He used the familiar routine of meditation to calm down after he had brushed the dust and dirt from his magic-woven party clothes. Finally he clambered into bed and blew out his candle. Beds on the road won’t be so soft as this, but they’ll be an ocean’s worth of safer, he thought. The night’s weariness swamped him, and he slid into sleep.
Armies moved in his dark dreams, killing and burning. The flames of the towns they had set alight formed bright spots on the mountain horizon. This was the rocky hidden road into the heart of Gyongxe. The villages that burned were as much Yanjingyi as Gyongxian.
They’re burning out their own people! the dreaming Briar thought in panic. He was small and rabbit-like, fleeing the army as if it were a pack of wild dogs, growling and snapping at his heels. With him stumbled Rosethorn and Evvy and Evvy’s friend Luvo, snug in Evvy’s arms.
Trumpets blared. In his dreams the armies were always right over the next ridge, moving rapidly. Briar and his companions always seemed to crawl along the ground. Awake he knew they had made better time, but in sleep they were on the army’s heels, doomed to warn the inland temples too late. The trumpets blared, the hunter dogs of the armies howled, and Briar tried to run.
He stumbled on the bottom of a heap. One hand pressed against a face, another against a naked leg. Now there was light enough to see what he had found: people, grandparents to babies, all stripped naked, all flung together like discarded dolls. There was blood on his hands.
He screamed and woke at the same time, gasping for breath. As always, he had sweated through his sheets. Sweat stung in his eyes. He got up and wiped away the worst of it with a water-soaked sponge, then changed to casual clothes.
No point in going back to sleep, not when I’ll just dream again, he thought as he fumbled with his shirt buttons. Guess I’ll gather up all the stuff and the shakkans I took from her imperial majesty’s greenhouse and carry them back. I don’t want her thinking I’d take so much as a pair of shears.
It was hard to open the imperial greenhouse with a miniature willow in one hand and a basket full of tools and seedlings in the other, but Briar managed it. Once inside, he pocketed the paper that acted as a magical key and returned each item to its proper location. On each of the seedlings he set a good word for growth and immunity to plant problems. He also left the copper wire wrapped around the willow’s new shape.
I don’t have to punish the plants because my mate’s cross with her cousin, he told the willow, which he had spelled for health and proper growth when he’d first taken it into his care. Even if I feel curst irritable with the empress myself, I won’t let you return to the world without all the protection I can give you.
The willow clung until he coaxed it to release him. You’ve all kinds of mates here, he scolded gently. You don’t need one human who’s just going to vanish, anyway. Aren’t I right? he asked the others, the pines and the maples, the fruit trees and the flowering ones. The greenhouse sounded as if a breeze had blown through as they shook their branches in reply.
His good-byes said, Briar took the paper key from his pocket and crossed into the orchid half of the greenhouse. He meant to place his key by that door to the outside, so Berenene would see it. Instead, he found the empress herself, wearing a simple, loose brown linen gown over her blouse, slumbering with her head pillowed on her arms as she sat at an orchid table. She blinked and stirred as Briar came in. His heart twisted in his chest. She was beautiful even with her unveiled coppery hair falling from its pins and a sleeve wrinkle pressed into her cheek. She smiled at him.
It’s like being smiled at by the sun, Briar thought. Being warmed and a little burned at the same time. No. No, she’s Namorn itself, the land folk inhabit. She values the rest of us because we’ll water her, plow and plant her, keep the bugs and the funguses off her, harvest ... but in the end we are as important to her as ants.
She stretched out a hand. “I cannot persuade you?” she asked, her voice husky with sleep. “You know that you would be happy in my service, Briar.”
Briar sighed and rubbed his head. Sandry would argue, trying to convince her to change the way she did things. Daja would put on her Trader face, say polite nothings, and mention schedules where she’s needed someplace else. Tris would refuse in some tactless way and apologize without pretending she meant it. And me? he asked himself. What can I say? I escaped one emperor that wanted to put me in an iron cage, and from where I sit, her gold one looks no better?
He stepped forward and placed the paper key in her beckoning hand, bowed, and walked away.
16
Daja was tying her braids into a tail when Rizu came back from dressing the empress. Usually Rizu had some witty imperial remarks to share, but not today. This morning she was silent.
“Is something wrong?” Daja asked as she straightened her tunic. “You look, I don’t know, concerned.” She ran a finger down Rizu’s forehead, still amazed at the good luck that had brought her to the point at which she could touch this vivid woman. “You’ll get wrinkles,” she teased gently.
“It’s Her Imperial Majesty,” Rizu explained softly. “Something’s happened, something that’s made her angry. She treated me all right, so it wasn’t anything to do with me, but when I asked her what was going on, she said that I ought to ask your friends.” She looked at Daja in confusion. “What do you suppose she meant?”
Daja shrugged. “Let’s go to breakfast and see—if they are even out of bed.”
As Rizu led the way out of Daja’s rooms, she looked back over her shoulder to say, “I did talk to the servants. Finlach fer Hurich was arrested sometime after we left the ball, and some men he had hired with him.”
Daja, who had been admiring the sway of Rizu’s hips, halted. “Fin, arrested? Whatever for?”
A footman hurried past overheard. He paused, then came over to them. “There’s more, Lady Rizu,” he said quietly. “Word just came: Bidis Finlach’s uncle, Viynain Natalos, was just arrested by Quenaill Shieldsman and a crew of mage takers. No law-court papers, only by imperial order.”
“Does anyone know why?” asked Rizu.
“Only that the charge was high treason,” whispered the footman. He bowed and scurried on his way.
“It must be serious,” Rizu murmured. “To arrest the head of the Mages’ Society for the entire empire? It has to be high treason, indeed.” She and Daja and Rizu hurried to Sandry’s rooms.
Gudruny let them in, but there was no meal set out on the table. “What’s going on?” Daja wanted to know. “Where are Briar and Tris?”
For a moment Gudruny looked shocked. “You don’t know? Oh, gods—you must ask my lady. She’s in her bedchamber, if you’ll follow me.”
They obeyed, to find Sandry busily folding clothes. Trunks stood open on the floor.
“Sandry?” Daja asked, confused. “I feel like you started a forging without me.”
Sandry looked up. Her face was dead white under its gold spring tan; her blue eyes were hot. “Ask her,” she replied in a husky voice, jerking her chin at Rizu, who stood behind Daja. “Or were you two so wrapped up in each other that neither of you has heard yet? It should be all over the palace right now.”
Daja sighed. “If she knew, why would we be talking to you?” she inquired reasonably. “Where were you last night? You didn’t even come to say hello to us. And now there’s a story going around the palace that Fin’s been arrested.” She kept her voice soft. She knew this look of Sandry’s, though she had only ever seen it a handful of times. Whatever had brought Sandry to her boiling point, she required careful handling, or she would explode.