“You’re always reading,” retorted Sandry. “The only way people can ever talk to you is to interrupt.”

“Then maybe they shouldn’t talk to me,” Tris said.

Sandry looked at her friend with exasperation. “What is it this time?” she asked. “History or biography?”

“Astronomy. Stars,” replied Tris, stroking the book’s leather cover. “The ones in the far south. They don’t have the constellations that we have.”

Sandry had suspected it would be a completely useless area of knowledge. Only Tris and Niko would care about the stars in a part of the world they might never visit.

At least she and her own teacher, Lark, had gotten Tris properly clothed for this visit to Duke’s Citadel. It had taken them all winter to remake Tris’s wardrobe of ugly skirts and dresses, partly because Tris had to be wheedled into fittings. The effort was worth it, thought Sandry. The rust-colored wool gown Tris wore today was embroidered with a pattern of green leaves at the collar and hem and fitted her plump frame perfectly. Normally Tris tucked her mass of wiry copper curls under a kerchief, but to visit the duke she had tied back her hair with a black velvet band.

Of course, color and flattering clothes could not soften Tris’s face. Her stormy eyes were set in pale red lashes under fair brows and normally held the fierce look they did now. Brass-rimmed spectacles on her long nose glinted, as if lightning danced in the metal. Her chin was sharper than Sandry’s, but no less firm.

“Do you think your uncle might lend this to me?” she asked now. “I’d take very good care of it.”

“Ask him,” replied Sandry. “He likes you.”

“He does?” The redhead was baffled. “Why?”

“Niko sends him reports on how we do. Uncle said you’re very clever. He told me you’ve worked hard to control your magic, and that’s impressive in someone our age.”

Tris blushed a fiery red. “We all work hard,” she mumbled. She held the book down to Sandry and descended the ladder.

“Yes, but when you go wrong, everybody knows it,” Sandry teased. “It’s not a matter of a weaving flying apart, or—”

I want Niko right now. Rosethorn’s sharp voice spoke deep inside their minds, from the place where they drew their magic.

When she sounded that curt, it was time to do as they were told. Both girls raced for the balcony door and pulled it open.

“Excuse us, Uncle,” Sandry announced, walking out onto the rain-swept stone.

The men turned, frowning. “We needed to speak without interruption,” the duke informed them.

Tris curtsied shyly. “It’s Rosethorn, your grace,” she explained. “She’s talking to us through our magic, and she wants Niko. We don’t dare say no.”

The duke raised his eyebrows. “Who am I to argue with Dedicate Rosethorn?”

Tell him I’m sorry, Rosethorn ordered in mind-speech. Say it can’t be helped.

Sandry and Tris obeyed.

Niko sighed, and lay a hand on Tris’s arm. Rosethorn, what is it? Now that he was in contact with the girl, he could speak to Rosethorn as easily as if she stood beside him. Sandry remained, listening to the conversation through her own magical ties to Briar.

Have you ever seen this? Rosethorn asked. They all looked at Flick through Briar’s eyes.

Sandry felt dizzy. Any disease that showed pockmarks reminded her of the epidemic that had killed her family. She stared at Flick queasily as Niko and Rosethorn spoke. Rosethorn was giving Niko instructions and a list of supplies. Why was oiled cloth so important? Why did Rosethorn tell Niko to bring herbs and liquids from Winding Circle?

Briar is in the sewers! thought Tris to herself, her skin prickling. Only Niko’s bony hand kept her in place. Briar and Rosethorn and street rats, no better than animals themselves, in the worst kind of filth: the thought made her stomach roll. She hoped—she prayed—that Briar and Rosethorn would burn their clothes before they came home.

We won’t be coming home, Rosethorn said. She had finished her talk with Niko in time to hear Tris’s last thought. Not for a while.

Quarantine, Briar added glumly. I knew it. We’re to be cribbed up till we die or whatever. He sounded like the thief he’d been when Tris had first met him.

But aren’t there spells you can work? Sandry asked Niko unhappily. The four younger mages hadn’t been separated overnight since they had first met almost a year before. Spells that let healers see if people are sick or not?

I don’t think there are diagnosis-spells for this, Niko replied through their magic. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen. We need time to watch how it develops.

Time to prepare, added Rosethorn.

I must speak with the duke, Niko told her. Expect me and those helping us at the Guildhall clock at—He turned his head to look at the duke’s own clock tower. One. We should be there at one.

Niko let go of Tris; Rosethorn did the same with Briar. Coppercurls, the boy continued, using his nickname for Tris, bring my shakkan in tonight? Briar loved his shakkan, a miniature pine tree, as much as he did their dog, Little Bear. And close the shutters in Rosethorn’s workshop? Tell Daja I’m sorry I didn’t get the chance to buy that chunk of copper like she asked me to.

I’ll tell her, Tris promised.

It’s my turn to feed Little Bear, added the boy. And walk him.

I’ll do that. Will you be all right? Sandry wanted to know. The two girls could sense that Briar was nervous and upset. How do you feel?