Sacrifice: The First Book of the Fey (81 page)

And risk hearing lies.

All the talk of bodies and blood and bones had spooked him. Reece’s comments about the tainted holy water had spooked him even more.

The Rocaan stood up and stuck the vial into his pocket. Then he took the key ring from his sash and quietly unlocked Matthias’s door.

The Rocaan’s heart was pounding twice as fast as usual. Sharp pains shot from the bottom of his feet to his knees. He needed rest, and soon. But he couldn’t rest until this was all settled.

Matthias’s chambers were dark. Light from the moon floated in an uncovered window, making all the furniture look like gray lumps. The Rocaan slipped in and eased the door shut so that it made no noise as it closed. The latch clicked, sounding like thunder in the quiet rooms.

Even breathing came from the secondary chamber. Coals in the fireplace there burned red, giving everything an orange glow. The Rocaan set his lamp on a table by the door, so that the minuscule light wouldn’t awaken Matthias. Then he crept toward Matthias’s sleeping room.

The Rocaan took the vial from his pocket and held it in his fist. His shaking had grown, as had his feeling that what he was doing was very wrong. It was against all his beliefs, against all that he had been taught. A man believed his friends and colleagues. He did not test them without their knowledge, especially with a test that might kill them in a horrible manner. A man did not even do a thing like that to his enemies.

The red glow in Matthias’s bedchamber grew as the Rocaan stalked closer to it. As his eyes adjusted, he saw the bed, piled with blankets. Books and scrolls covered the floor beside the bed. Matthias was asleep on his back, one hand resting on top of the covers, his shoulder bare.

The Rocaan stared at him for a moment. He had sponsored this man. He had chosen him to become an Elder despite his youth and strange looks. The break between them since the invasion had been hard. It was difficult to remember that, on the day of the invasion, Matthias had been the Elder that the Rocaan had trusted the most.

His hand hurt because he clutched his fist so tightly. He was half-afraid the vial would shatter. He stood over Matthias, watching his chest rise and fall with each even breath.

It would be so easy. A single drop would tell him everything he needed to know.

But he would never be able to live with himself again, and God might turn his Ear even further from the Rocaan than he already had.

The Rocaan reached out with his empty hand and touched Matthias’s arm. Matthias started but didn’t awaken. The Rocaan grabbed Matthias’s wrist and shook it, whispering Matthias’s name. Finally Matthias’s eyes opened.

“Holy Sir, what—?”

The Rocaan put a finger to his lips, although he wasn’t sure why he insisted on silence. “Get dressed, then come to the other room and talk with me.”

Matthias nodded. He ran his hand through his hair—the curls were in complete disarray—and sat up.

The Rocaan hurried back into the main room. He used his small lamp to light a candle and then went from lamp to lamp, so that the entire room was ablaze in light. It was cold there. The fire had gone out in this chamber long ago.

He would tell Matthias what he had been thinking. If Matthias acted badly—although what “badly” meant the Rocaan didn’t know—then the Rocaan would toss holy water on him. If Matthias acted well, the Rocaan would still insist on a test. Matthias would just have to understand.

When Matthias emerged from his sleep chamber, he wore a simple black robe and nothing on his long, slender feet. His hair was still mussed, and shadows under his eyes made them appear sunken.

“Is there an emergency, Holy Sir?” he asked. His voice was roughened from exhaustion. Matthias was probably as tired as the Rocaan. Only Matthias was younger. He could take the strain on the body better than the Rocaan could.

“Sit down,” the Rocaan said.

Matthias chose a chair near the cold fireplace. The Rocaan sat in a chair opposite him. His legs protested, and he knew he would have trouble getting up.

“Forgive me,” the Rocaan said, “but I would like to ask you to allow me to sprinkle some of my holy water on you.”

“Certainly.” Matthias extended his left hand. It was clean and well manicured. He did not shake as he held his hand in the air.

But the Rocaan did. He unstopped the vial and poured four drops of holy water onto Matthias’s hand. The drops pooled in Matthias’s palm.

“Do you want to say a Blessing?” Matthias asked.

“Do you need one?” the Rocaan said.

“Everyone needs one these days,” Matthias said.

So the Rocaan murmured a short version of the Blessing over Matthias. The Rocaan’s voice shook as much as his hands had. He
had been wrong. He had been wrong. He had not believed, and he had been wrong.

When the Blessing was over, Matthias looked at him. “Am I to find out what this is about, or should I go back to bed?”

The Rocaan shook his head, although he knew Matthias wasn’t certain which question he was answering. “I am sorry,” the Rocaan said. “I needed to know.”

Matthias picked up a small sword from the table, a sword that should have been on a chain or sash, and dipped it into the water in his palm. Then he rubbed the water over the sword, murmuring part of the Midnight Sacrament. When he was done, he put the sword in a small ceramic bowl and rubbed his hands together.

“Forgive me, Holy Sir,” Matthias said, “but I would have thought that my work with the holy water would be enough to prove that I have not been touched by the Fey.”

