The Will of the Empress

9

Daja woke to shouting. A glance at the bolted shutters showed bits of pale morning light creeping through the cracks in the wood. She went to her chamber door and opened it. “—rot you, I know she slithered in somehow!” came a muffled roar from the ground floor below. “She was gone all night! Gudruny, I know you’re here! You’d best pray, because when I—take your hands off me, oaf!” Frowning, Daja pulled a robe over her nightshirt and went out to the gallery around the main hall to see what was going on. Footmen struggled with a wiry commoner whose face was full of rage. It was the commoner who yelled for someone named Gudruny.

Across the gallery the courtiers ventured from their rooms, looking as if they could use a few more hours in bed. Briar emerged from his chamber, saying back over his shoulder, “Stay here, Zhegorz. Some kaq has his underclothes in a twist.” He came to stand beside Daja, taking in the scene below.

A third door on their side of the gallery slammed open with a crack that drew everyone’s attention. Tris surged to the gallery rail, robe and nightgown flying in a wind that rattled all of her braids, released from their coil for the night. Seeing her red, sharp-nosed face, framed by moving lightning bolts, the people downstairs went still. Tris gripped Chime with both hands as the glass dragon screeched with distress, shimmering with lightning of her own.

“Quiet,” Tris ordered Chime. To Daja’s surprise, Chime obeyed. To the people downstairs, Tris said, “This is not what I expected in a nobleman’s house. Who are you, and how dare you wake us?”

Now Ambros and Ealaga emerged from their rooms. From the look of them they had started to dress before the fuss broke out.

“Do you stand between a man and his lawful wife, it is you who are in the wrong, Viymese or no!” shouted the troublemaker. “My wife sneaked in here last night, telling all manner of lies, I don’t doubt, and I will have her back!”

“A missing wife does not grant you an excuse to disrupt others’ households in this coarse manner, Halmar Iarun,” Ambros said coldly, leaning on the gallery rail. “Where is your respect for the clehame? She is here at last, and this is the welcome you give her?”

Sandry marched from her room, towing a rumpled woman with coarse, brownish-blond hair. “If this is Halmar Iarun, then I am glad he is here,” she announced flatly. “You, down there—you are the man who kidnapped this woman and forced her to sign a marriage contract ten years ago?”

“Uh-oh,” muttered Briar. “She’s all on Her Nobleness already.”

“It’s too early,” grumbled Daja. Briar was right. All three of them had seen that stubborn jut of Sandry’s chin and the blaze of her eyes before. In this mood, Sandry was capable of facing armies armed only with her noble blood.

“I am her wedded husband under law,” barked Halmar. “Halmar Iarun, miller.”

“Down, cur!” barked one of the footmen, kicking Halmar’s legs from under him. The man thudded to his knees. “The clehame can have you beaten for your lack of due respect!”

Halmar bowed his head.

“Are you finished?” Sandry demanded, her eyes on the footman.

He looked at her, swallowed hard, and went down on one knee to her, all without releasing his grip on Halmar’s arm. His companion, still holding the miller’s other arm, slowly went to one knee as well. Every other servant in the lower hall did the same.

Briar looked at Daja and rolled his eyes.

“Poppycock,” muttered Tris.

Sandry glanced at them, frowned, then looked down at Halmar again. “I have news for you as your liege lord, Halmar Iarun. Your wife Gudruny has asked me for her freedom, as is her right under law?” Sandry glanced at Ambros, who nodded. “Well,” continued Sandry, “I decree that she is now free of you. Your marriage is at an end. You will pay for the care of your children by her. That is my right under the law. And shame to you, for using such a disgusting trick to marry her!”

“She was lucky to get me!” Halmar cried, trying to drag free of the men who gripped his arms. “Her family didn’t have a hole-less garment to their names, did she tell you that? Holding up her nose at the likes of me when everyone knew she hadn’t a copper of dowry. I did her a favor to marry her. I’ll provide for my children—I’m no naliz, to let my own blood go hungry! But she’ll see not an argib from me in back wages, or whatever you womenfolk cook up between you—”

“Another word,” said Ambros, his voice pure ice, “and I will have you flogged at the village stocks, for disrespect to nobles, one stripe for each of us.” Halmar looked up at the faces that stared down at him from the gallery.

