Icestorm

by Theresa Dahlheim

  “Will you make another trip, to deliver the baby?” her father asked. “If she is pregnant?”

  “Yes, of course. And I will ask her about … about what she knows. About that night.” She shook her head. “But she did not do it. She … she never would have let Marjorie take the blame.”

  Her father nodded again. “But if she did commit the murder,” he said gravely, “and if she is pregnant, then of course waiting for the birth would be fitting.”

  “Yes.” Pregnant. Jenevive might be pregnant. And Pamela was married now, and Beatris was married, and they might be having children soon too.

  But Tabitha herself never would. Did that bother her?

  She had never thought about it, not quite, not really. She had always simply assumed that she would, since that was what was required of her. Now that she knew she could not, did she actually want to have children?

  Some sorcerers could father children. Daxod’s wife had died in childbirth, and he blamed Borjhul for it, though Tabitha could not remember why. Natayl had no children, and none of the other sorcerers of the Eighth did either. It was the first such Circle. In the Seventh, Lord Diero and Lord Roberd had both had sons …

  Graegor was Roberd’s descendant. Graegor was a Torchanes, and all the Torchanes sorcerers had had children. Did it bother her that she could not give him children?

  There had been two pregnant women at the feast tonight. Tabitha remembered how bloated and uncomfortable they looked. She did not regret missing that, or the constant weariness or even illness that accompanied it. There were several small children running around the ballroom, and Tabitha certainly did not want to be the one to have to chase them. Of course, that was what nannies were for.

  She wondered how Josselin felt about it. She would probably say that it freed her to be a mother to all who needed one, or some such offhand wisdom. Lady Malaya was called the Mother of Toland, though Tabitha had never met anyone less motherly. She had no idea how Lady Serafina might feel.

  Her father made a gesture to encompass the entire island, and Tabitha blinked out of her reverie. “Lord Draith has done well here. The town has grown.”

  The Khenroxans are still here. She had seen plenty of them among the servants and workmen, more than she had expected after fifty years under the Betaul banner. “I am sure that Count Sebastene will do just as well, if not better.”

  “I am sure of that too, but he is anxious.”

  “About what?”

  “The Khenroxans. The change in the Circle might make them bold. Lord Draith did mention that he is seeing more of their ships come through.” He glanced around the ballroom with some satisfaction. “They have not tried to retake Cuan Searla for twenty-five years.”

  “They know better.”

  “Well, it seems Lady Josselin is the one who keeps them pursuing a diplomatic solution.”

  “She did not actually state that to me,” Tabitha said.

  “But she asked you about negotiating. If she knows what they would give, then she is discussing it with them. If she is discussing it with them, and they have not attacked for the last generation, then that is diplomacy.”

  Tabitha took a sip from her goblet and set it carefully down on the condensation ring it had already formed on the small table. “She should not have asked me about it.” It still stung that Josselin had compared her to Natayl.

  Her father shrugged. “The real question is, will Lady Koren be able to keep the Khenroxans in line, as Lady Josselin has? From what you know of her, what do you think? Does she even want to keep them in line?”

  How to answer? She should not let her personal dislike come through. This was a political question. “She approached me, just once, about Cuan Searla. I told her I would not discuss it, and she never asked again.”

  “It’s not very important to her, then?”

  “I am sure it is. But she did not want to argue with me, at least not then.” She paused to consider. “I believe she is of Lady Josselin’s mind in preferring diplomacy. But she does not have the force of personality that Lady Josselin has.”

  “So her own people may test her resolve by attacking here, once Lady Josselin is gone?”

  “Perhaps,” she had to admit.

  The duke absorbed that for a moment before saying, “What would you do, in that event?”

  “Of course I would discuss it with her. I would try to put some steel in her spine. She could stop an attack if she truly wanted to.”

