The Will of the Empress

13

They traveled the next day with Ambros, his family and personal servants, their own servants, and ten men-at-arms for company, plowing or no. Even in the short time they had stayed at Landreg, Sandry noticed plenty of changes. The fields now flourished with assorted grain crops, made heartier and more immune to blight by Briar. He had done the same work in the orchards. Workers labored on the restoration of the bridge on the road to Dancruan. “By the time we return, it will be fixed,” Ambros said as Sandry waved to yet another knot of farmers who bowed to her from the fields.

It’s good to see all this progress being made, Sandry thought as they passed two wagonloads of mortar and slates destined for the repairs at Pofkim. Back at the castle, jewels that had belonged to her mother alone and were not part of the Landreg estate now lay in a locked box in Ambros’s study. In that same box were three copies of Sandry’s handwritten orders to her cousin. He was to sell the gems for any future work required to keep the estate thriving.

As they passed through the estate’s boundary walls, Tris scowled at her sister.

“What?” Sandry demanded, flushing slightly.

Tris drew even with her. “Will you just leave things like that?” she asked quietly. “The estate paying out to you and vulnerable to the empress’s taxes? They’re still in danger from those.”

“I’m going to see an advocate in Dancruan,” Sandry replied, keeping her voice soft. Ambros didn’t know her plans. “I’ll get a letter drawn up reducing my share and allowing Ambros to default on it entirely if taxes and estate work are high that year.” When Tris’s frown deepened, Sandry felt her temper start to boil. She stuck out her chin. “They’re my lands, left to me by my mother,” she whispered hotly. “I’m in the direct line of descent. As long as I have breath in my body, I will preserve that line of descent and inheritance, all fourteen generations of it! Those lands are mine—no one else’s! Don’t you dare lecture me about it, Tris. You don’t know the least thing about being nobleborn. About our ties to our lands and our names. My younger children will have Landreg to ensure their place in the world and the continuance of the Landreg name and bloodlines.”

Tris clenched and unclenched her hands on the reins.

Heat bloomed under her breastbone as her face turned red in fury over the rebuke. She did not see the guards on her far side or the people who rode behind her check and move away as sparks raced over her coiled braids. Sandry got even angrier. Now they know we’re quarreling! she thought. Why can’t Tris ever keep her feelings to herself? Why does the world always have to know when she’s vexed?

Chime wasn’t afraid of lightning. It was the blood through which her magic flowed. She glided up to Tris from her seat on Daja’s saddle and landed on Tris’s head. Slowly, gently, the glass dragon sank her claws into Tris’s scalp.

“Ow!” Tris winced: Her concentration broke, and the lightning began to die. With no more new sparks being spawned, Chime began to lick up those that remained.

“No, I’m not noble,” Tris finally told Sandry in a voice that trembled. “And given that you’re turning into one just like the rest of those at court, I’m glad I’m not.” She turned her mount and rode back to Zhegorz, Gudruny, and her children, who rode in a luggage cart behind the others.

“Is something wrong?” Ealaga asked Sandry after Tris rode out of earshot.

Sandry shook her head, keeping it down so no one could see the tears of anger that sparkled in her eyes. Tris doesn’t know what being a noble means! Sandry thought. You can’t go about ignoring your family’s long history or the things all your ancestors did to build your name and your lands. It’s like telling them they never counted, if I lose my holdings as a Landreg, or worse, if I give them up. If I let Berenene take them for some reason. I owe my parents—my ancestors—the continuation of our line, and our name. Mama didn’t surrender the title when she married Papa. What excuse do I have?

Once they started to pass other people on the highway, Briar kept an eye on Zhegorz. It took some effort to do it without laughing, at least at first. Zhegorz was a sight, perched atop one of Sandry’s traveling trunks, a well-dressed scarecrow in a good clerk’s sensible gray coat and breeches, wearing what looked like shiny amber spectacles on his eyes. Sandry had even tied his hair back in a horsetail with a ribbon that was the same color as his spectacles. At first passersby got no chance to appreciate his new eyewear. As they came within view, Zhegorz pulled his broad-brimmed hat low over his face and bent down, trying to hide in plain sight. Later, he got more bold as parties overtook and passed them, or parties rode by. He flinched less and watched more.

