Icestorm

by Theresa Dahlheim

  “Tabitha?” Velinda’s mind-voice was muffled. “Are you back?”

  “Velinda. No, not yet. I am about a day away. Did something happen while I was gone?”

  “My God, where do I start?”

  Tabitha’s neck prickled. Velinda sent something else, but Tabitha could not make it out. This would not do at all. As strongly as she could, she sent, “Go up to the roof and stand near the antenna.” She could assume that Velinda was in her room at the dormitory. “Get Attarine too.”

  Velinda acknowledged wordlessly, and Tabitha kept the connection open while Velinda woke Attarine and they both quickly dressed. They hurried up to the roof, to the platform that had been built to allow the magi to make best use of the building’s thaumat’argent antenna. When they both put their hands on the dew-covered metal rod, Velinda’s presence in Tabitha’s mind grew larger, and she sensed Attarine too. Tabitha wished they could combine their telepathy to boost the range even further, but that was not the way it worked. “Is that better?” Velinda asked.

  It was. “Much better. Something did happen while I was gone?”

  “Yes. Lord Graegor bonded a rogue maga.”

  Tabitha hesitated. She had to. Velinda’s words made no sense. “What?”

  “An Adelard maga. She was here the whole time, since last Equinox. Lord Pascin knew she was a rogue, or used to be.”

  “Velinda,” Tabitha sent, firm and calm despite the fierce itching down her back, “I don’t understand what you mean.”

  “My lady. I am sorry.” Velinda paused in order to gather her information and present it more appropriately. “An Adelard maga came to the Academy last autumn. Her name is Brigita di’Merin. We only now learned that she was captured with a group of rogue magi. Lord Pascin had them bring her here because he thought she could be turned. But she is still contacting the rogues who escaped.”

  A rogue at the Academy. At the Academy. How—why— “And Graegor?”

  “She confessed to him, and then she pledged to him.”

  “Pledged? You said bonded.” The two terms had very distinct meanings for Tabitha.

  But Velinda seemed to think they were all but identical. “A telepathic bond and pledge, just like we pledged to you,” she explained. “Apparently he is protecting her from Lord Ferogin.”

  “Why? You said she is Adelard.”

  “Lord Ferogin believes she is still loyal to her rogue friends. Lord Pascin does not think she is a threat, but Lord Graegor thinks that Lord Ferogin is a threat to her. She has been moved to another room here at the dormitory, with Telgard magi.”

  Why had Graegor been talking to an Adelard maga? “Did she seek him out? Was she looking for protection?” If so, it was not surprising. He was known to be kind, whereas Ferogin was known to be the opposite.

  “I am not certain,” Velinda sent. “It happened when they were swimming together.”

  Tabitha could not have understood Velinda correctly. “What did you say?”

  “A big group of magi went up to one of the ponds in the woods past Lake Masudar. This girl, Brigita, went with them, and Lord Graegor was with them too.”

  This made no sense. He would never do that. “And they were swimming?”

  “That is definite,” Velinda sent solemnly. “Brigita hurt herself on a rope-swing. That might have been why she told Lord Graegor about being a rogue. I think he might have healed her, and maybe he found out her secret when he touched her mind.”

  He could not have healed Brigita, Tabitha knew. He had told her that he could not heal anyone but himself. He had told her …

  Swimming. Swimming in a pond in the woods. He had been swimming with a girl. At least one girl. Maybe more? Did people on Maze Island wear anything when they went swimming? She had no idea. She had never asked. She could not even swim. “Who?” she asked faintly. “Who was there?”

  “Jeffrei, of course.” Velinda had the same low opinion of Graegor’s closest friend as Tabitha did. “The Schiff boys too, and all their little group. And Logan.” Velinda sensed Tabitha’s surprise at the venom in her sending, and added, “We split apart while you were gone.”

  Split apart. Tabitha let that phrase hang on her mind. Was that what Graegor wanted to tell her? Was this how it ended? Had it ended already?

  No. It could not be, it could not be. Was she really hearing any of this? Had he really been swimming with girls while she was gone? One month. She had been gone for only one month. “Who else?”

