Once Tris had brought that storm thread to her, she jammed the end into a coin from her pocket. Once it was secure, she twirled it until the thread of storm began to spin. All storms were drawn to spin, as Tris knew very well. The trick was in keeping them controlled, not allowing them to break free to become a cyclone or full-sized hurricane. Around the wind spun, dragging the storm into the funnel that ended in her thread. Out stretched the storm-parts woven in with her bit of hurricane, twirling under Tris’s magical grip. She kept the air moving, shaping it as a fine web so that its natural strength could never overwhelm her once it reached her. If she had looked up, she would have seen the long funnel of cloud that stretched from the storm to her, narrowing until it became her thread.
On and on she spun, making the thread into a ball of yarn, a skill she drew from part of Sandry’s magic still mingled with hers. Finally she had turned the entire storm into a ball the size of her hand. She broke it free of the coin, then attached the ball to her partially unraveled hurricane braid. Eager to get out of her hold, the storm sprang into her braid, feeding itself into the many hairs as if it raced along a thousand streets. Once it was absorbed, Tris tied off the braid with a special ribbon that would hold no matter what, and tucked it back into the net with the other braids. Into her pocket went the coin.
She swayed. Hands grabbed her and helped her sit in a crenel. Tris looked up.
It was Briar who had helped her sit as the court stared at her. Sandry came over with a handkerchief to wipe the sweat from Tris’s face. Daja grinned as she leaned on her staff, watching. Ishabal looked thoughtful, as did the empress herself.
Tris lurched to her feet to curtsy, Briar holding her by her elbow. She looked at her brother, her eyes pleading. She didn’t want to have to explain, not to these well-dressed strangers. Better still, she didn’t want to talk at all, not until she got all those storm powers inside her calmed down.
Briar winked at her and turned to the empress, though he continued to brace Tris. “So, Your Imperial Majesty,” he said cheerfully. “Might we go back to those refreshments? She’ll be fine once she’s got some food in her.”
7
The refreshments had been set on a terrace tucked out of the wind. Most of the courtiers filled their plates from long tables laden with food. Two of the empress’s ladies brought selections to her and her companions, who included Sandry and her friends. The black-haired Jak maneuvered himself into a seat on Sandry’s right, while the redheaded Finlach—Fin, he had told Sandry to call him—sat on Sandry’s other side.
While pretending to listen to Jak’s talk of northern hunting, Sandry kept an eye on Tris, who had taken longer to walk to the terrace after juggling storms. She had obviously meant to sit with Daja and her new friends, but then she balked when some young women flinched away from her. Apparently they were unnerved by Tris’s magical working up on the wall—never mind that it saved lives! thought Sandry.
Seeing their reaction, Tris turned to lean on the terrace rail as if that was what she had intended all along. Sandry was about to go offer Tris a seat when Briar, who had helped Tris to walk, stepped in. He turned her around and lifted her up to sit on the wide, flat rail, then went to get food for the redhead. While he did that, Quenaill sat beside Tris, smiling at the scowling girl. Ishabal stopped to speak with the two of them, touching Tris on the shoulder before she moved on to sit with the empress.
So even here, mages stick together, Sandry thought with satisfaction as Briar brought a full plate to Tris. That’s good to know.
She returned her attention to Jak just in time to say, “Oh, but I don’t care for hunting very much.” Jak’s handsome face fell. Sandry smiled at him. “Did you want me to lie about liking it?” she asked meekly.
“I ask only that you make me miserable,” he replied, and let his shoulders sag.
Sandry took a second look at him. Was that a joke? “I’m not amused,” she said in warning.
“I didn’t think you would be,” Jak said with a sigh. “The words just slipped from my mouth on the wings of truth.”
Sandry deepened her scowl. That’s the problem with growing up with Briar, she thought irritably. It makes you inclined to like every jokester who comes along. “That was just plain bad,” she said tartly.
“I know,” he replied, still in that mournful tone. “I can’t help but lose ground with you.”
After most of the dishes were cleared, servants brought around one last series of treats: strawberries, cheeses, sweet and salty biscuits, and marzipan candies shaped to form the Landreg family crest, a compliment to Sandry. She shook her head over them, bowed from her seat to the empress, and took a few. Servants carried the tables away as the palace clocks began to chime the hour.
Sandry took a deep breath. The previous night, after Briar had gone to bed, Ambros had persuaded her not to put off visiting the lands of her inheritance any longer. Sandry had agreed: She had come to see her lands, after all, not to socialize. She had not mentioned it to Berenene all day, but time was passing. It’s midafternoon, she thought. If we’re to leave early for Landreg tomorrow, it’s time to go back to the town house and pack. And it’s time to say, oh, Cousin Berenene, so nice to stop by for a day, but after I’ve ignored my obligations for years, I’ve promised Ambros I’d actually attend to them, so we’re going away again for a couple of weeks.
Her rebellious self muttered, And so much for you parading all these would-be husbands for me! Maybe now you’ll realize I’m not interested!
She nibbled her lip. Sometimes the only approach is the direct one, she told herself. It’s not like Berenene can say she herself hasn’t been telling me to mind my lands. Excusing herself to Jak and Fin, Sandry went over to the cluster of nobles that had formed around the empress. They noticed her and turned, opening the path between Sandry and Berenene.
“Sandry, we’ve been discussing some entertainments for you,” Berenene said with a smile. “Of course, there are parties, but which do you prefer for daytime: picnics, hunting, rides?”
Sandry dipped a curtsy. “Forgive me, Cousin, but I must beg your indulgence and ask you to reconsider your plans,” she said quietly. “I have promised my cousin Ambros that I would inspect my home estates as soon as I had recovered from our journey here. My friends and I will be leaving for Landreg tomorrow morning.”
Briar, Daja, and Tris, who were nearby, traded looks. This was news to them.
The tiniest of frowns knit the empress’s chestnut eyebrows.
“I do apologize,” Sandry continued, “but I really had no chance to mention it earlier. If I don’t go soon, it will be a slap in the face to my cousin, who has worked so long and hard in my interest, as well as to my tenants and servants. You yourself, Imperial Majesty, have told me that I have neglected my estates. To come to Namorn after so many years away, and not tend to my obligations immediately ... I know you would not like me to further shirk my duty.”
For a very long moment no one spoke or moved. They’re afraid, Sandry realized, listening for clues from the people round her. They’re afraid of Berenene when she loses her temper. I’d better keep that in mind. She’s all sweetness now, but that’s not how she’s remained the sole ruler of Namorn for twenty-odd years.
“What can I say?” asked Berenene with a gentle shrug. “Duty is duty. I can hardly reproach you for making the visit I urged you to make in my own letters. But please, return to us soon, dearest cousin. We have weeks of delights to share. And of course we hope that your friends share in them, too. I certainly would like to avail myself of Viynain Briar’s expertise in my gardens.”