Icestorm

by Theresa Dahlheim

  The direct question made it impolite for Tabitha to remain silent. She kept her voice cordial but firm. “I told Koren I would not discuss this matter with her. Respectfully, my lady, I will not discuss it with you either.”

  Josselin considered this, then nodded. “That is clear enough,” she said calmly. “Natayl said much the same fifty years ago.”

  That was meant to hurt, and it did. “I think I should be going now,” Tabitha said stiffly, rising from her chair. “Thank you, my lady, for your time, and the tea.”

  Josselin’s expression, which had still been pleasant, even friendly, now shifted to something more distant and formal. She rose from her own place and stated, “It was my pleasure, my lady.”

  Tabitha’s neck prickled, and she felt suddenly afraid to risk alienating the elder sorceress. They should not part with bad feelings. Quickly, she reached for their mental bond, and found it easily, a small coal not quite too hot to touch. “Thank you. I really do appreciate our talks.”

  Now Josselin smiled. “You are welcome.” She gestured toward the front of the house. “My driver can take you wherever you would like to go.”

  “Thank you.” Tabitha let out an anxious breath as she followed Josselin toward the door. It was all right. Josselin was not angry. Tabitha would just pretend that the conversation about Cuan Searla had not happened. Even if the two of them were on opposite sides in that argument, they were both women, both sorceresses, and Tabitha did not think she was through needing Josselin’s advice.

  At least two more years. But probably not three.

  She flinched, and pushed the thought away. She would return now to the girls’ dormitory, and in a few hours, Natayl would send his carriage for her. He would never know about her meeting with Josselin, just like he would never know about her meeting with the shovel-men.

  Never fail to ask my permission again.

  But Natayl was a jackass, and he was stupid, and he was wrong. It did no harm to listen to the heretics, and it might do a world of good.

  She could not wait to leave.

  Chapter 11

  Tabitha gave a small sigh of relief as she stepped onto the wharf. It did not shift under her feet, which was a wonderful sensation after nine days at sea. Clementa was of like mind and was right behind Tabitha disembarking, and Maga Rollana followed her, but Isabelle lingered at the top of the ramp, talking to the pilot who had guided the ship from the open sea to the harbor. Isabelle had spent much of the voyage on deck, standing at the rail, though there was absolutely nothing to see but endless water. She said it was to sharpen her weather-sense, but she also seemed to actually enjoy it, and she had no trouble at all walking, eating, or sleeping on board. Tabitha had trouble with all three, and with the endless tedium. This past day had been the worst, as they had spent several hours moving at a slothful pace through a maze of submerged rocks. And Captain Flint had said that this was the easy way to go.

  But they were here now, and Tabitha looked forward to a hot bath, a decent meal, and good rest in a warm, quiet room. She had not managed more than one or two hours of fitful sleep each night of the voyage, and she was tired, cold, and ready for a little comfort.

  First, though, she had to talk to Marjorie.

  Cuan Searla guarded the way between the North Sea and the Central Sea, and between Thendalia on the northern continent and Telgardia on the western. It had two main deep-water harbors, one on each side of its large central peninsula, although here on the eastern side, there were no facilities for cargo and the wharves were not extensive. She could see only two other ships at anchor, neither as large as her caravel, which meant her father and the rest of the family had not yet arrived. Along the shorelines of the smaller peninsulas on the other side of the bay, dozens of colorful fishing boats bobbed in shallow water or sat on beaches, and more of them were coming in as the cloudy day waned and darkened. Hundreds of miles south, Maze Island was warming up, but on this island, it did not feel like spring yet. Although the rain had held itself back for most of the afternoon, the wind remained constant and sharp, and kept threatening to yank the hood of her woolen cloak back from her head.

  The skirt of Clementa’s cloak twisted over itself and slapped against her legs. Maga Rollana moved to help her straighten it, but Clementa shooed her away. Tabitha sensed her using telekinesis, and immediately did the same herself. Aside from the itch of her magic, holding onto her cloak this way was not much different than holding on with her hands, and it looked impressively effortless. The cloaks were all dark blue lined with grey, and over Maga Rollana’s weak protests, Tabitha had provided Isabelle and Clementa with Circle badges showing Thendalia’s raindrop. She knew perfectly well that they were not supposed to wear the badges until they were actually pledged to the Circle, but they were pledged to her, Natayl was not here, and she intended to impress her people.

