Page 47 of Seducing the Sorcerer
But now it came to it, Fenn couldn’t admit it. Because he shouldn’t have noticed what colour the sorcerer wore or how it suited him. And he shouldn’t have presumed to choose him a gift.
“Ought to see to that cut. That’s what you ought to do,” Fenn said.
“I will.” Morgrim picked his sword up. “Are you flying down from here or taking the stairs?”
Fenn pondered. He’d avoided flying for days because he’d worried Squab might take off with him again. But they’d made it back here all right. And suddenly it hardly seemed to matter if it did carry him away. He was making himself ridiculous, mooning over Morgrim.
“Reckon I’ll fly.” He peered over the edge. It did feel strange, to stand here talking in the sun and to know that it would be pouring with rain at the foot of the tower. “Why not, eh? Got to start getting used to it one day.”
“Quite right. And then we’ll ride as usual? Meet me on the mustering ground?”
“Aye. Grand.” Fenn said, slowly.
How had his life got so complicated? How could it be that he did and didn’t want so many things at the same time?
“I look forward to it.” Morgrim paused at the trapdoor. “Mr. Todd? Thank you. For coming to see what was going on. And for the kitten.” His voice softened. He sounded almost shy. “She’s beautiful. There’s something so delightful about black cats, don’t you think? I’ve always liked them best.”
He gave Fenn a hesitant smile. It barely reached his mouth, almost as if he wasn’t sure it was allowed.
Fenn could hardly look at him. It was good that Morgrim liked the kitten, but really Fenn shouldn’t have presumed to give him anything at all.
“Go on with you,” Fenn said, and turned away.
He mounted Squab by launching himself from the battlements, flew down and checked the mews door, which was standing open. It had a round knob that seemed impossible for anyone without thumbs. Unless Squab had somehow done it with its mouth. Or used magic, as Morgrim had suggested. Fenn went inside and checked all the grilled windows. They were secure too. He went back to the door and shook his head in puzzlement at it. But only for a moment. After everything that had happened over the last few days, a horse opening a door seemed a small thing.
He closed the door, and went to meet Morgrim on the mustering ground, half happier than he’d ever been in his life, half wondering what the fuck he was getting himself into. Because surely his heart didn’t ought to ache so sweet when Morgrim smiled at him.
Chapter 10
A few more days passed.
Fenn noticed a change in the topics of conversation at dinner. Morgrim began bringing up more hypothetical situations—about statecraft, mostly—and asking Fenn’s opinion. At first Fenn felt flattered, then horribly out of his league. Because they were problems that seemed impossible to solve. Real quandaries. Like that the Lutian king let his navy act as pirates as a perquisite of the job. And people were scared of fighting back because not only might the pirates cut them down, but once or twice the king had called it an act of war and hit back doubly hard at all ships from that nation. Obviously, this was bad, and the government was considering halting trade with the Lutians until it stopped. Only problem was, the Lutians were the best suppliers of raw crystal, and if that trade stopped, the local fixing trade went belly-up. And there were hundreds of thousands of people who depended on that trade for their daily bread. So, what was the best course of action? Fenn made suggestions—but was right glad he didn’t have to come up with the real answers.
But it did give him pleasure to see the kitten, now named Fang, curled up on the sorcerer’s knee of an evening, and to see the way Morgrim’s eyes softened when he looked at her. Sometimes, she made him smile. Maybe Fenn had fudged the giving of the gift, but he wasn’t the type of bloke to make pretty speeches anyway. It didn’t matter. Morgrim had needed a cat. Now, he had one and it clearly made him happy. That was the main thing.
***
The day dawned when Aramella came for the promised ride.
Morgrim and Fenn met her on the mustering ground and she and Fenn spent a few happy minutes talking about her horse, Woodbine, a bright chestnut gelding. They set off across the impossibly green grass. She talked a bit about statecraft as well, which Fenn supposed was only natural. But she also discussed the best way to treat cracked hooves, the vital importance of daily pasture checks as a preventative against stringhalt, the necessity or otherwise of shoeing, and other interesting topics.
And then, as they circled the mustering ground for the second time, she said, “I’ve another formal suitor, Morgrim. Gautier of Just.”
Morgrim inclined his head. “Makes sense.”
“Angling to stay after the coronation.”
“Will you invite him?”
“Maybe.” She glanced at Fenn, smiled, and turned back to Morgrim. “Remember when I used to tell everyone I was going to marry you?”
Fenn froze. If they’d been walking, he’d have forgotten how. Luckily, they were riding and the worple horse kept moving underneath him.
Distantly, he heard Morgrim say, “Of course.”
Aramella turned back to Fenn. “When I was younger, Mr. Todd, I found the attentions of all these princes rather more troubling. My brother’s friends in particular did not make themselves pleasant. And I hadn’t yet learned how to get rid of them. Morgrim used to glare at them from the shadows and then swoop out and take my arm. He’s got a terrifying glare. Worked like a charm, eh, Morgrim?”
“I only did it once or twice. You’d have managed.”
