Spellbinder

by Thea Harrison

  They talked too, desultorily, about their days. She related all the small details of her hours playing with the Queen, the times Isabeau spent by herself reading, or the afternoons she shared with her court ladies. Sid always took note of the knife Isabeau wore on the gold chain at her hips. The only time it had been absent, at least that Sid saw, had been when Isabeau had made love in the garden with the unknown Light Fae male.

  When Sid asked Morgan about his research, he pulled a frustrated face. “I haven’t found anything useful yet in the texts,” he told her. “And when I try to construct a summoning spell, my mind slips away from the task. I can’t hold on to it. My intent is too clear, and the action too direct. The geas won’t let me complete it, and I haven’t found a way to work around it.”

  The tension in his body when he talked revealed the depth of his anger at the invisible cage. Stroking his back, she let the subject go and didn’t ask again. He would tell her whenever he had a breakthrough.

  They never talked about the future, or at least, not in detail. Afterward, Sid would wonder why. For her part, she was afraid they might jinx things.

  What if they broke free yet found, after everything they had gone through, they didn’t suit each other? She didn’t think she could bear it.

  Or what if they never broke free?

  Also perhaps the geas wouldn’t let Morgan speak too much of building a life without it. The full extent of its binding on him was still a mystery.

  Then early one afternoon, she received the summons from the guard. After readying herself, she walked back to the castle and collected the lute. The guard led her to the private garden, where Kallah waited by the doors.

  She waved Sid on, her expression pinched. “I’ll come get you when your hour is over.”

  Sid nodded. They had developed a routine. Making her way to the small semi-enclosed area with the stool, she took her seat. This too had become quickly familiar.

  But this time was not like the others.

  This time Isabeau lay weeping on the divan, her dark green dress looking unusually stark against the brightness of the nearby flowers. A man reclined with her, his back to Sidonie. At first, she couldn’t tell who he was.

  Turning so she could look over the garden, yet still keep sight of the divan in the corner of her eye, she began to play a soft lullaby, the delicate strains gently permeating the air. All the while, she listened as intently as she could.

  “I can’t tell you enough how horrible it is,” Isabeau sobbed. “Nobody truly understands what I go through. I never sleep, never. He’s always there if I sink too deep, walking through my dreams. Whispering things to me—There’s that damn girl. It’s about time she showed up.”

  With a start, Sid realized Isabeau was talking about her. She angled her head away and kept her gaze lowered, not willing to risk even the slightest chance of meeting anyone’s eyes on the other side of the roses.

  “You should not have let her leave the castle if you wanted her so closely at your beck and call,” Modred said. The sound of his voice sent an icy shiver down Sid’s spine. “Darling, are you quite sure it is he, and not simply a bad dream?”

  “No, it’s him.” Isabeau’s voice shook. “Sometimes I dream I’m in this huge hall, with black and white marble floors and bloodred roses. It’s so silent there. Nothing moves. There’s not even any wind. Then I hear his footsteps approaching, and… just the sound of those steady, quiet steps fills me with such horrible dread I want to scream and scream.”

  “Yes, you’ve told me about this dream before,” Modred murmured. “Has it changed? Have you seen his face?”

  At least that was what Sid thought he murmured. He spoke too quietly for her to be sure. She switched songs, and began playing “Scarborough Fair.”

  “No, not in that dream. I just hear him coming for me. In other dreams, I see his face. I don’t ever remember what he looks like, but I do know I have seen him. He has the most piercing green eyes, and… and when he speaks, it’s in a gentle voice that is somehow so much worse than anyone else’s scream.” In a sudden movement, Isabeau sat and turned to grip Modred by the shoulders as she cried, “It’s unnatural! We’re not supposed to have anything to do with him! Mortal creatures are his prey—not us! WE’RE SUPPOSED TO LIVE FOREVER!”

  Could Isabeau be talking about Azrael? Sid almost forgot herself and stopped playing. Catching herself up, she switched songs.

