Cold Magics (36 page)

“I hear Lord Charles is going to be all right,” said Sir Patrick as another knight rose and began yet another toast. Patrick’s voice was quiet enough not to be heard past their table, but his words made Eileen’s head snap around so quickly that Thomas thought she’d have hurt her neck.

“I heard that as well,” said Bethany, Sir Patrick’s wife. “He is a very fortunate young man.”

“I thought he was dying.” Eileen’s voice was faint. “I thought I killed him.”

“It was thought that you had,” said Patrick. “They thought his lung was pierced, but it seems it was not. He won’t be standing for a few days, but he isn’t going to die.”

“Oh.” Eileen’s hand came up to cover her mouth. Her body trembled, then her eyes filled with tears. Rose immediately proffered a handkerchief. Eileen took it and wiped her face, while Lady Prellham looked on, quite disapproving. “I’m sorry,” Eileen apologized, when she could speak again. “When Baron Goshawk came by he was certain that Charles was dying.”

“Goshawk came to visit?” Thomas said, surprised. “When?”

“
Baron
Goshawk,” reminded Lady Prellham. “He did us the honour of visiting this afternoon, while Sir George was practising with the knights.”

It should have been me
, Thomas thought, galled at the idea that Eileen would speak to Goshawk, but not to him.
But if I’d done that, Charles would be dead by now.

The knight’s toast, a gracious thanks to the duke and an equal thanks to his father-in-law for the lovely gift of a horse, came to a finish. Thomas raised his glass with the others, sipping at it and wondering how many more speeches he was going to have to bear before the duke called a halt to them.

Father Roberts rose to his feet.

Thomas, George, and Eileen all leaned forward. The quiet muttering that had been prevalent through the other toasts stopped, and even the young lords fell silent.

“We are most gratified,” said Father Roberts, “to be invited to this gathering.” He took a moment to survey the room. “Just as we are most gratified that Lord Henry agreed to allow us to travel with him on his return journey.” He paused, inclining his head at Henry, who was lounging back in his chair and wearing a bland expression.

“We know that this is a difficult time,” said the priest. “We know that you are experiencing hardships, and that many villages have been lost. We are here to help.” He took a sip of his wine, then continued. “It is not often that the High Father’s forces are called to mobilize. We are not defenders of the nation, nor of any part within it. Rather, we are defenders of the faith. And when we take up arms, it is to defend that faith.”

He paused again, taking a moment to look around the room and all those who waited for him to finish, before his eyes alighted on Thomas and stayed there.

And now the bit about witchcraft
, predicted Thomas.

“Witchcraft is something that few believe in these days.”

Thomas took a drink.

“Why, in the Royal Academy, they are taught that there is no such thing.” He paused, eyes still on Thomas. “Of course, we know this not to be true.”

He returned his gaze to the duke and his sons. “When Lord Henry came south, he petitioned the king for men to fight an enemy that attacked unseen, using forces beyond those the High Father has given to man.”

Thomas glanced to Henry and saw him leaning in and whispering something to his father. The duke nodded, but did not interrupt. Thomas forced his attention back to Father Roberts as he continued.

“When the news of these invaders reached the church, it was decided that we must see these powers for ourselves. It was then that myself and my few men were sent north. We are not many—” this was directed at Duke Antonius, “but neither are we all the church has to offer. We are here to witness the truth about your enemy. When we can report back evidence of witchcraft witnessed firsthand; when we can say with certainty, ‘Yes, there is a threat to the faith here,’ then we will become the vanguard of the church’s forces, which shall come north and descend upon your enemy—the enemy of the faith—with a will.” He raised his glass. “Your Grace, accept this toast and my pledge. Where there is witchcraft we shall not rest until it has been purged. Where there is a threat to the faith, we shall not rest until it has been destroyed. Your Grace, to victory.”

Glasses were raised around the room; “to victory” resounded through the crowd with more enthusiasm than it had all night.

“Subtle like a brick,” said George. “Surprised he didn’t ask for your head on a stick.”

“Why would he want Thomas’s head?” asked Sir Richard’s wife.

“Old disagreements,” said Thomas, glaring at George a moment before looking to the head table for the duke’s response.

