Blood of Stone_A Shattered Magic Novel

by Jayne Faith

  “I had to tell her we’re sisters,” I said to him in a low voice. “She didn’t want to come with me.”

  Oliver’s eyes tightened, but he didn’t say anything.

  Nicole had moved into the middle of the room and was watching him, her face suspicious. It was obvious she still didn’t believe she was related to me and Oliver.

  He gave her an appraising once-over. “You’re quite old for a changeling. Did you ever have any inkling you were Fae?”

  This was a standard part of the questions she’d be answering more formally later.

  She folded her arms. “None whatsoever, and I still don’t.” But then her brow furrowed, and she seemed to turn inward. Her face became uncertain. “If I did, I’d feel some kind of connection or . . . known something. Even if it was just in a dream. Right?”

  Oliver’s eyes gleamed a little. The fact that she was even asking, and especially the mention of dreams, meant that there was something tickling at the back of her mind. She didn’t realize it yet, or if she did, she didn’t want to examine it.

  He tilted his head, regarding her. “Not necessarily. Especially if you’re dead set against the idea.” He glanced at me. “She doesn’t look at all like a New Garg.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Nicole demanded.

  I peered at her. I hadn’t thought about it before, but Oliver was right. She didn’t have the strong build or the musculature that were the hallmarks of New Garg Fae. She didn’t even resemble me in particularly obvious ways. We had similar coloring and straight brows, our eyes were the same tawny color, and perhaps we had the same curve of the chin, but that was about it.

  Was that why Nicole had been chosen to go to the Earthly realm and grow up as human? A simple twist of fate which gave her an appearance that would more likely fit in with human parents? I couldn’t imagine not growing up Fae. Having an ordinary human life, and like the humans surrounding me, having only the vaguest awareness of Faerie. I was New Garg born and raised, even if I preferred to live and work on the other side of the hedge. My magic. The years I’d spent training with weapons. My stone armor. My shadowsteel spellblade. My very personality. They were all inherent to my identity and molded by being Fae. I couldn’t imagine any alternate Petra Maguire that could exist without them.

  “It just means that your—our—other blood, the part that isn’t New Gargoyle, is probably more dominant in you,” I said, trying to speak gently to offset some of Oliver’s bluntness.

  I flicked a glance at him out of the corners of my eyes. Had he been the one to choose Nicole to leave Faerie and keep me? Or had it been my mother’s decision?

  She sighed, slumping a little, and shook her head slowly. “I don’t know what any of that means.” She sounded near tears.

  Oliver shifted a little.

  “Why don’t we let her get some sleep?” I suggested.

  I thought I saw relief flash in his eyes. “Yes, it’s late.”

  Then Oliver’s face hardened, and I knew something serious was coming.

  “There is one vital thing you must understand,” he said, his eyes serious and his voice commanding. “You cannot, under any circumstances, reveal that you’re Petra’s sister or my daughter. As far as anyone else is concerned, you’re a New Gargoyle changeling of unknown parentage.”

  She drew back a little, her eyes widening.

  “Do you understand?” he asked.

  She blinked and then nodded vigorously. “Yes, I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”

  Magic tingled the air, marking the oath. He dipped his chin once, and as she turned for the door, he reached out and touched her shoulder gently, almost tentatively.

  “This is a lot to take in,” he said, his voice much softer than before. “It’s a process, and this is just the start. Welcome home, Nicole.”

  I tried not to stare at him. I wasn’t sure I’d ever heard him speak that way.

  Nicole’s lips parted, and her eyes misted with tears. Something was beginning to break within her, the barrier across a natural knowing, the mental and emotional homecoming that all changelings eventually experienced when they finally came to Faerie. But she ducked her head before her emotions could visibly develop any more.

