Quicksilver added, “The shield is as good as, perhaps better than, the one on the practice room. You may release your lock here and none but the four Officeholders will be any wiser.”
The Frost Maiden glided in a few minutes later. I did a double take, she so strongly reminded me of Claire on first glance.
That was silly—Claire was gold, this woman was silver. Claire was small and delicate; this woman was…small and delicate. But not helpless. No one would ever offer to protect her. She was dangerous enough to make my skin crawl. I backed away from her, my hands and face cold.
Her acknowledgement of the Fire Warlock was cold but well mannered. She was cordial to Mother Celeste, and bantered with the Air Enchanter. With her perfect features and regal carriage, she seemed a fitting queen to his noble king. Her pearls glowed; sapphires sparkled. When she moved, her blue silk shimmered like water. The burgundy velvet I was so proud of seemed dowdy, fit only for a gawky tomboy. I backed up another step.
I could understand how she had charmed Quicksilver. That didn’t mean I had to like it. Deep in my chest, something burned.
Mother Celeste turned to introduce me, and I stepped forward with my chin up and back straight. I made a deep reverence the Frost Maiden didn’t respond to. She studied me with flared nostrils, not a trace of warmth in her blue eyes, nor, when she spoke, in her voice.
“So, you are the missing warlock, hiding your talents under a lock all this time. What is your nom de guerre?”
I should have thought of that. My cheeks burned. “I don’t have one yet, Your Wisdom.”
“I assume you will have one; all members of your tribe do.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I laced my fingers together behind my back so they wouldn’t curl into fists.
The Enchanter said, “Perhaps the Second Locksmith? There is some precedence for that.”
She said, “Or perhaps the Lesser Locksmith?”
Burn the woman—I did not want to be the same colour as my dress. The fire in my chest got hotter.
He said, “Now really, Lorraine—”
“I have met few female warlocks. Witches outnumber the wizards on the Water and Earth Guild Councils, but the Fire Guild Council is the domain of angry and overbearing men. Do you have a temper to match that of the Warlock of the Western Gate, child?”
I had seen little evidence of the Warlock’s temper, except when he was dealing with proven fools, and if I spent much time in the same room as this witch, I was going to need a war name. I chose my words with care. “I do have a temper. Whether it matches his, I don’t know, Your Wisdom.”
She shrugged and turned away. I glanced at the Warlock, and found him displaying exceptional evidence of his own temper—scowling, and responding to the Earth Mother’s hand signals to cool down with a set jaw and hard eyes. Behind him, Beorn whistled soundlessly and rolled his eyes at the ceiling.
The Enchanter coughed, shooting a sideways glance at the Frost Maiden’s back. “Shall we get started then? If everyone will please be seated…” He gestured for me to sit next to him. The Warlock and Frost Maiden took seats at the opposite ends of the room, not facing each other, as if out of long habit.
The Warlock described what had happened the day I released my lock, what they had found in the probe, and the training I had received since then. I watched the flashing of the Frost Maiden’s great sapphire out of the corner of my eye, without looking directly at her. The stones in the three other rings also glowed, sparked, and flashed in their own colours and tempos. I was spellbound, and for a few minutes forgot why I was there.
Then the Enchanter and the Earth Mother turned to me and asked questions. I answered with care—I didn’t dare give any misleading or evasive answers. The Frost Maiden said little, and looked bored, but after Beorn’s warning, I did not take that at face value. They had me unlock and relock several times; the first time brought a gratifyingly wide-eyed reaction from the Enchanter and Mother Celeste.
They sent me to wait in the antechamber while they questioned Beorn. He came out not long after, and we waited while the four of them talked. And waited. An hour crawled by, then two. I was glad Quicksilver had warned me to bring a book, but I couldn’t concentrate.
“Beorn, what’s taking so long?”
“This isn’t a good place to talk. Later.”
I returned to my book. I read five pages without having any idea what they said.
