Susan Spencer Paul - [Enchanter 01] (16 page)

Niclas understood him very well, and could scarce deny that Lord Llew had the right of it. But falling into the earl’s trap and discussing Malachi would be the gravest mistake Niclas could make at the moment. Cadmaran had only one use for such talk: to try and ferret out any information regarding the earl of Graymar. Indeed, Niclas had no doubt that this was precisely the reason that he found himself facing Cadmaran at the moment—he wanted
news of Malachi. Niclas wasn’t going to give it to him.

“I suppose the rain was your doing, as well?” Niclas asked.

“Hardly,” the earl of Llew replied with a laugh. Moving across the room to the table, he picked up a small glass of wine. “I am not that powerful. Yet. Please, sit and be comfortable. Will you have some wine? Miss Linley was just telling me all about your journey to Wales.”

“I imagine she was,” Niclas said, and strode to where she sat. Kneeling, he took her hands in his and gazed closely into her face, into her eyes.

“Julia,” he murmured, “are you all right? Do you know who I am?”

She looked at him, yet her eyes appeared to be unseeing.

“Yes, Mister Seymour,” she said tonelessly, “I know you. I’m very well, thank you.”

“You’re under a spell,” he told her, speaking firmly. “It’s very powerful, but it
can
be broken if you’ll only fight hard against it. Julia? Do you understand me?”

“You’re wasting your time,” he heard Cadmaran say from where he now sat. “She has no magic in her blood. She has no immunity, as another might.”

She does have magic, Niclas thought. I know it. I’ve felt it. Surely she had enough—even a little—to fight Cadmaran’s charm.

If he could find some way to get her out of the room, even for a moment, or away from Cadmaran, he could slip the Tarian over her neck and she’d be as immune to magic as the most pure-blooded Seymour.

“Julia,” he whispered, squeezing her hands hard. “You wish to go to your room, do you not? I’m sure it’s ready for you now. You wish to go and change before dinner.”

She blinked slowly, and for a brief moment her eyes began to focus.

“Dinner?” she asked. “Mister Seymour?”

“Miss Linley will be having dinner with me,” Earl Llew said mildly. “Is that not so, Miss Linley?”

She blinked again, and Niclas could see her struggling.

“Is that not so, Miss Linley?” Cadmaran stated more firmly.

She slid away, back into a trance.

“Yes, my lord,” she answered dully.

“You must join us, Mister Seymour,” Cadmaran added easily, a touch of amusement in his tone. “I should like to hear all about Ffinian and his plan to wed Lady Alice. They’re neighbors of mine, in a way. Castle Llew isn’t more than twenty-five miles south of Lady Alice’s estate. But you know that, of course. We do tend to keep track of one another, don’t we? Each of the Families. We always know what the other is doing.”

“How I wish that were so,” Niclas muttered in a low voice, but the earl of Llew heard him despite that, and laughed.

“How odd you Seymours are,” he said, “in all your variety. None of my people are so lacking in power as some of you are. It’s a wonder Malachi keeps any of you lesser ones in the lineage.” He paused before adding, softly, “I wouldn’t.”

“What do you propose he do with us?” Niclas asked, not looking at him, his gaze held fast on Julia’s lovely, empty eyes. “Drown us at birth?”

Cadmaran laughed once more, but this time the amusement in his voice was full and real.

“Something like that,” he finally said, still chuckling.

Releasing a taut breath, Niclas stood and looked at Jane, who hadn’t said so much as a word since he’d entered the room. She was the sort of open, unaffected person whose emotions he felt in an especially keen manner. When she’d been in pain the day before, he had felt that pain as if it had been his own. But he couldn’t feel any of her emotions now. It was as if she’d turned to stone, and had neither thought nor spirit left in her.

“I’m sorry, Jane,” he murmured, gazing at the little maid with sadness. He could only imagine how frightened she’d been of Cadmaran upon first sight of him. How he wished he’d been here in that moment; perhaps he might have been able to protect them from Lord Llew’s powers.

But it did no good to think of what he might have done half an hour ago—he had to think of something
now
.

He finally turned to face Cadmaran, who was sitting in a comfortable chair near the fire, the half-filled glass of wine grasped lightly in his long, well-manicured fingers.