Finally Briar could no longer bear the suspense. He rode over to the cart. “Zhegorz! The ear things, and the spectacles. Are they working?”

Zhegorz beamed. “I hear only our people’s talk, and only from close by. I see only what is in front of my nose. No flying pictures, no conversations popping into my ears! It’s wonderful—I’m cured! I don’t need the lessons anymore. I’m sane, sane as a bird, sane as a sheep, sane as a—ow!”

While he had been babbling, Tris had ridden up on his other side. She had leaned over and flicked him on the ear with her finger, producing his cry of pain. When he turned to glare at her, Tris asked drily, “And if you lose the spectacles?”

“Or if the ear beads fall out?” Briar wanted to know. “The magic’s still there, old man.” To Gudruny’s children, who had listened to this exchange with open mouths, he explained, “The magic’s always still there.”

“The lessons continue,” said Tris. “Take out one of the beads, and practice managing what you hear in just one ear.”

Zhegorz sighed; his shoulders drooped. He looked at Gudruny and shrugged. “It was lovely to dream about, anyway.”

“Dream all you like,” Briar suggested cheerfully. “Just keep practicing.”

The roads were drier than they had been the first time the four mages had come that way. With better footing they made better time, reaching the Landreg town house by midafternoon. That night was spent settling Ambros and his family in for the palace social season, and introducing Gudruny’s children and Zhegorz to Wenoura.

They woke the next morning to learn that the imperial party had arrived at the same time they did and was still settling in. Sandry declared that they couldn’t interrupt the court while it unpacked. Instead, she went out to confer with an advocate and to shop with Gudruny. Briar, too, went shopping, for shakkans and potting soil, placing an order for a very large pottery dish made specifically for several shakkans. It was part of the gift he had planned for the empress. Tris remained to work with Zhegorz on meditation and on limiting the number of things he heard and saw. Daja thought to shop as well. When she realized that the only things she wished to buy were expensive gifts for Rizu, who was not related to her in any way, she returned home to do whatever metalwork was in the house.

The next day the four and Gudruny moved to the imperial palace. Footmen raced ahead of them to let the palace staff know they had arrived. More footmen took charge of their horses and their belongings, vanishing down a side road with them. Briar was prepared to fight over the handling of his own shakkan and the ones he’d bought for the empress, but when two of the footmen showed themselves adept at handling both plants and crockery, he had let them take over.

A very superior footman led them to the first story in the northwest wing. He bowed Sandry into one suite near the intersection with the palace’s north wing, and Tris into the other. With a sugary smile he led Daja to a suite halfway down the same hall. Briar he showed to rooms at the very end that looked out over the formal flower gardens.

Tris, Daja, and Briar soon discovered they had also been assigned maids to look after them. “At least they don’t sleep in our rooms,” Tris grumbled when they met at mid-hall to compare situations.

“You don’t have to worry about her snooping in your mage kit, unless you want her to brush your hair,” retorted Briar.

Tris grimaced. “Please! I can brush my own hair, thank you all the same!” She smiled. “And it would be a fatal exercise if anyone else tried,” she admitted slyly. “I need special brushes and combs to manage it, myself.”

“I just told mine that she’d best tell me know where her family is, so if she meddles with my kit, I know where to send the body,” remarked Daja. “She squeaked. I think my kit’s safe.”

Sandry would have argued at the imposition of two more maids and two footmen to wait upon her, but Gudruny gently urged her young mistress to see the dresses she’d laid out for the welcoming party that night. Once Sandry was in the bedroom inspecting the clothes, Gudruny closed the door.

