Chapter Nineteen
Before Morgan had a chance to react to that, Robin said, “And I can too. We can achieve more when we act together.”
“Gods help us,” Morgan muttered. With the puck on their side, they might not need any enemies.
Robin told him, “What you can do, sorcerer, is find a way to summon Lord Azrael. Perhaps we can enlist his aid. After all, we too can act of our own free will—or at least, two of us can.”
It was an audacious suggestion. In all his years as a sorcerer, Morgan had never attempted to communicate with one of the gods. He rubbed his mouth as he considered it. Would the geas allow it, or would the action be too direct?
He needed to check the texts back at the cottage to see if any of them offered a ritual for contacting the gods. Reading did not activate the geas. If the texts didn’t contain anything useful, he would either need to look elsewhere or construct the summoning himself. At that thought, he could feel the geas’s coils shifting uneasily and knew he was skating very close to the edge.
Both Sidonie and Robin were watching him for his reaction.
“I don’t know if I can,” he said. “But I’ll work on it. My biggest concern right now is I’ve only got one bottle of hunter’s spray left. Either I need to curtail my movements drastically until we find a solution to this problem, or I need to slip back to Earth to get more.”
“How big are the bottles?” Robin asked.
In answer, Morgan reached for his bag of supplies, pulled out the bottle, and showed it to the puck. Robin scratched his spiky hair with both thin hands as he considered it.
Finally he said, “I can’t smuggle something as large as a human across the crossover passageways, but I might be able to hide a few bottles of that in one of the cargo caravans. Unfortunately, the caravans aren’t very frequent.”
Straightening her spine, Sidonie exclaimed, “Kallah is going to arrange this morning for the acquisition of a violin and a guitar for me! There’ll be some kind of caravan coming from one of the passageways this week! But… I guess that might not call for a caravan. Someone could bring those instruments on the back of a horse.”
Morgan raised his eyebrows. “Do they know that?”
Her startled gaze flashed to his. “No. They have no idea how big a violin or a guitar is.”
“So they’ll arrange for a caravan.” He frowned.
He didn’t like relying on Robin to perform such an important task. If the puck didn’t make it back with more hunter’s spray, Morgan would need to become housebound, or eventually he would be caught and he would have to go back to Isabeau.
But the thought of leaving Sidonie alone to deal with life here while he traveled back to Earth was intolerable.
“What’s wrong?” Sidonie touched the back of his hand.
There wasn’t any real choice. Realizing he had paused too long, he added briskly, “Nothing. They’ll want to make the caravan as efficient as possible, so they’ll be sure to transport anything else they might have stored at the encampment until the next trip. It might not be a very big caravan, but there will be one. The time slippage from Avalon to Earth is not significant, so with travel and enough time on the other side to acquire the instruments, the caravan should return in four days, maybe five.”
The puck grinned. “That’s more than enough time. I just need to get the bottles across the passageway, so I’ll tuck the package in with other things. Once everything has been transported to Avalon, I can steal them back and bring them the rest of the way, myself.”
A shadow passed over Sidonie’s expression. She asked, “Will you do me a favor as well, Robin?”
“If it is within my power to do so, yes,” he replied. “I owe you that much.”
“I want you to mail a letter for me.” Her jaw tightened. “I have friends who are worried about me, and a business that has ground to a standstill. They need to know I’m alive and to hang on until they hear from me again.”
Robin’s gaze dropped from hers. Softly, he said, “Of course. As long as it’s small, I can get a message back to Earth.”
“Thank you.” Taking a deep breath, she turned back to Morgan. “So Robin has his task, and you have yours. What am I supposed to do?”
“Nothing,” Morgan cupped her face in both hands. “You do nothing. You play for the Queen when she asks you to, and you listen to every conversation you can. When it comes to the Athame, she has always been extremely careful in my presence—she always wears it around me, even if she has nothing else on, and while she has reminisced enough that I know she had the Athame for a while before she trapped me, she has only referenced it in passing. So there’s always the possibility she might let something slip around you. But that’s all, Sidonie. You don’t put yourself at risk for any reason. Do you hear me?”
She scowled, but said, “I’ll be careful, and I won’t do anything that puts me at risk. I promise.”
He relaxed. “That’s our plan, then. We stay in a holding pattern for the next few days, until Robin returns. Sidonie plays for the Queen when she asks for it, and I’ll limit my movements and see what I can do about researching a summoning spell.” At the flash of anxiety in Sidonie’s expression, he added, “If I’m careful and go across the rooftops in town, this last bottle should be enough for me to get back and forth from the cottage to this room. We won’t be separated for all that time.”
