The next day the four and Gudruny moved to the imperial palace. Footmen raced ahead of them to let the palace staff know they had arrived. More footmen took charge of their horses and their belongings, vanishing down a side road with them. Briar was prepared to fight over the handling of his own shakkan and the ones he’d bought for the empress, but when two of the footmen showed themselves adept at handling both plants and crockery, he had let them take over.
A very superior footman led them to the first story in the northwest wing. He bowed Sandry into one suite near the intersection with the palace’s north wing, and Tris into the other. With a sugary smile he led Daja to a suite halfway down the same hall. Briar he showed to rooms at the very end that looked out over the formal flower gardens.
Tris, Daja, and Briar soon discovered they had also been assigned maids to look after them. “At least they don’t sleep in our rooms,” Tris grumbled when they met at mid-hall to compare situations.
“You don’t have to worry about her snooping in your mage kit, unless you want her to brush your hair,” retorted Briar.
Tris grimaced. “Please! I can brush my own hair, thank you all the same!” She smiled. “And it would be a fatal exercise if anyone else tried,” she admitted slyly. “I need special brushes and combs to manage it, myself.”
“I just told mine that she’d best tell me now where her family is, so if she meddles with my kit, I know where to send the body,” remarked Daja. “She squeaked. I think my kit’s safe.”
Sandry would have argued at the imposition of two more maids and two footmen to wait upon her, but Gudruny gently urged her young mistress to see the dresses she’d laid out for the welcoming party that night. Once Sandry was in the bedroom inspecting the clothes, Gudruny closed the door.
“Please, my lady, they’re already sneering at me and saying I can’t be very good, if I haven’t taught you what’s due to your station,” she explained. “With more servants to direct, I grow more important in the servants’ areas. Then they’ll all serve us as they should. It may sound like little things to you, but one of those little things is your bath water. We’d both like it to be hot when it gets here. Servants are far more snobbish than nobles.”
Sandry gazed at her sidelong. Gudruny got nervous if Sandry looked her in the eyes: It was yet another of the many things that meant trouble between nobles and commoners in Namorn. “This isn’t a story you’re telling me?”
Gudruny shook her head. “I tried to warn you back home, but it was all I could do to get you to take my service,” she reminded Sandry. “You’re going back south soon enough. Surely you can afford to play by their rules until then.”
Sandry slumped. “Very well, Gudruny. They can stay. Happy?” She was trying to decide between a blush pink overgown or a pale blue one when she realized that Gudruny looked uncomfortable. “What?” Sandry wanted to know.
“Well, begging my lady’s pardon, but there’s the matter of the hairdresser,” Gudruny explained. “He’s agreed to fit you in after midday. He dresses most of the ladies-in-waiting’s hair, and we were lucky that he agreed to see you. I believe the empress herself had a word with him.”
With a loud groan, Sandry collapsed onto a chair.
Tris waited until after her new maid had taken away the remains of her midday to explore her new chambers thoroughly. Much to her surprise, Tris noticed the history of Namorn she had found that first day in the palace was placed beside her bed. In fact, someone had taken the small blue-and-gold dressing room that Tris would never use and turned it into a library, stuffed with books on Namornese history, wildlife, crafts, religions, magic, and languages. Fascinated, Tris plopped into an armchair and began to read as Chime soared around the much-carved and painted chambers, exploring moldings and hanging lamps. She had just returned to curl up on Tris’s lap when someone knocked on the door.
Tris opened it to find Ishabal there. “I thought we might talk,” the older mage said. “May I enter?”
Tris let the imperial mage in. Closing the door, she asked, “Were you the one who picked out the books?”
“I directed one of the imperial librarians to select what might interest a learned stranger,” Ishabal replied. “I take it she chose well?”
“Please be seated,” Tris replied instead of answering the question. She returned to her own chair as Ishabal took the seat.
“What was found for you in no way represents the total of books on those subjects,” Ishabal pointed out. “The imperial libraries are vast. If you were to choose to serve Her Imperial Majesty, you would have the key to such libraries. Moreover, you would have the wealth to create a proper library of your own.”
