Page 86 of Seducing the Sorcerer
Morgrim seemed not to hear. “It’s not even a little bit north of Enno! It’s south-east.”
“Is it? Right. Well, when you asked...it wasn’t that I meant to lie, but I was ashamed. Of being so maggoty I didn’t know where I was. So—”
“You lied,” Morgrim snapped.
That was surely uncalled for. Fenn took a deep breath to cool his irritation and said, with what felt like admirable dignity, “All right, and maybe I did. Gods, try interviewing yourself one morning and see how you like it. You’re right scary when you want to be. You know that?”
“You got the horse from Rolling-Hill Farm. Rolling-Hill. You’re sure?”
Fenn frowned. He felt as if something nasty was about to pounce. “Don’t think it’s a coincidence, do you?”
Morgrim leapt out of bed, eyes blazing, hair disordered. “Of course it’s not a damned coincidence!”
Fenn sat up, reluctantly. He’d had enough drama for one day. He was hungry and his ribs hurt. “So, there’s a link. You reckon your magic had some effect on the horse?”
But Morgrim was staring hectically at the floor. “That’s why you feel so familiar. That’s why I can’t bear the thought of you leaving. That’s why I’ve bloody told you things and said things and done things...and oh my Gods. That’s why.”
A chill ran through Fenn, nastier than the river hex. “What you on about?”
Morgrim fixed Fenn with a glare like he’d pin him to the bed with his gaze alone. “You’ve got my magic.”
“What? What you talking about? That’s—”
“A coincidence?” Morgrim’s tone was withering. He began to pace as if he couldn’t keep still. He’d clearly forgotten he was naked. “Don’t be a fool. Think. I lose my magic in Rolling-Hill Forest. A couple of years later, you—a man of forty-six who’d never before cast a single spell in his life—find a magical sackcloth horse that can fly at Rolling-Hill Farm, not a ten-minute walk from the forest.” He stopped. “That’s not a coincidence. And then, as if that’s not enough, the horse flies here. To me. To me. Understand? Because it’s mine. And you—Gods!—the things I’ve told you! The things I’ve done!—because you feel so right, so familiar, so...so magical. My Gods! I’ve been wondering ‘why do I trust him so?’ ‘why am I behaving like this around him?’—and this is why. You’ve got my magic.” He leapt onto the bed, grabbing at Fenn’s hands. “Fenn, you have to give it back.”
Fenn pulled back, scrambled off the bed, doing up his fly.
“What do you mean, ‘give it back?’ How do I do that? I can’t. And anyway, aye, it’s a bit of a coincidence, but two years went by. Two. Years. So, what do you reckon? That your magic was out there bobbing about in the forest like an apple in a barrel, until I happened by and then quite by chance it somehow decides to get into the horse and quite by chance I happen to get hold of it? That’s not just barmy. That’s mutton-headed!”
“Then why did it bring you here?” Morgrim spat out. “Go on, answer me that.”
Fenn rubbed his forehead. It was difficult to think. Morgrim suggesting he’d only had sex with Fenn due to some awful magical confusion—well, it hurt. And the whole thing had flared up out of nowhere. Fenn had to slow things down, to be given time to think.
“I don’t rightly know,” Fenn began. “But—”
“You don’t know or you don’t want to know?” Morgrim was climbing off the bed, advancing. “Come on, Fenn, you’re a clever man. You can see what I’m saying is true. You have to give it back to me.”
Fenn shook his head, took a step backwards into the huge empty room behind him. He was being corralled. How could it be that only a few minutes ago Morgrim had been waking up next to him, all blushing and awkward and sweet? And now, this?
“Don’t have to do nothing,” Fenn said. He’d stick to the facts he was sure of. “It’s my horse.”
“Damn the horse!” Morgrim flicked his hand as if he’d bat Fenn’s words away. “I don’t care about the horse. I mean the magic; whatever’s inside it. Whatever’s animating it. Whatever’s giving it the power of flight. You have to—”
Something snapped inside Fenn. “Don’t care about the horse, eh? Reckon that’s true. But I do care. And it’s my bloody horse.” Fenn jabbed his thumb at his own chest. “Mine. Did you dig that damn cesspit? Eh? Did you carry off a pile of sacking over your shoulder while folk laughed at you for a gull?” Fenn crossed his arms. There was no way he was giving Squab to anyone. “Like hell you did!”
Morgrim took a deep breath. He raised both hands, palms outwards in a gesture of appeasement, but his stance was that of a man readying for attack.
“Fenn. Let’s not fight. Listen, in exchange for that one horse, I’ll give you a hundred real horses. And Blaze. Take Blaze. Your pick of the palace stables. Estates to keep them on. Everything you ever dreamed of.”
Fenn could scarce believe his ears. “You trying to buy him off me? You think I give that—” he snapped his fingers “—for your money?”
“I’m not trying to buy him.” Morgrim’s voice was tight. “I’m trying to be fair.”
Fenn tilted his chin up. “Oh aye? Sounds like you’re trying to buy him to me. Maybe you got to accept that he ain’t for sale.”
“For the Gods’ sake, be reasonable!” Morgrim was almost shouting. “I’m not asking for myself. You know what’s at stake. I need that magic. I can defend the country with it. You can’t. You’ve said so yourself. You’re frittering it away.”
“Frittering? I like that! Who saved your life this morning, eh?”
