The Rival

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The Rival Page 38

by Kristine Kathryn Rusch


  Nicholas would have to do that too. He would have to think like the Fey's Black King.

  What had Jewel told him? She had explained strategy to him more than once. She had felt that he was deficient in that area. There's more to a soldier than good swordsmanship, she had said. Strategy is the most important. A good strategist turns his opponent's expectations to his own advantage.

  What did the Black King expect?

  He expected Nicholas to wait for a meeting.

  He also expected Nicholas to attempt an escape.

  Maybe he even expected Nicholas to mount an attack from within the palace.

  There were fires all over the city. And Fey soldiers on the streets. The Black King wasn't going to negotiate. He was going to take Blue Isle and his great-grandchildren.

  He's ruthless, Jewel had said. The Shaman had said the same. Even Rugar, Jewel's father, had mentioned it.

  Ruthless.

  He wouldn't expect Nicholas to be ruthless too.

  Nicholas swallowed. He could be ruthless. He hadn't been ruthless in a long long time, but it wasn't something a man could forget.

  Matthias had taught him how, all those years ago. By killing Jewel.

  By trying to destroy everything Nicholas cared about.

  There was a triple knock on the door. Sebastian started. Nicholas turned.

  "It is Trey, Sire." The voice, speaking through the door, sounded like Trey. Nicholas hoped it was.

  Nicholas crossed the room. His heart was beating, hard. He had no protection against the Fey in this place. If they sent a Doppelgänger, who would know the codes, Nicholas had no recourse. He could only trust that they weren't going to attack him first, not without word from the Black King.

  He pulled the door open. His guards remained. Trey stood there, his blue eyes clear, and Monte stood beside him. His eyes had no gold in them either, although they were shot with red. Monte was getting too old for this sort of thing.

  But he had to make it through this last battle.

  They all did.

  "Thank you," Nicholas said to Trey. Monte came in, and Nicholas closed the door.

  Monte glanced around the room, his gaze skimming right over Sebastian as if the boy weren't there. Nicholas decided not to draw the Captain of the Guard's attention to the boy.

  "Are you familiar with the tunnels beyond the dungeons?" Nicholas asked.

  Monte snapped to attention. He clearly hadn't expected the question. "Yes, Sire. But I haven't been in them since your father was alive."

  "Where do they come out?"

  "All over the city, Sire.

  "Any near the palace?"

  "No, Sire, not outside the walls. Inside, they come up through the barracks."

  "And the birds are blocking the barracks right now, aren't they?" Nicholas asked.

  "They're blocking everything." Monte sounded resigned. "There's thousands of them, Sire. And only a few hundred of us."

  Nicholas nodded. "But they're birds, Monte."

  "With Fey riders."

  "Still," Nicholas said, "Jewel told me that Beast Riders still have the instincts of the creatures they share. We can use that."

  "I don't see how, Sire. The numbers — "

  "Are overwhelming." Nicholas crossed the room and leaned out the windows. The birds hadn't moved. The Fey on their backs held the neck feathers as if they were reins. The Fey were holding them in, keeping them in check.

  Birds were violent, but they startled easily.

  "All right," Nicholas said. "Here's what I want you to do." He pushed away from the window, turned and faced Monte. "It's a gamble, but I think we have no choice. If we don't act now, we'll never get another chance."

  "Do you think we have a chance now?" Monte asked, looking over Nicholas's shoulder.

  "Yes," Nicholas said. "I think we do."

  FIFTY-FOUR

  Coulter took two steps after Gift, then stopped. Coulter's shoulders fell, and his mouth was slightly open. The corn surrounded him, embraced him, held him as if he were a part of it.

  This was the Coulter who had lived in Shadowlands. The one the Fey had rejected. The one that had spent his entire life as a pariah.

  Adrian walked over to him and put his hand on Coulter's arm. Coulter started. He was rigid. The boy who wouldn't take affection — who couldn't take affection because it was never given — was back.

  "Why didn't you just open the Link?" Adrian asked, trying to give Coulter a way to solve the problem, a way out, a way to get his best — and oldest — friend back.

