The Rival Read online

  But he was not an Aud. He hadn't been one since he was a teenager. He had become Rocaan because of a fluke, because the Fifty-First Rocaan had run away from his duties, leaving only Titus in control of the Secrets. Titus could have taught the Secrets to his superiors, the Elders, but he felt that none of them had the spiritual grace to follow God's commands.

  God had appointed him, in the most difficult circumstances, and Titus could not turn away from divine order.

  Just as he could not turn away now.

  If only Nicholas really understood. It seemed so simple to Titus. The Roca, before he was Absorbed, appointed his eldest son as the heir to the throne. He had made his second son the head of the newly formed religion. The first Rocaan, the Roca's second son, did not have children, and so appointed a worthy second son as his replacement. The Rocaans traditionally did not marry, nor did they have children. The line of Rocaans was handed to second sons for generations, true believers who had joined the Tabernacle, who had only the interests of the religion, the Tabernacle, and Blue Isle at heart.

  But Nicholas could trace his heritage, in an unbroken line, to the Roca himself. The Roca, beloved of God, who had allowed himself to be killed by the Soldiers of the Enemy so that he could be Absorbed into the Hand of God. The Roca, who lived still, and now had God's Ear, and spoke for all his people. Nicholas should have been proud of that lineage.

  Instead, he had polluted it. The Fiftieth Rocaan had believed that the Fey were, metaphorically, the Soldiers of the Enemy. Instead of defeating them with the Hand of God, as the Roca had done, King Nicholas had married them.

  In a ceremony only partially sanctioned by the Tabernacle.

  The children had never been Blessed, never been Converted, never been Touched by the Hand of God. How could they rule, then? How could they lead the Roca's people if they were not in touch with the Holy One? Titus had tried to discuss this with Nicholas once, and Nicholas had dismissed him as lacking in understanding.

  Titus understood. Nicholas feared for his children's lives, believing them to be Fey. But they carried the blood of the Roca within them. His holy water might not kill them, but strengthen them.

  If, of course, they were truly God's Anointed, and not demons as some believed.

  But Nicholas had refused the holy water. He had refused the test. And he was flying in the face of tradition, celebrating his son's heritage with a fake ceremony.

  Titus would do nothing yet. Nicholas was a still a young man, only a few years older than Titus himself, and would probably live a long life. Titus would begin his campaign now, and finalize it before the girl came of age. She was truly the dangerous one. The boy couldn't rule without her help — or the help of a powerful wife.

  He stood slowly, decision made. His robes felt heavy across his shoulders and somehow the heat of the day seemed fiercer. He took one final sip of the bitter juice, determined to take it inside, when he heard cries below.

  He leaned over his balcony. An Aud, his robe filthy with mud and grime, staggered across the courtyard. Other Auds hurried out, talking rapidly. The dirty Aud cried out, his voice rising, screaming of danger. Titus scanned the road. Except for a handful of people going about their daily business, it was empty.

  The other Auds ushered him inside, his cries fading as the doors closed behind him. Titus put his juice glass down, adjusted his robes and hurried through his rooms. He pulled open his door, startling the Aud guards, and hurried through the corridor and down the stairs.

  The Aud's cries continued. He kept repeating something about danger and Fey and death. The hair rose on the back of Titus's neck. Something had changed. An Aud shouldn't have anything to worry about the Fey. The Fey were frightened of any representative of Rocaanism, but they were particularly frightened of the Auds, who often went from kirk to kirk carrying holy water, and bringing the message of Roca to the believers.

  Titus found them in the servant's chapel. The filthy Aud was on his knees before the alter, weeping. The Roca's sword, hanging from the wall behind the altar, shone cleanly in the candlelight. There were no windows in the servant's chapel. They hadn't even had services here for the first ten years after the slaughter of the Fey that had taken place in this room.

  It had been here that Matthias had discovered the properties of holy water. He had had no weapon, and the symbolic sword had already been stolen by someone else for use against the Fey. So he had grabbed vials of holy water and had thrown them like rocks, hoping to knock out the approaching group.

  Instead, he had melted them.

