Sacrifice: The First Book of the Fey (83 page)

“Negotiate a peace,” Jewel said. “We should do it in a convincing manner, so they think we might coexist here. If they don’t want us to do that, they can give us the way out of the Stone Guardians, and we can go back to Nye. Then we can talk to Grandfather and attack when he’s ready, after we have learned the secret to the poison.”

“They would be fools to give us the way out of the Stone Guardians,” Rugar said. “They would know that we would get reinforcements. The Black King would never suffer a defeat under his rule. It’s a nice idea, Jewel, but not workable.”

“I’m not done.” The phrase came out harsher than she wanted it to, almost imperial. Rugar raised his eyebrows at her tone. Despite the urge to apologize, she didn’t. “If they refuse to let us have the route, then we play the defeated people. We give them a show of faith—return the prisoners, turn in our weapons, something—and once we learn their secrets, once they’re complacent, we attack again. This time we know their weak points, we’ll probably have access to their King, and we’ll win the Isle.”

“You make it sound simple, Jewel.”

“It is,” she said.

He shook his head just a little. “Treachery is never simple. We have to keep this secret from most of our forces. Some might rebel. Then we have to watch for the right moment, the right time to attack. It might take years. Do you want to stay in Shadowlands for years?”

“Why won’t you consider this?” she asked.

“I’ve already considered it,” he said. “It’s a nice idea, but not necessary. We will find the secret to the poison. Once we do, we attack. They’ll surrender more quickly than any other people we’ve ever encountered. They’re used to winning and haven’t really experienced the pain of losing. They’ll do whatever we want.”

Jewel stared at him for a moment. She didn’t remember him being this blind in the past. He had always been able to see a situation clearly, whether it looked like the Fey had an advantage or not.

“I hope you’re right, Papa,” she said. “I hope you’re right.”

SIXTY-EIGHT

 
Eleanora’s ribs hurt so badly, she could barely stand. The fact that Helter made her lean on a pair of handmade crutches didn’t help. Pier had made a splint and tied it to Eleanora’s right leg, keeping her foot bent and off the ground. Her good leg was tired, and her armpits ached.

She had been waiting now most of the afternoon. Helter had wanted to take her to the palace, but he was told she wasn’t important enough. Somehow he got her a meeting with one of the King’s advisers, a Lord Stowe, in his home.

Lord Stowe’s home was the size of a palace. Eleanora had never seen a house so big. It took up most of a block. Helter had wanted to come in with her, but she had asked him to wait outside. She had wanted to tell this story herself.

Helter had accompanied her to Jahn. He’d borrowed a friend’s horse-drawn cart, which had bumped so hard against the ruts in the road, it had made tears run down her face. Helter had found lodgings for the two of them with a friend, and in the morning Eleanora had been so stiff, she couldn’t move. Helter had offered to go in her stead, but she had come so far, and endured so much pain, she’d figured she could stand a little more.

She hadn’t expected to be waiting in a room with furniture so ornate she was afraid to sit down.

Helter had taken her to the back door, and a servant had led her through the kitchen into a room that was the size of the cottage she had shared with Drew. The room smelled faintly of woodsmoke even though the fireplace wasn’t in use. A pipe sat in a tray near an overstuffed chair. Someone liked spending time there.

The servant had bade Eleanora sit, but even after the servant had left, she remained standing. Furniture crowded the room, chairs against walls, tables and seating arrangements in the middle of the thick carpet. Her makeshift crutches caught on the nap, and she had to place one forward to keep from falling.

She leaned on the crutches and stared at the shelves, and the tiny things everywhere. Small carvings on the tables, a tiny silver sword built into one of the lamps, a painting of an elderly man over the fireplace. She had never seen so many possessions in all her life—and these were in one room of a huge house.

Finally the door opened. The man who entered was wearing breeches tied at the knees and a white shirt, and he had his brown curls pulled back behind his head. He was balding, and he had deep circles beneath his eyes.

“Good day, miss,” he said. “I’m Lord Stowe. Your man said this was urgent.”

She nodded. “I’m afraid I’m unable to curtsey, sir.”

He looked her over, his tired gaze taking in her crutches and splint. His smile was sympathetic. “I completely understand,” he said. “I hope you haven’t been standing this entire time. I would beg you to sit.”

“No, sir,” she said. “I couldn’t. I’ve been traveling in these skirts.”

“I’d rather you muddy a chair than pass out on my rug,” he said.

She flushed and sat on the red stuffed sofa. The sofa was hard, even though it looked as if it should have been soft. Aches grew in her body. She hadn’t realized how very tired she was. “Forgive me for taking your time, sir,” she said. “But I would hope you can help me.”

“I will try.” He sat in the overstuffed chair and turned it to face her, his hands folded in his lap.

“My child was kidnapped. The woman who took him was Fey.”

