Sacrifice: The First Book of the Fey (84 page)

Tel had been sleeping lightly—it had taken him hours to settle down after the Midnight Sacrament. But the cot was comfortable when he put enough blankets on it, and after he’d built a fire in the bedchamber’s fireplace, he had relaxed enough to sleep.

He strained to hear, and his Andre memories recognized the tones of Matthias and the Rocaan. Tel’s mouth immediately went dry. The only way he would learn the secret of holy water was through those two, and he hadn’t thought he would have a chance to be near them both so soon.

Tel threw back the covers and got off the cot, slipping on the black robe that Andre had always worn when he was going somewhere in the middle of the night. Only unlike Andre, Tel put on sandals as well. He didn’t want to risk walking on anything dangerous.

He combed his hair with his fingers, then grabbed the small stiletto he had brought with him and slipped it into the pocket of his robe. The voices grew even closer. They must have been in the hall outside. He opened the door.

The corridor was wide and long, with no furnishings in that section, only paintings of previous Rocaans and Elders. Matthias and the Rocaan stopped only a few feet away from Tel, and both looked guilty. The Rocaan carried a small lamp, which illuminated their faces. Matthias was carrying a tray of vials. Tel froze. He couldn’t attack them. Not when they had the very thing that would kill him.

“I—ah—I heard voices,” he said.

“Sorry, Andre,” the Rocaan said. His voice was as warm as his gaze. “We didn’t mean to wake you.”

Matthias held himself at a distance. He didn’t smile as he looked at Tel. Instead his expression was wary. “We didn’t expect anyone to be up.”

They spoke softly. The other Elders slept in that wing.

Tel felt the knife heavy in his pocket. He glanced at the tray of holy water, wondering if he could maneuver around it. “Is there a problem?”

The Rocaan started to speak, but Matthias shot him a warning glance. The Rocaan seemed to ignore it. “We discovered that the holy water in the sanctuary had been tampered with. We’re replacing it.”

Tel’s entire body went cold. He slipped one hand into his pocket. If they accused him, he would attack them—holy water be damned. They would throw it at him anyway. He couldn’t protect himself from them if they wanted to go after him.

“How did you discover it had been tampered with?” he asked. “Did something happen?”

The Rocaan shook his head. “Something didn’t happen.”

His remark made no sense in the light of anything Andre remembered. There was no physical reaction to holy water, except among the Fey.

“What do you mean?” This time he glanced at Matthias, who was watching him closely. “Was there Fey? I don’t understand.”

“You’re not meant to,” Matthias said. His tone was cold.

“Nonsense, Matthias,” the Rocaan said. “He’s an Elder.”

“And we haven’t touched him with real holy water all day. I’m not telling him any secrets. Would you mind a Blessing, Andre?” Matthias asked.

Tel clung to the stiletto. He didn’t understand the level of menace in Matthias’s voice. Did Matthias have a suspicion about who he was? “A Blessing would be fine,” Tel said, hoping his voice wasn’t shaking too badly. It would bring the other two men closer to him and would give him a chance to catch them off guard. Perhaps.

“You are not wearing your sword,” Matthias said with a touch of rebuke. “You will need to get it if we’re going to Bless.”

With his free hand Tel touched his chest, pretending surprise that the sword wasn’t there. Andre never took his off, but Tel hadn’t wanted anything around his neck while he slept.

“I had taken it off because part of it snagged on a nail,” he said. “I thought it had broken. I must have forgotten to put it back on. It’s in the room. I’ll go get it. Would you like to come in?” His entire body was shaking, as much with anticipation as fear. If he could get them into his chambers, he could get Matthias to set the tray down and move away from the water. He would slit Matthias’s throat and use the blood to become the Rocaan. The old man wouldn’t be able to move quickly enough to get away.

The Rocaan swayed a little, as if he could feel the dilemma that Tel was going through. The Rocaan touched Matthias’s arm, careful not to upset the tray. “Forgive me, Andre,” the Rocaan said. “But I think Matthias and I should finish this task first. We still need to check the Servants’ Chapel, Matthias.”

Matthias glanced at him. “You could stay with Andre and Bless him while I finish.”

The Rocaan shook his head. He looked exhausted. The old man usually never allowed himself to go without sleep. It was a secret of his endurance. “I would like to finish the task myself.”

Matthias sighed as if he didn’t approve. He turned back to Tel. “Until later, then.”

“Later,” Tel said.

The two men came toward him. Tel opened his door. He loosened his grip on the stiletto and pulled his hand out of his pocket just as Matthias tripped and tilted the tray toward him.

Tel didn’t have time to jump out of the way. Only one vial fell off, and he caught it in his left hand, the stopper still on. The glass felt cool against his hand. No burning. No sudden change. Nothing had spilled.

He could feel the panic bubbling through him, but he refused to let it overtake him until the others were out of sight. Keeping his hand steady, he replaced the vial on the tray. As he did so, he noted Matthias watching him carefully. Matthias had spilled the tray on purpose.

