The Will of the Empress

11

Three days later, at the Sablaliz Palace, just twenty miles from the Landreg estates, Ishabal Ladyhammer found the empress in her morning room, watching the sun rise. Berenene, wearing only a light nightgown and a frothy lace wrap, read over reports as she ate a light breakfast. Her cup of the fashionable drink called chocolate cooled as she read and reread one report in particular, drumming the fingers of her free hand on the table. She only looked up from her reading when the door opened and Ishabal, dressed for the day, came in with a sheaf of papers in her hand.

“Have you seen the reports from Clehamat Landreg?” Berenene wanted to know. “Shall I ring for more chocolate?”

“You know that I cannot abide the stuff, Imperial Majesty,” replied Ishabal. At Berenene’s nod she slid into the seat across from the empress. “I have already breakfasted. And yes, I have read the reports from Landreg. They are fascinating.”

“Fascinating, my foot,” Berenene said crisply. “I want fer Holm and fer Haugh to know I am displeased. If they haven’t learned that no one may nibble the apples in my garden until I have had my taste, they must be made to understand it.”

“Fer Holm and fer Haugh are ruined, Imperial Majesty,” Ishabal said gently. “Ruined men are desperate.”

“Can you believe it?” Berenene asked, shaking the papers that she held. “She undid their clothes. And then she undid everything else they had with stitches in it. That had better not happen to me, Ishabal.”

“Charms against such magics are easy enough to make,” said the mage. “Surely these men have been punished enough. The heiress escaped. How could we improve upon such humiliation as she gave them? They were forced to run naked to Pofkim, where the good people sent them on their way with pitchforks and laughter.”

Berenene looked at her chief counselor from under raised brows. “My empire, my garden. They tried to take what is mine,” she repeated patiently. “The laughter of villagers is not punishment enough for poaching my property. I prefer the sight of such bold and brawny fellows on their knees before me, thank you all the same.”

She glanced at the report again. “I am also disappointed at the lack of information about my cousin’s new ‘secretary.’ Really, the girl might have chosen him to infuriate me. First she is accosted by a madman—whose life Daja saved back in Kugisko. Then she hires this Zhegorz, as her secretary—or so our spies tell us. Except that her secretary spends his hours magically protected by Trisana and Briar, so our spies know nothing of what they are doing. Zhegorz spends precious little time writing, certainly. And now I am told that we have no history of the man before Daja met him in Kugisko, because the hospital where he was locked up burned to the ground, including its records! All we know is that he came to Dancruan sometime last summer and that he lived on begging and charity. Oh, yes, and that all who knew him swore he was mad—those who were not mad themselves!” She dropped the papers on her table. “I can’t justify taking agents off important security work to concentrate on someone appearing to be a madman in need of magical help, but there’s no denying it, Isha.” Berenene drummed well-manicured nails on the tablecloth. “I dislike mysteries, and peculiarities are like an itch I cannot scratch.”

“Here is something to divert your mind,” said Ishabal, handing over a piece of paper. “My investigator mage just returned from an inspection of the new river walls at Pofkim.”

Berenene snatched the paper and read it over twice. “He says the walls are solid all along their length,” she murmured. “Under the bridge as well, and solid around the timbers and piers, as if they were poured mortar made of stone. The villagers say the ground shook and produced these stones for hours? Impossible.” She looked at Ishabal and raised her eyebrows. “It is impossible.” It was half a statement, half a question.

The great mage helped herself to bliny filled with jam. “I trust my mage. The girl did it. She managed a storm in the Syth, she made the ground produce a multitude of stones and pack them into walls along the riverbank, without disturbing the bridge. I find her ... intriguing.” She tucked a strand of silvery hair behind her ear. “She would be a very useful addition to Your Imperial Majesty’s mages, if she chose to join us.”

Berenene flapped a hand, as if she was not particularly interested. “Then she is your concern, not mine. Recruit her. Offer her plenty of money. These merchants’ spawn always grasp quickest for wealth. Offer her whatever amount you think is just. Certainly she sounds useful ....” Her voice trailed off, indicating her lack of interest in the subject. “Do you know, I am disappointed in Jak and Fin,” she told Ishabal. “Staying abed while Sandry goes riding with a tiny escort—really! I don’t care if they had caught pneumonia, the girl will never be convinced of their devotion if they are not constantly at her side. They would have looked so brave, shaking their swords at fer Holm. Honestly, Isha, these men! If we didn’t hold their coats for them, how would they ever manage?” She tugged a bellpull.

Almost instantly a maid popped into the room. That was one of the things Berenene liked about this seacoast palace: It didn’t take forever for servants to respond to a summons.

It should also prove less intimidating to visitors such as her young cousin, for example, than the palace in Dancruan. She had brought her court here yesterday, to enjoy the sea air, she had said. In truth, she had brought them here to continue her siege of Sandrilene.

“Have word sent for my attendants to have their horses saddled,” she informed the maid. “We’re going to pay a visit to Landreg.”

