Cold Steel (Spiritwalker 3)

A second catch-fire shimmered, catching the backlash as one of the girls spun a candle flame above her cupped hand and took a threatening step toward Rory. He drew up short, to the girl’s sarcastic laughter.

The girl hadn’t Drake’s finely honed control. Her catch-fire moaned, “It hurts.”

“Stop it!” I shouted, leaping to my feet. My chair crashed to the floor behind me.

The sliced folds of roasted beef caught fire on my plate as heat scalded through me. I coughed, fumbling at my cane, for by the gods I would crack his head open before he killed me.

The heat ceased. The girl’s dancing flame vanished. The catch-fire slumped to the floor, and not one person moved to help him. Yet I could not help but notice how Captain Tira had arrayed her soldiers, giving them clear shots at Drake and the four young fire mages. Lady Angeline cast me a look that would have murdered a lesser creature.

“Come now, Cat, don’t make me angry.” Drake brushed a strand of hair out of his eyes. “I just want you to watch when your husband begs me not to harm you because he’s not strong enough to kill my fire. Or perhaps, better yet, when he’s brought before me in shackles, and I ask you to choose between me killing him or you becoming my concubine for him to see.”

I cast a disbelieving look at Camjiata, but he was watching Captain Tira in a fixed way that made me think he was ready to blink an order if need be. Melqart’s Balls! Who was in charge here?

With curled lip, I addressed Drake. “Obviously to save his life I would do what I must.”

“That would make you a whore.”

“No, Drake. It would make you a coward. For this is the coward’s way, to boastingly strut when there is no real threat to his own self.” I turned my attention to the chamber at large, in disgust. “Have we played this scene for long enough? James Drake insults me, hoping to degrade me in your eyes, and I defend myself. Is there a hope for an end to this mockery? Or am I merely his latest victim…?”

I trailed off to let my thoughts catch up to my mouth. Fiery Shemesh! Vai had warned me to be prudent. But it was just so hard when Drake sat there lording it over them, him and his deadly fire magic and his young acolytes and their captive catch-fires. All of them could die. Captain Tira’s pistol and sword were fast, but fire outraced steel.

So I smiled and laughed, stepped around Camjiata, and kissed Drake on the cheek as I had kissed my sire to take him off guard. He recoiled as if I had knifed him in the gut.

“You’re so clever, all of you! I see what you’re about. You don’t trust me, me appearing so suddenly and with such a tale, so you have appointed Drake to carry out a cunning interrogation. But I assure you, everything I have told you is true. My husband’s mother and sisters were dangled as hostages before him so he had no choice but to bow his head to the mansa’s yoke. His radical sympathies have not changed.”

I righted the chair, nodded at Rory, and sat down. My fingers trembled only a little as I considered the smoking ash of my beef. The mood in the chamber shifted from a knife’s edge to blunt wariness.

“Bring the maestra a fresh plate,” said Camjiata. “Please be aware, Drake, that Lutetia is the crucial battle of this entire campaign. This is no time to quibble over prizes as if we are boys playing a game of sticks in the river. I have promised you that when the time is right, we will turn our attention to the Ordovici Confederation, but I cannot do so if my army is defeated. Cat?” He examined me. “Are you well? You look pallid.”

“When will the time be right?” muttered Drake under his breath. “How long must I wait to get back the throne and honor that are rightfully mine?”

“Ah, here is a fresh plate. I hope everything on it is to your liking, Cat.”

It was an imperial portion of beef and a full half of roasted chicken. I knew better than to let anger and disgust harm my appetite. I dug in while the command staff discussed the speed with which the army could move, and how far from Lutetia’s walls the hospital camp ought to be set up.

The meal’s ending gladdened me, for escape from Drake’s presence beckoned the way a street filled with the best fabric and tailoring shops calls to a fashionable woman with a limitless purse. Camjiata ushered me out of the room with a speed that took my breath away. Doctor Asante cut off Drake with a question that allowed us to get out the door, and the door shut behind us even before Rory could follow me. The general’s fingers pinched so hard I almost yelped.

“Wait before you speak,” he murmured.

He escorted me swiftly out of the hall and up a set of back stairs to a modestly furnished loft. Four young officers, one an Amazon, studied a table covered with maps. They acknowledged our entrance with salutes. He pressed me past them through an inner door into a long attic storeroom whose boxes and crates had been shoved back to leave room for bedrolls and gear. A window at the far end looked over the front of the market hall and the main square to an old stone castle tower rising above green trees.

Camjiata paused at a closed door that led into another room set in under the eaves. Hand on the latch, he paused. Long golden spears of late-afternoon sunlight lanced in through the window to illuminate his figure as in a portrait. As in a dream. His hair was pulled back and tied with an incongruously bright-green ribbon that matched the old-fashioned bottle-green dash jacket he wore, cuffs trimmed with lace.

He turned to address me with a serious look that quite disarmed me, for who would offer such a direct and confiding gaze to an enemy? His tone had an intimate color, as if despite everything he trusted me enough to speak his true mind.

“I need you to kill him. You’re the only one who can.”

40

This was what it meant to walk the dreams of dragons, for I had swum through this very moment when I had slept in the belly of the beast as we crossed the Great Smoke. That journey in the ocean of dreams had given me a brief taste of Bee’s gift. I was too astounded to speak.

Footfalls hammered up the back steps.

“But not until we defeat the Coalition and their Roman allies,” he went on, as if I had already agreed. “If we lose now, the mages, princes, and Romans will use their victory to crush the radicals and all dissent for another generation.”

“You created a monster,” I said.

“No, the monster created himself. Why do you think people hate and fear mages? Surely you can see their fears are not irrational. Still, young men are weapons that experienced men will wield. My weapon has proved more dangerous than I imagined. I doubt even Andevai Diarisso can stop him now.”