Spellbinder (Moonshadow Book 2)

by Thea Harrison

  This couldn’t be the man who had run his hands so gently down her body as he kissed her so passionately…. Could it?

  If she’d been wearing the telepathy earrings, she could have asked him. But she had kept them, along with her stones, safely tucked into her pocket. Maybe they worked when they came in contact with her skin?

  As she started to slip a hand into her pocket to find out, Triddick snapped, “She’s the Queen’s new musician, and you will leave her alone! Now, this is my domain, and you are not welcome here. Be off with you!”

  Warrick’s interest in her shifted to a much more chilling expression. Setting one hand on the hilt of his knife, he said softly to Triddick, “One of these days you’ll snap at me one too many times, old man. And I promise you won’t like what happens next.”

  The activity in the kitchen had stilled. Sid noted that all eyes were on them.

  “Wow,” she said to Warrick, loud enough for everyone to hear. “How mad do you think the Queen would get if you messed with her food?”

  He didn’t like that, she saw as his eyes narrowed and the expression in them flared, quick and hot. But he said nothing more. Instead, after a slow, cold look around the room, he turned on one heel and left.

  Watching him leave, she muttered to Triddick, “What an asshole.”

  But what if that had all been an act? Warrick was literally the only other person she had seen so far who wasn’t Light Fae.

  Triddick focused his attention onto her. “Warrick is one of the Queen’s Hounds, and he’s very dangerous,” he told her in a quiet voice meant for her ears alone. “He would never dare to act in such a way if Morgan were here. You’ll stay away from him, if you know what’s good for you.”

  Very dangerous, hmm? With a sinking heart, she realized that would fit with everything Robin had said to her. She didn’t want it to, but it did fit.

  And who was this Morgan guy?

  Just as she was about to ask Triddick, he strode away, snapping orders to his kitchen staff, and their brief moment of accord was over.

  Maybe Kallah would answer some of her questions if Sid could catch her in the right mood. Or better yet, perhaps Myrrah.

  Or maybe she should just keep her mouth shut, eat her food, and get back to the music hall. She mustn’t forget all these people had lived here for a long time before she showed up. They would have alliances, grudges, and motivations she couldn’t possibly know anything about.

  She also mustn’t forget they were all still watching her.

  More than a little rattled, she carried her meal to the music hall. On the route, she had to dodge several servants dressed in brown clothes. One stood still, eyes closed, while a whirlwind like a small tornado moved systematically back and forth over the hall floor.

  As Sid stared, dirt was sucked into the whirlwind, and she remembered what Kallah had said about the castle getting cleaned by magic. Even the house cleaners had a generous amount of magic.

  After watching for a few moments, she slipped past the worker and hurried on to the music hall. After she ate, she got back to work.

  She hadn’t slept enough. She still felt draggy and hungover, but years of discipline had taught her a long time ago how to keep going.

  Besides, she could sleep when she was dead.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Morgan slept deeply until late the next morning, and when he woke, he knew he had turned a corner. Despite the fact that fighting with Robin had torn open his wound again, he felt stronger and steadier, and even though he had spent himself utterly the day before, he felt more of his magic had returned as he’d slept.

  He had been in a desperate scramble ever since he had heard of Sid’s kidnapping. Now, for the first time, he felt like he had enough energy to start digging through the books he had brought with him. Eager to get started, he rose to wash and eat a quick breakfast, and then he settled at the table in front of the books.

  He had stolen from the Bodleian Library a wide sweep of anything that might bear useful information, so he was prepared to run into dead ends and irrelevancies.

  Still it was disheartening to spend hours poring through the books, reading esoteric passages about the Deus Machinae, or God Machines. The Deus Machinae were legendary items of massive Power that legend said the seven gods of the Elder Races had cast into the world to ensure their will continued to be enacted throughout time. Yet nothing he read tied those legends to Azrael’s Athame.

