Icestorm

by Theresa Dahlheim

  “I need you to get things started. I can’t leave here yet.” Not until he had explained things to Tabitha and had some reason to hope that she would eventually forgive him. “If you could start looking for a fisherman who’s gone out to those shoals before …”

  “Graegor, I don’t know any fishermen. I’ve never even gone fishing.”

  “You must know someone who could help you.”

  “Errie?” Logan suggested. The face he sent with the name was of a Telgard maga at the Academy. “I think she’s from a fishing village.”

  “Errie, yes,” Jeffrei agreed. “She’d know. Hopefully she’s awake.”

  “Jeff, you’re acting like everyone’s asleep instead of doing exactly what you’re doing.” Graegor knew that a good number of the city’s residents were attending the public festival in the Central Quarter, particularly the tree-eating ceremony. Maze Islanders were very serious about their holidays.

  “If we do find a boat to hire, how do I pay them?”

  “Um …” Graegor did not keep much coin with him. His brain lurched as he realized that “not much” was still more money than what he’d had when he’d walked to Farre. “You’ve used the office’s letter of credit before.” His brain lurched again at how casually he tossed out phrases like “letter of credit” now.

  “I’ve used it at the bank. Once. Did I mention that it’s the middle of the night on Winter Solstice?”

  “Right …” He could wake up Contare’s banker, but he’d never dealt with the man alone before and didn’t want to give him any reason to become an obstacle in the future. Besides, Contare obviously wanted Graegor to keep this discreet if he could. “I promise we’ll be there as soon as we can. If you could go now and find a boat, that would really help.”

  “Yes, m’lord,” Jeffrei promised, with reasonable enthusiasm. “My feet are like wings, m’lord.”

  Graegor broke the link, picked up a nearby goblet, and drained the mead from it in a few healthy swallows. Logan lifted his eyebrows again. “I thought you didn’t like mead.”

  “This stuff isn’t too bad.”

  “To each his own.—When are we going to leave?”

  “When the lady allows it.” He shook his head and stood. “Be right back.”

  It was a relief, in more than one way, to visit the water closet. He hadn’t had a moment to himself since this disaster had started. He took his time about it, and was a little embarrassed when he saw three men lined up outside the door when he emerged. On the way back to the ballroom, he tried to call to Tabitha again, with no more success than before. He told himself to be patient. She had said that they would talk. Getting irritated with her would not help at all.

  He had never once felt irritated with Jolie. She had never been angry with him before that final night. He supposed it was because they had been more like friends than a couple. Couples fought—everyone knew that. And highborn ladies demanded much more attention from their suitors than lowborn girls did—everyone knew that too. He couldn’t expect his romance with Tabitha to be as easy as his with Jolie had been.

  He had just crossed the threshold to the ballroom again when he felt the light tap of Koren’s mind. He got out of the way of a servant and found a place against the wall to pause, and when he opened his link to her, she immediately apologized. “I’m so sorry for all this.”

  “It’s not your fault,” he assured her.

  “I should’ve made him listen to me.”

  “He doesn’t listen to anyone but Pascin.”

  “Wait. Are you still here?—I didn’t see you so I thought you’d left.”

  “I will soon. I have to talk to Tabitha first. She’s a little annoyed at me.”

  “I’m sorry. I never should’ve asked you to come and help.”

  “You didn’t ask,” he reminded her. “I offered.”

  After a pause, Koren let simple gratitude shine through their link. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Don’t blame yourself. He hit me with absolutely no provocation.”

  “Well, you did call him a shit-eater.”

  Startled by that word coming from her, Graegor didn’t answer, and Koren went on: “You need to be careful. That magnokinetic lash he threw was specifically attuned to your shields. It was so strong it was visible. At least, I saw it. Could you see it?”

  “I saw it.” He didn’t admit to her that he didn’t understand what “magnokinetic” meant. “I don’t know if everyone could.”