  I took her to my quarters, a sparse, tiny, little-used suite that was assigned to me. Everyone who was sworn to the Stone Order had a room in the fortress, even if they lived on the other side of the hedge like I did. It was partly for a sense of community, but also for emergencies. If the sovereignty of the Order or the fortress itself were threatened, Marisol could call in every New Gargoyle and not have to worry about where to house all of us. I suppose many people would have seen my fortress quarters as a great safety net in case my life on the other side of the hedge ran aground. But to me, living in the studio apartment would be worse than moving back into your parents’ basement. My fortress quarters represented the most serious failure I could imagine--breaking promises I’d made to dedicate my life to honoring my mother by getting criminal vamps off the street. My fortress quarters also represented confinement. It was a cell in a literal jail of a building, and with it came full-time obligations to Marisol and the Order.

  I told Nicole to make herself comfortable and use any of the things she found in the apartment, and she headed straight back to the bedroom. I quietly let myself out and returned to Oliver’s apartment. He was waiting for me, as I knew he would be. This time, we both sat down—him on the one easy chair and me sprawled on the floor.

  As I took off my scabbard and laid it down next to me, weariness began to settle deep in my bones. Oliver sat with one ankle crossed over the other knee, and his hands clasped across his stomach. I hadn’t noticed it before, but his eyes were sunken and lines had settled around them. He looked every bit as tired as I felt.

  “I’m still wrapping my head around all of this. Are you absolutely sure she’s my sister?” I asked. “We don’t look much alike, and as you said, she doesn’t have New Garg features.”

  His face tightened slightly. “She is certainly your sister. I was there when the two of you were born. Did you have any trouble from the Duergar?”

  “Technically, I was kicked out of the realm before I got a chance to grab Nicole,” I said. I knew from a lifetime with my father that Oliver didn’t want to hear about heroics, and he couldn’t stand braggarts, so I kept it as brief as possible. “I got back in, found Nicole, and long story short, we escaped.”

  I licked my lips, my eyes flicking to Oliver and then away, as I remembered a little detail I’d thus far left out. The part about how Jasper had helped us escape, and as a result, there was a binding oath between us.

  My father immediately recognized the look on my face. “What?” he demanded.

  “One of Periclase’s sons helped us get out,” I said. “I owe him, now.”

  He’d gone tense at my confession but then relaxed slightly.

  “You did what you had to do, and the oath can’t be undone,” he said. “You’ll have to worry about that when the time comes.”

  He sounded annoyed, but not as pissed as I’d expected.

  I was just about to change the subject and tell him about the servitor attack in the Duergar palace when there was a series of sharp, loud knocks at the door that seemed to pierce through the quiet of the apartment.

  Oliver stood and strode to see who was there.

  Sensing something was amiss, I rose to my feet. A page stood at the door, and his eyes were wide.

  “An urgent message for you, my lord,” the page said. He squinted at me, shooting me a snippy look, as if he were irritated to find me there. “I was instructed to wait while you read it.”

  He handed my father an envelope sealed with magic-imbued wax that would only give way under the hand of the intended recipient. If anyone else tried to open it, the whole thing would immediately incinerate. I recognized the color of the wax—Marisol’s seal.

  Oliver tore into the message and quickly read it. “Tell Lady Lothlorien I’l
l be right there.”

  With his back to me, I couldn’t read his face, but his voice was as strained as I’d ever heard it.

  He shut the door and turned to me. “King Periclase has made a formal appeal to the High Seelie King Oberon, demanding that we return Nicole to him. He’s claiming that Nicole is his daughter.”

  Chapter 20

  I BLINKED TWO or three times, unable to form a proper response, just watching Oliver as he swiftly walked into his bedroom and then emerged half a minute later wearing trousers and one of his official fortress military jackets.

  “What are we going to do?” I asked finally.

  “I’m not sure yet,” my father said grimly. He flipped his hand. “Come with me.”

  I scooped up my scabbard and slung it over my head, positioning it as we hurried out of Oliver’s quarters and toward the wing that housed the offices of high-ranking New Gargoyle administrators.

  An official appeal to Oberon was serious. It meant Periclase wasn’t bluffing. He truly thought he was Nicole’s father . . . and, by extension, my father.

  My feet stuttered as my mind reeled. I didn’t realize I’d stopped until I felt Oliver’s hand on my elbow.