  In fact, he found no reference to Death’s Knife in any of the passages he read. Personally, he had never heard of the Knife before the night Isabeau had stabbed him. That single act had irrevocably transformed his life and changed the course of history at once. Since that time, he had studied it carefully, albeit at a distance, for the many years he had watched it dangle from Isabeau’s waist.

  It was an item of tremendous Power and age, so theoretically it could be one of the God Machines. If it was, it would be indestructible.

  If it wasn’t one of the Machines, there might be some hope of breaking it. But he couldn’t learn how to do that until he learned more of the Knife’s provenance and origin.

  He needed to travel to the Louvre while he still had the freedom to do so, to consult the Elven book. But he didn’t dare leave Sidonie while her fate was so precarious. Perhaps he could slip away after her audience with the Queen, although he scowled to consider that.

  He hated the thought of leaving her, period. She didn’t know her way here at court, and she was vulnerable to the vipers that had manipulated their way to positions of power.

  One step at a time. One obstacle at a time.

  For now, the next step was getting through tomorrow evening.

  Restless after a day of physical inactivity, that evening he prowled around the neighboring hills to see if he could catch the scent of the puck, but either Robin had decided to go back to Earth or after their confrontation he had grown stealthier, and Morgan didn’t find any hint of his presence.

  Distrustful of such a clear and open lack of evidence, Morgan returned to his cottage, where he tended to his wound and rewrapped it and doused himself with more of the hunter’s spray.

  This time when he slipped down to the night market, the need was not so urgent to steal food. Sidonie would be fed, at least until tomorrow evening, and he wasn’t hungry.

  This time he was interested in information.

  Cloaking himself tightly as always, he threaded his way like a ghost through the crowded streets and the lantern-lit stalls. At Gardin the cloth merchant’s stall, he heard Sidonie’s name and paused, his attention sharpening.

  “I heard this human named Sid found her way to court to petition the Queen for an audience,” Gardin told the noblewoman who fingered a length of damask silk as she listened.

  Morgan knew the noblewoman, Freya, who was a notorious gossip. Freya leaned close, her eyes avid. “The music master will not be pleased when he returns to discover his hall has been invaded by a human upstart,” she told Gardin.

  The cloth merchant shrugged. “Eh, Olwen has nothing to worry about. No human musician, no matter how ambitious, can possibly hope to supplant a master Light Fae musician who has been working at perfecting his craft for centuries.”

  “True,” Freya agreed. “If this woman is hoping to find a position at court, I’m sure she will be sorely disappointed.”

  Morgan suppressed a derisive snort. Sidonie’s talent was light-years beyond Olwen’s. Once they overcame the hurdle of tomorrow evening’s audience, if she wanted, she could ascend rapidly in favor to become a true power at court in her own right.

  Not that she would care about any of that. She only wanted to return to her rightful life.

  “I’ll wager you she’ll be sent packing before tomorrow evening is out,” Gardin declared.

  Freya laughed. “I’m sure you’re right.”

  The pair knew nothing. The only thing of note in the conversation was that news of Sidonie’s presence and her upcoming audience with Isabe
au had reached town. Morgan moved on.

  Rounding a corner, he stopped dead. Not six feet away, three Hounds had gathered in front of Zacharias’s stall. Zacharias sold pints of dark, yeasty beer, fried meats, boiled eggs, and fish and potatoes. The three men sat at a rough plank, eating and drinking.

  Warrick, Johan, and Harrow. They would have led the hunt for Morgan, back to Earth. If they had returned to Avalon, that meant the other Hounds would be returning as well, and that meant sneaking around the castle and town just became a lot harder.

  He was also running low on the hunter’s spray. Whether he decided to travel to the Louvre or not, he needed to make a quick trip to Earth for more. With the Hounds returning, he needed the spray now more than ever.

  Morgan tightened his cloaking spell until it lay against his skin like a heavy, hot layer of rubber, blocking everything else out, even the slightest breeze. He wanted very badly to step forward to eavesdrop on the other men’s conversation. But if anyone might say in passing the words that could activate his geas, it was those three.

