The Will of the Empress

Berenene has lost patience, thought Tris. She means to keep all four of us as a lesson to others. Ishabal has gone with the empress to raise the border against my sisters and brother. Namorn means to hold us like caged birds.

Tris didn’t notice when Ealaga left her alone. When the maid finished, Tris thanked her and tipped her a coin for her labor. Then she left the room and began her slow, weary, aching climb back up the stair.

It took her the rest of the day to pack, including stops to rest and to nap. She worked steadily with shaking hands. She had to make sure that she carried all she would need. Chime looked on. She had been in and out during Tris’s recovery, and she did not care for the way Tris was acting.

At sunset, Tris opened her window and turned her face into the cool wind that blew south off the Syth. She gathered its strength and put it behind her call to her friends: I think they mean to raise the borders against you. Can you find a way around? The empress and Ishabal will be there, I think. Maybe Quenaill, too. Can you hear me? Can you take strength from me?

There was no reply. It could be a few things, Tris thought, lurching back to the hated bed. It could be they’ve gone too far, and there’s too much ambient magic between us that blocks my voice. More likely, I’m worn out. If they knew I was calling and reached back, I could speak easily then, but they don’t know. They’re walking into the empress’s arms with no one to warn them except Zhegorz.

She lay down and slept, rising in the pale gray hour before dawn. Once dressed, she freed a wind to take her saddlebags out through her window and down to the ground. That was all she dared to take with her if she wanted to move fast. It cost her a pang to turn her back on the wardrobe Sandry had made her for court, but perhaps Ambros and Ealaga would ship the trunks to Emelan. She placed her letter to them on her bed, gathered Chime up in her arms, and slowly made her way down the stairs and out of the house. While she had enough control over her magic and her winds to lower saddlebags, she didn’t feel confident enough to lower herself. She would need all of her strength to get through the day.

Once outside, her wind met and followed her to the stable, where it left her saddlebags. Tris thanked it and set it free.

The stables were dark. Tris didn’t care: She could see perfectly well. Her mare, an easygoing creature that was accustomed to Tris’s peculiarities, stood quietly as another wind from that same braid lifted blanket, saddle, and saddlebags to her back. Slowly Tris did up buckles and settled bits of tack, checking it all twice. Finally she placed Chime on the saddlebags and dragged a stool over to the mare. When she tried to pull herself into the saddle, her strength failed her partway. She lay there, half-on and half-off, wondering if this would be how she departed Landreg House.

“If I had any sense, I would leave you there,” Ambros said, pushing open the stable door to admit the early morning light. “You’re in no condition to attempt anything like this.”

“I have to get closer to them,” Tris mumbled. “Close enough at least to warn them. The healers said I was mended.”

“If they had known you meant to attempt a three-hundred-mile ride when you’d been out of bed less than a week, they would have revised their diagnosis,” replied Ambros at his driest. “They might even have determined that you took a harder blow to the head than they had originally thought.”

Tris considered telling him “You can’t stop me,” but it was hard to do while hanging crosswise over a horse’s back. “I’m going,” she said, gripping the saddle horn. She shoved from the foot that was in the stirrup.

A firm pair of hands gripped her ankle and pushed, helping her slide the rest of her weight onto her horse. Ambros went around to tug the free leg down and place that foot in its stirrup. Then he went to saddle his own horse.

Tris watched him as Chime climbed up the back of her gown and onto her shoulder. “What do you think you’re doing?” she asked Ambros.

“Since I have an idea I’ll face lightning or something worse if I try to keep you, I had best go along,” he replied calmly. “That way, when you fall off sometime around noon, I will have the very great pleasure of saying, ‘I told you so.’ Should you remain in the saddle, you will need me to pay innkeepers.” He hesitated as he checked the placement of his bridle, then asked quietly, “Do you honestly believe the four of you can overcome border protections raised and held by a great mage? Perhaps more great mages, if Ishabal sends for them?”

Tris leaned down to rest her forehead against her mare’s mane. “I don’t know,” she said honestly. “If I tell them they aren’t going to be allowed to leave, they’ll be angry enough to try. It may be we have a few tricks to us that no one knows of yet.”

They were riding out the house gate when Ambros drew up. “I had forgotten we were being watched,” he admitted.

Tris squinted to see what he meant. Across the street, two mages stood on either side of a smaller town house. They were coming forward now, the silver fire of their power flickering around their hands. Chime darted forward, uttering her nails-on-glass screech, forcing them to watch her as she flashed close to their faces.

Tris took advantage of their distraction to undo a quarter of another fat wind braid gleaned from a tornado. As the watchdog mages tried to strike at Chime with their power, Tris released her wind. It blasted down the street, whipping up dust, making the manes and tails of the horses stream. It yanked the female mage’s veil off her hair. Chime instantly flew upward, out of the wind’s reach.