If Tris was greedy for anything, it was books. Her sisters and brother had learned early on that her personal books were not to be touched without permission, and handled carefully with it. For a moment she had a vision of a two-story room with books on shelves that reached to the ceiling, all filled with volumes on anything that did or might interest her. It’s certainly possible, she mused. I doubt Berenene is stingy with her mages—not the way Quenaill and Ishabal dress. Simple, but elegant, and costly.
“Her Imperial Majesty wishes to employ me as a war mage.” Tris said it flatly. She had been approached with offers of work before, all of them with the same price attached. Why do they always assume a lightning mage wants to kill people? she wondered tiredly.
“Actually, she would like to offer you employment as anything you choose,” replied Ishabal smoothly. “On the Syth, the ability to banish storms is always in great demand. Moreover, we have reports that you have been able to create rain—”
“Not create it,” Tris interrupted. “I don’t create weather. I draw it from someplace else.”
“Very well. The empire is vast, as your books will tell you. It is always raining somewhere,” Ishabal said evenly. “You could draw rain to those places who need it. You could give winds to becalmed ships here and on our coast on the Endless Sea. Your value to the imperial crown is endless, Tris. Her Imperial Majesty is a gracious employer who rewards good service, and she does not overwork her mages. You would have time for your own projects.”
Tris removed her spectacles and rubbed the dent they always left in the top of her long nose. Even if they don’t say they want war magic, they usually do, she thought. If they know you can do it, they always end up wanting it. I certainly got asked for it often enough, traveling with Niko. Even when they start out nicely, it always comes down to “Kill people for me.”
“I am flattered, of course,” she replied, her voice quiet and polite. Three years earlier she might have been cruder, but she had learned a few things. Nowadays she always thought before she spoke in these situations. “Deeply flattered. Might I have time to consider this?”
Ishabal inspected her nails. When she looked up, she met Tris’s eyes and said in a business-like tone, “Five hundred gold argibs the first year. Your own rooms here in the palace, your own horses and maid. Your health is tended by imperial healers without charge. Materials for your magic and research are supplied free of cost, within reason. I determine what is reasonable, not a Privy Purse clerk who doesn’t understand mage work.”
Mila bless me, thought Tris, rattled despite her resolve. The offer was ferociously generous.
Her practical self gripped her greedy self by the ear. It always comes back to war magic, and I want to go to Lightsbridge! she told herself firmly.
No need to rush or offend anyone, not if I’m stuck here for at least another month, Tris told herself. “I must think it over, please,” she said. “You must understand how overwhelming this is, for someone like me.”
“Of course,” Ishabal replied, getting to her feet. “You are wise to think about it. But Her Imperial Majesty also wishes you to know she sees your worth. She values it.”
Tris got up and nodded. “I am greatly honored. Please thank her for me.”
She saw Ishabal to the door and let her out, then closed it behind her. I am
not going to think about the money, or the funds, or the healers, she told herself, biting her lip. I want to go to Lightsbridge. She turned the key in the lock. And I won’t do battle magic. Ever.
She was settling into her chair when someone rapped hard on the door. She had locked out the maid.
They all gathered in Sandry’s rooms before the welcoming party so that Sandry could inspect them. Briar wore his favorite deep green tunic and breeches with a perfect white shirt, Tris a vivid blue undergown and sheer black overgown in the Namornese style. Daja was glorious in a bronze silk tunic that hung to her knees and leggings of the same color, the tunic heavy with intricate gold embroideries. Sandry had chosen an undergown of pale blue and a white lace overgown, with blue topazes winking at her ears and around her neck. She smiled at her family.
Gudruny sighed, looking at them. “If clothes were armor, you would be defended against all your enemies,” she said. “And you’ve your wits, too—that’s something.”
“Splendid,” said Briar drily. “I now feel suitably armed for a swim in a tub of molasses.”
