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The 17th day of Wort Moon, 1043 KF
Lady Sandrilene fa Toren felt the last knot of tension leave her body as they crested the hill, and saw the familiar city spread out below. They’d been in Emelan for days – most importantly, not in Namorn for a month – but now, finally, they were home. And judging from the warm relief flowing along their magical connection, her foster-siblings were just as glad as she was.
Chime flew up into the air before them, trilling as she flitted to and fro as if to say they ought to be staring at her, not some boring landscape. The four young mages smiled at the little dragon.
“This is Summersea, then, my lady?” Gudruny asked, riding up to Sandry’s side. “It’s so beautiful.”
“Yes,” said Sandry. “It is.”
“And that’s Winding Circle temple, over there,” said Daja Kisubo, sunlight flashing off the metal on her hand as she pointed to the small settlement.
“And that’s my stomach grumbling!” Briar Moss kicked his horse into a trot. “Don’t stand there gawping like a bunch of bleat-brains!” he shot over his shoulder. “I’d like my midday sooner rather than later, if it’s all the same to you!”
“Mila forbid we keep Briar from his food,” Trisana Chandler murmured as they followed him down the hill. “Clearly, he’s about to fall off his horse for lack of it.”
I heard that, Briar retorted silently.
Sandry giggled behind her hand, and had to resist the urge to gallop past her brother, into the fresh sea breeze. It was good to be home.
*
A couple of hours later, with Gudruny and her children settling in to their new quarters in the palace, Sandry had to admit she was worried. She hadn’t written to Uncle Vedris since she’d told him they were leaving Namorn earlier than expected. So much had happened since then, and she’d wanted to tell him about it in person. But now, standing outside his rooms, she wasn’t sure she could do it. Her uncle was going to be so angry at what had happened to her – well, so was she, that wasn’t the problem. What if he was also angry at what she’d done?
Chin up, Duchess, she scolded herself. You argued with the Empress of Namorn, and won. You can do this.
Smoothing her immaculate gown one last time, Sandry took a deep breath and entered the room. Her anxiety faded beneath a surge of affection for her great-uncle as he looked up from his desk and beamed at her.
Once they had greeted each other and retreated to the more comfortable chairs by the fireplace, Sandry lost her voice again.
“Please tell me what’s on your mind, my dear.” Duke Vedris leaned forward and clasped her fidgeting hands in his. “Your last letter was … rather abrupt.”
She sighed, and plunged in. “Have you heard of the west Namorn tradition of bride kidnapping?”
From his sharp intake of breath, Sandry guessed he had. “They did that to you?”
“Twice.” Sandry looked down, swallowing the ball of anger, hurt and shame that the memories brought. To think she’d been attracted, however briefly, to a man who could turn around and treat her like that …
Vedris sat back in his chair, face reddening. Sandry could almost feel the torrent of livid words he held back. “How could the empress allow it to happen?” he burst out at last. “You were right to come home, my dear, but–” He paused, holding his niece’s gaze. “Don’t tell me she was involved! I knew she’d hoped to marry you off, but I never thought …”
“No,” said Sandry quickly. “Both attempts were done behind her back, I’m sure. Not that she cared about all the women and girls it did happen to. No, when her pet courtiers failed, Cousin Berenene resorted to raising the border defences against us.”
Vedris’s eyes widened. “Shurri Firesword! And you got through?”
“Yes.” Sandry waved this aside. “Uncle, there’s something I have to tell you. I … I signed over the Landreg estate to Cousin Ambros. He’s the cleham now.”
Vedris rested his chin on his hand, looking thoughtful. “Ah,” was all he said.
“Berenene was piling taxes on him for years, trying to get him to ask me go to Namorn and appeal against them. This way he can do it himself, and free any women who were forced into marriage! He’s looked after everything so well, and now he’s going to try and ban that vile kidnapping tradition, and …” Sandry gulped, and forced the words past the lump in her throat. “I feel like I’ve betrayed my family name, but it also feels like the right thing to do, at the same time!”
He was covering his mouth well, but Vedris’s eyes still twinkled in amusement. When Sandry finished, he reached out and gently patted her knees. “Dearest Sandrilene, of course it was the right thing to do!”
Sandry’s bright blue eyes looked at him in shock over her handkerchief. “But it wasn’t a, well, a very noble thing to do!”
