The Smoke-Scented Girl (12 page)

She shook her head. The smoky blue ribbons
turned with her, their edges starting to quiver like the runes.
“Nothing like that. I was just a barmaid in a small northern town,
no one who would stand out at all.”

Evon regarded that beautiful face, her
graceful limbs, and thought her assessment was highly unlikely, but
he said, “I think the chances of you simply waking up one morning
with this spell fizzing through your veins are remote. And yet I
can’t come up with any other explanation. You didn’t have any
remarkable ancestors?”

She shook her head again. “Perfectly
ordinary.”

“As far as you know,” Piercy pointed out.
“How many of us can trace our ancestors back more than a handful of
generations?”

“
You
can,” Evon said.

Piercy waved his hand dismissively. “My
family is hardly representative. And some of our proudest
connections may be spurious, which simply proves my point. You,
Miss Haylter, may well be descended from some great magician of
yore, but we have no way of proving it. Which makes it irrelevant,
Evon.”

“True.” Evon examined the quivering runes
again. “How odd. They’re—” The spell jerked into motion, and Evon
flinched, bracing himself for the furious spell to lash out at him,
wrap its tendrils around his neck and choke the air from his body
in retaliation. Instead, the spell-ribbons resumed their slow
orbits as if they’d never stopped. Evon blinked in astonishment.
“I’ve never seen anything break
desini cucurri
before. It’s
as if the spell was straining against it until it gave. That speaks
to a remarkable amount of power...well, of course, if it’s capable
of burning someone to ash, it would have to have a lot of power.”
He cast
desini cucurri
again, and stood staring at the
unmoving spell. “I’m starting to wonder about the creator of the
spell. This is quite intricate and yet quite specific. I know of no
one who could have created it, and certainly no one who’d have
created it and not taken credit.”

“It
does
murder people, even if they
happen to be deserving, Lore. That might put a damper on the
fellow’s desire for the accolades of his peers.”

“True. But I think you should suggest that
your people start looking for the magician, now that we know it’s
not Miss Haylter here.” He smiled at her, he hoped reassuringly,
and she gazed back at him. Her eyes were once again emotionless,
and his smile faded as his last exchange with Piercy replayed
itself in his head.
Do you need a dictionary so you’ll
understand the concept of insensitivity when you see it next,
Lorantis?
“I’m sorry,” he began, then cleared his throat. “All
right. I think I can try to remove it.”

“With that cursory examination? Evon—” Piercy
began.

“It’s in two clear pieces. If I can...I think
the best way to describe it is that I’ll remove its memory of you,
Miss Haylter. The spell will still exist, but it won’t have any
connection to you. And then I can figure out what to do with it
once you’re free.”

Her hazel eyes met his. “Do it,” she
said.

Evon sat cross-legged before her and held out
his hands. She put her hands in his without further prompting.
“This could hurt,” he warned her. “And at the risk of unnerving
you, I’m not as certain about this as I sound.”

“You have no idea what pain is,” she said.
“Go ahead.”

With another jerk, the spell-ribbons snapped
back into motion. Evon withdrew his hands from Miss Haylter’s,
thinking to cast
desini cucurri
again, but the writhing,
looping movements made him hesitate. Leaving it free—and he was
unnerved all over again at how easy it was to think of the spell as
a living creature—might make it more difficult to focus his magic
on the spell, but instinct told him that it needed to be in motion
if this plan of his was to have any chance of working. He grasped
Miss Haylter’s hands and gave her what he hoped was a reassuring
smile.

The spell-ribbons continued to flow over Miss
Haylter’s hands, looping through Evon’s rather than passing around
them. He felt nothing, not cold or pain or even the brush of the
flexible matter they appeared to be made of. Well, they were linked
to Miss Haylter’s body; perhaps they would respond to a variant on
a healing spell. He focused on one no thinner than a strand of yarn
that darted up and down her index finger and blinked twice, slowly.
“
Vertiri
.
”

Every ribbon stopped moving at once, but
where
desini cucurri
had frozen them all in place, they now
seemed alert, as if they were listening for what he might say next.
Evon held his breath. He’d meant only to prepare that one piece of
the spell to be altered, but somehow he’d hit on something far more
powerful.
Might as well try it
, he thought, and encompassed
the entire spell in his gaze. Miss Haylter’s eyes were closed, her
fingers gripping his loosely; she was far more composed than he.
Evon took in a deep breath, let it out slowly, and said,
“Frigo
.”

