The Changeling's Fortune (Winter's Blight Book 1)

by K. C. Lannon

  While he was not normally very attentive or careful with his belongings, he had slowed down last night and painstakingly arranged the letters he’d swiped from Marko in his pack so that they remained in order and wouldn’t crumple under the weight of the tomes he planned to bring. He tucked the letters between the pages of a sturdy book.

  I can read them once I’m clear of the city, James assured himself. I’ve waited this long. I can wait a few more hours, can’t I?

  Just as he nearly filled his pack with books, he noticed he had forgot to pack clothing. He thought about Deirdre’s suggestions, and his face reddened when he realized she had been right.

  Maybe I shouldn’t bring so many books…

  He’d read a book about a wilderness traveler who never took supplies with him and lived off the land instead. James had thought that sounded like fun, save for the unpleasantness of alternative water sources.

  It took him so long to decide which books to leave behind (the one on various types of birds and the one on famous natural landmarks) that he was certain he would get caught by his father when it came time for him to go to the kitchen to pack rations. But when he did make his way to the kitchen and began shoving chocolate biscuits into his bag, the door to his father’s room was still closed, the room silent and absent the telltale sound of music coming from the radio.

  When he heard creaking on the steps above, James hurriedly ducked behind one of the walls in the hallway to avoid being seen. Iain traipsed down the steps, jumping the last two as he had always done since he was a child, and walked to the kitchen.

  James crouched in the hallway, hidden in a pocket of shadow in the small alcove he was hiding in, and waited. His backpack was starting to tug on his shoulders and make them ache, and when he shifted to a slightly more comfortable position, he nearly toppled over from the weight of it. He began to sweat when he heard the door to his father’s room open, wondering what would happen if he was found out.

  It doesn’t matter anyway. No one can stop me from leaving.

  James strained his ears as Iain and Dad began to talk.

  “Where’s your brother?” Dad asked.

  “He must be out in the back garden. I didn’t see him upstairs.”

  “Are you working security today?”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “I want things to run smoothly at the parade.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  There was a long pause, and James wondered when his legs would give out.

  “It’s an honor to serve on a day like this,” Dad said in a low voice. “You should be proud to do it. I know I feel better knowing that you’ll be there to help. It means a lot to me that you’re a part of this.”

  Iain said nothing. James wished he would speak up but understood why he didn’t. James himself was so shocked by the statement that he wouldn’t know what to say in his brother’s place.

  “Do you see that flag over there, folded on the mantle? That was my father’s. He served in the British army. We were given that flag when he passed away. He was working the day the bomb hit the city, and he was killed instantly by the impact.”

  “I… didn’t know that.”

  “Well, I have not been very forthcoming,” Dad replied slowly.

  When Iain did not reply, or he spoke so quietly that James could not hear him, Dad continued, “We never got to bury his body. There was nothing left. My mother and I had to evacuate the city a few days later. I was out on a school trip when it happened. My siblings were not so fortunate. One of them was crushed by rubble. The other died in a hospital a day later. I was one of the lucky ones. When I was outside, I didn’t see the actual blast. Many of the students who did were blinded instantly. Everything caught fire around us. Everyone was… screaming.”

  James slumped against the wall, his entire body feeling as if it were made of lead. It wasn’t the same, reading about the Cataclysm in books. Hearing it made it real.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s all right. I don’t mind talking about it. It feels good to talk about what happened, especially today.” Dad sighed. “We evacuated, but my mother had to stay in the hospital while I was forced into someone’s home to live with strangers. She had a high dose of radiation, you see. Her hair began to fall out. She died a few months later of radiation poisoning. Then I had to make it on my own.”

  After a moment, Dad said, “It was the Fae that organized the attack. They infiltrated our government, our technology with their magic, and they hit us hard for no reason, without provocation, without remorse. They took the form of our prime minister. They destroyed our government, our way of life, our peace of mind. And not one of their worthless lot have ever paid for their crimes.”

  Dad paused. “Did you know that the Fae sent another bomb up north, toward the Summer Court?”

  “I’ve heard of something like that happening, but I don’t know much about it,” Iain admitted. “Why would they attack their own? Do they not have any sense of loyalty?”

  “I knew you’d understand. You know about loyalty.” James heard Dad gathering teacups from the cabinet and starting to make tea. “The Summer Court and the Winter Court have been at war for ages. The faery responsible wanted to put an end to the Summer Court, so he sent a bomb there too. Only, the bomb never impacted. It’s still there, suspended and kept from bursting through magic.”

  “The barrier around the Summer Court.”

  “That’s right.” The gas stove clicked on as Dad prepared to heat the kettle. “I want you to understand what you’ll be up against. The Fae in this city have been taking advantage of our system. It’s only a matter of time before what happened before happens again. Already the Fae in the Summer Court plan against us behind their barrier. You’ll have to be always on your guard, Iain, for you and your brother. You cannot trust any of them. Do you understand?”

  “I understand.” He sounded uncertain.

