Cold Magic

“I was raised in a hunter’s village,” he remarked to the dust motes swirling in the frigid air, “and furthermore, having followed you through the spirit world, I am more visibly chained to you, magically speaking, of course, than might otherwise be the case.” He touched a gold locket hanging at his throat, which he had not been wearing the last time I had seen him. “Also, I have a strand of your hair. In case you are wondering how I tracked you down.”



He paused.



Naturally I made no reply. Honestly, I could not understand why he would suppose I would be stupid enough to say anything. Also, he wore a jacket in the oranges and browns favored by working men, only his was so particularly tailored to his build that few working men could ever have afforded such style, and the fabric was such finely woven damask that it shimmered in a way to make a person wish to trace its shape on his body. His boots, if somewhat smudged by the dirt of back streets, had the gloss of finest leather, in fact, they were utterly gorgeous with a creamy black finish. In other circumstances, I would have been struck dumb in admiration.



This was not one of those times. I was merely speechless with anger at my own self for being careless enough to get caught.



“As it happens,” he went on, “you are being hunted through the city by the allied forces of the mansa of Four Moons House and by the militia and constabulary of the Prince of Tarrant. That they have not yet found you is only because an unlawful assembly has gathered at the council hall square this morning. Naturally the prince has had to mobilize his militia there to protect the city from disruption. Even so, I have come to the unfortunate conclusion that you will be apprehended if I do not assist you.”



Bee popped up over my back. “Do people really talk like that?” she demanded as she swept the curtain out of my hand and opened it wide.



Seeing Andevai, she said, in an altered tone, “Oh.”



“So at this point,” he concluded, without appearing to have heard her, for although his gaze briefly took her in, he fixed on me, “I feel obliged because of past missteps to render aid.”



His complete lack of surprise in seeing Bee gave me the sudden uncomfortable idea that he had already been over here to part the curtains and see us sleeping. I did not like to know he had watched me while I was not only unaware of his presence but also unable to even think of defending myself. I grabbed my sword—it was again a cane—and sprang up from the warmth of the bed into the chill of a chamber inhabited by a cold mage.



“Misstep? Is that what you call attempted murder? Or perhaps you meant a misstep because you did not succeed?”



He rose, making no effort to draw his sword. “I cannot expect you to forgive me, Catherine. That is not why I am here—”



“It seems obvious even to me, with my sleep-befuddled brain, that you are here as part of the hunt. You cannot expect us to surrender without a fight.”



“I don’t expect you to surrender. Were you even listening? I’ve come to try to put things right—”



I laughed scornfully. “Ha! It’s far too late for that! It was too late the day you forced the Barahals to hand me over.”



“I did not force the Barahals to hand you over. I was sent to marry the eldest Barahal daughter, with no further instructions and, I might add, no knowledge of why or how the original contract had been made. I did what I was told.”



“Tried to kill me!”



“Cat,” said Bee in her reasonable tone. “Oughtn’t we to hear him out?” She rose, straightening and smoothing her rumpled gown. “You said yourself he expressed regret for the action. Also, it is obvious he could have killed you while we were sleeping. But he did not.”



“My thanks.” He studied Bee. “This is the eldest Hassi Barahal daughter, isn’t it?”



Even in disarray, curls half smashed on the side she’d been lying on and utterly tangled everywhere, modest gown somewhat askew and a pinch of sleep blearing her fine eyes, Bee was entirely and astonishingly adorable. Everyone always said so.



He shrugged dismissively and shifted to glare at me. “Did it ever occur to you, Catherine, that I might begin to wonder why the mansa sent me to destroy the airship?”



“The airship!” squeaked Bee.



“Why would the mansa send me to marry the Barahal daughter, when so much is at stake? If she is so valuable, why not marry her to one of the magisters born into the house, not some village boy they all look down on? Why would the mansa tell me so little before he sent me out? Why would he not even tell me the single most important thing, that the diviners believed she would walk the path of dragons? The mansa never spoke one word of that to me. That I know anything about the dreams of dragons is because I had begun my training as a hunter, and the first thing a hunter learns about the bush is that when dragons shift in their sleep, a tide washes the spirit world and obliterates everything in its path that is not warded. Given the risk involved, why would they only give me my orders and send me off? Is it because they knew I would be unquestioningly obedient as I have always had to be as I struggled so hard to meet their expectations and fulfill my promise and protect my village?”