Icestorm

by Theresa Dahlheim

  The carriage did not stop at the palace’s main gate, but continued around the grounds for some distance before entering a narrow opening in the wall and emerging into a square courtyard. Grooms came to take charge of the horses, but their Pravelle livery was differenced with the sorcerer’s mark, a gray icicle on a circle of blue that was only a shade darker than Betaul blue. A servant with the same livery and a blank expression gestured that they should follow him. The double doors through which they passed were heavy with ironwork.

  She had never been inside the palace before now. Her father had not allowed her to attend any of the king’s or queen’s private parties. Not that we were invited to many. This marbled foyer led to another pair of doors, which opened to a receiving room at least as large as the blue and the green rooms back in Betaul Keep. It was decorated in rich red hues, lit by iron lanterns that burned yellow and blue flames. The servant led Tabitha and her father to the left, where a short corridor led to several closed doors. Another servant stood at one, and he nodded and opened the door immediately without apparent concern that he may be disturbing his master.

  He had to be a magus, and could speak mind-to-mind with the sorcerer. Mind-to-mind. Is that how the sorcerer speaks to all his magi? Does he always read their minds? Will he say he needs to read my mind?

  The room beyond was not large, and the single window at one end was swathed in dark draperies, turning everything back to night. Near the window was a table with two candles, and a tall man. He did not rise to greet them, and Tabitha could not see his face clearly. Why did it have to be so dark?

  “So,” a gravelly voice spoke. “It is you.”

  Tabitha had no idea how to answer that, so she just stood there. She heard her father take a quick, sharp breath as his worst fears were realized.

  “Come sit, girl.” The figure at the table waved an arm one way, then the other. “You can go.”

  Her father stiffened, for Lord Natayl’s second sentence had been directed at him. Tabitha’s hand clutched hard at his arm. “No,” she said, looking up at her father, but then she turned back to Lord Natayl. She did not want to be left alone with him. “No,” she said more loudly.

  Lord Natayl shrugged, as if his command had only been a suggestion. “Both of you, then.”

  A third candle on the table flared into life, and Tabitha and her father both paused for a startled moment. The sorcerer was so old. She knew he was old, but everyone said that sorcerers did not age, that they stayed young and handsome forever. But this frightening-looking man had grey hair and a grey beard, with deep wrinkles and many age spots. He looked nothing like she had expected, nothing like the portraits she had seen.

  Her father held a chair for her, the only chair on that side of the table. As Tabitha swept her skirts to one side, she saw Lord Natayl’s eyes. Beneath a furrowed brow, they seemed to spear straight into her, and she quickly looked down and folded her hands into her lap. So old, and so angry. Angry at her? Why? Did he know? Had he already read her mind and learned about the horrible things she had done?

  Her father stood just behind her right shoulder, and he said nothing. It was so strange to see him so submissive. Obviously the sorcerer unnerved him like no one else could. Would he ever be this frightened of her, his own daughter?

  “Have you ever done any magic?” Lord Natayl asked her, his voice still rough, as though he needed to cough to clear it.

  “I don’t know,” she said. Her words did not come out half as loud as his. She wished he had started with small talk.

  “Have you ever made anything strange happen?”

  She did not answer, and his age-spotted fingers drummed the table. Finally he said, “I am not accustomed to repeating myself. Tell me if you have ever made anything strange happen.”

  She could not tell him what she had done. She sat mute, and the sorcerer studied her further. Then he said, “Nicolas Bayard died below your window last night.”

  She flinched. She could not help it.

  “Is that true?”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Last night I felt a surge of power far stronger than any I have ever felt from any of my magi. That was you.”

  She nodded. He already knew. But what did he know?

  “Bayard climbed up to your window?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did that make you angry? Frightened?”

  “Both.”

  The sorcerer nodded. She could not tell anything from his expression about what he might be thinking. Suddenly he leaned forward and held up his hand, palm forward and fingers splayed. “Hold up your hand.”

  He wants to read my mind! “No.”

