Fey 02 - Changeling (23 page)

"Are you carrying the Holy Poison?" Solanda asked in Islander.

The woman whirled her head in Solanda's direction.
 
She had not seen Solanda approach.
 
The woman's eyes were the blue of the sky on a sunny day, her nose small and pert, her hair almost yellow.
   
"It's holy water," she said.

"Really, Solanda, she's our guest." Burden said from behind her.
 
He spoke Fey.

"Guest?" Solanda answered in the same language, but Burden had already moved past her.
 
He wiped his hands dry on his pants legs.
 
Then he extended a hand to the woman.
 

"Welcome," he said in Islander.
 
"We don't often get visitors in the Settlement."

The woman had to shift her vial of poison from one hand to the other.
 
Solanda shuddered as the woman took Burden's hand, half expecting him to start melting.
 
But he didn't.
 
The woman's other hand held the vial tightly.

"My name is Burden," he said.
 
"I run the Settlement."

"Magda," the woman said.

"We don't have much by way of refreshments," Burden said, "but we can at least offer you a chair out of the mud."
 
He turned, as if to lead her away, but she let go of his hand.

"Actually," she said, "I came because I saw a cat run in here."

"A cat?"
 
Burden faced her again.
 
Solanda pulled her robe even tighter.
 
She felt her nakedness for the first time in years.
 

The woman nodded.
 
Her eyes had that zealot's gleam that Solanda had seen too often.
 
"A golden one.
 
The worst kind.
 
It threatened my boy."

"Oh, for —" Solanda began, but stopped when Burden held up his hand.
 

"Threatened?" he asked.

"You know they steal children, don't you?" the woman said, her voice low.

"No," he said.
 
"I hadn't actually realized."

Solanda rolled her eyes.
 
She had heard that many times.
 
She should have killed the old woman the day she took Coulter from her.
 
Coulter was an Island child with a powerful magic.
 
If the truth be told, Solanda had rescued him.
 
These pathetic creatures wouldn't know how to raise a magical child.

Ever since, though, the rumor persisted that cats stole children.

"They do," the woman said.
 
"They come in the middle of the night and steal the child away."

"It's daylight," Solanda said dryly.
 
The woman glanced at her as if she had forgotten Solanda was there.
 

"Actually," Burden said as if Solanda hadn't spoken at all, "cats can't steal children.
 
That's a story someone made up to scare people.
 
Cats
spy
on unsuspecting people, and they are often quite cruel, but they never ever go after children."

"Cruel," Solanda muttered.
 
He would pay for that remark.

"I heard it," the woman said, "from someone who knew."

"Who, I'm sure, heard it from someone else who knew.
 
But your King reacted badly to rumor, I'm afraid.
 
Cats are God's creatures, like the rest of us."

God's creatures
? Solanda frowned.
 
She had never heard a Fey use that expression.
 
Nor had she ever heard a Fey compare himself to an Islander and get away with it.

The woman was actually listening to Burden.

Solanda crossed her arms over her chest, and leaned back on her heels.
 
This bore some real attention.

"Yes," the woman said.
 
"I suppose they are."

"I'm sure the cat was just interested in seeing if you had any food."

"It did look thin," the woman said.

Solanda bit back a retort.
 
Thin, indeed.
 
She was prettier than any other cat roaming Jahn.
 
Fine thick fur, a sleek healthy figure.
 
The woman had no right to call her thin.

"And it probably wanted food.
 
You can't blame it for that," Burden said.

"No," the woman said.
 
"I guess you can't."

Burden smiled and patted the woman on the shoulder.
 
She didn't flinch, nor did she bring up her vial of poison.
 
"I suggest that maybe in the future, you might want to leave out some milk for the cats, and encourage your neighbors to do the same."

"Milk gives cats diarrhea," Solanda said, unable to keep silent any longer.

The woman looked at Solanda and blinked, as if waking.
 
"It would be breaking the law," she said.

Burden's mouth formed a thin line, but by the time the woman had turned back to him, he had the same genial expression on his face.
 
"Some laws aren't right."

"That's true," the woman said.
 
Then she smiled at Burden, and Solanda thought she caught a bit of flirtatiousness in the look.
 
"I guess I should go back.
 
My boy's outside."

"Next time," Burden said, "maybe you can come in for a bit of warmth."

"Maybe," the woman said.
 
She picked up her skirts, turned, and walked out of the gate.
 
She held the vial loosely in her left hand.
 
As she passed through, two of the other Fey closed the gate behind her.

Solanda waited until she could no longer see the woman before speaking.
 
"You really diffused that," she said.

Burden shrugged.
 
"It's fairly easy if you talk to them."