“Would you like some help, Matthias?” Tel asked. There were other ways to learn the secret of holy water.

“Sorry,” Matthias said. “We’ve been at this all night.”

“I appreciate the offer of help,” the Rocaan said, “but it would take longer to teach you than it would to get the task done. We will see you at Morning Sacrament, Andre, and I will do the Blessing afterward.”

“If he comes to Morning Sacrament, there’s no need for a Blessing, is there, Holy Sir?” Matthias asked.

Tel’s heart was pounding so hard, he was surprised it hadn’t smashed a hole through his chest. Did they know? It seemed as if they did.

The Rocaan sighed. “Thank you, Matthias. You are always looking after me.”

“I try, Holy Sir,” Matthias said. He looked over his shoulder at Tel. “I’ll see you after dawn.”

“Until the Sacrament,” Tel said. “Good night, Holy Sir.”

“Andre.”

And with that they walked off down the corridor. Tel slipped into his chamber. He closed the door and leaned against it, near collapse. He hadn’t been that frightened in all his life. He had nearly died out there.

Maybe he would die. Maybe they had changed the formula somehow. He picked up a flint. His hands were shaking so badly, he could barely get a spark. But he managed, and he lit the lamp near the door. Then he stared at the palm of his left hand.

It looked no different. From what he had seen in the battles, the victim died almost immediately. The change was sudden and devastating. His palm looked normal. Nothing had changed.

He closed the hand into a fist and took a deep breath. They didn’t know, but Matthias suspected something. After all, Tel had been the one conducting the service. Maybe he should have noticed something unusual with the holy water. If the Aud reported that Tel had ordered it brought down, they all would know.

He made himself take a deep breath and think. Auds didn’t talk to Elders unless asked a direct question or unless they were performing a service. In all of Andre’s years in the Tabernacle, an Aud had never approached him with tales of another Elder. He was probably safe on that one.

But the difference in holy water. He had thought no one could tell. So had Andre. Obviously there was a secret he didn’t know. The switch wouldn’t work again. He would have to figure out a new way to protect himself.

Especially since he had only an hour or so until Morning Sacrament.

Tel pushed away from the door and wandered to one of the couches. There he perched on the edge, rested his elbows on his knees, and reviewed what Andre remembered of the Morning Sacrament.

In many ways it was the same as the Midnight Sacrament. Only the message was different, and he didn’t need to concern himself with that. He had to concern himself with the holy water. And since he wasn’t conducting the ceremony, he wouldn’t have to touch the vials—only one, the one passed down the pew in which he sat. The Danite would remove the stopper and then each worshiper would dip their cloth into the water and use it to wipe the sword. With the stopper already removed, he couldn’t fake the movement.

Or could he?

No one cared about the color or type of cloth used. That kind of strict regulation had been banned by the Fifth Rocaan when he’d realized that his parishioners all had differing economic circumstance. Rather than ban them from worshiping, he loosened the regulations on the symbols carried by those parishioners.

Any color cloth. And black would not show a water stain.

Tel took a deep breath. It would be risky—his entire position there was risky—but he could chance it twice a day. Andre had access to black cloth because he made certain that the Auds and Danites were properly robed. The lesser Rocaanists didn’t wear velvet robes. They wore a good sturdy linen weave: thick and heavy enough to minimize the damage. If he threw away the cloth after the ceremony, it wouldn’t matter if the water got onto it, as long as he never touched that water.

He leaned his head back, feeling some of the adrenaline ease out of him. He would have to make it through another day. But not many more than that—because he had to find a way to get to the Rocaan alone. Then Tel would know the secret all the Fey were looking for.

SEVENTY

 
Alexander stood outside Scavenger’s quarters. This would probably be his last meeting with the little man. He had gained all the knowledge he believed he could, and it seemed as if the little man was telling the truth. Now Alexander would have to decide what to do with the prisoner.

Monte and the guards watched him, probably wondering at his hesitation.

At the end of the last meeting Scavenger had said he had completed the litany of all the things the Fey could do. Alexander had seen some of the things: the desecrated bodies, and that terrifying Doppelgänger trick. Lord Stowe had told him more about the cat, and there had been reports in the outer regions of creatures that were half-human and half-beast. Alexander had confirmation for all of it if he only looked.

The problem was that all of this information terrified him. The things they could do left him chilled. He had had nightmares the past two nights running. He didn’t understand how his own people had managed to survive. But Scavenger had assured him that the holy water was a potent weapon, more potent than anything the Fey had encountered since swords.

Still, it was not enough, and Alexander knew that. If the Fey found a way around holy water—and they were trying—they had the capability to defeat soundly and quickly any army Alexander tried to put together. The fact that the Isle had survived this long was sheer dumb luck.

Protection from God, the Rocaan would probably say.

Alexander opened the door.

They had moved Scavenger to what had once been a guard’s quarters. The room was small, square, and cramped, little more than a cell in Alexander’s opinion. But he had wardrobes bigger than this, and he knew to expect more was unrealistic.

Still, he didn’t like to be this close to the little man.