Spellbinder (Moonshadow Book 2)

by Thea Harrison

  He pressed a flask into her hand. “First things first. Here’s water.”

  Snatching at it, she fumbled to get the top open and drank thirstily until the flask was dry. When she finished, he took the flask from her, then grasped her fingers to guide her hand forward and down to what felt like an open canvas bag or backpack.

  “Last time I was in a hurry to get here as fast as I could. This time I came better prepared,” he murmured. As he talked, his hand guided her fingers to each of the bag’s contents. “There’s more bread and fruit—grapes, cherries, and an apple. There’s also boiled eggs. They’re already peeled. There’s a soft cheese you might enjoy with the bread, half a roasted chicken, and a honey-and-nut pastry. I also have a few more flasks of water. You can save food for the daytime, especially since you can throw the scraps down the privy, but I can’t leave a flask or the bag with you, so you should drink as much as you possibly can.”

  The too-easy tears slipped down her face again as she felt the largesse inside the bag. Grasping one of the eggs, she bit into it, chewed and swallowed. It was indescribably delicious.

  She whispered, “I saved the grapes to eat during the day, because they carried so much moisture.”

  “That’s smart thinking,” he told her. “If you hold on to the fruit, it will help you get through the day.”

  “I don’t know what to say, except again, thank you so much.” She crammed the last of the egg into her mouth.

  His light touch withdrew from her wrist. “As I said last night, don’t thank me. It’s the least I can do.”

  She started on another egg while she considered that. Maybe it was true. Maybe it was partly his fault she was here. But mostly, she thought, it was her kidnapper Robin’s fault. And the fault of every Light Fae she had met since arriving at their encampment.

  “You didn’t have to do anything,” she pointed out. “And I would still be here, trapped in the dark, eating and drinking terrible food. I’d probably have dysentery by now. So yes… thank you.”

  “All right, then,” he replied with a kind of grave courtesy that sent warmth running through her. “You’re welcome.”

  She hesitated, thinking. She had things to say to him, and things to ask, but she was still hungry and didn’t want to sour her only enjoyment. Finishing the second egg, she considered what to eat next.

  Sweets could make one thirsty, so she should eat the honey pastry while she still had access to plenty of clean drinking water. Locating the pastry, she bit into one corner and almost moaned. It was flaky, buttery, and the top had been sprinkled with pecans. It was utterly delicious.

  As she ate it, she said, “Where did you get the food? This is fresh.”

  “There’s a night market in the city,” he told her. “Certain stalls are open until midnight.”

  That sounded lively, intriguing. In an Other land, a market like that would be filled with exotic sights and sounds and interesting merchandise. She might want to go shopping there, if she didn’t already want to burn Avalon with hellfire.

  Carefully, focusing all her attention on the pastry, she finished it and sighed. “That was wonderful.”

  A smile entered his voice. “I have a fondness for them too.”

  So he liked sweets. Along with the fact that he had magical ability, it was virtually the only thing she knew about him.

  She ate a chicken wing, and when she was done, she walked carefully over to the privy to toss the bones inside. Another question occurred to her. “Do they ever dig out the contents of this?” If they did, it must be beyond horrible.

  “The privy? No. The hole goes to an underground river. There are grates over the river where it flows to the sea, which is why you can’t shove anything like the flasks or the bag down the hole, or eventually someone will find it.”

  Even though he couldn’t see it, she nodded, thinking. The rats probably used the underground river system to get around. She hadn’t heard them since her benefactor had arrived. Perhaps he’d scared them away.

  She said, “If I had the Power to shapeshift into something small, say a mouse or a rat, I could go down that hole.”

  “You could, if you had the stomach for it. It would have to be something small, or the grates would catch you and you would drown. But you don’t have the Power to shapeshift.”

  “No.” Now she knew a third thing about him—he knew a lot about the underground prison. She turned away from the hole and made her way back to the cot.

  “Better?” he asked.

  “Yes.” Taking a deep breath, she braced herself to start asking the more uncomfortable questions, but he forestalled her.

  “I have something else for you.” The bag on the floor rustled as he rummaged in it, then he took hold of her hand and pressed something into it. Then something else.

  She felt the items curiously. One was long, thin, and had bristles at one end, and the other felt like a tube. “Oh, my God,” she whispered. “You brought me a toothbrush and toothpaste.”

  “I have a jar of lavender mixed with arrowroot that you can rub through your hair and brush out. It works like a dry shampoo. The arrowroot soaks up the oils, while the lavender adds some freshness. And there’s a container of wet wipes.” Even though she didn’t know him, she thought she could hear a smile in his voice. “It’s not the same as a shower or a bath, but at least it’s something.”

  The tears came back, and for a moment she couldn’t speak. When she did, her whisper came out thick and choked. “Now I’m beyond words.”

  “I know how you feel,” he said gently. “A long time ago, I spent some time in one of these cells.”

  Her breath caught. “You did? How long were you down here?”

  It was so hard to tell expression from a whisper, but his reply seemed flat and expressionless as he told her, “Over a year.”

