The Will of the Empress

The cook snorted.

“I am,” insisted Briar in his most earnest tone of voice. “My approach to the ladies is strictly worshipful. I celebrate our mutual devotion to Qunoc. It’s a great deal of work, but I don’t begrudge it in the least.”

“Well, if you fertilize any of the fields you till, I hope you will fertilize the mothers’ purses as well,” Ambros said. “A man should take responsibility for what he sows.”

“Responsibility is my middle name,” Briar told him, earnestly. “Droughtwort is my other middle name.” The droughtwort herb rendered any man who ate it sterile for days. Briar was determined not to sire any children who might be left parent-less if something happened to their mothers.

Ambros raised pale brows at Briar. “So thoughtful,” he remarked. “How old are you?”

“We think eighteen,” Sandry announced from the doorway. “Even Briar isn’t sure. Cousin, I didn’t expect you to come tonight, or I would have stayed up to greet you.” She came forward with her hands outstretched, her robe and nightdress billowing around her slender form.

Ambros almost toppled his bench as he scrambled to his feet. “Clehame Sandrilene,” he said as he took her hands in his. Bowing, he touched her fingertips to his forehead.

“Don’t be silly, Cousin,” Sandry said, kissing both of his cheeks as he straightened. “With all you have done for me over the years, it’s I who should be touching your fingertips.”

“The honor is mine,” Ambros said, kissing her cheeks in return. “I have the correct frame of mind for the work, and your people are not shirkers.”

Briar filched a slice of bread and began to eat it in bits, watching as Sandry coaxed her formal cousin back to his place and his meal. How did she know he’d come here? wondered Briar. Her rooms are on the other side of the house. She was yawning when she went to bed.

He rubbed his eyes as if he were sleepy, when in fact he was adjusting his mind for the trick of seeing finer magics. He could not avoid seeing plain workings, like the kitchen spells to preserve foods and spices and discourage fire. Those were common to any house that could afford them. It took discipline, practice, and skill to view the more subtle handling of magic that he and his sisters had learned in recent years. Once he thought he had the trick of it, he looked at Sandry.

For a moment, he saw it: a spider-thin web of silver that spread around her body, vanishing into the walls, ceiling, and floor all around her. A blink, and the web vision was gone. Briar arched his eyebrows.

You’ve been lazy, he scolded himself, taking some cheese. Time was you could do that and have it last. You’d better practice, my lad. Maybe you’ve been chasing girls and letting your skills go, but with an empress and her great mages to watch, you’d best brush up fast.

It was funny, but the teacher-voice in his head always managed to sound like Rosethorn.

Briar leaned back, eating his cheese. Sandry’s not snoozing at the reins, he thought, listening as Sandry and Ambros went through the polite dance of a first noble meeting, as if they weren’t wearing bedclothes and rumpled garments. She’s thrown a web throughout the house, with her at the middle. If anyone who touches it doesn’t belong, she’ll know.

Without interrupting Ambros and Sandry, Briar got to his feet and returned to his room. How long had it been since he’d meditated? He was going to start tonight.

Sandry noticed that Ambros’s eyes followed Briar when he left. When Ambros looked at her again, she said, “I saw you’d introduced yourselves.”

“He’s very handsome,” Ambros replied, his eyes guarded.

Sandry giggled. “I’m sorry, Cousin, but if you knew how ridiculous that is,” she explained. “You’re not alone, of course. People have said it about Briar and all of us girls at one time or another. But believe me, nothing could be further from the truth. It really would be like courting a brother or a sister.”

Ambros smiled crookedly. “Forgive me for falling into common error, then,” he apologized. “But you should brace yourself, because you will certainly hear it enough at court.”

Sandry shrugged. “The court may gossip as it likes,” she said, propping her chin on her hands. “It’s of no consequence to me. If I meant to stay, I would take an interest, but I don’t.”

That made her cousin sit back and frown at her. “You don’t mean to stay?”

“I told you in my last letter that I would be going home in the fall,” replied Sandry. “You did get my letter?”

Ambros rested his knife and fork on his now-empty plate and sipped his glass of tea. “Yes, but…”

Sandry waited. He seemed just like his letters: dry and fussy, methodical and precise. She knew he never made overblown promises about the wealth from a harvest or a new mine. If anything, he would tell her to expect less than the funds that usually arrived. If something concerned him, she was prepared to pay attention.

Finally he said, “The empress believes you will change your mind. She is certain of it.”

Sandry smiled. Is that all? she thought. “I’ll explain,” she promised, patting her new-met cousin’s hand. “I hardly ever say things I don’t mean. Once she gets to know me, she’ll understand that.”

“Would staying here be so bad?” he asked. “You have hardworking tenants who would adore you, and lands that require the touch of their rightful mistress. True, we have some malcontents, but they are everywhere. We could easily double our mule breeding if you were to grant us the monies to do so. And grain dealers need a hand on the rein. I caught Holab trying to short-weight us on barley twice last year. If you don’t watch them every second…” He caught himself and smiled. “I’m sorry. My wife says I will talk estate affairs until people’s ears fall off if I’m not stopped.”