Icestorm

by Theresa Dahlheim

  She would hide from him everything she had to hide. She would not let her secrets come between them. She would not let Natayl make her cower again. She was strong.

  She was strong.

  Chapter 10

  Wards and warding. Tabitha dipped her quill, but then left it in the inkwell as she surveyed the open books on the study table. Magus Uchsin had already left for the day, and she was supposed to present this essay to him tomorrow, but she was seriously considering not doing it.

  Not that she could not. She had written dozens, maybe hundreds of these useless papers for her various tutors over the years. It was just one more way for them to criticize her.

  Isabelle was still at her afternoon class at the Academy. Maybe Tabitha would wait for her to come home before writing the essay. Or maybe she could meet Clementa at the library and slog through it there. For some reason, it was always easier to apply herself to this sort of make-work if someone else in the room was doing the same.

  She pushed back her chair and left her study. She came out to her sitting room with some annoyance that it was so dim, and even slightly chilly. Pale grey light from the rainy day came through the windows, but Joune had not yet bothered to lay the fire or light the lamps.

  Or maybe Natayl told her not to. Maybe it was his way of forcing Tabitha to work on her pyrokinesis.

  She sensed Graegor calling to her, and when she answered, his excitement warmed their bond even more than usual. “I finally heard from Brandeis!”

  “The heretic? Their leader?”

  “Right. I asked Rond to tell him I wanted to talk. I wasn’t sure if Rond even would. I thought maybe once he got back, he’d reconsider everything.”

  She knew Graegor was worried that the heretics would hold him responsible for the death of the other heretic, the one who had come to Maze Island with Rond. The one with the twitchy eyes. “What did Brandeis say?”

  “He wants to meet me. He said that maybe seeing me in person will tell him more about my ‘role’, as he put it.”

  “You mean, whether or not you’re the One.” It was ridiculous. The One was holy. Graegor was probably the nicest person she had ever met, but he was hardly holy.

  He thought it was ridiculous too. “I do want to meet him, though. Maybe if he realizes I’m not, he’ll stop sending his followers out with these pictures.”

  “But that’s all they are doing.” At his confusion, she sent, “The shovel-men in my country are burning crops and villages.”

  “The ringless ones were starting riots in Chrenste and Volney last summer. There were deaths. And I told you about how they burned the ferry—that night battle outside Orest.”

  “But what have they done since Lord Contare had their leaders arrested?” she asked. She had to make Graegor recognize the fact that it was the shovel-men who were the greater danger. The ringless ones were so few and so weak, the rogue magi had used them as bait.

  “Contare didn’t ‘have their leaders arrested’,” Graegor sent firmly. “His magi just helped.”

  Tabitha pushed down her impatience. The distinction was important to him, though she had no idea why he was insisting on it with her. They both knew better. “Regardless, it does not sound like they are causing a lot of trouble anymore.”

  “And I don’t want them to start again.”

  “So will you go to meet Brandeis?” She was leaving for Pamela’s wedding in two months. Maybe he could leave for Telgardia at the same time. It would keep him out of the reach of the girls at the Academy while she was gone.

  “No, not yet.” His emotions were mixed about that. “Next year we’re going to tour the whole kingdom, so that’s when we’ll meet him. For now I just want to convince him to keep his followers under control. Contare says that I can offer to let him speak to Meinrad and the other prisoners, to prove they’re not dead.”

  “That might help,” Tabitha agreed, but her thoughts were already following another direction. She had not yet told Graegor about the letter that the shovel-men had sent to her in Tiaulon, or about her father’s request that she find out what they wanted. Brandeis might know something about the shovel-men, despite his men’s assurances that the two groups had nothing to do with each other. Should she ask Graegor to ask him?

  No. Whatever Brandeis knew about the shovel-men, it was very unlikely to be the details of what they thought her father had promised them.

  Why had the shovel-men not contacted her yet? She had been on Maze Island for over seven months now.

