Icestorm

by Theresa Dahlheim

  Darc got in, Stan closed the carriage door, and soon they were moving again. The sky-shade was tilted back from the roof and both windows were open, letting in pockets of light and air. The seats were not wide, and Graegor could feel the line of Tabitha’s body against his, more so when he settled his arm along the seat back behind her shoulders. Darc had not done the same with Koren, instead leaning slightly forward with his elbows on his knees to give her appropriate elbow room. He seemed about to start the small talk when suddenly Koren spoke. “Your dress is very beautiful, Tabitha.

  “Thank you,” Tabitha nodded. “I can’t tell you how pleased I am that my designer from Tiaulon, Mistress Agnes, agreed to move to Maze Island just for me. She is exquisitely talented.”

  “Yes,” Koren agreed.

  “Your dress is such a nice color. Who is your designer?”

  Graegor bit his lip, because when Tabitha complimented a dress’s color, it meant she had nothing good to say about its style. Fortunately Koren didn’t seem to know that. “Mistress Rebecca,” she replied.

  “Oh, of course, Lady Josselin’s seamstress. Her work has been good for decades.”

  “Yes,” Koren agreed. She sat a little forward, and a square of sunlight fell across her chest. “I want to thank you for inviting me tonight. ‘Tis very gracious.”

  Graegor knew that there was absolutely no hidden meaning behind Koren’s words. But they came out stiffly, as if she had rehearsed them—which she probably had—and Tabitha reacted instantly to the tone. Her shoulders tensed, and her silver gen sealed tight around her mind, blocking him out. “Think nothing of it at all.” Eyes, face, voice, everything had gone cold.

  Koren was startled, and she sat back and shut her mouth. After a quick glance at her, Darc turned to Tabitha and said, “My lady, why don’t you tell us more about the choral review? How many performers should we expect to see?”

  Tabitha smiled at him. “Quite a few, your Highness. No soloists, of course, but the arrangements include everything from trios to full choirs. I promise you will not be disappointed.”

  Darc said something flattering about the choir at the basilica service that morning, and Tabitha described one of the performing choirs she had heard before, and eventually Graegor found an opening for a comment of his own. Despite Darc’s two or three attempts to pull Koren into the general conversation, she remained silent, her face in shadow and her mind completely shielded. It bothered Graegor enough that when he was handing Tabitha down from the carriage in front of the theater, he sent, “She didn’t mean to offend you.”

  Tabitha didn’t look at him. “How do you know what she meant?”

  “She never means to offend anyone. She’s just awkward sometimes. Please don’t be upset.”

  “I am not upset.” She took his arm and smiled at the theater attendant holding the door open for them.

  Up in the box seats, Graegor noticed that Darc made sure that Koren didn’t sit next to Tabitha, in much the same way that Graegor had made sure that Darc didn’t sit next to Jeff at the races. The separation worked here too, and Graegor was relieved to see Koren talking to Darc between performances, even if she didn’t mingle much with the other people in their box during the long intermission. Tabitha, of course, did, and Graegor stood at her side as usual, smiling and nodding. He didn’t mind. He would smile and nod as much as necessary to keep her happy tonight. He would do anything necessary to keep her happy tonight.

  At long last, the final performers were announced. It was a trio of black-clad, middle-aged Adelard women, without any instrument accompaniment, and they were good—good enough that Graegor was actually listening instead of just enduring. Each new song was more beautiful than the last, and each round of applause was louder. When they took their bows, Graegor stood up to clap as everyone else in the theater did the same. Shouts for an encore rose from the floor, but the trio simply took another bow and walked off the stage, and the curtain floated down.

  As the applause built toward a thunderous din, Graegor realized that Tabitha wasn’t standing. Even as he turned to look at her, he remembered that she believed that standing ovations lacked dignity. Should he sit back down? Darc and Koren were both standing. Everyone was standing, even the other Thendals in their box—except now some were resuming their seats, because Tabitha hadn’t left hers.

