Sacrifice: The First Book of the Fey (46 page)

She hated the stables. More than once she had spooked a horse and nearly been trampled. She sat, finished washing her face, then searched for a puddle of rainwater, putting off the mission as long as she could. The only untainted puddle she found was in a mud hole near the stables. She took a quick drink, then winced at the grittiness of the water. It would do. For now.

The stables housed only fifteen horses. They were separated by large stalls, and the clean floor was covered with fresh hay. She sneezed as she entered, more from the pungent smell of the horses than from anything else. The front of the stables was empty except for the tack and several bales of hay. She jumped on top of one of the bales, waiting until she saw Tel.

She had seen him twice since his change, both times in a designated meeting spot. He wouldn’t be expecting her now. She wasn’t sure how she would contact him. Both times she had seen him, she had been in her Fey form.

A stable boy came from the back, leading a black stallion. The horse was prancing. Solanda slipped even farther back on the bale, hoping the horse wouldn’t see her. It didn’t. The boy led the horse outside.

Someone else was whistling by the stalls. She craned her neck and tried to see past the beams and bales into the back. But she couldn’t. She wouldn’t go down that hall and risk getting trampled.

Two more stable boys passed with horses before she saw the man she wanted. Tel was dressed as a groom now, and ordering the others about. She waited until the two were gone before she walked on the wooden railing of an empty stall.

His human form was broad-shouldered and muscular. None of the Blue Islanders seemed very tall, however, and Tel’s host was no exception. His hair was brown, and nothing in his face revealed Tel’s presence.

When he saw her, he swore. He opened his mouth and looked away from her, probably to call one of the stable boys for help, when she meowed at him and raised one paw. He looked back at her, his brow furrowing in puzzlement.

She sat next to the support beam and said in Fey, “I’m thirsty. Bring me some fresh water outside this smelly building.”

“But—”

“A Doppelgänger should never question his betters,” she said, and jumped off the wall. Straw dug into her pads, and she silently cursed him for his job. She shook the strands off her feet, then went outside to wait.

The sun had peeked over the gate. The day would be hot and steamy after the night’s rain. She found a patch of sunlight, letting the warmth soak into her bones.

Presently Tel came out, carrying a ceramic dish filled with water. He set the water in front of her, then sat down cross-legged beside her.

“Who are you?” he asked in Fey.

“First,” she said, looking around to make sure no one else was in earshot. She didn’t see anyone. “Talk to me in Islander. I’ve picked up enough of it this last year to be conversant. Second, treat me like a cat you’ve been trying to tame for some time. Use that stupid baby talk Islanders use when talking to us. Third, I will still use Fey. Maybe no one will realize what I’m doing. And fourth, idiot, I am the only Shape-Shifter Rugar brought with him.”

“Solanda?”

“One and the same. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to have a drink.” She stood and bent to the water, scooping it into her mouth with her tongue. Spoiled horses didn’t have to drink out of mud holes for their nourishment. She drank half the bowl—she hadn’t realized just how thirsty she was—before sitting again and looking at Tel.

“You have water on your whiskers,” he said in Islander.

“Brilliant observation,” she said. She shook her head, splattering him. He wiped off his arm, lips pursed. She hated Doppelgängers. Thought they were as important as Shape-Shifters, but they lacked so much natural talent. “I’m here from Rugar. He says the quality of your information is poor. He wants you in the Tabernacle.”

“What?”

A stable boy brought another horse outside. Solanda moved closer to Tel, rubbing her head against his leg. She purred. Tel put a tentative hand on her back. She wrinkled her nose at the stink of horses.

She waited until the stable boy was gone before continuing. “He wants you to discover how they make that poison. The Spell Warders are having no luck with it.”

“By the Sword,” he said, an expression she had never heard, but she assumed it was a human oath. “I could die.”

“You could be kicked to death by a horse too. Wouldn’t it be better to die knowing that you had got information that could save us all?”

He looked around, scratching behind her ear as he did so. She couldn’t help herself. The scratching felt good and she leaned into him.

“Listen,” he said in Fey. “I have heard that we can die just from going into that place.”

“Not true,” she said. “I have known Fey who’ve been inside.”

“Have they lived?”

No. They had all died. Even the Doppelgängers. “They were careless,” she said. She pulled away from his hand, even though the touch felt good. “If you refuse this assignment, I will bring a Red Cap here to douse you and turn you to your old form. You’ll have to make it back to Shadowlands alone and unprotected.”

He wiped his hand on his pants legs and stared down at her. “You play mean,” he said in Islander.

“The poison terrifies me. I want off this wretched place. The last ship didn’t make it, and I’m beginning to be afraid that Rugar is going to settle. I don’t want to settle. I want to move on. Nye wasn’t heaven, but it was better than living in the Shadowlands.”

Tel stared at her for a long moment. His eyes narrowed, and she finally saw the Fey in him. He, too, lived in terror of the poison.

He took a deep breath, rubbed a hand over his forehead, and sighed. “How long do I have before I’m supposed to go?” he asked in Islander.

“Right away,” she said. “I don’t think I’m the only one who is impatient.”

