Susan Spencer Paul - [Enchanter 01]

by Touch of Night

  “But—”

  “There is nothing to discuss,” her aunt said dismissively. “Your sister is expecting you, and it’s the least you can do for her. Martha serves a husband, and you do not. It would be unspeakably selfish for you to withhold from aiding her in that task. If that seems a cruel thing to say, and I grant you it might, you must take comfort in the knowledge that your family needs you.” Lady Eunice helped herself to another tart. “That should more than suffice.”

  Julia nodded and silently left the room, knowing full well that her aunt only spoke the truth. She had failed to marry, yet her family still held her in esteem. At least so far as she was useful and fulfilled her duties as daughter, sister, and niece. And for that, she was thankful. She could have far more easily been sent to live in the country, in exile.

  Yes, she was thankful. And she meant to be as dutiful and helpful as she possibly could. In the morning, she would begin the journey for Wales, and for Aunt Alice, in order to do her family’s bidding.

  “Gad,” Niclas muttered, tossing the note on the desk. “How many does that make, Abercraf?”

  “Today, both days, or this hour, sir?” the manservant asked calmly.

  Niclas glared at him. “Collectively.”

  Abercraf was thoughtful, then replied, “Including the first one that came before you arrived home following the Dubrow ball, this makes thirty-four.”

  “Thirty-four!” came a surprised voice from the open study door, which had previously been tightly shut, for Abercraf, though occasionally sardonic, was never lax in his duties. But closed, or even locked, doors were not a problem for the earl of Graymar, who now stood in the room looking very pleased. He went where he wished regardless of such trifles. “I’m terribly glad that you took my place on this journey. I’ve forgotten how insistent Lady Eunice can be in the small details.” He strolled forward, tugging off his gloves and placing them in Abercraf’s ready hands. “I’ve come as promised. How do your arrangements proceed?”

  “Slowly,” Niclas said, briefly rubbing his eyes with both hands. Rising, he moved around his desk and toward a high table set with various glasses and crystal decanters.

  “You may go, Abercraf. I’ll pour his lordship a drink.” He nodded toward one of the plain wooden chairs set in front of his desk as the manservant bowed himself out of the room. “Make yourself comfortable, cousin.”

  Lord Graymar eyed the chairs with a pained expression. “I understand why you have such Spartan furnishings, as they’re easier on your sensitive nerves, but can’t you keep at least one chair suitable for those of us who desire a bit more comfort?”

  “No,” Niclas replied shortly, turning to set a glass in his cousin’s hand. “No colors, no patterns, no flowers or decorations. They drain whatever energy I have left when I come home.”

  “That’s because you aren’t taking your potion on a regular basis,” said the earl, reaching into his coat to pull out a small stoppered bottle. “I’ve made an improved mixture to accompany you on your journey. I believe you’ll find this more efficacious in repairing your energy and mental strength.”

  Niclas eyed the bottle doubtfully. “The last one worked better than I expected,” he confessed, “but you know that the relief is almost too temporary to be of any great help.”

  “This one may do better,” Malachi said. “Try it this evening when you give your body the rest it requires, as I’m sure you will do,” he gazed at Niclas very directly, “and I’m certain you’ll notice a difference.”

  “Thank you,” said Niclas, moving back to sit in the large chair behind his massive desk. “Before we begin speaking of the protections you’ve brought, tell me what you’ve discovered regarding Miss Linley.”

  The earl of Graymar gingerly, and uncomfortably, perched upon one of the hard, unadorned chairs available.

  “Unfortunately, there is very little to tell, save that we are not in any way related to the Linleys. Not distantly, slightly, or minutely.”

  “Could there be a crossing somewhere?” Niclas asked. “It seems impossible that none of the families in our union have never crossed with a family related to the Linleys. Within so many hundreds of years, surely a match has occurred.”

  “Not that I can discover,” Lord Graymar said. “And there’s no other connection, either. I’m sorry, cfender, but I don’t know why she possesses such mysterious powers. Did she appear to know she was affecting your senses?”

