Briar tapped a flower on one knuckle, turning it from yellow to blue. “Your Grace, her displeasure—was it military, or money?”
Vedris chuckled. “I have truly missed you three. It is so agreeable to be understood. The threats have been financial. If Sandrilene were to remain in Emelan much longer, Namorn might find other sources of saffron and copper. Certain goods that pass through Emelan would be more highly taxed in Namorn. Those who pay those taxes would be told it would cost less to ship their goods through other countries. Debts owed to banks in Emelan would be repaid more slowly, or frozen. Last year, interest paid on Emelan’s loans to the Namornese empire never reached our banks. Her Imperial Majesty has indicated to me that there are ways to make our friendly relations even less friendly.”
Briar leaned over and spat in the empty hearth. “Imperial language,” he said, his voice quiet but savage. “Imperial double-talk. They speak pretty and sharpen their knives. The Yanjing emperor is just as bad.”
“Then he and the empress must have a wonderful time together,” remarked Daja casually. “They’ve been at war off and on for eight years.”
“It is the language of diplomacy,” said the duke. “I use it myself.”
“I’ll venture a guess,” said Daja, tugging her lower lip. “Sandry found out about the blackmail.”
Nodding, the duke said, “My seneschal let it slip. Sandrilene was quite outraged. She insists on making that visit to Namorn, to satisfy the imperial request so that Emelan—that our people—are no longer way inconvenienced on her account.” Vedris leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. Here comes the difficult part, particularly in light of what I heard on my arrival, he thought. “My next step is troublesome. If I send guards, it would be perceived as an insult. As a suggestion that I do not trust Sandrilene’s relatives to care for her, that I fear for her safety within the empire. A very few guards would not be taken as an insult, but they would be too few to help her, should she need help.”
He stopped to sip his tea and sample one of the pistachio crescent cookies, biding his time. They would guess what he wanted, but they would also want him to say it aloud. They wouldn’t want to seem childishly eager or interested in front of each other. Inwardly, the duke sighed. He liked them all, and hated to see them unhappy. Daja’s homecoming had been a bitter experience, and remained so. Tris had run into the kind of professional jealousy that adults found hard to deal with. Both girls had confided a little to him in their Citadel visits, even if they could not talk about those things with Sandry. He had not spoken much with Briar, but he had with Rosethorn. He had also seen that same haunted look of Briar’s in the eyes of countless soldiers and sailors who had survived battle. Vedris hoped that if he could persuade all three of them to help with his plan, it might heal some of their wounds. The difficulty was that they had never been easy to persuade.
“I would be easier in my mind if one, or two, or even all three of you were to go with Sandry,” he admitted. “Empress Berenene has great mages at her command, but they are all academic mages, drawing their power from themselves and channeling it through learned rites and spells. In my experience, academic mages underestimate ambient mages like you, who draw your power from your surroundings.”
Briar snorted. “You bet they do,” he muttered scornfully.
The duke continued. “They will not expect you to be formidable guards for her. Moreover, you three have lived with more facets of the adult world than Sandrilene has. Daja, I understand that you may feel you have not completely made this place your home, and I shall not hold it against you, should you refuse me. Tris, I know you have plans to attend Lightsbridge next spring—”
“Lightsbridge!” chorused Briar and Daja. The university at Lightsbridge was the rival school of magecraft to Winding Circle. It was a citadel of learning, particularly for academic mages, as Winding Circle tended to specialize in ambient ones. Apparently, thought Vedris, Tris had not shared her plans with her housemates.
“You’ve got your mage medallion,” added Briar. “You don’t need Lightsbridge!”
Tris scowled. “I do if I need a license to practice plain street magic,” she informed him. “Talismans, charms, potions—that kind of thing. Don’t you understand how much people resent us for having medallions? People don’t even usually have a license at eighteen, let alone a medallion. Well, I mean to study at Lightsbridge under another name, an ordinary name, so I can get an ordinary license, so I can earn my living as an ordinary mage!”
“You’re going to lie about who you are?” asked Daja, shocked.
“Niko’s set it up for me,” Tris said shortly, naming her teacher. “I’m going to do it, and that’s final. Unless…” She looked at Vedris uncertainly.
“After this summer you will be free again to do as you please,” the duke reassured her. “Either Sandrilene will return home, or…” He looked at his hands. He did not want to speak the possibility aloud, but he owed his young friends honesty. “Sandrilene may feel that her duty requires her to remain in Namorn. In that case, I hope you would feel yourselves under no further obligation, and return to your own lives.” He looked at Briar. “I am most reluctant to ask you, of course. You have come home so recently. I will understand if you refuse. But—forgive me for saying it—Empress Berenene is a famed amateur gardener. With your own reputation having spread in the time you have been away, I suspect she will be quick to admit you above all to her inner circle.”