Relaxing somewhat, she gave him a twisted smile. “Okay. But what about your scent here in my room?”
“Tell the proprietress you’ll take the room indefinitely, and there’ll be no reason for the Hounds to come up here,” he told her. “I have plenty of money if you need more. Sometimes they do come to the taproom to drink and eat, so you’ll need to be on your guard when you go downstairs. Whenever you leave, make sure you wash thoroughly and always wear a clean outfit, and you should carry the sheets down yourself to be laundered. I believe there’s a back staircase for the servants, so you wouldn’t have to run into anyone from the taproom.”
She nodded. “I can do that. I don’t usually wear perfume, but perhaps I can buy some rose water or an essential oil. I need more clothes and some stationery so I can write my letter.”
Taking one hand, he rubbed her fingers as he thought. “It’s a shame Isabeau couldn’t give you some time to yourself. It’s going to be hard on us both if I have to cast a battle spell on you every day.”
“I don’t think you need to.” Her fingers tightened over his. “When I was playing last night, I felt the ability to play the lute solidify again. When the spell wore off, I was exhausted but I didn’t feel like I had lost it.”
“Are you sure?” He frowned.
“Don’t worry,” she told him reassuringly. She leaned her forehead against his shoulder. “I might be out of my depth here in Avalon in virtually every other subject, but this is the one thing I do know something about.”
“Okay.” Angling his head, he rested his cheek on top of hers. “I’ll trust you.”
Robin stood. “I will return midafternoon for your letter. That should give you time to go to the market and get what you need. In the meantime, good luck to both of you.” He added to Morgan, “Find that summoning spell.”
Morgan didn’t tell them about the geas shifting uneasily. No need to worry them unless it became necessary. Instead, he said, “I’ll do my best.”
Without anything further, Robin melted into the cat again. It blinked at them at the foot of the bed, then trotted to the balcony and disappeared.
Sidonie dug the heel of her hand into her eyes. “I can never really relax when he’s around. I can’t forget what happened.”
“Nor should you.” He thought perhaps the puck regretted what he had done, but that did not lessen Robin’s accountability.
A sharp rap sounded on the door. Sidonie looked at him quickly as she called out, “Yes?”
A deep male voice said, “Castle guard, ma’am. The Queen requests your presence at your earliest convenience.”
Alarm flashed over her expression. Jumping off the bed, she ran to the door. Without opening it, she exclaimed, “I don’t have any clean clothes!”
“You don’t… have any clothes?” The guard sounded taken aback.
“Last night I gave them to Leisha, the inn owner, to have laundered, and I haven’t gotten them back yet. I don’t have that many outfits!” Turning, she rolled her eyes at Morgan and said telepathically, I can’t put off going shopping.
“Ma’am, I will check on your laundry,” the guard said.
She raised her voice again. “If they’re not ready, ask Leisha if she has an outfit I can borrow!”
“Yes, ma’am.” The sound of his footsteps faded.
While Sidonie talked with the guard, Morgan left the bed and dressed quickly. When she turned around to face him again, disappointment darkened her gaze.
Striding over, he kissed that soft, pouting mouth. She hooked an arm around his neck, kissing him back. The fire he felt for her was always present. At the touch of her body pressed against his, it burned hot and fierce.
With an immense act of will, he dragged his lips away. Taking care in case the guard was closer than he thought, he said telepathically, This is good news. Your hour will go quickly, and then you’ll have the rest of the day.
She grasped the front of his shirt in both hands. When will you be back?
Tonight, after sunset. Her bottom lip looked plump and still wet from their kiss. He rubbed it with a forefinger while his unruly cock stiffened. He added in a whisper, And I’ll stay all night, if you’ll have me.
She looked drugged, her elegant eyes dilated. God, yes.
Be careful. Don’t trust anything or anyone, especially her. Don’t believe anything she promises you. She lies more easily than breathing.
Don’t worry, I won’t.
But he did worry. The thought of Sidonie walking back into the castle was like watching her voluntarily step into a pit of snakes. With a final, scorching kiss and a nearly inaudible, frustrated growl, he tore himself away from her. Scooping up his sword and bag, he cloaked himself and slipped out onto the balcony.
Another knock sounded on her door, and he paused outside, listening.
