Tris looked at Sandry. “What do you say? There’s hail coming in the next storm. I could hasten it along, bring the hail down here. By the time I’m done, they’ll look like they’ve been kicked by elephants.”

Sandry leaned forward. “I will never marry in Namorn, willing or no,” she said, her voice low and ferocious. “Never, never, never. Get out of my sight, before I tell my friend to send for that hail.”

Dymytur hesitated, his eyes still on Sandry. His uncle snarled wordlessly and dragged him back, away from Sandry’s group.

“The empress has mages, too!” Dymytur shouted, enraged. “Great mages who will tie up your power in a wee bow, so you’ll marry whoever she pleases as she commands. Then you’ll see about your never-never-never!”

He turned and ran for the nearby woods, his kin and his warriors following at a stumbling trot. Sandry spat on the ground in disgust, and kneed her mare forward down the road. After a moment’s hesitation, Ambros and their guards followed. Tris remained behind for a moment, undoing one of her wind braids. She drew out a fistful of its power, held it on her palm while she gave it a quick stir with a finger, then turned it loose. It circled the area in a powerful blast, strewing leather and cloth all over the wide fields around the road. Only then did she follow the others.

Sandry fumed in silence all the way back to the castle. How dare these people? she asked herself silently, over and over. How dare they? What gives them the right to assume they may tell me how I am to live? They don’t know me. They don’t even care to know me. They look at me and all they see is a womb and moneybags.

“Do people do this with your daughters?” she demanded sharply of Ambros after they had ridden several miles.

Her cousin cleared his throat. “Only a fraction of women are at risk. If a woman is already bound by marriage contract, like most of the young ladies at court, she is considered untouchable. There are women and girls who are related to families or individuals considered too powerful to offend, like Daja’s friends in Kugisko, the Bancanors and the Voskajos. The rest of us keep our daughters close to home in their maiden years.”

“And it’s considered safe to offend my family?” Sandry asked, her voice cutting.

“The head of your family is the empress,” Ambros murmured. “And the empress wants you to remain here.”

Sandry suggested what the empress could do about it in words she had learned from Briar.

Ambrose flinched and shook his head. “It was folly of me to let us come out with less than two squads of men, but we needed every free hand for the plowing. I thought we would be safe enough inside our borders. Holm and Haugh must be desperate, to strike at you here.” He frowned. “And someone from Pofkim must have been in their pay, to let them know of our visit.”

“Or someone at the castle got the word out when you announced this jaunt last night,” Tris said, matter-of-factly.

Sandry glared at her.

“What?” demanded Tris. “I’m not saying you shouldn’t venture outside your precious walls. It isn’t as if we didn’t handle the whole mess with no bloodshed. Though I don’t see why you didn’t arrest the nobles, at least,” she told Ambros. “It was highway robbery, in a manner of speaking.”

“I wanted to get Sandry home,” Ambros said. “We’d have had our work cut out for us, to round them up and hold them, even without their weapons. And, well, there is the matter of the unspoken law.”

“What unspoken law?” Sandry wanted to know.

Ambros sighed and scratched his head. If he hadn’t been such a dignified man, Sandry would have described his look as sheepish. “The one of runaway marriages,” he said reluctantly at last. “No magistrate will penalize a man who kidnaps an unmarried woman for the purposes of marriage. Or if they do, it’s a fine, and one so tiny that it’s insulting. The only exception is if someone is killed during the kidnapping. Then the man must die.”

“Mila of the Grain, of course we must punish him if he kills someone, but kidnapping?” cried Sandry. “A mere bit of manly folly! I’m sure if he apologizes to the woman and gives her flowers, she’ll come to thank him!”

Wincing, Ambros continued in his dry way: “The custom’s from the old empire, the one west of the Syth. Those we’ve conquered since have chosen to, well, honor it.” “That’s barbaric!” snapped the girl.

All around them the guards from Landreg bristled.

“It is!” Sandry insisted, swiveling to look at them. “Around the Pebbled Sea, women control their own lives, within limits. No one can force us to marry against our will!”

“Actually, they can, but they have to be sneakier about it,” remarked Tris, watching the clouds overhead. “Contracts, and bride prices. Telling the girl it’s for the good of the family, that sort of thing.”

“It’s not right, the Namornese custom is barbaric, and I won’t be forced to marry anyone!” Sandry snapped. “Anyone who tries to force me will learn a sharp lesson!”

“Any would-be kidnapper with chain mail would still be wearing it even after you were done with your spell,” Ambros observed. “And if they know what you can do, they’ll be sure to prepare ahead of time.”

“I am not helpless deadweight,” Sandry whispered, her eyes blazing. “I am no victim, no pawn, no weakling.”

Tris sighed as they trotted onto the road that would take them to the castle gate. “No weakling against the imperial mages? Ishabal is a great mage. So’s Quenaill. Do you even know if you could face down great mages, if one was trying to kidnap you?”