Icestorm

by Theresa Dahlheim

  “Paronnere,” Darc said. “That means ‘promise’ in High Aedseli, right?”

  “Yes,” Rose and Jeff answered at the same time, and Jeff asked, “You speak High Aedseli?”

  “The Aedseli ambassador’s assistant taught me some,” Darc explained. “I’ve forgotten most of it, but I’ve managed to remember ‘promise’.”

  Jeff lifted an eyebrow. “Well, even a blind squirrel sometimes keeps the right nut.”

  Darc blinked. Rose quickly drew his attention back to her by listing more places where the students liked to drink, and both Errie and Selena joined in, smoothing over the moment. Graegor tapped his link with Jeff. “What’s eating you?” He hadn’t seen Jeff react this badly to anyone in a while—maybe not since they’d met Ferogin. “Is this about Rose coming with us tomorrow?”

  “Rose?” Jeff seemed genuinely startled, like he’d completely forgotten that he and she had once been a couple. “No. It’s been years.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “Nothing,” Jeff protested, but then, more contritely, “It really is nothing. I’m sorry. I just react badly to nobles acting noble, or royals acting royal. I’m sorry. I’ll be good.”

  Graegor didn’t know what Darc had done to “act royal”, but he took Jeff at his word and let it drop. It would be all right. Jeff could be a little prickly sometimes, but Darc wasn’t. Graegor couldn’t expect all his friends to get along with each other. Having the girls here was helping.

  You’re not supposed to socialize with them. You need to keep Tabitha happy.

  It was all right. They’d leave soon. Darc wanted to visit landmarks.

  What if Tabitha didn’t want Rose to come with them, either?

  Then you’ll figure out something else. He needed to keep her happy. If he was to have any chance with her at all, tomorrow night or any other night, he needed to keep her happy. Whatever it took.

  When Contare led them around the last corner, the domes of the Basilica Ecumenica of Saint Davidon’s Word were shining like a second sun in the early morning sky. The Lord’s Chimes, two lines of upright metal pipes each the height of a man, defined a curving path from the street corner all the way up to the basilica’s grand entrance. From beneath the courtyard, enormous sets of bellows blew rhythmic winds through the pipes to make music like ocean waves, pouring rain, and low flutes—barely heard in the surrounding streets, but rising dramatically as they approached the basilica. The walls of green marble towered like sea-cliffs, the traditional bell-house with its clock loomed like an obelisk at the street, the windows of stained glass threw rainbows all across the courtyard, and the air smelled of water lilies.

  “Lord Abban above,” Darc murmured.

  “It is striking,” Contare smiled.

  “No, literally, He’s sitting right there.” Darc pointed at the blinding light at the top of the domes.

  “I can’t see him,” Karl said, shading his eyes and pretending to look.

  “That’s how you know He’s there.”

  Contare led the four of them away from the chime path and over to one of the basilica’s side doors. In the dimness under its covered porch, two figures waited, and Graegor recognized Josselin’s and Koren’s magic before his eyes adjusted to see their faces. Contare extended his hand to Josselin to bring her forward. “Your Highness, it is my pleasure to introduce Lady Sorceress Josselin fa Lairconaig of Khenroxa.”

  Darc bowed. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Sorceress.”

  Josselin smiled and dipped her head, her grey curls framing her lined face. “And a pleasure for me to see you again, your Highness.”

  Darc blinked in surprise. “Again, my lady?”

  “We have met before.”

  “Was the first meeting so traumatic that I forgot it?”

  Graegor stared at him, but Josselin was completely unfazed by this impertinence, and she even seemed to be holding back a smile. “Actually, your Highness,” she said in a lecturing way, “it is a myth that trauma induces amnesia, unless it involves a blow to the head. The more traumatic the experience, the more likely you are to remember it.”

  Darc grinned at her. “I can’t remember a bit of it, my lady, so that must mean that our prior meeting was ecstasy itself. Or that you hit me over the head.”

  “Or that you were only four years old.”

