Nicholas nodded. He made himself turn, the mug cupped to his chest. "I will do what I can for you," he said.
"I was so afraid you'd want me killed," Luke said. "I was afraid that I made things worse."
"I don't know how you could have made things worse," Nicholas said.
Both Stowe and Luke bowed, then they left the room. The chamberlain followed them, closing the door behind them.
Nicholas stood alone before the crackling fire, his hands wrapped around a cool mug of lukewarm tea. He didn't know how to tell the boy that his action hadn't bothered Nicholas at all. Someone had to avenge Jewel. It would have been so much easier if Luke had been successful.
So much easier.
No Matthias to worry about. The Rocaanists would choose a new Rocaan, and Island life would go on as usual.
But it couldn't be that way.
Unless Nicholas did nothing. Then the Fey would avenge Jewel's death.
And in doing so, would ruin an innocent life.
Nicholas was sworn to protect those lives. And even though Matthias administered the oath, the oath was still valid. Nicholas's father would have been so disappointed if Nicholas had done anything but follow the life he was born into.
Jewel would have been disappointed too. All her life, she had done her best for her people. Even in marrying him.
Especially in marrying him.
Nicholas went to the window and pulled back the tapestry. The irony bit into him. Jewel was the only one who would have understood why he couldn't avenge her himself.
THIRTY-SIX
Adrian's small cabin had become home. Mend had helped him fix it up. He had a thin cot, two chairs, and a tiny fireplace, barely big enough for three logs. When he arrived, the Fey had tried to give him Fey lamps to hang overhead, but he had refused. Somewhere along the way, he had learned that those lamps were lit with the souls of the enemy dead. He didn't want to see by the remains of his own people.
He used candles instead.
The result was a tiny room that was always smoky. The cabin had no windows, of course, because all they would look on was grayness, but sometimes he wished for a window so that he could open it. The smell of candlewax and woodsmoke was sometimes too much to bear.
But it was better than being in the Shadowlands proper where the Fey could watch him.
He had no real duties any more. He was more of a prisoner than he had ever been. And his teachings had led to the murder of King Alexander and, possibly, the death of Jewel.
Not that he cared about her. She was the one who had made the bargain that sealed him in this gray place forever.
At least Luke was all right. Even now, years after Adrian had made the agreement, the fact that Luke had survived and done well was a comfort. The third prisoner, Ort, had died rather horribly a short time into their captivity.
Adrian stretched out on his cot. He was sleeping more and more, finding less time to do the handful of things they assigned him. There were no books in Shadowlands, and the Fey believed he was unteachable, so they didn't try to work with him. Instead, they gave him menial tasks and didn't care if he completed them. An occasional Fey would ask him for lessons in Islander, but even those had become rare. Most of the Fey who wanted to know the language did.
He heard a thump outside his cabin, then the door swung open. Coulter ran in as if something were on his tail. He launched himself at Adrian, wrapped his arms around him, and held on. Coulter hit with such force that it knocked the wind from Adrian's body.
The door slowly swung closed behind him.
Adrian put his arms around the boy and stroked his hair, as he used to do for Luke, when Luke was young and frightened. Coulter had never allowed Adrian to hold him. They had a tentative relationship, formed more out of defense than anything, the only two Islanders in Shadowlands, both prisoners. Adrian at least knew what he had lost; Coulter hadn't been outside the grayness since he was a year old.
It took a moment for Adrian to catch his breath. The boy was clinging to him so tightly he would have finger-sized bruises later. Coulter was shaking and if Adrian hadn't known better, he would have thought that Coulter was suppressing a sob.
Adrian had learned through all the years of raising Luke alone that the best way to handle a boy this upset was to give him time. And since Adrian had time — and a lot of it — he would wait.
Gradually, the boy's shuddering eased. Then his grip loosened. For a moment, Adrian thought Coulter had fallen asleep, but the boy didn't take his characteristic deep breath and shuddering sigh. Adrian had gotten used to the boy's breathing on the long nights. Coulter could still sleep and sleep hard. Adrian, no matter how much he tried, had trouble sleeping longer than an hour or two.
Which was one reason that he napped as much as he did.
Coulter usually slept on a mattress that they rolled up during the daytime — or what the Fey declared to be daytime, since the inside of Shadowlands never changed. Adrian had taken Coulter in when he found the toddler sleeping on a pile of garbage near the Circle Doors. Apparently the Domestics who were supposed to tend him didn't pay much attention to him. He didn't belong to anyone, so no one took care of him.
Until Adrian.
Even then, though, Coulter had refused to let him close. And not once, in all those years of sleeping in the same cabin, and talking about the history of the Isle, did Coulter ever demand to be held.
"You ready to talk now?" Adrian asked.
