9

With Haramis spending the evening in bed, Mikayla took advantage of the opportunity. She went to her room, picked up the box with the spheres that Haramis still had her practicing with, and went to the workroom.

While she hadn’t been able to contact Fiolon every night and morning, over the past year she had done it often enough so that it was quite easy to do by now. It was even getting fairly easy to rotate the spheres in each hand the way Haramis wanted her to—Mikayla had been practicing that, too. But tonight she twirled them only long enough to build up enough power to establish the link.

“Fio,” she whispered excitedly when she saw his face, “I’ve got something terrific to show you. Are you someplace alone?”

Fio nodded. “I’m in our old playroom,” he said. “Nobody is going to bother me here.” He frowned for a moment. “In fact, without you here, everyone is just ignoring me. It’s pretty lonely.”

“I’m sorry,” Mikayla said sincerely. “I miss you, too. I wish you were here and I could share this with you first-hand, instead of through the spheres.”

“Share what?” Fiolon craned his neck, looking curious.

“Look.” Mikayla held the spheres over the table, moving them around so that he’d get a good view.

“It’s Ruwenda!” Fiolon said at once. “And it’s better than any map I’ve ever seen. If I get ink and parchment, can you hold the spheres long enough for me to copy it?”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Mikayla replied. “Haramis and the servants have gone to bed, and Uzun isn’t exactly ambulatory. We’ve got the rest of the night if we need it. Get what you need, and contact me with your sphere when you’re ready.”

“Can I reach you with just mine?” Fiolon asked. “We’ve never tried that.”

“We won’t know until we do,” Mikayla pointed out. “If I don’t hear from you in a candlemark, I’ll bespeak you again. But I’m sure you can do it; you’re a much better natural magician than I am.”

Fiolon smiled, breaking the contact without further comment. Mikayla sat by the window, manipulating the spheres and looking down into the courtyard. She frowned when she noticed what her earlier rain had done. The snow had melted over a large expanse of the courtyard, but it had still been wet when darkness fell and the temperature dropped. Now the courtyard was a sheet of ice, glistening in the moonlight. “I’d better do something about that,” she said to herself, “or we’ll have folk sliding all over the place and breaking bones come morning.” She sighed. “I really shouldn’t have made it rain in the first place; it was awfully petty to meddle with the weather just to annoy Haramis.”

She went back to the sand-table and studied the bowls at the end of it. She pressed a fist idly into the crushed white rock. It made a sound as it moved under her knuckles, the sound of footsteps in snow. Of course! she realized. The water is rain and this is snow! I should have figured that out this morning; after all it is what the mountains are made of.

She felt a warmth inside her head and heard Fiolon’s voice. “Mikayla, can you hear me?”

“Yes, I can,” she answered, bringing the sphere up to her face so she could see him. “Here, I’ll hold the sphere so you can see the table, and you can draw it while I work.”

“Work?” Fio asked.

“Weather witching,” she explained briefly, ignoring Fiolon’s “Oh, of course.”

She grinned. “Haramis left me here alone this morning with orders to figure out what the table was used for. Obviously she thought it would take me all day—if I ever figured it out. She came back here in a big hurry when I made it start raining in the courtyard!”

“Are you sure it wasn’t coincidence?” Fiolon asked, falling into their common argument/counterargument pattern. “Doesn’t it usually rain there in the spring?”

“Haramis certainly seemed sure enough when she was yelling at me. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen her out of breath. Serves her right, though; she shouldn’t treat me like an idiot.”

Fiolon opened his mouth, then closed it. Mikayla figured that he had decided not to give her his opinion of her intelligence. “Besides,” she added, “it never rains here, even in the summer—it always snows.”

“So what is this work that you are doing now?”

“Minor repairs. When I made it rain this morning, it melted a lot of the snow, and now the courtyard is a sheet of ice.”

“So are you going to melt the ice?”

“It’s after dark here, Fiolon, and the temperature has dropped. Melting the ice would be working against nature.”

“You’re right,” Fiolon said, still sketching busily. “I should have thought of that. And if you make it hot enough to melt ice in the middle of the night, you’ll probably cause flooding someplace.”

