Cold Magics (13 page)

“It’s a trick!”

Thomas turned, looked at the candles, and made them light, one after the other. Lionel’s jaw dropped again, then his expression turned mulish. “You’re doing another trick.”

Thomas held up the light in his hand and let it fade away as Lionel watched. “It’s not a trick. It’s magic. Bishop Malloy was stealing it from people, and tried to use the blood of children to summon more. I took all the magic from him before I killed him. I tried to let it all go, but some of it stayed with me.” Thomas remembered feeling the small magics leaving his body, and feeling those which stayed blending with his own. “I think they belonged to the people he killed.”

“You can’t expect me to believe this,” said Lionel.

“It’s true,” said Eileen. “The bishop threw fire at us when we went after him.”

“You never said any of this!” said Lionel. “And none of you came back with burns!”

“Thomas healed us,” said Eileen.

“What?” Lionel looked to Thomas, then to his children, then back again, like a mastiff trying to decide who to devour first. “Healed? How?”

“The same way Ailbe healed me when I was stabbed,” said Eileen. “Only better.”

“He healed me before that,” said George. “The bishop’s swordsman nearly killed me. Thomas saved my life.”

Lionel stood, his mouth open once more, staring at his children. At last, he managed, “Why did you not say any of this before?”

“Would you have believed us?” said George.

Lionel wiped at his face like a man coming out of water. “But…” he stopped, turned back to Thomas. “You want me to believe you’re a witch, then? Is that why the churchmen are after you?”

“The church knows one of us used magic on the bishop and his men. They just don’t know which one, yet.”

“And we won’t tell them,” said Eileen.

You will if they catch you
, thought Thomas. “I don’t know how they found out, and I don’t know why it matters so much to them now, but it does.”

Lionel’s face made it clear he wasn’t convinced. “It’s a tall tale, lad. Hard to believe.” He gestured to the candles. “Even with the tricks.”

“Which is why I’m going to heal you,” said Thomas. “Pull off your shirt.”

“What?”

“Your shirt, Da,” said Eileen. “Take it off. So Thomas can heal you.”

Lionel looked dubious. “I’ll not be healed by witchcraft.”

“That’s right,” said Thomas. “You’ll be healed by magic. Now sit down and turn around so I can look at the wound.”

Lionel stayed where he was.

“By the Four, will you just do it?” demanded Eileen, stamping her foot. “Do it or you’ll have to explain to mother how you got stabbed as well as why you came home alone!”

“I’m not going back alone,” said Lionel. “You two are coming with me.”

“So we can be arrested?” snapped Eileen. “So we can go to prison and be tortured?”

“You’ll not be safe going north!”

“We’ll be a sight safer going north than going home!”

Father and daughter stared at one another, chests heaving, eyes locked, neither moving. Thomas cast a look at George, who was staying well back from the confrontation. At length, Eileen said, “You know I’m right, Da.”

“I know nothing of the sort,” said Lionel, though the anger was gone from his voice.

“She’s right,” said George, his voice quiet. “We’re better off heading north until this matter is sorted out.”

“And when will that be?” asked Lionel. The last of his fire faded from his voice, replaced by a quiet anguish. “When can I tell your mother that you’ll be home?”

“I don’t know,” said George. “When it’s done, I expect.”

“We’ll be all right, Da,” said Eileen. “I mean, Henry has a dozen men going with us, and once we get there we’ll be safe in Henry’s castle. No one will hurt us.” She took her father’s hand. “Now, please, sit down and let Thomas heal you.”

Lionel looked from his daughter to Thomas, then back again. “Are you sure he can?”

“He can.”

“Aye, well.” Lionel stopped. He looked like he was ready to say more, but whatever it was, he kept it silent. Instead, he sat down on the edge of his bed and took off his shirt. “This better not hurt, boy.”

“It won’t,” said Thomas, stepping beside him. Blood had seeped through the bandage. “At least, the healing won’t,” Thomas amended. He unwound the bandage from Lionel’s back, gently peeling the last layers from the skin. Lionel hissed when the air hit the bared wound. It was deep, and to Thomas’s surprise, not stitched. He said as much.

“The healer said it would be better not to,” said George, “in case it got infected and had to be cauterized later. The stitches would only make it worse.”