  “But how did he attune it? You don’t have a telepathic link with him, do you?”

  “No.”

  “Then what? He said no one else was in danger ...”

  “He’s been wrong about things like that before.”

  “Ilene’s cave,” she remembered.

  “His own cave, too.” The labyrinth had made Ferogin look like a fool more than once. But the same could be said for every single one of them.

  “He’ll hit you like that again when you fight.”

  “And you won’t be there to deflect it. How did you do that?”

  “I don’t know. I just …” Her words trailed off, and she didn’t continue.

  “Well, I don’t think he expected you to make it bounce right back at him.”

  “It hurt him, too. I don’t understand that either. It should’ve just been absorbed by his shields.”

  “Did your magic change it somehow?”

  “I don’t know.” Undercurrents of frustration and anxiety pushed against the control she held over her telepathy. “I don’t like this.” She seemed to shudder.

  Graegor did his best to keep his own mounting unease out of their link. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m sorry. Fighting … I hate fighting, even being near a fight. It … it bothers me more than it should.”

  “But you were ready to stand with me against him.”

  That seemed to put her at a loss for words. Finally she sent, “You’ll need a boat.”

  “Jeffrei is finding one for me. He said he knows someone who could help.”

  “Let me know if he can’t. I know someone who could help too.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Do you plan to go soon?”

  “I need to talk to Tabitha first. Do you plan to go soon?” He was surprised that she was still here. Maybe she had wanted to give Ferogin a significant head start back to the city.

  “I’ll go now. That way you and I aren’t leaving at the same time.”

  It was embarrassing that Koren could see the problem with that so clearly, but he appreciated the gesture. “My thanks.”

  “My thanks. You got into a lot of trouble just for helping me.”

  “What are friends for?”

  Again, it seemed that she had to search for words. After a long pause, she finally sent simply, “Squish him,” and withdrew.

  As his eyes refocused, he saw her. She sat alone several tables away from him, and she was rubbing her forehead. But then she stood up and started toward the dance floor, presumably to find Tabitha and extend her farewells.

  When Graegor returned to Logan’s table, his friend was idly flipping two of the playing cards over and over between his fingers. “Did you talk to her?”

  “Not yet.”

  Logan shook his dark head. “I don’t want him to have any advantage by being there first.”

  “I know. Soon.” He wanted to give Koren time to take her leave, but even as he spoke, Graegor was remembering Contare’s words. “You’re of no use to me or to Telgardia if you let him damage you permanently.” What if there was some advantage to arriving at the dueling ground first? Contare wouldn’t be happy if Graegor, just to placate Tabitha, didn’t even try.

  Contare seemed to have mixed feelings about Tabitha. Whenever they all spent time together, the older sorcerer was as charming as he always was with ladies, and for her part, Tabitha certainly preferred Contare’s company to that of grouchy Natayl. But even though Graegor and Tabitha were a couple now, and had cho
sen to be, Contare was still upset about their “forced bond”, as he called it. Over the summer, Contare had requested a closed session of the Circle to hear his complaint against Natayl. But Natayl had said that he had not meant for any bond to form when he had placed Tabitha’s hand in Graegor’s. Contare did not believe that, but some of the other sorcerers did, and since it took a life-or-death matter for the Circle to use its power to compel the truth from one of its own, Contare’s complaint remained unsatisfied. He had never spoken of it in Tabitha’s presence, and he had never spoken against her in Graegor’s hearing, but the careful way he stayed outside those boundaries told its own story.

  The music paused between dances, and Graegor assumed Koren had found Tabitha and was saying goodbye. He waited through another two dances, and when the music paused again, he sighed and stood up. “I’m doing it,” he said to Logan. “Wish me luck.”

  “Die well.”

  He made his way to the edge of the dance floor, searching for Tabitha among the milling couples. He caught sight of her cousin Isabelle, wearing a white dress with long black stripes on her pleated skirt. She saw him too, and after staring at him in surprise, she excused herself from her partner and hurried to where Graegor stood. “Why are you still here?” she whispered.