  “Are you still there?” he sent, not quite jokingly.

  “Forgive me. I was thinking about the shovel-men.”

  He paused. “Is there anything you can do about them?” he asked carefully.

  “I don’t know. Natayl, of course, will not allow it.”

  He ruefully agreed with that. After confirming that she would be ready at the eighteenth bell that night to go to the theater, Tabitha broke their connection.

  It made no sense that the shovel-men would promise to contact her, and then not do it. The only explanation was that their message had not reached her. Which meant that, despite Natayl’s exasperated assurances, the clerks who sorted the mail for his office were not giving her everything addressed to her. They were withholding messages that he did not want her to read.

  Never fail to ask my permission again.

  Icy prickles crawled down her spine. He would never give her his permission to talk to the shovel-men. It would be so much easier, and safer, to just forget all about it.

  They think I promised them something, but I don’t know what that is.

  She bit her lip. Her father was counting on her. The shovel-men might be right here, in the city, in secret, waiting to hear from her. They may have eluded the Archpriest and may even be watching her from the crowds every time she set foot outside. They may be sending her hundreds of letters. How would she know?

  How did a letter get to Natayl’s office and his censoring clerks?

  Tabitha shifted on the hard bench, annoyed at herself for not remembering to bring a throw pillow. Why did she always forget about this when she was leaving the townhouse? She had asked Magus Lobunat for anything to use as a cushion, but all he had been able to find was this old folded blanket, which provided no real padding and left pieces of fuzz on her skirt.

  She took the next letter out of the mail pouch and inspected the seal. It was green, and the symbol was an owl. Lord Dirand used that seal, but his lands were in the east, and this pouch was from the Avir Marches. So this seal belonged to Lord Capousine, one of her former suitors. Yes, she decided, noticing that it was a tufted owl, not a barn owl. Lord Capousine was apparently still undaunted by the fact that she had never answered any of his other letters. She shook her head as she wrote his name on her list.

  Across the small table from her, Clementa pulled another letter from the pouch she was sorting, and she stared at it for long enough that Tabitha looked up and smiled. “Stuck?” she murmured. It was a little game between them, to see who could identify the most seals from the lower houses and the gentry. Clementa smiled back ruefully and held up the letter so that Tabitha could look at the seal. It was red, with a pair of crossed hammers.

  No. It was a pair of crossed shovels.

  Tabitha took the letter from Clementa and looked closely at the seal to make absolutely sure of what she was seeing. Then she popped the wax into a spray of red shards.

  To Lady Sorceress Tabitha de Betaul,

  Our leaders submit this humble request for an audience with you to discuss our cause.

  Unfortunately, the new limitations in effect on Maze Island make our leaders wary of traveling there. Are you instead willing to visit one of the outer islands?

  If you decide to grant this favor, please have a toy shovel placed near the front entrance to St. Bellamie’s chapel. Shortly thereafter, we will send you the name of a messenger service that can be trusted to deliver letters directly from you to us.

  We fear our prior
letters sent to you in care of Lord Natayl may not have reached you. If, however, you have received them but have no interest, we deeply apologize for our repeated intrusions.

  May Lord Abban bless you.

  With all respect from our leaders.

  The handwriting was blocky and precise, and the paper was bright white, crisp and heavy, just like the first letter the shovel-men had sent to her back in Tiaulon. Perhaps just like the other letters they had sent. The prior letters sent to her in care of Lord Natayl.

  It infuriated her. After her insistence from the very beginning that Natayl’s office staff not break any Betaul seals, and then after her further insistence that they not open the pouches from Betaul at all, she should not have had to say that every pouch addressed to her, and every letter addressed to her, should come to her, untouched. This one letter justified everything she and Clementa were doing at this table.

  She handed Clementa the letter. “Read this.”

  Clementa did. “By your reaction, I assume you have been waiting to hear from these people.”

  “Yes.” It was time to tell Clementa the whole story. “It’s from the shovel-men.”

