Susan Spencer Paul - [Enchanter 01]

by Touch of Night

  “I believe I’m the one who should apologize,” Niclas said, and lowered Vess and his gasping friend to the ground. “I should have dealt with these fellows more quickly, but my nights are long and I must fill them with such amusements as I find. Go on,” he said to his assailants, releasing them. “Console yourselves with the thought that as I’m no longer without aid, you necessarily had to leave me unmolested.”

  Within moments he and Malachi were alone, the sound of Vess’s and his partner’s frantic footsteps quickly fading into the night’s mist.

  “That,” said Malachi, “was most unwise. They’ll spend the rest of the night regaling their comrades with tales of your supernatural powers. You seem determined to end your days on the gallows or, worse, burned upon the stake as some of our more unfortunate ancestors were. They couldn’t resist using their powers in public, either.”

  He lifted one gloved hand palm up, upon which a small flame suddenly appeared. Moving closer, he surveyed Niclas’s attire with an expression of polite disdain. “You’re filthy,” he stated. “How long have you been out this time?”

  “It’s good to know that you follow your own advice so well, cousin. For pity’s sake, put your blasted fire away. If the night watch should see—”

  “Why? Is he coming?” Malachi asked. “Is anyone coming? I assume you’d give me warning far before any individual could make his—or her—way into view.”

  Niclas scowled. “No. We’re quite alone as far as I can tell. Unless there’s a Seymour or Cadmaran or anyone of our ilk lurking about. But if there were, you’d know of it.”

  The fire disappeared and Malachi tugged on his glove to rid it of creases. “We’re quite safe from intrusions of that sort, I promise you. There isn’t a Cadmaran anywhere near London, thank God. If there were, I’d be rather more occupied with them at the moment than with you. How long have you been out?”

  Occupied. Aye, that he would be, Niclas thought. Malachi wasn’t only the head of the Seymour family, but the most powerful wizard in Europe, as well. More than that, he was the Dewin Mawr, the recognized leader of the Families. As such, Malachi’s life consisted of one burdensome responsibility after another. There had been a time when Niclas had helped him to shoulder those responsibilities, but that was before the curse, in those nearly forgotten days when his mind had been strong and his thoughts clear, and when his own powers had been so readily controlled.

  “How long?” Malachi prompted.

  Niclas sighed and ran a hand through his thick, unkempt hair.

  “I don’t know. Four days, perhaps.”

  Malachi raised one slender blond eyebrow. “You’ve stopped keeping track?”

  “There’s no reason to do so,” Niclas replied. “Time is all the same for me now.”

  “You must make it different,” Malachi said sternly. “I’ve told you time and again how vital it is for you to continue to mark your days and nights. You risk insanity, otherwise.”

  Niclas uttered a mirthless laugh and turned to pace back toward the water’s edge.

  “Risk,” he repeated. “I believe we’re nearly beyond that, cousin.”

  Earl Graymar followed him until they stood side by side at the dock’s railing. “Have you taken that potion I gave you?”

  “It was as useless as the rest,” Niclas told him. “Everything is useless. Malachi,” he said more softly, staring down at the water. “I’m beginning to think that nothing will ever make a difference. Perhaps the curse can’t be lifted.”

  Malachi set a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You mustn’t let yourself give way to despair, cfender. There is always a remedy for blood curses, even one so difficult as yours. We have only to find the way.”

  “I used to believe that,” Niclas said. “I don’t anymore. But I’m desperate, and foolish.” He glanced into his cousin’s face, so filled with concern. “I want to make one more try.”

  “Niclas—”

  “Only one, Malachi, and then I’ll stop. You’ve already divined what I’m going to ask of you.”

  The earl of Graymar straightened, his expression troubled.

  “I’m sorry, Niclas. I would allow almost anything to help you be rid of the curse, but I cannot let you use a complete innocent for your own purposes. Miss Linley trusts me to lend her my aid in solving a difficult problem, not to put her in company with a man who can scarce control his behavior from moment to moment.”

