Fey 02 - Changeling (6 page)

Instinctively, Jewel put a hand over her stomach, guarding the child within.
 
Then she stepped inside the chamber.

"Nicholas?" she said, even now disdaining the formal forms of address the Islanders insisted upon.

He stared at her as if he didn't see her, as if he were someone else.
 
The thought sent a shiver of fear through her.
 
The Fey had ways of taking over a person — some of them direct, such as a Doppelgänger who absorbed the person, soul and all; and some indirect, such as suggestions made by strong Charmers.
 
Her father couldn't have sent a Doppelgänger to take over Nicholas; all the Doppelgängers had died in the first year on the Isle.
 
No Charmers had come with them either.
 
Still, she went up to Nicholas, took his chin in her hand, and turned his head toward her.
 
His eyes were lined with red, but no gold — the sign of a Doppelgänger — glinted in them.
 
It was Nicholas, but a part of him that she did not recognize.

He moaned at her touch, and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her as close as he could.
 
The babe kicked in protest — did that child never rest? — but he didn't even seem to notice.
 
Jewel held him tightly, glancing over his shoulder at Lord Enford.
 
Nicholas had never been this demonstrative in public.
 
It was something she frowned upon more than he, but he had always honored that.
 
Until now.

Except for Enford, they were alone in the large room.
 
The guards that usually stood beneath the ancient spears lining the walls were gone.
 
On the dais, the throne was empty, which didn't surprise her, since Alexander was on a tour of the countryside—

With Enford.

She returned her gaze to Enford, taking in the brown smears on his traveling clothes.
 
Not all of the stains were dirt.
 
A chill ran through her so strong that she shivered.

Nicholas apparently felt the shiver and pulled away.
 
He ran a hand through his hair, disturbing its look, a gesture reminiscent of his father.
 
Nicholas walked over to the throne, and stared above it, at the coat of arms that decorated the wall behind.
 
Jewel had always found the fact that the royal family had a coat of arms curious.
 
She found it even odder that the design was of two swords crossed over a heart.

"Do you think that's symbolic of us?" he asked Jewel in Nye.

She knew better than to answer in front of Enford.
 
"What happened?" she said softly in Islander.
 
She had learned the language well in her years at the palace, although Nye remained her language with Nicholas.
 
It provided them no privacy:
 
most of the Islanders spoke Nye.
 
It had just become custom between them.

Enford started to speak but Nicholas held up his hand.
 
"My father's dead," he said in Nye.

The ache over Jewel's heart dissipated as if it never were and suddenly, she missed it.
 
She felt hollow.
 
Alexander, dead.
 
In an instant, everything had changed.
 
"How?" she asked in Islander.

Nicholas turned, faced Enford.
 
"Wait until the others come."

"Under the Mysteries," Jewel said.
 
"I am your wife.
 
This will affect all of us.
 
I deserve to hear before 'the others'."

Enford's gaze held a wariness it had not held before.
 
"An arrow, Highness.
 
Just one.
 
Through the heart."

Jewel suddenly wished for a chair.
  
Three days before.
 
She had felt it.
 
She had to have.
 
It took a long time to get to Jahn from the Kenniland Marshes.
 
She had known — but how?
 
"You caught the assassin, then?"

Enford shook his head.
 
"Lord Stowe and Captain Monte remain in the area with some of the guards.
 
I came back right away."

She didn't like this.
 
She wasn't that close to Alexander.
 
She shouldn't have known about his death.
 
It should have been as much of a surprise to her as it was to Nicholas.
 
So far he had said nothing about her sudden heart pain.
 
She only hoped that he would not put it together with his father's death.
 

She went to Nicholas and took his hand, turning him around.
 
Despite the battles four years before, he was not accustomed to death. She was.
 

"You're King now," she said in Nye.
 

His eyes were empty.
 
She suddenly saw how Sebastian resembled him.
 

Enford had moved discreetly away, standing closer to the door.

"They will rely on you, expect you to make decisions."

Finally, Nicholas focused.
  
His blue eyes were wide, red-lined, but dry.
 
"How?
 
He was my father."

"And their King.
 
It is time to be strong.
 
Later, when they are gone, you can mourn him."

He blinked, and straightened his shoulders.
 
Enford was still standing by the door.
 

"What will happen next?" she asked, her voice soft.
 
She would lead him through this.
 
She owed him that much.
 
Him and the new child.
 
The hope.

"I don't know," he said.

"You have to know," she whispered, "or someone else will fill the gap."

He nodded once, then pulled his hand from her grasp.
 
He took a deep breath, as if he were steeling himself, then he walked to Enford.
 
"This is the wrong room for this meeting," he said in Islander.
 
"We need to assemble in a place with a table and chairs.
 
