The Icefire Trilogy

by Patty Jansen

  The Tutors and upper command didn’t like it, but most Knights placed small offerings at the glass eagle’s feet. For luck. The Tutors didn’t like that either.

  Carro stopped and stroked the cold glass neck, smoothened by the passage of many hands. He leaned his forehead against the glass, hoping it would clear his drunken head. If you have any power at all, help me.

  Then again, why should it help him? He had never been brave enough to give an offering.

  * * *

  Carro’s mother sits across the table, yelling at him.

  If I hear one more word about that nonsense . . .

  It’s not nonsense. Just because his mother fails to understand why the Brotherhood does things such as calculating the power of sunlight doesn’t mean that it is untrue.

  It is true; he and Isandor did the experiment as it said in the book. They went out into the alley and let the light shine through the looking-glass they bought at the markets. The intense spot of light caused the paper to burst into flames. The book told them why this happened: because of the shape of the glass and the direction of the sunlight. It also explained that you could do a similar thing with icefire.

  They were laughing at their success when his mother found them.

  Carro hangs his head. No use arguing.

  Go and help your father in the warehouse. She flaps her hand at the door, already bored.

  Yes. mother.

  * * *

  Carro froze, his heart thudding, his cheek still against the glass beak of the eagle.

  Voices echoed from lower levels of the eyrie, the meaning inaudible. Carro heard his name in every shout, mockery in every bout of laugher. Even the winds whistling through the howling staircase shrieked his name. Carro, the betrayer. Carro, the gutless. Carro, who had to follow his cripple friend to the Knighthood.

  “There you are, Apprentice Carro.”

  Carro gasped.

  The Tutor Rider stood behind him, hands on his hips. A man with a beak-like nose, much like an eagle.

  Carro scrambled away from the statue, kicking a few coins across the stone floor. Blood rose in his cheeks. Had the Tutor seen how he’d embraced the glass eagle?

  “Where were you? I expected you at training.”

  “With the Knight patrol. You gave me permission—”

  “I did?”

  “Yes, the patrol Captain—”

  The Tutor slapped Carro’s face, hard. “The Eagle Order has five pillars: Obedience, Honour, Honesty, Humility and Silence. You disregard all of them. May I remind you that your status is of no import amongst the Knights?”

  Status? He had no status. His father was a lowly merchant. Oh, his status as the only Outer City Apprentice? His status as the Apprentices’ pissing post?

  His gaze on the toes of his boots—scuffed, unpolished—he said, “The Patrol Captain asked if I could come with them to the markets. You gave me permission to go.” He’d done nothing wrong—except getting drunk.

  The Tutor pushed Carro’s head up and spat in his face.

  “You disrespect me. And you’re drunk. Go to your dormitory and sleep it off. Report for cleaning duty tomorrow.”

  The Tutor turned and made for the door. “And be glad I’m not giving you worse punishment.”

  Carro looked up defiantly, wiping saliva off his face with the sleeve of his tunic.

  “And wash yourself. You’re disgusting!” the Tutor yelled in the confined space of the corridor. The sound of his footsteps faded.

  Carro went down the staircase which took him down to the Apprentices’ dormitory, a long room with rows of mats against both walls. Blankets lay neatly rolled-up at the head-end of each.

  A few older Learners huddled together on one mat, casting furtive glances at the door as Carro came in.

  “And then,” one boy was saying, “Then I could see her, right through her dress, you know, and man, does she have puppies.”

  The boys guffawed. One or two glanced at Carro.

  “Heh, you look like you fell off your bird again,” snorted one called Jono.

  They always had to remind him of that moment, in the second lesson, when his eagle had taken off so quickly that he hadn’t secured himself in the harness.

  Clamping his jaws, Carro crossed the room to the shelves at the far end, and took a clean uniform from the shelf labelled with his name.

  “Listen to me then,” another Apprentice said. “I seen her the day before yesterday. She were going into the baths. There were guards outside, and some went inside with her.”

  “Do you think they . . .”

  More guffaws.

  “Nah. She’ll pick the real pretty ones. Like that one.”

  All boys turned to Carro. A grin spread across Jono’s face.

  “Hey, pretty boy.”

  One elbowed the speaker in the side. “Hush. He be selected, I think. I heard some Tutors talking about him.”

  “And they let him stay with us? Do they want him undamaged?”

  Jono laughed aloud. For some reason, he’d been picking on Carro since the first day of their training. It started with comments on Carro’s clothing, and his parents. Then there had been taunts about the Outer City, and about his clumsiness and his girl-like curls—which Carro had cut off at the earliest opportunity.

  Carro kept his gaze to the floor. Do not talk back, do not talk back. With everything at the eyrie, that only made things.

  “Hey, boy? You be a virgin?”

  * * *

  Carro stares across the room. The girl has hair like bronze. It dances over her shoulders when she moves her head. She’s come with the seamstress who is going to make some new dresses for his sister to wear to dinner parties to show off the material his father has imported from Arania. Then rich women will come from the city to buy the fabric.

  Business. Fabric on the table and patterns spread out over the couch.

