Quatrain (44 page)

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 as 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!”

D
arkness 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.

“Can someone saddle my horse? I have to get closer before I can control it.”

“Yes, yes, Albert has already instructed the groom to bring it around.”

Degarde was among the small group of men milling about at the bottom of the stairs, and he was the first one to spot Senneth. “Thank you,” he exclaimed, catching her hands as she took three steps at once to land in the foyer. “I have exposed your secret, but I didn’t know what else to do.”

He was streaked with sweat and grime; he must have dashed through the fire itself to reach her. “It doesn’t matter, but we have no time to waste,” she said, pulling free and running for the door. The groom was just now leading up her rawboned gelding; she threw herself into the saddle and kicked it forward, trusting it to find its footing in the dark. Dawn was still at least an hour away. There would be precious little illumination to light their way until they arrived at the scene of the fire, when there would be too much.

Degarde was instantly beside her on a horse of his own. “How did the fire start?” Senneth called to him.

“I don’t know! Perhaps some of the town boys were hunting yesterday and someone was careless with a campfire. And someone told me there was lightning while we were at Evelyn’s house, though it never brought any rain. A small fire could have been smoldering all this time and just now blazed up.”

“How big is it?”

“I couldn’t see a way around it as I was coming down the hill,” he answered. “It stretched too far in each direction.”

She nodded and urged the horse to run faster, though they had to slow down as they crossed through town. Anxious villagers had gathered in the cold streets, shawls and cloaks thrown over their nightshirts, all of them staring with dread and fascination at the leaping red wall of devastation slowly climbing its way up the hill.

Even before they were close enough to feel the flames, Senneth could sense her temperature rising. It was as if she was a tightly wrapped bundle of kindling just waiting for a spark. The power began building in her veins; her hands were so hot that she stripped off her gloves and was almost surprised that her fingertips were not steaming in the chilly air.

They were close enough now to make the horses nervous, so Senneth jumped off the gelding and tossed his reins to Degarde. “Hold him,” she said. “Stay back.”

“What are you doing?” he cried after her, but she paid no attention. She just gathered all her strength and ran uphill as fast as she could, into the heart of the fire.

Every sense was assaulted with heat, scent, sound, vertigo. The air was too hot to breathe. Senneth felt her throat crisp as she tried to inhale, and her uncovered skin felt as if it would melt to the bone. She was surrounded by leaping, chaotic sheets of fire, scarlet and gold and edged with black. Impossible to tell which direction she faced, impossible to determine where the line of fire ended, or if it ran on to engulf the entire country. Around her, trees crashed to the ground, squealing as their highest limbs splintered apart and groaning as their massive trunks were clawed in two. Primitive and triumphant, the blaze roared out an incomprehensible language of jubilant rage.

Senneth raised her hands and spread her fingers wide and gathered all that heat and fury and power inside her.

She felt the fire twist and snap at her like a rabid cur. Calmer than stone, she held her place, bent her fingers back a little to widen the reach of her palms. Inexorably, she drew the fire closer and closer to her. She opened her hollow bones, she emptied her veins, to allow the flames to rush unchecked through her body. Her fever spiked even higher—surely her skin must be glowing. She flung her head back, her blond hair no paler than the yellowest crown of flame, and soaked up the conflagration like so much spilled wine absorbed into a heavy cloth. Around her, the fire stuttered and grew docile. The high, ragged curtains of flame descended, huddled low, collapsed upon themselves in great smoking strips of char and cinder.

Behind her, she heard a growing mutter of wonder and confusion—just as wordless, at least for the moment, as the fire’s expression of glory and wrath. Her own orientation was suddenly peculiar; she dropped her hands and straightened her back and felt a little wobbly on her feet. Was she facing uphill or down? Was she sitting or standing? She shifted her weight and looked around her at the blackened and unfamiliar landscape and tried to focus her mind.

Running footsteps behind her made her whirl around and fling out a hand, still red with heat. “Don’t touch me!” she warned. “You’ll scald yourself.”

It was Degarde, of course, who had presumably given the horses over to someone else’s charge, but right behind him were about a dozen villagers. Everyone was staring, but some of them looked amazed and some looked horrified. Senneth noticed several of the older residents clutching moonstones in their fists.

“Senneth—are you—do you need—why can’t I touch you?” Degarde panted, coming so close he could have swept her into an embrace.

“I am hot with magic,” she said, glancing over his shoulder as she spoke to see if any of the townspeople flinched at the words. There were one or two that she noticed, and probably a few she didn’t. “It will take some time to dissipate.”

“Thank you for saving my house,” he said. “For putting out the fire. I still can’t—I watched you do it, and I still don’t—it seems impossible anyone could have such a gift—”

“Mystic!” someone called out from the gathering crowd. Senneth couldn’t tell who spoke, but she saw a few others nodding their heads.

Degarde spun around. “Mystic indeed,” he said angrily. “But one who has risked herself to save all of
you
from burning in your beds. You should be grateful! You should thank her! Not call her names.”

The muttering mostly subsided, but Senneth saw a few people in the crowd exchange troubled glances. “Never mind,” she said in a low voice to Degarde. “I’ll be on my way in an hour or so. They can talk about me all they want then.”

He looked astonished. “You’re still planning to leave for the Lirrens?
Now?
”

“Don’t worry. The fire is well and truly out. You and some of the local men might start clearing away debris, but trust me when I say there are no sparks lingering in the wood, waiting to reignite.”

He came a step closer, half lifting his hand. It was clear he really wanted to disobey the injunction against touching her. “You misunderstand,” he said. “My concern is for
you
. I don’t know what toll magic takes on a mystic, but surely such a display must drain you of all strength. Shouldn’t you wait a day or two before setting out again?”

Senneth couldn’t help laughing. If anything, she felt energized by the encounter with the wildfire; she felt as if she had ingested its elemental exuberance through her pores. “I am not so easily overset,” she replied. “In fact, I am more restless than ever and eager to get on the road. I am glad,” she added, “that I was here to beat the fire down. I’m not sure how easily you and the people of Benneld would have contained it on your own.”