Cold Magics (64 page)

“Don’t be a fool,” said Eileen. “Thomas can kill you with lightning long before you could use that.”

“Maybe,” said Richard, “but I’m betting he’s not willing to risk it.”

“Why, Richard?” asked Thomas. “Why do all this?”

“Gods, you too?” Richard laughed. “Because my father was taking too long to die. Because my brother John is a manipulative little bastard.” With each word, Richard edged himself along the roof, forcing Eileen back. “Because we should be destroying Reaver of Aithar, not marrying the bastard’s daughter.” He looked at Eileen. “Now get out of the way.”

A throwing axe blossomed in the middle of Richard’s chest. He stumbled back, hit the parapet and fell to his knees. He raised the rods again, this time towards the peak of the roof. Baron Goshawk threw the second axe, hitting Richard in the middle of the forehead. Blood gouted out and Richard went over backwards.

Thomas stared at him a moment, then turned and ran the other way, back towards Henry. George was cradling Henry in his arms while the young lord’s body convulsed. Thomas skidded to a stop beside him and put his hands on Henry’s back. He recited the words over and over, willing all his magic into the wound. It felt like forever before the white light flowed from his hands and into Henry’s body, and even longer before Henry stopped convulsing. He kept at it, willing the wound closed as the magic poured out of him.

“Enough,” said Henry at last. “Thomas, enough. I’ll live, and I need you conscious.”

Thomas let go and sat back. Eileen and Goshawk were beside them, now. Henry sat up, moaning with pain, and looked around. “Sir Lawrence?”

“Tried to wrestle George,” said Thomas.

Henry nodded. “I thought Lawrence was loyal…” He was pale, and not just from the lack of blood. “He was my friend.” He shook his head. “Richard?”

“Is dead,” said Baron Goshawk. “I killed him.”

Henry nodded, but said nothing.

Thomas could feel the shakes start. “We should go find Lord John.”

Henry stood and held out a hand to steady Thomas. “Yes, we should.”

Epilogue

Thomas reached up and pulled the scarf down from his face, feeling the cold, wet wind from the ocean blowing hard against his skin. Above him, the rigging creaked and groaned as the ship rolled with the waves. Before him, he could see Hawksmouth spread out, its port mostly closed, save for one path through the ice in the harbour.

“At last,” said Thomas.

“At last,” agreed Eileen, wrapping an arm around his waist. “I didn’t think we’d make it.”

Thomas watched as the shore grew closer. He couldn’t see the Academy from where he was—the city walls hid it. But he desperately wanted to be there, even as he feared what would happen when they arrived. In his bag, below deck, were letters to the parents of all the students who had died. Henry had helped Thomas write them. The letters weighed on Thomas.
What will I tell their parents?

 Sixteen left of twenty-three. One missing a hand, three with limps that would be with them the rest of their lives, others burned so badly their skin still had not healed despite Thomas’s best efforts, and one man whose face was so damaged from a sword cut that Thomas could barely recognize him. Beyond that, there wasn’t one of them who didn’t have some scar or other.

And those are just the scars you can see.

George had wanted to leave his armour and sword behind when they left, but Henry wouldn’t let him, insisting that he needed a proper bodyguard and besides, the road was long and rough. George had grumblingly agreed. Eileen had dressed in the livery of the students, wearing her rapier and standing proud with the rest of them when they marched out of the castle, stopping only long enough to hug Amelia, who was now looking quite pleased with herself as she hung off Lord William’s arm. But once away from the castle, she had fallen silent, barely speaking until they were well away from Frostmire, and then only in fits and starts.

On board she had avoided everyone—including Thomas—hiding behind her guise as Alex and staying out of the way below decks. George had offered his services and was set to mending whatever broke on the ship, finding calm in the actions of fixing. The students got drunk or laughed too loud or quarrelled for no reason, or just stayed below, lying on their hammocks in silence.

The ship had stopped often, taking port whenever a real storm threatened to blow—though apparently any time the waves were shorter than a man, it wasn’t considered a real storm. The students, well rewarded by Lord John, had drunk themselves insensate on those occasions, loudly toasting the fallen and reliving the terrible days and nights in the snow. Eileen had drunk as hard as the rest of them, hoping, Thomas guessed, to erase some of her memory in the alcohol she poured down her throat.

