The Rival

by Kristine Kathryn Rusch

  Rugad's eyes were hooded. He let his laces go. His boots hung over the sides of his legs, untied. "You haven't mentioned my great-grandson."

  Flurry jolted. In his exhaustion, he had forgotten.

  Rugad noted the movement. "Flurry?"

  He glanced at Wisdom. Wisdom was one of Rugad's trusted advisors, but trust only went so far. "I think we need to discuss your great-grandson alone, Rugad."

  "I already have heard the stories. He's feeble. For once the match didn't work."

  Flurry blinked. The boys did not look feeble. If anything their eyes glowed with the same intense intelligence as Rugad's. "It's not that," Flurry said. "Please. You'll thank me for this in a moment."

  "But I won't," Wisdom said.

  Rugad grinned at his advisor then waved him away. "You'll probably hear later."

  "I'd like to hear sooner."

  "I'm sure you would." Rugad's smile left. "But Flurry has never requested a private audience before. I think we should grant him one, don't you? Do me a favor, Wisdom, and see how the eighth team is faring. I want them to leave shortly."

  "As you wish," Wisdom said. He slipped out the tent door. Rugad got up, held the flap back, and watched until Wisdom went through the Circle Door, out of Shadowlands.

  Rugad let the flap fall closed. "I don't grant personal audiences on a whim, Flurry."

  "This is not a whim, Rugad." Flurry's muscles were trembling. His brain felt foggy. He blinked, trying to remain clear. "Your great-grandson is not feeble. The boy I saw at the King's side has your intelligence in a pair of fairly ugly blue eyes."

  "My intelligence? Then how could they think he was feeble?"

  "He moved oddly," Flurry said. "It might have been a game, although I didn't know what it would gain him."

  "I don't understand why Wisdom couldn't hear this," Rugad said.

  "Because I'm not done," Flurry said. "The boy is distinctive. Blue eyes, as I said, Fey features, and the look of Jewel about him. He also has some of his father's roundness. I've never quite seen anything like it. It will take a few generations of pure Fey mating to hide the Islander in that line."

  "Strong heritage, huh?" Rugad didn't sound interested. He returned to the cot and continued lacing his boots.

  "I tell you this not because of the heritage, but because of what I saw. When I left the palace, I saw two Fey across the bridge. One of them was an exact replica of the boy inside."

  "A Doppelgänger?"

  "No." Flurry swallowed hard. "I flew in close enough to look. No gold flecks in the eyes. In fact, his face was slightly different. A sharper angle to the chin, and a different intelligence in the eyes. As strong, but not as fierce."

  Rugad patted his legs as if the words made no difference. "You're telling me that I have two great-grandchildren?"

  "Yes," Flurry said.

  "And you're certain?"

  "Two partially Fey children couldn't have that look of Jewel in their faces. These boys weren't that dissimilar. I believe they're twins."

  "Twins." This time Rugad looked up. "That's never happened in this Black line."

  Flurry nodded. The only time it had happened, centuries before, the younger twin had been slaughtered shortly after birth. "That's not all," he said. "I believe they were raised separately."

  "How would you know that?" Rugad's eyes narrowed. Flurry had been right. The boy in the palace did have the look of his great-grandfather in his eyes.

  "Because I startled both of them. The boy in the palace responded in Islander. The boy outside spoke in Fey."

  Rugad nodded. "You are a sharp observer, Flurry. That's why I sent you to speak to their King." He leaned his head back. "I don't understand how the Islanders thought the child feeble. There is a missing piece, Flurry."

  "I agree," Flurry said.

  "We need to discover it."

  He knew what Rugad was thinking. "They both have already seen me. I don't think I could get the information you need."

  "Neither do I," Rugad said. "I wasn't thinking of that, actually. I was — "

  The flap flew back, and Boteen came in, carrying a tray. "Refreshments!" he called, and set them down on a side table.

  Flurry stiffened, never taking his gaze from Rugad. He hadn't heard of anyone barging in on the Black King before.

  Rugad's gaze went dark. "You look spent, Flurry. Take the water and some food."