Vedris laughed. “And when have you let noble conventions dictate your actions, hmm? You always know what’s best.”
Sandry smiled, though her lips were trembling. “I knew it was the right thing to save my student’s life, but I had to destroy three other people to do it. Now the only way to see my people are properly cared for is to forsake my mother’s legacy!”
“You’ve simply passed it on to your cousin, Sandrilene,” said Vedris firmly. “It’s hardly forsaken if it’s staying in the family! And I can’t think of a more worthy fellow to give it to.” Vedris considered his niece for a moment. “It was their idea, wasn’t it?”
Sandry blushed. “Yes," she admitted, knowing he meant her brother and sisters. “Only took me a day to realise they were right.”
“So the … distance between you. I take it the excitement in Namorn has healed the rift?” Vedris smiled at Sandry’s nod, satisfied that his plan had worked. “I’m very pleased to hear it. Now, my dear, tell me how you four managed to overcome a centuries-old magical barrier!”
*
Daja swilled the dregs of tea in her mug, staring into it like she was trying to scry for the right words to say. She definitely did not look at her foster-mother Lark, who was calmly doing something with the bundles of wool spread out on the table. Lark was probably happy to sit there until Daja was ready, but Daja felt she needed a little prompting if she was going to say anything before the others got back.
The others. Daja touched the round scar on her palm, a relic of the thread circle that Sandry had bound them all together with eight years ago. No doubt Tris and Briar knew she wanted to speak with Lark alone, and would make sure their students Glaki and Evvy were kept busy showing off everything they’d learned over the summer. Rosethorn had left the kitchen just as quickly, muttering about keeping the menagerie under control.
Sandry must have known as well – when everyone had eaten at the house in Cheeseman Street, Sandry had called back as she left for the palace, sending her love to Lark and Rosethorn. When Daja turned around, Briar was already bringing the horses over.
Seems everyone knows what I want before I do, Daja thought wryly. But that’s what families are for.
Where to start, though? So I met this woman … ? Or should she ask if Rosethorn has any cures for a broken heart?
Daja sighed. She knew the answer to that question. Time healed these wounds, nothing else. But Ben’s betrayal still hurt, sometimes, and she’d only liked him as a friend …
“My heart is a traitor,” said Daja, and frowned. That didn’t make much sense. She rubbed at the brass that coated one hand, fingers suddenly itching for her tools. She hadn’t stepped inside a forge for months, maybe she just needed good honest labour to sweat this out.
In the corner of her vision, Lark set down her work and clasped her hands together.
Out with it, Daja, Frostpine would say. No use cleaning your forge if your mind’s a mess too.
She would feel better once she’d done this. “First I make friends with a murderer, and I still feel sorry for him. Sorry he wasn’t the hero firefighter I’d made living metal gloves for. And now …” Daja hesitated, watching her fists clench. “I fall in love, finally, and I should be glad I’m not cold like all the boys said, but I just want Rizu back!” A tear fell, glinting on the brass like a jewel. “And it’s horribly selfish of me, but I wish she’d loved me more than that poisonous nest of kaqs they call a court!”
Daja buried her head in her arms and cried. She heard Lark get up, though she barely felt the older woman rest an arm across her heaving back. “So she’s allowed to be selfish and not uproot herself for you, but you’re not allowed to want her to?” Lark asked gently. “Love works both ways, you know. And you can never control it. Humans are not the rational creatures Niko likes to think we are.”
Daja hiccupped a laugh at this. Tris’s teacher did spend an awful lot of time with his nose buried in a book, rather than talking to people. “I kept thinking there must be something wrong with me,” she said, lifting her head. “It seems so silly now, but I’d never felt anything before I met Rizu. Meanwhile everyone else knew exactly what they wanted.”
Lark rubbed her back. “I’m sure most of them were faking it. Trust me, I used to make a living out of pretending to be a professional performer. Nobody knows exactly what they’re doing, we just hope it looks convincing.”
This was reassuring and slightly worrying at the same time. “So much for certainty,” Daja grumbled, sitting up and scrubbing her face. Everything had been rock solid when she was small. Some days it felt like she was still adrift after the shipwreck, with no shore in sight. If this was adulthood, Daja didn’t care for it.
