by Jane Kindred
I smiled at my foolishness and at Sven’s predictability. “Yes,” I called softly. “I’m awake. Come in.”
He opened the door and peered around it with a grin that combined an uncharacteristic shyness with lasciviousness. “Thought you might want a little company. Imagine it’s been a bit of a dry spell for you in that hospital.”
“It has indeed.” I drew back the covers in invitation and Sven closed the door, pushing it softly until the latch just caught, and came to join me.
He wrapped me in his arms and held me in a bear hug. “Ah, Sly, I’ve missed you. You manage to smell like that damn violet perfume of false-August’s even now after being stuck in that medicinal-smelling ward.”
“I did shower with real-August’s shampoo an hour ago.”
Sven laughed. “That must be it. Didn’t think it was your ass. Though it’s certainly a sweet one. I’ve missed it too.”
I slapped his arm as he slid it around my hip to grope my bum. “I think you’ve missed that most. So what do you plan to bargain in return?” I joked.
“It’s like that, is it?”
I grinned up at him in the dark. “Oh yes. It’s like that.”
“Well, let me think. Can’t offer you room and board. August has that covered. And I don’t mind telling you, she near scared me out of my wits showing up in Cantre’r Gwaelod looking like you, only curvier, after I was certain you must be dead.”
“August was in Cantre’r Gwaelod?”
“Came looking for me after she’d found out where Emrys had you. When I heard where you were, of course I had to come. Couldn’t leave you to that bastard Emrys treating you like a medical experiment.”
This was a development I hadn’t figured on: after all her machinations, August had risked going bodily to Cantre’r Gwaelod once more—not for herself or for the greater good of the magic source she was sworn to protect, but to bring back my only friend to help rescue me.
A twinkle in Sven’s eyes dispelled the serious moment. “Was getting a bit tired of a world without flush toilets and hot running water, to be perfectly honest. Only came along to get out of Thievesward.”
I pushed his arm, and he grinned.
“And maybe to get a bit of this.” He emphasized the words with a firm hip gyration against mine, demonstrating his ever-willing state of arousal.
Sven was never one for kissing or anything that might be mistaken for more than just taking mutual pleasure in one another. I’d forgotten, and I tried to kiss his neck, but Sven rolled me over in a manner I had once found highly arousing and started to undress me.
“Got any lube?” he murmured—the extent of his foreplay.
I was hard and aching for sexual release, but I didn’t want it like this. I’d tasted more with Macsen, never knowing until him that it could be such an expression of need and desire for the person himself, not simply the act.
Sven had found the oil on my nightstand, and he reached for it while stroking a finger along my cleft, but I put my hand on his wrist before he could bring the bottle to the bed.
“Sven. I can’t.”
He leaned back on his heels as I turned onto my back to face him, his expression a mixture of puzzled and angry as he let the bottle drop back onto the stand. “They hurt you, Sly?”
“No, it’s nothing like that. I just…I can’t explain.”
“But you want it?” He was clearly confused, glancing down at my very interested prick.
“I want it, but…not like this. Not anymore. I thought I did, but I guess I need something more.”
His expression went sober, and he nodded, looking a little sad as he tucked me back into my pajama pants. “You need that pompous ass that’s caused you so much trouble. I saw it in your eyes that morning when we fled Llys Mawr.” He shook his head and adjusted himself with regret. “He doesn’t deserve you, Sly.”
“No, he doesn’t,” I agreed. Macsen obviously wanted to be lord of Cantre’r Gwaelod more than he wanted me. It didn’t stop me from wanting him anyway.
Chapter Thirty-One: Macsen
It took longer to travel through the catacombs lately, but he refused to let the limp keep him tethered where Emrys wanted him. Even though Emrys wasn’t here, Macsen still felt his oppressive presence. Every policy Emrys had enacted as the real lord of Cantre’r Gwaelod while Macsen played his puppet defined his actions even in the absence of the true author of the policies. He could hardly make a sudden about-face and claim he’d changed his mind about everything he’d ever decreed. Cantre’r Gwaelod was used to perceiving him as a despot. Instead, he let them imagine he was cruel and greedy, as Emrys had made him appear, and resurrected the Water Thief.
