Icestorm

by Theresa Dahlheim

At the hatch, Jelhar’s head appeared, his expression cautious, as Zach emerged from the row of felled trees. Both of them stared without speaking, until Graegor waved them forward, trying to sound calm as he said, “It’s my fault. I’m sorry.”

  They both nervously assured him that it was all right, and they hurried to the table to set it upright again. Graegor felt that he should help, and started to use telekinesis to push the broken glass into a pile, but then Koren tapped their link and sent, “Please, don’t … don’t try to move anything. Let me do it.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Please let me do it.”

  “I’m fine.” Did she think he had no control anymore? To prove otherwise, he moved his arm and his gen in a careful arc to gather the empty wine bottle, platter, and spilled food toward the break in the rail where the gangplank should have been. Sweeping it all overboard was satisfying, and he had to stop himself from doing it too violently. He forced himself to focus on pacing the deck, finding and pushing along more of the debris, his boots sloshing, while the sailors set the potted trees upright again and Darc and Koren reset the chairs.

  “My lord,” Zach said when they were finished, “should we take the decorations down now?”

  “Yes.” This party was definitely over. He grit his teeth, switched to sending, and added, “In the cabin too. And gather up the pearls from the floor.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  She broken the bracelet, too. Maybe both of them. Pricelessly matched pearls, scattered like crumbs. Because she was offended.

  Darc looked over at him and seemed about to say something, but changed his mind. Koren was standing at the break in the rail, looking down into the space between the ship and the wharf. She was using magic, and he realized that the gangplank was stuck underwater. He went over to help, but Koren held up a hand and said aloud, her voice tight, “Let me do it.”

  Graegor heard a burst of laughter from nearby, which made him wonder—finally—if the rogue wave had affected anyone else. His teeth still clenched, he went forward to look at the neighboring ship. The party guests there were the ones laughing, crowded on the quarterdeck with drinks in their hands, as many servants scurried over the main deck, picking up crockery and righting overturned chairs. On the wharf, the wave had splashed Contare’s carriage thoroughly, as well as some Aedseli ladies, who were now helping each other smooth and tuck their damp skirts and headwraps. Graegor himself was still soaked to the skin.

  Tabitha was nowhere in sight. He had no idea which way she had gone.

  Then again, he didn’t care. She’d twisted his words, his intentions, turning them into something nasty instead of what he’d meant. He loved her, and people in love made love. There was nothing immoral or unfitting or even unexpected about it, no matter what any holy tract might say. It was Solstice and they were sorcerers and he had felt her heat before, he knew it. That day on her ship. He had felt it.

  The gangplank rose out of the water and hovered there like a wet door to nowhere. Koren stepped back from the edge, her gaze intent. One end of the gangplank slid into the break in the ship’s rail, and then the other came to a rest on the wharf. Darc had come up behind her, and he said, “That telekinesis is so useful.”

  Graegor almost said Shut it, but he caught himself before he could be a complete jackass. His head, chest, and knees still ached. He was no fit company right now. “I need to go home and change,” he said, trying to sound casual.

  But he didn’t fool either of them. Koren raised her eyebrows, telling him that she knew that once he got home he would try to stay there, and Darc said, too innocently, “I thought you could dry your clothes with magic.”

  “I can,” he admitted between his teeth. “It’s just uncomfortable.”

  Darc and Koren glanced at each other. It was infuriating. They’d just met. Why were they so much more in tune with each other than he was with Tabitha?

  Koren looked back at him. “Let’s join the others at the street festival,” she suggested. “There’s good music.”

  Graegor wanted to say, Go without me, and he was irritated that she hadn’t offered to relieve him of his duty as Darc’s protector for the night. But he couldn’t ignore the fact that it was his duty, a promise he had made, and pushing it onto someone else so that he could go home and sulk was childish. So he nodded. “Tell Stan. I’ll dry my clothes.”

  “I’ll dry the carriage,” Koren said with half a smile, and Darc laughed, offering her his arm.

