The Rival (23 page)

Stowe felt the warmth grow in his face.  He would have grabbed the wrong sword.  The one the King meant was tarnished, nicked, and stained.  Stowe had forgotten that this sword had never been cleaned.

He took it gingerly in his hands.  The blood flaked onto his fingers.  No wonder the King wanted this one.  It was obviously untouched. 

The King was a smart man.  Stowe, who had known the King since he was born, sometimes forgot that. 

The sword was also heavy.  Stowe staggered a moment under its weight, then carried it to the head table.  Sebastian watched him, blue eyes shining with life.  Stowe frowned.  He had thought Sebastian's eyes stone-gray and dull.  Stowe had only seen flickers of light in them before, never this constant beam. 

The King bent over and took the sword from Stowe, then held it in one hand as if it weighed nothing.

"Turn to me, child," he said softly.

Sebastian turned slowly, in traditional Sebastian fashion.

"Kneel," the King said.  Again, his words were so soft that only Stowe and Sebastian could hear.

Sebastian sank to his knees.  He was so tall that he still came up to his father's chest. 

"Bow your head."

Sebastian lowered his head.  The King gently brought the sword to rest on Sebastian's skull. 

"I quote the words the Roca used with his own son," the King said.  "'By the power of God, and for the future of Blue Isle, I name you my successor.  Should death take me from this land, you shall stand in my place.  Should anyone question you, remind them that the Roca's blood  —  my blood —  flows through your veins.  May God grant you the wisdom, the courage, and the opportunity to create peace.'"

Stowe remembered those words from the King's coming of age.  Only the King's father, Alexander, had spoken them after nearly an hour of religious ceremony capped by a Blessing done with holy water.

The King removed the sword.  "You may stand."

Sebastian used a hand to brace himself, then pulled himself up.  He still moved slowly, but his movements had an awkwardness Stowe had never seen in the boy.  He had always had a sureness that came with his slowness.  Now his hesitations seemed nervous.

The King put a hand on his son's back.  "Face them," he said softly. 

Sebastian turned and bowed to the nobles.  As he rose, the King said, "I present to you the future ruler of Blue Isle.  Anyone who refuses to accept this child as the heir apparent answers to me."

Sebastian's lower lip trembled, and his dark skin had gone gray.  The King slipped an arm around his son's waist and pulled him close.

Then Stowe glanced over his shoulder.  The nobles were still watching, waiting for someone to do something.  Stowe raised his hands and brought them together with an audible clap.  Miller followed his lead, as did the others.  The applause grew, not a heart-felt sound, but an obligatory one.

If only there were another way.  If only the King's son had the brilliance of his daughter.

If only Nicholas hadn't wed a Fey in the first place.

Stowe shook the thought from his head.  It was treasonous.  He had always been loyal to the royal family.  He would continue, even if Sebastian ruled.

Two spots of color formed on Sebastian's cheeks.  His eyes shone.  He nodded quickly, acknowledging the applause.

As it died down, the King said, "I promised you a banquet, and a banquet we shall have.  Take your seats."

Several servants scattered throughout the Hall hurried through the far doors, the doors that led into the kitchen.  The King pulled his son's chair back and bade Sebastian to sit.  Sebastian did, with a quick questioning glance to his father.

Then the King sat beside him.  Stowe skipped a place and was about to take his seat near the King's left when the King leaned over.  "The disturbances today leave me one child short," he said.  "Sit beside me so that no one notices the absence."

Stowe slid over.  He frowned.  He had noticed, but hadn't really considered the fact that Arianna was missing.  He wondered at the decision.  Was it to prevent comparisons?  She was so brilliant that her brother looked duller at her side.  Or was it because she so favored her mother?  The King didn't need any more reminders of the Fey presence within this palace.

The remaining members of the council sat at the head table.  The rest of the guests sat at the long banquet tables that ran the length of the hall.  All of the people present were large land-owners, but not all of them were nobility.  Some of the nobility had refused to come, so the King had invited the land-owners.  The King felt that the large land-owners, even if they had no chance of sitting on his council, needed to approve his son.  The more clout Sebastian had going into his rule, the better off he would be.

