back inside, his heart racing, the indecision gone. He had to go to Midnight Sacrament now. If the Prince had discovered something, Tel had to be around to know what that something was. The messenger be damned; Tel would get another message to the Shadowlands when he had a chance.

  Which meant he had to perform Midnight Sacrament. And he had to protect himself. He gripped the wall for support, the stone digging into his fingers. The fear had left him light-headed. But he had no time. He knew only one way around all of this. At least he was prepared.

  He grabbed Andre’s service robe and slipped it on. The children had helped him bring buckets into the Tabernacle. He had stolen new, unused vials from the storage room and filled them with river water, and then he had, with the help of an Aud, brought them to his room. He tied the belt around his waist, nervously adjusted the sword, and put on his biretta. Then he pulled the bell pull, hoping that the Aud who was supposed to respond wouldn’t be too late.

  He glanced out into the courtyard again, but couldn’t see the Prince or his horse. Andre hadn’t been summoned for a meeting, so chances were that Nicholas had come to see the Rocaan or a specific Elder. If only Tel had picked Matthias when he had been trying to rise in the ranks. But Solanda hadn’t left Tel much time, and he had taken the first he could get. Tel had had only Miruts’s limited knowledge of Rocaanism to go on, and from that perspective he had done well. It was only when he settled into Andre’s body that he realized he had made a mistake.

  There was a soft knock at his door. “Come,” he said without inquiring who it was. Andre never did. Elders did not think themselves at risk there.

  An Aud stood at the open door, head bowed. “Yes, Respected Sir?”

  Tel took a deep breath, then swept his hand toward the box of vials he had left on one of the tables. “Please take those down to the sanctuary. We have new holy water from the Rocaan for the service tonight.”

  “Yes, Respected Sir.” The Aud went to the table and picked up the box, groaning under its weight. Tel held the door for the Aud, then followed him into the corridor, knowing that it wasn’t customary, but not caring. If anyone asked, he could say he was making certain the new holy water made it to the sanctuary.

  In truth, he wanted to know where the vials would be. So he followed the Aud through the corridors, holding his robe close to his sides so that he wouldn’t brush anything or knock anything loose. His biggest fear was that there was another poison in this building, a poison the Warders and Rugar did not know about.

  As Tel went past the audience rooms, he heard voices. The Aud continued, head down, as if he heard nothing. Tel wanted to stop, to listen, to see if he was missing anything, but he didn’t dare. He needed to know where those vials were at all times.

  The voices grew louder as he passed the closed door. Two Danites stood outside, their heads bowed, hands clasped in front of them. Tel ignored them as a good Elder should and stared straight ahead, listening with all his power.

  He didn’t recognize the soft voice, although it sounded familiar to
Andre. The louder voice, the one that spoke with energy and feeling, was Nicholas’s. The words were muffled, but some of the sentences were clear:

  “. . . some kind of pattern, and since it is unusual, we must take it as a threat.”

  The soft voice responded. Tel couldn’t make out the words.

  “Well, it certainly isn’t normal, and anything abnormal we must assume is Fey. Besides, this happened near Stephen . . .”

  And then Tel was beyond the door. He could hear no more. He resisted the urge to glance back. Stephen. Stephen. The name was familiar to him, but he wasn’t sure through which of his personalities or why.