Spellbinder (Moonshadow Book 2)

by Thea Harrison

  “How so?” Robin asked quickly.

  Voices sounded outside the doors. One of them was Kallah. Robin’s form shimmered and transformed into a black cat again.

  Picking up the cat, Sid switched to telepathy. I can’t tell you right now. You’re just going to have to trust me. For God’s sake, go find him and see what you can do to help! I’m not leaving Avalon without him. Lifting the cat up, she stared into its wide green gaze. You and I—we’re never going to be friends, and apparently, you can survive just fine without my forgiveness. But I will forgive you anyway, if you help set Morgan free.

  Because without her kidnapping, she would never have met her Magic Man. She would never have experienced the night they had just shared. She would never have gazed into his eyes as he moved so deeply, so gently inside her, or experienced the profound emotion with which he held her.

  Everything she had endured to reach this point had suddenly become worth it, all the pain, the terror, and the uncertainty.

  Just as Robin had not struggled against her blows, the cat hung limp in her grasp, not struggling against her hold.

  His telepathic voice sounded oddly gentle as he said, That is no small thing you offer, Sidonie Martel.

  I know, she replied curtly.

  As she strode toward the doors, carrying the cat, one of them opened, and Kallah walked in, carrying an outfit over one arm. Kallah raised one eyebrow as Sid dropped the cat outside the room.

  Sid watched the cat race down the hall, a sleek black streak of speed. When it had disappeared around a corner, she shut the door, turned to face Kallah, and said, “I have no idea how that got in here.”

  “Cats are everywhere,” Kallah said indifferently. “They keep the castle free of mice and rats.”

  “Pity they can’t do the same for the underground prison,” Sid said, ending each word with a delicate bite. When Kallah frowned at her, she shrugged. She couldn’t care less what the other woman thought.

  “I have news for you,” Kallah said as she walked over to the table.

  Sid followed. “Let me guess, this evening I’ll be playing in the great hall.”

  Kallah paused. “Yes, how did you hear?”

  “Triddick told me this morning, when I went to beg some breakfast from him. I don’t know how he heard of it.”

  “I must say, you’re taking the news quite calmly.” Kallah gave her a quick, keen glance.

  Sid compressed her lips into a tight smile. The casual contempt buried in Kallah’s assumptions was like having her skin rubbed with sandpaper. As Sid had performed regularly in front of thousands of people in almost every type of venue imaginable, she hadn’t given the great hall a second thought.

  However, she was going to have a serious struggle with not being able to practice three times in the great hall before the performance.

  She managed to bite back the snarl that wanted to come out. Instead, she said blandly, “I’m not concerned about where I will be playing. The only person’s opinion that really matters is her majesty’s.”

  Kallah’s voice turned wry. “True enough. I also wanted to warn you. It’s possible you play well enough that you might rouse one or two of the harmonics set in the hall.”

  Sid’s eyes narrowed. “What does that mean?”

  “There are spells in silver glyphs set throughout the hall that respond to music. Lights and colors may appear. True masters can evoke images. If any colors appear, you mustn’t be startled into faltering.”

  So the Light Fae had their version of a light show. She managed not to roll her eyes. “Got it.”

  Kallah’s expression turned curious. “You and Triddick have struck up an acquaintance?”

  Sid watched her lay the outfit over the top of the table. “I’ve been too busy to keep to the meal times, and he’s been good enough to accommodate me.”

  “I am somewhat surprised,” Kallah remarked as she pulled folds of the garment straight. It was a dress. “He can be temperamental.”

  “We came to an understanding. He wishes for the Queen to know he supports her love of the arts in any way he can.”

  “I will be sure to pass that on.” Kallah let go of the fabric and straightened. “This dress is for you to wear tonight. Your other two outfits won’t do.”

  Angling her head, Sid inspected the dress. It was brown, which was seriously unfortunate. She had never been a big fan of plain brown. But despite the color, it was a much richer, finer outfit than her regular brown dress, made of velvet with black decorative stitching at the wrists and the hem.

