Cold Fire

I took a step back to leave the stage to Bee. With her black curls, rosy lips, and big brown eyes, she looked entirely adorable and innocent and trusting. “It is so generous of you to take an interest in us. But you know the risks we face. The factions hunting us. Why help us?”



Kehinde extended a hand, and to my shock Bee handed her the knife. The professor used the tip to investigate the ranks of sliced parsnips. “It is quite remarkable how evenly they are each sliced, as if each cut were measured beforehand by something other than your eye. Unless you find an isolated barbaric village, perhaps in the wilds of Brigantia”—she glanced at Brennan—“you must see you have entered the conflict whether you wish to or not. If it is true your dreams reflect a cryptic vision of the future—and I assure you I will need evidence—then you will never be let alone. Never. I am no different than anyone. I can think of ways to employ your gift to benefit the cause I cherish. But I will only ever approach you as a partner, and you will be free to leave our association at any time. It is your decision.” She set down the knife.



“What about your alliance with the general?” I asked.



Brennan smiled wryly. “Harsh conditions make for odd bedfellows. Our organization has its own reasons for considering an alliance with the general.”



I nodded. “That makes sense. He’s a soldier. You’re only radicals. He must be better able to fend off princes and mages than you are.”



“You will have to decide whether swords and rifles, or words and ideas, are more likely to win the day,” said Kehinde.



“I’m all for swords and rifles,” I said.



“Do not discount the power of words and ideas,” she said with a smile I dearly wished I could trust. “Their touch seems soft at first, but you’ll find it can be lasting.”



“Well, then,” said Bee. “We’ll take you up on your offer. We’ll leave right away.”



Rory collected the two bags as I pulled on my riding jacket, coat, and gloves.



“I’ll arrange for someone to escort you across the city who knows the backstreets to keep you out of sight of the militia,” said Brennan. “And may I ask, what is in the bags?”



My father’s journals, our sewing baskets, some clothes and diverse small necessities. What coin we had was sewn into Bee’s gown, with a few coins tucked into my sleeve. He had such a charming smile, but I hardened my heart against confiding even such innocuous information.



“Our things,” I said.



Kehinde rose. “I’ll come to the academy when it is safe for you to return. It would be best to go out the front so it looks as if you came for an appointment and left. If you’ll excuse me, I must prepare for my negotiations with the general.” She shook hands with Bee and me.



“Rory,” I said.



He stared at me with those golden, innocent eyes. “What am I supposed to do?”



“Shake hands. It’s the custom, among radicals.”



He set down the bags and shook hands with Kehinde. She left.



With a lazy grin, Rory gripped Brennan’s hand a bit too hard and a bit too long. I felt a shift in the temper of the air as Brennan took his measure, like coiling up rope in readiness to snap it out.



Bee said, “Rory, stop that.”



With a put-upon sigh, he let go, leaving Brennan to shake our hands.



He leaned toward me—too close, for I flushed—and murmured, “Is he really your brother?”



After all, I just could not resist. I daringly drifted close enough for my lips to brush the tips of his hair as I whispered, “What confuses you is he’s really a saber-toothed cat who followed me home from the spirit world.”



I expected him to laugh, but instead he pulled back and gave first a very searching look at Rory and then, less comfortably, a long and intent look at me.



“Well,” he said, ambivalently, and with his forehead creased thoughtfully, he went out.



“That was naughty.” Bee shut the door so we could have privacy. “Are you smitten?”



“Men like that don’t look at girls like me.”



“I think he likes the professora. It’s almost tempting, isn’t it, to join the cause just to fight near him. Or it would be, if we didn’t now know they are in league with the headmaster! Who handed me over to Amadou Barry. Who is a Roman legate. And the Romans are allied with the mage Houses against Camjiata. Who has come to this house to negotiate with the radicals. It doesn’t even make sense!”



Rory circled back to the stove. “Are we going back out into that awful cold? I’m starving.”