  Flurry did, taking a silver cup. A Domestic energy spell floated on top of the water. He took a sip, and immediately felt refreshed. He also grabbed a sandwich, and then stood aside, waiting to be dismissed.

  But Rugad wasn't looking at him. Rugad had stood. His boots were laced, his clothes were pressed, and his scabbard was at his side. He looked like the Black King.

  "How much have you heard?" he said to Boteen.

  Flurry's stomach twisted. He hoped the Black King never used that tone with him.

  "Nothing," Boteen said. "I just came in with refreshments. When Flurry arrived, he looked so exhausted I figured I would give him a little magickal strength to get through his meeting with you. It — "

  "How much have you heard?" Rugad said, his voice going lower than it had the first time.

  "Really, Rugad, do you think I would stoop to listening at tent flaps?"

  Rugad's gaze narrowed. He lifted his chin slightly, put one hand on the hilt of his sword and said, "For the last time, Boteen, how much have you heard?"

  Boteen sighed theatrically. "It was accidental, you know. I didn't mean to listen. But your voices were raised just a bit, and I couldn't help — "

  "Boteen." The word was nearly a whisper.

  Boteen stopped, and swallowed. His bravado was apparently an act. "You need me," he said, as if warning Rugad not to hurt him.

  "You informed me, not one day ago, that there are two other Enchanters on this Isle," Rugad said. "I do not need you."

  Flurry froze. Boteen was the only Enchanter who had come on this trip, the only one born in the last century. Rugar had brought none on his unfortunate mission. Then how could there be two Enchanters on the Isle?

  "On the contrary," Boteen said, all of his elaborate mannerisms gone, "without me, you'll never find them."

  "Don't be so certain," Rugad said.

  "Besides," Boteen said, "I know how to tell which brother is the eldest."

  Rugad's expression didn't change but he lowered his chin slightly. "That's a secondary problem," he said. "We have to find both of them first."

  "If I may speak," Flurry said, not certain he wanted to, "finding them is also a secondary problem."

  Rugad turned his sharp gaze on Flurry. He waited for the explanation. Flurry glanced at Boteen, who smiled at him. Flurry didn't like that smile.

  "Our information about your great-grandson was wrong, and we didn't know that there were two children. Unless your Visions have given you a wider scope of knowledge about your family than I am privy to," Flurry said, choosing each word as carefully as he could, "you have to consider that there may be more children of Black Blood on this Isle."

  Rugad's hand fell away from his scabbard. Boteen whistled softly. "And I thought you had wasted your time sending a Wisp," he said.

  "Shut up, Boteen," Rugad said.

  Boteen's smile grew. "Don't look so pale, Rugad. There's still time to inform the troops. Just don't have them touch any Fey under twenty. That should take care of the problem."

  "And what if they look like an islander?" Flurry asked.

  "Fey blood tells," Boteen snapped.

  "Does it?" Flurry said. "Are we so certain?"

  "Your own testimony says so," Rugad said.

  "But I've only seen two mixes, both from the same family."

  "And that's the family we're concerned about," Boteen said.

  Flurry shook his head. "Jewel married the Islander King. But her father was also of Black Blood and he lived here for several years before his death."

  "Flurry has a point," Boteen said.

  "Indeed he does,
" Rugad said. "The problem is that the first wave left here yesterday afternoon."

  "I thought you waited for the Spies," Boteen said.

  Rugad stared at Boteen. After a moment, Boteen flushed. He clearly understood the implication. Flurry did not.

  Boteen took a deep breath. "Then we shall simply have to rely on the troops' common sense."

  "They have no common sense," Rugad said. "Boteen, get me an Eagle Rider immediately. And Flurry, finish that food. I need you here. You'll tell me everything you remember about my great-grandsons. And neither of you will speak of this to anyone else. Hear me?"

  Flurry nodded. Boteen did too, looking subdued. They both knew what the secret meant. Rugad had come here because he felt his grandsons — Rugar's children — weren't fit to take the Black Throne. Rugad had hoped that his great-grandson was. But until he learned which great-grandson was the elder, there would be no heir.

