Fic: Wide World Before Me, Emelan

[peroxidepirate]

Title: Wide World Before Me
Fandom: Tamora Pierce (Emelan universe)
Length: approx. 10,000 words
Characters: Daja, Tris, Sandry, Briar, Polyam, Kirel
Pairing: hints of Daja/Polyam, so kind of femslash
Rating: R (due to one scene that deals with war, alludes to rape, and includes the death of a minor character)
Summary: In the months after Will of the Empress, Daja and the rest of the Circle work toward finding a way to heal.

Notes: This was written as a series of ficlets, for the August 2010 prompts at the LJ 31_days community. As such, it's not necessarily a complete story, though all of the ficlets are connected and (except for one rearrangement at the very end) all are sequential. Eventually I'd like to expand this and fill in some of the gaps between ficlets, but for now, I thought I might as well post it here.

 

 

 

Daja sat with her back against the brick chimney of 6 Cheeseman Street and turned her face up, closing her eyes against the brightness. It was still summer in Emelan: real summer, the kind Namorn would never know. She felt like one of Briar's plants, soaking it up.

It was easier to feel the sun with her eyes closed, and easier to listen, too. There: Tris was making her way upstairs, one step at a time. She insisted on keeping her room at the top of the house, though she remained shaky on her feet. Daja and Briar were sure she used her breezes for balance, at least, on the stairs. Neither of them had the heart to ask. Only Sandry had dared to suggest that Tris move to a lower room.

“Daja?” Tris's footsteps were steadier, though still slow, on the flat surface of the roof.

“I'm over here – in the sun!”

Tris came into view beside the chimney. “But you never come up here.”

“I should.” Daja grinned. “Sunshine. Breezes. Good company. What's not to like?”

 

 

“Daja?” Kirel called, from the entrance to the forge.

Daja stood motionless in the middle of the room, seemingly oblivious to the smoke that filled the hot air. Brass rods lay in her hands, forgotten.

“Daja!” Kirel repeated. When she still didn't answer, he stepped forward and hesitantly laid a hand on her shoulder.

She flinched in surprise, then gently set down her work and turned to face him. “Oh, hello.”

“Did I sneak up on you?” The blacksmith laughed.

“Sorry. I was concentrating.”

Kirel glanced at the unmodified rods, eyebrows raised in a silent question.

“Yeah, not on that,” she said, with a rueful smile. “There's a lot of magic here. I was, um, watching it.”

“There's magic everywhere, right?” A dedicate but not a mage, Kirel was quietly wistful.

“Everywhere. Over... under... around. I can't imagine not seeing it.” Daja blinked, shaking her head as though to clear it. “Did you want something?”

“I had a question for you. Can we sit down for a minute?”

Daja nodded. “If you like.” She led the way out of the forge.

 

 

 

Sandry's footsteps echoed in the empty halls, the stone smooth under her feet. The Citadel was massive, with several levels underground; tunnels connected a basement level to outbuildings and to the castle's protective walls. Other parts of the Citadel bustled with activity, of course. Not here: Sandry was alone with stone and memory. She paced.

Plague. Earthquake. Pirates. Plague, again. Fire. Unmagic. Half of Sandry's life, reduced to a series of individual words, describing disasters – most of which she had, at least, helped to divert. Beside all that, taking on the will of an empress and the greed of three foolish boys should have been easy. It should have been small. It shouldn't have hurt.

“Your heart doesn't know 'should,'” Lark would tell her. Sandry sighed. Lark was right, of course.

Briar? She sent out a mental call.

Hey. What is it?

I'm in the bottom of the Citadel. There was an awkward pause. I just realized... has Evvy ever been down here?

I don't think so.

It's all stone. You should bring her. Sometime.

I'll do that. Inside her mind, a leaf brushed Sandry's cheek. You all right, Sandry?

She drew in a deep breath, counted to seven, and let it out. No, she admitted, soft as a whisper.

I'm on my way, Briar promised.

 

 

 

Tris put down her fork with exaggerated precision. “You're leaving for Gold Ridge tomorrow.” Her voice was flat, but anger and hurt showed in her eyes.

“Kirel said they need a smith-mage right away. Frostpine would go, but he's needed here.” Daja took a drink of her juice. “Unless I'm wrong about the complexity of the problem, I should be back before winter. I'll leave instructions with the bank...”

She trailed off as Tris pushed herself away from the table. “Enjoy your trip,” she snapped, and rushed from the room.

“What-?”

“Oh, Daja.” Sandry's expression was a mixture of sympathy and exasperation. “You're needed here.”

Daja blinked. “I am?” She glanced at the doorway through which Tris had disappeared, and Sandry nodded. “But Tris doesn't need anyone.”

Then Sandry and Briar were both looking at her with exasperated amusement.

“You should talk to her, maybe,” Briar said, very casually, as he helped himself to more soup. “Make things right before you go.”

Daja looked at Sandry and got a nod of agreement. She threw up her hands. “Oh, all right. I'm going.”

 

 

 

Daja made her way to the roof. “Tris?” she called, though her saati must have surely known she was coming: even if she hadn't seen or heard it on the wind, their magical bond would have let her know.

“Don't you have packing to do?” Tris stood at the rail of the roof's balcony, looking down on Briar's garden.

“I'll get to it.” Daja stopped a few feet away. “When I decided to go... Tris, I didn't think.”

Obviously. The thought was out before Tris could stop it: affectionate teasing that came automatically, sometimes, with her foster-siblings.

Daja moved closer to the railing, leaning against it and facing Tris. I didn't think – her breath hitched – that you'd have any reason to mind.

It means a lot to me, the four of us being together again.

Briar and Sandry are still here.

Oh, of course. If we all stretch a lot, maybe we can close the circle without you.

I have to do this. Tris, I can't explain it, but I need to go.

Tris spoke aloud and into Daja's mind at the same time. “It must be really nice to be able to go when you need to.”

“Oh, gods. I am such a hamot.”

Tris closed her eyes. “It had to be Gold Ridge, didn't it? The mountains. The glacier. The hot springs. All that weather, Daja. All that wind.” Her cheeks flushed, and a wall came down in her mind.

“And it doesn't hurt,” Daja guessed, “that I'm traveling with Kirel?”

Tris opened her eyes to glare. “It doesn't hurt that Polyam's caravan goes through Gold Ridge every year,” she snapped.

Daja started to protest, and then she laughed instead. “I'll miss you,” she said softly. “But we should be able to reach each other, right? If you link to me, we can visit the glacier and the springs again.”

Tris switched back to mind-speech. You might be too busy for that. Like you were in Namorn. The last came through as a thought only half formed: With Rizu.

No, Daja answered, with certainty. I'm not ready for that. And next time, whenever that is, whoever it is... I'll find a way to still be there for my friends. She took Tris's hand, gripping her fingers firmly. “Promise.”

 

 

 

“Coppercurls, what are you up to?”

Tris shifted position on the garden bench. “Just listening.”

“Any news? Crime, disasters, juicy gossip?”

“Nothing,” she said, dully.

