Evvy had been surprised — Briar had not — when Rosethorn came home to say Jebilu would meet his new student at Golden House. “Don’t expect him much before noon,” Rosethorn cautioned, a grim twist to her mouth. “But he’ll come, or I’ll know the reason why.” She had looked at Evvy. “Did you give my boy a hard time?”

“Your boy?” Evvy had asked with a grin. “He’s no boy, he’s old.”

“I feel old,” Briar mumbled as the first rays of light hit the shelves of miniature trees behind him. They chorused a welcome to the sun, their leaves eager for even tidbits of light. Only his own tree, a pine in the shape called shakkan, did not call. Briar had positioned it so the sun would touch it first. It was his companion and friend, a one-hundred-fifty-year-old work of art, every bit of it filled to near-bursting with magic. It was not for sale.

Others were. Five he had started from trees found in and around Chammur. Like Rosethorn building supplies of seed for the local farmers, Briar had used his power to bring those trees to perfect miniature form, careful not to weaken them as magic filled their veins. Another six were miniatures he’d bought on the way, shaping them to the point where they could be sold for ten times what he had paid. Others he had brought from home. Some he wouldn’t sell unless the offered price were very good. They were samples of his expertise in the varied classical forms of miniature tree, and insurance against a need for money further down the road.

Once he finished his tea, he rearranged his charges on the shelves to take advantage of the light. He was trying to ignore a nagging voice in his mind, one that sounded like Sandry, his foster-sister. The voice tugged at his thought constantly, asking a question he didn’t want asked or answered: what good will a resentful teacher do her? Or worse: what if he waits for you and Rosethorn to leave, then treats her badly?

I stank as her teacher yesterday, he argued. A teacher who knows little about stone magic and less about teaching is just as bad.

The ghost-Sandry ignored him. He knew what that meant: she thought he was dead wrong.

Just like a noble, he told her when she got too insistent, as the real Sandry did so often. Always worrying about future things, when right now is hard enough.

“I still say they’re rock-killers.”

He’d been so deep in thought that he hadn’t seen Evvy arrive. Briar jumped and glared at her. “Don’t sneak up on me and don’t call them rock-killers,” he told the girl. “They have to live, same as your precious rocks.”

“My rocks don’t break up your plants,” she retorted, laughter in her eyes. “It’s the other way around.” She was clean for the third day in a row, and dressed in clean clothes. Now she let herself into the stall and perched on the tall stool. “You got anything to eat?”

He sighed. Reaching into his satchel, he found a dumpling he’d brought as a snack for later. “Didn’t you stop at the house and beg something off Rosethorn?” he asked, passing her the dumpling and a clean cloth. “You’re wearing your new clothes.”

“I stopped and changed.” Evvy tucked the cloth into the neck of her orange tunic.

You never have to tell her to do a thing twice, Briar thought, watching her settle the napkin. Maybe I did push too hard yesterday. “So didn’t she feed you?”

Evvy pinched off some dumpling and stuck it in her mouth. Chewing vigorously, she said, “She had a pair of shears in her hand when I asked. She said if I bothered her today she’d snip my nose off, so I should pester you for something to eat when I got here,” she added, taking another bite.

“She wouldn’t’ve really cut your nose off,” Briar said. He realized with a feeling of destiny that he would probably buy her a larger breakfast shortly. “Just bloodied it a bit.”

“She’s fierce,” Evvy said admiringly. “I bet she scared Jooba-hooba plenty, to make him leave the palace.”

“If he’s going to be your teacher, you ought to say his proper name,” Briar informed her sternly, thinking of how the stone mage might react to being called “Jooba-hooba.” “Or call him Master Stoneslicer.”

“I still don’t see why you can’t teach me,” Evvy replied, jaw set. “We were learning fine yesterday, right?”

Briar rested his head in his hands. It was going to be a long morning.

Evvy finished her dumpling as Golden House came to life. Briar placed his tree-working kit on the stall’s counter, and put his willow next to it. He was training it to the spiral form, which it liked far better than the cascade form it had when he’d bought it. Working gently, assuring the tree it wouldn’t feel a thing when he took off the brown leaves, he lost himself in his work for a time. So absorbed was he that when Evvy did speak again, he jumped. The willow dragged some of its branches over his hands, telling him that he ought to calm down.

“Now if you want a gang, that’s the one to belong to,” Evvy remarked. Briar looked where she did, and saw three people a year or two older than he was walk past their stall. One was a girl; the other two were boys. All three wore white, sleeveless tunics, black brocade sashes, and black trousers.

“What’s the sign — the tunic or the sash and breeches?” he asked, absently checking to make sure the willow’s earth was just damp enough.

“All three,” Evvy told him. “They’re Gate Lords. The biggest gang in the city, and the richest.”