Macsen drew the bandanna back from his forehead and tucked it into his pocket before coming up through the cellar. No one questioned him for entering this way, and no one questioned the fact that his clothing was damp. He was the lord of Cantre’r Gwaelod. Of course, he could no longer call the water to him without Sebastian’s magic, but he could knock out the sluice gates that kept the water where Emrys hoarded it and let it flow back on its original path.
He didn’t do it all at once, which would be suspicious. He waited for news of a break to reach him, and then pretended to rage about it, making a show of threatening those who benefited from it. But instead of descending on his tenants with swift justice as Emrys would have, he let himself seem to be all bluster, with little backbone to enforce his own edicts. Though on occasion, he would stop up a freed waterway once more and make it seem he’d found the source of the breach, only to breach it once more himself as the Water Thief. It was a bit pathetic, he supposed, but it gave him something to do. Something to think about besides Sebastian being gone.
“Well, if it isn’t the earl himself.”
Macsen drew up short as he crossed through the library on the way to his room. Emrys was seated in the overstuffed chair by the fire.
Emrys smiled. “Been for a swim?”
Macsen managed to keep his composure. “I thought you were staying in Cardiff.”
“And I thought you had balls.”
“You mean like you? Poisoning and assaulting a defenseless young man nightly?”
Emrys’s smile swiftly disappeared, and he stood with murder in his eyes. “Your vile slander notwithstanding, I’d like an explanation for what’s been going on in Cantre’r Gwaelod in my absence. I saw no less than four sluice gates out of commission as I rode in from the shore.”
Macsen flicked his brows upward in a gesture of casual disinterest. “The Water Thief has been busy. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have estate business to attend to.” He moved to pass Emrys, but the older man grabbed his arm in a vise grip.
“Your business is the water stores of Cantre’r Gwaelod. I want an accounting. Earl or not, you are accountable to your elders. You will ride with me out to the perimeter and assess the damage. Now.”
Macsen met his gaze and held it for a long moment, his eyes promising that Emrys would meet with fierce resistance if he intended to assert his usual methods of control. Now that Sebastian was gone, Emrys had nothing to threaten him with that would keep him in line, and if Emrys tried violence, he would receive more than he gave. But there was no use in engaging in such violence here.
He pulled his arm away with a firm yank and waved toward the garden exit. “After you, Lord Pryce.”
Emrys gave him a curt nod and headed out, not looking back as he made his way to the stables, ever confident his word would be obeyed.
* * * * *
They rode over the moorland toward the reservoir, where the artificial channels Emrys had put in place to manage the water converged. As the wetlands grew boggier, they dismounted, continuing on foot in their high, waterproof boots until they’d reached the first broken gate on a channel that was currently sending water burbling toward one of the previously dried up wells.
>
Emrys kicked at the splintered wood. “Why has this not been repaired?”
Macsen folded his arms and stared him down. “Why the hell do you think?”
“Don’t be impertinent.”
“I’m the damned lord of Cantre’r Gwaelod. I’ll speak as I please. And I am also the Water Thief. But I believe you know that, don’t you, Emrys?”
Emrys’s expression went dark. “You would vandalize your own property? Destroy the fair delivery of water I’ve spent years erecting?”
“What’s it to you? Why the hell are you here instead of exploiting Sebastian’s remaining power in the upper realms? What’s the matter? Run out of stock?”
“Despite your foolish tantrum, I’ve managed a considerable replenishment. Enough to put my original plan into practice.”
Macsen was taken aback. Had Emrys discovered August and begun harvesting from her? “How? Sebastian’s dead.”
“He is now.” Emrys produced a bitter smile. “Until a few weeks ago, he was in my possession. I had him on a round-the-clock schedule of extraction and took four and five times in a session what I had been able to in Cantre’r Gwaelod.”
