Chapter 9:
Tris had always been one to have vivid dreams. Not all of them made sense, but it was a fairly consistent theme for her to have people she knew in them. Boys and, as she grew older, men had occasionally begun to show up from time to time when she reached puberty. They weren't always about physical relations, but there were usually a few mixed in the rest over the course of a few weeks. Of course, she never breathed a word about it to anyone and suspected it was one of the reasons she had learned to shield her mind so well from her fellow foster siblings. It was embarrassing enough just having it in her mind; if someone else had known, she probably would have died of mortification right then and there.
The dreams seemed to follow the cycle of the moon, growing stronger as it grew fuller and then becoming fewer as it waned. It was such a normal part of her life, though, that she never even considered marrying Briar might cause an issue. The first full moon had been during their 'bonding week', and while the usual dreams had taken place she had thought them nothing strange other than they seemed to be more about cuddling than anything else. Which, on the whole, she hadn't minded as they'd left her feeling warm and secure and nothing more.
The second full moon was anything but unexceptional. When she woke up that morning a little red in the face and a glazed look in her eyes, she brushed it off as odd dreams when Briar had asked what was wrong. He thankfully didn't argue when she offered him the bathroom first, and then waited for him to leave completely before climbing out of bed to begin cleaning herself up.
Nights with vivid dreams were never the most restful, and last night had been no exception. Today was going to be a very long day.
-090-
Darra wasn't sure what to expect when she reached Dominique's shop the next day, her husband escorting her to the door before heading to a nearby pub to wait.
A pair of guards stood near the door, but inside, she found only Lady Sandry and Yazmin already speaking to a lovely, plump woman Darra assumed was the proprietess. Between them, they passed pieces of paper, and the round woman was nodding enthusiastically as Sandry or Yazmin pointed something out to her on the sheets.
As she drew nearer, the woman looked up and smiled, bobbing a quick curtsy though she did not put the papers down. Yazmin was the one who did the honors, and she introduced her friend as Dominique Fardwen, once a talented Costumer in a traveling company of performers who had risen to something more.
"It began just as something to help bring in more money," Dominique explained in a surprisingly quiet and low voice when the merchant's wife couldn't help but ask how this had come to be. "This," she motioned to the two story building of considerable size, in which she lived and worked, "Was never part of the plan. Still, my work gained popularity, and my daughter married and moved here. When I was able, I came to stay here as well, to be near the grandchildren. Eventually, my business grew, and now, I have my own shop."
"I am still very glad it happened," Yazmin said as she hugged her friend with one arm. "You are now close enough for me to visit as well and to make use of your considerable talents when I need them."
"Are you ordering more today, as well?" her friend asked with a teasing smile. "Your Duke spoils you too much."
"He is a Duke; I do not argue with how much he wishes to spoil me," Yazmin replied with an equally teasing grin.
"I am very interested in Lady Sandrilene's designs as well and am honored she is allowing me the use of them for this project, Mistress Chandler," the shopkeeper went on as she turned back to her guests. "I believe she has given me enough information regarding your daughter that accounting for her...quirk shouldn't be difficult at all. We should be able to accommodate whatever it is you wish us to make."
"And with that I must leave," Sandry said with a somewhat wistful tone as there were some fabrics on the wall she would have very much liked taking a closer look at. "The work of a city never stops, and something came up that cannot wait."
"Of course, you are very busy," Darra said reassuringly. "And I appreciate the assistance you have already provided."
"We will come another time," Yazmin said as she exchanged kisses with the young woman, having not missed the wistful glance. "When you will be able to browse through her fabrics at your leisure."
"You will, of course, be more than welcome anytime, my lady," Dame Dominique added quickly, dropping into another curtsy.
"You are too kind, and I may take you up on that offer some day. Good day, Mistress Chandler, Dame Dominique. Yazmin." Sandry was out the door before any of them could reply, and the dancer sighed as she shook her head.
"Too much like her uncle," she said with a fond smile. "Always working, working, working. Now." Yazmin turned towards her friend. "I am not certain what Mistress Chandler is looking for, but I would like a peek at anything new."
Dominique wasted no time, calling for a few of her girls as she escorted the pair to a set of comfortable seats towards the back of the shop. First outfits of various types and a selection of common fabrics were made available, each laid out on the table or clothing stand. It was easy for Yazmin to make her selection; her friend knew was she preferred and readily made such options available. Mistress Chandler was less certain.
"I believe I may have to purchase more than one," she said after reviewing several items and discovering the lack of knowledge about her daughter was once more proving to be a hinderance. "Unless you can suggest one item in particular that you believe would accomplish my goal, Mistress Hebet?"
