For those very two things alone, Isabeau would be cruel to her. Robin had known that.
Breathing hard, Morgan ran his fingers through his hair as conflicting impulses tore at him.
Sidonie Martel means nothing to me, he thought harshly. I enjoy her music, that’s all. I don’t owe her a thing. Not a blasted thing.
Silence was all the flat gave him in response. After tensely listening to the quiet emptiness for a long while, he strode to the bedroom, pulled out his knapsack, and began to pack.
*
Once the wagon train had made its way down the winding road to the castle, it disbanded like segments of a giant centipede falling apart, as various components went off in different directions.
Sid had jumped out of the wagon along with her fellow travelers, but when she would have followed them, a sharp whistle brought her up short.
They didn’t put her with the young Light Fae they had collected along the road. Instead, they put her with a large pile of barrels and wooden boxes they stacked in the stables, shackling one of her wrists with a chain to a metal ring that was bolted to a wooden beam.
She was there to be counted as part of the trolls’ tribute, she assumed.
Then they forgot to feed her.
As the light of day passed into darkness, then blossomed into the new morning, she drifted beyond fear and simple anger into a kind of incensed exhaustion.
She had enough room on the chain to reach a bucket that had been set nearby. It was partially full of water that was none too clean, and probably laced with horse spit, but after a certain point she became too thirsty to care. When the water was gone, she used the bucket to relieve herself.
The sound of voices roused her, and stiffly she uncurled from a thin layer of straw that had been her bed. There were three voices, all male, one sounding clearly in command, asking questions while the other two answered. They appeared to be tallying a long list of items.
“Hey,” Sid called out, her voice hoarse from disuse. She stood, yanking irritably at the chain attached to her wrist. “Hey! What is wrong with you people?!”
Silence greeted her shout. Then came the sound of approaching footsteps, and the nearby doors were pulled open. As bright sunlight spilled in she had to squint and turn her face away.
Three men strode in, led by one tall figure. He stopped in front of her and asked in a cultured, pleasant voice, “What is this?”
The two men behind him shuffled their feet. “Ah, my lord,” one of them said as he consulted the papers he held, “this is the trolls’ semiannual tribute.”
“The trolls gave the Queen a person?” The first male raised one eyebrow. He was richly dressed and handsome, with the characteristic blond hair of the Light Fae pulled into a queue at the nape of his neck, a sharp, angular face, and an ironical gaze.
“I’ve been kidnapped and unlawfully detained,” Sidonie said between her teeth. “I’m a Canadian citizen, and you have me chained up like an animal. No, that’s not true. Animals usually get treated much better than this. At least they get fed. I’ve been here like this since yesterday with no food and only stale horse water to drink.”
“Oh, dear,” said the man. He turned to look at his two companions. “How did this happen?”
Under his steady gaze, the other two attempted to stammer out an explanation. One forgot to tell the other of her presence. Or maybe she hadn’t been added to the inventory. She couldn’t have been added, or he would have noticed.
Oh… oh, yes, my lord, it did say so right there on the inventory list: one musician. No magic.
Listening to their excuses, Sid hung on to her patience by a thread. Finally she snapped, “At this point, does it matter?”
The well-dressed Light Fae angled his head back at her. “Why, no. I don’t suppose it does.”
She held up her wrist. “Will you please unchain me?”
The Light Fae nobleman gestured. “Harkin, if you would, free the lady from her confinement.”
One of the other men hurried to obey. As he unlocked the shackle and it fell from Sid’s wrist, relief washed over her, leaving her feeling light-headed. Finally she was talking to someone in charge, and what’s more, he was listening to her. It looked like this whole, long nightmare might be over with soon.
“Are you really a musician?” the nobleman asked with a smile. “Or did the trolls mess that up too?”
“Yes, I’m a musician,” she replied as she rubbed at her wrist. Should she tell him that the troll who had kidnapped her hadn’t really been a troll? Or should she heed her kidnapper’s warning and stay silent about his part in this debacle?
Watching her with interest, the nobleman asked, “Are you any good?”
She frowned at him. “As it happens, yes, I am, but the only thing that really matters is that I was taken and held against my will. I need to be escorted back to the nearest crossover passageway so I can go home again. If you need reimbursement for the costs of the journey, I can see that you get repaid.”
Although really you should take me back on your own dime, with a profuse apology. She managed, just barely, to bite back that acerbic comment.
“I see.” The nobleman looked at the other two men. “How close are we to completing a review of the inventory?”
The one named Harkin consulted his sheets. “We’re almost done, my lord. Actually, we only have the trolls’ tribute left to count.”
The nobleman turned to survey the pile of crates and barrels surrounding them. “Well, here it all is, so I’d say we’re finished.” He looked at Sid. “Come with me, musician.”
“Gladly,” Sid said.
She gave the other two men a look of pure loathing and followed the nobleman out of the stables. Surely, they would feed her something soon. The last thing she had eaten was the requisite bread and cheese at noon the day before. She felt dizzy and light-headed, unable to concentrate, and her empty stomach was gnawing at her insides.
She had questions she wanted to ask, starting with the nobleman’s name and where he was taking her, but he strode through the courtyard to an entrance to the castle, then down a series of passages, at a pace so swift she was hard put to keep up with him. After days filled with stress and an inadequate diet, soon she was too out of breath to speak.
The corridors on their route grew wider and more richly appointed, and they passed servants, uniformed guards, and various other personages who walked and talked together. Several paused to stare at them as they passed, their expressions filled with varying degrees of fascination and distaste, and Sid grew all too aware that she was carrying the filth of several days’ journey on her clothes and smelled like a barnyard.
Spellbinder (Moonshadow #2)
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