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 Isabeau 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.
“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.”
He clenched his jaw at the accusation, but he didn’t say anything because she was right.
She continued, more softly, “Sometimes it’s really hard to trust that. If we were in any kind of normal situation back home in New York, I wouldn’t have exchanged two sentences with you. I probably would have called 911 at the first sign of any of this cloak-and-dagger stuff.”
“I know,” he muttered. “This is far outside anything you’ve ever had to deal with before, and I don’t blame you for having doubts. And I was the one who told you that you needed to be wary of me.”
“Yes,” she murmured. She smoothed her hands across his chest. “Yet despite that, and despite the fact that you keep hoarding information about yourself, I still ended up trusting you anyway.”
And despite the fact that he tried to hoard information about himself, snippets still kept escaping, a little here, a little there. Some things, like the telepathy, were pieces she didn’t know how to put together yet, but she was bright, curious, and tenacious, and she was right. Sooner or later, all the pieces would come together and she would figure out who he was, but he was determined to delay that moment as long as possible.
When she did discover his identity, he thought it very likely she would not want to have anything more to do with him. And even if, by some miracle, she did, they would still need to keep their relationship a secret.
Isabeau must never connect them together or realize how much Sidonie had come to mean to him. If she ever discovered that, her hold over him would be complete. All she would have to do is threaten to have Sidonie tortured or killed, and Morgan would do whatever she wanted without resistance.
And he could never find ways to retaliate against Isabeau as long as she held Sidonie captive. He would lose the last corner of his soul that he had fought so hard to keep.
Her hands slid down to his waist, and she traced the edge of his bandages, murmuring, “How is your injury?”
“It’s getting better,” he said. “It’s healing well.”
“Good.”
As soothing as Sidonie’s touch was, he still couldn’t let their argument go. He said accusingly, “But Warrick!”
She laughed softly, but it didn’t sound amused. “Believe me, the thought didn’t sit well with me either.”
He had to feed his own addiction. He touched her neck lightly, and rubbed her cheek with the ball of one thumb. Her skin felt softer than a rose petal. Suddenly, he wanted to lick her all over, wanted it so badly his whole body went taut.
To distract himself from the temptation, he asked, “How did you discover I wasn’t Light Fae? What did I do to give myself away?”
“It was when we kissed last night.” Slipping her arms around his waist, she leaned against him and rested her head on his chest. “I ran my fingers through your hair, remember?”
“I do.” The memory heated his blood.
“It was only after you left that I realized your ears weren’t pointed,” she told him, her voice muffled against his shirt. “You couldn’t be Light Fae.”
Not yet able to smile at her cleverness, he pressed his lips to her forehead. “And your busy mind did the rest.”
“Of course. I told you, I can’t let go of things. And then I ran into Warrick.” She shuddered. “I didn’t want to think you and he might be the same man, but I also didn’t know any differently.”
His arms tightened. “Okay, fair enough,” he said. “For your information, there are several men around the castle and in town who look human but aren’t, and more should be arriving over the next few weeks. Take care around them, because they’re all dangerous.”
“Oh, great.”
He could just imagine her expression accompanying that. Biting back a smile, he added, “There are also a few humans scattered throughout the town. They’re the last surviving descendants of what had once been a thriving human kingdom in Avalon. There are a few other Races as well, so the population isn’t purely Light Fae. You just haven’t seen evidence of the others yet.”
She stirred in his arms. “What happened to the human kingdom?”
“Isabeau and Modred happened,” he replied curtly. “They killed the rulers, and either destroyed or drove off most of the population. Many of them fled to Great Britain. Isabeau has always been single-minded in consolidating her power base. Some years before, she had driven away her twin sister, along with anyone who supported her, and once the humans had been conquered, she claimed all Avalon as her own.”
“Does she have any redeeming qualities whatsoever?” Sid demanded.
A quiet snort escaped him. “I’m the wrong person to ask,” he said dryly. After a moment’s thought, he added, “I suppose there may be one thing. She doesn’t tolerate rape, especially in wartime—at least, she doesn’t tolerate physical rape. Clearly, she has no issue with using magical coercion. But physical rape is a capital offense, and soldiers who are found guilty of it are beheaded.”