They talked for two and a half hours before they called us back in. I clasped my hands together behind my back again, to forestall wiping sweaty palms on my velvet skirt.
The Enchanter looked grave, and the Earth Mother looked troubled. The Frost Maiden still looked bored. Quicksilver’s face looked calm enough, but his eyes had a smouldering, angry look to them and he paced while the Enchanter interrogated first Beorn and then me again.
His questions covered no new ground. After a few minutes, he thanked me, and they all rose. The Warlock and I were nearest the door; the Frost Maiden, by protocol the first to leave, had to pass us both on the way.
She stopped in front of me, scrutinised my face for a moment, then stood there a bit longer, her glance flashing back and forth between him and me. Her lips curled into—what? A smile? A sneer? She turned to face him, and he stiffened.
“I expect your plans will come to naught for other reasons.” Her voice oozed honey. “You will make it a trio, won’t you? First Nicole, then Terésa, now Lucinda. How sad.”
I reeled backwards, slamming into the wall. Quicksilver’s face went livid, and he started to retort, but bit it off after a glance at me. Turning on heel, he stalked through the door and slammed it in her face, hard enough that I felt the jolt through the wall.
Mother Celeste said, “Lorraine, how could you!” She sounded like she was scolding a naughty six-year-old.
The Frost Maiden shrugged, and continued out the door with no display of emotion. The Earth Mother and the Enchanter both talked at once; I have no idea what they said.
Beorn put an arm around my shoulders. “Let go of the wall. We’re going home.”
The next thing I knew he was pushing me into a chair. A moment later, he shoved a glass in my hand.
I pushed it away. “I don’t want—”
“It’s not booze. It’s an Earth Guild concoction to get your blood flowing again after a shock.”
I gulped it down, and looked around. We were back in the Fortress, in the Warlock’s study. Did we walk here or jump through the fire? If we walked through the Warren’s Great Hall, I didn’t see it.
Beorn dropped into one of the armchairs and stared out the window. “They were talking about what Jean wants to do to the Office, and Paul, the Enchanter, didn’t like it. Understandably. He’s got his own problems with his Office, but it hasn’t worn him down yet the way it has the others, and this was the first time he’d heard about Jean’s ideas.” His voice was so low I strained to hear him. “Jean decided that now was the time to tell them, so they wouldn’t hear it first from me, when I become the junior member.”
The rumble of thunder in the distance echoed the throbbing in my head. “Where is he now?”
He jerked a thumb upwards. “On the rim of the caldera, blasting boulders into gravel. I wouldn’t expect him back down here for hours.”
I put my face down in my hands. “I forgot my manners. I didn’t take proper leave of the other two Officeholders.”
He snorted. “Don’t worry about that. Mother Celeste cares more about people than protocol, and I think Paul was as shocked as you were. I’ve heard the Frost Maiden say some nasty things to Jean before, but this is the first time I’ve ever seen her attack somebody else at the same time. Maybe you should take it as a compliment she thinks you’re that important.”
That was not a comforting thought. Even less comforting was the question, what could I say to Warlock Quicksilver the next ti
me I saw him?
Lessons in Self-defence
I tossed and turned that night, shivering from cold, despite the August heat. When the Warlock appeared in the kitchen the next morning, I stiffened. I glanced at him, and looked away. He looked like he hadn’t slept either.
He came over to where I was kneading dough, but didn’t allude to either Nicole or Terésa, merely saying, “I am sorry I had to subject you to that unpleasantness yesterday.”
I kept my head down, looking at the dough. “Yes, sir. It’s not your fault, sir. I’m sorry I gave her something to attack you with.”
He stood by the table for a moment. I didn’t relax until he turned on heel and stalked out of the kitchen.
I avoided him for several days, ducking into the pantry when he came into the kitchen, and hiding behind the curtains in the library. It was silly, perhaps—he had already shown I couldn’t hide from him—but I could not pretend, even to myself, that I was thinking clearly.