His shirt was damp. Coulter had been crying.
Coulter's breath hitched the first time he tried to speak. Then he pushed himself up on one elbow, careful to keep his arm on Adrian's cot instead of his chest, and wiped his face with his sleeve.
"They said I can't see Gift no more." His voice sounded young and pouty. Coulter never sounded young. That was one of the things that Adrian marveled over.
"Who said?"
"Rugar."
Adrian stiffened. If Rugar were involved, something serious had happened. "Why did he say that?"
"Because Touched told him that I was too powerful."
They were speaking in Islander, as they usually did when they were alone. Adrian believed that Coulter should learn the language of his own people. But sometimes Islander didn't cover the nuances of Fey magic.
"Tell me in Fey," Adrian said. "What did they mean by powerful?"
"Rugar brought Touched to me," he said, switching languages, and lying back on Adrian's chest as if he didn't want to look at him, "and he tried to get me —"
"'Get you?'"
"It was strange. He shot fire at me and light and words and I had to block them."
Adrian's hands froze on Coulter's soft hair. "Block them?"
Coulter nodded, his head moving against Adrian's chest.
"Were you able to?" Adrian asked.
"It was hard, and once I couldn't."
"What they say about your being able to block?"
"Touched kept saying it was impossible."
That was what Adrian would have thought too. The Fey used the word "block" very specifically to mean prevent an attack by the use of magic.
Adrian swallowed. He wanted to ask the next question as carefully as he could. "Did you block using your hands or your mind?"
"My mind," Coulter said. "How do you block?"
Adrian stroked Coulter's hair again. He didn't want this conversation too seem any odder than it was. "With my hands," he said.
"That doesn't work," Coulter said.
"I know."
"What about thinking? Can't you block by thinking?"
"No," Adrian said. Obviously Coulter could. Coulter. Blond, round-faced, blue-eyed. So clearly Islander that the Fey treated him little better than a dog.
Except Solanda. She had brought him here, spoken of magic, and left, never to care for him again. Mend thought Coulter had magic too, but Adrian had thought that woman-talk for a child's specialness. He had never thought she was serious.
"How do you keep them from
hurting you then?" Coulter asked.
Adrian buried his face in Coulter's hair. It smelled of Domestic soap and child-sweat. "Sometimes I don't," Adrian said.
Coulter was silent for a long time. The fire was burning low and a chill was building in the cabin. But it didn't matter. The heat of Coulter's body was more than keeping Adrian warm.
"How come they won't let me see Gift?"
"I don't know," Adrian said. "Did you block something Gift sent you?"
Coulter shook his head. His grip had tightened on Adrian. Gift and Coulter were the only two children of their age in Shadowlands. A few other children had been born in the last year or so, but they were much too young to interest three and five year old boys. Forbidding Coulter to see Gift was like forbidding him to eat. Coulter only had two friends: Gift and Adrian. And of the two, Gift was the one he relied on the most.
"Member the other day when I left here?" Coulter asked.
Coulter had left the cabin at full tilt run. Adrian had asked him where he was going, but Coulter hadn't answered. Adrian figured that Coulter was going to do boy things, and never questioned beyond that.
"Yes," Adrian said.
"Gift got really sick. The Shaman and the Domestics were gone. So I helped him."
"You —?"
Adrian stopped himself. This conversation had become surreal, but he didn't want to sound disbelieving. Coulter was hard enough to talk to without doubting his every word.
"How?" Adrian asked.
"He was still Bound to his mother. She was dying. I cut the Link."
So simple. Fey terms. Magic terms that spoke of concepts that Adrian only dimly understood. He thought about what Coulter said for a moment. Cut the Link. With Jewel.
Gift's mother.
No wonder Rugar took credit for the boy.
"How did you cut the Link?" Adrian asked.
"I Linked him to me," Coulter said as if that were the most simple concept in the world.
"And that saved him?"
"Everybody's Linked," Coulter said. "Some Links are better than others. You got a strong one that goes out the Circle Door."
All Adrian's Links went out the Circle Door. He had none inside. Except for Coulter and Mend. Much as he hated to admit it, he too had two friends in Shadowlands. A five-year-old frightened boy, and a Fey woman.
"And one to you," Adrian said softly.
"Yeah," Coulter said.
They were silent again. The silence was comfortable. And Adrian found he liked the feel of the boy's body against his. It had been a long time since he had shared an affectionate touch with anyone. He missed it. He missed his own child. But Luke was not a child any longer. He was a man full grown.
The flames were burning blue. Soon he would have to add another log or the fire would go out. Adrian didn't move. He couldn't lose the warmth. And he wanted a chance to think.