  “Okay,” she said.

  Kallah turned to face her, eyes narrowed. “Is there anything you want to ask me about this evening?”

  She shook her head and shrugged, then thought better of her surly attitude. “Actually, I do. How am I supposed to behave when I get to the hall?”

  “You should eat a light supper before the evening starts,” Kallah instructed. “You will be expected to play while others eat their supper, so you won’t be given food, although you may have as much drink as you wish. You will get a few short breaks. Other than that, it’s difficult to plan ahead. If her majesty doesn’t care for your music, the evening will be brief for you.”

  If this was a movie, Sid thought, that would be a cue for an ominous swell of music. “Understood,” she bit out.

  Kallah looked mildly taken aback. She continued, “If her majesty does enjoy your music, you should expect to play for a couple of hours, so be sure to come to the hall well rested. I will send a page to collect you when it is time.”

  “Fine.” She bit back a sigh. All the impending doom was working on her last nerve. “I’ll go back to my room this afternoon. Anything else?”

  “No, I believe that should cover everything.” Kallah paused, and her eyes narrowed. She murmured, “I don’t remember you wearing earrings when I cut your hair.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” Sid snapped. “What else do you people want to take from me? Sometimes I wear my earrings, and sometimes I put them in my pocket. Why, do you want them?”

  If nothing else, she thought, this place has taught me one thing. I have learned how to lie like a champion while telling the absolute truth.

  The other woman drew back in affront. “Of course not,” she snapped back. “Now, if that will be all, I need to return to my own duties.”

  “See you in the great hall,” Sid said shortly.

  The other woman turned to go. When Kallah turned back the irritation had faded from her plain features. In a sober voice, she said, “I know you must be feeling an extraordinary amount of stress right now. Good luck tonight. I hope you do well.”

  The starch left Sid’s spine, and she made an effort to soften her own voice in reply. “I appreciate that, Kallah. Thank you.”

  * * *

  After leaving, Morgan returned to his cottage, ate mechanically, and tended to his healing wound.

  It looked better than it had last time. The black streaks shooting out like jagged thunderbolts had faded somewhat, and the wound itself had closed over solidly. It felt better too. Now it was a dull, irritating ache as opposed to a burning spike of pain. Nothing he and Sidonie had done in the night had broken it open again.

  He guessed he had two weeks at most before the geas forced him to return to Isabeau. He needed to take another wound before then.

  After dealing with necessities, he began work on solving the problem of how to get the battle spell to Sidonie.

  As much as he railed against the conclusion he had come to, trying to cast the spell in person was not the best choice. If he cast the spell, it would begin to work immediately, and Sidonie needed to be able to control when it was activated. He would have to set the spell into an item and then figure out how to get the item to her.

  The other challenge was, while he was certainly proficient in magic and not without a capacious bag of tricks, the thought of trying to move about in the daytime was daunting. There were areas of the castle where he could move around
much more freely, hidden nooks and private spaces that had been forgotten by everyone centuries ago, except for him.

  But the well-trafficked area around Sidonie’s room was not one of those spaces. Also several other Hounds and courtiers were proficient in magic, including Isabeau and Modred, and Morgan didn’t have the puck’s ability to change shape at will.

  So delivering the battle spell in person was not the best option. The risk of discovery was too great.

  Perhaps Myrrah might help. She was kind-hearted and a talented healer, and one of the few people Morgan trusted, at least somewhat. She wouldn’t like not knowing why he wanted to get a magic item to Sidonie, yet she might do it if he asked her.

  But he didn’t like the uncertainty in that either. What if Myrrah felt too uneasy with the request? Then he would have not only exposed his presence, but he would also have exposed his link to Sidonie.

