the others: they had attacked him. He had been defending himself. But when he poured water on their leader, Matthias had been experimenting. He had taken a life to satisfy his own curiosity.
Sometimes he thought it made him just like them. Just like the Fey.
Demon-spawn.
He shook his head, as if that would rid him of the thoughts. He couldn't keep punishing himself. What was done, was done. In discovering the hidden power of holy water, he had saved hundreds of Islander lives. Perhaps that was what Roca had intended all along.
A guard, no older than fifteen, stood outside the entrance to the Great Chamber. He bowed and said, "They're waiting for you, Holy Sir."
Of course they were. The lords lived near the palace and could arrive quickly. A messenger had to leave the stables and disturb Matthias. Then Matthias had to saddle up and hurry over. Of course he would arrive last.
"Then open the door, child," Matthias said, feeling odd still at using the diminutive. He was old enough to be the boy's father, but the previous Rocaan had been a bent, wizened old man — certainly more the type to call a vigorous boy "child."
The guard stood. He came up to Matthias's shoulder, as did most of the Islanders. Matthias was taller and thinner than any other Islander. Until the Fey arrived, he hadn't met anyone taller. Only his entrance into Rocaanism at the age of 12 kept him from being called demon-spawn. The guard pulled the door open for him, and Matthias entered.
Nicholas stood at the other end of the Great Chamber, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes dull and sunken in his face. Jewel stood beside him. She placed a hand over her stomach when she saw Matthias. She had no love for him either, and no trust as well.
A table had been placed in the center of the room. At it sat Lords Canter, Egan, and Fesler. Lords Holbrook and Miller leaned against the wall. And Lord Enford sat alone next to the table's head.
Enford. Matthias stared at him for a moment. Enford was covered with dirt. Only his face and hands were clean. His clothing was ripped, and his hair was hastily tied in its queue. Enford was supposed to be with Alexander. A shiver ran down Matthias's back. He glared at Jewel. Now he knew what this meeting was for.
Something had happened to the King.
The door closed behind Matthias and he jumped. No one acknowledged him, an odd thing for this group, since they knew much of the power on the Isle rested with him. But they were silent and somber.
The table, which normally did not belong in the Great Chamber, was made of heavy wood, its legs knobbed and its surface covered with a deep lined pattern. The chairs matched — high, straight backs and arms with knobs at the end, made not for comfort, but for beauty.
The lords already seated didn't appear relaxed. Fesler never appeared relaxed though. He was not one of Alexander's trusted advisors, but had become more of a presence since the Fey arrived. Fesler was slender, with hollow cheeks and straight blond hair. His age was difficult to determine, since he never spoke of it, but he had been a lord longer than Matthias had been in Jahn.
Egan sat beside him, his hunched back brushing against the straight chair. Egan crouched to hide his bulk, which never worked. He seemed larger than he had when the Fey arrived, partly because he no longer smiled. Egan was once known as the most jovial of the King's men, but he hadn't laughed since he lost his son in the Invasion.
Canter was studying his well manicured hands, as if he could find no other way to avoid looking at Jewel and Nicholas. His hair was cut perfectly square, his blouse well tailored, his vest matching his leggings perfectly. He must have been riding when the news came, for Canter usually wore a robe more exquisite than any found in the Tabernacle.
Matthias took the chair
Sometimes he thought it made him just like them. Just like the Fey.
Demon-spawn.
He shook his head, as if that would rid him of the thoughts. He couldn't keep punishing himself. What was done, was done. In discovering the hidden power of holy water, he had saved hundreds of Islander lives. Perhaps that was what Roca had intended all along.
A guard, no older than fifteen, stood outside the entrance to the Great Chamber. He bowed and said, "They're waiting for you, Holy Sir."
Of course they were. The lords lived near the palace and could arrive quickly. A messenger had to leave the stables and disturb Matthias. Then Matthias had to saddle up and hurry over. Of course he would arrive last.
"Then open the door, child," Matthias said, feeling odd still at using the diminutive. He was old enough to be the boy's father, but the previous Rocaan had been a bent, wizened old man — certainly more the type to call a vigorous boy "child."
The guard stood. He came up to Matthias's shoulder, as did most of the Islanders. Matthias was taller and thinner than any other Islander. Until the Fey arrived, he hadn't met anyone taller. Only his entrance into Rocaanism at the age of 12 kept him from being called demon-spawn. The guard pulled the door open for him, and Matthias entered.
Nicholas stood at the other end of the Great Chamber, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes dull and sunken in his face. Jewel stood beside him. She placed a hand over her stomach when she saw Matthias. She had no love for him either, and no trust as well.
A table had been placed in the center of the room. At it sat Lords Canter, Egan, and Fesler. Lords Holbrook and Miller leaned against the wall. And Lord Enford sat alone next to the table's head.
Enford. Matthias stared at him for a moment. Enford was covered with dirt. Only his face and hands were clean. His clothing was ripped, and his hair was hastily tied in its queue. Enford was supposed to be with Alexander. A shiver ran down Matthias's back. He glared at Jewel. Now he knew what this meeting was for.
Something had happened to the King.
The door closed behind Matthias and he jumped. No one acknowledged him, an odd thing for this group, since they knew much of the power on the Isle rested with him. But they were silent and somber.
The table, which normally did not belong in the Great Chamber, was made of heavy wood, its legs knobbed and its surface covered with a deep lined pattern. The chairs matched — high, straight backs and arms with knobs at the end, made not for comfort, but for beauty.
The lords already seated didn't appear relaxed. Fesler never appeared relaxed though. He was not one of Alexander's trusted advisors, but had become more of a presence since the Fey arrived. Fesler was slender, with hollow cheeks and straight blond hair. His age was difficult to determine, since he never spoke of it, but he had been a lord longer than Matthias had been in Jahn.
Egan sat beside him, his hunched back brushing against the straight chair. Egan crouched to hide his bulk, which never worked. He seemed larger than he had when the Fey arrived, partly because he no longer smiled. Egan was once known as the most jovial of the King's men, but he hadn't laughed since he lost his son in the Invasion.
Canter was studying his well manicured hands, as if he could find no other way to avoid looking at Jewel and Nicholas. His hair was cut perfectly square, his blouse well tailored, his vest matching his leggings perfectly. He must have been riding when the news came, for Canter usually wore a robe more exquisite than any found in the Tabernacle.
Matthias took the chair
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