Fey 02 - Changeling (70 page)

Coulter bit his lips, then licked them and swallowed so hard his small adam's apple bobbed visibly.
 
"It's like the Links.
 
I know they're there, but I mostly don't think about them.
 
I feel like there's all kinds of things I can do, but I don't because I don't need to.
 
I don't really want to.
 
Like blocking.
 
I had never done that before, but it was there when I wanted it."

"If I ask you to do something, can you do it?"

"Some of it," Coulter said.
 
"Why?"

"How do you know you can't do all of it?"

Coulter shrugged and looked away.
 
For a moment, Adrian thought he had lost him.

"Coulter, please," Adrian said.
 
"This is for both of us."

Coulter turned back toward Adrian.
 
Tears filled Coulter's blue eyes, but didn't spill onto his cheeks.
 
"I — they — I know parts aren't ready.
 
Like someday I'll be able to do this, but I can't right now.
 
And I'm really scared —"

His voice cracked on the word "scared" and he broke off.

Adrian put a hand on Coulter's back.
 
"Scared of what?"

"Scared that I'll need to do something and I can't."
 
Coulter blinked and the tears ran down his cheeks, silent streams of misery.
 
Adrian brought the boy close, cradled him against his shoulder.
 
The boy didn't sob, but the tears continued, long and hard.
 
Adrian rested his own cheek against the top of Coulter's head.

No wonder the boy was so tense all the time.
 
He carried so much responsibility, even now.
 
The incident with Gift, instead of giving him confidence, had added more responsibility.
 
What if Coulter hadn't been able to save him?
 
What then?

Adrian knew that feeling.
 
He had lived with it for four years.
 
When the time had come to protect his own son, he had been unable to do so.
 
He had to sacrifice his own life to save Luke's.
 
It had been the only way, and even then it had seemed too little too late.

"Coulter," Adrian said quietly, "you do more than anyone else could have.
 
You did very well.
 
You saved Gift's life."

"But they won't let me see him now."

"They're scared of you.
 
You're not what they expected.
 
People are scared of things they don't understand."

"How come they don't understand me?" Coulter asked.
 
"I'm just like them."

"I know," Adrian said.
 
"But they believed no one else could be like them.
 
You've proven that wrong."

And they would try to see how similar the boy was.
 
Adrian wouldn't let them experiment on Coulter.
 
He wouldn't lose another son to these people.
 
Like he lost Luke.

The Fey had said if Adrian left, Luke would die.
 
But maybe, just maybe, Coulter could prevent that.
 
Especially if it took the Fey a while to learn that Adrian was gone.

That way, Adrian could save both his sons, his real son and his adopted son.

Adrian frowned, remembering something he had heard, years ago, from Jewel.
 
"Coulter, have you ever opened the Circle Door?"

"No," Coulter said.
 
"Why?"

"Because," Adrian spoke slowly.
 
"Because the Fey say that only magical beings can open that door.
 
I can't.
 
But maybe you can."

"Why would I want to?" Coulter asked.

"To go home," Adrian said.
 
"To go back to the Isle, to get out of this place."

"I've never been out of here."

"Except as a baby."

"I don't really remember it," Coulter said.

"If I left, would you go with me?" Adrian asked.

"And leave Gift?"

"For a while.
 
Maybe find your family."

"My family is dead," Coulter said.
 
"They told me that a long time ago.
 
I remember it."

"What do you remember?"

"Them screaming.
 
The woman taking me."

"Solanda?"

Coulter shook his head.
 
"An old woman.
 
She —" he took a deep breath as if this next were hard to say.
 
"She loved me."

The words echoed between them, filled with loss and hopelessness.
 
No one had loved Coulter since he had come to Shadowlands.
 
Even Adrian had held himself back, afraid of losing another child.
 

"Don't you want to see her?" Adrian asked.

Coulter shook his head, brushing his tear soaked face deeper into Adrian's shirt.
 

"Why not?"

"Because she didn't come for me.
 
She didn't want me."

It was as if a window had opened into Coulter's soul. Adrian finally understood the boy.
 
"She couldn't come for you, son.
 
Islanders can't get in here."

"You did."

"I was taken prisoner.
 
I can't leave."

