The Will of the Empress - By Tamora Pierce Page 0,12
I speak it." She smoothed one hand over the metal that coated the other. "You're really worried, aren't you, Your Grace?"
"I know that Sandrilene is capable of extraordinary feats. And they will think the less of her because her magic works through thread," Vedris replied. "But she is only one mage, and there are ways to deal with mages. She is extraordinarily wealthy in Namorn — I don't believe you know to what extent. Heiresses are always in great demand. Empress Berenene is a powerful woman who has made it clear that she thinks Sandrilene belongs in her court. Few people tell Her Imperial Majesty no."
Briar smirked. "Sandry will. Sandry tells everyone no, sooner or later."
Daja grinned; Tris smiled.
Vedris put down his teacup. "I know you will need time to consider it."
Tris stared into the distance. "At least Daja and I should go. Two of us will be harder to distract than one."
Briar made a face. "You need me, too," he said. "In case all those hot-blooded Namornese noblemen make you girls addled."
"I have yet to be addled by any man, Briar Moss," said Daja. "Believe me, a few have tried. Dazed a little, but only because they reminded me of you. I had hoped you were one of a kind."
"You'll come?" asked Tris, startled.
"You aren't the only one who owes His Grace," Briar informed her. He looked at the duke. "Sir, even if Sandry weren't our sister, you helped us along a lot, the four years we lived at Discipline. It would be an honour to ease your mind."
The duke sighed with relief. He hadn't been sure all of them would be willing, particularly not when they were at odds. "Getting to Namorn will be easy," he said. "Third Caravan Saralan is here, and will leave for Namorn on the tenth day of Seed Moon. Their guards will protect you on the road. I will cover all of your expenses, and I consider myself to be deeply in your debt." He smiled at them. "Thank you. I feel more comfortable with this than I have felt since Sandrilene told me she would go."
*
The next morning Sandry arrived with her guards and a cart piled with bolts of cloth. Since Tris had gone to do the marketing and Daja was at Winding Circle, the maid fetched Briar.
Briar took one look at Sandry and knew trouble was in the air. Sandry's bright blue eyes sparkled dangerously, and little red flags of temper marked her cheeks. "We thought you'd be happy to have us along, you wanting togetherness and all, so what's put pins in your noble rump?" he asked, jamming his hands into his pockets. "And what's this for? Tents? Or you think we're too poor to have clothes?"
Sandry glared at him. "I doubt you have court clothes from cloth and stitching that I have done," replied Sandry. "And I refuse to answer your other, vulgar question."
As the house's manservant carried in the first load of cloth, Briar rolled his eyes. "I've been vulgar for years and it never bothered you. If you think I'll put off getting my trees ready for Rosethorn to look after so you can stick pins in me, think again. I don't have time for fittings." He turned and went into the house, back to his workroom. He knew Sandry would follow. When she wanted a fight, nothing stopped her from getting it.
While he waited he busied himself with his shakkans, preparing them for the trip to Winding Circle. They grumbled as he checked their leaves, branches, and soil before he set them in their travelling baskets once more. Like Briar, they had looked forward to staying in one place for a while.
"You'll like it so well with Rosethorn, you won't even remember me," he told them with a gentleness he rarely showed to people these days. "And she won't take you anywhere anytime soon."
"Then why agree to come, if you didn't want to?" Sandry demanded from the doorway. She carried a sewing basket in one hand.
Briar didn't look at her. "Because His Grace asked me to."
"Oh!" From the sound of her voice, Sandry had just gotten angrier. "So if my uncle asked you to reopen our old connection, you'd do it for him, but not for us."
Briar closed his eyes, drawing serenity from the very old miniature apple tree under his fingers. Had she been so childish before? "His Grace would never ask something so foolish of us."