The King had invited the village chiefs from the Kenniland Marshes, but none of them had come.  He had also invited Wise Leaders from the Cliffs of Blood, but none of them attended either.  This disturbed Stowe.  He remembered the dissent in the Marshes when he had gone down there years ago, during the visit where the King's father had died.  They hated Jahn there.  They might hate a half-Fey ruler even more.

The Cliffs of Blood had their own traditions.  They never disturbed the cities as long as the cities never disturbed them.  Still, Stowe thought it an opportunity missed.

It took a moment for the guests to sit.  The conversation rose as the chairs were pushed in, and as the benches slid forward.  Beside him, the King let out a long sigh.  Sebastian looked at him, and smiled wanly.  The King smiled back. 

"It's done," he said.  "Are you going to be all right?"

Sebastian nodded. 

Then the servants marched in.  They were wearing spotless white, and carrying platters on their shoulders.  Three men carried the roast beef that had smelled so good.  They put that large platter on the head table.  The roast pheasants were on smaller platters.  They went on various sections of the long table.  Potatoes, breads, mincemeat, vegetables, and fruits were set alongside each section.

Stowe hadn't seen this much food since banquets before the Fey invasion.

"Oh, my," Sebastian said, his voice high and strange.  It seemed as if the solemnity of the occasion hadn't reached him until that moment. 

The King put his hand on his son's and squeezed.  Stowe noted the movement from the corner of his eye.  If something ever did happen to the King, it would be incredibly difficult for Sebastian. Stowe had never seen quite as close a family, and he suspected it had to do with their power, their isolation, and their strange heritage.

The conversations rose around them.  The Hall grew warm with the added bodies and the steam from the food.  The King cut the first slice of beef, signaling the start of the dinner.  Then plates clanged, and laughter rose. 

The King filled his plate, followed by Sebastian.  Then Stowe helped himself.  This meal had been long delayed, and he was very hungry.  It almost felt like the old days, when the King's father, Alexander, used to hold banquets to celebrate holy days or to reward his men for long service.  Stowe hadn't realized how much he missed them.

Behind them, servants climbed on ladders, and unhooked the large tapestries from their holders.  Then they brought them down slowly, so that the tapestries would not put dust in the food.  Night had officially settled.  The candelabrums and the chandeliers were lit.  The room had a soft glow.

Sebastian ate slowly, as if he weren't certain whether or not he was enjoying his meal.  He watched everyone around him.  The King also picked at his meal.  Stowe wondered if they would tell him later what had really happened this day.  He suspected something major.

Then Sebastian tilted his head up.  His eyes were moving rapidly.  A shiver ran down Stowe's back.  He wasn't certain if he could get used to this new, improved Sebastian.  Then Sebastian tapped the back of his father's hand. 

The King stopped playing with his food and followed Sebastian's gaze.  So did Stowe.  A spark flew around them, circling as if it were looking for a place to purchase.  Stowe didn't quite understand the degree of tension he felt from the King and Prince.  Sparks were common in a candle-lit room.  One had to keep an eye on them to make certain they didn't flare, but that was it.  They certainly didn't need that rapt attention.

Then, as he watched, the spark grew bigger.  It came closer to the table and he saw  —  or thought he saw  —  a little man with wings.  A glowing little man with blue wings.

The King wiped his mouth with the linen provided at his place setting, then put the linen on top of his food.

"Daddy," Sebastian whispered.

"What is it?" Stowe asked.

The King didn't answer either of them.  The little man grew until he was the size of a bird.  The conversation at the head table stopped.

The little man was definitely Fey, but Stowe didn't ever recall seeing him before.  The little man flew over the head table, and landed behind the King.

Sebastian whirled, moving so fast that Stowe almost couldn't see it.  As Stowe turned, the little man grew to full human size.  His wings grew as well, large gossamer things that folded against his back.  He was fully clothed, but in material that Stowe found unfamiliar: dark blues mixed with golds that caught the flicker of the candlelight.

The Fey man studied Sebastian for a moment, then smiled.  Sebastian gripped his table knife, but the King put his hand on his son's and lowered it.

