The Rival (18 page)

Now that he did, he felt better.  He didn't feel responsible.

But he didn't know what to do.  He couldn't hold the coming of age ceremony.  This boy couldn't rule Blue Isle.  He wasn't the hereditary heir.

The hereditary heir had been raised Fey, in the Shadowlands.  He probably thought himself Fey, the way that Arianna thought herself Islander.  With no bond between the two cultures.  No healing as Nicholas  —  and Jewel  —  had once hoped.

A slight breeze was coming through the window.  The sun had set.  The darkness was filmy; the rising moon sent soft light over the trees.  Nicholas would have to go downstairs soon and cancel the ceremony.  He didn't quite know how.  He didn't want the Rocaan to think that he had won; that Nicholas had canceled the ceremony because of pressure from the Tabernacle.  And yet he could say nothing about Gift.

Perhaps he should pretend he didn't know about Gift.  Let the ceremony go on, let Sebastian rule, and have Arianna be the brains behind him.

Nicholas would go against centuries of tradition.  The firstborn son, the line descended from the Roca, would be broken.

He didn't even know if Sebastian could have children.  Probably not, since the boy was made of stone.

A knock on the door made him start.  Sebastian slowly raised his head.  His cheeks were still wet from his earlier tears.  Nicholas wiped them off.

"Come," he said.

A page entered.  The boy was holding a torch and the light made Nicholas blink. 

"Forgive me, Sire.  I am late finding you.  I did not know you were here," the boy said.  He bowed, and remained down.

Nicholas ignored the excuse, wondering how long the boy had been looking.  "You have news?"

 The boy stood.  The torch had remained level the entire time.  "There is a Fey to see you, and Lord Stowe asked me to remind you that the ceremony shall begin soon."

Nicholas nodded.  A Fey.  Perhaps it was his son, come back the official way now that he had been discovered.

Or perhaps it was something else.

"Please tell Lord Stowe to make our guests comfortable. Sebastian and I will join them shortly." 

Sebastian grabbed his hand tightly.  Nicholas squeezed back, trying to offer reassurance.

"Where is the Fey?"

"In the your personal Audience chamber, Sire."  The boy bowed each time he spoke.  It was an annoying habit.

"Have five guards meet me there, and have four more in listening posts.  Send two up here as well."

"Before I see Lord Stowe?" the boy asked.

"Before," Nicholas said.

The boy bowed and backed out of the room. 

" … The … ce-re-mo-ny … ," Sebastian said.  " … It … should … be … Gift's."

"It cannot be," Nicholas said.  He patted the boy's hand.  "We'll figure something out.  Remain here.  I'll come for you."

Sebastian nodded.  Nicholas stood and grabbed the flint from the fireplace's mantel.  He struck it, then lit several candles in the room. 

Sebastian watched him from the bed, stoic, and all alone.  "Soon?" he asked.

"As soon as I can," Nicholas said.

Then he put the flint back and left.

The torches were lit in the hallway.  The soft light was a comfort.  His heart was racing.  So much had happened this day already.  His mind felt as soft as the light from all the revelations.  Fey to the South, a Fey in the palace, an attempt to kidnap Sebastian, Arianna's Shifting ability, Solanda's departure, and a son.  A real son.

And now, a Fey in the Audience chamber.

He had to clear his mind.  He had to be sharp.  He had learned that the Fey never approached anything directly.  If they wanted something, they attacked from all angles.  Something was happening, something grander than him, something he couldn't yet imagine, and he didn't know how it would play out.

The guards he had asked for Sebastian were coming up the stairs.  Nicholas noted who they were, nodded at them, and then continued on his way.

He had beaten the Fey once before, with Jewel's help.  If he was going to keep the fragile balance that Blue Isle had become, he would need to retain that control.

Voices echoed from the main hall.  Some of the guests had already arrived.  Nicholas hurried down the second floor corridor, past the portraits, and the uncomfortable chairs.  He took the back stairway.  It was a longer trip to the Audience chamber, but one that would keep him away from questioning nobles.

The five guards he had asked for were already outside the chamber.  Nicholas nodded to them as he approached.  "I need two of you inside with me," he said.  "The rest must remain here."

