Fey 02 - Changeling (58 page)

"Very, Highness," Canter said.
 
The dull red had risen in his cheeks again.

"Can you do this?"

Canter's lower lip jutted out slightly.
 
"I'll have to, won't I?"

"Only if you want to keep your position," Nicholas said.
 
He gave Canter's clothing an appraising glance.
 
The gold embroidery sparkled in the candlelight.
 
The rings on Canter's fingers were worth more than Ejil, the young groom, would spend in his entire life.
 
"And it looks as if you'll be lost without your position."

The red in Canter's cheeks grew even darker.
 
To his credit, though, he gave no other indication of his great anger.

"Highness," Enford asked quietly.
 
"How will you achieve this exchange with the Fey?
 
Do you need our services?"

Nicholas shook his head.
 
"I know how to speak to them.
 
I will do so my way."

He climbed the stairs back to the throne and sat.
 
Then he stared at his lords.
 
Impossible to say which would be loyal to him.
 
Even Egan, who had touched him with kindness earlier, had reason to oppose Nicholas's policies.
 
After all, the Fey had slaughtered his son.
 
Stowe had been loyal to Nicholas's father, as had Enford, but who knew how such loyalties transferred.

"I will be acting quickly," he said.
 
"But if word of this reaches Matthias before I take action, heads will roll."

"Literally, Highness?" Canter asked.

"Possibly," Nicholas said.
 
He waved a hand.
 
"You're all dismissed."

This time the lords were careful to bow on their way out.
 
They did not speak as they filed past. Fesler struggled with his chair.
 
He set his cane aside and attempted to pull himself up.
 
Nicholas waited until the last lord had left the room before going down the steps.
 
He put a hand beneath Fesler's elbow and eased the older man to his feet.

Fesler's arm was fragile in Nicholas's grasp.
 
The bones were thin and brittle.
 
Fesler trembled as he rose to his feet.
 

"Had I realized movement was so difficult for you," Nicholas said, "I would have arranged a better place for this meeting."

Fesler's smile was sad.
 
"Movement has been difficult for years.
 
I used to hide it better.
 
I think this week destroyed the strength I used for pretense."

"I had never realized you were in such poor health," Nicholas said.

"It is not poor," Fesler said.
 
"My condition is chronic.
 
Your father knew.
 
We had to discuss it when I first became ill.
 
There was no one to take on my estate."

"And now?" Nicholas asked.
 
He had not had time to look into any of the records.

"Now I shall wait and see if the plans I made are the plans I should follow," Fesler said.

Nicholas nodded. He understood that.
 
Fesler looked at him. They were standing closer than they ever had, in all the years Nicholas had known him.

"You reminded me of your grandfather today."
 
Fesler patted Nicholas's arm.
 
"This is good.
 
We need strength, particularly now."

"I don't feel strong," Nicholas said.

"But you act it.
 
That is enough."
 
Fesler braced his cane on the floor and shifted his weight from Nicholas to the cane itself.
 
"It is a shame
 
your strength had to come from events as tragic as these.
 
But we cannot choose how we are forged."

"I would have preferred an easier way," Nicholas said.

"As would I, boy.
 
As would I."
 
Fesler leaned on the cane and slowly made his way up the aisle.
 
"You know you made an enemy today."

"I know," Nicholas said.
 
"My grandfather used to say that a strong man made an enemy every day."

Fesler stopped walking.
 
He peered at Nicholas over his shoulder. "Your grandfather," Fesler said, "was not always right."

THIRTY-ONE

Rugar knocked once on the door to the Wisps' cabin, then let himself in.
 
The cabin smelled of woodsmoke and fresh baked bread.
 
Gift was sitting on the floor, as he often was.
 
When he saw Rugar at the door, he let out a small yelp and backed away.
 
Rugar terrified the boy and he wasn't sure why.

"Mama!" Gift cried, then stood and backed away until he was braced against the wall. Rugar smiled at him, but did not put him at ease.

Gift was a beautiful child.
 
His hair was shiny black that reflected the flames from the fireplace as blue.
 
His eyes were round, startling, and full of intelligence.
 
His upswept brows, high cheekbones and thin features made him appear Fey, but his face belonged to his father.
 
Anyone who saw him and Nicholas together would know Gift's paternity.

Rugar could never forget it.