The maid bobbed a curtsy and left at a run.

Berenene saw that Ishabal was watching her. “I miss my cousin,” the empress said innocently. “She must be tiring of account books and prosy Ambros. And she’s had three days of close confinement to the castle and the village, to keep her from would-be kidnappers. She’ll be eager for imperial entertainment. There is safety for tender young heiresses in a large group such as ours. Besides, I haven’t seen Ealaga in months.”

“If you were a bit kinder to Ealaga’s husband ...,” murmured Ishabal.

“He knew he thwarted me when he refused to tell Sandry they were short of money and required her presence,” Berenene said tartly. “Besides, he is prosy. A fine steward for the girl’s lands, but dull.” She inspected her nails. “Perhaps, when Sandry has given over her lands to her husband’s direction, I may speak to Ambros about the Imperial Stewardship. If he does with the realms as he’s done with her property, we shall prosper. Though I’ll make you do all the talking with him, Isha.” She got to her feet in a rustle of light silk. “Will you ride with us? You’ll have a chance to talk with Viymese Tris.”

The mage smiled. “You will have Quenaill to protect you, Majesty. And I will be here, making charms to defend your men against the power of a stitch witch, should things come to force. I do hope for all our sakes that they will not. The more I consider what Lady Sandry did to her kidnappers, the more I am concerned about what she may do elsewhere, if her hand is forced. Have you forgotten the prodigies that were reported of these four young people?”

The empress leaned against the wall. “They did prodigies in concert with their teachers, in a time when they shared a mutual tie,” she said patiently. “I have also not forgotten the reports of their behavior since their reunion in Summersea, Isha. No two of them have worked in magical concert since then. They’ve had plenty of chances to do so on their way to us or while they’ve been here. Instead they quarrel. Their bond is shattered. Without it they are lone mages. You and Quenaill would not be the highest-paid mages in the empire if you could not find a way to best any lone mage.”

“What if you force them to reunite?” demanded Isha stubbornly. “I have some experience of young people, remember.”

“Your children and grandchildren? They are well-behaved mice. I happen to understand high-spirited youngsters,” replied Berenene. “They are always very proud and very certain that their errors are the blackest crimes known in the world. These four are no different. You’ve read the same reports I have. They bicker like brother and sisters. Would you be happy to let your sister or brother share your mind, if you were them?”

Ishabal sighed.

“You’re being cautious for me—good. That’s what I want,” Berenene said lightly as she walked through the door to her dressing room. She called back over her shoulder, “But don’t let caution produce monsters who don’t exist. They aren’t great mages, not yet, and you and Quen are.”

Isha shook her head. I am not as certain of that as you are, she wanted to tell her empress. I can get no sensible reports of what Briar and Trisana did while they were gone so far from home. I do know that Daja Kisubo put out a fire by pulling in a vein of the Syth, and that she walked through three burning buildings, each bigger than the last. I also know that Vedris of Emelan, a wise and careful ruler, counts your pretty little cousin as his chief lieutenant. Without magic she is more clever than the average eighteen-year-old, and she is a powerful mage.

Isha gathered up her sheaf of reports. In all the years that she had served the empress, she had learned one thing: When Berenene wanted something, she could be relentless. She wanted these four young mages to stay in Namorn. Isha sighed and thought, It never occurs to her there are some people—they are rare, but they exist—who aren’t particularly interested in money, position, or fame. I hope these four are not like that. Trisana Chandler could be wealthy anytime she wishes, if she chose to do war magic. Well, perhaps it’s war magic—not a dislike of money—that has kept her from accepting a position. If we offer her wealth to do magic as she wishes it, perhaps she will choose to stay. It is worth a try.

Sandry was stitching an embroidered band for Ealaga when she realized the hair at the nape of her neck tickled lightly. A moment later she heard Daja’s voice in her mind.

You’d best dress nicely and come downstairs, Daja told her. We have company.

What sort of company? Sandry wanted to know.

Daja showed her friend rather than told her. Through her eyes Sandry saw the empress and her court climbing the steps to the great hall of the Landregs. Daja stood there, watching, as Rizu, Caidy, Fin, and Jak rushed forward to greet Berenene and their friends.

Sandry also noticed that the man standing at the empress’s right hand was Pershan fer Roth. She replied, I’m coming.

Wait a moment, said Daja. Isn’t that the fellow you were talking to, that day in the imperial gardens? Shan? Why are you interested in him?

Never you mind, retorted Sandry as she flung her wardrobe open. She had forgotten that Daja might notice who she looked at. Closing off her tie with her sister, she called, “Gudruny!”

Her new maid rushed in. For the first time in three days, she was not accompanied by her children.

“Where are the little ones?” asked Sandry, stripping off her plain overgown. Her crisp white linen undergown would do for a meeting in a country setting, but not the light blue wool gown she wore on top. She inspected her clothes. Blue silk, blue silk, blue satin, she thought, her fingers walking through the better clothes. Don’t I have any other colors than blue? Ah.

