Cold Fire (9 page)

Daja left Ladradun House with the paper in a roll under her arm as Serg brought the sleigh around from the Ladradun stable. After tucking the paper under the front seat where it would be safe, Daja glanced up at the house. Morrachane’s unwelcoming face watched her from a window. The woman grimaced and turned away.

“Kaq,” Daja muttered in Tradertalk.

“Where do we go now, Viymese?” asked Serg.

Daja shoved Morrachane from her mind and consulted her list of possible mage-teachers. “Little Sugar Street,” she directed.

Once she had spoken to the last mages on her list, Daja and Serg returned to Bancanor House just before the hour when Daja was to teach meditation. Daja didn’t want to leave that for another day. The last of Sandry’s letters to arrive before winter closed the roads south had described the mess her student made because she hadn’t pressed him to learn to control his power. Daja thought no one at Bancanor House would appreciate being left to hang in midair, or worse.

She found Nia in Kol’s study, inspecting her father’s set of ebony and cherry chessmen one by one. “I don’t know what carpenter’s magic even is,” she told Daja. “I know this is well polished, and the clothes on the pieces are shaped to make the grain of the wood look like cloth, but that isn’t magic.”

After thinking about her own studies and those of her friends, Daja said, “A lot of magic is just everyday practical. No matter what power you have, how it gets used centers on the same things, mostly. People always like magic to protect them from fire, from thieves. Magic gets used for medicine and business.” She leaned against Kol’s desk, looking at Nia. The girl was alert and intent. She wants this, Daja thought. Even if it’s not what people expect of wealthy girls, she wants it.

Daja fiddled with her Trader’s staff, her constant companion. Odd, that she’d always thought of the brass cap and what it said about her, never about the ebony that ran between the metal-covered ends. “What kind of wood is this?” she asked Nia, though she knew the answer.

“Ebony,” Nia replied instantly. “Expensive and hard. Used for furniture, inlays-it’s imported from the south.”

“When Traders give their children their first staff, they tell us ebony’s magical use is for protection. Well, what do carpenters make for protection?” Daja asked. “You can spell ebony inlays on a baby’s cradle, to keep it from harm. You could place spells against fire in ebony thresholds in one of your father’s banks. It would have to be very powerful, because some things, like a really big fire-” She stopped, thinking of the boardinghouse fire and the spells that battled the flames. She blinked, shook off the memory, and continued, “Some things have more power than you. Still, you can keep the bank from catching fire because someone knocked over a candle.”

Nia’s eyes were wide. “Really?”

“In time,” Daja said. “It depends on the strength of your power and on your education. You need practice, and a teacher, and control-which means meditation. Let’s start on that. Do you know where Jory is?”

Nia closed her eyes for a moment. Then she opened them. “Book room,” she said, leading the way.

“Why did you do that?” Daja asked, curious. “Why close your eyes?”

“Oh, it’s because we’re twins,” Nia said. “It’s not magical, though. We know some other twins, and they do it, too. Usually Jory and I know where the other one is. If something big happens, we can tell. When Jory broke her arm falling off the stable roof, I knew it, even though I was at market with Mama.”

Jory was in the book room, as Nia had said, poring over recipes. “Why would anyone want to peel a thousand walnuts?” she demanded as Daja and Nia came in. “Do they mean the shell, or the brown skin over the nut meat? Where could you even get a thousand walnuts?”

“I don’t know and I’m not interested,” replied Daja. “Come on. You won’t learn to meditate reading walnut recipes.”

“Oh, that,” Jory said, closing her book. “What is meditation, anyway? Is it boring?”

“Come do it and find out,” Daja told her firmly. “Where can we be undisturbed?”

The twins looked at each other and shrugged simultaneously. “The schoolroom, I suppose,” Jory said. “Nobody’s there at this hour.”

Daja followed them up to the schoolroom, on the third floor with the twins’ bedrooms and the nursery where Peigi and Eidart slept. The floor was silent: the younger Bancanors were no doubt out somewhere with their nursemaids.

Inside the schoolroom, the twins watched as Daja used her staff to draw a protective circle big enough for the three of them. Leaving a foot of it open, she beckoned for them to come through and sit.

“I’ll get my dress dirty,” they chorused, looking at the floor with disdain. They looked at each other and grinned: they often echoed each other.