As far as he knows, we’re all noble, and he’ll be sleeping on his belly for a month if he doesn’t bite his tongue, thought Daja coolly. Ambros should know the only way to douse a fire like that is drown it in a tempering bath. Ice water would silence him fastest. A plunge in the Syth, maybe.

“Get him out of my sight,” ordered Sandry.

The footmen rose, hauling the man with them. They bowed deep, forcing Halmar to bow with him, then half-marched, half-dragged him from view.

Ambros looked across the stairwell at Sandry. “You should still have Halmar flogged for disrespect,” he said quietly, his voice carrying perfectly to everyone in the gallery and the main hall below. “We don’t encourage the lower classes to speak so to the nobility here.”

Sandry flapped a hand as if she brushed away a fly. “Either I’m so important that the squeaks of a beetle like him aren’t worth my attention, or I’m not important, which means I can’t hire his former wife as my maid and her children as my pages. Which is it, do you suppose, Cousin?”

“I thought you didn’t need a maid,” Tris reminded Sandry, her voice flat. Her lightnings were just beginning to fade.

Gudruny looked at Sandry. “You don’t? Lady, I do not wish to be a burden—I can get sewing work in the city. I never meant to be a charge on you—”

“Hush,” Sandry told her gently. She glared at Tris and said, “It’s been made clear to me that it’s very strange for me not to have a maid. Gudruny will add to my consequence. All right? Does that suit you?”

“Don’t bite my head off,” retorted Tris as Chime climbed up to her shoulder. “Did they deliver your consequence in the middle of the night? I didn’t hear it arrive.”

“They smuggled it in with the morning bread,” commented Briar. “They didn’t want us getting in the way of her consequence.”

Sandry propped her hands on her hips and glared at him. “Enough.”

“Yes, Clehame,” said Briar. He bowed and returned to his room.

“Yes, Clehame,” added Tris. She bobbed a curtsy and retreated to her own chamber with Chime.

Sandry looked at Daja, clearly upset, and opened her mouth, but Daja shook her head. Let them calm down. They always listen better after breakfast, she thought, though she didn’t use their magical tie. She knew that Sandry would understand without that.

“Well, I know what Her Imperial Majesty would say,” volunteered Jak. Unlike the others, he looked fresh and ready for the day as he leaned on the gallery rail, grinning with amusement. “She’d say a clehame’s word is law, whether she means consequence or the marriage of one of her servants. Particularly when the clehame’s of imperial blood. You’re a spitfire in the morning, aren’t you, Lady Sandry? The poor sod who marries you may not be ready for so much hot pepper in his bed.”

Sandry stuck her tongue out at him.

She’s forgotten that newly arrived consequence already, observed Daja.

Gudruny sank to the floor, weeping. “Enough,” Sandry told her kindly. “It seems you weren’t lying, which is really just as well, if you’re to work for me.” She looked over at Ambros. “Would you send a few men-at-arms with Ravvi Gudruny, to help her pack and to bring her children here?”

Ealaga looked at her husband. “You said things would be different with the clehame at home,” she remarked with a twinkle in her eye. “I see now you weren’t joking. Perhaps you should order that the catapults be inspected, in case she wants to practice with those later.” She turned and vanished into her room.

Rizu laughed from her position across the stairwell, “Where’s the fun in that?” she asked Daja. “Get dressed. You and Caidy can go riding with me.”

As Daja nodded her agreement, Jak offered, “I’ll ride.”

“Not me,” grumbled Fin. “I’m going back to bed.”

Ambros continued to watch Sandry. “I was not her overlord,” he said cautiously. “I could stop him from beating her, but that was all I could do.”

“Please don’t rub my nose in it, Cousin,” Sandry replied gloomily, urging Gudruny to her feet. “I’m already feeling guilty.” Of the woman at her side, she asked, “You petitioned my mother twice?” She led Gudruny back into her rooms.

Daja sighed. “I’d hoped to sleep late,” she said to no one in particular.

“Give me an hour?” Daja asked Rizu. The young woman nodded and returned to her chambers, while Daja went back to get dressed. Once clothed, she checked on Sandry.

