Cold Fire (Spiritwalker 2)

I hurried over and set down my tray, my hands trembling and my belly in knots.

As he replaced empty cups with filled ones on the tray, he spoke without looking at me. “Speak no careless word about fire mages and behiques, Cat. They guide a dreadful power. Best not speak of them at all, any more than we speak of the unseen spirits who trouble the world.”

“Are there powerful fire mages at the cacique’s court?” I whispered, for the ugly little hope would not die. Was Prince Caonabo strong enough to interest my sire? What about the behica who was training him? What about Drake? It seemed my sire had caught the scent of a powerful mage, and I had to figure out who it was.

Uncle Joe shook his head as a warning. The regulars had gone strenuously back to their cups. At a table too far away to have heard the exchange, four young men with the corded arms of laborers bent together, whispering as they cast glances my way.

“What?” said the youngest of the four. “The Sweet Cat and she man not living as husband and wife? Might there be a chance for me with she?”

The thin one snorted. “Sure, if yee want to risk a chisel through yee eye. None of us reckon ’tis that maku being stubborn. He used to go out every night, he and he radical friends. He don’ hang around here for the conversation.”

The third, his hair bound back in a dusty kerchief, chimed in. “He bring she a present of fruit every day, like he is courting she, if yee want me opinion on it. I don’ fancy she, me own self. Did yee hear she scold that sailor yesterday who put he hand on she ass? Yee want a wife who shall talk to yee like that?”

“She talk to me that way and I shall do she a rudeness,” said the fourth and largest, with a crude laugh.

Really, this spying business wasn’t so difficult, as long as you could control your betraying blushes and vexed grimaces. Like he is courting she! I sashayed over to the table, enjoying their consternation as I closed in. Even the big, crude fellow looked unsure of how to react.

“Not done with those drinks yet? I’ve never seen men drink so slow.” I offered a cutting smile to the big man, who smiled sourly.

“Drink with us, Sweet Cat, and we shall drink faster,” said the nice one who admired me.

“What? While I’m working? I’d like to keep my job.”

“If yee fancy going to a batey match, I’s yee man for it. I play on the Anoli third team. I know moves yee have never been taught.”

o;Catherine, what an expression you have on your face!” he said softly. “Please tell me what I can help you with.”

I looked up. He had cleared the bowl of skin and seeds and core, leaving a creamy pulp to eat, but it was me he was considering.

I shook my head. “I just miss my cousin. And my half brother, who’s probably getting into all sorts of trouble. Don’t you have two sisters younger than Kayleigh? Do you miss them?”

He smiled wryly. “The little lasses. They’re a bit saucy and impudent, those two. I do miss them. Here. Try it.”

“Impudent toward you? Now you simply must tell me about them. Oh, and give me the spoon while you’re talking.”

But later, I wrote what I had to write: “I am safe but I can’t come yet as I must find a way or make one to save you. Meanwhile, throw yourself on the mercy of the headmaster. If he saved his assistant, then we must pray and hope he can protect you.”

I accepted Vai’s money and made the delivery. I established a routine: batey practice before the children went to school, sewing and visiting in the morning, the afternoon nap, and an evening of serving and listening to the answers to the cautious questions I asked. Each passing day brought me farther from Salt Island, together with the unpleasant thought that I might be pregnant, and closer to Hallows’ Night. I had arrived on Salt Island on August second, and now August was drawing to a close.

“I hear the cacica has twenty husbands,” I said one evening as I arranged empty mugs on the tray. “Why would the cacica send her husbands to their deaths? Are they soldiers, sent to die in battle? Maybe that’s why she’s negotiating with General Camjiata, so he can fight for her. Or maybe men are married to her so they can serve the powerful court behiques as catch-fires—”

“Hush with that talk!” snapped Brenna.

All within earshot glanced toward the gate, as if expecting trouble might burst in like sharks to the taste of blood in the water. Heat boiled in my cheeks.

“My apologies,” I said in a choked voice, “if I said something I oughtn’t.”

“Here, gal,” called Uncle Joe from the counter, “cups to serve.”

I hurried over and set down my tray, my hands trembling and my belly in knots.

As he replaced empty cups with filled ones on the tray, he spoke without looking at me. “Speak no careless word about fire mages and behiques, Cat. They guide a dreadful power. Best not speak of them at all, any more than we speak of the unseen spirits who trouble the world.”

“Are there powerful fire mages at the cacique’s court?” I whispered, for the ugly little hope would not die. Was Prince Caonabo strong enough to interest my sire? What about the behica who was training him? What about Drake? It seemed my sire had caught the scent of a powerful mage, and I had to figure out who it was.

Uncle Joe shook his head as a warning. The regulars had gone strenuously back to their cups. At a table too far away to have heard the exchange, four young men with the corded arms of laborers bent together, whispering as they cast glances my way.

“What?” said the youngest of the four. “The Sweet Cat and she man not living as husband and wife? Might there be a chance for me with she?”