Sacrifice: The First Book of the Fey (27 page)

Monte nodded. “I’ve seen . . . it myself, on the . . . way up here. . . . He used that bottle, and . . . they started to flail and . . . scream and die. It was hideous. . . . It was . . . wonderful.”

“So they’re out of the palace?”

“Not yet,” Monte said. He seemed to be catching his breath. “When I saw the Danites, I figured . . . I should bring them to you first. They’re coordinating an . . . attack on the Fey inside now.”

“Is there enough holy water?” Stephen asked the Danite.

“I don’t know,” the Danite said. “But we have got more from the Rocaan. Hundreds of Fey are dead between here and the Tabernacle.”

“Hundreds,” Stephen breathed.

“It’s a miracle,” the Danite said.

“A miracle we need to use,” Monte said. “Quickly. . . . If we didn’t have this weapon, we would all be dying.”

“Then make sure it is distributed to all who need it. I want to know when the Fey have left the palace.”

“Yes, Sire.” Monte let go of the Danite. “Give the King your holy water.”

“No,” Stephen said a bit too quickly. “Give it to me.”

The Danite glanced between them, confusion evident on his face.

“Give it to Stephen,” Alexander said.

Monte bowed, then turned as he headed for the door.

“Wait,” Alexander said. “Monte, as you came up here, did you—” He paused, not wanting to seem vulnerable, but finding no way around it. “Did you see my son?”

Monte did not turn around, but his shoulders stiffened. “No, Sire.”

Alexander wished he could see Monte’s face. It seemed to him as if the head of the palace guards was lying. Alexander swallowed. He could make Monte turn around, but now was not the time. The guards were sworn to protect the King and the Prince. If Monte knew where Nicholas was, he would make sure someone was there to help.

“All right, then,” he said. “Get this counterattack started, and make sure someone else comes up here with more holy water for the guards outside.”

“Yes, Sire.” Monte nodded once, to acknowledge the King, then let himself out the door.

Stephen pushed the Danite. “You go with him.”

“But—”

“King’s orders,” Stephen said.

The Danite frowned in confusion, but left as well. Stephen closed the door behind him. “Odd,” he said, leaning against it. He brought the bottle to his face. The water inside glistened.

“I would have liked to question that Danite more,” Alexander said.

“Not yet, Sire,” Stephen said. “Let’s see how this counterattack goes first.”

“You are supposed to follow my wishes,” Alexander said, noting that Stephen did not use a term of respect in his address.

“I am supposed to protect you.” Stephen put the bottle of holy water on the conference table. “How were we to know that Danite was one of us?”

“He was with Monte,” Alexander said. Stephen watched him. Alexander frowned and peered at the bottle. “You think this is a ruse to get at me?”

“It could be, Sire.”

“Then why would Monte—?” Alexander stopped, remembering the conversation earlier after the advisers had left the room. “You think Monte might be under the Fey’s magick?”

“We can take no chances,” Stephen said. “At the moment the only two people we can be certain of are me and you.”

“By the Sword.” Alexander sat heavily on the bench. “And we can trust each other only if we remain together.” This level of caution was beyond him. Not to trust people he had known all his life? How could his world have turned itself upside down so quickly? “We can’t live like this.”

“If this holy water works,” Stephen said, “we will devise a test for those who are near you. It might all be moot, anyway.”

“If the holy water works,” Alexander repeated, putting his face in his hands, not willing to let himself feel. “If it works, we have hope.”

TWENTY-SEVEN

This body’s slenderness belied its lack of strength. Silence cursed as he scurried across the courtyard. He hated the part of his magick that forced him to duplicate his hosts exactly. The first Islander host had been too fat, and this one was no better, remaining slim by relative youth and excellent heredity, not through exercise or a good diet. He was getting winded already.

The battle continued around him. Fey and Islanders fought outside the back entrance leading to the palace kitchen. Shouts and screams echoed in the air. Swords flashed. Near him an elderly servant used an iron barrel rim to slash at passing Fey. Silence kept swivelling his head, afraid that the Danites were nearly upon him. They wouldn’t try to kill him, thinking he was their precious Lord Powell, but if some of that holy water splashed on him . . . He shuddered. No one deserved to die like that.

He was still disoriented from the change. Islander personalities did not mesh well with his own. In Nye he would change and be that person immediately. Here even his knowledge of the culture came slowly.

This second change made everything slow. The changes depleted him more than he cared to admit.

Behind him, Shima called a retreat. Her voice trembled as she yelled.

The clothes he had stolen were too tight. He hoped no one would notice that he dressed differently than Powell had been a moment before. At least he had remembered to grab his stiletto in all the confusion.

He slipped behind a column, cowering as he had seen Powell do. He hoped no one had seen him speaking Fey with Shima. That would make him suspect from the start. But he couldn’t worry about that now. He had to find Jewel, and quickly.