  “Hold up your hand. I need to judge how much power you have.”

  “No.” When his thick eyebrows came together in a deep frown, she rushed out her words: “I don’t want you to read my mind.”

  “I can’t read your mind, girl. Not unless you allow it. Now hold up your hand.”

  Tabitha could not help glancing over her shoulder at her father, and her heart sank as he nodded slightly. He wanted her to cooperate. But what if Lord Natayl was lying, and he could read her mind by touching her hand, and all her secrets spilled out? What would Lord Natayl do? Would he tell people all the terrible things the new sorceress had already done? Would he decide she was too corrupt to teach?

  “You are going to get used to doing what I tell you to do,” Lord Natayl interrupted her flurry of indecision. “You might as well start now and keep me from getting more annoyed with you than I already am.”

  Still she hesitated, and suddenly Lord Natayl shifted in his seat and folded his bony hands on the table. When he spoke, his voice was calm, if still gravelly. “I offer my apologies, my lady. I can see that you are a young woman of refined sensibilities, to whom my candor may appear boorish. I give you my solemn oath that no sorcerer can read another sorcerer’s mind unless that other sorcerer allows it. All I wish to do is judge how much power you have. It will help me decide how best to train you. Now. Will you please hold up your hand?”

  Tabitha felt the icy prickles at her neck. The sorcerer had given her his solemn oath, but she still did not want to move. Then her father put his hand on her shoulder reassuringly. It was because she did not want to disappoint him that she finally held up her hand.

  Lord Natayl looked at it and observed, “You are left-handed.” Without any hint as to why that mattered, he leaned forward with his own left hand extended.

  Tabitha flinched back. He can’t read my mind. He can’t read my mind. She took a breath and eased forward again.

  Lord Natayl’s hand met hers, dry and cold, and something went into her thoughts. It was like pebbles under her skin or a thorny branch in her fist, and it was terrifying. She tried to yank her hand away, but his larger hand clamped hard over her fingers. He would not let go. He would not let go! She felt scraped inside, and pinpricks of ice stood at the back of her neck and slid over her head and down her spine in a panicked rush as she pushed and pushed and pushed—

  He dropped his hold on her fingers. Tabitha shrank back and slid her left hand up her other sleeve. Her feet were pulled back under her chair as far as they could go, and she was trembling. The itching pain of her own power was nothing compared to what the sorcerer had just done. She did not know what he had done, but it had hurt.

  “What did you do to her?” her father demanded, kneeling beside her chair and trying to see her face.

  “Nothing,” Lord Natayl said with no concern. “She blocked me, as I expected.”

  Tabitha had no idea if he was telling the truth. What had he seen in her mind? Anything? Everything? She could not believe that he would be so calm if he knew what she had done, but what if he did? What if he could reach in and take anything he wanted from her?

  “Tabitha,” her father said softly. “Look at me. Are you all right?”

  She did not want him to know how afraid she was. She took a slow breath and managed to look him in the eyes. They were
silver, just like hers. She wanted him to be proud of her. She wanted to be strong. “I was … unsettled. I am fine now.”

  Lord Natayl pushed something small across the table to her. “One more test. Touch this.”

  It was the size and shape of a big coin, but the metal had a slightly luminous cast in the dim light. The shape of a teardrop was etched into its surface. A charm. She had touched very few in her life, and never one this large. She glanced quickly at her father, then extended one finger and tapped the charm. It seemed to make a sound, but a sound she could feel instead of hear. It was not as strong as the sorcerer’s magic in her mind had been, but the two felt … not the same, but related.

  Lord Natayl said something she did not understand, and when she looked at him nervously, he repeated it. “Thaumat’argent.”

  “The charm?” she asked timidly.

  “The metal. Sorcerer’s silver.” He pointed. “That’s a blank. It holds no charm or spell, but you sensed something strange about it anyway, did you not?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” He stood up, no age evident in how he moved. As Tabitha and her father hurriedly rose as well, he said, “I don’t intend to remain in the city any longer. I want your baggage loaded onto my ship.”

