Her Imperial Majesty, Empress Berenene of Namorn, was not the kind of woman who would easily admit defeat. Her almost decade long warfare with the realm of Yanjing would prove that to be one of her strongest supported example of that trait. So when her Council of Lords voted, against her underhanded suggestions, to overthrow a long-standing tradition of the empire, despite the fact that it enhanced "her standing and her position" in the world, Berenene held a grudge. And, unfortunately for her young cousin, Sandrilene fa Toren had been one of the instigating factors in ruining the Empress's reputation (or so the Empress thought). She had recently employed a young woman of strange descent, who had travelled across the Endless Sea, possessing strange magic and claiming she had been witness to transportation between the realms of mortals and gods; in addition, the girl was weak-willed, who was able to describe other ways of portals that Berenene's lead mage would be able to provide. Whether that was true or not, the Empress was more than willing to provide monetary conciliation to this Varice of Carthak, not only to be a replacement for Olenikka Potcracker, but to send her idea of vengeance upon Sandrilene and her cursed foster-siblings. And, in any case, Berenene could always use another lady-in-waiting. They were such weak, fickle things.


In Emelan, young Sandrilene was happily weaving a rather difficult commission, not from a noble relative or foster-sibling, but from the council of Winding Circle. They had mages aplenty, not counting her own teacher Lark, a dedicate of the Earth Temple, but the job was a rather complicated task. It involved payment not only from the council, but from her great-uncle, Duke Vedris of Emelan, as it was a net of pure magic to entrap a criminal using a type of craft both feared and undetectable from normal investigators.

Sandrilene was a striking girl who caught the interest of many who met her; she had bright blue eyes, full of awareness and intelligence, but could soften her fierce expression with genuine happy manners and graceful tact. She wore elegant yet casual clothing one would expect from nobles. Her overdress was of purple silk embroidery, worn over a full blush pink gown. A veil of pale grey covered her sandy blond hair, cleverly tied in threaded braids which round about her head in a mesmerizing design. Despite being young and unmarried, the lady was polished and efficient, governing the domestic portion of her great-uncle Vedris's household. She was also an accomplished mage working primarily with thread-craft, amongst other more exotic skills that other mages could not and would not be able to understand.

She enjoyed working in her sitting room. Despite the rather seedy element her net would have to play in the Provost's investigation, Sandry deftly imbued different cords for safety, strength, and stability. Her layering of the net was set in a pentagram, with a pattern meant to help strengthen and contain her power. Sandrilene's maid Amelica demurely interrupted her.

"Milady, I have finished with your bedchamber and attached rooms. Would you prefer I wait until tomorrow for your sitting room?" she asked not timidly, but politely, for Sandrilene was kind to the servants and well-respected.

Sandry looked about herself and sighed. She was not a messy character, but she had withheld letting the staff clean for several days. Despite her power and vigilance, the floors needed cleaning, the window shelves burdened with bird activity, and the candelabras needed restocking – the rugs, couches, and tapestries did not dare to need attention. However, with that in mind, the girl had just finished a net woven of magic and fabric meant to trap several thieves. The net employed several different types of magic that would confuse and befuddle trackers, both magical and physical, and she was tired and pleased to have done some more sophisticated work than hemming and embroidering her families' clothing.

Though, at the thought, she sighed. Briar has stopped wearing breeches that resisted dirt stains in the knees, despite patches and new clothes she made. Daja never let her know about the apron that her apprentice used, burning it to a crisp in an effort to test its' magical strength. Tris, bless Mila of the Grain, let Chime help fold her laundry. The glass dragon could reflect magic on her own and rip apart much finer stitching with her claws. Her uncle, luckily, had no such magical damage on his clothes – but Sandry did want to make him another set of tunics, breeches, and cloaks, which he refused to be bought on his own accord. His choice in colors still left much to be desired to inflate the populace's faith in his health. Beyond which, Sandry was not sure whether he may want her to take notice in these details as a sign of affection, lest his temper be raised from an attention on his previous ill health. He was a lonely and intimidating person, but she loved and respected him all the same, and desired his safety and powerful presence with the kingdom to be known.

"Not at all, Amelica. I would have just finished in any case. Please start on this side of the room, while I gather the rest of this fabric." Sandry briskly folded up the net that she had finished to tuck into a basket near her couch. While she was gathering, Amelia was checking throughout the room for tasks to perform.

