Fey 02 - Changeling (103 page)

Rugar grabbed the boy's wrist.
 
"Get back here," he whispered.

"Don't hurt him," Niche said.
 
"Please."

Rugar ignored her and pulled the boy close.
 
His body was limp.
 
His consciousness was still in Nicholas's palace, in the golem, in the same room as his sister.
 
The boy fell forward, hitting his head against Rugar's knee.

Pain shot through his leg, but he ignored it.
 
He put his hands under the boy's armpits and pulled him upright.
 
"Get back here," Rugar said.

"Please," Niche said.
 
"He's a baby.
 
Don't —"

"He's not a baby," Rugar said without looking at her.
 
"He already knows how to manipulate.
 
I was wrong letting you raise him.
 
You have corrupted him.
 
I wanted to find that Enchanter, and your son led me to the palace."

"I'm sure he didn't mean —"

"He meant."
 
Rugar shook the boy.
 
"Get back here."

Gift's head lolled back and forth.
 
Niche crouched beside them.
 
"Please, Rugar, don't hurt him.
 
He can't hear you."

Rugar pushed her.
 
She flew backwards, the strength of his shove unnecessary for her light bones.
 
She landed on the ground and cried once in pain.

The boy opened his eyes.
 
He had returned.
 
"Mommy?" he asked.

Rugar was holding the boy's arm tightly.
 
"She'll be all right," Rugar said.
 
"But you might not be.
 
You were following the Enchanter's Link.
 
Then you veered.
 
Why?"

The boy's face was gray.
 
He swallowed, looking suddenly like his father.
 
His small mouth worked.

Rugar shook him.
 
"Why?"

"He saved my life," the boy whispered.

"Gift."
 
Niche sat up.
 
Her injured wings looked flat and she didn't move from the place where she had landed.
 
"Help Rugar.
 
He needs you."

"I don't need anyone," Rugar said.

"But I thought you wanted him to find Coulter," Niche said.
 
"Maybe if I ask, he will."

"No."
 
Gift's small jaw was set.
 

Rugar pulled him close.
 
"What did you say?"

"I said no."
 
Gift's eyes flashed like Jewel's used to when she was being stubborn.

"No one says no to me."

"I do," Gift said.
 
"I hate you."

He stated the words as if they were fact.
 
They hit Rugar like a blow.
 
"I don't care how you feel about me," Rugar said, pulling him so close that their noses touched.
 
"I want you to find that Enchanter for me."

"No," Gift said.

"He didn't save your life," Rugar said.
 
"I'm the one who brought you here."

"I don't belong here," Gift said.

"That's not true."
 
Niche's voice wobbled with pain.
 
She put one hand on the gray bottom to Shadowlands and slowly eased herself up.
 
"You belong with Wind and me, Gift."

Gift pulled his head away from Rugar's.
 
"I belonged with my real parents.
 
You stole me."

"You're Fey," Rugar said.
 
"You belong here."

"I'm half Fey.
 
Coulter told me."

Niche gasped.
 
Rugar let go of the boy's left arm and placed his hand behind the boy's head, holding it still.
 
"You are my grandson.
 
You are to be loyal to me."

"I hate you," Gift said.
 
"You're a mean old man."

The back of the boy's neck was fragile.
 
One quick turn and he would be gone. Rugar wondered if he knew that.

He nearly squeezed, then shoved the boy away.
 
Gift slammed into the building so loud that the sound echoed through Shadowlands.
 

Niche stood, blood dripping from her injured wings.
 
"He's a child.
  
He doesn't know any better."

Rugar got up and stood beside her.
 
"He knows what you taught him."

"I never taught him to defy anyone."

Rugar clenched his fists.
 
He had done enough damage this day.
 
"I thought having him raised by a family would be good for him.
 
I thought it would teach him about love and respect.
 
I was wrong."

Niche raised her chin so that she looked directly at him.
 
"We did teach him about love and respect.
 
That's why he's protecting Coulter.
 
The boys were best friends."

Rugar grabbed her wrist and pulled her close.
 
Her bones shattered beneath his fingers.
 
She whimpered.
 
"You failed to teach him to respect family.
 
He's not Fey.
 