“Yes?” Sidonie asked.
A familiar woman’s voice sounded on the other side. It was Leisha herself. “Musician, I apologize profusely, but your clothes have not had a chance to dry. I did not realize there was some urgency to your laundry, but when you told me last night that bundle was all you had, I should have.”
“Oh, great.” Sidonie thunked against the door.
“I do have a few spare outfits that patrons have left behind…. I think one or two of these dresses might work? They’re not new, but they’re decent, clean, and well cared for.”
“Let’s see them.” Sidonie unlocked the door. “You, guard. Wait for me downstairs.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
As Leisha stepped into the room with an armful of clothes, Morgan relaxed. Finding nothing further to keep him, he scaled the side of the wall to the roof.
He had almost the full day ahead of him, and he needed to use every minute of it to see if he could discover a way to summon a god.
He had a sense of time trickling away, important time he could never get back. With every moment he healed, he became stronger—and grew closer to the next wound, which would weaken him critically again.
Also his movements had become even more hampered now, and if the puck failed to bring back more of the hunter’s spray, Morgan didn’t have a backup plan.
And there were too many pieces at play in the game that were unpredictable.
Isabeau. Robin. The geas. Even Sidonie had managed to surprise him more than once.
And never, ever, did Morgan forget Modred.
* * *
Of the four dresses Leisha brought, only one fit well enough Sid could get by wearing it for an hour or two. It was a dull gold with yellow embroidered flowers, and given how short it was, the dress had probably been a Light Fae girl’s dress. When Sid told Leisha she would take the room for the foreseeable future, the innkeeper insisted she keep the dress as a gift.
After she left, Sid tore off the dress, hung it on a nearby hook, and raced to the bathing alcove. It was too late to worry about getting Morgan’s scent on the new dress. Hopefully she hadn’t worn it long enough for it to matter.
In the alcove, she discovered a pleasant surprise. There was a soft soap in a dish that smelled like patchouli. The bathing tub was small, and the water from the tap was cold. She had to either sit with her knees up or stand to sluice off.
However long she might end up trapped in Avalon, she would never get used to washing in cold water. She scrubbed thoroughly, washed her hair twice, and after haphazardly drying off, she dressed. When she had finger combed her hair as best she could, she pocketed her twenty-one worry stones.
Then she considered her small pile of coins and jewelry. She also had forgotten to give Morgan the diamond that had held his battle spell. What did people do here to keep their valuables safe? Should she wrap it up and take it with her, or should she hide it?
Surely an experienced thief would know all the hiding places better than she would.
She didn’t have time to dither over it. She tied the coins and jewels into a silk handkerchief someone had dropped into her performance hat and stuffed it into the pocket of her dress. Then she left, taking care to lock the door behind her.
And unlock it. And lock it again.
And again. And again. Agh!
Running down the stairs, she joined the waiting guard, who led the short way back to the castle and the waiting Queen.
They stopped by the music hall so she could collect the lute, and then the guard led her to the private garden with the travertine pillars and the fishpond.
Kallah met them at the doors. When she saw Sidonie, she exclaimed softly, “Where have you been?”
“I had to bathe, and I had nothing to wear!” Sidonie exclaimed back. “My clothes are being laundered. I need to go to the market to buy more.”
Kallah glanced down her figure. Her eyes widened with an expression of dismay, but she said grimly, “Well, it’s too late to do anything to rectify that now. When you buy more clothes, be sure not to choose anything quite so appealing.”
Right, Sid had forgotten. Wear only ugly clothes around the Queen. How old was Isabeau, several centuries going on seven?
Biting it back, she asked, “What do I do?”
“Slip over there, around the rosebushes.” Kallah pointed across the garden. “I’ve set out a wooden stool for you. Play soothing songs, don’t say anything, and don’t stop until I come for you. Understood?”
“Yes.” Sid started forward.
Kallah put a hand on her arm to stop her. “And Sid—don’t breathe a word to anyone about anything you might see or hear.” Kallah looked hard into her gaze, mouth set. “Not a word. You’ve experienced what can happen when her majesty takes offense, but you’ve not witnessed anything like what could happen if she considers herself betrayed.”
Sid’s heart leaped at the possibility of overhearing something they might be able to use. Dropping her gaze to hide her reaction, she muttered, “I understand.”
“Good.”
