Icestorm

by Theresa Dahlheim

  “You almost dropped me,” Tabitha said accusingly, but she did not know to whom.

  “I’m sorry,” Graegor said at once.

  “It surprised us,” Daxod said, not as apologetically. “You did not slip far.” He started unbuckling and separating the belts in his hand.

  “Graegor!” Arundel shouted from a distance. “Could you send the light?”

  “Yes,” Graegor called back, then looked at Tabitha again. “Are you all right?”

  No. I hate this. I hate Natayl. I hate everyone.

  “Help me up,” she said. Her throat was as sore as the rest of her body, but she could compose herself. She would compose herself. She did not take Graegor’s offered hand, but gripped his forearm instead, and kept hold of it until she had taken a step and knew she would not collapse. Even after she let go, he stayed close to her, and it made her feel better. She hated that, too.

  The ground at the center of the cave was covered in rubble. The hole in the ceiling was roughly round, and it was as wide as a doorway. Wordlessly Daxod tossed Borjhul, Arundel, and Graegor their belts, and they put them back on while Ferogin nosed around the rubble. “Triggered failure,” he said eventually, standing up straight and nodding to himself. “We’ll find another thaumat’argent rod up there.”

  That meant she had done it. She had opened the door. She supposed she should feel pleased at having accomplished this, or at least satisfied. But all she felt was seething fury.

  The purple light fell over Borjhul as he jumped to catch the edge of the hole. He pulled himself up and was gone. Without leaving Tabitha’s side, Graegor sent the light after the Kroldon sorcerer.

  “What’s up there?” Ferogin shouted.

  Borjhul shouted a reply that Tabitha could not understand. Everyone else reacted as if it was something expected, so she assumed that it was another cave, or a passageway. As Ferogin got himself into position to jump up to the hole, Ilene came over to Tabitha. “Do you want me to give you a boost again?” she asked.

  “Yes, please,” Tabitha managed to say in a civil tone, pushing down her anger. She would not let it control her. She would not reveal herself. She was as calm and serene as a swan.

  She led Ilene away from Graegor, nearly tripping over a rock in her haste. Graegor followed. It was obvious to her that he wanted to help her, that he wanted to be the only one to help her, and that it upset him when she turned away from him.

  She did not know what to do about that, or about him, so she did nothing.

  Chapter 6

  Tabitha closed the garden door behind her, and she crossed the mansion’s lower foyer steadily, gracefully, to reach the stairs. She barely breathed as she climbed to the first floor and paused. Isabelle and the new maid were in her chambers on the second floor, so she could not go there. The ballroom. She stepped lightly down the empty corridor and turned toward the first set of double doors. Inside, one of the tall windows was uncovered, and a shaft of morning light poured through it onto the polished floor. Tabitha shut the doors, leaned back against them, and closed her eyes.

  Kissing him had changed everything.

  She still felt the soft warmth of Graegor’s magic enveloping her, the scent of summer grass. She could still taste the sweet heat of his mouth. She was still trembling.

  He understood her. Somehow, he understood her without knowing her secrets, without piercing her inner thoughts. He knew what it was like for her without knowing her past. Her past did not matter. What mattered, what joined them, was that he was one of the most powerful people in the world, and so was she, and it was terrifying.

  “It’s not the end. Whatever’s going to happen with our Circle, it won’t be the end.”

  She believed him. He had touched the Eternal Flame.

  And he had touched her. She sighed, remembering, wanting. She wanted those beautiful blue eyes gazing at her, that firm mouth kissing her, those strong hands caressing her. He had sensed nothing of her buried sins, and time would only bury them deeper and deeper, until they had never happened at all. Until he was the only one.

  Isabelle called to her, hesitant, like a single finger’s tap on a shut door. Tabitha held still, refusing the call, but gently. Of course Isabelle would be curious. Once she and Tabitha had finished getting dressed, the servant who had greeted Graegor had been admitted. Isabelle had heard Tabitha’s ungracious message, and as the servant had left, Isabelle had muttered, “I hope that isn’t repeated to him.”

