Chapter Seventeen
Morgan had one more casting he needed to do that day, a simpler one that should go much faster than the creation of the battle spell. Tired though he was, he sat down with his tools to see it got done.
Once the null spell had been set into an uncut sapphire, he wrapped it carefully in a plain piece of cloth. Like the battle spell he had crafted for Sidonie, the null spell would activate when it came in contact with skin, so he didn’t want to touch it unless he absolutely had to.
Then, finally, he let himself relax on the dusty bed to nap until the light changed and the cottage cooled in the early evening.
Coming to instant, full alertness, Morgan straightened off the bed. Remembering he had entrusted the jewel that would save Sidonie from prison to Robin, of all creatures, made adrenaline surge until his muscles tightened and he felt ready for battle.
There was only one way to get to the place he had described to Robin, in the rafters that soared over the great hall, and that was by climbing one of the buttresses outside to reach the top of the windows. Long ago, Morgan had broken one of those windows and covered the break with a small spell of illusion.
The challenge would be to reach the buttress and climb it without being detected. Once he had reached the rafters, the shadows would hide him from the people down below.
He finished his second-to-last bottle of the hunter’s spray as he prepared for the journey. The sun was setting when he stepped out of the cottage. As he strode toward the castle, a slim black cat bounded up the path to him. The cat’s form shimmered and changed, and suddenly it was Robin who jogged up the path.
Morgan stopped, and as Robin joined him, he rapped out, “Well?”
“All went very well,” Robin told him. “I slipped through the kitchens carrying the jewel in my mouth, and when I reached her door, I scratched until she opened it to let me in.” The puck’s gaze gleamed. For all the danger in the situation, he looked like he was enjoying himself. “She was most surprised when I spat out a diamond.”
“She didn’t touch it, did she?” Morgan demanded. “You told her how to activate it?”
“Indeed,” Robin said. “And indeed. She was calm, sorcerer, and relieved to hear you were safe. She looked ready. She also has a plan for when to activate the spell. A nervous musician may take a few moments of privacy to ready herself just before a performance, perhaps even make a trip to the privy.”
Relief eased the knot of tension between his shoulders. “Good. You did well.”
“You do not need to sound quite so surprised.” Robin fell into step beside him. “I am capable of good deeds as well as ill.”
“You have a long way to go to make up for what you did.” He shot the puck a hard look. “Don’t get too complacent.”
Robin’s face tightened. “Understood.” After a moment, he asked, “Have you thought any further about the Athame?”
“That’s all I think about,” Morgan replied shortly. “That, and how to help Sidonie.” And how to stay free as long as possible. “Why, have you?”
“Yes, I have had a thought or two. I don’t believe it is one of the Deus Machinae. It has been too stationary for too long. The Machinae are active manifestations of the gods’ will. They were meant to tumble through the world. When they come into someone’s possession, and they’re prevented from that movement, they create more and more havoc around them until the person who holds them undergoes some kind of crisis and releases them back into the world. I don’t witness that kind of dynamic in Isabeau’s life.”
Frustration clawed at Morgan. If the puck was right, all the research he had been doing would have been for nothing. So much precious time had been wasted. “So you believe the Athame is something else.”
Robin glanced at him, feral eyes gleaming. “If Occam’s razor is to be believed, the simplest explanation is usually the best. In that case, Isabeau herself may have given you the answer, and the blade is quite literally Azrael’s Athame—Lord Death’s Knife.”
Morgan tilted his head, thinking that through. “When I first met her, she mentioned Azrael and his Wild Hunt. She said, ‘When Lord Azrael rides, nobody on this earth is ready.’”
“She was correct,” Robin whispered.
“At the time, I hadn’t paid much attention to it, but that moment keeps coming back to me in my dreams.” Morgan rubbed the back of his neck. He was getting a headache where his skull connected to his spine, deep in his hindbrain where the most primitives urges dwell.
Where the lycanthropy virus lived.
“Perhaps your soul knows more than your mind has allowed. Azrael’s Athame helped to create you, and Sidonie said you create the other Hounds.” Robin frowned. “But you and the other Hounds are different from the lycanthropy plague that was loosed in England hundreds of years ago.”
Coming to a halt, Morgan turned to face Robin. “I’ve thought for some time that that strain of the virus has spread from the bites of the other Hounds. I create Hounds only when Isabeau orders. What happens when those Hounds attack others who survive?”