  Standing there dripping on the deck, Graegor shut his eyes. He thought he’d been prepared for Tabitha’s refusal. He would have accepted any reason at all from her. But she had acted so shocked, like the thought of sleeping with him had never entered her mind, and so offended, like the thought of sleeping with him was revolting. Like that plain, fast, strong surge of desire he had felt from her two months ago had never happened.

  It hurt. What was wrong with him? What didn’t she like about him? Was it how he looked tonight?

  He’d grown this stupid beard for her. It probably looked ridiculous, but his friends were just too nice to tell him that.

  They were nice. They were nice people, and all Tabitha did was insult them. She didn’t even know them. She refused to get to know them. She punished him for swimming with girls, and then punished him again for giving her the same attention that she accused him of giving them.

  He tapped his link with Jeff, who answered with surprise. “Graegor?”

  “Where are you?”

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. You’re at the street festival?”

  “Jeh. Patrick and I are waiting in line at the boar pit while the others save our table.”

  “Could you get me a drink?”

  Jeff paused. “Where’s Tabitha?”

  “Please just get me a drink.”

  “Will do.”

  “Thank you.”

  Then he tried to draw the water out of his clothes. But it never worked very well when he was still wearing them. He had to settle for damp instead of soaking, which was only slightly better. He was turning toward the carriage when he felt Zach’s nervous tap against his mind. “My lord, we’re so sorry. Was there anything we could have done, or—”

  “It’s all right. Neither of you did anything wrong. Thank you for all your help.”

  “Of course, my lord.”

  Graegor knew he hadn’t done a good job of keeping his irritation out of the link, but he knew Zach wouldn’t take it personally. Zach and Jelhar were nice people too.

  Tabitha isn’t a nice person.

  The thought didn’t feel like a revelation. He’d known it. For months.

  Stan was waiting by the carriage door, and he closed it softly after Graegor got in. A slam would have suited his mood better. Darc and Koren sat silently together, barely visible. The carriage wobbled when Stan got up to the driver’s seat, and again when the horses started moving. Graegor slumped back, and his damp clothes clung annoyingly to his skin.

  He heard Darc clear his throat. “Do you mind if I ask you something?”

  “Go ahead.” He figured Darc was smart enough to know what not to ask.

  “You seemed to jump straight up from the water, and there was this … glowing bubble around you. What … what was that?”

  “Earth magic.” He stopped, thinking. “Glowing?”

  “Purple. Like when you came out of the tunnel in the castle.”

  “Oh. Maybe that’s what happens when earth magic joins with my gen. It made a shield.”

  “Could you breathe?” Koren asked, her tone curious. Talking about magic was always safe.

  “You mean, was it an air bubble? I got some water in my mouth, but maybe that was before it formed.”

  “If ‘twas an air bubble, if we can make air bubbles with earth magic underwater, why didn’t we do that in the labyrinth?”

  “The labyrinth?” Darc asked.

  They really weren’t supposed to talk about the labyrinth. He did
n’t want to talk about the labyrinth. Koren said, “We needed to go down a well, so Rossin taught us how to hold our breath underwater for a long time. I was wondering, if we can use bubbles of earth magic …”

  “Rossin probably didn’t know that,” Graegor said. “And I don’t think we could all use earth magic, then.” He knew Tabitha couldn’t. She still couldn’t. He looked out the carriage window. Two red-clad Medean servants hurried by, their clothes still dripping. From what he could see, although the people on the ship next to Contare’s were still having their party, up at the next ship, a group of stiff, wet guests were milling on the wharf. Hopefully they hadn’t been having much fun anyway.

  The carriage pulled forward in fits and starts as Stan negotiated through other carriages and all the people on foot in order to get turned around and pointed back at the bridge at the end of the block, where the canal turned to rejoin the river. Then, finally, they were moving again. A dark-skinned woman was walking down the street in the same direction, and her long, narrow dress was soaked through, making it cling even tighter and turning its pale color translucent. It left nothing to the imagination, and Graegor had to look away, because his body immediately started reacting to her.

