Spellbinder

by Harrison, Thea

  An edge entered Isabeau’s voice. “But—what—now?”

  She simply didn’t have it in her to act servile any longer. Sitting back on her heels, Sid looked up at the Queen and said bluntly, “If you want me to play something for you tonight, I will do my very best, and all the passion of my heart will be in it. But if you give me at least until tomorrow, the music will be much, much better. My hands might be healed, but I’ve lost the conditioning in my fingers, and I haven’t played anything since before the injury.” Thinking back over everything her benefactor had said about Isabeau, she added, “You wouldn’t race a horse directly after it was hurt, would you? The horse couldn’t possibly win, and you would just injure it again.”

  Comparing herself to an animal must have hit the right chord, because the irritation in Isabeau’s expression faded somewhat. “I suppose you have a point.”

  Watching her carefully, Sid added, “Trust me, it will be worth the wait.”

  “Oh, very well.” Isabeau raised one perfect blond eyebrow. “You have three days. I will expect something spectacular from you then, and if it isn’t, what was healed can be rebroken, and there’s always your cell waiting for you down below. Now, I’m done with this.” She snapped her fingers, and a plain-featured, elegantly dressed woman appeared. “Kallah, see this creature gets everything she needs and bring her to me on the evening of the third day.”

  “Of course, your majesty,” Kallah murmured.

  As Isabeau paused to glance at Sid one last time, a gleam entered her eyes. She added, “And cut off that dark hair. It offends me.”

  Just when Sid thought she couldn’t be outraged or shocked any further, something else happened. Rage raced through her like a flash fire. As it passed, it left her shaking.

  There was no reason whatsoever for Isabeau to have ordered her hair cut. It was a mean, petty cruelty, and a display of absolute power.

  Gazing unblinkingly into the Queen’s eyes, she said mentally, After I play my heart out for you, I will find a way to destroy you. I don’t know when, and I certainly don’t know how. But I buried my mom and dad when they died in a plane crash. I graduated top of my class with a master’s in music from one of the most demanding and competitive schools in the world. I’m a successful musician, business woman, and multimillionaire, and if I could find a way to do all that, I can find a way to do this too.

  The thought made her happy. She gave Isabeau a small, wry smile of acquiescence and bowed her head, while Kallah said, “As you wish. Come along, human.”

  With every appearance of meekness, Sid did as she was told, and as she followed the Light Fae woman back indoors, she got the unsettling impression of the castle swallowing her whole.

  Kallah led her through the immense maze, past the kitchens to an area where both the halls and rooms were rough, plain stone. She stopped at a small room at the end of a hallway. The Light Fae woman said, “These are the servants’ quarters, and this will be your room for the time being. Did you memorize the way we took to get here?”

  “I think so,” Sid replied as she took in the details of the room.

  There weren’t many. It was furnished with a narrow bed, a simple table with some kind of lamp, and what looked like a plain wardrobe. There was a small window as well, with a wooden shutter.

  But the bed had a real mattress, the lamp itself was a miracle, and the window.

  There would be light and fresh air. She felt the impulse to cry from sheer relief but reined it in. She refused to show any weakness to the composed, elegant woman who stood watching her so closely.

  “Good,” Kallah said. “I don’t want to have to show you the way again. Follow me.”

  She led Sid to the servants’ bathrooms and left her to wash. The rooms were clearly communal, with large pools and spouts of continually running water, so Sid did so quickly, dipping into a wooden bowl filled with soft, unscented soap to scrub her body, face, and hair.

  She rinsed in cold water that poured out of one spout. It was icy cold and she was soon shivering, but she was in no mood to complain. She was truly clean for the first time since she could remember. Having nothing else, she used her dirty hoodie to dry off. She had just pulled on her jeans, T-shirt, and shoes when Kallah appeared again, carrying a thick pile of what looked like folded laundry.

  She followed Kallah back to her room, and Kallah set her load on the bed. A pair of scissors lay on the top of the pile. “Here is bedding, a drying cloth for future baths, and clothes. You have two outfits, a dress, and a tunic and trousers. Look after these things and keep them clean. It’s easy to do, since the fabric has been spelled. All you need to do is rinse them.”

