Cold Magic
Mouth agape, Bee pulled her sketchbook from the knit bag and opened it to the page with a sketch that matched his person, and the door’s frame, exactly. He’d rendered her mute.
But his gaze had already moved on. To me.
“And you must be Tara Bell’s daughter. It was so strange to see you that day when you climbed into the wagon in Lemanis. I thought you must be hers, for you look just like her, except for the hair and the color of your eyes. The youth’s presence with you confused me, you calling him your elder brother. And it was too early to meet you. Helene was never wrong about such things.”
I blinked. “You’re Big Leon. The carter’s cousin. We last saw you at Crane Marsh Works in the middle of Anderida. And these two, and the woman outside… a party of five and their mules and wool. What? Were you the one who was sick and about to die?”
“The authorities became suspicious. We split up, and I came ahead, carried by the wings of those who have remained loyal all these years to the cause.”
“You walked into Adurnam alone?” demanded Brennan. “With all the mage Houses and every prince in northwestern Europa hunting for you? That seems rash.”
“And irrational,” said Kehinde thoughtfully. “We could turn you over to the Prince of Tarrant for a significant reward.”
“But you won’t. For you see, I am never alone. The hopes and ambitions of too many people are carried on my back.”
“You’re Camjiata,” I said.
He had a way of tilting his head that made it seem he was about to laugh but had decided not to. That made you want to have a chance to laugh with him, if only you could find a way to surprise that laugh out of him and earn the praise of having amused him. “Of course I am Camjiata. Who else would I be? At last, after the patient work of many years and many hands, I am free.”
Chartji stepped forward, offering the traditional bowl of water.
He doffed his hat politely, drank it all in one thirsty gulp, and wiped his lips with a sleeve. “And now we have business to do, and no time to wait.”
“Did you come looking for me?” said Bee breathlessly. I could not tell if she was terrified, or exhilarated, or making ready to punch him in the face. “Did she tell you how to find me? Your wife, I mean? The one who walked the dreams of dragons?”
“Yes. It was the final thing Helene said to me before they killed her. She told me that the eldest daughter of the Hassi Barahal clan would learn to walk the dreams of dragons. Find her, she said, because you will need her, as you have needed me.” He lifted his right hand in the orator’s classic gesture, and we all stared, waiting for his next words, because a person could not help but stare at him. He commanded our stares. “That’s what puzzled me on the road, you see. Because Helene said that the eldest Hassi Barahal daughter would lead me to Tara Bell’s child.”
“B-but I’m Tara Bell’s child,” I said, and everyone looked at me.
“Of course you are,” said Camjiata. “You could be no one else but who are you. So must we all be, even Helene, who knew that the gift of dreaming would be the curse that brought death to her. Yet even then, even at the end, the gift compelled her to speak. For those were Helene’s very last words, the very last words I ever heard her say.”
He paused. And I waited. We all waited. A log shifted on an unseen fire somewhere in the house. Beyond the closed door, the rising light brought the city of Adurnam to life with a new day.
“She said, ‘Where the hand of fortune branches, Tara Bell’s child must choose, and the road of war will be washed by the tide.’ ”
“A fanciful turn of phrase,” said Kehinde, “but as I have a pragmatical turn of mind, can you tell me what you think it means?”
He smiled as if, having meant to catch our interest, he had nevertheless not lost his ability to enjoy the pleasure of knowing he had done so. “Why, the depths of the words are easily sounded. She meant that Tara Bell’s child will choose a path that will change the course of the war.”
He looked at me. They all looked at me.
“Which means you, Catherine Bell Barahal. Because that child is you.”