Spellbinder
Page 35
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Don’t get your hopes up, she told herself as her first interrogator grabbed her arm and hauled her after Modred, who strode as rapidly down the hall as he had the first time she had met him.
She would have a collection of bruises on her arms from all the manhandling. “I’m cooperating, you know,” she told the Light Fae guard. “You don’t have to drag me along like this. I can keep up.”
He gave her a disdainful frown but released her. “See that you do,” he snapped. “Or you’ll end up in worse condition than you were in before.”
“I’m well aware of that,” she muttered through clenched teeth as she yanked her hoodie and worn T-shirt straight again. As bad as her captors were, her worst enemy was her own temper. She mustn’t let any of them get to her so badly she forgot her goals, because if she let that happen, she was done for.
Modred led them up the stairs and, just like the first time, through a maze of halls. Enchanted with the dizzying array of colors, textures, sights, and scents, Sid couldn’t stop staring around her. After days of sensory deprivation, the rich scenery was almost too much to take in.
He led the way past guards onto a verandah that opened to a walled garden filled with emerald green grass, flowering trees, and climbing roses. Travertine marble provided a cool, elegant floor, while columns of travertine punctuated the space.
Isabeau sat in the shade of an apple tree on the marble border of a large, round pool, throwing scraps of bread into the water while small ripples appeared as fish snatched at the food.
As before, the Queen looked strikingly beautiful, her long golden hair dressed in curls. She wore a light, sleeveless gown of pale blue silk with a plunging neckline. The material was so thin, it outlined the slender legs underneath it.
When the Queen glanced at them, her delicate brows drew together in a frown. She said in an edged voice, “Modred, I thought I told you I wanted the afternoon to myself.”
“Of course you did, my love,” he told her. “But trust me, you will want to hear this.” Turning, he gestured at the Light Fae guard, who reached for her arm again.
But Sid saw him coming and slipped neatly away from his grasp.
Throwing herself forward, she landed on her knees in front of the Light Fae Queen, bowing so deeply her chin almost touched the manicured grass. She focused her gaze on the delicate leather slippers in front of her.
“Your majesty, I apologize from the bottom of my heart,” she said. “When I first met you, I had no idea who you were. Nobody told me anything or taught me how to address you properly. Now that I do know, I’m embarrassed to be brought into your presence in such a state—filthy, unbathed, and in ragged clothing. This isn’t an appropriate way to have an audience with a queen. If it were in my power to choose otherwise, I would have presented myself in a way that showed much more respect for your person.”
With her head bowed, she could just see Modred’s long legs out of the corner of her eye. As she spoke, he shifted abruptly. The air around her seemed to sharpen, as if filled with invisible knives.
You threw me under the bus the first time, she said silently to Modred. Just watch. I can throw you under a bus too.
Then Isabeau said, her tone light, measured, “Well, it appears at least someone is thinking of the correct protocol. Even if it is only the ugly brown-haired girl.”
And you, Sid said to the Queen. If I could chew off your leg and beat you with it, I would. Maybe I’ll get the chance one day. Now there’s a goal to strive for.
“Trust me, my love. This is too urgent to wait for protocol.” Modred’s reply sounded edged.
“Was that true the first time you brought her to me?” Isabeau asked.
“I smelled like a barnyard,” Sid murmured, ducking her head farther. “I was afraid, and I hadn’t eaten properly in days. Not that it’s any excuse, but it caused me to lash out. A monarch should be greeted with elegance and diplomacy. Your majesty, please forgive me.”
Silence fell over the tableau, heavy with nuances and the ripe scents of summer. Danger breathed softly along the back of Sid’s neck.
Then Isabeau murmured in a guarded tone, “Perhaps I’ll consider it. Now, why are you here? Modred, why is she here? Why are you here, when I expressly told you I wanted to be alone?”
“Show her, ugly brown-haired girl,” Modred said.
Holding up her hands, Sid turned them over and opened and closed her fingers. The silence grew heavier, like the press of a knife to her jugular.
“What is this?” Isabeau asked.
She couldn’t answer with anything but questions. “Isn’t it mercy?” she asked. “Didn’t you order this, yourself? The moment when I awoke to discover my hands were healed was indescribable. Your majesty, I’m so glad to get the chance to apologize.”
As she waited, her pulse pounded in her ears. Isabeau said nothing for so long, she plummeted into certainty. They were going to kill her and be done with it. A flash of heat washed over her body, followed by a wave of nausea.
Then she jettisoned past terror to realize Isabeau’s extended silence meant she must be telepathizing with someone. Perhaps Modred. Perhaps Sid’s interrogator. Isabeau would be demanding an explanation from her people and getting their versions of the truth.
Sid knew she had convinced the interrogator she knew nothing, but she had no idea what Modred believed.
Tightening every muscle in her torso, she willed the nausea away and waited.
With a rustle of silk, Isabeau left her seat. Long, bejeweled fingers curled around one of Sid’s hands, turning it first one way then the other.
“Look at that,” Isabeau murmured. “They are perfectly restored, aren’t they?”
Did the Queen believe she knew nothing? Was she going to claim credit for the healing? Sid didn’t dare look up. She hadn’t been given permission to do so.
“I’m grateful from the bottom of my heart,” she said, again pouring all the conviction of that truth into her voice.
Isabeau ordered, “Look at me.”
Lifting her head, Sid looked into the Queen’s intent, narrowed gaze.
Watching her closely, Isabeau asked, “Now will you play music for me, ugly brown-haired girl?”
And there it was, the chance to take her money shot. Her opportunity to deliver the closing statement, to seal the deal.