“Wind's straight out of the west today,” Briar observed. “Seems like it would bring information from the citadel and half of Summersea. That's not interesting?”

“Not especially.” Not if I wanted news from the north – toward Gold Ridge, Tris thought. She made sure to keep that thought to herself.

Briar settled on the bench beside her. The moment he stepped off the gravel path, blades of grass began to tremble with the excitement of reaching toward him. He looked down: he never stopped being bemused by their reaction. After a moment, the trembling stopped, and he turned his attention to Tris. “Did you ever expect to travel so far?”

Tris blinked. “We're not going anywhere.”

“Not now,” he agreed. “But how far are we from where we started? Daja and Sandry have always been travelers. But you and me, Coppercurls? Do you know how close we came to spending our whole life in one spot?”

She regarded him steadily for a moment, thinking that over. “You have dirt on your neck,” she said, tartly, as she got up from the bench and started down the path.

“Wait!” he called, plaintively. “Where are you going?”

“I have things to do,” came the short reply. But she was grinning as she walked away.

 

 

 

“What?” Daja finally asked, as they remounted after lunch. As they talked that morning, Kirel had been shooting her glances: meaningful, slightly smug looks.

“Nothing,” he said, quickly.

“Why do you keep looking at me like that? Do you know something I don't?”

“No.” He considered. “Well, maybe. Daja, this is the first day you've been talking about what's ahead instead of what's behind.”

Daja thought about that for a moment. She hadn't noticed, but now that he mentioned it... with every mile forward, it grew easier to let go of everything that concerned her in Summersea, and everything that still bothered her about Namorn. This last didn't make sense, since Gold Ridge was actually closer to Namorn, but there it was. The beauty of being on the road.

“I think I needed to go.” She settled herself into the saddle, and looked forward down the road. Then she grinned. “Race you to that red barn?”

 

 

 

You're packing for a journey, Sandry said, into Tris's mind.

Yes, came the tart reply. At the top of the Cheeseman Street house, Tris continued putting clothes into a pack.

Sandry chose her response carefully. Where are you going?

Away.

Sandry waited.

I've hired a boat. I know my limits; I won't go far, and I won't go where the footing is rough. But the wind does things, out past Astral Island, that it never does on land. I need... Tris fumbled, thoughts losing coherency.

An escape? Sandry asked.

Hrmph.

Are you leaving in the morning? I'll come with you. She reached her rooms in the citadel, and began to study her own wardrobe.

I don't need looking after.

Good. I don't need to play nursemaid.

Then why..?

You're leaving because Daja's gone. I don't know what Briar has planned, but I won't risk being the only one left behind again. She glanced out her window, into the citadel's courtyard. Anything going on here can just wait for me to get back.

 

 

 

“You're both going, then?” Briar asked.

Tris nodded. “Just for a week or two. Her Grace will be needed before too long.”

Briar smiled at the use of their nickname for Sandry. “Don't tell her that.”

“Gods, no! She'd turn her consequence on me.” She caught Briar's hand. “You're sure you don't want to come along?”

“I'm sick of traveling, Tris. After a while...” He shook his head, squeezing her fingers and then letting go. “The roads, and the rivers, were so wide in Yanjing. We were on the road so long, and I was scarce home again before His Grace needed us to go with Sandry.”

“You could have stayed behind.”

Briar shuddered. “Not by myself, I couldn't have.”

“But now you can?” Tris asked, curiously.

He gave her a nearly-convincing smile. “I've made a little progress, anyway.”

 

 

 

The day Sandry and Tris left, Briar took his shoes off on the porch, rolled up his trousers past the knee, and cracked his knuckles. He took a careful step off the stone flags of the porch, toes digging into the soft, damp soil of his garden. Then another step, and another, walking between the vegetables and flowers.

He'd learned, years earlier, that there was no point in planting in rows – not for him. The plants would clamor to be close to him, spurred to movement by his very presence. If he explained himself, they'd step back to let him pass. They did so now, and he made his way to the garden's very center, dropping to his knees in the midst of it.

“This,” he whispered, breathing it all in. “This is what was missing.” He'd spent nearly five years traveling, with only his shakans and other humans for companions: it was too much. He was starting to feel like a shakan himself, but he wasn't meant to live in a pot. He needed time – space – ground in which to take root.

He had it, now. He wasn't going anywhere.

 

 

 

“I didn't think it would work, at first,” Tris admitted. She and Sandry sat on the Astral Island beach – the side away from the mainland – watching the horizon. “Or maybe I thought it would only work a little. But once it started, it was like a dam breaking. I couldn't stop it. I was surrounded, all the time, by scraps of images of everyday things. They stack on top of each other, like – like piles of laundry! It's like being in a crowded room, where forty people are all talking at once...” Tris shook her head. “It was worse than useless, for a long time.”

Sandry patted her arm, an expression of sympathetic horror on her face. “Why didn't you say?”

“I know I should have trusted you.” Tris dug her toes into the sand. “But when I tried to talk about it, at first, no one would understand. They thought I was so lucky; and then, when I couldn't tell them anything useful, they thought I was keeping secrets. I wasn't! I just couldn't make sense out of what I saw.”

“Niko should have protected you from that,” Sandry said fiercely.

Tris waved her hand, dismissively. “There was a lot going on. He was saving lives, and I-” Her voice cracked. “I should have been helping him. But the headaches were so bad, I couldn't function. He turned me over to a colleague, someone he thought we could trust to help me deal with it.”

“And that person...?”

“Was so jealous she couldn't see anything else.”

“So you did know what Zhegorz was going through?”

“Oh, yes,” Tris said, seriously. “I knew exactly. I was still learning – am still learning – to filter what I see. That's how I knew we had to get him out of the city.”

“Now I see why you wanted to come here,” Sandry whispered. Her words were almost lost in a gust of wind, coming off the sea.

It brought Tris nothing more than waves and sky.

 

 

 

In the mountains around Gold Ridge, nights came early and cold, even in summer. After they banked the campfire, Kirel stretched out in his bedroll, heavy blankets up to his eyes, and slept easily.

Daja sat up, facing away from the firepit and out into the night. The dark was good. Comforting. The dark hid the radically changed forest: they were coming into the area that had gone up in flames eight years before. Riding through it sent a chill down Daja's spine. Only the oldest, hardiest trees had survived the blaze. The saplings and half-grown trees had all burned. The inches of mast on the ground that had burned and burned and burned, until nothing was left but soil. No underbrush remained, no weeds, no young trees – and no seeds to start anew. Eight years, and still the ground itself was dead black, bits of crisp-burnt wood mixing with deceptively dark soil. Daja shuddered, glad Briar wasn't here to see.

She had pulled all that fire through herself, and lived. It was impossible. It had happened, but that didn't make it possible. She fingered the brass on her palm: no wonder it was permanent. In a way, it made her feel better to know she'd at least been changed by that fire. Is this, she wondered, what it's like to be Tris? To carry so much power – to be able to handle such strong forces – that you scare yourself?