“She’s just being cautious—that’s Gudruny’s way,” Sandry told him. “And you do look fine.” She smoothed away a wrinkle in Tris’s overgown. “Definitely a match for all these Bags.”
Briar grinned at her use of slang. Bowing, he offered her his arm. “May I?” he asked gallantly. “At least, until one of those Bag boys tears you away from me?”
Sandry laughed. “There isn’t a man here who could do that for more than an hour.”
“Are you sure?” asked Briar, raising an eyebrow. “Nobody?”
Sandry blushed slightly, but said firmly, “Nobody.”
One of Sandry’s new footmen led them to the Moonlight Hall, where the party was being held. As they entered the room, Briar said, “Well, I mean to tear myself away from you a bit tonight. That Caidy just might get herself kissed, if she’s lucky.”
“And more if she’s unlucky?” Daja asked.
“No girl who draws my eye is ever unlucky,” Briar assured her solemnly. “How could she be?”
“It’s a good thing we know you’re not really this conceited, or we’d have to take you down a peg or twelve,” murmured Tris. “Shurri bless me, this room is packed.”
“Don’t run away too soon,” Sandry pleaded, looking over her shoulder at Tris. “I know you hate parties, but please stay with me. You can glare all the idiots away, since Briar’s leaving me forlorn on the sidelines.”
Though Tris consented to keep her company, Sandry did not remain on the sidelines for long. Fin was the first to claim a dance when the musicians began to play, followed by Jak, Ambros, and Quen.
After Quen handed Sandry off to Shan, he chose to sink into a chair beside Tris. “Hello, Red. You’d like Imperial Service,” Quen said abruptly, his eyes smiling at her. “Her Imperial Majesty understands the value of research.”
“Does everyone know she’s asked me?” Tris inquired. “Let me think about it!”
“Just Isha and I know. Very well, I won’t pester you. Do you know why Shan waited till now to ask Clehame Sandry to dance? Berenene left the room to attend to some reports.” When Tris glanced at the empty throne, then looked at him, Quen shrugged. “She wouldn’t be at all happy to see her current lover paying court to Sandry.”
Tris fingered one of her free braids. “So that’s how things stand,” she murmured.
“For now,” Quen replied. He reached out a long arm and snagged a glass of wine for himself and a cup of cherry juice for Tris. He handed her the juice, saying, “I noticed that you four are the kind of mages who don’t drink spirits. As for Shan—Berenene’s moods change. Her lovers change.”
“And I suppose you’ll tell her, to help her mood change?” Tris asked, sipping her juice.
Quen chuckled. “No. She doesn’t like tattletales, either.” He grimaced and drained his glass. “She really doesn’t like them. But she’s no fool. She’ll learn about Shan’s little game soon enough.” He handed his glass to another servant. “So tell me, what’s Niklaren Goldeye like outside a classroom? I took one of his courses when I was at Lightsbridge. Every day I came out of one of his lectures, I felt like my brain was overstuffed.”
Tris cackled with glee. “That’s Niko, all right,” she told him. “I thought my brain would explode for that first year.”
As Tris and Quen talked about Niko, and then Lightsbridge, Daja watched the dancing from a seat next to Rizu. Sooner or later all of the younger courtiers came to sit around them, leaving and returning to dance or to nibble and drink as servants loaded the tables at the far end of the silver-gilded room. Daja relaxed, feeling more comfortable in this gathering than she had expected to. She wasn’t hungry, and limited her drinking to the fruit juice that was served along with the wine.
Finally Rizu patted her face with a lace-edged handkerchief. “I am suffocating,” she whispered to Daja. “Let’s go cool off.”
Daja was happy to go. The room was full of people who danced and sweated, while the many candles that lit the room made it even hotter. Though heat didn’t bother her, she would welcome a breath of fresher air. She followed Rizu out, winding through clusters of courtiers, until they passed through one of the double doors to the terrace. There they leaned against a broad stone rail in the shadows. Daja lifted her heavy weight of beaded braids to let the cool night breeze flow across her neck.
