by Jane Kindred
“There you are!” Abigail rose from her seat against an alder trunk. “I was beginning to fear I’d have to go in after you, and I can’t abide dark spaces.” She waited to take my garments as I disrobed, and I was back to being in need of someone else dressing me. Abigail tugged the laces of the corset. “Did you find out what that fraud lord was doing down there?”
“No.” I held my breath a moment as she tightened the center. “There’s a system of tunnels under Cantre’r Gwaelod. He could have gone anywhere.”
Chapter Fourteen: Macsen
A third tenant was under pressure to identify the Water Thief, and Macsen had needed more of Sebastian’s magic in order to pull off the trick again. There was nowhere in the Lowland Hundred where anyone could hide for good. And so he wouldn’t hide them in the Lowland Hundred.
He rode out to the tenant’s farm before dawn the following morning, a bandanna tied over his nose and mouth and another low on his forehead and tied around his hair in back to disguise his identity.
The tenant, Llewellyn, displayed the usual suspicion. “You’re the Water Thief,” he scoffed. “Of course you are.” He waved a long knife at Macsen. “Get the hell off my property.”
As he moved to shut the door in Macsen’s face, Macsen stuck his boot in the door. “Give me a chance to prove it to you. Come out to the well, and I’ll show you.”
“Why should I waste my time? It’s four in the morning, you fool!”
“Because the lord of Cantre’r Gwaelod’s men will be here with the sunrise to take you into custody along with your wife and your daughters. Just let me show you.”
Llewellyn went reluctantly, knife firmly in hand, and stood at a wary distance while Macsen held his hands over the well. It took a moment for him to focus, interrupted once and having to start again when the man grumbled that he didn’t have all day. But in a moment, the water was moving as though something lurked beneath it.
Llewellyn moved closer, eyeing it with mistrust in the darkness. “What are you doing? What’s down there?”
“Water,” said Macsen, and lifted the fingers of his right hand. The surface of the well rippled and followed his motions. “It does my bidding.”
The farmer was clearly still skeptical, but he came even closer, intrigued. “How’re you doing that? Some kind of a bladder under there, bubbling up gas?”
Macsen moved his hand swiftly to the right, and the water followed, pouring over the side of the well in a steady stream where he pointed.
Llewellyn made a warding sign with his fingers and backed away. “You a witch, sir? I’ll not be beguiled.”
“Do you know of no one who’s rumored to have power over the waters of Cantre’r Gwaelod?” asked Macsen, calling up more with his left hand to make two bubbling streams.
“Only the lord himself. But that’s legend.”
Macsen let the water subside and pulled the bandanna down from his face.
The farmer’s eyes went wide, and he fell to his knees in the mud. “Please, milord. I swear to you I don’t know how the water got here! Have mercy!”
“I know how the water got here,” said Macsen. “I brought it. As I told you, I’m the Water Thief. My cousin Emrys, on the other hand, is the one who took it from you in the first place. He has a great hold on Cantre’r Gwaelod, power greater than mine, and I cannot stop him. I’m afraid my well-intentioned attempt to return what he’d stolen has only made things worse for you. But I can spare your lives. I can take you and your family to the realm from which we sank.”
As with the first two, it took some convincing to get Llewellyn to come with him to the lake. He knew the man didn’t believe him but was too frightened in the end to disagree. Dawn was coming, and the farmer at least believed the promised arrival of Emrys’s men to arrest him was true. And once they were at the lake, once Llewellyn and his family saw the magic for themselves, there would no longer be any doubt.
Opening the door to the other realm, however, was far less simple than Macsen had made it out to be. It wasn’t just ingesting the contents of the vial that made it happen. The door only opened under water. Macsen had to drown. Like Sebastian, he could breathe the element once the magic took effect, but the moments leading up to it were like a slow, asphyxiating death. And anyone he took with him to the other side had to hold their breath, watch and wait for it to happen.