“They are a weakened form of what you are. They do not have the same strength or control that you do. They suffer bouts of frenzy as they lose themselves during a full moon, and they live the normal span of a human’s life.” Robin’s gaze met his. “You and the other Hounds let loose that bloodcurdling sound when you lunge to the attack, so like the baying I’ve heard on those distant past winter nights. What if you are, indeed, Death’s Hounds, and as long as Isabeau has possession of Azrael’s Athame, she controls the Wild Hunt?”
Not long after that unsettling conversation, Morgan knelt on the massive rafter high over the great hall, while Robin crouched beside him. The puck wrapped both thin arms around his legs while his eyes gleamed with interest.
It was a good vantage point from which to watch what happened down below. Morgan got a clear view of the high table, where Isabeau, Modred, the visiting nobleman Valentin, and other notables sat.
He could also see the musician’s alcove where Sidonie would be seated. The alcove was located on a mezzanine above the ground floor near the high table but still far below where he and Robin were perched. Various personages from town clustered around the other tables, prominent merchants and officials, along with other courtiers, Hounds, and those from the castle household who were elevated above the class of servant.
While Morgan had been careful to use the hunter’s spray to hide his scent on the journey to the castle, he knew he was perched too high for the Hounds below to catch his scent. He doubted anyone at the evening’s gathering would think to try to telepathize to him here, of all places, but to be safe, he pressed one finger to the sapphire in his pocket to keep the null spell activated, while he plugged his ears with beeswax. He was determined no stray comment would entrap him.
When servants began to carry out huge platters of food and jugs of wine and beer, the alcove curtains parted and Sidonie stepped out. Behind her, in the shadows, Kallah handed her the lute. She nodded to the other woman, and Kallah let the curtain fall into place.
A hush fell over the people below as they turned to gaze up at this new entertainment. Morgan caught sight of Freya in the crowd. Her expression was avid.
He turned his attention back to Sidonie, who looked magnificent and composed. The brown dress she wore should have been drab, but instead the rich cloth made her skin look creamy. The golden glow of the torches highlighted the curve of her cheekbones, those long, elegant eyes, and her short, black hair hugged the sleek, graceful curve of her skull.
Morgan’s jaw tightened as he stared at her. Even dressed as plainly as she was, she looked too spectacular, and it was too late for him to give her all the advice he longed to say.
Don’t play too well. Don’t show your real genius. Isabeau doesn’t like other stars that shine more brightly than she.
As Sidonie bowed to the head table, he glanced at Isabeau. She lounged in her chair, looking bored. Beside her, Modred studied Sidonie with narrowed eyes, while Valentin sat forward with an arrested expression.
The conversation in the hall resumed. Isabeau gestured at Sidonie with one hand, and Morgan removed his earplugs. Taking Isabeau’s gesture as her cue, Sidonie began to play.
He had not thought to give her advice until it was too late, and Sidonie did nothing to hide her talent.
The conversation below faltered to a halt again as she played….
What was she playing? He didn’t recognize any of the songs.
Suddenly Robin clapped both hands over his mouth. When Morgan glanced at him, the puck appeared to be shaking with laughter.
Taking his hand away from the null spell, he demanded telepathically, What?
I believe she just played a song called “Mrs. Robinson,” Robin told him, eyes dancing with glee. Oh, and that one—I forget what that one is called. “You’re Vain”? Maybe “You’re Very Vain.” No, it’s “You’re So Vain.” She just played a song about vanity to the Queen, who will never know it.
Morgan sucked in a breath. Sidonie was playing adaptations of pop music, one right after the other, with unmistakably beautiful prowess.
He tried to recognize the songs she played, and he thought he knew a few of the tunes—while he had lost interest in music before he’d attended her concert, he hadn’t been living under a rock—but he only knew one thing for certain.
He couldn’t hold back a grin as he told Robin, She’s not playing any of her own music.
She wasn’t giving them anything of herself. Instead, she put on the performance that had been commanded of her, without offering one iota more.
The music was brilliant, of course. He didn’t think she had it in her to be anything less than brilliant. But it was the most flawless, professionally executed fuck you he’d ever witnessed, all delivered to her xenophobic audience with a perfectly composed expression and a slight, unshakable Madonna-like smile.
After the first few strains, the harmonics in the hall activated. At first, streams of pure color flowed over the open space above the audience. Then, after a few songs, the colors entwined, blended, and vast, transparent images began to appear, sweeping across the hall.