  “Periclase knows I’m Nicole’s sister,” I said faintly as I tried to catch my breath. “He believes he’s my father.”

  “Shh,” Oliver hissed at me. He pulled me close to speak in my ear. “He does not know you’re Nicole’s sister. And if he thinks he’s Nicole’s father, that means he believes he knows who her mother is. No one knows who your mother is. You’ve still got two layers of protection here.”

  He waited with surprising patience as the seconds ticked by, watching my face.

  I swallowed. “Okay. Yes. He doesn’t know I’m Nicole’s sister. And no one knows my parentage on my mother’s side.”

  Including me.

  “Right,” Oliver said. “That means Periclase can’t make the connection between you and Nicole. You, Nicole, and I are the only ones who know the two of you are sisters.”

  “Lochlyn, too,” I said. “But you know I trust her. She even insisted on swearing an oath not to tell.”

  The tangled web of secrets and accusations was enough to make my brain freeze up. But I understood the logic of what my father said, and that brought me some ease.

  Still, as we continued to Marisol’s office, my thoughts went back to Periclase’s appeal and the fact that he was confident enough to tender such a request to the High King of Faerie. I couldn’t quite fathom a world where the Duergar king was my father. It was just . . . absurd. And awful. Because if by some stroke of insanity he was my father, that meant Oliver wasn’t. I stopped that train of thought right there.

  I replayed what Oliver had always told me. His relationship with my mother had been brief, and he hadn’t even known she was pregnant until shortly before she gave birth. She died not long after I was born. It all happened during the turbulent period after the Cataclysm, in which there was massive upheaval in Faerie as well as across the entire supernatural world. I was trying to reassure myself, but it wasn’t working very well. There were an awful lot of gaps in Oliver’s story.

  When we neared Marisol’s office, the page who’d delivered the message was waiting outside the closed door.

  Oliver slowed, and I did the same. He leaned in close to speak in my ear. “If she wants to know why I brought you, it’s because you’re the one who rescued Nicole. Don’t offer up any information unless she asks, and if you do have to answer any questions, keep it brief.”

  I gave a slight nod, and then we continued on.

  “Lady Lothlorien wants to see you alone,” the page said to Oliver. Then with a narrowing of his eyes he turned his gaze to me. “She’ll have to wait in the anteroom.”

  Oliver brushed past the page, who went into the small sitting room outside of Marisol’s office. I caught a brief glimpse of the Lady of the stone fortress as she let Oliver in. Her eyes flicked to me. Her grim expression didn’t change.

  The page stayed in the room with me with a look on his face like he expected me to try to swipe one of the crystal candlesticks from the mantle.

  “I don’t need a babysitter,” I said.

  “Nevertheless, I’ll stay.” He crossed his arms. “Lady Lothlorien wouldn’t appreciate any eavesdropping from an uninvited visitor.”

  He placed a not-so-subtle emphasis on the word “uninvited.”

  “Eavesdropping? What is this, Unseelie court?” I scoffed. “I’m not trying to eavesdrop.”

  I turned away from the page and briefly pushed the heels of my hands into my tired eyes. I wasn’t even sure why I was engaging with him. It wasn’t the type of thing I would normally do, but I was drained and on edge.

  A moment later, the inner door to Marisol’s office opened, and Oliver beckoned me inside.

  Marisol was seated behind her desk, and she briefly closed her eyes and rubbed one temple with her fingertips before folding her hands on her desk and pinning me with her gaze.

  “How is the girl doing?” she asked.

  “She’s quite shaken. It looked like she hadn’t been captive on the Duergar palace grounds for long, and I think she’s still in shock,” I hesitated. “And, Nicole is very old for a changeling.”

  Marisol’s forehead lined with concern. “How old?”

  I shrugged a shoulder. “I didn’t ask her, but she’s about my age,” choosing my words carefully.

  I could almost sense Oliver tensing beside me.

  She let out a breath. “Oh, that is quite old for a homecoming. Probably one of the oldest ever in Faerie. It will make the transition much more difficult.”