"I suppose it is," Solanda said.
 
"We'll see if she leaves out…milk."
 
Solanda shuddered a bit as she said the word.
 
Milk always smelled wonderful and made her very sick.

Burden left the gate and started down the path.
 
Solanda followed him.
 

"You know, that fire sounds pretty good right now."

"Right now, I have to work," he said.
 
"We don't have much daylight left."

"Right now," Solanda said as firmly as she could, "you have to talk to me."

He stopped walking and sighed visibly.
 
He couldn't refuse her.
 
Only Visionaries,
 
Shamans, and occasionally Spell Warders had the right to countermand Shape-shifters.
 
"I hope this won't take long," he said.
 

She ignored his tone.
 
She finally understood the reasons behind it.
 
"It won't," she said.
 
"And you'll be grateful."

"You're always so sure of yourself, aren't you?"

She grinned.
 
"Always."

He shook his head, as if her confidence overwhelmed him.
 
Then he veered off the path onto a mud trail that made her already cold feet even colder.
 
She really shouldn't talk to him.
 
It went against her nature, against Fey custom, against everything she knew.
 
Custom dictated that when a person wasn't smart enough to discover a truth on his own, he didn't deserve to know it.
 
But times were different.
 
Burden was on his own here, without a Shaman or a Warder.
 
Without even subtle guidance.
 

If he knew, he might be able to help the Fey.

Solanda had to weigh that fact against tradition.

The mud trail went past several cabins until it stopped in front of a small square one.
 
This cabin was at least in good repair, but it was half the size of all the others.

"This is yours?" she asked.

"Did you expect me to be like Rugar?"
 
He climbed the two steps leading in the door, and pushed the door open.
 
The scent of ancient smoke fires rose from within.
 

She had expected him to be like Rugar.
 
She had expected Burden to take the best cabin, the best site, and the best wood.
 
He had done none of those things.
 
The cabin was near the riverbank and probably got flooded each time the waters rose.
 
The wood looked thin and worn.
 
The floorboards creaked when she stepped on them.

"There's a mat," he said.
 
He was already kneeling in front of the fireplace, laying out the wood.
 

She wiped her feet on the mat, and noted that the bottom of the robe was covered with mud.
 
She would track no matter what she did.

He struck the tinderbox, and instantly had a small flame.
 
The wood was dry and lit quickly.
 
Solanda held up the skirts of her robe so that they wouldn't drag on the floor.
 
She stopped as close to the fire as she dared.

The heat felt wonderful against her legs and feet.
 
She longed to have a soft place to curl up and rest.
 
She hadn't slept warm in two days.

"So," Burden said.
 
"What was this urgent thing you had to discuss?"

Solanda sighed softly.
 
No nap.
 
Not yet.
 
"Have you spoken to the Shaman?"

Burden was only standing a few feet from her, but at her question he moved farther away.
 
He was on the other side of the windowless room, in the shadows.
 
Apparently his powers were a touchy topic.

"I know I'm not a Visionary," he said.

"Very few of us are," she said.
 
"I'm not talking to you about the Settlement.
 
I think your lack of Vision is clear.
 
I'm talking about your magic."

"Solanda, I heard that feline Shifters were cruel, but I'm not prey.
 
Really."

That was the second time he had used that word, and she was trying to do him a favor.
 
She drew herself up to her full height and let go of the robe.
 
It fell loosely around her body, but did not open.

"If you're not prey," she snapped, "then why are you hiding in the dark?"

He wiped his hands against his pants, apparently a habit he had developed since he had come to live in the mud, and came closer to the fire.
 
Here he looked impossibly young, his features softened by the flame.
 
She hadn't been around for his birth and she didn't pay much attention to him until he became Jewel's closest companion in Infantry.
 
But if he trained with Jewel, he had to be near Jewel's age — about 23 or so.
 
Too young for this kind of work.
 
Just as Jewel was.
 
Way too young.

"Good," Solanda said.
 
"I can see your face."
 
She licked her lips and realized she had not had anything to drink since she stopped at a puddle that morning.
 
"Now, grant me the courtesy of your polite attention."

He nodded.

"I asked if you had seen the Shaman because I was wondering if she took the time to tell you about your powers."

"I haven't see the Shaman since Jewel's wedding," Burden said.
 
"And I haven't spoken to her since we left Nye."

"I thought so."
 
Solanda pushed herself away from the fireplace.
 
"Have you water?"

Burden smiled.
 
"Too much."

"In the house?"

He nodded, bent over, and produced an earthenware pitcher and mug.
 
The water he poured for her was cool and fresh.
 
The minor Domestics he had managed to snag had a few talents.