One way to find out. Tris. Daja put strength into her call, picturing a bellows pushing her saati's name across the miles.

After a moment, a response came back in a swirl of wind. There was just a bit of sarcasm in Tris's answer. Nice of you to get in touch. How's the trip?

Daja hesitated, looking for the right words. At last she sent a picture instead: the trail through the dead forest, setting sun glinting off the shiny black of burnt wood. It's still damaged – still broken – by what happened eight years ago.

Of course it is. It takes time to heal – a lot of time, Daj. We're mages. We stop the disasters before they get any worse, and then we leave. She shrugged, amused. Except for you. You keep going back to places you've been before.

Maybe that's my mistake. I thought traveling would help me let go of the past, but now yesterday is all I can see.

Well, Tris said, reasonably, maybe you're not done with it yet.

Daja focused on the feel of Tris's magical presence, touching up against the edge of her mind. Maybe I will be when I get home. Maybe then I'll be ready to move forward.

 

 

 

Sandry lay still, in her bedroll on the other side of the tent. She could feel her foster-siblings at the edges of her mind – she usually could, unless one of them was intentionally blocking her out. Briar was in his garden back in Summersea, one with the earth, for all intents and purposes. Tris was just a few feet away, mind floating on the wind. And Daja was a distant presence, camped in the forest below Gold Ridge.

Daja was hurting, and Sandry considered reaching out to her. Then Daja reached for Tris, and Sandry drew her mind back in, quickly. It was never good to eavesdrop on late night conversations.

She prodded Briar instead, sensing he wasn't quite asleep.

Duchess, came the reply.

Sandry rolled her eyes, trying to hide her amusement. Let's go somewhere, she suggested. Once your harvest is in, after Daja gets back.

Where?

Someplace we've never been.

I'm not sure... Briar wriggled fingers and toes into the ground.

But there's so much world out there! We could go somewhere and stay for a year – that's long enough for a garden...

What about Tris? She can't travel yet.

I think she'll stay here – if Daja does. She gave Briar a magical poke, directing his mind to the brightly shimmering connection between their two friends.

Huh, he answered. Maybe she will.

 

 

 

Daja walked between the wagons, enjoying the bright colors and fine workmanship all around. Here was the ride leader's wagon. Here, the cargo carts. Here, the mimander's wagon. Here, the wirok's. There was a pattern to it, not unlike the distribution of space on a trader ship: wherever a caravan stopped, the parts of it would remain in the same relation to each other. Daja needed no guide.

She had left Kirel at Gold Ridge castle. “These are my people,” she'd said, tapping the many-pointed star on her staff's cap. Now it was just one among many designs etched into the brass. “They'd be very offended – with good reason – if I didn't visit.”

Surrounded by traders, by her caravan, made something inside her relax; something that had been tight and tense since before Namorn; something even her own house in Summersea couldn't calm. She hadn't felt this way since her last visit to Discipline.

She wasn't allowed to stay at Winding Circle anymore. But the last time she'd seen Chandrissa, she'd been issued an open invitation.

Daja stood in the middle of the Tsaw'ha camp, and breathed.

 

 

 

Briar came to a halt in the middle of the street, oblivious to the foot traffic all around and the shouts and glares that resulted from his sudden stop. “You're asking me to let some bag poke around in my head.”

“No,” Sandry said, carefully patient. “I'm ordering you to let a trained healer help you put things right inside your mind.” She resisted the urge to tighten her hold on Briar's arm – though she wouldn't be too surprised if he actually did run away.

“I can't do it,” he said, looking off into the distance. His attention was focused on a hanging basket of creeping thyme at a nearby market stall, Sandry realized. “I can't let a total stranger into my head.”

“Yes, you can,” she countered. “Rosethorn's done it. Daja's done it. I've done it every week since we got back.” She started walking again, pulling him along. “Briar, it's easier with someone you don't know, because it's...” she swallowed. “It's not embarrassing, to admit your... mistakes.”

“Mistakes like falling in love with an absolute paveo?”

“I wasn't in love with him,” Sandry said, indignantly. “But yes, mistakes like that.” She elbowed him in the ribs. “But I'm sure you don't have to worry about that, because you haven't made any mistakes.”

“Not ever,” Briar said quickly. But he was grinning.

“Then maybe you don't need a mind healer – you can just tell me about it, instead.”

Briar held up his hands in surrender. “All right, all right. I'll go.”

“Good.” Sandry leaned up and kissed his cheek. “Because this is his workroom, and he's expecting you. Go on in.”

 

 

 

We got to Gold Ridge two days ago. Daja was seated in a clearing, half an hour's walk from the castle. If anyone happened past, it would look like she was meditating, but actually, she was talking to Tris.

I know.

You saw us?

Wind's been out of the west, Tris answered patiently. I can't see or hear.

Oh. Daja felt blood rise in her cheeks. Usually, only the most intense emotions came through their magical bond. I didn't realize...

I was looking. I knew about when you'd be getting there. There was an awkward pause, and then she continued. Though you were really glad to find the caravan in residence.

I was, Daja admitted. I am. But listen, that's not why we're talking. That doesn't mean anything. That was a lie, and she knew it. Let's find out if we can visit the caverns.

And the volcano? Tris asked, almost giddy with hopefulness.

Of course. Daja reached for Tris, weaving fingers of their magics together. Hang on tight, saati. Here we go.

 

 

 

Daja parted ways with Tris, and came slowly back to her body. She was still in the clearing, limbs gone stiff with the lack of motion. She blinked. It had been mid-afternoon when they started their exploration, but now the sun was setting. Her stomach rumbled and her mouth was dry. She reached for her water bottle.

“Back at last,” said a voice from within the trees.

Daja stood up, peering into the forest. “Who's there?”

Between the shade, and the glare of the setting sun, Daja couldn't see her visitor's face. It was the walk she recognized: almost normal, but with a little more weight carried on the right leg, less on the left, trader's staff used for support even on flat ground. “Polyam!”

She chuckled dryly. “I wondered if you'd know me. It's been a long time.”

“Five years.” The caravan had been in Summersea once, just before Daja's first trip to Namorn.

She stepped forward, and the two women embraced. “I wasn't sure if you were still-”

“I'm the same – still traveling. Still limping. Still wirok for Tenth Caravan Idarum.” She resettled her grip on her staff, then let Daja go. “But you've changed.”

“In some ways.” Daja wished the light was better – it was hard to see the designs on the other trader's staff, and impossible to see her face. It crossed her mind that Polyam might have wanted it that way. “Have you been waiting long?”

There was that chuckle again, and a shrug. “Five years. Ten minutes.”

“I was...” Suddenly uncomfortable, she searched for the right words. “You remember Tris? She wanted to see the caverns again, but she can't travel. I promised we'd go, through our magic.”

“Trisana Chandler. I've heard things about her, these last few years...” Polyam was peering at Daja, in spite of the dark. “Where is she?”

“Summersea.”

“And she needs you to reach those caverns?”

Daja stared. Of course she wouldn't. “I never thought of that.”

“She's waiting for you,” Polyam said, with something like resignation.