Her friend stood in her personal sitting room, staring bleakly through an open window. Sounds of rummaging came from the bedroom. It seemed as if Sandry’s new maid had gone straight to work. “Was it all that dire?” asked Daja, curious. “ It had to be solved first thing in the morning?”

Sandry grimaced. “You mean I should have done it with more ceremony? Probably. But Halmar rushed in first thing, remember? I think Cousin Ambros would have stopped me if I were in the wrong. You didn’t see her, Daja. She hid in here to talk to me.” She gave a tiny smile. “Well, then she fell asleep and woke me in the middle of the night. He kidnapped her, and he forced her to sign a marriage contract. She could only be free of it if my mother—or I—decreed it.” She returned to her watch over the view outside her window. “Daja, my mother didn’t only refuse to hear her. She, she ignored Gudruny. She ignored the whole thing and left Gudruny with a man who forced her. I didn’t think my mother was like that.”

“Like what?” asked Daja. “Like a noble?”

“Uncaring,” whispered Sandry. “Oh, I know she was flighty. So was Papa. They were like children, in a way. They used their money to travel and have fun all the time, never asking where it came from or what they owed to the people who provided it. They were wrong in that, very wrong. If I’ve learned nothing else these last three years, I’ve learned that much.” She turned and went to sit in the chair next to Daja’s. “And yet—I don’t want to be responsible here. I don’t want to stay here. My home is with Uncle, and the three of you. But won’t I be selfish if I insist on going away again? Won’t I be turning my back on these people?” She bowed her head and covered her face with her hands.

Daja stroked her friend’s hair. Sometimes she has too good a heart, Daja thought. I had forgotten that. “It depends on how you do it,” she said gently. “I just don’t think you should be deciding all this on a bad night’s sleep and an ugly scene first thing in the morning. You need to eat something. And you’d best tell the housekeeper to make provision for your new maid and her children.”

Sandry winced. “You’re right. Will you keep Gudruny company while I go?”

Before Daja could say, “I think you’re supposed to have the housekeeper come to you,” Sandry was out the door. Looking into the bedroom, Daja saw that Gudruny was staring out at her. She walked over to the woman. “I don’t think we’ve been introduced,” Daja said. “I’m her sister, Daja Kisubo. There’s another sister and a brother. You saw them outside, maybe, the redhead and the young man with the short black hair. We’re all mages. Real mages. With a medallion.” She lifted hers from under her robe and watched Gudruny’s face as the woman looked at it. She wanted Gudruny to understand her perfectly. “If you try to take advantage of Sandry, that would be sad. We really won’t like it. People usually wish they’d just left the four of us alone after they’ve experienced us as unhappy.”

Gudruny was trembling. “I didn’t know about her family. I thought she was an only child. And no one mentioned mages, either. I didn’t ask her to give me work.” She licked her lips. “Though it would keep me safe from Halmar taking revenge. And my parents will never forgive me for losing Halmar’s income for our family. I don’t know why she was so generous, but I hope you’ll understand if I don’t run away screaming. I have nowhere to go.” She met Daja’s eyes squarely, though she gulped when she did it.

Daja had to grin. “Ah. The Sandry effect.” She held up a hand. “No, I don’t expect you to know what I mean. You just reminded me that when we four lived together—at Winding Circle temple in Emelan for four years—now and then we’d find people who looked flattened, dismayed, and happy. Then we always knew Sandry was nearby. Once she decides to make your life better, look out! It’s easier to throw yourself off a cliff than it is to keep her from sweeping you up when she’s in that mood.” She changed the subject abruptly and offered her hand. “Daja Kisubo. Was Halmar really as pinheaded as he was talking out there?”

Gudruny sighed and sat on Sandry’s bed. “Halmar was never denied anything by his family—he was the only male child. And he taught me not to deny him anything once we were married.” She smoothed her crushed skirts. “When he beat me I sought help from Saghad Ambros and got it. But ... I never knew Halmar’s moods. He would punch the wall next to my head, and throw things at me or our children. He would lecture me for hours into the night, until I’d agree to anything just so he would let me sleep. I was always shaking, never sure what the children or I might fail in next.” She tried to smile, but couldn’t quite manage it. “I don’t believe I’ve had a night’s sleep in ten years.” Gudruny looked up at Daja. “So what kind of mage is the clehame?”