  Niclas faced his powerful cousin head-on, all his weariness and desperation driving him.

  “You think I’ll hurt her? Or cause her distress? You know very well I won’t. I realize that of late I’ve been, perhaps, rather erratic—”

  “Perhaps?”

  “Very well,” Niclas admitted, “I’ve not been entirely stable for some time. I understand your concerns. But I’d never harm a woman, certainly not one who might hold the key to my redemption. Only think a moment and consider. She’s his cousin—”

  “Very distant,” Malachi put in. “It’s likely the relationship is far too minor to serve the purpose, even if you should shed blood on her behalf, which I pray won’t be the case.”

  “The Linleys were Drew’s relatives, regardless how distant,” Niclas argued. “If I can avenge his death by performing a valuable service for them, I might end this torment. And,” he added, moving quickly to face Malachi as he turned away, “our own uncle is the cause of their distress, which may add even greater weight to the deed in the eyes of the guardians. If I can be the instrument that will solve the trouble—only consider, cousin, the effort it would require to force Uncle Ffinian to give way—then it might suffice.”

  Lord Graymar shook his head. “I can’t . . . Niclas, you know very well that I can’t take the risk. If you had followed my instructions and taken the potions or even performed the exercises I asked you to do—”

  “Chants and meditations,” Niclas muttered dismissively. “They were useless.”

  “If you had done them as I asked,” Malachi repeated, “they would have at least helped you maintain a more even temper. Instead, you choose to wander aimlessly for days on end, fighting and getting into all manner of trouble, creating the worst kind of rumors, which I’m forced to answer as best I can for those members of society who—”

  “Society,” Niclas repeated tightly. “I hope you tell them all to go straight to—”

  “Blazes, yes, I know,” said the earl. He closed his eyes and appeared to pray for patience, then looked at Niclas and sighed. “There was a time, cfender, when you understood what it means to our kind to keep the world from becoming too curious, and how vital it is for all of us to behave circumspectly. You even used to help me keep our wilder relatives in line. Do you remember?”

  Niclas set fingers to his forehead and rubbed at the seemingly ever-present ache that throbbed behind his eyes, striving to put his exhausted thoughts in order.

  “Of course I remember. If I didn’t, I’d not want to have that life back as much as I do. I apologize if I’ve been the cause of more trouble for you, cousin. God alone knows you have enough with the rest of our mad family. How you’ve kept your sanity all these years I’ll never know. But isn’t that all the more reason why you should give me this chance?”

  Lord Graymar regarded him for a silent moment, a chill breeze causing his elegant greatcoat to flap about his slender figure. “Do you even remember Julia Linley from those days before you were cursed?”

  Niclas hadn’t been expecting that. The question brought him up short.

  “No,” he replied slowly, though he couldn’t be entirely certain that he spoke the truth, for his mind was so muddled, and his memory had failed him more than once in the past three years. “Did I know her? Were we introduced?”

  “I don’t believe you ever were,” the earl said. “She wasn’t of any particular consequence in those days, save for her family’s name. But you were quite the opposite, Niclas. You were one of the most admired gentlemen of the ton, and justly famed for your intellect
and wit, to say nothing of your elegance in dress and manner. It’s extremely likely that Miss Linley will remember you as . . . well, as you were then. If I were to ask her now to consider your escort in place of mine, she would surely expect that you would at least give the appearance of a gentleman, if not behave like one. Were you to present yourself to her in your present state, you’d terrify the poor woman.”

  Niclas looked down at himself. His clothes were muddy and torn, but looked respectable, he thought. And his appearance certainly hadn’t frightened away the various fellows who’d attempted to rob him in the past several days.

  “It’s not as bad as that, is it?” he asked. “I shall have Abercraf give me a proper shave and trim before I go to meet her.”

  “Cfender,” Malachi said gently, opening his palm to reintroduce the flame, which flickered violently in the night’s breeze. “Forgive me for saying so, but you look very much like a man who hasn’t slept in three years.”

