Icestorm

by Theresa Dahlheim

  She would rather have walked. Natayl, the king, and his eldest cousin all kept their attention on her, forcing her to make small talk for the entire hour. By the time their carriage reached the manor’s front portico, Tabitha was at the very edge of her poise. “Please excuse me, your Majesty,” she managed to say with appropriate respect as she curtseyed to the king at the front doors. “But I must now return to the city to greet my lord father.”

  Natayl glared at her, which was not fair, because he knew she had to go. King Motthias bowed and said, “Of course, my lady. Please give his Grace the duke my highest regard.”

  You planned to steal his seat, she accused him silently, her lip twitching as she held back a snarl. You planned to make me your whore. Your regard disgusts me. “I will relay your most honest wishes, your Majesty.” She knew she should not do it, but she deliberately turned her back on him and Natayl before she returned to the carriage, where the surprised driver hurried to give her a hand inside. “The city,” she told him, and settled back in her seat as he shut the door.

  “Girl, don’t hold grudges,” Natayl sent, his mind scraping over hers like rocks. “He is the king. You need to keep good relations with him.”

  Like yours with the Jasinthes? The thought just flashed across Tabitha’s mind, and she did not mean to send it. She never would have sent it.

  But the precise control that telepathy with words required was still beyond her skill, and Natayl caught the thought. His mind grew rougher and colder. “Cast your lot with them, then.” A sudden snap, like he had flicked his finger into her forehead, and then his magic was largely gone, shifted to the backdrop of her consciousness like that of the Telgard sorcerer. If she did not think about it for a while, she could ignore it, like ignoring the blue of the sky or the ticking of a clock.

  She could not ignore it yet. She was shivering, and she hugged her arms to her chest. She had no idea what he had meant.

  I am free of him and the king for the rest of today and all of tomorrow, she told herself. She should put both them out of her mind. She should think about her family instead.

  It was not a grudge. Not at all. Her coldness was justified. The king had spent weeks deliberately making her uncomfortable, pressing her to agree to marry Othot. He needed to know how displeased she was about it, and that she blamed him as much as she blamed Othot. At least Othot himself was not stupid enough to come here. The king had sent her dozens of personal letters over the past three months, none of which she had answered, none of which she had even read. That should have been a clear enough message of how she viewed his attentions. This softer behavior from him now was no attempt at apology, but merely another tactic toward the same goal of bedding her.

  Why did he still think he had any chance at that? Did he not realize that here, he was merely one of dozens of magi men, Thendal and otherwise, who constantly competed for her favor? Had he not heard all the gossip about the Telgard sorcerer and the Kroldon sorcerer being utterly fascinated with her? And besides all that, why would she ever bed a man who had proven himself to be her father’s enemy, even if he was a king?

  Did Natayl expect that she would? Was that why he was angry? Had he encouraged Motthias to try to seduce her, or at the very least, bond with her?

  You can’t get inside my mind, so you wanted him to do it!

  Tabitha bowed her head and squeezed her arms against her stomach, suddenly nauseous, and not because the bumping sway of the carriage. A month ago, before Natayl had told her that he would help her face her fears, she would have scoffed at the idea. Now it seemed more believable, some other kind of incomprehensible test he had in mind for her.

  The first test had not been bad. He had taken her to a cloister hospital, and she had had to hold the patients’ hands and touch their sores and wounds while Natayl healed them. It had been unpleasant, and she had taken a long bath afterward, but it had hardly been frightening. Then he had arranged for her to give several speeches to magi gatherings, never more than a few dozen at a time so that she could answer questions from them afterward. She had never done anything like that before, and she disliked it intensely, but the poise that Nan had drilled into her, along with her excellent memory, had served her well. She thought that maybe she had done rather too well, and had not learned whatever lesson Natayl had wanted her to learn, because the following week, he had taken her to meet a Medean magus who had a pet hookspider. That had scared her, but the Medean magus had changed his mind about letting her hold it, so she had escaped that particular trial. Not so the next one, which had involved a Tolander maga and an iguana.