Haunting and evocative, the images hinted at stories not quite told, and adventures in exotic places. Lovers entwined in a kiss, then broke apart in anger. A herd of wild horses ran along a shore. A foreign city sat golden upon a hill, and a wild storm crashed across a desert. Morgan had never seen the harmonics respond with such rich, vibrant complexity before.
And they loved it. Loved it. Isabeau’s music master, Olwen, had talent, along with a great many years of polish, but he didn’t have the same fire of genius that Sidonie had.
At one end of the hall, someone began to pass around the performer’s hat, a long-held tradition for the audience to show appreciation. People threw coins into the hat, sometimes flowers, silken handkerchiefs, gold rings.
Sidonie’s hat filled quickly, evidence of her resounding success. As Morgan glanced at it, he saw that she would have enough from this evening’s performance to support herself in style for a few months. She could rent a house in town and hire servants, if she so wished… and if Isabeau let her.
Oh, that song. Robin sighed with pleasure. I think it’s by the Garfinkels, or someone like that. “Scarborough Fair”—I like that one. That’s an adaptation of a very old song. She’s amazing.
Yes, she is, Morgan agreed.
“Musician, stop.” Isabeau’s order rang out.
Sidonie froze without changing expression. She looked perfect and almost as lifeless as a mannequin. The images died and silence filled the great hall, while alarm and dismay flashed across the faces of the people throughout the hall.
Modred angled his head, rubbing one thumb along the edge of his lips while his quick, assessing gaze took in the scene. On the other side of Isabeau, Valentin appeared transfixed. Lips parted, he never looked away from Sidonie.
Isabeau leaned forward, her expression alive with more delight than Morgan could remember seeing in quite a very long time.
“That last song,” the Queen said. “Play that one again.”
Smoothly, Sidonie began playing “Scarborough Fair” again. Relief and pleasure rippled over the audience, and a smattering of applause broke out. The knot of tension that had driven Morgan through the past three days eased.
She had done it.
She had successfully appeared for her audience with the Queen, and the Queen was quite pleased.
* * *
Supper had finished for the diners below, and Sidonie had just begun to reach the dregs of the battle spell.
Like the first time, the tide of epiphany began to withdraw, but this time she could feel something was different. She had played the lute long enough now that she felt confident in her plucking technique, and the position felt familiar, even comfortable.
Still, her energy waned to such an extent she was starting to get worried when, finally, the curtains behind her parted, and Kallah whispered, “Make this your last song.”
Relief coursed through her. Without glancing back, she gave a slight nod and smoothly brought the song to an end. While she played the final notes, she looked around at the images from the harmonics. As if the magic understood it was the end, a gossamer, panoramic sunset over the ocean filled the hall, the colors deepening into night.
After she finished, a smattering of polite applause sounded throughout the great hall.
It sounded anemic, almost begrudging, nothing like the normal wild enthusiasm of her concerts.
Blinking, she tried to absorb the feedback. What had she done wrong?
Sure, she had played pop songs, but nobody here would have known what those songs were… and she had played them as well as she possibly could. That, together with Morgan’s spell, should have made things okay, and the magical imagery had been great. Had she misjudged her audience that badly?
The last of the adrenaline from the battle spell left and the crash hit. The shaking started deep inside, and with an effort, she stiffened her legs to remain standing.
Kallah pulled back the curtain and beckoned her with a bright smile. “Her majesty would like to speak with you now.”
“Of course,” she said. Dread dragged at her feet. As she followed Kallah down a narrow flight of stairs, she asked tightly, “How bad is it?”
“What do you mean?” Kallah looked over her shoulder. Whatever she saw in Sid’s expression made her stop and turn completely around, looking up as Sid hovered on a step above her. Gently, Kallah told her, “You were utterly, shockingly wonderful. I can’t remember when I last heard music as sublime as yours. Some of the songs brought tears to my eyes, and I’ve never seen the harmonics respond to a musician as they did to you. Everybody loved it—the queen loved it. Your life has gone through a profound change, Sid. You have become quite the sensation here, now.”
Her shaking worsened, and she had to wipe her eyes before she could speak again. Thickly, she muttered, “There was so little applause I thought it hadn’t gone well.”
Kallah touched her hand in a quick, impulsive gesture. “You couldn’t be further from the truth. It’s considered bad manners to overwhelm the hall with unseemly signs of enthusiasm. The real show of appreciation is waiting for you down below. Your performer’s hat is overflowing.… I can’t remember when I’ve seen a hat so full.”
“I have no idea what that means.” Sid would just be glad if she didn’t get her fingers broken again.