Daja leaned on her staff and waited. The twins pointed out the silvery magic of the flat circle to one another. That answered something for Daja: she knew Jory had glimpsed the kitchen spells, and now she also knew that Nia could see magic. It wasn’t a common gift, though it made life easier for those who had it.

When the novelty of the circle wore off, Jory sighed. “Do we have to do this? It’s late. I’ve been at lessons forever-can’t I have time to myself? I’ll get splinters on the floor. And I’m hungry.”

Daja waited. She didn’t expect Nia to be a problem, but Jory would be, given a chance. She had to learn now that she couldn’t get around Daja as she did others. Their situation was only temporary, but if Daja had to teach at all, she would teach as if it mattered.

Nia sat first, her skirts tucked neatly around her. Jory continued to stare at Daja. Finally Nia tugged Jory’s orange skirt. “Stop it,” she told her twin. “I don’t think she’s interested.”

Once Jory settled, Daja said, “I’m not.” She closed the circle, then sat on the floor and raised her protections until they were enclosed inside a perfect magical bubble.

Next she told the girls, “Meditation teaches you to control your power. To control it, you have to find it, so that’s where we’ll start. First step. Take a long, deep breath. Count to seven as you do it. Then… ” She continued instructions on proper breathing, words she could repeat in her sleep. As she spoke she watched their faces. What was going on behind those similar, yet different, eyes? “Let’s try it. Sit up straight.” The girls’ backs were straighter than Daja’s, the result of hours with etiquette teachers. “Breathe as I count. Breathe in.” She counted as automatically as she’d described the breathing, letting them get familiar with this easiest part of the exercise. After about ten minutes she let her voice grow quieter, until she finally counted only in her own mind. The twins kept pace even without hearing her.

“Very good,” Daja told them softly. “As you breathe, empty your mind of thoughts. Forget everything. This might take time, but try. As I count, let your thoughts flow away as if you empty them from a pitcher. Ready? One …”

She knew once she told them to empty their minds, they would think of anything and everything. Each time they lost track of the count, Daja corrected them and started over. She had restarted five times when Jory complained, “This is boring.”

“Quiet. Listen inside your mind,” Daja said firmly. “One. Two. Three… “

“I can’t help it. I keep thinking about things.” It was Jory again. “There’s a crick in my neck.”

“Shake it out and start over. Be quiet inside, Ravvikki Jorality,” Daja ordered, using the Namornese word for “Miss,” knowing she sounded as dry as the twins’ other teachers. The girls responded instinctively to the schoolteacher voice, straightening backs and shoulders, composing their faces.

Daja counted through another three rounds of in, hold, out, hold, before Jory scrambled to her feet. “I have a cramp!” she told Daja, massaging her calf. “This is a silly way to sit!”

“Jory, would you please hush?” demanded Nia. “I almost had it!”

“Mouse turds,” Jory retorted. “You didn’t almost have anything.”

“Sit in a way you’re comfortable,” Daja ordered. “I’m not letting you out of the circle until you really try, and not just for a moment or two.”

“Then why don’t I just-” Turning, Jory walked straight at the protective barrier. She struck the curved dome headfirst. Her hair stood on end, clinging to the magical bubble, and Jory’s knees buckled. She dropped to the floor, pulling her long hair free.

“Sit comfortably,” Daja said as Jory tried to pat her hair down. “You make this harder when you fuss.”

Jory sat with her knees bent to one side. She soon developed cramps in the arms she used to support herself, and switched to the other side. That arm went to sleep. Next she stretched out on the ground. By then the looks Nia gave her had gone from impatient to murderous. Daja was even starting to feel cross.

When the clock struck downstairs, they all sighed with relief. Daja reached over to rub out a handspan of her circle. As the barriers collapsed, she drew her power back into herself. “Come back here tomorrow, and we’ll do it again.”

Jory groaned.

It occurred to Daja that Jory would fight her until Daja made it clear that she was in charge. Now she walked over to stand between Jory and the door, leaning on her staff as she stared into Jory’s eyes. “Maybe you could go all your life with magic just making a little trouble for you because you never got the discipline,” she said, her voice so quiet that the twins had to lean closer to hear. “Maybe,” Daja told them. “And maybe your magic will break loose and cause a disaster. It happens. Will you behave, or do I speak with your parents?”

