“Because what a kaq says means nothing, right?” Briar asked. When Sandry looked away, he tickled the back of her neck again. She whirled and glared at him.

“That’s right,” Daja said agreeably.

“So what does Frostpine teach you?” demanded Briar.

Daja sighed. “Lately he teaches me about coal. Coal’s very important to a smith. He wants me to know how it’s mined. ‘Why does a smith have to know mining?’ I ask him, and he just says ‘You tell me.’ At least I finally learned what all the basic tools are for. Now he’s teaching me to make them. All of them. And put my magic into them.”

“How goes it?” Briar wanted to know.

“Don’t ask,” Daja replied, glum. She looked at Tris. “What are your lessons?”

Tris sighed. “I learn the names of stars, and the words for different kinds of clouds, and keep a record of the tides. Weather stuff. Sky stuff.”

“Tides aren’t weather,” Briar said.

“In the sea they are,” replied Tris. “They’re like winds, only in the water.”

Scratching her shoulder, Sandry turned away from the boy. In a flash he leaned forward and brushed her neck with the straw. The scratching hand lifted; Sandry pinched her fingers together and tugged. The straw leaped from Briar’s hold and went to her. She turned, blue eyes businesslike, and flapped the hand that held the straw. The bit of grass flew at Briar’s face. He shrieked and covered his eyes with his arms. Undaunted, the straw hopped from his nose to his ears, tickling him mercilessly.

Forgetting where he was, Briar tried to scoot away. Before he reached the roof’s edge, Sandry dropped the straw and grabbed one of his arms. Daja seized the other.

“Now stop it,” Sandry ordered when the boy was settled again.

“Did you know you could do that?” asked Briar, gray-green eyes shining with admiration. “Yours is with thread, you told us.”

“Well, you can weave straw, kind of. I’ll see if I can unravel the string on your breeches, if you don’t leave me alone!”

The clock chimed the hour, making the air shiver. With groans, the four got up and headed back into the cottage.

Midsummer’s Day approached, and Winding Circle prepared for the holiday. The children helped to lay bonfires at the gates and were kidnapped by the Earth temple’s chief dedicate to help scrub the temple floors. Wonderful smells lay in banks around the Hub, as Dedicate Gorse and his cooks prepared a feast, and in lesser billows near the smaller kitchens scattered throughout the temple community.

Those odors had more power over Briar than even his lessons. He was late to the garden every day for a week, often arriving with stains on his shirt or smears around his mouth to betray where he’d been. Two days before the solstice, Rosethorn tracked him to the Hub itself. Gripping one of his ears, she marched him away from Gorse’s lair.

“But there was this tremendous smell!” he protested. “Like the spices you want me to memorize. I knew if I saw them being used, I’d learn them better. I was doing it for you—ow!” She had given his ear an extra twist.

“No humbuggery from you, my lad,” she replied as she pulled him along. “Green Man wrap us, you’d think we never fed you!”

“You do! You do! It’s just—”

She turned him to face her and gripped his shoulders. “I don’t know what’s to become of you,” she informed him, brown eyes fixed on his. “You may grow to be a true earth-mage. Maybe you’ll join a temple; you might be the most sought-after gardener north of the Pebbled Sea. That’s up to you. One thing is certain—hunger is a thing of the past. You may skip a meal or two, but you’ll never starve. Take my word for that and don’t make me come after you again.”

Suddenly he wrapped his arms around her, squeezed, and let go—then set off toward Discipline. Rosethorn, her cheeks red, followed him.

The day before Midsummer, Tris woke near dawn, full of restless energy. Since the day Niko had brought it up, she had wanted to try something. It was an itch that grew as she studied tides and winds, until it was more than she could stand. With their stretch of coast recently cleared of pirates and preparations for the holiday going on, the watch on the temple gates would not be as sharp as usual. She could experiment now, before her housemates rose.

Dressing hurriedly, she slipped downstairs. Little Bear came out of Sandry’s room as she passed, and whined. Outside, when she turned to latch the gate behind her, the pup was there. “If you come, be quiet,” she ordered in a whisper.

Silently the dog followed. A few people were opening shutters and doors, but the spiral road was empty. The guards at the south gate had opened it for a wagon driven by a sleepy-looking novice. While they talked, Tris and Little Bear slipped through the open gate and across the road. They climbed down the trail, past the meditation cave, until they got to the beach.

The rock shelves on both sides of the cove were bare of water, showing seaweed, mussel beds, and tide pools. Now at its lowest point, the tide had just begun to turn. By noon all but the tiniest sliver of beach would be covered in seawater.

“Let’s see how good I am,” the girl told Little Bear, sitting on a rock at the foot of the trail. The pup sat down as well and yawned.

Closing her eyes, Tris started her meditation breathing, listening for the voice of her magic. In the weeks since beginning her studies, she had learned how to take strength from currents in the air or sea, if she were tired. She thought she could use that same magic to keep the tide from coming in, by pulling its strength into herself, or through herself, at least. The rock she chose as a seat looked like a good place to store the rest of it until she chose to set that power free.