"She can't get in?" Coulter asked.

Adrian shook his head.

"Really?"

"I'll walk to the Circle Door and show you if you want to see.
 
I can't open it.
 
I have no magic, and I'm sure she didn't either."

"Oh."
 
Coulter spoke the word long and soft, almost like a sigh.
 
His entire body relaxed against Adrian's.
  
They remained like that for a long time, so long, in fact, Adrian thought maybe Coulter had fallen asleep.
 
Then Coulter said, "If I let you out the Circle Door, will you help me find her?"

This time, Adrian heard the subtle question behind the practical one.
 
"Coulter," he said, picking his words carefully so that the boy wouldn't feel used yet again.
 
"I consider you part of my family.
 
You will always be welcome at my side and in my home.
 
I'll help you find her.
 
I promise."

"All right," Coulter said.
 
He leaned back and smiled tentatively at Adrian.
 
Then Coulter wiped the tears off his face.
 
"If they want me to stay away from Gift, I will.
 
I'll leave."

The loss of Coulter would terrify Rugar.
 
Adrian smiled.
 
For the first time in years, he could taste freedom.

THIRTY-SEVEN

The Shaman stood in the door to his private suite.
 
She was so tall.
 
In the last few days, Nicholas had forgotten that.
 
Her white hair floated around her head like a nimbus, and her nut brown eyes were deep, deep as any reflecting pool.
 
She wore a white robe that shimmered with each movement; he had never seen such material before.

Nicholas got off his chair and ushered her in, closing the door behind her.
 
The sofas and chairs were empty.
 
He had cleared a place in front of the fire because the tapestries were up, and the cool morning air floated in with the sunlight.
 
The windows overlooked the garden which was empty.
 

He had arranged the meeting in his suite so that they would have complete privacy.
 
Lord Stowe had complained when he heard that Nicholas had dismissed his guards.

But the Shaman had had her chance to kill him the day Jewel died.
 
He knew she would not.

"Thank you for coming," Nicholas said.
 
He wasn't used to looking up at a woman.
 
Even Jewel had been of his height.
 
"Especially coming here.
 
I hope my emissary relayed that we could have gone somewhere neutral."

"I needed to come here," the Shaman said.
 
Her voice was deep and calm, not at all the clipped command tones that she had used a few days previous.
 
"I did not want the others to know I had come."

Nicholas nodded.
 
He had stressed to the page he had sent that this meeting be completely private.
 
The boy was trustworthy — Nicholas had used him before — and completely terrified to see a Fey.
 
Jewel's presence in the palace had never changed that.

Jewel.
 
They had buried her late the previous day in the palace grounds.
 
No Rocaanists had been present.
 
The servants had dug the grave, and the lords had helped Nicholas preside.
 
None of Jewel's people had been there.
 

He couldn't get her from his mind.
 
Every morning he woke up and reached for her, half feeling her presence still in the bed.
 
He would discuss her with the Shaman as well.

"I have several problems, Shaman," he said.
 
"I think they are joint problems."

She threaded her hands together.
 
"I suspect they are," she said.

"Some of my lords are advocating an attack against the Fey.
 
There has already been an attack against the Rocaan, not from my people."

"The boy," she said.

He glanced at her.
 
She hadn't moved from the spot he had led her to.
 
Obviously more was happening than even he knew.
 
He moved a chair closer to the fire.
 
She took it.
 
He sat across from her.
 
The breeze kept the fire low.
 
The air had a smell of rain.

"The boy," Nicholas said, not yet willing to pursue that topic farther.
 
"We also know that one of your people killed my father."

The Shaman sighed softly.
 
"It would have worked, you know," she said.

Nicholas tensed.
 
"My father's murder?"

"No," the Shaman said.
 
"Your marriage."

A sharp pain drove through Nicholas's heart, as if she had wielded a knife with her words.
 
He couldn't sit.
 
He stood, walked to the window, and looked out at the garden below.

The tree branches were no longer bare.
 
The leaves had sprouted, and flowers were budding beside the path.
 
The gardener had tilled the vegetable patch on the far side of walled off area, the dirt looking black and healthy in its patch of sunlight.
 
Clouds were forming to the west, and he could see a haze of rain over the river.