Page 32 of Seducing the Sorcerer
Fenn led the horse inside and sat with it for a time, feeding it shreds of an old sack he’d found in one corner. He’d thought it might scorn musty sacking after the delights of pink silk eiderdowns, but it nosed his hands keenly and ate with appreciative nods of the head. He let it finish the sack, waited until it had dozed off, then went out into the yard, closed the door behind him for a heartbeat or two, then went back in. The horse still stood quiet, eyes half-closed, head down. Fenn went out again, and this time stayed in the yard a little longer. He went back in. The horse glanced at him sleepily.
“I’ll always come back, mate,” Fenn said. “Got it? Want to go out alone sometimes, see? But I’ll always come back.”
He was startled by a loud rap on the door and a man’s voice saying “lunch”. Fenn went out to find a grim-faced soldier standing in the rain. He wore a black and green uniform with a green dragon embroidered on the sleeve. That was the royal symbol. But his scabbard and holsters were empty and he held a tray on which stood a jug and beaker and a silver dome, same as that morning
“Thanks,” Fenn said, automatically taking the tray.
But he stared as the man saluted and walked away. A palace guard? To bring him lunch? Why hadn’t Jasper brought it, or a regular palace servant? Fenn shook his head in puzzlement. Perhaps it was just some strange custom at the tower.
He took the tray inside. There was plenty of food: bread, cheese, olives, nuts and a spicy fish dish. And in the jug, a light ale. He put a handful of the nuts in his pocket and devoured the rest sitting cross-legged on one of the old cages.
He carried on with the horse: going out, closing the door, waiting a bit longer each time, going back in. The horse dozed through it all. Perhaps he was over-doing it. If a real horse had a vice, he’d spare no effort to train it out of its fear or habit or disrespect. But this horse wasn’t real. Perhaps it followed him if it could, but felt no distress if it couldn’t.
All the same, he’d take it along with him to dinner tonight, even if it meant risking making a delivery of pink silk horse manure right by the court sorcerer’s table. Because Morgrim had said he might bring the horse, and somehow Fenn wanted it with him when he was facing the sorcerer. The creature felt like proof, perhaps of Fenn’s right to be here.
Not but what Morgrim seemed decent enough so far, but unease niggled in the back of Fenn’s mind. Something was going on. Yes, Morgrim had invited him to stay. Yes, Morgrim had explained why. And all very flattering it was, Morgrim being interested in the horse and speaking sweet and treating Fenn like a gentleman.
But Fenn wasn’t a gentleman. And if something seemed too good to be true it was usually because it was. So why would a powerful, important man like Morgrim really want a bloke like Fenn around?
Well, if it wasn’t to dig a hole or look after a horse, it could always be the other.
And Morgrim had looked at him plenty, that was for sure.
Fenn was no oil painting, but there were blokes as preferred that, who liked his broken nose and work-roughened hands, his wide shoulders and plain manner. In lots of ways, it made sense. Morgrim was giving him a place to stay, had offered him money and permission to put things on account. It sounded generous, but it was more like that these things were in lieu of wages. Morgrim hadn’t given him any duties—yet. Morgrim had made a lot of polite talk about guests and convenience and so on. But if you were being paid, you were expected to provide a service.
Servicing Morgrim.
Gods.
The idea took his breath away.
It would hardly be tiresome. Morgrim was a fine-looking bloke. He had a lovely way of moving. That enchanted mustering ground might have given Fenn ideas out of turn, but they hadn’t come from nowhere. The place had likely just allowed him to acknowledge them a bit faster than he normally would.
But on the other hand, Morgrim fair gave him the willies.
Because Morgrim wasn’t just any powerful man. He was likely tangled up in all sorts of nefarious plots and mysterious magics. If a man like that took a fancy for Fenn, who knew how it might end? Moreover, the men who approached Fenn weren’t generally after a romantic evening’s love-making. No, they tended to want a ferocious fucking from a lout with dirty hands. Sometimes they wanted to be brought down a peg or two, ordered around, called names. Fenn was happy to play along. He enjoyed acting the brute. It was exhilarating, having some gorgeous bloke at his mercy.
Only afterwards sometimes men started regretting it. They got embarrassed and then they worried Fenn would crow about it in the pub or want money to stay quiet. He didn’t, of course. He never talked about such things. But a worried man could be a dangerous one. And Morgrim was bloody dangerous enough as it was.
Fenn sighed.
Maybe he was mistaken. Morgrim had a subtly seductive manner, but he hadn’t actually made any sort of approach. Maybe it would come later. At dinner, say.
Or maybe Morgrim had simply taken Fenn’s measure and was manipulating him for his own purposes. Court sorcerers were famous for their devious schemes. It was what they were for. Morgrim had told him about the enchantment on the mustering ground, but who was to say there weren’t hundreds of others all weaving their tendrils about this lonely tower? And Morgrim himself in the middle of it all, like a spider that pretends to be a butterfly until the moment his fangs sink in.
Or, there was just a chance that the sorcerer wanted nothing, was, in fact, simply doing Fenn a favour; magician to magician, because of the horse. Fenn regarded the creature uncertainly. It really was the most gormless-looking barmpot imaginable. Indeed, it seemed a cruel twist of fate that Fenn’s love of beautiful horses had helped to animate this beastie that was itself so lacking in dignity and grace. And yet the sorcerer hadn’t seemed inclined to laugh at the horse. Rather the opposite. He’d seen power and potential in it. He’d been complimentary.
Or had all that been empty flattery?
Fenn shook his head, trying to clear it. The situation was beyond him and that was a fact. But he had nowhere else to go. He’d have to take things as they came. As usual. And try not to hope too much for anything, either way.
Jasper came to take the empty dishes. He also gave Fenn the “petty cash” Morgrim had mentioned. Only it wasn’t so petty. It was five silvers. Or rather it was three silvers, two halvers, four brass scores, and twenty coppers.
Fenn accepted it silently, hot with embarrassment, because it was either charity or it was part of his fee for fucking Morgrim tonight. Probably he was wrong to take it, but he wanted to tip Jasper, and those rotten sacks he was feeding the horse wouldn’t last long. He wouldn’t be putting any expensive tack on Morgrim’s account though. He felt beholden enough already.
He gave Jasper one of the silvers back immediately, cutting off his protestations by leading the horse back to the stall. Then he lay down on the brown and black chequered blanket and closed his eyes, just for a moment.
***