  “Isabeau,” Modred said sharply. “Calm yourself! You’ve been having these dreams for ages, and nothing has changed. They haven’t harmed you. There’s been no catastrophe. You are perfectly, beautifully, whole as always.”

  “But I’m so tired,” she wept. “Nobody understands how tired I am. He wants it back, and he never lets up, yet I can’t give it to him. If I give it back, Morgan may be freed—and the first person he will want to kill is me.”

  “And me,” Modred muttered. “I killed his king, after all.”

  “That was battle. People die all the time in battle. But me… I’ve held him captive for centuries, and I’ve made him do things he found revolting. Oh, I wish I had never found it! And I can’t hide it in the crystal caverns again, not while I hold Morgan with the geas. I’ve got to keep it close, and it’s so cold, yet it burns at the same time. I feel like a poker is pressed into my side. I wish I had never heard the Hunt passing or had never gone to look—and I wish I’d never found it lying in that frozen field!”

  “How many times do I have to say this?” Modred said, impatience creeping into his words. “Give it to me. Let me carry it for you, just for a short while, and we can find out once and for all if the knife is causing your dreams. Maybe then you can get some rest and recover your equilibrium.”

  Sid caught movement out of the corner of her eye as Isabeau pulled away from him. “I appreciate your willingness to sacrifice for me.” Her voice had turned cool and edged. Dangerous. “Dearest Modred, always so selfless. But no, just like the crown, this is my burden to carry.”

  He sighed sharply. “I’m going to get Myrrah to make a poppy drink for you. I know you don’t like it, but it’s the only thing that will calm you down when you’re like this. Maybe then you can take a nap.”

  “What would I do without you to look after me?” Isabeau said softly.

  “I don’t know. Turn to Valentin, perhaps?” Now Modred’s voice had turned cold and edged.

  There was a small silence. Drawing away, Isabeau told him, “You know he doesn’t mean anything to me. He’s not like you. You and I, we’ve been together from the very beginning of my rule.”

  “And I will continue to stand by you. Of course, I will.” Modred’s voice changed. “But watch him, Izzy. Valentin has not shown you his true face. The chambermaids have hesitated to say anything, because you’re so taken with him, but more than one of them has gone to Myrrah to be treated for bruises and other injuries.”

  “You would vilify anybody I have developed an affection for.” Isabeau’s voice thickened. “My headache is back, and now it is worse than ever. Get out, Modred. Leave me alone!”

  “As you wish. You know how to find me. I’ll send Myrrah with the poppy drink.”

  Modred thrust to his feet and stalked out of the garden, never once looking in Sid’s direction.

  But then, she was so very insignificant. She had no Power, no connections. She fulfilled a function, no more.

  Once he had left, Isabeau flung herself flat on the divan and began to weep again. Tuning out the noise, Sid played the lute on autopilot as she turned over the pieces of information she had gleaned.

  It seemed the puck was right, after all. Isabeau had found the knife one night after the Wild Hunt had passed, and Azrael wanted his property back.

  But how did this help them?

  At least it solidified their understanding of the problem, yet what could they do about it? Morgan’s constraints wore on him more every day, and if Robin had known a spell for summoning the god of Death, he would have told them so already.<
br />
  She wasn’t entirely clear on why they needed a spell to begin with. Mere magicless mortals didn’t cast summoning spells when they wanted to communicate with their gods. Instead, they prayed and hoped their god would take the time to hear them, and answer.

  Surely now, if there ever was such a time, a god might be motivated to listen.

  The thought was frightening. Sid wasn’t a praying kind of person—she had been raised in a secular household, and she lived a secular life—so she wasn’t quite sure how one was supposed to talk to a god.

  Perhaps it was something like telepathy.

  Fixing on the images Isabeau had described to Modred, Sid reached out and said telepathically, Lord Azrael, I’m not much for religion, and I’m only a Powerless human, but I hope you will take a moment to listen anyway. We are trying to find a way to get your knife from Isabeau and to free Morgan from his bondage. From what I’ve heard, I believe you want your knife back too. Please help us help you. I ask this of my own free will.