  A year. She was going crazy after just a few days, and he had spent over a year down here in the dark, without extra food, water, or comfort, and he still sounded sane. She would not survive a year down here, even with his help.

  Her lips trembled. “I can’t imagine.”

  A small silence fell. Finally, still in that flat, expressionless tone, he said, “One day at a time, Sidonie. That’s all either of us can do.”

  He had flasks, from Earth, wet wipes, and tubes of toothpaste and travel toothbrushes. That meant he had access to the crossover passageways. And he had spent over a year imprisoned, and he’d not only survived but he’d been set free again. That meant Isabeau valued him, and to some extent, despite his imprisonment, she trusted him.

  Her shoulders tightened, but she was still not yet ready to start asking the tougher questions. Instead, she turned her attention to the treasures he had given her.

  She asked, “And you can’t see me, right?”

  “I can see better than you can,” he said. “I can see where you are, and your general posture. I can tell if you’re standing or kneeling, but you’re nothing more than a shadowy shape to me.”

  She considered that. Did she believe or trust him? There was something creepy at the thought of him eyeing her while she undressed, while she couldn’t see him, but at this point did she really care?

  He was probably telling the truth, but even if he was lying, she decided she wanted to be clean more than anything else, so she stripped off her filthy clothes and took the toiletries over to the privy.

  Brushing her teeth had never felt so amazing. Rubbing the dry shampoo through her hair and brushing it out was a little odd, but she had to admit her hair felt much better afterward and the lavender scent was wonderful.

  She used the wet wipes on her face and every inch of her body, only hesitating enough to ask, “Should I put these wipes down the privy?”

  “No, don’t do that,” he said. “They won’t biodegrade quickly enough. I’ll take them with me when I go.”

  “Okay, thank you.”

  When she had finished and made her way back to the cot, he had one more surprise waiting for
her. “I spelled your clothes,” he said as he handed them to her in a folded pile. “They’re as clean as I can get them without soap and water.”

  She buried her face in the clothes and inhaled. Before, even to her own nose, she had stank, but now they merely smelled a little dusty. “Another miracle,” she murmured. “I wasn’t looking forward to putting my clothes back on after getting clean.”

  This time the smile was back in his whisper. “I thought you might feel that way.”

  Beginning to shiver, she dressed quickly while he moved about the cell, presumably to gather up the used wipes that she had left in a small pile near the privy. When he returned to the cot, she was waiting for him, sitting with her back against the wall and her arms wrapped around drawn-up knees.

  It was incredible what good food, water, and cleanliness could do to strengthen one’s mind and spirit. She almost regretted what she was going to do next.

  As he sat beside her, she asked, “Are you Modred?”

  Chapter Seven

  The air became charged and volcanic, and as she listened to his breathing change she tensed.

  But whatever she had been expecting, it wasn’t what came next. Instead of either confirming or exploding in denial, he remained silent for several moments.

  Then in a measured tone, he asked, “What if I was?”

  She listened intently for any nuance, anything that might give her a hint of how he was reacting, but the only impression she gained from his murmured whisper was one of immense self-control. He was determined to give her no information whatsoever, yet still, despite the paranoid thoughts and questions that had plagued her throughout the day, conviction settled into her bones.

  “It doesn’t matter,” she told him. “Because you’re not him.”

  “How do you know?” Genuine curiosity tinged his question.

  She groped for the right words. “Modred is… charming, until he is not. He has a certain way of speaking. I don’t know quite how to put it. Maybe it’s ironic? It’s an affectation you don’t have. He has a light, almost affectionate attitude that disguises something much darker underneath. You’re not nearly so light, or you haven’t been with me. Modred is the one who carried out Isabeau’s order. He broke my hands.” A shudder ran through her. Her body would recognize Modred’s touch. She knew it would. “You didn’t do that to me. I would bet my life on you and him being two vastly different individuals.”

  Again he surprised her, as he neither confirmed nor denied what she said. Instead, he told her soberly, “Sidonie, you must stop asking these kinds of questions.”

  She uncurled and swiveled to face him, or at least face in the direction of where he sat beside her. “Why?”

  His hand came down on one of her knees, long fingers tightening. She had gotten so used to him touching her in the dark, she didn’t flinch at the contact. “Because they’re not only dangerous for you. They’re dangerous for me. You know too much already.”

  She snorted in derision. She didn’t know anything. If she had bothered to take any time to read about the Elder Races demesnes before her world tour had reached Great Britain, she might have been able to puzzle out his identity. The way Robin had spoken about him indicated he was important somehow, and deadly. Her own ignorance and disinterest had trapped her in this situation as much as anything else had.

  He muttered, “I wish I could take back the things we said to each other last night. If I’d not been so depleted after your healing, I would have thrown a spell of forgetfulness over you. Now it’s too late. The experience has settled too firmly into your mind.”

  She flinched and pulled her knee away from his grasp. “Obviously I can’t stop you from doing something like that, but if I ever discover you’ve used magic on me without my permission again, I’ll do everything I can to find a way to hurt you back. Because that’s what you’re doing when you spell someone without their consent. You’re hurting them. There’s a reason why it’s illegal in virtually every country on Earth. It’s a rape of someone’s will.”

