Olennika nodded. “Even in my workroom there is no quiet. People come and go in the cellar, in the attics, from the hospital. Will you —”
It was Daja’s turn to smile ruefully. She knew what she had to say; she just didn’t like it. “Yes, of course.”
“It will be best if she meditates before she comes here,” Olennika said as Jory returned with the coats. “She will be good for nothing but sleep when she gets home. Be here by the second hour of the morning,” she told Jory, then turned to answer an undercook’s question.
At Bancanor House, rather than leave the girls at the front door, Serg drove the sleigh into the courtyard next to the boat basin. A stablehand took charge of it and the horses as Daja, Jory, and Serg trudged into the house. Inside they found that supper had been served and cleared away. Daja and Jory went on to the book room, where Kol, Matazi, and Nia sat and read. Jory told them about Olennika: Matazi and Kol took the news well, though they exchanged a glance when Jory announced where her new lessons would be held.
Daja looked at the yawning Nia, then at the clock. “We need to do meditation,” she said.
“Now?” Jory whined. She glanced at her mother: Matazi raised both elegant eyebrows, a look that dared Jory to continue as she had started. Jory looked down.
“Now,” Daja said. She asked the twins’ parents, “It’s just an hour. Will you be awake?”
“Certainly,” Kol said. “I want to finish this book, and my womenfolk keep interrupting.”
“Papa!” Nia cried. Matazi gently kicked her husband.
Daja grinned and towed the girls out of the room. If she ever married, she hoped she would have as much fun at it as Kol and Matazi seemed to.
They returned to the schoolroom. Finding it dark, Daja went to one of the hall lamps, pinched off its flame, and carried it back to light the lamps. Next she drew her circle with her staff. Once that was done, the twins inside with her, she raised her protections to enclose them once more.
“Could you work magic without your staff?” Jory wanted to know when Daja finished.
“Mages always have staves in the stories,” added Nia. “Remember the story of Deliellen Stormwalker, raising her staff to part the waters of the Syth?”
“We could make it fashionable, perhaps.” Jory’s voice lacked confidence. “Slender, with a jewel for a knob, or ribbons tied to it.” She brightened. “We could learn to fight with them, like the apprentice boys do!”
“I don’t want to fight anybody,” protested Nia.
Daja leaned on her staff and waited for them to be quiet. Jory sighed. The twins took their seats on the floor. Only when they were ready did Daja take her own place, laying her staff on her crossed legs.
“No, you do not need a staff,” she informed them. “I carry one anyway, so I put it to use. Think, both of you! How many mages today did you see carrying staves?”
The twins hung their heads. “We didn’t realize,” Nia said sheepishly.
“Well, you’re mage-students now. You’d better start realizing. Enough. Close your eyes and breath. One …” She continued the count until they had the rhythm, then stopped counting aloud. Inside the heart of her own power she saw the ragged silver flares that shot away from each of the twins. They flickered more than they had the day before. Even yesterday’s spotty meditation had strengthened their uncontrolled power.
The moment Jory first shifted and opened her mouth, Daja poked her with her staff. Jory inhaled to speak again; Daja raised her brows. She hoped she said as much with the gesture as Matazi did. Jory looked at the floor with a scowl and took up the breathing again. Nia shook her head once, impatiently, but continued to breathe to the silent count.
When Jory inched an ankle out from under the opposite leg, Daja poked her. Jory scowled and bounced one knee impatiently. Daja poked her again.
“Stop it, Jory!” snapped Nia. “I’m trying to do this!”
“So am I!” Jory snapped back. “But it’s hard and it gives my legs cramps and I’m bored!”
“If you quit wanting exciting things to happen for long enough to really pay attention, you wouldn’t get bored!” retorted her twin.
Daja watched with interest. Only around outsiders did Nia huddle down like a mouse. It had taken her a week to get comfortable with Frostpine and Daja, while Jory had been in and out of their rooms not an hour after they’d arrived.
“I suppose you aren’t bored?” demanded Jory of Nia. “No, I’m not!” replied Nia. “Or I’m almost not, but I thought I felt something, and you ruined it!”