Lark smiled. “There’s always something you can be sure of, even if it’s just the length of your thread or the heat of your fire.”
Daja looked at her. “Even when my heart has bad judgement?”
“Loving someone, or believing the best in them, is not a flaw,” Lark said crisply, sounding almost like Rosethorn for a moment. Then her voice softened. “It will always hurt a little – that’s how you know you still can feel. But believe me, Daja, it does get better.” She bent and kissed the top of Daja’s head. “Especially when you have a family to help you.”
*
Tris nibbled at the end of her thin lightning braid, watching her teacher has he bustled around the room, trying to free enough space for her to sit down.
“I can stand, Niko, really.” Her bones had long since healed – and if her pelvis still ached a little from riding, he didn’t need to know that. He didn’t need to know Ishabal Ladyhammer had cursed her to fall down a flight of stairs, either. Not yet.
“Well, yes, but–” Niko glanced at her and sighed. “Please don’t eat your lightning, Trisana.”
Tris rolled her eyes, but spat out the braid anyway. Any attempt to remind Niko she was an adult now would inevitably lead to a lecture on respect for elders, behaving responsibly, and whatever else came into his head.
“I’m sure it can’t be good for your hair,” Niko continued, looking around. “Where’s Chime?”
“Playing with Glaki at Discipline.”
“Ah.” Niko leaned against his desk and folded his arms. “So, what did you want to talk to me about? I hope it involves an explanation of why the innate wind seer you picked up is not here in Winding Circle, answering all my questions.”
Tris snorted. Zhegorz meeting Niko would probably have gone terribly. “He changed his mind right before we left Namorn. He’s staying with Sandry’s cousin, so he can help the new Cleham fer Landreg survive the court.”
Niko raised his eyebrows. “I see.” He thought this over, nodded once, and then pouted. “I was really looking forward to meeting him, though. Scrying the wind with no mage training!”
“I know it sounds great to you, Niko, but it was hell for him.” Tris took off her spectacles and rubbed her nose. “He spent over forty years thinking he was mad, but everything he heard was real – real enough for people to hurt him when he spilled their secrets.” She replaced the spectacles and glared at her teacher through them. “Poor Zhegorz would think you were another interrogator.”
Niko looked injured. “Not if I asked nicely!”
“You don’t understand,” Tris snapped. “His family abandoned him, he was chased away from every town like vermin, he cut his forearms …” Her voice was rising, and Tris stopped. Took a deep breath. “It made me so angry, all he’d been through,” she said quietly. “But it scared me, too. I kept thinking … that could have been me. My life, being hounded in and out of madhouses.”
“You’d have blown them up.” Niko smiled at her, but his dark eyes were serious. “You’re right about your wind seer, of course. I’m sorry. No doubt I would have got carried away.”
“There’s an understatement,” Tris muttered, but her mind was elsewhere. “My lightning would have burned me up before I heard anything on the wind, wouldn’t it, Niko?” She stared until he nodded reluctantly. “We all would have died, if you hadn’t found us.”
“Yes, well.” Niko coughed uncomfortably, fiddling with his moustache. “I could hardly have left you where you were once I’d seen you.”
“I know. It’s just …” Tris scowled down at her hands, the nail-bitten fingers twisting over each other and rubbing the little round scar on her palm. She hated conversations like this. Why had she made it about her, not Zhegorz?
Niko stepped into her line of sight, and covered her restless hands with his large one. “This is about Lightsbridge, isn’t it?”
Tris sighed. He really was too perceptive, sometimes. “The others think I’m rejecting everything Winding Circle has taught me, just because I want to be able to do normal magic. Safe magic.” She looked up at Niko. “You don’t think that, do you?”
“Of course not!” he said. “I’m much more sensible than your brother and sisters are.” Tris made a disbelieving noise, and Niko chuckled. “Going to Lightsbridge doesn’t mean you’re turning your back on them, Tris – or on being a weather mage. You’re simply giving yourself options. Why do you think I agreed so quickly?”
“That was unusual.” Tris smiled briefly, then shook her head. “But they still don’t like it.”
“They’ll come round, once they’ve had time to get used to the idea.” Niko grinned. “That’s how I manage to get things done at conferences. Shock them the first day, then feed them well and ask again at the end.”
“Food might work on Briar.” Tris considered it for a moment, frowning. “He’s very good at spotting bribes, though.”
