Cold Magic

Page 171

From the shadows of the first-floor landing above me, Bee said, “Blessed Tanit! Spirits cleaved from one whole into two halves! The cold mage has taken a fancy to you, Cat, although I can’t imagine why the way you kept at him with your claws. Still, he struck quite a romantical pose, don’t you think?” I could see in the dusky dimness as, above me, she clasped hands to her heart in the manner of an actress striking a pose in one of the festival tableaux. “Commanded to kill her, he pursued her. Pursuing her, he fell in love with her! Or should that be, falling in love with her, he then pursued her? Yet he defied the heavens and his master to win her. And then, being heartless, she rejected him.”
I no longer found the air cold at all. Indeed, the unheated entryway with the door standing wide open seemed quite steamy. “Have I ever mentioned how tiresome you are?”
“More than once!”
But this time it really was too much. I really was not joking. I walked out of the house, halting on the stoop to watch half of the company ride away, Andevai among them. He glanced back once. That was all. I could watch the course of his progress by the way the gaslights faded and flared.
When his party left Falle Square, there were still soldiers waiting at the house, but I ignored them. I crossed the street, my feet crunching in a dusting of snow. I opened the gate into the park and walked to the stone stele, the votive with her full lips, broad nose, and braided hair. I knelt, although the ground beneath my knees leeched all warmth from me. I raised a hand to touch the sigil the guardian held in her carved right hand: the sigil of Tanit, protector of women. I had nothing to offer except my thanks for our deliverance, but on this night, that was enough.
33
“Cat!”
Uncle’s voice made me stiffen. Without looking at him, I climbed to my feet and took in an unsteady breath as I found that sudden rage blinds more easily than darkness.
“Catherine,” he said, his voice breaking on my name, “I beg you, forgive us.”
I said nothing. I heard Bee’s silence beside him.
“Or if you cannot forgive us, then at least allow me to tell you what happened thirteen years ago. Let me tell you what we felt was best kept secret for all these years.”
I was not sure what I would have done if it had not been so dreadfully cold, if it had not been the dead of night on the longest night of the year, and if I had not been so very, very hungry and thirsty, and filthy on top of all else. If I had not just kissed a man who had told me I was the other half of his soul. But winter, and kinship, binds chains on you. It is not so easy to turn your back on everything you once thought you knew.
He said, “I have his final journal. The one we kept hidden from you.”
Such simple words, to hurt so much. I covered my face with my hands.
Bee said, “Come inside, Cat. Just to get some hot soup and a change of clothes at least. Those really stink. A heavier coat, and your good gloves. A bath, which you need. A fire and mulled wine. A warm bed just for tonight. Please. I’m sorry I said those stupid things.”
I had done it all for her. Who else did I have to do anything for?
But weren’t these very thoughts a lie? A saber-toothed cat roamed the city. An eru had called me “cousin.” I still had my ghostly companions: Daniel Hassi Barahal, Tara Bell, and child.
I walked past my uncle and accompanied Bee back into the house, back into the magnificently warm kitchen where Callie greeted me shyly. I heard the soldiers enter to take possession of the ground-floor parlor and the front and back entry. The magister announced his intention of taking an upstairs bed so they could light fires in the chambers below. Fortunately, they stayed out of the kitchen. They left us alone.
We sat down at the heavy wooden table where we had often helped Callie and Cook prepare food. I took a spoon in my hand and began to eat the comforting soup, broth of chicken flavored with leeks, parsley, turnip, carrot, and precious chunks of meat. My uncle sat down on the bench on the other side of the table. I could not know what he saw in my face. His was drawn gray with anguish. His black hair was uncombed and undressed, an untidy mop of tight curls. I had never had curls. My long black hair was as straight as if it had been ironed. Just like Rory’s.
In the end, as if reluctantly, he began to speak.
“We were never close, Daniel and I. He was only two years younger, but we could not have been less alike. He was always quarreling with everyone, challenging them, questioning every remark and all the proper ways we had of doing things. He was restless, difficult, nothing like me. It made sense for him to travel, gathering information. I just wanted to make the family prosperous and secure again, and to be secure myself. I married Tilly at the family’s urging, in order to consolidate lines of connection between the Adurnam branch and the Havery branch of the Hassi Barahals. She and I have always worked hard. We get on well together. I did my duty to the Barahals, and so I waited in expectation for Daniel to do his duty, as all of us are meant to do. Then he came home with her.”