The Rival

by Kristine Kathryn Rusch

  " … I … could-n't … be … King. It … would … have … been … wrong. I … would … have … hurt … things … here. Ru-ling … is … for … the … swift … "

  "You're not mad?" Arianna asked again. Her heart was pounding. She hadn't realized how much hurt she had caused, and she didn't want to have taken something precious from him without his opinion.

  "I … am … re-lie-ved … " And he looked it. His face didn't seem as stiff, his eyes weren't as haunted. He also seemed relieved that she knew about Gift. Sebastian had always kept secrets, but they had never made him happy.

  She had forgotten that about him.

  She brushed a strand of hair out of her face. "We have to go to the war room," she said. "Something's happened."

  " … Is … it … bad … ?"

  She nodded. "Daddy's expecting both of us. But you'll have to pretend like you were the one downstairs tonight. Can you do that?"

  His smile was slow, but steady. "I … can. I … sim-ply … won't … speak … to … any-one."

  Their old method. It had always worked. She put her hands on his, then leaned forward and kissed his slightly cracked cheek. "We have to change," she said. "You need to be wearing this robe. And then on the way up, I'll brief you. Everything's changing, Sebastian."

  He touched the spot where she had kissed him.

  "Not … every-thing … ," he said. " … You … and … me, … we'll … al-ways … be … to-ge-ther … , right?"

  "Right," she said, and she meant it.

  Then.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Adrian woke abruptly, as if something had startled him awake. His heart was pounding, but the house was silent. He leaned up on his elbows.

  Moonlight covered his legs, bathing the room in a silver light. The chair, with his trousers hanging over the back, looked like a live thing. His own body seemed paler than usual, the scars from his year of military service and his Fey imprisonment standing out in sharp relief against his flesh.

  Then he heard it again, the sound that must have awakened him. A rustle in the corn, soft voices on the road. His window faced north, and the road was usually quiet until midday. But people were on it now.

  And they were speaking Fey.

  The hair rose on the nape of his neck. He grabbed his shirt and flung it on, then slid into his trousers. He buttoned them as he pulled open the door, wishing Luke still lived in the house.

  But Coulter did. Adrian stopped in the hall, and pushed open Coulter's door.

  The room was spotless, as usual. Coulter kept all of his things perfect, as if he were afraid that Adrian would throw him out for being messy. Not even the bed was rumpled. The coverlet was thrown back in a perfect v, the dent in the pillow looked as if it were planned. Coulter had gone to bed, but he had gotten up.

  Adrian continued down the hall. The kitchen still held the warmth of his baking frenzy earlier in the day. The back door stood open, as he had left it, and he descended silently into the yard.

  The grass was covered with dew. The water reflected the moonlight, making the grass look as if it were covered in ice. The water felt good against his bare feet. He glanced behind him. His feet left dark impressions on the silvery lawn.

  "This looks right." The voice, speaking Fey, was soft, musical and male.

  "It better be." The other voice was female and had the sharp edge Fey women's voices often had. Part of their toughness seemed to be their ability to speak firmly. "We can't just wake up any old Islander. Not after what happened to Cover."

  The male did not respond to that. Adrian walked along the edge of the grass until he could peer around the corn. The moonlight backlit the road, making it seem as if dirt path appeared out of the silvery light. Two Fey stood on it, face to face, tall and beautiful and ferocious, as Fey always were.

  He couldn't see the male's face. The woman's revealed her to be a girl, one of the children born just before he left. She would have no idea who he was. But the male. Something in the way he stood was familiar.

  "Couldn't you find him, make sure we're in the right place?" the woman asked.

  The male didn't answer. He glanced toward the house. His hands were shaking.

  Adrian couldn't remember the last time he had seen a frightened Fey.

  "You can come out now," the male said.

  Adrian let out the breath he had been holding. He stood up, pushed aside the corn, and stepped onto the road. The dirt was hard against his feet. A rock dug into his heel.