  “He needs to understand,” Tabitha had said firmly. “A suitor should know when to stop.”

  But then Natayl had called to her. “You need to resolve this. Go after him.”

  “Why?”

  “Because bonded or not, you should not insult a member of your Circle. Can’t you simply be friends?”

  “How?”

  “Go after him,” he had told her sternly. “Don’t come back until you’ve made peace, even if you have to walk all the way back to the city to catch up to him.”

  “Walk back to the city?”

  “Face your fears, girl.”

  She scowled now as she stood against the ballroom doors, a scowl out of habit, a scowl because she did not like admitting that Natayl was right. And even if he was right, what business did he have watching them? She knew, she knew he had been watching from the windows as she had led Graegor and his huge black horse around the front gardens, then the back. She knew because of the precise timing of his call to her right after Graegor had kissed her.

  Sweat ran down her spine to the small of her back. Her hands went to the clasp of her cloak, and it whispered as it fell to the polished floor and pooled around her feet. For Godsday, her dress was traditional, plain, and brown, and her hair was in a single braid. It seemed right to her that she had not flaunted her wealth, since Graegor had not grown up wealthy. A family of craftsmen, he had said. A family who had not come for the Equinox festival. Were they estranged?

  Her own family had left only yesterday. She missed them fiercely. She wished that the king’s death had not soured their visit. She wished they had not had to leave for Thendalia earlier than planned. But right now, at this moment, sadness and anxiety could not fix themselves to her. They were like beads of rain on a thick wool cloak.

  She wanted to kiss him again.

  She wondered if he had ever been to bed with anyone.

  She sank to the floor to sit curled up on her cloak. Would it bother her if he had? Yes, she decided instantly. But she would not think about it. His past was buried too.

  Windsday. Graegor was taking her to the theater on Windsday. Natayl had said that they would stay here at the manor house until he left in a few weeks for the coronation, but she had other plans now. She would convince him to let her return to the city. Maybe now that she had accepted the bond, Natayl would not be so irritated with her all the time.

  Windsday, Graegor would kiss her again. She let herself imagine it, the flood of heat and elation that she thought had died with Nicolas. He made her feel as if her whole body was lit from within, as if the shimmering star he had carried in the labyrinth had come to rest in her heart.

  In my heart.

  Was she in love? She had thought she was in love with Nicolas, but he had never loved her. This, this, it was so real, Graegor’s feelings were so clear and true, but she did not think she could trust herself to know what to call it.

  Magic, she decided. It was better than love, it was magic. Not the restless itching that covered her skin when she used her power, but his magic, soft and warm, shielding her.

  It seemed ridiculous now, how carefully she had still tried to keep her distance as they had walked the grounds. To hold Graegor off with small talk about flowers and birds, and then with artful worrying about serious matters like the heretics and the rogues. She had mentioned Rossin, Koren, Borjhul, and Arundel, instead of talking about the two of them.

  Because they could not simply be friends. She did not know how to be. She had never been friends with a boy bef
ore. Obviously it was different than being friends with a girl, but really, how did it work? Could they visit each other, share meals, go to places together, study together, without being a couple? Was that even possible? It was not possible in Thendalia, at least.

  It was no wonder that in trying to be just a friend, in trying to do something so inherently clumsy, she had eventually said something to insult him. But when he had remounted his horse, angry and hurt, she had panicked. She needed him to stay. Not because Natayl said so, but because she needed him to listen to her, because he was the only one who would, and they could not go on like this. The raw truth had burst out of her: “I hate Natayl for doing this to me! I told myself that I would not let this affect me. But you’re affecting me.” And just as suddenly, she had needed to tell him why, how different he was from other sorcerers, other men. “You’re one of the nicest people I have ever met. You’re so patient and you stand up for me and you have such amazing eyes …”

  He had just stared at her at first, with those amazing eyes. She had said too much, far too much. She had just made everything in that moment too embarrassing to face.

  But he had understood. He had understood her even better than she had. And he had kissed her.

  She leaned her head back against the ballroom doors and closed her eyes. He was the Telgard prince she had always wanted. She had not lost him after all.