  And he didn’t dare hire someone else to eavesdrop for him. Not knowing the triggers to avoid, they would simply repeat what the other men said, and he would still be trapped. Simmering with frustration, he backed away and left the night market altogether.

  It was time to move on and see how Sidonie had fared with her day.

  On his way out, he stopped by the honey merchant to steal a piece of honeycomb. After he sucked the sweetness of the honey out of the comb, he would have wax he could use to stop his ears.

  He stopped just long enough to suck on the honeycomb, savoring the rich, golden sweetness as he chewed the wax until it was soft and pliable enough he could mold it into earplugs. Then he made his way through the castle.

  It was harder this time. Before, he had stolen through in the middle of the night. Now, it was earlier in the evening, all the witchlights were aglow, and more people were awake and about. Also he had to concentrate on using his magical senses to avoid detection, not his hearing.

  Finally he reached the doors of the music hall, only to discover the hall was dark and empty. Sidonie wasn’t there.

  Growling under his breath, he went on the hunt to find her. Her scent was clear and easy to follow. It led back to the servants’ quarters. That area was much darker than the rest of the castle, as most of the sensible, hardworking servants were already in bed.

  One room had candlelight glowing from the crack at the bottom of the door. Candlelight, not the cooler glow of a witchlight.

  The area outside that room also smelled like Sidonie. Pausing outside the door, he said telepathically, I’m here. Douse your candle.

  For a moment, he wasn’t sure if he had made a telepathic connection, and he pulled the wax from his ears so he could hear what was happening on the other side of the door.

  Then, cautiously, she asked, What if I don’t want to?

  Frustrated again, he rubbed his face. Part of him wanted to shove through that door and take her into his arms, but the other part held back. We’ve already talked about this more than once. You know it’s not safe.

  Not safe for whom? she asked. Her telepathic voice sounded tense. Me or you?

  The tension could have been due to her discomfort at the new use of telepathy, but he thought he had grown to know her better than that. He replied quietly, Not safe for either of us. What’s wrong?

  I’m no longer comfortable with our arrangement, she whispered.

  Why? he demanded. Had she discovered who he was? The urge to storm through that door was getting stronger. What’s happened?

  Are you Warrick? she asked.

  The question hit from out of the blue, and it made him recoil. Gods, no! he exclaimed violently. Why would you ask such a thing?!

  Do you swear you’re telling the truth? She probably had no idea how telepathic speech mimicked verbal speech. Doubtless she was unaware of just how shakily she had asked that question.

  But Morgan heard it, and furious concern roared through him. What had that bastard done to her? In a soft, evenly controlled voice, he said, If Warrick has done anything to hurt or frighten you, I swear I will cut out his heart and feed it to him.

  On second thought, that probably hadn’t sounded as reassuring as he would have wished. Pressing one fist against the wooden door, he willed her to believe him.

  A shadow passed in front of the candlelight shining underneath the door, and there was a soft, muffled sound, close by.

  She said, more calmly, He didn’t do anything to me. He was boorish and suggestive, and he wears weapons. It’s not a good combination. He also threatened Triddick, who stood up for me and backed him off.

  Morgan was going to kill Warrick. He didn’t know how, and he didn’t know when, but it would be soon. He had always known Warrick had a rough edge, but he’d always been able to keep the other man in check before. Now that Morgan was supposedly gone from Avalon, Warrick’s true colors were emerging.

  Quietly, he asked, Why on earth would you think I was Warrick? Have I done anything boorish or suggestive to you?

  No! she exclaimed. Then, more calmly, No, of course you haven’t. You’re… you’ve been amazing. I literally don’t believe I would still be alive, if it weren’t for you, and you didn’t stop with just saving my life. You keep helping me. I’ve grown to rely upon you. But you are the one who keeps warning me not to trust you, and I know you’re not Light Fae. Warrick is the first man who isn’t Light Fae that I’ve seen since I’ve gotten here. And when I thought about how I know so few facts about you, I got a little freaked out.