She had found a crinkled silk overgown in a delicate blush pink. Carefully she drew it out and undid the top buttons so she could slide it on over her head.

“The children are with Cook,” replied Gudruny, gathering up the discarded overgown. She put it on the bed and began to tug the pink silk into place. “They are afraid the empress will force me to return to their father.”

“She can’t,” Sandry replied, trying to stand still. It’s just that I haven’t gone beyond the village in three days, she told herself, trying to excuse her sudden attack of the fidgets. I want to see new faces, that’s all. “I got Ambros to explain it all to me while you were getting your things, and he gave me the law books to read. No liege lord may interfere in her vassal’s dealings with her own people. My vassals, my commoners, answer only to me. Her Imperial Majesty would have to get my consent to make any ruling with regard to you, and I won’t give it. That’s my right, under the Namornese charter of noble privileges.”

Gudruny shrugged. “I’m afraid my children won’t grasp the ins and outs of lawyers’ talk,” she explained, guiding Sandry over to the stool before the dressing table. “I shall have to think of a simpler way to explain it to them.”

Something in what she had said distracted Sandry from her own appearance. “Were you worried she could make you go back?” Sandry asked as Gudruny bustled around the room, finding a veil to match the gown, then taking up a comb.

“A little,” the maid admitted with a rueful smile. “Her lack of sympathy is so very well known, Clehame Sandry. She is one of those who cannot believe that not everyone has her strength of mind. There is a reason people will say a thing is as unbreakable as the will of the empress.” She bit her lip and added, “I also think those who kidnapped Her Imperial Majesty were far more gentle with her, more careful of doing her harm, than are those who steal women who are not imperial heiresses. I think perhaps she had more opportunity to escape, so she believes we all have such opportunities to escape.”

“Oh, dear,” whispered Sandry. Horrified, she thought, That has the dreadful ring of the truth. No one would want to bruise a wife-to-be who might be empress one day, but it’s a different kettle of fish for a poor girl who has no interest in the local miller. I’ll bet Halmar tied Gudruny a lot tighter than anyone ever tied Berenene.

She watched Gudruny in the mirror as the woman briskly neatened Sandry’s hair, then pinned the veil on her gleaming brown locks. She’s certainly grown in confidence since our first meeting, Sandry told herself. It’s a good thing I hired her, telling that husband that he had no more rights over her.

Once Gudruny was done, Sandry leaned forward and patted her cheeks to get a little color into them, then bit her lips gently until they were more red.

“I have face paint,” Gudruny offered. “Lash blackener, lip color, something to make your cheeks glow.”

Sandry got to her feet hurriedly. “I don’t want anyone thinking that I, well, that I wanted to attract attention,” she said, nearly stumbling over her own tongue to make her reply sound innocent. “I just thought my cheeks were a little rough, that’s all.” She turned and fled from the room.

Gudruny’s right, thought Sandry as she prepared to descend the stairs to the main hall. I must have looked as if I were primping for ... someone whose attention I’m trying to get. And I’m not. I’m glad Shan—I’m glad my cousin is here, after all. I want to get to know all of my family, even if Cousin Berenene refuses to see that I don’t intend to stay.

From the shadows in the hall, Chime glided over to Sandry and perched on the girl’s shoulder. “Very well, you,” Sandry murmured, tugging her veil out from under the dragon’s hindquarters and straightening it. “But behave. No screeching.”

Chime wrapped her tail gently around Sandry’s slender throat. It felt as if someone had placed a ring of cool ice around Sandry’s neck.

“Now we’ll make an impression,” Sandry told Chime. Slowly she descended the stairs as if she had not hurried in the least. She sailed out the doors in Ambros’s wake. Everyone stood aside so that Sandry, as the highest in rank of the household, might go first. She pattered down the steps, knowing that the empress would not like her to remain higher than she was for long.

“Cousin!” she cried, settling into a deep curtsy in front of Berenene. “What brings you all this way?”

Berenene raised her up and kissed Sandry on each cheek as Sandry kissed her. “It was not so very far, my dear. I took it into my head to shift my household to the royal residence at Sablaliz, just twenty miles northeast of here, on the Syth. It’s an agreeable summer residence—so much cooler than the palace! And it makes it easier for me to get to know my young cousin better while she attends to her home estates.” She turned and looked at Rizu, Caidy, Jak, and Fin. “Have my four wicked ones kept you tolerably well-entertained?”

“They’ve been wonderful company, Your Imperial Majesty,” Sandry replied. “I don’t know how you could manage without them to amuse you.”

“It was a sacrifice, I admit,” said Berenene.

She looked at Ealaga, who promptly curtsied. “We have refreshments in the summer room,” Ealaga said. “Rougher fare than you’re accustomed to, Imperial Majesty, but I think I can safely say that our wines are good.”

As the empress and her companions entered the great hall, Daja found that Rizu had somehow slipped out of the gathering around her patron and come to stand with her. “I suppose you’ll be happy to get back to the round of court entertainment,” Daja suggested, feeling a little depressed. It’s just that the place was fairly quiet, and now it’ll be all noisy, she told herself.