  Blue and white flags rose above all four castles that protected Cuan Searla’s harbors and peninsulas, both Betaul swans and Cuan Searla six-pointed stars. The ship had passed between two of the castles on its way into the harbor, but from here, she could no longer see either of those, only the smallest of the four, which was built on a headland on one of the minor peninsulas jutting into the bay. It actually did not seem fully occupied, since she could only see one guardsman on the rampart. Just ahead of her at the end of the wharf, she saw a wide stone staircase, and descending it, she saw ten or twelve dark-cloaked figures. They were likely to be the castellan and the other local nobles of high enough rank to be given the honor of welcoming her. Fortunately Isabelle had come down the ramp by now, and she took her position behind and to the right of Tabitha while Clementa remained behind and to the left, with Maga Rollana at the back of the formation. Besides the Circle badge, Tabitha’s cloak displayed her personal sigil, a swan wearing a nine-link chain, and she had been considering which magical effect would be the most awe-inspiring for her arrival. Today, though, the wind would make things too difficult for pyrokinesis.

  The castellan was a tall old man, and when the wind blew back his hood, it revealed the thickest, blackest eyebrows Tabitha had ever seen. His head was big and square, and he looked more like a Khenroxan than a Thendal. But despite his brutish appearance, his voice was smooth and cultured. “Lady Sorceress, welcome to Cuan Searla,” he said, making an elegant bow, and all the other nobles behind him did the same, though the effect was somewhat marred by their clothes flapping and curling in the wind.

  “My gratitude, Lord Draith,” Tabitha replied with a formal nod.

  “The seas were fair and kind, my lady?”

  “As ever they could be, my lord.” Captain Flint had seemed to think so, at least.

  “It is truly the pinnacle of my tenure here to host you, my lady,” the castellan continued the pleasantries. “In all my years of service to your father the duke, I never thought to be graced with the presence of the illustrious Lady Sorceress herself. I offer my congratulations on your recent ascension.”

  “I accept them gladly, my lord.” But then Tabitha gave him a pretty frown. “Lord Natayl never visited here?”

  “Not since I have been here, my lady.” He gave her a knowing smile. “I am sure I would remember such a visit.”

  “You would, my lord,” she agreed. She considered asking if Lady Josselin had ever been his guest, but decided against it. It was too windy out here to conduct that careful a conversation. “I see that my father has not yet arrived.”

  “No, not yet, my lady,” he confirmed, “nor the new castellan. I look forward to meeting my replacement! I understand you know him well?”

  “Yes, quite well. Count Sebastene’s wife is my foster sister.” Tabitha had been the one to suggest the appointment to her father, after he had mentioned in a letter that Lord Draith had asked to retire to his estates east of Betaul. Since Marjorie was insisting on becoming a holy sister, Tabitha wanted her to have a friend close by. Her father had agreed that several minor problems could be solved by placing Sebastene and Beatri
s here, and so it was done.

  Lord Draith gave her another half-bow. “Then I look forward to meeting her as well, my lady. And now, please allow me to introduce the dignitaries of our fair island.”

  Tabitha’s memory for faces, names, heraldry, and titles had always been good. Nan had insisted on it, and her father had always taken pride in it. By now, Tabitha’s specific mental training with Magus Uchsin had honed that memory to a sharp point, and the mere dozen lords and ladies that the castellan presented did not tax her recall in the slightest. She was certain she would be able to greet each of them with precision when she encountered them later. In her turn, she introduced her magi, who seemed to impress the nobles nearly as much as she herself did. The fact that the wind only made their cloaks flutter, instead of blow inside-out like everyone else’s, was a wonderfully subtle display of their power, even better than any pyrokinesis.