  Clementa’s eyes widened. “They want you to support them?”

  “Probably, but that’s not the point. There was a confrontation.” Tabitha knew Clementa had no love for the heretics, and she let her friend sense how much they had frightened her that night in Tiaulon. “A mob of them had surrounded us. My father, my foster sister, our whole household.” She retrieved her little satchel from under the table and pulled out one of the few things she always kept in it, the first letter the shovel-men had sent to her. “Read that one too. They think my father promised them something, but he was just trying to get us out of there alive.”

  Clementa read the heretics’ first letter, and then re-read their second letter. She moved her lips as she did so, which meant she was fixing both perfectly in her memory. Then she looked at Tabitha again, her expression cautious. “Does your father want you to talk to them?”

  “He wants me to find out what it is they think he promised.” Tabitha shook some stray wax shards off her inventory list.

  “Have they actually crossed into the Betaul Marches?”

  “Not yet.” Hopefully, not ever. “Which mail pouch are you sorting?”

  “Tiaulon.” The pouch next to Clementa had lost its shape, as most of its contents were in a pile on her other side.

  “So the heretics slipped a letter into the bag somehow.” They had probably been slipping letters into mail pouches from Tiaulon, and maybe other places, for months.

  Clementa reached back into the pouch and pulled out another handful of sealed messages, then peered inside to make sure the pouch was empty. She and Tabitha quickly sorted through the remaining letters, but no others had the heretics’ seal. “I wonder which one of your friends in Tiaulon is their contact,” Clementa sent as she finished adding the names of the senders of the remaining letters to her list.

  “It’s more likely someone’s servant.” None of the noble ladies Tabitha knew in Tiaulon had ever expressed any sympathy for the heretics. The shovel-men’s followers were mostly peasants. “Will you go and get the last pouch while I finish my list?”

  Clementa nodded, made a final notation, then slid off the long bench to get past the tight confines of the table. She disappeared around the row of tall filing cabinets and headed back toward the main room, where Magus Lobunat had his giant desk.

  Almost two weeks ago, Tabitha had asked Magus Lobunat to hold her mail pouches instead of routing them immediately to Natayl’s office, and the records-master had proven wonderfully accommodating. Even though he was sworn to serve the Eighth Circle, the portly magus knew his future lay with the Ninth, and he had promised Tabitha that he would not tell Natayl what she was doing unless Natayl directly asked him. He had further agreed to close up each pouch with its appropriate seal and ward after she had inventoried its contents. Therefore, Natayl’s magi clerks would not be able to tell that the pouches had been opened after the records room had received them, and therefore no one would suspect that Tabitha was comparing the letters that eventually came to her with a list of letters that should have come to her. So far, every letter on her lists had been given to her by the office staff, but she very much doubted that this one would have been.

  For her work, Magus Lobunat had given her space in one of the little alcoves at the far end of the main records room. The alcove was tight and utilitarian, but it was out of sight of the main room’s entrance, it did not lead into the maze of other rooms down here, and no recent or important documents were kept in this corner. The advantage of near-complete privacy was worth the hard benches.

  Mostly worth it. Tabitha stood and folded the blanket in half one more time to give her rear end slightly more cushioning.

  She went back to her list, and Clementa soon returned with the last of the three pouches that had arrived over the past two days addressed to the Lady Sorceress of Thendalia, not the Lord Sorcerer. It was from Jasinde, and the first letter Clementa pulled out was from Queen Perisca’s great-aunt, a ninety-six-year-old maga who wrote to Tabitha every single week to complain about past injustices. Clementa wrote the maga’s name on a new list.

  “Is it true,” she sent, “that the queen regent will not allow the king’s Pravelle cousins into his presence?”

  “My sources say so.” Many of those sources were the writers of the letters that Clementa was sorting. “She even has Jasinthe guardsmen for him.”

  “The Pravelles can’t be happy with that.”