Coulter was Islander, but raised among the Fey. He had never left the protection of Shadowlands, never seen the green grass or the blue sky. Since he was a baby barely old enough to walk, every person he touched, everything he did had a Fey focus. The only Islander he knew was Adrian, and Adrian had sought out that Link, not Coulter. Adrian wasn't even certain Coulter knew he was different.
But he was.
And perhaps the difference came from being raised in Shadowlands, breathing the Fey's magic air, thinking in the Fey's guttural language. Perhaps magic wasn't innate as the Fey insisted. Perhaps it was learned, just like mannerisms, language, and food preferences.
"I don't want to stay away from Gift," Coulter said quietly.
"I don't think you should," Adrian said.
"They said I have to until Touched was done with me."
Adrian had to work to keep his body relaxed after that statement. No one cared about this boy, no one except him. No one thought about what it would be like to have his best friend taken away. No one thought about how a boy would react to experiments.
Experiments had killed Ort.
"You have a Link to Gift, don't you?" Adrian said. "They can't take that away, can they?"
"If they do, he might die," Coulter said.
Maybe Adrian shouldn't worry about Coulter. In some ways, Coulter was far ahead of him.
"What does Touched plan to do with you?"
"See how far my powers extend."
The words had to be Touched's. Coulter had never spoken in concepts like 'extend' before.
"Can you just tell him?" Adrian asked.
Coulter didn't move. For a moment, Adrian wondered if the boy had heard. But he had to. He had his ear pressed against Adrian's chest.
"I think he knows," Coulter said.
Adrian frowned. Sometimes the Fey were as alien to him as fish. "If he knows, then why the test?"
"Because he's afraid," Coulter said. "Really afraid. Once he saw what I could do. He and Rugar said that what I can do, it changes everything."
Adrian closed his eyes. Of course Rugar would see it that way. He saw his own daughter as a way to achieve his own ends. He had somehow brought his grandchild here. And now he had turned his attention to a child he hadn't thought worthy of such attention. Coulter.
And the truth was, it did change everything. If Islanders had the ability to learn as Coulter did, the Fey weren't as all powerful as they believed.
"What can you do?" Adrian asked.
Coulter frowned. "I never thought about it," he said. "I just do."
Adrian nodded. He didn't want to push Coulter, but he needed to know. This could be important to both of them. It could be important for the Isle itself.
"What do you do?" Adrian asked.
Coulter shrugged. "Like the Link. I didn't think about it. I just did it."
"Did Gift call to you? Is that how you knew to do it?"
Coulter shook his head. "I knew I had to see him. And I didn't question it. I just went."
Adrian took a deep breath. Something fluttered in his stomach — a kind of excitement, a bit of hope. He ignored those feelings. He would have time to sort those out later.
"Was that the first time that's happened to you?"
Coulter shook his head. "I've always been able to do things. You know that."
Actually, Adrian hadn't known that. Coulter had been a very private child. Interesting that he assumed Adrian would know what he had been doing. Perhaps their connection was closer than Adrian thought.
"Explain this to me," Adrian said. "Rugar called it a power? What kind of power?"
Coulter raised himself on his elbows. He squinted at Adrian. "Why do you want to know?"
Adrian gazed back at him levelly. He could lie, he supposed, and just say he was interested. Or he could tell a partial truth, that he was concerned for Coulter. Or he could be completely honest. "Islanders don't usually have powers, Coulter," Adrian said. "We are non-magical beings."
"You're saying I'm Fey?" He had hope in his voice. Adrian winced.
"No." Adrian had to quash that idea quickly. "I'm saying that you may have taught us something about the Fey. Magic might be a learned thing. All Islanders might be able to learn it."
"So I'm not Fey?"
"No. You're too old and too Islander to be Fey. But you could be as good as the Fey. Maybe even better."
The hope had left Coulter's eyes. It had shocked Adrian more than anything in this conversation. The boy wanted to be Fey? It made sense, he supposed. Coulter couldn't remember life outside of Shadowlands. All he had ever known was that he was not Fey. He didn't really understand his own heritage.
"How can I be better?" he whispered.
"Rugar didn't know what you were," Adrian said. "He brought in Touched, a Warder who should have been able to tell too. They wanted to know how far your powers extend. Boy, if they could tell what kind of magic you had, they would have known. They wouldn't have had to check."
Coulter nodded. He looked thoughtful. The adult expression was back on his face. Adrian studied the boy, finally understanding. The adult attitude
s Coulter adopted were a cover, a way to pretend he didn't care. He was more mature than the average five-year-old and smarter, too, but he was still a child.
A child who was trying to make sense of a world that didn't care for him.
Adrian heard the unspoken questions. Will they like me better if I have magic? Will I become one of them if I can act like them? Will they value me?
Fey 02 - Changeling Page 39