Destiny: A Story of the Fey Read online

  “You have no need for me,” she repeated. “I stay with the Black King.”

  “You’ll come with me.”

  “Your father said so?”

  “No, but he will.”

  “Because he already acquiesced on Jewel?”

  Rugar started. He hadn’t expected her to know that.

  Solanda raised her eyebrows and allowed herself a small smile. “I am good at gathering intelligence.”

  “And,” he said, “as you pointed out, there’s no need for intelligence gathering in a conquered country.”

  She nodded. “I’ll go to Leut with your father, when he’s ready. Until then, I’ll relax here.”

  “Solanda —“

  “Rugar,” she said, holding up a hand. “You and I have no great liking for each other. I have a hunch your father is sending you to Blue Isle to get you out of his sight. I’d rather not be associated with you in any way. Right now, I hold your father’s respect. I’d rather not change that.”

  Rugar took a step toward her. She could feel the violence shimmering in him.

  She grabbed the doorknob. “Touch me,” she said, “and I’ll scratch out your eyes.”

  “You can’t touch me. I’m a member of the Black Family.”

  She smiled. “I’m a Shifter. Unpredictable, irresponsible, flighty — remember? I’m sure the Powers would let this slide.”

  “But my father would not,” Rugar said.

  “Oh,” Solanda said softly, “but I think he would.”

  ***

  She tried to see the Black King before she left the building, but he was nowhere to be found. His personal guards were gone as well. She decided she would find him in the morning, and went back to her life as a pampered Nyeian cat.

  The home that she had chosen was a large one on the outskirts of Nir. It had two stories filled with more clutter than any home she had ever seen. Books of poetry, musical instruments, incredibly ugly paintings, and furniture everywhere. The only saving grace was that the furniture was comfortable and the kitchen had a cat door that she could escape through when the wife decided it was time for music.

  Solanda slipped through the cat door, past the kitchen hearth. One of the three Nyeian servants was cleaning the pots from the evening meal. The air smelled faintly of roast beef, and Solanda’s stomach rumbled.

  Still, she didn’t beg from the servant. She knew better. The idiot had kicked her “accidentally” once, and had the scars to prove it. But Solanda knew if she attacked anyone in the house too many times, she would be thrown out, and she wasn’t willing to lose her rich dinners and soft bed just yet.

  She blended into the hideous yellow wallpaper as she hurried up the stairs to Esmerelda’s room.

  Esmerelda sat on the edge of the bed, fingering a rip in her dress. She had a forlorn expression on her small face. Her brown hair hung limply around her cheeks, and a streak of dirt covered the pantaloons beneath the skirt.

  Solanda had never seen Esmerelda look dirty before, nor had she seen the girl’s hair loose at any time except bedtime.

  “Oh, Goldie!” Esmerelda raised her voice in relief. She was speaking Nye, which was a language that Solanda hadn’t known well when she moved into this house. Here her Nye had improved greatly, but she wanted to be fluent in it by the time she left.

  The little girl launched herself off the bed and grabbed Solanda before Solanda could jump out of the way. Esmerelda wrapped her arms around Solanda and held tightly. Esmerelda had never done that before. If she had been a grabby little girl, Solanda would have been gone a long time ago.

  So this meant, quite simply, that something was wrong.

  Solanda let herself be held for a moment, then she turned her head toward the door and flattened her ears. Esmerelda, smart child that she was, understood both signals. She pushed the door closed, and then let Solanda go.

  Solanda jumped on the windowsill. Esmerelda followed her, but didn’t open the window like she usually did.

  The room was hot and sticky. Solanda wouldn’t be able to stay here too long if that window wasn’t opened.

  “I don’t dare,” Esmerelda said softly. “Mommy’s really mad at me. She didn’t even let me have dinner.”

  Now Solanda was interested, but she didn’t want the story, not yet. She bumped her head against the window’s bubbled glass.

  Esmerelda bit her lower lip and shook her head.

  Solanda placed a paw on the glass and meowed softly.

  “Okay,” Esmerelda whispered. “But if anyone comes, I’ll have to close it.”

