Fey 02 - Changeling (83 page)

"Excellent," Rotin said.
 
"We have him now."

No protection, no nothing.
 
The skin's blood magic broke the spell.
 
Touched grabbed a towel near the front of the table and started to wipe his arms.
 
Rotin was inspecting their work.

"Very, very good," she said.
 
A bit of ancient blood smeared the side of her face.
 
Her bald head seemed small compared to the circle of flesh next to her.
 
She looked at Touched and grinned.
 
"Should we test it?"

"Why else build it?" he asked.
 
The blood wasn't coming off.
 
It had been a long time since he was this covered.
 
He would have to go to the Domestics when he was through and ask for help cleaning his hands and arms.

"Ready?" Rotin asked.

Touched shook his head.
 
"Give me a moment."
 
He came over to her side of the table.
 
Her work was sloppier than his, her skin overlapping in places.
 
There were no gaps, however, not even tiny ones.

She rolled up the sleeve on her robe.
 
"All right," she said.
 
"Here goes."

She shoved an arm through the mass of flesh.
 
It quivered, then adjusted.
 
It looked as if the ball of flesh had eaten to her elbow.
 
Rotin leaned forward.

"He's moving," she said.
 
Touched couldn't tell if her tone held triumph, irritation, or both.

Make it stop!

The mental blast hit Touched so hard he nearly fell backward.
 
He caught the edge of the table to steady himself.
 

Rotin didn't seem to notice.
 
She had shoved her arm into the flesh bubble all the way to her shoulder.

Did we hurt you?
Touched Sent back.

Make it stop!
 

Terror came with the Sending.
 
That was what had sent him backwards.
 
Complete, total terror.

The boy had probably never seen anything like a preliminary shield breech.
 
He probably hadn't even known what his shield looked like outside of his head.

Did we hurt you?
Touched Sent again.

Keep away!
 
Keep away!

"Better pull out," Touched said to Rotin.

She glanced at him, frowning.

"The boy is Sending.
 
He's terrified."

"The first breech is always frightening," Rotin said, but she pulled her arm out.
 
Her skin was covered with long black streaks from the sides of the bubble.
 
The hole in the bubble closed immediately.

"So he's a weak one," she said.

"No," Touched said.
 
"That Sending was strong."

"He couldn't take my physical touch.
 
Imagine a real one."

"He's just a boy," Touched said.
 
"I don't even know if he's reached six years."

"Old enough to shield."

"But too young to know all the tricks."

"No one taught him," Rotin said.

"He learns quickly enough."
 
The bubble below had surprised Touched.
 
The boy was gifted and brilliant.

"Let's see how quickly," Rotin said.
 
She squinched her face.
 
Touched learned quickly too and this time he recognized the look.
 
She was going to Light-Send again, another attack, like the ones he had leveled at the boy.

A beam of light shot from Rotin's eyes.
 
Touched set up his own block in front of the bubble.
 
When the light bounced back to Rotin, she stopped Sending, and the light disappeared.

"You're making things worse," she said to Touched.

He shook his head.
 
"That's a boy in there.
 
Little more than a baby.
 
He's talented, but weak.
 
If you kill him, we have nothing."

"I won't kill him," Rotin said.

Touched crossed his arms over his chest.
 
"Your Light-Send is too strong.
 
I won't let it through."

"You will," she said.
 
"Because I head the Warders."

"No one heads the Warders," Touched said.
 
"Not really.
 
And you can do nothing to me."

"Touched, I can have you removed —"

"When the Black King comes."
 
Touched smiled for the first time since he brought the boy into the cabin.
 
"Which may be never."

Rotin sighed.
 
She obviously realized that threats wouldn't work.
 
"All right," she said.
 
"I'll be gentle."

"Swear," Touched said.
 
"On your powers.
 
Swear."

She tilted her head toward him.
 
Her expression convinced him that she had no intention of being gentle.
 
"What would you do to me if I wasn't?"

"This boy is our only chance to understand Islander magic.
 
Our only chance.
 
If you hurt him, I would have to hurt you."

"Idle threats, Touched.
 
