Sacrifice: The First Book of the Fey (The Fey Series)

by Kristine Kathryn Rusch

  Scavenger opened his mouth, about to give the answer he had planned, when what they said reached his brain. They thought he had come from inside. No one had noticed he was missing. A little shiver of anger went through him. He could have been killed by the Islanders and no one would have cared. No one at all.

  “Didn’t they tell you I was coming?”

  Uences shook her head. A strand of hair fell alongside her face. “They don’t tell us anything. I don’t even think they care what happens to us as long as we get the work done.”

  “And Caseo has this thing about Islander bones today. Yesterday it was Fey bones. The day before it was kidneys. I don’t think he knows what he’s doing,” Vulture said.

  Caseo certainly seemed to know when Scavenger had gone to see him, but Scavenger said nothing. The less he said, the better off he would be.

  “He just likes to keep us busy,” Uences said. “We’ve never had to strip bones before, not even in L’Nacin.”

  “How do you remember L’Nacin?” Vulture asked. “You were a baby.”

  “I was a girl. My parents served there. They came home covered in blood. I would have remembered if they had to do bones.”

  The two of them must have been arguing throughout the entire job. Scavenger was glad he hadn’t been there. “Which of you do I replace?” he asked.

  “Me.” Uences stuck her knife into its small sheath, let the bone she was holding drop, and handed him her half-filled pouch. “I don’t do this kind of work.”

  “Now, wait one damn minute,” Vulture said. “I haven’t slept in two days. You can wait until the next relief comes.”

  “As if there’s going to be a next relief,” Uences said. “They promised me I could leave at dawn. Does it look like dawn to you?”

  “No,” Vulture said. “I can barely see. Next thing you know, I’ll cut off my own finger.”

  Scavenger looked back and forth between them. He really didn’t want to work with Uences, but he knew what it was like to slave for days with no recognition. He also knew that whoever went inside now would probably be back in a few hours when Tazy sent for replacements.

  “How long have you worked, Uences?” Scavenger asked.

  “Since twilight,” she snapped at him. “And they only provided one Fey Lamp—and the souls in that one were withering. How do they expect you to do good work when you can’t see? Talk about almost losing a finger. I almost lost two of mine in the dark.”

  “I’m sorry,” Scavenger said, knowing he would be even more sorry in a few hours. “But I’m going to relieve Vulture.”

  Vulture clapped him on the back so hard, the sound rang through the forest. “My man!” He grinned. “I finally get to sleep. And I don’t have to listen to her chatter anymore.” He put his knife in its scabbard, handed the scabbard to Scavenger, and threw the finished pouch on the pile of pouches to wait for the Domestic. Then he took the half-filled pouch from Scavenger’s hand and made a show of giving it back to Uences. “Have a good time, all,” he said, and scampered for the Circle Door.

  “What did you do that for?” Uences picked up a bone and began shaving it, her cheeks red. “I have seniority.”

  “And he needs to sleep sometimes.”

  She brought her face up. “Let me tell you something, little man,” she said, using the tip of her knife to emphasize her words. He took a cautious step backward, and she followed. “I have seniority. That ain’t much, but it’s something. Red Caps don’t get respect, or love, or even like, but we do get seniority, which gives us the permission to do whatever we want whenever we want. I earned that, and that’s about all I will have ever earned. When you get to my place, you’ll understand that seniority is more important than sleep. It’s more important than food. It’s more important than anything.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Scavenger took out Vulture’s knife and grabbed a femur.

  “Don’t ‘yes ma’am’ me,” Uences said. “You’ll understand when you’re my age and have nothing to show for years of work. Years of filthy, stinking work and the taunts and the lack of respect. You’ll understand.”

  “I’m sure I will,” Scavenger said.

  She pushed the tip of her knife against his breastbone. “Are you making fun of me?”

  He grabbed her wrist with his free hand. The knife could shred him in a matter of moments. “No,” he said as evenly as he could. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  She apparently took him seriously, for she removed the knife.

