Reaching Ladradun Furriers, Daja halted. The property included most of the block on which it stood, expensive on the islands that made up half of Kugisko. The sprawling wooden complex of buildings marked with the Ladradun emblem included a large warehouse, a furrier’s shop, a workshop from which men and women dressed like common laborers streamed, a courtyard where men put covers on wagons against the snow, and the charred remains of a second warehouse. For a moment she had the fanciful idea that the fire gods were vexed, to visit a man who dedicated his life to destroying their work. She made a face and shook the idea from her head: that was Tris’s or Sandry’s kind of addled, imaginative thinking, not hers.

The shop that fronted on Cashbox Street was a haunt for the rich. Luxuriant pelts were draped in its many-paned window, an invitation for buyers to come and touch. That polished cedar door, inlaid with ebony and white pine, was not for the likes of Daja. She walked around the corner. Beside the courtyard gate was an ordinary door and a sign: LADRADUN FURS: TRADESMEN ONLY. She entered that way.

Inside was a typical clerks’ office: long, tilted desks and benches for seats. Account books lined a wall. Lamps with brass reflectors supplied light for those who kept the company’s records. A hearth on one wall was the only supply of heat; the amount it gave off was meager. Everyone, even the chief clerks, wore outdoor coats.

The messenger who had come to Teraud’s sat by the door, whittling a stick into kindling. He jumped to his feet when he saw her. “Viymese Daja, Ravvot Ladradun’s expecting you,” he greeted her. “This way.”

“A moment.” Daja bent to tug at her boot, as if it had twisted on her foot. She thrust deep into the ground with her power, passing through stone and watery mush, then granite, until she reached the earth’s hot lifeblood of molten stone.

Straightening her other boot, she called the heat up to her, letting it pass through the wooden floors sheathed in her magic to keep the boards from catching fire. Opening her right hand she spread her fingers. Warmth streamed through her to settle into any metal in the clerks’ office that could hold it: the heavy iron grate, the andirons and pokers of the hearth, the empty metal coal bucket, and the brass lamp reflectors. She gave the metal just enough heat to warm the air without changing the metal’s color. The workers might not realize they were more comfortable, but she knew. It was her slap at Morrachane’s copper-clutching fingers.

She cut the flow of heat and let the rest fall into the molten rock again. One second more she waited, to ensure the metal in the office would not burn the wood around it. She had done something here. Content, she straightened and stamped her feet, as if to make sure her boots were comfortable. “I see you had a building fire outside,” she commented as she followed her guide down the hall to the rear offices.

“A month ago. It wasn’t serious.” He stopped at a closed door and faced Daja, swallowing hard. “Viymese, you gave me too much money.” He held out a silver coin. “You being foreign, maybe you don’t know-the likes of me gets a copper argib, not a silver. If we gets anything.”

Daja smiled. “I bet that honest streak pinches you, doesn’t it?” she asked. She couldn’t imagine Briar correcting anyone about such a mistake. “Don’t be silly,” she added “You had to skate around two islands, both ways. Someday when you have a bit extra, give it to one who needs it.”

The boy shook his head. “And I always heard southerners are tightfisted. Griantein shine on your winter, Viymese,” he said, naming the Namornese god of light and warmth. He rapped on the door, then opened it. “Ravvot Ladradun, Viymese Kisubo is here.” He bowed Daja into the room, then returned to the clerks.

“Daja, welcome,” said Ben. His office was crammed with a large desk, account books in cases, maps on a worktable, and pigeonhole shelves into which rolled pieces of paper were thrust. One wall backed a large cupboard. The wall beside his desk was covered with large slates that looked to be shipping schedules. A corner stove threw off a small amount of heat, enough that he didn’t wear his outer coat. He did wear his indoor coat buttoned all the way up. Somehow she didn’t think he was that much warmer than his clerks.

She reached again for the earth’s heat, letting it spread from her this time in a pool of warmth. She doubted the ability of the stove to hold what she could bring to it. Testing it with her power, she saw the joint weldings were cheap work that only fused the edges of the attached pieces. Moreover, the iron sides were uneven in thickness. It was better to radiate the heat from her own body.

As the air warmed, Daja shed her outer coat, rested her staff against the wall, and opened her satchel on the worktable. She watched Ben from the corner of one eye. In this room, with its inkwells, slates, books, and stacks of patterns on heavy parchment, the hulking Ben seemed like a bear in a pit, resigned to having starved dogs dropped in to harry him. The contrast with his behavior at the boardinghouse fire pinched her heart. He ought to be outside, facing danger head on, not trapped with clerks and furriers.

“You won’t be comfortable,” Ben warned as she doffed her inner coat. Despite his words, he’d begun to fiddle with his own collar buttons. “We get a daily allowance of coal for the stoves, and I’m out.” He tried a smile. “Mother says people get lazy if they’re too warm.”

He took Daja’s inner coat from her hands and folded it neatly before he set it on his desk. “I spoke to the magistrates’ mages about the boardinghouse fire, by the way. They say they’ll look into it, when they have time. Of course, a fire in Shopgirl District isn’t at the top of their list of priorities.”