The Water Thief Page 7

  “Terms?”

  “An arrangement I wish to propose that should be to both our benefit.”

  I took a sip of my drink. “Go on.”

  “Emrys is likely to take a dim view of your…condition.”

  I choked on my tea and nearly sprayed him with the warm liquid. “My condition?”

  “For lack of a better term. One way or the other, I surmise you have spent a significant spell in an asylum, and should Emrys discover that you have been liberated from your residency there rather than having been released after recovering from what put you there, I have no doubt he will want to put you there again.”

  “And if that were so, why would you not wish to see me returned to it?”

  A lock of hair had fallen in his face, partially covering one eye, and he seemed to be peering from me slyly behind it as I drank my tea. “You belong there as far as I’m concerned. But I will not be deprived of everything I have worked for merely for the pleasure of seeing you get your just reward. You’ve made this bed yours, and now you shall lie in it, knowing that you are only here because I choose not to reveal your deception to Emrys. By the same token, however, I don’t happen to trust Emrys, and I could use you as insurance against him.”

  “And him as insurance against me.”

  Macsen shrugged and tossed the hair out of his eye. “If you want to see it that way. Another way to see it is that I would be your insurance against Emrys. So long as you do nothing to jeopardize my place here, I will do nothing to jeopardize yours.”

  I suppressed a yawn, the warm brandy making me sleepy as it always did. “And Emrys?”

  “Emrys would be ruined if his manipulation of Cantre’r Gwaelod’s fortune to further his own aims were to become common knowledge.”

  My eyelids were growing heavy despite the seriousness of the conversation. “Cantre’r Gwaelod’s fortune? Don’t you mean the lord of Cantre’r Gwaelod’s fortune?”

  “Emrys’s ambitions go beyond mere land and title and a steady income. He has been meddling in the fate of the Lowland Hundred itself.”

  This seemed incredibly important, and yet I couldn’t keep my eyes open a moment longer. “How?” I murmured as I let them close.

  Macsen took the mug from my hand. “With you, of course.”

  I tried to rouse myself to ask him what he meant, but it was no use, and I gave over to the lure of sleep.

  Chapter Eight: Macsen

  Macsen watched the unconscious wretch lying vulnerable and defenseless beside him. Every night, Emrys drugged him, and yet Sebastian hadn’t caught on. How many times had he been subjected to the theft of his power at the asylum without his knowledge? And how could he possibly not be aware of the power within him? To have had the family history kept from him was one thing, but to be a conduit for magic and be unaware it was running through his veins seemed unfathomable.

  Now that he knew this was Sebastian, those veins looked different to him. Sebastian’s lithe frame so easily disguised as a woman’s was not what he’d imagined all these years. He’d alternately pictured a brutish dolt or a suave and haughty Sebastian whose impressive height would dwarf him as his presence had when they were children. He hadn’t pictured someone so slight and graceful that Macsen could lift him off the ground with both hands at his waist. When they’d danced together, Macsen had never guessed his partner was a man. Such smooth skin and delicate bones did not befit the true lord of Cantre’r Gwaelod.

  He supposed he ought to find Sebastian’s physical inferiority contemptible, but all he could think of now was seeing Siors Apted’s furious arm falling again and again with the leather strap in his fist while the counterfeit August had been doubled over in pain from the vicious kick. Macsen had been spying on them, hoping to catch August out in some deceit. He’d thought perhaps Apted might be part of it. They were thick as thieves. The sudden shift from romance to violence had caught him off guard.

  He’d understood quickly enough from Apted’s outburst of vitriol what the cause of his anger was, but it made no difference to him that Apted was beating a man instead of a woman. The object of his attack was no match for him physically and was hampered by the idiotic feminine fashion of the day as well as the dishonorable nature of the assault. To kick a man when he was down so that you could take your time in beating him was worse than cowardly.

