Not here, he thought, closing his eyes and clenching his teeth. Gansar, not Gyongxe. Peacetime, not war. Not here.
When he opened his eyes, he saw the remains of trees and the bulk of stones. Only the stench of death continued to haunt his nose.
He forced himself to study this flood, the one that was real right now. Already it was clawing at the earthen walls on the far side of the river flats. “You ask me, I think the dam broke upriver, master mimander,” he commented. “It was too old, maybe, or it needed fixing, or something, but some of those rocks look like dressed stone. It wasn’t your fault if that’s so. A dam break isn’t weather.”
Tris, limp along her mare’s neck, nodded briefly.
Daja was looking very sheepish, he saw. She rode over to Tris. “I’m sorry,” Briar heard her mutter. “I should have—”
“Trusted me?” Tris’s reply was muffled, but it clearly stung Daja. “Remembered it’s my favorite thing in all the world to act like a crazy person before strangers, and it would have been nice if my sisters and brother had said, ‘Oh, she’s peculiar, but she’s usually peculiar for a reason’? Go away, Daja. I don’t feel like blushing and accepting your kind apology just now, thanks all the same.”
Daja drew herself up. “All that traveling and all those conferences, and they never taught you how to be gracious.”
“You want Sandry for that. She’s up ahead. Leave me be.”
Briar rode over and touched Daja on the arm. He jerked his head, a sign for her to come aside with him. When she did, he whispered, “Remember? She gets all worked up, and she snaps at the first nice voice she hears. She was probably scared witless. I’ll put on the heavy gloves and gentle her some.” He winked and rode back to Tris, getting her attention by poking her in the arm. “Hey, Coppercurls, nice fireworks,” he said, keeping his voice light. She looked like one of the warrior dedicates right after battle: exhausted, but still not quite sure it was safe to stop fighting. Briar had learned to handle them carefully when they were in that state. “Maybe you ought to do like Chime and eat something so the lighting will come out of you in colors.”
Tris replied with a suggestion that Briar knew would be physically impossible. He grinned. Offering Tris his canteen, he said, “Have some water, and don’t spit it back in my face.”
As Tris obeyed, Briar looked at Daja and shrugged.
Daja smiled reluctantly. That’s right, Daja thought. Tris gets really frightened, and then she bites the heads off of people. I had forgotten.
I wonder what else I’ve forgotten—about Tris. About Sandry, and Briar.
I hope I remember really, really fast.
Sandry was livid. Had she been less aware of what she owed to the people around her, she would have shaken Tris until her teeth rattled. Furious as she was, she still remembered one of her uncle’s most often-repeated lessons: “Never express anger with a friend or a subordinate in public,” Vedris always said. “They might forgive a private expression of anger or a deserved scolding, but they never forget a public humiliation. It is the surest way to destroy a friendship and to create enemies.”
The caravan found a wide cove off the road where they could halt to collect themselves and calm the children and the animals. Sandry then went to give Tris a piece of her mind. The mimander beat her there. He had backed Tris up against a tall stone by the road, his yellow-robed body shielding her from onlookers. Sandry moved to the side of the stone to eavesdrop.
“The world does not appreciate such stunts,” the man told Tris softly but fiercely. “Do you know the harm you could do with such dangerous magic? What if a wagon had rolled, or if animals had fallen? When you scry a thing, you announce it immediately—you do not stage a panic in mid-river! I mean to file a complaint with Winding Circle—”
“They will tell you your complaint has no merit.” Tris’s voice was low and cold. “I did not scry this. As soon as I knew it was coming, I told everyone with the ears to hear. Forgive me if I did not consult you. There was no time.”
“What am I supposed to believe, kaq?” demanded the mimander. He’d used the most insulting term for a non-Trader there was. “Did you see it on the wind, like some fabled mage of old? I suppose you—a child!—expect me to believe that!”
“Go away. Tell your bookkeeper goddess you’d rather question the debt you owe me for your life than consider ways to repay me!” snapped Tris. “On second thought, don’t bother! There’s no coin small enough I’d consider worthwhile exchange for your life!”
Sandry smothered a gasp and pressed herself into a crevice behind the rock that hid her. Is she mad? Sandry wondered, horrified. If she were a Trader he’d have to kill her for so many insults! She said he was questioning his gods for letting him live. Then she told him not to bother repaying her—a Trader, not to repay!—and then she told him his life isn’t worth anything!
Finally the mimander replied, his voice shaking. “I expect no better of a kaq.”
He walked away.
Sandry’s temper blazed again. Tris not only orders us around like the Queen of Everything, but she insults our hosts! I have to remind her she used to have manners!
She yanked herself out of her crevice, shook her riding breeches clean of the leaf-litter that had collected there, look a deep breath, and walked around the rock. Tris had left it, to sit on a fallen tree next to the spring nearby. She patiently held one side of her snood, Chime the other, as her braids twined around each other, forming a snug ball. There was no way to tell now which had carried lightning and which had been lightning. Even the two thin braids that framed her face were neatly done up and tied again.
Sandry halted in front of her. “Never have I given you the right to order me around. Neither have Briar or Daja. And we have certainly not given you the right to throw lightning at us.” Despite her resolve to be firm, her voice quivered.
Tris’s eyes flicked to Sandry dangerously, though Tris’s hold on the snood remained steady as her braids moved and wriggled to fit themselves inside. “Pardon me for not kissing your hand and saying pretty please, since that’s what you’re used to these days,” she replied, acid dripping in her voice. “Had I known I would offend, Clehame,”—she turned Sandry’s Namornese title into an insult—“I would have let everyone die so I wouldn’t inconvenience you.”
“I know you are ever so much more clever and educated than the rest of us, but it’s not as if we are dolts. We did get our medallions at the same time as you. We have something between our ears besides hummus! And if the bond between us were open, there would have been no need for such antics!” replied Sandry, losing her temper in spite of herself.
Tris let go of the snood. With a flap of her wings, Chime leaped on top of her head to keep it in place. If either girl had not been in a rage, they might have thought it funny.
“Did it occur to you that you might not like what is in my head now?” demanded Tris. She hurriedly grabbed a fistful of hairpins and began to pin her net in place. “Or do you think I’ll be easier to control once you’re behind my eyes, Your Ladyship?”
Sandry’s eyes filled with unexpected tears. She felt as if Tris had slapped her. “Do you really think that of me?”
“I don’t know what I think,” growled Tris, taking off her spectacles. “Go away, will you? I have the most vile headache. I just want to be alone.” Chime took flight off of Tris’s head.
“With pleasure,” Sandry replied with all the dignity she had left. “At the rate you’re going, you’ll be a caravan of one, just as alone as you please.”