Chapter Sixteen
A sudden blast of fury hit her like a tornado.
The maelstrom whited out all caution or common sense, and it impelled her to leap forward. She had the sensation of leaving her body.
“You!” she snarled.
She slapped him so hard his head jerked back. Then she slapped him again.
And again.
The next thing she knew, she was pummeling him with both fists and feet, while tears of rage ran down her cheeks.
He made no move to stop her or to try to protect himself. Raining him with blows, she drove him backward until his shoulders hit the edge of a bookcase. Bracing himself against it, he stood stoically under her onslaught.
“She broke my hands, you son of a bitch!”
He did not look surprised. He merely nodded and tilted his chin up, turning into her punch. “She cut out my tongue, once. It took years to grow back.”
That statement cut through her mindless rage. She hesitated a moment too long, absorbing the strangeness and barbarity of it. When she reached again for her former fury, the firestorm had already subsided into glowing coals. Not gone, not by any means, but not out of control either.
When he made as if to straighten from his leaning stance, she shoved him again and said between her teeth, “I hate you so passionately.”
His strange gaze met hers steadily. “I deserve every ounce of it.”
“I can’t believe you have the audacity to look me in the eyes, let alone creep around the castle. Morgan thought not even you would be that crazy.” She glanced over her shoulder at the closed doors. “Why are you here?!”
“I’ve come to bear witness to the consequences of my handiwork,” he told her. “Evil deeds should never go unpunished.”
Whose evil deeds was he talking about, Isabeau’s? Or his?
Bitterly, she told him, “You can never make amends for the pain and the fear you put me through.”
“I’m not here to try, although I will gladly take every blow you need to hurl,” he told her gently. “Some actions are unforgiveable. And before you ask, no, I will not take you home again.”
“You fool, I don’t want to go home,” she hissed. Surprise flared in his feral gaze. He had not expected that. “But I do want to set the record straight, and when I do, you’d better try to do something sensible to help fix things, or I swear to God, someday I will find a way to burn you to ashes.”
“I see the passion of which you speak,” he whispered.
Glancing at the doors again, she said rapidly, “I have no idea how much time we might have, so I’m going to cut to the chase. Morgan is bound by a geas. Everything you wanted to have happen when you kidnapped me can’t happen.”
Those words were the first blow she had struck that caused him to look shocked. He breathed, “What are you talking about?”
“You thought you would try to drive a wedge between two people who partnered together in crimes.” A resurgence of rage made her punch him in the chest. She said between clenched teeth, “Well, it’s not going to happen! Morgan is as much a prisoner as you were—as I am right now! He was never going to tell you about it. The geas prevents him from telling people. The only way I know is because I guessed from certain things he said. Once I knew about the compulsion, the geas loosened its hold and we were able to talk about it.”
“Could that have been true all this time?” he muttered to himself as his gaze clouded, dark with doubt and memory. “I saw them fight like they hated each other, but lovers play at those games. She plays at those games. The pretty smiles and the deadly rages… both are carefully constructed acts. Behind all the sound and fury, she watches with unceasing care for any opportunity to mold fate to her advantage. And never forget Modred. He is the willing sword to her hand.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll never forget Modred,” she said, breathing hard. “Not after what he did to me. But right now, we’re not talking about him or Isabeau. We’re talking about you. There’s only one way for you to get what you want. And you still want it, don’t you… to break the tie that binds Morgan and Isabeau together?”
His gaze snapped back into focus. “I want that more than my conscience or my soul.”
Searching his gaze, strange though it was, she saw nothing but sincerity.
“All right,” she said. “Isabeau wears a knife on a gold chain around her waist. It’s called Azrael’s Athame, or maybe Death’s Knife. Have you heard of it?”
“No.” He frowned. “I remember that old knife in its scabbard. It shines with darkness.”
“Who is Azrael?”
He raised his eyebrows, looking surprised again, apparently at her ignorance. “Azrael is Lord Death, one of the seven gods of the Elder Races. Sometimes they’re also called Primal Powers. There’s also Taliesin, the god of the Dance, who is first among the gods because dance is change, and the universe is constantly in motion. Then there’s Inanna, goddess of Love; Nadir, goddess of the depths or the Oracle; Will, god of the Gift; Camael, goddess of the Hearth; and Hyperion, the god of Law.” He paused, taking in her growing impatience, then added almost chidingly, “Unlike the gods from other religions, the seven Primal Powers are very real and active in the world.”
“You sure about that?” she asked cynically. She was not in the mood for any detour of proselytizing.
“Oh, I am quite sure,” Robin said in a soft voice that was, nevertheless, unshakable in its conviction. “I have heard Lord Death’s horn sounding the call for his Wild Hunt, and the baying of his hounds on a windswept night. It’s never wise to be away from shelter when Azrael rides at the death of the year. That is a sound I will never forget, although…” He frowned. “I have not heard the Wild Hunt in many years now.”
