He stopped to sip his tea and sample one of the pistachio crescent cookies, biding his time. They would guess what he wanted, but they would also want him to say it aloud. They wouldn’t want to seem childishly eager or interested in front of each other. Inwardly, the duke sighed. He liked them all, and hated to see them unhappy. Daja’s homecoming had been a bitter experience, and remained so. Tris had run into the kind of professional jealousy that adults found hard to deal with. Both girls had confided a little to him in their Citadel visits, even if they could not talk about those things with Sandry. He had not spoken much with Briar, but he had with Rosethorn. He had also seen that same haunted look of Briar’s in the eyes of countless soldiers and sailors who had survived battle. Vedris hoped that if he could persuade all three of them to help with his plan, it might heal some of their wounds. The difficulty was that they had never been easy to persuade.
“I would be easier in my mind if one, or two, or even all three of you were to go with Sandry,” he admitted. “Empress Berenene has great mages at her command, but they are all academic mages, drawing their power from themselves and channeling it through learned rites and spells. In my experience, academic mages underestimate ambient mages like you, who draw your power from your surroundings.”
Briar snorted. “You bet they do,” he muttered scornfully.
The duke continued. “They will not expect you to be formidable guards for her. Moreover, you three have lived with more facets of the adult world than Sandrilene has. Daja, I understand that you may feel you have not completely made this place your home, and I shall not hold it against you, should you refuse me. Tris, I know you have plans to attend Lightsbridge next spring—”
“Lightsbridge!” chorused Briar and Daja. The university at Lightsbridge was the rival school of magecraft to Winding Circle. It was a citadel of learning, particularly for academic mages, as Winding Circle tended to specialize in ambient ones. Apparently, thought Vedris, Tris had not shared her plans with her housemates.
“You’ve got your mage medallion,” added Briar. “You don’t need Lightsbridge!”
Tris scowled. “I do if I need a license to practice plain street magic,” she informed him. “Talismans, charms, potions—that kind of thing. Don’t you understand how much people resent us for having medallions? People don’t even usually have a license at eighteen, let alone a medallion. Well, I mean to study at Lightsbridge under another name, an ordinary name, so I can get an ordinary license, so I can earn my living as an ordinary mage!”
“You’re going to lie about who you are?” asked Daja, shocked.
“Niko’s set it up for me,” Tris said shortly, naming her teacher. “I’m going to do it, and that’s final. Unless ...” She looked at Vedris uncertainly.
“After this summer you will be free again to do as you please,” the duke reassured her. “Either Sandrilene will return home, or ...” He looked at his hands. He did not want to speak the possibility aloud, but he owed his young friends honesty. “Sandrilene may feel that her duty requires her to remain in Namorn. In that case, I hope you would feel yourselves under no further obligation, and return to your own lives.” He looked at Briar. “I am most reluctant to ask you, of course. You have come home so recently. I will understand if you refuse. But—forgive me for saying it—Empress Berenene is a famed amateur gardener. With your own reputation having spread in the time you have been away, I suspect she will be quick to admit you above all to her inner circle.”
“Does Sandry speak Namornese?” Daja wanted to know.
Vedris felt hope stir in his chest. “I suspect it is quite rusty. I know Ambros fer Landreg’s reports are in Namornese, so she reads it well.”
Daja nodded. “But I speak it.” She smoothed one hand over the metal that coated the other. “You’re really worried, aren’t you, Your Grace?”
“I know that Sandrilene is capable of extraordinary feats. And they will think the less of her because her magic works through thread,” Vedris replied. “But she is only one mage, and there are ways to deal with mages. She is extraordinarily wealthy in Namorn—I don’t believe you know to what extent. Heiresses are always in great demand. Empress Berenene is a powerful woman who has made it clear that she thinks Sandrilene belongs in her court. Few people tell Her Imperial Majesty no.”
Briar smirked. “Sandry will. Sandry tells everyone no, sooner or later.”
Daja grinned; Tris smiled.
Vedris put down his teacup. “I know you will need time to consider it.”
Tris stared into the distance. “At least Daja and I should go. Two of us will be harder to distract than one.”
Briar made a face. “You need me, too,” he said. “In case all those hot-blooded Namornese noblemen make you girls addled.”
“I have yet to be addled by any man, Briar Moss,” said Daja. “Believe me, a few have tried. Dazed a little, but only because they reminded me of you. I had hoped you were one of a kind.”
“You’ll come?” asked Tris, startled.
“You aren’t the only one who owes His Grace,” Briar informed her. He looked at the duke. “Sir, even if Sandry weren’t our sister, you helped us along a lot, the four years we lived at Discipline. It would be an honor to ease your mind.”
The duke sighed with relief. He hadn’t been sure all of them would be willing, particularly not when they were at odds. “Getting to Namorn will be easy,” he said. “Third Caravan Saralan is here, and will leave for Namorn on the tenth day of Seed Moon. Their guards will protect you on the road. I will cover all of your expenses, and I consider myself to be deeply in your debt.” He smiled at them. “Thank you. I feel more comfortable with this than I have felt since Sandrilene told me she would go.”
The next morning Sandry arrived with her guards and a cart piled with bolts of cloth. Since Tris had gone to do the marketing and Daja was at Winding Circle, the maid fetched Briar.
Briar took one look at Sandry and knew trouble was in the air. Sandry’s bright blue eyes sparkled dangerously, and little red flags of temper marked her cheeks. “We thought you’d be happy to have us along, you wanting togetherness and all, so what’s put pins in your noble rump?” he asked, jamming his hands into his pockets. “And what’s this for? Tents? Or you think we’re too poor to have clothes?”
Sandry glared at him. “I doubt you have court clothes from cloth and stitching that I have done,” replied Sandry. “And I refuse to answer your other, vulgar question.”
As the house’s manservant carried in the first load of cloth, Briar rolled his eyes. “I’ve been vulgar for years and it never bothered you. If you think I’ll put off getting my trees ready for Rosethorn to look after so you can stick pins in me, think again. I don’t have time for fittings.” He turned and went into the house, back to his workroom. He knew Sandry would follow. When she wanted a fight, nothing stopped her from getting it.
While he waited he busied himself with his shakkans, preparing them for the trip to Winding Circle. They grumbled as he checked their leaves, branches, and soil before he set them in their traveling baskets once more. Like Briar, they had looked forward to staying in one place for a while.