Icestorm

by Theresa Dahlheim

  Graegor stayed at the top of the ramp and looked left and right for a clue to Contare’s surprise. It would be a Telgard ship, most likely. Nearly all of the ships here were passenger vessels. If Audrey was here, he’d have a hard time finding her in this chaos. He was about to call to Contare to ask for a hint when a gust of wind spread out a green flag flying from the mainmast of a galleon. It bore a silver wolf, the heraldic beast of the royal house of Carhlaan.

  Was Darc here? The prince’s letters had been sporadic since he’d taken up his naval duties a few months ago, but he’d been pretty sure that his patrol would stay west of the archipelago. He wanted to visit Maze Island, and he and his brother Adlai kept asking the king to allow it, but the answer was always no.

  So did that mean Darc wasn’t here? Was the Carhlaan galleon not the surprise?

  Graegor hurried down the ramp from the street to the wharf, weaving between wagons and carriages, and reached the slip as two dockworkers strained to turn a crank bigger than they were to pull the galleon the rest of the way in. Many sailors were standing at the rail, pointing excitedly as they looked out toward the city, but Graegor did not see Darc as he scanned the line of faces. Maybe he wasn’t allowed to stand around and gawk. He was one of four young nobles on board, each a signalman in charge of a watch of a dozen or so sailors. The dukes, counts, and barons with holdings along Telgardia’s east coast usually sent their sons to sea for a year or two to patrol for pirates, and the king was no exception, particularly since the Carhlaans’ ancestral lands were actually on the westernmost of the archipelago’s islands.

  Which was a couple hundred miles away, so why was this ship here?

  As Graegor watched, several sailors leaped the rail and dragged ropes to the dock, and others set about removing a pace-wide section of the rail for the gangplank. They ran it out, but no one came down yet; instead someone shouted something, and all the sailors turned back to the deck and ran in different directions, eventually seeming to form lines. Moments later, sailors started coming down the gangplank in twos and threes, wide-eyed and chattering, securing papers or coin pouches into their pockets.

  Then Graegor heard his name shouted, and he looked back up at the ship. It was Darc, and Graegor’s eyes had passed over him more than once without realizing it. He’d grown a beard and his hair was cut spike-short, making him look almost like a Thendal. His face was lit with excitement as he leaned over the rail and bellowed, “Hello-hallo-hullo!”

  “Hello-hallo-hullo!” Graegor shouted back. At the bottom of the gangplank, they met as they had parted last year, with a thumb-lock handclasp and a shoulder-to-shoulder thump. It crossed Graegor’s mind that as ordinary as this was between friends and relatives back home, he hadn’t actually greeted anyone this way for months. It was never done among magi. “I can’t believe you’re here!”

  “I can’t either,” Darc grinned. He wore sailor garb overlaid by a dark green vest with a grey rank insignia on the shoulder. “Once we got to Port Couluar, I somehow convinced the captain to make a side trip. Breon’s blood, man, how are you?”

  “Good! How’s the duty been so far?”

  “Well, I’ve stopped throwing up, so not so bad anymore. How’s Lord Contare been?”

  “Just fine.” Graegor gestured to indicate the harbor, and his arm swatted another sailor coming down the plank. “Sorry!” he called, but the sailor just kept moving, which was a relief. It was nice to be seen as a magus talking to a sailor, rather than a sorcerer talking to a prince. “He told me to come down here.”

  “Shit, I wanted it to be a surprise!”

  “It was. He didn’t say it was you.”

  “But he knew.”

  “Of course he knew.” Suddenly Graegor realized something. “You’re speaking Mazespaak!”

  Darc grinned again. “How’s the accent?”

  “Horrible.”

  The grin fell from Darc’s face. “Are you serious? Tell me you’re not serious. Is the accent horrible?”

  “It’s fine. You never told me you’d started learning!”

  “I wish I’d learned it years ago. The words are so much easier to spell.”

  “They are?”