  No, Sidonie needed the battle spell for a certainty. That mattered more than anything, even keeping his presence a secret. He would voluntarily go back into active service with Isabeau before he would risk Sidonie going into her performance tonight without the help she needed.

  Setting aside the problem for now, he got to work. First, he took a length of cloth and infused it with the same spell of concealment he had placed on the velvet pouch that carried his deadly array of weapon spells.

  When he had finished, he opened the small wooden box that held his supply of unspelled jewels and picked through them thoughtfully. The battle spell was a major one, so it needed a high-quality jewel to house it. None of the semiprecious stones would do.

  Finally he chose a small, perfect diamond. Setting it on the table, he began the process of casting the spell into the stone. Casting a major spell was one complex process. Setting the spell into an item was a second process that was just as complex.

  Added to that, he needed to infuse this particular spell with a thorough impression of the right skills to pass on to Sidonie. Normally the battle spell was cast in the heat of the moment, and the transfer of skills was both broader and immediately apparent, based on the focus on need by the one casting the spell.

  Casting this spell was different. He was not in the heat of the moment, and he had to build a meticulous mental image of the lute, along with his memories of playing it. By the time he sat back to contemplate his handiwork, he was drained, and the sun had risen high in the sky and had begun to heat the cottage.

  It was a good, solid casting, the spell tightly woven into the structure of the jewel itself, but he was no closer to figuring out how to get it to Sidonie safely in a way that didn’t risk his own freedom too.

  Frustrated, he rubbed his face, then went to open the cottage windows to let in some fresh air. As he did so, the sound of voices caused his hackles to rise.

  Even though the speakers were some distance away, he recognized them. It was Warrick and Harrow.

  While he was confident the concealments he had woven over the cottage would hold, he still needed to find out what they were doing out here, so close to his hiding place. He wrapped the diamond in its concealment cloth and tucked it into his pocket, along with the lump of beeswax.

  Then he grabbed his weapons, doused himself with hunter’s spray again, cast a strong cloaking spell around himself, and slipped out of the cottage to stalk after the two men as their voices faded away.

  Locating Warrick and Harrow was easy since they made no effort to be stealthy. Carefully, he followed as they walked along the path that led to an area of high ground. The place they were headed to was an excellent lookout point, as it offered the most complete view of the castle, the town around it, and the harbor where the fishing and sailing boats were docked.

  Once there, the men paused. Weighing the relative risk of overhearing something he didn’t want to hear versus the need to know what they were up to, Morgan eased closer until he could catch snatches of their conversation on the wind. He fingered pieces of the beeswax, molding them into earplugs even as he listened.

  “I agree with you,” Harrow said. “The scent was fresh, especially in the stables…”

  Realization struck.

  The stables, where Morgan had lain unconscious and bleeding for quite some time. He had forgotten to do anything to disguise or get rid of his scent after he had recovered enough to get back to the cottage. Angry at his own oversight, he swore under his breath.

  Warrick replied, “So if he came back from Earth like we think he did… any number of places where he could be staying… Also I want to know why the bastard sneaked back into Avalon after sneaking out in the first place….”

  “Seems pretty clear…” Harrow said. Doesn’t want to be found?”

  “Yeah, looks like… go back and tell the others…”

  As Morgan took in the gist of their conversation, he faced facts grimly.

  The game had changed.

  Now that Warrick and Harrow had grown suspicious he might be in Avalon, plugging his ears with beeswax wouldn’t do much to protect him. If just one of them thought to try to reach out to him telepathically to made contact—and if they told him Isabeau wanted him to return whether he was injured or not—he would be forced to obey.

  Tensing, he ran through his capacious repertoire of spells to see what might be useful in blocking telepathy. The obvious one would be a null spell. For it to last for any length of time, he would have to cast it into yet another item and wear it. It would protect him from telepathy, but it would hamper his abilities severely too.

  As he stalked the other two Hounds, Morgan’s mind switched over to cold, ruthless logic. It sounded like Warrick and Harrow hadn’t told anybody else yet. Did he have it in him to kill them, even though they presented no immediate physical danger?

