can find the Auds who travel through there or a bartering merchant who buys from the south. A force of thousands can't stay hidden forever."
"Unless it's in Shadowlands," Stowe said.
Nicholas shook his head. "The Shadowlands are a bivouac for a regular army, not a hiding place like it's been used here. If the Fey came over the mountains and conquered villages, they're still in those villages. If this has been going on for two weeks, we should have heard before now."
"Unless no one could get out."
"You said the Marshlanders were good at hiding. If they saw a force of ten thousand coming, they would have taken to the marshes, and escaped. We would have heard within days."
"The Fey are cunning," Stowe said, sounding skeptical.
Nicholas nodded, remembering all the twists and turns of Jewel's planning. The last thing he had asked her before she died had been if she would someday betray him.
She had promised she wouldn't.
But he had wondered for fifteen years if she had been telling the truth.
"We defeated them once," Nicholas said. "We can do so again."
"Do you think that was a true defeat?" Lord Stowe asked.
"They negotiated out of weakness, Stowe," Nicholas said. "Jewel would never have sacrificed herself and her unborn children to life in Jahn if she had thought there was another way. The Fey are warriors, remember?"
"I'm having trouble forgetting," Stowe said.
"Find me proof," Nicholas said, "and set up a meeting of the lords after the Coming of Age Ceremony. We'll settle this thing as soon as we can."
At least, he hoped they would. This invasion from the south sounded implausible.
Which made it all that more likely that the Black King had arrived. The Fey never did things the expected way, and they had more abilities than Nicholas knew of.
I know the Black King lives and I know he has not abandoned Blue Isle, the Shaman had said.
He will come, Jewel had said.
In such numbers that we will rule this place, her father had said.
Nicholas had been dreading this for a generation. And if it were true, if the Black King had arrived with an army of thousands, Nicholas didn't know what to do.
The Fey are sworn to protect anyone in the Black King's family, the Shaman had said.
Anyone.
Sebastian.
Arianna.
And the Black King himself.
Instead of solving the war between Blue Isle and the Fey, Jewel and Nicholas had made it worse.
Their marriage, and their children, had turned an invasion into a civil war.
A fury, the Shaman had called it.
Insanity.
Nicholas closed his eyes.
This was only the beginning.
FIVE
Titus, the Fifty-Second Rocaan, sat on his balcony in the heat of mid-day. His chair was a specially designed lounge, made for relaxation and afternoon naps. A red berry punch sat on the table beside him, untouched, even though he usually drank two glasses as part of his afternoon ritual. He was staring across the courtyard, over the Cardidas River, and into the main section of the city of Jahn.
He was staring at the palace.
This afternoon the half-Fey would be celebrated as the next head of state. The creature with the little brain, who carried the Roca's blood mixed with the blood of murderers, the creature who could not touch holy water for fear of death, would be designated the Prince.
Someday he would rule Blue Isle.
Titus was not certain that day should come.
Although he didn't know how to prevent it. His predecessor, Matthias, would have gone to the ceremony and somehow — presumably accidentally — touched the heir with holy water. Matthias had done that once before, to the King's consort, Jewel, and her death had been hideous.
But not as hideous as the slaughter of the Fey in Daisy Stream. That had been the worst Titus had ever seen. The bodies melting around them, the stench of decaying flesh, and the cries of pain. That had been the only time he had touched one of them.
He had crouched over a dying Fey.
"Unless it's in Shadowlands," Stowe said.
Nicholas shook his head. "The Shadowlands are a bivouac for a regular army, not a hiding place like it's been used here. If the Fey came over the mountains and conquered villages, they're still in those villages. If this has been going on for two weeks, we should have heard before now."
"Unless no one could get out."
"You said the Marshlanders were good at hiding. If they saw a force of ten thousand coming, they would have taken to the marshes, and escaped. We would have heard within days."
"The Fey are cunning," Stowe said, sounding skeptical.
Nicholas nodded, remembering all the twists and turns of Jewel's planning. The last thing he had asked her before she died had been if she would someday betray him.
She had promised she wouldn't.
But he had wondered for fifteen years if she had been telling the truth.
"We defeated them once," Nicholas said. "We can do so again."
"Do you think that was a true defeat?" Lord Stowe asked.
"They negotiated out of weakness, Stowe," Nicholas said. "Jewel would never have sacrificed herself and her unborn children to life in Jahn if she had thought there was another way. The Fey are warriors, remember?"
"I'm having trouble forgetting," Stowe said.
"Find me proof," Nicholas said, "and set up a meeting of the lords after the Coming of Age Ceremony. We'll settle this thing as soon as we can."
At least, he hoped they would. This invasion from the south sounded implausible.
Which made it all that more likely that the Black King had arrived. The Fey never did things the expected way, and they had more abilities than Nicholas knew of.
I know the Black King lives and I know he has not abandoned Blue Isle, the Shaman had said.
He will come, Jewel had said.
In such numbers that we will rule this place, her father had said.
Nicholas had been dreading this for a generation. And if it were true, if the Black King had arrived with an army of thousands, Nicholas didn't know what to do.
The Fey are sworn to protect anyone in the Black King's family, the Shaman had said.
Anyone.
Sebastian.
Arianna.
And the Black King himself.
Instead of solving the war between Blue Isle and the Fey, Jewel and Nicholas had made it worse.
Their marriage, and their children, had turned an invasion into a civil war.
A fury, the Shaman had called it.
Insanity.
Nicholas closed his eyes.
This was only the beginning.
FIVE
Titus, the Fifty-Second Rocaan, sat on his balcony in the heat of mid-day. His chair was a specially designed lounge, made for relaxation and afternoon naps. A red berry punch sat on the table beside him, untouched, even though he usually drank two glasses as part of his afternoon ritual. He was staring across the courtyard, over the Cardidas River, and into the main section of the city of Jahn.
He was staring at the palace.
This afternoon the half-Fey would be celebrated as the next head of state. The creature with the little brain, who carried the Roca's blood mixed with the blood of murderers, the creature who could not touch holy water for fear of death, would be designated the Prince.
Someday he would rule Blue Isle.
Titus was not certain that day should come.
Although he didn't know how to prevent it. His predecessor, Matthias, would have gone to the ceremony and somehow — presumably accidentally — touched the heir with holy water. Matthias had done that once before, to the King's consort, Jewel, and her death had been hideous.
But not as hideous as the slaughter of the Fey in Daisy Stream. That had been the worst Titus had ever seen. The bodies melting around them, the stench of decaying flesh, and the cries of pain. That had been the only time he had touched one of them.
He had crouched over a dying Fey.
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