Daja looked at her, thinking she wouldn’t have suspected that anything could make Polyam look less attractive than she was already. Here was proof that something could.

Behind the woman she could see that the wagons were not moving. “What’s wrong?” she demanded. “I can’t hold this stuff forever, you know! Get them—”

The look on Polyam’s scarred face told her their bad situation had gotten worse. “I think the fire was already headed north when you got out of the cart,” the wirok informed her tiredly. “It jumped the road. We’re cut off at the rear.”

12

Rosethorn paced like a caged tigress, her eyes locked on the distant flames. “I can’t stand this,” she muttered. “I have to do something.”

Briar was at his wits’ end looking after her. Scared, he glanced across the platform: Sandry Tris, and Frostpine stood hand in hand where they could see through drifting clouds of smoke to the shadowed groove that was the road. In Briar’s vision they all glowed bright with magic.

They wouldn’t be able to help. What could he do with Rosethorn? She was thinking of something foolish; he was sure of that. Just two months ago, she had thrown all of her power into a wall of thorny plants at Winding Circle, even though pirates were dumping the burning jelly called battlefire onto them. Briar remembered Rosethorn’s screams: she had felt the plants’ deaths far more than did he. She meant to pitch herself into this war for green lives, he knew it.

“If you do something, let’s do it together,” he urged. He clung to her sleeve as she made her hundredth trip around the platform. “Use me for a shield, please, Rosethorn!”

That made her stop. “No,” she said flatly. “I’m going to save some of the trees, and I forbid you to help.”

“No!” he yelled, grabbing fistfuls of her habit. “I won’t let you!”

It felt as if he’d hugged a sapling that suddenly turned into a tree wider than the tower on which they stood. Briar was thrown back into the kiosk that sheltered the stair. The breath slammed from his lungs; he slid to the floor. The giant tree that was also Rosethorn shone so brightly he could not bear to look at her.

“My lad, do as you’re told,” she murmured. Then that overwhelming power—Rosethorn’s, hidden until now—drew back, to his intense relief.

Someone was climbing the steps and stepping onto the platform. Cool, human hands lifted Briar to his feet and pressed a bottle to his lips. He drank. Blessedly sweet water, flavored with mint, ran down his throat, making him feel like Briar again.

“Didya see that elephant?” he asked, pushing the bottle away when he’d had enough. “I wanna complain to a magistrate. Someone let an elephant run wild, and it stepped on me.”

“That was just Rosethorn being noble,” said Lark grimly. “I’ll make her use my strength—I’m not bound to green magic, so I won’t get hurt. You help the girls and Frostpine. From the way he’s cursing, they just ran into more trouble.”

“I’ll help them, too,” said Niko, who had come back with her. “The fire has circled Daja and the caravan.”

Briar stumbled over to Sandry and Tris, his throat tight with fear. He could see now that the line of smoke and flame had surged from the east to wrap itself around a length of the road like a giant letter C. At the top of the curve rose towering rectangles of woven fire. At the bottom of the C shadowed patches dotted the flames, each showing the silver wash of magic. Reaching with his own power, he found Rosethorn in every patch, holding off the fire with sheer strength.

Turning, he saw her nearby, half-bent over the stone rail. He moaned deep in his throat when he saw she had bitten through her bottom lip.

Lark stepped in beside Rosethorn and slung an arm around the shorter woman. “Here, love,” she said kindly, “let me help you with that.”

This time at least Briar knew to shade his eyes against the blaze as Lark’s magic flooded into her friend’s. Jealousy rose in his throat, thick as bile. Rosethorn would take help from Lark.

What do you care, as long as she gets help and plenty of it? his better self wanted to know.

It still hurt.

He turned away at last, trying to blink the spots from his vision. “Well,” he remarked with a sigh, “may as well make myself useful.” Closing his eyes, he found the blaze that was the combined magics of Tris, Frostpine, Sandry and Niko and plunged in. They formed a pool into which he spread himself: at its bottom, a long, silver tie flowed toward Daja like an open drain.

At first Daja thought she was trapped, unable to leave the two remaining fire-scarves. They were the only barrier against the flames in front of the caravan. If she tried to move them or take them with her, the Traders would be in danger within minutes.

I’ll take them, offered Sandry. If we rope them together, I’m nearly positive I can hold them alone.

I’ll stay too, said Frostpine. Together we can hold them. But the rest of you had better think of a way to get rid of these things before we’re exhausted.

Be careful, Daja told Frostpine and Sandry. Don’t let them break away from you, or we’ll all cook. Reaching inside, she found her ties to the scarves and passed them to her teacher and her friend. Only when she was sure that they were in control of the fiery weavings did she head for the back of the train at a run, with Polyam following.

The Traders had formed a tight cluster at the middle of their line of wagons. The children were crying, but quietly, as Trader children were taught: they huddled under the vehicles, out of their elders’ way. Except for the teams drawing the wagons, the animals were bunched at the rear, guarded by men and teenagers who kept them from escaping into the forest. Daja could smell cooking goat and chicken. Some of the animals must have run into the fire in panic. On both sides of the sunken road where she had been just half an hour ago, the forest was ablaze.