The Water Thief

by Jane Kindred

  A loud crack in the outer room announced Sven had broken the doorframe just as Macsen let go of me.

  Sven charged through the room and threw open the unlocked inner door to my boudoir, outrage and alarm heightening the blue of his eyes as they darted from me to Macsen. “What’s going on in here?”

  Macsen gave him his best sneer. “Nothing nearly so interesting as what was going on in here yesterday.” He walked past Sven, ignoring the threatening posture of the much larger man. “And you’ll pay to have this door fixed.” He threw the words over his shoulder as he reached it before he paused and turned back to me. “I won’t be there myself. I can’t watch it again. Heed my advice or don’t. Your choice.”

  “What the damned hell was that about?” Sven demanded when Macsen departed. “Did he hurt you?”

  My knees wobbled and I let him hold me up, safe and comforting. “No,” I said. “He just has a sick sense of humor.”

  Chapter Ten: Macsen

  A sick dread that he’d done the wrong thing plagued Macsen for the rest of the day. Why had he told the wretch? It wasn’t as if Sebastian could do anything to stop it without giving himself away. And Macsen needed very much for Sebastian not to give either of them away. Out of guilt that was not even his own, he’d just put his fate in the hands of a spoiled, selfish and potentially murderous deviant.

  Macsen pondered the last. Growing up as the bastard son of a housemaid, he’d seen enough to know there were all sorts of deviations from the usual and expected urges and desires. He’d thought it, however, the exclusive purview of the common to indulge them. The diawl, “Dr.” Rees, Macsen understood—though he hadn’t pegged the larger man for a pervert. But though Sebastian had been playing his game with Siors Apted, Macsen had assumed it was all part of the little fraud’s ruse. He’d been floored to find him so unambiguously engaged in such an act. And with such a person.

  Perhaps, in truth, that bothered him more. And he didn’t know why it should. Though he was the lord of Cantre’r Gwaelod, he had no pretentions about class. His own birth had been no more noble than Rees’s. Why should he care with whom Sebastian engaged in unnatural acts? But right on the heels of the attack by Apted? It angered Macsen that Rees was taking advantage of Sebastian when he ought to be recovering, that was all. And yet why, why did he care if anyone took advantage of Sebastian?

  What he ought to be concerned with were his own affairs, and not those of the real Sebastian Swift. Emrys had introduced him to several eligible young women since his coming of age with whom he felt Macsen ought to consider a match. Good blood was needed, Emrys said, to counter the unfortunate pedigree of Macsen’s dame. Only another earl’s daughter or a duke’s would do. Macsen had found them all perfectly lovely. And perfectly dull. He didn’t believe in love; he wasn’t so foolish as to hold out for that. But he couldn’t help hoping for someone who at least raised a spark in him. Someone he couldn’t stop thinking about. Great Aunt Elen (his grandmother, in actuality, but who was counting?) believed he’d settle down once he’d sown his wild oats.

  Macsen had sown very few. In fact, “sown” would be stretching things. Emrys had purchased a whore for him on his eighteenth birthday, and Macsen had spent the night with her so as not to be shamed by Emrys later for failing to earn his manhood. But he’d felt uncomfortable at being handed a woman to do with as he pleased—though she’d seemed perfectly willing. In the end, he’d consented to let her pleasure him orally. It had been pleasurable; he couldn’t deny that in light of the obvious conclusion. But he’d been disinclined to accept anything more from the girl.

  He’d paid her extra to tell Emrys a wild story about Macsen fucking her like a dog on her hands and knees all night long, and Emrys had congratulated him and slapped him on the back the next day, opening up a bottle of his most expensive whisky to celebrate. The night with the whore and some chaste kissing with a few of his prospective mates had been the extent of his “wild oats”.

  But the oats he’d sown yesterday were of a different nature, and he couldn’t remember having felt such satisfaction with anything in his life as this latest endeavor. Emrys had been careless. Macsen had watched him since Sebastian’s arrival at Llys Mawr, out of mistrust and curiosity, and had discovered where Emrys was storing his treasure trove of Sebastian’s magic. He was foolishly predictable.

