A Muddle of Magic. Alexandra Rushe

standing barefoot in the snow.”

      “ʼTis a wonder you didn’t get frostbite.”

      “I’m sure I would have, if Mauric hadn’t made me a pair of boots out of one of his vests.”

      “Did he, indeed? I’d no notion Mauric was so resourceful. Why do you need money?”

      “To take care of Flame and Chaz,” Raine said. “And myself, too. Tandara is my home, now.” She frowned, batting absently at a low-hanging branch. “Unfortunately, my skill set is limited.”

      “You have your magic.”

      “I’m not a wizard, not by a long shot. Bree says that sort of thing takes years and years of practice. In the meantime, I have to earn a living. I’m a fair baker. My aunt taught me. Maybe I can find a place in the kitchens.”

      “Don’t be absurd. You’re the rowan’s guest, and so are Flame and Chaz.”

      “For the time being, but we can’t stay here forever.”

      “Worry about tomorrow when it comes. In the meantime, Flame should learn to fend for himself.”

      “You’re right.” Raine frowned in thought. “It’s important for Flame to be self-sufficient, don’t you think?”

      “Very dragon-ish. In a few weeks, when things get settled, I’ll take him into the mountains and teach him to hunt.”

      “Would you?” Raine was relieved. “Thank you. That would be a great help.”

      They rode out of the wood and onto a wide heath covered in gray-green furze and dotted with clumps of broken stone. An enormous peak rose in the distance, a black slab of rock thrust against the blue sky. A city spilled down the side of the mountain, the buildings clinging to the steep slope.

      “The Citadel.” Halting the stallion, Raven looked back toward the Greenwood. “We’ll wait here for Mauric and Flame to catch up.” He pointed to the castle on top of the mountain. “See that building at the summit? That is Rowan Fast, where you’ll be staying.”

      “And you? Where will you stay?”

      “I have a house in the city. Hedda finds my presence…grating.”

      “Because of the scandal?” Raine blurted and wished she hadn’t. Homecomings, she suspected, were bittersweet for Raven.

      “Heard about that, did you?” Raven’s hands tightened in Lúthon’s mane. “The scandal is but half of it. I’m the rowan’s bastard, and that touches Hedda on the raw, for some reason.”

      Raine made no comment, but she disliked the queen of Finlara already. She returned her attention to the mountain fortress. Soaring stone barricades with a multitude of towers and barbicans surrounded the city.

      “The outer wall is roughly forty feet high and eight feet wide,” Raven said, noticing the direction of her gaze. “The inner wall is nearly twice as high. A wide, grassy space lies between the two walls. Hedda and her ladies-in-waiting enjoy a stroll along the green or playing at quoits. They’ve no notion, I’ll wager, of the green’s true purpose.”

      “And that is…?”

      “It’s a kill zone, Raine. Should the enemy breach the outer defenses, the defenders attack them from the inner wall.”

      “Does that happen a lot?”

      “Nay. Many years ago, an army of Torgs sailed across the strait and assailed the city from the mountains to the north. They got a stone giant soused and handed him a big club—stone giants are happiest when they have something to bash. This one hammered at the wall until it finally gave way.”

      “What did you do?” Raine asked, intrigued.

      “We waited until the Torgs came through the hole and greeted them with hot tar, boiling oil, and arrows. Torgs are fierce fighters, but they die the same as other men. That lovely promenade Hedda enjoys so much is fertilized by corpses.”

      Raine wrinkled her nose. “Ugh. What happened to the stone giant?”

      “We pushed him off the cliff with a battering ram. Stone giants are heavy, and they can’t swim. He sank to the bottom of the sea, where he made a fine reef. The fishing in that spot is grand, or so I’m told.”

      Raine pictured the dull-witted stone giant sitting on the ocean floor, covered in barnacles with schools of colorful fish flitting around him. “What about the inner wall?” she asked. “Has it ever been breached?”

      “Nay. The city’s position on the mountain and its many walls make it virtually impregnable. You’ll be safe in the Citadel. See that there?” He gestured to a hazy break in the city wall. “That’s the main gate, which faces south. There are gates to the east, west, and north, as well. The east gate is commonly called the market gate. The northern gate is small and seldom used. More of a bolt hole than anything else.”

      Raine shielded her eyes from the glare of the lowering sun. “There are a lot of turrets.”

      “Aye, more than two score. Ten of them are named for the gods, two for Tro, and one each for the other eight. There’s even a tower dedicated to Magog. Our esteemed founder was a firm believer in hedging his bets.”

      “What about Xan? Does he have a tower, too?”

      “Xan was not forgotten. Kron forged a likeness of him from sethral and set it in a garden in the city’s heart. The garden blooms year round. It’s a pleasant spot in winter…if you don’t mind the wailing tree. Reba planted it in memory of Xan, and it never ceases mourning.”

      “Well, that’s creepy.”

      Raven chuckled. “The tree has its uses. It shrieks in warning when the city is under attack. I heard it once, long ago. Couldn’t hear thunder for a fortnight.”

      “When the Torgs attacked?”

      “This was years before that, when I was new to the guard. Three ice giants attacked from the far reaches of the North, and the tree sounded the alarm.”

      “Ice giants?”

      “Glaciers that take living form, in a manner of speaking. They’re made of ice, not flesh and bone, and are practically unstoppable.”

      “How did you defeat them?”

      “We didn’t. The rowan and I rode out with fifty men to meet them, but we were sadly outmatched. It’s hard to fight a mountain of ice. We were done for until Gertie showed up. She’d dipped in the barrel rather heavily the night before and had a sore head. As you can imagine, she was none too pleased when the wailing tree woke her. She stomped out of the city, aimed a few pithy curses at the ice giants and shattered them to bits, then stomped back inside to sleep it off.”

      Raine laughed. “That sounds like Gertie. The city must have been overjoyed.”

      “Aye, they sang her praises until spring came and the ice melted. She made herself scarce after the flood.” He turned at a sound from the Greenwood. “Ah, here come our stragglers. I was beginning to fear they were lost.”

      Flame bounded out of the woods and across the moor, followed closely by Mauric on Goblin.

      “I couldn’t get him down from the trees,” Mauric said, looking much vexed. “He was scurrying about like a trodyn squirrel.” He rubbed his head. “Got me with a pinecone, a time or two, the devil. Has a hell of an aim with his tail.”

      “Flame,” Raine scolded. “That is no way to treat a friend.” Flame lowered his head and looked abashed. “It’s all very well for you to act contrite,” she said, “but you owe Mauric an apology.”

      Flame lifted his tail and gently brushed Mauric’s head with the tip.

      “Oh, stop that.” Mauric swatted Flame’s tail away. “Leave be, Raine. ʼTwas all in good fun.”

      See,