Page 79 of Seducing the Sorcerer
“Oh Gods!” Morgrim closed his eyes for a moment, as if in relief. “There’s no one we’d rather have on our side. You’re not what we thought you’d be when you first arrived. You’re open-minded, egalitarian, forward-thinking. You haven’t a mean or a venal bone in your body. In fact, I’ve never met a man I...I...” Morgrim glanced away, took another deep breath. “If you had a year or two to practice magic, you could take my place, no trouble.”
Fenn gaped at him. “Me? Court sorcerer?”
“What else? Of course, you won’t get a year. But I’ll give you as long as I can.”
Fenn’s skin prickled, not pleasantly.
“No, mate.” He found himself holding his hands out, as if to push the whole daft idea away. “Morgrim. I’m sorry. I can see you’re desperate, but no. I’ve got a worple horse. Gods! It’s like you never seen it! I know it can fly. Aye, and it gave that river hex a good one so we could get away. But what use is that against an army? It’s a false hope. It’s—look, I’ll do what I can. Take messages. Carry people places. Help out. But I’m a groom. And that’s all. I’m no court sorcerer. And never will be. You need to get your magic back. That’s where the best hope lies, I’d say.”
“I’ve been trying for two years.”
“Well, happen you need to keep at it a wee bit longer. Maybe you’re almost there?”
Morgrim just looked at him, such a desolate expression on his face that Fenn nearly embraced him again. But there was still something stopping him. Suddenly, he realised what it was.
“So, when you came to the stables last night...why’d you do that, eh? Because I’d done my part. You’d got what you wanted and you’d found out what you needed. So, why’d you come? You didn’t need to.”
Morgrim was silent, staring out at the rain and the clouds, at the shades of grey moving and shifting, now darker, now lighter.
“Well?” Fenn prompted.
Morgrim’s voice was small and defeated. “You thought I was sending you away...and I couldn’t bear...” He straightened, suddenly. “I’ve no reason. No excuse. I just came.”
“Because you wanted to? Personally, like?”
“Yes.” Morgrim gave him a smile, sad and apologetic. “I just wanted you. Wanted sex with you. I knew it was selfish to come last night. I knew it was a bad idea, that it would complicate things. But I came anyway. I’m sorry.”
“I ain’t. Last night and today: best I ever had.”
“Oh.” Morgrim’s face flushed. “It was the best I’ve ever had too.”
“That right?” Fenn murmured.
“Yes. Remember last night, when you said there’d be trouble if I moved? And then when you pulled my hair. Gods. I think that’s the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to me. That’s what I always wanted. Someone masterful who’d...who’d treat me like that. Ordering me about. Rough, yes, but sort of...mean as well. Even though you’re neither of those things really.” Morgrim shook his head as if to clear it. “And the worst of it is that you truly ought to go. Last night you asked if I wanted to send you away and I said no. And I don’t want to. It’s the last thing I want. But it’s not about what I want. You should go all the same.”
Fenn thought about all this. He was quivering with nerves, but there had been raw honesty in Morgrim’s voice just now. And that meant something.
“About that,” Fenn said slowly. “I know this here tower is your place and I’ll go if you tell me to go. But under the circumstances, don’t think it’s up to you—to send me away.”
“If you stay, you could be killed.”
“Aye, worked that out this morning, thanks.”
“Or Squab could be destroyed. Don’t you see? If you lose that horse, that could be the end of it for you. No more magic. Is that what you want? To be like me? Trust me, you don’t want this.”
This did give Fenn pause. If he died, at least he would have died for a reason. And it would all be over—all the pain and struggle, and the hope and the disappointment and the fear and the ache in his chest when he looked at the man standing opposite. But losing Squab, having to go on without magic—a feeling of flat, grey powerlessness swept through him, so awful he clenched his fists as if to ready himself for battle. No, he couldn’t lose Squab. He didn’t want that at all.
But he didn’t want to leave Morgrim either. Because despite everything, Morgrim was a good man. A man who was trying to protect his country with nothing but his wits and a sorcerous black robe and pointy beard to help him. But mostly because Morgrim was himself, with his web of lies and his books and his soft, desperate kisses.
“Well, it’s true I don’t want nothing to happen to Squab,” Fenn said. “I’d die rather than let that happen. And I understand all right: more hex monsters arriving any day. And other things too most like. But I ain’t leaving you here to fight them with nothing. Like fuck I am. No, you teach me as much about magic as you can and we’ll face whatever comes together.”
Morgrim was staring at him, his expression a mix of hope and reluctance. “But, Fenn—”
“No. No more mithering.” Fenn shook his head. “Ain’t your choice to make, see? Now, you tell me how you do magic. Spells, is it? That’s what you said before. You write them down for Jasper to find. So, it’s magic words? Or patterns like what’s painted on the floor upstairs?”
“Words? No. That’s just to give Jasper something to puzzle over.” Morgrim waved his hand in the air like a man stroking the rump of an invisible horse. “I use gesture. Movement. Dance.”
Fenn stared at him, awed and, despite the circumstances, charmed. He’d never have thought of that in a hundred years.