“Or avalanches,” Mikayla agreed. “No, I think the best thing to do now is to simply put a thick layer of snow over the ice. That way everyone will be wading through snow and the snow should help keep them from slipping. Then, if it gets a bit warmer naturally in a day or two, I can get Haramis to show me how to melt the ice enough to dry the courtyard.” She looked at the various bowls placed around the table. “Besides, I’m not sure what one uses to produce heat in a location—”

“A torch?” Fiolon suggested.

“Maybe. But I’m pretty sure that this crushed marble stuff is for making snow—and if it isn’t, I’ll find out quickly.”

“Try it, then,” Fiolon said, “but do be careful. Is it all right if I watch? I want to see how it works.”

“Certainly.” Mikayla picked up a small handful of the granules of white stone and spilled them carefully from her hand onto the Tower on the table, concentrating on snow. She visualized snow falling softly onto the Tower and its surroundings, gently covering the ice in the courtyard, frosting the roof and the balconies. She seemed to float in midair just outside the Tower watching the snow drift around her. It was a very strange feeling, one she had never experienced before. As she concentrated further she felt as if she were growing smaller, shrinking to snowflake size, becoming just another crystal falling slowly through the night, picking up moisture and converting it to lacy patterns of snowflake.…

The pale light of dawn woke her. She was lying on the floor, next to the table, and every muscle in her body was stiff and sore. Why am I sleeping on the floor when I have a perfectly good bed? she wondered. Then her memories of last night returned, and she jumped to her feet, wincing as her body protested. She hurried to the window and looked out.

“I did it!” she exclaimed in delight. The courtyard was covered with snow, and looking at the railing of the nearest balcony showed her that it was almost exactly the depth she had planned. She wondered if it had been the proper depth when she fell asleep and the spell had stopped then or if it had continued while she slept until it reached the desired amount. Maybe Haramis would tell her, if Haramis was in a good mood this morning. And Haramis would probably be in a much better mood if Mikayla was found in her room practicing with the spheres when it was time for breakfast.

Mikayla tiptoed all the way to her room, changed into her night robe, got into bed and thrashed around to give it a properly slept-in look, and reached for the box containing the spheres. But as she reached out her arm she suddenly became aware of how tired she was. “It won’t hurt to sleep for a little bit longer,” she said to herself. “It’s still early. And cold.” She let her arm drop to her side, snuggled under the covers, and fell asleep again almost instantly.

When she woke again the sun was streaming through her window—she had forgotten to close the curtains. “Oh, no,” she said, scrambling out of bed and into the clothing nearest to hand. “I’m late for breakfast!” Pausing only long enough to run a comb through her hair, she ran for the dining room, slowing down to a walk as she approached it. Her mother had told her that a princess never ran, and she had said it often enough that Mikayla had developed the habit of entering a room at a ladylike pace, regardless of what her speed had been as she came down the hall.

Breakfast was laid out on the sideboard, but there was only one plate. Haramis must have eaten earlier, Mikayla thought. I only hope she’s not too angry at me for oversleeping. Mikayla made a hasty breakfast of cold toast and ladu-fruit cider that had been hot but was now room temperature. Then she went looking for Haramis.

She tried the study first, but when she poked her head through the door, Uzun sat there alone in his place at the side of the room. “Who’s there?” the harp strings sang softly.

“It’s Mikayla,” she replied. “Good morning, Uzun.” She had grown very fond of the Oddling/harp, especially since Fiolon had left. Before that, Uzun had seemed more Fiolon’s friend than hers, as if he simply tolerated Mikayla because Fiolon liked her. But after Fiolon’s departure, Mikayla had continued to spend time with Uzun, who was much more sympathetic and easier to talk to than Haramis.

Mikayla thought it rather cruel of Haramis to have stuck Uzun in his present form. It must certainly be a trial for him to be blind. Even if he had agreed to this transformation, it still seemed to Mikayla that it was selfish of Haramis to keep him bound like this.

“Good morning, Princess Mikayla,” Uzun said politely. “Did you sleep well?”

In her mind Mikayla could still hear her mother’s frequent admonition: “That’s a greeting, daughter, not a question.” She hadn’t realized until she came here just how much of her mother’s instruction she had absorbed. Back when she had been living at the Citadel, she—and everyone who knew her—would have sworn that her mother’s words affected Mikayla no more than rain did a waterbird.