  But there was nothing to look at in the dark of the carriage, and Koren and Darc were talking without him, so he looked out the window again as they passed the woman. She seemed completely unconcerned about the state of her dress, and the front of her was even more beautiful than the back of her had been, the curves of her breasts, hips, and thighs swaying as she moved. He looked away again before she could notice him staring. Fortunately, the carriage soon turned the corner toward the bridge, leaving her behind.

  But it didn’t leave the uncomfortable strength of his reaction behind. It lingered in his whole body, tingling through it. He shouldn’t be here, riding away from what was supposed to have been perfect. He should be back in the ship’s cabin, holding Tabitha. He should be shutting the door, and putting out all the lights, to just feel the stuffy hot darkness and her soft skin under his hands. He should be pushing her skirts up, pushing them away, and she should be opening his belt, opening his trousers. And she would be wet in the right way, in the right place, ready for him, wanting him as much as he wanted her. He’d be pressing her hard against the wall, and she’d be straddling him, stroking him, kissing him, riding him, fucking him, gasping, whimpering, whispering endearments in Thendalian. Soaring higher, higher, higher as she clung to him, her legs locked around him, her secret sweetness squeezing him, again and again and again … clinging … gasping … then falling, falling, falling—

  Sudden horror popped his eyes open and brought him back to where he was—sitting in a carriage seat half a pace away from Koren and Darc, and right on the edge of eruption. God in heaven. God in heaven. Stop. Stop. He couldn’t even breathe out or he’d explode. He’d never had a fantasy like that, his daydreams had never been so clear and raw …

  Tabitha hit him again, and he cursed out loud. It wasn’t a burn through their bond this time—more like she’d hurled her telekinesis straight against his head. From a distance. From wherever she was, wherever she had stalked off into the night.

  “What happened?” he heard Darc ask.

  Tabitha. She was punishing him for his thoughts, now? For his fantasies? He wasn’t allowed to even think about sleeping with her? It offended her, so she hit him?

  He took hold of the silver threads of their bond, calling to her, but she refused him. Again.

  He did everything he could to try to make her happy, he always did everything he could, and now she wouldn’t even talk to him or listen to him. Instead she hit him and ran away like a spoiled child. He couldn’t stand it. She would hear him. She would hear him, he would make sure she heard him.

  He reached for the earth magic, and it answered him. It rose up from the stone and rock and dirt beneath him and flooded his mind, widening like the mouth of a funnel, as wide as the carriage, as wide as the street, spinning like a maelstrom. It heaved and burst straight up, up, tightening into a hundred hard spikes. He felt white light piercing his skin as the spikes of earth magic ignited the rooftop antennas, every antenna, each from its crystal base to its thaumat’argent tip. Pure telepathic energy exploded from the antennas in arcs of lightning, heaving and jumping from point to point to point, spreading out, spreading across the buildings, driving forward toward her.

  She would not keep him out. He’d use every antenna in the city. He’d destroy every antenna in the city, shatter them with earth magic, unless she answered.

  She didn’t answer. But she had to hear him. Everyone could hear him. The people on the street could feel the rage of his power feeding their own anger and fear. Magi cringed in pain. The pole antenna at the bridge glowed white and then blew apart like ten fireworks. Orange flames roared across flags and awnings and curtains. The churning river threw a wave of water over its banks.

  Earth magic transfixed him and boiled his blood. His gen spun with it. The sheer power of it consumed his mind. She would answer him. She would answer him!

  Something seized hold of his arm. Graegor snapped back to himself, to the darkness of the unmoving carriage. He could see Darc’s face, where purple shadows outlined his wide eyes and tight jaw. “Whatever you’re doing,” Darc said, his voice low, “stop. Please stop.”

  What was he doing? He was … purple … glowing …

  “Tell me what you need,” Darc went on, “and I’ll get it for you, or tell me who can help you, and I’ll find them. But please. Stop.”

  The earth magic. Stop the earth magic. It was spouting from him like a geyser. Tabitha couldn’t ignore him with the earth magic ablaze … glowing from his skin …

  He stared down at his hand, confused. Darc still gripped his arm. That antenna had glowed white and burst with lightning. His arm was glowing purple. Was it going to burst?

