George Martin - The Way of the Wizard

Now for dinner. Wizards were used to eating well.

She had just covered the tray when a slight sound behind her told her she was no longer alone. As she turned, the collar around her neck sent red-hot pain into her spine. She went down on her knees, tearing at the collar with her fingertips, her kneecaps and the heels of her hands stinging where they struck the floor. Garlock crouched in front of her. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head back, arching her body so he could see her face.

“Don’t you think you could try a little harder with our guests, girl? I thought enchanters were supposed to be enticing.” As if to emphasize the last word, the collar constricted again, searing her skin. It never got any easier to bear.

She gasped, sucking in air, but then closed her mouth firmly on the scream. She needed to calm him, not remind him of his power to hurt.

She put her hands on his shoulders, looking into his muddy eyes, soothing him, taking the edge off his anger. Keeping it subtle, so he wouldn’t notice. Garlock hated being manipulated.

“He wouldn’t respond… as well… to an aggressive approach. Did you want to scare him off?” She took a deep breath. “This is what I do. Let me handle it. He stayed, didn’t he?”

Garlock stared at her a moment, then nodded slowly, chewing on his lip. He sat back on his heels, and she knew she had him. Finally he stood, extended his hand and helped her to her feet.

“Just see you get that wine into him and let’s have this business behind us.” He jerked her towards him and kissed her roughly, the stubble on his chin and cheeks abrading her skin. He smiled in his sloppy way. “You drive me crazy sometimes,” he whispered, licking his lips as if to recapture the kiss. That was his idea of an apology.

You were crazy before I ever got here, she thought, running her fingers through her hair, adjusting her scarf, and twitching her dress back into place. She picked up the tray and put back her shoulders. This was always the way. Garlock was a coward, with limited magical talent. Linda was the one who would suffer if the plan went wrong.

It would be up to her to defang the dragon.

Renfrew was in the guest room, a roughly square stone chamber beneath Garlock’s second floor study. The stage was set with a huge, ornately carved bed, wardrobe, desk and chair and a small round table and chairs.

The trader had pulled the shutters open, and was standing, looking out the window at the driving rain. The wind stirred his hair, and rain splattered on the stones at his feet, but he didn’t seem to notice. Somewhere, far below, the North Sea flung itself against the rocks. The fire was laid, but he hadn’t lit it despite the chill.

“Here’s your supper,” she said, setting the tray on the small table. He continued to look out the window. Indifferent.

“You’re going to freeze with the window open.” She stepped in front of him to pull the shutters to, and his hand closed on her wrist. It seemed fragile in his grasp.

“Leave it open,” he said hoarsely. “I need the air.”

“If you say so,” she said softly, making no move to free herself. He released her then, and turned back to the rain.

“Why don’t you pour us some wine, while I light the fire?” she suggested, crossing the room to the fireplace and kneeling next to the hearth. Though it would make more sense for a wizard to light the fire, they were always less suspicious when they poured the wine themselves, if they both drank from the carafe.

She’d grown skilled at lighting fires.

When she turned away from the fireplace, she saw that Renfrew had moved to the table with the dinner tray and was pouring wine from the carafe. Only one glass. He crossed the room and extended it to her. She took it, after a moment. “Won’t you join me?”

“I don’t care for any, thank you.” And he stood, one hand grasping the other forearm, as he had before. A smile ghosted across his face, as if he’d made his move and was waiting for her counter.

There was no point in drinking alone. It wouldn’t do to still her magic while his was unimpaired. This match was unequal enough as it was.

Linda set her glass down next to the plate. “Please — go ahead and eat. It’s a cold supper, I’m afraid, but it won’t improve on standing. I’ll keep you company.”

Perhaps he would wash his dinner down with the wine.

Perhaps she should have chosen something spicier.

She might convince him to do her bidding if she could just get her hands on him, but knew that might dispel any thoughts of supper. So Linda sat in one of the chairs at the table. She rested her feet on the crossbrace, elevating her knees so her skirt slipped back along her thighs.

The wizard made no move to sit. “I think you’d better take your wine and go.” He tilted his head toward the door.

He knows it’s a trap, Linda thought. He’s known all along.

But if so, then why did he stay?

Linda shivered, panic closing her throat. If she failed, Garlock would skin her alive. She smothered a twinge of guilt. Renfrew was just another wizard, and a trader at that. She would do whatever it took to survive until she could find a way out.

She stood, moved towards him, close enough that she had to tilt her head back to look up at him. “You are not hungry at all?” And she stood on tiptoe, leaned into him and twined her arms around his neck. She used her small weight to pull his head down toward her and kissed him.

Just for a moment, he returned the kiss. She could feel his desire for her, an explosion of power so potent it nearly slammed her to the floor. Then he pushed her away, both hands against her chest until he realized what they were pushing against. He yanked his hands back like they were burnt.

“You are hardly more than a child,” he said, breathing hard, eyes glittering. “You should not be involved in this.”

“I am not a child, I am eighteen,” she said hotly, automatically adding a year to her age. She moved towards him again, pressing her advantage.

He extended his hands, as if to embrace her, but instead spoke a charm that froze her to the floor in midstride. He flung his arms up, and brought them down, in quick, angry strokes, describing an image in the air, muttering charms all the while. She thought she heard something about “Eighteen! Ha!” among the rest.

The room was split with a curtain of light too bright to look upon, on either side, behind and in front of them. When he was finished, they were secluded in a small chamber of light, perhaps six by six feet.

“Now, then,” he said. “It’s just you and me. Your partner won’t be able to help you in here. Or hear you if you scream,” he added.

“He is not my partner!” Linda snapped.

Renfrew smiled, the kind of smile that raises gooseflesh. “If not, you’d better convince me of it now. I’m not a patient man.”

Garlock, you idiot, Linda thought. You’ve snared a lion in your rabbit trap.

“Promise to behave and I’ll unleash you,” Renfrew said.

Reluctantly, she nodded, and the invisible bonds dissolved. She experimentally pushed her hand against the wall of light behind her. It gave slightly, but not much.

“Well,” she said, almost to herself. “Garlock won’t be happy. He likes to watch.” She rolled her eyes up, toward the ceiling. He would be above them, in the study.

Renfrew followed her gaze. “You can start by telling me what the real game is.”

Linda couldn’t say what made her decide to tell the truth. Maybe it was the threat that hung in the air between them. She was the bird in this wizard’s hand.

Yet there was something almost unsullied about him — compared to Garlock, at least. He was self-contained, direct and deadly. It was like being penned up close with a wolf.