  Beneath the surface of Cantre’r Gwaelod, a system of catacombs crouched like the legs of a spider, connecting all parts of the realm. Emrys had used the catacombs to siphon the water from distant wells with Sebastian’s magic, calling it to him through the tunnels and diverting it to his reservoir—the very lake where August had met her end. Only Emrys held the key to send the water back through the catacombs to the wells of those tenants who had paid his tribute. The key was Sebastian’s power, of course. And Emrys kept that in the catacombs as well, in a chamber directly beneath the wine cellar of Llys Mawr.

  Macsen had spied on him and slipped in unnoticed behind him after one of his “harvesting” sessions with Sebastian. There, in the same racks as those in the cellar above in which he kept his wine, Emrys stored the bottles of what he’d stolen. Macsen had waited in the dark until Emrys went out, and then pocketed one of the vials. He didn’t dare take more. Emrys might not miss one, but more than that and he’d be certain to notice.

  He hadn’t been sure exactly how it would work or what it might do to him, but he knew the power had to be taken into himself in order to be used. He’d taken just a drop. He’d felt it immediately, like a rush of electric energy through his blood. It wanted out. It wanted spending. Macsen wandered through the catacombs, whispering to the water, and he knew it heard. He bade it to emerge beneath the well on one of the tenancies Emrys had recently dried up, and when it did, he barely managed to get out of its way.

  He had to scramble up through the well itself and over the top as the water surged up beneath him. He’d been a little overzealous, perhaps. The water rose from the well like a geyser. Macsen supposed it still might have been following him as he ran, but the overflow petered out after several yards. He climbed to the top of the nearest hill and watched the commotion he’d unleashed as the tenant and his family discovered their sudden bounty.

  By the time he returned to Llys Mawr, Emrys was already in an uproar. The news had reached him from those who’d heard the excitement at the farm. Gossip spread faster than rainwater across the Lowland Hundred. Emrys had charged out, determined to find out how the water had been returned to the well, accusing the tenants of theft.

  It had only taken until this morning for people to come up with a name for the unknown benefactor: the Water Thief. Macsen had to laugh. It ought to have been Emrys’s title. Emrys, meanwhile, was completely flummoxed.

  What Macsen had told Sebastian about Emrys’s pique over the incident prompting him to take more of Sebastian’s power, however, was an inevitable consequence of Macsen’s prank. All the more reason not to have told Sebastian anything. Macsen cursed himself and his bloody conscience. There were no two ways around it. He would have to be present this evening after all. If Sebastian did heed his warning and forwent his nightly drink, things could get dangerously out of hand. Macsen needed to be there to ensure Sebastian didn’t ruin everything.

  That was what he told himself. It was most emphatically not because he gave a damn how Sebastian suffered. He cared about Sebastian’s suffering as much as he would a dog’s. That was the only reason his conscience was bothered at all. If he’d seen Emrys’s holding a dog’s head under water, he’d do something, wouldn’t he? Of course he would. That was all.

  * * * * *

  It had taken him longer than it should have to come to this conclusion, and by the time he’d determined once and for all to make an appearance, Emrys’s procedure was already underway.

  The fire in Emrys’s eyes when he looked up at Macsen’s entrance said there was going to be trouble. Sebastian was going to pay for
what Macsen had done. “Thought you were too squeamish to assist again, boy. Decided to be a man, I see.” He had the apparatus over Sebastian’s face, but he was having trouble threading it in. “Hold her. She’s restless this evening. Her damned gag reflex keeps pushing the pipe back up.”

  Macsen stepped in and took the position he had on the previous occasion, one hand on Sebastian’s forehead and the other beneath his neck. “Do you suppose she’s aware on some level of what’s happening? Perhaps if you gave her direction, she’d respond like a somnambulant and do as you bid.”

  “If you feel like talking to an unconscious girl, be my guest. I’m not wasting my breath any more than I would in asking permission to bed an inebriated whore.”

  “Charming metaphor,” said Macsen. “Let me try anyway. August, breathe in through your nose and relax your throat. Take the pipe.” He accompanied the command with a massage of Sebastian’s throat as Emrys began to slide the apparatus once more into position.