  The Black Throne would be in dispute.

  THIRTY-TWO

  The maps were old and the room smelled of dust. Even though Nicholas had been up here in the years since his father died, he always thought of the war room as his father's room. About a year after the Fey invasion, Nicholas discovered his father in this room, looking over a long scroll filled with names of the Islander dead. All those souls rested on his father's conscience, and never left. When he died, he had been going to the Kenniland Marshes to see the peoples he had neglected.

  To atone.

  Nicholas stood in the door. The lords were inside. They had already taken their places around the long oak table. They looked odd in their finery; this room was made for men dressed to fight. Lord Miller's fancy cloak trailed on the floor. Lord Canter, his back hunched, examined the map Nicholas's father had tacked on the wall a generation ago. Lord Enford, who had been with his father when he died, had broadened with age, the lines on his face deep with remembered loss. He was staring at the map as well.

  In the passing years, Lord Egan had become stunningly obese. He occupied the foot of the table all by himself, his body slopping over the armless chair. His robe was twice the size of the others, and the material, though expensive, was dark and plain to hide his bulk. He had once been a jovial man, but that joviality had turned into bitterness when his son died in the Fey Invasion all those years ago.

  Lord Canter had apparently been speaking before Nicholas arrived. He stopped when Nicholas came in the door. Canter had never liked Nicholas and the feeling was mutual. Canter had continued to increase his wealth over the years, and to wear much of it on his back and fingers. His clothing, once imported from Nye, was now made by the finest Islander tailors, and there was talk that he even bought clothes from the Fey.

  As usual, Nicholas would have to watch him.

  Lord Zela sat on a stool near the back of the room. One riding boot rested on the stool's lower rung, the other on the floor. Zela nodded when he saw Nicholas. They were of an age. Zela had taken Lord Holbrook's place as the only tin-lord on the Council. Nicholas actually wished there were more spaces for tin-lords. They were self-made men whose title was a courtesy, and not passed down from generation to generation. A pity, too, since Lord Holbrook's oldest son was a fine man and would have made an excellent advisor.

  Zela was a fine man too. He was short and stocky and had hands scarred in a barn fire. He'd lost most of his holdings when the Fey arrived, but shrewd business sense and an ability to seize opportunities made him into one of the richest men on the Isle in ten years. Nicholas had appointed Zela to Holbrook's seat upon Holbrook's death, and fought objections from all the other lords. But Nicholas had never regretted the decision.

  Several guards were posted outside the door. Nicholas instructed them to let his children in and no one else.

  Then he pulled the door closed.

  "Sire," Canter said, nodding once, acknowledging Nicholas's arrival. "I don't see how the Fey could have gotten in from the south. The cliffs are too high on both sides. My father sailed around this Isle as a young man and he said that the sea side was sheer smooth rock. Nothing could find purchase."

  Nicholas smiled at Canter's obvious attempt to cover the conversation that Nicholas had walked in on. "Nonetheless," Nicholas said, "we have to take the claim seriously. I had a report earlier today that there were Fey in the south, and there are no southern landholders here tonight. The problem here is that we need to make plans and we don't know what we're up against. We don't how they got here, we don't know how many troops they brought, and we don't know if they have magicks we're unaware of."

  "You did the right thing," Zela said, "telling them we wouldn't surrender."

  "I hope so," Nicholas said. "I'm still holding out for that discussion. I can't believe the Black King would attack his own family. The Fey have proscriptions against that."

  "Or so you were told," Cantor said.

  "I was told that again this evening by the Fey's Shaman. I spoke to her before the banquet. She also believed that the Black King was here, although she hadn't been told of his arrival. And if it is him, she said that the Isle's Fey are in danger as well."

  "Serves them right," Egan muttered.

  Nicholas let that go. "I have sent for the Rocaan. I should have sent for Monte, and will rectify that in a few moments. My sense is that we haven't much time."

  "Isn't it unusual for the Black King to warn us?"

