“That seems careless,” Daja informed him.

“Magic so often is,” Frostpine reminded her.

Daja sighed. He had to be telling the truth about teaching-he never lied to her. “The schoolroom’s cold,” she pointed out.

“No, it isn’t,” Anyussa said. She was basting a roast. “I sent a footman up to build the fire when Ravvikki Nia came home.”

Daja shook her head at the grinning Frostpine. “Come on if you’re coming, then,” she said, letting Nia lead the way.

Once their protections were set, Daja and Nia returned to their work as Nia tucked her magic into her pine knot. Frostpine slipped into his own power, keeping it in the small, tight ball it normally occupied inside his chest. His attention was turned inward: he’d simply wanted to meditate. Daja, relieved, concentrated on Nia. Tonight only a double handful of tendrils escaped the younger girl; she pulled each back quickly, her face serene. Daja enjoyed Nia’s quiet and Frostpine’s solidity so much that she jumped when the clock struck.

“Beautiful,” Frostpine said once Nia had gone. “You’ve brought her along well. You have a knack for teaching.”

Daja felt warmth in her cheeks that had nothing to do with the hearth fire. “You really think so?” she asked shyly.

He hugged her with one arm as they went downstairs. “You’re patient and steady,” he said. “Nia feels your confidence in her. It gives her confidence in herself.”

“And Jory?” Daja asked, uncertain. “Did you want to look in on that?”

Frostpine shook his head, his mane and beard flopping. “Too early, too cold, and that girl is much too wide awake at that hour. Besides, old Skyfire knew what he was doing when he taught you fighting meditation.”

They had finished supper and gone into the book room when a maid came to say Ravvot Ladradun had come to call on Viymese Daja. Once more Daja took Ben up to her room; once again Ben refused tea or anything to eat.

“Were you working late?” Daja asked as she began to measure his upper arms, shoulders, neck, head, and waist with a cord.

Ben nodded. “Mother wants an inventory of every fur before Longnight taxes are levied. We haven’t gotten the last shipment yet, but she still wants me to start the count.”

Between measuring and writing measurements down, Daja sneaked looks at his face. He was pale and sweaty. “Can’t we offer you something to eat?” she asked.

Ben shook his head. “My mother keeps supper for me. If I don’t eat everything, she says I’m wasting food.”

Daja felt rage boil in her belly. “Does she ever have anything good to say of you?” she cried. Then she covered her mouth. Only when she was sure of her hold on her temper did she take her hand from her lips. “I’m sorry. I had no right to say that. I apologize.”

For a long moment he was silent. Finally he murmured, “It’s a strange friendship we have, isn’t it?”

Daja stared at him, not sure what he meant. It was an odd thing to say, when she thought their friendship was almost like the ones she had with Briar, Tris, and Sandry.

Ben patted her shoulder. “I’d better go. Shall I come tomorrow? Or the next day. I have brigade training tomorrow morning and afternoon. She’ll make me stay till midnight to make up the work. The day after tomorrow, then.” He hesitated, then asked, “Do you know if the magistrate’s mages have anyone they suspect of the Jossaryk fire?”

Daja shook her head. “Do you?”

“No. They questioned me, but I’ve heard nothing. I would tell you if I had,” Ben assured her. “Well, that’s the magistrate’s people for you-all eager to get information, and entirely mysterious about what they do with it.”

He left Daja unsettled and uneasy, though she couldn’t say why. It’s not for you to question his life, she told herself as she put away her measuring cord. You can’t ask a hero to live like an ordinary man, to rebel against a cold mother or to marry and have a family again.

But he was her friend; he’d said as much himself, in a peculiar way. In Daja’s world friends wanted their friends to be happy, and Daja knew Ben wasn’t.

He does so much for others, she thought, lighting a stick of incense at her small Trader shrine. Surely he’s owed something for all he’s paid out.

Moonsday was like Starsday, except that Ben didn’t visit. Daja went to bed with the household, though it seemed as if she tossed and turned for hours before she finally slept.

She was in partial darkness. Around her danced the ghosts of flames, pale orange against shadows. The reek of burning wood, hair, and flesh filled her nose. Something clicked and rattled in the dark, coming closer.

Daja struggled, but she couldn’t move. The thing that rattled crawled up her body and onto her face. It was a skeleton hand, the metal ring on one finger ice-cold on her nose.

Daja sat up with a gasp. Braids that had dropped across her face as she slept fell away. She grabbed them. Here was a gold piece that she had missed when she removed the decorations from her hair before bed. With a shaky chuckle at her foolishness, she took it off, and put it on her bedside table.

Now she was afraid to sleep. Instead she went to a window and opened the shutters to the icy night. A full moon shone over snow-draped roofs. On the city streets the lamps were pale rivals to the moonlight. Daja hoisted herself onto the broad sill-Namornese walls were thick-and wrapped her arms around her knees. Things were clearer up here in the cold. The fire of emotions always distorted what she saw. In the freezing air she could see without the heat of affection or admiration to blur her thoughts, making them unclear.