"Yazmin, please," the dancer replied lightly. "And I actually must agree with you. Given what we discussed last night, I believe two or three options may have better results than one." Which was to say, though she kept this to herself, that Yazmin hoped she might steer the Chandler matron to at least one or two options Tris might actually wear, whether or not Briar was going to get to see them.
"Very well. How do you think this would suit?" The plan Darra laid out was ambitious, and Dame Dominique had good reason to look pleased as she began to make notes. Yazmin's suggestions mainly came in the form of which colors or fabrics to choose.
"What happened to that one gauzy silk you had about?" she asked her friend as she sorted through the fabric samples. "The one you called 'Mists of Night'?"
"We had to stop offering it," the unofficial Dame said with a sigh. "Especially when the air grows dry, it would crackle with bits of sparks. I tried offering suggestions on ways to mitigate them, but after multiple patrons complained about shocking their partner accidentally at inconvenient times I decided enough was enough. We still get requests, of course, and I have my mages looking into a magical fix. They haven't made much progress, though."
Yazmin glanced up as something about the complaint tickled a memory in the back of her mind. Tris had made something for Sandry because of a complaint like that. Rods, which the stitch-witch would hold with both hands for a few moments, before going to work on some of her more 'friendly' fabrics and threads. The ones that liked to stick to her hands and clothes, and would occasionally sting her on accident.
"I may know someone who could help you with that," the dancer offered slowly as she thought it through. "Maybe. I would have to speak with them, see if the item works the way I think it does."
"From a mage?" her friend asked, hesitant.
"Yes, a licensed one," the dancer reassured her quickly. Work from anyone without the correct paperwork was always a risk. "Would you be interested if they had a way to make that stop?"
Dominique was quick and certain in her reply. "Absolutely! Speak with them, and let me know."
"I will."
For an unschooled seamstress, her writing was quick and neat. Darra was impressed as she exchanged a stack of golden coins for a sheet of signed paper that detailed the work that was to be done and when it was to be delivered. Yazmin received one as well, and the two women bid their goodbyes before parting company at the door.
-090-
The internal image of her (pretend, Tris tried to remind herself) husband leaning over her, kissing the back of her neck and whispering the sort of things one reads in a romance novel while nibbling on her skin had stayed with Tris for the rest of her day. Briar asking for the fifth time if everything was alright when she flinched at his touch was the final straw, she begged off not feeling well and went upstairs to lay down for awhile.
I will not lust after my brother, he is not my real husband; he is not someone I can fall in love with. I will not lust after my brother, he is not…
"Coppercurls?"
Tris opened her eyes to find Briar sitting beside her on the bed, a worried look in his eyes. "You don't feel warm," he sighed as he ran a hand along her brow, her face flushing instantly as the memories came flooding back. "But you keep turning red. Are you sure you're feeling alright?"
"Yes," she replied, closing her eyes as his hand skirted to her hairline and began to trace it gently. "I just need to meditate, I think. My mind is…running free too much." And his fingers tracing down her neck weren't helping... Stupid, stupid girl, he doesn't mean it like that.
Briar paused as Tris scowled, withdrawing his fingers slightly as something twinged painfully inside his chest. "Tris...are you mad at me?"
"No," she said, opening her eyes as the scowl softened into a frown. "Not at you. Please go away, Briar. You can't help me with this." And having you here is making it worse, she added to herself.
Briar couldn't quite hide the hurt in his eyes, and Tris impulsively caught his sleeve as he slid away from her. He paused, waiting, and she inwardly sighed. "It's my magic," she said softly. "If you were able to help, I would tell you. I would. It happens every moon, when it gets full like last night it's at it's worst."
"Is it always this bad?" he asked quietly, as though speaking too loudly might break the moment between them. His hand caught hers, and she flushed again. She shouldn't have stopped him, but her traitorous arm had and now she had to finish this or he really would be hurt. Somehow, that possibility seemed worse than her own turmoil inside.
"No," she admitted hesitantly. "I think...I think everything going on has made it worse." She didn't specify which 'everything' was to blame, and he immediately choose the culprit she had hoped for.
"Your parents and the stress," he answered. She shrugged, and he nodded. "There's...nothing I can do? If you need to talk to someone who's a girl I could...go get Daja..." The offer was ridiculous; she could reach for Daja herself, without even moving from the bed. She still smiled slightly, and the hurt he still didn't quite understand eased a bit.
"No," she said, though she seemed less upset than before for some reason. "Let me meditate and...rest. If I need something, I will call for you. I promise."