Two guards flanked him as he opened the door and saw who waited.  Then he pulled the door closed without going inside.  "On second thought," he said, "stay out here.  And remove the guards from the listening posts."

The guards glanced at each other.  Two broke off and went for the listening posts.  Nicholas waited until they had been gone a moment before going inside.

The Fey stood at the far window.  She was tall even for a Fey, and her white hair fuzzed out around her head like a nimbus.  Her gnarled hands were clasped behind her back.  When the door closed, she turned.

"Are you going to stay this time, young Nicholas?" she asked.

He had never felt quite so relieved to see a Fey.  The Shaman.  He thought of her as an ally, even though he was never certain.  She was powerful and powerless.  She Saw things, much as Leaders did, and she had limited leadership duties.  But her main role was as a guide, a sounding board, the wise woman of the Fey.

He had seen her before he dismissed the guards, and he had known he was in no danger from her.

"I'm sorry.  The page had said that a Fey was here to see me.  He didn't say it was you."  Nicholas smiled.  "You've never come through official channels before."

"I have never been uncertain of my welcome before."  She cocked her head.  "Your men have left their secret hiding places.  We can talk now."

Nicholas didn't know how she knew of the listening posts, but it didn't surprise him.  Nothing about this woman surprised him.  "I have told you that you're always welcome here."

She nodded, and smiled softly.  The wrinkles folded on her face, nearly hiding the edge of her lips.  "Things will change between us, Nicholas."

"Between you and me?"

She shook her head.  "My people and yours."

"Because of this afternoon?"

Her bright eyes darkened.  "Young Gift was here, then."

"You didn't know?"

"I knew he said he would come."

"He tried to take Sebastian."

"He fears for its life."  The Shaman folded her hands in front of her long robe.

"Why?"

"A man's Visions are his to share or keep.  I have not Seen the moment of which he speaks."  She was watching Nicholas.  Her gaze was so sharp that he felt as if she could see through him.

"Why didn't you tell me about Gift?" Nicholas asked.

"A man should recognize his own child, Nicholas," the Shaman said.

"You said that to me once before.  I don't believe it," Nicholas said.  "As if a Fey would know.  Jewel didn't.  She loved Sebastian."

"And that gave him life," the Shaman said.  "One cannot argue with the Powers and Mysteries.  They provide us with creatures like Sebastian for a reason."  She peered at Nicholas sideways.  "Will you keep it?"

"Sebastian?  He's my son."

"It is a stone come to life, Nicholas.  Not a son."  Her tone chided him.  He didn't like it. 

He stood taller than he ever had, as if he could be her equal by increasing his height.  "Solanda says Jewel did not create him.  She says Gift did, and that he left pieces of himself in there.  She says Sebastian was formed through a Link."

"A Link." The Shaman turned, but not before Nicholas saw her wrinkles flatten in surprise.  "That is why it lives without Jewel."

Then she raised her head.  "Forgive me.  We are both correct.  It is a son and a stone.  Young Gift is right to preserve it.  I had thought him mad for attempting to change the Vision.  Now I see that he had cause."

Nicholas came up beside her.  She smelled faintly of cinnamon and sunshine.  "Please," he said.  "Tell me truly.  Is Gift my son?"

"He is.  Rugar stole him and left your son-stone in his place.   Rugar had hoped to make the child in his own image."

Nicholas felt cold.  "Did he?"

"Rugar was a Blind man.  He put your son with Wisps who raised him with love.  Gift feared Rugar and saw him as responsible for Jewel's death."

"Rugar?" Nicholas frowned.  "Matthias killed Jewel."

The Shaman shook her head.  "On Nye, Jewel had her first Vision.  It was of her death, only she could not know that.  She saw enough to think she would survive.  Death Visions are often misleading.  A person never seems to See the actual passing of the spirit, only the event that causes it.  She had this Vision the moment her father decided to bring her to Blue Isle.  She relayed the Vision to him, and he did not check it with me, his father, or any other Visionary.  She did not know to.  Young Gift had the same Vision.  He Saw his mother die, only he thought it to be his Wisp mother.   Gift told Rugar.  Rugar knew that you were in the Vision, knew that it could not be the Wisp mother, and still he did nothing.  It is a Visionary's duty to prevent a death Vision.  But he did not.  He believed that his last Vision took precedence, the one in which he saw Jewel looking contented in your palace."

