Tris sighed and patted Daja’s heaving back. At least she didn’t laugh at you when she found out how you felt, she remarked. At least she didn’t turn you into a joke for her friends. And she told you something about yourself you really ought to know: that you’re beautiful, and worth loving. Even for just a summer.
All the boys I went with in Summersea after we came back from Kugisko said I was cold, Daja replied wearily. I didn’t like kissing them. It was nothing special, like all the books say love is. Then, when I liked kissing Rizu…it was such a blessing. I’m not cold. I was just kissing the wrong people. Even living with Lark and Rosethorn, I never thought that maybe I should try kissing girls. None of them drew me. Have you ever…?
Tris shook her head. No interest, she explained. And the boys don’t want to kiss a fat girl like me. They’re also scared of me. That doesn’t help.
They sat in silence for a long time, Tris simply rubbing Daja’s shoulders. Finally Daja pushed herself up and turned over to sit on the bed. “They made a joke of you?” she asked roughly, and blew her nose.
“Twice,” Tris answered softly. “After that, I tried not to let boys know when I liked them. One time the boy set up a meeting in a garden. Then he and his friends dumped honey on me. They told me even a gallon of honey wasn’t enough sweets to satisfy a tub like me.”
“Miserable dung-grubbing pavao,” whispered Daja. “Did you…lose control?”
“I called the rain,” replied Tris. “To get the honey off me. All right. To run them off, too. But I’ve been trying to be good about it. About the weather.”
“And the other boy?” asked Daja, getting up to splash water on her face.
“They made fun of him until he came to hate me,” Tris said with a shrug. “At least both times we left the towns, eventually.” She could feel the heat in her face. If there had been light in here, Daja would have seen her humiliated blush. “I dove into my studies after that and tried not to notice any boys. Most of them just aren’t like Briar, you know. He’ll drive you to commit murder, but the only part of him that’s hidden is the good part. And he isn’t nasty to any female, have you noticed? Not to the little farm children or the old grannies who want to tell him how beautiful they were in their prime.”
“That’s because he knows Rosethorn would pull him out by the roots and throw him on the compost heap if he was,” Daja said. Both girls looked at each other and giggled softly at the image of Briar thrown out with the rotten leaves of cabbage and the heaps of dead weeds.
When they had quieted, Daja suddenly kissed Tris on the cheek. “I had forgotten that Sandry wasn’t my only saati,” she whispered. “Thank you.”
“Don’t go telling people,” Tris fussed. “I have a reputation to protect.” She slid off the bed. “I am sorry about Rizu, Daja.”
Daja sniffled, and blew her nose again. “I think it will probably hurt for a while,” she said. “I felt so free when I was with her.” She shook the wrinkles from her clothes. Obedient as always to Sandry’s wishes, the garments went as smooth as if Daja had never lain on them. “I’ll talk to Zhegorz. I wish he wouldn’t take things so literally, but then, he is mad. Isn’t he?”
“I think he’ll always be somewhat mad, yes,” Tris replied, following her down the gallery. “But he’s somewhat on the mend.”
They were all sitting down to a strained dinner when Zhegorz sat bolt upright. “A man with a blade,” he said, eyes wide. “In the house!”
Briar and the girls scrambled to their feet as a footman darted in from the kitchen, panic in his eyes. “My lady, my lord, he came through the servants’ gate,” he cried. “Forgive me, but the guard just stepped away!” There was a sword at his back, with Jak gripping the hilt. Briar readied his magic, as did his sisters; from the corner of his eye Briar saw Zhegorz grab a silver pitcher for use as a weapon.
“You dare,” cried Sandry. “You—”
Jak sheathed the sword and raised his hands. “I’m sorry, but I had to see you, and it’s not like you’re opening the door to callers,” he said, his eyes on Sandry. “I just wanted you to know I had no part in what Fin did. I’ll have no part in anything else of the kind. I swear it by Vrohain the Judge, may he cut off my hands if I lie.”
They all watched him for a moment. Then the tension in the room eased. Briar sat down and applied himself to his meal once more. If Jak wasn’t a threat, Briar wasn’t about to let his food get cold.