  Titus had been an Aud then, and after the battle, he had had to clean up this room. The memory still turned his stomach.

  But he had been the one to reinstate services here, to hide the memory of all those deaths.

  The others hovered around the sobbing Aud. His bare feet, a sign of his position, were black with grime and dried blood. His robes were torn, and his sash was missing.

  He couldn't have been more than fifteen.

  Rusel, an Officiate, came in through the worship room door, a Danite at his side. Officiates were in charge of running the Tabernacle. They were two steps above Auds (the lowest of the low), a step above Danites, but below the Elders. A good Officiate could expect to fill a vacancy in the Council of Elders, just as a good Elder could hope, one day, to become Rocaan.

  Rusel was portly and balding. His robe fit snugly over his round frame. He stopped when he saw Titus. "I did not realize anyone had sent for you, Holy Sir."

  "I saw the commotion, and decided to see what caused it," Titus said. He walked down the aisle and sat on the steps beside the sobbing Aud.

  "Son," he said softly, "you're safe here."

  The boy shook his shaved head. He gulped and wiped his face with a filthy arm, smearing the dirt. The rug below him was already stained with mud. "It was awful," he said.

  "What was awful?" Titus kept his voice low, soft. He remembered feeling this kind of terror when he was about the Aud's age, when the Fiftieth Rocaan had sent him with a message to the Fey.

  The boy looked up. His eyes, wide and blue, grew wider when he saw who he was talking to. "Holy Sir," he breathed. "Forgive me. I had no idea — "

  "You're upset," Titus said. "Tell us what happened."

  The boy nodded, then wiped at his face again. Some of what Titus had thought of as dirt was more blood.

  "Get him a cloth and some water," Titus said.

  "I have holy water," Rusel said, his tone vaguely disapproving. Titus should have touched the boy with holy water before sitting beside him. It was an old precaution, one that dated from the Fey invasion, and it kept Fey interlopers out of the palace. Any Fey touched with holy water would, of course, melt.

  The boy held out his hand. It was shaking. "It doesn't matter any more," he said as the Danite crouched beside him, and poured a bit of holy water from Rusel's vial onto the boy's skin.

  "It matters," Titus said. "I'm sorry we have to do this."

  The boy shook his head. "You don't understand."

  "Holy Sir," Rusel said pointedly. "His title is Holy Sir."

  "Titles don't matter right now," Titus said. "This boy has been through something terrible. What's your name, son?"

  "Dimitri," the boy said.

  "A name of kings," Titus said.

  The boy smiled, just a little. "My people were never kings."

  "We all are," Titus said, "in God's eyes."

  The boy did not melt or even flinch as the holy water touched him. An Aud came into the room with a basin filled with normal water, and several large cloths. He handed one to the boy. The boy looked at Titus, as if asking for approval.

  "Wash your face, Dimitri, then tell us what happened."

  The boy dipped a cloth into the water, then scrubbed the dirt off his face. It came away red.

  Not dirt.

  Blood.

  Titus frowned. He touched the boy's ruined robe, and scraped off some of the dried flakes. Mud.

  "Are you injured,
Dimitri?" he asked, nodding at the water.

  The boy shook his head. "It's not mine, Holy Sir," he said softly. "Would God that it were."

  "Whose is it?" Rusel asked.

  "I don't know," the boy said, his voice quavering. He sounded as if he were going to burst into tears again.

  Titus glared at Rusel, making the Officiate step back. Titus wanted to be the only one questioning the boy. "Where were you stationed, son?" Titus asked.

  "The Kenniland Marshes."

  "With Gregor?"

  The boy nodded. He dipped the cloth in the water again. The splashes were the only sound in the room.

  "Where is Gregor?" Titus asked, hoping the boy wouldn't make him work for every answer.

  "Dead. They're all dead." The boy's voice was flat. He took the cloth out of the water and scrubbed his hands. Drops fell on the carpet. Rusel moved toward them, as if he were dismayed by them, but Titus impaled him with a look. Again.

  "Who killed them, Dimitri?"

  "The Fey." The boy whispered the word, as if he were afraid of being overheard.