  Solanda almost nodded, then caught herself. When Esmerelda came close, Solanda bumped her affectionately with her head, and then watched as the little girl pulled the window open.

  A cool breeze made its way inside. That was the other nice thing about this house. Esmerelda’s room opened onto a large undeveloped area, so the smells of the outdoors came in strong. Breezes were unencumbered. Esmerelda’s mother hated this, and often wished for close neighbors, but Solanda saw it for the blessing it was.

  Esmerelda knelt down beside the window and put her elbows on the sill. She didn’t touch Solanda, but she was still a bit too close. Her body heat was ruining the breeze.

  “I been so bad,” she said, “I won’t get to go outside ever again.”

  Solanda watched her. The little girl had never been able to resist a cat’s gaze. Solanda had never seen a child who was so very lonely. Esmerelda wasn’t allowed to play — except with dolls whose clothing was frilly as the stuff she was trussed in — nor was she allowed to associate with the neighboring children who were, in her parents’ mind, beneath her. She had lessons in poetry and music, art and dancing, but she liked none of it. What she really wanted to do was run as far as she could, and climb trees and learn how to swim.

  She’d probably never get to achieve those goals.

  “I was running this afternoon,” Esmerelda said. Her face was wistful. She leaned her forehead against the glass. “Mommy was looking at fruit and I thought I could just go around the block, but she saw me. I guess she followed me.”

  Esmerelda had done this before, and it hadn’t gotten her sent to bed with no supper. Solanda suspected the problem had something to do with the rip in the dress. Clothing was sacred, at least to this family. Solanda wanted to tear every piece so that this little girl could be free.

  “She saw me fall.” Esmerelda said, fingering her skirt. “She saw me hit a Fey.”

  Solanda stiffened. She almost asked who, and caught herself. Two near lapses in one conversation. She was getting much too relaxed with this child.

  Esmerelda ran a soft hand over Solanda’s head. Her touch was gentle again, as it had always been before.

  “She said she was the Black King’s granddaughter, and she yelled at Mommy for dressing me the way she did. And Mom yelled back. The lady said yelling at her was like yelling at all the Fey all at once.”

  Only one Fey woman could make that claim. Jewel. No wonder Esmerelda’s mother was upset.

  “And then Mommy told Daddy and he said that the Fey might hurt us. Because I ran.” A tear coursed down Esmerelda’s cheek.

  And those fools were blaming the child for being a child. Solanda pushed against the girl’s hand, and Esmerelda sniffled.

  “I didn’t mean to run. I just can’t stay still sometimes.”

  Solanda understood that. She could never stay still. It was a curse of being a Shifter. It was the reason Fey wisdom said that Shifters were the most heartless of the Fey. Most Shifters did not have children, and most rarely stayed anywhere long enough to form a real relationship.

  Esmerelda sighed. “I wish I was like you. I do what I want. Or like that Fey lady. She was nice to me. She didn’t like Mommy though.”

  Neither did Solanda.

  “She said children shouldn’t be dressed like me. She said I ran into her because my clothing didn’t let me run properly.”

  Probably true, Solanda thought.

  “And
that made Mommy really mad.”

  Esmerelda let her hand slide off Solanda’s neck. She bunched her hands into fists and rested her chin on them, looking fierce and strong. Solanda felt her whiskers twitch in amusement. One day, Esmerelda’s parents would no longer be able to control this child. If she was this strong, articulate, and intelligent at five, she would be impossible to control at fifteen.

  Especially with all of the Fey influence around her.

  “I wish I had magic,” the little girl said. “Just a little bit. Then I could run and no one would know. I’d make myself invisible and no one would see me.”

  Solanda looked out the window, knowing her expression was too sympathetic for a cat. There was a ring of oaks at the edge of the lawn. They were blowing in the breeze. Maybe there would be another storm. Maybe this storm would finally cool the place off, although she doubted it. Nye’s hot season was the worst she had encountered in any country she had ever been in.

  “Esmerelda!” her mother’s voice echoed from the hallway. “Why is your door closed?”