Thomas laid his hands on the wound. He focused on his breathing and the wound beneath his palms. He began chanting softly to himself—five words, over and over, in a tongue no one else in the room would understand. He saw a white light that he knew no one else would see, flowing out from his fingertips into the wound. It took a long time, and Thomas could feel the muscles in Lionel’s back relaxing as the pain was eased.

At last, Thomas stepped away and looked. Where the deep hole had once been was a pink, clean scar. A wave of exhaustion rolled over Thomas. He had been expecting it—the magic almost always drained him—but he knew that he could not succumb to it. It was all he could do to keep his feet, but he managed it.

Lionel shifted his arm, then his shoulder, then twisted his head to try to look over his shoulder. “Feels right enough,” he said.

“Look,” said Eileen, taking Lionel’s hand and pulling him toward the mirror.

Lionel followed her and twisted himself around until he could see it. “Well, I’ll be…” He looked at Thomas, then back at the healed wound, then back to Thomas again. “That’s…”

“Magic,” said Eileen.

Lionel looked at the scar on his back once more, then back at his children. There was deep worry in his face, and a sad resignation. “And you have to take these two with you?”

“I will take care of them,” said Thomas. “I promise you…”

He would have hit the floor if George had not caught him. His big friend easily pulled him upright and slung one of Thomas’s arms over his shoulder. “Come on, Thomas,” he said. “I’ll get you to your room.”

“I’ll help,” said Eileen, taking Thomas’s other arm over her own shoulder. “We’ll talk more in the morning, Da.”

“Aye, we will,” said Lionel. “Will he be all right?”

“
He
will be fine,” muttered Thomas. “I’m just tired. I’ll be better tomorrow.”

Lionel nodded, but didn’t say anything more. Instead, he kissed his daughter goodnight and opened the door to let the three of them out. The servant, still waiting, looked faintly alarmed when he saw Thomas.

‘It’s all right,” Thomas muttered. “I’m just very tired. If you could show us to our rooms?”

The servant led them back to the room Thomas has slept in the night before. Thomas leaned on George and Eileen all the way there. Once inside, George lit the candle and got the fireplace started while Thomas sat on the bed, Eileen holding his hand. Thomas let George finish building the fire, then said, “I need you to wait outside a moment, George. And to close the door behind you.”

“Why?” George sounded at once confused and worried. “What are you doing?”

“Eileen will be out in a moment,” said Thomas. “Just wait here.”

George looked even more confused, but went out and closed the door. Thomas took a deep breath. He had not felt this tired since the first time he’d used magic. “Take off your shirt.”

“Thomas!” Eileen protested in a startled, appalled half-whisper. “My brother is outside the door!”

“I don’t care about your brother.” Exhaustion made him waver where he sat. “I don’t want you to have another scar because of me. Take the shirt off. Please.”

Eileen hesitated, then did as he asked. Her breasts were bound with a long strip of cloth that also held a bloodied bandage in place. Another bandage was wrapped around her arm. Thomas struggled to undo the knot Eileen had tied in the strip of cloth. She gently pushed his hands away. “You’re too tired.”

“I’m not,” lied Thomas. “My hands are shaking, is all. You do it.”

It was obvious Eileen didn’t believe a word, but she undid the knot and turned her back to unwind the cloth, her breath going suddenly short and sharp as the bandage pulled off her flesh. She took a deep breath and, putting one arm over her breasts, turned back to him. The smooth skin of her breasts was pale in the firelight, the wound an ugly red rip in her flesh. Thomas looked up from it to Eileen’s face. She was staring at him, worried. He managed a smile, then took her free hand and kissed it. “If I start to pass out, push me backwards so I fall on the bed.”

Eileen raised his hand to her lips, kissed it, then lowered it onto the bloody wound on the upper slope of her breast. Thomas felt the soft flesh beneath his hand, and the ugly cut that ran across it. He closed his eyes and began repeating the words. The magic came slowly, but it did come, flowing from his hands into her flesh. Thomas felt himself drifting, tried to force himself to concentrate. The room began spinning slowly.

He felt himself falling backwards onto the bed and heard Eileen say, “Thank you,” before he passed into unconsciousness.

