Page 85 of Seducing the Sorcerer
“Ah, glad we cleared that up.”
Morgrim looked up and smiled. A bit shy. Even more adorable. Then his expression grew defiant.
“Maybe it is embarrassing. I don’t care. Gods, I haven’t time. We’ll all probably die soon. I’m allowed to have what I want in the bedroom, aren’t I? Just once or twice?”
“’Course you are. But what’s with the ‘once or twice’? I want you a lot more times than that. And not so much of the ‘we’re all going to die’, if you don’t mind. Ain’t a foregone conclusion, is it?”
“Maybe not.” Morgrim lay back on the pillows again. “You know one of the best things about what we just did? You were just as rough. I thought you might be too gentle now you know I’ve no magic and couldn’t stop you even if I wanted to. I thought you might not be able to help treating me as if I were more fragile. To be honest, I was dreading that, a bit. But it makes no difference to you, does it?”
Fenn looked at him in surprise. The thought of going easy hadn’t crossed his mind. There was the power a man might have in himself and there was the power he might choose to give away during sex. And they were two different things and should never be confused.
“No, it makes no odds,” Fenn said. “You ain’t changed. Only your situation.”
“I know.” Morgrim smiled. “But it’s still wonderful that you know it too.”
Fenn turned to him, propping himself up on one elbow. “Listen, been wondering. You say you lost your magic. But you can still make the gestures, can’t you? You can still dance the steps?”
“Obviously. But the gestures are empty. I take the steps but the magic doesn’t come.” Morgrim lifted an arm, let it drop back in a gesture of futility. “I’m just a man waving his arms around, or dancing alone in a room. I don’t understand it either.”
“And you reckon it was because it was such a big piece of magic? Bringing rain to a whole area. Does sound a lot.”
“Maybe. Although I’ve worked larger magics. Maybe it would have happened anyway? Maybe I had it coming? Maybe I’d used it all up. Maybe it was chance it happened when it did, in that bloody forest.”
“That’s where you were, then? In a forest?”
“Yes. In a clearing. At night. Best time for me. Hidden. Dark. No one about to watch.”
Fenn thought about this. “You don’t let anyone watch?”
“Not usually.”
Fenn nodded. Morgrim was, in many ways, a very private man. Fenn had always thought of dancing as a public affair; something gay and noisy and good-humoured that invited spectators. But clearly, for Morgrim, dancing was a very different kind of experience. That he should dance alone in a dark forest to music that only he could hear—well, it seemed somehow fitting. Although one day, maybe, he would let Fenn watch.
“Lucky someone found you,” Fenn observed.
“Oh, my host knew I was there. I was staying nearby. In Rolling-Hill Castle, home of Lady Ballivanto. I was in the castle forest. You know, I almost told her why I was there beforehand. That’s one small mercy, I suppose. I hadn’t told anyone what I was attempting, just that I was experimenting with new magic.”
Fenn was starting to feel hungry, having missed breakfast and lunch too by now. Soon, he’d suggest they got something to eat. He said, “Must be a brave woman, this Lady Ballivanto, taking on an experimenting sorcerer—wait a minute. Rolling-Hill? Rolling-Hill Castle?” There was something about that name. Something familiar. “That’s funny.”
“Funny?” Morgrim shrugged. “Not really. Rolling-Hill’s an old Northland name. The castle’s been there for centuries.”
Ah! Fenn had it.
“No, I mean, funny coincidence. Because the farm I got the horse from—just remembered—it had the same name. Rolling-Hill Farm.”
Morgrim froze, then turned to look at him, very slowly, as a man might turn to look at a snake he’s discovered in his bed.
“What did you say?” Morgrim’s voice held a tone of command. And something else as well. An edge. Almost a threat. Fenn stared at him in bewilderment.
“Just...the farm I got Squab from...it had the same name.”
Morgrim sat up, gaze not leaving Fenn’s face. “You said it didn’t have a name.”
“Well, I forgot. You saying it reminded me.”
“North of Enno, you said.” Morgrim’s steady gaze was becoming a glare. “Rolling-Hill Farm isn’t north of Enno.”
“Ain’t it? Look, truth is I’d been drinking the night before. A bit much, if you take my meaning.”