But seeing was believing. When the portal opened, it was easy enough to convince his traveling companions to go through. They, after all, did not have to drown. Macsen stayed long enough on the other side to get them to his contact, who would help them acclimate and find them new identities. And then it was Macsen’s turn to drown once more and return home.
Not for the first time, he wondered why he bothered. Why not stay in the other realm and forget Cantre’r Gwaelod? What was there for him, really, in the hidden world? He was its lord in name only, and beholden to Emrys, which galled him. He hated to think it was Sebastian who drew him back each time. He didn’t give a damn about Sebastian. It was only Sebastian’s power Macsen wanted. He’d merely confused himself, thinking the source of the power was the thing he craved. But that didn’t explain why he didn’t just take all of Emrys’s stash and disappear into the other realm for good. And it didn’t explain why the thought of Sebastian’s skin, and his scent, and the mewling little sounds he made against Macsen’s mouth when he kissed him tormented him night and day.
* * * * *
When he returned this time, the recovery took longer and took more out of him. Macsen huddled on the shore of the lake, vomiting and shaking. He stared at his reflection in the water after he’d washed his face, watching the droplets meet each other as they fell from his unshaven stubble. “What the hell are you doing?” he murmured to himself. “You’re the lord of Cantre’r Gwaelod.” But you aren’t, are you? his reflection seemed to answer back. Macsen rose and kicked the water, sending his reflection rippling away.
He rode hard back to the castle, anger at himself spurring him on. And anger at Sebastian, whether it was rational or not. The spoiled wretch wasn’t going to have a hold over him any longer, and neither was Emrys. Macsen owed the tenants who’d benefited from the return of their water nothing. He owed no one. Let them defend themselves. He was going straight to the subcellar and collecting every last drop of Sebastian’s magic, and then he was gone. Let Sebastian be the damned lord—or lady, if he must—and Emrys’s fool.
But when he arrived at the cellar, the door was standing open. Macsen blinked to try to clear his vision as he pushed the door wide. It was impossible. The niches had all been emptied. Sebastian’s magic was gone. Macsen kicked over the shelves in a fury. That son of a bitch. Sebastian wasn’t content with being imbued with all that power. He had to keep anyone else from having it.
Macsen stormed into the manor and up the stairs to “August’s” suite, not bothering to stop to clean up or change. He was having it out with the little wretch right now.
“So you decided to take your inheritance yourself,” he accused as he threw open the door. “You think you can get away with that?”
Sebastian, demure and innocent in a pale creamy pink dressing gown, looked up from his morning paper while his lady-in-waiting styled his hair at the vanity. “I beg your pardon, Sebastian?”
“Don’t play coy with me. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
Sebastian glanced over his shoulder at his servant. “Could you give my brother and me some privacy, Abigail?”
Abigail gave him a tight little curtsy, clearly disapproving of Macsen. “Of course, milady. As you wish.”
When she’d gone out and closed the door, Macsen gave the rest of the room an angry, cursory visual search. “And where’s your paramour?” he snarled.
Sebastian regarded him placidly. “If you mean Dr. Rees, I believe he’s at breakfast. I don’t consult with him about his whereabouts ever
y minute.”
“Don’t fuck with me.”
Sebastian had the nerve to look scandalized at his crude expression. “I assure you, Sebastian, I would never ‘fuck’ with you.”
“Where have you hidden them? Where are the damn vials?”
“The vials?” Sebastian squinted at him. “Which vials?”
Macsen made a move toward him, propelled by fury, but stopped short, clenching his fists. “Stop playing coy. The vials Emrys has collected. You’ve taken them.”
“Oh, you mean the vials Emrys collected from me. For your information, I haven’t taken them, but if I had, I’d be perfectly entitled to. Don’t think it hasn’t crossed my mind to dump them all into the sea.”
Macsen was horrified at the thought. “You’d destroy it all? After everything you endured in the taking of it?”
Sebastian pushed his chair away from the vanity and stood, facing Macsen down, though he was a full head shorter. “Because of everything I endured! It doesn’t belong to you! Or Emrys. It’s foul, disgusting, what you’ve done to me.”