“I was enjoying myself here,” said Rizu. “I manage to enjoy myself wherever I land. A good thing, too, when you’re in the empress’s service.”

“Did she send you along with us to spy?” Daja asked, not looking at Rizu.

The young woman chuckled. “She doesn’t need me to spy. The people she has for that are very good at it.” She hesitated for a moment, then said, “You four are an odd crew.”

Daja looked at her, confused by the remark. “What do you mean?”

“Well, anyone at court and quite a few people not at court would kill for the chance to join Her Imperial Majesty’s circle. And yet you all stand aloof. Is Emelan so much more filled with diversions and interesting people, compared with here?”

Diversions? thought Daja, confused. “Our work is in Emelan. I have a house, with a forge, of my own. The Trader caravans know to find me there. My teacher Frostpine is nearby, and the temple libraries, for when I want to tackle something magically complicated. Sandry is her uncle’s assistant, and he needs her. I don’t know about Briar, but Tris means to go to Lightsbridge to learn academic magic. I suppose you could say we’re not really the ‘diversions’ sort.”

“But there are forges here in Namorn,” Rizu pointed out. “Sandry could advise the empress, I suppose, if she cared to.” She looked down. “I know I would like you to stay.”

Daja’s heart thudded in her chest. A fizzing sensation filled her body, while her mouth went dry. “Me?” she asked, her voice cracking. She cleared her throat. “We’ll be here most of the summer,” she replied, trying to sound relaxed. “You’ll be more than tired of us all by then. We’re a difficult lot, and we usually only get on with difficult people.”

Rizu raised her eyebrows. “Usually the difficult need people who aren’t in the least difficult around them. I try to be very un-difficult. Daja ....” She put her hand on Daja’s arm.

“Rizu! Daja!” Caidy stood in the open doorway. “She’s looking for you!” When she spoke that way, “She” meant only one person. To Daja, Caidy said, “Have you any idea where Briar got to? She’s asking for him, too, and she’s got that wrinkle between her brows.”

“The one that means she’s deciding whether to be offended or not,” said Rizu. “Do you know where your brother is?”

Daja quested out with her power. She found Sandry and Tris instantly. Her connection to Sandry was reopened all the way, so that Sandry blazed bright in Daja’s magical vision. Tris had not thawed, but the lightning in her was clear to the fire in Daja’s magic. Briar was still completely invisible.

But maybe not to everyone, she thought. Looking at Caidy, Daja said, “I can’t find him, but Tris might. She usually keeps an eye on Briar.”

Tris shook her head when Caidy, Rizu, and Daja asked her where Briar was—but she had an idea. She felt the finest cobweb of a bond between her and Briar. Perhaps it was there because after everything else was said and done, Tris had taught Briar to read, and they could still talk about books together. Neither Sandry nor Daja read as much as they did, or shared books with them. Shared reading made for solid friendships, like her relationship with Duke Vedris, Tris had found.

She excused herself politely to the courtiers and wandered away with relief. How many times in one day can a person curtsy or bow without tripping over their own feet? she asked herself. It gives me a headache, and I don’t have to live at court.

She wandered down the back halls of the castle, pretending to ignore the servants who edged away from her. Word about the river repairs at Pofkim had spread in the last three days.

Forget it, Tris ordered herself as she passed through the kitchen, a cook stepping away from her. When I have my Lightsbridge credential, I’ll be able to work in a way that won’t make people nervous. Nobody shrinks from the village healer or the woman who sells charms in the marketplace. I’ll be able to keep to small magics, and people will stop looking at me as if I had two heads.

Her steps carried her down a corridor where the store rooms were located. A stair at the end led her down into the cellars. There she found a light shining through the open door of the room nearest the stairs. She poked her head inside. This was a cold room, spelled to hold winter temperatures all year long. Here the castle stored things that would spoil. In the outer room, they stored meat, butter, eggs, urns of milk and cream, and large cheeses. In the room off the main one, Tris saw the silver bloom of magic. Briar was working with household medicines.

She sent a pulse down their hair-thin magical connection so she wouldn’t startle him, then entered the smaller room. Briar had a series of small bottles in front of him, each holding a seed of magical fire. Three, off to one side, held more than a seed. Standing with his hands around one bottle, Briar was waking up the green power of the plants that had gone into its contents.

“You’ll freeze down here in that dress,” he said without looking up. He wore heavy woolen clothes. “Why are you bothering me, anyway? I thought you had Zhegorz to teach meditation to, and Gudruny’s kids for their letters.”

“Zhegorz is hiding in the wardrobe in your room,” Tris said calmly. She was starting to shiver.

“Now why in the Green Man’s name is he doing that?” Briar inquired absently. The magic in the bottle flowered into bright strength.

“He’s afraid your friend the empress will realize all he has overheard and decide to execute him for the realm’s safety,” Tris continued, her voice even. “He’s convinced she knows every scrap he’s ever picked up.”