Niko laughed. “You’ll figure something out. Just … keep a hold of your temper, if you can. You’re trying to smooth their feathers, not shock them with lightning.”
Tris drew herself up to her full height, and produced her best glare. “Are you questioning my self-control, Master Goldeye?”
“I wouldn’t dare,” said Niko easily, with just a hint of a smirk around his mouth. “Just offering friendly advice.” Then he looked thoughtful. “Maybe if I write to Zhegorz, I can still add his insights to the chapter on scrying the present …”
Tris suppressed a smile as her teacher dashed over to one of the mountains of paper teetering on his shelves. Once he had an idea in his head, he wouldn’t let it go. Not like anyone else she knew, of course.
*
He was running again, stumbling his way through the darkness, navigating by his connection to the plants around him as much as by sight. His legs were so heavy, dragging along while his heart galloped madly in his chest. He tried to go faster, but the drums and shouts of the Yanjingyi army kept getting louder, closer …
… and then he was running on paved stone, it was still night but he could see by lanterns in the buildings around him. And the flickering light ahead.
Briar gasped as smoke stung his throat, and knew he was in the Yanjing emperor’s palace in Dohan. The fire was from the innocent rosebushes he and Rosethorn had tried so hard to save after one had fallen victim to a fast-growing mould, and offended the emperor.
He reached the garden, and looked for Rosethorn. She’d woken first, and he’d followed her here – but there was no sign of her, just the burning roses and the bodies of the gardeners tied to a stake in the middle. Except there were only two bodies, and one was too small …
Briar fell to his knees, green life crumbling to ash before his streaming eyes, and screamed and screamed.
Briar jerked awake, shaking and covered in sweat. Panting, he reached out to untangle his legs from the sheets when he realised there were two people in his room. He froze for a moment, terror rising again, and then one of the figures lifted a shining crystal.
“Gods!” Briar groaned, collapsing back onto his pillows and covering his face. Go away, he thought at Daja and Tris, before slamming his connection closed. If they didn’t leave soon, he might lose control – and no way was he going to cry in front of his sisters.
He listened, but neither spoke or moved. “Lakik’s teeth,” he muttered. “What’s a man got to do to get some privacy?”
“Not waking us all up with your nightmares would be a good start,” Tris drawled.
“Promising to see a mind healer tomorrow would help, too,” added Daja.
Briar gritted his teeth. He wasn’t some bleater who fainted at the sight of blood – he was stronger than this. Stronger than the emperor who’d tried, and failed, to conquer Gyongxe.
But he hadn’t dreamed about Evvy and Rosethorn dying for months. He’d thought he was getting better. No such luck on that front, it seemed.
“It was being in a Circle temple again, wasn’t it?” said Tris. A weight settled on the bed, and Briar glanced over to see her frowning at him. “It reminds you of the Mother Temple, that was attacked.”
Briar sighed. Just what Rosethorn had said, when they’d first arrived home. “Let it rest, Coppercurls,” he said wearily. “I’ll be fine.” If he just stayed away …
“Oh really? You can’t avoid the problem by not visiting Winding Circle.”
“How long would it take Rosethorn to figure out what you were doing?” Daja pointed out, leaning on her Trader staff.
Briar said nothing, but they all knew Daja was right. Rosethorn would probably wrap him in vines and dump him at a healer’s doorstep if she thought it was good for him.
“We have nightmares as well, you know,” said Daja quietly. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. It doesn’t mean you’re weak.”
Tris tilted her head. “Sandry says you’re allowed to be upset when something terrible happens – and when you do something terrible because of it.” She arched her brows at him. “There’d be something wrong with you if you didn’t feel this bad.”
Briar blinked in surprise. He hadn’t thought about it that way before.
“You really want us to leave you alone?” Daja moved forward, and poked Briar with her staff. “You have to see a mind healer so they can help you control this.”
“Or I’ll get so cranky with lack of sleep I’ll set Rosethorn onto you,” Tris threatened.
Briar glared at her, mind racing. Most of the mind healers were probably at Winding Circle, but if they met somewhere else …
He cursed under his breath as he realised he’d just accepted their advice. He rubbed his face, and then slowly reached out with his magic to all three of his sisters.
Alright, you win, he told them. I’ll see a mind healer. Happy now?