Kallah gave her another smile. Her demeanor toward Sid seemed to have warmed significantly, as if she had been waiting for her to prove herself. “Come and see. I think you’ll be very pleased.”
Only then did Sid remember she could try to telepathize with Morgan. She hadn’t used the telepathy earrings enough for them to become commonplace. Reaching for him mentally, she asked, Are you there?
Immediately, Morgan’s rich, warm voice filled her mind, and it was such a balm to her abraded nerves she had to grasp at the banister to keep her knees from buckling. I am. You did beautifully, Sidonie. Now, hang on. You’re almost there. You’ve got a bit more you need to get through, and then you can rest.
Her breathing roughened, and her eyes prickled, but she was not about to face that walking, talking piranha with tears in her eyes. Pushing the emotion aside, she squared her shoulders and followed Kallah to a room that was much smaller than the great hall, more intimate, with plush, comfortable furnishings arranged into a sitting area.
Isabeau lounged on one couch, her feet tucked under her. Two men kept her company. One was Modred, who stood leaning against one corner of a fireplace, and the other was a Light Fae male Sid had never met before, who sat in a nearby chair.
The unknown male was speaking. “Quite a stunning performance, especially given her inferior breeding.”
“Indeed,” Modred said.
Sid’s gaze skidded over Modred. She could not look at him without remembering the smile he had given her down in that ugly, pain-filled room when he took away her reason for living.
But instead of squandering her fast-waning energy obsessing over past events, she turned her attention to the only person of relevance in the room.
When Isabeau saw her, she set aside her wine goblet, rose, and walked toward Sid with both hands outstretched. Sid drew back in instinctive alarm, but then she saw Isabeau’s warm smile.
When she gets what she wants, she’s all warm, pretty smiles…
“Musician! What is your name, again? Sid? Tonight was lovely, simply lovely. I had no idea you would bring such sublime music and beauty into my life!” Isabeau grasped her hands, gaze wide with delight. “Where did you get such an amazing gift? That one song especially shot such arrows into my heart!”
I wish I could shoot arrows at you with my music, Sid thought. Now, that would be a skill worth developing.
Aloud, she murmured vaguely, “Where does anyone get their talent for things?”
Isabeau squeezed her fingers. Her touch made Sid’s skin crawl. “Exactly!” Isabeau exclaimed as she turned to face the two men. “Talents are given by the gods. Who knows where they might land, or for what reason? Heaven can be housed even in a vessel such as she.”
Suddenly Sid struggled with an entirely inappropriate desire to laugh. She thought, Just when I think I’m all out of fuck yous, somehow, I manage to find inspiration for yet another one.
I might be done playing music, but my performance isn’t over yet.
Rallying, she returned the Queen’s squeeze. “Your majesty, I can’t begin to tell you how much it means to me that you enjoyed tonight’s music.”
“Why, you’re trembling!” Isabeau exclaimed. “I hear performing can take some musicians that way. It is the artist’s temperament. Do have some wine… you have earned it, my dear.”
“No, thank you. It’s good of you to offer, but if I drink wine right now I will fall over.” The fixed stare from the unknown Light Fae male was beginning to grate on her, and Modred’s relaxed presence compounded the feeling.
What could she do to make this nightmare end? She swayed, and caught herself up.
She had forgotten Kallah, who murmured in a tactful voice from behind her, “Your majesty, perhaps it would be a good idea to keep this visit short. Sid wanted to honor you, and she has been working night and day to prepare for this evening. Not only that, but she went through several challenging days before then.”
Isabeau’s expression cooled at the oblique reference to Sid’s time in prison, but she adjusted smoothly enough.
In a brisker tone, she replied, “Kallah is quite right. It must have been exhausting today, preparing to perform in front of the entire court. Well, musician, you pleased me tonight. You pleased me very much, and I look forward to hearing more of your beautiful music. Your performer’s hat is over here, on the table. I wanted to give it to you personally.”
Sid looked where Isabeau pointed, and her eyes widened. On a side table, a velvet hat sat. It was overflowing with flowers, coins, jewelry, and bright scraps of silk. “Are you saying that’s mine?”
The queen laughed. “But of course! My court loved you, and this is how they show it. You may also ask one thing of me as well. Choose carefully. A boon from me is no small thing.”
Sid drew in a breath as she tried to cope with the unexpected largesse.
As she hesitated, Isabeau watched her closely. She added, “And before you think to ask for it, no, you may not have your freedom.” She softened the statement with a quick, pretty smile. “I could never bear to give up such a treasure, now that I have found you.”
