Spellbinder
Page 51
He needed to travel to the Louvre while he still had the freedom to do so, to consult the Elven book. But he didn’t dare leave Sidonie while her fate was so precarious. Perhaps he could slip away after her audience with the Queen, although he scowled to consider that.
He hated the thought of leaving her, period. She didn’t know her way here at court, and she was vulnerable to the vipers that had manipulated their way to positions of power.
One step at a time. One obstacle at a time.
For now, the next step was getting through tomorrow evening.
Restless after a day of physical inactivity, that evening he prowled around the neighboring hills to see if he could catch the scent of the puck, but either Robin had decided to go back to Earth or after their confrontation he had grown stealthier, and Morgan didn’t find any hint of his presence.
Distrustful of such a clear and open lack of evidence, Morgan returned to his cottage, where he tended to his wound and rewrapped it and doused himself with more of the hunter’s spray.
This time when he slipped down to the night market, the need was not so urgent to steal food. Sidonie would be fed, at least until tomorrow evening, and he wasn’t hungry.
This time he was interested in information.
Cloaking himself tightly as always, he threaded his way like a ghost through the crowded streets and the lantern-lit stalls. At Gardin the cloth merchant’s stall, he heard Sidonie’s name and paused, his attention sharpening.
“I heard this human named Sid found her way to court to petition the Queen for an audience,” Gardin told the noblewoman who fingered a length of damask silk as she listened.
Morgan knew the noblewoman, Freya, who was a notorious gossip. Freya leaned close, her eyes avid. “The music master will not be pleased when he returns to discover his hall has been invaded by a human upstart,” she told Gardin.
The cloth merchant shrugged. “Eh, Olwen has nothing to worry about. No human musician, no matter how ambitious, can possibly hope to supplant a master Light Fae musician who has been working at perfecting his craft for centuries.”
“True,” Freya agreed. “If this woman is hoping to find a position at court, I’m sure she will be sorely disappointed.”
Morgan suppressed a derisive snort. Sidonie’s talent was light-years beyond Olwen’s. Once they overcame the hurdle of tomorrow evening’s audience, if she wanted, she could ascend rapidly in favor to become a true power at court in her own right.
Not that she would care about any of that. She only wanted to return to her rightful life.
“I’ll wager you she’ll be sent packing before tomorrow evening is out,” Gardin declared.
Freya laughed. “I’m sure you’re right.”
The pair knew nothing. The only thing of note in the conversation was that news of Sidonie’s presence and her upcoming audience with Isabeau had reached town. Morgan moved on.
Rounding a corner, he stopped dead. Not six feet away, three Hounds had gathered in front of Zacharias’s stall. Zacharias sold pints of dark, yeasty beer, fried meats, boiled eggs, and fish and potatoes. The three men sat at a rough plank, eating and drinking.
Warrick, Johan, and Harrow. They would have led the hunt for Morgan, back to Earth. If they had returned to Avalon, that meant the other Hounds would be returning as well, and that meant sneaking around the castle and town just became a lot harder.
He was also running low on the hunter’s spray. Whether he decided to travel to the Louvre or not, he needed to make a quick trip to Earth for more. With the Hounds returning, he needed the spray now more than ever.
Morgan tightened his cloaking spell until it lay against his skin like a heavy, hot layer of rubber, blocking everything else out, even the slightest breeze. He wanted very badly to step forward to eavesdrop on the other men’s conversation. But if anyone might say in passing the words that could activate his geas, it was those three.
And he didn’t dare hire someone else to eavesdrop for him. Not knowing the triggers to avoid, they would simply repeat what the other men said, and he would still be trapped. Simmering with frustration, he backed away and left the night market altogether.
It was time to move on and see how Sidonie had fared with her day.
On his way out, he stopped by the honey merchant to steal a piece of honeycomb. After he sucked the sweetness of the honey out of the comb, he would have wax he could use to stop his ears.
He stopped just long enough to suck on the honeycomb, savoring the rich, golden sweetness as he chewed the wax until it was soft and pliable enough he could mold it into earplugs. Then he made his way through the castle.
It was harder this time. Before, he had stolen through in the middle of the night. Now, it was earlier in the evening, all the witchlights were aglow, and more people were awake and about. Also he had to concentrate on using his magical senses to avoid detection, not his hearing.
Finally he reached the doors of the music hall, only to discover the hall was dark and empty. Sidonie wasn’t there.
Growling under his breath, he went on the hunt to find her. Her scent was clear and easy to follow. It led back to the servants’ quarters. That area was much darker than the rest of the castle, as most of the sensible, hardworking servants were already in bed.
One room had candlelight glowing from the crack at the bottom of the door. Candlelight, not the cooler glow of a witchlight.
The area outside that room also smelled like Sidonie. Pausing outside the door, he said telepathically, I’m here. Douse your candle.
For a moment, he wasn’t sure if he had made a telepathic connection, and he pulled the wax from his ears so he could hear what was happening on the other side of the door.
Then, cautiously, she asked, What if I don’t want to?
Frustrated again, he rubbed his face. Part of him wanted to shove through that door and take her into his arms, but the other part held back. We’ve already talked about this more than once. You know it’s not safe.
Not safe for whom? she asked. Her telepathic voice sounded tense. Me or you?
The tension could have been due to her discomfort at the new use of telepathy, but he thought he had grown to know her better than that. He replied quietly, Not safe for either of us. What’s wrong?
I’m no longer comfortable with our arrangement, she whispered.