His words caused a shiver to trickle down her back. “Well, Morgan said the knife Isabeau wears is a very old, Powerful magic item.” Driven by a sense of urgency, she talked faster. Their luck couldn’t possibly hold for too much longer. “Apparently, she struck him with it, and she not only bound him somehow with the geas, but it turned him into a kind of lycanthrope. He’s the one who creates her other lycanthropes.” Pausing, she added slowly, “He called them Hounds too. It’s not that common of a word in the United States, so it stood out to me.”
Robin’s eyes narrowed. “Hounds created by Death’s Knife,” he murmured. “I would like to get to the bottom of the truth behind that tale.”
“So do it,” she hissed. “The only way to break Morgan and Isabeau apart is to free him from the geas. He’s trying to do it himself, but he keeps getting pulled away from his research to save my useless ass because of you! But he can’t help to free me, because he’s been forbidden to help prisoners escape. And he’s running out of time.”
“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.”
“While I appreciate her brave declaration and your unfounded belief in my abilities, I can only act stealthily on my own behalf,” Robin said wryly. “I cannot change another creature into a mouse, or a squirrel. Although I might wish with all my heart things were different, I don’t have the capability of slipping her past the passageway guards.”
At that, Morgan swore, viciously. “You’ve been nothing but a curse.”
“Yes. I cannot undo what I have done, but I can do everything in my power to aid her and help break you free from that which binds you.” Robin paused. “If you’ll let me. I’ll understand if you will not. But, sorcerer, think carefully before you repudiate my offer. You don’t have many options, and with the right motivation I can be a powerful ally.”
Powerful, but chaotic. Lowering his eyelids, Morgan studied Robin intently, trying to decide if accepting his offer of help was worth the added danger and aggravation. If there had been a hint of insincerity or duplicity in the puck, Morgan would have killed him right then and there. Instead, he saw nothing but an earnest desire to help.
Am I really going to gamble everything on the word of my enemy? he wondered.
But the puck was his best choice. As a nature sprite, when Robin was a cat, he smelled like a cat. When he was another creature, he smelled like that creature. There was nobody better to slip around the castle, and the puck’s audacity proved it.
Morgan dug into his pocket and pulled out the diamond wrapped in its cloth of concealment. “Sidonie needs this before her performance,” he told Robin. “She doesn’t know how to play any of the musical instruments here well enough to perform.”
Robin’s expression changed to one of surprised dismay. “None of them?”
“No. Her expertise lies in other instruments… the violin, the guitar, and I don’t know what else. She said she can play five instruments well enough to perform with them, but none are collected in the music hall. The closest instrument is the lute. She’s been picking it up incredibly quickly, but not in enough time for tonight’s performance.”
“How can she survive the night?” Robin’s expression looked troubled.
“With this battle spell.” Morgan held up the cloth-wrapped diamond. “I’ve amended it to transfer my experience of playing the lute to her. It will last long enough to get her through tonight. She needs this spell, and you need to get it to her.” His voice roughened. “No excuses, puck, and there’s no room for failure.”
As Robin held out his hand for the jewel, his gaze darkened with sincerity. “I will see she gets it,” he promised. “I swear it on my life.”
Yes, he would. Morgan would see to it.
He said harshly, “I’ve shown you more mercy than you deserve, and right now, I’m showing you more trust than you’ve earned. If you don’t get this to her, I will pull your lungs out with my claws and watch every moment of your struggle to breathe until you die. I swear that on my life.”
Soberly, Robin accepted the jewel. “I believe you.”
“Tell her the spell will be triggered by her touch, so she shouldn’t unwrap the jewel until she’s ready for it.” He took a deep breath, his mind already leaping to the next obstacle. “And tell her there’s a hiding place in the rafters above the great hall. I will do my very best to be there for her performance.”
In fact, he would make damn sure he was there. If Robin failed to deliver the diamond, he needed to have a backup plan. He didn’t have time to create another magic item of such complexity, so he would have to get within enough proximity to cast the battle spell himself, despite the increased danger of being discovered.
“I will pass along your message.” Robin slipped the jewel into his pocket then hesitated. “About the geas that binds you… I remember very well the knife Isabeau wears on a chain at her waist. Sidonie said it’s called Azrael’s Athame, or sometimes Death’s Knife?”
Morgan raised an eyebrow. “Yes, that’s what Isabeau has called it. I’ve wondered if it might be one of the Deus Machinae, so I’ve been searching for references in various texts to try to find ways of breaking or dissolving the geas, but I haven’t had any luck yet. Why, do you know of it?”
“No, but when we were talking earlier, I realized I hadn’t heard Lord Azrael and his hounds on his Wild Hunt for a very long time. A very long time indeed. Perhaps even as long as you have been ensorcelled.” Robin tilted his head, and the feral gleam was back in his eyes. “I’ve listened for sounds of the Wild Hunt, you see. I thrill to hear it, even as I hide safely indoors.”
Morgan narrowed his gaze. “Just how old are you?”
“Old, sorcerer,” he said. “As old as you are, you are but a child to me.”
Before he could ask the puck any more questions, Robin slipped out the door and was gone.
As the door settled into place behind him, Morgan thought, we’ve cast our dice, Robin, Sidonie, and me.
Now all we can do is watch them tumble and land where they may.