“Business only as any gardeners would conduct when they venture far from home to new lands,” Rosethorn explained. “I had long promised myself a journey east, to see what grows in different climates from my own. I had been forced to put off such travels often. Once Nanshur Moss received his certification in magic, it seemed like a good time to journey together.”

“Certainly we are glad to take advantage of so great a gardener’s visit,” the emperor reassured her. “Let us start our tour tomorrow, then. We must warn you, we begin our day with the rising of the sun.”

And she stays in bed until noon, Briar thought ironically.

“We are accustomed to early risings, temple dwellers and travelers as we have been,” Rosethorn replied as graciously as any courtier.

For someone who hates this stuff, Briar thought with pride, she does it really well.

“We shall send our servants to guide you to us, then,” the emperor told her. “We look forward to speaking with you in a less formal setting.” The emperor had turned his attention to Briar, who bowed and then gazed at the man with his most innocent expression fixed on his face. From Parahan he heard something very much like a smothered snort. “What did you think of the review of our troops this afternoon? Are you now eager to set aside your trowel and watering can for a sword and shield?”

Briar smiled. “If it pleases Your Imperial Majesty, I already get into plenty of trouble with plants. I shake to think of the kind of mischief I would find with conventional weapons.”

“Interesting, to find a youth who does not hanker for battle.” The emperor raised a finger. A servant with a tray appeared from the shadows behind the throne. He knelt, offering the tray to Emperor Weishu. Another servant who had been standing just behind the emperor’s elbow stepped forward and offered him one of the small porcelain cups on the tray. The emperor drained it. As he returned it to the standing servant, he asked Briar, “Are the stories true? You are a full nanshur at such a youthful age?”

Briar swallowed a sigh. He’d been asked this question from Emelan to Yanjing and he was heartily bored with it. Slowly he reached into the front of his robes.

There was movement behind the emperor. Four mages stepped up to stand beside the throne on Weishu’s left. Two were men in black scholar’s robes and caps, one a woman in scholar’s robes, and the fourth a mimander of the deserts west of Gyongxe, clad in the head-to-toe gray veil of those mages who worshipped the god Mohun. A knitted screen covered his — or her — eyes. These were all imperial mage guards and warriors, among Weishu’s closest advisers. To his right were warrior and slave servants, the former being the only ones allowed to carry weapons in the room, the latter to wait upon their master.

“We must be careful,” the emperor explained. “A nanshur is the only kind of assassin who could get so close to us.”

“Understandable, Your Imperial Majesty, but we have not journeyed so far from home and lived by being stupid,” Rosethorn said.

For a moment, Briar knew, their standing hung on the emperor’s sense of humor. Then the man laughed, and everyone in the great chamber relaxed. Except Parahan, Briar noticed. He had never tensed up in the first place.

Briar lifted his medallion free of his robes. On the front of the silvery metal, along the rim, his name and Rosethorn’s were inscribed. At the middle, his magic was symbolized by the image of a tree. On the back was the spiral that meant he had studied at Winding Circle temple.

It was the Mohunite who came down the steps, walking between the throne and Parahan. The captive man tugged his leash hard enough to make it jingle, hinting that he considered tripping the mage. The Mohunite ignored him and stopped before Briar to extend a gloved hand palm up.

Good of him to ask, under the circumstances, Briar thought. He held the medallion out to the length of the silk cord and placed it in the mage’s hold. The Mohunite turned it over in his fingers, saying nothing.

Sometimes Briar wished he’d never gotten the thing. Their teachers had given the medallions to Briar and his three foster-sisters two years ago, before he, Tris, and Daja had set forth on their wanderings. It was rare for mages so young to have them — medallions were the proof that they were accredited mages, able to practice magic without supervision and to teach. The four were forbidden to wear them publicly before they were eighteen, to prevent trouble. At this point, Briar was sure he wasn’t going to wear his openly even at eighteen. Older mages were often furious to see it on him, though Dedicate Initiate Dokyi hadn’t seemed to care. Most mages didn’t receive theirs until they were in their twenties. Briar hated the aggravation.

The Mohunite gently placed the medallion on Briar’s chest, gave him a small bow, and then climbed the dais. He raised his robes slightly to climb the steps. When he reached Parahan’s leash, he placed one foot on it firmly, looking down at the captive.

The big man replied with a wide grin. He placed his palms together and bowed. The Mohunite shook his head slightly and returned to his place beside the other mages.

“Truly impressive,” the emperor said. “I should have expected as much from a student of the great mage Rosethorn.”

Briar bowed, wondering if his spine would start to curve after much more of this. “I will never be what she is, Your Imperial Majesty.”

There was humor in the emperor’s eye as he said, “And modest! Are you certain you are a youth of sixteen years?”

There was a ripple of laughter among the listening courtiers, though no change of expression on the faces of the mages that Briar could see. Briar himself chose to smile — and bow — again. “She has trained me very well, Your Imperial Majesty,” he explained. “I learned manners under many bloodcurdling threats.”