“I knew nothing about how he was taking it from you. I never knew until you came here. And I told you immediately, if you recall.”
Macsen stuffed his fists in his pockets, acutely aware that he’d allowed Sebastian to turn the tables on him. He had Macsen defending himself. But Sebastian had hit a nerve. Macsen too was revolted by what Emrys had been doing, and ashamed of his part in it, knowing or not. Though that hadn’t stopped him ingesting the “product” of Emrys’s sadism for his own benefit.
“So you maintain, then, that you have no knowledge of what’s happened to the vials.”
“None,” Sebastian snapped.
Which meant Emrys must have taken them. Which meant he’d discovered Macsen’s deceit.
“Shit.” Macsen began to pace.
Sebastian stepped out of his path, arms folded beneath his counterfeit breasts. “You think Emrys knows. That you’re…”
“That I’m the Water Thief? Yes. And he’ll have my hide.” Any plans Macsen had of breaking free of Emrys were now moot. And it was going to cost Macsen dearly. Emrys wouldn’t do it himself. He didn’t have the stones to try to pit his strength against Macsen’s. But he had henchmen he paid well to deal with those who crossed him.
Macsen began to laugh, slightly hysterical to his own ears, but unable to stop. “I ought to do something really outrageous now that my house of cards is about to come crashing down on me.”
“You could expose him. Put things right for August and me.”
Macsen laughed harder, giddy and wheezing as if he couldn’t get enough air. “Can you just see his face?” He could barely get the words out. Sebastian was frowning, and he knew it wasn’t funny, but he couldn’t seem to stop. “As I’m swinging from the gallows?” he managed to squeeze out between his fit of laughter. “The lord of Cantre’r Gwaelod, dead again!” Macsen collapsed onto the bed, tears streaming down his face as he tried to breathe. Just like drowning.
“Macsen.” Sebastian regarded him as if he’d gone mad, which he obviously had. “We can stand together against him. Tell the people of Cantre’r Gwaelod what he’s done. That he compelled you to play this role when you were just a child, too young to defy him.”
Scratch that. He didn’t think Macsen had lost his mind. That was pity. Sebastian Swift found him pitiable. That was enough to throw a great bucket of water on the absurd laughter.
Macsen steadied himself. “You think you’re so damned superior to me, don’t you, Sebastian? That you actually deserve the place your birth afforded you, with your heel on the neck of the unfavored cousin’s bastard get.”
Sebastian’s mouth flattened into a thin line. “I’m not going to argue with you about who deserves to be lord of Cantre’r Gwaelod.”
“Of course you’re not. You’re certain it’s you.”
“Macsen—”
“Go sod yourself.” Macsen propelled himself from the bed and swept past him, infuriated that the angry color his words had brought to Sebastian’s cheeks made the wretch’s eyes a deeper, more velvety brown and made his lips purse together in a pout, soft and supple, and crushable. He yanked open the door and practically threw himself through it.
* * * * *
He waited for Emrys’s wrath to fall. He took his time bathing, and dressed in his best, figuring he might as well be presentable for it, heading down to take his lumps in time for tea. Perhaps if Emrys had to sit across from him restraining himself until after the meal, it would take the edge off his anger a bit.
But Emrys seemed to be in a benign mood, chatting with Rees about the finer points of trout fishing, as Rees purported to be an expert at it. Could it be Emrys really hadn’t cleaned out the cellar himself? But who else? And if it hadn’t been Emrys, he’d be even more dangerous when he finally discovered it. Macsen was sweating under his collar, but he’d worn a high cravat that kept the evidence of his anxiety from view. He was excellent at pretending everything was fine when he was sick to his stomach and weak-kneed. He’d sat through enough dinners at Llys Mawr when he was younger knowing a beating would follow.
Maybe Emrys was playing him too. He could certainly playact with the best of them. Perhaps he was just waiting until after tea to tell Macsen he knew, enjoying making him sweat. But if he thought he could make Macsen feel the same sort of fear he’d had of him as a boy, he was sadly mistaken. Maybe a physical fight would actually be ideal. He’d long wished to give Emrys the thrashing he deserved.
