Black dawn (26 page)
She gritted her teeth, listening so hard she could
hear the blood in her ears, willing them to talk
about Miles.
But Hunter was going on in his smooth voice,
"Or maybe you still have some loyalty to the
witches."
Sylvia's pale face flushed. "I do not! I'm finished
with them, and you know it! I may be a
spellcaster
,
but I'm not a witch anymore."
"It's good to see you haven't forgotten what
they've done to you," Hunter said. "After all, you
could have been a Hearth-Woman, taken your
rightful place on the witch Council."
"Yes..."
"Like your grandmother and her mother before
her.
They
were
Harmans
, and so was your father.
What a pity the name isn't passed through the male
line. You ended up being just a Weald."
"I was
a Harman," Sylvia said with muted feroc
ity. She was staring at the floor again, and she
seemed to be speaking to herself rather than to
Hunter.
"I was.
But I had to stand there and watch my cousins be accepted instead of me. I had to
watch
half humans
be accepted-be welcomed.
They took my place-just because they were de
scended through the female line."
Hunter shook his head.
"A very sad tradition."
Sylvia's breath came raggedly for another minute
or so,
then
she looked up slowly at the tall man in the center of the room, "You don't have to worry
about my loyalty," she said quietly. "I want a place
in the new order after the millennium. I'm through with the witches."
Hunter smiled.
"I know it," he said, lightly and approvingly, and
then he started pacing the room. He got what he
wanted out of her, Maggie thought.
Almost casually, he added, "Just be sure that
Sylvia bent and lifted the basket, which Maggie
had forgotten about.
"The new binding spells will hold," she said. "I
brought special ingredients from one of the oldest
Midnight witches. And he won't suspect anything."
"And nobody but you can take them off?"
"Nobody but me," Sylvia said firmly. "Not even
the Crone of all the witches.
Or the Maiden, for
that matter."
"Good girl," Hunter said, and smiled again. "I
have every confidence in you. After all, you have
lamia blood in you to balance the witch taint.
You're my own eighth-great-granddaughter."
Maggie wanted to punch him.
She was confused and frightened and indignant
and furious, all at once. As far
as she could tell,
Hunter
Redfern
seemed to be manipulating every
body. And Delos,
was just another of his puppets.
I wonder what they plan to do if he
won't
join
their new
order?
she
thought bleakly.
After a few minutes, Hunter turned in his pacing
and walked by the door. He paused briefly
as
if
listening, then glanced at Sylvia.
"You don't know how happy it makes me just to think about it," he said, in a voice that wasn't strained, or overly cheerful, or too loud, or any
thing that rang false.
"To finally have a true heir.
A male heir of my own line, and untainted by witch
blood. I would never have married that witch
Maeve Harman if I had known my son was still alive. And not only alive, but out having sons! The
only true
Redferns
left in the world, you might
say.
Maggie, with her teeth set in her lower lip, didn't
need to guess who was on the other side of the
door. She watched tensely.
And
CHAPTER
16
I'm
sorry. Was I interrupting something?" he said, Maggie had to struggle not to draw in her breath sharply.
It was always a little bit of a shock seeing him. And even in a room with Hunter
Redfern
and the
pale and dazzling Sylvia, he stood out. Like a cold
wind blowing through the door, he seemed to bring
coiled energy in with him, to slap everyone awake
with the chilly smell of snow.
And of course he was gorgeous, too.
And not awed by Hunter, Maggie thought. He
faced his great-grandfather with those fearless yel
low eyes level, and a measuring look on his
fine
boned
face.
"Nothing at all," Hunter
Redfern
said amiably.
"We were waiting for you.
And planning
the
celebrations."
"Celebrations?"
"To honor our agreement.
I'm so pleased that we've come to an understanding at last. Aren't
you?"
"Of course,"
without any change in expression. "When we do
come to an understanding, I'll be very pleased."
Maggie had to bite her lip on a snicker. At that
moment, looking at Hunter's facile smile and Syl
via's pinned-on simper, she had never liked
dour, cold grimness better.