  She was a trained singer, so of course she would be difficult to please. But had she been mentally criticizing all the performances?—She was irritated, he realized. He felt it like a faint itch along their bond. “Tabitha?” he sent. “You didn’t like it?”

  She shrugged, just slightly. “I did. A standing ovation is excessive, is all.” Her eyes flicked to where Darc and Koren stood and clapped.

  “Even—” Graegor stopped. It was absolutely not worth an argument. He couldn’t understand how the Adelard trio’s singing had failed to affect her, but it had. So sit down and move past it.

  He moved past it with an intense focus on not becoming annoyed by how long Tabitha stayed in her seat while the theater emptied. Chatting with each person in their box who paused to take their leave of her, she prolonged her stay even more than usual, and when the four of them finally reached the theater’s wide porch to meet the carriage, Darc took a deep breath of the evening air in obvious relief.

  Tabitha smiled at him. “Are you quite all right, your Highness?”

  “Yes, my lady. It was a little stuffy in the building.” He glanced at Koren beside him, then added, “All things considered, I prefer being outside.”

  “On your ship?” Tabitha asked, still with that patronizing smile. Still beautiful despite it.

  “Or riding.” He glanced at Koren again and grinned. “I’d like to try dogsledding sometime.”

  “Well, that can’t happen here,” Tabitha said unnecessarily.

  “Which do you like better, sailing or riding?” Graegor asked Darc before there could be any uncomfortable pause. “Now that you’ve been at sea for a while.”

  “They’re really too different to pick one over the other,” Darc said as the carriage rolled up to them and Stan hopped down to open the door. “But I’ll be doing a lot more riding in my life than sailing.”

  “How come?” Koren asked as Graegor assisted Tabitha up the step and inside.

  “Well …” Darc paused and waited for Stan to shut the door behind them all before continuing. “My brother will inherit Tillhafen when my father’s uncle dies, and the Duke of Tillhafen commands the royal navy. When I become king, I’ll command the royal army. I’m only spending time in the navy now because it’s traditional.”

  “Does Adlai like sailing?” Graegor asked, reaching across Tabitha to open the window shade on the right as Darc opened the one on the left. Tabitha fanned her hand in front of her face, pretending to appreciate the cooler air, though he knew that she never actually felt too warm.

  “He doesn’t know,” Darc said, now turning the crank to tilt back the sky-shade. “We’ll find out in a couple of years when he does his naval tour.”

  “What sorts of preparations are traditional for a prince of Telgardia who will be commanding armies?” Tabitha asked.

  “I’ll be spending time at the fortresses in the mountains bordering Medea. Probably Rohrdarre.” Again Darc looked at Koren. “Then I’ll go to the Khenroxan border. Which is a bit less hostile.”

  “For now,” Tabitha said, and when Darc and Graegor looked at her, she shrugged. “Things can change.”

  Koren suddenly leaned toward the window, her eyes narrowed as she looked outside. “I—” She stopped. Grimacing, she pointed. “On the wall, just before the alley.”

  “What is it?” Graegor asked Tabitha. The girls’ heads bending toward the window completely blocked it.

  An image appeared in his mind of what Tabitha was seeing. Painted stark white upon the dark grey stone of the theater across the street was the symbol of the rogue magi, a carpenter’s maul. In the twilight, it almost seemed to glow. The white maul hadn’t a
ppeared in the city for two months or more, and Tabitha’s anxiety at the sight strengthened his own. “I thought those had all been scrubbed off,” she sent.

  “I thought so too.” He would have to tell Contare about it.

  The mood in the carriage was heavier now, but strangely, also more harmonious, as they talked about whether the symbol meant that more rogue magi were actually here, or if there were still people in the city who sympathized with them. Graegor wasn’t sure which would be worse, although Tabitha had no doubts. She told Darc what had happened the night she and Graegor had been attacked in the fox-den. It was a good story, told with just enough embellishment, and when she’d finished, he squeezed her shoulders. She pressed her leg against his a little more, which sent his heart racing, and she suggested that he tell Darc about the lockdown. He did, and it crossed his mind to ask Koren to repeat the story she’d told him about the lynx hunt. But he hadn’t yet asked Contare about it, and he didn’t want Tabitha or Darc to hear things about the Eighth Circle that might not be entirely true. They talked about the white maul symbol, and when and where it had appeared in the city before. Since all of this had been in Contare’s reports to King Raimund over the months, it seemed all right to fill in the details for the prince.

