It was Briar’s turn to nod. “I had the two X’s on my hands, so they gave me the docks. Scraping barnacles until it killed me. But this Bag was there —”
“Bag?” she asked, confused. In Chammuri the term had no special meaning.
“Money-Bag. Takamer. Leastways, I thought he was a takamer, he dressed so nice. Niko, he was. He took me. The magistrate had orders to give him anybody he wanted. And Niko brought me to Winding Circle in Emelan.”
“Where’s that?” Evvy wanted to know.
Talking was thirsty work, so Briar got them each an apple. As Evvy bit into hers he could see she was missing teeth. He hoped Jebilu would help her keep from losing the rest. “It’s northwest of here, on the Pebbled Sea. That’s where I moved in with Rosethorn, and her friend Lark.” He went on to tell her of the three girls who had also come to live there. Together he and the girls had learned that their powers were so well hidden, so much a part of the natural world, that even Tris, whose magic was the showiest of all, had been passed over by other mages.
Evvy was giggling over his tale of the last of Tris’s animal rescue efforts, trying to teach a young crow to fly without ever having flown herself, as they reached the house. Rosethorn was up on the roof, carefully urging the beans, corn, and clover plants into another growth cycle. Of all the gardeners in the lands around the Pebbled Sea, Rosethorn was the most successful with these new crops, discovered in the unknown lands on the far side of the Endless Ocean. Briar and Evvy climbed up to join her.
“How were the farms today?” Briar asked, sitting on his heels beside Rosethorn. Evvy perched on the bench.
“The same as the rest.” Rosethorn ran a hand through the sack of corn seed she had already coaxed out of the plants. “This land is so tired. They’ve farmed it for twelve centuries. The farmers do their best to reduce the acid that builds up with too much irrigation, but some have been poor for generations and can’t afford what’s needed to turn the land around.” A single tear oozed out of the corner of each eye. She rubbed it away impatiently. “It disheartens me, to handle dirt that’s so tired.”
“But these will help,” Briar reminded her. “You said the beans and the clover will build up the soil.” Get in here, Briar urged some of the nearby plants. She needs you. To himself he added, And she’ll growl if I do anything obvious like move plants closer to her.
The plants stretched until they could rest against her. Briar had seen her worse off, but he still liked to ensure that when she was empty of power and hope, her green strength was restored quickly. After her death and revival three years ago, just the thought that she might be weary, or failing, jabbed him into action.
He glanced at Evvy: the girl stared at Rosethorn, mouth agape. Chances were that she’d never seen that much greenery on the move before, between the plants who comforted and the plants Rosethorn tended as they went from shoots to flowering growth under her hands. Of course, how many ever watched to see if plants moved? To most people they weren’t alive; they were things, without needs or instincts of their own. Even when humans knew that one plant, set in the wrong patch of earth, would die, or that another would take over, forcing every other plant out, they still refused to accept that plants were living creatures.
After a while, just as Briar was starting to think of a nap, Rosethorn asked, “How did your talk with Stoneslicer go?”
Briar sighed. “We had to change our plans.” He told Rosethorn about the day’s work, keeping the story short. She didn’t care how different people talked or behaved. Only the girls and Lark enjoyed that part of stories.
When he finished, Rosethorn sat down on the roof carefully, ordering the plants back to their proper places. When they let go of her she turned so she could look at Evvy. “So you won’t visit the palace, eh?” she asked. She spoke more slowly than she did to Briar. Some people found her speech, with its hint of a slur, hard to follow. “I can’t say that I blame you. Palaces are cold and unfriendly, as a whole.” Evvy nodded vigorously. Rosethorn looked at Briar. “Well, you’d better ride up there and talk to him. If she’s already experimenting, we can’t get her a teacher quickly enough.” She looked at the western sky. “It’s too late now. That’s for tomorrow, then, first thing. And when are you supposed to sell trees in Golden House?”
Briar grimaced. “Day after tomorrow. And I have work to do yet. That one fig tree keeps arguing with me.”
“Well, go argue back,” Rosethorn ordered him with a smile. “You’re welcome to stay for supper,” she told Evvy.
The girl shook her head. “I have cats,” she explained.
Rosethorn smiled. “And they must be fed. But you’ll come here tomorrow — around noon, perhaps? We’ll know when you can meet with your teacher by then.”
Evvy nodded rapidly, making Briar wonder if she would come back. He hoped that she would, after today, but he could tell she wasn’t resigned to an unknown teacher. If she didn’t come, he would simply have to collect her from her warren in Princes’ Heights.
The girl started to climb over the wall, then she stopped, and turned back. “I better get my old things,” she told Briar, smoothing a wrinkle from her tunic. “If I go back to Lambing Tunnel like this, they’ll think I have money.”
“Should have thought of that myself,” said Briar, leading the way into the house. Rosethorn had folded Evvy’s grayish tunic and trousers and placed them on a stool in the workroom, under a note on a slate: Shake out fleabane before wearing. Briar diplomatically lifted first the tunic and then the trousers, stirring the folds until the herbs dropped to the floor. He left Evvy there to change. When he returned she was gone, her new clothes folded almost neatly and left on the stool. Her sandals lay on top of the pile.