  “I’m sorry,” he said softly, “about letting Vulture go.”

  She grinned for the first time since he arrived. “Don’t worry about it, kid,” she said. “If I had really thought I should go, I would have. Seniority, you know. You got even less power than I do.”

  He knew that. He knew that very well. He sighed and settled in to work. Soon someone would replace him. When they did, he would go inside and kill Rugar, just as he promised. And the hell of it was, he could kill Rugar in front of a thousand Fey, and most would never notice him. They would notice only that Rugar had died. The Red Caps might see Scavenger, and those who did wouldn’t be angry at him for the deed.

  They would cheer.

  SEVENTY-FOUR

  Nicholas had built a fire in the west-wing library. He welcomed the warmth on his right side, even as he sat in his favorite window seat overlooking the servants’ quarters. He had finally decorated the room a bit, adding cushions and a few chairs since he spent so much time alone there. He was hoping for a glimpse of Charissa. He had been dreaming of her every night, passionate dreams in which he held her in his arms. But midway through she always turned into the Fey woman he had captured, and his passion increased. The desire he felt for that woman, the fact that he hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind for over a year, disturbed him more than he cared to admit to anyone.

  A knock on the door startled him. He thought he had complete privacy. He got out of the window seat. “Who is it?”

  “Lord Stowe.”

  Nicholas grabbed the vial of holy water he now kept beside him at all times, unstopped it, and hid it in his right hand. “Come.”

  Lord Stowe opened the door and closed it very carefully. Nicholas kept his distance. He no longer trusted anyone, not until they proved themselves. He tossed the open bottle at Lord Stowe. When Stowe caught it, water splashed all over him. He smiled.

  “Nice test, Highness.” He crossed the room, clutching the vial, and handed it back to Nicholas. Half the liquid was gone. Nicholas replaced the stopper and put the vial in his pocket. He did not apologize. He didn’t have to.

  “I have a young man outside,” Lord Stowe said, “and he has quite a story. I think you should talk with him.”

  “Me?” Nicholas asked. “What can I do? Why aren’t you taking him to my father?”

  “I’m not sure he should get near your father, and someone needs to hear this besides me.”

  “Anyone can go near my father if you test with holy water.”

  Lord Stowe smiled. “Wait until you see what happens when you try that.”

  The hair on the back of Nicholas’s head prickled. The idea of danger intrigued him. “Where is this man now?”

  “Outside the door,” Lord Stowe said. “With several guards. I would like to bring him in without the guards, if that’s all right by you.”

  “What am I seeing him for?”

  “His story,” Lord Stowe said. “It’s quite fantastic.”

  “Do you believe it?”

  “I won’t prejudice you, Highness, one way or another.”

  Nicholas walked back to his window seat and perched on it as if it were a chair. A few days before he had hidden another bottle of holy water beneath the cushion. He moved the cushion aside slightly to see if the vial was still there. It was, with the same strand of hair wrapped around its cork that Nicholas had placed there.

  “All right,” Nicholas said. “Show him in.”

  Lord Stowe bowed and backed to the door, then st
ood and pulled the door open. He spoke for a moment to someone in the hallway; then a man came in—a boy, actually, a few years younger than Nicholas. He was squarely built with a hint of future power. His face was gaunt and acne-scarred, and his eyes were dark blue and wide with fear.

  “Highness, if you please, your holy water,” Lord Stowe said as he held out his hand. With his other hand he pushed the door closed. Nicholas left the stopper on the vial this time and tossed it at Lord Stowe. He caught it, took the stopper off, and sprinkled some on the boy.

  Where the water touched the boy, it turned green and glowed for a moment before fading away. If they had poured a bucket of holy water on him, the entire boy would have glowed.

  “What are you?” Nicholas asked.

  The boy bowed and remained bent until Lord Stowe spoke softly to him. Then the boy stood. Lord Stowe put his hand on the boy’s back and propelled him forward until they were only a few feet from Nicholas.