Daja went over to Sandry’s workbasket. “First rule: Don’t touch this or anything in it, ever, all right? Even if you need scissors, or needle and thread, get them elsewhere. It may look like a sewing basket, but it’s her mage’s kit.”

Gudruny looked at the basket, then at Daja. “I may only be a miller’s wife, or a miller’s onetime wife, but that doesn’t make it right to mock me, Viymese,” she said with injured dignity.

Daja rolled her eyes. “I don’t mock, not when it comes to magic,” she retorted. “Sandry is a mage with weaving, spinning, sewing. Even her pins have magic in them. You don’t know what they’ll do if you use them. Make sure your children understand it, too. Briar thought once he could give his hands a little tattoo with vegetable dyes—he has plant magic—and Sandry’s needles. Now he has plants made of ink that grow and move under his skin.”

Gudruny’s lips moved in a silent prayer. Feeling she had made her point, Daja asked, “You have two children?”

“Yes,” Gudruny admitted. “My boy is seven, my daughter ten. I’ll be certain they know—they are good children, and they mind me. But I have never heard of a mage whose kit is a sewing basket.”

“You’ve heard of stitch witches, though. Where do you think they keep their mage kits?” Daja opened the shutters, letting the morning breeze into the room. “Did you see the redhead?”

“Her hair was sparkling,” whispered Gudruny. “Actually, it looked like ...” She hesitated, as if afraid to name what she had seen.

“Lightning,” Daja said for her. “That’s because it was. Tris’s mage kit is her hair—her braids. She keeps different magics in each and every braid, but the lightning is hard to keep in one place, particularly when she’s out of sorts.”

The sitting room door opened, and Sandry returned. “Well, that’s that. Apparently there are other rooms off these for the maid the housekeeper expected me to have. I don’t believe I’ve ever been made to feel so, so ramshackle in my life by someone who was so terribly polite. She even managed to scold me for not making her come up here. I wasn’t aware I had to answer to my own housekeeper!”

“You’re frightening your new maid,” Daja said gently. Sandry ought to be throwing off lightnings right now, she thought.

Sandry looked at Gudruny. “Oh, cat dirt,” she said wearily. “Gudruny, don’t mind me. I’m cross, but it’s nothing to do with you. I’m glad you’ve met Daja. And Cousin Ambros says the men-at-arms are ready whenever you are. You can go get your children and your belongings when you wish.”

The woman looked from Daja to Sandry and back again. “I have a thousand things to say, and none of them make sense. You will never regret this day, Clehame.” She grabbed Sandry’s hand, kissed it, and fled.

Sandry looked at Daja. “What did you talk about?”

“I just started to tell her the less complicated things. You did say you didn’t want a maid, you know,” Daja remarked, leaning against the wall.

Sandry wrinkled her nose. “What else could I do? He looked like the vindictive sort. And maybe now servants will stop carping at me over my lack of a maid.”

Daja came over and kissed her cheek. “Ah. You did it just to silence the servants,” she said. Inside, through her magic, she added, But you still have a heart bigger than all Emelan.

Sandry smiled, her lips trembling. If this morning’s work brought one of my sisters back into my heart, then this whole trip was worth it, she replied through their now open magical connection.

Aloud, Daja teased, “At least until the next time Chime gets into your workbasket.” She heard brisk footsteps and Rizu’s and Caidy’s voices outside. “Some of us are going riding,” she told Sandry. “Want to come?”

Sandry grimaced. “Ealaga wants to give me the inner-castle tour, then Ambros will show me the outer castle. I get to spend my afternoon looking at maps and account books.” She sighed and slumped into a chair. “I shouldn’t complain. I’ve been reaping the benefits of these estates like mad for years. It’s only right that I learn the state they are in. And maybe I should have seen to it before this.”

“Another day,” Daja promised, feeling sorry for her. “I leave you to your tours.”

Skipping breakfast, Daja dressed quickly and hurried out to the stableyard. Rizu and Caidy were already in the saddle and nibbling on sweet rolls. An hostler came forward with Daja’s saddled and bridled gelding. She mounted and steadied the animal, wishing she had thought to wheedle a snack from the cook on her way out.