  “Ah! That explains everything. I was very busy that year.”

  Josselin looked at Contare and made a show of murmuring, “I did say to be careful what you wished for.”

  At that, Darc suddenly looked uncertain, but then Josselin turned back to him and touched his arm in a fond gesture. “Your Highness, you are as charming now as you were as a child. I think Lord Contare did well to breed some humor back into the Carhlaan line. They were growing positively stodgy.”

  “I’m glad I could stop a growth, my lady.”

  Josselin smiled again, turned, and beckoned. “This is my successor, the Lady Sorceress Koren fa Lairconaig.”

  Koren stepped forward and dipped a curtsey. Her dress was pale orange, and her short red hair loosely framed her face instead of being bound back in a headband. “Your Highness.”

  “Lady Sorceress,” Darc said with a bow. “It’s such a pleasure to meet you.”

  “And you, your Highness.” Koren lifted her eyes with a small smile. “I’m glad you’re able to—to visit.”

  Graegor was surprised; Koren seldom added any small talk to formalities. Darc returned her smile and said, “So am I, my lady. There’s so much to see here.”

  Graegor had worried that Darc would try to be as flirtatious with Koren as he’d been with Errie. But Darc seemed to instinctively know exactly how each woman he met wanted him to treat her. For Tabitha, he was gracious royalty. For Rose, he was an adventurous visitor to her city. For Josselin, he was a student trying to match her wit. And now, for Koren, he was a slightly shy stranger hoping to become a friend.

  “Have you seen the inside of the basilica yet?” Koren was asking him.

  Darc shook his head and offered his arm. Koren hesitated only an instant before taking it, and Magus Karl stepped to the door and held it open for them all to pass inside.

  The service was long, since it wasn’t restricted to the usual holy hour, and the Archpriest liked to draw out the readings and the rituals. Koren and Darc sat next to each other to one side of Graegor, and at one point, he heard them sigh in unison, then saw them exchange a glance.

  This was good. This was very good. If Koren liked Darc, maybe she’d be willing to take on the duty of his safety tonight, for the whole night. Darc and Rose wouldn’t even need to come along to the choral review. Instead they could meet Koren and their other friends at the Central Quarter’s street festival, and they could eat and drink and sing until morning. Graegor could take Tabitha to the choral review, then take her to dinner on Contare’s ship, and …

  He really shouldn’t be thinking about this while sitting in the basilica.

  They stayed to meet the Archpriest when the service was over, but they kept the anxious little magus in the dark about who Darc was. Other people were keenly interested in meeting Graegor’s friend from home, though, so they ended up standing in the basilica’s large anteroom for some time, exchanging pleasantries with a growing group of priests, magi, and nobles. As they circulated, Graegor noticed that Darc kept murmuring asides to Koren, but that she didn’t seem to be answering him with more than nods.

  She doesn’t talk much. Especially not in crowds. But he couldn’t help worrying that Darc had said or done something to offend her.

  He felt Tabitha’s call, and his shoulders immediately tensed. He mumbled an excuse to the group conversing around him, and he opened the link as he moved toward the bright tapestries hanging against the wall. “How was the service?” Tabitha asked after a warm, wordless greeting, as if she hadn’t been so cold to him when they’d parted yesterday.

  “Long,” he sent. “How was yours?”

  “Also long.” Sh
e paused, and he got the sense that she was steeling herself. “I have changed my mind,” she announced. “Koren may join us this evening.”

  Taken completely by surprise, Graegor just stood there, trying to think of what to say, and trying to keep everything he was thinking out of their link. “The prince will be glad to hear it,” he finally managed to answer.

  “He is a guest,” she said firmly. “I can’t be selfish while he is here. You promised me a beautiful evening, and you promised Contare that you would look after Prince Darcius. I don’t want to be the reason that you break either promise.”

  Should he tell her that he had already arranged for Rose to come instead? Would that help? Tabitha definitely sounded as if she was determined to find a way to enjoy an unpleasant duty. “Thank you,” he sent, and put as much gratitude behind the words as he could.

