Cold Steel (Spiritwalker 3)

“There was this woman I petted in the palace of the prince of Tarrant that time I got trapped there after eating the pug dog and the peahen…”

He regaled me with a story that made me laugh more than once, even if there were particulars I had to command him to skip over because I did not want to hear them. Having no shame, he had no idea there were private things a person did not tell other people. Just as he finished, Bee reappeared carrying three leather peddlers’ sacks and a wrapped paper bundle.

Rory took the wrapped paper from her, brushed his cheek against hers, then held the paper to his nose and inhaled. “Fish! You brought me food.”

“How did you manage that?” I demanded.

“A noble bride receives a lot of gold jewelry. If she isn’t bountifully adorned, it’s shameful for her family.”

“You had no family in Taino country.”

An odd expression creased her mouth from a memory I could not share. “Let’s go. We’ll transfer the chest’s contents to these packs when we have a roof over our heads.”

The chest was indeed an unwieldy burden. The coarse rope chafed my fingers as we trudged through the busy streets of Adurnam. The sky was heavy with clouds and gritty with coal smoke from the afternoon cooking. Dreary colors and pinched faces made me feel we walked through a foreign land. To mark the festival of the god who ruled over war, shopkeepers had already adorned their doorways with a red wreath pierced with the short sword known as a gladius or with a wooden mask depicting a ram’s head with massive horns. The drinking would begin at sunset, and tomorrow morning there would be a procession through the streets.

We headed east toward the new districts along Enterprise Road. But our steps strayed toward the hills where the ancient Kena’ani settlement had risen long ago and where sanctuaries sacred to Melqart, Tanit, and Ba’al still stood. By unspoken agreement, Bee and I took a roundabout way that led us to the house where we had grown up.

We halted on the edge of Falle Square at dusk. The small four-story town house was shuttered, its front gate padlocked. No thread of smoke rose from the chimney. No festival wreath marked the door, not that any manner of Roman adornment had ever hung there when we lived in the house. The mansa of Four Moons House had purchased the property from the Hassi Barahal clan after my aunt and uncle had fled Adurnam. He had meant to keep Bee and me prisoner there until he sorted out what to do with us, but we had escaped.

Rain spattered as the wind picked up. Bee and Rory waited in the back alley while I wrapped shadows around myself, climbed over the back gate, and scanned the yard with its laundry room, cistern, and outdoor hearth. The old carriage house had been empty for years, for we could not afford horses or carriage, but the new owners had stocked it with hay and bags of feed. Bee and I had long ago hidden a key beneath a pair of loose boards in the carriage house. It was still there, but when I brought it to the door, the locks had been changed.

I tucked up my skirts, shifted the basket to my back, and climbed the tree to the window of Uncle Jonatan’s study. A chain of magic still protected the window latch. The whisper of its cold magic woke my sword. I unsheathed my blade and severed the threads. Then I turned the latch and swung into a deserted room.

Uncle Jonatan’s desk had been replaced by a table, chairs, and two settees shrouded by heavy covers and the dusty flavor of neglect.

I stepped into the first-floor corridor and listened through the threads that bound the house. Aunt Tilly had spun Kena’ani magic to guard home and property, and its embrace lingered in the walls like a memory of her warm smile. I wiped away a tear, for although I knew she and Uncle had betrayed me to save their own daughter, I still missed the way Aunt Tilly would kiss my forehead at night before we slept. I longed for the plates of sweet biscuits she and Cook had baked when they had extra coin for a treat of honey.

The house lay utterly silent except for the patter of rain. I went down to the ground floor and into the half basement. In the kitchen I opened the shutters and looked around. A new stove with all manner of modern conveniences had been installed in place of the old one where Cook had eked out each last morsel of tough stew meat and mealy turnips to make enough to feed us all. Dust smeared the tabletop, broken by the footprints of mice. Yet the coal bin was full, and the pantry was stocked with sealed pots of oats, barley, and beans.

I found a key hanging beside the back door. By the time the rain really began to pour, we were all safe inside.

I shivered. “No one knows we’re in Adurnam, and no one has lived here for weeks. I say we stay here the night, take a bath, and wash our clothes.”

Bee nodded. “We can haul water while we’re still wet. Now it’s coming on dark, no one will notice our chimney smoking. Do you want to haul water or start the fire?”

“I’m cold and wet,” said Rory in a tone of offended surprise. “I can’t work at hard labor in this condition!”

“You’d be surprised what you could do rather than have me bite you,” said Bee.

A grumbling Rory and I filled two copper tubs and the big scullery pot with water while Bee lit lamps, stoked and lit a fire in both the scullery and the fancy kitchen stove, and set oats and beans to soak. She found towels and an entire cake of lavender-scented soap of a kind we had only been able to afford as shavings at the holidays. In the scullery I gave Rory a towel to wrap around his waist and told him to take off his wet clothes.

took the wrapped paper from her, brushed his cheek against hers, then held the paper to his nose and inhaled. “Fish! You brought me food.”

“How did you manage that?” I demanded.

“A noble bride receives a lot of gold jewelry. If she isn’t bountifully adorned, it’s shameful for her family.”

“You had no family in Taino country.”

An odd expression creased her mouth from a memory I could not share. “Let’s go. We’ll transfer the chest’s contents to these packs when we have a roof over our heads.”

The chest was indeed an unwieldy burden. The coarse rope chafed my fingers as we trudged through the busy streets of Adurnam. The sky was heavy with clouds and gritty with coal smoke from the afternoon cooking. Dreary colors and pinched faces made me feel we walked through a foreign land. To mark the festival of the god who ruled over war, shopkeepers had already adorned their doorways with a red wreath pierced with the short sword known as a gladius or with a wooden mask depicting a ram’s head with massive horns. The drinking would begin at sunset, and tomorrow morning there would be a procession through the streets.

We headed east toward the new districts along Enterprise Road. But our steps strayed toward the hills where the ancient Kena’ani settlement had risen long ago and where sanctuaries sacred to Melqart, Tanit, and Ba’al still stood. By unspoken agreement, Bee and I took a roundabout way that led us to the house where we had grown up.

We halted on the edge of Falle Square at dusk. The small four-story town house was shuttered, its front gate padlocked. No thread of smoke rose from the chimney. No festival wreath marked the door, not that any manner of Roman adornment had ever hung there when we lived in the house. The mansa of Four Moons House had purchased the property from the Hassi Barahal clan after my aunt and uncle had fled Adurnam. He had meant to keep Bee and me prisoner there until he sorted out what to do with us, but we had escaped.

Rain spattered as the wind picked up. Bee and Rory waited in the back alley while I wrapped shadows around myself, climbed over the back gate, and scanned the yard with its laundry room, cistern, and outdoor hearth. The old carriage house had been empty for years, for we could not afford horses or carriage, but the new owners had stocked it with hay and bags of feed. Bee and I had long ago hidden a key beneath a pair of loose boards in the carriage house. It was still there, but when I brought it to the door, the locks had been changed.