“What a bleat-brain,” Briar replied. “Even if she could do such a thing, and she can’t, she’s never laid eyes on him.”

“He’s convinced he might, what with her being in the summer room right now,” said Tris. “That’s an aid to digestion you’re fixing, isn’t it?”

Briar’s head snapped up. He stared at Tris. “Here? She’s here?”

“I thought that would get your attention,” murmured Tris. “She’s here and she’s asking for you. Perhaps you should change shirts.”

Briar raced out of the room. Shaking her head, Tris went to the medicine he’d just finished working on and marked the label so the castle staff would know it had been strengthened. She took her time about leaving, making sure the other medicines he’d handled were also marked, and returning the neglected medicines to their proper shelves. Despite the cold, she was in no hurry to rejoin the hustle and bustle upstairs. The drafts upstairs had been filling her ears with the courtiers’ babble since their arrival.

Too bad I can’t hide in a wardrobe like Zhegorz, she thought as she casually renewed the cold spells on the rooms. But no, she added with a sigh, I’m a mage. Mages are supposed to take such things in stride.

Briar hardly noticed Zhegorz when he yanked his wardrobe open and grabbed the first decent-looking shirt and breeches he saw. He closed the wardrobe, then remembered he’d need an over robe. This time when he opened the doors he noticed Zhegorz huddled in the farthest corner.

“She’s no mage,” he told the man. “She can’t see what you’ve heard, even if you could sort out anything she wanted kept secret from the whole mess of things she doesn’t care about.” He left the wardrobe open as he stripped off his work clothes.

“Easy for you to say,” snapped Zhegorz. “You don’t hear all the bits and pieces that make a single damning whole.”

Pulling on his breeches, Briar asked, “And have you patched one together? A single damning whole that makes sense?”

“I could,” Zhegorz insisted, “if I put my mind to it.”

Briar did up the buttons on his long shirt cuffs. “Old man, your mind is in a thousand places. You lost it in a swamp of words and visions,” he said, not unkindly. “Nobody can use them to harm you until you put them together and tell someone. Do you even want to do that?”

Zhegorz straightened slightly. “No,” he replied slowly. “There’s too much, and it’s all a mess.” He rubbed his bony nose. “You don’t think someone could torture me to speak it all and put it together out of that?”

“They’d be as overwhelmed as you,” Briar said, tugging on his boots. “Lakik’s teeth, Zhegorz, you’ve been like this for thirty years. It’s all swirled together inside your poor cracked head. Only another madman would want to fish for something real in there.” He took out his handkerchief and gave the boots an extra wipe, shining the dull spots. “If you think she’s so powerful, just leave Namorn.”

“Just leave Namorn?” Zhegorz repeated, straightening even more.

Briar looked up, saw the peril to his clothes, and moved them away from the madman. While his mind knew that Sandry had made his garments to withstand all common wrinkles, his heart worried for his beautiful things. “Just leave Namorn,” he said. “No Namorn, no empress. No empress, no torturers with painful spikes and tweezers and spells with your name on them. You haven’t heard enough in any other country to make it worth their while, only here.” He shrugged into his over robe and glanced into his mirror. One of the good things about very short hair was that it never required combing. “Do you think I should grow a mustache?”

When no answer came, he looked around. Zhegorz sat, his long legs half-in, half-out of the wardrobe, with tears running down his cheeks.

Briar found his handkerchiefs. He took one over to Zhegorz. “You have to relax,” he told Zhegorz sternly. “You’ll rattle yourself to pieces at this rate. What’s wrong now? Or is it the thought of me in a mustache that made you get all weepy?”

“So simple,” the man replied in a voice that cracked. He blew his nose with a loud honk. “You, you and Daja and Tris, you take the knot that has built up for so long, and you just ... cut through it. I’ve tried for years to untie it, and you chop it to pieces in a matter of days. Why didn’t I see that? I have the years of a man, while you’re just children yet—”

“Watch the ‘children’ stuff,” Briar advised. “It’s taken me all my life to shed that name. I’ll thank you to keep it in mind.”

Zhegorz gave his nose a second blow. “You’ve shed half a dozen names,” he said, his voice muffled by the handkerchief. “But there’s one you’ll never lose, and that’s ‘friend’.”

“That’s it,” Briar said, checking his cuffs. He was always embarrassed by emotional talk. “I’m going to go pay compliments to the empress. You can stay here, but you’ll be a lot more comfortable in a chair, or on the bed.”

Without looking back, he left the room, closing the door gently behind him. He’ll do better once he’s out of Namorn, Briar thought as he trotted down the stairs. Maybe better enough to salvage a decent life for himself with the years he’s got left.

As he reached the ground floor he thought, Someone’s got to do a better job of finding us peculiar ones, before they end up like Zhegorz.

