The Will of the Empress - By Tamora Pierce Page 0,136

place. There's rumours he's going to make her his heir. She doesn't believe that one, but I do. His Grace's heir is bleat-brained."

Ambros sat hard next to the shakkan. "She never mentioned it."

Briar gently fed the rose a little extra power. "Probably because she doesn't think he'll disinherit Franzen to put her in his place. The rest of it she calls 'just helping Uncle out'. His own seneschal gets her signature for plenty of things, rather than pester his Grace. But just because she talks it down doesn't mean she doesn't think it's important. She loves Emelan. Maybe she could've loved it here, but there's no chance of that now. Once Sandry hates something, she puts all she's got into it."

Covering his face with his hands, Ambros groaned. "The Landreg women all have this mulish streak," he said, his voice muffled.

"Do you think?" Briar asked a little too innocently. Moving to one of the trees, he called, "This is the last year you'll be getting apples from this old woman. She's tired." He stroked the tree's trunk. "But let her stand, will you? She's got plenty of good years as a tree left."

"I wouldn't dream of cutting her down," Ambros said, dropping his hands. "I've had plenty of good apples from her, and hid out from my relatives in her branches. I only wish you'd had time to go over all our fields at Landreg Castle."

Briar looked at him. "There's no saying I might not come back," he informed the man. "But on my terms. Without all this glitter and flash. I'm just a plain lad at heart."

Ambros's grin made him look like a boy for a moment. "Well, plain lad, you're always welcome in my home, wherever I make it."

*

As soon as they reached Landreg House, Tris abandoned her packed trunks and bags to the care of servants. Saying the briefest hellos to Sandry's cousins and to Zhegorz, she went to her room to lie down. She had expected that playing with storms would give her a sound night's sleep. That was always a treat for a light sleeper like her. Working with the Syth to block up that hidden entry to the palace would have been a guarantee not just of sound sleep, but of late sleep. Doing both, then waking at dawn to pack, left her feeling as if someone had put gravel in her joints and plaster in her skull. She needed to rest for a while, to ease her aching limbs. That took longer than she had expected. It was late afternoon when she opened her eyes.

"Oh, cat dirt," she muttered. She clambered down from the high bed, stripping off her overgown and undergown. She traded them for a plain blue gown in the Capchen style, then washed her face and hands. At least her braids did not look tatty. The forces she kept in them made each hair cling to the others. It was a side effect that not only looked tidy, but it spared her the need to rebraid her hair every day. Tris hated repeat work.

After smoothing her stockings and putting her shoes back on, Tris went to see if Zhegorz needed help in his packing. There's no telling how far he's got, given how easily distracted he is, she thought as she knocked on his door.

There was no answer. Tris knocked again, then consulted with the draft that slid into the hall from his room. "You'd best not be naked," she called through the keyhole, and opened the door.

Zhegorz was fully clothed. He had jammed himself into the corner between his bed and the wall, where he had curled into a knot, his arms locked around his drawn-up knees. Chime clicked anxiously at him from the bed, her clear wings half-outstretched to keep her balanced.

Tris looked around with a scowl. Zhegorz's scant belongings were still in the cupboard where he kept them.

"Were you planning to leave everything you own behind?" she asked, her voice tart. "Were you going to count on the wind to keep you warm in the mountains? They get very cold this time of year. You're going to need the woollens we got you."

"I'm not going." The man's voice came from inside the tangle of arms and legs. "Viymese Daja told me to go away. If she's leaving and she wants me to go away then I can't come. And she's the one who speaks for me, because the fire is hers. If she goes away and tells