Filling her mind with the memory of the unending bleakness in her underground cell, Sid said with perfect, heartfelt honesty, “Your majesty, there is nothing I want more in this world than to play the very best music I can for you.”
She would have a collection of bruises on her arms from all the manhandling. “I’m cooperating, you know,” she told the Light Fae guard. “You don’t have to drag me along like this. I can keep up.”
He gave her a disdainful frown but released her. “See that you do,” he snapped. “Or you’ll end up in worse condition than you were in before.”
“I’m well aware of that,” she muttered through clenched teeth as she yanked her hoodie and worn T-shirt straight again. As bad as her captors were, her worst enemy was her own temper. She mustn’t let any of them get to her so badly she forgot her goals, because if she let that happen, she was done for.
Modred led them up the stairs and, just like the first time, through a maze of halls. Enchanted with the dizzying array of colors, textures, sights, and scents, Sid couldn’t stop staring around her. After days of sensory deprivation, the rich scenery was almost too much to take in.
He led the way past guards onto a verandah that opened to a walled garden filled with emerald green grass, flowering trees, and climbing roses. Travertine marble provided a cool, elegant floor, while columns of travertine punctuated the space.
Isabeau sat in the shade of an apple tree on the marble border of a large, round pool, throwing scraps of bread into the water while small ripples appeared as fish snatched at the food.
As before, the Queen looked strikingly beautiful, her long golden hair dressed in curls. She wore a light, sleeveless gown of pale blue silk with a plunging neckline. The material was so thin, it outlined the slender legs underneath it.
When the Queen glanced at them, her delicate brows drew together in a frown. She said in an edged voice, “Modred, I thought I told you I wanted the afternoon to myself.”
“Of course you did, my love,” he told her. “But trust me, you will want to hear this.” Turning, he gestured at the Light Fae guard, who reached for her arm again.
But Sid saw him coming and slipped neatly away from his grasp.
Throwing herself forward, she landed on her knees in front of the Light Fae Queen, bowing so deeply her chin almost touched the manicured grass. She focused her gaze on the delicate leather slippers in front of her.
“Your majesty, I apologize from the bottom of my heart,” she said. “When I first met you, I had no idea who you were. Nobody told me anything or taught me how to address you properly. Now that I do know, I’m embarrassed to be brought into your presence in such a state—filthy, unbathed, and in ragged clothing. This isn’t an appropriate way to have an audience with a queen. If it were in my power to choose otherwise, I would have presented myself in a way that showed much more respect for your person.”
With her head bowed, she could just see Modred’s long legs out of the corner of her eye. As she spoke, he shifted abruptly. The air around her seemed to sharpen, as if filled with invisible knives.
You threw me under the bus the first time, she said silently to Modred. Just watch. I can throw you under a bus too.
Then Isabeau said, her tone light, measured, “Well, it appears at least someone is thinking of the correct protocol. Even if it is only the ugly brown-haired girl.”
And you, Sid said to the Queen. If I could chew off your leg and beat you with it, I would. Maybe I’ll get the chance one day. Now there’s a goal to strive for.
“Trust me, my love. This is too urgent to wait for protocol.” Modred’s reply sounded edged.
“Was that true the first time you brought her to me?” Isabeau asked.
“I smelled like a barnyard,” Sid murmured, ducking her head farther. “I was afraid, and I hadn’t eaten properly in days. Not that it’s any excuse, but it caused me to lash out. A monarch should be greeted with elegance and diplomacy. Your majesty, please forgive me.”
Silence fell over the tableau, heavy with nuances and the ripe scents of summer. Danger breathed softly along the back of Sid’s neck.
Then Isabeau murmured in a guarded tone, “Perhaps I’ll consider it. Now, why are you here? Modred, why is she here? Why are you here, when I expressly told you I wanted to be alone?”
“Show her, ugly brown-haired girl,” Modred said.
Holding up her hands, Sid turned them over and opened and closed her fingers. The silence grew heavier, like the press of a knife to her jugular.
“What is this?” Isabeau asked.
She couldn’t answer with anything but questions. “Isn’t it mercy?” she asked. “Didn’t you order this, yourself? The moment when I awoke to discover my hands were healed was indescribable. Your majesty, I’m so glad to get the chance to apologize.”
As she waited, her pulse pounded in her ears. Isabeau said nothing for so long, she plummeted into certainty. They were going to kill her and be done with it. A flash of heat washed over her body, followed by a wave of nausea.
Then she jettisoned past terror to realize Isabeau’s extended silence meant she must be telepathizing with someone. Perhaps Modred. Perhaps Sid’s interrogator. Isabeau would be demanding an explanation from her people and getting their versions of the truth.
Sid knew she had convinced the interrogator she knew nothing, but she had no idea what Modred believed.
Tightening every muscle in her torso, she willed the nausea away and waited.
With a rustle of silk, Isabeau left her seat. Long, bejeweled fingers curled around one of Sid’s hands, turning it first one way then the other.
“Look at that,” Isabeau murmured. “They are perfectly restored, aren’t they?”
Did the Queen believe she knew nothing? Was she going to claim credit for the healing? Sid didn’t dare look up. She hadn’t been given permission to do so.
“I’m grateful from the bottom of my heart,” she said, again pouring all the conviction of that truth into her voice.
Isabeau ordered, “Look at me.”
Lifting her head, Sid looked into the Queen’s intent, narrowed gaze.
Watching her closely, Isabeau asked, “Now will you play music for me, ugly brown-haired girl?”
And there it was, the chance to take her money shot. Her opportunity to deliver the closing statement, to seal the deal.
Filling her mind with the memory of the unending bleakness in her underground cell, Sid said with perfect, heartfelt honesty, “Your majesty, there is nothing I want more in this world than to play the very best music I can for you.”
