Cold Magic

“You are aware,” Amadou Barry said in the gentlest tone imaginable, “that your uncle—your entire clan—has been engaged for years as spies.”



“Where are my aunt and uncle?” I asked, hearing how choked my voice sounded. Yet I was not about to reveal the whole of what I now knew. I had to hold something in reserve, should I need to bargain.



“They left Adurnam on the day after you were sent off with Four Moons House.”



“Then how came Bee to speak to you?”



Lord Marius laughed again. I was beginning to find his laughter annoying, because it was obvious he was a man who had never suffered defeat or penury or even disappointment in love. The cousin of the Prince of Tarrant must be accustomed to having the world at his feet and Fortuna as his lover. If he had married Amadou’s older sister, he was also wealthy even beyond what portion he had received within his own clan.



“She did not leave Adurnam with her parents and sisters and household. She stayed behind.” Maester Amadou was a very handsome young man when he lowered his eyes to give the impression of innocent embarrassment, but really, he was too pretty. It was that prettiness that disguised his years, that made impressionable young women—and others, too, I am sure—underestimate him, assume him to be something other than what he was. And I did not even know what he was; all my expectations were exploded.



For then he added, his color changing, “When I discovered her situation, I offered her my protection.”



My gaze sharpened. Maybe my claws came out. “What does that mean? Surely not—”



He would not look at me. “I would not trifle with her. As for the other, it is impossible.”



“He means,” interposed Marius, “that his aunt offered the girl shelter. So that’s where you will find her, biding securely and unmolested in his aunt’s house in Adurnam. As for the other, a man may be smitten, darling, but may otherwise be obliged to marry according to his family’s needs and wishes.”



“You need not tell me that! I have become intimately acquainted with the chains of obligation.”



“Yet you fled your husband and the mage House.”



“The mansa ordered me killed!”



Marius whistled appreciatively. “I couldn’t have made auguries on that!”



Even Amadou looked surprised.



I felt I owed them an explanation in exchange for saving my life. It’s never wise to leave debts unpaid. “Four Moons House wanted Beatrice, not me. My aunt and uncle gave me to the magisters instead, and afterward when the mansa discovered he had been…”



“Cheated?” asked Marius with a hopeful chuckle. “Defrauded?”



“Given the wrong female,” I finished with such a cutting glare that even the bluff military man barked out a surprised laugh and made a conciliatory gesture. “He was angry.”



“Killing you seems an unexpectedly harsh response,” murmured Marius, smoothing the red-gold splendor of his mustache with finger and thumb.



“He was very angry,” I said dully.



“Where do you go now?”



“To find and warn my cousin. Four Moons House still wants her.”



Amadou sipped thoughtfully at his cup and set it on the bench. “Why would Four Moons House so desperately want the daughter of an impoverished Phoenician clan, no matter what secrets the Barahals might have to sell and what business they might have done for Camjiata back in the old days?”



I felt a pinch of curiosity, wondering at the true extent of Barahal double-dealing. But I knew better than to reveal more than I already had. “I can say nothing more until I talk to Beatrice. Surely you understand.”



“She’s got you there,” said Marius with an amused snort.



“We’ll escort you to Adurnam and your cousin,” said Maester Amadou.



“My thanks.” Tears welled, and I blinked them back. I said, in a low voice, “Saw you any prisoner among the House soldiers?”



“No. Do you expect there to be?”



“No,” I whispered. “No.”



He waited a moment, to see if I would say more. When I did not, he gestured decisively. “We leave at dawn. We can make it in two days.”



Marius nodded in answer, and the discussion was over, just like that.



At a signal from one of the priests, Marius rose to make the offering of the first cut of roasted meat at the altar, pouring an entire cup of wine over it. Afterward, we retreated to the largest tent, sparely furnished with a pair of campaign cots in the back half, each one neatly made up with blankets. An attendant took our cloaks and hung them from iron hooks. We sat in the front half on unfolded camp chairs, at a small table. Two braziers heated the interior, and three lamps lit our campaign meal of roasted beef, turnip, and apples. I was ravenous, despite everything, and it was easy to eat with their conversation flowing briskly around me. The two men knew each other well and bantered like brothers. Marius was about five years older, the same age, it transpired, as Amadou’s older sister.