  “When?” her father asked, but Tabitha had been startled by the word ship. Why would the sorcerer own a ship? He could change shape and fly anywhere. She could change shape and fly anywhere. The thought sent an unexpected surge of anticipation through her.

  “By this time tomorrow,” Lord Natayl said, with finality. “The ship is at the palace dock.”

  So, no shapechanging. Yet. “Yes, my lord,” she nodded, even as her father was shaking his head and opening his mouth to protest.

  The sorcerer made a gesture of dismissal, of disgust, that sent a sudden, arresting chill up her back. This was a man who had seen everything, met everyone, and nothing and no one impressed him anymore.

  And she was supposed to learn magic from him.

  Tabitha turned and walked quickly back to the door, and her father had to hurry to keep up with her. They were back in the red receiving room before he could offer her his arm. “Tabitha. Tabitha, slow down. You knew? How?”

  She shrugged helplessly. “I just … knew.”

  “When?” His tone made it clear that she should have told him immediately.

  “When he spoke to me.” She really had not been absolutely sure until Lord Natayl had said So it is you. Part of her had expected him to give her, or just wanted him to give her, a quick look and a quicker dismissal.

  Her father sighed. She had so seldom heard him sigh that she looked at him in surprise. He was frowning at nothing as they walked, and she knew he was thinking about what this meant for Betaul. “Forgive me,” she said impulsively. She had never wanted to hurt him.

  He looked down at her. “It is not your fault.”

  “Then why do I feel guilty?” And why had she admitted it?

  “Because people do, when bad things happen.”

  “This is a bad thing?” Please don’t think that. Please don’t hate me.

  “No. No, of course not. It’s just ...” He trailed off as they passed a servant.

  Tabitha waited for him to continue, but he did not, and as they reached the door to the foyer, she prompted, “Father?”

  “We will talk at the house.”

  She knew that was sensible. She knew there were too many spies in the palace. But she also felt like it did not matter where they talked, because Lord Natayl could hear her every word.

  He can’t. He can’t. But she could not convince herself. Back in the morning light, her father gave her a hand up into the carriage, but did not follow her inside, instead climbing up to sit beside the driver.

  Shock, she told herself as the carriage lurched into motion. He is too shocked right now. He needs time. She told herself that all the way back to the house, but her fingers kept bunching into her skirt and twisting the fabric.

  Beatris, Count Sebastene, Pamela, and Lord Daniel were all waiting in the smaller dining room, and they all stood and stared at Tabitha as she followed her father to the table. Pamela gasped softly when she saw Tabitha’s expression. “It’s true.”

  “Yes,” her father said, then turned to the servants hovering nearby. “Ale.” He held Tabitha’s chair for her and gestured for the others to sit, but he himself did not. He stood behind his chair and gripped its back, his jowly face frowning. No one spoke. The servants returned with the ale and poured a large tankard for the duke, then set wine glasses in front of everyone else. Tabitha ignored hers. For one thing, it was too early. They should be drinking tea.

  As the servants retreated, Tabitha’s father drank all his ale in one long pull. He set down the tankard and stated, “Tabitha is Thendalia’s new sorceress.”

  “Congratulations, my lady,” Count Sebastene said solemnly, and raised his wine glass. Beatris, Pamela, and Lord Daniel raised theirs, and they all sipped.

  “Obviously this changes everything,” her father said. “I don’t know when the Lord Sorcerer will make the announcement, but he told us that he wants to leave tomorrow, so I expect it sometime today. We will let that serve as notice to all the suitors.”

  “Your Grace,” Beatris said, “must she leave tomorrow? So soon?”

  “That is what the Lord Sorcerer wants.”

  “Will you be accompanying her, sir?” Lord Daniel asked.

  “That is clearly not what he wants.” Her father brooded for another moment, then looked at Pamela. “My lady, I want to assure you that you still have a place in my household until your wedding next year, even though Tabitha will be going to Maze Island.”

