Cold Steel (Spiritwalker 3)

When wine was poured, Camjiata toasted the gathering.

“Here we have Captain Tara Bell’s child, come to join our cause.”

“And my bed,” said Drake with a laugh. “Where is that cold mage, Cat? The one you claimed was dead, when in fact you spirited him away in order to keep him safe from me? Now you are come to spy for him.”

“I came here to ask for help,” I said. “He’s being held prisoner.”

d never figured out that there was something odd about my answering questions with questions, not as Vai had immediately. Blessed Tanit! What an ass!

The thought made me smile mockingly, and of course my smile roused his temper.

“Enough! I am now wed to the daughter of the honored Armorican prince who is overlord of all the Veneti dukedoms. Such an honor is due me as a son of the Ordovici kings of old.”

“The Ordovici kings of old? Of what are you trying to convince me, Drake?” I asked, for this boasting, defensive mood puzzled me. “That because you are highborn I ought to overlook your boorish behavior? You cannot think I regret the way we parted, or the choice I made.”

He laughed nastily. “You’ll soon be sorry you didn’t take a princely crown when it was offered to you.”

Camjiata stepped into the breach. “My steward has been at pains to signal that our dinner is ready to be served. Let us not delay the repast, for my command staff is waiting. Lord Drake, will you and Lady Angeline join us?”

She answered for Drake in a cultured, formal voice. “We would be pleased to join you, General.”

She smiled soothingly at Drake—rather, I supposed, as Bee might say I sometimes smiled soothingly at Vai when he had climbed up onto his highest horse of intemperate disdain. Only, of course, Vai was no murderer. Was she a smart woman who had learned to manage him, or a frightened one eager to assuage his fits and starts? Her gaze flicked my way as she hooked fingers along his elbow.

“Come along, Cat,” said Camjiata with an unusual hint of asperity. “I think you have made enough of a scene for the moment.”

“Me?”

He steered me commandingly toward an interior door. In a side chamber, a table had been laid with settings. Eight people waited, expressions brightening with interest when they saw me and Rory, and darkening when Drake and his bride—and the six catch-fires and the four young fire mages and the six soldiers—entered. Among the command staff I noted the one-eyed proprietor of the Speckled Iguana in Expedition, the man who had once fought alongside my mother at Alesia.

A woman stepped forward. She wore a sober brown skirt and jacket, fitted with a second cutaway sleeve on her left arm in the same green fabric and silver braid worn by the Amazon Corps. Her black skin was remarkably unlined considering her hair was half gone to silver.

“Proud Diana! You must be Tara Bell’s child. Even with that hair and coloring, I would know you to be hers.”

“Doctor Asante,” Camjiata said, “I would like to introduce to you Catherine Bell Barahal.”

She took my hands between hers and stared for the longest time in a way that made me dreadfully uncomfortable. Her dark eyes shone with unshed tears.

“You knew my mother?”

“I loved your mother very dearly, Catherine Bell Barahal. Besides that, I midwifed you into the world. Tara was weak from her terrible injuries. I trusted no one else to make sure she came through the ordeal alive. It was a frightful day.” Her fingers tightened on mine. “Not that your life was ever at issue, for you came out squalling like so many cats fighting in an alley.”

“You were there when I was born?” I repeated stupidly.

“Quite the noisiest newborn I have ever heard.” She chuckled, then sobered. “I am glad to see you well, little cat, for I never heard of what became of you after Tara and Daniel fled.”

“Yet now is not the time of speak of such things, Doctor,” Camjiata murmured.

“Anyone would think you were trying not to anger Drake,” I said in a low voice.

He casually stepped on my foot to silence me, then smilingly introduced me to his command staff, soldierly men with self-assured expressions. The one-eyed innkeeper was in reality the infamous Marshal Aualos, called by the Romans “the butcher of Zena.” Captain Tira entered with a cadre of Amazons who arrayed themselves along the wall as the command staff took their places. Camjiata sat me at his left hand and Drake to his right. By the number of glances at the red-garbed youths and by Drake’s smirking expression, I could tell the fire mage made everyone uncomfortable.

When wine was poured, Camjiata toasted the gathering.

“Here we have Captain Tara Bell’s child, come to join our cause.”

“And my bed,” said Drake with a laugh. “Where is that cold mage, Cat? The one you claimed was dead, when in fact you spirited him away in order to keep him safe from me? Now you are come to spy for him.”

“I came here to ask for help,” I said. “He’s being held prisoner.”