  Esmerelda gasped and pulled down the window so quickly she almost caught Solanda’s tail in it. Then she leaped onto the bed, stretching out. Solanda jumped beside her and curled up at her feet just as Esmerelda’s mother opened the door.

  The woman’s face was flushed. She looked like a tomato about to burst. She was so tightly corseted that her body looked flat, and Solanda wondered how the woman could even breathe. She wore an evening dress of white satin that accented the redness of her face. The sides were lined with sweat.

  “What are you doing?” she asked. Then she frowned. “How did that mangy cat get in here?”

  Solanda growled softly in the back of her throat. She was not mangy. And the woman had never called her that before.

  “I told you that you were supposed to be in here by yourself to think about what you did today. Things could have been much worse. Fortunately, she was in good mood. You know what those people can do? Why it’s said they can cut the skin off a person with the flick of —”

  Solanda yowled, and the woman stepped back, a hand over her heart. Esmerelda sat up, worry on her small face.

  “Are you okay, Goldie?”

  Solanda licked her right paw as if she had twisted it. She was not going to let that woman tell this little girl about Fey atrocities — even if they were true.

  “Come on, Goldie,” Esmerelda’s mother said. “There’s some beef for you in the kitchen.”

  Usually that would have gotten Solanda off the bed. But she could sneak down after everyone was asleep and take what she needed. Right now, she wanted to stay beside Esmerelda.

  “Goldie,” the woman said.

  Esmerelda, good child that she was, bit her lower lip and said nothing. She didn’t beg for the company that she obviously wanted.

  “Goldie!” her mother sounded exasperated now. Then she shook her head. “Why do we put up with this animal?”

  Neither Solanda nor Esmerelda answered.

  Finally Esmerelda’s mother sighed. “All right, she can stay. But I do expect you to sleep in that dress tonight and to think about how you could have hurt us all. That rip should be a reminder of the danger your misbehavior put us in. Nye isn’t the place it used to be, child. Do something wrong, and those Fey will harm all of us.”

  Then she pulled the door closed, and Solanda heard the boards creak as she made her way down the stairs.

  Esmerelda’s fingers played with the rip. Solanda looked at it, then crossed the bed, took the skirt in her teeth and pulled. The rip grew. Esmerelda giggled, then covered her mouth. Solanda pulled harder. If the little girl had to sleep in these clothes, she might as well be comfortable.

  Esmerelda ripped the pantaloons too, along the dirt line, giggling as she did so. “Mommy will think I did it when I was running,” she said. “You’re so smart, Goldie.”

  Of course she was. Solanda preened and allowed herself to be petted one more time.

  Then Esmerelda looked at the door, her smile fading. “Sometimes I think Mommy doesn’t want me. She wants somebody else. Somebody perfect.”

  Too bad she didn’t realize that the child she had was better than perfect. Solanda sighed softly. Some people had more than they deserved.

  ***

  The idea came to her in the middle of the night, in that hot and stuffy room. She could take Esmerelda away, and Esmerelda’s parents wouldn’t even know it had happened. But it would take the cooperation of the Fey Domestics.

  Fey magic was divided into two parts: warrior and domestic. Warrior magic was designed for warfare. Some Fey magic turned its practitioner into a weapon, like the Foot Soldiers who had fingernails that could slice better than a blade. Domestic magic could not be used to fight any war. Domestics lost their magic if they killed. Their magics were healing magics or home-bound magics, such as spells that made chairs more inviting or fires warmer.

  The next morning, after making certain that Esmerelda got breakfast, Solanda slipped out the cat door. She went to the Domicile that the Fey Domestics had set up just outside of town. The Domicile had been built especially for the Domestics, and covered with various protection and healing spells. It was a traditional U-shaped building — with hearth and home magics in one length of the U, the healing wards in the other, and the middle section as a meeting place in between.

  Solanda usually didn’t seek out the Domestics. They always wanted to experiment with her — have her try on a new cloak covered with some sort of rain protection or have her taste a new food to see if it had an effect on her Shifting. The last time she had been in a Domicile had been when she had broken a paw jumping from a tree in one of the last Nye battles. The Domestics had mended the bone, and had given her a smelly ointment she had to apply in cat form. She had thought the stench alone would kill her.