  Marisol’s concern was almost maternal, but she spoke as if Nicole had already made the decision to swear to the Stone Order. That wasn’t necessarily how things would play out. Nicole would be given a choice, after the requisite time period. If she chose not to swear fealty to a kingdom or the Order, she would never be allowed to return to Faerie, and she’d lose any magic she might have developed. If she did swear, she could live in Faerie or on the other side like me, but she’d be obligated to the kingdom she was sworn to just as I was obligated to the Stone Order. Nineteen times out of twenty with changelings, they chose to swear to a kingdom and embrace their Fae heritage. The one out of twenty? Those were almost always older changelings. And to us, “older” meant anyone over seventeen.

  Marisol would be doing everything possible to make sure Nicole decided to become one of us in a permanent sense. Marisol needed numbers in the Order.

  But first we had to contend with King Periclase’s accusation.

  “We need to get her magic working,” Marisol said. “It will help us tremendously if she’s able to demonstrate stone armor. I’ll get her working with Fern right away.”

  Marisol made a few taps and swipes on the tablet next to her elbow.

  “That’s not going to prove she isn’t Periclase’s daughter, though,” Oliver said.

  “True, but without a demonstration of New Garg abilities, we have no way of claiming she’s one of us,” Marisol said. “And on the chance that she is Periclase’s daughter, if she can form stone armor she can still swear fealty to the Stone Order.”

  Discovery of parentage worked a little differently in Faerie than on the other side of the hedge. In the human world, a simple blood test for maternity or paternity would settle questions like this one. Those tests didn’t work on Fae. There was a magic-based test, but the only person who could perform it was nearly impossible to reach and even more difficult to persuade into actually doing it—and trying to do so was taking your life into your hands. Melusine was one of the Old Ones like Oberon, and one of very few living Fae witches, a woman with full Fae magic and full human magic.

  Marisol shifted her blue gemstone eyes to me. “You will keep in contact with Nicole. It will help her to have someone around her age who’s spent so much time in the Earthly realm to talk to. Plus, you’re the one who rescued her.”

  My
lips parted. It was an order from my sovereign, and I couldn’t refuse it. “Of course. But there’s another small matter I need to attend to immediately.”

  “Oh?”

  I tried not to wince as I spoke. “There’s a woman in our jail under my accusation. I need to question her. She’s, uh, Periclase’s bastard daughter.”

  Again, the pursed-lip look from Marisol.

  “What’s the charge?” she asked.

  “Attempted murder. In the netherwhere.”

  Marisol’s entire face and upper body went rigid. “She did what?”

  “Bryna, unclaimed bastard daughter of King Periclase, sent a wraith to kill me while I was in the void,” I said. “I later killed her wraith. Or destroyed it. Whatever it is you do to end wraiths.”

  Oliver shot me a look, and I shut up, belatedly remembering his warning to keep my answers short. I also realized he hadn’t known anything about Bryna and the wraith.

  Marisol took a noisy breath in through her nose. “Well, that’s not going to help any negotiations with the Duergar, but that’s a very serious crime. Do you plan to pursue it in the High Court?”

  I managed not to snort. For the love of Oberon, no. Some torturously lengthy Faerie legal process was the last thing I wanted to waste my time on.

  I shook my head. “Not if I can get the information I need out of her. It’s related to a Guild assignment.”

  “Good,” she said, nodding. “Your mercy in this case will make us appear generous.”

  I tamped down my annoyance. Everything always had to be political with Marisol. I held a neutral expression and gave a tiny inclination of my head, knowing I had to play along.

  “If you can conclude your business and release her before the twenty-four-hour deadline, that would benefit the situation even more,” she said.

  “I will make every effort to do that. Especially knowing how much it could help our cause.” I thought I managed to say it without any irony, but she gave me a look that was half-stern and half-amused.

  “Finish your Guild business with Bryna and your assignment by one tomorrow afternoon.” Marisol paused and glanced at her tablet. “Technically, that’s this afternoon. Then report back here. I want you to keep close to our new changeling while she’s early in her homecoming.”