Shima’s commanding voice broke off in midcry. He turned, saw the Danites clearing their way through the crowd. The stench was rising—and the tone of Fey voices was changing from victory to terror. He took a deep breath, then pushed into the melee that blocked the door to the kitchen.

Islanders slashed at Fey with clubs of burning wood, with knives, and with swords stolen from the dead or dying. The Fey—the Infantry—were fighting back with their own swords, youthful faces covered with sweat. The stench of the dying hadn’t made it to this area yet. It smelled of smoke and fear.

Both of his personalities recognized faces. Most of the fighting Islanders were kitchen staff, although a few of the guards had made it this far down. The butler was staving off two Fey with the handle from the butter churn, screaming as he did so.

All of the Fey in this area were from Shima’s troop: Infantry members too young to have discovered their magicks, or the unfortunates who had no magicks to speak off. He weaved his way around the fighters, glad for Powell’s relative height, each step another step between him and the Danites.

He kept to the walls. The screams and cries and shouts were a blur to him. He couldn’t tell which were in his native tongue and which were in Powell’s. He squinted through the smoke and near darkness, hoping to see Jewel.

It wasn’t until he got near the stairs that he realized something had changed.

Islander and Fey stood side by side, forming a semicircle. Their expressions seemed identical: a mixture of confusion and hope. All held their weapons at their sides, as if they were afraid to use them.

Burden stood near Silence, his sword bloodied. He was breathing heavily. Silence followed Burden’s gaze.

There, in the center of the circle, Nicholas held Jewel while his men tied her hands. She wasn’t struggling.

Silence swallowed, a cold terror running through him. She wasn’t wounded by the Danites, for she would be dying. Could the Islander boy have bested her in a fight? Jewel, granddaughter of the Black King, one of the strongest of all the Fey?

He pushed his way through the standing crowd, his heart pounding wildly at the risk he was taking. Fey or Islander could strike at him at any moment. He took advantage of the oddness of the situation to protect him.

“Well done, Highness,” he said in a voice that carried. “Our first prisoner. Is she yours?”

Nicholas glanced up, and a wariness crossed his features. “Lord Powell. Shouldn’t you be helping my father?”

Jewel was watching him, a slight frown on her forehead. Some Fey claimed to be able to recognize a Doppelgänger no matter who he was wearing, but she had never been one of them. Still, Silence felt as if she could look through his disguise.

“Your father sent me here,” Silence said, and with that statement an image jumped through his brain. He knew where the King was, and he knew how to get there. Perhaps if he could stay ahead of those Danites, he might be able to demoralize these Islanders after all.

But Jewel came first. Rugar could not lose his oldest child.

“I am supposed to monitor the ground.” He held out his hand as he came forward. “But you seem to have it well under control. Let me take this prisoner to your father.”

“I don’t know if she is a prisoner yet,” Nicholas said. Then Silence noticed the dagger in the boy’s left hand. The fear that was dogging him grew.

“Oh?” If Silence was going to rescue her, he had to sound diffident. And Powell thought he knew the boy: all reckless curiosity and flamboyance, with little real strength. Silence hoped his host was right. “Well, then, if she’s not important, kill her.”

The words came more easily than he expected. Nicholas’s grip on his dagger tightened, but he shook his head. “She’s important,” he said softly.

Silence took a step closer. Jewel didn’t move, her gaze trained on his face. “Then let me take her for you. You can finish up here. The Danites are coming with a potion that kills these creatures quickly, leaving no time for even a death cry. We have the situation well in hand now.”

The Islanders had finished tying Jewel, but Nicholas still clutched her against him. “Where would you take her?”

“To the barracks. We need to be able to question these creatures, and since you think she’s important—”

“I’m taking her to my father.”

“What?” Silence couldn’t hide his surprise.

“They all listen to her, they all follow her. She’s someone important. My father can question her, maybe even bargain with her.”

The boy’s stubbornness made Silence’s chill grow. Silence forced himself to smile. “She is probably just a division commander. She probably knows nothing more. We won’t need to bargain, since we have our holy water. We are going to win, Highness.”

“Are we, milord?” The boy smiled in return. “Then indulge me.” He took Jewel’s arm and pulled her to the stairs. “You know where my father is. Take me there.”

Silence swallowed. Behind him he heard the cries of dying Fey. He glanced over his shoulder. The Danites were at the door, making their way into the room. The stench preceded them. All the Fey would die. All of them. Even Jewel.

He tried not to let his fear show and scanned his mind for Powell’s knowledge of the castle. Not all the pieces were there yet, but some of them were. Even if Silence got Jewel, he would have to take her through the Great Hall, the lodgings, and finally into the streets: the streets from which the Danites had come.

To the Islanders, though, he was one of their rulers, one of their lords. He would be able to free her and take her to the Shadowlands later, when the path was safer.

The screams were growing behind him. He wished for one moment without Islander presence. He would scream a warning to his people. But that was the price of his profession. He had known it since he’d been a boy at the battle of Issan.