“And she can give you a fight with a staff,” Daja told her cheerfully. “She’ll keep you humble.” Trader, log it, she thought, I’m starting to talk like Frostpine.

Jory grinned back, teeth flashing against creamy brown skin. “I have Olennika for that,” she said. “I don’t think I can stand two humbling teachers.”

“All I know is, you’ll need them,” retorted Daja.

“Come back soon,” Jory said quietly. “We’ll really miss you.” She glanced at the top of a frame wall: Nia straddled it. She was dressed like her twin in a short gown and boots, except that her sensible dress was maroon, and Jory’s was blue. As Arnen, seated opposite Nia, drilled openings through two connected beams, Nia thrust pegs into them and hammered them in. Without looking away from her work, she raised her mallet and waved it, then drove the latest peg home. Two weeks after Arnen got his mages’ certificate, he had opened his own shop, taking over Nia’s meditation as well as her carpentry instruction with Camoc’s and Nia’s approval.

“I’ll come back when I can,” promised Daja. She had said her goodbyes to Nia as well, talking with her until late the night before.

“And Nia will write,” said Jory. “She’s better at it than I am.”

Olennika’s voice echoed over the clatter of hammers on wood, nails, and stone. “If they aren’t going to dismount and help, tell them to go away, Jorality.” She had a crow-harshness to her tone now, a lasting reminder of the night when she had kept her part of the hospital safe until everyone who could escape was gone. “Those flatbreads won’t put themselves to bake!”

Jory looked at the bundled-up Frostpine. “When he comes out of his cocoon, tell him I said goodbye,” she said cheekily. She trudged back to Olennika through the mud, ignoring the plank paths.

“You can come out,” Matazi told Frostpine. He sat in multiple layers of habits and clothes, a heavy fur hat on his bald crown, two pairs of gloves on his hands. “Breathe some air,” urged Matazi. “It’s good for you.”

Frostpine swiveled his head to glare at her from his layers like an irate owl. “That air is cold, wet, and moving,” he informed her.

“That’s the green wind of the Syth,” Kol said with a smile. “Smell it. Damp earth, growing things-spring is on its way.”

“On its way, maybe. Here, no,” grumbled Frostpine. “I love you both dearly, but I am going to find some real spring. The kind that’s actually warm.”

Matazi leaned over and kissed Daja’s cheek. Kol rode over to do the same. “Thank you for our girls,” Kol told her. “For setting them on their proper road.”

Daja smiled shyly at both of them. “That’s what Traders do-we find roads, and we follow them. Trader and Bookkeeper keep your balances high and your debts low.”

She looked at Heluda, who said, “If the two of you ever get tired of this smithing nonsense, I could make fair magistrate’s mages of you.”

Daja chuckled and shook her head. “I think the smithing nonsense is in our blood.” She reached across the gap between them and poked Frostpine with the end of her Trader’s staff. “Come on, old owl,” she told him. “I’ll find you the way to springtime.”

“Gods be thanked,” Frostpine replied with feeling. They set their horses forward on the road south.