Sandry sent loving acceptance through their connection. Daja smiled and nodded. Tris leaned over and ruffled his hair. “Good boy.”
“Gerroff!” Briar ducked and slapped her hand away. “I could be older than you, you know!”
“Like that would stop her,” Daja laughed.
Briar tried to scowl, but his mouth kept pulling into a grin. “Our indomitable Coppercurls, eh?” he said, giving Tris a light shove. “Now get out, before I turn your beds into trees.”
Mine’s metal, said Daja, but she left with Tris all the same.
Briar shook his head at the empty doorway. “Interferin’ sisters,” he grumbled to his shakkan, caressing the miniature pine. Decades of serenity flowed into him, banishing the last of the ghosts from his mind. Briar smiled. Pity the girls won’t accept a plant as a mind healer, he thought as he lay back down. We’d get along just fine.
*
When Daja stopped to exclaim over some tiny metal figurines, Briar exchanged a rueful look with Tris and Sandry. This would be a long conversation. The whole point of harvest festivals was to get to the food first, then look at the market stalls – unless they were selling plants, of course.
But he wasn’t going to begrudge Daja a bit of fun. Unlike the rest of them, leaving Namorn had meant leaving someone she truly loved, though she did seem happier now she’d talked with Lark. And besides, he wasn’t really hungry yet. Briar leaned against the corner of the stall, prepared to amuse himself with his flower tattoos until Daja was finished. Sandry, however, had other ideas.
“Come on, we’ve only just started!” She tugged at his colourful hands, and tucked her arm in Tris’s. “We can go slower. Call us when you’re done, Daja, and we’ll wait.”
Daja waved a hand absently, already deep in conversation. Tris rolled her eyes, but let Sandry draw her back into the crowd. Briar knew that look – it was her Why Am I Not Reading a Book Right Now expression.
“I know what you’re up to,” she said to Sandry. “You just want longer to coo over the latest styles in cotton scraps.” Tris withdrew her arm to clean her spectacles, and paused so Chime could peer at some glass bowls.
“Can’t fool us,” Briar added, trying not to laugh at the look on the stall owner’s face. “Not that I object to cotton, particularly, but it doesn’t have much to say.”
Sandry tossed her head. “You’re just not listening properly, Master Green Mage,” she retorted. “Too busy chatting to weeds!”
Briar inclined his head, conceding the point. “Much better conversationalists.”
“I am on the lookout for any new fabrics, though,” Sandry said. “I want to make Tris some more clothes before–”
She stopped abruptly, eyes darting to Tris, and Briar knew she was thinking about Lightsbridge. After the trouble Empress Berenene had gone to, trying to snare herself a new war mage, Briar could see why Tris would want to study academic magic. For all her temper, she really did hate making a scene with her powerful weather magic – which made earning a living by it difficult.
He glanced at her, but Tris seemed not to have heard. Remembering how Sandry had snapped at him about being left behind, he spoke to her privately. I think she really wants to go, he said, taking care to only let the thought flow to Sandry. And Lightsbridge isn’t so far you can’t jump on a horse and harangue her in person for not writing often enough. He sent her his mental picture of this happening, for good measure.
Sandry bit her lip, and Briar could feel her reluctant amusement. That’s true, she admitted. I do wish she didn’t feel like she has to leave, but I know it’s her choice. And unlike some people, I’m going to respect that.
We’ll make a fine noble of you yet, said Briar approvingly. He cackled at Sandry’s expression, and dodged her playful punch.
Guttersnipe, she said fondly.
They followed Tris as she moved along, turning her head every which way, no doubt holding her own conversation with her pet breezes. While Sandry looked at the stalls, Briar put his hands in his pockets, trying to remember the last time he’d felt so relaxed in a crowd. Not many times outside of Summersea, really.
It was nice hearing everyone speaking Imperial, the native language of all the Pebbled Sea countries – it made easier listening than Namornese, which always seemed laden with too many consonants that twisted his tongue. And no doubt the musical tiyon of the eastern lands would make him uncomfortable.
Briar knew it wasn’t what he was hearing that really made him feel at home, though. It was his sisters – knowing they were a circle again, having his mind connected to theirs without worrying about the horrors they’d find there. And once he saw a mind healer – purely to get them off his back – he could clean up those memories for good.