I'm more powerful than you."

"No," Touched said.
 
"You used to be."

"You can't harm me," she said.

"Anyone can harm you," he said.
 
"All they have to do is catch you after you've taken a few herbs."

Her face hardened and she turned away.
 
She had clearly heard the truth of that statement.
 
"I won't hurt him," she said through gritted teeth.

"Good," Touched said.
 
He remained behind her, arms crossed, waiting.
 
She sent a very weak light through the bubble's skin barrier.

The boy screamed.

"Is that all right?" Rotin asked with a hint of sarcasm.

"Perfect," Touched said.
 
"Just perfect."

FORTY-FOUR

Nicholas dismounted and handed the lathered horse to Ejil.
 
The groom frowned at him — Nicholas had run the horse hard — but said nothing.
 
He murmured words of comfort to the horse and led it into the stables.

Stowe and Monte rode in behind him.
 
Nicholas turned his back on them and walked across the courtyard.
 
The ride hadn't calmed him.
 
If anything it had left him more agitated.

The servants in the courtyard gave him a wide berth.
 
He must have looked as furious as he felt.
 
Matthias had all but said that he had intended to kill Jewel.
 
He had said that Nicholas would be better off without her.

Better off.

The idiot.

No one was better off now.
 

And Matthias wouldn't listen.
 
He wouldn't give the Secrets away, which would put the entire kingdom in crisis.
 
The Fey would kill Matthias — it was only a matter of time — and when they did, Rocaanism would die with him.

It would all rest on Nicholas's shoulders.
 
The people wouldn't understand why their power and their religion had completely disappeared.

Of course, the Fey hadn't managed to kill this Rocaan so far.
 
They had stopped trying after Nicholas had married Jewel.
 
Who knew what kind of tricks they had now.

Nicholas's cape fluttered behind him as he walked.
 
He felt like Rugar — both powerful and powerless.
 
He hadn't been able to figure out how to use his strengths yet.
 
He had been King for a little over a week, and in that time, he had barely had time to think, let alone learn.
 

He could use his father's advice at the moment.

Or Jewel's.

He yanked open the kitchen door only to find it stuck.
 
Lord Stowe had his hand on the top of the door.

"Forgive me, Sire," Stowe said.
 
"But Monte and I need to talk with you."

"I'm through talking," Nicholas said.
 
He needed to get away from the duties for a little while.
 
He needed to spend time with Arianna, to remember why he even tried at all.

"I think not, Sire."
 
Stowe held the door firmly.
 
"I know this is irregular, but you need our help."

Nicholas needed help, but he wasn't sure he wanted to admit it, at least not to one of his lords.
 
"Let me by, Stowe."

"Highness —"

"Stowe, the mood I'm in it would be best not to trifle with me."

"I'm not trifling, Highness."

And he wasn't.
 
He was looking at Nicholas with the same expression Nicholas's father sometimes used, a bit of compassion mixed with stubbornness.

"All right," Nicholas said.
 
"As we walk."

"Highness, this matter had best be discussed in private."

"As. We. Walk.
 
Understand?"
 

"Yes, Highness."
 
Stowe took his hand off the door.
 
Nicholas pulled the door open and entered the kitchen.
 
It smelled of warm bread and curing meat.
 
The blood near the hearth fire had been cleaned up, but he still saw Jewel there, her body lifeless as it gave life.

Monte flanked him on one side, Stowe on the other, as they had done when they went to see Matthias.
  
The roar of the hearth fire seemed loud.
 
The chefs were pounding meat to tenderize it, and some of the serving women were shouting at each other across the room.
 
A few of the servants saw Nicholas and bowed as he passed.
 
He waved a hand, indicating that they should ignore him.

"Highness," Stowe said, "the incident with the Rocaan —"

"Was my choice," Nicholas said.
 
"He murdered my wife."

"Yes, Sire, but —"

"But?"
 
Nicholas was glad he was walking.
 
If he were alone in a room with Stowe, he would grab the man by the throat.
 
"No but, your lordship.
 
She's dead, and Matthias killed her."