But Macsen wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of thinking he’d unnerved him. He turned to Elen and pasted on a convincing look of amiable concern as he inquired about her health. If there was one thing the old woman liked to talk about, it was her numerous physical miseries.
“Perhaps Dr. Rees could take a look at your pressure sores,” he suggested with an inquiring look at Rees.
“That’s not really my area of expertise,” said the larger man. “Though I’d be happy to give you any aid I could.” Smooth. This one was almost as good an actor as Macsen himself.
Sebastian was eyeing him across the table. He didn’t care for Macsen messing with his paramour, apparently. Well, too bad for him. The image of the burly man of obvious peasant-stock straddling Sebastian, with Sebastian’s mouth on him, was indelibly burned into Macsen’s brain. It had filled him with the same outrage as seeing Siors Apted striking Sebastian, though it was most certainly not the same thing. But it seemed to demonstrate a similar level of disrespect. As if Sebastian were nothing more than a Thievesward alley whore.
Macsen shook himself, reminding himself that he didn’t give a damn about Sebastian Swift.
* * * * *
The afternoon wore on, and there was still no sign of any explosion from Emrys. Following Emrys’s nightly session with Sebastian, Macsen braced himself. If Emrys hadn’t taken the vials, he would discover them missing when he went down to store the latest.
But the outrage never came. Emrys headed off to his room without a word or any sign that anything was amiss. Perhaps he had taken the vials himself, but not because he’d discovered Macsen’s theft. Was it possible he’d simply decided to move them on his own without any specific cause? A mere precaution to make sure they were secure? It seemed too good to be true, but when Emrys still showed no sign of anger or suspicion the following morning, Macsen breathed a sigh of relief. And then remembered he was still cut off from the magic, and there were two more tenants he’d gifted with water who were in danger of the gallows.
* * * * *
His dilemma, however, was soon overshadowed by an even more troubling event. Elen was not at breakfast, but that wasn’t unusual, as she often took laudanum and slept in after a bad pain day like the one she’d complained of the afternoon before. But when her chambermaid checked in on her midmorning, she found the old woman lying unconscious on the floor.
It seemed she’d taken a fall during the night, somehow hoisting herself out of bed despite her infirmity.
Macsen didn’t believe it for a moment. And from the utter calm Emrys displayed upon learning the news, he felt certain his father had something to do with his grandmother’s accident. Coming on the heels of the mysterious disappearance of the vials, it seemed clear that Emrys was up to something that didn’t warrant sharing with the earl of Cantre’r Gwaelod. Which meant there was no time to waste in smuggling out the tenants Emrys was likely planning to make an example of.
Macsen was going to have to appeal to Sebastian himself.
He dreaded this confrontation almost as much as he’d been dreading the wrath of Emrys. Macsen might be an excellent actor, but that did not extend to pretending to grovel to the wronged lord of Cantre’r Gwaelod. And he didn’t relish admitting exactly what he’d been up to. It seemed…overly sentimental.
When Sebastian slipped out the next morning for his secret pre-dawn constitutional, Macsen followed. He was surprised to find Sebastian wandering barefoot through the dewy grass in the alder grove beyond the castle walls.
Sebastian started at the sound of his footsteps and whirled about to face him, looking defensive. “What are you doing out here?” He delivered the rather belligerent greeting in his best delicate heiress tone of astonishment.
Macsen lifted his brows. “What am I doing out here? You are aware you’re scandalously unclad and wandering about like a patient at All Fates?” That had been a poor choice of words. He hadn’t even thought about them before they were out. Macsen tried to look indifferent and haughty, as if he’d meant to make the slight.
“Oh, I was merely contemplating drowning you, my dear brother.” Sebastian flipped his loose, unstyled curls over his shoulder coquettishly. “You know, as the mad do.”
He wasn’t off to a very good start at begging a favor of his nemesis. “Listen, Sebastian, I have something very serious to ask of you.”