He noticed Sandry craning her head to look down a street, then turn away and smile sadly to herself. He frowned. No glooms on a festival day, Briar thought, and nudged her. “Pining after an illicit sweetheart, eh, Duchess?” he teased.
Sandry spun to face him, eyes blazing, and suddenly burst out laughing. Briar grinned, puzzled but pleased he’d cheered her up so fast. As Sandry got her breath back, he put on his best Offended Noble face. “What did I say?”
“Sweetheart!” Sandry smiled and shook her head. “I was thinking about my old student Pasco – the boy with dance magic. The dance school is down that street. Uncle told me he’s travelling with Yazmin, to find some eastern shamans who also use dancing for their magic.”
“Ah.” Briar looked at her sidelong. “Not suitor material, then.”
Sandry laughed again. “Definitely not. Far too stubborn and rebellious for my taste.”
“Sounds like my Evvy,” said Briar. “Took me ages to get her to stay still and talk to me, let alone believe she had stone magic.”
“Pasco ran off too. He didn’t want magic at all, to start with. Didn’t help that no-one had heard of a dance mage.” She sighed dramatically. “Then he wouldn’t listen to me! I, Lady Sandrilene, two years his senior!”
“My student was six years older than me,” said Tris, who had finally stopped listening to the winds’ gossip. “We got off to a pretty bad start – though it did involve producing Chime.” She stroked the glass dragon riding on her shoulder. “Then we were stuck with each other, cause I was the only lightning mage available.”
They all felt Daja tug on their magical connection, and stopped between two stalls so she could catch up. Strains of music could now be heard over the general clamour, when the nearest shopkeepers weren’t calling out their wares.
It reminded Briar of the market in Chammur, where he’d first seen Evvy. “There’s no shortage of stone mages,” he said, half to himself. “Not many ambient ones, of course. But hardly any were right for Evvy.” He grinned at Tris. “Had to teach her table manners and reading, not just control. Wonder if I was a better teacher than you?”
“Your manners are still atrocious, Briar Moss,” Tris told him archly. “You’re just more subtle about it now.”
“I thought we were going to be nice to Briar today?” Daja said, squeezing into the alcove and out of the crowd’s way. “Now that he’s finally come to his senses.”
“Bullied into surrendering, more like,” Briar complained. As one, his sisters raised their eyebrows at him, and he poked out his tongue.
“Ha!” Tris cried. “My point is proven.”
“Threatening me with Rosethorn is definitely bullying,” Briar insisted. He walked forward into the crowd before the girls could reply. “Come on! Food’s in the next square, isn’t it?”
“We were swapping complaints about our first students,” he heard Sandry tell Daja as they followed him. “You had two, didn’t you?”
“Twins,” said Daja. “Cooking and carpentry, so I didn’t have much trouble finding other mages to teach them. But I had to teach them meditation – and they were so different it was almost impossible. Finally I had to take them separately, sitting with Nia and staff fighting with Jory.”
Briar remembered Daja writing about the fighting-meditation she’d learned at a Fire temple. He stopped, turning to ask her about it, when a flash caught his eye. He looked, and saw a group of musicians, including a girl playing a pipe. The faint sounds they’d heard earlier must have come from here.
“What is it, Briar?” asked Tris. “Not hungry?”
Thinking it must have been sunlight reflecting off an instrument, Briar shook his head and stepped away. But now he’d noticed it, the music wouldn’t leave him alone. The lively tune wound its way through his head, making his fingers tap against his leg, enticing him to move closer.
Briar didn’t notice he’d walked over until someone grabbed his arm, disrupting the rhythm. “Briar?” said Daja, her voice sharp.
He blinked, but there was no mistaking it now. “Look.”
He felt his sisters’ surprise as they saw it too – silver fire lighting up the girl’s pipe, and spreading into the crowd. Briar, Sandry and Daja watched silently while Tris, who was the best at seeing magic, took off her spectacles and rubbed her eyes.
“Uncontrolled,” Tris announced, squinting at the girl. “It’s spilling out of her body, though she’s channelling most of it through the pipe.”
“Magic music?” said Daja.
“Another new form,” Sandry smiled.
“Alright then, ladies!” Briar gave an exaggerated bow, gesturing at the musicians like he was selling their performance. “Who wants to take this one?”