Daja sent a pulse of magic along their connection to see where the bond led. Walking slowly, sending magic along the tie in waves, she followed it into the garden. She didn’t realize it, but she was twirling her staff in a circle, hand over hand, loosening her muscles in preparation for a fight.

She had to climb over four walls, apologizing to flowers as she stepped on them. I hope the empress doesn’t learn this was me, she thought as she fluffed a patch of moss she had crushed. I’ll have Briar fix these when I find him.

Down two sets of ruined stairs she went, then along an open inner gallery now used as a rose trellis. The thread led her up another set of stairs, or rather, it went through the stairs; Daja had to climb them and jump down from a six-foot wall. She walked among some trees into a clearing by a stream. Young noblemen stood there in a half circle. They watched Briar, who faced one of the men who so often watched the empress.

Olfeon fer…something, Daja remembered. Master of the Armory. The one who gets the cream from Namorn’s armorers when it’s time to buy weapons for the imperial guards. Is he one of the empress’s ex-lovers, the jealous sort Rizu mentioned?

“—as I thought,” Olfeon said, contempt in his voice. “You mages are all cowards. If you have to take on a real man, you can only do it with your stinking magic.”

Briar’s six inches shorter than this kaq, thought Daja as she moved into a space in the half-circle. The men next to her were too interested in the brewing fight to do more than glance at her. But they’re muscled about the same, Daja thought as she continued to measure Briar against Olfeon. He may be a warrior sort—that scar on his cheek isn’t some lady’s kiss.

Briar raised his eyebrows. “Of course, if you think so, how could I possibly disagree?” he asked politely. He’d shifted his weight so he was balanced properly. “Look, are you trying to challenge me to a duel or something? Because if you are, could you get it over with? And if you aren’t, would you go away? There’s blight in that patch of speedwell over there, and I’d like to get rid of it before Her Imperial Majesty sees it and gets upset.”

“Duel?” snapped Olfeon. “With you, guttersnipe?”

Stinking kaq, thought Daja in disgust.

Olfeon continued: “I’d no more duel with a peasant like you than I’d duel with dog dung on my boot. Duels are for noblemen. I’ll just have my lackeys whip you. And if you go whining to Her Imperial Majesty about it, you won’t live to make it to the border.”

The men who watched laughed. Daja wrinkled her nose in disgust. Civilized Namornese my eye, she thought with disdain. They treat their women like property and outsiders like idiots. They deserve a lesson or two. She leaned on her staff with a smile and waited.

Briar looked over at her. “I can handle this myself,” he said, eyes glittering in anger. “I don’t need imperial protection—or yours.”

Even a former street rat has his pride, Daja told herself. To Briar, she said, “I’m just here to take wagers, if he’ll actually deign to trade blows with you.” She looked at the other noblemen. “I’ll bet gold that my friend hurts this kaq if it comes to a fistfight.”

“You’ll lose your money. We don’t wager with Trader mage spawn,” said one of the nobles.

The two closest to her kept their mouths shut as the others laughed. My neighbors fear my magic, not my staff, but it’s still rather sweet of them to be scared, Daja thought. Aloud she said, “Oh—too bad, because I’m giving five-to-one odds on a fistfight between my friend and yours. You know Traders don’t wager money they don’t have.” She looked at Olfeon and sighed. “I forgot. You won’t fight a commoner, even bare-handed.”

“You both need a lesson!” snapped Olfeon. He glared at the other men. “Bet, rot your eyes!” To Briar, he said, “When I leave you as jelly, get your friend here to pack you in a basket and send you home. Have we a bargain?”

Briar spat on his palm and offered it with an evil grin. It was a way for street rats to conclude a deal.

It was not the way Namornese noblemen sealed their oaths. Olfeon produced a handkerchief and let one end of it hang. “You may grab that,” he said impatiently. “Wipe your hand, while you’re at it.” He pointed to Daja. “No magic from you, either. These two?” He pointed to two men. “They see that nonsense. The fight will be forfeit in my favor if they catch either of you trying it.”

“Don’t think much of mages, do they?” Briar asked. He gave the handkerchief a sharp yank, then retreated to take off his boots and stockings.

“Apparently not. Let me know if you want me to ignore the rules. For you I’ll bash a couple of heads,” Daja offered. Olfeon sat on a rock to take off his own boots and stockings.

“You were always the most commonsensical of my sisters, ” Briar said with a grunt as he worked a boot free. “If they kill me, just break their knees. They’re not worth a death sentence.” His second boot was off. Next he began to remove his knives, starting with the two he reached through the pockets of his breeches, and ending with the flat one that lay just below the nape of his neck under his shirt. There were eight in the pile when he finished, not including the pair he’d left in his boots. The nobles stared at the blades in shock. Briar continued, “Though, if you smack ’em on the head, the skull will cave in because there’s nothing to hold it up, and then you can sell ’em to Her Imperial Majesty as planters.”