  Niclas gave a shake of his head. “No,” he said. “We even spoke briefly of the Theriots, and she merely appeared curious to know that the lauded Seymours are related to so infamous a family. If she knew anything of magic, I can’t believe she would have evinced ignorance of matters that are elemental to us.”

  “It is unlikely,” Malachi agreed. “Related or unrelated, we recognize our own kind. And there is this to consider as well. Unlike you, I have known Miss Linley since her first Season, and have danced with her any number of times, yet she has never had the least affect on my powers. Nor have I ever divined even a small measure of magic abiding in her, and that, as we have already touched upon, is one of my gifts.”

  “Then how is it that she has such a striking affect on me?” Niclas asked.

  “I do not know,” replied the earl, “but for that very reason, I’ve brought this.”

  He placed a small, red velvet pouch on the desk. Its shining golden pull-cords drooped to touch the dark, polished wood.

  “What is it?” Niclas asked in a low voice.

  “Only a quieting powder,” Malachi replied. “Nothing more. Until we know whether Miss Linley is one of us or not, it will be safest to proceed as if she is not. You know that we cannot have an outsider discover too much about our kind. But if it should become necessary for you to reveal yourself to Miss Linley, or if Ffinian or our cousins should exhibit their usual lack of restraint in her presence, this will quickly correct the problem.”

  “A quieting powder,” Niclas murmured, gazing at the elegant bag. “I believe what you mean to say is a forgetting powder. Isn’t that what it truly is, cousin?”

  “Call it what you wish,” the earl replied with ease. “A quieting powder, a confounding powder”—he fingered one of the shining cords—“a forgetting powder. They all mean the same thing, in principle. I shouldn’t think you’d want to quibble over the precise word. The outcome is what matters, not the means.”

  “But must it be a powder that erases her memory?” Niclas asked. “I have trouble envisioning Miss Linley sitting by without comment while I toss pink powder in her face. Or green or purple or yellow, or whatever it may be this time. Can you not merely resolve the matter as you usually do, once we’ve returned?”

  “We cannot take the chance that she won’t speak to someone during the journey. And never fear,” the earl said, “she won’t remember you tossing it at her afterward. And it’s blue. I mixed it specially to match the color of her eyes.”

  Niclas stared at him. “Sometimes,” he said slowly, “you truly terrify me.” He picked the velvet bag up and tucked it safely into an inner coat pocket. “Is there anything else?”

  “There’s Enoch, of course, as we’ve already agreed. I’ll bring him in the morning, ready for the journey. He’s made the trip any number of times and could almost find his way blind. There’s no need for me to remind you of his stamina and intelligence.”

  “Of course not. I’m honored to have the use of him. I only hope he’ll accept me as a rider.”

  “For my peace of mind,” said the earl, “he will. Niclas,” he said, gazing at a collection of small white rocks that resided on a nearby shelf, “why have you not yet packed some of the stones?”

  Niclas followed his cousin’s gaze, and frowned. “I never carry them. It’s too dangerous. Only imagine what an outsider would think if one should fall into his—or her—hands.”

  Malachi stood and strode to the shelf, scooping up three particularly small stones among the collection. “Nonetheless, you’ll want to be s
ure to take these.” He placed them on the desk in front of Niclas. “They’re very handy on a journey. And they’re far more useful than dangerous. I always have one in my pocket.”

  Niclas smirked and pushed the stones away. “Of course you do,” he said. “I can imagine how easily the earl of Graymar explains having odd little rocks in his pocket. Especially when those same rocks do strange things that make more normal beings faint dead away. Please, Malachi, spare me your jests. I have too many trying matters on my mind at present.”

  “I’m not jesting,” Malachi told him, and with his other hand rooted about in his coat pocket. After a moment he pulled out a smooth white stone. “There. This is the old one—given me by my father. You remember it. I have it with me always, in all company, even before the king.”

  Niclas gazed at the small object held out before him with suspicion. Though it was daylight, he could see a faint glow against his cousin’s palm.

  “I don’t believe you,” he muttered. “You’re not that foolish.”

