The Black King (Book 7) (27 page)

“I...will.” Sebastian gave Scavenger a cautious look, and left.

Arianna watched him go. Her brother seemed uncertain, frightened for her, and unhappy. But she couldn’t change that. She needed him here. She needed him to think about the future.

“So,” Scavenger said. “You’re making contingency plans. You don’t believe in young Matt after all.”

If she could have stood up quickly, she would have. As it were, she settled for clenching a single fist. “We are fighting the Black King of the Fey. My father barely managed to defeat him using all the magick the Isle had.”

“And you lost to Rugad. That’s why you’re afraid of him.”

“I’m not afraid of him.” But the words came out quicker than she wanted. It sounded like an automatic denial instead of something she believed.

“You’re afraid of him. That’s why you stayed here so long.” Scavenger glanced at her clenched fist as if it gave away secrets. Perhaps it did. “You should never have been here this long. You’ve let him get entrenched. Now you’ll never get him out.”

She peered at Scavenger. “Who’s afraid of the Black King now?”

His dark eyes met hers. For the first time since she’d known Scavenger, she thought she saw embarrassment in his face.

“You never made a place for me in all your plans.” In traditional Scavenger fashion, he had tried to turn the blame back on her.

She smiled. “I did. I want you here with Sebastian. You have to help him if something happens to me.”

“Help him how?”

“If I die, and Gift dies, Sebastian needs to protect this Place of Power from Rugad.”

“How do you propose he do that?” Scavenger asked.

“By taking back my body.”

“Sebastian?”

“You know he can do it, and you know the magick needed even if you can’t perform it. You can help him.”

“But he won’t be able to rule the Fey.”

“That’s right. But he can take care of Blue Isle, and find someone in my family—one of my cousins maybe—with enough Vision to take over the Black Throne.”

“That’s assuming there’s no Blood against Blood.”

“I think Rugad is smart enough to get rid of me and Gift without resorting to that,” Arianna said.

Scavenger frowned. He glanced up at the mountains, toward the area where the Roca’s Cave glinted its magick light. She knew he couldn’t see that light, but she could. She could also feel its pull, a pull she didn’t really want to answer.

Then he turned to her. She thought he was going to ask if she was smart enough to get rid of Rugad without starting the Blood herself. Instead he asked, “Do you really think you’re going to die?”

She stared at him. This strange magickless Fey was the only one whom she could answer this question honestly, the only one who would know a half-truth or a lie if she presented it to him.

Still, she couldn’t bring herself to say the actual words. “I think we waited too long. I think he’s got too much power now.”

“So why go?”

“You know why.”

Scavenger grinned. “So you have another contingency you haven’t told any of us.”

She frowned at him, not quite understanding what he was saying.

“You expect to die getting rid of Rugad. You’re the only one who can take out your own body without igniting the Blood.”

She was relieved this stone skin didn’t blush. It would have given her away.

“You will die as you kill Rugad, opening the door for Gift,” Scavenger said. “That’s why you’re preparing Sebastian. You hope he’ll take over until Gift arrives. If Gift isn’t already here.”

She sat before him silently for a moment. She hadn’t put those thoughts into actual words, but she had known that option was there—and that it was probably the only possible option.

She had known it for a long time.

Scavenger leaned forward and, to her surprise, kissed her cheek. It was the gentlest thing she had ever known him to do.

“I never thought you’d be the courageous one, but I’m glad you are.” He stood. “I’ll do whatever I can to keep Rugad out of the Roca’s Cave.”

“Thank you.”

He glanced over her shoulder at the door, as if making sure they were alone. “Don’t thank me. Listen to me instead. We have had several Blind leaders, not just the ones you’ve heard of, the one who went crazy.”

Arianna felt her breath catch in her throat. “How do you know this?”

“I’ve studied, remember? All of them went Blind after years of Sight. They knew how to interpret Visions, and they kept powerful Visionaries, usually family members, at their side, interpreting those Visions. The last part of their rule wasn’t the best part, but it never hurt us.”

“You think Rugad will do that?”