“Why?” Sandry demanded, quivering as if she might yet flee him. “Why do you have such a distaste for it, when so many other men do not?”
Ambros cleared his throat. “You judge us all by the actions of a few, Cousin.”
Sandry made a face. “I’m sorry, Ambros,” she apologized, her voice still raspy. “I’m overwrought, I suppose.”
Ealaga sighed. “Really, my dear husband, for a man who is so clever, you can be so shortsighted,” she said with unhappy patience. “What else is she supposed to do, when any unmarried woman of western Namorn must live her life and judge all men by those few who have successfully stolen women away? Each time a man succeeds, we place our daughters and our sisters under new safeguards. We put their lives under new restrictions. We give them new signs that a man in whose company they find themselves might plan to kidnap them. Don’t we teach our women to view all men according to the actions of a few?”
Ambros stared at his wife, speechless.
Ouch, thought Briar, finishing his sturgeon. That’s got him where he sits. I wonder if it will make him a little more angry about this precious custom he’s lived with?
Ealaga beckoned to a maid and the footman who had announced Jak, and murmured instructions. The maid hurried from the room; the footman brought a chair from against the wall and set it at the table between Ambros and Daja. “And I’m one of the ones who gets to live with what those few have done.” Jak looked at Ealaga. “You remember, don’t you? My mother’s best friend?”
Briar saw a shadow cross Ealaga’s face. “I certainly do. She killed herself rather than live with the man who stole her.”
Jak looked at Sandry and shrugged. “My mother told me the story all my life. She made me swear never to insult a good woman in such a way, and to protect any women in my care who were trapped in that situation. You’re a lovely girl, Sandry, even if you aren’t exactly broken to bridle—”
Briar choked on a mouthful, thinking, Someone else isn’t falling all over her Clehameness! Sandry glared at him.
“But I won’t break my vow to my mother,” Jak continued, “not for all the fortune in the world. You can’t judge all Namorn by the imperial court, Sandry. I feel like you haven’t given us a chance.”
Sandry looked down at her lap. For a very long moment she said nothing. Finally she replied softly, “Probably I haven’t. But as long as I am who I am, I don’t think your court will give me a chance, either.”
Makes sense, Briar thought. And she’s got a point. They all wanted to be her friend without even knowing who she is.
Daja inched her chair over, leaving room for Jak to take the empty seat as the maid returned with place settings so he could join them for their meal. As the footman filled Jak’s wine glass, the young nobleman looked at Sandry. “This is also me saying good-bye for a while. I’m in disgrace with Her Imperial Majesty, so I’m on my way back to my family’s lands.”
Ealaga gasped. Briar grinned. Somehow, he wasn’t surprised. I bet he was supposed to try grabbing Sandry if she wouldn’t say yes to a normal proposal, he thought. “You’ve been a bad lad?” he asked.
Jak grinned. “Until one of her hunting dogs takes sick again, or one of her old great-aunts descends on the palace for a visit. Then she’ll remember I have my uses.” He winked at Sandry. “I’m very good with crotchety ladies, old and young.”
Sandry sat bolt upright, glaring at him, then seemed to remember where she had left her sense of humor. She began to giggle.
“Oh, good,” said Jak, applying himself with gusto to his vea
l with caviar. “I was afraid that pinecone you’ve been sitting on so righteously was dug in permanently.”
“Jak!” cried Ealaga, shocked. Ambros and Daja groaned. Tris shook her head over this unexpected side to the nobleman, while Briar cackled wickedly. Glancing at Sandry, he thought to her, Nice to see someone who will say what he thinks straight out.
She made a rude gesture in reply.
You never learned that from the duke, Briar told her. You learned that one from me. “I’ll have to remember that pinecone,” he said to Jak. “Every time she loses it, you think life is safe, and then she finds it again.”
Sandry threw a roll at him and looked at Jak. “You’ve never been like this before,” she accused.
Jak cut another bite of veal. “See, I’m off my leash. I don’t have to worry about pleasing you or the empress.”
“So why don’t you leave?” asked Briar, curious. “If it’s that much of a pain?”