I don't want my wife on her feet for the hours it will take to resolve this."

Jewel mentally applauded him.
 
The decision would also keep him from sitting in his father's chair immediately, so that he would look like a reluctant King.

"Would you please help the servants prepare the Great Chamber?
 
Her Highness and I will follow."

Enford nodded.
 
"Certainly, Highness."

He opened the door, and was about to step out when Jewel said, "Take a moment for yourself, Lord Enford, and stop in the kitchen for a bite to eat and a bit of mead.
 
I'm sure you're hungry as well as exhausted after your journey."

Enford turned so that he could stare at her for a moment, his expression unreadable.
 
Then he allowed himself a tight smile and a nod.
 
She understood his acknowledgment.
 
He recognized the courtesy.
 
She had never used his title before, and probably would not again.
 
But they were putting aside small differences at the moment, differences that would cause rather than ease the crisis.

"Thank you, milady," he said, returning the courtesy as best he could without insulting his new King.
 
"I will do so after the meeting room is arranged."

Then he left and closed the oak doors carefully behind him.

"I can't do this," Nicholas said in Nye.

She had heard this before, in battle, with Fey who had been trained for years to expect such changes.
 
"You can.
 
You must."

"Jewel, it may lead to war."

She didn't nod, even though she agreed.
 
She wanted him to take this one step at a time.
 
"He was killed with an arrow, Nick, in the Marshes. Arrows are not weapons of choice for my people.
 
We have much more devious ways of killing.
 
Have there been assassination attempts on your monarchs before?"

"None successful."
 
Nicholas's face was paler than she had ever seen it.
 
A slash of red marred one cheek, as if he had been rubbing it.

"But there have been, right?"

He nodded.
 

"Against your father?"

"Of course not.
 
Against one of my great-grandfathers.
 
During the Peasant Uprising.
 
A few before that too, I think."

"So there is precedent."

Nicholas frowned.
 
"I suppose there is.
 
But why would anyone want to kill my father?"

She almost started listing reasons:
 
the Islanders blamed Alexander for the Fey's arrival, and for his lack of strength in dealing with the Fey, not realizing that keeping the Fey from overtaking the Isle was a victory.
 
Alexander had made some unpopular rulings in the last few years, from closing trade to outlawing cats.
 
The Islanders had many reasons to hate him.
 
But she said nothing.
 

"I don't know," she said.
 
"But, Nicky, we have to examine that as an option."

He tilted his head and looked at her sideways.
 
"So no one will blame the Fey?"
 
The look was almost sly.
 
She had never seen it before.

"Do you?" she asked.
 
Her heart was pounding.
 
The only Islander who had ever supported her, the only Islander who had ever believed that the Fey and the Islanders could work together was Nicholas.
 
Without him, she would have to return to her father with her sparkless child and her newborn girl to live in Shadowlands and fight a war they had no chance of winning.

"I don't think you had any part in this."

"So you do blame my people."

He shrugged, turned.
 
"I don't understand why my father would die now.
 
As you said, we have to look at all the options."

She bit her lower lip.
 
Since they were being as honest as they could with each other, she would try one more question.
 
"There will be objections to me as your Queen."

His expression softened and he moved beside her, tracing a finger along the fine bone of her cheek.
 
The pull between them was as fine and strong as ever.
 
His people believed their god guided them.
 
Hers believed in Mysteries and Powers.
 
But whatever had brought them together had made it so that the two of them could not resist each other.

"There have always been objections," he said.

"There will be more now."

He put his hand on her stomach, and leaned his head against hers.
 
The baby wasn't kicking now, and Jewel realized that she had forgotten to tell him about her Vision.

"You are my Queen, and I am their King," he said.
 
"They may not like my choice, but they'll have to live with it."

"Like you do."

He kissed her and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
 
"I don't live with my choice, Jewel." His voice was soft, warm.
 
"I depend on it."

FOUR

He was the King's contact with the people, but Lord Stowe had never encountered people like this.
 
Most of them lived in wood and thatch huts on the outskirts of the Marshes.
 
Only a few lived in the village, and they looked even poorer than the Marsh dwellers.

Stowe had taken over the kirk at the edge of the village.
 
The building was made of stone, dug up, the villagers told him proudly, from the marsh muck and blessed by the Rocaan himself. The Rocaan, the religious leader of Blue Isle, rarely left the Tabernacle in Jahn, so it was clear the villagers meant the 50th Rocaan.
 
He had been dead over four years now, tricked and murdered by the Fey leader Rugar when the Rocaan tried to make peace.
 
The old Rocaan had spent his training in the Marshes.
 
Stowe doubted the old Rocaan had much to do with the kirk — the building looked too old even for that — but his heritage probably had a lot to do with the building's constant use and cleanliness.