“Please, my lady, they’re already sneering at me and saying I can’t be very good, if I haven’t taught you what’s due to your station,” she explained. “With more servants to direct, I grow more important in the servants’ areas. Then they’ll all serve us as they should. It may sound like little things to you, but one of those little things is your bath water. We’d both like it to be hot when it gets here. Servants are far more snobbish than nobles.”

Sandry gazed at her sidelong. Gudruny got nervous if Sandry looked her in the eyes: It was yet another of the many things that meant trouble between nobles and commoners in Namorn. “This isn’t a story you’re telling me?”

Gudruny shook her head. “I tried to warn you back home, but it was all I could do to get you to take my service,” she reminded Sandry. “You’re going back south soon enough. Surely you can afford to play by their rules until then.”

Sandry slumped. “Very well, Gudruny. They can stay. Happy?” She was trying to decide between a blush pink overgown or a pale blue one when she realized that Gudruny looked uncomfortable. “What?” Sandry wanted to know.

“Well, begging my lady’s pardon, but there’s the matter of the hairdresser,” Gudruny explained. “He’s agreed to fit you in after midday. He dresses most of the ladies-in-waiting’s hair, and we were lucky that he agreed to see you. I believe the empress herself had a word with him.”

With a loud groan, Sandry collapsed onto a chair.

Tris waited until after her new maid had taken away the remains of her midday to explore her new chambers thoroughly. Much to her surprise, Tris noticed the history of Namorn she had found that first day in the palace was placed beside her bed. In fact, someone had taken the small blue-and-gold dressing room that Tris would never use and turned it into a library, stuffed with books on Namornese history, wildlife, crafts, religions, magic, and languages. Fascinated, Tris plopped into an armchair and began to read as Chime soared around the much-carved and painted chambers, exploring moldings and hanging lamps. She had just returned to curl up on Tris’s lap when someone knocked on the door.

Tris opened it to find Ishabal there. “I thought we might talk,” the older mage said. “May I enter?”

Tris let the imperial mage in. Closing the door, she asked, “Were you the one who picked out the books?”

“I directed one of the imperial librarians to select what might interest a learned stranger,” Ishabal replied. “I take it she chose well?”

“Please be seated,” Tris replied instead of answering the question. She returned to her own chair as Ishabal took the seat.

“What was found for you in no way represents the total of books on those subjects,” Ishabal pointed out. “The imperial libraries are vast. If you were to choose to serve Her Imperial Majesty, you would have the key to such libraries. Moreover, you would have the wealth to create a proper library of your own.”

If Tris was greedy for anything, it was books. Her sisters and brother had learned early on that her personal books were not to be touched without permission, and handled carefully with it. For a moment she had a vision of a two-story room with books on shelves that reached to the ceiling, all filled with volumes on anything that did or might interest her. It’s certainly possible, she mused. I doubt Berenene is stingy with her mages—not the way Quenaill and Ishabal dress. Simple, but elegant, and costly.

“Her Imperial Majesty wishes to employ me as a war mage.” Tris said it flatly. She had been approached with offers of work before, all of them with the same price attached. Why do they always assume a lightning mage wants to kill people? she wondered tiredly.

“Actually, she would like to offer you employment as anything you choose,” replied Ishabal smoothly. “On the Syth, the ability to banish storms is always in great demand. Moreover, we have reports that you have been able to create rain—”

“Not create it,” Tris interrupted. “I don’t create weather. I draw it from someplace else.”

“Very well. The empire is vast, as your books will tell you. It is always raining somewhere,” Ishabal said evenly. “You could draw rain to those places who need it. You could give winds to becalmed ships here and on our coast on the Endless Sea. Your value to the imperial crown is endless, Tris. Her Imperial Majesty is a gracious employer who rewards good service, and she does not overwork her mages. You would have time for your own projects.”

Tris removed her spectacles and rubbed the dent they always left in the top of her long nose. Even if they don’t say they want war magic, they usually do, she thought. If they know you can do it, they always end up wanting it. I certainly got asked for it often enough, traveling with Niko. Even when they start out nicely, it always comes down to “Kill people for me.”

