Fey 02 - Changeling (42 page)

He hadn't known that.

Until now.

"I will never forget my daughter," he said, and left.
 

TWENTY-FOUR

Rugar's head was bowed as he walked, his back stooped.
 
He was not the tall, proud man he had been when he confronted Nicholas and Jewel in the corridor only hours before.
 
Nicholas watched him go, but said nothing.
 
He allowed his own shoulders to sag slightly in relief.

The Fey women had rigged up a bottle with a nipple and were feeding the baby.
 
She was cradled in one of the women's arms, her head tilted back, drinking hungrily.
 
Sebastian slept in the nurse's arms, his face beautiful in repose.
 
Two difficult children.
 
One who could not think for himself and one who could not hold her human form.

And his wife, dead at his feet.

"What are the Islander death customs?" the Shaman asked.

Nicholas blinked.
 
He didn't know how long he had been standing in one position, staring at the door Rugar had left through.
 
It took a moment for the Shaman's words to register.
 
"I think," he said slowly.
 
Another decision.
 
This time about Jewel.
 
"I think she would want to be buried Fey."

"We do not bury our dead," the Shaman said.
 
"We use them."

"Use?"
 
He had to come out of this stupor.
 
He swallowed, turned, and faced her.
 
Even she was taller than he was, and she was bent with age.

"Forgive me," she said softly.
 
He realized then that she was speaking flawless Islander.
 
"Our customs developed during war.
 
We take the skin and use it to create magic.
 
Some of our people use the blood in their spells.
 
And the bones become tools for the weavers and the other Domestics."

The idea made his stomach churn.
 
But so did the thought of putting Jewel into the ground, where she would, over time, disintegrate into nothing.

"I think she would prefer that."

The Shaman shook her head.
 
"We cannot use her that way."

"Because she is the Black King's granddaughter?"
 
He didn't understand their customs.
 
He would never understand their customs.

"Because the poison robs us of our magic. We can only use magical beings for the death rituals.
 
Parts of the nonmagical go to the Warders for experiments.
 
Those experiments would not be fitting for Jewel."

Experiments.
 
On skin he had touched, a body he had loved, a woman who had been strong and feisty and brilliant all at one time.
 
"I don't know how we can bury her," Nicholas said.
 
"It was the Rocaan who killed her."

The Shaman watched him for a moment.
 
"It would be more appropriate to keep her with you."

He couldn't think about it.
 
He didn't know what to do.
 
Her own people didn't want her.
 
He would take her.
 
He wanted her, always.
 
"I'll figure out what to do," he finally said.

"Good," the Shaman said.
 
"Mend, fix another bottle.
 
Then give him the child."

The Fey women started collecting their things.
 
The woman holding the baby handed her to another woman, and began preparing a new bottle.

"Wait," Nicholas said.
 
"You're not just going to leave her with me?"

"Of course," the Shaman said.
 
"You're her father."

"But I've never --what if she changes again?"

"Change her back," the Shaman said.

"I can't.
 
I'm not Fey."

"She got her wild magic somewhere," the Shaman said.
 
"It had to come from you.
 
She is your daughter.
 
No full Fey child would have such pale skin and such blue eyes."

"I don't know how to keep her in one piece," he said. "Please.
 
Help me."

The Shaman smiled.
 
"You will do fine."

"No," Nicholas said.
 
But the woman holding his newborn daughter handed the baby to him.
 
She was light, weighing no more than his sword, and warm in her makeshift blankets.
 
Her features were small and wrinkled, and she had a tiny birthmark on her chin.

"I will check with you when I can," the Shaman said.
 
"You will send word to Shadowlands if there will be a ritual for Jewel."

"Wait!" Nicholas said.
 
"Please, tell me, will the baby be all right?
 
My son, he --isn't --and if this child isn't, then I don't know what I can do."

"Your son," the Shaman said slowly, as if she were mulling over the words.
 
"Your son is lost to you.
 
Jewel called this child the future.
 
She is right.
 
This baby is more precious than anything on the Isle."

"Then help me care for her."

"I am," the Shaman said.
 
She nodded to the women.
 
They took their belongings, and left through the same door Rugar had.
 
The Shaman left last.
 
She did not look back.

Except for the scent of garlic, it was as if they had never been in the palace.

Nicholas turned to Burden.
 

"What should I do?" he asked.

