Lady Zenadia stepped forward, the hard-eyed man stepping out of her path. Looking at the placard over the stall she read it aloud: “Trees by Briar Moss, Green Mage.” Her beautiful voice gave his name a caress. “Who is Briar Moss?”

Briar bowed again, his hand on his heart to show continued respect. “I am, if it pleases my lady.”

He could see that she smiled under her semi-sheer face veil. “But you are still half a lad! Are you truly a pahan?”

“I truly am, my lady.”

“You have such a charming accent in our tongue,” she remarked. In graceful, unaccented Imperial she added, “You come from the west, young pahan?”

Briar smiled wryly. He’d thought his Chammuri was improving, but apparently not as much as he’d hoped. “Summersea, my lady. In Emelan, on the Pebbled Sea.”

“Summersea!” she exclaimed, still in Imperial. “Such a long way! Do you winter here in Chammur?”

“I’m not sure,” said Briar. “I am traveling with my teacher. She decides when we come and go.”

“Then I had best look at your wares, hadn’t I? In case this is your only time in Golden House.” She said it archly, eyebrows raised, almost as if she flirted with him.

That was his cue. He brought the small, cushioned chair kept in the booth for such visits and put it outside with a small, tall-legged table. It was designed to put anything on it at the eye level of the person in the chair.

The lady sat, fussing with her lavender skirts, sari, and veils until they were properly arranged. Her older manservant positioned himself in front of the counter, the big eunuch at his mistress’s back. Briar wondered if she took the eunuch along on hot days and trained him to stand where he could do double duty as a sunshade. Then he put his mind to the job of guessing what might appeal to her. With a customer who was not of the nobility Briar could ask questions to determine what tree and what sort of magic was required. With nobles he had to rely on instinct and tact. If he asked anything of Lady Zenadia directly, the best he could hope for would be a slap for impudence. It was a guessing game, one he enjoyed. He liked to draw from his knowledge of human nature to find out what this woman might want.

He showed her a succession of pines, most spelled for protection. The rich were always concerned with that. Better, those pines were older miniatures that he’d bought from Summersea. He wasn’t as attached to them as he was to those he’d trained from saplings. All were over thirty years old; they had the way of being a miniature in their roots, branches, trunks, and needles. They only required the odd pinching back here and there to keep their shapes.

He was describing the benefits of a Bihan fir when he saw Evvy. She was walking toward his stall with two of the Camelgut girls: monkey-faced Douna and fiery Mai. It took him a moment to recognize Douna and Mai: their tatters and their Camelgut sashes were gone. Instead they wore tunics and skirts of clean, servant-grade cloth, and silver-metal nose rings with a garnet dangle.

Douna halted, grabbing Mai’s arm. Both girls talked to Evvy for a moment, watching Briar’s stall. Then they trotted away, casting frequent looks over their shoulders, as if something had made them nervous. Evvy, frowning, walked on to the stall.

As Briar returned a tree to its shelf, Lady Zenadia glanced up and saw Evvy. “Who is this lovely child, Pahan Briar?” she asked. “A friend of yours?”

“My helper,” Briar replied. Out of the side of his mouth he ordered softly, “Go to her side and curtsy. Don’t stand too close.”

Evvy shrugged and walked over to stand in front of the lady. Gripping her brown skirt on either side, she gave a swift, awkward, curtsy.

“What a charming girl,” the lady said. “Are you learning tree magic, little one?”

Evvy shook her head, a wary look in her almond-shaped eyes. “They’re rock-killers. I don’t like ‘em.”

“Call her ‘my lady,’” Briar cautioned. He lifted down a tiny crab apple tree heavy with fruit.

“My lady,” Evvy said obediently.

The woman chuckled. “Trees are rock-killers? How so, when rocks are not alive?”

Evvy shook her head and said nothing.

“Plants break up rocks, my lady,” Briar explained as he put the crab apple on the table for her to inspect. “They sink roots into cracks to get to dirt, and as they grow, they split the rocks.”

The lady smiled. “Why are you so passionate in the defense of rocks, my child?” she asked.

Once again Evvy remained speechless. As the silence deepened, Briar said, “Evvy has magic with stones. You’ll have to excuse her, my lady. She’s been living on her own for a long time. She isn’t that comfortable talking to people.” Even as he said it he thought, She has no trouble talking to me, or Rosethorn, or the Camelgut girls.

“But how shocking!” the lady exclaimed. “You have no family?” Evvy shook her head. Lady Zenadia sat forward on her chair. She told Evvy, “Come closer, my dear.”

Evvy was about to balk when she met Briar’s eyes. Guessing that he would be unhappy if she refused, she took a step forward. The woman looked her over from top to toe as Briar locked his hands behind his back. Something was not right here, he thought. His instincts were clamoring, but why? After four years of selling medicines and two of miniature trees, he knew this breed of rich, older woman. They had nothing to occupy them until their children produced grandchildren, or they didn’t care to fill empty time with grandchildren. Sometimes they brewed mischief and interfered in people’s lives. They shopped; they adopted pets or people; they did the rounds of their friends’ houses; the more worthwhile ones did charitable work or gardened.