  “Lord Natayl did not stop my grandfather from taking Cuan Searla in the first place. And Lady Josselin did not help her people when they tried to take it back.” His gaze was steady. “Their vows to the Circle prevented them. Would your vows prevent you from helping us, if the Khenroxans attacked here?”

  “No, Father.” She had taken no vows yet. Their Circle was not forged. She could not imagine any loyalty stronger than what she felt for her family.

  He accepted that with no more than a nod. “I will tell Sebastene. I will also tell him, though, to remain on guard, much more so than Lord Draith did.”

  “That means not many trips back home for them, if any,” Tabitha said with regret. “Beatris will miss Pamela.”

  “Pamela and Daniel can visit them here,” her father said, “but you are right. They will not be able to travel as much as they like.”

  “They do seem to enjoy it.” This was more comfortable to talk about than the possibility of war with Khenroxa. “Beatris mentioned that before they arrived here, they were doing something at the Cape.”

  “They were visiting the observatory there to see Topasia’s transit.”

  Tabitha rolled her eyes. “Topasia transits nearly every week. We have all seen it.”

  “Apparently this observatory’s telescope has special filters to cut the glare and allow much clearer viewing. They said they could see the planet’s equatorial band.”

  Tabitha smiled tolerantly. “Lord Sebastene and his hobbies.”

  Her father tilted his head at her. “They were both excited about it. You should have heard them when they were telling me about it. Beatris knows almost as much about it as he does.”

  “She is very smart,” Tabitha said. “I believe I said that already.”

  “They suit each other very well. Do you know how rare that is?”

  “Forgive me, Father, but I must say that they are both rather odd.”

  “So what about you and your young sorcerer? Do you suit each other well?”

  She felt her cheeks warming. “Of course. We would hardly be a couple otherwise.” She had never told him about Natayl forcibly bonding her to Graegor. It would have only upset him.

  “Do you share interests, apart from magic?”

  “There is nothing more important than magic,” she said, fingering the pearls on her bracelet.

  He heaved a frustrated sigh. “Tabitha, I want to know what he is like.”

  “I have written of him, Father.”

  “You have not written much,” he pointed out. “You have said that he is ‘nice’.”

  “He is.”

  “Too nice?”

  “I don’t know what that means.” She suspected that it was an oblique way of asking about the nature of their romance, which of course she would never answer.

  Except, she did want him to believe that she was still a virgin. She very much wanted him to believe she was still pure.

  He interrupted her thoughts. “Does he know that you are meeting with these heretics?” Her hesitation was answer enough to that question, and he said, “I see.”

  “Father, this is a Thendal matter. I can’t involve him in such, or even inform him of such.”

  “But he himself is involved with stopping the heretics in Telgardia, which is a Telgard matter, but he told you anyway.” He tilted his head at her. “You don’t seem to trust him as much as he trusts you.”

  “Of course I trust him. And I will tell him. But right now there is nothing to tell. I have not spoken with them yet.” Sh
e needed him to drop this line of questioning. “Father, please.”

  He made a conciliatory gesture and returned his gaze to the ballroom floor. The music was slowing to a more stately pace with more violins, and the servingmen were circulating with chocolate liqueurs. Chocolate still reminded Tabitha of Nicolas, but she could not tell her father why she no longer enjoyed it, so she took the tiny cup-shaped candy from the servingman’s tray when it was offered. It started to melt in her hand immediately, and she remembered a trick that Maga Rollana had taught her.

  But she popped the candy into her mouth instead of trying to chill it. She was relaxed, right now. She did not want to feel the prickling of icy needles at her neck.

  “Forgive me,” her father said unexpectedly. When she looked at him, he met her eyes for a moment before looking back toward the dancing. “I was judging you as if you and Graegor were an ordinary couple. You are right to be discreet about the heretics, especially with another sorcerer. He should be more so with you. He does not know much you tell me, does he?”