  “The prince’s safety is paramount,” she stated. “Surrounded by three sorcerers, no harm could possibly come to him.”

  The thought came instantly to Graegor that King Motthias had died surrounded by eighteen sorcerers. He tried to keep it back, but Tabitha sensed it, and a tangle of emotions surged down the bright silver lines of their bond. “I’m sorry,” he sent. “I didn’t mean …” But of course he had meant it, because it had happened.

  “I know.” Her emotions settled into a quiet sadness. “You are right. But we were not on our guard at the presentations. We were too arrogant.”

  “We were arrogant in the fox-den too,” he sent, matching her tone.

  “Yes. But we can’t hide in fear. We just need to be ready for whatever happens.”

  He hadn’t even been ready for this to happen. She seemed to have put completely aside her dislike of Koren. “We will be,” he sent.

  “This is, of course, assuming that Koren agrees to come. I still have my doubts about that.”

  Not completely aside, then. “She and Darc seem to be getting along.”

  “But I am not sure that she will enjoy the music.” After a pause, she added, “And I know that she can’t stand being near me.”

  Graegor was stunned that Tabitha could ever have gotten such an impression. “What? When did—why do you think that?”

  “Because she never speaks to me,” she sent, very calmly. “Never, Graegor, never. She refuses to do it. I can only conclude that she finds me abhorrent in some way.”

  “She doesn’t talk much at all. It has nothing to do with you.”

  That was the wrong thing to say. Her mind, her gen, the silver threads of her presence, she grew noticeably colder. “I disagree. I have tried to speak with her at numerous events. She gives one-word answers and escapes my company as soon as she can. For a very long time, she even pretended not to understand Mazespaak.”

  “You probably intimidate her.”

  “I have never said the least thing that could be considered intimidating.”

  “Tabitha, you are the most beautiful woman in the world. There are only three women alive who don’t find you intimidating, and those are Josselin, Malaya, and Serafina.”

  That was definitely the right thing to say. She paused, and the sense of her thawed a little. “I don’t think Ilene is intimidated.”

  “She might be, even if she doesn’t show it. She’s good at conversation, just like you are. But Koren isn’t.”

  “That is no excuse. A lady, a sorceress, must train herself to be social when required, instead of aloof. She behaves as if the rest of us are beneath her.”

  “Not at all! She’s quiet. She’s very shy. You must know some shy people.”

  “I do. They are not like her.”

  He thought he knew why she didn’t understand. “Being social and gracious comes naturally to you. You have no trouble speaking to anyone. That’s why you can’t imagine it.”

  This seemed like a new thought to Tabitha. She made no reply, and Graegor went on. “For some people, it’s really difficult. Becoming a sorceress doesn’t instantly make that go away.”

  “If she is so shy, why did she go swimming with you?”

  She would not let that go. She would never let that go. All he could do was acknowledge it and move straight past it. “She didn’t swim. Tabitha, are you certain you want her to come with us? There’s another girl Darc met—Rose, Lady Josselin’s clerk.”

  A pause. “I know her,” Tabitha sent, without any indication of whether or not she thought this was a better idea. He got the impression that she didn’t know yet—that she was thinking it over. “No,” she sent at last, with the same steely resolve as before. “We would need to worry about both her and the prince, in case of another attack.”

  It made Graegor suddenly uncomfortable to realize that they were both almost assuming there would be another rogue magi attack. Tabitha felt it from him, and she sent, “I was actually thinking of Ferogin.”

  “Ferogin?”

  “If he finds out that Prince Darcius is here, he might attack you.”

  “Why?”

  “Just to upset you. Just to make a big scene.”

  Graegor sighed. Great. “Then I really, really hope he doesn’t find out.”

  “Well, I have told no one. As Lord Contare asked of me.” She seemed a little irritated now. “Maga Attarine would have been a perfect companion tonight.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “She does so love choral music. And I … well, I am more comfortable with my own friends.”