  Nicholas nodded. "I suspect he did so out of courtesy, and as a way of notifying my children that he's here. That would take care of the Blood dilemma the Fey face. My children should, under Fey rules, stay out of the fighting."

  "Will they?" Canter asked.

  Nicholas leaned back. He had had this argument with his father during the first Fey invasion. Then he had thought differently. Now he took his father's position. "They are heirs to the throne. They cannot endanger their lives in battle."

  "It might be good for morale to see your children in the thick of things. It worked for you," Miller said.

  Nicholas wasn't certain if there was sarcasm in that comment, so he let it ride.

  "Sire," Canter said, "I worry about the wisdom of having your children at this meeting. They are part Fey."

  Nicholas bristled. "They were raised as Islanders."

  "Nonetheless — "

  Nicholas slapped his hands on the table, silencing Canter. "Nonetheless," Nicholas said in his lowest, most dangerous voice, "they are my children, and the heirs to this throne. They have more right to be in this room than you do."

  Canter glanced at the others. They all looked away. Nicholas was about to say more when the door opened.

  Arianna came in, looking flushed. The mark on her chin was livid. Sebastian shuffled behind her, wearing the robe she had on when she left the hall. She had thought of everything.

  Her hair was down, and she wore breeches and a shirt with full sleeves. She looked more like her mother than she ever had.

  "Forgive us for being late," she said. "Sebastian had trouble finding me."

  "We missed you at the banquet, Princess," Lord Enford said, and he sounded sincere.

  "I felt as if I were there in spirit," Arianna said, and flashed him a smile. She pulled Sebastian in and pulled the door closed. "My brother tells me he's exhausted and he would like to listen. Is that all right with you, Daddy?"

  Nicholas nodded. Arianna had thought of everything. On one level he was pleased. On another he found he didn't like her talent for deception.

  Lord Canter smiled at Sebastian. "It is good to see you, Your Highness. You seem quite yourself again."

  Arianna frowned. She led Sebastian toward the back of the room, and Lord Zela, who had always been friendly to her. "Was he different earlier?" she asked.

  "More animated, Highness, and almost personable."

  Sebastian opened his mouth, but Arianna put a long slender finger over it. "You've never seen my brother, then, when he's feeling refreshed?"

  Canter shrugged. "Apparently not," he said.

  "I'm amazed my fa
ther never said anything." Arianna glanced at Nicholas with a look of reproach. He worked to keep the look of surprise off his face. "We discovered a long time ago that my brother isn't slow. His body just acts a little differently than the rest of ours. When he's tired, he moves slowly and talks even slower. That led people to believe he wasn't very bright. But he has had periods all his life when he can be as sharp as the rest of us." She smiled, looking beautiful and innocent. "My father certainly wouldn't trust the future of this country to someone who is dimwitted."

  "Certainly not," Canter said a beat too quickly.

  "I'm glad you could make it," Nicholas said, cutting the discussion off. He turned away from his daughter, from her bright face and glittering eyes, and toward the group. "We are facing a number of problems here. But we are more prepared than we were for the first invasion. Our people at least know how to defend themselves. My worry is that they'll rely too heavily on holy water."

  "It should work," Zela said.

  "And if it doesn't, we'll have another slaughter. We need to get word to all the provinces that the holy water may not work. We need to make sure people have arms, swords, knives, and other ways of defending themselves. Each of you need to send word to your own sections."

  The lords nodded. Canter took his seat.

  Nicholas clasped his hands under the table. Finally he had control of the meeting. "Secondly, our guards are a trained fighting force. They should be able to protect the palace. We need to call our militia, and make certain that Jahn is protected as well. The word is that the Fey are in the south. We'll need to concentrate on the southern entrance to the city."

  "Beg pardon, Sire, but we're discussing Fey here. They may be in the south, but they could attack from anywhere." Lord Enford spoke softly as if he didn't want to contradict Nicholas.

  "I'm aware of that, Enford," Nicholas said. "We will have to scatter troops throughout the city and the countryside. Until we actually have a sighting, we can take no direct action here."

  "Sire, I have another concern," Miller said. "What if this is a hoax put on by the local Fey?"