  Taken aback, Graegor had no answer. Isabelle seldom spoke to him, and never with such familiarity. Her brown eyes, always large and thoughtful, now looked huge with disbelief and worry. “I thought you’d left already!” she stepped close to him to murmur urgently. “Did she say you couldn’t?”

  “Not exactly … “

  Isabelle huffed a noise of frustration. “First she all but ignores you, and now she—” She stopped, shut her mouth tight, then started again. “Let me talk to her.”

  “Please, yes.” Grateful for the unexpected ally, Graegor nodded. “I think that would help. She won’t answer me.”

  Isabelle shook her head. “She can be very short-sighted.”

  Again Graegor had the feeling he was missing something important. “Why do you … I mean, thank you for your help, and I don’t mean any offense, but why does it worry you that I haven’t left yet? No one even knew there was a dueling ground an hour ago.”

  “The longer you stay here, the more it looks like you’re not taking this seriously,” Isabelle explained, her voice still low. “You are taking this seriously, aren’t you?”

  “Of course …”

  “Then there are probably a hundred other things for you to be doing rather than watching people dance.” She looked at him imploringly. “We really want you to win.”

  He tilted his head at her. “We?”

  Her pale cheeks reddened. “Never mind, m’lord. I’ll speak to her.” She hurried away.

  Graegor stayed where he was, still scanning the dance floor for Tabitha but unable to find her. He didn’t even try to touch their bond, not wanting to upset any delicate negotiations Isabelle might be able to conduct. He did notice other people taking quick glances at him as they passed. Isabelle was right; this didn’t look good. At the very least, being late to a duel was considered bad form, and while his horse could walk eight miles in a couple of hours without effort, Graegor had no idea how long it would take a fishing boat to sail to the shoals and navigate through them on the first day of winter.

  Then he felt Tabitha’s silvery call. Relieved, he opened the link immediately, but her words were terse. “Please come to the foyer.” With that she withdrew.

  Graegor slipped through the milling magi toward the ballroom doors, wanting to hurry but not wanting anyone to notice. When he reached the marble-tiled foyer that separated the ballroom from the dining hall, he saw Tabitha and Isabelle standing together. He could only see the back of Tabitha’s dress, night-black with crystal stars, until her slow turn toward him revealed the dress’s front, bright white like the just-rising sun. If only she would smile at him.

  Isabelle gave him a magi nod and went back to the ballroom as soon as he reached them. Tabitha ignored his offered arm and led the way into the dimly lit dining hall. From the ceiling hung dozens of banners, representing the noble houses of all the guests, but the one with the Torchanes falcon was too far toward the other end of the hall for him to see now. The servants had already removed from the chairs the alternating drapes of Betaul swans and Pravelle reindeer, and a few of them were still clearing things away when Tabitha reached the edge of the long, long table. She made a gesture, and they all dropped what they were doing and hurried toward the opposite door.

  Tabitha then lifted one elegant eyebrow in Graegor’s direction. “I never said that you could not leave.”

  Her accent was so pretty, even with that cold edge to her voice. Was there any hope at all that she would understand, once he explained? “I didn’t want to leave without talking to you.”

  “You knew how important this night was to me.” The silver threads that were laced into his heart seemed to tighten and pinch. “You knew how much I wanted everything to be perfect. Now all anyone will remember is this.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for any of it to happen.”

  “You never mean anything! You just charge ahead! Why did you even talk to Ferogin? You know that he always tries to bait you.”

  “I know.” He saw an opportunity to remind her who was actually at fault in this mess. “He does that to almost everyone. He’s never happy unless he’s causing trouble.”

  “I expected him to cause trouble. I did not expect you to lose control and join him.”

  This really wasn’t fair. “I wasn’t the one who lost control. He hit me, with magic, in front of all your guests, because he didn’t like something I said. I didn’t like anything he was saying, but I didn’t blindside him with my power because of it.”