“Are all the parties here so, so populated?” she asked Rizu.
Her companion laughed. “This is an intimate gathering,” she informed Daja. “Wait till two weeks from now, with the banquet and ball for the ambassador from Lairan. Then all the old nobility will totter in, and the people who don’t really approve of the way Her Imperial Majesty lives her life, though they do approve of the peace and prosperity she brings. And then there will be all the other ambassadors…” Her full mouth widened in a brilliant smile. “Except perhaps the Yanjing ambassador, who may be feeling ill by then.”
Daja smiled, briefly remembering Sandry’s first maneuver before the empress. At the same time, seeing the way the light struck Rizu’s curly lashes, casting their shadow over her eyes, she thought, She’s so beautiful. The question burst out of her before she realized it: “Why aren’t you dancing? You haven’t danced all night. And nobody’s asked you, even though you’re almost as beautiful as the empress.”
Rizu smiled. “You think so, truly?”
Daja opened her lips to say that of course she thought so, but she didn’t get to speak. Instead, Rizu leaned over and kissed her softly, gently, on the mouth.
After a moment, she pulled away. There was a look of worry in her eyes. Her hands were fisted in her skirts.
“Oh,” said Daja when she remembered how to talk. She felt as if the sun had just catapulted into her mind. Dazzled with what it showed her, she realized also, Rizu’s afraid. She’s had enough people tell her no that she’s not sure…
Strictly to make Rizu feel better, certainly not because she wanted more of that sunlight spilling into her heart and mind, Daja leaned over and kissed Rizu’s mouth all on her own. Then, rather than ruin the quiet between them, Rizu took Daja’s hand and led her into the palace by a door that did not open into the Moonlight Hall.
“I’m serious—stop laughing!” murmured Fin as he twirled Sandry around in the dance figure called “the Rose.” “Just the two of us, with your maid for chaperone, tomorrow or the next day. There’s a cove down on the Syth where the pools are inlaid with semiprecious stone. It’s exquisite. You’ll be enchanted.”
“But I don’t know you well enough, Fin,” Sandry replied in her lightest tone. “What if a strong fellow like you were to kidnap me and try to make me sign that marriage contract I keep hearing about?” She batted her eyelashes at him, as if she didn’t really believe he might try that. The truth was that once she knew it was possible, she suspected the men that Berenene had assigned to court her most of all. As far as Sandry knew, they could have orders to marry her by
summer’s end, one way or another.
“But you’re a mage,” he coaxed, leading her in a circle with the other dancers. “And kin to Her Imperial Majesty. You—”
A surge of emotion—tenderness, shock, heat that flooded her veins and made her muscles loose—struck Sandry like a wave, making her sway. At a distance, as if she were someone else, she felt lips touch hers in a kiss, and she kissed back.
Oh my, she thought, very severely rattled. Daja and, and Rizu.
She grabbed Fin by both arms, partly to steady herself, partly to make her story convincing. “I’m sorry,” she said. She flashed a smile at her fellow dancers and spoke a little more loudly. “It’s very warm in here, isn’t it?” Hurriedly she threw up a barrier on her connection to Daja, who was following Rizu giddily. “I’m sorry, I really must sit down.”
A lady’s wish was a command at a dance. Fin guided Sandry to a chair. “May I get you something cool?” he asked, concerned, as she located her fan.
“Shaved ice would be wonderful, thank you,” she said. She waved the fan hurriedly, trying to cool the scarlet blush she felt rising on her cheeks. Once he was gone and she didn’t have to work to talk to him, she put up more blocks on her connection to her sister, trying to keep it open without knowing anything of what Daja was up to now. Only when she had reduced it to the merest thread did she lean back in her chair and close her eyes.
I don’t think she knew, thought Sandry. Or if she did, she thought she was more like Rosethorn, interested in women and men. I know she’s mentioned boys, once or twice, but never girls. Thinking of Rizu, Sandry added, Or women.