  “That’s good, Iain. I’ll need you on my side.”

  “Thanks for, you know, telling me all this.” Iain cleared his throat. “Why are you telling me this? I get why, yeah? It’s just, why are you telling me?”

  “It should be obvious to you that I trust you above all others. You’re the only one who would understand. Do you think I’d be telling this to Boyd or Philip?” Dad chuckled mirthlessly. “Or James?”

  James felt winded.

  “Boyd and Philip serve their country well, but it was always meant to be you at my side, Iain. Not them. And if you continue to prove yourself, I can see you rising in the ranks quite quickly. People will see you differently, and a new flat will seem… insignificant compared to what you could gain. Whatever you want, I can get it for you. All you have to do is follow orders.”

  “Whatever I want?” Iain sounded confused. “All I want is for us to be all right again.”

  This time Dad was silent.

  Iain’s voice was strained when he said, “I don’t—I don’t have to leave right away, you know. I can fix this place up first. I could use the money I was saving for a flat and give this old place a little new life. That way it won’t be falling apart anymore.”

  James couldn’t believe what he was hearing. After all Iain’s talk about leaving, one conversation was all it took to change his mind, all it took to forget. Evidently their father could not believe what he was hearing either.

  Dad spoke again after a few long minutes. His tone was flat. “You’d better hurry with that breakfast. Don’t be late for the memorial.”

  James had scrambled from his hiding spot and tiptoed up the stairs to pack a jacket he’d forgotten. When he was done, he then stomped down the stairs like a barrage of elephants so that everyone heard him coming down.

  The scent of ham sizzling in a pan wafted from the kitchen, and James wondered if he might have time for breakfast before he left. All he’d packed were highly processed snacks from the pantry. He didn’t know when he would have a nice meal again once he was out of the city and away from
civilization, especially one of his brother’s meals.

  Dad peered down the hallway at him when James stopped on the last step. He was holding a steaming cup of tea.

  “James”—he looked from James to his backpack—“where do you think you’re going?”

  James adjusted his pack on his shoulder and shrugged. “I’m going to the memorial.”

  “Why do you have a backpack?”

  “I—I was going to visit the library after. I have books to take back.”

  Dad’s mouth twitched into a thin frown, and James wilted slightly under his glare. “You think you’re quite clever, don’t you?” Dad asked.

  James’s pulse quickened. He shook his head, sputtering for something to say but unable to form a coherent response.

  “You’re not clever,” Dad answered for him sharply. “But you are smart enough, surely, to learn from your mistakes. You’re certainly smart enough to know you’ve done something wrong, or you would not be hiding the banned books in your room.”

  James silently said a prayer of thanks that he’d thought to hide the letters well enough in a different book.

  With that, Dad strode over to the side table in the hallway, opened a drawer, and pulled out a book James recognized as one he’d hidden in his room. Dad stood back in front of James, holding up the book for him to see. His knuckles blanched, gripping the book like he wanted to cause it pain somehow.

  Servants of The Winter Court: Unseelie Faeries and Their Ilk.

  James stared ahead at the wall, thinking absently that there were much, much worse things he could be hiding in his room that he wasn’t, and that most parents would be grateful for that. “What does it matter what I read?” he asked. “Maybe those books will make me clever.”

  “Why are you so interested in magic and curses?” Dad asked.

  James shrugged. “I just like to read.”

  Dad retracted the book, tucking it under his arm. James made a mental note to watch where and when he put the book down. He was not sure if he would need it for his travels, but the fact that his father didn’t want him to have it was motivation enough to want to take it anyway.

  “It doesn’t matter how many books you read on magic or the Fae, you’ll still never know how truly ugly it all is until you’re face-to-face with it.”

  “I’ve seen magic before,” James countered.

  “Street performers, I suspect, flouting their more flashy, harmless abilities.” Dad’s smile was thin. “No, I think when you do witness true magic, you’ll know, and you’ll regret any interest you had in witnessing it. I think you’ll be regretting a great many things when that time comes.”

  When James finally looked his father in the face, the man’s eyes flashed, and James felt a jolt of something like fear. He shrugged it off.

  Dad reached out. “I’d like you to hand over your backpack.”

  “I don’t think I want to.”

  His father leaned forward to respond but stopped when he heard Iain shuffle into the room. James scowled at his brother, who looked between them, giving James a questioning glance.

  “You want breakfast before we leave for the memorial, James?” Iain asked finally.

  “Your brother will not be going to the memorial,” Dad answered for him. “He’ll be staying at home for quite some time, save for going to and from school, as he cannot be trusted not to break curfew or other city laws.”

  “I won’t stay here,” James said firmly.

  “James,” Iain warned, looking between the two of them. “That’s enough.”

  When Dad looked away from Iain again to sip at his tea, Iain gestured wildly and mouthed, “What’s going on?”

  James just shook his head, not wanting to get Iain involved. Iain already knew about a few of the banned books but only the harmless ones that were mostly children’s stories. If Iain knew about the books on magic, James suspected Iain wouldn’t be so intent on protecting him. Iain wouldn’t understand that James’s interest in magic was purely academic.

