Now he put the final touches on the most complex device he’d made. It was worth all his trouble. He must be nowhere near his target when it began to burn, or suspicion might fall on him. By the time the fire broke out of his creation, he would have been home for hours. The fire would destroy all traces of the device, baffling mages and their tracking spells. He had learned that at Godsforge’s, too.

Though Watersday was a rest day, the mages in Bancanor House had things to do. After she dressed, Daja went to her lesson with Jory, trading staff blocks and strikes with her, making sure the girl had no time to think, only move. As they practiced, Daja thought that Jory might be working on her own. She was faster, more accurate, her hands and stance surer. Keeping a level head was more of a struggle, but there too she had improved. As they left the classroom, Daja knew that by focusing on movement and not allowing herself to get excited, Jory had already begun to drag her magic inside her skin. The visible flares in the girl’s power had begun to flatten and spread over her to coat her skin. It was nearly time to start Jory on the next step as Dedicate Skyfire taught it: the state of waiting for everything and nothing. That would be when their real work began.

At breakfast they found that Frostpine was gone, still chasing his counterfeiter. The capture of those who planned to destroy Namorn’s economy was far more important than Watersday rest. The sick needed food, Watersday or not, but Carnoc Oakborn closed his shop. Jory left for Blackfly Bog while Nia and her parents went to the temple of the goddess Qunoc. The Bancanor servants who had the day off were gone. Only a handful rattled around the big house as Daja went back upstairs to her room.

First she prayed to Trader and Bookkeeper, then to the spirits of her family, lighting incense so they would know she still remembered them. Among Traders, to be forgotten was the one final death: memory lasted when the flesh was gone. Daja would make sure that her children, if she had any, would say the prayers for each member of Fifth Ship Kisubo.

She worked on tiny hinges through midday as the tray of food brought by a maid went cold. Finally she stopped: her last hinge was gone. She would have to go back to Teraud’s for a day or two, and trade work for iron forge time. It was time to rest: her back and neck were one solid ache. Her eyes twitched madly when she closed them, a sign that she had been doing too much close work. Time to practice skating.

Daja put on layers of clothes. She didn’t try to warm herself: they were good clothes, and after two days of the sharp control and release of her magic, her head spun. She needed to rest her power.

She took the servants’ stair down the back of the main house. She could smell supper, all dishes that could be set in covered pots and left to cook through the day. The servants’ area was forlorn without the constant clatter, arguments, thumps, and scrapes of a large household. That was Watersday: upperclass servants had almost a full day to visit and to shop, while the handful that stayed received an extra silver argib and another weekday off to balance the scales.

Hearing the soft murmur of voices in the kitchen, Daja stopped to look in. Nia and Morrachane Ladradun sat at a worktable, glasses of tea and a plate of cakes before them, looking through a book that appeared to be sheets of cloth backed in parchment.

“Oh, I like that one,” Nia said, pointing. “Look, you can see vines in it.”

“That’s called Maiden Blessing,” Morrachane replied softly. She stroked Nia’s hair gently with one knobby hand. “I taught Kofrinna how to make it. She wore an entire veil of that when she married Ben. She was such an adorable girl. I miss her and the children every day.”

Daja tried to move on: it was not comfortable to watch Morrachane in a tender mode. Nia saw her at just that moment. “Daja, come see these lace patterns,” she called. “Aunt Morrachane brought them for Jory and me. They’re so pretty, and some of them are really old.”

Daja couldn’t refuse without seeming churlish. She glued a smile onto her mouth and sat on the bench opposite Nia and Morrachane. “Ravvi Ladradun,” she said with a polite nod.

“Daja,” replied Morrachane. “Have you been at some work of magic?”

“Tinkering,” Daja said, not wanting to discuss her labors with this woman. Once she had made the mistake of biting a sheet of gold foil. Morrachane had the same effect on her. “Is this the lace pattern book you told me about?”

“This one’s Maiden Blessing,” Nia said, turning the book so Daja could see that the cloth pages anchored samples of lacework, while faded writing on the paper pages described how to make the particular pattern. “This one’s Herb Garden, and here’s the King’s Treasure.”

To Daja they looked similar, but she nodded gravely, as if she understood the niceties. Sandry would have been able to identify each piece separately, she knew. “The book seems old,” she commented as Nia turned other pages.

“It was in my husband’s family for ten generations,” Morrachane said with pride. “Our families come from the old empire, the western side. Books of lace patterns are passed from the bride of each son to the brides of their oldest sons. This was to go to Kofrinna, until the tragedy.” She stroked a piece of lace with fingers that trembled. “I’ll have to ship it to one of the other boys’ wives before I die. It is hard to think of it going to someone I do not even know.”

“Please don’t be sad, Aunt Morrachane,” begged Nia. “Why don’t you visit your sons this summer? You could meet your grandchildren.”