“Because I like being useful,” Jak replied. “Don’t you?”
The evening took a lighter turn after that. They lingered at the table, talking long after the last crumbs of their fruit and cheese were gone. Then they went to the sitting room to play games, tell stories, and nibble on cakes for tea. Even Daja stayed and seemed at least to be happy for something to take her mind off Rizu. At last Jak said good-bye in the front hallway and went on his way.
Sandry sighed as the door closed behind him. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to know him better now,” she told the rest of them. “Maybe I would have liked him enough to stay—but I couldn’t. Not and leave Uncle without someone to look after him properly.”
“We’re hardly going to talk you out of that,” Briar said. “We all like the old man. And he doesn’t play games with his people.”
“It sounds wonderful,” Ealaga told them wistfully. “But Her Imperial Majesty really has done so much good for the empire.”
“And she’s done it without me,” Sandry replied. “As soon as I’m gone, she can get back to her real work. She’ll hardly know I’m gone.”
Tris thought that Berenene would remember Sandry for quite some time, but she also thought that another yawn like the one that had just overtaken her might split her jaws apart. “I’m for bed,” she said drowsily. “Good night, everyone.”
She climbed up the staircase, Chime flying in loose circles over her head. It was time for the nightly battle she always fought when she shared sleeping quarters with Chime. Who knew so much space could be taken up by a small glass dragon? she asked herself for the thousandth time. She just sprawls somehow, and manages to fill any bed or bedroll I want to sleep in…
Just before she reached the top step, Tris felt something, though she could not be sure what it was. A cold pocket of air? she wondered. Slimy cold air, if there’s such a thing?
It was her last coherent thought before her foot slipped.
Tris fought to turn and fall the way her teachers in hand-to-hand combat had taught her, but some other force yanked both of her feet high in the air. She did not simply fall. With Chime’s screams like scraped crystal in her ears, Tris cartwheeled and bounced down the long stair, hitting every hard step with what felt like a different part of her body.
17
While servants ran for the best healer in the district, Sandry requested, and got, a heavy sheet of canvas. She spread it out next to Tris, struggling not to look at her sister’s contorted body. I’ll just cry if I do, and if I cry, I’m no good to anyone, she told herself, smoothing the canvas over and over. She looked around. “Briar?” she asked, her voice still rasping.
“Right here.” He had come to stand on Tris’s other side, knowing without asking what she needed from him. Together, using their power as carefully as they had ever done, Sandry and Briar worked with the hemp cloth, wriggling it very carefully under the unconscious Tris. All of their concentration was on getting the cloth in place without causing her more pain. By the time it was under her, the healer and her two assistants had come. The woman nodded in approval of their work, then stepped back. The assistants let their magic flow out to grip the makeshift stretcher. Gently they raised it and floated Tris upstairs.
Sandry trotted after them. “She’s a mage, she’s a mage with weather, her hair is her mage kit,” she explained breathlessly, frightened for Tris. “Chime, go to Briar, you can’t help her. Chime, I mean it! Don’t make me use magic on you!” When Chime reluctantly changed course and flew back downstairs to Briar, Sandry babbled on: “Please, whatever you do, Viymeses, Viynain, don’t undo Tris’s braids or you’ll release something. I think they’re spelled so only she can untie them—”
They had gone into Tris’s room. Now the healer turned back, her finger to her lips. “We will tend to her. Thank you for the information about her power, and her braids. Now let us do our work.” She closed the door in Sandry’s face.
Briar and Daja came up the stairs at a slower pace, Briar with Chime on his shoulder. Once the door was closed, the only signs of life inside came when the assistants popped in and out with requests for hot water, cloths, tea, and the like. Sandry, Daja, and Briar sat on the floor out of the assistants’ way, Sandry with Chime in her lap, Daja and Briar leaning against each other.
Ambros and Ealaga had stayed below to settle the household and to bring in a mage to see what had made Tris fall so spectacularly. When they finally came upstairs, Ealaga ordered a footman to bring chairs for everyone. She and Ambros took their own seats, waiting for news, while the three young mages lurched to their feet to sit in a more dignified way.