  “What can they do about it? The Jasinthes are the boy king’s voice and hands.”

  Clementa had no answer. After a moment, she sent, “I understand that the Jasinthes are trying to stop the heretics from crossing over from Adelard, but that the Pravelles are interfering. Now that you have received the letter from the heretics, will you consult with the queen?”

  “No.”

  Clementa added another name to her list before asking, “Does that mean we are not telling Attarine about this letter?”

  Tabitha hesitated. “Not yet,” she finally decided. “No one else, yet, except Isabelle. She knows about the first one.” At Clementa’s noncommittal nod, Tabitha felt she had to explain further. “It’s not that I don’t trust Attarine. I trust all the Jasinthe magi who pledged to me, but …” She was not sure how to explain how she felt.

  “But you will not be representing the Jasinthe regency when you talk to the shovel-men.”

  Tabitha nodded, pleased that Clementa could cut through her confusion. “Exactly.”

  Clementa set down her quill and tapped her finger against her chin. Her short hair was thin, but it was cut stylishly and it suited her well, setting off her exquisite cheekbones and long neck. She looked the part of a top Academy student. Her intelligence and loyalty were the main reasons Tabitha had asked her to help with the inventory, but the other reason was that she actually had the time. Isabelle, Velinda, and Attarine were all taking full course loads at the Academy, but Clementa was only seven classes away from graduating. Since she had no intention of graduating and pledging before the Ninth Circle was forged, she was only taking one class every other term right now, just enough to keep her enrolled. As a result, she and Tabitha had spent a lot of time together this winter.

  “The shovel-men believe your father made them promises,” she sent after a long pause for thought, “but I wonder what they want from you. They must realize you can’t support them openly.”

  “I will not support anyone, openly or otherwise, who threatens my father. He should not have to deal with them at all. It should be a problem for the Theocracy, but the Theocracy has no idea what to do about them.” That was what Beatris and Sebastene thought.

  Clementa tapped her chin again. “Has the Theocracy asked for your help?”

  “No. All the priests I have met have been very careful to ask me for absolutely nothing.”

  “And y
ou have not received any letters from them, asking for private talks?”

  “No.” She grimaced. “But obviously, Natayl might be withholding letters like that from me.”

  “True.” Clementa paused. When her sending resumed, it was obvious that she was choosing her words carefully. “I think there may be a significant opportunity for you to influence the course of events here.”

  Tabitha looked down at her list of names and did not answer right away. She had had the same thought, but she did not know how she felt about it. Her father wanted to know what the heretics wanted from him, which really was a simple enough question for her to ask them. But he also seemed to expect her to help him keep them out of Betaul, which edged much closer to actions that sorcerers were not supposed to take.

  “What do you mean?” she finally sent, not looking up.

  Clementa answered clearly and firmly. “Sorceress Iseult tried to stop to a centuries-long civil war. You could stop one before it even truly starts.”

  The back of Tabitha’s neck prickled. Iseult had not been successful in stopping that war because the rest of the Seventh had stopped her. They had dragged Iseult back to Maze Island, back here, and forced her to forge the Bond of the Circle with them.

  But they had only been able to do that because Sorcerer Roberd had joined them. Graegor would never do anything like that to her. Even leaving aside his feelings for her, he was already using his influence with the heretics in his own country.

  But Graegor had Contare’s tacit approval. And Natayl explicitly did not approve of that approval.

  The shovel-men had already ignited a civil war in Adelard. How could she let it spread to Thendalia without trying to stop it?

  King Motthias was supposed to have ended the threat last year, when he defeated the shovel-men in open battle. He had captured and executed many of their leaders. But the heretics had regrouped, and after the king’s death, for which Tabitha was not responsible, they had started to convert Thendal peasants to their point of view at an alarming rate. Even more alarming was how many more of them were coming into Thendalia from Adelard. If the Pravelles were interfering with the Jasinthes’ attempts to stop them, maybe Tabitha should consult with the queen about what to do.