"I see again that your tapestries and comforters need no help – why I wonder if they have the courage to move while you sleep, milady!" Amelica jested. Sandry smiled, but was spent at moving her materials into the basket. So much more of the net was present than she expected! With some chagrin, she noticed she had occupied more of the morning tasked with the project and a fair bit of her magical reserves were used in the mission.

"Ah, what a bother," Sandry muttered. "Amelica," she asked politely, "would you mind holding off cleaning my rooms? If you could find the Guardsmen Oama and Kwaben, I need to go into the city."

"Yes, milady," Amelica replied good-naturedly. "Shall I send a message to milord your uncle, or would you prefer to send it yourself?"

Sandry, already into the hallway with a basket full of powerful magic, laughed. "Have a wonderful day, Amelica, and please do not worry about the rugs! I have made sure that everything is in order. I am heading to my lord Uncle presently."


In the forge and smithies attached to 33 Cheeseman Street, Daja Kisobu faced several options. The first was fixing the mistake of an apprentice, Treue. Skilled she was, but confident the apprentice was not. She had managed to melt down several types of metal together into an alloy that could be spelled into a rather powerful protection element for what it was used for. However, the girl did not have the power that Daja commanded and had tried several academic spells that had rendered the metal useless for future work.

Daja was a stoutly built woman that made many turn back for a second glance. Her dark brown skin was not uncommon in the Summersea market, nor her dark brown eyes and multitude of fine braids, or even her strong, well-muscled appearance. However, her purposeful stride, wrapped usually in a gaggle of well-muscled female and male apprentices always drew attentions from the local market. Despite this, Daja kept her bronze-clad hand out of sight, for its magical residue and strange, flexible nature brought her notice she preferred to avoid. Furthermore, the Trader's staff she carried gave her many looks from the market stands and vendors she frequented, but others throughout the realm still held some guarded opinions about her tribal-like family.

While overlooking her apprentice's work and considering her approach for the discipline, she was well-aware that some of the male apprentices were watching more than cleaning. Daja grimaced to herself. Several of the men had already suggested to her that they travel to her bed, in attempt to have better treatment in her forge; the gossipy of the rejects had suggested her preference to women be the cause of her refusal to them – while her opinions of apprentices rested solely on talent, dedication, and performance, she knew that treating her female students any differently would be problematic. Furthermore, her intentions to be a good forge-master and teacher left things clear. Treue could cause problems she would have to deal with in the future, if she used magic and forge time without Daja's approval in the future. Plus, the lecture would let all the other apprentices know she did not play favorites, despite Treue being a comely girl.

"Treue, may I speak to you a moment?" Daja asked politely, as the apprentice was washing tools and body in the courtyard well.

The girl nodded, only looking slightly frightened, but mostly apprehensive. Daja had heard the apprentices berate her all day. Treue knew what was coming. She would not be dismissed, as Daja was well-aware of the feeling of not belonging – nor would she be discouraged to practice magic. But she would have to learn to be careful with power, with working among men, and to not use the common well to wash tools and soot away.

"And for Hakkoi's sake," Daja rebuked gently afterwards, "do not wear silk, wear linen and leather! You're a blacksmith! Give the men another reason to ogle you if you want rightful respect; as for the other women," seeing Treue's blush and wanting to avoid one of her own, "they will help if you ask for it. They also like proper aprons and have plenty of tips for forge life," with a quick grin. Treue smiled and bowed, going to help the household prepare for dinner.


Briar Moss grinned from his second floor bedroom terrace. He shouldn't have heard the conversation from the courtyard around the smithies area of the house, but part of his terrace covered the entire property. The property of the entire household's plants knew to whisper to him. And he did appreciate knowing whether the young pretty smith still wore clothing that smoked and frayed.

Not that the young bronze man minded any other messages either. His dark black hair, intrigued eyebrows, and plant green eyes seemed to appreciate the constant barrage of information from the greenery. He was, after all, a thief in his early life. And, as he thought to himself often, who didn't want to know as much as possible, as soon as possible. Duke Vedris often needed information quickly; listening to plants was a helpful, convenient option and, in Briar's case, it was an easy, truthful option, knowing what transpired around the house.

Not that Briar thought his sisters were up to trouble. Sandry spent her entire day in the castle keep, seeped in spells to protect from that kind of thing. Daja spent her day in the forge, renewing spells on metal and herself indiscriminatingly. And he never worried about spells, charms, or curses on Tris. If she did not catch them herself, and she was more prone to denouncing some as a common cold, she would put barriers around her third floor room faster than she could say "It was war, pavao."