  As she mounted the steps to the center part of the building, she shook off her paws. Here she would not Shift to Fey form. The Domestics weren’t as obsessed with power as Rugar was, so she didn’t have to use her height as a reminder of the strength of her magic.

  She pushed open the door and stepped inside.

  The air was cool and welcoming. It smelled of a sea breeze. Bits of magic floated in the air. Spinner’s magic. They were working on their looms. She could hear the hum just down the corridor.

  A Baker entered, his fingers dusted with flour. They glowed. And she knew he had spelled the bread he’d been baking to remain fresh for as long as possible. It was a traveling spell, one most often used when troops were heading off to battle. She wondered if someone had requested it.

  “I’m here to see Chadn.”

  The Baker nodded, then slipped through a door that led to the Healing part of the Domicile. Solanda hopped onto a chair. Her mood rose and she cursed, jumping down. She didn’t need to be spelled, to wait, happy and contented, on a chair dusted with Domestic magic. Instead she paced the cool floor and wondered why she couldn’t smell the baking bread.

  Finally Chadn entered the room. She was a young Shaman, although the toll of her power had already turned her hair white. Her face was wizened, her mouth a small oval amid wrinkles. Only her eyes were bright — sparkling black circles of light in a ruined face.

  She had been assigned to stay with Rugar during the war and she was happy to be free of him. Shaman were the most independent Fey: their Vision as strong as those of the Leaders, but their magic Domestic so they could not rule a warrior people. They were the wise ones, the advisors, supposedly the strength behind the Black Throne. The Black King required a Shaman of his son, but did not use one himself. He had dismissed his own, years ago, for disobeying him. It was one of many areas where the Black King broke with tradition.

  “Solanda,” Chadn said. “I had hoped to see you.”

  Solanda jumped on an end table and was relieved that her mood did not change. She sat on her haunches and looked into Chadn’s face.

  “I have a request,” she said. “It’s for a Nyeian child.”


  “A child?” Chadn sounded surprised. “Not a Fey child?”

  Solanda shook her head.

  “I had Seen you with a Fey child.”

  The Shaman’s Visions — and the Vision that leaders like the Black King had — allowed them glimpses into the future. Some said that the glimpses allowed the Visionary to change the future. Others believed that the glimpses led the Visionary to that future.

  Solanda’s eyes narrowed. “I have not been with a Fey child.”

  Chadn nodded. “It was on Blue Isle. The child was a Shifter, and you kept her from death.”

  Solanda’s whiskers twitched. “I told Rugar I would not go to Blue Isle with him.”

  “The future of our people lies with you, Solanda.”

  “And a child?” Solanda raised her chin. “Are you sure it was a Fey child?”

  “Not entirely,” Chadn said. “The child had blue eyes.”

  Solanda gave a soft grunt of surprise. She had heard of blue-eyed people, but she had never seen one. “The child couldn’t be Nyeian?”

  “She was Fey, and newborn. She had a birthmark on her chin. Only her eyes were strange, and perhaps that was because of the Shifting. I Saw you put your hands on her lips, and swear to protect her, raise her, and make her strong. Then I Saw her full grown, saying you had been the closest thing she had to a mother.”

  Solanda laughed, although inside she felt cold. A Shifter only swore to protect a child who held the future of the Empire. A blue-eyed child that Shifted? The center of the Empire?

  “Visions can be altered,” Solanda said. “I am not leaving Nye.”

  “You may have no choice.”

  “I’ll always have a choice,” Solanda said.

  Chadn inclined her head toward Solanda as if giving in on that point. “What does the Nyeian child need?”

  Solanda took a deep breath. “She is different from any other Nyeian I’ve seen. Strong, independent. She met Jewel yesterday and is being punished for it. I would like to remove the child from her family and bring her here, to be raised among us. She will be useful when she’s grown. She will be part of the second-generation, the Nyeians that rule Nye for the Fey.”