Wintertide by Linnea Sinclair

Author:Linnea Sinclair [Sinclair, Linnea]
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy
Publisher: Medallion Press
Published: 2009-04-25T01:39:14+00:00

Ciro's rooms were in the loft of a warehouse in the Old Quarter, not far from the Bell Tower. At one time, the warehouse was a luxurious residence and he lived on the top floor as was befitting his status as High Priest of the Temple of Ixari. But that was two hundred and fifty years ago, shortly after the Sorcerer was born and Ciro and Ixari had quarreled. In fact, Ixari spoke to no one for a long time and the Temple fell to ruins.

So, in fact, did Ciro's residence. A wealthy land baron finally renovated it into a warehouse and Ciro was forced to move into the attic. Much of the ornately carved furnishings that graced the chambers of his former residence were now crammed into the top floor that was sectioned off into three small chambers and one large great room. Paintings were stacked haphazardly in several corners; odd bits of statuary served as paperweights, bookmarks and, in the case of a particularly large piece depicting a forest animal with multi-flanged antlers, a clothes valet.

Interspersed with the artworks were jars and vials filled with brightly colored liquids, pouches of crumpled herbs and several well-worn leather-bound volumes with gold runes etched in their bindings. A large mage circle was carved into the floor before the hearth with a solitary candle, unlit, at the center. The embers in the fireplace, however, still glowed warmly, diminishing the chill that threatened to seep in through the windows. A half-empty bottle of wine sat on the table nearby. Evidently, the fire was sometimes not enough to create the illusion of warmth.

The cold dampness that flowed over the Old Quarter from the Great Sea wasn't the only problem with Ciro's residence. There was the problem of gaining entry. The attic-loft of the warehouse was simply a space between the roof and the ceiling of the two-story building; there were no stairs leading up, as the building's sole occupant had no need for stairs. So Khamsin's first lesson involved dematerializing herself and her cat and reappearing in Ciro's attic.

She listened closely to his instructions and got it right on the first try.

"Flashy little trick. Comes in handy at boring government parties." Ciro handed a slice of cheese to Khamsin, who just appeared by the long table in the center of the room. "You seem to have an affinity for this stuff. Never cared either way, myself. All cheeses taste the same to me. Now, a meat pie..." He licked his thin lips and suddenly a hurt expression crossed his face. "You never did bring me a meat pie, you know. Don't you know dogs like meat?"

Khamsin flipped her palm up, down, then up again and a small, brown-crusted pastry appeared. She handed it to Ciro. "Just baked."

"Where'd you steal this from?"

"The bakery across the street."

"Hmpf!" He nibbled on the crust, pulling off a piece to throw to Nixa, who was preening herself on top of a stack of books in the corner. "When you can pull this off the table of the Governor himself, then I'll be impressed.

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