“Landreg House breeds very fine mules!” cried Sandry, her family pride stung.

“Yes,” Ealaga replied drily, her gaze direct. “I believe it is because the breeders share a few traits in common with them.”

Sandry heard a squeak that might have been a smothered laugh from Tris. She turned to glare at her sister, then remembered something she had seen in the books. She seized the volume that held the previous year’s accounts and leafed through it hurriedly, this time noting many expenditures where lines had been drawn through to show they had not been made. She stopped at the one that had puzzled her. Through the line drawn over it she read the words “masonry/stones/tiles—Pofkim repairs.” She carried the heavy book over to Ealaga and showed the Pofkim line to her. “What should this have been?” she asked.

Ealaga sighed. “You haven’t seen Pofkim yet. It’s on the northwest border, in the foothills. Flooding two years ago ruined some of the houses and made others unstable. It also changed the water. They could only sink one new well when they need three. They’re all right…We help as we can, but…”

“He felt he had to make the payments to me, and the empress raised taxes to get me here. I don’t understand that,” Sandry complained. “How would that get me to come?”

“The landholder may appeal to the imperial courts for tax relief,” Ealaga replied steadily. “Only the landholder. The Namornese crown has a long and proud history of trying to keep its nobles on a short leash.”

“So Sandry asks for relief, and then she can go home to Emelan,” suggested Tris.

“They can only ask for relief from a specific tax,” Ealaga replied. “Once Sandry is gone, Her Imperial Majesty will simply impose new ones.”

Sandry stared at her, her mouth agape. “But…I could never go home,” she whispered. “She’d keep me here, even knowing I hated it.” She scowled suddenly, a white-hot fire burning inside her chest. I hate bullies, she thought furiously, and Berenene is a bully of the first degree. So she’s going to make me stay here? I think not! Even if I have to beggar myself to cover her stupid taxes, I will. She will not punish my people ever again, and she will not make me obey!

She took a deep breath and let it out. If Tris had gotten that angry in my shoes, every thread in this room would have knotted right up, Sandry thought with pride. But I have control over my temper. “I would like to ride to Pofkim tomorrow and review its situation for myself,” she told Ealaga loftily, holding her chin high. “Will you make the proper arrangements, please?”

Ealaga curtsied. If there was a mild reproof in her eyes, Sandry ignored it. I answer to no one but Uncle, she thought stubbornly. It’s time all these Namornese learned that. To Tris, she said, “I believe I will join you and the others on the watchtower.”

Tris propped her fists on her hips. “Not if you’re going to act the countess with them,” she said flatly. “I’ve just got Zhegorz calm enough to go out among people at all, and the way Gudruny’s been telling her kids about your generosity, and how splendid you’ve been, they’ll bolt and run the minute they see your nose in the air.”

Ealaga quietly left the room as Sandry lowered her nose to glare at Tris. “I am not acting the countess!” she said tartly. “And you should talk!”

“I mean it,” retorted Tris. “Act like a decent person or you can’t come.”

Sandry met her friend’s stormy glare and quickly realized how ridiculous she was making herself. “I am a decent person,” she said mildly. “Tris, you don’t understand. I’m going mad with all these games people play to get me to do what they want. ‘Fit only to be waited on and to be married,’ remember? It’s what that woman said to me all those years ago? Well, all these curst Namornese think I’m fit for is to be sold off to the highest bidder, like some prize…mule.”

“I suppose I’m supposed to be sympathetic now,” replied Tris at her most unsympathetic.

Sandry had to laugh. “No,” she said, linking her arm through one of Tris’s. “You’re supposed to take your sister and fellow mage student to say hello to your friends.”

“Good,” Tris said, towing Sandry toward the door. “Because I’m not in a sympathetic mood.”

Sandry made a face when Gudruny opened the shutters the next morning to reveal a gray and drizzly dawn. After her request at supper the night before, Ambros had sent word to Pofkim that their clehame was coming for a visit in the morning.

It seemed she would be visiting with a smaller group than usual. Even early morning riders like Rizu and Daja chose to return to bed when they saw the dripping skies. “Yes, Tris can keep us dry,” Daja told Sandry with a yawn, “but there will be mud, and inspecting, and people bowing and curtsying, and the only time that’s bearable is when it’s a nice day. Have fun.” She twiddled her fingers at Sandry and Tris in farewell.

The guardsmen who had been assigned that morning to accompany the girls and Ambros had never been treated to one of Tris’s rain protections before. For some time they rode under her invisible shield in silence, with frequent glances overhead at the rain that streamed away from three feet above.

“It’s quite safe,” Sandry told them, trying to make them feel better. “She can do it over an entire Trader caravan and still read without losing control over it.”