“I just wanted to see how it smelled,” Evvy grumbled as she followed Briar and Rosethorn upstairs.

The fruit of Rosethorn’s rooftop endeavors, the clover, bean, and corn seed harvested and mage-dried to keep them from rotting, had been packed into jars and sealed with wax. They had to be carried downstairs. So did a dozen sacks of grain. Rosethorn had poured her magic into them, giving them the strength to become a fast-growing winter crop, hardy enough to survive the rainy season. Last of all were small kegs of a growth potion, a small drop of which could fertilize an acre of land for years.

As soon as everything was clustered before the front door, they set about preparing supper. Briar had bought his cooked chicken on the way home; Rosethorn had made lentils and noodles during the day. Once the food was served, Rosethorn worked a protective circle to keep the mewing and yowling cats from climbing on the table.

“They’ll get fed,” she told Evvy, who seemed much chastened. “But we work hard for our food here, so we get to eat first.”

Once he’d devoured a bowl of noodles and lentils and a chicken leg, Briar asked, “Won’t you need me to help you in the fields?”

Rosethorn shook her head. “Most of the work’s done. I’ll be gone three or four days. You two will have to manage without me.” She glared at Evvy. “I’m putting wards on the workroom to keep you out. You don’t go in until you learn to read.”

Evvy nodded, eyes wide.

“Aww, you’re getting soft,” Briar teased Rosethorn. “Time was you’d have skinned anyone who fooled with your pots.”

“I may do that yet,” Rosethorn replied, with an extra glare for Evvy. “A mage’s workroom is not a spice merchant’s shop. Our brews can kill people, or worse. When do you start teaching her to read?” she asked Briar.

“Tonight,” he replied, carving more chicken. “I got her a surprise at the market.”

“Just make sure it isn’t a surprise for me, too,” Rosethorn said, wiping her lips. “Will you two be all right the time I’m gone? Earth temple would probably let you move into the guest house —”

Briar shook his head. “We’ll be fine.”

“Did the lady ask about me?” Evvy asked Briar. “What was her house like?”

Rosethorn propped her head on her hands. “Yes — what was it like?”

“The gardens are … very healthy,” answered Briar. “Especially the biggest one. And it’s fancy inside, all marble and stone inlays, expensive wood, silk, velvet, gilding. She asked about Evvy again, but I think she listened this time, when I told her no.” He added more details about the art he had glimpsed and what the lady wore, used to such descriptions after four years of living among females who wanted to know how others lived. He didn’t mention his conversation with the mutabir and his mage. The more he thought about it, the more it troubled him. Rosethorn would need a clear mind to do the work she intended to in Chammur’s fields. It could wait until she returned.

“I’ve been thinking,” Rosethorn drawled, when Briar finished. “It might be possible to reach Laenpa, across the border in Vauri, before the rains. An old friend of mine from Lightsbridge settled there — she’s written she has plenty of room for us, and that she’d like the company.”

“I won’t leave my cats,” Evvy announced nervously.

“I’m not asking you to,” Rosethorn informed the girl. “They’ll have to go in baskets, and we’ll need two camels, I suppose, for all our gear, but that can be done.”

“What about at night?” Briar asked. “And won’t the cats fight, or get sick, being in baskets all the time?”

Rosethorn looked at him as if she wanted to ask if he’d been drinking stupid tea. “We draw a circle around them at night,” she explained patiently. “They don’t go out, only Evvy goes in. They’ll be safer than we will. And it’s not a long haul, only about a week. I spoke to the man who runs the last eastern caravan of the season. They leave in six days. He must have some weather magic, because market gossip is that he’s never been caught on the road by the rains.”

“You mean it?” Evvy asked, her chin and voice wobbly. “You won’t leave me and the cats here?”

Rosethorn took the napkin from her lap and folded it precisely. “I won’t leave the scrawniest, most vicious of those troublemakers in this bloodless, dying place, let alone you,” she said quietly without looking at Briar or Evvy. “I can’t wait until I can scrub the dust of Chammur from my skin.” She rose and broke the circle on the table. The cats remained where they were, keeping an eye on her. “I’m off. Keep things quiet down here — I need to be up well before dawn, so I’m going to bed soon.” She walked out of the room and climbed the stairs.

Briar scrubbed his tired face with his hands. This was the second time that she had anticipated a problem he wanted to discuss and settled it before he could speak. Relief flooded his mind. Laenpa was further east, another land entirely. They would all be safe from the lady, the Vipers, and perhaps even the mutabir. When he looked at it that way, even the fun of carting seven cats in wicker baskets for a week didn’t seem too high a price to pay.

After he and Evvy cleaned up and washed dishes, Briar settled her at the table once more. After some thought he’d decided to teach her to read and write in Imperial. The books that Rosethorn had borrowed from the Earth temple were in that language, since the Pebbled Sea and the lands around it were the center of the Living Circle faith. Evvy already knew a number of words in Imperial, as she did in a handful of other languages, to get along in Chammur’s marketplaces. Moreover, the three of them wouldn’t be staying so long that a knowledge of how to read and write Chammuri would do Evvy any good.