“She can't be.” Daja gripped her staff. “I'm not sure I'm going back. The caravan – our caravan – is here. And I'm Tsaw'ha, too.”



The sun set as they walked toward the parked caravan, and a slice of moon lit the sky.

“I thought going back to Summersea would fix it,” Daja said. “I thought there I'd be whole again. I had a life there, before we went to Namorn. A house, a forge, buyers for my work. And Tris and I got on fine.”

“And the others?” Polyam asked. “The last time I saw you, the four of you did everything together.”

Daja shrugged, uncomfortably. “Sandry was busy helping her uncle. And Briar had barely gotten back before Duke Vedris asked us to go again.”

“What you and Tris had... is that what you want to get back?”

Daja shook her head, before remembering that Polyam couldn't see her in the dark. “I think we have what we had before: she's my friend, my saati. So is Sandry. So is Briar. Being with them, in Summersea... I thought it would be enough. But they're not Rizu. And I wonder if I should have stayed with her, in Namorn. I'd have lost everything else – but at least I'd have her.”

“You're still Tsaw'ha,” Polyam answered, in Trader-talk. “The answer is never stay. It's always keep going. Keep moving until you reach where you're meant to be.”

Daja turned that over in her mind, wondering if she was Tsaw'ha enough.

 

 

 

Sandry found Briar in his garden, after his weekly visit with the mind healer. He knew she was there, but didn't outwardly acknowledge her presence.

"Tris is worried about you," she finally said. "She says you come out here after your appointments, and when she looks down from the roof, all she sees is thorns."

"Plants need protection," Briar answered gruffly.

"Is it helping at all?" Sandry couldn't keep the worry out of her voice.

"Some," he admitted, setting down his rake.

“But you still can't talk about it to us?”

Briar shook his head.

“To me?” Sandry pleaded.

He hesitated, his expression a mix of dread and hope. He wanted to tell her, she realized.

You saw me in that box, she said into his mind, bound and bleeding, close to losing my mind with fear. You saw me, Briar. Her eyes were steady on his. So you know everything about me.

He looked down, at the grass that waved around his bare feet. Then he sat down on a stone bench, beckoning for Sandry to join him. Evvy's no good on a horse, he began. Rosethorn... well, you'll believe this, even if Daja and Tris wouldn't: Rosethorn had plenty of patience with her, even when I didn't. So I'd ride ahead, some afternoons, and make camp. If we were coming up on a town, I'd find an inn and get us rooms.

Then, one day... Briar shifted, something sliding closed in his mind. “One day,” he continued aloud, “I got to an inn, and while I was waiting for our rooms to be ready, one of the maids invited me back to the kitchen for supper.”

Sandry rolled her eyes, already seeing where this was going, and Briar flashed her a grin.

They were both silent for a minute. When Briar continued, something in his manner had changed: he was all seriousness as he said, “She was the first – my first. Her name was Annie. She had the prettiest laugh I've ever heard.”

“What happened?”

“I was with her when the army came. They marched right down the street, through the middle of that town, raiding and killing as they went. The guest rooms were at the front of the inn – if I'd been there, I would have seen them coming. Heard them, probably. I could have gotten out, and gone back to meet Evvy and Rosethorn.”

The servants' rooms were at the back. Briar switched back to mind-speech. Annie and I never knew they were coming until they were there, in the hall outside her room.

All I could think of was getting away, going back to Rosethorn and Evvy. And Annie knew more about armies and soldiers than I did.

Sandry took hold of his hands. His flower tattoos had turned to black, with tiny, stark white blossoms.

She jumped. Her room was on the third floor.

“Oh gods, Briar.”

“I climbed down a trellis, but she was already dead. The soldiers were everywhere, and Rosethorn and Evvy were still out there, and... I ran. I just ran. I found them, maybe half mile out of town. We had to hide in the hills, because the army was still coming. I'd lost my horse, my shoes, and all my gear. And I couldn't even stay to see her buried.” He was crying, Sandry realized: slow, fat tears running down both cheeks.

She held onto his hands until the tears stopped.

After a long time, Briar disentangled his hands and rubbed at his eyes. His voice was steady in Sandry's mind. War is war. Pirates or armies or street gangs, it's the same. I have nightmares about bodies and boom powder, screams and smells and panic.

Sandry nodded: they all had nightmares like that.

But I saw the death of someone who gave me something precious – and it was my fault. Evvy and Rosethorn could have died, too – and it would have been my fault. The smile he gave Sandry was the exact opposite of his usual grin. All because I decided to ride ahead.

Briar, no. You couldn't have known-

I know that. But I don't believe it. Leastwise, not yet.

 

 

 

The wind whipped around the citadel. It seemed to come from every direction at once, and a summer storm threatened. Tris stood on the walkway atop the wall, right at the edge.

Tris? Briar approached from the stair, but she couldn't have heard his voice over the gusting of the wind.

What is it? When he didn't reply immediately, she went on. Sandry sent you, didn't she?

She couldn't come herself. She's busy getting ready for the festival.

I know. Family obligations. Tris all but spat out the words.

Briar slid hands into his pockets, leaning back against the wall of the guard house. A stranger would have worried that Tris, still limping from her injuries, was in danger of falling over the edge. She's a bag – she can't help it.

Have you talked to Daja?

Not lately.

Tenth Caravan Idarun is at Gold Ridge. The wind picked up, making their clothes flap against their bodies. She's thinking of traveling with them.

So that's what all this is about. The thought would have been best kept to himself, but it was out before Briar could stop it.

Tris turned a glare on him. As if I'd lose control like that.

Then why-?

There's a festival tomorrow, she explained patiently, as though Briar were a slow child. An outdoor festival. A celebration of His Grace having been the sovreign of Emelan for forty years. This weather system was coming toward us – all I did is speed it along a little, so the rain will be past by dawn.

Oh. Briar grinned. That's sweet.

Don't tell anyone, Tris answered gruffly.

So, about Daja..?

Tris sighed. The traders cast her out, because of something she couldn't control – because of her magic, indirectly. Now they're willing to take her back... and it seems like she's willing to go.

Yeah.

She turned away again, watching the approaching storm. My people still won't take me back. And if they did want to, I wouldn't go. Her hurt and rage blazed bright in Briar's mind. Not ever.

The rain began to fall, big, hot drops falling out of the darkening sky.

 

 

 

Sandry was seated at her loom, thread sliding precisely under her hands. Will you join the caravan if you don't come home? she asked.

If I don't go back to Summersea? I don't know. Daja was working, too, shaping Gold Ridge copper into a set of ornamental plates.

There was a peculiar hesitancy in Daja's thoughts. Sandry poked.

It's Polyam, Daja explained. She mentioned that she's been waiting for me. And when I told her about... about Rizu, she wasn't surprised. At all.

Neither was Lark. When I asked why, she gave me that understanding smile and said, 'birds of a feather.'

Daja slammed her hammer down onto the warm metal. And why should they know before I did?

Sandry just suppressed a laugh, focusing instead on changing a bobbin. So she's interested and you're not? she asked, after a moment.