When he came into the practice room to inspect our progress, I concentrated on the burning straw and avoided looking at him. He seemed pleased with our progress, and agreed when Beorn suggested it was time to go on to the next step. He beckoned to René, and they left the practice room together, leaving me alone with Beorn.
“The next step?” I said. “You mean, training to fight?”
“Yeah.” Beorn fingered his beard for a moment. “This is one of the areas where the guild school really fails warlocks, and we were thinking… Look, what happens if the Fire Warlock throws a bolt of lightning where another warlock is standing?”
“He kills him?”
“No, he misses.”
“Wait. What?”
“The other warlock has jumped through the fire—he isn’t there anymore. You’ve got to throw an attack to follow a warlock magically. Throwing an attack directly at him is easier, and it works against the lesser talents, so that’s what the school teaches.”
“So that’s one of the ways the school fails warlocks?”
“Yep. I picked up a lot of bad habits before I started trying to fight like a warlock, and I’m still having trouble breaking them. We don’t want you and René picking them up in the first place.”
“Can you teach us, if you’ve got those bad habits yourself?”
“Don’t know. We’d been talking about Jean taking over that bit, but with you two avoiding each other—”
“What? He doesn’t want to talk to me, either?”
Beorn grinned. “Looks that way. I’ve been wondering if I should give him grief about not facing facts.” His grin vanished. “I think you’re both worrying too much about what that old crone said. If her prediction was true, we wouldn’t have anything to worry about from the Chessmaster, would we?”
The Chessmaster’s prediction echoed in my head: I have seen a girl claim a place in the Warlock’s lustful heart. Did he think the Fire Warlock and I were lovers? Did he understand so little of our history that he believed that was even possible? Did the Frost Maiden think either of us was that dense or irresponsible?
I had been asking for trouble, just by thinking of him as Warlock Quicksilver. As if we could ever be equals.
Beorn thumped me on the shoulder on his way out. “Think about it. You can’t hide from him forever, you know.”
I sat in the dim light in the practice room with a piece of kindling I pretended was the Frost Maiden, and practiced setting it on fire, snuffing it out, setting it on fire, snuffing it out. After a while I got up and walked out, heading for the stairs.
I was on the uppermost flight when René passed me on his way down. He appeared lost in a brown study and didn’t seem to notice me. At the landing I turned around, watching him dwindle below me.
In the silence of the upper tier, the sound of any movement carried clearly. Were the soft footfalls behind me a cat’s?
“I took your advice,” the Fire Warlock said.
“Mine, Your Wisdom?”
“My dear, do you not remember? I informed René he will be a warlock.”
I turned and looked at him. “Why?”
“Because of the need to train you both in self-defence. The techniques I intend to teach you will be dangerous to him if he does not understand their purpose.”
“Are you going to teach us yourself, then?”
“Yes. There is too much at stake for me not to.”
“Yes, sir. That’s good.” I swallowed around a sudden tightness in my throat. “We’d be foolish not to learn all we can from you while you’re here.”
His unruffled expression didn’t change. “And you are not a fool.”
“Thank you, Your Wisdom.”
“Jean,” he said.
“No, sir, I can’t call you that.”
Lines around his mouth and eyes tightened, and he turned a little away from me. “Do I frighten you that much?”
“No, sir, Jean Rehsavvy doesn’t.” His glance, touching me and away, felt like a lightning bolt. My eyes stung. “But I am afraid of the Fire Warlock, Your Wisdom.”
“I see.” He paced to the edge of the landing, and stood with his hands on the railing, looking out. “As you wish. Even though the honorific feels ludicrous. Perhaps I should take lessons from you. At the moment you seem the wiser of the two of us.”
“Sir?”
“I, too, fear the Fire Warlock.”
“Sir?”
He had a smile on his lips, none in his eyes. “My dear Locksmith—”
I winced, and he flicked me another lightning glance.
