Cold Fire (Spiritwalker #2)

Cold Fire (Spiritwalker #2) Page 148

The general went to the sideboard and uncovered a rasher of bacon and a plate of poached eggs surrounded by fried potatoes. He began to load up a plate as he talked.

“Beatrice assured me you were eager to be rid of the marriage. Now it seems you aren’t.”

He looked at me as with a question. I stared sullenly back, lips pinched shut.

“Jasmeen says he’s quite handsome and clearly madly in love with you. Youth, looks, and admiration are an intoxicating combination that is difficult to resist.” He returned to the table and set down a heavily-laden plate between a knife and a spoon. Then he steered me to the chair in front of the plate. “Sit.”

I did not sit. “I’ll never let you kill him.”

The general sat opposite me, touched the rim of a teacup to his mouth, then lowered it. “Ah! Still too hot.”

Drake put a hand on the back of my chair, as if to pull it out for me. I grabbed a knife. He retreated.

“Where you are under a misapprehension, Cat,” the general went on, “is in your belief that I want to kill the cold mage. What is his name again?” he asked Drake.

“Fucking arrogant bastard is his name. Was there another name that mattered?”

I waved the knife. “What has he ever done to you?”

The general spoke in the voice of command. “Cat, sit.”

I sat.

“James, you especially must learn to control that Celtic temper.”

Drake pulled a hand back over his hair, mussing it, then paced the length of the chamber.

“Cat, hear me out. First, I escape the prison where the mage Houses have held me for almost fourteen years. Quite without legal precedent, I note. I sail to Expedition because my army in exile has taken residence here, out of the reach of my enemies. The Council receives me with great interest, for they recognize that aiding me will open up trade in Europa. Then a man tries to shoot me. Suddenly the Council votes against my request for support, undermined from within. I hear rumor of another plot to assassinate me, one that may involve a cold mage who wields cold steel. Surely you understand I would be unnatural if I did not defend myself.”

I thought of how I had given Vai my sword that night in Southbridge Londun. He had killed two men rather than let them kill us. Blood on his hands. He didn’t want to kill again.

I thought of the two salters I had killed on the beach of Salt Island. Even as one begged for release. Even so. I would kill them all and more rather than let one bite me again.

I set down the knife. Let out my held breath. “Go on.”

He examined me as he sipped at his tea. “Yes, you do understand. Second, Beatrice has a most vivid dream of you and a man.” Briefly he looked so sympathetically amused, as if he had been caught kissing once, that I wanted to like him. But I knew better. “By the cobo hood gas lamp in the sketch, we were fairly certain we would find you in Expedition. Soon after this, Beatrice sketched you standing on a beach, little enough to go on. James approached me privately to tell me he recognized the beach, for he had been to Salt Island as part of his healer’s apprenticeship.”

Bee looked up, mouth a grim line. “You never told me that beach was on Salt Island!”

“I did not want you to worry, Beatrice. You can imagine our concern, Cat! Had you been bitten, you would have been doomed. We had to get you off the island as soon as you arrived. It was easy enough to arrange for James to go there and wait for you.” He took hold of my arm. He was a big man, and he had a strong grip. He slid my jacket sleeve up to uncover the scar. “But I was wrong. You were bitten.”

“Cat!” Bee scrambled to her feet, to come over to me, but the general raised a hand, and she halted, eyes wide, hands gripping the fabric of her skirt.

“Beatrice’s dream saved you, Cat. We saved you. Imagine what would have happened had James not been there to heal you!”

I pulled my arm away and tugged down my sleeve. “He didn’t heal me. No matter what he may have told you.”

“Then someone did. The salt plague is a terrible thing, as you now understand too well.”

“Better than you do.” Horribly, the aroma of the salted bacon had begun to snake its way invitingly down my throat. I licked my lips. He was watching me, perhaps waiting for me to explain how I knew Drake hadn’t healed me, but I kept silent.

He went on. “Nevertheless, I knew how to turn the situation to my advantage. Expedition is a city in ferment. Young men and women join radical circles and agitate against laws that vex them. People have new ideas about what rights communities ought to demand. Those outside the old city want assurance the laws will serve all equally. The story of this unusually powerful maku fire bane excited people’s interest. It’s a nice story, isn’t it? Having come to Expedition, the proud Europan lord is bitten by the local radical philosophies. Infested by them, he rebels against the chains that bind the unfortunate and chooses to join those who agitate against the privileges reserved for a few. He comes to see the justice in the complaints of the plebeians and propertyless and laborers. We knew he was here, waiting to strike at me, but we couldn’t find him.”