“But you can give me the freedom of the town and the surrounding land, can’t you?” Sid asked. “Fresh air and new sights are good muses. After all, it’s not as though I can escape from Avalon, anyway.”
An expression of comfortable contempt slid over Isabeau’s face. “No,” the queen agreed. “It’s not as though you can. Very well, you have earned it. You may have the freedom of the castle, the town, and the surrounding land, up to two hours’ walk away. But, come—that was too easy. Lengthening your leash was nothing. You must ask a boon for something worthwhile, otherwise I might feel insulted.”
Only Isabeau could make a gift sound like a threat. Sid was suddenly so exhausted, she could barely see straight. All she wanted to do was sleep, while this psycho tyrant prattled on about her boon like it was some kind of real goddamn gift.
How long would she have to live like this? The realization that she might spend years trapped in Avalon caused her to clench her hands. How could she survive here for so long?
“I want you to get me a violin, and a guitar,” she said suddenly. “As beautiful as a lute is, it isn’t my instrument of choice.”
Isabeau’s expression went blank with surprise. “Not your instrument of choice?”
“I play the violin much better,” Sid told her. “The guitar too.”
Isabeau’s lips parted. She breathed, “Better than how you played this evening?” Turning to Kallah, she ordered, “We must get these instruments at once! Make sure they are of the finest quality!”
“Of course,” Kallah murmured. “I will see to it first thing in the morning.”
“I also want a week to myself,” Sid said roughly. “I want to sleep when I feel like it, eat whatever I want, and feel sunshine on my face.”
And during all that time, she thought mentally, I don’t want to worry if I’m going to be killed or tortured, or feel like I need to brace myself to face some fresh hell. I want a week off, and I want all of you to leave me the fuck alone.
The light in Isabeau’s expression soured again, and she tilted her mouth as if she had tasted something she didn’t like. Tapping her foot, she considered Sid.
“To go an entire week without your sublime music is too much to ask,” the Queen said finally. “But I will give you this much. For one hour each day, you will play for me at a time of my choosing. I will not command you to perform in public. The hour will be for my own private enjoyment. Other than that hour each day, you may have the rest of the week to yourself.”
Behind her, Kallah touched Sid’s back quickly.
Taking the silent prompt, Sid bowed to Isabeau. “Thank you, your majesty. I’m most grateful for the respite.”
Isabeau waved a hand at her. “Now, go before you fall over and I need to order someone to carry you out. You’ve turned such a pasty white, it really is quite alarming.”
As she spoke, the unknown Light Fae male walked over to the performance hat. Working a ring off one of his fingers, he dropped it into the hat. Then he scooped it up and carried it to Sid, who gathered it into her arms. She hadn’t expected it to be as heavy as it was.
“Here is your very well-earned reward, musician,” he said as he gave her a look that seemed filled with some kind of significance. “I look forward to enjoying more of your talents soon. Isabeau, you must invite me for some of those private sessions.”
“We’ll see, Valentin.” Isabeau gave the man a blade-sharp look underneath a pretty, catlike smile. “I can get very jealous of my pleasures, and I don’t like to share.”
Suddenly desperate to leave, Sid had to keep herself from running for the door. As she turned away, the look she gave to Kallah must have shown her desperation, for Kallah put a hand at her back and urged her out quickly.
As Kallah walked her back to the servants’ quarters, Sid struggled with absorbing her change in fortune. “So I can leave the castle now,” she said hoarsely. “I can simply walk out whenever I wish?”
“As soon as I pass the Queen’s instructions to the castle guards, yes, you may,” Kallah replied. “I will do so this evening after I say good night. Just make sure you leave word of where you are going, so the guard knows how to find you. But it will take some days for us to acquire a violin and a guitar.”
“That makes sense.” Outside her room, she turned to face Kallah. “I’ll get the dress back to you clean.”
Kallah smiled. “No need. It is yours now. You can use it for future performances. Rest well, Sid. You earned it.”
As Kallah walked away, Sid fumbled at the knob to open her door. Once inside, she shoved it shut with one foot and set the hat and its contents on the bed. As she picked up the tinderbox, her candle flared to light.
Her heart leaped with gladness, and she whirled with an eager smile.
The black cat lay curled at one end of her bed. It gave a great yawn, showing sharp, white teeth, green eyes gleaming.
Disappointment dragged at her tired limbs. She had wanted it so very much to be Morgan.
She said flatly, “You.”
Yes, Robin said telepathically. Me.