  He absorbed all that in silence. Finally he said, You know I can’t promise what might be done under the geas, but I will never hurt you. I—the man—will never hurt you. I will never push past any barrier you erect, or coerce you into doing something you do not want to do. I will always support, respect, and defend you.

  How chivalrous, she whispered.

  Well… yes. His lips pulled into a wry smile.

  Your well-being matters to me, he said. The music your spirit creates… it matters to me. If you want to talk to me through a closed door, and if you want to keep your candle lit so you aren’t in the dark, I am not going to do anything to change that. And if you tell me to go away and leave you alone, I will go. Just… for your sake, we should arrange to meet tomorrow, so I can cast the battle spell on you before you play for the Queen.

  On the other side of the door, he heard a quiet thump, as if she had banged her forehead against the panel. She said, Thank you for saying all that. I believe you. Hang on.

  A moment passed, and then the light went out in her room. None of the servants’ rooms had locks on the doors, but he made no move to open hers. Clenching his fists, he made himself wait, until she opened the door.

  When she did, he strode forward and snatched at her. At the same moment, she leaped at him, throwing her arms around his neck, and something raw and angry eased inside, and he was so tired of thinking about what he should or shouldn’t do, he threw all of it out of his head, lifted her off her feet, and kissed her.

  Raising her face, she met him halfway. Their lips collided, not gently. A muffled laugh escaped her, then she parted her lips, and he delved inside as deeply as he could go.

  Kissing her was a euphoric experience. The softness of her wet mouth, the eagerness with which she kissed him back, the velvet sensation of her tongue sliding across his.

  His conscience made one last effort. Lifting his head a little, he whispered against her mouth, “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

  “Shut up and get inside so we can close the door,” she whispered back.

  Quickly, he complied and shoved the door gently with one foot so that it settled into place. He glanced around. The walls of the servants’ rooms were made of thick stone, but someone could still eavesdrop at either the window or the door. With a flick of his fingers, he cast a dampening spell in the room so that all the sound inside the room was muffled.
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  “I spelled the room,” he told her. “We can talk freely. Nobody outside will be able to hear anything.”

  “Okay, good to know. Wait a minute.” In the faint illumination of the moonlight shining into her small window, he watched her tilt her head. She asked, “Why didn’t you throw that kind of spell when you came to visit me in prison? But instead you said, oh no, we needed to whisper.”

  “We do need to whisper without the dampening spell,” he snapped. “Either that or use telepathy. I’ve been dealing an injury, and after I healed you that first night, I had no magic left. Besides, I didn’t want you to be able to recognize my voice. But I let that one out of the bag when I gave you the telepathic earrings.”

  She threw up her hands in exasperation. “What on earth are you talking about now? Remember, I know almost nothing about magic items.”

  “A person’s telepathic voice sounds like their physical voice,” he told her. “As soon as you heard me telepathize, you’ve been able to identify me by my voice. But since you’d gotten yourself out of prison, I thought we needed to be able to communicate any way we could, so I made the earrings. And right now it doesn’t matter if we whisper or not. It just matters that we not be overheard—but there’ll be plenty of times I can’t throw the dampening spell.”

  Heaving an aggrieved sigh, she said, “Okay, I’ll bite. Why not?”

  “Because it would never go unnoticed in a crowd. Dampening spells are cast over areas, not over people, and as soon as someone walks into a dampened area they know it.” Resentment boiled over. He accused, “I can’t believe you thought I might be Warrick.”

  “Oh, I get it now,” she remarked, dark humor lacing her voice. “You really spelled the room so we could argue.”

  “Can you blame me?” he snapped.

  “Fine—go ahead and be mad at me. But I didn’t know what to believe!” she exclaimed. “You’re so insistent on not telling me any details about yourself…. Or at least as few details as possible. Even just now, you only told me about telepathic voices sounding like physical voices because you had to.”