  “Some Telgard girls. At least, those two sluts, Errie and Selena. Brigita is rooming with them now. Lord Graegor asked them to watch over her, to make sure nobody bothered her since we all know now that she used to be a rogue.”

  Tabitha did not keep track of the Telgard magi’s names, but Velinda’s sending included faces, and Tabitha knew both of those girls. They were sluts, two of the very worst offenders, constantly trying to draw Graegor’s attention whenever they were within striking distance. He knew how she felt about them. About Jeffrei. About everyone trying to split them apart.

  Had he thought that he could keep this quiet? That she would not hear about this?

  “Were any Thendals involved?” she asked.

  “No,” Velinda sent firmly. “None of the girls.”

  That was good. They were all loyal. Tabitha did not want to have to exclude any of them from her weekly study sessions. “Is there anything else that you think I should know?”

  Velinda hesitated. “I don’t want to repeat mere rumors. What I have said is what I know for certain.”

  “Attarine?” Tabitha turned her attention to the other maga. “Do you know anything else?”

  Attarine was startled, and it took a moment for her to gather her wits. “No. Except I heard that Lord Pascin delved her. Brigita. That’s why he is sure she is loyal now. I heard that she told him where to find more rogues.”

  “Wait. She was here since Equinox? She was here in Chanuri, during the lockdown? We were looking for rogue magi and she was right here?”

  “Lord Pascin knew about her,” Velinda sent. “And yes, they delved her. One of the rumors is that Lord Ferogin has been delving her every month to make sure of her.”

  “People are saying that it was driving her mad,” Attarine sent. She was so tentative compared to Velinda. “People are saying that’s why she turned to Lord Graegor. To stop it.”

  “Was she trying to seduce him as well?” Tabitha did not mean to let the question escape her, but it did, along with such a measure of bitterness that both of her friends fell into anxious silence. “Well?” she demanded after a moment. “Was she? Did she?”

  “It would surprise me,” Velinda finally answered cautiously. “She is much more of a mouse than a cat.”

  Attarine agreed. “I have never seen her speak to a boy.”

  “But she went swimming with boys.”

  Both of them agreed with that too, and were puzzled by the contradiction. “Some bad influence?” Velinda suggested.

  “When did all this happen?”

  “On the last day of exams,” Velinda sent, and Attarine added, “It was very hot that day.”

  Graegor would likely use that insignificant fact as an excuse. “How many days ago?”

  “Over a week,” Velinda estimated, while Attarine was more precise: “Nine.”

  Nine days. Nine. It had happened just after her meeting with the heretics.

  She could not tell him about that now. She could not trust him.

  She could not trust him. How could he do this to her? How could he let girls see him—touch him—swimming—

  Tabitha held back her rage. It was like holding back a snarling dog with just one finger under its collar. It would tear itself loose at any second. “Thank you for telling me.”

  “Yes, my lady,” they both sent back, and Tabitha did not remind them that they could use her given name. She broke the connection and opened her eyes. Immediately she winced at the oil lamp shining directly over her face, and with a snap of her p
ower, she snuffed it out.

  The sudden darkness made her flinch, the old, reflexive anxiety overcoming her anger, until she turned her head to see the grey line of light between the curtains. Her hammock swung as she got out, and she let her book, snacks, and blanket all fall to the carpet. She bumped into Isabelle on her way to her trunk beneath the window, and Isabelle made a noise of irritation as she woke. Tabitha thrust a curtain panel aside for more light, and as she unlatched her trunk she felt the tap of Isabelle’s mind. She ignored it and started searching for the blue pearl bracelet.

  “Tabitha,” Isabelle whispered.

  “What?” Tabitha answered loudly, dumping her pink dress and her mauve one onto the floor.

  “What’s wrong?” Isabelle still whispered, though Clementa was already stirring.

  “Nothing.”

  “Are we back already?”

  “Yes,” Tabitha snapped. “A mighty wind came in overnight and blew us all the way home.”