  She had obeyed Natayl. She had answered his summons every time it had come. She had read the books on magical theory he had given her, even though she had little hope of understanding them. She had become almost fully fluent in Mazespaak. She had studied hard, tried hard.

  But the tests had not stopped. One evening, after dusk had settled over the city, he had come to her chambers to tell her that they were going to the manor house. But halfway there, he had made her get out of the carriage on the dark road in the middle of the woods, and he had left her. He had forced her to find her way to the manor house in the pitch-black dark, through all the animal noises of the forest night, her imagination magnifying them into monsters. It had made her heart pound so hard that she had felt it in her chest and in her throat, and her skin had erupted in constant, itching gooseflesh. When she had finally stumbled in the back door of the kitchen, sweat-soaked and trembling, he had reminded her that nothing could hurt her, and had seemed to think that she should have been proud of this accomplishment. It had only made her angrier.

  And thinking about it now made her even angrier, as she clutched her stomach and grit her teeth. She decided it would not surprise her at all if Natayl did want her to sleep with Motthias, as some sort of bridge to cross or dread to conquer. Not that she would ever do it, ever, even if he ordered it.

  If he wanted her to face her fears, he could start by helping her be less afraid of him.

  It took an hour for her carriage to reach the city, and though Tabitha knew it did not take nearly that long to reach the townhouse from the gate, it certainly seemed like it. The streets were thick with visitors who had come to Maze Island this Equinox to celebrate the new sorcerers, and even as Tabitha wished all these people would disappear so that she could get to where she was going, she could not help feeling a bit of dark amusement that she was passing among them unnoticed, hidden in the big black carriage. Even when the carriage turned onto Natayl’s normally quiet street, she could hear murmurs and laughter from outdoor parties spilling out from gardens and balconies. The driver stopped at the front door instead of going to the carriage house in the back, which was too small for the size of this carriage anyway, and went into the townhouse to fetch Lise. When he opened the carriage door for her, it let in all the chattering noise, as well as a shaft of bright noon sunlight that made Tabitha wince. “Have you heard anything?” she asked as Lise sat down.

  “Yes, m’lady. Joune told me the magus at the checkpoint passed them through just a bit ago, m’lady.” Lise sounded almost as excited as Tabitha was. “So they should be at the water gate very soon.”

  “Take us to Redbird Harbor,” Tabitha told the driver, and the carriage moved off again.

  She had personally visited the office of the Essenan sorcerer, Lord Lasfe, who was in charge of the Ministry of Rentals, to request that her father’s galleon and its escort be given particular docking slips at the port. At the base of the curving ramp that descended from the street, Tabitha’s carriage halted, and Natayl’s driver opened the door, letting in the light and the cacophony of sound, but also some very strong, wet smells. Tabitha held her hand over her nose and mouth and sent Lise to make sure that the wagons and the extra carriage she had hired had arrived. They had, and Tabitha spoke briefly to each of the drivers to satisfy herself of their competence. As arranged, two magi guardsmen from the city watch reported to her to serve as her escort,
and after speaking with them, Tabitha had nothing else to do but wait.

  Lise sat quietly in the carriage’s other seat, probably even dozing, as Tabitha fretted. She wanted to see her family, but she was nervous too. She wanted them to be proud of her, but she had made so little progress with her magic. It was not her fault that Natayl was a horrible teacher, but she did not think her family would be impressed with minor tricks of telekinesis. She could light a candle, but not kindling. She could not yet dowse, not reliably. He had not taught her anything about healing, casting spells, or raising earth magic.

  No one will care, she reassured herself. They just want to see me. Her father. Pamela. Even Beatris. She missed them all so much. She had so much to tell them.

  The driver knocked against the carriage window and called, “M’lady, I think that’s them.”

