“I refuse to listen!” cried Sandry. She tossed her embroidery into the basket, forgetting that Chime was in it. Her exit ruined by the dragon’s unhappy scratching noises, she uncovered Chime and set her on the table. “I’m going for a walk!” She marched out of the inn, accompanied only by her own uncomfortable thoughts. She returned while their entire group was at supper in the common room, and ate alone in the room where she slept with Gudruny and the children. When they came up to bed, Sandry hired a private room where she could sew—and think—alone.
Very late that night, Briar, Tris, and Daja were jolted out of slumber by a silent call from Sandry. Don’t let Ambros leave in the morning, she ordered. Satisfied? She did not wait to hear their reply, but cut them off and went to sleep.
Keeping Ambros there in the morning was a chore. He was determined to go. He might have actually left, had his horse not lost a shoe. Getting a farrier who was not already busy with a week’s worth of other such chores to replace the shoe lasted well past midday, particularly since Ambros stumbled over Briar, Tris, Daja, Zhegorz, or Gudruny at every turn. The one person he didn’t trip over was Sandry. She was strangely absent.
Once the horse was shod, it was so late in the day that Ambros gave up leaving until morning. He settled down to a game of draughts with Daja. They were nearly done when Sandry returned. With her she brought a trembling woman in the gray gown of an advocate.
“Cousin, may I speak with you?” asked Sandry. She indicated one of the inn’s private chambers.
Briar, Tris, and Daja waited in the common room. They were content to wait in silence: Tris had a book, Daja some work for the farrier who had seen to Ambros’s horse, Briar the potted herbs from the inn’s kitchen. It was nearly suppertime when the door to the private room opened and the advocate lurched out.
“I’ve never heard of the like!” she babbled as the hostler fetched her horse. “Never. A, a count, just like that. Like…that!” She tried to snap her fingers but failed, due to her shaking. “Has she always been mad?” she asked Briar.
“No, usually she’s sane enough,” Briar said, grinning as he jammed his hands in his pockets. “Every now and then, though, she does the right thing.”
“You’re as mad as she is!” exclaimed the advocate. She ran out into the inn yard.
Ambros and Sandry emerged from the private room. Ambros looked overwhelmed. Sandry glared at her friends. “Are you happy now?” she demanded. “Meet Cleham fer Landreg, sole heir to the Landreg title and lands.”
All three of the young mages rose. Briar and Daja bowed to Ambros; Tris curtsied. After a moment, Sandry curtsied as well.
“I never expected…,” Ambros began to say. His voice trailed off in confusion.
“That actually made it easier, that you didn’t,” admitted Sandry. “And they’re right. I just had to, oh, catch my breath.” She smiled. “And now the rest of us can go home. Back to Summersea, and back to Winding Circle.”
Zhegorz cleared his throat. When they all looked at him, he said, “Do you know, Viymese Daja tells me it never snows in Emelan. Never. It seems unnatural to me. And they have no beet soup, or bacon and millet soup. I’m quite fond of that. Please understand, I’m certain that Winding Circle is a splendid place.”
“Well, it produced us,” Briar said with a grin. “Zhegorz, it’s all right. Go ahead. Whatever it is, you can tell us.”
Zhegorz smiled shyly. “I know, I know. Except that I want to tell him.” He pointed a bony finger at Ambros, who blinked in confusion.
“Me? You hardly know me,” he said. “I mean, we’ve seen each other, but…”
“I know you’re a good man,” Zhegorz said firmly. “A good Namornese man.” He looked at Briar, at Daja, and at Tris. “Don’t you think a Cleham who is not a favorite of Her Imperial Majesty could use someone in his service who can hear conversations on the winds? Who can see things on the winds?” He looked at Ambros. “I get better every day. I breathe, and I sort through what I hear and see. I practice every day. I will always be a little shaky. But I can be useful.” He looked at the mages.
Briar nodded. “He could be useful, Ambros.”
“He’s wobbly, but I would trust him,” said Daja.
“As would I,” confirmed Sandry.
Tris glared at Ambros. “You’d be a fool not to take his service. Just treat him with kindness”—Briar snorted, and she ignored him—“treat him with kindness, and he’ll help you navigate that snakepit Her Imperial Majesty calls a court,” Tris continued.
Ambros looked at Zhegorz and took a deep breath. “Then we’ll discuss salary and where you’ll be living, your duties and so on, on the way home,” he said. “Welcome to my household, Zhegorz.”
Ambros was quiet through dinner. He picked at his food, which was very good. Briar took pity on the man and helped himself to bits when it was plain Ambros wouldn’t eat it all. Even the sight of Chime discovering she did not like mushrooms failed to engage Ambros’s quiet sense of humor. Finally, as the dishes were removed by wide-eyed servants—the advocate had told the hostlers what she had come there to do, and the hostlers had spread the word—Gudruny asked, “My lord Cleham, what occupies your thoughts? Repairs that you can now order done?”
Ambros looked at her. His face lit with a smile that he shared with them all, one that turned his eyes to pale blue diamonds. “Actually,” he said, his voice cracking slightly, “I believe I will confer with my fellow members of the Noble Assembly. It is time, and past, that the forced marriage of unprotected women is banned in Namorn.”