Now Daja poked both of them with her staff. When they turned accusing eyes on her, she said, “I can work a whole day with little sleep. Can you? Because the longer you fight, the longer we sit here.” Grumbling, the twins settled down, Jory sitting with her feet to one side, Nia cross-legged. They closed their eyes and began again. Daja fell into her own meditations, letting herself drift, free of thought. She set about housekeeping, collecting strands of magic that slipped from her central store, tidying up as she would tidy a forge at day’s end. Suddenly a light snore brought her to full attention. Both twins had gone to sleep.
Their day had been hard; Daja thought they all had done as well as they could. She nudged them awake with her staff and rubbed out part of her circle, gathering its magic back into her. “Meet me here, tomorrow morning, half an hour past dawn,” she said. “Before breakfast.”
“But if we did it tonight,” protested Nia, interrupting herself with a yawn.
“No,” Daja said firmly. “Tonight was fiddling and fussing. We didn’t get anything important done, not the way we need to do it. Here, tomorrow.”
“But skating …” Jory protested wearily.
Daja sighed. For a moment just that morning she’d felt as if she flew. “Meditation is more important right now,” she informed the twins. “You need to control your power. Meditation is the only way. Good night.”
She watched them stumble out of the schoolroom, frowning as she rubbed her brass mitt. She had more problems than just the cancellation of skating. This form of meditation wouldn’t serve for Jory. She was too active, too used to movement.
“You have two ways to make the deal,” Daja’s father had taught his children. Lessons in Trader ways were held on deck; they all worked at ship’s chores — mending fish nets, sewing canvas, winding rope, polishing brass — as they listened. “You can make it your way, proving to the customer you are wonderful, wise, powerful, and right. Then the customer either buys once and never again, or he doesn’t buy. Or you can invite the customer, hear his troubles, soothe his fears, show understanding, and he buys. Your way or his way. Your way, you feel superior all the way back to your clan’s house with a begging bowl in your hand. His way, and he brings his children to buy from you next time.”
She could force Jory to meditate in the way that would plainly work for Nia, the way that had worked for Daja and her three friends. If she kept to that, she might lose Jory by turning what should be the most comfortable way to manage her power into a chore. It would be like clipping a bird’s wings before she learned to fly.
She owed Jory better than that. She owed her own teachers better than that.
It suddenly occurred to her to wonder what projects Frostpine had set aside to teach her, when she walked into his forge. What important magics had Lark and Rosethorn put off, to watch over four very different young mages? And Niko, who had worked the most with their meditation, what had he given up? People had constantly mentioned their surprise that the rootless Niklaren Goldeye had spent four whole years in one place, after only staying a year in others. He’d given up four years, to ground Daja and her friends in their command over their power, and to teach Tris. None of them had ever questioned it.
So there was the lesson of mage-teachers, if Daja wanted to learn it. Teaching was more important than personal objectives. Teaching was a serious debt that could only be repaid by correct teaching of new mages.
Deep in thought, Daja blew out the lamps. Ther
e were other ways to meditate. Maybe it was time to try one of those.
About to enter her own room, she remembered that Kol and Matazi wanted to talk with her. Still thinking, Daja went downstairs.
“Sit,” Matazi ordered when she joined them. “You look exhausted. Here.” She poured Daja some tea.
Kol put aside his book and leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees. “How safe is Potcracker’s kitchen?”
“It’s not actually in the slums,” Daja said, sitting back in her chair. “It’s part of the hospital, with a log wall between it and the Bog itself. I saw lawkeepers everywhere, and there are wards and spells laid all over the place for safety, good ones.”
“I know the hospital,” Matazi said. “We contribute to it. Potcracker has a tremendous reputation. I’d just always heard she didn’t take students.”
But she did when faced with one, Daja realized. Just like Frostpine and Niko and Lark and Rosethorn. “I like this Olennika,” she told the Bancanors. “If she agrees to keep Jory, I think it will be very good.” Daja hesitated, then decided to be honest. “Jory surprised me. Olennika didn’t make any bones about it, Jory will work hard, not at wonderful, wizardly things, but at plain cooking. And Jory didn’t flinch. I think better of her for it, though I have to take some of that good feeling off for her dropping Potcracker on me at the last minute after we’d been all over town.”