“I am flattered, of course,” she replied, her voice quiet and polite. Three years earlier she might have been cruder, but she had learned a few things. Nowadays she always thought before she spoke in these situations. “Deeply flattered. Might I have time to consider this?”

Ishabal inspected her nails. When she looked up, she met Tris’s eyes and said in a business-like tone, “Five hundred gold argibs the first year. Your own rooms here in the palace, your own horses and maid. Your health is tended by imperial healers without charge. Materials for your magic and research are supplied free of cost, within reason. I determine what is reasonable, not a Privy Purse clerk who doesn’t understand mage work.”

Mila bless me, thought Tris, rattled despite her resolve. The offer was ferociously generous.

Her practical self gripped her greedy self by the ear. It always comes back to war magic, and I want to go to Lightsbridge! she told herself firmly.

No need to rush or offend anyone, not if I’m stuck here for at least another month, Tris told herself. “I must think it over, please,” she said. “You must understand how overwhelming this is, for someone like me.”

“Of course,” Ishabal replied, getting to her feet. “You are wise to think about it. But Her Imperial Majesty also wishes you to know she sees your worth. She values it.”

Tris got up and nodded. “I am greatly honored. Please thank her for me.”

She saw Ishabal to the door and let her out, then closed it behind her. I am not going to think about the money, or the funds, or the healers, she told herself, biting her lip. I want to go to Lightsbridge. She turned the key in the lock. And I won’t do battle magic. Ever.

She was settling into her chair when someone rapped hard on the door. She had locked out the maid.

They all gathered in Sandry’s rooms before the welcoming party so that Sandry could inspect them. Briar wore his favorite deep green tunic and breeches with a perfect white shirt, Tris a vivid blue undergown and sheer black over-gown in the Namornese style. Daja was glorious in a bronze silk tunic that hung to her knees, and leggings of the same color, the tunic heavy with intricate gold embroideries. Sandry had chosen an undergown of pale blue and a white lace overgown, with blue topazes winking at her ears and around her neck. She smiled at her family.

Gudruny sighed, looking at them. “If clothes were armor, you would be defended against all your enemies,” she said. “And you’ve your wits, too—that’s something.”

“Splendid,” said Briar drily, “I now feel suitably armed for a swim in a tub of molasses.”

“She’s just being cautious—that’s Gudruny’s way,” Sandry told him. “And you do look fine.” She smoothed away a wrinkle in Tris’s overgown. “Definitely a match for all these Bags.”

Briar grinned at her use of slang. Bowing, he offered her his arm. “May I?” he asked gallantly. “At least, until one of those Bag boys tears you away from me?”

Sandry laughed. “There isn’t a man here who could do that for more than an hour.”

“Are you sure?” asked Briar, raising an eyebrow. “Nobody?”

Sandry blushed slightly, but said firmly, “Nobody.”

One of Sandry’s new footmen led them to the Moonlight Hall, where the party was being held. As they entered the room, Briar said, “Well, I mean to tear myself away from you a bit tonight. That Caidy just might get herself kissed, if she’s lucky.”

“And more if she’s unlucky?” Daja asked.

“No girl who draws my eye is ever unlucky,” Briar assured her solemnly. “How could she be?”

“It’s a good thing we know you’re not really this conceited, or we’d have to take you down a peg or twelve,” murmured Tris. “Shurri bless me, this room is packed.”

“Don’t run away too soon,” Sandry pleaded, looking over her shoulder at Tris. “I know you hate parties, but please stay with me. You can glare all the idiots away, since Briar’s leaving me forlorn on the sidelines.”

Though Tris consented to keep her company, Sandry did not remain on the sidelines for long. Fin was the first to claim a dance when the musicians began to play, followed by Jak, Ambros, and Quen.

After Quen handed Sandry off to Shan, he chose to sink into a chair beside Tris. “Hello, Red. You’d like Imperial Service,” Quen said abruptly, his eyes smiling at her. “Her Imperial Majesty understands the value of research.”