  Coulter turned slowly. He licked his lips, blinked once, and frowned. The adult mask fell over his face, but the little wounded boy still peeked through his eyes.

  "I couldn't," he said.

  "Because you were jealous?" Adrian asked.

  Coulter shook his head. He sighed, and as he did, his eyes filled with tears. He brushed at them angrily. "If I were so jealous, I would have cut the Link a long time ago, without Gift knowing."

  "Why didn't you tell him that?"

  "I tried." Coulter's voice rose, a little boy sound. He cleared his throat and repeated in a softer, more controlled way, "I tried."

  He swallowed, glanced after Gift, then leaned against Adrian. Not quite a hug — they were too adult for that now — but a reassuring touch.

  "It's the Black King," he said quietly. "I felt the Black King."

  Adrian waited. He had been with Coulter a long time now, and had raised the boy as his own. He had learned to give Coulter time, and then Coulter would give back. Coulter always did. Despite what Gift said, Coulter was a good man.

  "I'd never felt anything like him before, Adrian." Coulter's voice became even lower, as if he were afraid the Black King would overhear. "He's evil."

  "Evil?" Adrian hadn't heard Coulter use that word. He wasn't even sure it was in Coulter's vocabulary.

  Until now.

  Coulter nodded. He was still staring at the road, at the path Gift had taken. "I felt him when he found Gift. He's strong, Adrian, and ruthless. He's old and smart, and he has twenty times, maybe a hundred times, the power of Rugar. The only reason I was able to force him out of Gift was because I surprised him. He didn't know what I was."

  Coulter was trembling, small thin shudders that ran through all of his muscles. He hadn't been this frightened since his first day outside of Shadowlands, when he didn't know what smells or colors were.

  "What makes you think he would have harmed Gift? Gift is his family, after all."

  Coulter shook his head. "He doesn't understand family. Not like you do. Gift is a tool, and the Black King would have used that tool right from the start. He would have changed Gift."

  "Through the Link?"

  "Just touching him, letting his mind brush Gift's, changed him."

  "You think that was it? Or do you think it might have been the shock? Gift has never really experienced this kind of loss before."

  Coulter brought a hand to his face. "He shut me out, Adrian. He's never done that. If he had made a mistake and severed the Link, he might have died."

  "But he didn't."

  "Not yet," Coulter said.

  "I think Gift knows better than to do that. He loves that stone boy, though. Can't you hook them back up?"

  Coulter shook his head. "Sebastian is the perfect Link. When the Black King finds him, and all that nothingness, he'll invade him, and Sebastian will be gone. And if that had happened when Gift's Link was open, Gift would have been conquered next."

  Adrian didn't like the sound of any of this. He trusted Coulter, had watched the boy work his own odd magick for years, and knew that Coulter's senses were usually right.

  "Can Gift reopen the Link himself?"

  Coulter shook his head. "Not with the kind of Lock I put on it."

  "Can the Black King open it from the other side?"

  "From Sebastian?"

  Adrian nodded.

  "No." Coulter said.

  "Then Gift is safe."

 
"Gift is not safe. Links aren't the only way to conquer a person. You know that," Coulter said.

  Adrian did know that. Jewel had conquered him by threatening his son. It had been an easy acquiescence, because Luke's life was so much more important to Adrian than his own.

  "You're afraid the Black King will be like Jewel, then," Adrian said.

  "No." Coulter turned around. "The Black King isn't like Jewel. She had his mind, all right, but she was young and lacked his experience. She was like a baby compared with him. There's a reason he rules over half the world. He has the most incredible presence that I've encountered."

  "And Gift didn't inherit it?"

  "Gift is no match for him. I'm no match for him. I doubt anyone on the Isle is."

  "But he can't kill Gift."

  "No, he can't," Coulter said. "But I'm afraid what he will do is worse."

  The words hung between them. Adrian swallowed. He had seen what the Fey did to their own kind. Scavenger had shown him how the Fey treated those they considered lesser. And Adrian had seen the subtleties, the coercion, the ways the Fey had of keeping each other in line.