Why? he demanded. Had she discovered who he was? The urge to storm through that door was getting stronger. What’s happened?
Are you Warrick? she asked.
He hated the thought of leaving her, period. She didn’t know her way here at court, and she was vulnerable to the vipers that had manipulated their way to positions of power.
One step at a time. One obstacle at a time.
For now, the next step was getting through tomorrow evening.
Restless after a day of physical inactivity, that evening he prowled around the neighboring hills to see if he could catch the scent of the puck, but either Robin had decided to go back to Earth or after their confrontation he had grown stealthier, and Morgan didn’t find any hint of his presence.
Distrustful of such a clear and open lack of evidence, Morgan returned to his cottage, where he tended to his wound and rewrapped it and doused himself with more of the hunter’s spray.
This time when he slipped down to the night market, the need was not so urgent to steal food. Sidonie would be fed, at least until tomorrow evening, and he wasn’t hungry.
This time he was interested in information.
Cloaking himself tightly as always, he threaded his way like a ghost through the crowded streets and the lantern-lit stalls. At Gardin the cloth merchant’s stall, he heard Sidonie’s name and paused, his attention sharpening.
“I heard this human named Sid found her way to court to petition the Queen for an audience,” Gardin told the noblewoman who fingered a length of damask silk as she listened.
Morgan knew the noblewoman, Freya, who was a notorious gossip. Freya leaned close, her eyes avid. “The music master will not be pleased when he returns to discover his hall has been invaded by a human upstart,” she told Gardin.
The cloth merchant shrugged. “Eh, Olwen has nothing to worry about. No human musician, no matter how ambitious, can possibly hope to supplant a master Light Fae musician who has been working at perfecting his craft for centuries.”
“True,” Freya agreed. “If this woman is hoping to find a position at court, I’m sure she will be sorely disappointed.”
Morgan suppressed a derisive snort. Sidonie’s talent was light-years beyond Olwen’s. Once they overcame the hurdle of tomorrow evening’s audience, if she wanted, she could ascend rapidly in favor to become a true power at court in her own right.
Not that she would care about any of that. She only wanted to return to her rightful life.
“I’ll wager you she’ll be sent packing before tomorrow evening is out,” Gardin declared.
Freya laughed. “I’m sure you’re right.”
The pair knew nothing. The only thing of note in the conversation was that news of Sidonie’s presence and her upcoming audience with Isabeau had reached town. Morgan moved on.
Rounding a corner, he stopped dead. Not six feet away, three Hounds had gathered in front of Zacharias’s stall. Zacharias sold pints of dark, yeasty beer, fried meats, boiled eggs, and fish and potatoes. The three men sat at a rough plank, eating and drinking.
Warrick, Johan, and Harrow. They would have led the hunt for Morgan, back to Earth. If they had returned to Avalon, that meant the other Hounds would be returning as well, and that meant sneaking around the castle and town just became a lot harder.
He was also running low on the hunter’s spray. Whether he decided to travel to the Louvre or not, he needed to make a quick trip to Earth for more. With the Hounds returning, he needed the spray now more than ever.
Morgan tightened his cloaking spell until it lay against his skin like a heavy, hot layer of rubber, blocking everything else out, even the slightest breeze. He wanted very badly to step forward to eavesdrop on the other men’s conversation. But if anyone might say in passing the words that could activate his geas, it was those three.
And he didn’t dare hire someone else to eavesdrop for him. Not knowing the triggers to avoid, they would simply repeat what the other men said, and he would still be trapped. Simmering with frustration, he backed away and left the night market altogether.
It was time to move on and see how Sidonie had fared with her day.
On his way out, he stopped by the honey merchant to steal a piece of honeycomb. After he sucked the sweetness of the honey out of the comb, he would have wax he could use to stop his ears.
He stopped just long enough to suck on the honeycomb, savoring the rich, golden sweetness as he chewed the wax until it was soft and pliable enough he could mold it into earplugs. Then he made his way through the castle.
It was harder this time. Before, he had stolen through in the middle of the night. Now, it was earlier in the evening, all the witchlights were aglow, and more people were awake and about. Also he had to concentrate on using his magical senses to avoid detection, not his hearing.
Finally he reached the doors of the music hall, only to discover the hall was dark and empty. Sidonie wasn’t there.
Growling under his breath, he went on the hunt to find her. Her scent was clear and easy to follow. It led back to the servants’ quarters. That area was much darker than the rest of the castle, as most of the sensible, hardworking servants were already in bed.
One room had candlelight glowing from the crack at the bottom of the door. Candlelight, not the cooler glow of a witchlight.
The area outside that room also smelled like Sidonie. Pausing outside the door, he said telepathically, I’m here. Douse your candle.
For a moment, he wasn’t sure if he had made a telepathic connection, and he pulled the wax from his ears so he could hear what was happening on the other side of the door.
Then, cautiously, she asked, What if I don’t want to?
Frustrated again, he rubbed his face. Part of him wanted to shove through that door and take her into his arms, but the other part held back. We’ve already talked about this more than once. You know it’s not safe.
Not safe for whom? she asked. Her telepathic voice sounded tense. Me or you?
The tension could have been due to her discomfort at the new use of telepathy, but he thought he had grown to know her better than that. He replied quietly, Not safe for either of us. What’s wrong?
I’m no longer comfortable with our arrangement, she whispered.
Why? he demanded. Had she discovered who he was? The urge to storm through that door was getting stronger. What’s happened?
Are you Warrick? she asked.