Burden's too-thin face looked haggard.
 
His eyes were bright with tears.
 
"Listen to her."
 

"Can you help me?"

Burden shook his head.
 
Then he paused next to Jewel, and lightly touched her hands.
 
He murmured something too soft for Nicholas to understand, then stood and left with the others.

The nurse huddled in the corner, watching him, her lower lip trembling.
 
Sebastian slept in her arms.
 
His skin looked old and cracked, as if the grief had broken something inside him.
 
The cat was curled next to the fire, but it was watching Nicholas.
 
The baby gurgled, and reached her tiny hands toward his face.

This morning he had awakened and thought he would end the day in a feast celebrating his coronation, his wife beside him, his child as yet unborn.
 
Instead, he stood alone in the kitchens of the palace, holding the baby that he hadn't even acknowledged until this week, his wife dead at his feet.

"I don't know how to care for you," he said to the child in Fey.
 
Not that she would understand Fey.
 
She was too young to understand anything.
 
But it was easier to deal with her than the body of her mother.

"I do."
 
The voice that spoke sounded familiar.
 
It took him a moment to recognize it as one of the Fey voices that had been consulting over Jewel.

He glanced around, but the kitchen was empty except for the nurse and himself.
 
The nurse looked as startled as he did.

"I always said Islanders had no imagination." The voice sounded exasperated.
 
"Look here."

"Where?" he asked.

"The fire, you idiot."
 

The cat was sitting up, her front paws pressed together, her black eyes staring at him.
 
He had never seen a black-eyed cat before.
 
The cat sighed.

"You would think a man who took a Fey to wife would be able to see beyond surfaces.
 
But Jewel never was very deceptive that way."

The cat stood and stretched its long form, tail curling behind it.
 
Then its mass wavered like a heat dream on a hot day, shimmering before him, changing, growing.
 
The fur receded, revealing skin the color of gold.
 
Then the shimmering stopped.
 
A woman crouched on her hands and knees.
 
She stood, completely naked.
 
She had small breasts and narrow hips, but her hair wasn't dark like most Fey.
 
It was tawny.
 
She had a birth mark on her chin, and a feline look to her face.
 
Even so, she was the most beautiful woman Nicholas had ever seen.

The nurse made a small squeak, and placed a hand protectively over Sebastian's head.

"It's all right," Nicholas said reflexively, although he wasn't sure if it was.
 
This was the creature that he had heard about.
 
The one who had appeared before the odd deaths five years before, the one who stolen the baby from a settlement near Daisy Stream.
 
The one who had provoked his father's decree outlawing cats.

"The Shaman is wrong," the woman said.
 
Her voice was husky and feral.
 
Her long vowels almost sounded like meows.
 
"That child will need expert care."

"How can the Shaman be wrong?
 
She's the expert among you." Nicholas didn't know that.
 
He had merely assumed that from the way the others had been treating her.

"Shamans are experts, yes," the woman said.
 
"But she's young and inexperienced.
 
That's the only reason the Black King let her come.
 
There hasn't been a Shape-shifter in nearly a century.
 
I'm the last.
 
The Shaman who birthed me assigned me my own Domestic, and I still came close to death seven times before the end of my first year."

"You steal children," Nicholas said, mostly because he didn't want to think about what she had said.

"Oh, of course, especially when I think their magic will be ignored.
 
But I can't very well steal this one, can I?
 
The Shaman made that clear.
 
This little girl can't go into Shadowlands or her evil grandfather will --I don't know --force her to turn into the Black King or something."
 
The woman rolled her eyes.
 
Her face and tone held a layer of contempt that sounded almost familiar.
 
"It's time to face my heritage, I think."

"Face your —"

"Didn't Jewel teach you anything?"
 
The woman sighed again, and placed on hand on a slender hip.
 
"Of course not.
 
Jewel didn't need to.
 
She thought she'd be here."

Nicholas tightened his grasp on his daughter.
 
She was quiet, her tiny face turned toward the woman's voice.

"It is said that Shape-shifters steal babies because they can't have any of their own.
 
The Shifts get in the way, they say.
 
It's actually a misunderstanding of the Shifter way.
 
I can hold my form for as long as I want.
 
But we're delicately attuned to the magic within others and cannot bear to see it mishandled --ah, you don't care.
 
You just want to know if I'll take that little girl from you."