Idiot, she told herself. When did you ever like it
at all? The guy's an icicle.
But there was something clean and sharp-edged
about his iciness, and she couldn't help admiring the way he faced Hunter. There was a little aching knot in her chest as she watched him
standing
there, tense and elegant, with his dark hair tousled
from riding.
Which wasn't to say she wasn't scared.
That aura
of power
real. He had sensed her before, even with
Aradia
blocking
the signs of her life-force. And now here he was, maybe twelve feet away, with only a piece
of linen between them.
There was nothing Maggie could do but sit as
still
as possible.
"Sylvia has taken the liberty of beginning the
preparations," Hunter said. "I hope you don't mind.
I think we can work out any little details that are
left before tomorrow, don't you?"
Suddenly
on the bed and nodded, conceding a point. "Yes."
"Essentially," Hunter
Redfern
said,
"we are agreed.
This time
"I can't wait to show you off to the world out
side," Hunter said, and this time Maggie thought the note of pride and eagerness in his voice was sincere.
"My great-grandson.
And to think that a
year ago I didn't know of your existence." He
crossed to slap
so much like the old king's that Maggie's eyes
widened.
"I'm going to make some preparations of my
own," he said. "I think the last hunt before you
leave should be special, don't you?"
He was smiling
as
he left.
"Well," Sylvia said, sounding almost chirpy.
"How's the arm?"
the complicated brace thing Maggie had seen him in yesterday.
"It's all
riot."
"Hurts?"
"A little."
Sylvia sighed and shook her head. "That's be
cause you used it for practice. I did warn you,
you know."
"Can you make it better or not?"
brusquely.
Sylvia was already opening the basket. "I told
you, it'll take time. But it should improve with each
treatment as long
as you don't use it."
She was fiddling with the brace, doing things
that Maggie couldn't see. And Maggie's heart was
beating hard with anger and an unreasonable
protectiveness.
I can't let her do that to
i
stop
her? There's no way. If she sees me, it's all
over
... .
"There," Sylvia said. "That should hold you for
a while."
Maggie ground her teeth.
But at least maybe she'll go now, she thought. It
feels like about a century I've been sitting in here
listening to her. And this stool isn't getting any
more comfortable.
"Now," Sylvia said briskly, tidying. "Just let me
put your gloves away-"
Oh,
no,
Maggie thought, horrified. On the shelf beside her was a pile of gloves.
"No,"
echo. "I need them."
"Don't be silly. You're not going out again-"
"I'll take them."
put himself between Sylvia and the wardrobe, and
an
instant later he was holding on to the gloves,
almost tugging them from her hands.
Sylvia looked up at him wonderingly for a long
moment. Maggie could see her face, the creamy skin delicately flushed, and her eyes, the color of
r-drenched
violets. She could see the shimmer
of her pale blond
hair
as Sylvia shook her head slightly.
Then Sylvia shrugged her ft-agile shoulders and
let
go of the gloves.
"I'll go see to the feast," she said lightly and
smiled. She picked up her basket and moved grace
fully to the door.
Maggie
simply sat, speechless and paralyzed.
When
firmly behind her, she made herself get slowly off
the stool. She backed away from the curtains
slightly, but she could still see a strip of the
bedroom.
"You can come out now," he said, his voice flat
and hard.
Maggie shut her eyes.
Great.
Well, I should have known.
But he hadn't let Sylvia come in and discover
her, and he hadn't simply turned her over to his
guards. Those were very good signs, she told her
self stoutly. In fact, maybe she wasn't going to have
to persuade him of anything at all; maybe he was
already going to be reasonable.
"Or do I have to come in?"
ously.
Or maybe not, Maggie thought.
She felt a sudden idiotic desire to get the dust out of her hair. She shook her head a few
times,
brushing at it, then gave up.
Terribly conscious of her smudged face and slave
clothing, she parted the linen hangings and
walked out.
"I warned you,"