  The afternoon carriage ride to Lady Josselin’s house was relatively short and quite pleasant. The stifling crowds of Equinox visitors had all left by now, at last. Lord Lasfe and Lady Serafina had ordered and enforced the complete clearing of the encampment outside the walls the day that Tabitha’s Circle was in the labyrinth, and of course all the jailed troublemakers had been marked and exiled even before that. But it had taken weeks for the comings and goings through the city’s inns and streets to boil down to a more normal level. Now, finally, things were calmer, and last Godsday’s chapel services for the Waiting Day had been by far the quietest Tabitha had yet experienced on Maze Island.

  She looked out the carriage window with Isabelle as they rolled to a stop in front of a row of townhouses that were shorter and narrower than those on Natayl’s street. The trees here were older, and while the townhouses were not exactly in need of repair, they did not give an impression of wealth either. Tabitha had decided that it was because there were no fences or gates along the front gardens. And today, the overcast sky made everything look drab.

  “Maybe it was nicer once,” Isabelle suggested.

  “It’s nicer on the inside,” Tabitha told her. Josselin had hosted an informal gathering for all the sorcerers over the summer. All the elder sorcerers had hosted such parties, except Lord Lasfe. And, of course, Natayl, who apparently could not be bothered, no matter how bad it made him, and her, look.

  As the driver helped them out of the carriage, one of the townhouse doors opened, and an elderly Khenroxan maga in a brown dress stepped onto the porch and waved. Tabitha and Isabelle climbed the short flight of stone steps, where the maga greeted them by name on Lady Josselin’s behalf and led them inside.

  The townhouse was a little nicer on the inside, well-kept and clean and polished, but also a little cluttered. It was lit by oil lamps that smelled of honey. Lord Contare’s and Lord Pascin’s townhouses were not as large as Natayl’s, but both were considerably more so than this one. Tabitha wondered again why Lady Josselin kept such a small and modest household.

  Then it occurred to her wonder why Lady Josselin kept a household separate from Lord Contare’s. They were a couple, and they had been for literally centuries, or decades at the very least, even if the rumors of their brief but frequent separations were true. Why did they not live together?

  Tabitha added this to the list of questions she wanted to ask Lady Josselin. She did not know if she would ask Lady Josselin all her questions, or if the Khenroxan sorceress would answer any of them, but it would be foolish to not take advantage of this opportunity. Knowing what the world expected of Lady Josselin and Lord Contare would let Tabitha know what the world would expect of her and Graegor.

  Graegor had taken her to the theater six times now, three last week and three this week, and during each carriage ride back to Natayl’s townhouse, he had kissed her. Each kiss was long and sweet, and even the memories made Tabitha’s cheeks flush. Going to bed with him was a when, not an if, but she did not know how discreet they had to be. Natayl had to be away, of course. The thought of the old sorcerer being anywhere nearby when it happened made Tabitha nauseous, so she would wait until he left for the boy king’s coronation. But was it all right if other people knew about it afterward? Without marriage, what would make them an established couple like Lady Josselin and Lord Contare were?

  Ilene does not care who knows about her and Arundel. But Ilene and Arundel were not L’Abbanist, and the pagan cultures had different rules about what was acceptable in polite company.

  “Lady Sorceress, Maga, if I may take your shawls?” the Khenroxan maga asked as she shut the door behind them. “So odd to talk about shawls after such a hot summer.”

  “It is,” Isabelle agreed as she slipped her shawl from her shoulders, and Tabitha did the same. Overhead, a ceiling fan hung motionless, tendrils of ivy draped over the three blades. More ivy curled around the spindled bannister of the narrow staircase that occupied half the foyer, and each of the stairs held a small potted plant.

  “Several of the other young ladies have already arrived,” the maga said as she turned back from the closet door tucked beneath the staircase. “If you’ll follow me to the parlor?”