The duke had bowed his thanks to all the other toasts, but it was Henry who rose to his feet. “On behalf of my father, I thank you, your Grace. We are pleased that an envoy of the High Father is willing to make such a journey, and it is my hope that you will have the opportunity to meet the enemy soon, so that you may judge the truth of our words.” He raised his own glass. “To your meeting with the enemy.”

Glasses were raised and the words muttered, and Thomas found himself smiling. “Nasty.”

“Aye,” agreed Rowland. “Nicely put, though.”

“Aye.”

Father Roberts accepted Henry’s toast with a gracious nod and no real expression on his face. Glasses were raised high and drained, and when they were put down, Duke Antonius rose to his feet. “There is much to be done on the morrow,” he said, “and so I must leave you. Yet let this not be an end to the merriment. Rather, let it be a beginning. We shall have joy in the face of our enemy, knowing that when spring comes, we shall drive him from the land!”

There was applause, though not as enthusiastic as the response to Father Roberts’s speech a moment before. On the way past Henry, he leaned in and whispered. Henry nodded, then bowed again as his father passed.

The music began as Duke Antonius walked across the room, and grew louder the moment the door closed behind him. Men and women got to their feet and tables were pushed out of the way. The crowd shifted and knights, lords, merchants and tradesmen mingled together. Soon a dozen couples were dancing. Thomas recognized the tune and turned to Eileen. “Do you feel like dancing?”

It took a moment for the word to register with her. “I… I don’t know.”

“If Miss Eileen is to dance, she must dance with her brother first,” said Lady Prellham. “It is the appropriate way to begin.”

“Oh.”

George held out his hand, “Come on,” he said. “We’ll dance, and then you can decide from there.”

“All right,” said Eileen, taking his hand. Before she stepped out on the floor, she turned to Patrick. “Are you sure he’ll be all right? Charles, I mean?”

Patrick nodded. “Aye, he will.”

“Oh.” Eileen smiled, though Thomas could see her eyes shining with tears again. “Good.”

She followed George out to the dance floor and Thomas turned his attention to the rest of the room. Father Roberts was in earnest discussion with several barons. The men looked very interested in whatever he was saying, and the others around—merchants, mostly, with a smattering of knights and other minor nobility—also paid close attention.

The inquisitor stood behind the envoy, his hands clasped around his glass of wine, saying nothing. His gaze travelled almost idly over the crowd until his eyes met Thomas’s. The man smiled, then, and raised his glass. The expression, mild enough, sent a deep chill through Thomas. Thomas raised his own glass back politely, even as he silently cursed the man.

Henry drifted down from the front table and stopped beside Thomas. He followed Thomas’s gaze to the clergy and the men around them. “The barons and knights who lost their towns,” said Henry. “No doubt eager to tell all, in the hopes he will bring reinforcements.”

“And what do you think the chances of that are?”

“I don’t know,” said Henry. “It was a lovely speech. Unfortunately for his claims, if my father isn’t letting any patrols out until the spring, there will be no way for him to scout out and see what it is that the enemy can actually do.”

“Unfortunately,” echoed Thomas, truly wishing that the priest was out in the snow at that very moment, preferably with the inquisitor alongside. He searched out the young lords, who were gathered around one of the tables, talking amongst themselves. “Heard Charles was getting better.”

“He is,” said Henry.

“Miraculous recovery?”

“Some are saying so,” said Henry. “The inquisitor among them.”

“Wonderful,” Thomas thought about it. “Is he claiming responsibility?”

“He says the High Father works in mysterious ways.”

“Think he believes it?”

“I think he knows enough to recognize a man who is at death’s door. As does the healer.”

“And is the healer talking, too?”

“The healer is John’s. He’ll keep quiet unless told to do otherwise.”

“Well, that’s something, at least,” said Thomas. The music rose to its climax, then ended. Thomas bowed. “Would you excuse me, Lord Henry?”

“Of course,” said Henry. “Tell Eileen I want a dance myself at some point.”

Thomas smiled. “Of course.”

Thomas reached the dance floor and claimed Eileen’s hand from her brother. George made a quick search and was soon back on the floor with the young lady he’d been speaking to at Baron Goshawk’s party the night before.

