Cold Steel (Spiritwalker 3)

We trundled along as an appalling noise chased us with the pitch of an ugly fight. The carriage jolted to a halt. The door opened, and Bee flung herself into my arms. My eyes grew damp, but after a struggling pause she sat back with one arm gripping my waist and the other holding my hand. The carriage dipped as several people swung up onto the foot-rail in the back.

“I couldn’t see anything, but I heard the screams,” she said to Brennan.

“Does that happen every time you speak?” I demanded, still trembling.

“The ghana’s troops should know better than to draw blood,” said Brennan. “It’s why we like to have a crowd of trolls at our gatherings. They’re curious about the way the rats behave, and by being there they are the best protection radicals can have.”

“Bloody Melqart!” I whispered. “It disemboweled a horse!”

I pressed a hand to my mouth, then lowered it. While the thought shocked me, my body did not respond with revulsion. Instead I thought of how much moist, raw flesh was thereby exposed.

Bee crushed me against her. “Oh, Cat, I’m so sorry you saw such an awful sight. I didn’t know we would be separated for so long. It’s been almost a year since you and I were in Adurnam! I became so afraid I had lost you. Let’s never be parted again.” To my surprise, she burst into tears.

I fussed over her. Despite my tears and the fading chaos of the battle, I was swept with an intoxicating happiness. I had rescued Vai and now I was reunited with Bee and Rory. For this hour, at least, I could luxuriate in knowing I had reclaimed the ones I loved.

“As long as you’re safe that’s all that matters. Have you been well, Bee? Have you had quite a bit of trouble?”

“Yes. It’s not the first time a public meeting has been attacked in that aggressive way. I can’t get used to it.”

“You’re not meant to get used to it! What happened after you and Rory left me in the spirit world?”

She wiped her eyes with the back of a hand. “Rory and I swam ashore in the city of Camlun at the festival of Beltane. We traveled to Havery, where we were courteously received at the law offices. We’ve been with the radicals ever since. It’s been more dangerous than I imagined. Professora Nayo Kuti was arrested in Lutetia for the crime of spreading sedition!”

“What happened?” I demanded.

“We believe the mage House in Lutetia pushed the Parisi prince to take the step,” said Brennan with a crooked smile meant to remind me of why he had to be careful with mages. “However, her husband is a man of considerable status in Massilia. Through his efforts she was released and sent back to Massilia.”

“Professora Nayo Kuti is married?” I said. “I thought Kehinde was an independent woman.”

Bee’s gloved hand slipped from mine and she leaned over to rest a hand on Brennan’s knee in a gesture so intimate and familiar that I looked sharply away lest I blurt out an inappropriate question that would embarrass us all. My thoughts whirled dizzily.

“I am sorry regardless to hear she was arrested,” I lumbered on, “but I am glad to hear she was released in a timely manner to a safe place. I hope she is still writing.”

“She is still writing and her pamphlets travel across Europa.” Brennan nodded at Bee.

She withdrew her hand and tucked it into the bend of my elbow. “I pray your escape was not too much of an ordeal, dearest. Is Andevai unharmed? I hope we will have time to prepare him before he sees Rory wearing his ruined dash jacket.”

Brennan chuckled.

I sighed. “He is much the same as ever, as you will see. Bee, where is your sketchbook?”

She had it with her, for her sketchbook was like my cane: We never went anywhere without them. I paged through to the sketch of the tailor’s shop.

“When Maester Godwik recognized the eggs atop the towers as the architecture of Sala’s palace, I knew I had to come to Sala,” she said. “I hoped you would remember. And you did!”

I flipped to the sketch of the false dream.

“Cat!” she whispered, with a glance toward Brennan, who had closed his eyes in a kindly attempt to give us a little privacy. “Why do I need to look at this? I try to forget I ever drew it.”

For the longest time I examined the fabric of the dash jacket worn by a man seen only from the back. Shading and hatching became petaled flowers, while dots and lines evoked the spray of fireworks exploding joyfully out of the flowers’ blooming splendor.

I said in a low voice, “Quite by chance and not by my doing, he is getting a dash jacket made in this fabric. Can you bring about the future by drawing it?”

She snatched the sketchbook out of my hands and snapped it shut as if to close off the drift of my thoughts. Brennan opened his eyes, looking startled.

“I have no power to bring about the future. I only have the curse of sometimes glimpsing the future in visions that usually make no sense.”

She looked at Brennan in a way that made me realize she and he had discussed the subject at length. I caught my breath, waiting for some confession, but she only turned back to me with hands pressed together, palm to palm, as she spoke.