“I do,” whispered Rizu. “You’re so strong, and sweet. You make beautiful things, you sing me songs from distant places… I do love you.”

Daja looked up and saw the rest of the answer in her friend’s averted eyes and pale lips. “You love the empress more.”

“Not the way you mean,” Rizu protested. “Not in bed. I would never feel that way about her. But don’t you see? She is all that is bright and beautiful in Namorn. She saved me from a marriage I didn’t want. She made me a gift of lands and income of my own, so I didn’t have to rely on my family—or obey my family’s wishes for me.” Rizu sat next to Daja and took her metal-gloved hand in both of hers. “I have power in her household. I’m part of something splendid. She builds bridges, hospitals, libraries, dams, you name it and she has built it, for the glory of the empire. How can you not want to belong to that?”

“She does all these things, and yet she lets the empire’s women be preyed upon,” Daja replied, yanking her hand free.

“I’m not preyed upon,” Rizu said. “Not me, not Caidy, not Isha, not any of the women of her household. You would be safe, too, Daja. And we’d be together.” She leaned forward and kissed Daja, promising love with the kiss.

Daja got to her feet. “Do you know, I even believe I’d be safe in her household,” she told Rizu. “But Sandry isn’t. She won’t ever be, as long as the empress wants her bound to Namorn. And Sandry is my sister. We are closer than you can begin to imagine—Sandry, Briar, Tris, me. We are the same person in a way you have never heard of.”

Rizu looked up, reaching a hand for Daja. “It doesn’t have to be settled like this. Persuade Sandry to finish the summer, at least. Then we’ll all understand one another better.”

I understand well enough, thought Daja. I understand as much as I need to. So I should talk Sandry into staying—if I even could, which I doubt—so that other men may have a chance at binding her to a marriage contract? Biting her lip so she would not cry in front of the kaqs who walked the halls, she went back to her bedroom to pack.

The news that Sandry meant to leave for Emelan within the week made Landreg House buzz like an overturned beehive. The servants soon learned that when the normally kind Sandry was this angry, it was best simply to get out of her way. Ambros and Ealaga were made of sterner stuff. Their discussion with her ended in a shouting match that drove Briar out into the rose garden. He had little to pack now that his things from the palace were bundled up. He placed his personal shakkan on a stone bench so it could soak up sunlight while not moving and proceeded to give the garden a last inspection.

Ambros found him while he strengthened the roses against parasites. “I had thought she would finally see it is her duty to stay and represent her people,” Ambros told Briar without preamble. “To represent them in the Noble Assembly. You must reason with her.”

“She’s in no mood for reason, or didn’t you notice?” Briar asked, viewing one rose’s leaves and stems from every angle. “Besides, she’s got duties at home, too. Didn’t she tell you? She’s one of His Grace’s two top people. She keeps his castle for him and advises him as he governs the country. If he goes out of Summersea, she stays there in his place. There’s rumors he’s going to make her his heir. She doesn’t believe that one, but I do. His Grace’s heir is bleat-brained.”

Ambros sat hard next to the shakkan. “She never mentioned it.”

Briar gently fed the rose a little extra power. “Probably because she doesn’t think he’ll disinherit Franzen to put her in his place. The rest of it she calls ‘just helping Uncle out.’ His own seneschal gets her signature for plenty of things, rather than pester his grace. But just because she talks it down doesn’t mean she doesn’t think it’s important. She loves Emelan. Maybe she could’ve loved it here, but there’s no chance of that now. Once Sandry hates something, she puts all she’s got into it.”

Covering his face with his hands, Ambros groaned. “The Landreg women all have this mulish streak,” he said, his voice muffled.

“Do you think?” Briar asked a little too innocently. Moving to one of the trees, he called, “This is the last year you’ll be getting apples from this old woman. She’s tired.” He stroked the tree’s trunk. “But let her stand, will you? She’s got plenty of good years as a tree left.”

“I wouldn’t dream of cutting her down,” Ambros said, dropping his hands. “I’ve had plenty of good apples from her, and hid out from my relatives in her branches. I only wish you’d had time to go over all our fields at Landreg Castle.”

Briar looked at him. “There’s no saying I might not come back,” he informed the man. “But on my terms. Without all this glitter and flash. I’m just a plain lad at heart.”

Ambros’s grin made him look like a boy for a moment. “Well, plain lad, you’re always welcome in my home, wherever I make it.”

As soon as they reached Landreg House, Tris abandoned her packed trunks and bags to the care of servants. Saying the briefest hellos to Sandry’s cousins and to Zhegorz, she went to her room to lie down. She had expected that playing with storms would give her a sound night’s sleep. That was always a treat for a light sleeper like her. Working with the Syth to block up that hidden entry to the palace would have been a guarantee not just of sound sleep, but of late sleep. Doing both, then waking at dawn to pack, left her feeling as if someone had put gravel in her joints and plaster in her skull. She needed to rest for a while, to ease her aching limbs. That took longer than she had expected. It was late afternoon when she opened her eyes.