Author's note: This was written for the 2013 rarewomen fic exchange, which is being hosted on AO3

Disclaimer: The Circle of Magic belongs to Tamora Pierce. No profit is being made from this story.

The midday sun beat heavily over the grounds of Winding Circle, sending most scurrying inside for shelter. A few brave souls ventured outside to run errands or visit friends, but for the most part the outside portions of the temple grounds were deserted. Even the birds had retired, resting under the cover of broad leaves until the sun edged further down in the sky and took the heat with it. Not even a breeze blew from over the sea to relieve the heat.

Ankle deep in dirt, back exposed directly to the sun's rays as she bent over, Dedicate Rosethorn smiled. It was a rare sight indeed, one she reserved for the plants in her care. Those novices with whom she had been trained would no doubt have sworn that Rosethorn did not have it in her to smile at all, a report her teachers would have been happy to support. Rosethorn herself, had she been asked to comment on the rumors, would have fixed the inquiring party with an impressive glare and snapped peevishly that she smiled at plants because they were sensible and did not try her nerves, whereas she scowled at people because they did precisely the opposite. At that point the curious asker would have quickly found something else to do, preferably as far away from the gardens as possible.

Behind her a door opened and then gently swung closed again. Rosethorn, busy uprooting a particularly troublesome weed that threatened to overtake her snap dragons, paid the sound no attention. So caught up was she in her efforts to make sure that not even the smallest amount of root remained in the ground that she failed to notice the presence of someone else until a gentle voice said, "I've brought you water."

Rosethorn barely refrained from jerking the weed out of the earth in surprise. Instead she scowled, twisting her head slightly to glare at the newcomer. "Go away," she said shortly. "Didn't they tell you not to bother me?"

The speaker, who turned out to be a young Earth dedicate with golden-brown skin and eyes that danced with laugher, did not move. She held a water jug in her hands, cradling it carefully, and seemed unaffected by the heat. "I don't make a habit of doing what I'm told."

"Maybe you should start," Rosethorn said. She pulled firmly on the troublesome weed and at last managed to free the entire root system from the ground. As the last of the plant emerged she could feel the relief of the snap dragons, shortly followed by them begging for water and food. Rosethorn rolled her eyes at their needy nature and tossed the weed aside. When she looked over she found the other dedicate still there, looking placidly on. "Well?" she snapped. "I'm busy."

The dedicate bent and placed the water jug carefully on the ground. "I'll leave you to your work then," she said. "Mila bless your endeavors."

Rosethorn knew she should return the blessing, but she was not in the habit of indulging conversation with strangers and she wasn't about to start now. She grunted instead. The other dedicate laughed, her face crinkling into a dozen laugh lines, and turned to go. She moved gracefully, gliding over the ground more than walking. After a few steps she paused and looked back, waving cheerfully. Rosethorn, annoyed at having been caught watching, did not return the farewell.

Two nights later Rosethorn sat alone with her evening meal, doing her best to tune out the completely inane chatter of the dedicates around her. Her face was twisted into a dark glower, one which had the dual effect of conveying her opinion of her fellow dedicates and warning away any who might choose to sit near her. The scowl, apparently, was not quite enough because someone paused directly in front of her.

"Is this seat taken?"

Rosethorn looked up and saw the dedicate who had brought her water. She was smiling, her hair freshly washed and still slightly damp. Rosethorn cast a quick look around the room and noted that there were precious few other places to sit. With a grimace she shook her head and the dedicate sat down across from her.

"I'm afraid I didn't catch your name," the dedicate said.

Rosethorn scowled. "Rosethorn," she said shortly. "If you want to talk you should sit somewhere else."

"You're more interesting than they are," the dedicate said cheerfully. "And I make them uncomfortable."

At this Rosethorn looked up, frowning. "Why?" she asked. "You seem perfectly normal."

"You shouldn't judge based on appearances," the dedicate chided, and as though to prove her point bent over backwards to retrieve her fallen napkin. Rosethorn stared. She had not studied anatomy extensively, choosing to spend her time practicing her magic instead, but she felt fairly confident in saying that the human body did not bend that way, especially not without considerable pain. Yet the dedicate was still smiling placidly when she straightened, napkin in hand.

"How did you do that?" Rosethorn asked.

She half expected an answer of magic, but the dedicate laughed. "I used to be an acrobat," she said. "Staying limber helps." She took a delicate sip of milk.

Rosethorn opened her mouth to ask more questions and reminded herself abruptly that she did not want to encourage this woman. People invariably became unbearable in time and Rosethorn had learned long ago not to bother with close relationships. Her adversarial half-friendship with Crane was as close as she got, and it would be cruel to allow this lively dedicate to think that there was any gain to be had from pursuing a friendship. Instead she looked back down at her stew and studiously ignored the woman across from her.

She finished her meal first and rose, nodding a slightly awkward farewell. The other dedicate smiled her own goodbye. "I'm Lark," she said. "It was lovely to make your acquaintance."