  "Adrian," the male said. There was relief in his voice. He turned to the woman. "We are in the right place."

  "What do you want?" Adrian asked.

  "It's me, Gift." He came forward, hands outstretched.

  Adrian took a step back. He never wanted to touch another Fey again. He didn't count Scavenger, who had renounced his Fey heritage, and who also had no magick. But the Fey had dozens of tricks, and many of them involved touch.

  "I can't see your face," he said. "I have no idea who you are."

  The male turned his face toward the moonlight, illuminating his features. They were King Nicholas's features gone horribly wrong, as if an artist had taken them and forced them into a Fey mode. It didn't help that the moonlight had leached the color from his long hair.

  "I haven't seen you since you were a little boy," Adrian said. "How can I be sure it's you?"

  "Because I'm the one who helped you out of Shadowlands," Gift said. "I'm the one who kept my grandfather away from you as you escaped the Warders."

  "Anyone could remember that."

  "I'm the one who told you where Coulter was." He turned, slightly, and as he did, his features were transformed. He had some of Jewel in his high cheekbones. But he had Nicholas's eyes. They were clear in this light, ghost eyes on a Fey face.

  "What do you want with us?" Adrian clasped his hands behind his back, to hide his own nervousness.

  "I need Coulter," Gift said. "I need his advice. I came at some risk — "

  "I don't care about your risk," Adrian snapped. "You two are Linked. You didn't have to come here to see him."

  "He told you that?"

  "He tells me most things."

  "I needed to come this time," Gift said. "Something's happened, and I can't figure it out on my own."

  "Who's that?" Adrian asked, nodding toward the woman.

  "Leen. She's my guard."

  "The great hope of the Fey only travels with one guard?"

  "I'm not the great hope," Gift said. "I'm the tolerated untested warrior." Then he smiled. The look was completely his. What Adrian had thought at first to be an ugly combination of two mismatched faces transformed into one of the most startlingly handsome faces he had ever seen in his life.

  "The other guard was murdered on the bridge in Jahn," Leen said, as if she expected Adrian to attack them as well.

  He frowned. Something was happening. He didn't like having Gift here. Gift was an adult now, raised among Fey. He was, in Adrian's estimation, the most unpredictable of all of them.

  "You'd better come in," he said.

  "I need to find Coulter."

  "I expected him to be here," Adrian said. "He wasn't in his bed."

  "You can find him," Leen said.

  "Yes," Adrian said. "What about your famous Link?"

  Gift glared at him. "Where's the house?"

  "This way." Adrian led them through the wet grass. The nerves were rippling in his back. Coulter should have been with them. And it seemed odd that Gift didn't want to Link with him.

  Adrian had been around Fey for years. He knew what to expect. He would be safe enough by himself. But all the nuances of this visit bothered him.

  He changed his mind; he was relieved that Luke no longer lived at home. He also hoped Scavenger would choose not to show later in the day.

  But he did want to know where Coulter was. Coulter didn't just know what to expect around Fey; he also knew how to handle them. Coulter had more magick abilities than most of the Fey combined
, a fact which terrified them, and made Adrian very curious about where Coulter got that power.

  Adrian pointed to the back door. "Go on in," he said. "I'll get Coulter."

  "I'll come with you," Leen said.

  "And leave your charge unguarded?" Adrian shook his head. "You can bind me with some spell if you want. I promise that I won't bring anyone else here, nor will I pour holy water on you. That stuff isn't allowed in my house."

  Then, without waiting for her answer, he turned and headed back toward the fields. He had an idea where Coulter was.

  The woman apparently decided not to follow him. She leaned against the door jamb and watched him go. He swerved a little, as a bit of misdirection, and then went on. The corn closed around him as if it were protecting him. But it whispered his passage all the same.

  He crossed one growing field until he reached the clearing.

  Coulter was sitting in the middle of the clearing. The moonlight seemed to fall directly on him, as if targeting him. He sat in the circle of light, legs crossed, hands on his knees, eyes closed. As Adrian approached, Coulter said, "Stay there, Adrian."