  "What Fey?" Titus asked. That prickly feeling at the back of his neck had grown.

  "You don't know, Holy Sir?"

  Titus glanced at the others. They looked as confused as he did. "We've heard nothing different about the Fey," Titus said.

  The boy dropped his cloth in the bucket. He closed his eyes and winced as if he were trying to hold back tears. Then he took a deep breath.

  "The Fey came out of the mountains," he said. "Hundreds of them, maybe more. They were waiting for us in the kirk at the south end of the marsh."

  "They went into a kirk?" Titus asked. He remembered their reluctance to do so years before.

  "They"d been there a few days. They were waiting for us. They already had the village."

  "I'm confused," Rusel said. "Who were these Fey? Did they come from Shadowlands?"

  "Rusel," Titus cautioned.

  "They came from the mountains," the boy said in that flat voice.

  "The Snow Mountains?" Titus asked.

  The boy nodded. He opened his eyes. Tears lined them.

  "They came from the sea?" Titus couldn't believe it.

  "Hundreds of them," the boy said. "And they were waiting for us. In the kirk."

  Rusel leaned against the altar. His face was ashen, as if he knew what was coming.

  "And then?" Titus asked.

  "They attacked," the boy said. "With their fingers. Did you know they can rip skin off a living person with the edges of their fingers?"

  No, Titus hadn't known that. And he wasn't certain he wanted to know.

  "We got out the holy water and threw it on them, but it didn't do anything. They kept coming. I grabbed the Roca's Sword, God forgive me, and hit one of them. Then I ran. They followed me to the edge of the marsh. I ran in, then dove under the reeds. My grandfather taught me how to grab a reed and breathe through it like a straw. I did. When I didn't come up, they must have thought I was dead. By nightfall, they were gone. I went back to the kirk. Everyone was dead."

  He shuddered as if the memory were too much.

  "Most of them had empty holy water vials in their hands."

  "The Fey didn't come after you, even then?" Rusel asked, as if he found this story incredulous.

  "They wanted him to get away," Titus said. "They wanted someone to inform us." He leaned toward the boy, not entirely sure he believed either. "Are you certain the holy water was made properly?"

  The boy shrugged. "We got it from the Tabernacle as we always do. I picked it up before we left for the marshes."

  "Send for Elder Reece," Titus said. "I want his help testing the holy water. Let's make certain no one substituted their water for ours."

  It had happened once before, years ago. A Fey had sneaked into the Tabernacle and replaced holy water vials with river water. Reece had discovered the problem then. He would be able to discover if there was one now, too.

  One of the Auds left in search of Reece. Rusel's face had grown even paler. "We need to inform the palace."

  "Of what?" Titus asked.

  "Hundreds of Fey have invaded the Isle. Surely they need to know."

  "We don't know if Nicholas sent for them, now do we?" Titus asked.

  "He's our king," Rusel said.

  "And the father of Fey children. He has been close to the Fey too long. We don't know what he's planning."

  "Are you saying we should keep this invasion secret, Holy Sir?"

  "I'm not certain this is an invasion," Titus said. "We don't know how many Fey are in Shadowlands. It might be easy for them to seem to appear out of the mountains. The Kenniland Marshes have little experience with the Fey. We'll find out what's going on, and then we'll contact the palace."

  Rusel bit his lower lip. He frowned. Titus stared at him. Rusel nodded once. "As you wish, Holy Sir."

  "No one will discuss this matter," Titus said. "Reece and I will see what's happening with the holy water. Call the Elders together, Rusel. After Dimitri is fed and suitably clothed, I want him to tell the Elders everything he remembers. That's every detail, son. Can you do that?"

  The boy nodded. He was courageous, Titus had to give him that. And young.

  So very young.

  "That's all," Titus said. "Please take Dimitri to the kitchens. He needs to eat. Then make certain he is not injured before you bring him to the Elders."

  Everyone looked at him.

  "Please leave me," Titus said. The boy stood, along with the Auds. Titus put his hand on the boy's arm. "You did well, son," he said. "I'm pleased you came to us first."

