Sacrifice: The First Book of the Fey (85 page)

The guard’s quarters had rare glass windows. Alexander didn’t ask, but he suspected that Monte had had the windows installed before he’d moved Scavenger in there, so that the guards could watch the conversations between Alexander and Scavenger in case the little man tried to do anything to harm the King.

In two days of talks Scavenger hadn’t made a move.

That hadn’t stopped Alexander from covering his body in holy water before he went into the room and bringing vials in with him. The guards were armed with the same, and Monte always accompanied Alexander inside, carrying a pitcher of holy water. Then Monte would leave, and Scavenger would explain the horrors of the Fey to Alexander. Alexander didn’t want anyone else to hear. He didn’t want the rumors to start.

On this day Scavenger sat on one of two wooden chairs, his head bowed and his legs spread. His elbows rested on his thighs, with his hands hanging between his knees. The picture of dejection. Alexander still wasn’t quite certain what Scavenger wanted, but being locked in this tiny room clearly wasn’t it.

Alexander took the other chair and moved it away from the wall. Each night, apparently, Scavenger moved some of the furniture to give himself space. Once Alexander had asked a guard what Scavenger needed room for. The guard had said that the little man paced until the wee hours.

Monte gave Alexander a nervous glance—the same one he had used for days now, and Alexander ignored it. He knew the risks. He hated it when Monte reminded him. Besides, if nothing had happened by now, nothing would.

At Alexander’s signal Monte left the room. Alexander leaned on the back of his own chair, refusing to sit down. Scavenger looked up at him.

The little man’s face had a small web of lines running across it, accenting the already fluid nature of his features.

“Tell me, Scavenger,” Alexander said, speaking Nye, “what would have happened to you if you had stayed in Nye?”

Scavenger started at the question. Obviously it hadn’t been one he expected. “I had no choice but to leave,” he said.

“Did you do something?”

He shook his head. “I was part of Rugar’s team. Most of Rugar’s team had a choice, but the Red Caps didn’t. We have no choices at all. We’re supposed to do what we’re told.”

“And what would have happened if you had stayed?”

He shrugged. “I suppose the Black King would have had me killed as an example to the others.”

“No farm, no normal life, no dream?” Alexander asked, remembering what Scavenger had told him that first day.

Scavenger laughed. “Farm? Cottage? And who would live beside me? Another Fey? No, sir. My choice was made as a young man when it became clear I wasn’t going to grow any more, and I didn’t have any magick. I could help some of the Domestics with the things they couldn’t do by magick, and maybe, if I was good, I could marry—but probably not, since most Fey would fear that my children would be as deformed as I am.”

“Deformed?”

Scavenger stood and turned around, arms held over his head. “I’m not even as tall as you are, and among my people, you’re short. I have no magick. I am not slender. Do you know that Red Caps don’t live to a ripe old age? When they are no longer strong enough to do their work, they are killed, or they wander off never to be seen again. I talked back to Caseo, which in some circles is a death warrant for Red Caps.”

“Is it to Rugar?”

“Probably,” Scavenger said, “if it gets in Caseo’s way. Rugar sees Caseo as our only hope to get out of here, to defeat that poison of yours.” As he mentioned the holy water, he glanced at the pitcher on the end table. In one of their earlier meetings, he had asked that it be removed, and Alexander had refused. Scavenger knew he was a prisoner, and part of him didn’t like it at all.

“I’ve been thinking about this for days.” Alexander walked around his chair and sat down. The room was hot and stuffy. “Right now our people have yours held back, but we can’t seem to gain any advantage. You tell me that Fey do not negotiate or strike bargains, so that leaves me no choice but to insist they leave Blue Isle. If I let them go, they will return home and get reinforcements, maybe figure out the solution to holy water, and maybe not—but it probably won’t matter, because they will come back with such force we would have to fill the Cardidas with holy water in order to fight them off.”

“You’re beginning to understand,” Scavenger said.

“But I don’t want them here,” Alexander said. “I want you to tell me a way that I can gain an advantage.”

“You would have to slaughter us all to get rid of the Fey now,” Scavenger said. “Even if you did win a battle, even if you did soundly defeat us, you can’t prevent a ship or two from going back to Nye. Such a defeat would send the Black King, eventually. The Fey cannot afford that kind of loss. People would know we are defeatable.”

Alexander stood. “I don’t want Fey on Blue Isle for the rest of my life.”

“You have no choice,” Scavenger said. “From the moment the ships came through the Stone Guardians, your people had no choice but to coexist with the Fey. The question is, how will you do it?”

Alexander sighed. He had been afraid of that answer. He had hoped Scavenger would say something else, that the Fey would move on, leave Blue Isle alone once they saw they had no hope. But Alexander knew better. The Fey were here, and he had to find a way to get rid of them without bringing more Fey to the Isle.

He leaned on the small table, his hand near the pitcher, not because he distrusted Scavenger, but because he wanted a measure of safety for the next series of questions. “If we defeat the Fey, soundly defeat the Fey, will the Black King come for us?”

