The Will of the Empress - By Tamora Pierce Page 0,87

entered, a smile in his brown eyes and on his handsome lips.

Mila of the Grain, have mercy on me, thought Sandry as she gave Jak her most polite, chilly smile.

"I came to see how you did," he said easily, digging his hands into the pockets of his light indoor coat. "I missed you at supper." Sandry had noticed that, in the jockeying at mealtimes, Jak had most often gotten himself into the chair next to Sandry, being smoother and more adept at distracting others than Fin. "Ambros told us what happened," Jak continued. "You should write to Her Imperial Majesty."

"I thought she was contemptuous of women who got taken, since she managed to escape when it happened to her," replied Sandry.

"Well, she'll approve of you taking care of the matter yourself, but it's not just that. May I sit?"

His eyes were so open and friendly that she caught herself gesturing to a chair before she'd really considered it. Jak dragged the chair over beside hers and sat, leaning forward to brace his arms on his knees.

"You are all right, then?" he asked. "No aftermath jitters, no fiery wish for revenge now that you've had time to reflect?"

Sandry smiled. "None at all. Such men are their own worst enemy."

"You certainly deserve better," Jak replied. "A man of culture and refinement. Someone who can make you laugh."

"But I don't want to be married," Sandry pointed out reasonably. "I'm happy being single."

"But think of the freedom you'd have as a married woman!" protested Jak. "You can ride wherever you like — within limits, of course. There's crime everywhere. But on your own lands you'd be safe. You'd have your lord's purse to draw on, his lands and castles and jewels to add to your own, an important place at court... what?" he demanded us Sandry gave way to giggles. "Why are you laughing?"

"Because I'm not interested in any of those things, Jak," she explained when she could speak. "I know other girls are, but I have all I need when it comes to wealth, and if I were as poor as a Mire mouse, I would be able to earn my way with my loom and my needles. With Uncle Vedris I am important at court. You're sweet, truly you are, but you don't know me in the least."

Jak looked down. "And I suppose that gardener, that boy, does?" he asked quietly.

"Briar?" Sandry cried, shocked. "You think I prefer — please! He's my brother!"

"I hadn't noted the family resemblance," Jak said.

"Well, it's there," Sandry replied. "I would no more kiss Briar than... oh, please! It's just too grotesque to even think about!"

Jak grinned at her. "Well, that's a relief, at least." He must have heard the genuine disgust in Sandry's voice. "Look, just forget what I said," he continued. "We can still be friends?"

"Yes, of course," Sandry told him, offering her hand. Jak clasped it with a smile, then left her alone.

He's sweet, she thought. If I wanted a husband...

Suddenly she saw Shan's face in her mind's eye: the easy smile, the wicked twinkle in his eyes, the firm, smiling mouth.

Nonsense, she told herself strictly. "I don't want a husband. Any husband." She said it aloud, in the hope that it would sound more real that way.

She shook her head with a sigh and put all of the dinner things back on the tray. She opened the door, then fetched the tray and set it in the hall. With that chore taken care of, she closed and locked her bedroom door. Gudruny and her children had their own door to their bedroom, which meant Sandry could have a good night's sleep without one more interruption, from anyone. I'll write to Uncle and set a date for my return home, she told herself, taking out paper and pen. After that, I know I'll sleep well.

* * *

Chapter Eleven

The 4th day of Rose Moon, 1043 K.F.

Sablaliz Palace to

Clehamat Landreg, Namorn

Three days later, at the Sablaliz Palace, just twenty miles from the Landreg estates, Ishabal Ladyhammer found the empress in her morning room, watching the sun rise. Berenene, wearing only a light night gown and a frothy lace wrap, read over reports as she ate a light breakfast. Her cup of the fashionable drink called chocolate cooled as she read and reread one report in particular, drumming the fingers of her free hand on the table. She only looked up from her reading when the door opened and Ishabal, dressed for the day, came in with