He found the empress and her courtiers in the summer room of the castle, the one that caught the most light, and on the terrace outside it. Berenene sat on a chair placed against the terrace rail, where she could enjoy the scent of the roses that twined around the stone rail from the garden just below. Briar approached her and bowed deep, summoning a rose with an as-yet-unopened bud to him. The empress moved aside as the vine thrust its thorny arm out to Briar. The bud swelled, then bloomed as it came closer to him, revealing a heart as crimson as blood. He used his belt knife to carefully cut the blossom free, trimming its thorns and healing the cut on the main vine before he sent it back to the others.

The mage Quenaill leaned against the stone rail beside the empress. He’d twitched when the vine crept past her, the silver fire of his protective magic collecting around his hands and eyes. When he realized it was Briar’s work and not a threat to Berenene, Quenaill held the fire close but did not allow it to sink back under his skin until the vine had returned to its proper location.

“It’s forbidden to practice magic in the imperial presence without permission,” Quenaill said drily, as if it were no great matter. “Though I don’t suppose she’ll scold you as she ought.” When Berenene looked up at him, Quenaill bowed. “Your Imperial Majesty,” he said, to take the sting off his hinted-at rebuke.

She smiled impishly up at her guardian mage. “Viynain Briar has my permission to work any plant magic he feels is necessary in my presence, and has had it since I showed him my greenhouses,” she informed Quenaill. “Now stop sulking, Quen, there’s a dear.”

When she looked at Briar again, he presented her with the crimson rose. “It pales beside your lips, Your Imperial Majesty,” he said boldly. “But it was the best I could do on such short notice.”

“Hmm.” Berenene drew the rose down from her chin over her bosom. “Short notice to whom? I’ve been waiting here forever. I supposed you’d gone off to look at the Landreg fields rather than make your bow to an old woman like me.”

Briar grinned. “The Landreg fields need no attention from me. Saghad Ambros’s people are good farmers. No, I was in one of the cold rooms down below, working on medicines. I came as soon as I knew I could admire Your Imperial Majesty.”

“You, my dear young man, are a flatterer,” Berenene told him flirtatiously, tapping his cheek with the rose. “You mean to tell me that Rizu and my dear little Caidy held no charms for you? One of them hasn’t stolen your heart?”

“Caidy has stolen my arm, perhaps, or maybe my breath, but my heart could only belong to you, great lady,” Briar said, enjoying the flirtation. He knew better than to take it seriously.

“Then she has made more progress with you than my young men have made with Sandrilene,” Berenene observed, gazing darkly at Jak and Fin. If they noticed, they showed no sign of it. Instead, Jak fanned Sandry gently while Fin offered her a plate of delicacies.

“She’s not much of a player when it comes to games of the heart,” Briar said. “If you sent them to engage her in such a game, Imperial Majesty, they were doomed to failure.”

“Does she favor girls, then?” Berenene asked. She smiled up at Briar. “You see I will introduce her to anyone who might persuade her to make her home with us.”

Briar scratched his head, then remembered it was vulgar to do so in normal company. “I don’t know,” he replied frankly. “But Sandry won’t stay for a pretty face, whoever it belongs to. Some plants grow where they will, Your Majesty. You know that. Coax them, water them, light them, repot them, do as you like, they will only grow where they have decided to. The only way you can make them do as you bid is to kill them, which seems like a waste, if you ask me.” He smiled cheerfully at her. “But there, I’m just a scruffy gardener, dirt under my nails and in my ears. I do better with what plants grow best next to which vegetables than I do with matches between people.”

Berenene took a breath. Is she going to scorch me for my uppitiness? wondered Briar. Turn her mage boy on me? Or take it from one gardener to another?

The empress released her breath and reached out to slap Briar’s arm with her free hand. “You are a vexatious youth, and an honest one. You have my leave to bring me some fresh berries from the food table.”

It took a polite, blushing excuse that hinted of a need to use the privy to free Sandry of the courtiers who had swirled around her since Berenene’s arrival. The moment she was out of everyone’s view, she ran down two connecting hallways and out into the garden for some quiet.

What is wrong with them? she wondered, thinking mostly of Jak and Fin. They’re sweet and funny and perfectly decent companions, except for wanting to flirt. Then my cousin arrives. Suddenly they act like every word from my lips is struck in solid gold! Green Man snarl them in vines if they cluster around me like that again! It’s that or I’ll set their breeches to dropping. See if they fawn over me while they hold their pants up.

Scowling, she found a bench in the herb garden and sat, letting the smells of rosemary and basil soothe her rattled nerves. With her eyes closed, she could pretend she was back on the step of Discipline cottage, bathing in the scents that came from Rosethorn’s herbs.

She opened her eyes at last. My problems aren’t at Discipline. They’re here, and they have to be faced. I can handle Jak and Fin—I’ve been doing it since we got here. If they were the only ones bothering me, I’d send them about their business! The problem is, they aren’t the only ones. At least three other of Berenene’s ... lapdogs have been sticking to me like burrs! How do I get her to call them off?

“I’m sorry—I didn’t know anyone was out here,” a man’s voice said. “Forgive me.”