"But those Visions aren't mutually exclusive."

"I know this.  Rugar should have known this.  But his willingness to believe in himself over all others Blinded him, and cost his daughter her life."

Nicholas swallowed the lump in his throat.  So many ways Jewel's death could have been prevented.  If only he had known.  He would never have asked her to be beside him at that ceremony.

"You blame yourself."

Nicholas shrugged.

"You have no Vision, Nicholas.  You have no way of seeing the future."

"I should have known."

"You cannot take for yourself magick you do not have.  The magickal responsibility belonged to Rugar.  If he had not taken your son, you would have known.  Gift would have Seen the death while living here, and Jewel would have compared Visions with him.  She would have lived."

Nicholas took a deep breath and calmed himself.  He had to think.  "My son has Visions?"

"Your son is a great Visionary.  In our recorded history, we have not had a Visionary who Saw so young."

"Does he know about me?"

The Shaman stared at Nicholas.  "I do not know.  If he created your son-stone through a Link, I would guess he does.  But Islanders are alien creatures to him, Nicholas.  He cannot be like your Arianna, happy in this world."

Nicholas's palms were wet.  He wiped them on his ceremonial robe.  "Then what do I do about him?"

"I have Seen nothing.  He is his own person, a man grown now, Nicholas.  With responsibilities to his own people.   He is their ruler, and they will need him."

"He is the eldest son, the hereditary ruler of Blue Isle.  He is a descendent of our Roca.  By law, by religious tradition, by all that we have ever been, I must name him my successor.  He will have to rule here someday."

"If there is an Isle to rule," the Shaman said.  "You do not know what will happen before you die."

The chill Nicholas had been feeling settled around his heart.  "What are you saying?"

"Only what I have said before.  You cannot See.  It is not within your magick.  You do not know what is required of your son."

"And you do?"

"Parts of it," she said.  "And I am terrified, Nicholas."

He tilted his head and looked at her.  She had never admitted any emotion to him before.  He certainly wouldn't have expected terror.  Not from the Shaman of the Fey, the wise woman.  "What do you See?" he asked, afraid of the answer, but knowing he had to ask the question.

"I told Rugar when you married Jewel that your way was the way of peace.  I told him the days of the warrior were over, and that he should stop fighting.  He did not listen to me, and in failing to do so, he set a number of events into motion."

"Like what?"  Nicholas asked.

"I do not know how long I will live, Nicholas.  I must make a choice that goes to the essence of what I am.  If I die, your children will have to fend for themselves.  It will be difficult."

"Is there something going on among the Fey that I don't know?"

"Rugad is alive," she said.  "He wants your son."

"Rugad?  Rugar's father?  Jewel's grandfather?"  Nicholas frowned.  "There are reports of Fey to the south.  Is that him?"

"I do not know," she said.  "But I have Seen him on the Isle.  He will throw everything into chaos."

"And kill you?"

She raised her head, her eyes far away.  "By law he must.  We failed, this troop.  My people do not tolerate failure."

"But it wasn't your choice."

"Nonetheless," she said.

"And you let him?"  Nicholas's couldn't believe the casual cruelty, the way the Fey used death to solve their problems.

The Shaman smiled.  "I am a warrior, Nicholas."

"You'll die for him?"

"I die for no man."

"I'll help you."

She shook her head.  "You have your children.  You must focus on them."

Nicholas clasped his hands behind his back.  For the third time in his life, he was swimming in deep waters.  One false move and he would drown.

"So you're telling me," he said slowly, "that if the Black King comes to Blue Isle, he'll be fighting a war on two fronts?  He'll fight his own people and mine."

"Three," the Shaman said softly.  "If you choose to involve your children."

"Three?" Nicholas looked at her.  She looked older than she had ever looked.  "My children can't fight him.  You've educated me about what happens when the Black King's family fights within itself."

"But you have a child who is not your child," she said.  "Your son-stone seems to be of Black Blood but is not.  You have a tool to fight the Black King without tainting the blood."

"Sebastian?  He can't fight."

"Are you so certain?" she asked.