The events of the day crushed down on her, the unending stress, the fear, and she felt her face crumple. Suddenly remembering that his eyesight was sharper at night than hers, she bowed her head and dug the heels of her hands into dry, tired eyes.
“I did it all,” she gritted. “I told my version of truth and padded it with supposition and questions, and I got past the prison interrogator, past Modred, and I even survived a second meeting with the Queen. I won a second shot at playing for her, and she gave me three days to prepare.” Her voice broke. “It never occurred to me that I might not know how to play anything here. I play five instruments really well. Really well. Not one of those instruments is here in this hall.”
He took in a deep, audible breath, then let it out slowly. Grasping her by the shoulders, he pulled her into his arms. “Okay,” he murmured. “We will figure this out.”
“There’s nothing to figure out,” she said into his chest. “I can’t magically learn how to play a new instrument well enough to satisfy a music aficionado in the next… Today is over. It’s two days now, not three. She’s going to throw me back in prison, and next time I won’t have a nifty story I can tap-dance around to get somebody’s attention.”
“Don’t be too sure about that,” he told her. “It’s going to be all right, Sidonie. Just trust me and relax for a minute while I think.”
To go from such intense isolation and stress to someone actually caring enough to put his arms around her was an almost impossible emotional journey to encompass. Her breath shook in her throat as she fought to regain her composure.
He rubbed her back until gradually, muscle by muscle, she eased into the shelter of his long, hard body and slipped her arms around his waist. He was still wearing the bandage around his ribs, she discovered.
“I’m not supposed to trust you,” she whispered.
“Well, there’s that,” he replied dryly. “Let’s reframe that for now, shall we? For the time being—for tonight—you can trust me. Isabeau still doesn’t know I’ve helped you, so she hasn’t issued any countermanding orders.”
The solid weight of his arms around her felt too good. She couldn’t rely on it, and she shouldn’t enjoy it as much as she did.
But she did enjoy it, intensely. Comfort stole into her in like a thief and made itself at home. Burying her face into his chest, she said, “So I didn’t create any problems for you when I broke out of jail?”
He put his face in her short hair. She felt him smile. “You’ve been nothing but problems from the moment I found out you existed.”
“That sounds unfortunate,” she muttered, partly chagrined but mostly just grateful that what happened to her mattered to him in some way. The loneliness she had felt since being kidnapped was stronger than she’d realized.
One of his hands came up to cover the nape of her neck. “It was not a good moment when I discovered your presence in the cell had been replaced by five guards.”
Her head jerked up. “Oh, no.”
“Oh, yes.” Cupping her face, he rubbed his thumbs along the plump curve of her lower lip. He added, as if to himself, “I shouldn’t be telling you this. You’re still learning too much about me.”
She grabbed his wrists. “You can’t stop now. What happened? They didn’t attack you, did they?”
“Never mind. It gave me a chance to spin a story for how you got healed. It was a bit of a stretch, but they don’t have any other explanation—or any evidence—for what really happened.”
But her mind had gone down a different track. She said slowly, “You know I’m going to figure out who you are, don’t you? That is, if I live past the next two days. The whole reason you kept hidden from me was so I couldn’t tell anyone about you, or what you’ve done for me.”
“We’re not out of the woods yet,” he said softly. “You could still be questioned. Isabeau has kept you close for that very reason. If she does have you questioned, and she forces the truth out of you, right now the only thing you can tell her is an unknown man helped you.”
Her fingers tightened on his wrists. “I know she has you imprisoned in a spell,” she said tautly. “How many people does she control this way?”
Chapter Eleven
“Enough about that.” His hold loosened. “I have a present for you, if you would use it.”
“What?” That had come so far out of left field, she floundered a moment. “I—thank you. What is it?”
He reached into his pocket. “It’s a pair of earrings. Are your ears pierced?”
“Yes…” She blinked at him in confusion. How on earth could it be relevant for him to give her a pair of earrings right now?
Taking one of her hands, he dropped them into her palm. She fingered them, frowning. Small and still warm from being in his pocket, they felt like they were simple ball studs with round metal backs.
As she explored them with her fingers, he told her, “They’re very humble and plain, I’m afraid. They’re made with silver and they’re quite small. They look like something a servant might wear, but I’ve spelled them with telepathy.”
“Telepathy earrings…,” she breathed.
She didn’t know about Avalon, but on Earth there was a booming industry for magic items. Quite a few magic users used items to expand or enhance their abilities, and many deadhead humans liked exploring and using magic items. Telepathy earrings were one of the most common and affordable commodities on the market.
Curious, Sid had bought a pair and tried them once, but she found the sensation of hearing someone else’s voice in her head so uncomfortable she never wore them.
“I don’t like not being able to talk with you telepathically,” he said. “There are sharp ears in this castle. We’re fine for now. Most of the castle is asleep, and at the moment, there’s no one near this room. But there may come a time when we need to talk while someone else is close by. Would you consider wearing them?”
She turned them over in her hands. “I didn’t do so well with the earrings the first time I tried them. Telepathy felt too strange and intrusive, but at the time it didn’t matter if I got used to them or not. I’m certainly willing to try them again, but won’t somebody notice?”