Like Malachi, the earl of Llew presented a picture of the perfect gentleman of the ton. He was immaculately tailored, shaven, and groomed, and his cravat was a thing of perfection. He was also, like Malachi, a wealthy nobleman, and the head of a family claiming an ancient, fabled lineage.

Unlike Malachi, however, Morcar Cadmaran loved to flaunt his wealth and power and ancestry. Especially his power, which was exactly the sort of behavior that bred the most danger for all magical families.

“What do you want of me?” Niclas asked.

Cadmaran smiled. “I want to speak to Earl Graymar. Face-to-face.”

“Then you must ask him for a meeting yourself,” Niclas said. “I don’t hold sway over my cousin.”

“The coward won’t meet me,” Lord Llew replied curtly, the smile dying away. “I’ve made dozens of requests—even going so far as to swallow my pride and make them politely. But he refuses.”

“Is it so urgent?” Niclas asked, baffled. “What could possibly be so important that you must speak to him in person? You’ve generally used emissaries in the past.”

Cadmaran stood, setting the glass aside. His movements were graceful, easily controlled, and Niclas felt a new appreciation for just how powerful the man was. Not just magically, but in physical strength.

“Aye, it’s important to me. So much so that a mere emissary won’t suffice. I must gain Graymar’s agreement or challenge him, but I can do neither unless we speak.”

The earl of Llew towered over him, intimidating, but Niclas held his place, forcing himself to remain calm and think carefully. He was safe enough. Cadmaran could easily harm or even kill him—it would require nothing more than the lifting of a hand for so powerful a wizard to send Niclas flying into the nearest wall, something Niclas had seen the earl of Llew do to a mere mortal when they were boys. But to attack an unchallenged magical being would be a grave infraction of their laws, with serious consequences. Far worse than holding two mere mortals captive.

And that, Niclas understood, was precisely why it was so necessary for Lord Llew to meet Malachi face-to-face. If Cadmaran challenged him during a personal confrontation, they would be able to meet as equals. But if he breached the laws that had been laid down for families
like theirs centuries ago, Malachi’s powers would be twofold, and, though he didn’t know the other man well, Niclas doubted that the earl of Llew was clever enough to best the earl of Graymar by relying on intellect alone. He wasn’t a stupid man, but neither was he particularly cunning, and he would be hard-pressed to find victory in such a match even with all his supernatural powers at hand, let alone without.

“The earl’s agreement,” Niclas repeated, gazing steadily into Cadmaran’s telling expression. “You’d not need Malachi’s agreement for anything, save . . .” The reason suddenly occurred to him, and he stiffened. “Not Ceridwen?”

“Aye, just so,” Cadmaran said tightly. “I want what was promised to me. My wife.”

The significance of his meaning sent a shiver coursing through Niclas’s bones. He had thought this matter long dealt and done with. Malachi had let him, and everyone else involved, believe that. Why on earth hadn’t he warned him that Cadmaran hadn’t given up on his demands?

“It was agreed by the elders when you couldn’t find a wife among the Cadmarans that a suitable match would be found from among the Families, according to your request,” Niclas said slowly, choosing his words with care. “But Ceridwen—”

“Is the wife I want,” Cadmaran said, his black eyes flashing with ill-controlled anger. “And the wife I’ll have. The Seymours have always striven to take what rightfully belongs to the Cadmarans, from the very beginning. You know what I speak of. But not this time. I
will
have Ceridwen to wife.”

It wasn’t uncommon for powerful wizards to appear to grow larger when they were extremely angry, but Niclas knew the phenomenon was more a trick of the imagination than reality. Even so, he had to force himself to stay where he was when Cadmaran, his appearance even more menacing, took a step toward him.

“Not according to the elders,” Niclas replied in calm, even tones. “They all agreed—with the exception of those that are Cadmarans—that such a match would be . . . ” He strove to think of the gentlest, least rage-inspiring word. “Unwise.”

“They were
afraid
,” Cadmaran retorted, and around the room small objects shook and rattled. A picture frame on the mantel fell over with a soft clattering and a hanging oil lamp swayed gently back and forth on its heavy golden chain. “Afraid of what such a marriage would bring. Of the children that Ceridwen and I would produce, of the powers they would possess. They have no vision or understanding. Foolish cowards.”

Far from it, Niclas thought. They had been wise beyond reason to refuse the match, and had shown their courage by standing against Cadmaran’s wishes.