  “I am sure you would like to be settled as soon as possible, my lady,” the castellan said once all the greetings were completed. “I have a sedan chair waiting to take you up to the wall, if that is your preference … ?”

  Clearly, he did not know if it would offend her more to be asked to climb the steps, or to be carried up them like an old woman. “There is no need for a chair, my lord,” she said firmly, with a gesture toward the staircase. “You may lead the way.”

  The stairs were steep and unevenly spaced. Tabitha shortened her stride rather than lengthening it to an unladylike stretch, which slowed her down, but also allowed her to reach nearly the halfway point before she had to pretend to adjust her boot buckle. No one heard her suck in a deep stream of air, her lungs heaving and her thighs aching, but Isabelle sensed her discomfort and sent, “Use telekinesis, just a little. Direct it inward, at yourself. It helps.”

  Tabitha did, even though she doubted it would work, since telekinesis itself often left her short of breath when she lifted anything too heavy. But Isabelle was right. Even though it made her neck prickle fiercely, and it felt like she was somehow lifting her legs with her chest, just that little bit of magic got Tabitha to the top of the steps without gasping, flushing, or sweating. The castellan managed the last two but not the first, and he pressed his hand to the Cuan Searla star embroidered on his tunic for a moment. Tabitha adopted an appropriately worried expression, but the old man recovered quickly, and he led her to the three carriages with their attending drivers and footmen waiting at the edge of the road. Above them towered the grey expanse of the curtain wall that surrounded the town. “The rest of the way will be smoother, my lady.”

  But Beatris had made Tabitha promise to visit Marjorie as soon as she came ashore. “My gratitude, Lord Draith,” Tabitha nodded. “However, my very first priority is my foster sister, Lady Marjorie de Louard. I must go directly to the cloister where she is …” She almost said being held, but caught her words in time. “ … staying. If you would take my magi to the castle, as well as provide a guide for me to the cloister, I would be most grateful.”

  The castellan bowed. “Of course, my lady, as you wish.” He gestured to two people in his retinue. “If it pleases you, the Plaimins could accompany you. They know the cloister well, as their daughter is one of the holy sisters there.”

  “That would be fine, my lord.” Tabitha nodded to Lord and Lady Plaimin, and the older couple eagerly dipped a bow and curtsey.

  Polite farewells ensued, and as the castellan helped Tabitha into the smallest of the three carriages, Isabelle sent, “Are you sure you don’t want us to come with you?”

  “I am sure. Marjorie might be too shy if I have other friends with me.” She settled back into the carriage seat and released her hold on her cloak, glad to finally be out of the wind. “See to the accommodations, as we discussed.”

  “We will,” Clementa assured her. They would try to arrange it so that Maga Rollana was housed in another suite, or if possible, in an entirely separate wing.

  Tabitha engaged Lord and Lady Plaimin in polite conversation as the carriage rolled through the narrow postern gate and into the town. Lord Plaimin was among the handful of lesser appointees that Lord Draith had brought with him when he had accepted the post of castellan of Cuan Searla, so the Plaimins had lived on Searla Isle for years. Tabitha learned that the wind was not nearly as bad today as it could be in the early spring, and that made her worry about the prenuptial supper that was to be held on the castle’s parade grounds. Lady Plaimin suggested several alternative locations, which passed the time until the clopping of the horses’ hooves on cobblestones softened to thumps on packed dirt. The carriage rolled to a stop.

  She was here. She would see Marjorie in just a few moments. Marjorie, the friend that Tabitha had chosen for herself. The friend that she had allowed to be locked away because of something she had done.

  “Saint Roudelle’s is such a lovely cloister,” Lady Plaimin chattered as Lord Plaimin handed her out of the carriage after Tabitha. Too much of her gums showed when she smiled. “We were so proud when our daughter was accepted here. The hospital is so luxurious. The holy sisters live simply, but every patient is treated like a king.”

  That matched Tabitha’s father’s description of the place, and what Beatris had relayed from the few short letters she had received from Marjorie over the past year. “I am glad to hear it,” Tabitha said as she followed the carriage’s footman up to the gate. It was a tall lattice door in the wrought-iron fence around the lawn in front of the building, which was three stories of grey stone with many small windows. From here, Tabitha could not see anything that looked like a chapel’s dome. Was it around back?