  It did not mean that Macsen had any sympathy for Sebastian as a person. Why should he? Sebastian and August had been equally spoiled as children, and if what Emrys said was true, Sebastian was a soulless murderer. Though he looked perfectly blameless at the moment. Macsen leaned in close to Sebastian without quite being aware of it, studying the sculpted features beneath the angry marks of the strap. He nearly jumped out of his skin when the door opened behind him.

  Emrys scowled from the doorway to the outer suite as he entered and drew it closed behind him, a small leather valise in his other hand. “What are you doing in here?”

  “I wanted to see how it worked.” In truth, he wanted to be sure Emrys wouldn’t guess this was Sebastian—that there was nothing to this process that compromised “August’s” modesty.

  “It’s very simple. But it’s probably a good idea for you to know how it works in case I ever need you to handle her.” Emrys seemed pleased at his interest.

  Macsen rose and stepped out of the way while Emrys came to the bedside to examine Sebastian to be certain he was under. He paused with his thumb on Sebastian’s eyelid, registering the bruises and marks. He whirled on Macsen. “What in the name of the Fates have you done?”

  “Interesting that you imagine I would do it. What would it profit the lord of Cantre’r Gwaelod to assault his own dear sister just returned to him from death itself?”

  “Then who else?” Emrys snapped, his eyes dark with mistrust. “Who else would dare?”

  “Apparently she angered her suitor.”

  “Apted?” Emrys took a jolting step backward as though physically shocked.

  “I wouldn’t have taken him for the sort of man who would force himself on a woman, but I gather he tried to and she resisted. I came upon them while out riding and put a stop to it. Apted has been warned that he will face severe consequences if he ever sets foot on the grounds of Llys Mawr again.”

  “Well, I should damned well hope so! You should have had him dragged behind your horse.” Emrys turned back to Sebastian and lifted the eyelid after all. “You’ve never had what it takes to be a master of men. Such disrespect of the Swift name must be instantly and mercilessly answered.” He gave a nod of satisfaction at Sebastian. “She’s ready.” Emrys laid the valise on the bed and opened it, removing the implement by which he intended to rob Sebastian of his magic. It was a narrow, curved glass tube with a sort of bowl attached at one end that had a stopper in it. “Make yourself useful, boy. Tilt her head back and support her neck.”

  Macsen stepped in and slipped one hand under Sebastian’s nape, easing his head back by the forehead with the other. Emrys slid the glass pipe between Sebastian’s lips, and Macsen couldn’t suppress a grimace as the tube snaked into the back of Sebastian’s throat.

  “Is that safe? Won’t it break?”

  Emrys exhaled with irritation through his nose. “It won’t if you hold her still and stop pestering me.” The bowl enclosed Sebastian’s nose and mouth and Emrys pressed it down to form a seal. “Now,” he said with a satisfied smile. “Watch.”

  Sebastian breathed in reflexively and Macsen felt him convulse against his grip. As Sebastian’s lungs struggled to take in air that wasn’t there, Emrys took a funnel glass from his bag and removed the stopper in the bowl, setting the funnel in its place. Sebastian breathed in deeply, but Emrys had taken the pitcher from the bedside table and was pouring water into the funnel’s opening. The unconscious man gagged, involuntary reflexes trying to resist the water flowing into him, while his instinct to breathe took it in.
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  Macsen looked on, horrified, as Sebastian appeared to be drowning in his drugged sleep. “You’re killing her,” he protested, narrowly avoiding saying “him” instead in his panic.

  “Don’t be a fool. I wouldn’t kill my golden-egg-laying goose.”

  Something was happening within the water in the glass. A bluish-silver glow traveled through it like a bioluminescent serpent in a tiny sea, rising upward with Sebastian’s impossible breath through the tube and filling the bowl in a delicate spiral as though seeking escape.

  Emrys set the pitcher down and removed the funnel, setting the stopper back in place. “There it is.” His voice held a mixture of reverent awe and bitterness. “The might of Cantre’r Gwaelod.”

  The power seemed to vibrate through Sebastian’s skin where Macsen touched it. He shivered, transfixed by the odd beauty of the phenomenon and the unshakeable unease at what they were doing to tap into it. It was a tap, as though Sebastian were merely a maple tree.

