I have better things to do with my time, he realized. Important things.
He eased himself out onto the terrace, ignored by the couples who had picked a strip of shadow in which to kiss, and trotted down the stairs to the gardens. He instantly felt better on the Rhododendron Walk, surrounded by the dark-leaved plants. Even the blossoms looked shadowy in the scant moonlight that reached them. He walked past them, mending a damaged leaf here, making another unpleasant for the insects who tried to gnaw on it.
Somewhere nearby he sensed Tris. He didn’t even bother to check their reformed bond. He didn’t have to. If Tris was close, she was at the highest point close by. There she stood, atop the outer palace wall. The wind off the Syth made her skirts flap. What does she hear up there? wondered Briar. If what I suspect is so, what does she see? How did she learn to see it? And that’s got to be how she knows Zhegorz is seeing things, right? She knew to get Daj’ to make him spectacles. So why won’t she just tell us she can do it?
He grinned. Shoulda known she wouldn’t stay in the ballroom any longer than it would be polite. He hesitated, then silently called up to her, Want to come see the empress’s shakkans? She won’t mind I took you there. She gave me a note saying I had an open pass to the greenhouses.
Tris didn’t even seem surprised to hear from him. Too much up here, she replied. Shaggy white bears, lights in the sky ... Not tonight, Briar.
He was about to walk on when she added, It is a waste of time and money. The dancing and the expensive foods.
Briar flinched. How’d you know? he demanded sharply. How can you eavesdrop and me not know it?
I didn’t eavesdrop, she replied. You’ve just gotten a little more like me since you went away.
I’m not sure that’s a compliment, he grumbled.
Neither am I, replied Tris. Oh, look! An old ship trapped in ice!
Shaking his head, Briar ambled on down the path.
At first he returned to his chambers, where he put his feet up and read for a while. When the palace sounds had died down to the rhythms of sleep, and the plants said that most of the walking flowers—their idea of gaudily dressed humans—had gone into their sheds, he realized he wasn’t a bit sleepy.
He changed to plain clothes, slung his mage’s kit over his shoulders, and left for the greenhouses. He was surprised to find no guard posted. As protective as Berenene was, he’d have thought guards would be everywhere around the costly glass buildings. Then he put his hand on the latch of the door into the greenhouse where the shakkans and orchids were kept. Fire blazed, giving him just enough of a burn to make him pay attention.
Briar scratched his head. Her Imperial Majesty never mentioned warding spells, he thought. Maybe she wanted it to be a surprise.
He let his power flow up to that magical barrier. It was thorough. The workmanship screamed of Ishabal to his senses. About to give up, Briar remembered the pass Berenene had given him. He took the paper out and unfolded it, then laid it against the barrier.
He stumbled as it gave way, leaving enough room for him to open the door and walk through. Behind him he felt the magic close. I hope it lets me out, he thought as he surveyed the miniature trees.
The shakkans clamored for his attention. Pine and miniature forest, fruit-bearing and flowering, they all wanted him to handle each of them, feeling their leaves and trunks and telling them what fine trees they were. Briar did his best to oblige. He never felt he wasted his time with shakkans, whether they stored magic or not. They were their own reason for being, lovely without causing harm to anyone else. Their scent of moss and dirt blotted the ghosts of Gyongxe in his mind. The whisper of their leaves covered the sounds of screams that he kept thinking he’d just heard. When his eyelids finally grew heavy, he lay on the ground under a table with his mage kit for a pillow. He slept deep, and he did not dream.
A much amused Berenene woke him around dawn. Briar grinned as he apologized, and excused himself to go clean up. Before he left, he asked her, “Would you object if I did more than just trimming and freshening these shakkan? Some of them need a shape that’s better matched with their natures.”
“As long as I may keep them later,” the empress replied, her eyes on the door to her orchid room.
Briar had his hand on the door latch when Berenene called, “Do you understand that we could arrange things so that you would have authority here second only to mine? You would be the imperial gardener. I meant what I said to you at Dragonstone. You would be a treasure of the empire, famed for your skill. I would pay you richly for it. I would make you a noble, with estates of your own, and a Giathat—what you would call a dukedom. Neither you nor your heirs would ever want for anything.” She waved, and vanished among her orchids.
Bemused by her offer, wondering if her nobles would appreciate having a street rat duke, Briar returned to his room. His manservant was up and nervous that Briar wasn’t in his bed: His face brightened when Briar came in. “Viynain, what is your pleasure?” he asked, bowing.
“Food, lots of it. A hot bath,” replied Briar absently. “And the least smelly soap you can find. My shakkan hated that sandalwood-scented glop I used yesterday. No point in making it jealous.”
The servant blinked. “Viynain?” he asked at last, confused.
Briar sighed. His sisters would have understood. “Just ... soap with as little scent as possible, if you please.”
The servant snapped to his tasks. As if he’s afraid if he stays near me anymore, I’ll turn him into something, Briar thought disdainfully.
After breakfast he read for a while. Normally he’d expect his sisters to be awake not long after dawn—their lives had made all of them into early risers—but after a gathering like last night, he couldn’t blame them for sleeping in. When the ornamented clock in his sitting room chimed the hour before midday, he put his book aside and went in search of Daja.
At first, when he knocked on her door and there was no response right away, he thought she might have gone out. Then he heard female voices, muffled ones.
Maybe the maid will know where she got to, Briar thought, and pounded harder. At last he heard fumbling at the latch. The door opened to reveal Daja wearing only last night’s rumpled tunic. “Sorry,” she mumbled, letting him in. “I couldn’t find a robe.”
Briar smiled at her knowingly and glanced at the open bedroom door. Rizu stood there, wrapping a sheet around herself. Her long curls were free of their pins and dangled to her waist. The sheet only enhanced her buxom figure.
Briar raised his eyebrows at Rizu, then looked at Daja, who scratched at the floor with a bare toe. “Well, that explains more than it doesn’t,” Briar remarked. He told himself, Now I know why I was sure Rizu was never interested in me, or any man. “Daja, why didn’t you say you’re a nisamohi?” he asked, using the Tradertalk word for a woman who loved other women. “What with Lark and Rosethorn, did you think we cared?”
“I didn’t know that I was a nisamohi,” Daja whispered, still not looking at him. She shrugged. “I’ve been too busy, and there was never anyone ...” She looked back at Rizu, who smiled at her with a beautiful light in her eyes.
“I’ll go away in a hurry if you’ve got some of that heavy copper wire,” Briar said. “The stuff you can just manage to bend around your wrist.”