“I’ll keep watch,” Daja promised. “I’m still their meditation teacher, for one thing.” In response to their curious looks she explained, “Both Camoc and Olennika have huge shops-plenty of noise and distractions. I don’t know how they think straight in all that. They asked if I’d keep with the twins on meditation, and I agreed.”

“We can find someone else,” Kol suggested. “You’re our guest, not the girls’ tutor.”

Daja could still get out of it, keep her time all to herself… no. Her teachers had not shirked their duty to new mages, and neither must she. And she owed the twins a personal debt for their skating lessons; she had to repay that to balance the books. She cupped her hand over her mouth to hide a yawn. Tea or no, she was nearly asleep on her feet. “No, I discovered them, they’re my responsibility. Besides, I’m not going anywhere before spring.” She fought another yawn and got to her feet. “Forgive me. I’m tired.”

Kol and Matazi stood when she did, and offered their hands. Daja looked at those outstretched palms, then at the owners, confused. Kol said, “We owe you more than we can say. You found something in our girls everyone else missed, something that could have made them unhappy.”

“We know it’s work for you, and you have your own studies,” Matazi added. “If we can ever thank you properly… “

Daja felt ashamed that she had ever resented her obligation to Nia and Jory. This whole family had taken her in as if she shared their blood. They gave freely; she must do the same. She clasped each offered hand. “See if you feel that way come spring, after a winter together.” She returned the pressure of their fingers and released them, touched by their thanks.

Before she went to bed, Daja wrote a note and left it for a servant to carry to Ladradun House in the morning. The next day she was to work iron with the smith Teraud. If she finished early enough, she wanted to start fitting Ben for those gloves.

The First Dedicate of the Fire temple, the temple of justice, law, and combat, was a weathered, lean white man with short red hair that stuck out at all angles, and a short red beard. He had a way of talking that sounded like a shower of nails being poured into a metal bucket. Once a general, he’d taken the name Skyfire when he dedicated himself to the temple. That night Daja dreamed about Skyfire’s form of meditation. In her dream she was back in the practice yard used by the Fire temple’s warriors. The day was summery, the yard so dry that dust rose like smoke from the ground and from the practice clothes of everyone present.

Daja panted as she circled Dedicate Skyfire, her staff in her hands. He was old, but he was quicker than eels. She hurt all over from the quick punishing raps he gave her when he thought her attention had strayed. “Stop waiting for me to strike here or there,” he barked. His dark blue eyes blazed through the coat of dust on his face. Sweat tracks marked it like a tribal mask, even in his short red beard. “Stop trying to think. Don’t expect anything-expect everything. Be open to its approach! Empty your head, or I’ll crack it so the thoughts run out. You aren’t a girl, with a staff, on two legs, any more than I am a creaky old man who shouldn’t be able to touch you. I can’t touch movement. Be movement. Be air. Be nothing.”

He lunged. Daja blinked, half-hypnotized by his words, half in the quiet place she found when meditating. She blocked him and waited for his next try. He moved. She stayed as she was and waited to hear what came next. After five minutes of hard work when he scored few touches, he called a halt.

“But this is meditating, only we’re moving,” she panted, bracing her hands on her knees. She felt wonderful.

“That’s all it should be. I never could sit on my behind and count myself silly,” Skyfire replied breathlessly. “I meditate this way.”

The dream was with her when she opened her eyes. She was smiling. Her classes with Skyfire after that day had been very different. She thought Jory would like the tough old man.

Daja rolled stiffly out of bed-she would have to find another time to skate if they were to meditate at this hour-cleaned up, and dressed. She had seen wooden poles in a room off the passage between the stables and the pantry. Taking the back stairs, she bypassed the kitchen-she hated to see a kitchen dark and fireless. A little exploration brought her to the room where old chairs, tables, and other things were stored in case of need.

The poles were stacked in a corner. They were smooth stakes about five feet long, probably used to replace handles in mops and brooms when the old ones wore out. All were smoothed down, so she didn’t have to worry about splinters; all were made of sound wood, so she didn’t have to worry about them breaking in mid-strike. They were absurdly light after her own staff, but her own comfort was not the point.

Daja had chosen three when she heard a woman scream. She dropped her poles and headed toward the screams at a dead run, imagining fire, assassins, rats…

She burst into the kitchen. Anyussa the cook and Varesha the housekeeper, half-dressed, arrived from the servants’ quarters as she did. A maid cowered against one of the long tables, still screaming. As Varesha and Anyussa converged on her, she pointed at the great fireplace, burst into tears, and hid her face in her hands.

Daja had been wrong to expect a cold and lifeless kitchen. The sheer size of the fire that roared in the hearth told her it had burned long enough to make the room deliciously warm. At the heart of the blaze sat Frostpine, his back to the room, legs crossed, hands palm-up on his knees, eyes closed. He was so deep in meditation that he hadn’t even heard the maid’s screams. His masses of hair and beard fluttered in the flames’ caress. His clothes for the day were neatly folded on a stool placed beside the hearth.