Niche peered out of the back room.
 
She was holding a towel.
 
Wind was at her shoulder, his delicate features haggard.
 
They had the look of people who had gone days without sleep.

"I thought you'd be in mourning," Niche said.
 
Her voice was cold.
 
She set the towel on a tiny table to her left and came into the room.

"I heard the boy had some trouble."

"He's fine now."

Gift was watching them from the wall.
 
For one who had supposedly come close to death, he looked the healthiest of all of them.

"The Shaman had said he would not survive the night.
 
I would like to know what happened," Rugar said.

Niche looked at Gift.
 
His eyes were wide.
 
"Gift, will you leave us please?"

"No," he said, his tone surprisingly adult.

"Gift," Niche said.
 
"I need to talk with your grandfather alone."
 
She had turned toward the boy to speak with him and Rugar saw that her wings were bandaged and held close to her side.
 
Something had happened here.
 
Something serious.

"Come, boy," Wind said.
 
"Let me take you outside."

"No," Gift said again.
 
He hadn't taken his gaze off Rugar.
 
The boy's old eyes had a malevolence to them that they had never had before.

Rugar crossed the room in two strides and crouched in front of Gift.
 
The boy tried to push himself even farther into the wall.
 
"Do you have something to say to me, son?"

Gift pursed his lips.
 
Niche shook her head at him. He didn't even look at her.
 
His eyes narrowed, and he looked just like his father had when Rugar tried to take the baby.
 

"You let her die."
 
The boy's words were stark, flat and cold.

Rugar took a step back.

Niche put a hand over her heart and looked at Rugar, as if asking him to explain.
 
Wind straightened his brows in confusion.

Rugar felt as if the air had been knocked from him.
 
"What?" he asked.

"I been thinking about it," Gift said.
 
"You let her die."

"No one's dead, Gift," Niche said.

"Then why should he be mourning, huh?
 
And why do you make me call him Grandfather?
 
You don't call him father.
 
Neither of you."

Niche looked at Rugar as if pleading with him. But he couldn't get a footing on this situation.
 
Too much had changed for him too quickly.

Rugar swallowed.
 
"I didn't let anyone die."

"You let my real mother die."
 
Gift spat the words at him.
 
They felt like little arrows entering Rugar's skin.

Niche gasped.
 
Now it was Wind's turn to look at Rugar in shock.
 
They both thought he had told the boy.
 
He hadn't said a word.

"I didn't let anyone die," Rugar said again. The sentence sounded weak.

"You did," Gift said.
 
He still leaned on the wall.
 
Rugar still frightened him, but not enough to stop the boy from speaking.
 
"I been thinking about it. You knew she was going to die.
 
You said I Saw something and I Saw her die.
 
And you knew that would happen and you did nothing."

"You don't understand, boy," Rugar said.

"I understand.
 
I understand real good."
 
Now the boy pushed off from the wall, the depth of anger propelling him forward.
 
He wasn't yelling, but the power behind his words gave him a force that Rugar couldn't ignore.
 
Rugar felt riveted to his spot.
 
Apparently Niche and Wind did as well for they didn't move at all.

"You don't care about nobody," the boy said.
 
"When that old lady told you my real mother was dead, you turned to me.
 
And when the old lady said that I was dying, you said you wanted that baby.
 
Not because you like us or want us, but because we can do something for you."

"I'm sorry, Rugar." Niche came up behind the boy and put her hands on his shoulders, holding him back.
 
"But he was very ill."
 

"I wasn't ill," Gift said.
 
"I was dying.
 
The old lady said I almost died because of him."

Niche's gaze met Rugar's over the top of Gift's head.
 
"The old lady?" Niche asked.

"The Shaman," Rugar said.
 
He was breathless with wonder.
 
"He Saw the fight I had with the Shaman."

"But how?" Wind asked.
 
"He's just a boy.
 
I thought that Vision was an aberration."

"I thought Vision didn't break the fog of the present," Niche said.

"Sometimes it does," Rugar said.
 
He had seen Gift watching, but hadn't realized that the eyes belonged to his grandson.
 
Until now.
 
"But that's not what happened here."

"You lied.
 
And you killed her.
 
You killed my real mother."
 
Gift strained at his mother's grip.
 
Her hollow bones wouldn't be able to restrain him much longer.