  Adrian stopped. He had long ago learned to listen to Coulter when Coulter was in one of these moods.

  "You weren't in bed," Adrian said.

  "No need to play games," Coulter said. "Gift is here."

  "Yes. Why haven't you greeted him?"

  Coulter opened his eyes. In the odd light, they looked silver and flat. "I blocked the Link."

  Adrian frowned. Once Coulter had told him the Link was his lifeline. "Why?"

  "I didn't want him here."

  "Why not?"

  "He's not safe anymore."

  "Not safe?" Adrian said. "I just let him into my house."

  "Oh, he won't harm us." Coulter let his hands slid to his side, and he uncrossed his legs. "But with all the changes on the Isle, Gift is the last thing we need."

  "But you wanted him here," Adrian said. "You said you'd be able to protect him."

  "I said I'd be able to protect him," Coulter said. "I never said I wanted him here."

  Adrian didn't understand. He had a two Fey in his kitchen, and his foster son, the boy with all the Fey powers, the boy who was not Fey, didn't want them there. "Why not?"

  "Because it'll distract me. I can either protect Gift, or I can monitor the Other."

  "The Other? The new Enchanter?"

  Coulter nodded. "He is powerful, Adrian. More powerful than I am. And more in control than the one I felt before."

  "Does he know you're here?" Adrian asked.

  "Yes," Coulter said. "He sensed me a little while ago. He doesn't know where I am yet, and he may not look. He may not care."

  "He's that much more powerful than you?"

  "He's that much older, and in control. He's probably had training. I've had none."

  "Then how do you know you must choose between him or Gift?"

  Coulter pushed himself to his feet. He looked taller in the moonlight. "I can't choose now," he said. "I made the choice fifteen years ago, when I saved Gift's life. I have to defend him."

  "I thought you already did. He owes you his life."

  "And I owe him mine," Coulter said. "I bound us. I tied us together. If one of us dies, both of us die, unless someone with my skills can break the Link."

  "Why don't you?"

  Coulter put a hand over his face. For the first time in a long time, he looked like the little boy he had been when Adrian first befriended him. "Because I did it wrong."

  "I don't understand."

  He moved his hand. His face held an anguish that Adrian had never seen. "I had never done anything like it before. I just did it by instinct. But I was wrong. There are two ways to Bind. One is subtle and delicate and can be easily asundered. The other Binds the parties heart to heart, making their life energies one. It cannot be broken. I was afraid he was dying. I only had two friends, him and you. I couldn't live without him. So I made that true. Literally."

  "Then I don't understand," Adrian said. "If that's true, why don't you want to protect him?"

  "Because Gift is good at protecting himself. And I need to be working on this new threat. I can't concentrate on two things at once. Not two important things."

  "Then tell Gift that. Have him go on his own."

  Coulter stepped out of the light. He looked like himself again. "It won't be that easy, Adrian. Gift is here because of his Vision. And I suspect that's just as important as everything else."

  Adrian glanced at the sky, half expecting to see the lines he had seen before. The stars were out, visible even against the brightness of the moon. "I don't understand," he said at last. "All these important events at once. Why?"

  Coulter didn't respond. Adrian looked down. Coulter was staring at him.

  Adrian's heart lurched. "I meant that as a rhetorical question, but you know, don't you? You know why all of this is happening now."

  "It was inevitable," Coulter said.

  "And?"

  Coulter sighed as if he didn't want to say any more. He came up beside Adrian. They stood side by side. Adrian could feel Coulter's warmth. "And the Islanders have put it off for fifty generations. When you put something off that long, it is cataclysmic when it happens."

  "Cataclysmic." Adrian felt as if someone had thrown cold water on his face. He didn't know what Coulter was talking about. He wasn't sure he wanted to know.

  Coulter nodded. He put his hand on Adrian's back. "Take me to Gift," he said.

