“Tris?” Niko urged his mount over to her. “What is it?”

“A wave—there’s a wave in the ground!” she gasped, eyes wide. “Tide’s coming in!”

“Impossible.” The duke halted the cart. “My dear, you are dreaming—”

“I feel dizzy,” Sandry whispered. The pup whined, then barked frantically. Daja awoke. The cart was shuddering.

Lark sat up, pushing her hair out of her eyes. “Are we on a boat?” asked the dedicate sleepily.

The guards before and behind them lurched, barely keeping on their feet. A handful of small rocks tumbled across the road as it shivered, and went still.

“Earthquake summer,” whispered a soldier.

“No earthquakes for me.” Tris wiped her sweaty face. “I’ve had enough fun so far, thanks all the same.”

Briar released her as some of the guards laughed nervously.

“You feel any more such waves coming, missy, you let us know,” their sergeant directed Tris. “We’ll appreciate it.”

Once they reached Winding Circle, they parted company with the duke and his guardsmen. Seeing that Niko was about to ride on to help Lark as she took cart and mule back to the temple stables, Tris muttered, “I wish we could talk to him.”

Sandry heard. “Niko?” she called. “Might we—the four of us and you—have a word?”

“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?” he asked.

“Now is better,” said Daja firmly.

“Time to face the music,” Lark told Niko with a grin. He shrugged and dismounted.

“I believe I’ll take your horse to the stables,” volunteered Rosethorn. “Since you’re staying here with the kids.”

“Coward,” Niko told her. He walked into the cottage and the children followed, Little Bear trotting in the center of their group.

Inside, Niko called up magical light to fill the main room. “You have something to say to me?” he asked, sitting on a chair.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Tris’s voice was harsh with tiredness and emotion. “If you’d even hinted—”

“You, my dear, were adamant that you had no magic. I think that it was the only way that you could bear your family turning you out, if you thought there was something dreadful and alien that was wrong with you.” In the even glow of his light, Niko’s eyes were like black gems. “I feared that if you learned the truth too soon you would reject it, and keep rejecting it.”

“What about me?” Daja asked. “And Sandry, and Briar? Nobody told us, either.”

Niko sighed. “All four of you have endured a very difficult year, in one way or another. My reasoning was the same as it was for Tris; I preferred that you grow into knowing your power, instead of having it thrust on you, to keep from damaging your spirits any more than they’ve been. Were you all that surprised to hear it today?”

“Yes,” growled Briar.

Daja looked at her hands again and remembered Kirel telling Frostpine, “You’re a great mage, perhaps the greatest smith-mage in the world.” “Why didn’t our people know?” she asked. “Why didn’t the mimanders pick me out?”

“Why didn’t that magic-tester know?” asked Tris. She sank to the floor and gathered the puppy into her lap. “He was supposed to be the best in all Capchen.”

“I think I understand a little. We don’t do things like normal mages, do we?” Sandry inquired. “None of us made our toys move when we were small, I bet. Or made pictures for people to see in a fire, or made things glow?” She looked at the others as she said it, trying to see the answers in their faces. “Those are the usual mageborn things. I never did any of them.”

Briar shook his head.

“We’re tested for it when we turn four,” murmured Daja. “They found no magic in me.”

“It isn’t their fault,” Niko said crisply. “Even I had to look very deeply to see the power that’s in each of you, and my specialty is finding things—and people—that are hidden. That’s why I brought you here instead of to the university. There are more mages in Winding Circle whose power speaks through workaday things, plain things, as yours does.”

“So our power isn’t that big or important,” grumbled Tris.

Niko sighed. “It is greater than you think. There is weather, or threadcraft”—he pointed to Sandry—“or metal work, or growing plants”—he pointed to Daja and Briar in turn—“everywhere in the world. People cannot live without any of these things. They may not like it, but they can live without the products of traditional magery, such as love potions and seeing the future.”

“Kirel said Frostpine might be the greatest smith-mage in the world,” Daja said. “That sounds important to me.”

“It is—and Frostpine has searched for twenty long years for a student who shares his gift,” replied Niko. “Any more questions?”

The four were silent. The long day had caught up with them all, and suddenly no magic in the world seemed as good to them as their own beds.

“Then I will see you in the morning.” Niko levered himself to his feet. “It’s time for you to get to work, now that you know what we’re dealing with.”

11

The next day Discipline’s residents grumpily returned to their schedule. All of the humans felt the lack of sleep and the overexcitement from the day before. Only Little Bear, making himself at home—and learning that certain important dog acts were not to be done inside Discipline—was lively that morning.