  Sebastian gagged slightly, but this time took it down.

  “That’s it,” Macsen encouraged while Emrys fastened the bowl in place. “Good girl.” He hoped this wasn’t going too far. He supported Sebastian’s neck as Sebastian’s lungs heaved against the lack of air. When Emrys removed the plug and inserted the funnel, Macsen stroked the underside of the arched neck as he had before, so Emrys wouldn’t see. “Just breathe, August. Breathe it in as you always do.”

  “You can stop talking to her,” Emrys snapped, taking up the pitcher of water. “It’s not as if she can actually hear you.” He tipped the pitcher into the funnel, and Macsen felt Sebastian’s body shuddering, much stronger than it had when he’d been unconscious. He held the dark head firmly and continued to stroke. Sebastian was gagging. This wasn’t going to work. Why the hell had he told him not to take that chloral?

  “Breathe, August. You’re all right. You can do this. You do it all the time.” Sebastian made a whimpering sound before taking a sudden, deep breath. The water was going in. He was breathing it. Emrys plugged the bowl, and they watched the magic unfurl.

  As Macsen had feared, Emrys was greedy this evening, replacing the water once he’d harvested the first vial.

  “It’s been ten minutes,” said Macsen, calming Sebastian’s shuddering with his stroking motions. “I thought you usually stopped at ten.”

  “I’ll stop when I’ve recovered the amount I need. You’re free to leave if you don’t like it.”

  Macsen forced himself to shut up. The time seemed interminable. Sebastian’s body was visibly struggling, though evidently Emrys had seen him struggle under the influence of the drug before, as he seemed unfazed by it. When Emrys collected the bottle and started a third, it took everything in Macsen not to go for his father’s throat. He whispered more encouragement, stroking the warm skin. The luminescence of the bottled magic made the dimly lit room a fantastic scene. Beauty and vicious ugliness danced together as Emrys took his third vial.

  At last, Emrys let Sebastian be, and when Macsen lifted his head to facilitate the removal of the pipe, Sebastian vomited on himself, soaking the top of the coverlet with clear liquid.

  “You’re so damned concerned about her,” said Emrys, “you can clean that up. We don’t want her waking up wet.” He gathered his prize and equipment in his valise and left.

  With a desperate gasp, Sebastian threw off the covers and sat up, swinging his legs over the side and clutching the edge of the bed, looking like he might vomit again. Instinctively, Macsen put his arm around him as if to comfort him, and Sebastian threw himself against him, shaking with silent sobs.

  Alarmed, Macsen sat and held him, trying to soothe. “I’m sorry. That was particularly difficult. I didn’t expect him to take so much.” He stroked the damp hair, his thumb against Sebastian’s temple. “He seemed riled up about the Water Thief. Which has a sad irony to it.”

  Sebastian stilled and raised his head, tears coursing over his cheeks. “Don’t let him do that to me again. Please. I can’t do it again.”

  Absurdly, Macsen promised that he wouldn’t, a promise he couldn’t possibly keep. He wanted to say anything that would ease the look of terror in Sebastian’s eyes. Why had he done this? Had he somehow thought it would help Sebastian to know? He’d only tortured him. He forgot he was holding his rival in his arms, a madman who’d murdered his own sister, and saw only the pleading dark eyes, the desperate trust Sebastian was placing in him even though both of them knew he was the last person Sebastian ought to trust.

  Macsen’s thumb was still at Sebastian’s temple. Unthinking, he moved it over the high cheekbone against the dampness on the cheek. His hand was firmly cupping Sebastian’s face. Before he knew what he was doing, he’d lowered his head to Sebastian’s and kissed the damp lips. They were startling. Soft, like a woman’s, and yielding. Sebastian gasped in shock against his mouth, and Macsen jerked back his head and let go of him, leaping to his feet. What the hell was he doing? Sebastian stared up at him, wide-eyed, his tongue against his upper lip, lingering there like temptation as he pulled his lip between his teeth as if tasting the unfamiliar flavor of Macsen upon it.