  “They’re spelled like they sound. But really, your magi girls won’t laugh at my accent?”

  Graegor rolled his eyes. “Hardly. So how’d you convince your captain to come here?”

  “Now that I know Lord Contare knew about it, I think he must have made some promises about my safety. Like chasing pirates on the open sea is safe?—But let’s go see the captain.”

  On deck, short lines of sailors stood waiting their turns in front of the signalmen and other officers, who were checking papers and sealing them. No one seemed to realize who Graegor was. “My watch was off duty when we reached the locks,” Darc explained as they wove their way astern, “so I got them all signed and stamped while we were waiting, and all I had to do when we docked was nod them out. This way, through here.”

  A passage led to a door standing open, and soon Darc was introducing Graegor to the galleon’s captain and his first mate. They were both tall and middle-aged with bony faces, just like Contare’s First Minister. And indeed, in the course of the small talk, they revealed that the two of them were brothers, and Lord Henrey was their cousin, whom they hoped to see during their time ashore. For the occasion, Contare had granted his sponsorship for all the ship’s officers and crew, which meant that the wait at the locks had only been about half as long as most ships endured to get through the checkpoint. It also meant that Contare—and, by extension, Graegor—was responsible if anyone on board caused any trouble.

  “Lord Sorcerer,” the captain said gravely, “I need to formally ask you to accept responsibility for protecting His Highness during his days ashore.”

  Anxiety suddenly squeezed Graegor’s stomach. Tomorrow night. Darc did not fit into those plans at all. But he couldn’t simply entrust the prince to his magi friends and call it solved. “I accept that responsibility, Captain,” he said with a nod, hoping he hadn’t hesitated noticeably. “He will stay with me at Lord Contare’s house here in the city. How long will you be in port?”

  “Three days only, my lord.” The captain looked at Darc. “I expect you back before sunrise on Mansday, Signalman.”

  “Yes, sir.” Darc nodded to each of them. “I will collect my seabag and return.”

  After he left the cabin, the captain gave Graegor another level look. It was likely that he knew Lord Contare well and had no crippling fear of sorcerers. “His Highness manipulated circumstances to bring us here, my lord,” he said frankly. “I secured permission from His Majesty and from Lord Contare to allow it, but only with the understanding that you, my lord, will see to his safety at all times. That includes precautions against his presence here becoming well known.”

  Don’t tell anyone. “I understand, Captain.” He would have to ask Contare if that meant he couldn’t tell Tabitha.

  Darc quickly returned with a big canvas bag over one shoulder and a small one over the other. Down on the wharf, Graegor took Darc’s smaller bag from him and said, “I can have a carriage meet us if you want.”

  Darc shook his head. “God, no. I want to walk. For some distance, without the thing I’m walking on tossing me sideways every other step.” He made a grand gesture. “Lead the way.”

  “So what excuse did you give your captain to come here?” Graegor asked again as they shouldered their way past sailors and dockworkers.

  Darc took a few steps out of the way of a cart. “We stopped in Tillhafen to resupply, and to pay respects to my great-uncle. He’s the duke there. I … well, I kept my ears open for opportunities to run some sort of errand for him that would bring us here.”

  Graegor remembered Darc mentioning in one of his letters that his great-uncle had become “easy to sway” in his old age. “And what opportunity presented itself?”

  “A ship bound for Port Couluar had to leave before another ship arrived with a load of hem
p.” Darc affected a very innocent tone. “Of course the shipyard at Port Couluar absolutely needs hemp, so when the other ship did arrive, I suggested to my great-uncle that he ask us to make the final delivery.”

  Graegor glanced back at the war galleon. “So where did you put it?”

  “It fit in the hold.” Darc tilted his hand back and forth. “More or less. Once we got to Port Couluar, it was easy to find someone important there who wanted something delivered here.” His grin was sardonic. “I actually thought I’d gotten away with something, but since Lord Contare knew I was coming, the captain must have gone to see one of the magi stationed there.”

