Just like that. Like she was some kind of bloody automaton and he could just snap his fingers and she would obey.
But she hadn’t been lying—shewastrying. Phillip’s threat against Albie and the others loomed large in her memory, and she knew what he’d do to them if he thought she was stalling. Yet she couldn’t get her magic to work the way she wanted. Even by using the incantation to focus her power, it still did exactly what it bloody-well liked, rather than what she willed. Wild and erratic, completely unfocused. She’d managed to blast a chunk out of the wall but hadn’t been able to burn a single straw of the haybale.
Phillp wasn’t happy. This wasnotwhat you wanted when you were trying to create a living weapon.
“I know ye can do it,” he hissed. “I know what ye did to the vessels that attacked when ye went to salvage theSea Star. Ye just need to do what ye did then!”
If it were that easy, didn’t the fool man think she would have done it by now? The truth was, she had exactly no clue as to why her magic had obeyed her that day, why it had been so easy to summon all that power and focus it. Perhaps it had just been blind luck.
But she had to keep trying. She had to give Andrea the time she needed to figure out a way to free the prisoners and retake Dun Arach. If that meant submitting herself to Phillip’s lessons then so be it.
“I think I might have gotten the second line of the incantation wrong,” she said. “What was it again?”
Phillip glared at her. He carried over the tome he’d been holding under one arm and flipped to the appropriate page. “It’s right there!” he snapped. “Get it right this time!”
Obediently, Elise read the incantation, muttering the words under her breath as though trying to memorize them.
“All right. I think I’m ready to give it another try.”
Phillip stepped back and Elise once again focused her concentration on the hay bale. And once again, her magic wouldn’t obey.
“Again!” Phillip snapped. “We’ll keep doing this until ye get it right!”
Hurry, Andrea, Elise thought.We’re running out of time.
*
A pounding onher door woke Elise the next morning. She hadn’t been sleeping, not really, just falling in and out of fitful dreams of Jamie and Phillip battling to the death while she watched on, unable to intervene.
But at the noise of sudden furious hammering, she jumped upright, heart thudding. She’d barely pulled a robe over her nightdress when the door burst open and several of the king’s guardsmen came spilling into the room, all carrying weapons.
Elise shrank back, fear skittering down her spine.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded. “You can’t just come barging in here—”
“Lord Phillip demands yer presence,” one of them barked. “Now.”
“At this hour? Why?”
It was barely past dawn and the light seeping around the shutters on the window was gray and weak.
“Ye’ll find out. Come.”
Elise swallowed. She glanced at the faces of the guards in turn, finding only stony, unfriendly expressions on each of them.
“All right,” she muttered. “Keep your hair on.”
They led her from the room, two walking in front, two behind, as though she were a prisoner being marched to the dungeon. But if Phillip had wanted that, why not throw her in a cell from the beginning? Why go through this charade of civility and mentorship?
As they padded through the silent corridors of Dun Arach, her mind whirled. What could have happened? Her heart skipped a beat as she wondered if it was Jamie. Had he come for her?
The selfish part, the part that longed for him, hoped this was true. She missed him so much it made her whole body ache. But the rational, logical part of her hoped Jamie hadn’t come. She’d seen Phillip’s forces firsthand and knew that Jamie could not hope to retake Dun Arach while Phillip held it. To try would only lead to unthinkable bloodshed and the thought of people being hurt—of Jamie being hurt—on her account was enough to make her guts clench and send dizzy panic washing through her.
But no. If the keep were under attack, there would be some indication. Alarms ringing, men rushing around. Instead, it was as quiet as a grave, far quieter than when Jamie was in charge. The servants and other inhabitants of the keep were keeping as low a profile as possible, staying out of the way and hoping to avoid notice. Elise didn’t blame them. If they earned Phillip’s ire, they would no doubt end up incarcerated like Albie and the others—if not worse.
She was led into the great hall. The cavernous space echoed with her footsteps, seeming eerily empty and forlorn with none of the usual chatter that filled it. Candles burned in the chandeliers hanging above, throwing out weak, flickering light.
Phillip and Sir Ewan Bruce, the king’s envoy, sat at the high table, enjoying a hearty breakfast. Elise bridled at the sight of Phillip sitting in Jamie’s seat. She was tempted to stomp over there and drag the damned man out of it, while giving him a kick in the nethers for good measure. But she kept her mouth shut as guards marched her over.