  He helped her down to the wharf, and Tabitha had to keep herself from jumping up and down on her toes when she finally saw the white swan of Betaul on its pennant, flying in the wind. She could barely see the galleon itself at first with so many other ships in the way, let alone its escorting caravel, so again, she composed herself, and did not lean or bob or stand on tiptoe to try to see more. She put up her hood to shield her eyes from the sun high overhead, and kept waiting.

  The air was full of sailors’ shouts as they maneuvered the two ships into the docking slips. The river pilots were magi, and more magi on the wharf were somehow helping them. Tabitha kept catching her breath as a hull or a spars seemed certain to crash into something, but nothing did. It all moved so slowly, so irritatingly slowly, before everything was tied up and run out and clamped down and tucked in, but finally the sailors set the gangplank between the galleon and the dock. As the Betaul guardsmen came down with their ranking knight, Tabitha finally moved, leading her magi guardsmen with Lise trailing behind.

  She saw her father’s valet and some servants, and then she saw Lord Daniel with Pamela on his arm. Pamela saw them and waved excitedly, and in a more dignified gesture, Tabitha raised her arm with a smile. Behind them were Beatris and Count Sebastene, and there, at the ship’s rail, waiting for the others to disembark, was her father. He looked exactly the same as she remembered, with his dark clothes, silver-gold hair and beard, jowly face, and grave demeanor. But her excitement jolted into confusion when she saw that he was escorting a girl.

  For an insane moment she wondered if he had remarried without telling her. Had he been this certain she would succeed in finding a solution to his—his problem? The girl was so young, though, scandalously young.

  Isabelle. Of course, it was her cousin Isabelle. Her father’s last letter had told her that Isabelle’s mother’s family had finally stopped stalling and had agreed to allow her to go to Maze Island. Before she had met the girls at the Academy, Tabitha had been very anxious for Isabelle to arrive and keep her company, but now, she had to admit that she had rarely thought about her cousin over the past months. What if Isabelle did not fit in with her other friends?

  “Tabitha!” Pamela shrieked, and broke away from Lord Daniel to scurry forward, her gown a summer fashion from Tiaulon that covered her completely. She engulfed Tabitha in a suffocating hug, and the brim of her sun hat pushed against Tabitha’s face. “We missed you so much!”

  Smiling indulgently, Tabitha took Pamela by the shoulders and gently put a little distance between them. “I missed you too. Wait, you just got off a ship! Should you not be sick?”

  Pamela shook her head, her brown braids so frizzy they were almost unkempt. “I was sick. I am so glad to be on dry land again!”

  “You have been fine since Saint Roudelle’s Day,” Beatris said from behind her.

  “Two days.” Pamela rolled her eyes, but then she saw Lise. “Lise! I missed you!” She hurried to give Lise a hug too, while Beatris came forward and clasped hands with Tabitha.

  “You changed your hair,” Beatris observed clinically, nodding at Tabitha’s set curls.

  “You changed yours!” Tabitha returned, for Beatris’s hair under her wide-brimmed hat was now almost as short as Clementa’s. “What does Count Sebastene think?”

  “He thinks it is lovely,” Count Sebastene said from behind Beatris, and he bowed deeply to Tabitha. “Lady Sorceress.” He, at least, had not changed, his head and cheeks still hairless and his clothes as tidy as ever.

  “My lord. Welcome to Maze Island. And you, Lord Daniel.” She smiled at him as he also approached and bowed. “Welcome.”

  “Lady Sorceress.” Lord Daniel had cut his hair much shorter than usual, and his beard was trimmed quite close. Perhaps she had overemphasized Maze Island’s dreadful heat in her letters home. “The Jewel of Betaul sparkles all the more in her new setting.”

  He could not possibly know that Natayl often used that title to insult her. Tabitha understood that he was simply being his usual irreverent self, but she could not maintain her warm smile. She looked past him to find her father.

  Her father seldom smiled, even at her, so she was not surprised when he approached to clasp her hands with his usual solemnity. But as his hands folded over hers, he actually laughed in delight for a moment as he looked at her. “Dear child, I missed you.”