  And fortunately, nobody mentioned Brigita.

  Contare’s ship was moored in the canal, a quiet waterway parallel to the river bend in the city’s western quarter. Rich people kept their schooners and yachts here, moored broadside both upstream and down, alongside carefully maintained cobblestone streets. The houses lining the streets were old and stately, with low fences and exotic display gardens meant to evoke regions of the southern continent. From the bridge at the end of the street, Graegor could already see parties being held on many of the other ships, and as the carriage drew closer, he could hear all kinds of voices and music—from the ships, from the houses, and from the other carriages and foot traffic that moved with them.

  It wasn’t just noisier here than it had been in the theater district. It had more … feeling. It was an undercurrent Graegor could clearly sense, not just in his mind, but against his skin, tactile and sensuous. It was Arundel and Ilene’s doing. They were blessing the Solstice, reenacting an event that was common to the mythologies of nearly all the pagan religions—the marriage of Mother Earth and Father Sky. Their boudoir for this night was not far from here, with special wards that enhanced rather than contained their emotions and sensations. Their love could be felt by everyone, even people with no magic, consciously or unconsciously.

  L’Abbanists were not supposed to seek this out. The readings at the basilica’s morning service had emphasized chastity, restraint, and the dangers of excess. L’Abbanists were taught that overindulgence, no matter its form and especially in this form, was morally wrong and highly embarrassing. But the pagan blessing was what made the summer Solstice on Maze Island so special. It was why young men like Darc wanted to be here. It was why Graegor had chosen tonight to ask Tabitha to bed.

  Close beside him in the carriage, she smelled so good, and the line of her body against his was warm. Everything on the ship was prepared. As the evening had progressed, he had become more and more certain that Darc and Koren would not object if he found some pretext for the two couples to part ways.

  But if there was no pretext, or if Tabitha told him no, it was all right. He told himself that very firmly. He wasn’t going to be a jackass and simply assume that Tabitha would agree, even if the blessing was affecting her as much as it was affecting him. If she didn’t want to, then maybe they could talk about when they might be able to take this step. He loved her and was willing to wait. He really hoped he didn’t have to, but he would. For her.

  Stan brought the carriage to a halt. Outside Tabitha’s window, he saw a bireme of an ancient style, the preservation of which was the hobby of a merchant who lived nearby. It was even larger than Contare’s schooner, which was moored next in line. Graegor got out first and peered around the back of the carriage to take a short but good look at the ship. Two globes hovered near the top of each of the two masts, and the four together cast yellow light in pools that overlapped at the round dining table placed in the center of the deck. The white table-cloth gleamed, and the huge pots of flowering trees placed against the starboard rail made a beautiful backdrop of white and red blossoms. Jelhar and Zach were taking their places on either side of the table and smoothing their shirts, and Graegor sent to Zach, “It looks great!”

  “Thank you, my lord,” Zach answered with pride.

  Graegor turned back to the carriage, where Darc was holding Koren’s hand as she stepped down. Then Tabitha extended her hand to him. Her fingers against his palm were cold, and although her mind felt closer to his as it always did when they touched, he could only sense curiosity from her. He hoped his own excitement would be contagious.

  Darc and Koren had stepped to the side and were murmuring to each other and pointing as they looked at the ship. Tabitha’s curiosity bloomed into pleased surprise as he led her along the gangplank. “This is beautiful,” she said aloud when she reached the deck, and her hand felt warmer as it squeezed his.

  “I’m glad you like it.” He smiled at her, and was rewarded with a brief return smile before her gaze returned to the ship and all its festive trimmings. “Our chef tonight used to be Lord Contare’s private chef. He came out of retirement to do this for us.”

