"The Fey won't attack their own kind," Nicholas said.
"So your children are safe. Fine, but what about all the other children? What about the people you swore to protect."
"I swore in a ceremony run by a false Rocaan."
"You swore before God," Stowe said.
Nicholas clenched his fists. He didn't want to hear this. "You would never speak this way to my father."
"Your father never forgot his obligations."
"Yes, he did," Nicholas said. "He hid in the war room during the Invasion."
"Because if he died, it didn't matter what happened on Blue Isle. You were too young to rule well. The Fey would have won, right there and then." Stowe was speaking so forcefully that his entire body shook. He clearly hadn't slept either, and he was one of Nicholas's father's most favored advisors. Beneath all the bluster, beneath the talk, Stowe was terrified. Nicholas had only seen him terrified once before — when the Fey invaded.
"I can't give in to Matthias," Nicholas said. "I can't allow him to commit murder with impunity. As long as he is Rocaan, I cannot make any agreements with the Fey. I can't bring my children inside a chapel. I cannot be the leader I need to be."
Stowe let out a deep breath and brought one hand to his face. He massaged his temples as if he had a bad headache.
"If I arrest him," Nicholas said, "he won't give up the Secrets. He'll use them as a weapon against us. But if he's afraid enough of the Fey, he might turn those Secrets to someone else."
"He's too afraid of his own Elders," Stowe said. "And I don't think he cares enough about the Tabernacle."
Nicholas shook his head. "That's where you're wrong, milord," he said. "Matthias has always loved the Tabernacle. He loves the history and the importance of it. Until he became Rocaan, he was the voice of reason within that building. Making him Rocaan was wrong. He hasn't the — I don't know — the ability for it. He's not political and he doesn't know how to use his power, and he's terrified that someone will discover he doesn't belong." Nicholas spoke those last words slowly, more to himself than to anyone else. No wonder Matthias guarded everything so closely. It was the only way he had of protecting himself. Perhaps Stowe was right. If Nicholas provided protection, Matthias might give up the Secrets.
The thought made Nicholas's stomach turn.
"If that's true," Stowe said, "then fighting him will only entrench him farther. We have to appear to work with him. Then and only then will he feel secure enough to allow the Secrets out."
Nicholas shook his head. He was actually, physically, queasy. "I can't work with him. I can't help him. He killed Jewel."
"Forgive me, Sire, for lecturing you, but these are the difficulties of your position. You must balance everything. And the fate of the Isle is more important now than what the Rocaan did to Jewel. I am sorry to be so blunt." Stowe was almost bobbing with apology. He clearly knew that he was treading on dangerous ground. But the more he apologized, the more Nicholas listened. "If we tell Matthias that we are guarding him when, in fact, we will be keeping him under house arrest, then he might relax enough to seek help. He was willing to work with you this afternoon."
"I'm sure he won't be now," Nicholas said.
"He actually might," Stowe said. "The man is besieged on all sides. He has no support and, if reports are true, he has no faith to turn to either. You, the Elders, and the Fey are against him. If you embrace him, he will embrace you."
"I can't tell him that he did the right thing." Nicholas turned away. His voice was breaking and his eyes stung. "He didn't."
"I know that, Sire. But we can send a message along with the guards that you have decided to protect him. Promise the conversation later." Stowe put his hand on Nicholas's arm. "Let the lords lie for you. I will. I'll tell him what we need to in order to get him to work with us."
"And then what?" Nicholas said.
"Once we have the Secrets, we let the Elders voice their opinions to the people. We let them tell the people he was a false Rocaan who seized an opportunity. We let them appoint a new leader, and then you can punish him, Sire, as you see fit."
Nicholas walked away from Stowe. The hall had a dampness and a chill that came from disuse. These were old family quarters when Nicholas's family had many children, generations ago. Then they became guest quarters. No one had used these quarters since trade broke off with Nye. No guests had come to the palace in years.
"Twists and turns, that's what you're telling me," Nicholas said. "I'll never be able to act in a straightforward manner."
"That's right," Stowe said. His voice was soft, regretful, as if he knew that Nicholas would be upset about this. "The days of expressing your every emotion are gone, Highness."
He was, as best he could without endangering himself, telling Nicholas that he had made a mistake confronting Matthias. Perhaps he had. As a king. As a man, he had not gone far enough.
"I'll never be able to talk with him calmly," Nicholas said. "I won't be able to tell him I approve of his methods."
"With luck, you'll never have to," Stowe said.
"With luck." Nicholas spat out the words. "I haven't had much luck lately, have I?"
"No, Sire."
Nicholas took a deep breath. Stowe was right. Nicholas had to think about Blue Isle. And about his children.
"I like your idea about house arrest," Nicholas said. "Set up a meeting for me with the other Elders. We'll have it here so that Matthias won't know of it. I'll tell them what we plan."
"No," Stowe said. "The fewer who know that the guards are actually prison guards the better. Let's wait until he gives away the Secrets."
