Sandry's Book

Sandry put the pup down, smiling as he tried to steady himself against the cart’s lurch. Clumsily he tottered over to each of them, even the sleeping Tris, and gave them a good sniff.

“He probably has fleas,” Briar remarked. The pup wagged his tail.

“He likes you,” said Daja tiredly. “No accounting for taste.”

“Can we call him Little Bear?” asked Sandry. “He looks like a bear, when he’s standing. His feet stick out in that flat bear way.”

“Enough of this we,” snapped Briar. “Just because we had a tumble, it don’t turn us into mates. What happened back there don’t mean a thing!”

“Touchy!” retorted Daja, throwing up her hands. “I’m sorry they’ve got us in the same cart!”

Sandry put a hand on her arm. “It’s too hot to fight, Daja.”

The puppy whined at Briar.

“You don’t know these girls yet,” Briar told him. “They’d drive a tortoise to a frenzy.”

“Did you know?” Sandry asked. “About—magic?”

He went still, staring at her. After a moment, he looked away. “No,” he whispered.

Sandry tugged first on her left braid, then on her right. “I sort of did, back in Hatar, after my parents died.” Quietly she told them about the hidden room, back when smallpox had ravaged all Hatar, and a mob had killed the only person who knew where she was. “I didn’t think the light was real, for a long time,” she told them. “It’s only been in the last two days that I thought maybe I was wrong.”

“We aren’t allowed to talk to lugsha—people who make things,” Daja replied softly. “I was kept away from smiths. I never guessed—Kirel acted so odd—”

“You aren’t making a word of sense,” Briar growled.

Daja took a deep breath and explained what had taken place when Frostpine’s apprentice dropped a piece of red-hot iron. She looked at her hands. “It felt like my friend. And Kirel was scared of me.”

Briar whistled softly. “What about the redhead?” he asked, pointing at Tris.

“The redhead will keep her sad story to herself,” replied Tris coldly, without opening her eyes. “And she’ll be very happy if you keep your ‘neb’ out of her business!” Rolling over, she turned her back to them.

“Sweet as ever,” muttered Briar. He tugged a few empty sacks around to make a nest for himself, curled up, and closed his eyes.

In Tradertalk Daja murmured, “I told you,” to Sandry. “She’s plain mean.”

The other girl shook her head. Tris could growl and snap all she liked. During their brawl, when the waterspout had tried to attack Daja, Tris had clearly been terrified—and had dealt with her creation in spite of her fear, to keep it from hurting the Trader. To Sandry, that act counted more than anything that a worn-out Tris might say.

At the city gates, Lark climbed into the back of the cart with the children and settled herself for a nap. The squad of soldiers from the Provost Guard, whose authority ended at the city wall, was replaced by a squad of the Duke’s Guard. They and the duke accompanied the cart through the Mire and its resident criminals, and up the long road to Winding Circle. By then Briar and Daja were asleep, as Tris pretended to be. Sandry climbed up to sit beside Rosethorn to admire the view of the harbor islands lit by the two great lighthouses that guarded Summersea’s port.

Once they were well past the Mire, the duke got Rosethorn’s attention. “May I drive for a time?” he asked. “Even if you are not accustomed to riding, you will find Ladylove a comfortable mount.”

Briar opened a sleepy eye when Rosethorn laughed and accepted the offer. As calmly as if he drove carts for a living, the duke settled into her place and took up the reins.

“I hope I didn’t put you on the spot back in the market,” Sandry remarked quietly. “I didn’t think you would favor me just because you’re my great-uncle.”

Unnoticed by Sandry or the duke, Briar sat up, furious. Her uncle! Wasn’t that a Bag for you? Of course she could be brave about standing up for them—she must have known he wouldn’t punish her!

“Nor did I favor you.” The duke put his arm around Sandry. “I would have delivered the same judgment had total strangers been involved.” If he heard Briar’s unbelieving snort, he ignored it. “I would like to say now that your father and mother would have been proud of you.”

She ducked her head, glad that the darkness hid her blush. “Truly?”

“Truly. I am proud of you in their place.”

For a moment they listened to the footsteps of horses and soldiers and the distant boom of the sea. When Vedris took his arm away, Sandry asked, “Did you know, Uncle? About the magic?”

For a moment she thought he would not answer. Then she heard his velvet-soft voice: “Your parents lived in such an odd way. I must believe it never occurred to them that new oddities might have their child at the source. Your own life with them was one oddity after another—what did you have to compare it to?”

She yawned. “It complicates things, doesn’t it?”

Though it was too dark to see his face, she heard a smile in his voice. “My dear Sandrilene, you have a talent for—”

“I’m going to be sick,” Tris interrupted, voice high. She lurched to her feet, gripping the sides of the cart. Briar steadied her. “I—”