Jory pouted. “I’ll behave,” she said at last.

“Here. Tomorrow. Same time.” Daja stood aside, letting the twins dash away to change clothes. To the empty room she murmured, “That could have gone better.” She rubbed her head. The trouble with meditation was that it was harder to talk about it than it was to do, and she was not the best talker. Why couldn’t Briar, or Tris, teach the twins?

The thought made her smile. Briar would end by tacking Jory to the floor with thorny vines. Tris would have the girl so terrified that Jory would be able to think of nothing, including the control of her power.

Yawning, she descended the stairs to wash up for supper. If only she could show them that cool, bright place she went to when she meditated. Then she wouldn’t have to worry-unless the places the twins carried within themselves looked and felt completely different. She had to match them up with proper teachers. Then Jory would be someone else’s headache.

In the hope that Frostpine could advise her, she checked his room. It was dark and chilly: in all likelihood he was out on his investigation. Daja sighed, then fed warmth to the hearthstones. They would hold it for hours, heating the room until the servants came to build the night’s fire. Then she went to change.

When the supper bell chimed, Daja opened her door to find the twins. They wore supper clothes; their masses of hair were neatly combed, Nia’s braided, Jory’s tied back with a broad ribbon. “What about teachers?” Jory asked. “Did you find one?”

Daja looked down to hide her smile. So Jory at least hadn’t enjoyed her teaching, either. “I found several,” she replied when she could keep her face straight. She followed them to the stairs. “Now we have to meet those who will take a student. You have to pick the one who seems right for you.”

“But Mama picks our teachers,” Jory argued as she rattled down the stairs.

“Well, this is different,” Daja told her bouncing back.

“If Daja says you are to choose, you are to choose,” Matazi informed her daughters when they asked about it over supper.

Kol nodded agreement. “Around here, we leave mage things to mages. When can you start taking them to these teachers?” he asked.

Daja looked at the twins. “Tomorrow.”

“You’ll have Serg to drive you for the day,” said Matazi. “You two, pay attention, and think before you choose. You can’t just go changing teachers whenever you like. Jorality, are you listening?”

Jory exhaled a tremendous sigh. “Mama,” she complained.

“Your mother is right,” Kol added firmly. “No trying this one, or that one, and deciding you want someone else in a month. These are busy people. They’re good enough to offer to teach you, and you will be good enough to treat it seriously.”

Jory stuck out her chin and met her father’s level gaze. Immediately the chin retreated; she looked down. Very quietly she replied, “I will, Papa.”

The following morning Daja was awake when she heard giggles and the click of the door-latch; she was rarely caught by surprise the same way twice. She sat up and glared at the twins when they came in. “Do you find this amusing?” she inquired.

“But we’re doing it for you,” said Jory at her most innocent.

“If this is revenge for my revealing you have magic, it’s working,” Daja informed them. She tossed her covers aside and tried to get out of bed. After the previous day’s skating lesson she had gone stiff with pain in places she hadn’t known she could hurt. Muscles heavy with years of smacking things with hammers ached as if she’d picked one up only a day ago. Her back was one large bruise.

“It didn’t hurt me that bad,” Nia commented as Daja hobbled to her water pitcher.

Jory suggested, “Maybe you didn’t fall as much.”

“I don’t think it’s that she fell more.” Nia sounded as if she were genuinely trying to be helpful. “Maybe Daja hit harder, because there’s so much of her to hit.”

Daja turned to glare at them. “Unless you want to spend the winter stuck in ice to your knees, you will go downstairs and wait for me.”

“How can we get stuck in ice?” Jory demanded as Nia towed her from the room.

“She’ll melt it under us and let it freeze,” Nia replied as they closed Daja’s door.

Daja stared at herself in her looking-glass. “If this is how old people feel, I don’t like it,” she told her reflection. “I don’t have to do this. Plenty of other people walk. They don’t have to skate.” And they take forever to go anyplace, a treacherous part of her brain replied.

Somehow she dressed and tottered downstairs. When she emerged from the house in her winter clothes, her skates over one sore shoulder, she saw the twins had set out fresh torches and were skating as gracefully as birds, swooping and curving, spinning and gliding backward, the metal blades on their feet winking in the torchlight.