Fey 02 - Changeling by Kristine Kathryn Rusch

for.   A position he regretted holding, even now.
    The messenger had said that they all would meet in the Great Chamber, another deviation from standard.   Matthias didn't like these changes.   They made him even more uneasy.
    That and the fact that none of the servants would answer his questions.
    His sandals echoed on the marble floor of the Great Hall.   He hated the weapons hanging on the wall.   The swords made a mockery of the Roca's Sword.   They were still stained with blood from past uprisings.   Some were rusted, others nicked.   The Sword used for warfare, a reminder that death surrounded them all.  
    Something Matthias wanted to forget.
    He touched the tiny flask of holy water in the pocket of his robe.   He was the one, in the middle of the Invasion, who had accidentally discovered the powers of holy water.   The Fey had invaded the Tabernacle.   They had murdered dozens of Danites, dozens of Auds.   He had seen more death than he ever wanted to in his life, death he could not prevent.
    Then the Fey had come after him.   He had run into the servant's chapel, in search of refuge, in search of a weapon, in search of a way to defend himself. He had just reached the altar when the Fey charged him.  
    He had thought they were going to kill him — rip his skin off while he was still alive, as they had done to an Aud just outside the Tabernacle.   He had searched in vain for a weapon, but found nothing.
    Then he saw the glittering vials of holy water the Rocaan had blessed the night before for Midnight Sacrament.   The vials were made of heavy thick glass.   Perhaps they would stop the Fey while Matthias thought of something else.
    Matthias grabbed vial after vial and flung them at the Fey, at the group before him, then at the group to his right.   The first glass hit the stone and shattered, and the Fey screamed in pain.   Then the next glass shattered.   Matthias kept throwing until he realized that the Fey were no longer advancing.
    The stench in the room had grown.   It smelled as if something were burning.   It took a moment for him to realize that all of the Fey were clutching their legs and screaming.   They had fallen to the ground and were rolling in the blood.   He glanced behind him.   He had thrown maybe ten bottles, certainly not enough glass to cut that many men.
    Then he realized that they weren't bleeding, but their clothes were peeling from them as if trying to get away.   He stood for a moment, his hand over his mouth.   They were lying in the water, and every time it touched part of their bodies they screamed.  
    Matthias's hands were shaking — the entire thing had left him terrified — but he had to know.   He had to know.   The glass couldn't have killed them, so the water must have.
    The holy water.
    Matthias took a vial and walked down the steps, his heart pounding so fiercely he felt as if he couldn't breathe.   He uncorked the bottle and waited until he saw the Fey who had looked at him first.   The creature was still alive, his legs and hands a mass of burns, his clothing ripped and tattered.
    His gaze met Matthias's, his skin pale and his dark almond-shaped eyes wide with shock.   "What have you done?" the Fey asked in accented Nye.
    The words startled Matthias, made him wonder if they were faking, if that was how they had caught all the others.   He tossed the water forward, and it landed on the Fey's perfect features.   The creature screamed until his lips melted over his mouth.   Matthias stood, riveted, tears in his own eyes, watching the creature — the man — flail as the flesh melted over his nostrils and his body could no longer get air.
    The other Fey were still moaning, oblivious to their leader's death.   But Matthias watched for what seemed like forever as the leader clawed at his featureless face with his misshapen hands.   At long last, the body stopped moving.  
    It was that death he couldn't get out of his mind.   He could justify