Sandry, Briar, and Daja said their good-byes in the predawn light, though not to Tris, who was still sleeping under the healer’s spells. They had seen her during one of her brief waking periods before they had gone to bed, and they could always speak with her from the road. They would be close enough still. Only separations of thousands of miles, as in previous years, could cut their ability to speak together.
As they rode through the city gates, Sandry straightened in the saddle. Watching her, Briar thought, It’s like having thick walls between her and the empress sets her free. Through their bond he said, She’s got a thousand tricks, and she hasn’t played one of them yet. Don’t get to feeling too comfortable.
She turned and wrinkled her nose as if she had smelled something bad. “As if I would!”
The sergeant in command of the Landreg men-at-arms looked at her. “Clehame, at the hostel near the inn where we stop tonight, there will be merchant caravans. Some of them will be going south. If we might join one…?”
Sandry shook her head. “A caravan is slower. Stop fussing, please. We can move faster and take care of ourselves as a small party. And we number three mages among us. Four, if you count poor old Zhegorz.”
“‘Poor old Zhegorz’ sure isn’t himself today,” murmured Briar. Zhegorz, to everyone’s surprise, had requested a horse. It wasn’t hard to see exactly how much experience as a rider he possessed. His mount insisted on wandering sidelong over the road each time he tugged the reins. Now he rode up beside Briar, a scarecrow in strange, brass-lensed spectacles, on a blue roan gelding that could tell his rider was uncertain. The madman’s insistence on riding in the front was also unusual, particularly when Briar could see it made Zhegorz nervous.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer keeping to the rear?” asked Briar, jerking his head toward the luggage cart, where Gudruny talked to the driver and her children hung out the sides. “That way you’re not all out in the open.”
Zhegorz gulped visibly. “I promised Viymese Tris I would look out for you. That’s what I’m going to do. I’m working as a mage.”
Briar rolled his eyes at Daja, who smothered a giggle. Chime makes as good a mage, and she isn’t half-cracked besides, thought Briar. Oh, well. Zhegorz will get tired of this soon enough. He’s jumpier ’n a flea on a hot griddle.
What was Tris thinking, anyway? he asked Sandry, who was close enough to hear Zhegorz. What does he mean, “working as a mage”?
Maybe she just told him that so he’d have something to do, Sandry replied. Remember yesterday he wasn’t going to come at all? I’ll wager he talked to her. She must have known he’d come along if he thought he could help out.
Remind me to thank her, Briar said wryly.
Zhegorz turned his face into the wind. “Sheep up ahead,” he said to no one and everyone. “Lots of them. And rain tonight.”
18
The 27th day of Rose Moon–the 2nd day of Mead, 1043 K. F.
The Imperial Palace
Dancruan, Namorn
The next morning Ishabal Ladyhammer woke before dawn, as was her long habit. She rose and dressed, then went to see if anything important had come to her desk during the night. Entering the rooms where she did her work as the empire’s chief mage, she was pleased to find that no one was there. Even Quen, who had been keeping long hours since Berenene had set him aside, was absent.
A rare gift, this silence, she thought, passing through the waiting room to her personal office. A chance to create a plan for the control of Trisana Chandler, before I see Berenene.
A folded and sealed letter was on her desk. She picked it up: the seal was Quen’s. She cracked it open and read.
Dearest Isha, when I got to my room last night, I found a letter from my mother. My father is ill and is asking for me. Please forgive me. Make my apologies to her imperial majesty. I hope to return within a couple of weeks.—Q
Ishabal folded the letter with a frown. It is unlike Quen to abandon Berenene without saying his own good-byes, she thought. And it is doubly so now. He has to have heard the rumors that Berenene is vexed with Shan. Even if his father’s illness is real, Quen would want to take leave of Berenene himself, to impress her with his devotion to her and to his family.
She stared at a branch of candles without seeing it. Quen, dear boy, please do nothing you will regret.
Berenene was irritable as she ate breakfast that same morning. She had been irritable ever since Fin’s attempted kidnapping revealed a severe flaw in her control over her courtiers. In the stack of notes beside her plate were a number of politely worded expressions of concern from the parents of many young women who feared for their daughters. The brave ones actually spoke to me, annoying leeches, she thought irritably. Vexing me. Doubting me.
She glanced at another stack of notes. These were more serious. They had come from Dancruan’s mages, who wished to know why their leader had been arrested. It won’t be long before the Mages’ Societies throughout Namorn start writing to ask the same questions, she thought. They’ll be harder to placate than parents who wish their daughters to make good marriages. No matter. These mages will learn better than to question my will. Ishabal has put quite a few tricks away against a time they might think they can defy me. If necessary, they’ll all find themselves sharing cage space with Viynain Natalos, and they can rot with him as far as I’m concerned. They’ll learn to respect the crown if I have to repopulate every Mage Society in the empire!