Sid shook her head. “She may not tolerate rape, but she still embraces torture and, apparently, genocide too. She also has no problem with keeping people in captivity, coercing them to do her bidding, and throwing them in prison whenever she gets a stick up her ass. I’m feeling no compulsion to rush to be her friend.”
“Nor I, but let’s not waste any more time talking about her.” Loosening his hold, he clasped one of her hands and led her to the narrow bed, where he sat and leaned his back against the wall. “We’re able to get so little time together as it is.”
“I agree.” She readily climbed onto the bed too and curled against his side.
Pulling her close, he buried his nose in her short, clean hair. There were no perfumes to clog up his sinuses when he inhaled, just her pure, feminine scent.
The fact that she came so readily to his arms was a towering miracle. Sharing this one moment of peace was a rarity so fragile and precious it was almost indescribable.
It was too bad he had to shatter it.
Bracing himself inwardly, he said, “I have some news. I should have told you about it yesterday, but there has been a lot to deal with, and the most important thing was for us to find a way for you to play for Isabeau tomorrow.”
And the truth was, he hadn’t wanted to tell her. It was another piece of himself that he had to let go. But the stakes were too high for him to keep silent.
Her head lifted from his shoulder. “What is it?”
“Robin is here in Avalon,” he replied. He felt the shock of his words ripple through her body. “Or at least he was here yesterday, and I do not believe his sense of self-preservation is strong enough to have made him go home between now and then.”
The ripples quaking through her slender frame intensified. Tightening his hold, he willed for the shaking to ease. While he had known the news was significant, he hadn’t realized the deep level of distress it would cause her. Upon reflection, he should have.
She whispered as if to herself, “‘Hell is empty, and all the devils are here.’”
He recognized the quote from The Tempest. Then he thought of all the devils she’d had the misfortune to encounter—Robin, Isabeau, Modred, the guards in the prison below, the Light Fae commander who had refused to let her go and who had, instead, brought her to Avalon.
And not least among the devils, if she could but know it, was himself.
“Unfortunately,” he said as gently as he knew how, “it would appear so.”
* * *
Sid trembled as fever-bright memories raced through her mind.
Jogging through Regent’s Park in the morning fog.
Standing frozen in the wings of the stage, convinced her stalker was in the concert audience, watching her.
The immense, black horse, rearing in the car’s windshield, fire flying from its hooves, and the groaning scream of the metal as the car flipped.
Being dragged away from the wreck, and racing over the ground, tied to the back of the horse. Robin binding her hand and foot, healing her, gagging her.
Sobbing over her as if his heart had broken. The motherfucker.
Her lips had gone numb. She had to lick them before she would whisper, “Did you talk to him?”
“Yes,” he said, which shook her further. “It was more of a confrontation, rather than a rational conversation. I chose not to kill him when I had the chance, and I hope I don’t regret that.” He sighed. “Robin doesn’t understand anything, not the real reasons for things that have happened, or what I’m truly capable of—for good or for ill. I tried to ask him to take you back to Earth, but the geas wouldn’t let me say the words.”
As she listened to him, her shivering eased. She said, more calmly, “You mean, he doesn’t know about the geas, which means you can’t talk about it with him.”
“Yes, there’s that.” Pulling his arm from her shoulders, he twisted and lay down, and put his head in her lap, laying one forearm across his eyes. “And also, remember, I can’t help prisoners escape. You may not be in the cell down below, but both I and the geas know fully well you’re still a prisoner here.
“Yeah,” she whispered. “I am.”
“He was treated very badly here for a long time,” he said. “I’d be surprised if he would risk sneaking into the castle, but I’m surprised he had it in him to come back to Avalon at all. Just be careful. He said he makes an excellent rat, but he could just as easily become a cat, a sparrow, or one of the castle dogs.”
Or a troll.
“I’m glad you warned me.” Absently, she stroked his hair. “I’ll be on the lookout.”
Because I have things I want to say to that sneaky shit, she thought.
I have things I want to say very badly, indeed.