He frowned at her, then picked up the bowl of water and tossed the water onto the ground. She almost commented on his rudeness—he could have asked her if she wanted more—but then realized that was what he wanted.

“Rugar expects a message as soon as you’re in the Tabernacle,” she said. “A courier will be waiting for you down at the warehouse near the old Shadowlands at midnight tomorrow.”

He didn’t respond, even though she knew he had heard her. He turned his back and went inside the stable. She watched for a moment, fighting the urge to follow him. He was too comfortable. She recognized the signs. She had seen it twice in Nye—Doppelgängers who had turned, whose hosts had proved stronger than the Fey self. She would warn Rugar. He could decide if Tel formed a threat to the rest of the community. She hoped not. Too many in their small force had died in the past year.

But she didn’t have long to reflect on it. She still had one more Doppelgänger to talk with, and she wanted to do so before the nobility woke.

Now she wished she had sneaked into the kitchen. She trotted across the courtyard, glad she had had the water. As the sun struck the damp dirt and stone, steam rose. She wanted to finish her duties so that she could find a nice, cool piece of shade and sleep.

She rounded a corner, went past the kitchen and along the archway, dodging the feet of busy servants, most of whom took no notice of her. The sounds in the yard had increased—the chickens squawking as they got fed, horses neighing and people shouting greetings to each other. A ragged black cat with half an ear hissed at her from a hole a fallen stone had left in the wall. She hissed back for good form, then scurried away. Other cats lived in the yard, and the last thing she needed was a fight.

Finally she found the door she was looking for, the one that opened into the corridor outside the Great Hall. She bumped against it, thinking it would open from her weight, but it didn’t. She scanned the yard, hoping to see someone coming toward her. When no one did, she lay as near to the door as she could, her muscles tense so that she could spring through at a moment’s notice.

She had catnapped for about an hour when the door finally opened. She slipped between the booted feet that made their way out, ignoring the shouted “Hey!” and scampering down the hall. She had no idea where to find Quest, but her best chance was there.

The inside of the palace was cool after the growing heat outside. She hurried down the corridor, enjoying the cold stone against her pads. The air smelled of dust and freshly baked bread, an odd combination. She headed toward the kitchen because she wasn’t sure where else to go.

Finally she heard voices: a woman speaking softly to a man at the base of the stairs. She stopped and peered around the corner. The woman was one of the servants. She was slender and very blond, her hair paler than her skin. Her serving dress was cut low across the bodice, but it appeared as if she had tried to pull the bodice higher. She held a feather duster before her like a weapon. The man was Quest in his human role as master of the hall. He was giving the woman instructions, and she was arguing with him. Suddenly he took the duster from her and tossed it across the floor. It skidded to a stop near Solanda. Solanda didn’t back away quickly enough.

“Oh, lordsy,” the woman said. “I dinna let this one in, sir.”

“But make sure you get it out,” Quest said.

The woman hurried toward Solanda. Solanda ran past her and careened into Quest’s leg. He cried out as she dug her claws into his pants leg and climbed up his side. He was brushing her away, but she bit his hand.

“Get this thing off me!” he yelled.

The woman came over, apologizing as she walked.

“Stupid,” Solanda hissed in Fey. “I have to talk to you.”

The woman grabbed her and Solanda yowled, digging her claws in harder. “‘Tis sorry I am, sir. I dunno how she got in here.”

“Go about your dusting,” he said. “I’ll take care of the damn cat.”

“Sure is a strange one, that,” the woman said. “I dinna ever hear nothing meow like that before.”

“Go,” Quest said, “or I will discipline you immediately.”

The woman hurried to her place in the hall and picked up her feather duster; then she disappeared down the corridor.

“I hope to hell this is you, Solanda,” he whispered in Fey as he pulled her off, “because if it isn’t, I’ll make sure you don’t live through the day.”

“Testy,” she said. “Get me out of this corridor and we’ll talk.”

He cradled her with one hand, pushing her body against his shoulder as if she were a child. He went up the stairs, past the first landing and the tapestry-strewn window, and onto the first floor. As one of the ranking officers of the house, he had special privileges, such as a room in the palace proper.

His room was small, though, with an ancient feather bed that needed airing. It had one uncovered window that gave the place a larger feel. He set her down on the mildewed rug—obviously a discard from the nobility—and immediately went to his washbasin. He pulled off his shirt, revealing long scratches on his side and arms.

“Couldn’t you have done something else?” he asked.

She jumped onto the bed and sneezed as dust rose around her, the motes floating in the window’s light. She sat, then wiped her nose and mouth with the side of her paw and sneezed again as more dust got into her nostrils. “Don’t you ever clean this room?” she asked.

“I barely have time to sleep.” He grabbed a ripped cloth and dipped it into the water. “Master of the hall has its benefits—and I do hear a lot—but I work harder than I have ever worked before.”

She sighed. Complaints. She hated complaints. As if she didn’t work for the cause. Still, she didn’t have to
pretend
to be the enemy every day.

He wiped the blood of the scratches, wincing as he did so. “By the Powers, these things hurt.”

“Cat scratches,” she said without apology. “If I were you, I’d get a Healer to look at them so they don’t get infected.”