"This is a private ceremony," the King said.  His voice was remarkably calm.  It silenced the rest of the room.  Guards moved from their posts, but the King held up a hand to stop them.

"Then I shall be brief."  The Fey's Islander was oddly accented.  It had a trace of Nye pronunciation, combined with a gruffer twang. 

The Hall was completely silent now.  The King stood so that he was of the same height as the new Fey.  Stowe stood behind him.  Then the rest of the head table stood, with the exception of Sebastian.  The guests on the lower tables also stood, probably so that they could see.

The Fey's smile grew.  He bowed to the others, as if he were the guest of honor.  "My name is Flurry," he said.  "I am new to your Isle."

Sebastian finally stood.  His face had gone gray. 

"I come," Flurry said, looking at Sebastian, "in the name of the Black King."

Stowe's heart made an awkward twist within his chest.  The moment had finally arrived.  He made himself breathe.

"He asks me to make an announcement."  Flurry seemed to be enjoying the suspense he was creating.  "He says that while he is enjoying your southern climes, he believes them too small to hold his troops.  He will be moving northward."

Someone moaned behind Stowe.  Sebastian started to say something, but the King grabbed his arm and held it so tightly that Stowe could see the whiteness of the King's knuckles.

"He claims Blue Isle for the Fey Empire.  He says it would be better for you all if you surrender now.  An invasion would be unpleasant, and would cause many deaths."

"You can't beat us," a man yelled from the lower tables.  "We have holy water."

Flurry nodded.  "Indeed.  And we have an antidote."

Other voices rose.  The King held up his hand, and silence reigned again.  Stowe was breathing shallowly.  The reports he had heard, then, were true.  The Fey had invaded.  From the south.

"Let me speak with your Black King," the King said.  "I'm sure we can settle this without surrender or war."

Flurry tilted his head.  His wings opened and then closed, sending a small puff of air toward Stowe.  "You are, of course, referring to the Black King's great-grandson."  Flurry reached a hand toward Sebastian's face as if to caress it.  Sebastian ducked, and snarled.  The King pulled his son closer.  "The Black King told me to remind you that his great-grandson has Black Blood and belongs exclusively to the Black Throne.  No harm will come to the boy.  But he cannot promise that for the rest of you."

"This child," the King said, "also has the blood of the Islanders' royal family."

"How fortunate for you," Flurry said.  "Upon your surrender, the child will be put in charge.  Then your unbroken lineage will continue as it has for generations."

"I wish to speak to the Black King," the King said.

Stowe was holding his breath.

Flurry shrugged.  "He does not wish to speak to you.  He gives you a choice, which is more than he has ever given any nation he has conquered.  You may surrender now, or surrender later.  The difference is how many of your young people you care to waste in a fruitless war."

"Blue Isle will never surrender," Sebastian said.  His voice was high, and it cracked.

Flurry smiled. "Is that the word, then?"

"The word is," the King said, "that there is a third option.  Tell your Black King that I will meet with him on neutral ground.  Any place he chooses."

"I shall tell him," Flurry said.  "But in case he chooses not to meet, what shall I say?  Surrender?  Or will we fight?"

"He cannot fight my family," the King said.

"But he can fight your people."

"My people are my family."

Flurry's wings extended, narrowly missing a candelabrum.  "I shall tell him.  It will make no difference to him.  Blue Isle belongs to the Fey."

Stowe glanced at the King.  It was now or not at all.

"Blue Isle remains independent," the King said.  "The Black King may ally with us, but he may not invade us."

"He doesn't need your permission to invade," Flurry said.

"But he needs my permission to stay."

"We shall see," Flurry said.  He nodded toward the King, and then grinned at Sebastian.  "Good luck to you," he said more to Sebastian than anyone else.  "You do not know what you are up against."

"Neither do you," Sebastian said, but Flurry had already shrunk to his original size.  The spark floated around the room, then slipped through a crack in the closed door.

"The Black King is here," Stowe said, his voice shaking.

The King stared after the tiny spark.  "The wait is finally over."

TWENTY-FOUR