Sacrifice: The First Book of the Fey

Copyright Information

The Sacrifice

Copyright © 2011 by Kristine Kathryn Rusch.

Published 2011 by WMG Publishing

Cover Art Copyright © 2011 by Dirk Berger

Cover Design Copyright 2011 WMG Publishing

First Published 1995 by Bantam Books

The Fey Series

(In chronological order)

Destiny: A Short Story of The Fey

The Fey: The Sacrifice

The Fey: The Changeling

The Fey: The Rival

The Fey: The Resistance

The Fey: Victory

The Black Queen: Book One of The Black Throne Series

The Black King: Book Two of Black Throne Series

The Place of Power Series: Book One [Coming Fall 2012]

All of the Fey series will be published by WMG Publishing

in both electronic and trade paper editions

in chronological order starting in the spring of 2011.
 

Table of Contents

Start Reading

Extended Table of Contents

Copyright Information

About the Author

For my mother, Marian M. Rusch

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thanks on this one go to Deborah Beale for pushing me in the right direction; to Harlan Ellison for forcing me to think clearly about fiction; to Caroline Oakley for her patience; to Tom Dupree for his insight; to Nina Kiriki Hoffman and Jerry Oltion for reading above and beyond the call of duty; and to Dean Wesley Smith for holding my hand during the dark times.

THE VISION

ONE

The little girl slammed into Jewel at full run, then slid and fell on the wet cobblestone. The girl sat for a moment, her skirts wrapped around her thighs, revealing the pants-like undergarments the Nyeians insisted on trussing their children in. Jewel hadn’t moved. Her hip ached from the impact of the girl’s body, but Jewel didn’t let the pain show.

She hadn’t expected to see a child on the narrow, dark streets of the merchant center of Nye’s largest city. The stone buildings towered around the cobblestone road. Even though the sun had appeared after a furious thunderstorm, the streets were just as dark as they had been during the sudden downpour.

“Esmerelda!” A woman’s voice, sharp and piercing, echoed on the street. The bypassers didn’t seem to notice. They continued about their business, clutching their strange round timepieces as they hurried to their destinations.

The little girl tugged on her ripped skirts and tried to stand. Jewel recognized the look of panic on the child’s face. She had felt that herself in the face of her grandfather’s wrath. Jewel took two steps toward the girl and crouched, thankful that she was wearing breeches and boots that allowed such freedom of movement. “Why were you running?” Jewel asked in Nye.

“Felt like it,” the girl said.

Good answer. Nyeian children didn’t play enough. Their parents didn’t allow it. The girl had courage.

Jewel extended her hand. The girl stared at it. Jewel’s slender fingers and dark skin marked her as Fey, even more than her upswept eyebrows, black hair, and slightly pointed ears.

“Esmerelda!” The woman’s voice had an edge of panic.

“She won’t like your being dirty,” Jewel said.

The little girl’s lower lip trembled. She reached for Jewel’s hand when a screech resounded behind them. Jewel turned in time to see a woman wearing a dress so tightly corseted it made her appear flat, swing an umbrella as if it were a sword. Jewel stood and grabbed the umbrella by its tip, pulling it from the woman’s hand.

“You were about to hit me?” Jewel asked, keeping her tone level but filled with menace.

The woman was a few years older than Jewel, but already her pasty skin had frown lines marring her eyes and mouth. Her pale-brown eyes took in the thin vest that Jewel wore in deference to the heat. “What were you doing to my child?”

“Helping her up. Have you an objection to that?”

The woman glanced at her child. Jewel stood between them. Then the woman bowed her head. Her brown hair had touches of gray. “Forgive me,” she said, not at all contrite. “I forgot myself.”

“Indeed.” Jewel put the tip of the umbrella on the cobblestone and leaned her weight on it. Sturdy thing. It would have made a good weapon, and she had no doubt the woman had used it as such during the recent conflict. “Forget yourself again, and your daughter may lose her mother.”

“Is that a threat, mistress?” The woman brought her head up, eyes flashing.

“Mistress.” Nye term of respect. The Fey did not believe in such linguistic tricks. There were other ways of keeping inferiors in line. “You’re not important enough to threaten, my dear,” Jewel said, using the linguistic trick to her own benefit. “I was merely warning you. As a kindness.”

She knelt beside the little girl again. The girl’s eyes were tearstained. “Don’t hurt my mommy,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to bump you.”

“I know,” Jewel said. She adjusted the girl’s heavy skirts and helped her to her feet. Then she handed her the umbrella. It was almost as tall as the child. “You just remind your mother that we are no longer your enemies. You have to learn to live with us now.”

The mother watched Jewel’s every movement. Jewel brushed the dirt off the child’s skirts, marveling at the thickness of the fabric. Jewel would suffocate in clothing like that.

“You might also want to let your mother know that pants are more practical for children, male or female.”

“I thought you weren’t going to change our customs.” The woman spoke again, her tone full of bitterness, even though she bowed her head again in the submissive gesture the Fey had commanded. Jewel thought of challenging her on her rudeness but decided the battle wasn’t worth her time. She was already late for the meeting with her father.

“We change only the customs that interfere with healthy, productive living. Children are born to move, not mince like some expensive fop at a Nye banquet.” Jewel smiled and reached a hand under the woman’s chin, bringing her head up so that their gazes met. “She wouldn’t have run into me if she had been dressed properly.”

“You have no right to change how we live,” the woman said.

“We have every right,” Jewel said. “We choose to allow you your customs because they keep you productive. You are the one without rights. You lost them six months ago when my grandfather became the leader of Nye.”

Finally the panic that had been missing from the woman’s face appeared. Her round eyes narrowed and her mouth opened just a bit. “You’re the Black King’s granddaughter?”

Jewel let her hand fall and resisted the urge to wipe her fingertips on her breeches. “Aren’t you lucky I was in a good mood this morning? Threatening me is like threatening all of the Fey at once.”

The woman’s face flushed with terror. She grabbed the little girl and pulled her close. Jewel ignored the gesture. She took a loose strand of the little girl’s brown hair and tucked it behind the girl’s ear. “Take good care of your mother, Esmerelda,” she said, and continued down the street.

At the corner she glanced back, saw the woman still standing in place, the little girl clutched against her side. Jewel shook her head. The bitterness would get the Nyeians nowhere. They were part of the Fey Empire now. The sooner they all realized it, the better off they would be.

Jewel clasped her hands behind her back. The air was warm and muggy after the storm, except in the shadows of the great buildings. Her grandfather had taken the greatest, the Bank of Nye, and made it his own. Four stories of stone standing like a palace in the merchant section, the building was the closest thing to a palace that the Nyeians had ever made.