  The volcanic charge was back in the air, threading the darkness with a sense of imminent danger. When he replied, his whisper was as forceful and edged as hers had been. “I know all too well what a rape of the will magic can be to those who don’t consent to it. Nevertheless, if I could have done it last night, I would have, since causing you to forget might have meant saving your life. I’m trying to protect you by not telling you who I am. You have an inkling of what Isabeau might do if she’s angered or crossed.”

  Yes, she did. Huddling away from him, she wrapped her arms around herself. After a moment, she said with dogged determination, “You said you can’t help me escape. Can’t, not won’t.”

  “Sidonie,” he said in warning.

  She plowed on. “Does that mean you’re too scared to do any more than what you’ve already done? You’re afraid you might be punished?”

  Even as she asked, the questions didn’t ring true. If he was so afraid of being punished, he would never have helped her in the first place.

  But she had to try to figure this out. She had to get a better understanding of what was really going on around her if she was going to have any hope of getting out of here. Besides, not knowing anything was driving her crazy.

  This time when he said her name, it was through gritted teeth. “Sidonie!”

  Blindly she reached out. Her fingers caught on the folds of his shirt as it pulled tight across his chest. She fisted both hands in the material.

  “Can’t, you said,” she pressed. “Not won’t. You said you were constrained. What does that mean?”

  She felt the tension thrumming through his long body. “I am. Unable. To tell you.”

  Again, her hearing was all she had to rely on, and his voice hitched on the words in a way they never had before.

  Unable. Can’t. Not won’t. Constrained.

  Those were all his words, not hers.

  And also, there had been this:

  I know all too well what a rape of the will magic can be to those who don’t consent to it.

  She whispered, “Are you under some kind of magic compulsion?”

  His hands circled her wrists in a bruising hold, but he didn’t answer.

  He didn’t deny it either.

  Her heart pounded. Licking her lips, she asked, “Are you forbidden to talk about it?”

  His fingers tightened painfully. Then he seemed to realize what he was doing, because his grip relaxed. But he didn’t deny it. His pulse drummed against her fingertips. His heart was pounding hard.

  “And you’re forbidden to help any prisoners escape,” she said.

  Again his hands tightened on her wrists, then loosened. Without using words, it was still unmistakably an affirmative.

  She let go of his shirt and smoothed the material over his chest. “All right,” she whispered. “I think I’m beginning to get it. If they find out you’ve been helping me, they might order you to stop. And you would have to stop, wouldn’t you? You wouldn’t have any choice.”

  “Think further,” he replied softly. “If I’m ordered to hurt or kill you, I will. They must never know who helped you. Do you understand? They must never discover our connection. If you’re questioned, do everything you can to keep from giving them any information. Don’t lie—that would be the worst thing you could do—and you would have to tell them something, but think of ways to misdirect them. Practice those answers until they come out naturally and easily. Create your own version of truth, and stop trying to discover who I am.”

  Her heart was hammering as hard as his. She swallowed and managed to reply, “Understood. It took me a while, but I get it now.”

  His chest moved under her hands as he took a deep breath. “I’ve got to leave. I got here late, and I’ve stayed as long as I can.”

  Her heart sank. Despite her doubts and fears, his presence was so vivid and comforting he pushed back the cold darkness while he was here. She could even feel his body warmth as they sat be
side each other on the cot. The thought of him leaving again was almost unbearable.

  In an attempt at lightness, she asked, “You sure you can’t accidentally leave the door unlocked when you go?”

  That came out a lot more taut and desperate than she had meant for it to.

  He cupped the side of her head. His touch was warm and gentle. “Believe me, if I could, I would.”

  A tear slipped down her cheek. Biting her lip, she was grateful for the concealment of the darkness as she swiped it away. “Eh, well, had to ask.”

  He stroked her hair once, a light, passing caress, and then he gathered up the canvas bag at their feet and stood.

  Slipping off the cot as well, she followed him to the door. When he paused, she stumbled into him. As she felt him turn to face her, she stepped forward deliberately to wrap her arms around his waist.

  She whispered, “I appreciate everything you’ve done, so very much. I especially appreciate that you’ve done it despite the danger to you.”

  His body went rigid as she hugged him. Then, slowly, his arms came around her. As they tightened, she let her head rest against him for a moment.

  She had already known he was bigger than she, but that was no surprise since most men were. Now, coming flush against him, she got a real sense of the size and breadth of his long body. He was tall and powerfully built. The chest under her cheek was broad and thick with muscle, and so were his biceps. Her head fit neatly underneath his chin.

  A weight came down on her. She thought it must be his cheek.

  “You’re welcome, Sidonie. After the guard brings your breakfast, try to get some sleep. I’ll be back as soon as I can after the evening round.”

  As she gave him a quick squeeze, she felt an odd thickness underneath his shirt near his waist and ran her fingers lightly over it. It felt like a bandage, as if he had taped his ribs. She thought back to how she had struck him, and his response.

  He had said he wasn’t well. It appeared he was injured in some way, and she had struck him there, twice. She felt a brief remorse then shoved it aside. At the time, she had believed she was fighting in self-defense.