The smile came back into his voice. She loved it when she heard him smile. It warmed his deep whisper. “Trust me, the spell I infused in those earrings is so subtle and insignificant no one will notice it at all. Telepathy is something even the youngest Light Fae child can do, and besides, there are flares of magic all over that fill the senses. Magic is imbedded in artwork, in weapons, sometimes utensils, the witchlights—those globes fastened to the walls—and most of the nobles are wearing much more Powerful items of jewelry. Many, including Isabeau, are wearing multiple pieces at once.”
“What do the witchlights do?” Her gaze slid sideways to eye the nearest one curiously.
“They’re simple illumination spells. You can activate them with a touch.” He paused. “Or at least, those with a spark of magic can activate them. But don’t worry, most rooms also have a few candles too.”
She sighed. “Normally I don’t care about being magicless, but the way you describe things makes me realize just how much I’m not seeing in the world around me.”
He cupped her head with both hands. “You’re full of your own kind of magic, and it’s much more rare and beautiful than all the other spells around you. They are commonplace. You are unique.”
She flushed all over at hearing his words, her body warming with pleasure. “Thank you,” she whispered. “If you think we can get away with it, I’d be glad to try the earrings.”
“Excellent.” He paused. “Have they searched you or shown any interest in what you might be carrying?”
She snorted. “Not at all. They probably scanned me for dangerous magic, and I just didn’t know it. But I still have the worry stones I picked up on the caravan trip. Nobody’s checked what I have in my pockets or even asked me what my name is. The indifference has been staggering. If I’d had an infl
ated ego, it would have been trampled to death days ago.” She thought for a moment. “The one person who might notice is the woman who cut my hair. Her name is Kallah. She’s Isabeau’s… what do the Light Fae call it? Lady-in-waiting?”
“They’re called court ladies here,” he told her. “Kallah is smart and observant. You’ll want to be careful about wearing the earrings around her when she has the leisure to notice you, at least until you have some plausible explanation for having acquired them. Other than that, I think you’ll be okay. Everyone knows you don’t have magic.”
“Okay. Let’s try them!” Eager to know what his telepathic voice sounded like, she pulled the small metal back off one of the posts and poked along her skin until she felt it slide into the piercing in her lobe. Quickly, she fastened the back and slipped on the other earring.
“Got it?” he asked.
She nodded. “Got it.”
“Good. Let me know when you’re ready.”
Why did she suddenly feel so nervous? Clasping her hands together, she told him, “Ready. I think.”
He settled both hands on her shoulders. Then a deep, rich voice sounded in her head. Hello, Sidonie.
Gasping, she gripped his forearms and her legs wobbled.
His fingers tightened. Are you all right?
She gasped again, while the world seemed to spin around her. “Yes,” she breathed. “Your voice in my head… it’s so intimate. How can you stand to do this all the time with just anybody?”
A soft laugh escaped him. That’s a perspective I’ve never considered before, he told her. It makes sense now that you’ve said it, but when children use telepathy from a very early age, it becomes just another way of talking.
As she listened to him, she had to clap both hands over her mouth to stifle the incoherent sound of glee that escaped. Listening to his telepathic voice sent shivers down her back. She loved it. Loved!
After a hesitation, he asked, Is it okay?
Should she confess how delighted she was, or that she never wanted him to stop talking to her? She would listen to him say anything. He could read the phone book to her, and she would love it.
Unsteadily, she told him, “It’s great. It’s just a huge adjustment. The last time I tried telepathy earrings, I couldn’t get the shop assistant out of my head fast enough, but you’re different. I… I trust you.” Even though she had said it softly, the last three words seemed to echo in the music hall. He had gone silent and tense. Listening to the implications in what she had just said, she added lamely, “At least, for tonight, I do.”
He released the breath she had sensed him holding. Good. Now, you try talking to me. Just reach out, like you would if you looked across the room and tried to catch my gaze.
She thought that through for a moment. Then she shouted, HELLO? ARE YOU THERE?
He recoiled as if she’d slapped him. Then he burst out laughing. The sound was so foreign to anything thus far that they had shared together, she stared.
Why, yes. His telepathic voice sounded strangled. I am indeed right here, and you just made a hell of a noise. Try to tone it down next time.
Sorry, she said loudly, scowling from the intensity of concentration. Is this better?
He laughed harder. There’s no need to strain, or shout, and for God’s sake, don’t make faces like that! In fact, you can whisper telepathically, and I would hear you perfectly fine.
Her scowl deepened, but she didn’t really mind him laughing at her. It sounded good and healthy, almost as if they were enjoying themselves as they carried on a normal conversation about normal things.
God, she wished they could have a normal conversation about normal things. Whatever normal might mean to him. She was sure any conversation she had with him would be as exotic as the ones they’d already shared. She just wanted to talk with him and be easy together without having everything feeling fraught with impending doom. The brief moment of levity made her aware just how starved she was for more.
Heaving a gusty sigh, she whispered, How’s this?
Still intense, but much better, he told her. We can practice as much as you like.
