He nodded, and left them alone in the garden.
Once he was gone, Ambros looked at Briar, Daja, and Sandry. “Your friend over there is very determined,” he said with respect, nodding to Tris.
“Oh, all three girls are like that,” Briar said carelessly. “Sometimes you need to hit them with a brick to get their attention. They get it from our mothers, I think.”
“It occurs to me, that it’s possible to be too determined,” Daja remarked with a glance at Sandry. “Determined to the point of not doing right by people because we insist on only seeing things one way.”
“Determined that what’s good for you is just good,” drawled Tris.
Sandry scowled, knowing they were trying to tell her something. “Hush. I have things on my mind,” she informed them, picking at her berry pie.
“Not enough things,” Briar grumbled.
The maid returned with Tris’s food, while Ambros excused himself to buy supplies for his trip home in the morning. Sandry picked up her embroidery hoop after she finished her own meal. Something was still bothering her. Embroidery usually helped her to think clearly, but not that afternoon. She snipped off one color of thread. Chime was seated in her basket, holding up the next color she needed, when Sandry realized that Briar, Tris, and Daja were watching her.
“What?” she asked. Briar whistled silently. Tris drummed her fingers on the table. Daja leaned her head on her brass-mittened hand and watched Sandry calmly.
What?! Sandry demanded.
Maybe you got what you wanted, but the empress still gets most of what she wants, too, Daja told her. She can tax Ambros until he calls for your help, and you’ll have to come or leave him to flounder. And if you come, it will be this all over again—
Except now they know what we can do, and they’ll be ready, interrupted Briar. They’ll have more great mages waiting.
And the women of Landreg will have no one to go to, added Tris. Unless Ambros does that really expensive double registering thing you thought of, where he pays twice to enroll women as your subjects and his. He still won’t have seats in the assembly to influence the other nobles to vote down new taxes. You saw how she treated him. She acts like he’s a caretaker, and he is. The power’s all yours.
Sandry stared at them. “Stop nagging me,” she snapped. “It’s not your history. It’s not your family.”
No, said Daja. But it’s his. And frankly, he’s put a great deal more work into it than you have.
There’s one way you can make sure Berenene doesn’t win anything, Briar said. After all you put us through there, you ought to be decent enough to admit it.
It’s mine, argued Sandry, though the remark felt watery and overused to her.
How much more rich than disgusting rich do you want to be? asked Briar.
Sometimes you owe your people a little less pride and a little more respect, Daja added.
“I refuse to listen!” cried Sandry. She tossed her embroidery into the basket, forgetting that Chime was in it. Her exit ruined by the dragon’s unhappy scratching noises, she uncovered Chime and set her on the table. “I’m going for a walk!” She marched out of the inn, accompanied only by her own uncomfortable thoughts. She returned while their entire group was at supper in the common room, and ate alone in the room where she slept with Gudruny and the children. When they came up to bed, Sandry hired a private room where she could sew—and think—alone.
Very late that night, Briar, Tris, and Daja were jolted out of slumber by a silent call from Sandry. Don’t let Ambros leave in the morning, she ordered. Satisfied? She did not wait to hear their reply, but cut them off and went to sleep.
Keeping Ambros there in the morning was a chore. He was determined to go. He might have actually left, had his horse not lost a shoe. Getting a farrier who was not already busy with a week’s worth of other such chores to replace the shoe lasted well past midday, particularly since Ambros stumbled over Briar, Tris, Daja, Zhegorz, or Gudruny at every turn. The one person he didn’t trip over was Sandry. She was strangely absent.
Once the horse was shod, it was so late in the day that Ambros gave up leaving until morning. He settled down to a game of draughts with Daja. They were nearly done when Sandry returned. With her she brought a trembling woman in the gray gown of an advocate.
“Cousin, may I speak with you?” asked Sandry. She indicated one of the inn’s private chambers.
Briar, Tris, and Daja waited in the common room. They were content to wait in silence: Tris had a book, Daja some work for the farrier who had seen to Ambros’s horse, Briar the potted herbs from the inn’s kitchen. It was nearly suppertime when the door to the private room opened and the advocate lurched out.
“I’ve never heard of the like!” she babbled as the hostler fetched her horse. “Never. A, a count, just like that. Like ... that!” She tried to snap her fingers but failed, due to her shaking. “Has she always been mad?” she asked Briar.
“No, usually she’s sane enough,” Briar said, grinning as he jammed his hands in his pockets. “Every now and then, though, she does the right thing.”
“You’re as mad as she is!” exclaimed the advocate. She ran out into the inn yard.
Ambros and Sandry emerged from the private room. Ambros looked overwhelmed. Sandry glared at her friends. “Are you happy now?” she demanded. “Meet Cleham fer Landreg, sole heir to the Landreg title and lands.”
All three of the young mages rose. Briar and Daja bowed to Ambros; Tris curtsied. After a moment, Sandry curtsied as well.
“I never expected ...,” Ambros began to say. His voice trailed off in confusion.
“That actually made it easier, that you didn’t,” admitted Sandry. “And they’re right. I just had to, oh, catch my breath.” She smiled. “And now the rest of us can go home. Back to Summersea, and back to Winding Circle.”
Zhegorz cleared his throat. When they all looked at him, he said, “Do you know, Viymese Daja tells me it never snows in Emelan. Never. It seems unnatural to me. And they have no beet soup, or bacon and millet soup. I’m quite fond of that. Please understand, I’m certain that Winding Circle is a splendid place.”
“Well, it produced us,” Briar said with a grin. “Zhegorz, it’s all right. Go ahead. Whatever it is, you can tell us.”
Zhegorz smiled shyly. “I know, I know. Except that I want to tell him.” He pointed a bony finger at Ambros, who blinked in confusion.
“Me? You hardly know me,” he said. “I mean, we’ve seen each other, but ...”
“I know you’re a good man,” Zhegorz said firmly. “A good Namornese man.” He looked at Briar, at Daja, and at Tris. “Don’t you think a Cleham who is not a favorite of Her Imperial Majesty could use someone in his service who can hear conversations on the winds? Who can see things on the winds?” He looked at Ambros. “I get better every day. I breathe, and I sort through what I hear and see. I practice every day. I will always be a little shaky. But I can be useful.” He looked at the mages.
Briar nodded. “He could be useful, Ambros.”
“He’s wobbly, but I would trust him,” said Daja.
“As would I,” confirmed Sandry.
Tris glared at Ambros. “You’d be a fool not to take his service. Just treat him with kindness,”—Briar snorted, and she ignored him—“treat him with kindness, and he’ll help you navigate that snakepit Her Imperial Majesty calls a court,” Tris continued.
Ambros looked at Zhegorz and took a deep breath. “Then we’ll discuss salary and where you’ll be living, your duties and so on, on the way home,” he said. “Welcome to my household, Zhegorz.”