  She raised her eyebrows, intrigued. “Does that include the blanket?”

  “Yes. The water will run off the fabric and rinse away any dirt. If you ruin your blanket or your clothes, you’ll have to account for your things to the laundry mistress. She doesn’t take kindly to people who make unnecessary work for her, do you understand? And I won’t take it kindly if people come to me to complain about you.”

  “I understand,” Sid told her.

  Kallah assessed her with a cautious gaze. “Good. Now as soon as you change out of those horrible clothes, I’ll cut your hair. Then I’ll show you to the music hall so you can get started.”

  Setting her jaw, Sid did as she was told. Both her new outfits were a nondescript brown, so she chose the dress and the leather slippers. She wasn’t quite sure how such a plain dress could be so ugly, but she couldn’t care less what it looked like. It was clean, and while the slippers were used, they fit well enough to stay on her feet.

  When she folded up her dirty Earth outfit, surreptitiously she slipped her hand into her jeans pocket and scooped out her twenty-one pebbles. As she transferred them to the pocket of her dress, Kallah held her hands out. “Give me those clothes.”

  This time it was Sid who gave her a narrow-eyed glance. “Why?”

  Kallah’s nostrils curled in disgust. “They’re disgusting. I’m going to have them burned.”

  Rage flashed through Sid’s body again. Filthy as they were, the jeans, T-shirt, shoes, and underwear were the only things she had in this place that were truly her own.

  She wanted to lash out so badly it left her shaking again, but now was not the time to show a rebellious streak. She had barely gotten herself out of prison.

  When she felt she could speak calmly, she dropped the pile of clothes in one corner of the room while she suggested, “Why don’t you leave that to me? I can take care of it later. The sooner you cut my hair and show me to some musical instruments, the sooner I can start practicing, and you can get on with your regular duties.”

  There was a brief hesitation while Kallah thought that over. Then the Light Fae woman shrugged and picked up the scissors. “Very well. Sit down.”

  As Sid perched on the corner of the bed, Kallah cut off her shoulder-length hair.

  She’d already had her moment of outrage. Now she felt unmoved as she watched the long, silken black strands fall to the floor. Isabeau had meant the order as an assault on her autonomy, but Sid wasn’t going to let her have the victory. What happened to her hair was the least important thing about all this. It would grow back soon enough if she wanted it to.

  Kallah didn’t spare an extra inch but snipped the hair as close to her scalp as she could. When she was finished, Sid ran her fingers through the short length. She’d worn her hair short before, and remembered how much she had liked the sensation as it lay against the curve of her scalp. Shorter haircuts highlighted her best features, making her eyes seem larger while accentuating her cheekbones, the shape of her mouth, and her neck.

  As she looked up, she caught Kallah staring at her with an odd expression. Sid didn’t know the other woman, but if she had to guess, Kallah looked troubled, almost pitying.

  “What is it?” Sid asked. “Aren’t you done?”

  “I don’t think her majesty will be quite as pleased with this new look as she th
inks she will,” Kallah murmured.

  Oh, for crying out loud.

  “Why not?” Sid demanded. “She said she wanted it gone, and you followed her orders to the letter. You barely left anything for me to run my fingers through.”

  Kallah’s expression closed. “Never mind. Yes, I am done. You will clean this up later when you burn your clothes. Most of the castle is cleaned with magic, but the servants’ rooms are their own responsibility.”

  The castle was cleaned by magic? But they couldn’t manage to share any of that with the servants?

  Exasperated, Sid said, “Fine.”

  Standing, she shook her dress to rid herself of the last of the loose hair and brushed off the back of her neck. When she was finished, Kallah led her back to the richer part of the castle.

  “Remember this route, human,” Kallah said. “For the next few days, you will either be in the music hall or in your room. You will take your meals in the servants’ quarters. I do not expect to hear reports of you going anywhere else, do you hear? You have been granted leave from prison to do this one thing. Don’t waste the opportunity.”