It hadn’t helped. Thomas heard it in her dreams as the group lay together in the common room of the inn. After the third night on shore, Eileen didn’t touch more than a cup of wine, sitting instead by the fire. Thomas sat with her, saying nothing, until one night, she began talking again. Thomas listened as she worked her way through the bloody, awful events they’d all survived.

By the end of the second week, she laughed when Marcus made a joke. It was a short laugh, but it was something. Two days later, Thomas took Henry aside and had some quiet words with him. Henry listened, then shared them with the rest of the students when Eileen wasn’t around.

“I can’t believe Lord John sent us south in the winter,” said George, coming up beside them.

“I can,” said Henry, joining them on the other side.

“Surprised we didn’t sink.”

“I sometimes think that was his intention,” said Henry. “Not good to have a younger brother around when you’re consolidating power, you know.”

“Well, if I see him again, I’ll have some words for him.”

Thomas wrapped his arm around Eileen’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “I wonder how bad the apartment will be?”

“I doubt we still have one,” said Henry. “Not like a landlord to let a place stay empty for long.”

Thomas sighed. “Maybe it’s just as well. I’m not sure I could go back there.”

“Not to worry,” said Henry. “With the money I got from John, we’ll be set up for the rest of the winter and most of next year, too.” He looked at Eileen. “And what about you two? Shall you move in with us?”

“I can just see my mother’s reaction to that,” said Eileen.

“George can live there too,” promised Henry. “I wouldn’t dream of doing anything that would compromise your virtue.” Eileen rolled her eyes and Henry grinned. “That’s Thomas’s job.”

Eileen hit Henry with a well-aimed fist to his shoulder, even as George favoured both Thomas and Henry with a glare. “We’ll have our own apartment, thank you,” he said. “I can get work in the Street of the Smiths for the winter, no doubt, and in the spring we can head home.”

“You can head home,” said Henry. “I think Eileen should stay.”

“Me, too,” said Thomas.

“Oh, what a surprise, that,” muttered George. “Why should she stay? What’s here for her aside from you?”

“Well,” said Henry. “We were thinking—and by we I mean all of us.” He gestured behind them and Eileen turned. All sixteen remaining students had come up on deck, and were watching her.

“All of you thinking at once?” Eileen said looking at the crowd of grinning young men. “Is that what that smell of smoke was this morning?”

“Now don’t be mean,” warned Henry. “Or I shan’t tell you anything.”

“Tell me or I’ll hit you again,” said Eileen.

“She is so uncivilized,” Henry said to Thomas. “Do you really think she’d make a student?”

“Look at us,” said Thomas. “She’ll fit right in.”

“I can’t be a student,” said Eileen, anger and weariness together in her voice. “I’m a girl. And before you say otherwise, I’ll not be ‘Alex’ for the rest of my days, either. I’m tired of him.”

“We weren’t thinking that,” said Thomas. “We were thinking that there’s no real reason why girls can’t be students.”

“I’m sure there are rules against it,” said Eileen.

“Aye, there are,” said Marcus. “And we’re going to challenge them. For you.” He looked at the others. “Right?”

All sixteen cheered.

Eileen looked from the crowd of students to Thomas. Her eyes gleamed and for the first time in weeks he saw her face light up. “Do you think that you can do it? That I could…”

“Aye,” said Thomas. “I think it will take some work, but we can do it.”

“Oh, Thomas!” She wrapped her arms tight around him and squeezed him hard. He squeezed back.

“How come he gets the hug?” Henry said to no one in particular. “It was my idea.”

“Liar,” said Thomas, even as Eileen let go of him and hugged Henry, too. Henry froze in shock for a moment, then wrapped his arms around her and hugged her back, squeezing hard. When she stepped back, he smiled. “This isn’t going to stop me making comments, you know.”

“Nor will it stop me hitting you,” said Eileen, smiling sweetly and curtseying. “But thank you anyway.”

“You’re welcome,” said Henry, meaning it. Eileen leaned up and kissed his cheek, then returned to the circle of Thomas’s arms. Thomas turned his eyes to the shore, watching the waves crashing against the sea wall around Hawksmouth’s harbour. With luck, they’d be dining in the Broken Quill that night.

A thought struck him. “By the way,” he said. “Do you think we’re still wanted for witchcraft?”