  Tabitha’s brow furrowed. “What did he say? Did he insult me?”

  “No. Well, yes, in a way.” But he hesitated again, uneasy about raising this topic. “He implied that you were lying to me.”

  “About what?”

  “He said that you didn’t want me dancing with anyone else.”

  “But I told you why you should not.” She looked exasperated, but what he felt along the bond was anxiety. Was there no such custom?

  “I know.” It wasn’t worth the trouble. “It’s all right. It’s not important.”

  “I fail to see how not dancing with other women is such a problem for you.”

  “It isn’t. But Ferogin thought it was, so he tried to make noise about it.”

  “Except this is not about Ferogin at all.” She folded her arms. “It’s about Koren.”

  Here was the real reason she was angry. Graegor tried to speak calmly but firmly. “He was bothering her. If I saw him bothering another girl like that, I would do the same thing.”

  “It’s not the same,” she insisted. “She is not helpless.”

  “I didn’t go over there to confront him. I just tried to distract him so that she had a chance to leave without being impolite. I’ve done that for Contare before. I’ve done that for you before.”

  “But Ferogin knew what you were doing.” Her entire pose held such an icy chill that her face should have been blue with it. “You went over there even though you knew it would start trouble, for the sake of the one girl who does not need your help!”

  Graegor sighed. “Yes. I did. May I tell you why?”

  “Oh, please do.”

  He glanced around, then gestured to two dining chairs pushed back near the tall windows, where one of the few remaining torches cast a weak pool of light. Tabitha allowed him to lead her there, but he had to ask her to sit down several times before she would. He sat beside her and looked her in the eyes, then reached his mind toward hers. She refused him, and held her whole self in expectant silence until he gave up and spoke aloud.

  “When I was ten years old,” he said, “during the Summer Solstice festival, I went into the barn. I saw Hagan—he was my father’s apprentice, and Miriam, my mother’s apprentice.” It was
n’t easy to talk about it, even years later. Especially not to a girl. He had to choose every word very carefully. “He was … he was raping her.”

  Tabitha’s expression softened in what he took for sympathy, but her emotions were too complicated for him to begin to sort. She asked, “How do you know? I mean, that she did not want to?”

  Graegor knew his face was red. “She was crying. And he was so vicious about it. He didn’t care that he was hurting her.”

  Tabitha’s mouth twisted a little, as if she felt sick. “A child, seeing that …”

  “It was horrible. I felt … helpless.”

  She bit her lip and looked down at the floor. “I know,” she said, her voice haunted. “I know what that’s like.”

  “You do?”

  “There was … I had a friend. Marjorie. She was so kind to everyone. We found out that her father had raped her. Many times. I felt … horrified and helpless, the same way you did. When we told my father, though, he put a sword to Marjorie’s father’s throat and told him to leave Betaul and never come back.”

  That was a much more heroic ending than his story had. “I told my parents, too,” Graegor said, and he found that his gaze had also shifted to the floor as he spoke. “I went to get them, but when we got back to the barn, Miriam and Hagan were gone.”

  “And your parents did not believe you,” she guessed.

  “No, they believed me. But they … they seemed to think that Miriam had asked for it, that she shouldn’t have been anywhere near Hagan if she hadn’t wanted to do that with him. My mother dismissed Miriam from her apprenticeship, but my father didn’t dismiss Hagan. I thought it was unfair, but my father said I’d understand when I got older. I’m older now, and I …” He stopped. He wasn’t ready to tell her what he’d done to Jolie, how close he had come to being just like Hagan. “I still think it was wrong,” he finished.

  “It was wrong,” Tabitha said. “My father would have thought so.”

  He didn’t want her to think badly of his father—even though he himself still did—and he hurried to explain. “I think he meant that it’s harder for a man to stop himself after … after starting. If a girl doesn’t say no until it’s …”