“What about this Oakborn fellow?” Kol inquired. “Nia’s teacher?”
Again Daja had to think. The answer she came to was the one she owed to these people. “I’m not sure. She’s shy, and he doesn’t like wealthy people. If she was to study directly with him, I would have said no. I doubt he’s patient. But Camoc’s placing her with his senior student, Arnen. He may be all right.”
“Will you keep an eye on Nia?” asked Matazi, putting her hand on Daja’s. “I called her little Shadow, before she became a young lady and too dignified for such things. She’ll hide in the shadows and not say a peep if something bothers her.”
“I’ll keep watch,” Daja promised. “I’m still their meditation teacher, for one thing.” In response to their curious looks she explained, “Both Camoc and Olennika have huge shops — plenty of noise and distractions. I don’t know how they think straight in all that. They asked if I’d keep with the twins on meditation, and I agreed.”
“We can find someone else,” Kol suggested. “You’re our guest, not the girls’ tutor.”
Daja could still get out of it, keep her time all to herself … no. Her teachers had not shirked their duty to new mages, and neither must she. And she owed the twins a personal debt for their skating lessons; she had to repay that to balance the books. She cupped her hand over her mouth to hide a yawn. Tea or no, she was nearly asleep on her feet. “No, I discovered them, they’re my responsibility. Besides, I’m not going anywhere before spring.” She fought another yawn and got to her feet. “Forgive me. I’m tired.”
Kol and Matazi stood when she did, and offered their hands. Daja looked at those outstretched palms, then at the owners, confused. Kol said, “We owe you more than we can say. You found something in our girls everyone else missed, something that could have made them unhappy.”
“We know it’s work for you, and you have your own studies,” Matazi added. “If we can ever thank you propearly …”
Daja felt ashamed that she had ever resented her obligation to Nia and Jory. This whole family had taken her in as if she shared their blood. They gave freely; she must do the same. She clasped each offered hand. “See if you feel that way come spring, after a winter together.” She returned the pressure of their fingers and released them, touched by their thanks.
Before she went to bed, Daja wrote a note and left it for a servant to carry to Ladradun House in the morning. The next day she was to work iron with the smith Teraud. If she finished early enough, she wanted to start fitting Ben for those gloves.
The First Dedicate of the Fire temple, the temple of justice, law, and combat, was a weathered, lean white man with short red hair that stuck out at all angles, and a short red beard. He had a way of talking that sounded like a shower of nails being poured into a metal bucket. Once a general, he’d taken the name Skyfire when he dedicated himself to the temple. That night Daja dreamed about Sky-fire’s form of meditation. In her dream she was back in the practice yard used by the Fire temple’s warriors. The day was summery, the yard so dry that dust rose like smoke from the ground and from the practice clothes of everyone present.
Daja panted as she circled Dedicate Skyfire, her staff in her hands. He was old, but he was quicker than eels. She hurt all over from the quick punishing raps he gave her when he thought her attention had strayed. “Stop waiting for me to strike here or there,” he barked. His dark blue eyes blazed through the coat of dust on his face. Sweat tracks marked it like a tribal mask, even in his short red beard. “Stop trying to think. Don’t expect anything — expect everything. Be open to its approach! Empty your head, or I’ll crack it so the thoughts run out. You aren’t a girl, with a staff, on two legs, any more than I am a creaky old man who shouldn’t be able to touch you. I can’t touch movement. Be movement. Be air. Be nothing.”
He lunged. Daja blinked, half-hypnotized by his words, half in the quiet place she found when meditating. She blocked him and waited for his next try. He moved. She stayed as she was and waited to hear what came next. After five minutes of hard work when he scored few touches, he called a halt.
“But this is meditating, only we’re moving,” she panted, bracing her hands on her knees. She felt wonderful.
