She doesn’t even realize she’s crying, the empress thought, feeling a quiver of pity which she dismissed right away. I managed well enough, she thought irritably, escaping two oafs who thought they had the better of me. Namorn is a hard country. It requires strong women, strong men, and strong children to survive and make it prosper. I learned that from my father, even as he signed my second kidnapper’s execution papers.
Sandry shook her head and dashed her tears away. “I’m going home. I’ve made arrangements so Cousin Ambros will never be strapped for money again. My friends may stay or go as they will, but I’m going back to Emelan, where I am a person, not an heiress.” She spat the world as if it were a curse, stood, curtsied briefly, and limped from the chamber. When Quen raised a hand to stop her with one spell or another, Berenene shook her head. There are other ways to bring a haughty young clehame to see things reasonably, she told herself.
She looked at the other two and realized they watched her, eyes intent.
What would they have done if I hadn’t stopped Quen? Berenene wondered. For a moment, she was almost afraid. Those bright pairs of eyes, one gray-green, one gray, were fixed on her with the same unblinking attention with which her falcons watched prey.
You may have power, she silently told them, but I am older and far more experienced. I have true great mages at my side, not accomplished children. She held their eyes for a moment, before she looked at Briar alone. “You may stay,” she told him, thickening the honey in her voice. “I still offer you the empire for your garden. Imagine it, Briar, spice trees from Qidlao and Aliput, medicine ferns from Mbau, incense bushes from Gyonxe ...”
His head snapped back as if she had slapped him. “And turn a blind eye to this? Wonder what woman scuttling by is with her husband of her free will? Here I was thinking only street rats got treated like roach dung. I’m honored you think so well of me, Imperial Majesty, but I’m leaving with Sandry.” He bowed to the empress briefly and looked at Tris.
“Coming,” she said, getting to her feet. “The rat hole’s plugged,” she informed Berenene. She fought a yawn. When it passed, she added, “Thank you for the offer of a position, but I’m with Briar and Sandry.” She bobbed a curtsy, took the arm Briar offered, and walked out with him.
The door closed silently.
Berenene sat back in her chair and closed her eyes. She could feel her two great mages waiting for her to speak. In my own palace, she thought, furious. My own palace! When dozens of nobles trust their daughters to me, to serve as ornaments to my household!
“Quen,” she said, forcing her voice to be calm. “Send orders down. I want Finlach fer Hurich arrested immediately. Put him in the dampest pit we have. In chains. Throw his servants in with him, also in chains. Check the end of the tunnel Tris blocked, in case any of them are hiding there. I will deal with them tomorrow. Then take a contingent of mages as well as a company of guards and arrest Viynain Notalos fer Hurich on the charge of high treason.”
“The head of the Mages’ Society?” murmured Quen nervously.
Berenene opened her eyes to glare at him. “Do you mean to tell me you can’t take a sniveling political games-player like Notalos?” she snapped. “Have you let your skills and those of your people go slack?”
“He means no such thing, Imperial Majesty,” Isha announced smoothly. “It is easily done, my boy. And he has betrayed a trust. Use the jar of ghosts spell.” Isha rested a hand on Berenene’s shoulder. “It will be done as you require.”
The empress closed her eyes. “Then go do it, Quen. I want him in the mage’s cells here by sunset. If the Society whines, send them to Isha.” She listened as Quen’s footsteps receded, and waited for the sound of the door as it opened and shut behind him. Only when he was gone did she say, “Do something about Trisana Chandler, Isha. They will be so much less cocky—Sandrilene will be far less cocky—without their little weather mage to safeguard them.”
Ishabal nodded. “I will see to it,” she replied softly. “It is easy enough.”
“Subtly.” Berenene knew it was insulting to imply that Isha did not know how to wield a proper curse, but she no longer cared. “I want her for our service even more now. When she swears to us, you will bind her so she knows who is her mistress, Isha.”
It took a while to treat Sandry’s hands and feet—she was in such a fury that it was hard to make her sit quietly. Briar had sent Gudruny for mint tea to calm Sandry down, but Sandry threw the cup into the hearth.
Gudruny looked at the mess, her mouth twisted to one side. “You don’t need me if you mean to have a child’s tantrum, my lady,” she said, sounding like the experienced mother that she was. “Wake me when you come to bed and I’ll help you with your nightgown. I’ll clean up whatever else you throw in the morning.”
Briar hid a smile and went back to wrapping clean linen around one of Sandry’s feet.
“I am not a child,” Sandry muttered.
From long experience with his sisters, Rosethorn, and Evvy, Briar knew when to keep silent. Instead, he tried to remember if he had ever known Sandry to be in such a towering rage. Even her anger when pirates had attacked Winding Circle was not the same as this. A lot of it’s fear, he thought, drinking the other cup of tea that Gudruny had poured for him. But she’s just not used to being treated like she’s of no account. I only wish she could see that she’s treating her Landreg people the same way, but I can tell it’s not worth talking to her about it right now.
Tris had left when Gudruny fixed the tea, but Chime stayed behind, chinking at Sandry with worry. It was Chime who finally calmed Sandry down. The dragon simply curled up in Sandry’s lap, chiming in a low, clear tone that penetrated the young noble’s rage. The more Chime sang, the slower Sandry’s hands petted the dragon, until Sandry finally smiled ruefully.
“I’ll be fine,” she assured Chime. “Truly.” Sandry looked up at Briar. “I don’t need nursemaids.”
“Then it’s me for bed,” said Briar with a shrug. “You know Her Imperial Majesty will put obstacles in the way, right? Neither you nor she knows how to leave well enough alone.”
Sandry blew out a windy sigh. “Did I ask you?”
Briar propped a fist on one hip. “Since when do I ever need you or anybody to ask?”
That actually got a thin smile from her. “You’re Rosethorn’s boy, all right. You sound just like her.” She kissed the top of Chime’s head. “I really will be fine,” she whispered.
Chime voiced one last sweet note, then took flight, shooting through an open window. They didn’t have to worry about where she would go: Tris had developed a disconcerting habit of sleeping with all of her windows open.
“Then I’m off, too,” Briar told Sandry. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
Sandry’s voice stopped him with his hand on the latch. “You don’t have to come. I can’t offer you an empire to garden. And you’re still my brother, even if you choose to stay here.”
“For your information, Countess,” he retorted without turning around, “I ain’t going ’cause of you.” As always when he was truly angry, Briar lapsed into the thieves’ cant that was his original language. “I’ve a mind of my own and I can make it up without you sticking your neb in. In case you didn’t notice, if someone of rank like you don’t have safety here, nobody does. Nobody, from the biggest noble to the smallest street rat. If you ain’t safe, where does that leave folk like Gudruny, and Zhegorz? I’ll tell you where—crated up in a secret chamber somewhere. Or just dumped off a cliff.” He slammed the door behind him when he left.