  “No.” She did not want her father to think Graegor was stupid and naïve. “But I don’t know how much he tells his family, or his king, and I don’t know how much he might not be telling me. The main reason I did not tell him about this meeting is that he is very protective, and he would be concerned about my safety. I don’t want him to worry.”

  “Your safety?” That amused him. “That is protective, to worry about a sorceress’s safety.”

  “He has reason to worry,” she snapped. “We were attacked by rogue magi twice. They had planned it very carefully both times. Both times we could have died.”

  Her father frowned. “That’s not what you said at the time. Either time.” His tone suggested that she must be exaggerating.

  She could not blame him. She had told him after the Hippodrome attack that she had not been in real danger. And after the fox-den attack, her letter had described the purge and the executions, but it had not included much detail about what had actually happened to her. “I was stabbed, Father.”

  He frowned, as if he had not heard her correctly. “What?”

  “I told you about the blades coming down from the ceiling and the crossbow bolts coming out of the wall. Graegor and I both dropped to the floor, and our magic held the blades up to keep them from falling on us. But there was a gap between our shield and the floor. One of the rogues pushed a spear into the gap and stabbed me in the arm.” She held it out and put her fingers on her inner elbow. There was no scar, of course. Only in her mind.

  “But how?” her father murmured in disbelief. “Nothing can hurt you.”

  “If Graegor had not been there, I don’t know what might have happened.”

  “Surely not.”

  “Father, I froze. Both times! I just dropped to the ground. I did nothing.”

  “Your magic …”

  “I did not do anything to tell my magic what to do, it just did what it does to protect me.” It was true. It was painful to admit, but Natayl was right. She had not fought. She had shielded herself, but as Natayl had told her, she had not learned that. “I froze,” she said again, softly. She was not sure why she was telling her father this. She wanted him to think she was strong. “Graegor raised earth magic to fight them, but I just froze.”

  Her father was staring at her in shock, but then he blinked, and his face softened. “Tabitha.” His voice was quiet, comforting. “Of course you froze. You are not a warrior. You were not raised a warrior. You were never trained to react quickly to danger. You never knew danger, or any privation.”

  She fidgeted with a fold of her skirt and said nothing.

  “Nine out of every ten people in the entire world would have reacted exactly as you did. Women and men. There is no shame in it.”

  “But I am a sorceress,” she murmured.

  “And you defended yourself.”

  She shivered. She had not been able to defend herself against Natayl’s pain magic. But she could not tell her father about that. “The rogue magi will come after me again. I know they will. I can’t freeze like that again.”

  “Then you need training.”

  “Natayl would never teach me to fight.” She had never wanted to learn to fight. She would not want to learn from him in any case. He would not teach her what to do against him. “Girls don’t fight, he said. He said it’s not fitting.”

  “And I would agree with him, except in the case of a sorceress. You are no longer one of those who needs to be protected. You are now a protector, of yourself and others.”

  Tabitha almost laughed. Protect others. She remembered Clementa stepping in front of her when Borjhul had interrupted their meeting. Clementa had been ready to protect her. She could not tell her father that, either. “I am not a knight.”

  “But you could be, in your heart.”

  He was serious. Tabitha seldom thought about the fact that her father was a knight. She had never thought about what that meant to him. She realized that he wanted her to have that sense of honor, that assurance of righteousness.

  But I don’t. I am a coward.

  I am a murderous whore.

  She winced. Her father frowned in concern, and she said, “I … I don’t know how to start. I need training, like you said. To react quickly. But only another sorcerer could help me, and Natayl will not.”

  “Graegor?”

  She shook her head immediately. “I don’t want to fight with him. Not like that. I can’t ask him to try to hurt me.”

  He sat in thought for a moment before saying, “It’s your mind that needs training. You would not be fighting with a sword, but with your magic. Your mind. I know you were never one for card or board games, but those can be a start, if you play them fast enough. Fast mental games can teach you strategic and tactical thinking. And your friends can help you with that.”