  "But you said — "

  "I might be wrong." Coulter took a deep breath, glanced south, and added, "He's a Visionary, and I'm an Enchanter. If we had an army behind us, we'd be equally matched."

  "To each other?"

  "To the threat. We'd face it together."

  And then he took off across the grass before Adrian could ask any more questions.

  TWENTY-NINE

  Matthias swam back into consciousness. It wasn't quite like waking up. To wake up, one had to be asleep. It felt more like his brain returned. The pain beneath it all had been constant. He had been aware of it, and the closer he came to opening his eyes, the more aware he was:

  The cuts on his face sent shooting pains throughout his system. The cuts on his shoulders and arms ached. His legs were heavy with exhaustion, and his arms were nearly useless. His lungs burned.

  He had never felt so spent in his entire life.

  Matthias opened his eyes. The room was unfamiliar. A single candle burned on the nightstand, dripping wax onto the wooden table. The mattress he lay on smelled dirty, and the floor needed to be swept. The room didn't have a window, but through the open door, he saw a kitchen with a cold hearth fire, several more candles, and a woman seated beside an open window.

  She was young, in her twenties, and she leaned over a tapestry frame. Her needle worked through the top and then the bottom with the ease of practice. Her face was serene. Her long hair had a reddish tint that suggested her family came from the Cliffs of Blood.

  He coughed, to alert her that he was awake, and then he tried to sit up.

  A mistake. He was dizzy. The movement caused a buzzing in his ears.

  She was beside him in an instant.

  "Tis not yers to be up," she said. "Yer body's had quite a shock, it has. Ye need yer rest."

  The accent was a bit narrow for the Cliffs. He frowned. She spoke more like she came from the Kenniland Marshes. "I can't stay here," he said.

  "Ye must. Someone tried to kill ye. Ye canna go back out tonight."

  "You saw it?"

  She shook her head. "Me brother found ye, and brought ye here. Tis thought I've healin skills, though tis not always true."

  "You need someone to shake out your mattress," Matthias said, and winced at the ingratitude in his tone.

  She smiled. "A lordly man like ye'd be expecting more. I dinna have the strength, and me brother, well, he disappears when tis time to work."

  "And your husband?"

  She gent
ly put a hand on Matthias's chest and pushed him back. "Ye must rest."

  "I can't stay," he said again.

  "Ye canna leave. Ye canna walk to that door. Ye've lost so much blood ye look like a fish too long in the sun. Tis lucky ye dinna die there. By morning, ye'd've been a corpse."

  Matthias shivered. She was probably right. The way he felt, and the things he suffered that evening, should have killed him.

  But he lived on.

  It takes magick to survive.

  She let her hand slide along his chest. The movement was almost a caress. "I'll be getting ye some tea. It'll restore yer spirits."

  She walked into the other room, and he found himself staring after her. She wore a long red dress, embroidered with gold along the bottoms and sides. It seemed heavy for summer and warm, but she didn't seem to notice. In fact, the room, although windowless, had a coolness that spoke of fall.

  His chest tingled where she had touched him. He leaned back on his pillows, letting the softness envelope him. His wounds still pained him. He had to look horrible. With his right hand, he touched the bandages on his face. They covered his cheeks and his jaw, and one went all the way above his left eye. He didn't remember getting stabbed that close to his eyes, but he barely remembered the details of the attack. It had been moments of mind-numbing terror. He had been more afraid that the Fey would drown him than he had been of being stabbed.

  The woman came back and put a cup of tea on the nightstand. Then she put her arm behind his head and brought him forward.

  "I can do that," he said.

  "Tis my job 'til yer well," she said. She took the cup and held it to his lips.

  The tea was warm and smelled of flowers. It had a slightly bitter taste, but soothed the back of his throat. She took the cup away, allowing him a moment to breathe.

  "I don't even know you," he said. "Why are you being so nice?"

  She smiled. "Me name is Marly, and I think we're kin of a sort."

  "Kin?" Matthias said. "You don't even know who I am."