Among those few magical families who yet remained, the Cadmarans were the only ones to almost exclusively wed other magical beings, including a regrettable habit of marrying those who were closely related. It had caused terrible problems: Cadmarans enjoyed markedly fewer births than the other families, and among those that were successful they sometimes produced strange children who didn’t particularly resemble, or act like, human beings. But the unions had also gifted the small clan with
extraordinary powers. Dark powers, aye, that had pulled them even farther away from the other families, but the Cadmarans had embraced them with fervor.

But even that wasn’t enough for Morcar Cadmaran. Ceridwen was the most favored enchantress born among the families in a generation; her birth and accomplishments had been foretold over a hundred years before her arrival. She was a rare, mystical, and exceedingly beautiful sorceress, and if she were to wed a wizard as powerful as the earl of Llew their union would produce offspring possessed of unimaginable powers.

But Seymours, unlike Cadmarans, had for centuries sought union with sympathetic non-magic mortals, for such marriages had renewed and even strengthened their powers without drawing them down into evil. And Ceridwen, clearly unbeknownst to the earl of Llew, had already fallen deeply in love with just such a sympathetic man, and had received Malachi’s blessing for marriage. Even if Malachi drew the blessing back—which he could not now do, having given it with his word of honor—Ceridwen would never agree to leave her beloved Colonel Spar and accept Cadmaran in his place. And Colonel Spar, whom Niclas had met several times in London at Malachi’s insistence, wasn’t the kind of man to let the woman he loved go for any reason. Nor would he care about Cadmaran’s incredible powers. Niclas had felt the colonel’s emotions and knew just what kind of sacrifice he was willing to make for Ceridwen’s sake. They were well matched in that regard.

“What do you propose, then?” Niclas asked, glancing to where Julia sat so still and silent. “Are you going to hold Miss Linley and her maid captive until the Families
agree to give you my cousin as a wife? Will you hold me captive?”

“Not captive,” Cadmaran said, calming now. “Miss Linley and her servant will be my guests. You will be my emissary. You once had a talent for making others see your way, did you not? I’ve heard rumors that before the curse you had the happy chore of rescuing several of your cousins from society’s censure. Convincing Earl Gray-mar and the others to let me have Ceridwen—as they ought to have done before—should prove to be a simple task for you to accomplish. Really,” he said more affably, “it was providential that I came across you on the road. One might almost think that Lord Graymar had sent you into my path on purpose.”

S
top panicking, Abercraf,” Niclas said sternly as he shoved a spare shirt into one of the saddlebags on his bed. “I can’t think with all your fears screaming at me. Hand me that small bag there, will you, Gwillem?”

“Please, sir,” Abercraf pleaded, utterly useless at the moment save for wringing his hands. “Send for Lord Gray-mar. He can be here in a few moments’ time if you’ll but ask him to come.”

They were gathered in the room to which Cadmaran had sent Niclas following their conversation in the private parlor. Julia and Jane had remained with Lord Llew, supposedly to have dinner, while three of his burlier servants had escorted Niclas and all his men to this chamber and locked them in. Niclas was to be allowed to leave within the hour—alone—in order to ride back to London and fetch Malachi. Julia, Jane, and all his men would remain behind as the earl of Llew’s “guests.”

“He can’t be called simply because I want him,” Niclas said, mashing the contents of the saddlebag even farther
inside so that he could pull the ties. “The
Dewin Mawr
only comes when another Seymour is either seriously injured or in danger of imminent death. If we could all make him appear at the snap of our fingers, Lord Gray-mar would never have a moment’s peace.”

“But you
are
in danger, sir,” Abercraf said, his voice shaking with emotion. “Lord Llew will kill you if he divines your plan. Please, I beg you, send for Earl Graymar. No one else can wrest Miss Linley and Jane safely away from a wizard so powerful as Cadmaran.”

“I’m going to get them both away from him,” Niclas told him firmly. “Tonight. Now. And you’re all going to help me, because it will be impossible otherwise. Even so, it might be impossible, but we’re going to try.” He glanced at Frank, who was trying very hard not to let Niclas feel his trepidation. “The horses, Frank. Will you be able to get them ready that quickly? And the carriage?”

“Aye, sir.” Frank gave a determined nod. “They’ll be ready. Have no worries on that account.”