“That would be good,” she said aloud, quietly. “I need to be sure I don’t look like a grimacing fool when I telepathize, but how do I know I’m going to reach you instead of someone else?”
He switched to speaking aloud too. “That’s easier than you might think. If you focus on me, you will contact me. If you focus on someone else—for example, Kallah, Modred, Isabeau, a guard, or one of the dogs—you would contact them. But of course, the dogs don’t have telepathy, so you wouldn’t get a response back.”
“Oh, of course,” she echoed with a touch of sarcasm, when in fact she didn’t know any such thing. As far as she knew, every dog in Avalon could have been a telepathic, talking dog.
“Just remember, the earrings have a range of about twice the size of this music hall,” he told her. “More like the size of the castle great hall. If you can’t contact me, I’m not in range. We can practice as much as you like until you’re completely comfortable with it.”
“Maybe later. I’m getting a headache,” she murmured as she glanced at the lute on the table. Her earlier glee evaporated, leaving her feeling dull and afraid. “The earrings are wonderful, and I’m glad you thought of them, but they’re not going to solve my immediate problem.”
That whole impending-doom thing had to go and rear its ugly head again.
“No, they’re not, are they?” He strode over to the table and fingered the lute. “But I think I know what will.”
She hated not knowing what to call him. It was bugging her more and more as time passed. She even hated it more than not being able to see what he looked like. She had grown accustomed to the play of shadows across his face, attuned to the nuances and shifts in emotion in his body language and in his quietly murmured words.
As odd as it sounded, she had even grown accustomed to touching him and being touched. She had more than grown accustomed. She looked forward to it. She… yearned for it. His touch brought comfort and reassurance at a time when she badly needed both.
Every time his fingers brushed her skin, it was like sunlight and fresh, sparkling water to a dying plant. She needed food to survive, but when he touched her, it nourished her in ways that nothing else ever had.
By comparison, not knowing his name was growing to feel like sand in a shallow cut. It was abrasive and wrong. And assigning an arbitrary name to him didn’t help.
Fred. John. Thomas. They were all empty syllables that carried no meaning.
Magic Man. At least that had meaning.
“Okay, Magic Man,” she said as she walked over to his side. “What’s next?”
* * *
Magic Man.
When he heard the nickname she had given him, he smiled.
She had been traumatized in a way that few people ever endured. She was still in danger, afraid, and vulnerable to the malignant forces all around her, and yet here she walked toward him, ready to hear what he had to say.
Bravery wasn’t facing something you knew you could vanquish, he thought. Bravery was facing the impossible and saying, what’s next?
“I know a spell,” he told her.
She chuckled quietly and touched his shoulder in a quick, affectionate gesture. “Of course you do. What is it?”
“It’s actually a battle spell,” he replied. “You can transfer your skills to another person for a battle. The effects are temporary, and the spell is draining for both people, so it isn’t something anyone would cast lightly. In battle, using it tends to be an act of desperation, in an all-or-nothing kind of scenario, because if you’re in a situation where you need to cast it, it’s unlikely either participant will survive anyway. The times I’ve seen it used were when warriors were battling for the greater good. One badly wounded soldier cast the spell to transfer his abilities to a younger man. They both died that day, but they were able to guard a narrow pass long enough for reinforcemen
ts to arrive, which saved their settlement from an invading force.”
She wrapped her arms around her middle, and he sensed her shiver. “Sounds grim.”
Putting an arm around her, he drew her against his side. “It is, rather. But here’s the thing—I’ve played both the lute and the harp before. Once, I played them quite well. But that was quite a long time ago.”
As she tilted back her head, he caught a shadowed glimpse of her sparkling, elegant eyes. “Just how old are you?”
“Very old,” he replied. “I stopped aging when I was thirty-seven. That was when Isabeau trapped me with the geas.”
Leaning against him, she turned her face into his shoulder and sighed. “I daydream about tearing her face off.”
That was so unexpectedly bloodthirsty, he coughed out a laugh. “As do I,” he told her. Obeying an impulse he didn’t want to examine too closely, he pressed his lips to her forehead and said against her soft, creamy skin, “As do I.”
Whenever she came close, he wanted to touch her, stroke her face, cradle her slender body against his, rest his cheek on top of her head. Touching her had awakened a hunger he hadn’t felt in centuries, or perhaps ever.
In his human life, he had been self-contained and autonomous, driven by his intellectual passions, the pursuit of magic, and the brilliant realization of political ambitions. Sex had been enjoyable but not something he had obsessed over, and he hadn’t needed the kind of physical demonstrations of affection that so many other people seemed to need from their lovers.
This compulsion to touch Sidonie was completely foreign to him. He didn’t understand why he had grown to need it or why it had to be her that he touched.
But it did have to be her. He wasn’t interested in seeking or offering comfort to anyone else.
Frowning, he loosened his hold on her shoulders. “The only way to know if the spell will work is to try it. Which instrument do you want to focus on?”
She blew out a sigh. “It should be the lute. I’ll have the best chance to learn and play that quickly—or at least quicker than the other instruments. I’d enjoy exploring the harp, but that will take more time.”