I don't know. I was in love with Rizu. I am in love? Maybe it was foolish-

Daja, no, Sandry interrupted. The court of the empress, with all that glitter and shine, showed us things we'd never seen before. Of course we got swept up.

You fell in love too, Daja realized. With Shan.

Sandry focused on her loom, picking out the texture of each individual thread. Yeah. It was childish, and maybe it was a mistake, but it was there – whether I like it or not. And I'm not ready to move on yet, either.

I'm not ready to move on, Daja replied. But I'm not exactly ready to be home.

 

 

 

“Tris, hello.” Lark beckoned her into the cottage, pushing aside a pile of stones to make a space at the table. “Sit down. You didn't walk from Summersea?”

Tris laughed dryly. “I walked from Winding Circle's gate.”

Lark's eyes turned soft with sympathy. “And you're worn out with it. Sit down,” she repeated. “I'll get you some cold tea.” She bustled away, returning momentarily with a pair of stoneware mugs, a platter of muffins, and two plates.

“Thank you.” Tris sipped, tasting lemon and mint blended with chilled Yanjingy tea. “I'll clean up, after,” she added, reaching for a muffin.

“You needn't,” Lark countered. “You're a guest here, now.”

Tris shoved her spectacles up on her nose. “This was my home for five years. And you're family – you and Rosethorn are more parents to me than my own mother and father. I am not a guest in this house.”

She met Lark's eyes until the older woman nodded. “Thank you, Trisana. I am honored to think of you as a daughter.”

Tris looked away, concentrating on eating. For a while they spoke of other things: the celebration at the Duke's Citadel, their respective projects, and their shared friends. At last, snack finished, Lark stood and began to clear the dishes.

Tris stood, too, wobbling on her feet. “Let me-”

“Sit down,” Lark ordered. “If you are a daughter to me, I ask you to listen. Legs take a cursed long time to heal, and I know you've been pushing yourself.”

Tris sat heavily, a blush flooding her cheeks. “How did you-?”

“I've lived with Rosethorn for fifteen years.” Lark picked up the empty platter, stacking the plates on top. “She can't stand seeming feeble, either.” She looked right at Tris, dark eyes serious. “But healing can only happen so fast. Nothing changes that.”

Tris bowed her head. “I know.”

Lark moved into the cooking area, setting the dishes in the wash-tub beside the stove. “There's a crate of books by the back door,” she called over her shoulder. “Niko left them, last time he was here. I'll send Glaki for a cart to take you and the books back to Summersea.”

 

 

 

“The copper comes out of the ground just fine,” the Gold Ridge smith explained. “When we first smelt it down, it behaves like copper. Sometimes we can even work it, a little. But at a certain point, it goes... wobbly.”

“Wobbly?” Kirel rubbed his chin.

“I don't know how else to describe it.” He glanced at Daja. “Can you see anything odd about it?”

Daja peered at the rough lumps of copper ore and the shining bars of metal. Opening magical eyes, at first she didn't see anything odd. Then she caught it: the faintest swirl of something else; something old and uncontrolled. Something that was aching to grow.

“I see it,” she whispered. She shaped magic into pincers, reaching for the sliver of oddness in the copper. “I think I can – there!” She closed the pincers, drawing them toward her to examine what they held.

There was nothing there.

“It got away!” She steadied her breathing, then turned to the other smiths with a bow. “My friends might be able to help,” she said. “I think we need to track it back to its source.”



I think this is going to take all of us. Daja spoke into Sandry's mind first – it was easiest, and she knew Sandry was the most likely to help. But we have to find a way to fix this... because I think it got this way because we were here before.

I was afraid of that, Sandry answered. I'll get the others. We'll meet you in an hour.



They joined forces, four bright streams of magic – wire, current, thread and vine – and delved into the copper mine. Here's where they do most of the mining. Daja pointed. Tris, can you see where the taint is coming from?

The weather-witch was still the best at seeing magic. I'm looking.

They all waited.

This way, to the left of the mine shaft.

What's over there? Sandry wondered

Ghosts, or summat, Briar guessed.

Hush. You're scaring Sandry, Daja chastised him.

She asked.

I am not scared, Sandry argued.

Guys. Tris called their attention back to their task. We have to go through the rock – that's where the trail leads.

Daja blinked. I don't know if we can do that without smashing it to bits.

I wish Evvy could link to us, Briar mused. She could get through.

So can I, Tris answered. Everyone hang on.

With a push, Tris led the way straight through the wall of rock. The others clung to her, like burrs to Little Bear's shaggy coat, and came out on the other side. They were in a cavern, larger than the mineshaft, with exposed lava flowing below. The walls glittered with copper ore.

And there it is. Tris pointed: between rivulets of lava was a pool of something else, something that shimmered unnaturally.

Daja poked. It's magic.

Our magic, Sandry agreed, with grim resignation.

Well, then. Briar grinned. Guess we better take it back.

It's all jumbled, Daja pointed out. How do we..?

Does it matter? Tris asked. We've all got a bit of each other's magic, and we're used to it now. She studied each of them in turn. And the important thing is getting it away before it taints the rest of the copper.

Sandry nudged her. You're absolutely right. Everybody ready?

They each reached into the pool of magic, pulling it into themselves until there was nothing left.

 

 

 

Daja broke away from her friends, magical self speeding back into her physical body. She opened her eyes, blinking until she could focus again. She was seated inside the copper mine – they'd thought that might help the others get a clearer picture of where they were headed.

“All clear,” she said to Kirel, who'd been acting as a spotter while she and the others worked..

“Just like that?”

“Just like that,” Daja confirmed. “No-” she interrupted herself with a huge yawn “-sweat. But, uh, maybe I'd better lie down.”

Kirel looked worried. “Can you get out to the wagon all right? Are you going to be out for days?”

“Yes to the first question, no to the second. We're all a lot better at pacing ourselves than we used to be. And we're a lot stronger, too.” But she stretched out her mind to her friends. Guys? Everybody all right?

Briar answered. Of course. Tris is asleep already, and Sandry's fussing over her, but we're fine. You?

Daja got shakily to her feet. I'm fine, too. She wobbled a little, and Kirel gribbed her elbow. That was... fun.

Yeah, Briar agreed. Let's do it again some time.

Work together and save the day? Sure. Daja grinned. Through their magical connection, she could tell Briar was grinning, too.

 

 

 

Daja floated, hammock swaying with the waves. Ropes creaked with the movement, and somewhere a sail caught the wind with a loud crack. It had been such a long time since she'd been aship, though she wondered, now, why she hadn't been part of the last few voyages. Had she done poorly, and been sent back to learn the basics of a sea-trader's craft in one of the coastal villages? But she was learning the sky, already, and the patterns of the stars. And she knew all the knots – wasn't she helping to teach her younger sister?

Her sister.

Her sister was dead. So were her parents, her favorite aunt, the cousins she'd followed around though her whole childhood. So was everyone who had been on Third Ship Kisubo.