Now she found herself replying automatically. “Yes, thank you, Uzun. And you?” She caught herself. “I’m sorry, I don’t know whether you sleep or not. But if you do, I hope that you slept well.”

“I’m not sure whether I sleep or not, either, Princess,” the harp replied. “If you ever come in and have to wake me up, then we’ll both know. But I’m fairly sure I don’t dream.”

“Do you miss it?” Mikayla asked curiously.

“Yes.” The reply was as bleak as a harp could sound.

Mikayla bit her lip. I wish I weren’t always hurting his feelings, she thought. I wish I were more like my sisters. I wish I were home with my mother. Aloud she said only “I’m sorry.” After all, there wasn’t much more she could say, and Mikayla had no doubt of her ability to make a bad situation worse if she kept talking. Time to change the subject.

“Do you know where the Lady is this morning, Uzun?”

“No.” The harp sighed. “She didn’t come in to say good morning today.”

“That’s odd,” Mikayla said. “It looks as though she ate breakfast.”

“Ring the bell, child,” Uzun said briskly. “Ask Enya what has happened.”

Enya arrived a few minutes later. Uzun was demanding to know Haramis’s whereabouts before the housekeeper was even through the doorway.

He may be blind, but at least he has excellent hearing, Mikayla thought. I think he heard her coming at least half a minute before I did.

“She’s gone,” Enya explained. “One minute she was sitting there eating breakfast and staring into space—you know the way she does, Princess—and the next minute she just left her food, went and got her cloak, and flew off on one of those great birds of hers.”

“Where did she go?” Uzun asked. “Didn’t she say?”

“Well, Master Uzun,” Enya replied uneasily, “it’s not my place to question her comings and goings, and I really shouldn’t say.…”

The harp strings jangled angrily, and Enya twisted her apron nervously between her hands. “She flew south, maybe toward the Citadel. I don’t know for sure.”

Mikayla gasped in horror, filled with sudden foreboding. “Fiolon!” she said, running full tilt from the room. She didn’t stop until she was in her bedchamber with the door bolted. She grabbed for the box and spilled the spheres into her hand. They almost seemed to twirl of their own accord, and the power came almost instantly as she touched the sphere she wore to them. This time hearing, not sight, was the first sense she picked up. No doubt Fiolon’s sphere was tucked safely inside his shirt, but the argument going on around him was clearly audible.

“You must be mistaken, my lady Archimage,” the Queen was saying with cold certainty. “My daughter may be a bit of a hoyden, but she is not immoral. Nor is my sister’s son.”

“She is mistaken,” Fiolon said angrily. “I never touched Mikayla that way. We were going to be betrothed last year and then married. I certainly had no reason to wish to dishonor my future wife.”

“She is not your future wife!” Haramis snapped angrily.

“During the period of time you are referring to, my lady,” Fiolon replied, “I can assure you that we considered her as such. I love Mikayla, I shall always love Mikayla, regardless of what you do to her, and I would never have done anything to harm her.”

“This is ludicrous,” the King protested feebly. “Look at him—they’re little more than children. And,” he added with more firmness, “for most of the past two years Mikayla has been living with you. They couldn’t have lain together unless you were lax about chaperoning them.”

“What?” Mikayla gasped aloud.

Apparently Fiolon could hear her, but fortunately his urgent “Hush!” was covered by the adults’ voices.

But I’m not old enough to lie with anyone, Mikayla thought. I remember when my older sisters reached marriageable age, and I’m not that mature yet—which is odd; they were about my age when it happened to them. Is Haramis doing something to keep me a child? No, she couldn’t be; if she were, she’d realize that what she’s saying about me and Fiolon is nonsense. Maybe it’s a side effect of studying magic.…

“And if they were not physically intimate,” Haramis snapped, “just how do you explain the fact that they’re bonded together like this?”

“What do you mean by bonded?” the Queen asked.

“Linked, connected, permanently in contact with each other,” Haramis said impatiently. “Why do you think you have snow all over the Citadel Knoll?”

“Oh, no!” Mikayla whispered.

“What does the snow have to do with this?” The King sounded totally confused.

“Ask the boy,” Haramis said coldly.

