Sandry sniffed, then defiantly blew her nose on a handkerchief. “Couldn’t you throw us out?” she demanded angrily.

“No more than I could break that precious thread circle you made when you spun the four of us into one,” Daja said. “You know, sometimes I wish that earthquake had never happened. That you’d never had to spin us together to make us stronger. Maybe I wouldn’t hurt so much now if I hadn’t expected you to know me as well as I know me. If I hadn’t expected you to know how awful it would feel to lose Discipline cottage!”

“So you punish me by not letting me into your mind. Fine,” Sandry retorted. “Sulk. Never mind that you three all left me here—”

“You said we should travel!” Daja reminded her. “You said we ought to go!”

“You never once stopped to ask if I didn’t just say it because you all wanted to go so badly!” Sandry balled her hands into fists. “Not one of you even suggested it wasn’t fair that you all go. You just said, oh, good, thanks, Sandry old girl, we’ll bring you presents from abroad, and off you went. Well, fine! Welcome home, keep your presents, and if you want to talk, you can do it by letter, or in person. You’re not the only one who can shut people out, you know!” She turned on her heel to make a grand exit, then hesitated, and turned around again. “And Uncle invites you to supper tomorrow night at six.”

Daja blinked, startled at the abrupt turn in the conversation, then nodded.

“Fine!” Sandry cried, and walked out.

Daja rubbed her temples. Welcome home, she thought wearily. Everything’s changed, you just upset your sister-saati, nothing feels right, welcome home.

The 1st day of Rose Moon, 1042 K. F.

Number 6 Cheeseman Street

Summersea, Emelan

Trisana Chandler’s head still ached as she followed the cart that held her luggage down Cheeseman Street. She had spent a hard few days since her return home. Turning her very young student, Glaki, over to Tris’s foster-mother Lark for a proper rearing at Winding Circle had been hard. Tris would never admit it, but she was deeply touched by Glaki’s tears when she learned that Tris could only visit, not live with, her. It had also hurt to leave her dog, Little Bear, with Glaki and Lark. Tris and Little Bear had been Glaki’s family since the child’s mother died—it would have been cruel to take away both, and Tris knew it. At least Glaki had adjusted to the loss of Tris’s teacher. Niko had interacted with Glaki when necessary, but it was Tris and Little Bear who had played with her, washed her, heard her lessons, and borne the results when Glaki’s first magic lessons did not go as planned.

Tris would have found those adjustments hard enough. She had prepared for them all the way home. What she had not prepared for was the effect of a busy harbor city and a busy temple city on her ability to read images carried on the wind. When she had started out to learn it, Tris had been lucky to see any vision for more than a blink of an eye. In the two years of study she had put into it, Tris had only improved the clarity and duration of the images slightly, averaging one or two images per trial. Over the long weeks of her voyage north, constant practice and fewer images to sort through had left Tris open. A flood of far sharper visions assaulted her as their vessel entered Summersea harbor. She had felt the kiss of the ship against the dock while she vomited over the rail. Glaki and the dog had to help her off. Now Tris walked behind the luggage cart, using it as a wind and image barrier, to keep her unhappy stomach from rebelling anymore.

Tris did not look like someone who had already mastered magics that had defeated older, more experienced mages. A short, plump redhead, Tris wore a variety of braids coiled in a heavy silk net pinned at the back of her head. Only two thin braids were allowed to swing free, framing a face that was sharp-featured, long-nosed, and obstinate. Next to her hair, her storm gray eyes were her most attractive feature. Today she hid them behind dark blue tinted spectacles that cut the flood of pictures riding every draft. She was pale-skinned and lightly freckled, dressed for summer in a gray gown and dusty, well-worn boots. On her shoulder rode some kind of glass creature that sat on its hind feet, one delicate forepaw clutching one of her braids.

“Don’t hold on so tight,” Tris told the creature in a whispered croak. Her throat was raw from constant nausea. It had taken her three days in bed to keep her improved magical skill from making her sick. “They’ll love you. Everyone loves you. At least, they’ll love you if you don’t go around eating their expensive powders and things.”

The glass creature unfolded shimmering wings to balance, revealing itself to be a glass dragon. It voiced a chinking sound like the ring of pure crystal.

“No, you hardly ever mean it,” replied Tris. While she couldn’t exactly understand the creature she had named Chime, they’d had this conversation before. “But you always eat anything that looks like it might color your flames, and then you vomit most of it up.”

Though the luggage driver turned the cart through the gate of Number 6, Tris lagged behind, feeling anxious about seeing her sisters again. Just remember all those southern mages who found out I could see a little, or hear a little, on the winds, she reminded herself. How they acted as if I had stolen something from them—as if I would steal! How they kept saying I thought myself better than them, when I was trying not to throw up from the headaches. How they started hiding their notes and closing their doors as I came by. Do I want Sandry and Daja to change like that on me? Do I want them deciding I think I’m better than they are, just because I can do a special trick?