  “I understand your foster sister is here, my lady,” Lady Plaimin said then. “Our daughter may have mentioned her to us. What is her name?”

  Tabitha turned slowly to give the woman a cold stare. There was no possibility, none whatsoever, that Lady Plaimin did not know who Marjorie was and why she was cloistered. At the gate, only a step ahead of them, the footman yanked the bell rope, and the sudden clang was jarring. Behind her, Lord Plaimin’s eyes were wide with alarm, and he put his hand on his wife’s shoulder. “My dear,” he said, but could not manage more.

  Tabitha said nothing. Silence spoke its own language, and with every wordless second, it made its own promises. Had Lady Plaimin truly thought that Tabitha would answer this insult with courtly banter, as if she was no more than Duke Etienn’s daughter, just another playing piece on the board? Was the woman one of those who believed that tales of magic were highly exaggerated, and that the reality was nothing to fear? Or did she have an agenda, and provoking Tabitha served it? Had the castellan put her up to it? Was that why he had suggested that these two escort her?

  Lord Plaimin’s grip tightened, and Lady Plaimin blinked. Then, all at once, her cheeks went red. “That—that is,” she stammered, “I am sure that …”

  “What is your daughter’s name?” Tabitha asked quietly.

  They stood speechless. Tabitha waited, then nodded as if they had answered, and turned back to the gate. The footman was looking straight ahead, firmly uninvolved, and two holy sisters were approaching on the stone path that cut across the neatly trimmed lawn. Tabitha focused her attention on them, as if Lord and Lady Plaimin had ceased to exist. Both holy sisters wore unbleached woolen gowns, veils, and wimples, and their faces and forms were extremely thin. They seemed in no hurry, and Tabitha had grown annoyed by the time they opened the gate and the footman announced her. Together the two sisters curtseyed and chorused a greeting to her and the Plaimins, then led the way back down the path. A guardsman in a black tabard stood at a pair of tall, stout doors with elegant ironwork, which led into a broad corridor lined with portraits.

  Tabitha was aware as they walked that Lord Plaimin was trying to get her attention, but she ignored him, and fortunately he was not stupid enough to touch her. As they reached an open foyer at the corridor’s end, three more holy sisters and a priest emerged from an adjoining chamber. These women were just as thin as the first two, with
the same clothing and pinched faces, while the priest had a paunch that made him look like an innkeeper. The old woman at the front of the group wore a black stole over her shoulders and a black ribbon over her veil, signifying her status as the cloister’s Elder Mother. The priest bowed, the sisters curtseyed, and the Elder Mother said, “Welcome to Saint Roudelle’s, Lady Sorceress.”

  She spoke in Mazespaak. Hearing it was a little startling, since Tabitha and her friends had all reverted to Thendalian almost before their ship had left Natayl’s pier. Was the Elder Mother trying to impress Tabitha? Or insult her, by implying that Tabitha no longer cared to speak her native language? “I am pleased to be here, Elder Mother,” Tabitha replied in Thendalian.

  The Elder Mother inclined her head, and when she spoke again, it was in Thendalian. “This is Elder Edouard,” she said, indicating the priest, who bowed. “He is in charge of services at our chapel.”

  “Elder,” Tabitha nodded.

  “My Lady Sorceress.” His voice was high, almost squeaky. “You are everything they say. A hundred welcomes to our little isle.”

  “I am pleased to be here,” Tabitha repeated. Everything they say? Was there another insult hiding in those words? What did they say about her?

  “Lord and Lady Plaimin.” The Elder Mother was looking past Tabitha. “It is lovely to see you. Your daughter’s fever has broken, and she is doing better now. Would you like to see her?” She gestured toward the corridor on the right.

  “Yes, Mother Larari,” Lady Plaimin said hurriedly.

  “I will escort them through the hospital,” Elder Edouard offered, and gave Tabitha another bow, holding his right hand in the sign of the Godcircle. “Your humble servant, my lady.”