“What happened to Sealwort?” Daja asked, furious. “He never came!”

“Leave Sealwort to me,” replied Lark, her eyes cold. “He probably said he’d come just to get rid of me.”

“I will talk to Sealwort,” Moonstream said firmly. “I’d prefer if everything that happened today were kept as quiet as possible, if you don’t mind.”

Rosethorn tugged weakly at Moonstream’s sleeve and opened her mouth. No sound came out. She gasped, and tried again. Only garbled sounds without sense emerged. Scrambling, the three girls crowded around the bed.

“She can’t talk?” demanded Briar, frightened. “Why can’t she? Did we do something? Did I do something?” She had a seizure—how long had she gone without breathing? Was she to spend her life unable to speak?

Rosethorn gripped his arm.

Calm down, she said, her magic every bit as weak as her arms. I choked, didn’t I?

“She choked,” Briar said pleadingly to Moonstream. “She turned blue.”

Once again Moonstream rested a hand against the pulse in Rosethorn’s throat. Since Rosethorn still held onto him, Briar felt that drift of mist that was Moonstream’s power in motion. It spread into Rosethorn’s brain, idly questing as a real fog might hunt for a door to fit into.

“A small part of her mind died when she stopped breathing,” Moonstream told her audience. “Very small. She only needs to learn how to speak again, and she will be her old self.” The mist drew back into Moonstream, and she lowered her hand. “They must have grabbed you at the very moment you passed on.”

Rosethorn tugged at Moonstream’s arm and pointed firmly at Briar.

“Briar grabbed you,” Moonstream said, understanding. She held Briar’s eyes with hers. “You were warned about what could happen. What should have happened.”

All four young people nodded. Sandry, an obedient girl, was shamefaced. Daja shrugged; Tris fiddled with her spectacles. Briar met Moonstream’s calm brown gaze with defiance. He would do it again.

Moonstream shook her head, then looked at Niko and Lark. “It would be a very good idea if no one ever talked about this,” she said quietly. “A very good idea. This—” She motioned to Rosethorn, who nodded. “This has never happened. I don’t know how it did happen, and I don’t want to know.”

Briar and the girls exchanged looks. They knew.

Two months later, after the noon meal, the four retired to their favorite lounging place, the roof of Discipline. Cushioned by fragrant thatch they’d all helped to replace three weeks before, they draped themselves around the chimney and watched clouds. Around them was the great bowl that encompassed the temple city, with the Hub tower as its axle. Shriek the starling perched on top of the cold chimney, taunting other starlings as they flew by. If the four glanced into the hatchway that led into the house, they could see Little Bear curled up on the attic floor, mournfully awaiting their return. Lark was in her workroom. They’d left Rosethorn at the table, writing a letter.

Steps sounded on wood; the ladder creaked. Briar and Daja, just on the other side of the peak of the roof, crawled up to see who was coming.

A gray-and-black head poked up through the opening in the thatch. “Bless me, I don’t see how you keep from breaking your necks,” remarked Niko. “I would be scared to death.” Climbing a little more, he sat on the edge of the opening, trying not to look over the roof’s edge. Clothed with his usual elegance, he was out of place on the thatch. Briar chuckled, looking at him.

“The view is good from up here,” Daja explained drowsily as she folded herself over the peak. “And it’s nice and warm.”

“I’m getting freckles,” commented Tris, leaning on the chimney.

“Do you know what today is?” Sandry asked them.

“My birthday?” asked Briar drily. She pestered him about that still.

“If you want it,” Sandry replied. “But I was actually thinking it was our birthday, in a manner of speaking.”

They all looked at her, even Niko, unsure of what she meant.

“A year ago today, Tris and I came to Discipline.” Sandry beamed at them all. “It was the first time the four of us were together.”

Briar whistled. “Doesn’t seem that long ago.”

“It does and it doesn’t,” remarked Daja. Looking at her three friends, she shook her head. “I never expected things to turn out as they have.”

“Who could?” Tris inquired. “We didn’t know we had magic, for one thing.”

“Niko did,” replied Daja with a glance at the man. “Just like you knew where we were, when no one else did—”

“Or no one else cared,” murmured Briar.

Niko surveyed each of them. “Things didn’t turn out as I expected, either,” he admitted.

“What did you expect?” Sandry asked, curious.

Niko’s smile was wry. “I expected to pick up some young mages, find them teachers, and go on my way. I never thought to endure earthquakes, pirates, forest fires, and plagues with them, or to be forced to revise my knowledge of how magic is shaped. I had forgotten that there is never a point at which we stop learning, or needing to learn. You remind me of that every day—whether I wish such a reminder or not.”

Sandry reached over to pat his hand. “You’re doing very well,” she said in her most Larkish manner. She glanced below and got to her feet. “Oh, look,” she cried, pointing toward the north gate. “It’s Uncle. We’re going riding, and I haven’t changed yet!” She waved gleefully to a distant company of riders. Their leader waved back to her.