  As she spoke, a shadow seemed to pass over the sun, and everything in the garden appeared cooler, darkened. For a moment, there was no sound anywhere, not even the sound of a breeze. Sid glanced up. The sky was a cloudless, clear blue.

  Had Lord Death listened to her awkward prayer, and answered? A shudder ran through her, as if someone had walked on her grave.

  Then Kallah strode across the garden toward her and beckoned, and Sid’s hour came to a close.

  Grateful as always to have the time behind her, she hurried to the music hall to deposit the lute on its stand. As she turned away, a shadow fell in the doorway, and a man walked in.

  It was the Light Fae male from the night of her great hall performance, the one with Isabeau and Modred in the sitting room who had given her a gold ring.

  “Musician.” He greeted her with a smile as he strolled toward her. “I wondered where you had gone after that stunning show of artistry in the great hall.”

  Was this Valentin? The man about whom the chambermaids had hesitated to say anything?

  With a wary smile, she slipped to one side so that she put the table between them. “I’m not staying in the castle.”

  “No?” he replied as he came closer. His body was loose and relaxed. “This is the first time I’ve seen you without the lute in your hands. Always before, you’ve been playing for her majesty.” He gave her a gleaming smile. “I especially liked your music in the garden. I thought of you when I climaxed inside her. It made me come harder than I have in a long time. Did you like what you saw?”

  Revolted shock slapped her. For a moment, she stared, at a loss for words. No one had ever said anything like that to her in her life.

  Then fury hit. Curling her hands into claws, she hissed, “Stay the fuck away from me, or I will hurt you.”

  “Oh, pretty musician.” He laughed. “I would truly love to see you try.”

  Balancing on the balls of her feet, she watched and waited until he rounded the corner of the table. Then she sprinted for the doorway with all the speed she could kick out. The Light Fae were fast, but so was she, and she had been running all her adult life.

  “You know I can find you,” he called after her, still laughing. “And I will.”

  She hit the doorframe at full speed, her wrists taking the brunt of it. Using the impact, she sprang out into the hall. Once free of the room, she spun around to face the door. When he didn’t appear right away, she fled down the hall.

  The memory of his laughter followed her, like a disaster building momentum, all the way back to the inn.

  Chapter Twenty

  When she reached her room, she felt like she had been running for miles. Her breathing coming short and fast, she slammed the door and locked it.

  Unlocked it. Locked it.

  Unlocked. Locked.

  She had her own invisible compulsion that held her prisoner, her own geas that tightened its constraints upon her behavior. Finally she rested both shaking hands on the panels while she tried to think.

  Her stay in Avalon had been only lacking that one thing, the threat of sexual assault, to made the nightmare complete.

  Her mother had told her once, long ago, when people show you who they are, believe them. The monster had shown her who he was, and Sid did believe him.

  You know I can find you, he had said. And he was right. He could. Several people, including the castle guard, knew where she was staying. An offhand conversation, a few carefully worded questions, and he would know exactly where to come.

  I could run, she thought, turning to lean back against the door as she looked around the room. I could just head out of town, ignore the two hours’ walk limit, and keep going.

  But then he could have me tracked down to a place where there weren’t any witnesses. And if I tell Morgan, he’ll kill him. There’s no question in my mind. He’ll kill him, and that might expose him, and he could lose what little freedom he has fought so hard to gain.

  I could move to another inn.

  But even as she considered that, she knew that wasn’t a solution either. Valentin could find her wherever she went.

  Suddenly, her mind switched gears.

  She thought, I could go back to the castle. Approach Kallah in confidence and tell her what happened. Maybe Kallah would let me stay in her room. Surely not even Valentin would dare to attack Kallah, not when she was so close to Isabeau.