  “Aye, that foolish at least, and probably far more,” Malachi said. “Take them.” He nodded at the stones upon the desk. “You’ll be glad of their company before your journey is done.”

  Knowing he’d have no peace on the matter, Niclas sighed and reached to pick them up.

  “Very well,” he said. “I don’t want you lying awake nights worrying about whether I’ve got pestilential stones, so I’ll take them. But they are not considered protection, as per our agreement, so they’ll be packed in the bottom of my trunk. Now, is there anything else?”

  Lord Graymar sat again, serious now. “Aye,” he said, his tone somber. “The most important protection that you must bear on this journey.” He reached into his elegant black coat once more and slowly began to pull a strand of something golden out into the lamplight. “You will take this with you. There can be no argument. You must have it.”

  Niclas stared at the necklace in his cousin’s hand, blinking twice before he comprehended—with a shock—what he was looking at.

  Tarian, it was called. The Shield.

  It was an ancient Celtic pendant, among the most powerful objects possessed by the Seymours. And as stunning as it was powerful, with a large, glowing stone set in the midst of an intricately woven medallion of gold. The stone was unique—to his knowledge there wasn’t another like it—and mesmerizing to behold. It was principally amber in color, but upon close inspection the beholder could also see deep greens, reds, oranges and even a touch of purple glittering in its depths. Sometimes, beneath certain lights, the palette appeared to come to life, dancing and glowing like a merry fire composed of bright, many-colored jewels.

  “Are you serious?” he murmured, then, realizing that Malachi would never make jest of so important an object, added, “Why?”

  The answer was brief and sobering.

  “Cadmaran left Castle Llew yesterday.”

  “Cadmaran?” Niclas murmured, feeling his heart turn over in his chest. “Is he heading toward London?”

  Malachi nodded. “I can’t be certain which roads he’ll take, but if you should meet him, God . . . forbid”

  “God forbid,” Niclas agreed fervently. “Especially with Miss Linley in company. Malachi, you know very well that I’m a lesser wizard. The gifts I possess are useless against sorcerers such as you and the earl of Llew are. How can I protect Miss Linley if we should cross his path? My own life would be as nothing to lose, but my hope in undertaking this journey is to lift the curse, not cause greater harm. Especially not to her.”

  “That is the very reason why you must take the Tarian,” said Lord Graymar. “I’d not let it out of Mervaille for any but the gravest need. If you should meet Cadmaran, it will be her only protection.”

  Niclas stared at the necklace as it swung gently in his cousin’s grasp, its colorful stone glowing brightly in the room’s simple light. He had seen it before, though not often, but had never actually touched it.

  “I would almost rather lose the powder or one of the stones to a complete stranger than take something so incredible with me. If he should discover it, Malachi . . . if he should see her wearing it and find a way to take it . . .”

  “It cannot be taken from the one who wears it, unless that one is dead,” said the earl grimly. “It can only be willingly given. But if Earl Llew should meet you and find a way to use his powers on Miss Linley, and she is not protected by the necklace—”

  “I’ll take it.” Niclas reached out and pulled the delicate gold chain from his cousin’s hand. It was light, almost weightless, and yet he could feel a cool tingling in his fingers, evidence of the object’s hidden powers.

  “Miss Linley may or may not be related to us in some unknown manner, and therefore have some measure of immunity to the likes of Cadmaran,” he said, “but that’s not a chance I’m willing to take.” Niclas lifted the necklace high and gazed into the stone. The light within flickered like an ember ready to burst into flame. He had to force himself to breathe slowly.

  “What have I gotten myself into?” he murmured. He looked beyond the mesmerizing golden glow to his cousin’s solemn face. “Is it going to work, Malachi? Will it be enough?”

  “I’ve already told you that doing this thing for the Linleys is unlikely to be sufficient to lift the curse,” Lord Graymar said. “But what it may be, if Cadmaran becomes involved, is far more dangerous than you or I or either of the Linley ladies could have imagined. Take no chances, cfender,” he said sternly, “but every care.”