Rizu offered her a steaming roll. She had a pouch full of them. “One thing about riding with the empress,” she explained, “you learn the quickest ways to get hold of breakfast before you ride off at sunrise.”

“Actually, Her Imperial Majesty would think the day was half over at this point,” said Caidy, looking east. “We tend to sort ourselves into two groups over time: the ones who couldn’t sleep past dawn even if we wanted to, and the ones like Fin, who sleep in every chance they get.”

“Will you look at this?” Rizu asked. “Here we are, three females, all mounted up and ready to ride. If Jak and Briar don’t get out here soon, I say we should leave these lazy men behind and eat all the rolls.”

“Jak was complaining just last week that women always keep him waiting,” Caidy explained. “He’s never going to hear the end of this.”

“End of what?” Jak sauntered into the stableyard, a sausage roll in one gloved hand. A hostler led his mount over to him.

“You’re late,” Rizu said.

“You’re still here, so how can I be late? And here comes Briar.” Jak pointed to a side door.

“We were all here and ready to go,” Rizu informed Jak as Briar accepted the reins of his horse.

“Isn’t Clehame Sandrilene coming?” Jak wanted to know. “I thought I’d be needed to save her from ferocious goats and the like.”

“Those goats should look for someone to save them from her,” Briar told the young nobleman. “Haven’t you been paying attention?”

“She has to do responsible things,” Rizu informed Jak. “Unless you want to hold account books for her to read, I’d mount up.”

Jak shuddered as he followed her suggestion. “That’s what I have older brothers for,” he said, patting his bay’s glossy neck. “Responsible things.” He looked at Briar. “Race you to the river bridge,” he said quickly, and urged his mount into a gallop.

“Coming through!” Briar yelled, setting his own horse to a trot. He pulled himself up into the mare’s saddle as she moved, effortlessly swinging his leg over her back. Caidy laughed and galloped alongside Briar as they raced for the first gate.

Rizu sighed. “Children,” she said. “Overgrown children, the lot of them.” She and Daja followed the racers at a more leisurely pace. “Let’s hope all of the gates are open, or this will be a short race.” She winked at Daja.

Daja looked down, feeling her cheeks grow warm. She wished she had long, curling lashes like Rizu’s. They made everything she did look flirtatious.

For the next two days, Sandry’s companions amused themselves while Sandry acquainted herself with her ancient family home and its management at the hands of Ambros and his father. After that the group ranged farther afield with Ambros on rides to introduce Sandry to her many acres and those who worked them. They lost Briar for a day when he got to talking with the man in charge of the river tolls and crossings. All it took was the mention of particularly tough, long waterweeds that fouled oars and rudders to sidetrack Briar from his flirtation with Caidy. She pouted for two days and reserved her smiles for Jak, until Briar produced a small bottle of lily-of-the-valley perfume, made so that one drop would leave her smelling hauntingly of the flowers. That gift returned him to her good graces.

Daja, too, enjoyed the rides, partly because they took her to the villages that lay on Sandry’s vast holdings. Those villages had smiths, men and women who were more than happy to talk with, and to trade tips with, another smith. After time spent in the nobles’ glittering company, Daja needed the solidity of the forge and those who worked in them. She always felt excited among the nobles, as if she stood on the brink of some great discovery. It was wonderful, but exhausting. Metal brought her back to earth.

Tris never accompanied them. She was too busy working with Zhegorz, teaching him ways to shut out the things he saw and heard, being more patient with Daja’s jittery friend than Daja believed Tris could ever be. Something she learned on her travels gentled her a bit, Daja thought one night over supper, watching Tris rest a hand on Zhegorz’s shoulder as he stared into the hearth fire. If she doesn’t think anyone’s watching her, she can actually be kind. Tris. Who would have thought it?

Sandry thought she would go mad with Ambros’s dry recounting of grain yields, mule sales, and tax records, but she had to admire his work. In those immense account books she could trace the progress he and his father had made with her holdings. His father had done well, but he had spent as little as possible to maintain buildings and roads and to handle the payments for those who worked the land. He saved every copper in order to send quarterly payments to Sandry’s mother and then to Sandry.