  Tabitha frowned. “Surely he is not using the ship’s galley.”

  “No.” Graegor turned to point toward one of the large houses along the street, belonging to a Kroldon lord and lady. As Darc and Koren stepped from the gangplank to the ship, he raised his voice to include them. “Bey and Beya Lichail were gracious enough to allow us to use their kitchen. There will be nine courses, all brought to us by the chef and his staff.” He now gestured to the two sailors at the table. “This is Jelhar, and this is Magus Zach. They tend to the ship while it’s moored, and they sail with Contare when he leaves Maze Island. They are here tonight to pour us water, wine, and whatever else we’d like to drink.”

  “There appears to be a gathering at the bey’s house,” Tabitha noted, nodding toward its lit windows and the guests approaching its front door.

  “Well, yes,” Graegor admitted. “Our chef is assisting the bey’s chef too, but he’ll be making several dishes just for us.”

  “My favorites, I hope,” Tabitha said, and he winked as he led her to the table.

  Graegor made sure that Darc’s chair was in the most protected position, with his back to neither the street nor the canal, and closest to the hatch leading belowdecks. This neighborhood was southern and affluent; no graffiti, vandalism, or other unrest had ever surfaced here, and not even any of the city’s former fox-dens had been located anywhere nearby. But this time, he would not arrogantly assume that all would remain peaceful. Both he and Tabitha would stay on guard, and he knew that Koren would too. The three of them could see, hear, or just sense any danger coming from a distance. Jelhar and Zach would keep watch too, particularly along the starboard rail, where the potted trees might provide cover for someone climbing up the side of the ship. And Graegor didn’t doubt that Darc himself had been taught to be aware of his surroundings and to react quickly to danger. They would all be ready for it.

  Jelhar and Zach served water, wine, and ale, and the portly chef arrived with two servants carrying the soup course. The night was warm, and Tabitha was happy. She seemed reconciled to Koren’s presence, although they didn’t speak directly to each other—and, as usual, Koren didn’t speak very much at all. Graegor had made sure that the menu included much that was sweet and mild, and little that was spicy or heavy, and to his relief, the table’s conversation followed that recipe as well.

  Darc asked how Maze Island fed itself, and Tabitha spoke of the farms and ranches on the fief islands, the barges that moved the goods to the storehouses built into the hills, and the merchants who purchased in bulk and sold what they bought in the neighborho
od markets. Darc was particularly interested in the track of thaumat’argent charms laid along the river bottom that helped to push the barges upstream, and Graegor told him about similar charms under the slips in the harbors. Darc wanted to know more about thaumat’argent and where it was mined, but the Kroldon sorcerers were in charge of the Ministry of Mines, and they were secretive about the magic metal. Darc said that he had heard a rumor that it wasn’t being mined at all anymore, but that seemed unlikely, even though charms were often reused and were constantly being melted and reforged. Koren suggested that maybe the mining had been suspended during the recent reinventory, and they all agreed that this was a likely source for the rumor.

  Darc and Koren had many compliments for Contare’s schooner, particularly its lean, graceful lines and how well Jelhar and Zach kept everything on board scrubbed and gleaming. It wasn’t surprising, though, since the ship was their home, and they and the captain—currently away—were its skeleton crew in port. Tabitha told them about Natayl’s ship, and how he didn’t keep it in any of the city’s harbors, but instead let it lie in a sheltered cove, at a single pier, that could only be reached by a long, hard-to-find path leading from his manor house in the woods. Darc said that that sounded like the beginning of a bedtime tale, and they had some fun making up the rest of the story, which ended up with Natayl falling overboard.

  And so on. Nine courses had not seemed like too many when Graegor had discussed it with the chef, but by the time the platter of nuts, dates, and candies arrived, he was definitely finished. It was an effort to not fidget as Tabitha lavished compliments on the chef, who preened at her praise and lingered to tell them stories of his culinary accomplishments.

  Koren’s mind tapped Graegor’s. “You did a great job with all this.”

  “I didn’t actually do anything …”