“Does everyone know she’s asked me?” Tris inquired. “Let me think about it!”

“Just Isha and I know. Very well, I won’t pester you. Do you know why Shan waited till now to ask Clehame Sandry to dance? Berenene left the room to attend to some reports.” When Tris glanced at the empty throne, then looked at him, Quen shrugged. “She wouldn’t be at all happy to see her current lover paying court to Sandry.”

Tris fingered one of her free braids. “So that’s how things stand,” she murmured.

“For now,” Quen replied. He reached out a long arm and snagged a glass of wine for himself and a cup of cherry juice for Tris. He handed her the juice, saying, “I noticed that you four are the kind of mages who don’t drink spirits. As for Shan—Berenene’s moods change. Her lovers change.”

“And I suppose you’ll tell her, to help her mood change?” Tris asked, sipping her juice.

Quen chuckled. “No. She doesn’t like tattletales, either.” He grimaced and drained his glass. “She really doesn’t like them. But she’s no fool. She’ll learn about Shan’s little game soon enough.” He handed his glass to another servant. “So tell me, what’s Niklaren Goldeye like outside a classroom? I took one of his courses when I was at Lightsbridge. Every day I came out of one of his lectures, I felt like my brain was overstuffed.”

Tris cackled with glee. “That’s Niko, all right,” she told him. “I thought my brain would explode for that first year.”

As Tris and Quen talked about Niko, and then Lightsbridge, Daja watched the dancing from a seat next to Rizu. Sooner or later all of the younger courtiers came to sit around them, leaving and returning to dance or to nibble and drink as servants loaded the tables at the far end of the silver-gilded room. Daja relaxed, feeling more comfortable in this gathering than she had expected to. She wasn’t hungry, and limited her drinking to the fruit juice that was served along with the wine.

Finally Rizu patted her face with a lace-edged handkerchief. “I am suffocating,” she whispered to Daja. “Let’s go cool off.”

Daja was happy to go. The room was full of people who danced and sweated, while the many candles that lit the room made it even hotter. Though heat didn’t bother her, she would welcome a breath of fresher air. She followed Rizu out, winding through clusters of courtiers, until they passed through one of the double doors to the terrace. There they leaned against a broad stone rail in the shadows. Daja lifted her heavy weight of beaded braids to let the cool night breeze flow across her neck.

“Are all the parties here so, so populated?” she asked Rizu.

Her companion laughed. “This is an intimate gathering,” she informed Daja. “Wait till two weeks from now, with the banquet and ball for the ambassador from Lairan. Then all the old nobility will totter in, and the people who don’t really approve of the way Her Imperial Majesty lives her life, though they do approve of the peace and prosperity she brings. And then there will be all the other ambassadors ...” Her full mouth widened in a brilliant smile. “Except perhaps the Yanjing ambassador, who may be feeling ill by then.”

Daja smiled, briefly remembering Sandry’s first maneuver before the empress. At the same time, seeing the way the light struck Rizu’s curly lashes, casting their shadow over her eyes, she thought, She’s so beautiful. The question burst out of her before she realized it: “Why aren’t you dancing? You haven’t danced all night. And nobody’s asked you, even though you’re almost as beautiful as the empress.”

Rizu smiled. “You think so, truly?”

Daja opened her lips to say that of course she thought so, but she didn’t get to speak. Instead, Rizu leaned over and kissed her softly, gently, on the mouth.

After a moment, she pulled away. There was a look of worry in her eyes. Her hands were fisted in her skirts.

“Oh,” said Daja when she remembered how to talk. She felt as if the sun had just catapulted into her mind. Dazzled with what it showed her, she realized also, Rizu’s afraid. She’s had enough people tell her no that she’s not sure .... Strictly to make Rizu feel better, certainly not because she wanted more of that sunlight spilling into her heart and mind, Daja leaned over and kissed Rizu’s mouth all on her own. Then, rather than ruin the quiet between them, Rizu took Daja’s hand and led her into the palace by a door that did not open into the Moonlight Hall.