  But if I did that, I would always be looking over my shoulder. I would always be strategizing how to avoid dark corners or find ways to keep from being alone, and I can’t keep that up indefinitely. Sooner or later, I’ll find myself in a vulnerable position.

  Or…

  I could kill him.

  When that thought occurred to her, it clicked home, like the key turning in the lock. She let the thought settle to see if it held true or vanished in a train of logic, while she stared out at the sparkling sea.

  It held true.

  Quickly, she sprang into action. She stripped off the bedsheets and carried them down the servants’ staircase. Down below, she threw the sheets in with the pile to be washed in the morning.

  Then she got a bucket and soap from one of the servants, and went back to her room to scrub every available surface she could. She finished by washing the floorboards on her hands and knees.

  It was early evening, and the sun was beginning to dip down toward the sea, when she finally poured the last of the soapy water down the drain in the alcove. Setting the bucket by the door, she dressed in a black tunic, trousers, and butter-soft boots.

  Pulling out her pen, ink, and paper, she wrote, Go back. I can’t see you tonight.

  Because if she saw Morgan, he would want to know what was wrong. And if she weakened and told him, he would want to do something about it. She knew her Magic Man well enough to know that much.

  Pinning the note to the balcony table with an unlit lamp, she closed and locked the balcony doors. Then, pausing for a few minutes, she took off her telepathy earrings and slipped them into her pocket. Settling the strap of her leather purse across her torso, messenger-style, she left her room, locked it, and headed down the stairs.

  The taproom was filled with the dinner crowd. Light Fae and humans, some of them probably Hounds, along with a few of the creatures she had discovered were ogres, and a few sprites who were drawn to the conviviality like bees to honey.

  Across the room, Leisha was serving dinner to several men. She saw Sid and gave her a nod and a smile as she approached. “Headed back to the castle?”

  “I thought I would check out the night market,” Sid told her. “I heard there are metal smiths at the other end.”

  “There are.” Leisha eyed her curiously. “Looking for anything in particular?”

  A good, sharp knife would do. She didn’t think she should attempt anything like a short sword. Like a gun purchased by someone who didn’t know how to use it, a short sword would be more a danger to her than to anyone else, if someone knowledgeable were able to tak
e it away.

  Tae kwon do was an unarmed sport. She could try striking to immobilize and then hopefully finish the job with the knife.

  Listen to her, plotting someone’s murder. When Leisha’s expression changed, she realized she had gone silent for too long.

  Moving closer, Leisha lowered her voice. “Are you all right, love?”

  Leisha lowering her voice was a courtesy, nothing more. Sid knew there were many sharp Light Fae ears that could still hear every word that was spoken.

  Oh, screw it. She was tired of being so damn careful all the time. She couldn’t win her way through this fucked-up situation by being careful, and there was no place for her to hide.

  She replied, “You know, no, I’m not. Someone threatened me today, and I want to buy a knife to protect myself.”

  There was a nearly indefinable change in the people around them, a sharpening of focus. Coldly, Sid watched a few of the guard set down their forks. Witnesses before the fact should be useful.

  Dismay darkened Leisha’s features. “Dear goddess, I hope it didn’t happen here!”

  “No,” Sid said, glancing around the taproom. “Your inn must be one of the safest places in town. But I have to leave here sometimes and go to the castle or go buy supplies in town. I can’t barricade myself in your inn.”

  Leisha grabbed her hand. She whispered, “Go to the Queen. Tell her what happened. She’s your patron. She’ll protect you.”

  Sid almost pitied Leisha’s naïveté. Either that, or she envied it. Isabeau might not tolerate rape in most cases, but she had already shown who she was too, earlier, when Modred had tried to warn her.

  Sid forced a smile. “I can do that. This is your busy time of day. Go back to your customers.” As Leisha lingered with a frown, she added, “Don’t worry about me.”

  “The night market is well lit and perfectly safe,” Leisha said finally. “Just don’t wander down to the docks.”

  “Thank you.”