Cold Magic (Spiritwalker 1)

I held my tongue, thinking furiously. What could I say that would not condemn me?

“Yet here you are,” she continued. I did not think her sight extended actually into my thoughts. It surely took no great skill to look at my weary, rumpled form and figure that something drastic must have precipitated my departure from a powerful mage House on the deadliest night of the year, especially since Andevai’s sister knew perfectly well that I had only hours before arrived at Four Moons House in her brother’s company. “And now you are our guest, whatever else you may be. I expect you are hungry. Kayleigh, bring meat and porridge. How tired the feet become after much walking!” She lifted her hand a handbreadth off the blankets.

This, I realized, was an invitation for me to sit rather than kneel. The attendant brought a stool, and I thanked her nicely and examined Grandmother’s face for Andevai’s lineaments. Like all of the villagers in these parts, she was what Brennan had called “tartan,” of mixed descent, lighter than Andevai and Kayleigh but without Duvai’s brown-gold hair. She was very weak, but her gaze was alert. A frail hand stirred on the blankets. Moved by what impulse I did not know, I took gentle hold of her hand and we sat for a time in silence, my hand warm against her cooler skin. I felt oddly comfortable, almost at peace, with drums talking nearby and her breathing as steady as a heart’s beat.

“What is the name of this village?” I asked at last.

“Haranwy. We are a well-fed village, through our hard work. Growers of grain.”

“And hunters,” I added, more tartly than I meant, “who tell me they can walk in the spirit world.”

“What would a city girl like you know of hunters? Or the spirit world? To attract the interest of Four Moons House, you must have been born into a rich or a princely family, or to one that has harvested many cold mages out of its fields.”

What expression showed on my face I don’t know, but she chuckled again. “It is the fate of the young to believe the old know everything or the old know nothing. I am merely curious about my grandson’s destiny. We are rarely allowed to see him.”

Kayleigh came in carrying a tray with water and a cloth for washing and a bowl of gruel topped with a strip of meat whose savor made my mouth water. She set the tray on my lap with a pleasing smile that made my own lips stir. Yet all at once I knew—as a goat must know in the instant before its throat is slit—what Andevai’s sister was about to say.

“Vai is at the gate, on a very fine horse! They always say they’ll let him visit on the festival days, but then he never does. You never said, Catherine, that he was right behind you. Did you get separated on the road? I suppose he was looking for you! I don’t think he has the least idea you are here, though. Isn’t that strange?”

“Kayleigh.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“How does the wind speak in the compound?”

“Duvai let it be known at once that no one speaks until you give the word, Mother.”

“Let the cold mage come to my bedside. As for the other, a closed flower waits until daylight to bloom. Even the beasts prefer a quiet byre in which to feast.”

The girl shared a glance with me and rolled her eyes almost exactly as Bee would have done. Then she took herself out, sparing a grin—of happy complicity, assuming me to be as glad to hear news of Andevai’s arrival as she was—before she closed the door.

My hands were shaking. I looked around the small house, seeking windows, but there were none, only a hearth set into one wall with a chimney funneling the smoke out and the attendant standing by the door. I was trapped.

20

“What did I ever do,” I muttered, “to deserve this destiny?”

She sighed sharply. “I have let it be known that none will mention your presence here until I say to do so. Knowing the hunters ranged deep into the bush and seeing you arrive with your hair and those looks on a cross-quarter eve, people naturally wonder if you are a spirit woman or a real woman. That is why you were brought to me. My son is too ill to receive such visitors.”

“Andevai’s father is ill?”

“Vai calls him Father, but you would say his uncle. He is my elder son, who sired no sons of his own, alas. My younger son, who sired my two grandsons, has crossed over. Duvai waits too impatiently for the household to pass into his hands. That is the destiny of some men, to see in the passing of one they love an opportunity to better themselves.”

Despite everything, despite all my efforts to stay strong, I began to snivel, trying to choke down my sobs.

“If you sit in the corner, he will not see you. Not if I do not wish him to see you, and I do not wish it, for I know what is in your heart.”

I wiped my nose with the back of my free hand. “W-what is in my heart?”

“You fear Vai because you fear the mansa. What does the mansa want from you that he brought you into his house?”

She had power as great as that of the mansa but so different it could not be named.

“My death,” I said before I knew I meant to say it.

Not even this surprised her. “Ah. A sacrifice. This corner”—she indicated the foot of her bed—“is darkest.”

I carried the tray to the corner and sat in the darkness with my sword at my left hand and my cloak pulled around me, the hood over my head. I was still shaking but suddenly ravenous. At least if I was going to die, I would die with a full stomach! I quickly washed and then, cradling the bowl in my left hand, swept the meat to my lips with my right.