He said, “I will teach you to defend yourself, so that you may survive long enough to unlock the Fire Office. That is my duty to you. Let us not, either one, forget that.”
We shifted into a new routine, focused on self-defence and locks, and skipping all the nonessential spellcraft taught at the school.
I rose early, starting the day’s bread and desserts before breakfast. Mrs Cole used magic to do the rest. She could have made the bread with magic, but it turned out better if I did a little kneading by hand to check that the dough felt right, and pretending the ball of dough was the Empire’s Chessmaster or the Office let me work off some nervous tension.
Mrs Cole would fill me in on the latest gossip while we worked on breakfast. The rumours of war grew, with news of attacks on ships and easily repulsed feints against ports.
She said, “The townsfolk are getting nervous, and wondering if they should start moving up into the Fortress.”
“Well, shouldn’t they?”
“I think so, but the Guild Council has been telling everybody to stay put. They don’t think the Empire will launch a full-scale attack until next spring. I don’t think they know what they’re talking about. Himself has the other supplicants hard at work laying in stores as if there’s going to be a long siege, starting soon. I hope it doesn’t come to that.” Under her breath she added, “I’m not looking forward to a flock of hotheads trying to run my kitchen, either.”
After breakfast, I headed towards the practice room. All five of us—the Warlock, Beorn, Master Sven, René, and I—spent our mornings there. Aside from a break mid-morning to work on locks, our focus in the morning was on control. The Warlock gave us all exercises—simple ones for René, harder ones for me, and difficult ones for Arturos and Master Sven. Master Sven, a level four wizard, made up for in control what he lacked in power, and I never tired of watching the Warlock drill our two tutors as unmercifully as they drilled me.
The Warlock’s talk with René about his future had the intended effect. René was unusually quiet and serious for three days, then bounced back to his normal exuberant self, but it was clear he understood the implications of being a warlock. He dogged Arturos’s every move, demanding explanations for every detail of the exercises the Warlock assigned the big wizard, until I was as amazed by the two w
arlocks’ patience as by René’s persistence.
After dinner, René and I went back to the practice room, where we practiced setting and quenching fires under Arturos’s watchful eye. He also taught us the low-level shield against fire, the one used as an everyday safeguard by every fire witch and wizard level two and above, and the more powerful shield against the heat of a blacksmith’s forge, only usable by level threes and above. We practiced both shields until they were as easy as snapping our fingers.
We then had only a couple of hours in the late afternoon with Master Sven on theory, where we sometimes went to sleep with our faces in the books. After a quick supper, Beorn and I would spend an hour or so with the Warlock in his study, going over his notes on the spells making up the Office.
We all learned from each other, and with such intense tutoring René and I crammed into a few months what would have taken years to learn at the school. We ate like field hands, without putting on weight. I was too busy, and too tired, to waste time worrying about either the Frost Maiden or the Chessmaster.
The dreams about the glass cage or the looming shadow of Storm King vanished after I unlocked my talents, and I was very happy to have them go. The nightmares triggered by bad memories stirred up by the probe also diminished, but I dreamt of blinding flashes of lightning, or my clothes and skin burning. I slept enough that I could function, but never enough to feel well rested.
Mrs Cole covered for me well enough that the scholars didn’t seem to notice my absence from the kitchen, but some did notice the bags under my eyes. I was the subject of speculation and jealous skirmishes, and I worried that if I had many sleepless nights my reputation could end up in tatters. If the knowledge the Warlock was by necessity chaste hadn’t been so firmly ingrained in everyone’s mind, gossip might have connected the two of us, as we had shown up at breakfast on more than one morning looking like neither of us had slept.
Instead, I gathered that rumours linked Arturos’s name with mine. It didn’t help that I sometimes forgot and called him Beorn in public. If that rumour had been true, I wouldn’t have minded as much.
The Locksmith Page 20