Daja jolted awake. It was dusk, and for a minute she could have sworn she was on a ship – in a cabin, although the hammocks for young crewmembers would be strung in one large room below-decks.

But she couldn't smell the sea. Instead, she smelled copper and woodsmoke and grass.

The rocking and creaking came to a simultaneous halt, and Daja realized she was in a wagon. She must have collapsed, after all, and Kirel had gotten her to Polyam's wagon. That was embarrassing.

“Is she awake?” Polyam's voice came from somewhere up front.

The door swung open.

“I'm fine,” Daja said quickly, getting to her feet. Someone had removed her shoes. “Thank you.” She stepped out of the wagon, stumbling as she landed. A woman with one leg managed to get in and out of this wagon all the time.

Polyam half-climbed, half-slid down from the wagon seat, and nodded to Daja.

Daja nodded back. “Thank you, both.” She looked at Kirel. “We'd better get back to the castle.”

“It's quite a ride,” he answered. “It's getting dark. We thought you'd sleep the night through.” He hefted a bundle of canvas Daja hadn't noticed before. “Polyam's lending me a tent and a blanket. I'm going to set up over there.” With a wave, he began to walk away.

Daja watched him go. “Where am I going to sleep, then?”

Polyam answered in Tradertalk: “That's entirely up to you.”

 

 

 

“Let's go south,” Sandry suggested, studying the map pinned to the wall of the small library at 6 Cheeseman Street. She spoke quietly: a few hours after their shared working, Tris was still asleep in the guest room down the hall. She tired easily, yet, and they'd been afraid of waking her if someone carried her all the way to her room.

Stretched out on the sofa, Briar opened his eyes. “Why south?”

Sandry shrugged. “I've never been – well, not since I was small. We've been north, and you've been east – plus, I don't think going very far to the east is a good idea right now. And there's not much to the west.” She turned around to face him, eyes dancing. “Unless you'd like to try crossing the Endless Ocean?”

“We'd have to cross it twice, don't forget – and have time to explore what's on the far side. Could Emelan spare you for three or four years?”

Sandry grimaced. “Not likely.” She turned back to the map. “But south... if we go by boat, it's less than three weeks to the other side of the Pebbled Sea. And that's where they grow most of the cotton Emelan imports.”

Briar sat up. “You're serious about this.”

“Completely. I'll be tied here, or somewhere, soon enough. Best to roam while I can.”

“Have you brought it up with anyone else?”

“Only Uncle. He's not opposed, though he'll send a barrage of guards and servants along, I'm sure.”

He grinned. “I'll help you give 'em the slip, if you like.”

Sandry's face lit up. “You'll come, then?”

“Can't say no to you,” he answered, and she was sure he'd have tugged on one of her braids if she'd been wearing them.

Neither one of them noticed the curl of breeze blowing through the half-open door.

 

 

 

“I didn't think you'd wake up.” Polyam hefted herself back into the wagon. “Get back in bed, naliz. There's room for a pallet on the floor – just don't step on me when you get up.”

“It's your bed,” Daja followed her, leaving the door open to catch the evening breeze. She couldn't help glancing at the other woman's artificial leg. “I'll sleep on the floor.”

“You're my guest. And you're practically a mimander. I'm just a crippled wirok.”

Daja gripped her friend's arm. “You know I don't care about any of that.”

“I refuse to let you sleep on the floor.”

The obvious solution struck Daja like a hammer, and she felt her cheeks flush. She froze, looking past Polyam, at the mountains in the distance. The words were on her tongue, but she hesitated, wondering if she wanted – if she dared –

The wind came from the north, she suddenly realized. It should have come from the west – it nearly always came from the west, especially this time of year. Unless there was a really good reason for it to come from somewhere else.

“Give me a minute, please,” Daja said, in Trader-talk, using the formal form of address. She exited the wagon, stopping to sit on the step outside the door.

She poked, tentatively, at her magical tie to Tris.

It flared to life, instantly. I'm sorry, Tris said, hot with some combination of intense, unpleasant emotions. I only wanted to make sure you were all right, after that working. I didn't mean to eavesdrop, so don't worry about me. Go back to-

Tris, Daja interrupted. You're upset. Is it about... this? Or about something else?

No. Yes. I don't know.

You don't know? Daja asked flatly.

I really don't, all right? Tris would have been glaring at Daja, if she'd been able to see her. And why do you care, anyway?

You're my sister. I need- Daja stopped, trying to sort through the tangle of her own emotions, and Tris's. I need us to trust each other, she finally finished.

You need something from me? That thought was bitter with disbelief.

Yes, Daja answered, fiercely. Why wouldn't I?

There was a hurt shrug from Tris. Briar and Sandry don't.

Daja settled more comfortably onto the step, tucking her own confusion and impatience into the back corner of her mind. Why do you say that?

Tris explained the other conversation she'd overheard, finishing – defensively – with, And I know it's daft to be so upset about it! But I already lost one family, she added shakily, and if I lose another...

She was crying, Daja realized. You won't lose us. Tris, as long as we're alive, you'll never lose us. Promise.

Tris rubbed at her eyes, plainly embarrassed, but she was starting to calm down. Good.

That part was easy; Daja chose her next words carefully. I don't think being apart will ever make us need each other any less. And even if they didn't need you, I still would.

You would?

Yes. Daja was starting to wonder how many times she'd have to offer reassurance. And even if I didn't need you, I would still want to be your saati.

What if you go with the caravan?

We'll have this kind of long-distance, mental conversation every so often. But happier, I hope. Daja gave Tris a mental nudge. You naliz. You haven't talked to Sandry and Briar yet, have you?

It was clear enough, Tris grumbled. They're going. I can't travel that far – and I'm not sure I'd want to anyway.

So go talk it over with them.

Fine. If it'll make you happy.

Good. After one more nudge, Daja broke their connection.

Now what? she asked herself.

The wind shifted, coming in from the west. Daja stood up and let herself back into the wagon.

 

 

 

Inside, it took a moment for Daja's eyes to adjust to the dark. When she could see, she found a pile of blankets on the wagon floor. Polyam was stretched out in the bed.

Well, that's settled, she thought. She wondered how she could be relieved and disappointed at the same time.

“Hey.”

“Oh – hey.” Daja stood, awkwardly, in the middle of the wagon. “Thank you for the blankets.”

Polyam shifted, propping herself up on her good elbow. “Sit down.” She patted the bed. “What if we oversleep? What will the Tswa'ha say about me if anyone finds out I let a mimander sleep on my floor?”

Daja sighed. She had to concede that point. “What happens if we share the bed?” she asked. The words came easier, now it was fully dark.

“What do you want?” Polyam's voice was low, but somehow reassuring. It was good to hear Trader-talk spoken so easily, without deliberation. “What don't you want?”

Daja rubbed her face with her hands, turning Polyam's questions over in her mind. Finally she said, “I don't want to use sex like Briar does, to cover pain I'm not ready to feel.” She turned toward the other woman, reaching out to touch her face. Her fingers brushed scars and patches of smooth skin. “I couldn't even if I wanted to. At least, not with you.”