  A tear slid down the boy's newly scrubbed cheek. "Where else would I go, Holy Sir? I belong here."

  "That you do," Titus said. "I will see you shortly." He nodded at the Auds, and they led the boy out of the room. "Stay for a moment, Rusel."

  Rusel glanced at his Danite, who bowed and left. The two of them were alone in the room. It seemed larger now that it was empty. The stain Dimitri left on the rug gave off a muddy, iron smell.

  "What do you think of his story?" Titus asked.

  Rusel shook his head. "It's too incredible to be true."

  "I think he's telling the truth. A young boy cannot fake that kind of deep fear."

  "If he is, indeed, a young boy."

  Titus smiled. "We tested him with holy water."

  "The water might be tainted."

  "But the boy was the one who told us that."

  Rusel's hands were gripping the side of the altar so tightly that his knuckles had turned white. "The Fey are cunning, Holy Sir. They might tell us the truth while concealing a greater lie."

  "You think he's a Doppelgänger?" Doppelgängers were Fey who picked a host, murdered it, and then duplicated its features exactly. Titus had seen a Doppelgänger attack a host only once. The Doppelgänger wrapped itself around the host's body, and sucked the very life out of it. The host's bones had fallen to the floor, and the Doppelgänger landed, naked, looking exactly like the host.

  It had been terrifying.

  "Perhaps," Rusel said. "It would explain many things."

  "But why make up an attack that never happened? It would be too easy to check."

  "Still, Holy Sir, once Elder Reece has checked the holy water, I would like your permission to test the boy again."

  "Granted," Titus said. He leaned back, resting his elbows against the top step. "What if the boy's story is true? What if the Fey have taken over the Marshes?"

  "I would wonder how they got to the Marshes. The Mountains are impassable."

  "The Fey are cunning," Titus said. "You said so yourself."

  "That does not convince me that they can achieve miracles," Rusel said.

  "What if they left their Shadowlands months before, switched the holy water, and staged this attack to look as if they were coming from the mountains?"

  "To what end, Holy Sir?"

  "To send us in panic to the Kenniland Marshes. The boy did not go to the pa
lace. He came here."

  "And he said they were waiting in the kirk."

  Titus nodded. He no longer looked at Rusel. He was staring at a pew. It still bore faint scars from the attack so many years ago. "They let him get away."

  "You think the palace is behind this, Holy Sir?"

  Titus shrugged. "The Tabernacle has become quite a nuisance to them, has it not?"

  "The King would never dare dispute the authority of the Rocaan."

  "The King has done so many times. Once he even toyed with declaring himself head of the Tabernacle."

  "But that was under the Fifty-First Rocaan. The Fifty-First Rocaan was crazed."

  "Was he, Rusel? He had never seemed crazed to me. Merely tortured in body and spirit. And he hated Fey, even more than the rest of us did."

  "I cannot believe you're suggesting this, Holy Sir."

  Titus turned, leaned on one elbow and looked up at Rusel. The Officiate's face had gone from a stark white to a brilliant red. His hands still gripped the side of the altar. "Would you prefer the alternative?"

  "That the boy is lying? Yes, Holy Sir."

  "And if he's not? Would you still prefer the alternative?"

  Rusel's adam's apple bobbed once as he swallowed nervously. "That the Fey are doing this on their own?"

  Titus nodded.

  "They can't be, Holy Sir. The holy water would have killed them."

  "And what if they've found a way to survive it? What if it no longer has any effect on them?"

  "That's not possible," Rusel said.

  "It's always been a fear, that they would learn a way around holy water," Titus said.

  "If they have … " Rusel said, his voice trailing off.

  "We'll die," Titus finished for him. "We'll all die."

  SIX

  Gift slipped behind a column on the fourth floor. Finally, he was on familiar ground. Sebastian's suite was nearby. Sebastian rarely went anywhere other than his suite, his sister's rooms, and the garden. Sometimes, Gift knew, Sebastian ate in the royal dining chamber or used the audience room, but Gift was never with him at those times. Gift had only been to the suites and the garden. The rest of the palace was a mystery to him.