I could do all that, he thought. Or I could give him to Rosethorn. It would cheer her up to give this sniveler what for, and she could use cheering up.

He grinned, showing all of his teeth. “I wish you would reconsider,” he suggested, his mild tone belying his grin. “If a member of one of those councils knew of this, you could find yourself in trouble.”

Jebilu’s face twitched as he thought quickly; Briar wondered what was going through that selfish brain. “Here.” The older mage searched through his robes until he found a purse in his sash. Opening it, he counted out coins: three gold chams. “I am not heartless. This will pay for her to go to Winding Circle and to cover her fees for a year or two. If she spends it carefully she may even get a wardrobe out of it — No,” he interrupted himself, “people like that simply have no notion of economy.” He inspected his purse, and added a silver cham to the gold ones. “She must not come back to me if she spends this without going to Winding Circle,” he told Briar, holding up a warning forefinger. “My good nature may be imposed upon once, but not twice. If she spends it on drugs, or fancy clothes, or drink, she will get no more. So.” He tucked the purse away and crossed his hands over the bulge of his stomach. “I have been more than fair, I think.”

Briar was breathless with rage. That this festering slug would judge a girl he’d not so much as glimpsed in the street … Briar’s magic surged against four years’ worth of barriers and controls, begging for him to loosen his grip, presenting him with images of this man as plant food or a trellis with big-thorned roses twining around his flesh. The vines in his hands rippled and twisted, looking for an exit. The trees and flowers in the garden just outside begged to come in and swamp whoever had hurt their friend.

When the servant rapped on the door and opened it, Briar’s concentration snapped. Give him to Rosethorn, he ordered himself. She needs a blow up worse than you do. He slammed a lid on his power before it could escape, reminded the vines in his skin that they had no woody stems to support them outside his body, and sent a wave of calm toward the garden. Only when he’d done all that, hard and fast so his green friends and his power would remember who was in charge, did he hear the bowing servant tell Jebilu, “— required in the Pink Audience Chamber at once.”

“I will not keep his highness waiting,” Jebilu replied, struggling to his feet. “This pahan was leaving.” He waddled out as quickly as his tiny feet would take him.

The servant eyed Briar uncertainly. “My lord pahan?” he inquired cautiously. “Shall I bring your horse?”

“Why bother to ask?” Briar wanted to know. “His royal roly-polyness just told you I was going.” He strode out of the room before he said anything worse. The servant, who looked as if he might be hiding a grin, trotted ahead of him to get Briar’s mount.

After a moment in the courtyard, Briar’s rage started to fade. When he could think, he realized he’d forgotten something. Stupid! he told himself. You left the money!

Anger flared again, equaled by horror with himself. Why hadn’t he taken it? He should have. It had been a bribe, after all, for him or for Evvy. Accepting it did not mean he had to do as the fat man had suggested, send Evvy to Winding Circle. He could put it in his own purse. Once he would have kept the coins without worry, and told himself that Evvy needed to collect her own money.

He’d thought he was past these moments when Briar Moss, student and mage, smashed into Roach, the Hajran street rat and convict he’d once been. Even Briar Moss understood the value of money — surely temple life and mage life hadn’t destroyed that for him! He could have kept it for Evvy, and be repaid for the bribes and the clothes.

But he hadn’t taken it. He’d left it there, so furious at the insult to Evvy that he’d refused to touch it. Had he lost his mind? He was acting just as foolishly as some Money-Bag whose honor had been offended! He would just walk back in there and take the money. It would still be on the table unless someone entered that room. Just a few steps. Evvy would be better off, and he would be someone he knew.

Bitter orange shrubs grew along the wall outside Jebilu’s palace rooms. Briar walked in among them to get a grip on himself, rather than go back for the coins. As he listened to the oranges’ praise of sun, soil, and the palace gardeners, Briar’s sizzling nerves cooled. Plants had no concept of money. It didn’t make them crazy; nothing made plants crazy. He petted their stems and leaves, and calmed down.

When he heard the clop of hooves, he knew the servant had come with his horse. It took Briar a moment to talk the bitter oranges into letting him go. Through it the servant held the horse, gazing at his feet, as if well dressed boys talked to plants every day. Briar gave him a coin and mounted up. It was time to go home and have a chat with Rosethorn.

He returned his horse to the stable, making certain the animal had a good rubdown and an extra ration of oats. Walking down the Street of Hares, Briar was wondering if he ought to visit the souk when movement across the street from his house got his attention.

A girl sat on the roof of the home directly across from his. Briar knew everyone who lived nearby. If his neighbors had seen their daughters in trousers, not skirts, they would have beaten the rebellious girls and kept them inside until they forgot such folly. Briar also doubted that any of their girls knew how to twirl a dagger on one finger.

He wandered idly to that side of the street, acting as if he hadn’t seen the watcher, and turned down the lane to the souk. Yesterday he’d noticed ladders to the roofs along the lane; today he used one to clamber up to the road that Evvy used so freely.