  “Now what?” Macsen’s voice was a whisper, though he hadn’t meant it to be.

  Emrys had taken a glass vial from his bag. “Now we wait.”

  “How long can she maintain this?”

  “The longest her brother was ever kept under was thirty minutes, but I don’t like to push it much longer than ten.”

  “Thirty?” Macsen nearly dropped Sebastian’s head. The slight frame was shuddering with each unnatural inhalation. He might be unconscious, but every instinct his body had was being violated, and whether he would remember it or not, it had to be agony. Macsen stroked his thumb along the side of Sebastian’s neck as if to comfort him.

  Emrys eyed the movement, and Macsen stopped it with a guilty jerk. “She’s no innocent, you know. She may not be a killer like her brother, but the past earls of Cantre’r Gwaelod wreaked havoc with their power, unable to govern themselves. She would certainly do the same if given free rein to do so.”

  “But you don’t.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You don’t wreak havoc with it. You merely use it to rob other landowners of their water.” If Macsen hadn’t been holding Sebastian steady, Emrys would surely have tried to knock him down.

  “You’d best watch your tongue, boy. The land—all of it—is ours. The farmers and shepherds and breeders are merely stewards of it. It is the lord’s duty to ensure that his stewards are not wasteful, that the land is managed properly. All you do is stand about and look pretty while I do the work of keeping everything running smoothly, of providing for an entire realm.”

  “It just kills you that you can’t get rid of me and call yourself the lord of Cantre’r Gwaelod, doesn’t it?” Macsen subtly stroked the underside of Sebastian’s neck with the tips of his fingers, as he seemed to be struggling more as the minutes ticked by.

  Emrys’s eyes darkened. “Don’t be so certain. With August here, you may have become expendable.”

  Macsen laughed, though the threat was disconcerting. “Yes, I can just see you letting a simpering woman take all the credit for your ‘hard work’.” Sebastian convulsed in his hands, and it was an effort to keep him still. “I don’t think she can take much more.”

  Emrys made a scoffing sound. “This is only the first time you’ve seen it. Trust me, she’s capable of withstanding a great deal. The magic is coming from her, after all.”

  Nevertheless, he replaced the stopper in the bowl with another curve of glass tubing that fit into the vial. “Lift up her head.” As soon as Macsen did so, Sebastian’s lungs heaved as though he was fighting for his life and the luminous vapor separated from the water and surged into the vial, still swirling like an entity within it as it filled the bottle. As the fluid emptied from Sebastian’s lungs, he gagged on the tube in his throat, but Emrys took his time securing the stopper on the precious commodity and stowing it away in the valise before he removed the bowl and freed the choking Sebastian from the apparatus.

  “That’s it,” said Emrys, closing the bag. “Simple and painless, and will benefit the realm as if the true lord of Cantre’r Gwaelod himself were ruling over it.” He took up the bag and headed for the door.

  “How?”

  Emrys paused and turned his head. “How, what?”

  “How exactly will it benefit the realm?”

  “That’s hardly your concern, boy. You just keep standing about looking pretty and lapping up all the unearned luxury I’ve sent your way.”

  * * * * *

  Macsen sank back into the chair when Emrys had gone, staring at Sebastian’s pale, unconscious form. He felt vile, as if he’d participated in a rape. He thought he might even vomit and had to hang his head between his knees for a moment before the urge passed. He’d never given any thought to what Sebastian might be enduring at the asylum. Sebastian had murdered his sister. Whatever consequences he suffered, he’d brought them on himself. And perhaps Macsen had even felt a bit of smug satisfaction that the pampered prince might be suffering indignities after all the indignities Macsen himself had suffered in his youth by merit of his own birthright.