As soon as Kallah released her, she started forward. Around the outcropping of rosebushes, there was a small, private grassy area with a stool. Beyond that, there were more rosebushes. Through the bushes, she could see the outline of a low divan with pillows strewn over it.
It looked like the perfect spot for a private assignation, and for a moment, instinctively, she strained to make sense of what she was seeing on the other side of the rosebushes. Then the movement became clear, and she realized that was exactly what she was seeing. Two bodies lay entwined on the divan. Isabeau and a man. Loops of gold and white pearls threaded Isabeau’s hair. It was the only thing she was wearing.
Fierce heat washed over Sid’s face. Turning her back to the scene, she sat on the stool and began to play, striving hard to ignore the sounds behind her.
But try as she might, she couldn’t miss some details. The man wasn’t Modred; she was sure of that. He might be the male in the private sitting room from the night before, the one who had slipped a ring into her performance hat.
And Isabeau made love with the abandonment and lack of shame of a cat, crying out, sometimes swearing. Once her lover swore too, with such vicious surprise, Sid had to bite both lips to keep an unexpected bubble of laughter from popping out. She was pretty sure laughing at the Queen’s sex life was not a good career move.
Somehow she held it together until Kallah came across the garden and motioned to her, and her time was up for the day.
Escaping the confines of the castle felt as freeing as it had the first time. Instead of heading back to her room right away, she wandered down the street until she found the market.
There she bought a large canvas bag to carry her purchases in, and she spent a couple of hours picking out enough outfits so she would always have something clean to wear when she left her room, making sure to buy plainer clothes that were either black or some other dark color.
She also bought a smaller leather purse to carry essentials in, some toiletries, a comb, more scented soaps and a small vial of rose water, along with a pen, an inkwell, and ten sheets of parchment paper. Her final purchase was food and wine for that evening.
The sense of freedom she felt was so intoxicating she dawdled on the way back to the inn, enjoying the sights of the harbor and sea. Optimism came on the heels of her improved condition. They were going to find a way to break Morgan free of Isabeau’s control. She was certain of it.
Back in her room, she opened the balcony doors to the fresh breeze and took her pen, ink, and paper to the table outside to craft a letter to Vincent and Julie. It was harder to do than she had expected, and Robin had warned her the message needed to be a small one. After considering and discarding several ideas, she kept the note very short and wrote it as small as she could.
Don’t give up hope. I’m alive and okay.
I’ve been kidnapped. I’m no longer on Earth, but I’m working to find a way to get back home.
Be careful what you do. My captors could retaliate at what they see as aggression. I’ll be in touch again as soon as I can.
Love, Sid
After reading and rereading the note, she sighed and folded it as small as she could get it. The note covered all the relevant points and would have to do. When Robin came, she gave it to him.
He didn’t linger. They had said everything of importance earlier. Instead, he tucked the note into his pocket, shapeshifted, and the cat slipped away.
Morgan had said it would be four days, or maybe five, for the caravan to return. She realized she’d forgotten to ask Robin to bring back news. Oh well, there was nothing she could do to rectify that now.
For the first time in weeks, she had the rest of the day to herself. She was relatively safe for the moment, the sun shining, and the water in the distance sparkled a gorgeous aquamarine blue. For a while, she sat on the balcony, basking in the sun and letting the warmth heal the cold shadows of injury that lingered deep in the corners of her mind, then she moved into the room to nap the rest of the day away, until the sun set and Morgan came.
That set the pattern of the next several days.
Sid returned to the castle to play when the Queen commanded. Aside from that, she spent her days sleeping, sunbathing on the balcony, and taking forays out of town to jog her three miles a day.
The good food, fresh air, and exercise brought back a sense of robustness she hadn’t realized she had lost. They were good days, certainly good enough for someone who had lost control over her own destiny, and far better than she had once feared she would ever see again.
But they weren’t what brought her fully alive.
The nights were.
She was just biding her time, waiting with barely controlled patience for the moment when Morgan pushed through the sheer curtains. When he appeared, she ignited, a candle bursting into flame, and they collided together with such intensity she wondered that the whole of Avalon didn’t feel it.
She lived for those nights, for the touch of his body against hers. For the times he took her and took her, driving her out of her mind with burning pleasure.
The peaks with him were so high at times they frightened her. She felt sometimes as if she were clawing her way directly into the sun. They worked each other to exhaustion, then dozed long enough to rally again, and each night Morgan lingered until the dawn broke over the rooftops. Then he left her, reluctantly, with lingering kisses.
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.
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.