Polyam covered Daja's hand with her own.

“And I'm not ready for anything more. Polyam, I'm... I'm just not.”

When Polyam spoke, her voice was understanding, tinged only a little with regret.“I won't ask you why, and I won't push.” She turned Daja's hand over in hers, kissed it, and let it go. “I'll stay on my side of the bed, then. I, um, take up less space than you'd expect.”

“Oh, of course – your leg.” Daja shrugged out of her overshirt, hanging it on a hook she found beside the bed. “Scoot over, then.”

 

 

 

It was mid-morning: Daja could tell by the way the light shone on her eyelids, even though she was more asleep than awake. She was comfortable, with blankets pulled up to her neck and the curves of another woman's back snug against her front. She couldn't see any reason to get up, really.

She moved her head forward on the pillow, to feel the smooth silkiness of Rizu's hair.

Her cheek found a mass of hair with the texture of unspun wool, carrying a very faint scent of metal and smoked tea. Every muscle in her body went tense as she came to complete wakefulness, realizing where she was and who she was with.

“Morning,” Polyam said. Somehow in that one word, Daja could tell she'd been awake for some time.

“Sorry.” Daja quickly unwrapped her arm from around Polyam's waist. She rolled onto her back, and promptly fell out of the narrow bunk, landing on the floor with a thud.

She lay there, eyes falling closed again, and wondered if there was any chance of the floor opening up beneath her.

The nails holding the boards together quivered with interest; the ones nearest to her practically itched to work their way out of the wood.

Stop that, she admonished. I didn't mean it.

She had to have been in a few situations that were more embarrassing than this – she'd survived two fires, after all: one left her naked, and the other left her completely exposed. She could handle this – whatever it was.

She sat up, turning so she could look toward the bed. Polyam was also sitting up, with her bare leg curled under her and her stump hidden in the hem of a nightshirt. Daja looked away. “I'm sorry.” She whispered it this time.

“Don't be. It was nice.”

Daja lifted her eyes, and Polyam gave her that almost-sneer that should have been a grin. “It's been a long time since I shared a bed with someone – in any sense. I like my space, but... it's nice, now and then. Daja, I could have woken you hours ago. I could have gotten up. I chose not to.”

Polyam's voice was low; smoky and intriguing as the tea Daja liked so much. Her hair was tossled, her nightshirt rumpled, and as she shifted position, the white linen outlined her shape. Daja hated the way she suddenly wanted what she could have had for the asking the night before. She didn't avoid the other woman's gaze now, though: it occurred to her that Polyam, with all her scars, might think Daja found her unappealing. Nothing could be further from the truth.

Polyam's face was still, her expression somewhere between bemusement and patience.

“Now what?” Daja asked.

Polyam straightened her shoulders. “Things for washing are there.” She pointed. “Extra shirts in that cupboard, if you'd like to borrow one. The waterskin should be full – and I don't need to remind you not to lose the cork.” Daja grinned; it was a lesson all tsaw'ha learned early. “And I'll go make us breakfast, as soon as I get this contraption attached.”

Daja watched as Polyam reached into a narrow, yard-long compartment at the head of the bed, retrieving her metal leg.

“You had that shelf specially made?”

Polyam's lip curled; when she spoke, it was with some of the bitterness Daja remember from their first conversations, long ago, when they were trangshi and qunsuanen. “Children like to play pranks. Men do, too. It's embarrassing, at my age – or your age, even – having to ask one's mother for help reaching the roof of a wagon.”

Daja winced in sympathy, but Polyam was already standing up and pulling on her breeches. “I'll meet you outside – follow the smoke.”



Alone in the wagon, Daja took her time washing and changing. When she was done, she settled cross-legged on the floor, with her back against the bunk, and sank into her power. She'd been nearly drained the night before – it had been a stretch to reach Tris, possible only because of the strong emotion they were both feeling. Now she was refreshed, and the ties to her three saati blazed bright in her mind's eye.

Tris? she sent a pulse of energy down the tie.

I wondered if you'd try to reach me. Her mental voice was emotionless as she asked, How was your night?

Daja answered with equal blandness. It was fine. How was yours?

Not restful, Tris said candidly. But I sorted some things out.

I'm glad.

Well, I don't have time to talk about it now. I have things to do.

Daja rubbed at the living metal on her right palm. Oh?

Sandry's on her way to the house. I need to talk to her and Briar. Tris hesitated, blocking Daja from the majority of her thoughts. I'd appreciate if you'd leave us be, she finished.

I see, Daja answered, though she didn't. It was hard not to be hurt when her saati wouldn't tell her what was going on. It's a private party, and I'm not invited.

You told me to talk to them! Tris's magical presence flared in frustration. And you're right, but I need to do it my way. Please.

Daja sighed, pushing her own hurt away to the back of her mind. Of course you do, she agreed. All right. I'll stay out of it.

Thank you. A wisp of wind brushed Daja's cheek, and she couldn't be sure if it was real or magical. I'll be in touch.

Tris broke their connection, retreating into herself, and Daja let her go.



“It's half a day's ride to the castle,” Kirel said, over breakfast. “If we go now, we can get there and get packed up tonight. We can leave for Winding Circle tomorrow.”

Daja closed her eyes, hands wrapped tightly around a tin cup full of tea.

“And Summersea,” he added quickly. He knew she still missed living in the temple village.

“I'm not going back,” Daja said, opening her eyes.

Polyam froze, teacup halfway to her mouth, curious hopeful eyes locked on Daja's face.

Daja shrugged, then gave a tiny nod: they'd talk about it later.

She turned back to Kirel. “I'll go with you to the castle, of course, and make my report to Her Ladyship. Then you'd better go on to Winding Circle without me.”



Lady Inoulia and the smith were glad to hear that Daja and her friends had purified the copper. They were less pleased to learn it was the young mages who had – unintentionally – caused the impurity in the first place. Lady Inoulia's mood brightened when Daja not only refused payment for the work, but also offered to buy the magic-infected copper for her own use. “It's only fair,” she insisted, “given how much I've benefited from the talents I developed during my first trip to Gold Ridge.

“Dedicate Kirel deserves to be paid for his work, of course,” she added, pulling a small package from her tunic pocket. “My friend.” She turned to Kirel, pressing the velvet pouch into his hands. Most of the gold would go into Winding Circle's treasury; she still felt she owed zokin to the temple, though no one else saw it as such. “Give my love to the others, please.”

He studied her face, and she met his pale eyes steadily. They were both thinking of Tris, she realized.

Daja smiled. “I wish you well,” she whispered, in Trader-talk.

She turned back to the others. “Lady Inoulia. Master Smith. It has been a pleasure.” She gave them a Trader-style bow, and then, without waiting to be formally excused, she fled the room.

 

 

 

“To what do I owe the pleasure?”

There was no point in beating around the bush. “I heard that you're lecturing at Lightsbridge this fall.”

The lanky dedicate leaned back on his work stool, crossing bony arms over his chest. “You hear a lot of things. See a lot of things, too, if the rumors are to be believed.”

