Spellbinder
Page 63

The bookcases stood flush against the wall, so no one could hide behind those. The stands holding the instruments were artistically crafted, but not solid pieces. Rather, they were constructions made with strips of carved wood, almost like an artist’s easel. There was the furniture arranged near the fireplace, the couches and the chairs, but as she walked slowly toward the area, the shadows behind the furniture appeared empty.
There was no other place she could see for a body of any size to hide.
But what if it was a body that was not of any substantial size?
Not one of the castle dogs. They were too big.
But a rat, for instance, could hide very well in a room such as this. Or a cat.
He might not even be in this room, but somewhere close by. Reaching for the mental image of her kidnapper, with that thin, strange face, she said telepathically, Robin?
She felt nothing, no sense of whether she had connected to someone or was talking to dead air.
Then one of the dark shadows behind the couch detached from the others. It was a black cat, and it stalked toward her with smooth, sinuous grace. Between one step and the next, it transformed into a thin, upright figure.
The figure almost looked like a human teenage boy. Almost… except for those wild, ancient eyes.
Robin said, “Hello, Sidonie.”
Chapter Sixteen
A sudden blast of fury hit her like a tornado.
The maelstrom whited out all caution or common sense, and it impelled her to leap forward. She had the sensation of leaving her body.
“You!” she snarled.
She slapped him so hard his head jerked back. Then she slapped him again.
And again.
The next thing she knew, she was pummeling him with both fists and feet, while tears of rage ran down her cheeks.
He made no move to stop her or to try to protect himself. Raining him with blows, she drove him backward until his shoulders hit the edge of a bookcase. Bracing himself against it, he stood stoically under her onslaught.
“She broke my hands, you son of a bitch!”
He did not look surprised. He merely nodded and tilted his chin up, turning into her punch. “She cut out my tongue, once. It took years to grow back.”
That statement cut through her mindless rage. She hesitated a moment too long, absorbing the strangeness and barbarity of it. When she reached again for her former fury, the firestorm had already subsided into glowing coals. Not gone, not by any means, but not out of control either.
When he made as if to straighten from his leaning stance, she shoved him again and said between her teeth, “I hate you so passionately.”
His strange gaze met hers steadily. “I deserve every ounce of it.”
“I can’t believe you have the audacity to look me in the eyes, let alone creep around the castle. Morgan thought not even you would be that crazy.” She glanced over her shoulder at the closed doors. “Why are you here?!”
“I’ve come to bear witness to the consequences of my handiwork,” he told her. “Evil deeds should never go unpunished.”
Whose evil deeds was he talking about, Isabeau’s? Or his?
Bitterly, she told him, “You can never make amends for the pain and the fear you put me through.”
“I’m not here to try, although I will gladly take every blow you need to hurl,” he told her gently. “Some actions are unforgiveable. And before you ask, no, I will not take you home again.”
“You fool, I don’t want to go home,” she hissed. Surprise flared in his feral gaze. He had not expected that. “But I do want to set the record straight, and when I do, you’d better try to do something sensible to help fix things, or I swear to God, someday I will find a way to burn you to ashes.”
“I see the passion of which you speak,” he whispered.
Glancing at the doors again, she said rapidly, “I have no idea how much time we might have, so I’m going to cut to the chase. Morgan is bound by a geas. Everything you wanted to have happen when you kidnapped me can’t happen.”
Those words were the first blow she had struck that caused him to look shocked. He breathed, “What are you talking about?”
“You thought you would try to drive a wedge between two people who partnered together in crimes.” A resurgence of rage made her punch him in the chest. She said between clenched teeth, “Well, it’s not going to happen! Morgan is as much a prisoner as you were—as I am right now! He was never going to tell you about it. The geas prevents him from telling people. The only way I know is because I guessed from certain things he said. Once I knew about the compulsion, the geas loosened its hold and we were able to talk about it.”
“Could that have been true all this time?” he muttered to himself as his gaze clouded, dark with doubt and memory. “I saw them fight like they hated each other, but lovers play at those games. She plays at those games. The pretty smiles and the deadly rages… both are carefully constructed acts. Behind all the sound and fury, she watches with unceasing care for any opportunity to mold fate to her advantage. And never forget Modred. He is the willing sword to her hand.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll never forget Modred,” she said, breathing hard. “Not after what he did to me. But right now, we’re not talking about him or Isabeau. We’re talking about you. There’s only one way for you to get what you want. And you still want it, don’t you… to break the tie that binds Morgan and Isabeau together?”
His gaze snapped back into focus. “I want that more than my conscience or my soul.”
Searching his gaze, strange though it was, she saw nothing but sincerity.
“All right,” she said. “Isabeau wears a knife on a gold chain around her waist. It’s called Azrael’s Athame, or maybe Death’s Knife. Have you heard of it?”
“No.” He frowned. “I remember that old knife in its scabbard. It shines with darkness.”
“Who is Azrael?”
He raised his eyebrows, looking surprised again, apparently at her ignorance. “Azrael is Lord Death, one of the seven gods of the Elder Races. Sometimes they’re also called Primal Powers. There’s also Taliesin, the god of the Dance, who is first among the gods because dance is change, and the universe is constantly in motion. Then there’s Inanna, goddess of Love; Nadir, goddess of the depths or the Oracle; Will, god of the Gift; Camael, goddess of the Hearth; and Hyperion, the god of Law.” He paused, taking in her growing impatience, then added almost chidingly, “Unlike the gods from other religions, the seven Primal Powers are very real and active in the world.”