“That’s all it should be. I never could sit on my behind and count myself silly,” Skyfire replied breathlessly. “I meditate this way.”
The dream was with her when she opened her eyes. She was smiling. Her classes with Skyfire after that day had been very different. She thought Jory would like the tough old man.
Daja rolled stiffly out of bed — she would have to find another time to skate if they were to meditate at this hour — cleaned up, and dressed. She had seen wooden poles in a room off the passage between the stables and the pantry. Taking the back stairs, she bypassed the kitchen — she hated to see a kitchen dark and fireless. A little exploration brought her to the room where old chairs, tables, and other things were stored in case of need.
The poles were stacked in a corner. They were smooth stakes about five feet long, probably used to replace handles in mops and brooms when the old ones wore out. All were smoothed down, so she didn’t have to worry about splinters; all were made of sound wood, so she didn’t have to worry about them breaking in mid-strike. They were absurdly light after her own staff, but her own comfort was not the point.
Daja had chosen three when she heard a woman scream. She dropped her poles and headed toward the screams at a dead run, imagining fire, assassins, rats …
She burst into the kitchen. Anyussa the cook and Varesha the housekeeper, half-dressed, arrived from the servants’ quarters as she did. A maid cowered against one of the long tables, still screaming. As Varesha and Anyussa converged on her, she pointed at the great fireplace, burst into tears, and hid her face in her hands.
Daja had been wrong to expect a cold and lifeless kitchen. The sheer size of the fire that roared in the hearth told her it had burned long enough to make the room deliciously warm. At the heart of the blaze sat Frostpine, his back to the room, legs crossed, hands palm-up on his knees, eyes closed. He was so deep in meditation that he hadn’t even heard the maid’s screams. His masses of hair and beard fluttered in the flames’ caress. His clothes for the day were neatly folded on a stool placed beside the hearth.
Daja’s mouth twitched.
Noise made her turn. More people had reached the kitchen, most still wearing night clothes. Anyussa and the housekeeper, standing with the hysterical maid between them, drew close to stare. Jory and Nia must have galloped down from the third floor. They peered around the maids, eyes wide. Footmen arrived in nightsh
irts, demanding to know what the fuss was about.
Daja’s mouth twitched again. She sternly forbade herself to smile and walked over to the hearth. She wasn’t sure if her shirt was one of Sandry’s. To be safe — she thought one naked mage was all this household could stand — she put her hands palm to palm, and pulled them apart. The flames between her and Frostpine split neatly. Leaning in, she laid her palm on his shoulder. Through their common magic she said, Come back.
Frostpine twisted to glare at her. “What?” he demanded. “Can’t a man meditate?”
“I thought you did that in your room,” she said. “Frost-pine, you’re naked.”
“Naked and warm,” he said with a scowl. He hitched himself around until he faced Daja, doing it so expertly that he hardly disturbed the wood stacked around him. “I can’t get a decent fire going up there, the hearth’s too small. I thought I’d do everyone a favor and start the fire here.”
“Did you tell anyone?” Daja inquired.
“I meant to be gone by the time —” Frostpine looked past Daja to see his wide-eyed audience. “Hakkoi and Shurri,” he grumbled. “I just wanted to get warm.”
“Why didn’t you put up a folding screen? Or let someone know?” Daja asked. “Then maybe the whole house would still be asleep right now.”
“You’d think they never saw a naked man before,” Frost-pine grumbled. He crouched, then stepped carefully out of the blaze without scattering wood or ashes. He then used a poker to shove the burning wood in until it covered the place where he’d sat. Once done, he set the poker aside and began to dress.
The maid was still sobbing. Other servants were backing out of the kitchen. This wasn’t the magecraft they knew, a matter of potions, signs, and charms. They were unnerved. Only Anyussa was unshaken. She looked Frostpine over, hands on hips, a crooked smile on her lips. “My cousin says mages are eunuchs. I wish he were here right now. Do you want breakfast?” she asked Frostpine as he put on his habit.
He grinned. “I’m ravenous,” he admitted. “And for the first time since I came here I feel warm.”