“It was an accident,” Fiolon said quietly. “I didn’t mean to make it snow here. I was watching Mikayla, who was making it snow at the Lady’s Tower, and we both fell asleep, and somehow the weather spell got duplicated here.”

“What do you mean ‘Mikayla was making it snow’?” Haramis asked sharply. “She doesn’t know how to make it snow!”

“Lady,” Fiolon said politely, “if you look at the table, it’s really pretty obvious how to make it snow. She was doing it because the rain she made earlier in the day had left the courtyard still wet at dark, and it froze solid. She didn’t want the servants falling down and getting hurt when they started work in the morning.”

“Wouldn’t melting the ice have been simpler?” the King asked. “And how does putting a layer of snow over it help?”

“It would take a lot of energy to melt ice in the mountains at night,” Fiolon explained. “It’s cold and dark, so you can’t use the sun to help—and the moons aren’t strong enough. And if you did produce enough energy to melt ice in a cold stone courtyard near the top of a mountain, you’d have melted enough of the surrounding snow to produce at least an avalanche, if not flooding, farther downhill. As for putting snow on top of ice, when you’re stepping into snow, it helps hold your legs where you put them; and if you do fall, you fall on something softer than ice.”

“Hmm,” Haramis said thoughtfully. “And did Mikayla work all of this out for herself? Or did you help her?”

“We talked about it, deciding what would be best to do,” Fiolon said. “We’re used to working as a team. But most of it was Mikayla; she’s generally the one who comes up with the original ideas. My part is usually to make sure she doesn’t charge headlong into something without thinking it through. And we knew how snow over ice works from all the camping we did in the mountains three years ago.”

“I didn’t realize you’d ever seen snow before,” Haramis remarked idly. She sounded much calmer now.

Fiolon, however, was suddenly feeling anything but calm. “Are you saying, Lady,” he said through clenched teeth, “that when you handed me two fronials and a sack of supplies and sent me back here, on a journey that runs through snowy mountains for at least four days, you thought I knew nothing about snow?”

“I didn’t really think of it one way or the other,” Haramis said. “Why?”

“Lords Above!” Fiolon exclaimed angrily. “You really don’t have any regard for life or people—or anything except your own convenience! If I didn’t know how to make camp in snow, I would have died—didn’t that ever occur to you? Or is that what you wanted—to be sure that Mikayla and I were separated! I warn you, Lady; if you kill me, I’ll come back and haunt you, and I’ll be right by Mikayla’s side as long as she lives—and afterward!”

Haramis’s voice was long-suffering as she addressed the King and Queen. “I realize that everyone considered these two children surplus, but it would have been convenient if someone could have spent a little time civilizing them. I have never encountered such poor manners before in my life.”

“Don’t blame them,” Fiolon snapped. “They did teach us manners. But being treated as things instead of people tends to bring out the worst in us; and you, Lady, definitely treat people as things. Look what you did to Uzun!”

“Uzun is not the subject of this discussion; you and Mikayla are.” Mikayla could hear Haramis’s footsteps and guessed that the Lady was pacing over to the window. She reached out with her mind and added sight to the link with Fiolon. He was watching Haramis, who was glaring out the window at the snow. The glamour, Mikayla noted, was back; Haramis looked the same as she always had. But now Mikayla knew it was an illusion.

After several minutes of staring out the window, Haramis turned her attention back to Fiolon. “I’ve taken care of your little snowstorm,” she informed him. “It will all melt within a few hours. As for your bond with Mikayla”—she looked around the room, then walked over to a display of swords on the wall and took one down—“I’m going to sever it. I suggest that you cooperate.”

“What happens if we don’t?” Fiolon asked. Mikayla could feel a great deal of determination that the bond be kept intact. She wasn’t sure how much was hers and how much his, but a lot of it was in his voice.

Haramis’s lips thinned in annoyance. “I’ll break the bond anyway, I’ll keep breaking it if you try to reestablish it, and I’ll have you sent back to Var, assigned to the Royal Navy, and sent as far out to sea as possible. Nobody can maintain a bond that far away, especially across running water.” She swept the sword in an arc through the air, with the sharp edge pointing down, several feet in front of Fiolon’s body. Fiolon and Mikayla cried out together in pain, and the bond broke.