Scavenger nodded. “Don’t expect him to be crazy. Don’t expect him to be frightened or insecure. Expect him to use the resources around him to protect himself.”

She remembered Rugad’s plan, how he was going to keep her a prisoner in her own mind, and use her Visions as his own. “Do you think he’ll try to capture me again?”

“It would be the most logical thing he could do.”

Her gaze met his. Her heart was beating hard. “Has a Fey leader ever committed suicide?”

“I don’t know.”

“Will it bring on the Blood?”

“I don’t know that either. But there’s never been a Shifter ruling the Fey.”

She saw it in his eyes. He was giving her a way. Shifters, even practiced Shifters, sometimes got stuck in a Shift. And if a Shifter got stuck between forms sometimes the halves were not compatible. She knew exactly how to do it, too. She would start a Shift, get it to the proper spot and then stop the Shift, leaving it to Rugad. He controlled her Shifting mechanism—he had proven that to her—but he had never had to deal with a crisis. And if she waited for the right point, he might not be able to.

“Would the Powers believe it was an accident?” she asked.

“I think the Powers take a liberal approach to Blood against Blood,” Scavenger said. “I think they want to avoid it as much as the rest of us do.”

“You think?” she said.

He shrugged. “There’s no way to know. It all involves risk.”

“Yes,” she said. “But I wish the risk were mine alone.”

“So do I,” Scavenger said. “So do I.”

NINETEEN

GIFT STOOD on the deck of the
Tashka
, watching as his cousin made her way through the streets of Jahn. He gripped the railing, the polished wood cool beneath his palms. The air was chilly and smelled of rain. Clouds threatened in the distance. Soon he wouldn’t be able to stand here and stare at the palace. Soon he would have to go below decks.

He had asked for some time alone. Lyndred confused him: she saw him as someone who threatened the family, someone who might kill Bridge and Arianna, and yet as someone who might save them all. He wasn’t so sure.

These Visions of the Blood that he had unnerved him. Were they being caused by Arianna’s strangeness or by his presence? Or a combination of both? And was Lyndred’s purpose to push Gift toward destroying his family or to prevent that?

There was no way for him to tell. But he did know that her Visions were true when she mentioned seeing him holding the child. He’d had that Vision himself and it haunted him.

Lyndred had disappeared down the cobblestone streets. The clouds had grown even darker, and a mist dampened the air. Beads of water had formed on his arms and face.

He had advice from Skya and Xihu and his mother. He had Seen countless Visions, and heard even more from the Shaman. He knew the history, he knew the prophecies, he knew the warnings. And he still felt as if he didn’t know where to turn. He could slink to Leut, and stay out of the Fey Empire. Or he could try to convince his sister that he could stay out of her way.

Or he could openly defy her.

The clouds to the west looked as if they had been smeared against the horizon. Rain was coming down in sheets. He would have to go below. He remembered Blue Isle’s rainstorms. They were cold and nasty and usually chilled to the bone.

The rain pelted the water downstream. He could see the wall of the storm coming. The wind had picked up and it carried a deep chill. He debated standing there, letting the water wash over him. He had felt numb since he had come back from the palace. Maybe the rain would prove to him that he was still alive.

Then a few needle-sharp pellets of rain caught him in the face, and he hurried for the stairs that led below decks and to his cabin.

Skya was inside. She sat on the edge of his bed, her legs crossed at the ankles and tucked against the wooden frame. She was staring at the storm through one of the portholes. He closed the door, and she didn’t turn at the sound.

The rain pounded the deck above. The sky, through the porthole, was almost black. Skya had lit the lamps that hung from the walls—regular Nyeian oil lamps. Gift had insisted on Fey lamps during storms. They prevented accidental fires. This small act of defiance on Skya’s part rankled him more than anything else.

“Skya,” he said. “I need to be by myself.”

“Oh, yes,” she said. “The great Black Heir needs to think about the best route to Leut.”

The numbness he had felt a moment earlier had fled; behind it was a dark anger. He took a deep breath, fighting to stay calm. “You like to travel.”

