Spellbinder
Page 50
He inclined his head in reply. As she turned away, she almost bumped into a man who had come up behind her.
Looking up, she was about to apologize, when she froze, staring.
The man was obviously human, or at least humanlike, with dark hair, a weathered, cynical face, and wolfish eyes. He had a powerful build and wore leather armor, along with a knife and a sword.
As he ran his gaze down her figure, cold interest glittered in his eyes. “Well, well,” he said. “What delicious tidbit do we have here?”
From behind her, Triddick snapped, “She is not for the likes of you, Warrick.”
“I’ll be the judge of what should be for the likes of me,” the man named Warrick replied in a soft growl while he showed hard, white teeth in a semblance of a smile. “What’s your name, precious? And where can I find you?”
As she listened to the exchange between the two men, her stomach tightened. Heart hammering, she searched Warrick’s cold gaze for any hint that he might be her Magic Man. He seemed to be the right size and build, although she didn’t think she could know for sure unless she put her hands on him.
But the thought of touching him, or allowing him to touch her, made her recoil. His gaze was so predatory. This couldn’t be the man who had healed her, who had talked with her so compassionately and offered her help from a well of his own painful memories.
This couldn’t be the man who had run his hands so gently down her body as he kissed her so passionately…. Could it?
If she’d been wearing the telepathy earrings, she could have asked him. But she had kept them, along with her stones, safely tucked into her pocket. Maybe they worked when they came in contact with her skin?
As she started to slip a hand into her pocket to find out, Triddick snapped, “She’s the Queen’s new musician, and you will leave her alone! Now, this is my domain, and you are not welcome here. Be off with you!”
Warrick’s interest in her shifted to a much more chilling expression. Setting one hand on the hilt of his knife, he said softly to Triddick, “One of these days you’ll snap at me one too many times, old man. And I promise you won’t like what happens next.”
The activity in the kitchen had stilled. Sid noted that all eyes were on them.
“Wow,” she said to Warrick, loud enough for everyone to hear. “How mad do you think the Queen would get if you messed with her food?”
He didn’t like that, she saw as his eyes narrowed and the expression in them flared, quick and hot. But he said nothing more. Instead, after a slow, cold look around the room, he turned on one heel and left.
Watching him leave, she muttered to Triddick, “What an asshole.”
But what if that had all been an act? Warrick was literally the only other person she had seen so far who wasn’t Light Fae.
Triddick focused his attention onto her. “Warrick is one of the Queen’s Hounds, and he’s very dangerous,” he told her in a quiet voice meant for her ears alone. “He would never dare to act in such a way if Morgan were here. You’ll stay away from him, if you know what’s good for you.”
Very dangerous, hmm? With a sinking heart, she realized that would fit with everything Robin had said to her. She didn’t want it to, but it did fit.
And who was this Morgan guy?
Just as she was about to ask Triddick, he strode away, snapping orders to his kitchen staff, and their brief moment of accord was over.
Maybe Kallah would answer some of her questions if Sid could catch her in the right mood. Or better yet, perhaps Myrrah.
Or maybe she should just keep her mouth shut, eat her food, and get back to the music hall. She mustn’t forget all these people had lived here for a long time before she showed up. They would have alliances, grudges, and motivations she couldn’t possibly know anything about.
She also mustn’t forget they were all still watching her.
More than a little rattled, she carried her meal to the music hall. On the route, she had to dodge several servants dressed in brown clothes. One stood still, eyes closed, while a whirlwind like a small tornado moved systematically back and forth over the hall floor.
As Sid stared, dirt was sucked into the whirlwind, and she remembered what Kallah had said about the castle getting cleaned by magic. Even the house cleaners had a generous amount of magic.
After watching for a few moments, she slipped past the worker and hurried on to the music hall. After she ate, she got back to work.
She hadn’t slept enough. She still felt draggy and hungover, but years of discipline had taught her a long time ago how to keep going.