  Clementa leaned out of her bunk and tried to send to Tabitha, but Tabitha ignored her too. Dark blue dress, aqua blue dress, silver-trimmed dress. No bracelet. Had it been packed in the other trunk, down in the hold?

  “Tabitha,” Clementa said in a normal voice, “what happened?”

  She wanted to say betrayal, or swimming, or just simply men. “Nothing.”

  “Please.” Isabelle slid out of her hammock and came to crouch beside Tabitha. “Tell us.”

  It was too humiliating. Tabitha shook her head and pulled out another dress. She sensed Isabelle’s hand moving hesitantly toward her, and she twitched her shoulder to warn her cousin away.

  Isabelle sat back on her heels. She and Clementa were probably talking about Tabitha telepathically. And why was Maga Rollana still asleep? “Go get tea,” she said, even more loudly than before. “Herbal, this time, not black.”

  At Isabelle’s sigh, she whirled on her with a hiss. “What?”

  Isabelle looked at Tabitha warily. “Yes, my lady.” She retrieved her boots and her cloak from the top of her own trunk. She backed away a pace before starting to pull them on. As if she was out of range now. As if Tabitha could not reach her.

  Tabitha raised her hand, and needles of ice rushed down her back and through her arm. Isabelle’s eyes went wide, and she took another step back. “Tabitha?”

  My God.

  Tabitha caught her breath and lowered her hand. My God my God my God. No. She could not believe it. For a moment she had gone insane with rage.

  “Forgive me,” she whispered.

  Isabelle sank down to her knees. Clementa left her bunk to join them on the floor. For the first time, Tabitha noticed that Maga Rollana’s bunk was empty.

  She opened her mind and spilled everything Velinda had told her, and as she did, the prickling itch faded, though it did not melt away. Isabelle and Clementa absorbed the rush of words, images, and feelings with still, silent shock, until Tabitha took hold of herself and dammed the flood. “Forgive me,” she repeated. Her rage at Graegor was now mixed with anger at herself for such sloppy telepathy.

  “Nothing to forgive,” Isabelle sent, full of sympathy. Her braid was frizzy, and Tabitha was suddenly certain that she herself looked frightful too.

  Clementa brushed a single lock of straight, short hair out of her eyes. “It is understandable,” she sent gravely.

  “I don’t know what to do,” Tabitha admitted. “What do I say to him when he gets here? Should I pretend to know nothing about it?”

  They both hesitated. “No,” Isabelle decided finally. “You should tell him what Velinda said. But then you need to let him tell you his side of it.”

  “His side of it? He knows he was wrong. That’s the whole reason he is coming here, because he knows I will be angry!”

  “Velinda might have been mistaken,” Isabelle sent, but without much conviction. “Tabitha, I know it looks bad. But you need to let him explain.”

  “Then coach me,” Tabitha sent. “Like with the shovel-men. Listen to him and tell me what to say.” Between the two of them, they would be able to tell her if he was ever worth trusting again.

  But she felt the sharp denial from both of them even before they sent, “No.” Isabelle in particular seemed horrified at the idea, and Clementa added, “You must do this yourself.”

  Needles stabbed at Tabitha’s neck again as her anger rose, and she broke their shared connection with a hard twist. “Leave me,” she said, turning back to her trunk. “I wish to be alone.” They were refusing to help her, so she needed silence and space so she could think.

  They both put on their cloaks and shoes over their nightgowns and stockings, and they passed from the cabin without another word to her. Tabitha heard Maga Rollana greet them in the wardroom, and she wished she had sworn them to secrecy. But it did not matter. Everyone on Maze Island already knew everything about it.

  Tabitha held onto the edge of her trunk and seethed. His side of it. He had no side, no justification, no reason other than thoughtless, careless stupidity. He pretended that it did not mean anything, but it did, all those girls looking at him, flirting with him, brushing up against him, promising to give him what she would not.

  A rogue maga, giving him what Tabitha would not. To split them apart.

  Split us apart.

  Split us apart.

  It was an opportunity. If she told him it was over, he would never know her secrets. Was that not best, really?

