Cold Steel

“Will supper be brought for Andevai’s honored mother and his innocent young sisters? Who will watch over them if I am not here to make sure they are safe?”

He paused under the threshold. “Do you think it is your presence that has made them safe? Please disabuse yourself of that notion. It is my word that makes them safe. As long as Andevai obeys me, they remain safe. Come.”

I kissed the girls and knelt before Vai’s mother to get her blessing. Then, with my cane, I followed the mansa through long corridors into a grand part of the House.

“It is the opinion of the healer of this House that you saved the woman’s life,” he said. “Your stubborn persistence brought her through the crisis.”

“My thanks, Your Excellency,” I said. He stood a head taller than me, big-boned and meaty without being ungainly. He went beardless in the Celtic fashion, which made him look younger than he probably was. His praise made me nervous. “That is a very fine damask. The color suits you.”

He chuckled. “Flattery may work on your husband, but it does not work with me.”

We halted before a set of doors carved with scenes of wolves leaping upon hapless deer. Attendants ushered us into a private parlor and shut the doors, leaving us alone. Dusk had settled over a garden outside. The mansa casually pulled a spark of cold fire from the air and let it grow to the size of his head. The chamber had gilt wallpaper and a ceiling painted with running gazelles and turbaned horsemen in pursuit. A second set of double doors, also closed, led to an unknown chamber on the right, while a single door on the left marked another unseen room beyond.

“You are an interesting creature, Catherine Bell Barahal. What do you want?”

“Your Excellency, do not think I am being disrespectful when I admit I am startled to be asked such a question by a man who previously sought to have me killed.”

“I am not often wrong, but now and again I make a mistake. You have many strange talents, and a command of magic outside my knowledge. As well, quite unexpectedly, I have seen changes in Andevai. It is true you brought him to defy me, when he never had before. But in showing complete loyalty to you, he has comported himself with remarkable discipline. A mansa would be well served with a wife like you.” My wince made him chuckle. “Do not misunderstand me. I have no interest in you on my own behalf.”

He clapped his hands thrice. The single door opened. A dignified and beautiful young woman entered. She wore a truly magnificent purple boubou with patterns of white roundels and a matching head wrap elaborately towered and knotted. Beside her, in my worn skirt and village tunic, I looked like the drab girl I was.

“What is your wish, Husband?” Her voice was elegant and cultured, her black complexion flawless, her wrists weighted with gold bracelets. “Ah, yes, as we discussed. I will take charge of you now, Maestra. I am Serena. You are Catherine. Please come with me.”

She offered a hand not to shake but to clasp in a sisterly greeting as she drew me into a woman’s sitting room decorated with low couches heaped with embroidered cushions on which people might comfortably relax and converse. Under one window stood a table with a chess set. Attendants hustled me behind a screen. They stripped me, washed me in scented water, dressed me in new underthings, and combed and braided my hair. Last they dressed me in a burgundy challis skirt, cut for striding, with a short jacket in thin stripes of rose and burgundy. I was no peacock, but then, I had never wanted to be. These well-tailored and sober clothes suited me perfectly.

Serena led me back through the parlor and through the double doors into a splendid dining room decorated in the old style, a long table surrounded by twenty-four cushions. Past another door I saw a staging area where male servants were arranging a veritable army of platters. At a side table an elderly steward supervised the decanting of multiple bottles of wine. After washing and drying our hands in a brass basin, we waited by the wine.

“I am told you are not House-raised, Catherine. In the mage Houses, when the mansa presides over a meal with important guests, it is customary for his wife to pour the wine and keep the glasses of the guests filled.” She sighed with a hint of exasperation. “I told the mansa it would be best to give me time with you to instruct you in the proper handling of the carafe and how to pour. Under the circumstances he cannot wish you to stumble, but…”

The far doors opened and the mansa entered. In his wake men streamed in, chatting as stewards showed them to their seats and brought bowls and towels for them to wash their fingers. No doubt the mansa had his own reasons for throwing me straight into the fire. Well! There was a lot about me he did not know!