  “Yes, your Grace,” Pamela nodded automatically, but then she seemed startled. “But, your Grace, without Tabitha, I—I think …”

  “You will be lonely,” Count Sebastene finished for her. He looked at Beatris, then back at the duke. “Sir, Pamela can live with us until the wedding. We would be glad to have her.”

  Pamela turned to Beatris beside her and they grasped their hands together. “Very glad,” Beatris said emphatically.

  “What about me?” Tabitha knew it sounded childish but she could not help it. Why was everyone so worried about Pamela when all of this was happening to her? “I need someone to go with me. I don’t know anyone on Maze Island.”

  Pamela stared at her, open-mouthed, clearly afraid that Tabitha would insist on taking her. Beatris frowned slightly. “Tabitha—”

  “Lise,” Tabitha said, and turned to her father. “Lise should come with me. I need a servant, at least. Someone I trust.” It was better than nothing. Better than being completely alone with Lord Natayl and all his cold-eyed magi.

  “Of course,” her father nodded. He sounded relieved, actually. Maybe because it was such a simple wish to grant.

  “What about your cousin?” Pamela looked at Tabitha, eager and earnest as a puppy. “The maga. On your mother’s side.”

  “Isabelle.” Isabelle. Tabitha had no image of her cousin in her mind. But she was a maga, and she was family. She should go to Maze Island with Tabitha. But her father did not like magi, and that was why Tabitha had never gotten to know Isabelle. He did not like magi, or magic, or sorcerers.

  He does not hate me. I am his daughter! It is not my fault!

  “The Patrisses have already left the city,” her father said, but stopped when he looked at her. She did not know what he saw there, for his expression did not change, but he said, “I can stop in Ponterose on the way home. Lady Pamela is right. You should have a maga companion.”

  “Sir,” Lord Daniel said, “our messenger has not left yet. We can send a letter south with him to Ponterose to let them know your plans.”

  The duke paused, then shook his head. “They are less likely to refuse to my face. I don’t want to give them any time to invent arguments.”

  “Why would they refuse?” Tabitha wanted to know.

  “They have done their best to
keep their pet maga to themselves. And since they discovered her talent, they have not been interested in maintaining any family ties with us.”

  This was news to Tabitha. In a strange way, it made her feel better. She had never liked the idea that her father was so unreasonable about magi that he would keep her from her own cousin. “We will send a letter from me, Father. They can’t refuse me.”

  “I am sure they will try, but no, they can’t.” He looked at Lord Daniel. “Don’t hold up the messenger. I will deliver Tabitha’s letter in person.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  There was a pause, and Beatris spoke into it. “Your Grace, I want to ask about Marjorie.” Pamela nodded eagerly, and Beatris turned to Tabitha. “Tabitha, you spoke to her. You know she did not do it. No one can lie to a sorceress.”

  Startled, Tabitha had to pretend to think about that for a moment. She looked at her father, who also seemed surprised. “Father?”

  “Is she right? Can you tell when someone is lying to you?”

  Why are you asking me? I don’t know anything about being a sorceress! “I think that might be something Lord Natayl needs to teach me.”

  “Could you learn that as soon as possible?” Beatris pressed.

  “Yes. Yes, of course I can.” She could certainly pretend to learn it, at least, to free Marjorie. She owed Marjorie that.

  Beatris and Pamela were both smiling in relief, and both Lord Daniel and Count Sebastene were looking at them and smiling too, but Tabitha’s father was not. He said, “Write to her, Tabitha. Tell her that you will visit her as soon as you have mastered this. And that you will make it a priority.”

  He is still really upset. “Yes, Father.”

  “What about Jenevive?” Pamela asked then.

  No one answered at first. Tabitha really did not know what she meant. “I heard that she and her husband have already left Tiaulon,” she said hesitantly.

  “But she is so miserable.” Pamela looked at Tabitha imploringly. “There must be something you could do for her now.”

  “I …” Even a sorceress could not annul Jenevive’s marriage, and that was the only thing that would make her happy again. “I don’t know.” Beatris was shaking her head too.