  If she told him it was over …

  They will be on him like dogs on meat.

  She winced so hard her eyes shut. She could not stand the thought of all those magi girls clawing him. He was hers. He was hers.

  But how could she forgive this? How could she let everyone think he could humiliate her like this and not pay for it?

  Swimming with girls. Bonding a rogue maga.

  The wood was sharp against her fingers, and she released her tight grip on the edge of the trunk. She sat back on her heels again and looked down at the dresses piled on the carpeted deck. She did not trust what she would end up doing with the bracelet if she found it. Maybe she should stop looking.

  Eventually, she got dressed. Eventually, she joined the others at the table in the wardroom. Eventually, Isabelle convinced her to eat, but nothing had any flavor.

  Isabelle and Clementa got dressed, and then Maga Rollana said that they should get out their books and study. Tabitha wanted to scream at her, but she controlled herself, because a Betaul sorceress did not scream. Instead she sat silently down with one of the books and turned the pages back and forth. After a while, Isabelle suggested that they go up on deck for some fresh air, but Tabitha refused, because she needed a fixed place for her attention. She kept looking through the same book, and later, when Clementa asked to see volume two of Lord Vonn’s pyrokinetics, Tabitha started looking for it on the table before she realized that it was the one lying in front of her.

  It was a very long day.

  Late afternoon sunlight was streaming through the portholes into the wardroom, and Tabitha was looking through another one of the books they had brought about pyrokinetic magic, when she suddenly felt the warmth of Graegor’s call.

  She froze. What was she going to do? She had not yet decided if she should answer him.

  Isabelle was up on deck. Maga Rollana had retreated to the cabin some time ago, declaring that she had had enough of Tabitha’s waspishness. But Clementa had remained at the wardroom’s table, and now she realized that something was wrong. She looked up and spoke quietly. “Him?”

  Tabitha nodded. Clementa nodded back, got up, and took her book into the cabin. It was a polite gesture for someone else’s private conversation, even if that conversation was telepathic, but it reminded Tabitha that she was angry with both Clementa and Isabelle for refusing to help her. They could help her if they chose to. They would know what she should say to him. But they had both refused.

  Graegor’s call came stronger. She had to answer.

  Or did sh
e? Her silence could tell him everything necessary.

  But it would not stop him from coming aboard when the two ships met. Tabitha heard a muffled noise of rage in her own throat as she let his mind touch hers.

  She could not have kept her emotions contained even if she had wanted to, and Graegor sensed her fury. It stopped him as surely as if he had hit a wall. His mind stayed carefully back from hers for several heartbeats, but she knew that he knew that she knew what he had done. He had desperately wanted to be the first one to tell her this story, but it was too late.

  “Tabitha,” he finally sent. “I think that’s your ship that we’re seeing now.”

  “Is there a Betaul swan on the mainsail?” she asked, with cold, sharp precision.

  “I think so.”

  “Then it is indeed my ship.”

  “May I please come aboard once we’re close?”

  Was he actually being polite, or was he mocking her? “I can’t stop you from coming aboard if that is what you want to do.” Just like she could not stop him from swimming with girls if he wanted to do that.

  He paused. She imagined him considering a dozen different ways to phrase his excuses. Finally he sent, “I will see you soon.”

  “Yes.” With that, Tabitha broke the connection. Since no one was in the wardroom with her, she indulged herself by slamming her book closed. The thump it made was not even remotely satisfying, so she swept all the books completely off the table with one sharp gesture. As they landed on the floor and on each other, she extracted herself from the wraparound bench and snatched up her cloak from its peg. She fastened the clasps before stomping up the sloping companionway ladder, and by the time she emerged onto the main deck, her hood was over her head and wrapped up past her chin. She would not take the time to rebraid her hair just for him.

  The sails were full, and out here she could feel, taste, and smell the sea’s salty tang. The sailors, ever watchful, noticed her immediately, and those nearby bowed hastily. From here, Tabitha could see up to the caravel’s forecastle, where two figures stood beyond the billow of the foresail. “Isabelle?” she sent.