The Will of the Empress

Briar opened his mind, trusting her to know what to look at and what to leave alone. It took Tris only a glimpse of what lay before his eyes, then Sandry’s eyes. The redhead put her book aside. I’m coming, she told them.

15

Briar slumped to the base of the wall, taking out two of his knives in case someone arrived who felt he did not belong there. We have a bit of a wait, he told Sandry. He felt their connection shudder, and knew that her fear of the dark was returning. It had always been a marvel to Briar. Sandry was the least fearful girl he knew, and yet the dousing of a lantern could leave her trembling if no other light was available. It was the reason that he, Daja, and Tris had made Sandry’s night-light crystal in the first place.

I never really talked to you about Yanjing, did I? he asked, pretending not to notice her fear. They call it the Empire of Silk for a reason, you know. They have this cloth they call the Rain God’s Veil, just a hair thick, almost. They dye it colors they call by names like Green Tea, Almond Milk, and Lotus Pollen. If you don’t pin it down, it just drifts away, like invisible creatures are carrying it. The imperial concubines wear it for veils, and they all have a little girl servant whose only job is to catch the veils if they slide away.

He could feel Sandry take a deep, shuddering breath and lick her lips. Briar promised himself that Fin would pay for frightening her so badly. He couldn’t have scared her more if he had planned it deliberately. Only terror of the unknown could have made Sandry as strident as she had been when she called for him.

You know that penchi silk you were so curious about? They get it from silk made by worms they find in wild trees, not ones on farms. The country people make it, so its threads aren’t so smooth, but the thing is, they could be. One old thread mage told me her family has made penchi silk for ten generations and could do as fine a thread as the fancy houses. But the little imperfections, the “slubs,” you called them? Every family that does it does them in a pattern. Back home in my notes I copied down some of them for you. She says it’s how they used to send messages under the emperor’s nose, and sometimes they still do.

Sandry’s mind filled with wonder and excitement. Lark and I thought so, but Vetiver told us that was silly, she replied, her mind on silk now and not her captivity. She said who would be desperate enough to send messages in tiny slubs like that!

Well, it’s the slubs and the weave, Briar explained, delighted to have her attention. And they don’t always do it, so it’s not every piece of cloth.

He had exhausted penchi silk and was describing the butter sculptures of Gyongxe when he felt a roiling storm of power approach. He got to his feet. “That would be Tris.”

Down the hall, he heard a door slam. It was indeed Tris who came down the hall. She had put on a gown again, though it was hard to see it under the lightning that crawled over her head and dress. It glittered on the onyx buttons of her shoes and sparked on the rims of her spectacles. Chime stood on her shoulder, one tiny forepaw gripping a braid, lightning sparking from her eyes, claws, and wingtips.

Briar opened the door and bowed. “After you, Viymese,” he said. It’s not that I mind a good fight, he told himself as he followed her down the long, curved stairwell that lay beyond the door. Still, why wear myself out when she can wind things up in a hurry?

A draft blew into his face as he descended. She’s pulling the air up past us, so they may not hear us coming, he realized. You’re wasted, not being a thief, he told her.

So funny, I forgot to laugh. Her retort fizzed in his mind. She was very angry.

He was impressed. Back at Discipline, you got this mad, you’d scorch the top off the thatch, he reminded her. Or at least, you did before me and Rosethorn protected it.

I won’t lose control, if that’s what worries you!

Worry? No. I’m hoping for it, he replied.

The round shoulders ahead of him slumped briefly. I’m not. Her reply was much less crackly. Then it surged again. Though I’ll probably change my mind when I see Fin next!

The stair seemed to descend forever. The walls around them were carved stone, cut from the living rock under the palace. They were also old. The two mages passed through sections that had been braced with heavy wooden beams to keep the passage from collapsing. Fin must have had fun carrying a knocked-out girl down here, Briar told both Sandry and Tris.

Too bad he didn’t fall and break his neck! Sandry retorted.

Well, then he might have also broken yours, Briar pointed out. Excuse me for saying as much, but I wouldn’t dare show my face to your uncle if I’d let that idiot kill you and himself. The only way His Grace wouldn’t keelhaul me is if I could give him Fin.

At last they reached the bottom and a door. Tris listened at the keyhole for a moment, tugged at an unraveling braid she had pulled from its net, and flung a fistful of hard air at the door as she thrust it open. The air exploded into the room, knocking over the table that stood between two men, scattering cards, mugs, their unsheathed swords, and a bottle on the floor.

As Tris and Briar came in, the men jumped to their feet, cursing, and grabbed for their fallen weapons. Tris loosed hair-thin bolts of lightning at the blades, forcing their owners to drop them with a yelp. Briar went over to collect the swords and strip the guards of their daggers and any other weapons. Once he was done, Tris set a ring of lightning around the throats of each guard. They dared not move a hair for fear of touching those fiery collars.

“Please, Viymese, don’t kill us,” babbled one rogue. “He’s our master, we had to obey!”