***

The morning sunlight slipped through a gap in the curtains and landed lightly on Thomas’s face. He opened one eye slowly, afraid he was still in the cell even though the surface under his body was far too soft. He was undressed and under the blankets in his very comfortable room. The fire was out—he couldn’t remember if it had ever been lit—and the room was cold. He thought momentarily about braving the cold air in search of food, then closed his eyes, rolled over and went back to sleep.

It was much closer to noon when he woke again. He pulled himself to a sitting position, shook his head to clear the last of the cobwebs, and looked around for his clothes. He found them folded on a chair by the fire. Thomas managed to stagger to his feet and get dressed. He had a headache and was certainly unsteady on his feet, but he was hungry, and that was enough to drive him onward.

He made it out of the room and down the hall, wobbling slightly. He found the stairs, found his way to the dining hall and found himself alone. A bell-pull brought a servant, who informed him it was nearly lunch time and promised to bring him food and find his companions. Thomas sat, staring blearily at the fireplace, and wondering how long he was going to feel miserable.

The food arrived at the same time as George, Eileen and Lionel. Eileen gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, George a cheerful greeting and Lionel a subdued “hello.” Then they all picked chairs and settled down to the meal. Eileen and George dug into their lunch, but Lionel just picked at his.

Lionel was doing his best to keep his face neutral, and not succeeding at all well. Worry added to the lines on his forehead, and he kept his head down. Thomas knew Lionel was hurting and wanted to apologize, but knew it wouldn’t do anything to make the man feel better. Instead, Thomas ate in silence.

“I’m going to miss this,” said George, as the servants cleared away the empty plates. “Food whenever you want it, someone else to clean up after you. Not a bad life.”

“Not a good one for you,” said Eileen. “You’ll end up larger than a house in a month.”

“She has a point,” said Thomas. “It’s nice, but something I wouldn’t want all the time.”

“Me either,” said Eileen.

“I could be convinced,” said George. “But we won’t have it much longer, anyway. When do we leave?”

“Henry doesn’t tell me these things,” said Thomas. “How about you, Lionel?”

“I don’t know,” said Lionel. “I was going to start riding back this morning, but Henry insisted I take a raft upriver. Gave me money to pay for the horses to ride, too. So I guess I’m leaving on the next boat.” He stood up. “I should see to my packing.” Then he looked to Thomas. “What should I tell your father?”

“I’ll tell him,” said Thomas. “I’ll write a letter for him right now.”

“We should do the same,” said Eileen. “A letter for Mother.”

“Mine will be short, if you want it done today,” said George.

“You can dictate, if you like,” said Thomas. “I can write it for you.”

“No,” said George. “I’ll do it. Do you think they have quills and paper?”

“They probably have a printing press in here if we want it.”

“Aye, well,” said Lionel. “I’ll get myself packed and you three can write your letters. I’ll meet you here in an hour or so?”

“It should be enough,” said Thomas. Lionel grunted and left. Thomas rang for a servant and asked for paper, ink and quills. All three sat at the big table, trying to decide how to tell their families they weren’t coming home. George put ink to paper first, and was done while Eileen and Thomas were still staring at blank sheets. He blew on the ink until it was dry, then started to fold the paper.

“What did you say?” asked Eileen, snatching the paper away. She read it. “‘Sorry we have to go away, but Da will explain. I love you and will be home soon.’ George!” Eileen shook the paper at her brother. “That hardly says anything!”

“At least he got his done,” said Thomas. “Which puts him ahead of me.”

“Well he can redo it,” said Eileen, pushing the sheet of paper back at her brother. “You can say more than that!”

George sighed and took back the paper. Silence reigned over the room for a while longer, then Eileen began to write. George did the same shortly after. Thomas could not find the words he wanted to say. He went over a dozen different scenarios in his mind, but nothing would make the trip sound any less dangerous. And telling the truth about the magic was the only thing that would make his father understand why he was going—assuming John Flarety would even believe his son and not send healers to lock Thomas up in a madhouse.

Sighing, Thomas picked up his quill, dipped it in the ink and began writing.

Dear Father, Mother, and Brother,

I am writing to give you news that you will not be happy with, and I ask that you forgive me. My friend Lord Henry, youngest of the sons of the duke of Frostmire, has come south seeking help. His father’s duchy is under attack, and Henry has asked me to go north with him to help defend it. I know you would prefer me to remain here and finish my studies, but Henry needs me, and so I must go.