  That did not sound like fun. But it was not supposed to be fun. “That could be a start,” she allowed.

  “What about Lady Josselin? Would she train you to fight with magic, if you asked her?”

  Tabitha considered it. If Josselin agreed to such a thing, she might set Tabitha and Koren against each other in training exercises. That had the potential to be immensely satisfying or completely humiliating. But, she remembered, Josselin had forbidden Koren from fighting Ferogin, back at the Solstice party. “I don’t think so.”

  “Why not?”

  “She … she walks a fine line when she tries to help me. Natayl sees it as poaching.”

  “So he does not want to do his job, but does not want anyone else to do it either.”

  Her father’s heavy sarcasm was soothing, which was strange, but it made her smile at him. “Yes.”

  He muttered a word that she was not supposed to know, and finished the ale in his mug. “You were born the sorceress. You are the sorceress, no matter what he wants or does. So you will learn what you need to learn in spite of him.”

  He believed in her. Graegor believed in her. She should not let Natayl prove them wrong.

  “Enough of Natayl,” her father said once the servingman had refilled his mug and had withdrawn. “What of the others, since your last letter? Anything new and interesting?”

  “Let me think.” He never wanted mere gossip or hearsay, only information she was reasonably certain was true and important. This was a duke was asking the sorceress to tell him about rival powers, not a father asking his daughter to tell him about her peers. “I did tell you that Ilene is half Pask, yes?”

  “Yes, and I asked you to find out how that came to be.”

  “Her mother was kidnapped in a raid as a child and made a slave. I don’t know what her mother’s feelings are now, whether she sympathizes with the Pask or not. I know I told you that she is a maga and lives on Maze Island with Ilene.”

  Her father nodded in assent. “Are Ilene and the Aedseli sorcerer still a couple?”

  “Yes. The Medean magi are uncomfortable with it, but the Aedseli magi don’t seem conc
erned.” That was Isabelle’s assessment, at least.

  He nodded again. “And your magi? Have they become accustomed to your romance with Lord Graegor?”

  “My close friends accept it. The others say nothing about it.” She wished he would stop mentioning it. “I thought you might find this interesting. Lord Pascin seems concerned about overfishing in the archipelago.”

  “Concerned in what way?”

  “He wants Natayl to give the fishermen lower quotas, but I have not learned why. Fishing is one of his hobbies, though. He has a house on the eastern shore of Maze Island.”

  “Just the Circle islands?” her father asked. “Or in the outer archipelago too?”

  “I don’t know. I will find out.”

  “All right. What else?”

  “Lord Ferogin.” She reminded herself again that she should not hint at her personal dislike. “I have learned that he does not have water magic or botany magic as I do.”

  “Botany magic?”

  “It means he can’t promote growth in plants, or cure them of blights.” She stopped herself from commenting on Ferogin’s spellcasting abilities. She really did not want her father to know how she had gotten that charm.

  “And he still agrees with Lord Pascin on most matters?”

  “I would say so, yes.”

  “Including not stopping the shovel-men?”

  “It appears so, at least for now.” She tried to remember more precisely what Ferogin had said during their conversation over the charm. “But he does not want the chaos in Adelard to continue, because it makes it easier for the rogue magi to operate. The rogue magi worry him more than the heretics do. He thinks that only the king can stop the heretics.”

  Her father raised his eyebrows at this and took a thoughtful drink. “That’s interesting.”

  “What do you think?”

  “Do I think that the Adelard king can stop the heretics? No. I think it’s beyond anyone’s but a sorcerer’s control. If Lord Ferogin truly thinks otherwise, then he knows something I don’t.”

  “You believe Ferogin could stop the heretics, if he wanted to?”

  “You believe you can,” he said. And the way he said it meant that he believed she could too. “So Lord Ferogin probably could as well. Lord Graegor is making progress with those ‘ringless’ heretics in Telgardia.”