Page 64 of Seducing the Sorcerer
Now they were out of that damn cloud the tower rock was plain as day, though it was impossible to see clear to the bottom because a fold of the headland was in the way. Fenn scanned as much of the sea as he could. Nothing. The headland seemed empty too, but there were hummocks and shrubs so the hex could be under cover. He cocked his head away from the wind. Nothing but Morgrim’s laboured breathing and the pounding of his own heart.
“And will it? Follow?” Fenn asked.
“Don’t know. Maybe.” Morgrim took a deep breath, his chest swelling against Fenn’s back. He let it out. “But it’s not alive. It can’t think. Hexes are strong but simple. It was sent to get me. It’s failed. So, it’ll just stop. Probably.”
“Sent? By who?”
Morgrim was silent. There was a flash of movement beneath them and Fenn’s heart seemed to stop. But it was only a seagull soaring high over the restless ocean.
“Couldn’t say,” Morgrim said, eventually.
It sounded so much like a lie that Fenn tried to look at him again. It remained almost impossible. All he got was an impression of neat black beard and everything else filthy dishevelment.
“Oh aye? Lots of people, are there, who might want to send one of those at you?”
“A few.” Morgrim’s voice was quiet.
Gods, he means it.
Fenn took another deep breath himself. In person, Morgrim was so—so lovely, such a gentleman, so sweet, so courteous. It was too easy to forget who he was in the wider sense: the much-reviled court sorcerer who people might want to kill. Bloody oath.
“Right. And might they send another?” Fenn asked.
Morgrim shuddered. “Maybe.”
“And you can’t magic them away?”
“Uh...it’s possible, of course. It’s not even that hard, usually. But it...I...I was taken unawares and I...I...”
“Don’t matter. Just need to know. So, tower ain’t safe. We get away, then. Camp out, maybe. Find somewhere safe while you make a counter hex or whatever you call it.”
“No. No. I have to go back.”
Fenn twisted around, trying to look him in the face again. God’s balls but this was the last time he’d have a conversation with Morgrim behind him on a horse.
“Like being a sitting duck, do you?” Fenn scoffed.
“I have to. The court sorcerer must be in the tower.”
Something about his tone made a wild suspicion flare inside Fenn. He’d always thought Morgrim seemed nervous and strangely sad and trapped. Like a prisoner in that great lonely tower.
“Why? You not allowed to leave?”
“Of course, I’m allowed. But we’re a small country, with an important harbour. Plenty of people would like to take it off us. I can’t look afraid. I have to go back. Show myself. Carry on.”
Fenn shook his head. “Don’t like it.”
“No. But it’s what I have to do.”
Morgrim was quaking. His wet robe was soaking through Fenn’s jacket and his arms were like a vice around Fenn’s waist.
“You can let go a bit,” Fenn said. “Horse knows its business. So do I. Won’t let you fall.”
“Let go? Have you noticed how high up we are? And no stirrups. Gods, we’re not all part horse.”
Fenn put a hand on top of Morgrim’s. He was icy cold.
“You’re freezing.”