After half an hour’s silence, Briar announced, “We can see magic, you know. There was no need to call an outsider in. There wasn’t a spell on the steps.”
“Have you studied curses?” Ambros asked quietly.
“Just the usual stuff, no specialization,” whispered Daja. “They’re disgusting.”
“Yes, but some people here use them.” Ealaga said. “A very few are so good that they can place a curse in a hidden place, where even those who see magic won’t see it. There it remains until it’s called to life. Then it will seek out its target.” She looked at her hands. “Ishabal Ladyhammer is said—in whispers, you understand—to be able to wield curses without detection. Subtle curses. Ones that seem like accidents.”
“But then every time there is a household accident, people could well think they had drawn the wrath of the empress,” protested Sandry. “You would follow that road to madness!”
“Or to very well-behaved citizens,” Daja murmured.
“It was an accident,” Sandry insisted, her face white. Did I bring this on Tris? she asked herself. Is she hurt now because I couldn’t be a good girl and simply wait out the summer to go home?
“When I fall on stairs, I land on my knees or my back or my side,” Briar said hesitantly. “If I’m on my side: I roll, if I’m on my back, I slide. On my knees sometimes, I slide down a little.” Briar traced a vine on the back of one hand, his voice muffled. “I never cartwheeled. I never bounced. She couldn’t even grab hold of the rails—did you see? But she was taught how to fall, same as the rest of us. She can twirl a mean staff, she can kick a fellow’s”—he looked at Ealaga and changed what he was about to say—“teeth up between his ears, and she can fall properly, so she doesn’t hit anything important. So she can stop herself and get back on her feet. Except here she just kept going.”
“They hope if she stays behind, they can persuade her that her interests are better served in Namorn?” suggested Ambros. “What she can do—it is so very overwhelming. To manipulate the weather itself…”
“But if this is a curse from Ishabal, and Tris finds out, I wouldn’t want to be in her shoes,” pointed out Daja. “Trader log it, I wouldn’t want to be near her. Tris certainly won’t be hoping to work for the crown!”
Sandry nibbled her thumbnail, considering what Ambros had said. “She’s the most fearsome of us, on the surface of things,” she commented slowly. “What if they just did
n’t want her going with us?”
Briar shrugged. “Easiest solved. We don’t leave without her.”
Sandry agreed, but her skin crept at the same time. Tris’s injuries weren’t as simple as a broken leg. Even with a good healer, she would need time—weeks—to recover. How many things could go wrong if they stayed on here for weeks?
The clock had struck two and Daja was drowsing when the bedroom door opened. The healer emerged. She was sweaty and shaky. Her hair straggled out from under the cloth scarf that covered her head. One of her assistants had to help her to stay on her feet; the other carried her medicines.
The healer looks like she battled Hakkoi the Smith God and lost, thought Sandry, rising to her feet. Everyone else stood to see what the woman had to say.
“The last time I treated anyone so badly off, he’d fallen thirty feet down a cliff, and he died.” The healer’s voice was an exhausted croak. “Your friend won’t die. Miraculously, she has five broken ribs, and none of them punctured her lungs. None of the broken bones cut through the skin, a blessing I never looked to get.”
“A very well-crafted curse,” muttered Ambros.
Ealaga glared at him. “How bad is Tris?” she asked.
The healer had looked at Ambros when he said “curse.” “Ah,” she murmured. “Things become clearer. It explains much.” She sighed.
Sandry beckoned to the assistant who held the woman upright and pointed to her chair. Getting the hint, the young man carefully lowered the healer to the seat. Ealaga whispered to the maid who had stayed up in case anyone needed anything. The girl scampered off.
“Your girl has no punctured organs or skin. She has a broken collarbone, a dislocated shoulder, two small cracks in her skull, a broken cheekbone, one arm broken in two places, a broken wrist, five broken ribs, a dislocated hip, three breaks in her right leg, and a broken ankle on the left. She also has several broken fingers and toes,” the healer said once she’d caught her breath. “It is a miracle, or, if it is a curse, as you say, then it was deliberately constructed to save the girl’s life. There is only one curse-weaver in the empire with that level of skill, and that is all I will say on that topic.”