Page 73 of Seducing the Sorcerer
“Ha. Except when you do. All that parading around on the bridge.”
“That was necessary.”
“Aye, maybe. And the long black robe and painted fingernails? That necessary? Not but what it suits you.”
“It goes with the job.”
“No, it don’t,” Fenn said, flatly. “I’m older than you, remember? I remember old Wirrem Malovelent. Saw lots of pictures of her. She wore big colourful dresses and lots of beads and charms. And an orange turban because her Ma was from Kavera or one of those places.”
“I mean it’s what Morgrim the Sorcerer wears.”
“You said something like that last night. I still don’t get it.”
Morgrim put his pint down. “Do you know where I’m from? A village in the Sirinetti Mountains. My parents kept goats. I had no shoes and one tunic and they often couldn’t afford to send me to school. But I had magic. A lot of it. And when I came here you’ve no idea how afraid I was of all the fancy rich people with their long words and their way of looking down their noses. I needed something to protect me.” He touched his chest, indicating his robe. “Armour, you see? But also a costume that would help people see what they needed to see. Madam Malovelent told me to pick something people would recognise easily, like she had those enormous dresses and all the beads and charms. I chose a plain black robe. Do you know why?”
“No?”
Morgrim smiled suddenly. “I thought it would be nice and inconspicuous.”
Fenn choked on his drink and gave a bark of laughter. Morgrim was watching him, smiling, but his eyes were sad.
“Bet you were sweet,” Fenn said. “At thirteen.”
“I was scared and lonely and overwhelmed.”
“Aye. And sweet, I daresay.”
“I was very rude. I barely spoke because I didn’t want to risk saying something stupid by mistake. So, I got a reputation for terrifying subtlety with a dash of arrogance. Quite useful, really. It’s amazing how silence unnerves people if the person being silent is wearing a long black robe and is too nervous to smile.”
“Aye, and is the court sorcerer into the bargain.”
“Oh well, yes, that too.” Morgrim picked up his pint and sipped it again.
Fenn sipped his own drink. This was nice, this was. And not just nice. It felt important. He was learning facts that felt essential. And things felt different, as if Morgrim had dropped some internal armour as well as explaining about the external kind.
“Been meaning to ask,” Fenn said. “‘Morgrim’, that your real name?”
Morgrim quirked a surprised eyebrow, but all he said was, “Yes.”
“Ah. And that’s what you like in private?”
“Well, it’s my name. So, yes?” He sounded puzzled.
“Thought it might be a surname, see. Been called ‘Todd’ in my time. Don’t mind it, but wouldn’t want it in private.”
“Oh, I see. Yes, Morgrim’s my given name.”
“And you ain’t got no family name?”
“I have one. I don’t use it professionally.”
“Well, ‘Morgrim’ got quite a ring to it, eh? Sounds like a court sorcerer.”
“It’s not unfit.”
“What’s your family name, then?” Fenn grinned. “Suppose it’s Smith or Ferraro, or something plain. Eh? Or maybe something like Sweeting or Lovekin, eh?”
“It’s Mauldeath.”