He grinned and thought about himself. He was in the peak of health, having just cultured an entire shaken garden based on three different kingdoms. The best went to Sandry and Duke Vedris, being his home country and patrons, of sort; but he was sending some others to Berenene and some to Yanjing, both of whom he had… offended in the past.

"Boy!" a slowly spoken yet imperious voice sounded from the courtyard. "Come down this instant. Did you not receive word that we were coming?"

"Briar, for goodness sake," another voice called, "Luvo and I ain't seen you in ages! And I would like to see Daja, and Sandry always has advice. And she's nice! It's been such a long ride and Rosethorn made me leave all my stones but the throwing discs!"

Briar raced to the balcony, tripping over his common brown breeches. He had not bothered to put a tunic over his undershirt, since he had been working in the garden all day. With this slightly unorthodox attire, he slammed into the balcony to greet his teacher's and his student's voice.

"We may be staying the night. Tell the housekeeper," Rosethorn instructed, already partially disentangled from her horse, Ladylove. Looking up and seeing him partially dressed with a shakkan complaining about the bitter wind, she scowled. Briar said nothing in reply, throwing up a hand in greeting, but closed his balcony door to prepare for visitors and windy conditions. Evvy waved violently, while partially falling off her horse; a strange, purple being waited near her, having walked the distance. Luvo could not be carried by any horse. Evvy landed well, fleeing into the servants' entrance. Rosethorn followed aggressively, turning to wave servants into the proper buildings. She stopped only to kneel at an altar for Mila the Grain by Brian's herb garden.


Tris dodged the open oven to look at her family, since her only trustworthy cook was on duty. Rosethorn and Evvy bickered like the student and teacher relations she knew while Luvo watched on carefully from the corner. Daja had made a metal stool of bronze with a few extra qualities to keep his magical weight in check, so he chuckled as he pleasantly sat away from the table and servants. Evvy had already left her place to bring some tea to Luvo – Tris grinned. Luvo hated tea and cookies. He waited till the desert portion to complain, so he could politely ask the rest of the table for conversation, when their mouths were not full.

Sandry and Daja quietly conversed, aloud for the tables' comfort, about the crimes around the city. Sandry explained that her net was doing wonderful work, despite her fear that without dance magic it would be useless. During her foster siblings' travels, Sandry had instructed a dance mage in basic magic and helped the Provost to catch criminals with his help. Pasco and his dance teacher Yasmin had since left to travel, but Sandry was left comforted. Several mages from Lightsbrigde had joined the dancing company towards the eastern lands. Pasco would be safe.
On the other side, Daja spoke to Sandry about the constant trial of her apprentices. She missed working in a mage's workshop where she was free from common speculation and judgment. The extra money from commissions and the thrill of helping youngsters gave her pleasure, but Daja chafed at running a household on her own and trying to mediate between men and women who worked metal craft, particularly those that berated her type of craft or who only spoke of academic magic.

After the dinner had ended and their guests had departed to return to Winding Circle, Tris felt a cold wind hit the house. In the middle of the summer month of Mead, that would be unexpected; Tris and the others had set several powerful protections around the house, and something out of the ordinary could be a type of magical premonition. She was prepared to be cautious, particularly because her family had been caught unaware before. Raising a hand to hold Chime against her neck, she flung open a pair of shutters facing the northern portion of Summersea.

Silently, she and her foster family touched base within their minds, using the power that the four had forged early in their magical careers. This skill gave them the ability to transfer strength to each other, communicate without verbal sound, and perform complex and unique workings; but it was notorious in the entire magical community, as they had broken several magical laws in the process.

"This wind is unusual and full of power I don't normally see," Tris told them. "We should be cautious and look around; no storms were predicted for several weeks."

Sandry grimaced. "Uncle has received all his taxes and correspondence from all but Namorn. The law just passed that the kidnapping of West Namorn has changed. The Empress says nothing publically, but Ambros writes that she continues to rage. We 'did' defy her will."

"You're right," the boy responded, "We should get the staff and household away if we can. Us too. This is magic that we've not felt before, Coppercurls, unless you can tell any different. Seems to have four streams and those—"

Daja interrupted, "Everyone, throw up your best protections now! We are about to be hit by something tha—"

The overwhelming rush of magic hit the four like a tidal wave. They did not feel any pain, nor did they wake up for hundreds of hundreds of hours, at least in their own realm. However, the blast of magic jolted the most powerful mage of the realm of Tortall, Numair Salmalin. His wife, Daine Salmalin, rolled out a bed with a nightmare threatening her kingdom. A dragonet named Kitten scurried between her legs and tried to escape the blankets spread across the floor.