“Mine and Theodora’s,” I said, and was immediately sorry I had mentioned her when the bishop dropped his eyes.
“Then I am glad I found you to thank you,” he said gravely, not looking at me. “Convey my thanks to her as well when you next see her. More priests should recognize how often God works through human agents, even wizards.” There was an awkward silence for a moment, then he asked quietly, “Are you going to Theodora’s house now?”
“Yes.” It seemed as though I ought to add more, but I was not sure what. One of the candles on the altar guttered out with a strong scent of hot wax.
“When you see her,” said Joachim, now in a flustered tone that did not sound anything like him, “I would be grateful if- That is, unless you think there is a need to say-”
“I did not plan to tell her what you have told me.”
There was another silence. Confessors are supposed to maintain the secrets of the confessional, but both of us knew that someone who takes his secret sins to a wizard does so at his own risk.
Joachim raised his enormous dark eyes then to meet mine. “This has been a strange day, Daimbert,” he said at last, which seemed an understatement. “Before you return to Yurt tomorrow, come to the episcopal palace and talk with me.”
When I walked the length of the nave to the main doors and glanced back, it was to see him kneeling before the altar on the flagstones where Cyrus had lain.
II
The sun shone through Theodora’s curtains when I rolled over the next morning, just barely avoiding pitching myself off her couch and onto the floor among the cloth scraps. I had spent quite a few nights on that couch over the last five years, but it really was too narrow. From the kitchen I could hear rattling sounds of someone making breakfast.
“What time did you get in last night?” Theodora asked as I leaned, rubbing my eyes, against the doorframe. She seemed to be tactfully not recalling that the last time we had met face to face I seemed to have lost my mind. “I was so soundly asleep I didn’t even hear you.”
“I know. I didn’t want to wake you.” I took the piece of toast she handed me and wolfed it down. When I thought back over yesterday’s confused events, I couldn’t remember eating at any point. “How about if I scramble us some eggs?”
As we sat at her kitchen table in the morning sun, eating eggs and toast and drinking hot tea, everything seemed so safe and normal that for a moment I could merely have imagined the events of the last week. The light brought out golden highlights in Theodora’s curly brown hair. But one thing was missing. Antonia should have been here with us.
“Where did you go after the fire was contained?” Theodora asked. “I know I should have tried to help with the families and the children, but I was so exhausted I could hardly stand.” A smile brought out her dimple. “How do you wizards ever manage to practice magic all the time?”
For a moment I stopped eating to listen to a sound of distant voices carried from elsewhere in the city. They might have been voicing surprise or wonder, but at least it did not sound like fear. “I finally met the Dog-Man last night. His name is Cyrus, and he’s just become an acolyte in the cathedral seminary.” I paused for another bite. “He worries me, Theodora. There’s magic about him, though he’s no wizard, and a hint of the supernatural that seems strangely different than what you’d expect of a devout young would-be priest.” She had finished a much smaller breakfast than mine and watched me with sober amethyst eyes. “And I can’t help wondering what he’s got to do with the warriors who attacked Yurt.”
“What warriors?”
I remembered just too late that I had never told her about the attack on the royal castle and had in fact been meaning to let it slide until Antonia was safely home again. But the city of Caelrhon, with its fire, fears of the Romneys, and Cyrus, might be no safer than the castle of Yurt, guarded now by a far better wizard than I. I told Theodora briefly about the attack.
“There wasn’t enough magic left in their bones for me to learn much about-” I stopped abruptly. “Wait! I just remembered! I handled those bones yesterday-or I guess it would be the day before. I wasn’t paying very close attention at the time, so if there was some kind of latent spell in them, ready to infect a wizard who wasn’t careful, and through him-” I seized her by the shoulders. “Theodora! Are you feeling all right?”
“Of course I am. Why shouldn’t I?” She looked concerned, as well she might.
“I think there was a spell in those bones that affected me, and now I’m infecting other people.” I stopped just in time from telling her about Joachim. “You aren’t feeling, for example, a wild conviction that I don’t love you, or that Antonia is in danger? You aren’t fearing that everyone in town knows you for a witch and holds it against you?”
Now she looked alarmed. “Daimbert, what are you talking about? Is Antonia in danger?”
“All right,” I said, mostly to myself, gulping down the last of the tea. “Everything’s fine. It didn’t affect you. Maybe it can only infect once. But will the bishop this morning- And I almost forgot, he wanted me to come see him. That reminds me, Theodora. Joachim told me to thank you for your fire magic last night.”
The distant sound of voices came clearer again as the breezes shifted, and the cathedral bells were ringing as though for service, although I thought it was the wrong time. Maybe it was the special thanksgiving service the bishop had mentioned. Theodora came around the table to put a palm on my forehead. “Are you sure you haven’t become feverish again?”
I pushed back my chair and stood up. “I’m fine as long as you are. I’ll telephone Elerius from the cathedral office and tell him to check those bones for spells at once. And I’d better get back to Yurt before Antonia starts to doubt that I really am her father.” I kissed Theodora and smiled reassuringly. “In a few days, when I bring her home, I can tell you all about it.”
As I walked briskly through the city streets, I noticed that all the smoky smell had dissipated overnight. Somehow I had expected it still to linger. The cathedral bells grew louder as I approached.
The voices grew louder too. Feeling suddenly uneasy, I quickened my pace. There was a disconcerting note to that many people shouting together, a wordless note that could have been the voice of last night’s flames.
The open area in front of the cathedral was packed. People stood in every available spot between the huts and supplies of the workmen and the piles of stones. All sectors of society and all ages seemed to be there; children darted between legs to try to get closer, or begged to be lifted high enough to see. I spotted Celia near the front, Hildegarde beside her, and then was startled to see King Paul’s Great-aunt Maria trying to scramble up onto a heap of building supplies for a better view. What was she doing here?
The crowd kept pushing forward like the motion of the sea, with a murmur like the sound of waves, and the shadows of the cathedral’s new towers lay across them. I couldn’t get any closer to either the twins or the Lady Maria without flying. At the top of the cathedral steps, facing the crowd, stood the bishop.
“The miracle is God’s!” he called out over that wordless murmur. He wore his formal scarlet vestments and tall episcopal mitre and extended his arms wide. “Come into God’s house where we can offer thanks together to Him! Nothing is impossible for Him who rules all!”
But the crowd was disagreeing with him. What miracle? I wondered wildly. We all had reason to be grateful no one had been killed in the fire, but there was much more going on, and I had somehow missed it.
“No, my sons and daughters!” the bishop continued, even more loudly and clearly. His gaunt face was intense, and his eyes focused not on the crowd but on the sky. “It is idolatry to speak like that to a living, sinning mortal!”