“But wouldn’t they notice when people died as catch-fires? When the mage House in Burdigala burned?” she asked.
“How do you distinguish a fire lit by a mage from one lit by tinder? In war, it is hard to believe in the deaths of catch-fires when dead people are everywhere. The mansa and I were having coffee with Gold Cup’s mansa when Iberian skirmishers arrived in advance of Camjiata’s main army. Drake specifically meant to strike at the mage House. He did not know the mansa and I were there. He threw his fire into Gold Cup’s mansa, who was entirely unprepared to act as a catch-fire, and meanwhile set the whole cursed compound on fire. Children and elders trapped inside as if they were so much refuse!”
He looked away. Bee extended a hand to touch his arm, but she withdrew it and pressed her palm to her chest instead.
He shook himself. “That was when I discovered that to be a catch-fire is not just a passive thing, when the fire mage throws the backlash into you and you must endure it. In desperation, hoping to save the Gold Cup mansa’s life, I found out it is possible to pull the backlash out of another person and into myself. Any cold mage can do it if they are strong enough. It was too late for the mansa of Gold Cup House, but working together the mansa and I were able to quench the fire. I am certain I almost got that cursed fire mage to burn himself up. Lord Marius had time to deploy his army on the best ground. It was a bloody battle, but against Camjiata, they say a draw is as good as a victory. Anyway, all that expensive porcelain shattered in just this arrangement when the old mansa toppled over. I remember it exactly.”
“That’s when the mansa named you heir, isn’t it?” I said softly.
“Yes. That’s when he finally believed me.” He let out a breath. “Beatrice, I recognize the trust you have shown by sharing these sketches with me. I thank you.”
“Most never mean anything to me. Yet the general could always find their meaning.”
I shrugged. “So he claims. He could easily have guessed I would try to escape on a Phoenician vessel just as the tide turned that morning in Expedition. I suspect the sketches remind him of connections he then sews together. He doesn’t need dreams for that.”
“You’re the last person who should be such a skeptic, Cat.” She displayed a sketch of three hats: a half-crushed tricorn hat pinned by a badge in the shape of a lion’s head, a fashionable shako like mine that was ornamented with peacock feathers, and a humble cloth cap with a shard of glass caught in its crumpled folds. “What can anyone possibly make of this?”