  Macsen stumbled backward until he found the door, fumbling behind him for the knob, and when his hand closed around it, he yanked the door open and fled.

  Chapter Eleven

  I ran my hands through my hair and let them stop, holding the side of my head to keep from passing out or screaming. Or laughing hysterically. I wasn’t sure what impulse to indulge. I’d taken half the drink, afraid to take it all, but afraid not to take any. If Macsen spoke the truth, I hadn’t been sure whether I wanted to know. It was mad. It couldn’t be true. But my dreams of drowning, my memories of All Fates and the dousing punishment—they whispered that the insane story Macsen was giving me was the only true thing I’d ever heard.

  My limbs were shaking uncontrollably and my head was swimming. Macsen—what in the Fates? Macsen had kissed me. I was losing my mind. Why would Macsen even help me? This was the sedative, and I was hallucinating. The entire thing had been a drug-induced fantasy. But my hair and the front of my nightgown were wet. And if I was under the influence of some hypnotic drug, that much of Macsen’s story, at least, was true. I couldn’t accept the first part as truth and not the rest.

  But the rest… I had breathed water. I clutched my throat and gagged at the remembered sensation. And I’d felt something moving inside me, some curious oscillation, energy rising through me like an oddly painful rush of arousal, and then the feel of it leaving me like my blood was being siphoned from my veins. I’d been certain for several minutes that I was going to die. Only Macsen’s soothing voice, Macsen’s touch, caressing me softly at the back of my neck, had kept me from leaping from the bed screaming.

  Macsen again. Macsen giving me comfort. This was all madness.

  “Sebastian.”

  I’d closed my eyes, closed them tightly as if to shut out everything that happened, to make it not real.

  “Sebastian.” August was speaking to me.

  I peered through the slits of my eyelids at her. She seemed somehow more solid, more real than she usually did, though I couldn’t put my finger on why. She had always looked corporeal to me. But she’d aged. Her face was thinner and longer. She resembled me as I was now, not at thirteen.

  I forgot my distress for a moment. “Why are you older?”

  “I’m not older. I’m a ghost. Ghosts do not age.”

  “Then why do you look older?”

  “Your perception of me has changed. I am still the moment of August’s death. Something in you has changed. Not me.”

  “Something in me.” I clasped my hands on top of my head. “August, I—something happened to me tonight. I can’t tell what’s real.”

  August sat in the chair beside my bed, the first time I’d seen her do so. Her movements were graceful and mature. And her demeanor had changed. She
was no longer the scowling, dripping image of her death. Her hair was dry and swept up in an elegant chignon with a few coiled locks dangling from it. “You’ve felt it,” she said. “Cantre’r Gwaelod’s power.”

  “You know about the power?”

  “I died because of it. We were coming of age. Girls develop faster, so I felt it first. I knew something was happening inside me besides the changes of womanhood. I wanted to be near the water all the time. You remember. It’s why we took that jaunt on the lake. I wanted to feel it, the dance of energy over the surface of the water. Every droplet in the air was alive to me. I didn’t know why. But Emrys must have known. He must have seen something of it in me. That’s when he decided to act.”

  “But why not me? Why let me live?”

  August’s gaze traveled over me thoughtfully. “You hadn’t demonstrated any connection to the power. Perhaps he thought only one of our birth pair received the gift.”

  “Or perhaps he wanted to steal it, and he only needed one of us to do that. The weaker one.” I rose, agitated, wringing my hands. My head was fuzzy with the drug. I paused in my fretful motions and glanced up. “So it’s real. What he did to me tonight—he drowned me, August, right here in my bed, more than once—that really happened. I have this power inside me, and he’s stealing it.”

  “You must stop him.”

  “Well, of course I’ll stop him. You don’t think I’d submit to that—that violation voluntarily now that I know.” I shuddered and thought I might be sick again.

  August shook her head, her familiar impatience returning. “You must submit to it with full awareness. That is the only way to stop him.”

  “No.” I whirled back toward her from where I’d started pacing away. “I can’t. I won’t. You don’t know what it’s like.”