  “My name is Luke,” the boy said. “I live with my family near Killeny’s Bridge, or I did until I volunteered to help fight the Fey.”

  “You were born here on the Isle?” Nicholas asked.

  Lord Stowe was watching the boy with concern on his face. He hadn’t taken his hand off the boy’s back.

  “Yes, sir. I didn’t glow green till they sent me back, sir. I don’t know what it is!” The boy’s voice rose with each word, wobbling in panic. The panic, Nicholas realized, was not from the boy’s proximity to the Prince, but from the green glow itself.

  “Yet nothing happens to you, except the glow?”

  The boy nodded.

  “He was one of the Fey prisoners,” Lord Stowe said. “They set him free.”

  Now Nicholas’s attention was fully caught. “They set you free?”

  “Yes, sir. My father, he bought my freedom, sir, by promising to stay with them forever and telling them all they needed to know about Islanders.”

  Nicholas glanced at Lord Stowe, whose gaze met his. The concern on Lord Stowe’s face mirrored the concern Nicholas felt. “What does your father know?” Nicholas asked.

  “Not much,” the boy said. “I doubt they got much from the bargain. He don’t even go to Sacraments, beg pardon, sir.”

  “Who is the boy’s father?” Nicholas asked Lord Stowe.

  “He’s a farmer near Killeny’s Bridge. Apparently he joined up early on, and then when his son joined, he stayed with him, to protect him. He’s never been near the King, and he’s never met anyone more important than a Danite, so far as we can tell.” Lord Stowe had done his homework before bringing the boy in. But Nicholas did understand why they didn’t want him anywhere near the King. His father was taking enough risks talking with the Fey prisoner. He didn’t need another.

  “I come to Lord Stowe, sir, to ask him to rescue my father. But then his people poured holy water on me—and it glowed. But I feel fine. I do.” The boy shook. His terror was almost palpable.

  Nicholas stood. “What happens when you touch him?” Nicholas asked Lord Stowe.

  “Nothing. I can pour holy water onto my hand when I’m touching him. He glows and I don’t.”

  Nicholas nodded. He touched the damp spots on the boy’s tunic. The area felt warm from the boy’s skin. But there was no glow, nor any transfer of great power, so far as Nicholas could tell.

  “What did they do to you, boy?”

  “He was there for a number of days,” Lord Stowe said. “I will brief you later.”

  So too much to recite in a short visit. “Did they give you anything before you left?”

  The boy shook his head. “Just the clothes. I wore them to Jahn, but when we found the green glow, I took them off. The glow stays.”

  “The clothes glow, too,” Lord Stowe said.

  Nicholas touched the boy’s skin. It was soft, not the skin of a laborer, and tanned. But again he found nothing unusual. “Did you come to Lord Stowe of your own free will?” he asked.

  Lord Stowe started. Apparently he had not thought to ask that question. But, then, he hadn’t heard most of the stories from the Fey prisoner.

  The boy nodded. “I come to ask him if he would rescue my father.”

  Nicholas let go of the boy. He was afraid to ask the next question, afraid he might not want to hear the answer. “Where are they keeping your father?”

  “In their place, the Shadowlands,” the boy said. “It’s horrible there, all gray with nothing growing. It’s like they put a box in the sky. Please. I could hardly stand it. My dad loves the green. He’ll go crazy in there.”

  All gray with nothing growing. Nicholas couldn’t even picture it. “I’ll do what I can,” he said, uncertain even what that was. His father said he had a plan for bringing down the Fey, but they had had plans before.

  Lord Stowe patted the boy’s shoulder. “I’ll rejoin you outside in a few moments.”

  The boy nodded, turned, and stopped. Then he turned again, bowed, and backed out of the room in proper fashion. When he had shut the door behind him, Nicholas took a deep breath and leaned against the window seat.

  “They did something to him, didn’t they?”

  Lord Stowe nodded. “But we can’t tell what it is. As far as we know, his story is accurate, and I had Theron—the man who led the attack—check him over. He recognized the boy, said there was nothing different. Although Theron did say there was a third man taken prisoner. When I asked the boy, he got tears in his eyes and refused to talk about it.”

