Spellbinder (Moonshadow #2)

But how did this help them?

At least it solidified their understanding of the problem, yet what could they do about it? Morgan’s constraints wore on him more every day, and if Robin had known a spell for summoning the god of Death, he would have told them so already.

She wasn’t entirely clear on why they needed a spell to begin with. Mere magicless mortals didn’t cast summoning spells when they wanted to communicate with their gods. Instead, they prayed and hoped their god would take the time to hear them, and answer.

Surely now, if there ever was such a time, a god might be motivated to listen.

The thought was frightening. Sid wasn’t a praying kind of person—she had been raised in a secular household, and she lived a secular life—so she wasn’t quite sure how one was supposed to talk to a god.

Perhaps it was something like telepathy.

Fixing on the images Isabeau had described to Modred, Sid reached out and said telepathically, Lord Azrael, I’m not much for religion, and I’m only a Powerless human, but I hope you will take a moment to listen anyway. We are trying to find a way to get your knife from Isabeau and to free Morgan from his bondage. From what I’ve heard, I believe you want your knife back too. Please help us help you. I ask this of my own free will.

As she spoke, a shadow seemed to pass over the sun, and everything in the garden appeared cooler, darkened. For a moment, there was no sound anywhere, not even the sound of a breeze. Sid glanced up. The sky was a cloudless, clear blue.

Had Lord Death listened to her awkward prayer, and answered? A shudder ran through her, as if someone had walked on her grave.

Then Kallah strode across the garden toward her and beckoned, and Sid’s hour came to a close.

Grateful as always to have the time behind her, she hurried to the music hall to deposit the lute on its stand. As she turned away, a shadow fell in the doorway, and a man walked in.

It was the Light Fae male from the night of her great hall performance, the one with Isabeau and Modred in the sitting room who had given her a gold ring.

“Musician.” He greeted her with a smile as he strolled toward her. “I wondered where you had gone after that stunning show of artistry in the great hall.”

Was this Valentin? The man about whom the chambermaids had hesitated to say anything?

With a wary smile, she slipped to one side so that she put the table between them. “I’m not staying in the castle.”

“No?” he replied as he came closer. His body was loose and relaxed. “This is the first time I’ve seen you without the lute in your hands. Always before, you’ve been playing for her majesty.” He gave her a gleaming smile. “I especially liked your music in the garden. I thought of you when I climaxed inside her. It made me come harder than I have in a long time. Did you like what you saw?”

Revolted shock slapped her. For a moment, she stared, at a loss for words. No one had ever said anything like that to her in her life.

Then fury hit. Curling her hands into claws, she hissed, “Stay the fuck away from me, or I will hurt you.”

“Oh, pretty musician.” He laughed. “I would truly love to see you try.”

Balancing on the balls of her feet, she watched and waited until he rounded the corner of the table. Then she sprinted for the doorway with all the speed she could kick out. The Light Fae were fast, but so was she, and she had been running all her adult life.

“You know I can find you,” he called after her, still laughing. “And I will.”

She hit the doorframe at full speed, her wrists taking the brunt of it. Using the impact, she sprang out into the hall. Once free of the room, she spun around to face the door. When he didn’t appear right away, she fled down the hall.

The memory of his laughter followed her, like a disaster building momentum, all the way back to the inn.





Chapter Twenty





When she reached her room, she felt like she had been running for miles. Her breathing coming short and fast, she slammed the door and locked it.

Unlocked it. Locked it.

Unlocked. Locked.

She had her own invisible compulsion that held her prisoner, her own geas that tightened its constraints upon her behavior. Finally she rested both shaking hands on the panels while she tried to think.

Her stay in Avalon had been only lacking that one thing, the threat of sexual assault, to made the nightmare complete.

Her mother had told her once, long ago, when people show you who they are, believe them. The monster had shown her who he was, and Sid did believe him.

You know I can find you, he had said. And he was right. He could. Several people, including the castle guard, knew where she was staying. An offhand conversation, a few carefully worded questions, and he would know exactly where to come.

I could run, she thought, turning to lean back against the door as she looked around the room. I could just head out of town, ignore the two hours’ walk limit, and keep going.

But then he could have me tracked down to a place where there weren’t any witnesses. And if I tell Morgan, he’ll kill him. There’s no question in my mind. He’ll kill him, and that might expose him, and he could lose what little freedom he has fought so hard to gain.

I could move to another inn.

But even as she considered that, she knew that wasn’t a solution either. Valentin could find her wherever she went.

Suddenly, her mind switched gears.

She thought, I could go back to the castle. Approach Kallah in confidence and tell her what happened. Maybe Kallah would let me stay in her room. Surely not even Valentin would dare to attack Kallah, not when she was so close to Isabeau.

But if I did that, I would always be looking over my shoulder. I would always be strategizing how to avoid dark corners or find ways to keep from being alone, and I can’t keep that up indefinitely. Sooner or later, I’ll find myself in a vulnerable position.

Or…

I could kill him.

When that thought occurred to her, it clicked home, like the key turning in the lock. She let the thought settle to see if it held true or vanished in a train of logic, while she stared out at the sparkling sea.

It held true.

Quickly, she sprang into action. She stripped off the bedsheets and carried them down the servants’ staircase. Down below, she threw the sheets in with the pile to be washed in the morning.

Then she got a bucket and soap from one of the servants, and went back to her room to scrub every available surface she could. She finished by washing the floorboards on her hands and knees.

It was early evening, and the sun was beginning to dip down toward the sea, when she finally poured the last of the soapy water down the drain in the alcove. Setting the bucket by the door, she dressed in a black tunic, trousers, and butter-soft boots.