A faint taste of lemon passed over his
tongue. The ribbons of blue light expanded, stretching width-wise
like dough as they pulled away from their orbits. The blue light
went from dull to sunlight-bright in an instant. And Miss Haylter
crushed Evon’s hands in hers, her nails cutting into his palms, and
screamed as if he’d knifed her through the heart.

“
Desini! Desini desini!”
Evon screamed, his voice
cutting across Miss Haylter’s. Miss Haylter ripped her hands from
his and scrambled backward until she hit the wall, kicking her feet
as if trying to force her way through it, scrabbling at it with her
nails. She’d stopped screaming and her voice now came in short,
whimpering grunts. Her eyes were wide, the irises completely
encircled by white, and Evon didn’t think she could see either him
or Piercy. Evon hesitated, torn by the need to provide comfort and
reassurance to someone in distress and the awareness that he’d been
the one to cause that distress. “Piercy,” he whispered.

“Don’t,” Piercy said, and crossed the room to
crouch at the woman’s side. “Miss Haylter,” he said quietly, “can
you hear me? Just try to breathe. This will pass. Just
breathe.”

To Evon’s surprise, Miss Haylter nodded. Her
eyes were still fixed wide open, but her fingers stopped scratching
at the wall and her breathing began to steady. Piercy continued to
murmur to her as she began to relax, and Evon, cursing himself,
turned and went into the kitchen. He’d been so stupidly confident,
so eager to prove himself to this injured young woman, and he’d
just made things worse. She would never trust him again—not that it
mattered, since the spell was clearly beyond his abilities. He
looked at his palms. They were marked with sore red crescents,
blood seeping from one of them. Compared to what she’d felt, it was
nothing. He rubbed his thumb across one row of them. A reminder
that Evon Lorantis wasn’t nearly the magician he claimed to be.

“Evon,” Piercy said from the other room, and
Evon steeled himself for whatever look might be in Miss Haylter’s
eyes now. Anger? Fear? Contempt? He went through the door and saw
the two of them standing together in the center of the room next to
the scuffed coppery circle.

“I’m so sorry, Miss Haylter, I can’t tell you
how sorry I am,” he began.

“You didn’t hurt me, Mr. Lorantis,” she said.
“I was terrified. I didn’t think I had it in me to feel anything,
after all these months. I wish I could tell you what I was afraid
of. Maybe...if it’s true that this spell is aware of us, maybe it
was its fear I felt. I just want you to know I don’t blame you for
anything. It was...kind of you to try.” She was more animated than
he’d seen her before, which still meant her words came from a core
of stillness so profound she made everyone around her look manic.
She held out her hand to him, and, stunned, he extended his own,
but she jerked away before he could clasp her hand. “Did I do that
to you?” she asked.

Evon turned his right hand palm-up to display
the bloody crescents. In his surprise, he’d forgotten about them.
“It’s nothing.”

“I’m sorry.” They both stared at his hand for
a moment, then Miss Haylter gathered her cloak around her and said,
“I do appreciate your efforts,” and turned to leave the house. Evon
and Piercy both jumped. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Miss
Haylter,” Piercy said, putting his hand over hers where she grasped
the door latch.

“You can’t help me,” she said, a statement of
fact rather than an accusation.

“But Speculatus is still after you,” Evon
said.

“They can’t hurt me.”

“I wish that were true,” Piercy said. “They
will do whatever they can to learn the secrets of that spell, and
they will certainly not care how you suffer in the process.”

“And, forgive me for being callous, but
Piercy and I are determined to understand the spell ourselves, and
keeping it out of Speculatus’s grasp is just as important,” Evon
said.

“You think of me as a tool,” she said,
regarding Evon with an expression verging on anger.

“No, I think of you as a woman caught up in
unfortunate circumstances. I admit there’s a great deal I don’t
understand about that spell that has you tangled up inside it, but
I’m positive it’s self-aware, which means that if anyone thinks of
you as a tool, it’s the spell. Miss Haylter, I failed just now
because I was too arrogant to give that spell the analysis needed.
I won’t make that mistake again. The spell
is
separate from
you and it
can
be removed. I just don’t know how yet.”

