Page 80 of Seducing the Sorcerer
“Dance? You dance up some magic?”
“I used to.”
Morgrim, dancing. Well, he certainly moved nice. Fenn had never thought of it as a dancer’s grace but of course that was what it was. Now he knew, Fenn could easily imagine it; Morgrim the sorcerer, flinging himself through these huge empty rooms, filling them with power and grace, his hair floating behind him, his steps lighter than air.
“Do you have musicians or what?” Fenn asked.
“No. When it works, the dance makes the music; together they become the magic.”
That sounded like a tortuous riddle that would make Fenn’s brain hurt for days. He said, “The room upstairs, with the painted lines?”
“To guide the feet. Apprentice stuff, but I repainted them a few months ago. I was trying to start again, from the basics. Much good it did me.”
“Dancing. Who’d have thought? Show me a few steps?”
“That would be pointless. That won’t work for you. For you it’s horses; riding.”
“No, no. I get that. I just want to see you dance. Do you do it in that robe?”
“Sometimes. Sometimes I take it off.”
Fenn blinked. “Ever dance naked?”
“Perhaps.”
Fenn grinned, in spite of everything. He couldn’t help it. “Bet you look beautiful. Full of surprises, ain’t you? Not what anyone thinks you are.”
Morgrim shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I am anymore. I used to be a sorcerer. Now I’m just tired and scared and a fake.” He looked down as if examining his black riding gloves, which he was still wearing. His voice was harsh, nothing like his usual silky tones. “You know why I didn’t want to tell you all this downstairs, just before? Because I’m ashamed. Of things I’ve done, yes. Of using you. Of lying to you. But not just that. Mostly, I’m ashamed of losing my magic. Of not being able to get it back. I feel as if it’s all my fault. That if I were better, or...or cleverer...or faster, or something...I’d get it back and all this would go away. I’m letting everyone down. The whole country is at stake because of me. And I hate that. And I didn’t want to see your face when I told you. Because I like the way you look at me and I thought...that’s all going to stop.”
“Give over. Ain’t none of this your fault.” Fenn stepped closer. “Now, come here.”
Fenn put an arm around him and tugged gently. This time, Morgrim allowed the embrace. He slid his arms about Fenn’s waist and put his face into Fenn’s neck. And, of course, it wasn’t the first time they’d held each other, but somehow, to Fenn, it felt like it.
“Fenn?” Morgrim’s voice was a furtive whisper, like something else bad was coming.
Fenn steeled himself for it. “Aye?”
“I’m so tired of the rain.”
Fenn cupped his hand about the back of Morgrim’s head, pulling him closer. “Aye, you would be.”
“Do you hate it?”
It sounded as though it mattered terribly, as though Morgrim was really asking “do you hate me?” or something very close to it.
“Can’t say I do,” Fenn said, mildly. “I like the sound of rain. Hush. It’s all right.”
The rain pattered on the window next to them and on the floorboards on the other side of the room where the hex had punched the hole in the wall. But, after a while, Morgrim took several deep breaths and began to relax against him. Fenn tightened his grip and realised that despite everything he was happy—and that all the awful revelations and threats didn’t matter just now, because he had his man in his arms and his horse downstairs in the stable and those two things were all he’d ever wanted.
“I can’t believe you’re still here,” Morgrim murmured into his neck.
“Oh, aye?”
“I thought you’d be a hundred miles away by now.”
“Then you ain’t a very good judge of character.”
“Actually, I am.” Morgrim gave a slight shrug. “Well. It’s true I tend to expect the worst of people. I have to. It goes with the job.” He sighed, and added, “Sorry.”