  The pretty girl should be wearing the dresses, not his dumpy sister. The girl would look like a goddess. She should be outside, celebrating Newlight, but instead she’s here with her boss on his mother’s whim.

  She smiles. Around her neck she wears a strip of leather with a gull’s tail feather tied to it. She’s freshly blooded and free to consort with whomever she wants. And she’s watching him.

  Carro’s cheeks burn with heat. Distant thumps of festival music roar in his ears.

  Carro, I told you to get the account books. Why haven’t you done it yet?

  Carro gasps. That’s his father. He’ll be in for another punishment when the seamstress leaves.

  He jumps up, but still looks at the girl, and doesn’t see the table. He hits the corner with his knee. Cups go flying with loud clanks and clatters. Tea seeps into the tablecloth.

  You clumsy boy! his mother yells.

  The girl giggles.

  Carro flees, blood throbbing in all sorts of uncomfortable places.

  * * *

  Carro snuck into the bathroom as quietly as he could, trying not to catch the boys’ attention.

  Here, his footsteps echoed in an icy silence of tiles and stone. Puffs of mist lingered in the air from his breath. The fire from the drying room barely brought any warmth. A fat icicle trailed from the tiny window in the top of the opposite wall almost to the ground. The city buildings were so different from those in the Outer City. These buildings were open, square and cold. The houses in the Outer City were round, without windows, and with a central stove that kept the house warm all day.

  Being a Knight wasn’t meant to be comfortable.

  He undressed himself, and rinsed the smell of bloodwine out of his clothes, shuddering at the
memories of the Learner Knight from the patrol who had kept buying him drinks, while his stomach was already protesting. To get him punished no doubt. He poured several pitchers of ice-cold water over his head and then got to work on the bathroom floor. Cleaning duty, he’d done his fair share. He collected the broom and scrubbed the tiles.

  When he went to hang his clothes to dry, the Apprentices who had been in the dormitory blocked the door of the drying room. Jono was in the middle of the group. He said lazily, “It think it’s time the pet got a lesson, don’t you?” He scratched the crotch of his trousers.

  * * *

  The girl’s name is Kaila. She holds his arm and talks and giggles. Carro listens to her cheerful babble and wonders how he can guide her into the furniture-maker’s warehouse. It’s big and empty, and young people go there to lose their innocence during the Newlight celebrations. And now he’s managed to sneak her out of the house, he can think of nothing else. His whole body aches for it.

  A couple of older boys block the street. Carro recognises some of them as his sister’s friends. The pleasant pulsing of blood fades for an icy cold.

  The leader of the group, a lanky boy whose name he doesn’t know, pulls Carro’s cloak off.

  Hey, Carro yells. His voice sounds high and boyish. Not the way he wants the girl to hear it. He wants to be manly; he wants her to think he knows all about having girls.

  The boy holds the cloak out of his reach.

  You don’t need that. You have enough blubber to keep you warm.

  Give that back to him, Kaila says. She lets go of Carro’s arm—leaving a warm spot—and yanks the cloak out of the boy’s hands.

  Hey, what have we here? The boy grabs her arm. He reaches out and pulls the feather from under her cloak with a broad grin on his face. His mates are cheering.

  You keep your hands off her! Carro shouts.

  Ah, she’s yours, is she?

  Another boy laughs. Do you guys reckon he knows where to put it?

  A volley of laughter cascades through the street.

  You know what, the leader says. We will let you go.

  Carro breathes out heavily, but doesn’t understand. Let him go? They never let him go without humiliation.

  Then the boy says, And we’ll come. We’re going to watch.

  * * *

  One of the boys pushed Carro face first into the wall. Others laughed. Hands yanked away the towel, which slipped past his thighs into a puddle on the floor. An icy breeze made his skin break out in goosebumps.

  No. He would not think of what happened that day in the furniture-maker’s warehouse, about the girl and her pale flesh and his own unwilling body, the laughter at his flaccid member, shrunken and shrivelled in the cold. The girl was crying; the boys were cheering, pushing him, jostling him. He could not do it.

  And he would not go and relive it. He needed to toughen up; his father said often enough, and as much as he hated his father, the man was probably right. He was not a pretty boy with too much fat and no muscle. He was not an artist with certain parts of his anatomy removed. He was not a boy lover.

  * * *

  Carro stands in his father’s room. His father sits in his chair by the hearth, smiling.

  Carro doesn’t like the smile. When his father is angry, things are bad. When he smiles, things are worse.

  But his father doesn’t speak. He sits, saying nothing.

  Carro grasps his hands behind his back and stands there, determined not to say anything.

  But the silence lasts on.

  Eventually he can’t stand it anymore.

  He asks, You wanted to see me, Father?

  His father doesn’t answer.

  Uhm—Father? I’d like to continue with my study.

  His father says nothing. Doesn’t even look at him.

  What sort of silly game is this? Carro balls his fists, but knows getting angry will not do much good. Whatever he does, his father always wins.

  So he stands there, and stares into the fire.

  But his father still doesn’t speak.

