Spellbinder (Moonshadow #2)

When Sid asked Morgan about his research, he pulled a frustrated face. “I haven’t found anything useful yet in the texts,” he told her. “And when I try to construct a summoning spell, my mind slips away from the task. I can’t hold on to it. My intent is too clear, and the action too direct. The geas won’t let me complete it, and I haven’t found a way to work around it.”

The tension in his body when he talked revealed the depth of his anger at the invisible cage. Stroking his back, she let the subject go and didn’t ask again. He would tell her whenever he had a breakthrough.

They never talked about the future, or at least, not in detail. Afterward, Sid would wonder why. For her part, she was afraid they might jinx things.

What if they broke free yet found, after everything they had gone through, they didn’t suit each other? She didn’t think she could bear it.

Or what if they never broke free?

Also perhaps the geas wouldn’t let Morgan speak too much of building a life without it. The full extent of its binding on him was still a mystery.

Then early one afternoon, she received the summons from the guard. After readying herself, she walked back to the castle and collected the lute. The guard led her to the private garden, where Kallah waited by the doors.

She waved Sid on, her expression pinched. “I’ll come get you when your hour is over.”

Sid nodded. They had developed a routine. Making her way to the small semi-enclosed area with the stool, she took her seat. This too had become quickly familiar.

But this time was not like the others.

This time Isabeau lay weeping on the divan, her dark green dress looking unusually stark against the brightness of the nearby flowers. A man reclined with her, his back to Sidonie. At first, she couldn’t tell who he was.

Turning so she could look over the garden, yet still keep sight of the divan in the corner of her eye, she began to play a soft lullaby, the delicate strains gently permeating the air. All the while, she listened as intently as she could.

“I can’t tell you enough how horrible it is,” Isabeau sobbed. “Nobody truly understands what I go through. I never sleep, never. He’s always there if I sink too deep, walking through my dreams. Whispering things to me—There’s that damn girl. It’s about time she showed up.”

With a start, Sid realized Isabeau was talking about her. She angled her head away and kept her gaze lowered, not willing to risk even the slightest chance of meeting anyone’s eyes on the other side of the roses.

“You should not have let her leave the castle if you wanted her so closely at your beck and call,” Modred said. The sound of his voice sent an icy shiver down Sid’s spine. “Darling, are you quite sure it is he, and not simply a bad dream?”

“No, it’s him.” Isabeau’s voice shook. “Sometimes I dream I’m in this huge hall, with black and white marble floors and bloodred roses. It’s so silent there. Nothing moves. There’s not even any wind. Then I hear his footsteps approaching, and… just the sound of those steady, quiet steps fills me with such horrible dread I want to scream and scream.”

“Yes, you’ve told me about this dream before,” Modred murmured. “Has it changed? Have you seen his face?”

At least that was what Sid thought he murmured. He spoke too quietly for her to be sure. She switched songs, and began playing “Scarborough Fair.”

“No, not in that dream. I just hear him coming for me. In other dreams, I see his face. I don’t ever remember what he looks like, but I do know I have seen him. He has the most piercing green eyes, and… and when he speaks, it’s in a gentle voice that is somehow so much worse than anyone else’s scream.” In a sudden movement, Isabeau sat and turned to grip Modred by the shoulders as she cried, “It’s unnatural! We’re not supposed to have anything to do with him! Mortal creatures are his prey—not us! WE’RE SUPPOSED TO LIVE FOREVER!”

Could Isabeau be talking about Azrael? Sid almost forgot herself and stopped playing. Catching herself up, she switched songs.

“Isabeau,” Modred said sharply. “Calm yourself! You’ve been having these dreams for ages, and nothing has changed. They haven’t harmed you. There’s been no catastrophe. You are perfectly, beautifully, whole as always.”

“But I’m so tired,” she wept. “Nobody understands how tired I am. He wants it back, and he never lets up, yet I can’t give it to him. If I give it back, Morgan may be freed—and the first person he will want to kill is me.”

“And me,” Modred muttered. “I killed his king, after all.”

“That was battle. People die all the time in battle. But me… I’ve held him captive for centuries, and I’ve made him do things he found revolting. Oh, I wish I had never found it! And I can’t hide it in the crystal caverns again, not while I hold Morgan with the geas. I’ve got to keep it close, and it’s so cold, yet it burns at the same time. I feel like a poker is pressed into my side. I wish I had never heard the Hunt passing or had never gone to look—and I wish I’d never found it lying in that frozen field!”

“How many times do I have to say this?” Modred said, impatience creeping into his words. “Give it to me. Let me carry it for you, just for a short while, and we can find out once and for all if the knife is causing your dreams. Maybe then you can get some rest and recover your equilibrium.”

Sid caught movement out of the corner of her eye as Isabeau pulled away from him. “I appreciate your willingness to sacrifice for me.” Her voice had turned cool and edged. Dangerous. “Dearest Modred, always so selfless. But no, just like the crown, this is my burden to carry.”

He sighed sharply. “I’m going to get Myrrah to make a poppy drink for you. I know you don’t like it, but it’s the only thing that will calm you down when you’re like this. Maybe then you can take a nap.”

“What would I do without you to look after me?” Isabeau said softly.

“I don’t know. Turn to Valentin, perhaps?” Now Modred’s voice had turned cold and edged.

There was a small silence. Drawing away, Isabeau told him, “You know he doesn’t mean anything to me. He’s not like you. You and I, we’ve been together from the very beginning of my rule.”

“And I will continue to stand by you. Of course, I will.” Modred’s voice changed. “But watch him, Izzy. Valentin has not shown you his true face. The chambermaids have hesitated to say anything, because you’re so taken with him, but more than one of them has gone to Myrrah to be treated for bruises and other injuries.”

“You would vilify anybody I have developed an affection for.” Isabeau’s voice thickened. “My headache is back, and now it is worse than ever. Get out, Modred. Leave me alone!”

“As you wish. You know how to find me. I’ll send Myrrah with the poppy drink.”

Modred thrust to his feet and stalked out of the garden, never once looking in Sid’s direction.

But then, she was so very insignificant. She had no Power, no connections. She fulfilled a function, no more.

Once he had left, Isabeau flung herself flat on the divan and began to weep again. Tuning out the noise, Sid played the lute on autopilot as she turned over the pieces of information she had gleaned.

It seemed the puck was right, after all. Isabeau had found the knife one night after the Wild Hunt had passed, and Azrael wanted his property back.