Quatrain

  Senneth laughed. “Then I suppose magic would force everyone to be honest,” she said.

  Degarde gave her a sideways smile. “But aren’t there times all of us want to conceal what we are thinking?” he murmured. “Even if we are not precisely interested in lying?”

  “Well, take heart,” she replied. “I have met very few readers and most of them had only the most rudimentary skills. They might be able to tell in a general way if your bent was for good or ill without being able to pick thoughts out of your head.”

  “Are there many mystics with magic like yours?” Albert inquired.

  I have met no one whose magic was the equal of mine in terms of sheer power, she thought. No need to alarm them with such a boast. “Oh, fire mystics can be found everywhere,” she said. “I’ve often wondered if blacksmiths and cooks—people who work alongside fire every day—might have a little magic in their blood. If that’s what draws them to such a profession and makes them particularly good at it.”

  “How does someone become a mystic?” Albert asked.

  She laughed. “One is born that way,” she assured him. “It’s not a skill you can acquire, like reading, or a disease that you can catch from someone else.”

  “So babies emerge from the womb breathing fire and splashing water about?” Degarde demanded.

  “Some do! Those with particularly strong talents. But some don’t display any evidence of magic until they’re in their teens.”

  “And you?” Degarde asked. “When did you know?”

  “I can’t remember a time I couldn’t call fire. It was a gift that came into the world right alongside me, I suppose.”

  “And your parents? Were they mystics?” Degarde asked.

  “No,” she said in a tone of such finality that even the curious Degarde realized he had better not pursue the topic.

  “This is really quite fascinating,” Albert said, and seemed to mean it. “I’ve never talked with a mystic before.”

  “You probably have,” Senneth said gently. “But many mystics conceal their power, or at least they are careful not to flaunt it. There are too many people in the world who loathe and fear us. It is not safe to show off our gifts.”

  “Have you ever been persecuted for your ability?” Degarde asked. He was the one who kept asking the most personal questions, Senneth noticed. Albert seemed interested in the general outlines of magic, but Degarde wanted to know how magic had affected Senneth.

  “Yes.”

  Degarde surveyed her. “And yet you seem unharmed. I cannot imagine you were stoned in the streets—and it would seem pointless to try to burn you at the stake—”

  “Plenty of things can harm me,” she said quietly. “Not the least of them being hatred. I have suffered for my magic more times than I can relate. But it is still the gift I cherish most of all the gifts that have been lavished upon me.”

  They asked a few more questions, but she was tired of the topic; she managed to turn the conversation to farming and trade, subjects very dear to their hearts. They stopped twice more to take care of personal needs and eat quick meals. There had been some talk of breaking for lunch at a tavern in a small town they passed through, but instead everyone voted to simply pause at the side of the road and bask in Senneth’s manufactured summer.

  The early dusk of winter was upon them as they came in sight of Benneld. It was a charming town of narrow cobblestoned roads, well-maintained shop fronts, tidy houses, and an open central square where the residents could gather for important events. Degarde pulled his horse up next to Senneth’s to point out the major sights—two taverns, a posting house, and a freighting company in which he owned an interest.

  “And if you continue up that road about a mile, you will come to my place,” he said, gesturing toward a narrow route that ran north up a wooded incline. “It is a very easy ride. I hope you will make it often while you are staying with Albert and Betony.”

  “We’ll be leaving for the Lireth mountains in a day or so,” she replied. And immediately after that I will be returning to Ghosenhall. “But I’m sure I will have time to visit you and Julia before I go.”

  It turned out that the carriage belonged to the Cordwains; Julia and Halie disembarked outside the stables, where their own little gig had been kept during their absence. Everyone parted with fond farewells, and then Senneth, Albert, and Betony turned south on a rutted road and traveled for another fifteen minutes before arriving at the Cordwain house.

  It was bigger than Evelyn’s and more formal, though still nothing to compare with a Twelfth House mansion. Senneth was shown to a bedroom that was small but filled with light. It was furnished with delicate whitewashed furniture and prominently featured pink accents in the curtains, coverlet, and wallpaper. Her travel-stained trousers and leather vests made a bad match with the frilly decor, she thought, feeling a little oppressed as she hung her clothing in the painted armoire.

  She really didn’t belong there. Why had she agreed to come?

  To do a kind service for a friend of Evelyn’s, she reminded herself. And perhaps to win the hearts of a few people who heretofore looked askance at mystics. It is just a few days out of your life but may have far-reaching consequences for people you do not even know. Do your part with good grace, and then move on.

  The two days that needed to pass before Senneth and Albert set out for the mountains promised to be slow and tedious, but in fact turned out to hold more excitement than Senneth could have hoped. The very next morning, Betony took her back to the town proper so they could shop. Since there was a high probability of encountering people who were friends of Betony’s, Senneth had donned her green-and-blue-striped dress and tried not to feel resentful.

  “I’ll have another dress made for you while you and Albert travel, and then you can wear it at the dinner party,” Betony said as they stepped into a dressmaker’s cozy store.

  “What dinner party?” Senneth said.