Lord Stowe gaped, then recovered and closed his mouth. “Did someone see the woman? Are you sure the child didn’t—forgive me—wander off?”

Eleanora bit her lip, then ran her tongue over the spot her teeth had touched. She decided to ignore his unintentional assumptions about her child-rearing skills. She took a deep breath, then looked away from him, studying her hands. They were gnarled and covered with spots. The hands of an old woman.

“This will sound crazy, sir,” she said, “but I brought a cat in the day before. She looked hungry, and my boy liked her, and I gave her some leftover food and some water. It seemed all right. I’ve always shared with God’s creatures and never had any trouble before. But in the middle of the night, sir, my baby woke me up. He was laughing. When I went into his room, a Fey woman stood in the moonlight wearing one of my shifts. She was playing with him. She said she would take him away from me, so I grabbed him and ran. He is just a little thing—he didn’t weigh much, but I can’t move very fast. The cat ran out ahead of me—and here’s where it sounds crazy, sir—it changed into the woman, only this time she wore nothing. She was younger than I am, and stronger. She broke my ribs and my leg, and took my boy. Some of the men chased her, but they lost her on the trail. At dawn they followed her path as best they could. They think it led to the Fey place.”

“Shadowlands?” Lord Stowe asked.

She nodded. The retelling had brought tears to her eyes.

“And you’re convinced this was not a dream.”

She brought her head up. He was holding the unlit pipe, turning it over and over in one hand. He appeared interested in her answer, again seeing nothing wrong with the question.

“Oh, no, sir,” she said, keeping her voice calm. She had come to him for help. She had to remember that. “Others saw the woman, too, although I’m the only one who saw her change.”

He nodded, brow furrowing. “How old was your boy?”

“A year and a half, sir.”

“So he was not a Fey child.” He muttered the last, as if he had been thinking it all along.

Her cheeks grew hot. “No, sir. The Fey killed his parents. I got him out before they could find him.”

Lord Stowe set his pipe down. He pushed himself out of his chair and walked over to the fireplace, his back to her. “Do you think they wanted him for a reason?”

The memory came unbidden. The slender woman looking natural in the moonlight, her voice so confident, so sure she could treat Coulter better than Eleanora could. “She said he had magick. That if he grew up with her, he would learn how to use that magick, but if he stayed with me, he would not understand his power at all.”

“Magick.” Lord Stowe turned around so that he could see her face. He grabbed the back of the chair nearest him and leaned on it. “Are you sure he was born on Blue Isle?”

Eleanora nodded. “I helped with the birthing, sir. I knew his parents since their marriage, long before the Fey came.”

“And his parents were Islanders?”

“His mother was born near Daisy Stream. I watched her grow up.”

“And his father?”

“Was from the Snow Mountains, sir. He was a good man, very handy at wood carving. The Fey killed them on the day of the invasion, and I sneaked the baby away, or they would have killed him too.”

Lord Stowe rubbed his chin. “They have an Islander whom they claim has magick.”

He shook his head, then studied her for the second time. Somewhere in the last few moments he had come to regard her differently. She could see it in his face. She was no longer a poor woman, little better than a servant. She was someone who had lost a child.

“What do you want me to do?” he asked.

Tears filled her eyes. She thought her need obvious. “I want you to find him and bring him home.”

He let out his breath slowly. In the silence she heard Helter’s voice.
You’re crazy, woman, to
think the
King will help you. You don’t even know the boy is alive.
For
all you know, that creature killed him like his parents. Maybe they need to kill a whole family
to
make their own magick work.

“It would take another attack on their homeland to find the boy,” Lord Stowe said. His voice was gentle. “I will have to speak to the King about this. I doubt we can risk the men.”

“He’s only a baby!” Her voice rose into a wail. She took a deep breath and calmed herself. “He’s all I’ve got. He needs me.”

A touch of red dotted both of his cheeks. Lord Stowe stood and came over to her, patting her shoulder. “We’ll do what we can, ma’am,” he said. She had been wrong. Her pain meant nothing to him. He saw Coulter’s loss as a technical problem, unexplained behavior by the Fey.

“Please,” she said. “Please help me.”

He took his hand off her and stepped away. She felt his absence more than she saw it.

“I will,” he said softly. Then he stared at her for a moment before speaking again. “I will send in one of my servants to help you up. We’ll also find you an easier way home.”

“Thank you,” she whispered. She didn’t look up. He wasn’t going to help her. No one could.

His footsteps made the floor creak. She heard the other door open, but it didn’t close. Finally she looked in that direction. He was still studying her.

“Have you heard of the Fey taking other children like this?” he asked.

“No,” she said.

“Neither have I. It’s peculiar, isn’t it?” And with that he left the room.

Peculiar? Perhaps it was, from a lord’s point of view. But from hers, the loss of Coulter meant the loss of everything. And she had no idea how to get him back.

SIXTY-NINE

Voices woke him.