"How will we know?" Nicholas asked. "He might tell someone and ask them not to say a word."
"We'll know," Stowe said. "He'll have to talk with someone. We'll have guards on him at all times."
Nicholas shut his eyes. The stinging had ceased. Instead, they felt very, very dry.
As if he would never be able to cry.
"I don't like this path," he said. "I don't like it at all."
"I know, Highness," Stowe said. "I take full responsibility."
"We have no idea that we can stop the Fey."
"I'll make certain the guards have holy water as well as swords."
But that wasn't what Nicholas meant. Things had changed with the death of Jewel. Drastically. He felt as if the power had shifted again, and that instead of being equal between Fey and Islander, Fey had regained the upper hand. He had nothing concrete for that feeling, just the nagging emotion in his gut.
Perhaps it was the loss of the Rocaan as the moral center. Perhaps it was all the losses combined.
Perhaps it was him. He had placed his own revenge above Blue Isle, a mistake his father would never have made.
A mistake Nicholas would never have made a few days before. The deaths had destroyed something in him. Something fundamental. Something Stowe was addressing now.
Nicholas clasped his hands behind his back and turned. Stowe hadn't moved from the center of the corridor. The light from the stairwell suffused around him, giving him a pale, shadowy look.
"Lord Stowe," Nicholas said, "You were my father's most valued advisor. I know that, and that's why I listened to you this afternoon. But do not, ever, take me to task again in front of anyone. Is that clear?"
He could barely see Stowe's face in the dim light. Stowe smiled, as if relieved that Nicholas had said anything at all.
"Yes, Highness," Stowe said. "I understand my place."
"See that you do," Nicholas said. He nodded, then continued down the corridor.
Alone.
FORTY-FIVE
Burden huddled in the tall grass beneath the great bridge crossing the Cardidas River. He and eight Fey were on the Tabernacle side of the river, not far from the Tabernacle itself. Night had fallen an hour before. The air smelled of mud and the ground had a coolness it hadn't had earlier. Tiny mosquitoes and gnats swirled around him; he continually brushed against his face and bare arms.
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br /> But he didn't move. He didn't want to be seen. He crouched near the edge of the bridge, invisible to passers by but able to see the road and the darkness around it.
He was waiting for Wind to return. Wind, who would scout out the Rocaan's location, and tell Burden. Niche hadn't wanted her mate to come --she was afraid Rugar would find out and if Rugar found out, she was afraid he would take Gift away from them. But Rugar would approve of this mission.
If it succeeded.
And it would succeed. Burden had planned his small troop with care. He had four Infantry with him, all of whom he had worked with in Shima's troop when he had been in the Infantry with Jewel. Then he brought three Foot Soldiers who were careful, meticulous and anxious to be out of Shadowlands. He complemented the group with one Dream Rider who would give them extra protection, and Wind the Wisp who could scout locations without being seen.
This was the best troop that Burden could put together given the limitations of Shadowlands, Rugar's leadership, and the deaths since the Fey had arrived on Blue Isle. He had toyed briefly with bringing a few Beast Riders, but they would actually make this small group more conspicuous than it was.
He knew the Tabernacle grounds as well as any Fey. His Settlement had been across the river from it, and he had stared at the spires of the building every day. Some weeks he went past it, almost as a personal dare, to see how close he could get to the most feared place for the Fey without risking his own life. He had a map that Veil had made for him, and he understood the dangers.
Any Fey seen in the Tabernacle would probably die from the poison.
Any Fey. No matter what his reason for being inside. Especially now.
Lights burned on the ground floor of the Tabernacle, but in the private apartments above only a few lights shone. The moon hung over the river, big and golden. It was still early, but apparently the religious Islanders went to sleep early.
Better for him.
A spark floated toward him on the breeze. It flashed like a firefly, but fireflies didn't exist on Blue Isle. They belonged in Galinas, but not here. Blue Isle didn't even have will-o'-wisps, which presented quite a problem for Fey Wisps. They had trouble masking themselves as anything except fire sparks. And a fire spark this close to the river looked suspicious.
Or perhaps that was Burden's own nervousness showing. No one would even see Wind if they didn't know he was nearby.
The spark landed at Burden's feet. The light went out as the Wisp grew to his full size. He huddled, naked, in the tall grass, his wings wrapped around him for warmth. With his change came the smells of sulfur and smoke.
"He is in the room that Veil promised he'd be in," Wind whispered. His voice had a soft reedy quality. His eyes glowed in the darkness, reflecting the light of the moon. "His fire is still burning near his bed, but his breathing sounds even. He's asleep, or close to it."
"Good," Nightshade said from beside Burden. Nightshade was the Dream Rider. He was twice as old as Burden and bent with the years. His body absorbed light, and he could often pass for a black shape moving across the landscape. Like most Dream Riders, Nightshade could travel in complete silence. His speech was clipped, odd, as if he had learned Fey as a second language which, Burden supposed, he had. "This is the perfect time, then."