  Niclas’s gaze riveted to his cousin’s, illumined in the light of the flame.

  “As that is precisely what I am, I doubt that can be of any surprise.”

  The earl’s expression was sympathetic. “That’s true, but I don’t believe the explanation will go far with anyone outside the family. And that includes Miss Linley. You will have to do more than simply take a bath and change your clothes.”

  “A nap would help, I’m certain,” Niclas snapped, “but I doubt it would be possible.” He began to pace again. “It’s been three years since I was able to lay my head on a pillow and close my eyes and escape into slumber. Three years without rest or respite or peace.” Turning, he met his cousin’s unhappy gaze. “I wander the streets without marking time,” he said angrily, flinging out a hand, “and take your wretched potions and try to exhaust myself with fights and drink. But nothing helps. My mind is sick with weariness, and the powers that I once held in complete control now burst out unleashed. Every emotion felt by common mortals is flung at me like a knife, and when I’m in a crowd it’s as if they’re all shouting at once. I’m going mad,” he said, then forcibly stopped and shut his eyes tightly, struggling to regain his precarious balance. “I’m going mad, day by day,” he said more slowly, “and you don’t seem to give a damn. You won’t even give me this last chance to redeem myself.”

  Almost before the final words were out of his mouth, Niclas was cringing at the bitterness and childishness of his tone, at the pained expression on his cousin’s face, and was wishing he could wash the words away. But bitterness and anger, he had learned, came part and parcel with the curse that had been laid upon him.

  “I’m sorry,” he said before Malachi could speak, turning away toward the river again. He thought briefly of flinging himself in, and wondered whether his cousin wouldn’t find the splash not only entertaining but a great relief. “I have no right to speak to you in such a manner. There is no one to blame but myself for all that’s happened. I’m sorry, Malachi.”

  The light from the flame went out. There was a moment of silence, and then he heard his cousin’s slow footsteps. Niclas appreciated the warning, for Malachi had the power to walk in complete silence when he wished. The comforting hand upon his shoulder, however, came as a surprise.

  “You were not entirely at fault,” the earl said. “Drew played a part, and his faithless wife, as well. You, at least, meant to be of help.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Niclas shook his head. “Drew still died because of me.”

  “He killed himself because the wife he loved was unfaithful,” Malachi countered, giving him a shake. “That was no fault of yours.”

  “I was the one who told him,” Niclas retorted angrily. “I knew what her thoughts were and broke every rule of our kind by telling him. To this moment I don’t know why I thought that he would receive the news with anything but despair. Drew loved her so.”

  “And that was why you told him,” said Malachi. “You feel the emotions of others, but you can’t predict how they’ll behave. The love that Drew felt for Lucilla was so powerful that it drowned out all other emotions. You had no idea that he would kill himself, rather than simply take his wife in hand and put an end to her affairs, as he should have done. She loved him, too, did she not?”

  Niclas nodded. “The affairs were nothing to Lucilla. Merely a way to pass the hours while Drew was fixed on Parliament. She would have stopped if he’d shown the least vexation. I tried to tell him that, but he wouldn’t listen beyond the facts of her betrayal. He didn’t realize that there was so much more to the problem.”

  Malachi sighed. “Mere mortals often find it difficult to understand the complexities of such matters. You mustn’t blame yourself too harshly. It might very well have turned out as it did, regardless.”

  “And it might not. The curse is proof of my wrongdoing. The guardians never lay them upon our kind without good cause. But this curse—to never know slumber or be at complete rest! Death would have been kinder.”

  “Death is not a curse, but a release,” Malachi reminded him gently. “But I understand very well what you mean by the words. I, too, was surprised at the manner in which your punishment was laid upon you, and the difficulty we’ve had in finding the way in which the debt might be paid. I suppose . . .”

  Niclas lifted his head.

  “I’ll do whatever you ask, Malachi. Give me this chance, I beg it of you.”

  Lord Graymar gazed at him thoughtfully, his blue eyes glittering in the darkness as if lit by some inner fire.

