The Will of the Empress - By Tamora Pierce Page 0,93

a pulse down their hair-thin magical connection so she wouldn't startle him, then entered the smaller room. Briar had a series of small bottles in front of him, each holding a seed of magical fire. Three, off to one side, held more than a seed. Standing with his hands around one bottle, Briar was waking up the green power of the plants that had gone into its contents.

"You'll freeze down here in that dress," he said without looking up. He wore heavy woollen clothes. "Why are you bothering me, anyway? I thought you had Zhegorz to teach meditation to, and Gudruny's kids for their letters."

"Zhegorz is hiding in the wardrobe in your room," Tris said calmly. She was starting to shiver.

"Now why in the Green Man's name is he doing that?" Briar inquired absently. The magic in the bottle flowered into bright strength.

"He's afraid your friend the empress will realize all he has overheard and decide to execute him for the realm's safety," Tris continued, her voice even. "He's convinced she knows every scrap he's ever picked up."

"What a bleat-brain," Briar replied. "Even if she could do such a thing, and she can't, she's never laid eyes on him."

"He's convinced he might, what with her being in the summer room right now," said Tris. "That's an aid to digestion you're fixing, isn't it?"

Briar's head snapped up. He stared at Tris. "Here? She's here?"

"I thought that would get your attention," murmured Tris. "She's here and she's asking for you. Perhaps you should change shirts."

Briar raced out of the room. Shaking her head, Tris went to the medicine he'd just finished working on and marked the label so the castle staff would know it had been strengthened. She took her time about leaving, making sure the other medicines he'd handled were also marked, and returning the neglected medicines to their proper shelves. Despite the cold, she was in no hurry to rejoin the hustle and bustle upstairs. The draughts upstairs had been filling her ears with the courtiers' babble since their arrival.

Too bad I can't hide in a wardrobe like Zhegorz, she thought as she casually renewed the cold spells on the rooms. But no, she added with a sigh, I'm a mage. Mages are supposed to take such things in stride.

*

Briar hardly noticed Zhegorz when he yanked his wardrobe open and grabbed the first decent-looking shirt and breeches he saw. He closed the wardrobe, then remembered he'd need an over robe. This time when he opened the doors he noticed Zhegorz huddled in the farthest corner.

"She's no mage," he told the man. "She can't see what you've heard, even if you could sort out anything she wanted kept secret from the whole mess of things she doesn't care about." He left the wardrobe open as he stripped off his work clothes.

"Easy for you to say," snapped Zhegorz. "You don't hear all the bits and pieces that make a single damning whole."

Pulling on his breeches, Briar asked, "And have you patched one together? A single damning whole that makes sense?"

"I could," Zhegorz insisted, "if I put my mind to it."

Briar did up the buttons on his long shirt cuffs. "Old man, your mind is in a thousand places. You lost it in a swamp of words and visions," he said, not unkindly. "Nobody can use them to harm you until you put them together and tell someone. Do you even want to do that?"

Zhegorz straightened slightly. "No," he replied slowly. "There's too much, and it's all a mess." He rubbed his bony nose. "You don't think someone could torture me to speak it all and put it together out of that?"

"They'd be as overwhelmed as you," Briar said, tugging on his boots. "Lakik's teeth, Zhegorz, you've been like this for thirty years. It's all swirled together inside your poor cracked head. Only another madman would want to fish for something real in there." He took out his handkerchief and gave the boots an extra wipe, shining the dull spots. "If you think she's so powerful, just leave Namorn."

"Just leave Namorn?" Zhegorz repeated, straightening even more.

Briar looked up, saw the peril to his clothes, and moved them away from the madman. While his mind knew that Sandry had made his garments to withstand all common wrinkles, his heart worried for his beautiful things. "Just leave Namorn," he said. "No Namorn, no empress. No empress, no torturers with painful spikes and tweezers and spells with your name on them. You haven't heard enough in