  But the danger they did represent was very real. If they took their suspicions back to the other Hounds, and to the Queen, the search for him in the immediate area would intensify.

  It hadn’t happened yet, but now that they were suspicious he could be within range somewhere, sometime very soon, someone would get the bright idea to start calling for him telepathically.

  If he got trapped again, he would be sent away from Avalon to continue his attack against the Dark Court.

  Sent away from Sidonie.

  And maybe she would solidify her position at court that very evening, but if for some reason Isabeau stayed adamantly turned against her, Sidonie could continue to be in danger, and Morgan would not be able to do anything to help.

  He watched as, in the distance, the two men walked farther up the path and paused at the highest point to look out across the land. Now they were too far away for him to overhear their conversation. Harrow pointed west, and Warrick shook his head.

  All it would take was one massive push of air. With a quick spell, he could throw a blow like a battering ram and both men would go flying over the cliff. They might not die from the fall, but they would be severely injured enough he could reach them to finish the job before they recovered.

  Warrick was a brute, and Morgan would feel nothing but relief at his death, but Harrow was a decent enough man.

  At war with himself, he tensed.

  There was a small rustle in the underbrush beside him. Robin remarked in a quiet voice, “It’s a fine day for a little murder, don’t you think?”

  Morgan’s heart kicked. Robin always did have a knack for seeing through his best concealment spells. Whirling, he grabbed the puck by the throat and slammed him to the ground. Robin did nothing to try to stop him.

  Morgan hissed, “Are you fucking crazy? I should have killed you before, when I had the chance!”

  Robin met his gaze. For the first time in a very long time, Morgan saw a sober kind of sanity in the puck’s eyes.

  “It would be most unfortunate if you chose to carry through on that threat, sorcerer, since I’ve come to offer help,” Robin told him. “For the first time in history, a member of the Dark Court is choosing to offer his services to one of the Light.”


  “What nonsense are you spouting now?” Morgan snapped, his fingers tightening.

  Robin’s face darkened from the increased pressure, but he still showed no signs of struggle. He whispered, “I had a most illuminating conversation with Sidonie.”

  Instantly, Morgan relaxed his hold. A quick glance up at the lookout point told him the other two men had disappeared from sight. He had not only lost his chance to kill them, but he had lost track of where they were.

  “Come on.” Hauling Robin upright, he dragged the puck back to the concealment of his cottage. Once there, he shoved the puck inside and followed, slamming the door behind him. As Robin turned to face him, he snarled, “Start explaining.”

  “I was spying on her,” Robin said simply as he adjusted his clothes. “I have this compulsion to witness the damage I’ve wrought. Somehow she sensed me watching. Instead of denying my presence and remaining silent, I chose to reveal myself. She was… violently furious, as you may imagine.”

  “If you did anything more to hurt her…,” he growled, feeling his face change.

  Robin’s eyes widened, and he threw up his hands. “Peace, sorcerer! Your lady is fine! I took every one of her blows, because I deserved them, and when she calmed down enough to talk, she told me of the geas you’re under.”

  Morgan hesitated, breathing hard, and his features eased back into their normal shape. Warily, he asked, “So what now, Robin?”

  “Sidonie was right,” Robin breathed, staring at him. “Now I know the geas exists, I can see it lying over you, like fate’s shadow. Before, I always thought it was the shade of your dark arts. Now my reasons for her kidnapping no longer exist, but she made it clear she doesn’t want my help to go home. She said she won’t leave Avalon without you.”

  Morgan hadn’t seen that coming. He spun away to hide whatever might be showing in his expression.

  After everything she had been through—everything she might still go through—she refused to leave him. A mixture of feelings swelled in his chest, closing his throat.

  When he could speak again, his voice was roughened. “We need to talk some sense into her. You need to get her back to Earth.”