  “Dead?”

  “I don’t know,” Lord Stowe said. “I think we have to assume this boy is dangerous in some way, a way we can’t comprehend yet. I recommend placing him in protective custody until we can figure out what to do with him.”

  Nicholas tugged on his ponytail. “He seems very concerned for his father.”

  “I believe that’s genuine,” Lord Stowe said. “But the Fey might be using that as a way to lure us into Shadowlands. I think we tell the boy we’re doing what we can, but stay away from their Shadowlands for the time being.”

  Nicholas sighed. “Choices. I dislike these choices. You were going to tell me what happened to him inside.”

  Lord Stowe smiled. “Apparently, he and his father got lenient treatment because one of the Fey women took a liking to the boy.”

  “Seems odd that she would let him go in that case, doesn’t it?”

  “No. He shows a curious loyalty to her.”

  Nicholas frowned and stared at the door. It was sturdy oak, but with the boy just outside, Nicholas didn’t feel safe. Actually, that was wrong of him. He hadn’t felt safe since he’d learned of the various Fey magicks, and how close they had come to doing away with him.

  “I was thinking, Highness, of keeping him under guard at my place,” Lord Stowe said.

  “Why would you do that?”

  “So that I can watch over him.”

  “No,” Nicholas said. “The quarters are safer.”

  “Beg pardon, Highness, but I disagree. If we have the same guards watching over him in my place with strict procedure, we’re better off with him there. You can check me each time I come into the palace and do the same with the regular guards. In the quarters too many people have access to him.”

  “What about the man who led the attack? Can the boy stay with him?”

  Lord Stowe shook his head. “Too risky. That man is the one who brought the Fey prisoner to us. We have no idea if he has been infected by a different kind of magic.”

  “And you brought the boy to me. The same kind of problem could exist.” Nicholas smiled. “I see your point, Lord Stowe. Have a contingent of twelve guards rotating every few hours watch him. Set up an elaborate check and double check with holy water. I’ll inform my father of him and see what we can come up with between the two of us.”

  Lord Stowe bowed. As he stood, he said, “One other thing, Highness. A woman saw me just before the boy came. She swears that a cat stole her baby.”

  “What?” Nicholas said. “A cat?”r />
  Lord Stowe nodded. “A golden cat who changed into a woman in the moonlight. The woman sounded a bit deranged to me, but since things have been quite odd around here this last year, I thought you would want to know.”

  “I do want to know,” Nicholas said. He braced his hands on the window seat, letting the sharp stone edge bite into his palm. “What did the cat do with the child?”

  “Took it to the Shadowlands,” Lord Stowe said.

  “And you’re sure it was an Islander child?” The stone was turning Nicholas’s hands cold.

  “Positive. It was too old to be Fey, for one thing, and the woman could name its parents.”

  “I thought she was its mother.”

  Lord Stowe shook his head. “The Fey murdered the parents. She rescued the baby and hid it until the Fey left.”

  “So they may have been after this child before.” Nicholas’s mouth was dry. That cat was connected to the Doppelgängers. Maybe the child was one too.

  “So it would seem.”

  Nicholas nodded. “Thanks for letting me know. When you take care of the boy, let me know what you’ve done with him.”

  Lord Stowe bowed again, apparently understanding the dismissal. He backed away and let himself out, closing the door behind him.

  Nicholas closed his eyes and fell against the window seat cushions. All of this was too much. That cat—if it was only one cat—had a lot to do with the problems happening near the palace. And the boy, touched by the Fey in a way that was not comprehensible yet.

  Or maybe he was Fey. Maybe they had discovered a way around holy water. But if that was true, why hadn’t he attacked Nicholas? Tried to take a place in the palace?

  The Fey never did things logically. After a year of battling them, Nicholas knew that much. He sighed and sat up. Time to talk with his father. The only thing he could hope was that his father’s plan was a good one.

  SEVENTY-FIVE