  He couldn't imagine it being directed from the inside, from within the brain.

  "He made a mistake, then, blocking his Link with you."

  Coulter shook his head sadly. "No, he was right. Any Link to him is dangerous now. I just didn't have the strength to block that one."

  "He's all by himself, then," Adrian said. "More so than he's ever been in his life."

  Coulter glanced over the corn. "I know."

  "He'll need protection. Leen's not up for it."

  Coulter looked at Adrian. The boy's eyes were dulled from sadness, his shoulders slumping from the energy he had used protecting Gift. "What are you saying?"

  "I'm saying that we should go after him. He needs you, Coulter, now more than ever."

  Coulter sighed. "He won't accept me."

  "He won't have a choice."

  Coulter brushed his hair off his face. Adrian had not seen him look this indecisive in years. He was still vulnerable, beneath all that power. Rejection hurt him more than others, probably because he had faced so much of it in his short life.

  "You don't have to come," Coulter said.

  "Oh, but I do," Adrian said. "Someone needs to look out for you."

  "I'm an adult now, Adrian. I can look after myself."

  Adrian suppressed a fond smile. Coulter was an adult, but that didn't mean he could do everything on his own. Even if he didn't want to admit that, Adrian knew it. And he knew how to get Coulter to allow him to go along.

  "I know that," Adrian said. "But the Fey are going to come here, looking for Gift. And when they don't find him, they'll go after me and Luke and Scavenger. I don't want to face that again. I'd rather know you're safe."

  Coulter smiled. It was a small smile, slightly distracted, but a smile nonetheless. "You're not very good at manipulation."

  "I know," Adrian said.

  "You know it means you'd have to go directly into the Fey."

  "I know," Adrian said.

  "You'll probably be in more danger there," Coulter said.

  "So will you," Adrian said.

  "You're not going to let me go alone, are you?" Coulter asked.

  "No," Adrian said.

  Coulter took a deep breath, as if with it, he could steel himself for the next few days. "All right," he said. "Let's gather up supplies. I suspect we don't have much time until the Fey find us."

  Adrian suspected the same thing. He took one more glance at his land, the farm he had tended since he was a boy, the corn rising high in the sun, the buildings his grandfather had built. He hoped he would be able to see it again.

  But he doubted that he would.

  And that was a price he was willing to pay, to keep Coulter safe.

  FIFTY-FIVE

  Solanda paced the tent. It felt smaller and more confining than any other tent she had been in.

  Prisoner.

  How humiliating.

  How wrong.

  But there was nothing she could do. She was in Rugad's Shadowlands, being guarded by his people. She was among Fey, and if she Shifted and ran through the camp, they would know what she was.

  They would know who she was.

  Besides, the door was spelled, and she didn't have time finesse her way under the tent.

  The air was stuffy in here, and still smelled of Rugad's leathers. That meeting had gone poorly. He had believed her about Arianna, but he hadn't seen Solanda's point about her own usefulness. Rugad's problem — and he did have a problem — was that he assumed his great-grandchildren would think like Fey.

  Neither of them did.

  Gift was too soft and Arianna, although she had her great-grandfather's fierceness and intelligence, considered herself an Islander. Nothing Solanda had done could change that. The only way to make Arianna part of the Fey Empire was through loyalty, and Solanda was the Black King's only hope for that.

  But she had slipped. She had let him see the rupture between her and Arianna.

  If she wasn't careful, that rupture would cost her her life.

  She stopped pacing and swallowed. Rugad wouldn't be back. She had sent him away, taunting him to kill her, and he would. She couldn't escape the tent.

  But he had forgotten one thing — or perhaps he had never known. Doppelgängers could not use magick that wasn't theirs. They could overtake a Spy or an Enchanter, but they couldn't use Spy or Enchanter magick.

  They could take over a Shifter in her natural Fey form, but they couldn't Shift once they'd done so. And they couldn't use a Shifter's magick.