Sandry turned and ignored the treacherous bump of her heart at the sight of Pershan fer Roth. Green is a very good color for him, she thought, and smiled. “No, it’s all right,” she replied. “Unless you wanted privacy?”

He returned the smile, his brown eyes dancing. “I was just going for a walk. You’re the one who looks as if she would enjoy some privacy. Or perhaps enjoy murdering someone.”

Sandry put her hands to her forehead. “I don’t like to be crowded,” she explained. “I was being dreadfully crowded back there.”

Someone had built a bench around a very old apple tree. Shan sat there, his long legs crossed before him, and leaned back. “How’s this? I’m not crowding you in the least.”

Sandry giggled. “Thank you,” she told him. “But wouldn’t you have more fun with the rest of the court?”

“Maybe sometimes I feel crowded, too,” he replied. “You should see my family’s lands. They’re a bit like Landreg, only at the feet of the mountains. On a good day you can gallop for miles without seeing another living soul.” He smiled, his eyes closed. “I used to shove bread and cheese into my saddlebags, maybe some apples, and just ... ride.” He opened his eyes to grin at her. “Fin and Jak finally remembered to be attentive to you.”

“I almost had them broken of the habit before today,” Sandry replied tartly.

“Poor little caged bird,” drawled Shan. “Look at it this way: If you marry one of them, they’ll leave you alone afterward.”

Sandry glowered at him. “There’s more to marriage than being left alone when you like it. And all this scrambling for my attention—having all these boys thrown at my head, it’s just so ... undignified. Frankly, my cousin doesn’t strike me as the crude type.”

Shan grinned. “Ah, but you see, she’s the victim of her own success. Since she took power, she’s been slowly reducing the great estates of the realm, through taxes, and marriages, other stratagems. She offered one not-very-bright fellow a dukedom over thousands of acres near the Sea of Grass if he signed over his extremely wealthy Saghadat on the western shore of the Syth. Now he finds himself building castles and trying to create wealth from grass and nomads ....” He realized he’d come to a full stop and chuckled. “Sorry, I still find it funny. Anyway, the last untouched great holding, apart from the Ocmore lands, is—”

“Landreg,” said Sandry.

“Landreg,” replied Shan with a nod. “The man who weds you not only has a delightful lady for his wife—” Sandry glared at him, making Shan laugh. He continued: “He also has a very, very deep purse, as well as any alliances you may form with the Mages’ Council. Since Ambros has saved you from losing lands to pay taxes, Her Imperial Majesty now has to scramble to keep you from the courtship of a man who is more seasoned and experienced. Someone who isn’t under her thumb. She is putting you in the way of the young men she is sure of, men she can control even after they’re married to you.”

Sandry picked up a pebble and threw it into the garden. “Well, she’s wasting her time. They’re wasting their time. I don’t want to be married at all.” She stood, shaking out her skirts. “Shan, why don’t we go for a ride?” she asked impulsively. “Down to the village and back? Just a quick gallop—” She stopped herself. He was shaking his head.

“The empress will have my guts for garters,” he said plainly. “To her it would look as if I were trying to cut out the others. That would make her unhappy. It is such a bad idea to make Berenene unhappy.”

“Don’t you want to go for a ride with me?” asked Sandry, puzzled.

“I also want to keep my intestines right where they are,” Shan informed her. “A man at the imperial court serves the empress first. We don’t form ties of affection to anyone but her, no matter how hard it is. Take my word for it, the only reason those eager suitors are so eager? She’s let them know they have her permission. Once one of them snags you, they’ll be back at court, paying attention to her.” Seeing that Sandry was wide-eyed with fury, Shan added, “She nearly had one of her maids of honor executed for marrying a nobleman behind her back. The priestesses of Qunoc had to intercede. Now the couple is forbidden to ever show their faces at court again.”

“But that’s silly!” cried Sandry.

“No,” Shan replied. “It’s the disadvantage of having a great, unmarried ruler who has always been exquisite. She can order us to dance to her tune, and we do it. There is always the chance that one day she’ll fall madly in love with one of us and make that man emperor. Even if she falls in love and doesn’t marry, she showers her lover with titles, lands, and income. Hers is the hand filled with gold. If she were ugly as a boot, we would still worship at her altar, and she’s not ugly.”

Sandry shuddered. “I would never live that way. People ought to be free to love and marry as they wish.”

“In an ideal empire, they would,” Shan agreed. “But we don’t live there. Don’t look so upset. She likes you. If she likes you enough, she’ll make you one of her attendants even if you are married. Life at court can be amusing.”

Leaning over, Sandry plucked a sprig of mint and held it under her nose, enjoying its fresh scent. “And if I lived only to be amused, I might even like it, who knows?” she asked with a shrug. “But I’m a mage. I live to work. I love my work. The court will have to amuse itself without me after Wort Moon.” She named the last month of summer.

Shan got to his feet. “I’d better put myself back under her nose before she suspects me of courting you. I haven’t been disciplined by Her Imperial Majesty in four months. I’d like to keep the winning streak going. If you’ll excuse me?”