The Rocaan nodded. “So would I. But tonight I discovered that the holy water used in the Midnight Sacrament was not real holy water.”

Matthias leaned back just a little. “And you knew you hadn’t done that, so you suspected me. Are you sure of your source?”

“Very,” the Rocaan said. He couldn’t tell Matthias who or how he knew. No one else among the Elders knew of the peculiarity in the Cliffs of Blood. Another of the Secrets.

Matthias rubbed the sleep from his eyes. The movement was boyish. The Rocaan had forgotten how young Matthias really was. “Then we need to know if there is more than one vial,” Matthias said. “I trust the one you Blessed me with is one you made yourself?”

The Rocaan nodded.

Matthias sighed. He ran his fingers through his hair like a comb, and this time the curls fell into place. “All right. Are you up to checking this out tonight? I think we need to know before Morning Sacrament.”

The Rocaan’s body felt as if it were about to collapse underneath him, but he wasn’t going to admit that to Matthias. Matthias was right; they had to check this immediately, and the Rocaan wouldn’t be satisfied unless he did the work himself.

He extended an arm. “Help me up.”

Matthias stood and braced the Rocaan’s elbow with his hand. The Rocaan stood slowly. The ache that he usually had in his feet and joints in the morning had arrived this evening. The stress that he suffered was affecting his body. He wasn’t certain how much longer he could continue at this pace.

“We have no idea who could have done this,” Matthias said. “We must trust no one else.”

The Rocaan smiled to himself. At least he and Matthias were thinking along the same lines. And at least Matthias understood what had prompted the Rocaan’s actions a few moments earlier.

“I brought a small lamp,” the Rocaan said, pointing to the one on the table.

Matthias picked up the lamp. “Perfect.”

He opened the door and helped the Rocaan out of it. They walked down the corridor in silence, the only sound the Rocaan’s shoes whispering on the carpet.

They took a side staircase to the sanctuary. Matthias led them through the back chamber and into the sanctuary itself.

The sanctuary looked different in the dark. The sword hanging from the ceiling had the look of a wild thing swooping at them. The Sacrificial Table looked larger, and the pews seemed to extend forever into the blackness.

Matthias set the lamp on the Sacrificial Table. The scars in the wood became prominent. On the shelves beneath it, the glass vials gleamed.

“There are only a few,” the Rocaan said. “They must be left over from the Midnight Sacrament.”

He grabbed the table to keep his balance and reached for the vials beneath.

“Wait!” Matthias said. “You don’t know if the liquid inside is something that might harm us. Let me do the dangerous work. There are ten Elders. You are unique.”

The Rocaan hated the argument, but he agreed. He straightened, ignoring the protest of his back.

Matthias took a vial from beneath and unstopped the cork. Then he sniffed loudly. The light flowed upward onto his face and reflected through the glass, distorting his features. His frown seemed ominous.

“It smells wrong,” he said.

He tilted the vial and poured some of the liquid onto the same hand that had held the Rocaan’s holy water earlier. “It feels right, though.”

He leaned closer to the light, and the Rocaan leaned with him. The water was brownish and had bits of sediment. The first act of creating holy water was to strain any sediment from the water used.

“Well, we know what it’s not,” the Rocaan said.

Matthias nodded. “I don’t want you to touch it,” he said. “In fact, I don’t want anyone to touch it except me. Then I’ll wash my hands in holy water and see if something happens. I think I can take care of things from now, Holy Sir.”

“No,” the Rocaan said. “I will stay here. We need to get rid of this liquid, and we need to put some new holy water here for Morning Sacrament.”

“It could be an all-night task,” Matthias warned.

“Then we won’t get any sleep,” the Rocaan said. “I will make a new batch of holy water tonight and have an Aud bring it down. You can get rid of these vials however you please. I don’t believe they should be reused. Then come to me when we’re through.”

“You have a suspicion,” Matthias said.

The Rocaan nodded. “I think there are Fey here, and I think they’re substituting something for holy water. I think that’s why you discovered those bones and that blood. I think one of the creatures made a mistake and died.”

Matthias shook his head. “If that was the case, then the Fey that I doused with holy water that day would have been reduced to a pile of bones and a pool of blood. I covered them with the stuff. They died, but still had skin. No. Those bones and blood mean something else. But I do agree with you. I do think Fey were here.”

“It seems the only explanation, doesn’t it?” the Rocaan said.

Matthias set a bottle next to the lamp. “I’m afraid it does. What are we going to do about that?”

“We have to do something.” The Rocaan pushed away from the table. “And we have to do it soon.”

SIXTY-SEVEN

Dello stood over the baby, her stout frame guarding his cradle as if she were afraid Jewel would harm him. Jewel waited behind her, off to the side so that she could see the child for herself. Her father had seen him and had come back to the cabin angry. He had refused to talk with her, so Jewel had come herself.

The Domestics were keeping the baby in the Domicile until Rugar decided what to do with him. They had placed him in a room no bigger than a closet, with a cradle that was handmade. The cradle surprised Jewel. Someone had to have needed it. She was sure her father hadn’t asked who, if anyone, was pregnant.