He's not anything."

A little body slammed into Rugar.
 
Arms circled his waist and a head pushed against his stomach.

"You let her go!" Gift cried.
 
"Let go!"

He grabbed with all his strength, then kicked Rugar repeatedly.
 
With his free hand, Rugar pried Gift loose.
 
Then Rugar put his hand on Gift's skull and pushed him back.
 
The boy flailed at him.
 
Niche didn't fight at all.

"Madam," Rugar said to her, ignoring the boy slapping his hand, "I still have use for your child.
 
See to it that next time he obeys me."

Then he let go of her.
 
She fell to her knees and cradled her wrist against her chest.
 
Her hand flopped forward, useless.
 

Rugar turned to Gift and grabbed the boy's flailing hands with one of his one. "You, child, are flesh of my flesh, blood of my blood.
 
You may hate me, but you will do as I say."

Gift struggled, but Rugar didn't tighten his grip as he did with Niche.
 
"I'll never listen to you."

"Someday, you'll have to," Rugar said.

"Someday you'll die," Gift said.
 
"And I'll laugh."

"Gift," Niche said wearily.
 
Her eyes were dark circles on her face.
 

"You may laugh," Rugar said.
 
"But you'll take my place."

"No," Gift said.

"You have to," Rugar said.
 
"You're my grandson."

"I don't have to do anything you say."

"Gift," Niche said again, warning in her tone.

"I don't!
 
I hate you!
 
I will always hate you!"

Rugar let go of the boy's hands.
 
This would get them nowhere.
 
They had already gone nowhere.
 
"Then hate me," Rugar said.
 
"It will do you no good.
 
You can't fight what you are."

"I'm not you," Gift said.

The boy's eyes flashed as he spoke.
 
All traces of his father were momentarily gone from his face.
 
"Not yet," Rugar said.

He turned his back on them, and headed to his own cabin, unwilling to fight this any longer.
 
The boy had failed him, and would continue to fail him.
 
As long as Rugar was around, the boy would treat him as the enemy.
 
Niche and Wind had raised him incorrectly.
 
Rugar should have seen that from the Naming Day.
 
Gift was not the name of a warrior, but of a precious coddled child.
 
Precious coddled children ultimately rebelled.
 

Like Jewel had.

The mist swirled around Rugar's boots.
 
Behind him, he heard Gift exclaiming over his mother.
 
Soon the boy would go for help.
 
No one would rebuke Rugar — no one could — but they would all watch him warily, more warily than they had.

These years in Shadowlands had taken away their fight.
 
He was the only one left who wanted to control Blue Isle.
 
And he would, with or without Gift's help.
 
They had been trapped inside this Shadowlands for five years.
 
No one had even taken the ships out of the First Shadowlands in two years.
 
A few more wouldn't matter.

He would get the Enchanter back, but first he would do something he should have done weeks ago.

He would bring his granddaughter home.

The Shaman had spooked him while he was grieving. He should never have listened to that old woman.
 
She had made it clear that she never liked him, and would do anything to supplant him.
 
She had told him to stay away from his granddaughter because she didn't want him to have the child's power.
 

But the child belonged in the Black Family.
 
The power was his until he decreed otherwise.
 
He would raise her properly, and make her gifts work for the Fey.

He had seen Solanda at the child's side.
 
Guarding a baby with a cat seemed preposterous at most, silly at best.

Besides, Solanda was sworn to him.
 
She would do what he asked.

She would give him the child.

FIFTY-EIGHT

Titus watched the door close.
 
The Rocaan was gone.
 
Suddenly the Audience Chamber seemed empty.

"Shouldn't we go after him?" Titus asked.

Porciluna was staring at the door, his expression blank.
 
He appeared to be as shocked as Titus was.
 
"I don't think so," Porciluna said.
 
"I think for the first time in years, he made the right decision."

That's because you want to be Rocaan,
Titus thought but didn't say.
 
He couldn't say anything.
 
Yet.
 

He walked to one of the chairs and sank into it.
 
The cushions were hard as wood.
 
When King Alexander died — which seemed like years ago even though it had only been a few weeks — Titus had believed that the Rocaan cared for nothing but power.