It was the first time all day that a young man had left her and not the other way around. “Don’t you want to court me?” Sandry heard herself ask, her mouth seeming to have a will of its own. Although her tone was one of mild curiosity, she could feel a beet red blush creep up from her neck to cover her face. Stupid! she scolded herself. Stupid, stupid! Now he’ll think you’re throwing yourself at his head, when you just wanted to know why he wasn’t grazing with the herd!

Shan laughed, which made her blush burn all the hotter. “I like you, Sandry, but I’m not on the permitted list,” he said, grinning. “Besides, friendship is always better than courtship—that’s what my grandmother used to say. I’d like for us to be friends.”

“Oh,” she said, struggling to keep her voice disinterested, even if her blush still lingered on her cheeks. “I’d like that, too.”

“Good,” he said, offering his hand. Sandry took it and discovered that his hand engulfed hers. “Friends it is,” Shan said, giving her hand a single, firm shake before he let it go. He grinned and walked back to the castle.

Sandry could still feel his warm fingers against hers. She looked at her hand, wonderingly. There was a green streak there, and the scent of mint.

She smiled. He had stolen her mint sprig.

When Sandry returned to the empress, she was once more surrounded by nobles. Daja couldn’t help noticing the look Sandry traded with the man who now lounged at the empress’s elbow. That was Shan, who had talked to her that day in the imperial gardens, Daja remembered. I hope Sandry isn’t hoping for something there. He and Berenene seem really, really friendly, and that Quenaill, who I thought was really friendly with the empress, too, he took himself off to a corner when Shan arrived. He’s been there ever since, glaring at Shan.

Daja nudged Rizu, who sat on the bench next to her with Chime in her lap. When Rizu looked at her, Daja ignored that fizzing sensation inside her skin and whispered, “Her Imperial Majesty seems very friendly with Shan.”

Rizu chuckled, a sound that raised goose bumps on Daja’s arms. Am I coming down with some sickness? Daja wondered.

Leaning over to whisper in Daja’s ear, Rizu said, “I should hope they’re friendly, since he shares her bed.”

Daja flinched, almost bumping Rizu’s nose with her own. Rizu giggled and brushed Daja’s nose with her fingers. Daja gulped and turned to whisper in Rizu’s ear, “He’s her lover?”

Rizu slid a little closer. “He is, Quen was and may well be again, and there are two other fellows you may have seen glaring at them, who might just bounce to the front of the line if Berenene gets bored.”

Daja rocked back, startled. Plenty of people had lovers if they weren’t married, but it seemed greedy to have more than one.

“How do you think a nobody like Pershan fer Roth got an important position like Master of the Hunt?” Rizu wanted to know. “He couldn’t have afforded the fifty gold argib fee to get the post. Her Imperial Majesty paid it.” Rizu lowered her long lashes. “He’s been the imperial favorite for about five weeks. Do you like him?”

“No,” Daja said, bewildered that Rizu should even ask. “Oh, he’s pretty enough. With those shoulders he could be a smith, but no. I was just curious.”

“Sandrilene,” called the empress.

Sandry looked at Berenene with yearning. She silently asked Daja, Is she going to pull my suitors off me now? Before they smother me?

Daja snorted.

“What?” Rizu wanted to know, but Daja just shook her head.

“We are of a mind to go hunting tomorrow, in the Kristinmur Forest,” Berenene explained. “We invite you and your friends.” Her tone made it not a request, but a statement.

Sandry frowned, then got to her feet, shooing the young men who sat in front of her out of her way as a farmwife might shoo chickens. “Your Imperial Majesty is gracious,” Sandry replied slowly. Daja could tell she was groping for words that would not offend. Sandry went on: “The truth is that my friends and I do not hunt.”

Briar sauntered into the clear space before the empress. “Well, I’ve hunted, when I had to,” he said with a polite bow. “But not as Your Imperial Majesty means it, with horses and the birds and the dogs.”

“And beaters,” added Tris, coming into view from a pocket of shadow where she’d been talking with Ishabal. “Frightening helpless animals.”

“A boar or an elk is hardly helpless,” the empress said drily. She found Daja immediately. “Do you also object to hunting?” she asked mildly.

Daja shrugged and got to her feet to bow. “I never learned, Your Imperial Majesty. I ride well enough, but the only weapon I’m good with is a staff, and that’s for bashing human heads, not animal ones.”

The courtiers laughed as Berenene smiled. “Delightfully frank,” she told Daja with a smile. “You must forgive us northerners. We all learned to hunt as children on our first ponies. Very well, since hunting does not appeal, what do you say to a visit to Dragonstone? Saghad Ambros knows where that is, between here and Sablaliz. It’s a fortress from the old Haidheltac empire, very lovely. I’ve been remaking it as a kind of stone garden, in and around what remains of the buildings, with ponds and places to picnic.”

Sandry curtsied. Tris followed suit, as Briar and Daja bowed. “It sounds wonderful, Cousin,” replied Sandry. “We would love to join you.”