  Graegor grinned back. “You went to a lot of trouble to make sure you’d be here for Solstice.”

  “Of course I did. Solstice on Maze Island?” His gesture encompassed the city as they climbed the stone ramp from the wharf. “Is it true that you lock up the children on festival nights so they won’t see all the debauchery in the streets?”

  “Um … yes.” It was true that on Solstice night, the children tended to stay at the cloisters, or the pagan equivalent of cloisters. His home village had a similar tradition, for the smallest children, for a similar reason—to allow the parents to have a good time. But he’d heard that it was wilder here and much more dangerous, with everyone’s inhibitions so low. “Not many children live here anyway.”

  “Good. I myself am ready for some debauchery.”

  “Your whole ship is, I think,” Graegor said, pointing at a group of sailors in green tunics filling their cups at a vendor’s keg. Then he remembered something from Darc’s letters. “What about the other signalmen? The other nobles training with you. Was I supposed to invite them to stay with us?”

  Darc shook his head. “Vorderfel has some relatives here, he said, and the others were going with him. But they’ll keep quiet about my being here.”

  “Will all of them?” Graegor gestured toward the sailors again.

  Darc’s expression turned grim. “Yes. Captain hung the cook’s mate after our second port, for blabbing to a vendor in the market.”

  Graegor only grunted for answer, to hide his shock. A hanging? Wasn’t that paranoid?

  Maybe for that second port. But not for here. King Motthias died here.

  “I’m sorry,” Darc said suddenly. “I should have asked you first if it was all right to come.”

  “Of course it is,” Graegor said immediately. “I haven’t seen you for a year! I’m glad you found a way.” Then he snorted. “But your father’s right to worry.”

  “Still, I might not need to be stuck to your side the entire three days.” Darc lifted his eyebrows. “Could Lady Koren take a turn at keeping me ‘safe’?”

  This had interesting possibilities. “You want to meet her?”

  “Oh, yes. Very much, yes.” They separated to pass a trio of strolling ladies, and on the other side, Darc hastened to add, “Of course, I look forward to meeting Lady Tabitha as well.”

  “If Contare thinks it’s all right for anyone else to know you’re here.”

  When they arrived at Contare’s townhouse, the front door opened before they reached the porch, and Richard and the other servants waiting behind him had obviously been told about their guest. Greetings were exchanged in the foyer, bags were whisked away upstairs, and Richard gestured toward the parlor. “I’ll have Fiona bring some iced tea, my lords.”

  Contare was getting up from his chair in the parlor when they went in. Graegor thought he looked better than he had this morning, and assumed the headache must have passed. But when Darc saw the old man, he stopped short. “Lord Sorcerer,” he said smoothly, recovering. “Thank you for your hospitality. You look well.”

  “I don’t, though,” Contare said drily as he returned Darc’s short bow and handclasp. “I think I have aged more than a year to your eyes, your Highness?—Please, take a seat. You look well. I expected livid sunburns.”

  “You weren’t wrong, my lord.” Darc tugged his collar to show a sharp line between darker and paler skin. “Red turns brown if you insist on it long enough.”

  “The captain’s not coddling you, then.”

  Darc laughed at that, then smiled up at Fiona and thanked her as he took an icy glass from her tray. Graegor spoke aloud to catch Contare’s attention at the natural pause. “Sir? The captain told me to take ‘reasonable precautions’ against letting people know that Darc is here. Does that mean I can’t tell my friends?”

  “I’m pretty sure they’ll figure it out anyway,” Contare said. “Tell Jeff and the others, but it shouldn’t spread further. Make sure they understand that.”

  Graegor nodded. “And Tabitha?”

  To his relief, Contare said, “The same. Strictly speaking, I should tell Lord Natayl that his Highness is here, but I don’t think I will.”

  “Thank you, sir. Tabitha won’t tell him either.” Graegor didn’t like Natayl himself, but he worried sometimes about how much Tabitha seemed to despise him.