Macsen clenched his fists at his sides. “You son of a bitch. You lied?”
“It seemed the best way to keep you focused on your duties.”
“You mean the best way to keep me from stopping you.”
Emrys shrugged. “See it how you will. You’d never have tried. But it’s a moot point now. The little fool managed to overdose on his medication and kill himself.”
Macsen’s abdominal muscles contracted sharply as if he’d been kicked in the gut. He’d grieved Sebastian’s death all these months, but to realize what a fool he’d been to believe Emrys—to have left Sebastian to more torment at Emrys’s hands—and that he’d truly lost him now… Something in him snapped.
He’d been afraid of Emrys all his life, a cowering child, and had never lifted a hand against his father in his own defense. In one swift motion, he put the child behind him. Emrys spun to the damp ground in surprise at the impact of Macsen’s fist against his jaw.
As Emrys swore and struggled to get up, Macsen thrust his heel against his father’s throat. “You miserable piece of garbage. I ought to crush your larynx and leave you to the peat. As you left August all those years ago.”
Emrys pried at the boot with both hands, struggling to speak. For the first time in Macsen’s life, he saw fear in Emrys’s eyes. A rush of rage and hatred poured through him. He wanted to end him here, to avenge Sebastian—but even more, to avenge his younger self. Except the fear that had followed him into adulthood stayed his hand—the fear that he was his father’s son after all, using violence to prove himself a man.
It took all he had to pull back his boot and not to rest his weight against the delicate bones of Emrys’s throat. Despite his resolve, he kicked Emrys in the ribs before he whirled away from him, walking blindly in the opposite direction, any direction, to get away from him.
“Coward!” Emrys scrambled to his feet, his voice hoarse as he shouted after him. “I knew you didn’t have it in you.”
Macsen walked brusquely along the path of the canal toward the coast, ignoring the ache in his leg from the mended bone, and trying to ignore the impulse to weep at the fresh loss of Sebastian. He barely heard Emrys raging behind him as he slogged through the marsh, not even aware of where he was going until he came to the edge of the cliff where the canal had spilled over before Macsen had liberated it. Emrys was coming up behind him.
Macsen turned to face him. “What the hell did you come back for? If you have new stores of magic in the upper realms, why return here? Why can’t you leave me the hell alone?”
Emrys rubbed his throat, his eyes full of malice. “I came to give you one more chance to take your place beside me in ruling the upper realms. I have enough to restore Cantre’r Gwaelod to its rightful place. But you’re clearly unworthy of such distinction. So I’ll take the water and leave you with Cantre’r Gwaelod’s dirt, since you’re so fond of it.”
“You’re not taking anything from Cantre’r Gwaelod.”
“Try to stop me.” Emrys took a vial from inside his collar, hanging on a cord about his neck. “All I need is to open a portal in the wetlands to let the water flow through.”
He removed the stopper from the vial and lifted it to his lips, preparing to take Sebastian’s essence into himself. Rage exploded in Macsen’s head, and he lunged for the vial. His hand closed around it, but Emrys fought him, both of them yanking at the cord that held it. He felt the glass shatter against his palm, and Emrys stared down at the dripping shards in disbelief as Macsen opened his hand.
With his eyes red with fury, Emrys swung out at him, and Macsen stepped to the side automatically to avoid his fist. Emrys’s momentum propelled him forward, and he stumbled, for one shocked moment teetering at the cliff’s edge. And then he was gone. Swallowed up by the deep of Lake Iseldir.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Despite the flawless execution of my “death”, Dafydd and August insisted I adopt an entirely new persona, just in case Emrys became suspicious and decided to look for me anyway. The cultivation of “Wyn Davies” was as much an art as becoming August had been. Wyn was taller than I was—achieved with the help of an insert in my boots—as well as fair-haired and blue-eyed. The former was accomplished with a bleach and color, while the latter was effected with a pair of plastic lenses worn directly on the cornea that changed the color of my eyes. This remarkable counterfeiting took a bit of getting used to, but the part at which I balked the most was cutting my hair short.