  Which meant they couldn't use a Shifter's magick form.

  Solanda blinked, gripped her fists, and took a deep breath. Shifting was her last and only hope. When the Doppelgänger came in the tent, she would have to flee. She would have to run with all her feline swiftness for the Circle door. When she reached it, she would have to leap through it, and head for the river. They would never think of following her into the river. They probably didn't even know she could swim.

  Then she would go to Arianna and convince the girl to bargain with her great-grandfather. It was Arianna's only hope. Rugad was focused on Gift. He wouldn't think a second powerful Fey great-grandchild necessary.

  Solanda closed her eyes and Shifted. Her body compacted downward, her nose and mouth extended, and her limbs became paws. The hair absorbed into her skull and fur grew on her body. Her clothing piled on her, and she stepped out of it, one dainty foot at a time.

  She had Shifted.

  Now the secret was to surprise the Doppelgänger before he surprised her. An attack on the face might do it. The natural reaction to an animal attack on the eyes was to fling the animal away. Or she could run through his legs —

  Voices reverberated outside the tent. Her mouth was dry. She ran her rough tongue over her lips, a nervous habit that she kept from her full Fey form. She slipped to the back of the tent, and waited, poised, in the shadows.

  The tent flap opened. She launched herself forward, leaping at the Doppelgänger's face. Midway through the air, she realized she had made a mistake.

  Several people had come into the tent, not one, and they weren't Doppelgängers. They were Foot Soldiers. Instead of leaping her way out of danger, she had flung herself into the hands of the enemy.

  Literally.

  Her limbs pinwheeled in an attempt to stop her leap, but Gelô caught her. She could feel his extra set of fingernails, extended into her stomach.

  "A pity you Shifted," he said. "Such a small mass of skin. It won't take as much time as we'd hope."

  She hissed and spat and clawed at his face, and knew it was too late. Rugad had won. Despite all she was, all she had done for him, he was treating her like a common murderer.

  He was executing her.

  And there was nothing she could do to stop it.

  FIFTY-SIX

  Rugad's tent was large. It was actually three tents, with op
enings built between them. They were pushed together into a triangle, which allowed him two meeting areas and a place to sleep. This was the configuration he preferred in Shadowlands, rather than the single tent he had had down south.

  Ghost waited for him in one tent. As Rugad approached, Wisdom stopped him.

  "Winglet is in your secondary meeting room," Wisdom said. "She has word of the palace."

  "Make certain the flaps are closed between tents," Rugad said.

  Wisdom nodded and went into the first tent. Rugad gave him a moment before going into the second.

  The second tent was smaller than the main tent. It had canvas chairs made by Domestics on Nye, and soothing blankets covering the floor and the ceiling. They were slightly Spelled so that their colors seeped into Shadowlands. His personal servants had a series of possessions they set up in all of his Shadowlands to make him feel more comfortable. Being surrounded by the familiar made him feel powerful, gave him a sense of community he otherwise would forget during a campaign.

  Winglet sat on one of the canvas chairs, her feet curled beneath her. She leaned forward in the manner of most Beast Riders, protecting both the small creature in her belly and assuming the comfortable posture that she usually had after her transformation. Winglet was a Sparrow Rider. Her beakish nose and brownish feathered hair reflected that. She was tall, like most Fey, but so petite that Rugad could circle her waist with one hand.

  "What news?" he asked.

  "The Riders are in place," she said, "the Infantry is on its way, and the Islanders have tried nothing."

  "They haven't even tried to see if they can get out?"

  She shook her head. "I believe their King is waiting for his meeting with you."

  "Then he will continue to wait. What else?"

  "The Tabernacle is burning. Most of the inhabitants are dead. I suspect the rest will be dead by nightfall. Some of the city is on fire as well." She said this last as if she expected him to yell at her.

  He shrugged. Cities did not interest him unless they were commercial centers. Jahn hadn't been a commercial center for twenty years.

  "All right," he said. "Go back, and tell Flock not to do anything until I arrive. I should be there by morning."

 

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