When the writing in the books changed to Ambros’s tiny, spiked handwriting, she saw that he had made loans and collected interest, then used that money to invest in crop management and exports. He had used those profits to make improvements to the estates, increasing production and creating a wider variety of goods to send to market. The problem was the one that she had observed in Emelan, the increase of taxes on the estates.

Sandry was poring over tax records one sunny afternoon a week after their arrival when Tris came to ask her permission to take Gudruny’s children and Zhegorz up into the watchtower. “The guards refuse to let us go without permission from you or Ambros or Ealaga,” she said drily, leaning over Sandry’s shoulder. “What are these?”

“Imperial taxes. You know, maybe the guards won’t believe you,” Sandry remarked, picking up her shoulder wrap. A tiny hope, that perhaps Tris would reopen their connection as Daja had, surged in her heart. Sandry immediately crushed it. Tris was too wary, and too preoccupied with Zhegorz. Her chances were better with Briar for now. “ I should go along so they’ll know you have my permission for certain. Where are Ambros and Ealaga, anyway?”

Tris did not reply. Instead, she frowned, running a finger down a column of numbers.

Sandry waited, then nudged the redhead. “Tris? I asked you something, sister dear. Tris?” When this didn’t produce a response, Sandry poked Tris hard.

Tris scowled at her. “They aren’t in the castle, all right?”

Sandry pointed at the book. “What’s so interesting? Don’t say Ambros is witching the sums, because I won’t believe you.”

Tris snorted. “And I’m the Queen of the Battle Islands. No, it’s not Ambros. Don’t you see? There are more entries as you get older—more taxes, and more of them coming directly from the throne. First you were taxed four times a year; then six; then there’s a double tax in this year .... He’s as mule-headed as you, your cousin.”

Sandry blinked at Tris. “You should be a prophetess, you’re so cryptic,” she complained. “Just say what it is right out, Tris.”

Tris rolled her eyes. “She was trying to drain his purse for some reason. Probably so he wouldn’t be able to send you this exact sum each year, because that’s the only amount that remains the same. He’s been scrambling, cutting other spending, but that amount remains the same, even during the last three years when he’s had to cut everything else to the bone. And here’s this year. One levy of imperial taxes, when last year there were three already. I’ll bet he never said a word to you, did he?”

He sent me the tax records, so I could see for myself, thought Sandry, ashamed. She knew why this year’s record was so different. She had sent word north via mages that she was coming to Namorn in late spring.

“The instant she knew I was coming, she stopped taking so many taxes out of these lands,” Sandry whispered.

“Why didn’t he say anything to me? I just assumed he was coping with it all.”

“It was a point of pride for him.” They turned. Ealaga stood in the doorway. “He felt that you would believe he had mismanaged things, if he could not make your payment. I begged him to let you know the people here were being forced to pay for your absence, but ...” She shrugged. “He is yet another Landreg mule.”

“Landreg House breeds very fine mules!” cried Sandry, her family pride stung.

“Yes,” Ealaga replied drily, her gaze direct. “I believe it is because the breeders share a few traits in common with them.”

Sandry heard a squeak that might have been a smothered laugh from Tris. She turned to glare at her sister, then remembered something she had seen in the books. She seized the volume that held the previous year’s accounts and leafed through it hurriedly, this time noting many expenditures where lines had been drawn through to show they had not been made. She stopped at the one that had puzzled her. Through the line drawn over it she read the words “masonry/stones/tiles—Pofkim repairs.” She carried the heavy book over to Ealaga and showed the Pofkim line to her. “What should this have been?” she asked.

Ealaga sighed. “You haven’t seen Pofkim yet. It’s on the northwest border, in the foothills. Flooding two years ago ruined some of the houses and made others unstable. It also changed the water. They could only sink one new well when they need three. They’re all right ... We help as we can, but ...”

“He felt he had to make the payments to me, and the empress raised taxes to get me here. I don’t understand that,” Sandry complained. “How would that get me to come?”

“The landholder may appeal to the imperial courts for tax relief,” Ealaga replied steadily. “Only the landholder. The Namornese crown has a long and proud history of trying to keep its nobles on a short leash.”

“So Sandry asks for relief, and then she can go home to Emelan,” suggested Tris.