Besides, she could sleep when she was dead.
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.
Looking up, she was about to apologize, when she froze, staring.
The man was obviously human, or at least humanlike, with dark hair, a weathered, cynical face, and wolfish eyes. He had a powerful build and wore leather armor, along with a knife and a sword.
As he ran his gaze down her figure, cold interest glittered in his eyes. “Well, well,” he said. “What delicious tidbit do we have here?”
From behind her, Triddick snapped, “She is not for the likes of you, Warrick.”
“I’ll be the judge of what should be for the likes of me,” the man named Warrick replied in a soft growl while he showed hard, white teeth in a semblance of a smile. “What’s your name, precious? And where can I find you?”
As she listened to the exchange between the two men, her stomach tightened. Heart hammering, she searched Warrick’s cold gaze for any hint that he might be her Magic Man. He seemed to be the right size and build, although she didn’t think she could know for sure unless she put her hands on him.
But the thought of touching him, or allowing him to touch her, made her recoil. His gaze was so predatory. This couldn’t be the man who had healed her, who had talked with her so compassionately and offered her help from a well of his own painful memories.
This couldn’t be the man who had run his hands so gently down her body as he kissed her so passionately…. Could it?
If she’d been wearing the telepathy earrings, she could have asked him. But she had kept them, along with her stones, safely tucked into her pocket. Maybe they worked when they came in contact with her skin?
As she started to slip a hand into her pocket to find out, Triddick snapped, “She’s the Queen’s new musician, and you will leave her alone! Now, this is my domain, and you are not welcome here. Be off with you!”
Warrick’s interest in her shifted to a much more chilling expression. Setting one hand on the hilt of his knife, he said softly to Triddick, “One of these days you’ll snap at me one too many times, old man. And I promise you won’t like what happens next.”
The activity in the kitchen had stilled. Sid noted that all eyes were on them.
“Wow,” she said to Warrick, loud enough for everyone to hear. “How mad do you think the Queen would get if you messed with her food?”
He didn’t like that, she saw as his eyes narrowed and the expression in them flared, quick and hot. But he said nothing more. Instead, after a slow, cold look around the room, he turned on one heel and left.
Watching him leave, she muttered to Triddick, “What an asshole.”
But what if that had all been an act? Warrick was literally the only other person she had seen so far who wasn’t Light Fae.
Triddick focused his attention onto her. “Warrick is one of the Queen’s Hounds, and he’s very dangerous,” he told her in a quiet voice meant for her ears alone. “He would never dare to act in such a way if Morgan were here. You’ll stay away from him, if you know what’s good for you.”
Very dangerous, hmm? With a sinking heart, she realized that would fit with everything Robin had said to her. She didn’t want it to, but it did fit.
And who was this Morgan guy?
Just as she was about to ask Triddick, he strode away, snapping orders to his kitchen staff, and their brief moment of accord was over.
Maybe Kallah would answer some of her questions if Sid could catch her in the right mood. Or better yet, perhaps Myrrah.
Or maybe she should just keep her mouth shut, eat her food, and get back to the music hall. She mustn’t forget all these people had lived here for a long time before she showed up. They would have alliances, grudges, and motivations she couldn’t possibly know anything about.
She also mustn’t forget they were all still watching her.
More than a little rattled, she carried her meal to the music hall. On the route, she had to dodge several servants dressed in brown clothes. One stood still, eyes closed, while a whirlwind like a small tornado moved systematically back and forth over the hall floor.
As Sid stared, dirt was sucked into the whirlwind, and she remembered what Kallah had said about the castle getting cleaned by magic. Even the house cleaners had a generous amount of magic.
After watching for a few moments, she slipped past the worker and hurried on to the music hall. After she ate, she got back to work.
She hadn’t slept enough. She still felt draggy and hungover, but years of discipline had taught her a long time ago how to keep going.
Besides, she could sleep when she was dead.
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.
