The Will of the Empress

4

It’s one thing to know Sandry is wealthy, thought Daja when the gates opened and guards bowed them into the courtyard of the Landreg town house. I’m wealthy, after all. So’s Briar, for all he keeps it to himself. And it’s even one thing to know Sandry’s a noble, a clehame. I always thought I could handle it. Now—I’m not sure I can handle this.

“This” was the sprawling marble pile that was the Landreg home in the capital. Two-thirds of it wasn’t even in use at present. Sandry’s mother’s family—whose title passed to daughters and sons—had not lived there in years; her cousin Ambros’s family seldom stayed there. “This” was also what looked to Daja like a small army of servants and men-at-arms, tricked out in matching liveries, lined up on the house’s steps and in the courtyard, bowing or curtsying as Sandry walked past. “This” was gilding on the edges of the furniture inside; hardwood floors polished like glass; tapestries glinting with gold and silver thread; branches of candles hung with crystal drops. Even the rooms prepared for the other mages seemed like suites for royalty, with heavy brocade drapes and plush, intricate carpets. The baths assigned for the use of Sandry and her guests were luxurious works of porcelain, marble, and crystal.

If Daja hadn’t been so overwhelmed herself, the sight of Tris mincing her way through such elegance like an offended cat might have given her a bad case of the giggles. Tris had never liked a display of wealth, Daja remembered now. She approved of spending money only on books and the tools with which to work magic.

That first evening at supper, watching Tris handle her gilded cutlery as if it were red-hot, Briar said abruptly, “Why’d you ask for a room all the way at the top of the house? Some poor girl has to go climbing up all those stairs to get you to come down and eat. If you were on the same floor as Sandry and Daja, or on the ground floor with me—”

Tris glared at him. “I like it higher up, if it’s all the same,” she said flatly. Then she charged the subject. “Sandry, I thought your cousin, Lord—Saghad—Ambros was going to be here to meet you. To start showing you around your holdings and so forth.”

Sandry looked up from the note she was reading. “He was, but this says there was a minor emergency on the estate that he had to attend to. He says he’ll be back soon, and apologizes that things aren’t in better order. I have a reprieve from the account books.”

Briar snorted. “What’s his notion of ‘better order’—perfection? This place is spotless.” He eyed his sorrel and spinach soup. “Now, here’s an odd combination of plants.”

“I warned you about Namornese cooking,” Daja said. “It takes getting used to, but I love it.”

“Anyway, didn’t you tell the Traders you actually drank tea with yak butter in Gyongxe?” asked Tris, trying the soup. “I wouldn’t talk about odd food, if I were you.”

“It was really cold, and the fat helped,” Briar said. He tried the soup, frowned, and tried another spoonful. When the maid was finally able to take his bowl, it was empty. She leaned over a little farther than necessary to remove the spoon he had used, earning herself a grin and a wink from Briar.

“Don’t you start,” Sandry told him when the maid had left the room. “I don’t want you bothering the servants here.”

“I already talked to the housekeeper,” murmured Tris.

“I don’t bother them,” Briar said lazily, his eyes glinting through his lashes. “But if they appreciate my attention, I’m hardly going to hurt their feelings.”

“Did you used to be this way?” demanded Sandry, glaring at him. “I don’t remember you being this way.”

“They say you travel to gain experience,” Briar said, and yawned. “That’s what I did.”

Daja was relieved when a footman brought in a plate of trout cooked in wine and began to serve it. It feels so strange to be talking about experience—sex—with them, she realized. I don’t see why Briar keeps plunging in. I tried the kissing, and the petting, that time in Gansar, and that other time in Anderran. It just felt…awkward. That one boy smelled of sweat, and the other one had chapped lips. But Briar likes it. Lark and Rosethorn like it. Frostpine likes it. I wonder if Tris…

She sneaked a look at Tris. The redhead had a book in her lap and was reading it between bites.

Perhaps not, with Tris, Daja thought. You’d have to get her attention first, and she’d probably hit you with a book. She looked up and met Sandry’s dancing blue eyes. Sandry had noticed that Tris was reading at the table, too.

Daja grinned. At least some things are still familiar, she thought. And at least Sandry is still Sandry, whether she lives in a marble pile or no.

They spent the next day apart, indulging in their own interests and business. While they had been able to get away from each other within the confines of the caravan, they had still been kept to the company of their fellow travelers. For Tris and Briar, accustomed to long hours of solitude, it had been something of a trial. Daja, used to working with those who shared her forge, and Sandry, surrounded by her uncle’s staff and household, still welcomed the chance to brace themselves for their presentation at court.

All of them explored the open parts of the rambling house, its gardens, and some of the High Street shops that lay beyond its gates. Briar went as far up the hill as the beginning of the palace walls before he ambled back to Landreg House in time for lunch. In the breezes that flicked over the Landreg walls Tris caught a glimpse of him as he inspected both the vines adorning the walls of some of the other noble town houses and the faces and figures of the women he passed.