“Yes,” Tris agreed, patiently. “But seeing and hearing don't put bread in my mouth.”

“And? You've performed how many services for His Grace? Not to mention your friendships with Lady Sandrilene and-”

“-And two talented craft mages who are rapidly acquiring wealth, I know.”

“None of whom will let you starve.”

“Of course they won't. But the duke isn't immortal, and his sons are far less sympathetic to the likes of me. As for my friends...” She pushed her glasses up on her nose. “They like to roam. What if they one day decide not to return to Summersea? I'd like them to have that option, without having to worry over a mad sister with no marketable skills.”

Crane opened his mouth, but Tris continued before he could speak. “And if you mention my abilities as a housekeeper, I'll suck every bit of air out of the south room of your greenhouse and store it in my hair. And what will that do to your plants?”

He sat up straighter in response to her threat, resting his hands on his knees; but the tolerant, slightly bored expression on his face didn't change. “Very well; I won't. What has that to do with Lightsbridge and me?”

“You know I have the ability to perform small magics – potions and charms and the like, which any hedgewitch can sell in the market. But every market-stall hedgewitch has a license, and I don't. I mean to go to Lightsbridge and earn one.”

“Ah, now we come to it.”

Tris crossed her arms, trying not to glare. “You might also have heard, I don't get around as easily as I did. I should be all right once I get there – I'm on the mend, and the first term is mostly reading, anyway. But Lightsbridge is a bit further than I care to ride – especially alone – at this point. I seem to remember that you prefer to travel by carriage.”

“Oh, I see. All right, you can drive with me – on one condition.”

“Yes?”

“You can't associate with me or attend any of my lectures.”

“What?”

“I mean it: once we reach the university, you stay out of my way and I'll stay out of yours.”

“If that's the way you feel about it.” Tris trembled with outrage, though she managed to coax the lightning back into her braids – plants were plants, after all, even if she was angry at their caretaker. “But I thought we were friends.”

“We could be, if you'd call on me occasionally, without having an ulterior motive.”

“You've got two legs – and a carriage. You could just as easily have called on me.”

He stared at her, blinking, and then he laughed. “That I could,” he admitted.

“So why do you want to avoid me at Lightsbridge?”

“There are two reasons, Tris. First: I'm guessing you don't plan to enroll as Trisana Chandler, wind-scrying weather mage, sought after by the rulers of three countries?”

“Well... no,” she confessed.

“If you'd like me to lie, it had better be by omission. I won't go out of my way to pretend not to know you, so we'd better stay away from each other.”

She had to admit, she saw the sense in that. “And the second reason?”

His eyes went serious. “I'm a dedicate-mage of Winding Circle, sworn to uphold the tenets of the Living Circle. My vows are far more complete than what you promised when you earned your medallion. Among other things, I'm sworn to teach – and not just mages who pose a danger. Look it up if you want the exact wording: basically, I'm obligated to do everything in my power to make sure other mages live up to their full potential to give back to humanity and the natural world.

“So, Trisana, I cannot let you sit in the back of my lecture and pretend you don't know about things you pestered me to explain, in great detail, when you were eleven years old.”

“But you'll let me sit in someone else's lecture, knowing I'm doing exactly that?”

One corner of Crane's mouth turned up in what could only be described as a smirk. “I'll let that happen because I think Lightsbridge might have one or two things to teach you. Lessons come in many forms, after all.”

Tris scowled; she didn't like the sound of that.

He stood up, shaking out his yellow habit. “I'm leaving in two weeks. I'll make room in the carriage for you, but not your gear – so you'd better talk someone into giving you a packhorse.”

“I already have one,” she snapped. “I'll be ready.”

“Penniless sister, indeed.” He pointed one long finger at the entrance to the greenhouse. “Now begone! Some of my plants understand human speech, and you scared them, earlier.”

Tris curtsied and turned to leave. As she reached for the door handle, she called over her shoulder. “The smart ones? Must be the ones from Briar's seedlings.”

 

 

 

Daja was in her rooms, packing, when Polyam found her. Like Tris, she walked carefully on the stairs.

She spoke in Trader-talk. “You really mean it? You're not going back?”

Daja nodded.

“Are you traveling with us, then?” The question was tentative, but hopeful.

“When do you leave Gold Ridge?”

Polyam leaned on her staff, studying the younger woman. “Four days.”

“Then I have a little time to decide.” Daja pressed her palms together.

“Nothing like planning ahead,” Polyam chided.

Daja laughed. “I know I'd have fun, traveling with you.”

Polyam answered with a one-sided grin.

“But everything I said last night is still true.”

“I know.”

Daja held out her right hand, palm up. Polyam took it, flesh pressing against the living metal that coated Daja's skin.

Daja's voice was soft. “I will always think fondly of you. And one day...” She gripped Polyam's hand more tightly. “One day, maybe.”

“One day could be a long way off. Someone else might tell me yes. Someone else might tell me now.”

“I'm not asking for anything I can't give in return. Polyam, I wish you happiness in any case.”

Polyam laughed again, though she didn't loosen her hold on Daja's hand. “You're going to tell me 'maybe' and leave it at that?”

She's not at all nervous about the living metal, Daja realized, because she lives with it, too.

“Well,” she said, bringing her free hand up to grip Polyam's shoulder. “Maybe.”

It felt right to kiss her, to lose herself in the strange-familiar sensations. After a moment, it felt just as right to stop.



Daja was in the forge, alone, when she felt Tris's call in her mind. She set aside the magicked copper she'd been working.

Did you get it sorted? Daja asked.

Tris answered in a rush. I'm leaving Summersea. I'm going to Lightsbridge, and I know nobody else thinks it's a good idea, but Daja, I need that license. I need to be sure I can make my way, honestly. I need to be sure I won't be tempted to war-magic. I need to know that if you come back – if any of you come back, next year or the year after or whenever it is – that it won't be because you're obligated to me.

What makes you think we don't want to come back?

Please. Tris made her exasperation abundantly clear. You've been dropping hints since you left, practically. And Sandry's been badgering Briar to go, anytime she thinks I'm not listening. She'll have to come back, I suppose, to help the duke. And Briar will come back – for his garden, if nothing else. But... Tris shook her head, braids quivering with contained energy. There's so much I don't know yet.

There is, Daja agreed. Isn't it wonderful?

Tris blinked. What are you going to do? she asked.

Daja shrugged, forgoing words to let images spill across their magical connection instead: the forge at Gold Ridge, and heaps of magic-saturated copper waiting to be worked. A Trader ship, brass rails glittering in the sun. Polyam's wagon, the rest of Third Caravan Idarun winding ahead. The shining white towers of Lightsbridge University, as Niko had described them long ago. Daja's mare, and a lone packhorse, setting off in an undefined direction. There were so many possibilities, all clustered about, waiting for her to choose.

I don't know, she said. I have absolutely no idea.

Daja stepped out of the forge, into the shining afternoon sun. The wind caressed her cheek, and she turned her face into it, grinning. Tris, we have the whole world before us. We could do anything.