  Torchanes. Lightning-rider.

  Something slid away from him, and he gasped. He shut his eyes and breathed, forcing his lungs and throat to work through violent shudders. Bodies pushed against the carriage and rocked it from side to side, and Darc let go of his arm. He built shields around his mind and sealed himself behind them, away from the earth magic.

  Koren. Koren was holding it, controlling it, letting it subside. As he breathed, he could smell smoke. He should put out the fire. The fires. How many had started? Were people fighting outside? He heard screams and shouts and thumps, dozens of babbling voices. Fighting. Another carriage jostled theirs. He couldn’t think straight, because nearly every single person with a telepathic connection to him was trying to reach him.

  They shone in all different colors. A hundred shades of blue and purple from Stan and Jeff and Marcus and all the Telgards, and all the Khenroxans with green and yellow and orange. The single pulse of gray was from Logan, and pure white—that was Arundel. The colors all flashed and blinked against the outer layer of his shields, beacons of alarm and panic. He shut them out.

  Contare was not among them. He didn’t know why.

  And Koren—Koren wasn’t calling to him either. She was calming the crowd. He focused on her, on what she was doing, on allowing her magic to soothe his spinning, whirling gen.

  He’d seen Contare and Josselin do this at the autumn Equinox. They’d sent out a broad, simple command. Wait. It was the only kind of telepathy that most people could sense—a vague, nebulous “feeling in the air”, rather than any specific words or magic. Not all sorcerers could reach non-magi this way. He didn’t know if Koren had ever done it before, or if Josselin was right now telling her how.

  It was working, though. It was working on him, and it was working on the crowd. His magic spun slower and softer. He could no longer hear screams, and the shouts were less angry. Fewer people seemed to be on the street. Though he could still smell smoke and hear snapping flames, no one was shoving the carriage in their haste to escape. Some feelings of anger and confusion and fear were still out there, but they were no l
onger … urgent.

  “All right,” Koren said then. “I’m going to put out that fire.”

  Graegor nodded. For now, he would push aside the growing guilt. “I’ll take the—”

  “Let me do it!” Koren snapped at him. It froze him in place as she fumbled for the latch on the carriage door. When she got it open, the shouts that had seemed to be fading immediately grew louder.

  “I’ll go with you,” Darc said, moving to follow.

  “You should stay where it’s safe.”

  “It’s safest next to you. And I’ve fought a fire before.”

  Koren didn’t answer, but she didn’t protest when Darc followed her out and shut the door behind him. Graegor didn’t blame him. It’s never safest next to me. He’d toppled a cliff back in Chrenste. Darc had been there. Darc should know better by now than to get anywhere near him.

  He heard Darc say something to Stan, and Stan stopped trying to send to Graegor. Jeff had stopped too, and so had the rest of his closest friends. Koren had probably told them what had happened. Lord Henrey and Varrhon had also probably been told, because their colors had vanished. But Arundel, Karl, Darren, Fiona, Nolon, Samyel, both of the Schiffs, and at least a dozen others still pushed their minds against his with panicked insistence.

  It was stupid. The telepathic connections were still there. That alone should tell them that he was alive, and awake. For a sorcerer, that meant everything was all right. The details could wait. The details would wait.

  He never should have agreed to protect Darc. None of this would have happened. Tabitha wouldn’t have been so angry if Darc and Koren hadn’t been with them …

  No. Stop. He wasn’t going to blame anyone else for this. This was his own fault. He’d ruined it all by himself.

  He was glad Contare hadn’t tried to reach him. The thought of facing the old man with yet another disaster was mortifying.

  This wasn’t as bad as what you did in Chrenste.

  He’d started fires this time, though. Just like Oran had said he would.

  You will burn the world.

  It sent a shudder through him. Oran had said it would be because of pain. Rage against pain, personal pain. Pain from what Tabitha had done, lashing out at him so fiercely for nothing, just for wanting her.