“You should eat a light supper before the evening starts,” Kallah instructed. “You will be expected to play while others eat their supper, so you won’t be given food, although you may have as much drink as you wish. You will get a few short breaks. Other than that, it’s difficult to plan ahead. If her majesty doesn’t care for your music, the evening will be brief for you.”

If this was a movie, Sid thought, that would be a cue for an ominous swell of music. “Understood,” she bit out.

Kallah looked mildly taken aback. She continued, “If her majesty does enjoy your music, you should expect to play for a couple of hours, so be sure to come to the hall well rested. I will send a page to collect you when it is time.”

“Fine.” She bit back a sigh. All the impending doom was working on her last nerve. “I’ll go back to my room this afternoon. Anything else?”

“No, I believe that should cover everything.” Kallah paused, and her eyes narrowed. She murmured, “I don’t remember you wearing earrings when I cut your hair.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Sid snapped. “What else do you people want to take from me? Sometimes I wear my earrings, and sometimes I put them in my pocket. Why, do you want them?”

If nothing else, she thought, this place has taught me one thing. I have learned how to lie like a champion while telling the absolute truth.

The other woman drew back in affront. “Of course not,” she snapped back. “Now, if that will be all, I need to return to my own duties.”

“See you in the great hall,” Sid said shortly.

The other woman turned to go. When Kallah turned back the irritation had faded from her plain features. In a sober voice, she said, “I know you must be feeling an extraordinary amount of stress right now. Good luck tonight. I hope you do well.”

The starch left Sid’s spine, and she made an effort to soften her own voice in reply. “I appreciate that, Kallah. Thank you.”

* * *

After leaving, Morgan returned to his cottage, ate mechanically, and tended to his healing wound.

It looked better than it had last time. The black streaks shooting out like jagged thunderbolts had faded somewhat, and the wound itself had closed over solidly. It felt better too. Now it was a dull, irritating ache as opposed to a burning spike of pain. Nothing he and Sidonie had done in the night had broken it open again.

He guessed he had two weeks at most before the geas forced him to return to Isabeau. He needed to take another wound before then.

After dealing with necessities, he began work on solving the problem of how to get the battle spell to Sidonie.

As much as he railed against the conclusion he had come to, trying to cast the spell in person was not the best choice. If he cast the spell, it would begin to work immediately, and Sidonie needed to be able to control when it was activated. He would have to set the spell into an item and then figure out how to get the item to her.

The other challenge was, while he was certainly proficient in magic and not without a capacious bag of tricks, the thought of trying to move about in the daytime was daunting. There were areas of the castle where he could move around much more freely, hidden nooks and private spaces that had been forgotten by everyone centuries ago, except for him.

But the well-trafficked area around Sidonie’s room was not one of those spaces. Also several other Hounds and courtiers were proficient in magic, including Isabeau and Modred, and Morgan didn’t have the puck’s ability to change shape at will.

So delivering the battle spell in person was not the best option. The risk of discovery was too great.

Perhaps Myrrah might help. She was kind-hearted and a talented healer, and one of the few people Morgan trusted, at least somewhat. She wouldn’t like not knowing why he wanted to get a magic item to Sidonie, yet she might do it if he asked her.

But he didn’t like the uncertainty in that either. What if Myrrah felt too uneasy with the request? Then he would have not only exposed his presence, but he would also have exposed his link to Sidonie.

No, Sidonie needed the battle spell for a certainty. That mattered more than anything, even keeping his presence a secret. He would voluntarily go back into active service with Isabeau before he would risk Sidonie going into her performance tonight without the help she needed.

Setting aside the problem for now, he got to work. First, he took a length of cloth and infused it with the same spell of concealment he had placed on the velvet pouch that carried his deadly array of weapon spells.

When he had finished, he opened the small wooden box that held his supply of unspelled jewels and picked through them thoughtfully. The battle spell was a major one, so it needed a high-quality jewel to house it. None of the semiprecious stones would do.

Finally he chose a small, perfect diamond. Setting it on the table, he began the process of casting the spell into the stone. Casting a major spell was one complex process. Setting the spell into an item was a second process that was just as complex.

Added to that, he needed to infuse this particular spell with a thorough impression of the right skills to pass on to Sidonie. Normally the battle spell was cast in the heat of the moment, and the transfer of skills was both broader and immediately apparent, based on the focus on need by the one casting the spell.

Casting this spell was different. He was not in the heat of the moment, and he had to build a meticulous mental image of the lute, along with his memories of playing it. By the time he sat back to contemplate his handiwork, he was drained, and the sun had risen high in the sky and had begun to heat the cottage.

It was a good, solid casting, the spell tightly woven into the structure of the jewel itself, but he was no closer to figuring out how to get it to Sidonie safely in a way that didn’t risk his own freedom too.

Frustrated, he rubbed his face, then went to open the cottage windows to let in some fresh air. As he did so, the sound of voices caused his hackles to rise.

Even though the speakers were some distance away, he recognized them. It was Warrick and Harrow.

While he was confident the concealments he had woven over the cottage would hold, he still needed to find out what they were doing out here, so close to his hiding place. He wrapped the diamond in its concealment cloth and tucked it into his pocket, along with the lump of beeswax.

Then he grabbed his weapons, doused himself with hunter’s spray again, cast a strong cloaking spell around himself, and slipped out of the cottage to stalk after the two men as their voices faded away.