"Likewise," Rosethorn muttered, and quickly retreated back to her garden, where no one would try to talk to her. Plants made far more sense than people; they asked only for what was reasonable and didn't bother her with needless chatter. She felt the stress of a day spent around other humans start to drain from her as she began the process of checking for invading weeds and insects.

Rosethorn did not seek out Lark deliberately, but now that she knew the woman's face she started seeing her everywhere. Lark, she learned more or less by accident, worked in the loomhouses and seemed to be friends with absolutely everyone. Never once had Rosethorn heard the dedicate raise her voice or even seen a frown grace her features, a feat which left Rosethorn reluctantly impressed. Every time Lark caught sight of her she would break into a brilliant smile and, at least once, Rosethorn found herself smiling back. She quickly hid the expression and turned away, but she knew Lark had seen.

A month after their first conversation, when summer was finally turning to early autumn, Rosethorn cut across the grounds on her way back from the Hub, distracted from her path by her most recent argument with Crane. Two people stood in her path, arguing in low voices, and Rosethorn only barely managed to stop before running directly into them. She started to go around then recognized one of them as Lark and paused, curious despite everything. Never had she seen Lark even close to cross, and she had to admit to wondering what could possibly have roused the ordinarily gentle woman's anger.

"It was only once," the other whined, and Rosethorn recognized him vaguely as a newer Fire Temple dedicate. "And she enjoyed it."

"I don't care how many times it was," Lark snapped, using her greater height to force him to look up into her angry face. "You have no right to demand anything from her, not after what you did."

"She was asking for it," the fire dedicate argued. "I can see the signals as well as any other man."

"She told me differently," Lark said. "If I were you I would ask next time, rather than reading signals." She glared at him, managing to look genuinely menacing. "And if I ever hear that phrase from your lips again I will sew them closed, do you understand?"

The fire dedicate's eyes widened. "You can't do that," he objected.

"I can and I will," Lark said. "Would you care to test it?"

He swallowed, apparently reading Lark's furious sincerity in her tone as well as Rosethorn could. Frankly, Rosethorn was vaguely impressed that he was that perceptive; he didn't seem like the type to listen to anyone but himself.

Lark gave him a moment to think of an answer then continued, "I will have your vow before Shurri Firesword that you will never touch a woman against her will again," she said.

"I… I swear," the fire dedicate said, tone caught between sullen and scared.

"Good," Lark said, and stepped back half a pace. "I will be watching you, mark my words."

The fire dedicate fled. Only when he was out of sight did Lark deflate, anger rapidly replaced by weariness on her delicate features. Rosethorn, embarrassed to have spied on something that was clearly not her affair, turned to go, but Lark's voice stopped her. "Rosethorn?"

"Yes?"

"Are you in a hurry to get somewhere?"

"No. Why do you ask?"

"I could use some sensible company," Lark said. "And a bath. I wondered if you might care to join me."

Rosethorn turned completely, staring at Lark with frank amazement. "You're asking me?" she asked flatly.

Lark nodded. "You're free to refuse," she said. "But I would be glad for your company."

"Why me?"

Lark's answering smile was tired and tinged with fondness. "Why not you?"

Rosethorn hesitated, instincts warring inside of her. Finally she jerked her head in a nod. "I'll collect my bathing things," she said.

Moonstream approached Rosethorn towards the middle of autumn and informed her that she was being reassigned to Discipline Cottage. She framed it as an opportunity to work with experimental methods and a larger storage space, but Rosethorn saw through her words. The only people who went to Discipline, dedicate or novice, were those who did not fit in elsewhere. Certainly Rosethorn had made no friends in her time at Winding Circle; Crane didn't count and the only other person with whom she was on even slightly friendly terms was Lark, who appeared to be on friendly terms with absolutely everyone. Still, the opportunity offered was a good one, and Rosethorn certainly did not object to spending less time with her fellow dedicates. She thanked Moonstream as graciously as she knew how and returned to her rooms to pack her scant belongings.

Lark was waiting for her at Discipline, looking pleased but wholly unsurprised to see her. Rosethorn did not share her calmness. "What are you doing here?" she asked.

"Living," Lark said cheerfully. "The same as you will be, apparently."

"What did you do to get sent here?" Rosethorn wanted to know. "This place is for people who make trouble."

Lark grinned mischievously. "What makes you think I didn't?" she asked.

Rosethorn snorted. "You're you," she returned.

"Exactly," Lark said. She stepped aside to let Rosethorn enter the cottage. "Your room is connected to the greenhouse."

Rosethorn stepped into the cottage and blinked to adjust her eyes. Behind her, Lark closed the door gently. "I'll make some tea," she said. "You're welcome to join me in the kitchen when you've finished moving your things."

Rosethorn turned towards her room as Lark stepped into the kitchen. She felt lighter than she had in years, perhaps ever, and she didn't think it was just the prospect of working in her own greenhouse that was responsible. In the kitchen Lark hummed to herself as she prepared the tea things and Rosethorn felt a smile stretching across her face. She did not duck her head to hide it.