"I'll hold you to that," he said, bending over to drop a quick kiss on her brow before turning to leave. "Good husbands care for their wives, you know." It was meant as a joke, but today it wasn't very funny for some reason. He laughed at himself anyways, the sound strained in the quiet between them, then left. Tris rolled to her back, covering her face with her hands and sighed.
Green Man give her strength, it was going to be a long day.
-090-
Darra entered the Inn to find her husband with a troubled look on his face and his tankard still half-full. The second part informed her of how serious the first was, for he was not a man to forget his favorite drink without reason. Quietly, she requested tea for herself and settled across from him at the small table to wait and see what the trouble was now.
"A thought occurred to me," he began after a few moments, glancing up at his wife with a frown. "Do you recall when we...discovered all we had not known or assumed incorrectly?"
"Yes." Her reply was quiet, and she leaned forward curiously.
"And you said that they must think we are monsters." The words made them both flinch, but his wife nodded nonetheless.
"Yes."
"You don't suppose..." Valden licked his lips nervously, then shrugged as he said, "It is only that I watch them and I see affection and even love but not the passion I would expect of a young couple who married for love. He is courteous and attentive and kind, and guards her from others as he should. She is helpful and witty and compliments him as she should. But we have not caught them in a private moment together, or heard any stories of such from their friends. I know that the Emelanese can be more...uptight about such things, but Traders are not and I would bargain that their foster sister has as wicked a sense of humor as most her people do."
"What are you driving at, darling?" Darra asked in a quiet voice as a tendril of alarm began to grow in her chest.
Her husband did not respond immediately, and when he did, he started off on a different track. "Imagine," he said carefully, "That we had adopted a child. One of a decade or so old, one with...scars. And stories. And when we do meet a single member of his or her family it is not a good experience, and he is supposed to be one of the good ones. Nearly another decade passes, the child has become ours as much as any of those we gave birth to, and then we were to get a letter informing us that his or her parents were going to arrive soon to claim them again."
"No..." The word was a broken whisper, escaping from numb lips as her eyes widened.
"I would say, what can be done? Can we keep them away? Save this child somehow?" He continued ruthlessly, sparing neither of their feelings as he followed the logic to its end conclusion.
"No, they can't have..."
Valden rubbed at his face, unable to meet his wife's anguished gaze any longer. "Even if the child is not a child any longer. But in the letter, the contract, there is a way. A...loophole."
"You think-"
"I suspect," he cut in quickly, laying a hand over hers. "Nothing is certain, but I...feel as though it is a possibility."
"You think that they married, to protect Tris from us," she said, tears brimming in her eyes.
"As you said," he sighed, squeezing her hand as she pulled out her handkerchief. "They must think we are monsters."
Neither spoke for a time as Darra strove to master herself and Valden dealt with his own guilt over his actions of nearly a decade before. He could not disagree with his earlier assessment: being sent to the temple was the best thing to have happened. If Nikolaren could be believed, Tris likely would not have survived to be an adult without training. Training she never would have received without his help. But oh how it hurt, to be viewed with such disgust and knowing he deserved it, even if it had been for the best in the end. Even if he were wrong and Tris had married Briar for love, it did not excuse the neglect and abuse she had suffered at the hands of her family.
"I do not know which I find worse, that they are lying to us or that Tris may be lying with one she did not choose for herself merely to guard against us," his wife finally said as she discreetly wiped the last of her tears from her face and took a sip of her tea.
Valden shook his head quickly, a wry smile on his face. "That I do not worry as much about; for I believe that, if I am correct, they are no more husband and wife in that sense than strangers on a street. Oh, they may share a room, perhaps even a bed, but I do not believe he is forcing his attentions on her or vice versa. Given what we have seen of these people she calls family, I do not believe she would have consented to any scheme if she did not trust him to guard her virtue as much as her secret."
"What do you think they would do if we left them alone?" Darra said quietly, watching her husband with troubled eyes.
"Likely cut ties with us entirely," he said after a moment of thought. "Her birthday would come in a year's time, and the marriage would end. Peacefully, of course. No need to cause a scandal. We might get a letter about it, and then, she would disappear. It is what I would do in her situation, were I trying to fool people I did not think highly of."
"No, no!" It was anger this time that brought a flush to her cheek, and the woman barely kept her volume in check as she cried fiercely, "We have been without her for nearly ten years, I will not lose her again! We will confront them about it and get to the bottom of this one way or another!"
"And why should they tell us the truth?" her husband replied calmly, knowing the flash of anger would not last long once she could see the logic of it. "How have we earned their trust? We have been here nearly a moon and have met several times, but we hardly know them more than as mere acquaintances. Our daughter is a stranger to us, and I am afraid, if we pushed for the truth and my suspicion is correct, she would flee. We would never hear from or see her again."