  “The one I shall plan for when you get back. Now, please don’t refuse! I look for any excuse to entertain. I won’t tell anyone your secret, of course, but I would still like the chance to show you off.”

  Senneth could only nod dumbly and pretend to show an interest in fabric.

  They’d been in the dressmaker’s shop about fifteen minutes when a swirl of music and a wave of laughter drew their attention to the window. “Oh, look, a juggler’s troupe,” Betony exclaimed. All of them, including the dressmaker and her two young assistants, hurried out into the crisp air to watch the performers. They were quite entertaining, tossing balls and clubs and burning torches back and forth with such rapidity that the crowd quickly expanded and often sent up choruses of approval.

  There was one juggler Senneth was convinced had mystic blood. He collected toys and dolls from some of the assembled children and flung them in the air, where they hovered so long that it began to look as if they would float above Benneld for the rest of the day. In fact, only when one of the little girls began crying did the juggler let the items fall.

  The show continued for about an hour, and then some of the locals invited the performers to one of the taverns for a meal. The crowd began to disperse, but Senneth saw familiar faces in those who were left behind—and they saw her. Degarde waved and carried Halie over to say hello.

  “Wasn’t that marvelous?” he enthused. “Such coordination! I cannot believe they haven’t all been struck on the head or caught their hands on fire trying to grab those burning brands!”

  “No doubt they have had such mishaps during their initial practices,” Senneth said. “But they certainly presented a fine show this afternoon!”

  “We were just passing through town on our way to look for you,” Degarde said. “Are you free? Can you come back to the house? I brought Halie with me so Julia could have a couple hours of peace, but I am completely exhausted now and must go home to refresh myself.”

  “I have more errands to run. But, Senneth, why don’t you go with them?” Betony said. “Degard
e, you will bring her back before dinner?”

  “Most certainly I will. I will even get out the gig! We walked down here from the house,” he explained to Senneth. “It seemed the easiest way to expend a little of Halie’s limitless energy.”

  “I’m happy to walk,” she said, and they set out on the northern road.

  The hill turned out to be steeper than it looked, so conversation was a little breathless and Halie refused to make the climb on her own small feet. Degarde swung her up to his shoulder, then held on to her ankles to prevent her from kicking him in the chest. The little girl liked the extra height; she laughed and squealed as she grabbed at tree branches that overhung their pathway. Senneth heard the dry limbs rub and rustle together as Halie caught at them and then let them go.

  Degarde’s house was picturesquely situated in a slight valley, surrounded by closely planted trees just now denuded by winter. It was built of honey-colored stone so old that some of the edges had darkened with moss or smoke or simple age. But the black roof had the look of something newly installed and the shutters were all painted a matching color, and smoke curling out of half a dozen chimneys gave it an inviting look of warmth. What small portion of the setting was not given over to forest looked to be well-tended lawn, and Senneth spotted at least two gardens as they approached—one surely dedicated to vegetables, but the one in front no doubt riotous with color once the spring flowers bloomed.

  “Very pretty,” she said.

  “It’s not fancy, but we find it comfortable,” he replied.

  “That’s a trade I’d make any day,” she said.

  A servant took charge of Halie once they were through the front door, and Degarde showed Senneth around the main floor. She made suitable comments on the books in the library and the art in the sitting room, but she kept silent about the pieces of decor that really caught her attention. In one window of every room, dangling from ribbons chosen to match the furnishings, hung glowing moonstones as big as walnuts.

  Someone in this household was a devotee of the Pale Mother. And the doctrine of that particular goddess held that mystics were abominations.

  Senneth felt her skin prickle just from the knowledge that the poisonous gems were so close to her body. She found it difficult to concentrate on Degarde’s words as he related which ancestor had added on the north wing of the house, which matriarch had insisted on installing modern ovens.

  “My father married late, not having expected to inherit the property,” Degarde was saying, “and having made no attempt to ingratiate himself with the local girls! He took a bride from Gisseltess, but my mother was never very happy here. Too cold this far north, she always said. The winter before she died, she spent every spare minute huddled in front of a fire. I sometimes think it was pure frost that stopped her heart.”

  A Gisseltess girl. No doubt she was the one who had brought the moonstones here, since the Pale Mother was greatly revered in the southern Houses. It was possible Degarde and Julia didn’t even realize what the jewels were—just considered them pretty baubles to hang in the window and remind them of their frail mother, dead too young.

  Senneth didn’t ask. If he knew, he was being unforgivably insensitive to parade Senneth through his house, inches from anathema. If he didn’t, she wasn’t about to tell him that the touch of a moonstone could incapacitate a mystic, leave her writhing in excruciating pain. She never handed out weapons carelessly, even to people who seemed benign.

  “I myself have never been troubled much by winter,” she said, not knowing what else to say.

  “Well, no, I suppose you wouldn’t be,” he said with a laugh. “Since you can scare it off with a wave of your hands.”

  “Do you spend much time with your Gisseltess relatives?” she asked as artlessly as possible. Not to be too melodramatic about it, she had enemies in Gisseltess. It was not a place she would willingly go.

  No, and she avoided Brassenthwaite as well. If she wasn’t careful, soon there would be no House in Gillengaria open to her. She shook her head to shake the thought away.