“They can only ask for relief from a specific tax,” Ealaga replied. “Once Sandry is gone, Her Imperial Majesty will simply impose new ones.”

Sandry stared at her, her mouth agape. “But ... I could never go home,” she whispered. “She’d keep me here, even knowing I hated it.” She scowled suddenly, a white-hot fire burning inside her chest. I hate bullies, she thought furiously, and Berenene is a bully of the first degree. So she’s going to make me stay here? I think not! Even if I have to beggar myself to cover her stupid taxes, I will. She will not punish my people ever again, and she will not make me obey!

She took a deep breath and let it out. If Tris had gotten that angry in my shoes, every thread in this room would have knotted right up, Sandry thought with pride. But I have control over my temper. “I would like to ride to Pofkim tomorrow and review its situation for myself,” she told Ealaga loftily, holding her chin high. “Will you make the proper arrangements, please?”

Ealaga curtsied. If there was a mild reproof in her eyes, Sandry ignored it. I answer to no one but Uncle, she thought stubbornly. It’s time all these Namornese learned that. To Tris, she said, “I believe I will join you and the others on the watchtower.”

Tris propped her fists on her hips. “Not if you’re going to act the countess with them,” she said flatly. “I’ve just got Zhegorz calm enough to go out among people at all, and the way Gudruny’s been telling her kids about your generosity, and how splendid you’ve been, they’ll bolt and run the minute they see your nose in the air.”

Ealaga quietly left the room as Sandry lowered her nose to glare at Tris. “I am not acting the countess!” she said tartly. “And you should talk!”

“I mean it,” retorted Tris. “Act like a decent person or you can’t come.”

Sandry met her friend’s stormy glare and quickly realized how ridiculous she was making herself. “I am a decent person,” she said mildly. “Tris, you don’t understand. I’m going mad with all these games people play to get me to do what they want. ‘Fit only to be waited on and to be married,’ remember? It’s what that woman said to me all those years ago? Well, all these curst Namornese think I’m fit for is to be sold off to the highest bidder, like some prize ... mule.”

“I suppose I’m supposed to be sympathetic now,” replied Tris at her most unsympathetic.

Sandry had to laugh. “No,” she said, linking her arm through one of Tris’s. “You’re supposed to take your sister and fellow mage student to say hello to your friends.”

“Good,” Tris said, towing Sandry toward the door. “Because I’m not in a sympathetic mood.”

Sandry made a face when Gudruny opened the shutters the next morning to reveal a gray and drizzly dawn. After her request at supper the night before, Ambros had sent word to Pofkim that their clehame was coming for a visit in the morning.

It seemed she would be visiting with a smaller group than usual. Even early morning riders like Rizu and Daja chose to return to bed when they saw the dripping skies. “Yes, Tris can keep us dry,” Daja told Sandry with a yawn, “but there will be mud, and inspecting, and people bowing and curtsying, and the only time that’s bearable is when it’s a nice day. Have fun.” She twiddled her fingers at Sandry and Tris in farewell.

The guardsmen who had been assigned that morning to accompany the girls and Ambros had never been treated to one of Tris’s rain protections before. For some time they rode under her invisible shield in silence, with frequent glances overhead at the rain that streamed away from three feet above.

“It’s quite safe,” Sandry told them, trying to make them feel better. “She can do it over an entire Trader caravan and still read without losing control over it.”

Tris, crimson-cheeked, shot a glare at Sandry and continued to read. Ambros finally drifted over to Sandry’s side. “I’d get sick to my stomach doing that,” he told Sandry in a murmur. “I can’t read in carriages or ships, for that matter.”

“I think if Tris got sick she wouldn’t even notice,” Sandry replied. “Look at Chime.” The glass dragon flew in and out of Tris’s magical shield as if it were no barrier at all, sprinkling rain droplets all over the members of their small group. “She’s having fun,” Sandry added with a grin. She looked at Ambros. His blue eyes followed the little dragon. Chime gleamed rainbow colors in the morning’s subdued light. She spun and twirled as if she were a giddy child at play. There was a smile on Ambros’s lips and a glow in his eyes.

He’s not such a dry stick after all, thought Sandry, startled. You just have to catch him being human.