"We still have to get across that yard," Amar said. He was Rugar's age and had been in the Infantry since he was a boy. Burden had asked him along hesitantly, wanting experience, but knowing he might not get it. To his surprise, Amar had agreed. On the trip to Jahn, Amar had explained. He liked Jewel. He thought it horrifying that Rugar was doing nothing about her death.
"We have another problem," Wind said. "There's religious guards around the room. One on the balcony, and two in front of the door."
"They didn't see you, did they?" Burden asked.
Wind shook his head. "The one on the balcony didn't notice me at all. The Islander boy left a rope tied to the balcony's edge which they haven't removed. I think it would be our easiest way up."
"The guard will notice us for certain." Owrie leaned back on her haunches. She was slender and strong, but restless like most Foot Soldiers. She rocked on her toes, and hid her hands under her arm pits. Burden was just as glad for that. Foot Soldiers had an extra set of fingernails in the fingertips, thin, razor sharp nails that could slice with such accuracy that they could remove a single layer of skin and keep it intact. There was a magic involved there as well, but he was uncertain of it. He only knew that it was dangerous once evoked --as it was now.
Wind shook his head. "You forget, Owrie. They're not used to us."
"You have a plan?" Amar asked.
Wind smiled. His face looked almost ethereal in the moonlight reflecting off the river. "Surprise always works."
"Not good enough," Burden said. "Let's hear it."
Wind shrugged. "I'll just transform in front of the guard."
"Too dangerous," said Condi. She had been part of Burden's unit in the Infantry, and she was one of the calmest soldiers he had ever seen. "Startle him like that and you'll be poisoned for certain."
Burden shivered. A mosquito brushed his arm and he swiped at it. They were all terrified of the poison. Some of the Fey were so frightened that when he asked them to come with him, they refused. Some even refused the Charm.
"Trust me," Wind said.
"We'll have to," Burden said. "I don't want to go through that building if we can help it. We have a lot more chances of running into that poison inside than we do outside."
"I actually think our greatest difficulty will come crossing that courtyard," said Llan. He was one of the oldest Foot Soldiers, old enough that Rugar even treated him with the respect due the aging. But he had the same restlessness that Owrie had, and he too hid his hands in his armpits.
"We'll have to be silent," VeHeter, the remaining Foot Soldier. She had a deep voice, almost masculine. She was the only one of the Foot Soldiers who was perfectly still. But her hands rested, palm up, on her knees and the tips of her fingers glinted in the moonlight.
"Shouldn't be too difficult," Nightshade said.
"For some," said Fants. He spoke softly but Burden listened. Fants had been a Leader in Nye, but a scandal that no one discussed forced him back into the Infantry. Most of the time, he said nothing. He had only come with Burden because they had spent so much time commiserating over Rugar's poor leadership. Fants thought anyone could do better --even a Charmer.
"Come on, Fants, we can do it," said March. She was the only member of this troop that Burden was uncertain about. Her only battles had been on Blue Isle. She had done well, but she was young. She had strength, and little cunning. Amar had asked that she remain, but Burden couldn't find anyone else to round out the troop, and he felt comfortable only in a contingent of ten.
"One should never assume one's ability to succeed in anything," Fants said.
"If we believed that," Llan said, "then we would never get up in the morning. Don't let one bad experience color everything, Fants."
"Leave him alone," Amar said.
"Quiet," Burden said. "I don't care about your disagreements. We have to do everything right here, or we might not return to Shadowlands."
"Wouldn't that be a shame?" VeHeter asked.
"For some of us it would be," Wind said. His wings were wrapped so tightly around his body that he looked as if he were swaddled.
"Yes, I forgot," VeHeter said. "Some of us are raising Islander children."
"This isn't going to work," Burden said. "We can't fight."
"We can fight," Fants said. "The energy is here. We just have to turn against an enemy instead of ourselves." He glanced at Burden as if asking for permission. Burden nodded once. "The enemy is inside that building. You need to think of two things. The first is that he, in cold blood and with complete duplicity, slaughtered the Black King's daughter when she stood before him in good faith."
"Her mistake," VeHeter muttered.
"Shut up," Condi snapped.
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nbsp; "The second," Fants said as if he hadn't heard the women's interchange, "is that if we succeed, we'll light a spark under our people again. We'll be able to leave Shadowlands for good and get off this horrible Island."
"Dreamer," Owrie said, but she said it with fondness. They all knew the truth of his words. If they succeeded in killing this man, the one with the secret to the poison, they would return to Shadowlands heroes. The moral victory would be worth any price.
Burden squeezed Fants' arm in thanks. "We cross to the rope and climb," Burden said. "Wind goes ahead of us as a diversion, and Nightshade follows Wind to prepare our victim. Are we ready?"
Fey 02 - Changeling Page 48