Cold Steel

“You can’t compare your marriage to mine! You and my sister are well matched in every room except the bedroom. Whereas I am to marry a trembling mouse of a fifteen-year-old who has no conversation, little education, and less personality.”

“Her nose twitches, too, have you noticed that? And she has a pointed, rattish chin.”

“Stop, Marius! Have pity on me!” the legate said with what I considered a sad lack of generosity. He did not even defend the poor nameless girl from such an unfortunate comparison.

Marius laughed in the hearty way he had, which, I reflected, could start to grate. “You’ll be happier with a biddable wife.”

“I don’t agree.” Amadou paced. “My chief pleasure when I was pretending to be a student here was my mathematics seminar. Beatrice sat on the women’s side of the room, answering questions with a bold intellect worthy of a man. I could never concentrate. It’s just as well your cousin ended the practice of allowing girls to attend the academy when he became headmaster last year. It was too distracting.”

Marius examined the skulls and, to my horror, fetched up beside the pedestal. Bran Cof stared at the far wall. Neither of the men seemed to notice the flush of life in the poet’s cheeks or the steely glamour of his blue eyes. Their petty self-absorption blinded them to the astonishing magic in the room. “I don’t think you truly love her, Amadou. You’re just not accustomed to being turned down. That’s what has put you in a pique.”

“She was too proud.”

“You adored her pride until she refused your offer to make her your mistress.”

“Too much pride is deadly in a woman. Mine was as good an offer as she will ever get. Yet what can I have expected from a Phoenician woman! They prostitute themselves for their greedy goddess, to gain whatever material wealth and trade advantage they can.”

Perhaps his words angered me a trifle, enough that I let slip a thread or two.

“Did you see something?” Lord Marius stepped forward, hand on his sword, as I tugged the shadows tight. He relaxed. “You’re not the only one whose heart has been broken.”

“That can’t have been your heart. I know you found the magister attractive, but there can never have been any hope for you with him. He was fixed on the other girl. You didn’t actually proposition him, did you?”

Lord Marius appeared more amused than disappointed. “Nothing so crude. I let my interest be known.”

Amadou Barry snorted in a coarse way so unlike the staidly respectful student we had believed him to be at the academy that I had to guess I was seeing the legate’s true personality. While I had liked the modest, unassuming student named Amadou Barry, I did not like the Roman legate. “Proud Jupiter! The cold mage had the effrontery to turn down a prince’s cousin? Still, he is certainly one of the most arrogant men I’ve ever met. Did he take offense?”

“Not at all. He fixed me with those beautiful eyes, thanked me for the flattering offer, and told me he didn’t sleep on both sides of the bed.”

“Prettily done, you must grant.”

“Far too prettily done! As polite as if I were an aged uncle asking for another dram of whiskey when he’s already had one too many. Gave me nightmares for weeks!”

He paused as footsteps sounded in the corridor. The door was opened, and the older man with light hair and ruddy cheeks strode in.

“Cousin Marius! Your Excellency! Legate, to what do I owe this honor? I did not expect you, or I would have sent a deputy to shepherd the students to the Mars procession.”

Marius answered. “We have received news that two girls were seen in the city, two fugitives who were students here. They may come to the academy seeking Prince Napata.”

“But girls are no longer admitted as students. I made sure of that! It was never appropriate. I cannot interview two young women without a proper chaperone.”

“The girls left before Prince Napata resigned and you became headmaster. If they come, you must admit them to your study. Delay them with the promise that Prince Napata will return shortly.”

“But the exalted prince left Adurnam over a year ago!”

The head of the poet Bran Cof met my eye, and he glanced at the ceiling as if to share his cutting assessment of this headmaster’s sad lack of intellect.

“Yes,” agreed Marius patiently, “but they won’t know that. Make excuses, have tea brought, and send for us.”

“I’ll have tea brought now. You must explain your purpose more thoroughly, for I am sure that the prince never mentioned that he intended to return to Adurnam.”