Suddenly she felt better about this man who so often reminded her of her obligations. She had been seeing him as a taskmaster. Maybe if I tried treating him as family, he might warm up to me, she thought. She fiddled with an amber eardrop, then asked him, “Did you know my mother’s father at all?”

He was willing to talk of their relatives, and proved himself to be a good storyteller. Sandry was laughing as they rode over one last ridge and down into the valley that cushioned the village of Pofkim. Startled by what lay before her, she reined up. Now she understood why flooding had hurt the place so badly. It was all bunched in the smallest of hollows, huddled on either side of a narrow, brisk river that churned in its channel in the ground. “Were they mad, to build it here?” she asked her cousin.

Ambros shook his head. “You can’t see them, but the clay pits are in the hills on the far side of the river. They need to be close to the water to transport the clay. They can’t get enough of it out by horseback to make it worth the expense, but people in Dancruan are eager to line up at the wharves to bid on loads. They make very good pottery with it in the city. And goats and mules find plenty to graze here, but the footing’s too steep for cows and the growth too scanty for sheep.”

Sandry looked the village over. Now she saw the flood marks on the lone bridge over the river and on the walls of the buildings. Here and there were houses that had collapsed in on themselves. The outside walls of several homes were braced with wooden poles.

“If the wells are bad here, how can they put down new ones that won’t be bad, either?” she asked.

“The one well they’ve been able to sink is higher up. They built a makeshift aqueduct to carry the water to the village, but a good wind knocks it over. With money they can sink new wells up where the water is good, and build stone channels to bring it to the village.” Ambros sighed. “I’d wanted to do that this year, but ...”

Sandry scowled. Was there no end to the repairs her family’s lands required? “Sell the emeralds my mother left to me, if we haven’t the cash,” she said briskly. “They aren’t bound to the inheritance. I can sell them, if I like. If you can’t get more than enough money for them to fix all this, you aren’t the bargainer I take you for, Cousin.”

“Are you sure?” he asked as they entered the outskirts of the village. “Won’t you want them to wear, or to pass on?”

“The need is here. And I’m not much of a one for jewelry,” Sandry replied as people came out of their homes.

“Oh, splendid,” she heard Tris murmur. “The bowing and scraping begins.”

Sandry sighed windily and glared at the other girl. “Let loose a lightning bolt or two,” she snapped. “That should put a stop to it, if you dislike it that much.”

“Instead, they’ll fall on their faces in the mud,” Ambros said drily. “Somehow that doesn’t seem like an improvement.”

Sandry shook her head—Ambros has been listening to my brother and sisters too much! she thought, half-amused—and dismounted from her mare. One of her guards also dismounted and took her mount’s reins. Once that was taken care of, Sandry looked at a small boy. He was doing his best to bow, though the result seemed shaky. “How do you do?” she greeted him. “Are you the Speaker for this village?” The Namornese called the chiefs of their villages Speakers.

The boy sneaked a grin at her, then shook his head. A little girl standing behind him said, “You aren’t stuck-up. They said you would be.”

“Maghen!” cried her mother. She swept the little girl behind her and curtsied low. The curls that escaped her headcloth trembled. “Clehame, forgive her, she’s always speaking her mind, even when it will earn her a spanking ....” She gave an extra tug to the child’s arm.

Sandry lifted the mother up. “I’m glad there’s someone who will speak to me directly, Ravvi,” she replied softly. “Maghen? Is that you back there, or some very wiggly skirts?”

The girl poked her head out from behind her mother. “It’s me,” she said frankly.

“Do I seem stuck-up to you?” Sandry wanted to know. “Ravvi, please, I’m not offended. Let her come say hello.”

“She has a way with people,” Sandry heard Ambros murmur to Tris. “I wish I did.”

“You show them you care about them by looking after their welfare,” she heard Tris reply. “Do you believe her when she says put whatever funds you need into help for your tenants? Because she means it. She won’t ask you later what you’ve done with her emeralds. When she gives her word, you may trust it.”

Whenever she makes me truly cross, I have to remember she says things like this, thought Sandry as she acknowledged Maghen’s curtsy. I still wish she hadn’t closed herself off from me, but I’m so glad she came!