“On my own terms.” She turned. Her face glistened, almost as if it had been washed with tears. He had never seen Skya cry. He would have thought that it would have endeared her to him. Instead it made the anger worse.

But he had enough Shamanic training to know the power and destructiveness of anger. He also was wise enough to know that he wasn’t angry at Skya; he was angry at Arianna.

If he listened, he might have a chance to calm down. If he listened, he could avoid the fight he was spoiling for.

He grabbed one of the loose chairs and pulled it over. He sat, feet flat on the floor as he had been taught, body grounded. “Skya,” he said, his voice as gentle as he could make it, “why do you hate Visionaries so?”

She blinked as if she hadn’t expected the conversation to go this way. And why would she? They rarely talked about her past or his. She was the one who had stopped that sort of discussion, the one who had insisted that they live in the present and not worry about the past or, by implication, the future.

“It’s not important,” she said.

“It is. You haven’t trusted me from the start, and you claim it’s because of my Vision. Is it?”

Her eyes were black and bottomless and very sad. “I do not want to go to Leut.”

“Neither do I.”

“Then do something about it.”

“I’m trying.” He swallowed, willing himself to remain calm.

“You’re hiding in this ship.”

He shook his head. “I didn’t expect Arianna to behave the way she did today. I didn’t expect Lyndred. I’m not sure—”

“And yet you believe your Visions. You believe that all will be revealed to you and you don’t realize that with all your ability to See the future, you missed the most important thing.”

He felt the attack as if it had been physical. It took him a moment to catch his breath, to keep himself from yelling at her like he sensed she wanted. “What is the most important thing?”

“This isn’t about your appearance here or you being some sort of center or even the Blood itself. Those are all pieces to a puzzle you don’t understand. You’re guessing and second-guessing yourself. You’re making this worse, Gift.” She was gripping the side of the bed, the blanket wrapped in her hands.

“What would you have me do?”

“Confront your sister. Overthrow her if you have to. She won’t kill you any more than you will kill her. She’s as worried about the Blood as you are.”

He shook his head. “Once I might have agreed with you. But I don’t know this woman—”

“Of course you know this woman. She’s Black Blood. She acts like all Black Blood.”

“Like me?”

Skya’s eyes narrowed. “You’re learning. I’ve been watching you learn how to use your heritage. I watched you use someone to save yourself on the Cardidas because you deemed your own life more important.”

He flushed. “Rudolfo understood.”

“
I
understood too. I also know that the older you get, the more you will become like her.”

“And that’s why you don’t want to talk of the future?”

She raised her chin slightly. “I don’t want to be the Black King’s wife.”

He felt cold. Colder than he had on deck, maybe colder than he had ever been before. “I’m not the Black King.”

“No,” she said. “But you will be.”

“How do you know? I didn’t think Warders had much Vision.”

“We have enough to design spells for you. Who do you think invented Shadowlands?”

He stared at her, realizing that she hadn’t answered him. “How do you know?” he asked again. “Have you Seen it?”

“I’ve been listening,” she said. “You touched the Black Throne. You are the center. You’ve had three Open Visions. You are the eldest. Your sister is Blind. Do you want me to go on?”

“No.” He was more relieved than he wanted to admit. He didn’t want Skya to have Seen him as the Black King. He didn’t want that destiny. He never had. “Even if I were to become Black King, I haven’t asked you to marry me.”

Her lower lip trembled. “No, but you would have if I had allowed you to talk of the future.”

He leaned back, no longer pretending calmness. “You’re right. I would have asked. I do love you, Skya, and I want to marry you no matter what happens here, whether I become Black King or some renegade always hiding from my own people. I want you beside me. I have from the moment I met you. And I think you feel the same about me.”

“No,” she whispered. “I don’t.”

Her hand was clutching the blanket so hard that he could see the strain in her fingers.

“Why are you lying?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“You at least owe me an explanation. I’ve been following your rules. I’ve been living in the present like you asked, and now I have to make choices, not just for my future but for ours. I’d like you beside me and you refuse. At least tell me why.”