  “Iain,” Dad said sharply. “Take a look inside James’s backpack.”

  Iain held out his hand for the bag obediently.

  Like a good soldier. Like Boyd, James thought bitterly.

  He shot Iain a pleading look before handing it over slowly.

  Iain’s brow creased in concern, and he hesitated before opening the bag. James had no idea what Iain suspected was inside, but at first he seemed relieved. Iain’s features were blank as he rifled around.

  “It’s just a library book. On flowers, of all things,” Iain said shortly, holding it up for his father to see. “Was there supposed to be something else?”

  There was no way Iain, as perceptive as he was, had missed the abundance of snacks and clothing and survival gear contained in the backpack even if the letters were hidden safely. James wished he could feel grateful for Iain sparing him their father discovering the items, but all he could focus on was the lump in his throat.

  Iain’s tired gaze narrowed on James. James glanced away.

  Dad seemed to accept this. He dismissed Iain and ordered James to his room and forbade him from leaving that day. James did not protest. Being alone in the house was the perfect opportunity to perfect his packing and then leave undetected.

  James retreated upstairs, his energy and enthusiasm renewed for his upcoming journey. He was now certain he was making the right choice by leaving. He couldn’t stand to be in the house for a moment longer.

  For the next hour while Iain and Dad prepared for the day, James stayed up in his room and pretended to sulk. He decided that silence was his best option if Iain asked about the backpack. When he heard Iain pounding up the stairs to speak with him, James felt he was ready to handle any questions.

  Iain sat on the bed opposite him. James waited for Iain to speak, but his brother said nothing for a few long minutes. He just stared at the floor. That was somehow so much worse than being shouted at.

  “Why’d you lie?” James asked finally.

  “You were in enough trouble. And I hoped you’d explain so I can understand.”

  James fiddled absently with a loose thread on his bedspread.

  “Did something happen? Is this about last night?” Iain asked. “Because if it is, you could just tell me about it, and we could work something out.”

  James felt his resolve crumbling, but he bolstered it with the remnants of his anger.

  Nothing had happened. Iain couldn’t possibly understand that wanting to leave was about more than escape. It was about discovery. The only person who might still understand that was Deirdre.

  When James did not answer, eventually Iain rose to his feet again and said, “Maybe you’ll be ready to talk about it after my shift, yeah?”

  James gave no indication he heard.

  After Iain and Dad left for the memorial, James finished packing. Before he went downstairs, he stood in front of the mirror above his dresser and stared. He grabbed his mother’s scarf and tied it around his neck. It felt right. There would be no one to tell him not to wear it anymore or frown when they saw it, like remembering Mum only brought pain. He reached up, brushing the fabric with his fingers.

  I’m coming to find you, Mum.

  He leaped down the stairs and then searched the downstairs floor for a minute before locating the book in the den where his father had left it. After carefully putting the book in his backpack, he headed toward the door without hesitation.

  It was only when he strode outside with an unusual spring in his step that he remembered the guard who sat between him and freedom. He bit his lip, wondering if his father had warned the guard that James was not supposed to leave the house.

  But he won’t stop me. Nobody can.

  Somehow any fear he had vanished. All that was left was determination.

  As James marched up to the gate with confidence, the guard, who was lounging in his seat with his feet propped up on his desk, sat up a little and narrowed his gaze on him. The guard’s eyebrows ros
e as he noticed James’s scarf, but he said nothing about it.

  James stood there, waiting for the gate to open. He figured if he looked like he knew what he was about and that he wasn’t up to anything he shouldn’t be, that he would be fine. For good measure, he waved enthusiastically.

  With a small nod, the guard opened the gate, allowing James outside the property. His heart nearly beating out of his chest, he walked down the street, not giving his home another glance.

  More and more, he felt an odd sense of purpose, as if he was doing the right thing, like it was written in the stars, if one believed in such a thing. He was beginning to.

  James took a deep whiff of the acrid city air and then grinned. “Goodbye, disgusting, filthy air,” he said cheerfully, knowing that soon he’d be breathing the fresh, crisp air of the countryside.

  It occurred to him that he might not see or experience any of the familiar sights, sounds, or sensations of Neo-London for a while. He glanced around as he walked, taking everything in, focusing on minor details that he usually rushed past in a blur on a normal day. He said goodbye to the tiny, dilapidated park over the road where he and Iain used to climb trees and play football with local kids when they were young. They always accused the brothers of cheating, though Iain’s team usually won only because the other kids were scared he’d bulldoze them or place a curse on them. Iain hadn’t seemed to mind.

  As much as James disliked the city and wanted to explore the places beyond its walls, he had to admit that part of him was grateful to it. The city had raised him, taught him. It was the only home he’d known.

  After saying his farewells to the shops down the street, James finally did look back. He could just barely see the rooftops of the military housing on the hill.

  Goodbye, rotting, run-down house and everything that happened there.

  * * *