Scavenger shrugged. “He should have come already. No one knows why he’s not here. There’s talk that he can’t get ships through those Stone Guardians.”

Alexander had heard no report of ships outside the Guardians, but he had sent the Guardian Watchers to the Snow Mountains. “Do you think he will come?”

Scavenger shook his head. “He didn’t even see the ships off, and that’s his custom. I think he’s trying to get rid of his son.”

Scavenger’s response so startled Alexander that he nearly knocked over the pitcher. Scavenger backed away from him. “His son? He would kill his son?”

“He has four grandchildren. He doesn’t need Rugar.”

Alexander looked up. “Would a man be that ruthless with his own family?”

“The Black Kings are. Black Queens even more so. One of them had five of her oldest children killed so no one would contest the succession of the youngest.”

A shiver ran down Alexander’s back. He couldn’t imagine killing Nicholas for any reason. These Fey were beyond him. Perhaps the Rocaan was right. Perhaps they had not a shred of decency in them.

Still, Alexander would have to trust Scavenger’s opinions. Alexander would have to base his plans on the theory that the Black King would not arrive. It was the Isle’s only chance.

Alexander watched Scavenger closely, hoping the man would answer the next question truthfully. “So what would happen if Rugar died?”

Scavenger started. The question had surprised him. Apparently Red Caps thought of killing Spell Warders, but not leaders of any kind. “I don’t know,” he said slowly. His face had gone white. “I don’t know.”

He stood, too, and Alexander inched his own hand closer to the pitcher. But Scavenger turned his back and pushed the chair aside. He put his hands behind him and walked to and fro, muttering and shaking his head.

This was the pacing the guard had been talking about, and it bothered Alexander. He slid his fingers around the base of the pitcher. The ceramic was cool to his touch.

“No one likes the Shadowlands,” Scavenger said, almost to himself. “And some don’t believe in Rugar’s Visions anymore. Jewel is too young for Visions.” He looked up at Alexander, eyes wide. “They would fight for leadership, and some would run. They would find a safe place among your people, or try to go up the river.”

“No new leader would take their place? Doesn’t Rugar have a succession plan in case he dies in battle?”

“Visionaries don’t die in battle,” Scavenger said. “They’re too well protected.” And then he smiled. “Except here, where he could get splashed.”

Alexander didn’t smile. He watched Scavenger’s face. Even though he tried to control his reaction, the very idea disturbed him. It disturbed Alexander as well. The second murder. Only this one would not be by his own hand.

“Rugar’s death would destroy us,” Scavenger said.

“I thought that was what you wanted,” Alexander said.

Scavenger shook his head, just a little. “I want Caseo dead.”

“What would happen to Caseo?”

“He would try to take over and”—this time a beatific smile crossed Scavenger’s face—“someone would kill him. No one likes him. They would all want to be rid of him. No matter who leads, if anyone does, they won’t put up with Caseo. He has too much power. He’s too dangerous. And he made a mistake bringing that young, talented Spell Warder with him.”

“A mistake?” Alexander asked.

Scavenger nodded. “He’s replaceable. He doesn’t think he is, but he is.”

“So if Rugar dies, you would be free to live as you want, and you would get your revenge.”

Scavenger stared at him as if he were speaking great heresy. And he probably was. But the man was in Alexander’s custody. Alexander could say what he wanted. The little man wouldn’t get out unless Alexander wanted him to.

“If Rugar died,” Scavenger said slowly, “things would change here. On Blue Isle.”

“As long as the Black King didn’t arrive.”

“Maybe not even then,” Scavenger said. “It depends on how long it would take him to get here.”

He sounded convinced. Or at least he sounded as if he was thinking it over. Alexander couldn’t rush this. If he did, he might lose Scavenger forever.

“But Rugar is a young man,” Scavenger said. “Fey sometimes live to be twice his age. And he’s well protected.”

“How well?” Alexander asked.

“Whenever he’s out of Shadowlands, he has two bodyguards at all times. And they can protect him against anything.”

“What about in Shadowlands?” Alexander asked.

“You can’t get into Shadowlands.” Then his eyes widened. He sat down abruptly, like a child losing its balance. “Oh,” he said. “You mean me.”

Alexander nodded, unable—afraid—to say anything.

“I can’t kill Rugar. I—no one would forgive me.”

“But you aren’t going to live with those people anymore.”

Scavenger shook his head. “You don’t understand. They would send someone after me.”

“Only if two things happened,” Alexander said. His eagerness made him want to rush the words. He forced himself to speak calmly. “First, you would have to be seen. And second, they would have to have some kind of organization in order to come after you. You said the society would disintegrate. Were you wrong about that?”

“No.” He rubbed his knees. “No. I’m right about that.”

“Then you’re safe.”

“No.” He spoke the word softly, as if he couldn’t say anything else. “Someone will see me. Shadowlands is close quarters. Like this place.”

“But you said no one notices Red Caps. Would they notice you? And if they did, would they know it was you that they saw and not someone else?”

He looked up. His mouth was open, and the tips of his fingers traced his lips as if he couldn’t remember their shape. “No one would notice me.”

“Then you could do it.”