Cold Magic

“How did a young woman newly arrived in Massilia come to marry a Tarrant nobleman far to the north?” I asked Marius.



He cast a look at Amadou, who shook his head. The lord shrugged as he smiled at me. “Do you Phoenicians like music? I’d be a sad son of the Tarrants if I could not entertain my guest with a few songs.”



“After all I have been through these last weeks,” I said, very rudely I am sure, “you will excuse me if I seem burdened by a lack of trust. What if you are in league with Four Moons House, and mean to use me to lure Bee into your clutches?”



“Then we are at an impasse, Maestressa Barahal,” said Maester Amadou in the same polite voice he had used to cow our academy proctor, Maestra Madrahat, by being better mannered and milder than you could ever be. “I have divulged as much as I can. You have revealed as much as you are willing. Either we trust each other, or part ways.”



“That I have little choice but to accept your help must be apparent to all of us.” I did not mean my tone to grate so grudgingly, but it did. “If I seem unappreciative, it is just that I have been running for my life under difficult circumstances, as I am sure you can deduce by my state of disorder and dirt. If you can get me alive to Adurnam, you will have my thanks and my cousin Beatrice’s as well.”



Amadou’s mouth tightened on unspoken thoughts and emotions.



Lord Marius laughed. “What’s this, brother? Have you actually fallen for a woman’s fine eyes and pleasing form?”



“Excuse me, Lord Marius, but I cannot like to hear my cousin spoken of in such a trifling way.”



“Oh, it would not be trifling in Amadou’s case, I shouldn’t think.” Marius rose and fetched a case from beneath the cot on the left. He brought out a small harp, set it on his knee, and began to tune it. His features relaxed into a serious expression as he listened to the vibrations of each string. He seemed suddenly removed from us, following the overtones, and for a moment I thought a door might open into the spirit world and we might fall through.



A burst of male laughter from outside slammed closed the shutters of reality over my dreaming. At a nod from Amadou, the trooper attending the door stepped out. One breath later, he returned with another soldier in tow.



“What news?” Lord Marius asked without looking up from his harp.



The soldier started to laugh, thumped his own chest twice, and coughed to contain himself before addressing the two men. “Lord Marius. Legate.”



Legate? I stared at Amadou Barry, but he was not looking at me. Only the Romans in their much shrunken imperial republic used the term legate for highly placed commanders and ambassadors.



“There’s a… naked… man at the ramparts. He baldly requests permission to—”



I stood so fast I banged a knee against the table and had to catch its edge to prevent it from toppling over. My heart had galloped ahead. I could barely string coherent words together. “Let him in. Quickly! Can clothing be found?”



Lord Marius set to laughing in earnest. When he had controlled himself, and wiped his eyes, he managed to speak. “A naked man, come to my camp? Is it your abandoned husband, Catherine Hassi Barahal? Come to display himself for your benefit?”



My flush must have reached my ears as his words forced me to consider the prospect of facing Andevai Diarisso Haranwy in very different circumstances than any we’d previously shared. The two troopers and Lord Marius kept laughing while Legate Amadou Barry, whatever else he might be, had compassion enough to take pity on me.



“If you vouch for him, then certainly we can allow him to join our company. Sergeant, let him enter the camp.”



The second trooper hurried out.



“By all means!” cried Lord Marius, placing the harp carefully back in its case and securing it. “Let me go view this prodigy for myself. Dare I hope—” He broke off and looked at me. Amadou put a hand on his forearm, in the way a man might quell a dog’s yap. Marius chuckled and strode from the tent, leaving Amadou to give the order to fetch clothing.



I grabbed a cloak off the hook and hurried out in Lord Marius’s wake, with Amadou following. The news had spread through camp. The soldiers were calling out jokes, although in no way did they relax their vigilance.



“Best you stay back, maestressa,” called Lord Marius over his shoulder. “The House company has camped beyond the ramparts. They have crossbows.”



So I stood, shifting my weight from one foot to the other, as the officer and five men strode ahead. Amadou remained beside me.



“Who is it?” he asked.