“I’m serious—stop laughing!” murmured Fin as he twirled Sandry around in the dance figure called “the Rose”. “Just the two of us, with your maid for chaperone, tomorrow or the next day. There’s a cove down on the Syth where the pools are inlaid with semiprecious stone. It’s exquisite. You’ll be enchanted.”

“But I don’t know you well enough, Fin,” Sandry replied in her lightest tone. “What if a strong fellow like you were to kidnap me and try to make me sign that marriage contract I keep hearing about?” She batted her eyelashes at him, as if she didn’t really believe he might try that. The truth was that once she knew it was possible, she suspected the men that Berenene had assigned to court her most of all. As far as Sandry knew, they could have orders to marry her by summer’s end, one way or another.

“But you’re a mage,” he coaxed, leading her in a circle with the other dancers. “And kin to Her Imperial Majesty. You—”

A surge of emotion—tenderness, shock, heat that flooded her veins and made her muscles loose—struck Sandry like a wave, making her sway. At a distance, as if she were someone else, she felt lips touch hers in a kiss, and she kissed back.

Oh my, she thought, very severely rattled. Daja and, and Rizu.

She grabbed Fin by both arms, partly to steady herself, partly to make her story convincing. “I’m sorry,” she said. She flashed a smile at her fellow dancers and spoke a little more loudly. “It’s very warm in here, isn’t it?” Hurriedly she threw up a barrier on her connection to Daja, who was following Rizu giddily. “I’m sorry, I really must sit down.”

A lady’s wish was a command at a dance. Fin guided Sandry to a chair. “May I get you something cool?” he asked, concerned, as she located her fan.

“Shaved ice would be wonderful, thank you,” she said. She waved the fan hurriedly, trying to cool the scarlet blush she felt rising on her cheeks. Once he was gone and she didn’t have to work to talk to him, she put up more blocks on her connection to her sister, trying to keep it open without knowing anything of what Daja was up to now. Only when she had reduced it to the merest thread did she lean back in her chair and close her eyes.

I don’t think she knew, thought Sandry. Or if she did, she thought she was more like Rosethorn, interested in women and men. I know she’s mentioned boys, once or twice, but never girls. Thinking of Rizu, Sandry added, Or women.

A hand rested on her shoulder, making Sandry jump. She turned as Shan bent down and whispered in her ear, “It’s cooler outside.”

And it’s dark, so nobody can see my face till I get myself under control, Sandry added silently. She bounced out of her chair and followed Shan onto a terrace, thankfully a different terrace from the one Daja and Rizu had just left She wasn’t completely sure that the other terrace wasn’t aglow from that sudden flare of passion in Daja.

“Oh dear,” she whispered, hesitating. “Fin will think I’ve deserted him.”

“Tell me he doesn’t deserve it for hounding you,” Shan replied quietly, tugging her away from the windows. “I saw the look on your face when you were dancing with him. He’ll recover.”

Sandry shook her head, but she didn’t resist the tug on her hand any longer. Shan was right. She was uncomfortably warm. I’ll tell Fin I was going to faint unless I got fresh air. I’ll make it up to him somehow. Maybe he’ll take the hint and stop trying to get me alone.

Out here, the wind cooled Sandry’s hot face. She let Shan guide her to a shadowed bench, where she sat with relief. “Sometimes there are things you just don’t want to know the details of,” she murmured.

Shan took a seat next to her. “Was that aimed at me?” he asked.

“Goodness, no,” Sandry replied. “Oh, dear, Tris is up there again.” She pointed up to the curtain wall.

Shan was a large source of warmth against Sandry’s left side. “The Master of Ceremonies should just build her a room up there,” he remarked, his voice soft music over her shoulder. “Has she always liked high places?”

Hearing his male rumble, Sandry felt better, less giddy. “Well, she is a weather mage,” she pointed out. “It’s the best place to reach for weather. If we weren’t sure where to find her, back at Discipline, the wall was the first place we started. We—”

Fingers touched her chin and turned her head. Shan bent down to kiss Sandry gently.