  “I understand,” she muttered grimly. She hadn’t won her way out of that prison cell yet. She had only won the chance to try to stay out of prison. “Believe me, I have no intention of doing anything but getting ready for my next audience with the Queen.”

  “As you should.”

  Kallah stopped at tall double doors made of rich, polished wood. Opening one door, she stood back to let Sid step inside.

  Stepping into the music hall, Sid’s curious gaze ran over the room. Horror blindsided her, followed by a flash of panic.

  The door settled into place behind her. Kallah hadn’t bothered to step inside the room. Instead, Sid could hear the rapid click of footsteps fading down the hall as the Light Fae woman left her to her fate.

  The richness of the music hall revealed just how much music meant to the Queen. The space was large and beautiful, decorated with paintings, intricate tapestries, and bookshelves, and what looked like crystal globes attached to the walls in iron sconces.

  Tall windows let in copious amounts of light, and there was comfortable furniture grouped around a large fireplace—couches and chairs, and a table strewn with parchment paper, inkwells, and pens. There was a variety of musical instruments set on wooden stands—tall, stately floor harps, lap harps and lyres, flutes, dulcimers, and lutes.

  Sid’s primary instrument was the violin. That was her performance instrument, her area of expertise, the one she knew she could always pick up and create a soaring crescendo of music. She was also quite comfortable playing a viola, a cello, a guitar, and she did a lot of her composing on a piano.

  Her confidence had been built on a lifetime of study, practice, testing, and performance. It had been built from a very early age, when her mother had forced her to practice, whether she wanted to or not, and had stood over her to make sure it happened. Then she had discovered she loved music and practiced of her own accord, while her parents showered her with praise and encouragement.

  It had never occurred to her to question her own proficiency, or what kinds of music the Light Fae Queen might prefer, because she had an entire library of music living in her head.

  Aside from her own burgeoning body of original work, she knew whole concertos by Bach, Brahms, Saint-Saëns, Vivaldi, Mendelssohn, Tchaikovsky, Beethoven, Paganini, and Mozart by heart. She also knew pop and jazz, and could make her violin weep when she played the blues.

  But she had never once played any of the instruments sitting in Isabeau’s music hall.

  Moving like a sleepwalker, she went to one of the couches, sat, and put her face in her hands as she breathed, “I am so fucked.”

  * * *

  After returning to the cottage to drop off the supplies, Morgan went on the hunt to find the source of the scent that by all rights shouldn’t have been at the night market and yet had been.

  He knew that meant the scent would be elsewhere as well, its source delving into places it shouldn’t be, snooping and spying. Causing dangerous mischief without regard to consequences. Hurting innocent people.

  He ignored the moon’s passage across the heavens and the approaching dawn. His sole focus was on catching his prey.

  He caught the scent again two miles outside the city. The source had hidden its trail with a lavish array of cloaking spells and spells of aversion, but Morgan was the better sorcerer. He shredded those spells like they were so much tissue paper.

  Finally he came upon a cold camp hidden in a dense thicket of trees and overgrown foliage. No fire ring or woodsmoke gave the location away. It was how Morgan would camp if he wanted to keep his presence a secret.

  The camp appeared to be empty, but his sharp, inhuman gaze caught the subtle, stealthy slither of a snake slipping away in the underbrush.

  Gathering himself into a lunge, he caught the snake by its tail. Hissing, it whipped around and would have bitten him, except he grabbed it by the throat. The snake’s body heaved and bucked in his hands, and changed, and suddenly he clutched a lion by the throat. It roared in his face and thrust its powerful body forward for the kill.

  Twisting his whole body in a way that made the wound in his side flare with fresh fire, Morgan lifted the lion bodily in the air and slammed it on the ground. Magic flared, a quick, desperate spell of corrosion. Morgan jerked his head back and rapped out a dissipation spell, while the lion melted away underneath his hands, and in its place, he held an alligator with a long, wicked snout filled with razor teeth.