  He sat up and straightened Sebastian on his pillow, drawing the covers up around his shoulders, and Sebastian turned slightly onto his side toward him, his body relaxing. Macsen watched him for a moment, remembering the startling beauty of the visual manifestation of his power. The idea of Emrys having access to it was an outrage. He knew damned well what Emrys had been doing with it, using it to dry up the wells of those “stewards” who would not pay his exorbitant tributes, and then extorting more from them to buy back their own water. Tenants who wouldn’t cooperate had become destitute, forfeiting their property to Emrys, adding to the ever-growing estate of Llys Mawr. Emrys had created the previously unheard-of thieving class now filling the dank streets and hovels of Thievesward.

  But Macsen was the lord of Cantre’r Gwaelod. He might not have the power to command the waters, but perhaps he could upset Emrys’s applecart.

  Chapter Nine

  For some reason I couldn’t fathom, Macsen felt compelled to visit me daily while I recovered. Whether he was doing it for a show of caring for his long-lost twin or out of some sense of responsibility for Siors’s actions, I couldn’t tell. Perhaps he just wanted to needle me.

  The morning following the incident, I woke late, having slept heavily. Abigail had let me rest. But Macsen appeared almost as soon as I’d opened my eyes.

  “You again.” I was too sluggish to make any pretense at being anything other than surly.

  Macsen stood in the doorway with his hands in the pockets of his riding coat. “I thought I should see how you were faring.” His eyes scanned me with a swift, derisive gaze. “You look terrible.”

  “How kind of you to say.”

  Abigail bustled past him through the door with a tray of breakfast, and I silently blessed her. She had a knack for knowing when to appear. I was ravenous this morning, and I set to it immediately, digging into the buttered eggcups with soft centers to the yolks just the way I had always liked them.

  “I haven’t had my makeup yet,” I replied between bites. “I’m afraid this is what you get if you arrive in my room at the crack of dawn.”

  “It’s hardly the crack of dawn,” Macsen scoffed. “I’ve already been out surveying the entire property.” He managed to say this smugly, as though it were some kind of accomplishment, and sat in my bedside chair without invitation. One boot rested on the other knee. He was far too comfortable here.

  “Did you want a medal?” I asked without looking up from my toast.

  Macsen laughed with a tad too much enthusiasm. “Hard work is its own reward. That’s what Emrys always says.”

  “Yes, I imagine you work very hard, Sebastian.”

  Macsen’s eyes seemed to flash like a spark of metal on metal. “I rather doubt you’d know the meaning of hard work, my dear sister. Not everyone was raised in the lap of lu
xury like you and I were, doing nothing to earn our keep.”

  “I’m not going to argue with you about privilege.” Macsen was baiting me, and there really was no point in taking it. “One cannot help the fortune of one’s birth.” The word fortune reminded me of a fleeting thought I’d been trying to capture since I woke. I continued before Macsen could say anything further. “What was it you were telling me about Emrys last night as I was falling asleep?”

  Macsen blinked at me. “About Emrys?”

  “You said he was changing the fortune of Cantre’r Gwaelod.”

  “I can’t think what you mean. I imagine your head was muddled with exhaustion by that point in the evening.” Macsen rose. “I should get cleaned up. Aunt Elen hates it when I tromp mud through the house.”

  I watched him go, perplexed.

  Abigail sniffed. “I’d be careful around that one.”

  That was certainly my plan. I didn’t trust Macsen any farther than I could throw him. And I doubted I could even lift him off the ground. I imagined he could far more easily lift me.

  Sven arrived and saved me from that disturbing line of thought. “How’s my patient today?” he asked in case anyone was listening as he closed the door.

  “Feeling about as stupid for not taking your professional advice as I did yesterday,” I replied, going back to my breakfast.

  Sven sat on the edge of my bed, nearly upsetting my tray so that I had to grab and steady my juice. “I’ll not say I told you so, Sly. It’s a hard lesson.” He brushed my sleeve lightly with his hand, and his gaze fell on mine with a sort of hopeful question in them. Probably wondering if our prior “arrangement” might continue. The Fates knew I could use some physical affection after the blow to my ego that had been nearly as harsh as the blows to my person.

  I gave him an encouraging smile. “Any other lessons you’d like to teach me?”