She jumped away as if stung. The sensation was too close to Daja, what Daja had felt. Sandry couldn’t tell the difference between her reaction to Shan and Daja’s to Rizu. “Please don’t be offended,” she said, even more rattled now. “I ... I’m just, all the light and the dancing—I really must get back to it!”

She fled back into the Moonlight Hall, this time almost flinging herself into Jak’s arms. “I promised you a dance, didn’t I? Isn’t this a lovely time for a dance? I think so!”

Jak frowned at her, his open face worried. “Are you all right, Sandry?” he asked. “Has someone insulted you?” He looked up and glared at Shan, who had followed Sandry inside. “If fer Roth upset you in any way—”

Sandry covered Jak’s mouth with her hand. “I’m fine,” she told him, catching her breath. “Let’s dance, please.”

As Jak guided her out onto the floor, Sandry gave her self a good talking-to. You’ve been kissed before, she scolded silently. Now you act like a girl who put on her first veil just a day ago. Get hold of yourself and stop acting like a ninnyhammer! Try some of the complicated dances you keep refusing to do. Concentrating on your feet could keep your silly imagination from, well, imagining.

She danced often and, despite her fears about the complex dances, very well. She danced until her garments were soaked with perspiration and she couldn’t catch her breath. Only when her feet began to hurt did she excuse herself and retire to her rooms.

She took a quick bath first, while Gudruny took care of her damp clothes. Once she had slithered into her nightgown and robe, she let Gudruny brush her hair. As soon as her maid was gone, Sandry threw herself onto her bed with disgust.

Now Shan will think I don’t like him, and I do! I don’t suppose there’s a way a lady can apologize and say, I wish you’d kiss me again, now that I’m not so distracted. I have to let him know somehow that it wasn’t anything to do with him.

Well, nothing much, she amended honestly. I just got kissing and love all confused.

That thought made her sit up. Daja’s in love, she thought, feeling woebegone. After all this time. It’s wonderful, but ... she’ll want to stay, won’t she? She’ll want to stay with Rizu. She won’t want to go home.

A single large teardrop rolled down her cheek. Sandry dashed it away impatiently. Of all times to turn into a big bubble of jumpiness, this is the worst, she told herself, getting out of bed. I need to calm down.

There was only one thing she could do. She took out her night light, placed it on a small table, then got her workbasket. Embroidery, she said firmly. Just what the healer advised.

Finlach fer Hurich slammed into the miserable two rooms that were his lot in the imperial palace and kicked a footstool into the wall. A laughingstock, he thought, grinding his teeth until they ached. She made me a laughingstock before the entire court, getting rid of me on a pretext—oh, Fin, I’m so hot, I simply must sit down and have some ice! And the minute my back is turned, she’s dancing with that brainless chunk of muscle Jak!

He paced in the little space he had, considering his options. They’re saying Shan courts her behind the empress’s back, he thought, running a restless palm over the dagger on his belt. I know the man’s ambitious, but surely he’s no fool. Even the Landreg moneybags can’t protect him from imperial disfavor—can they?

He waved the idea away. Only a fool would try to deceive Berenene, Fin decided. But Jak. Sandry’s favored Jak since we got to Landreg. Tonight she openly snubbed me for him. So I’ve lost that race. Well, I’m not going to wait for her and Jak to start billing and cooing, for me to become the laughingstock of the empire. Her Imperial Majesty admires bold men who take what they want—well, at least, bold men who don’t try to take her. Maybe, if I’m bold enough to snag her precious cousin, I could be her next favorite, and Sythuthan take Shan and Quen and her other pets!

My uncle said I was to call on him if I need help.

I don’t dare wait. Summer goes quick as the wind in Dancruan, and Jak’s a fast worker.

His mind made up, Fin sat down at his desk, found his ink bottle, paper, and pen, and began to write.