  The parlor door was all the way at the end of the corridor, and waiting beside it was Koren. Tabitha wondered if Koren would actually speak more than a dozen words today. She had barely spoken in the labyrinth, even when she should have. She wore a green dress in the same magi style as Tabitha’s yellow one, and her short red hair was pushed behind a thin copper headband. When the elderly maga inclined her head, Koren nodded back and then smiled at Tabitha and Isabelle. “Lady Tabitha, Maga Isabelle. Welcome.” She still spoke slowly and carefully, as if she had rehearsed the exact pronunciation of each word.

  “Thank you.”

  “Lady Josselin will join us shortly. Please sit where you like.” Koren gestured into the well-lit room. She actually seemed at ease, which Tabitha had never witnessed. At all the parties, ceremonies, and events they had attended together before, even the one Josselin had held here, Koren had always been tense and silent. There were three magi girls in the room, two Khenroxan and one Adelard, and all had risen from their seats and inclined their heads toward Tabitha. Besides the parlor’s three wingback chairs and a divan, some footstools had been set out between and around them on the plush wine-red carpet. Oil lamps hung from the ceiling, casting warm light on the paintings on the walls, and heavy drapes covered the windows, making the room rather stuffy despite the cold hearth in the corner.

  “Would you like tea?” Koren asked as Tabitha took one of the wingback chairs and Isabelle sat on the footstool next to it.

  “Please,” Tabitha nodded. “On ice, with lemon and one scoop of raw sugar.” Maze Islanders liked to dress up their tea with so many fruits and sweeteners that it was necessary to be specific.

  Koren nodded and looked at Isabelle, who seemed startled and declined. Koren went to the corner of the room to prepare Tabitha’s tea herself, which confirmed in Tabitha’s mind that this was meant to be a very informal gathering.

  Lady Josselin’s invitation itself had been very informal. It was a handwritten letter without any of the structure of an official announcement, more of a personal note from one sorceress to another, asking Tabitha to attend a ladies’ party with the new Academy students. When Tabitha had told her friends about the invitation, they had told her that Lady Josselin hosted such parties several times a year. “It’s about things you should know as a magi woman,” Clementa had explained, her voice and expression matter-of-fact. “Lovemaking, pregnancy, childbirth
, and other things of that nature, from a magi point of view.”

  “It’s about how our special gifts make those things different for us,” Velinda had added. “Some of it may not be the same for you, since you’re a sorceress, but it’s all very interesting. Lady Josselin speaks quite frankly.”

  Tabitha did not doubt that. Lady Josselin was known to be brutally honest, among many other forceful qualities. This was Tabitha’s first opportunity to talk to this legendary woman beyond polite pleasantries, and she intended to listen very closely the entire time.

  As Koren handed Tabitha her iced tea, she felt a soft tap against her mind that she recognized as Attarine. She looked toward the parlor doorway and saw her friend among several other girls standing behind the elderly Khenroxan maga. “Sit here,” she sent, smiling and gesturing to the footstool next to Isabelle’s.

  After Attarine had greeted Koren, she made her way to the footstool as the other magi girls sought other seats. She was anxious, and as she sat down, she included Isabelle in her silent, solemn words. “I think Lady Josselin knows about us pledging to you.”

  Isabelle asked, “Is that bad?”

  “It’s not good.” Attarine looked up at Koren, who had just asked her if she would like tea. “No, thank you, Lady Sorceress.”

  “It has nothing to do with her,” Isabelle sent. “Why would she care?”

  “She might tell Lord Natayl.” Tabitha’s skin prickled uncomfortably.

  “We knew he might find out about it,” Isabelle sent. “We thought it was worth the risk. At least I did.”

  Because Natayl has not shouted at you yet, Tabitha thought but did not send. Once Isabelle did see the old sorcerer at his worst, would she abandon Tabitha to go live in the dormitory? Maybe she rather would anyway, if her constant near-insolence was any hint.

  Tabitha hurried to move past that idea. “What makes you think Lady Josselin knows?” she asked Attarine.

  “The invitation she sent me. I read it again, and it just makes me worry now. After it says that she would like me to attend, it says, ‘I look forward to meeting another maga of the Jasinthe bloodline, who have all been so supportive of Thendalia’s new sorceress.’ Don’t you think that sounds like she knows?”