  “You would have to take protection, in whatever form I determine is best. No arguments.”

  Niclas’s heart began pounding loudly in his ears. He straightened.

  “Of course.”

  “And you’ll require a mount,” Malachi went on. “I mean no insult to your very fine cattle, but I want you to take Enoch.”

  Niclas blinked at that. Enoch was descended from a long line of fabled and magical steeds which only those who were dewin rode. The beasts did not suffer the touch of those who possessed lesser magic.

  “No one but you has ever ridden him,” Niclas said. “He’d kill me before letting me sit astride him.”

  “He will not do it for your sake, but for mine,” Malachi informed him. “And you will be exceedingly glad to have him on your journey, if you indeed undertake it.”

  “I mean to do so,” said Niclas.

  “Aye, and that you do,” said the earl. “But you must meet the last requirement first, and that will be a task almost as difficult as facing down our uncle Ffinian.”

  “What is it?”

  “You must convince Lady Eunice that you are a better choice than I am to escort her niece to Wales and rescue her sister from our uncle’s clutches.”

  Niclas frowned darkly. “Lady Eunice,” he repeated. “She’ll be stubborn, but Linleys are famous for that—”

  “Lady Eunice sets the standard for stubbornness,” Malachi murmured. “She glories in her reputation.”

  Niclas ignored him. “I haven’t seen her in years,” he said. “But there was a time when she used to gaze upon me with a great deal of favor.”

  “Of course she did,” his cousin said. “You were one of the wealthiest and most marriageable men in England, and she is the head of a family with numerous females to launch. The trouble now is that she wouldn’t consider you a suitable match even for that youngest one, the unfortunate, spotted girl with the prominent teeth and unpleasant—”

  “Aye, it will be difficult convincing her,” Niclas said, “but not impossible. I must simply prove to her that I’m not mad, and—”

  “But the girl is well mannered, for all that,” said the earl, gazing up at the sky. “I’ve danced with her, and I’ve seen the potential she possesses, not unlike our own young cousins who will be having their come-outs this season. Rhosyn and Cordelia. Can you believe they’re old enough?” He shook his head. “It seems like just the other day that they were teething. Do you remember how all the books used to fly off the
shelves at Glain Tarran whenever Cordelia began to cry? Gad, what a horrid mess. But she only affected the books, curiously. I do hope she’s learned to control herself.” Frowning, he murmured, “I’d better not allow her into any libraries.”

  Niclas, lost in thought, made no reply, and Lord Graymar was obliged to clear his throat loudly to gain his attention.

  “Have you settled on whether you’re willing to approach Lady Eunice?” he asked.

  “Aye, I have,” Niclas said, “and I accept your terms in full. I’ll find a way to make her ladyship listen to me.”

  Even in the darkness he could see Malachi smile.

  “It will be exceedingly interesting to see you make the attempt, at least,” said the earl. “And even more interesting to discover what Miss Linley’s response is. Go home and make yourself presentable first, and make certain to send me word once your meeting with Lady Eunice has concluded. I shall want to hear every word of what has taken place.”

  Two

  Niclas Seymour,” Julia repeated, slowly setting down the quill with which she’d been writing. She stared at her aunt in disbelief. “Niclas Seymour is in the sitting room. Mister Niclas Seymour—not Lord Graymar?”

  “I was as surprised by it as you are, my dear,” Lady Eunice replied, sniffing disdainfully. She was standing near one of the room’s tall windows, twisting a silk handkerchief in both hands as if it were Niclas Seymour’s neck. “The fellow hasn’t been seen in respectable company for years, yet he has the cheek to appear at our door and demand an audience. I can’t imagine what he wants. And,” she added in a more meaningful tone, “Puckett informs me that he looks as rumpled and unkempt as a common dockworker. Of course he had to allow him entrance—he is Earl Graymar’s cousin, after all, and a Seymour.” She threw her hands up. “It would be just as impossible to refuse the Prince Regent.”