The Will of the Empress - By Tamora Pierce Page 0,148

a branch of candles without seeing it. Quen, dear boy, please do nothing you will regret.

*

Berenene was irritable as she ate breakfast that same morning. She had been irritable ever since Fin's attempted kidnapping revealed a severe flaw in her control over her courtiers. In the stack of notes beside her plate were a number of politely worded expressions of concern from the parents of many young women who feared for their daughters. The brave ones actually spoke to me, annoying leeches, she thought irritably. Vexing me. Doubting me.

She glanced at another stack of notes. These were more serious. They had come from Dancruan's mages, who wished to know why their leader had been arrested. It won't be long before the Mages' Societies throughout Namorn start writing to ask the same questions, she thought. They'll be harder to placate than parents who wish their daughters to make good marriages. No matter. These mages will learn better than to question my will. Ishabal has put quite a few tricks away against a time they might think they can defy me. If necessary, they'll all find themselves sharing cage space with Viynain Natalos, and they can rot with him as far as I'm concerned. They'll learn to respect the crown if I have to repopulate every Mage Society in the empire!

And I blame Sandrilene, unfair though that is. If the girl had simply done her duty, none of these annoyances would be on my plate now. She must be brought to an understanding of her place in my scheme of things. Thus far I've shown her the orchids, thought Berenene, throwing down her napkin. It's time she found the thorns.

She stood abruptly, startling her attendants. "Hunting will settle me," she announced. "Send for Shan. Tell the huntsmen I'll look for hares for supper."

She was half-dressed in riding gear when one of her ladies came in from the outer rooms. The girl had that timid look that Berenene loathed. I'll be so glad when Rizu feels she is her old cheerful self and can take up her tasks again, Berenene told herself mournfully. Rizu knows how to keep these silly girls from annoying me. If I could get her Daja back, I would have her company in the mornings again sooner, rather than later.

"Imperial Majesty," the young lady began, half-shrinking.

Berenene glared at her. "Stand up straight. I want ladies-in-waiting, not mice!" she snapped. "What is it?"

The lady shrank even more. "The, the huntsmen say Pershan fer Roth got word of a white stag seen in the Hobin Forest. He left this morning at dawn to confirm its existence before your Imperial Majesty went to the expense of a hunt for it. Huntsmaster Pershan left word that his assistant would take your orders."

Berenene gripped a handkerchief and twisted it. Shan didn't ask my permission, she thought angrily. If he thinks he may punish me for not welcoming him to my chamber lately, he will soon learn otherwise. But what if this report of a white stag is true? Perhaps Shan believes finding it is the way to return to my good graces.

A week ago, would he still have dared leave without permission?

Berenene flapped a hand at the shrinking lady. "Fetch the assistant to me, then, and stand up straight!"

*

The gates of Roth House, near the Landreg estates, were closing behind Shan and his companions when he saw Quen Shieldsman. Shan reined up next to his rival, certain this meeting was no accident. "What do you want?" he demanded, his fair skin flushed with rage. "If you're here to bring me back to heel, I have mages of my own." He signalled a man and a woman who rode with his men-at-arms. They came forward, watching Quen anxiously.

"And very effective, too, I'm sure," Quen said easily, leaning on his saddlehorn. "Vrohain's witness, Shan, you may as well put candles against those three young people. Did you think they wear medallions because they like the effect? No offense," he said to Shan's mages. "They got their medallions at thirteen."

"We may not be great mages, but that does not mean we will fail," the woman retorted. "We lesser mages often work under the sight of you powerful ones. The powerful mages do not know of their danger until mages like us trap them."

"That would sound better if you weren't sweating, Viymese," retorted Quen. "Shan, you mule, I've come to help. She doesn't know I'm here." There could be only one "she" when these two men spoke: the