  “And Lady Koren?” Darc asked Contare hopefully.

  Contare raised an eyebrow, but only said, “Both the Khenroxan sorceresses will be informed. We’ll bring you along when we see them tomorrow morning at the basilica service.”

  Darc grinned eagerly as he nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  Graegor had forgotten about the basilica service. Tabitha and Natayl were attending a private service at one of the cloisters and would not be there, but Tabitha did know that Koren was going to be there, right? He had told her about this a while ago. She couldn’t get upset about him seeing Koren at the basilica. Could she?

  Koren is like my sister. Tabitha needed to understand that.

  “To everyone else,” Contare was saying, “we’ll pretend you’re a minor lord from Lakeland who knew Graegor back home. Just don’t speak Telgardian, since your coastal accent will betray you to those with an ear for that.” Then he gave an approving nod. “By the way, your Mazespaak is quite good.”

  Graegor decided that he should not wait any longer to tell Tabitha, and as Contare and Darc continued to talk, he reached for the silvery threads of their bond. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning,” she sent, and she seemed to be in a good mood. She had become a bit more … volatile since returning from her trip.

  “How are you?” He wished he had an endearment for her, like “my love”, or “sweetheart”, but he hadn’t found one that felt right or easy or natural.

  “I am fine. I am still at the breakfast at the dormitory.”

  “Bidding the graduates farewell?”

  “Yes. For once I need to compliment the cooks. They actually rose to the occasion.”

  “It sounds nice.”

  “Yes. How are you?”

  “I’m actually still recovering from a surprise. Contare and I have an unexpected visitor.”

  “Indeed? Who is it?”

  “Prince Darcius. He’s serving in his father’s navy, and he managed to convince his captain to come here for the Solstice.”

  Now he had her full attention. “Truly? And you did not know he was coming?”

  “Contare didn’t tell me until today. We’re at the townhouse. Would you like to join us?”

  “Of course. It’s not every day that even sorcerers meet royalty. I will bring my ladies.”

  How could he best phrase this? “Actually, Contare promised the king that he wouldn’t tell people that the prince is here. He said I could tell you, but I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to tell anyone else. Not even Natayl.”

  Her enthusiasm had cooled, but his last three words seemed to keep her from becoming actually upset. “I suppose that makes sense,” she allowed after a moment. “In that case, I will join you once we are finished here.”

  He agreed, and she dropped the link first like she always did. When he became aware of his surroundings again, he saw that both Darc and Contare were looking at him. “Lady Tabitha will be here in a short while,” he said.

  “Very good,” Contare n
odded. “We were just talking about last year’s summer Solstice in Chrenste.”

  “I was hoping to have slightly more freedom of movement this year,” Darc added, holding his finger and thumb a tiny distance apart.

  “Me too,” Graegor said, looking at Contare. The celebrations in Chrenste had been lavish and grand, but the number of events they’d all been required to attend had been stifling.

  “Slightly,” Contare granted, smiling. “Spreading out the festival formalities over the course of a week helps keep them tolerable.”

  “Is that why it’s done that way?” Darc asked curiously.

  “It’s just a side benefit. In Medea, all holidays last a week, and Lady Serafina’s office is in charge of festivals here.”

  Darc’s curiosity intensified. “So is Lady Serafina the one who blesses the Solstice?”

  Contare’s eyebrow quirked up. “In the past, yes. Lady Ilene will be taking over that duty this year, with Lord Arundel.”

  “Ah.” Darc threw a glance at Graegor, but fortunately let the subject drop when he turned back to Contare. “There’s a traditional Medean dish for Solstice that I’ve always wanted to try. I can’t remember what it’s called …”

  “Chardieira,” Contare nodded.

  “It’s really good,” Graegor said enthusiastically. “The spice they use is a lot like what we have in Lakeland for our venison dish. Personally I think ours is better.”

  “But did you celebrate for an entire week in Lakeland?” Darc asked. “I think the Medeans win that one.”