And here I thought Tris was the one who was always bringing home strays, thought Sandry, shaking her head as they rode onto High Street. Now she’s got Daja and Briar and me doing it, too. She glanced sidelong at Ambros, whose long mouth was tight. She couldn’t help it: Her own lips twitched. I would love to hear Ambros explain how I can have a social secretary who can’t write.

Just as Tris had vaguely warned them the day before, rain began to fall as the servants closed the house gates behind them. Ambros halted their party, looking at Sandry as Rizu moaned and Caidlene sneezed.

Sandry turned in the saddle. “Tris?” she asked.

Tris, who already had a book in one hand, looked up, startled. Sandry indicated that water was falling from the sky—though surely even Tris would notice when her book got wet! she thought.

The redhead glared up at the clouds. Though Sandry saw or felt nothing, the soft rain parted, streaming to either side of their company, just as if they were protected by a glass shield. Tris looked around, making sure that everyone, including their guards and packhorses, was included under her protection. Then she raised her eyebrows to silently ask, All right?

That’s our Tris, thought Sandry, resigned to her sister’s eccentricities. She nodded and turned to Ambros, who stared at Tris, unnerved. Sandry nudged him with a booted foot. Remembering where he was, Ambros set his horse in motion, though his eyes followed the curve of the rain as it rolled away over his head. The others followed, though the guards and the courtiers visibly hesitated.

Sandry caught up to Ambros. I hope he learns to take odd magics in stride, she thought. He’ll be seeing them all summer, and they aren’t all going to be nice, quiet ones like redirecting the rain.

Given the early hour, there was very little traffic on the streets around the palace. They found more as they wound down into the commercial parts of town. There the big wagons that supplied the city came in to unload their burdens of produce, meat, eggs, and cheese. Their party slowed still more approaching the gates, and on the roads that led from them. Once they had traveled some miles from the city, however, the traffic thinned. They made very good time overall. Sandry wondered at the amount of room they were always given on the road, until she realized that anyone who had the time to notice that invisible shield over their heads moved as far from their party as they could while still remaining on the road.

At midmorning they halted at a good-sized inn where Ambros was recognized and given prompt service. The riders dismounted for hot tea and fresh-baked rolls, while the hostlers rubbed the horses down. Once they were back in the saddle, everyone was awake and feeling more cheerful, despite the gloomy weather. Caidlene took Sandry’s place next to Ambros, talking about court news and about Ambros’s four lively children. Jak rode with Sandry, pointing out landmarks. Fin and Briar rode together, talking about horses. With Tris absorbed in her book and Zhegorz inclined to huddle between the packhorses and the rest of their guards, Rizu and Daja soon fell into conversation. Rizu had an endless fund of court stories. It wasn’t long before Daja realized many of the stories were also cautionary tales about different figures at court, particularly the empress. The picture Rizu drew of Berenene was one of a woman who was determined to have her way.

“Are you afraid of her?” Daja demanded as they reined in at a second inn. It was well past midday by then. Everyone was starved. “You sound like everyone fears and loves her at the same time.”

“Because they do,” Rizu explained. “She is a great ruler. Like most great rulers, what she wants, she will have.”

Sandry, dismounting nearby, heard this. “But that must be dreadful for her character,” she remarked. “No one can have everything they want. It gives rise to overconfidence, and arrogance.”

Daja looked at Sandry’s round chin, which was set at its most mulish angle. “I don’t think she’ll appreciate a lesson from us,” she warned, letting a hostler take her horse. “I’d as soon not have to leave in a hurry, thank you. It’s a long way to any border.”

“I don’t care to leave places in a hurry, either,” Briar said as he followed the ladies into the inn. “One of these days I won’t be fast enough on my feet.”

A woman bustled forward to guide them to tables. “Remember old Saghad Gurkoy?” Ambros asked as they took seats in a private room. “Beggared, him and his entire family.” His blue eyes glinted as he looked at Fin. “Your father was the empress’s chosen beneficiary in that matter.”

Fin shrugged. “If you want to try to stand between her and what she wants, Saghad fer Landreg, I will wish you well. I promise to burn incense in the temple of your choice when you’re gone,” he informed Ambros, who was not at all offended. “She was going to do as she willed. And if it pleased her after that to give what she had taken to my father, well, she really didn’t like it when Gurkoy told her no, either.”

“No one is all-powerful,” insisted Sandry.

“Maybe, but you’d be surprised how much damage can be done by someone who thinks he is,” Briar said bitterly as maids put mushroom and noodle soup and herring salad in front of them.

“What on earth happened to you?” demanded Tris, glaring at Briar. “You’ve done nothing but hint since you came home. Either tell us outright or stop hinting!”

Briar glared at her. “What do you care? You don’t bother with what’s real—only with what’s in books.”