Cold Fire (Spiritwalker 2)

“So people who knew them both say,” I said. “I never knew my father went to Qart Hadast. Not all his journals survived. What was he doing there?”

“He had come to see a well-known scholar who at that time was involved in an early attempt to construct a navigable balloon that could cross open water.”

“He must already have been planning for the First Baltic Ice Expedition,” I said as I leaned forward, trembling. “Go on, please.”

Vai’s gaze drifted to me, its pressure both bitter and so very sweet.

“I was able to attach myself to a group of students and researchers who went to the caupona for the evening’s drinking and meal. At the end of the evening one of the women students made it clear he could share her bed that night. He said he was flattered and honored but he could not. I shall never forget what he said, for I admit in my experience”—here she glanced at the warden with an amused smile, which he answered with an ironic twist to his lips—“it is not a common refrain from the lips of men. He said he had contracted a secret engagement with an Amazon in the army of General Camjiata, and that as long as she must remain celibate so he had pledged likewise. I thought it admirable, which is why I recall him so well.”

“Thank you,” I muttered, blinking back tears. My gaze strayed to Vai, who was still watching me. “I do believe he loved my mother very much. And she him.”

After a moment, we both looked away.

The warden rose. “Alas, my friends, it is late and I have to report to work at dawn. If the maestressas will accompany me, I will escort them home.”

I made polite farewells to the trolls and an exceedingly formal goodbye to Vai and walked to the gate with Bee and Sanogo and the professora.

There I stopped. “I’m not coming with you.”

Bee examined me as if to make sure I was really her Cat. At length, she kissed me. “Good fortune to you, dearest.” She led the warden away, chatting merrily about her sea voyage in a way that made her life-threatening seasickness seem like the running joke in a comedic spectacle.

“You can go around the back way by that path there,” said the professora in a matter-of-fact manner that made me grateful, for I was so nervous it seemed impossible to speak one more word.

I cut through the night-shadowed garden and turned each latch until I found the chamber with the bed. There were also shelves, a chest, and a tiny altar with a wreath of fresh flowers and a sard stone on a platter. In the unlit room, I sat on the bed he had built for us. It seemed sturdy.

Mice had made a nest in the eaves, their cozy scrabbling punctuated by the rattling of leaves heard when the wind gusted. His footfalls neared, and halted at the door. I sucked in a nervous breath.

He opened the door. Cold fire ghosted along the backs of his hands like phosphorous. He had the same expression as on the evening I had first seen him, coming up the stairs of my aunt’s and uncle’s house, but I knew better now how to interpret it. He had been stricken by hope on a night he had expected only an unpleasant and soul-wearying duty. And yet, fearing more of the mockery and condescension he had endured in his seven years at Four Moons House, he had chosen to confront the encounter behind a screen of arrogance.

I spoke before he could. “Vai, the year turns. Hallows’ Night comes.”

He closed the door. “Beatrice! How could I have not thought of that! She walks the dreams of dragons. The Wild Hunt will come for her.”

“Dismembered and her head thrown into a well.”

“You want to protect her.”

“I can save her.”

He sat down next to me, as one might who must utter terrible news to a listener innocent of a heartbreaking truth. “Catherine, even the mansa is not powerful enough to drive off the Wild Hunt. Even with the ice lens to amplify the energy, it’s hard to see how it could be done.”

o;Batey and politics is all anyone talks about in this city. Might I have another helping, Professora? It’s absolutely delicious.”

No cook can resist an enthusiastic eater. The way to a cook’s heart seemed simple.

She smiled. “I was going to tell you about meeting Daniel Hassi Barahal. It was in Qart Hadast, of all places. I was very young, in my first year at the university.”

“You’re not Kena’ani.”

“I am from the Naqab Desert. But I chose to study in Qart Hadast because of my interest in chemistry. And because they admitted women. And because I had family there, so my parents allowed me to travel so far since I could live with cousins. Your father had beautiful eyes, and hair just like Beatrice, those thick black curls. In fact, Beatrice looks something like him. I suppose you must resemble your mother.”

Vai looked at me, then away.

“So people who knew them both say,” I said. “I never knew my father went to Qart Hadast. Not all his journals survived. What was he doing there?”

“He had come to see a well-known scholar who at that time was involved in an early attempt to construct a navigable balloon that could cross open water.”

“He must already have been planning for the First Baltic Ice Expedition,” I said as I leaned forward, trembling. “Go on, please.”