August insisted, and there was really no reason to resist. It was, after all, only hair. But Macsen hadn’t wanted me to cut it. In the end, I gave in, knowing it was foolish to be sentimental over something so inconsequential. What Macsen preferred was no longer an issue. He was gone.
As Jewel and Abigail had once coached me in how to walk like a woman and speak in a woman’s higher cadence, Sven and Dafydd now were my mentors in becoming more masculine. With their assistance, along with the help of a gym and a high-protein diet—and the first true beard I’d ever grown—I soon passed as what the patrons of the Eagle had termed a “real” man—the rugged masculinity they espoused as their ideal.
I hardly recognized myself when I passed a mirror. Being August had seemed far more like me than this. In truth, I looked a bit like Sven. But it was for my own safety, and August’s. And for Cantre’r Gwaelod. One could never forget Cantre’r Gwaelod. I began to appreciate what August’s life in this world had been like for the past ten years. I might not see it as the sacred duty she believed it to be, but it was a somber responsibility to know that my blood, my breath, could be used for such dark purposes. I had to be careful about how I responded to the atmospheric changes or the proximity of the ocean. It was my magic that had alerted Emrys to my presence that day on the beach with August. We could neither of us afford to let ourselves be affected by the elements.
But it was also my magic that alerted August to the arrival of someone from Cantre’r Gwaelod into this realm. And now that I was more attuned to it, I felt it when the portal opened. It could easily have been Emrys; August had sensed him crossing over to Cantre’r Gwaelod some weeks ago, so it was a reasonable assumption that he’d returned. But it wasn’t Emrys. I knew who it was the moment he arrived. I felt him.
August confirmed it with her fancy computer surveillance. “It’s not Emrys,” she said. “There’s an obituary in today’s paper. Emrys is dead.”
I tried to see what she was reading on her screen. Though I’d learned to understand it when spoken, I still wasn’t good at reading English. “Dead? How? Where does it say that?”
“‘Emrys Pryce of CG Enterprises, Limited, 10 Churchill Way, Cardiff, passed away on Sunday, 26 July 2014. He is survived by his sole heir, Macsen Finch of Cardiff.’”
> “Macsen’s listed as his heir?”
August glanced up at me. “I know. I didn’t see that coming. Emrys must have provided him with an identity long ago in order to be able to designate him as a beneficiary.”
“Which explains what you found out while Sebastian was at the asylum,” said Dafydd.
August was intent on her screen, avoiding my eyes.
“What?” I demanded. “What did you find out?”
“That Macsen lied when he said he’d only been here twice before,” said August quietly. “That Emrys hadn’t known he was here.” She looked up at last with a sad, apologetic expression. “He has a driving license and a birth certificate in his own name.”
Sven came in from the kitchen wearing a scowl as he poured himself a beer. “Told you he was no good, Sly.”
I ignored Sven. “Why is he here now?”
“He’s Emrys’s next of kin. The executor of his will. I imagine Emrys has left him CG Enterprises.” She closed the lid on her computer. “We can’t let him finish what Emrys started. He can’t be allowed to use what Emrys stole.”
Dafydd nodded. “If he’s inherited the company, he’ll be making arrangements to meet with his father’s clients, to reassure them it’s business as usual.”
I didn’t want to believe it of Macsen. But he’d stayed in Cantre’r Gwaelod to continue impersonating me after everything we’d shared, and he’d lied to me about coming here. And he was here now, if August’s computer was right, to take over the business. Why else would he come? He certainly hadn’t come for me.
“So what do we do about it?”
August shared a look with Dafydd. “You’re the only one he’s never seen.”
My blood prickled with apprehension. “What does that mean? What’s Dafydd going to do?”
“We’re going to give him a client,” said August. “See if he takes the bait.”
“And if he does?”
August sighed. “We can’t let him use your magic to keep selling Cantre’r Gwaelod’s water. We stop him. However we have to.” I’d seen her determination before. She’d been willing to kill me to fulfill her sacred duty.