“Why should I trust you?”

“You couldn’t kill me, remember? And what
other options do you have? You could go on as you have been,
dragged all over the Gods’ creation and forced to kill according to
the spell’s whim. You could wait for Speculatus to grab you. Or you
could give me another opportunity to figure this out.” Evon closed
his aching fists. “I wish I could swear to you that I can free you.
But all I can promise is that I’ll do my utmost, and this last
failure aside, my utmost has always been excellent before.”

Miss Haylter’s anger had been replaced by
that same unreadable impassivity. “And what will you do if the urge
comes on me before you’ve unraveled the spell?”

“Follow you. Cast a better shield.” Evon
smiled. “Bring you a spare dress?”

The tiny smile touched her lips and was gone,
but even that brief glimpse eased Evon’s heart. “If I say no,
you’ll just follow me anyway,” she said.

“How observant of you, Miss Haylter,” Piercy
said. “Lore is the most stubborn and obsessive man I’ve ever known,
and those are some of his best qualities.”

“You told me I was merely very focused,” Evon
objected.

“I only said that to keep you from falling
into despair.”

“I don’t know whether to thank you or punch
you.”

“You will give Miss Haylter an entirely wrong
impression of yourself if you strike me.” Piercy straightened his
overcoat and brushed his hair back from his head. “Why don’t we all
go back to the capital and bring in a few more magicians on this
problem? You might be the preeminent magician of your generation,
Evon, but more minds ought to make light work, yes?”

Evon exchanged glances with Miss Haylter. “If
I’m trapped there when the urge strikes, the explosion will be
worse. I’d just be a danger to all those people,” she said.

“True. I’d forgotten,” Piercy said. “I wish
we knew how Odelia found Miss Haylter back at the inn. I’m not
certain whether we are safer finding secure lodgings or staying on
the move. I take it you don’t feel the...urge...now, Miss Haylter?
No?” He scuffed at the floorboards with the toe of his boot, now
badly in need of a polish. “All things considered, I think we are
better off in a city, at least for the moment. I can find us
defensible lodgings and provide some security while you do whatever
it is you do, Lore. Will Calian do? I believe it’s the next large
city south of Inveros.”

“Does south matter?” Miss Haylter asked.

They both stared at her. “You’ve been moving
steadily south this whole time. We assumed you had a reason,” Evon
said.

She shrugged. “There were other things on my
mind.” Her voice had gone flat again, and Evon’s heart sank. He’d
hoped having companions, having the possibility of being free from
this life, might give her some hope. It was stupid of him to think
that a year of guilt and agony could be so easily erased.

“Well,” Piercy said, sounding as
uncomfortable as Evon felt, “if we get on the road now, we can
reach Calian just an hour after sunset. Is that acceptable to you,
Miss Haylter?”

Miss Haylter shrugged again. “Not to sound
ungrateful, but as you pointed out, Mr. Lorantis, I don’t have any
other options.” But she smiled as she said it.

Snow was falling when they left the
farmhouse, sleety wet drops that only barely qualified as snow by
being too thick for rain. They mounted up, Miss Haylter riding
behind Evon this time, and retraced their steps past Inveros and on
down the coast road. Miss Haylter rode with her arms clasped
lightly around Evon’s waist, which made him self-conscious. He
hadn’t been this close to a woman, even platonically, in years. He
really had become isolated. Someday, when this was all over, he
would ask Piercy to introduce him to one of his many young women.
Lancie Bierter, possibly, or Shelena Gerantis—no, he’d heard she
was engaged to Biffy Valatertis. How old Biffy had gotten someone
that attractive to even look in his direction was a mystery. The
horse jogged left to avoid a pothole, and Miss Haylter clutched at
his waist more tightly for a moment, but said nothing. She was
well-spoken for someone who’d been only a barmaid. He wondered if
she’d left anyone behind, wherever it was she came from. Family,
friends, a beau—given her appearance, that was probably beaux
plural. How
had
she come under this spell, anyway? One more
thing to investigate, though he thought it likely that unravelling
the
how
would point directly at the
who
. And then he
would track down the spell’s creator and shake that magician into
teeth-rattling submission. The whole thing spoke to such
incomprehensible arrogance that thinking about it infuriated
him.