She asked like she was afraid to hear the answer, yet all the while her hand never moved from his knee. He forced himself to breathe evenly, although it was a heavy, audible sound.

“No,” he answered. “My services were required elsewhere. But I was the one to capture him, and I would have tortured him, if I had been ordered to. If Isabeau ordered me to service her in her bed, I would obey—and never mind that the very sight of her makes me nauseated with rage.”

Her fingers tightened until he could feel each separate one, digging into his skin. She breathed, “That’s horrible. The thought never occurred to me.”

“Thankfully, the thought has never occurred to her either.” He wiped his mouth, trying to get the idea out of his mind. “Or if it has, she would never act on it. She’s too bigoted. Bedding me would be akin to bestiality to her. She’d as soon have sex with one of her dogs, and while she has her own aberrant behaviors, she’s not prey to that particular perversion. Also, if she tried something like that, I might have to obey, but she knows I would find a way to retaliate. The problem with a geas of control is you can never quite issue enough orders to cover every eventuality that may arise.” A dark note entered his voice. “She’s learned that lesson the hard way a couple of times.”

She whispered, “‘He who rides a tiger is afraid to dismount.’”

Curiosity stirred. “Where did you hear that?”

“It’s an old Chinese proverb. Nowadays, people say somebody has grabbed a tiger by the tail as a way to describe a difficult or dangerous situation. It sounds like Isabeau has got you by the tail and doesn’t dare let go.” Although he knew she couldn’t see him, she twisted to sit facing him. “Have you noticed something? Even though you weren’t able to tell me about the compulsion, once I guessed, you’ve been able to talk about it.”

“The geas is like that,” he replied. “Sometimes I can find my way around orders to certain freedoms. I’ve been expressly forbidden to help prisoners escape, but that doesn’t mean I can’t aid them from time to time, like I am with you. I’ve been ordered to never tell anyone I’m acting under a geas, but you and I can discuss a fact you already know. If she had ordered me to never talk about the geas with anyone, I would be mute right now. One of her greatest flaws is her own carelessness. I hope it will be her downfall one day.”

“Specifics matter,” she whispered. “How you phrase things, what elements you choose to put in a spell or a bargain, or what you choose to leave out. I don’t know anything else about magic, but dealing with the Djinn has taught me that much. When the first Djinn approached and wanted to bargain to attend one of my concerts, I consulted with a negotiating expert before striking a deal. I learned a lot from her.”

Despite the heavy topic, he found himself smiling again. “That was smart.”

“Now several Djinn owe me favors.” She emitted a ghost of a laugh. “I keep them as my safety net. The funny thing is, they could have just taken physical form and bought a concert ticket like everyone else.”

He chuckled silently. “I remember when a few of the Djinn bargained with me to listen to my music. Gods, I haven’t thought of that in ages. It happened so long ago. One of them told me they experience music in an entirely different way when they’re bodiless in their natural form. The vibration of the sound suffuses them entirely. They have a way of appreciating music that’s completely alien to us. I doubt a single Djinn would consider attending a concert in an embodied form. That would be like trying to listen to music with earplugs, or appreciate a work of art while wearing a blindfold. It’s simply unthinkable if you have the alternative.”

He had lost himself so deeply in reverie, her surprise came like a dash of cold water to the face. She exclaimed, “You never said you were a musician! What do you play?”

His pleasure faded. “I’m not, at least not anymore. I haven’t played anything in centuries.”

“That would kill me.” Her whisper shook. “They killed me when they broke my hands. I can’t live without my music.”

He put his hand over both of hers as she twisted them together in her lap. “You are stronger than you give yourself credit for. You have no idea what you can survive until you’re pushed to find out.”

Underneath his palm, her clenched hands opened, unfurling like a flower. She cupped his hand between hers, and in a gesture that shocked him to the core, she slid to his side and put her head on his shoulder. “I really can’t trust you, can I?”

He let the sadness in that whisper sink in, breathing through the pain like he had breathed through every other pain he had experienced in his very long life.

He could have told her that she could trust him to do everything he could to fight the geas, to work his way around direct orders, to do for her whatever was in his power to do, and in a way, all that would have been true.

But fostering false hopes would not serve her any good purpose. Putting an arm around her, he drew her close.

“No,” he said gently. “You really can’t.”

* * *

What on earth was she doing?

Why was she cuddling up to a man who had just admitted she couldn’t trust him?

A man who had alluded to the fact that he could be ordered to do monstrous things—and no doubt had done them in the past?

He could be ordered to torture her, to kill her, and he would do it. All of it.

What kind of magic had such a terrible hold over him?

“I don’t know how you’re still breathing.” The words slipped out of her as she tried to imagine what his life must be like.

“I’m still breathing, because I was ordered to.” A dark, sardonic note entered his whisper. “And I happen to be extremely hard to kill, so no one has managed that feat yet.”

She sank into the horror of imagining his suicidal despair while being forbidden to act on it, a right that was so basic she had never thought to question it before. His life was literally no longer his own.

That kind of shackle could crush the music out of a man. It should have crushed all decency, moral code, and sense of compassion as well, but somehow he had managed to hold on to those things, and he acted on them, at least as much as he was able.

Nestling against him, she turned her face into his shirt. “I’m so sorry for what happened to you.”