  “That I will,” Niclas vowed, very carefully lowering the golden necklace to the desktop. “I’ll have Enoch and the Tarian, and the servants who are going with me are either of our kind or sympathetic to us. They’ll be ready for the earl of Llew and his men, should they come upon us, and won’t be shaken by the thought of his magical powers, great as they are. And,” he added, “I have one other advantage that will prove helpful.”

  “What is that?” Lord Graymar asked.

  Niclas smiled and replied, “Cadmaran will never be able to catch me sleeping.”

  Five

  Is Coventry much farther, miss?” Jane asked plaintively. “Will he let us stop soon?”

  Julia smiled at her maid encouragingly. “We should arrive before too many more hours. Try to rest, Jane. I know it’s been a long day.”

  Jane looked chagrined. Proper servants never complained. In fact, proper servants seldom spoke to their employers without being addressed by them first.

  “I’m sorry, miss. Please don’t tell her ladyship I’ve been so forward. It’s just that my legs are aching something terrible, and except for when the horses have been changed—which you will agree, miss, has been scarce long enough for a swallow of tea, let alone a proper stretch—we’ve only had that one chance to step out of the coach today.”

  “And that was hours ago, and quite brief,” Julia said sympathetically. “If we hadn’t eaten as quickly as we did I almost think Mr. Seymour would have left without us.”

  “He does seem to be in such a hurry, doesn’t he?” Jane sighed and rubbed her legs. “But it was thoughtful of him to have such a fine meal waiting for us at the inn, wasn’t it, miss?”

  “Most thoughtful,” Julia agreed. “Mister Seymour has given consideration to our ease in every degree—save in the stretching of our legs. His coach is superbly comfortable, far nicer than my aunt’s.” She patted one gloved hand on the padded leather seat on which she sat. “And his servants are devoted to our care. The weather,” she said, glancing out at the blue sky and white clouds overhead, “is quite fine, and if the arrangements made for us earlier are any indication of Mr. Seymour’s consideration, we may look forward to spending the night in a comfortable inn. We really have very little to complain of, Jane.”

  “Yes, miss, I know that’s true,” Jane admitted, sounding both guilty and contrite even as she continued to rub her legs. “It’s very wrong of me to complain, for Mister Seymour has been such a gentleman. And he even helped me
out of the carriage when we stopped for our afternoon repast, which was so kind when his footman was there to do it. But my legs, miss—” She winced, and rubbed harder along the tops. “I’m having the most awful cramps. I don’t mean to—”

  Julia was already opening the nearest window. A cool, welcome breeze caressed her face.

  “Mr. Seymour!” she called. “May I have a word with you?”

  He was riding near the carriage and came up beside her at once, expertly guiding the magnificent horse he rode so that he could lean down to address her.

  “Yes, Miss Linley?”

  “I’m sorry to trouble you, but could we possibly stop for a few moments at the next inn? My maid and I should like to stretch our legs.”

  He frowned. “We’ve some miles to go before we reach Coventry. I’m afraid another stop may see us arrive after dark.”

  Julia smiled up at him with all the charm she possessed. “I don’t mind in the least, sir. We feel quite safe in your company. Is there a convenient place to stop soon?”

  The expression on his handsome countenance informed her that there was nothing in the least convenient in stopping before Coventry, but his voice was polite when he spoke.

  “There’s a village a few minutes farther with a respectable inn. I’ll send my man ahead to reserve a private room and order refreshments.”

  “There’s no need for you to go to any special trouble,” Julia assured him. “We’ll be content with a cup of tea in the common room and a few minutes to walk about. It’s such a lovely day, and there’s not any particular hurry to reach Coventry, is there?”

  For a fleeting moment, he looked troubled, almost panicked, though she knew that was impossible. He wasn’t the kind of man given to panic, regardless how long he’d been out of society. Whatever his emotions were, they passed quickly, and he schooled his features once more. “Not the common room,” he said firmly, in a tone that she recognized as similar to one her aunt and parents often used, allowing no argument. “I’m afraid that’s out of the question. Will half an hour’s stop suffice? I hesitate to stay longer.”