  The alligator twisted to snap at his legs. With another whole-body twist, he flipped onto its back, wrapped an arm around its neck, and locked it in place with his other arm. As he began to squeeze, he gasped out a null spell.

  Silence fell over the scene, punctuated by the alligator scrabbling at the earth, mouth gaping, while both bodies strained. “Give in before I snap your neck,” Morgan growled. “I’ll do it.”

  As he spoke, he felt the null spell dissipate. Before his adversary could attack again with more spells, Morgan spun quick threads of Power around him, binding his adversary’s magic to himself.

  Suddenly the alligator’s body collapsed and melted away, and in its place, Morgan held a slim, wiry body roughly the size of a teenage human boy’s, only this was no human teenager. It was something older and much more dangerous.

  Letting out a wail filled with equal parts rage and despair, it gave up the struggle. Once again, Morgan had captured Robin the puck.

  Chapter Ten

  Panting, Morgan relaxed his hold, rolled off the puck’s back, and came stiffly to his feet. Fresh wetness seeped into the bandages covering the wound in his side. He’d broken it open again. He pressed the heel of one hand against it.

  At this rate, he would never heal, and actually, he was okay with that. The longer he could go between stabbings, the longer he could stave off that final, inevitable choice, and the more time he might have to find a way to break free from Isabeau.

  As his weight lifted, Robin curled into a ball, both fisted hands pressed against his head in impotent rage. With his magic bound, the puck was no physical match for Morgan. Morgan was faster and stronger. If the puck tried to run, Morgan would only catch him again.

  He asked hoarsely, “What are you doing here? Are you suicidal? You do know the Queen has ordered me to find you and bring you back to her.”

  Robin lifted his feral face. The glow from the waning moon lit his gaze as he hissed, “And you always do what your mistress wants, just like the dog you have become.”

  The insult rolled off Morgan’s shoulders. He’d heard much worse. He considered binding the puck physically but was suddenly so fed up, he didn’t bother.

  “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you and be done with it,” he snapped.

  Robin’s thin, feral expression shifted. Suddenly he looked lost. “I can’t,” the puck keened. “I can’t give you one good reason. She’ll bind me with
the burning rope again and make me do things I don’t want to do.”

  In a burst of exasperation, Morgan bent down, grabbed the puck by his jacket, and hauled him to his feet. He roared, “Why her?”

  “Tell me the Queen doesn’t want to kill my Sophie.” Robin’s face clenched. “Tell me that one thing, sorcerer, and make me believe it.”

  A heartbeat went by, then another. Morgan could feel his pulse thudding in his clenched fists. “You know I can’t tell you that.”

  Bitterness laced the puck’s voice. “And you would do it, wouldn’t you?”

  “If she gives me a direct order to do so, yes, I will.”

  “Yet you still wonder why I have done what I have done?” A touch of sly cunning flashed in Robin’s moonlit gaze. “The musician makes you want to disobey, doesn’t she? She may be the only thing that can. Isabeau will hurt her and hurt her, the way she hurt me, unless you stop it. Her fate is your choice, sorcerer.”

  “You fool!” he spat. The impulse to violence took over, and he shook Robin. “You have no idea what you’ve done. You have no clue what is really going on.”

  The puck laughed. “No? I know enough. Once, you were a kingmaker, and what a king he was. He was your best, brightest work, the most brilliant star in the night sky.”

  Morgan went somewhere inside that was darker than the underground prison, undershot with red. He spat out, “You’re not fit to say his name.”

  “Neither are you, anymore,” Robin said simply. “Now you’re just Morgan le Fae. A man without a real home or conscience, a man known only for his association with a people who are not his own. Why did you turn against him the way you did?”

  “I never did,” he whispered.

  The ache of that never lessened, never went away. Over the centuries, he had grown to live around the ache. That was all.

  “But you must have. You abandoned him. He went to war, and he lost, and you did nothing to stop it or save him. What did she offer you that meant that much? How did you stop caring for a boy you raised to be both man and monarch, a boy you raised as if he were your own son?”