  “I missed you too, Father. I am so glad you are here. How was the voyage?”

  “It was good. I do enjoy the open sea.” He squeezed her hands, then let go of one of them in order to offer his other hand to the girl waiting behind him. “Lady Sorceress, as promised, I present to you Maga Isabelle, daughter of your mother’s sister.”

  Isabelle curtseyed, a little stiffly but properly. Like Beatris and Pamela, she wore a patterned silk gown with full skirts, long sleeves, and a high collar, and a sun hat decorated with ribbons. Her braided hair was dark brown, and while she had big, pretty eyes, she also had a big, unfortunate nose. “Lady Sorceress, it’s an honor to meet you.” Her voice had a slight but noticeable servant’s slur.

  “Dear cousin.” Tabitha inclined her head in the magi way. “Welcome to Maze Island.”

  Tabitha then introduced her father to the two magi guardsmen. There were so many people in the city for the festival that the city watch had made some rules for foreigners to follow, and Tabitha wanted to make sure that none of her father’s men got into trouble. Her father called over the knight in charge of his half-dozen guardsmen, and while the magi politely explained to all the men what was expected, Tabitha stepped back toward Isabelle and Pamela. Beatris was talking to Lise, her plain face for some reason very concerned.

  “I hope you like it here,” Tabitha said to Isabelle, making conversation. “You are fortunate to have missed the summer heat.”

  “We missed it?” Isabelle glanced up at the afternoon sun and fanned her face with her hand. “If you say so, my lady. It still seems very warm to me.” Her words were slightly more casual than Tabitha thought appropriate for someone who had just met her.

  “Well,” she replied after a pause, smoothing the front of her light cloak, “my friends here all say that the weather is turning, so perhaps it will cool down even more soon.”

  “Are your friends from the Academy?” Pamela asked. “That’s what the college here is called, right? The Academy?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Are you at the Academy too? Is that how you are learning magic?”

  “No, Lord Natayl is teaching me.” It was not quite a lie.

  “Where is Lord Natayl?” Isabelle asked, looking around as if expecting to see him appear out of nowhere.

  “He is entertaining the king at his manor house outside the city. We are to attend a supper party there in two days’ time.” She was still trying to think of a way to avoid it. “The Jasinthes will join us, and hopefully the Avieres as well.”

  “No, actually,” Beatris said as she joined them, with Lise just behind her. “The duchess suffered a brain seizure only two weeks ago. Duke Aviere and their son will not leave her side.”

  “Oh, how terrible.” Why had she not heard about this? “I hope she
recovers.”

  “Could you heal her, my lady?” Isabelle asked.

  Again, her frankness caught Tabitha off guard. “I—no. My healing abilities are not nearly advanced enough.”

  Unfortunately Beatris looked interested. “What has Lord Natayl taught you so far? When I started training with Mistress Cortille, she insisted that I read three or four books before she would show me anything practical.”

  “Yes, Lord Natayl wants me to read some books. They are written in Mazespaak, so they are still rather difficult for me.”

  “Which books? Can you get translations?”

  Tabitha wished Beatris would drop the subject. “He said I should not read translations while I am still learning Mazespaak.”

  Beatris raised one eyebrow. “Is that really what he said?”

  “Of course it is,” Tabitha protested. “Why would I lie?”

  “I—” Beatris stopped herself, then shook her head with a little frown. “Please forgive me. I have not seen you for months, and the first thing I do is nearly pick a fight. Please forget what I said. I did not mean it.”

  Startled by the apology, Tabitha could only manage to say, “It is forgotten.”

  Pamela sighed in relief. Beatris nodded her thanks, and then said, “May I ask you something?”

  “Of course,” Tabitha said, but warily.

  “Remember the day before you left, when you said you would write to Marjorie and Jenevive?”

  “Yes, and I did.”

  “You said you would ask Lord Natayl to teach you how to tell if someone was lying to you. Once you can do that, you can talk to Marjorie and know for certain that she was not lying about Sir Alain.”