By the Four, was it only last night?

The dance was a roundel, the couples moving in a series of turns around a large circle while the music slowly gained speed. Eileen was looking relieved one moment and pensive the next, and barely paying attention to the steps of the dance. They passed in front of their chairs, and Thomas saw Lady Prellham giving Rose some very specific instructions about her posture, to judge from the girl’s suddenly straight back. He asked Eileen, “How is Lady Prellham?”

“A terror.” Eileen shuddered. “The woman spent the afternoon instructing me in the finer points of court etiquette and an hour preparing me for the banquet. It would have been longer if I’d had more clothes—something she says she intends to remedy, by the way.”

Thomas led her another turn about the dance floor. “And Baron Goshawk came to see you?”

“He did,” said Eileen. “To apologize for what occurred at his party. He also promised to watch out for me and keep matters from becoming unpleasant again.”

“Good of him.”

“He’s a good man,” said Eileen.

“He is,” agreed Thomas, swallowing the lump that her words put in his throat.

The young lords were still at their table, and now Lord John was sitting in their midst, talking and laughing with them. Thomas wondered how long it would be before they began looking for dance partners and what he should do if any asked Eileen to dance.

Thomas and Eileen swirled past the tables where Father Roberts was seated, holding court with same group of displaced nobles and knights, his inquisitor standing behind him. Thomas tried to catch some of what was being said, but the music and the sound of the dancers’ feet overrode the rest of the sounds in the room.

The inquisitor looked up. Thomas met his eyes for a moment, and Father Alphonse smiled the same cold smile Thomas had seen when the two had last spoken. The inquisitor leaned over and said something to the man sitting nearest him. That man turned his head and also looked toward Thomas.

The music took Thomas and Eileen away, spinning them around the room in a long, slow circle. By the time they passed Father Roberts again, all his companions were watching them.

“What’s going on?” Eileen asked once they were past.

“I have no idea.”

The music ended. Thomas and Eileen bowed to one another, and Thomas started to lead her to their seats. Halfway there, Baron Goshawk stepped in front of them. “If it is not too much to ask,” he said to Eileen, “may I have this dance?”

Eileen let go of Thomas and took the baron’s hand. “Of course, Baron,” she said. “Do you mind, Thomas?”

“Of course not,” said Thomas, bowing and walking off the floor. He turned to watch them and found himself nearly nose to nose with Amelia.

“Thomas! You must dance with me. I insist!”

Thomas tried to think of an excuse and found he didn’t have one, so he held out his hand. The musicians struck up the opening chords of a slow couples dance, and Amelia leaned in close to Thomas as they began moving. “Well, tell me about it!”

“About what?”

“The fight, of course! And Eileen. What happened?”

“People got hurt,” said Thomas.

“They say Charles is dying. Did you stab him?”

“Not I.”

They followed a slow path across the floor, weaving in and out of the other couples. George was dancing with another of the girls from the party—Cecily—Thomas thought. Henry was off to one side, conversing with his brother Richard. Amelia kept up a steady stream of chatter through the song, telling Thomas how the inquisitor was declaring Charles’s recovery the work of the High Father, how there were rumours of kitchen girls being chased by some of the young nobles and wasn’t it exciting that Father Roberts and his man were at the banquet?

“Very,” agreed Thomas.

“The white-haired one,” said Amelia. “He seems to have quite the interest in you. Half the time he’s watching you. Do you know him?”

“I do.” Thomas looked over. The inquisitor was engaged in a conversation with one of Richard’s knights, but left off a moment to sweep the dance floor with his eyes. They found Thomas, and the smile again came to the man’s face. Thomas forced himself not to shudder. If Amelia noticed it, she didn’t bother commenting.

“So tell me,” said Amelia, instead. “Whatever are you going to do?”

“About what?”

“Eileen, of course,” said Amelia, slapping him lightly on the chest for his imbecility. “She is a member of the nobility, albeit a very minor one, but still a member nonetheless, which does give her privileges that you and I certainly don’t have, not to mention making her eligible to all these young men.”

“All these young men,” said Thomas, “ruined their chances this morning.”