  “There are a couple of aunts who used to make their way here every year or so while my mother was alive, but we have not seen much of them lately,” Degarde replied. “And there are cousins, I suppose, but I doubt I’ve spoken to any of them for at least a decade.”

  That made her warm up to him again, at least a little. “You don’t enjoy travel?” she asked.

  “Not particularly,” he said. “I like to have my own things about me, and sleep in a familiar room, and know what will be on the breakfast table in the morning.” He looked a little rueful. “I sound very dull, don’t I? I take it you have spent time in every House and acre in the kingdom.”

  “And time outside of Gillengaria as well,” she said. “I have sailed as far as Sovenfeld, though I was not there long enough to say that I really saw the country.”

  He turned his head to give her a serious, considering appraisal. “You’re so exotic,” he said at last—and then actually blushed, as if that was a particularly rude thing to say. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I have never met anyone like you. You don’t fit my notions of—of—ordinary folk. You’re not the kind of person I would usually sit down to dinner with. And yet I find you utterly fascinating. I am amazed by how much.”

  Bright Mother burn me, she thought. He’s not flirting after all—he’s convinced himself he’s besotted. She was not good at subterfuge, but she managed to summon an easy smile and a careless answer. “But that is my goal, you see,” she said. “To make you realize that mystics are a likable, genial lot—stranger than you’re used to, but quite appealing in their way.”

  He didn’t laugh, as she’d hoped. His voice was still quite serious as he replied, “I am far from certain I would feel that way about any mystic but you.”

  She was grateful beyond measure when Julia took that very moment to step into the room. “Halie was right—you are here!” she said, seeming very pleased to see Senneth again. “Is Degarde showing you the house? I wish you could be here in the spring. The whole place is a little gloomy at this time of year, but once the front gardens bloom it is a completely different story.”

  “Maybe Senneth will come back and visit us then,” Degarde said.

  Senneth greatly doubted it. “I am not sure yet what my schedule will be,” she said. “I know I am expected in Ghosenhall soon, and after that, who knows?”

  “Well, consider yourself invited,” Julia said. “Anytime you happen to be near.”

  They continued the tour of the house, Senneth silently noting the moonstones in the kitchen, in the library, in the playroom upstairs. After they paused to partake of tea and cakes, Degarde reluctantly ordered the gig out and drove her back down the hill, through the town, and along the southern road to the Cordwain house.

  “And you leave for the Lirrens tomorrow? How long will the trip take you?” he asked.

  “At least three days,” she said.

  “I hope you will make time for me when you return,” he said. “We will certainly have Albert and Betony over to dinner one night, but perhaps you and I might go out riding some morning. I promise not to bring Halie!”

  “Again, I’m not sure of my schedule,” she said. “Betony is already talking of a dinner party, and I must be honest with you. I am not used to so many events all piled together! Talk of so many occasions makes me want to hide in the bedroom or escape out the back hall.” She was smiling as she said it, but she meant every word. She had half a mind not to return to Benneld once the conference with the Lirrenfolk was over. She could cut through the southern edge of Kianlever when she crossed the mountains and get to Ghosenhall sooner.

  In fact, if she hadn’t been commanded to present herself in Ghosenhall, she could stay in the Lirrens for a few weeks. No one would invite her to dinners and dances in that isolated and unwelcoming land. She could be assured of her solitude there.

  But she could hardly refuse Baryn’s summons. It was not just that she admired him a
s king and liege, though she did; she appreciated him as a friend, one who had supported her when her own family had cast her out. If he needed her, she would go to him. She would do any chore he asked.

  “Don’t hide from us, not just yet,” Degarde said. “Give us a few more chances to prove that our society can be quite enjoyable.”

  “I’m sure it can be,” she said. They had pulled to a stop in front of the Cordwain house and Senneth paused before jumping down from the gig. “You must understand,” she said gently, “mystics are not quite tame. Your first impulse was correct. We are not the sort of folk you would invite to the dinner table—or expect to see there more than a few days running. We can be quite as likable as ordinary men and women! But we are still different.”

  “I know,” he said simply. “I think that is why you interest me so much.”

  Hopeless. She mustered one last smile, then gathered up her skirts and hopped down before he could think to secure the horses and offer to assist her.

  “In three days!” he called, as she waved from the front door. “I will expect to see you then!”

  Four

  Darkness still blackened the windows the next morning when Senneth was wakened by a furious racket at the front door. She was on her feet with a dagger in her hand before she had even registered what the commotion was about. Loud voices, raised and urgent, and the clattering sounds of footsteps gathering from all corners of the house. She heard someone utter the word fire.

  She had pulled on a shirt and trousers and plunged out her bedroom door when Betony came running up the stairs. “Senneth—thank goodness you’re awake!” Betony cried.

  “What’s the trouble?”

  “The whole hillside north of town is in flames! And the fire is heading straight for Degarde’s house—”

  Most small towns could form a water brigade from the nearest well or river to put out a blaze that threatened the houses, but a wildfire sweeping through the landscape would only be stopped when it ran out of fuel or encountered a rainstorm.