  Graegor held back the comment that all people were more comfortable with their own friends. That was why they were called friends. “I know,” he sent instead. “Thank you. I really appreciate it, that you’re willing to do it anyway.”

  “Well, I would not like the prince to be upset with me, or to report to the king that I am ungracious. That would not do at all.”

  “He would never do that.”

  “Yes, he seems very kind. Now, about supper. I, of course, am accustomed to dining late on special and formal occasions. I’m sure the prince is too, but will this inconvenience Koren in any way?”

  That was a rather snide reference to Koren’s rural upbringing, but Graegor ignored it, because he hadn’t intended to include Darc and Koren for dinner at all. Dinner was going to be on Contare’s moored ship, with all sorts of special touches—touches that included careful preparations to the owner’s cabin on board. He had hoped that Koren and Darc would find other company and entertainment for the rest of the night, so he was about to tell Tabitha not to worry—but just in time, he stopped himself.

  He was wrong about her so often. So often. Such an assurance should please her, but it might upset her instead. Maybe Solstice celebrations always included a formal dinner in Thendalia. Or maybe it wasn’t polite for two couples going out together to separate before the evening was over. Or maybe there was some other rule that he would never be able to guess. He was not going to risk upsetting this delicate balance they had just achieved. “It should be fine,” he finally replied, as if he had spent the last few moments thinking over her question. If he couldn’t find a way to be alone with her tonight, he would simply have to plan another night. Very soon.

  “Should I expect you at the nineteenth bell? The performance begins at half-past.”

  “Yes. Thank you, Tabitha. I really appreciate this.”

  “I know you do.”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you too.” With that, she broke the connection.

  Graegor wanted to lean against the tapestried wall in relief. He took some deep breaths instead. He was about to turn and rejoin the others in the basilica anteroom when he felt Koren’s mental tap.

  He girded himself for another struggle. When he opened his mind to her, she asked, “Is everything all right?”

  “Yes.” He paused, remembering that he’d been worried about Darc offending her. “Are you all right?”

  “Fine. In fact, I … well, Rose told me to ask you if the invitation was still open. I mean, for me. If you—if he still wants me to go.”

&
nbsp; So what had changed her mind? He didn’t understand girls at all. “Rose doesn’t want to?”

  “She said that … that she knows he wants to go with me, and that I should.”

  How could Rose possibly know that? Darc hadn’t even met Koren until this morning. True, he’d wanted to meet her for a long time, but Rose didn’t know that. Did she?

  He gave up. “Great. That’s great. He’ll be glad.”

  “But only if Tabitha ...”

  “It’s fine,” he hastened to assure her. “I talked to her.”

  “Oh. I … ‘tis good, then.”

  “We’ll have a good time. I promise.”

  “I …” She stopped, and when he wordlessly prompted her, she added, “He’s nice.”

  “Jeh, he is.”

  Embarrassed, Koren broke the connection. Graegor looked across the anteroom for her, and found her in a group with Josselin and Contare. As he watched, Darc joined them, and her smile up at him was quick and shy, but Graegor thought it looked real. From this distance, at least. He made his way over to them, and a few moments later, Josselin started telling people apologetically that she and Koren needed to go.

  In a few moments, the six of them were back outside, and Josselin’s carriage was waiting on the street. Darc stepped ahead of Karl in order to personally assist both sorceresses into the carriage, and Josselin said something to him that made them both laugh. The carriage rolled away, and the rest of them started walking back to Contare’s house.

  Contare kept their pace to a stroll, and once the musical sounds of the Lord’s Chimes had faded behind the corner, Darc said, “Something strange happened during the service.”

  “Oh?”

  “When the water was stirred up in the well, that was the Archpriest, right? Telekinesis?” Graegor nodded, and Darc went on, “Because I felt something in my head, almost like a hum, or a vibration.”

  “Well,” Contare said, “Lady Josselin is convinced that you’re near-magi.”

  “I am?—Those are people who can almost do telepathy, right?”

  “Almost do a lot of things,” Karl said.