  He gathers all his courage. Father. I really need to study. Please tell me why I needed to come.

  Another silence.

  Well, if you won’t . . .

  A raised eyebrow, and then his father goes back to staring into the fire.

  Father, I’m not going to stand here if you won’t tell me what this is about. I have a lot of study to do. I won’t let you keep me here and then punish me for not doing my work.

  Carro turns on his heel and leaves the room.

  In the hall he stops, panting, listening to his thudding heart, stilling his trembling limbs. He can’t believe what he’s just done.

  * * *

  Carro mustered his strength and pushed himself back, slamming his elbow hard into the nose of Jono, who was fumbling with his trousers.

  Jono swore hard.

  There were shouts, cursing, a jostle and few more boys pushed Carro back against the wall. The mixed taste of plaster and blood was too familiar. Two boys on each side held Carro’s arms.

  “What did you think you were doing?” Jono stroked Carro’s naked shoulders and let his hand slide down his back, between his buttocks. A cold hand closed around his balls.

  “You thought you could beat me, pup?”

  Carro dared not breathe. He whispered, “No.”

  The hand let go, and slid over the skin. Carro broke out in goosebumps.

  “You like that, huh?”

  “Yes.” No other reply was possible, not without making this worse than it already was.

  Both hands now grabbed the sides of his thighs.

  “I didn’t hear that. Can you say it again?”

  “Yes!”

  “Beg me.”

  Carro pushed his eyes shut.

  Jono hit him hard on the back of the head. “Beg, I said.”

  “Please!”

  Jono came up from behind and rammed hard into Carro’s arse. Carro couldn’t restrain a moan. His whole backside was on fire.

  “You like that, huh?” Jono’s breath tickled in the back of his neck. Warm fluid trickled over his shoulder. Blood, from Jono’s nose.

  “Do I have a choice?” Carro snarled, with one cheek pressed against the wall.

  Jono grunted and pushed deeper.

  Goosebumps broke out on Carro’s skin. The pain had subsided and now he was starting to go hard. It always happened. They’d fuck him, use him, and leave him, sore and aching for release. He hated how his body betrayed him. He hated everything.

  Carro clamped his jaws. He would not scream or cry. Next time, he would hit harder and in a more delicate spot.

  Chapter 6

  * * *

  “THE CITY OF GLASS,” Tandor said, gesturing at the horizon.

  Since stopping at the cave early that morning, the sled had skirted the frozen bay, cutting across points and peninsulas. Now at last, the sled had crested the last hill on their path and they had an uninterrupted view of the snow-swept white bay where it joined the southern ocean. To the right, fluffy clouds hung over higher hills that would eventually become the mountains that formed the border with Arania.

  Straight ahead, where stacks of ice floes met the bay, the jagged peaks of the City of Glass reached towards the heavens, tall structures that reflected the light of the low sun. The palace tower protruded from the cluster like a broken stick. That was where Queen Jevaithi looked down upon them all from her rooms with the soft carpets, the ruffled curtains, the stuffed armchairs and the huge bed. Oh yes, the bed.

  To Tandor’s eyes, the City lay at the centre of a golden web
that spread out over the plain, always moving and shimmering. By the skylights, he had never seen it as strong as this. In days to come, it would get stronger, and that was all his doing. Power returning to the Thilleian clan.

  Myra sat straight, wincing. She had stopped complaining but kept casting Tandor angry looks. It alternately annoyed Tandor or he ignored it. At the moment, ignoring it was the better option. He had made it here without mishaps. Loriane would probably scold him for taking Myra, but now the women could worry about the women’s things.

  “You’ll soon be warm in mistress Loriane’s house.”

  “It’s not the cold why I’m shivering. There’s something creepy about this place.”

  She let her eyes wander to the jagged out lines of the city. Tandor wondered how much icefire she saw.

  Ruko was pulling a hooded cloak from the luggage. Good boy.

  Tandor nodded his appreciation; Ruko glared back and sent Tandor images of an infirmary ward. People wore the cloak for fear of contamination.

  No one will bother you, Tandor said by way of excuse.

  Covering up avoided risky situations. If people saw a driver-less sled moving by itself, there would be panic, or worse, arrests and questions.

  A rush of images flashed through Tandor’s head: the same infirmary ward, but the patients bloody and injured in their beds. Red sheets. Some people decapitated, some with their bellies slit open and their intestines spilling out. A madman looking like Ruko, with a knife—

  Tandor clamped down on the visions. He gathered icefire in his hand, and threw a loop of it around Ruko’s legs.

  The images faded, except for one: that of the girl Tandor had seen in Ruko’s mind before.

  Ruko’s inaudible angry howl rang through Tandor’s mind.

  You love her? Tandor asked.

  The girl’s image smiled, and reached out.

  If you do what I say, we will free her from the palace. If you disobey me . . . Tandor cast a glance at the chest strapped to the luggage rack. Ruko’s heart was in there. Returning it to his body would not only turn Ruko back to a weakened, mortal state, it would make him Imperfect, and persecuted in the city.