"We cannot bring this up without proof," his wife sighed as she realized he was right. The anger drained away and, with it, the tension in her frame. "Proof and the knowledge that she would trust us enough with the truth. Valden...she is safe and well cared for here. Even if she were not happily married, I would consider letting her decide whether or not she returned to us. Truly. But I will not leave my child only to have her slip away from me again. We must fix this."
"We will find our proof, then," Valden said quietly, putting his hand over his wife's once more. "And we will build that trust. We will see her settled, one way or another, and leave knowing she is better than we found her."
"I agree. Forgive me, but I hope we are wrong, Valden. I had started to like him," Darra sigh was full of sorrow. "Couldn't you imagine him with Thomas and Leigh and Gareth at a family gathering? And with his charm, I believe he would even have your Aunt Isla smiling at him before too long."
"This is not for certain," Valden reminded her gently as he laced his fingers with hers. "They may very well be more circumspect in their relations, or simply nervous of being publicly affectionate. We have not given our blessing after all, and that, if nothing else, could cause unease. Even if they did not marry to protect her from an imagined threat, they would still be leary of us. We need to study the situation further and discover the truth."
His wife nodded, giving him a faint smile. "Yes, that we will, and we should begin today. You were going to speak with the young man again anyways, yes?"
"Yes," he agreed as he rose to his feet and left money on the table.
"And I with Tris," she said as she rose as well. "Let us waste no time. Though we will need to return to our home and responsibilities eventually, I will not do so until this is settled!"
-090-
Tris was unsurprised and unusually grateful when her mother showed up just after lunch, requesting her presence once again in a way that made it apparent that it wasn't really a request. It would, at least, get her away from Briar, who was all too concerned about her 'problem he couldn't help with'. Bringing lunch upstairs for her and staying to talk for a moment had been thoughtful and kind. It also hadn't helped. Neither had escaping to her workroom, only to find a present on the counter.
It had Briar written all over it, from the plain brown wrapping paper to the lack of a note attached to it. Her father had probably suggested it, which actually helped some, but a part of her couldn't help hoping he had made the purchase on his own. A traitorous part that needed to be locked in a deep, dark dungeon for all eternity before it got her into serious trouble that she wouldn't be able to get herself out of. Either way, the pen was beautiful and fit her hand like it was made for her. She would use it, if only to have something else she could safely discuss with her mother and not at all because using something Briar had gifted her with gave her a pleasant glow inside.
Away they went to the same establishment, securing a private room and refreshments as quickly as before. Tris had almost enjoyed debating with herself where she should begin the conversation on the way there. It kept her from dwelling on the disaster her morning had been. She may only have one chance to distract the Chandler Matriarch, and it had to be potent enough a draw to last their entire meeting. Her own troubles and turmoil receded to the background, and the relief that brought was nearly enough to bring a smile to her face.
The weather mage waited only until the door shut behind the last servant before speaking. "M-mother, I have a question." She flushed at the stutter, but the word felt unusual in her mouth after not saying it for years.
Darra Chandler paused, eyes unusually bright. "Could you say that again?" she asked, her voice trembling.
Tris repeated the request in a steadier tone. "Mother, I have a question."
"You haven't called me mother since you were four." Tris was flummoxed as her mother burst into tears, covering her face with her hands as something inside her broke. Quickly, the weather-witch fished a clean linen from her pocket and offered it to her mother. Darra took it, then pulled Tris along into a tight hug. The young woman stiffly accept the gesture, slowly relaxing as her elder calmed her tears and laughed with embarrassment.
"I am sorry," Darra said as she wiped at her face and pulled away to look her daughter in the eyes. "You haven't called me that since you were four." Tris couldn't help notice that her mother's face also grew red and puffy when she cried, and that she seemed to hate it every bit as much as her daughter did, if the scowl she directed towards the mirror was any indication.
"What was I like when I was four?" she asked impulsively, taking a half step back before seating herself.
Darra laughed again, shakily this time as she blew her nose loudly. "Is that really your question?"
"No," Tris admitted with a shrug. "But the rest can wait."
The merchant's wife almost dismissed the question, surely there were more important things to discuss, then remembered. Trust. Perhaps this was important after all. "You were serious, with eyes bright and intelligent and your hair an untamable cloud of brilliant red curls," she said softly, clearing her throat as she dabbed at her eyes again. Tris listened silently, preparing the tea that had been brought for them. "You had a lot of your father in you, and everyone always remarked on how clever you were, just like him. When your sister was taught to read, you picked it up just by being in the room and listening while others thought you were playing with dolls. I didn't believe your nurse when she said you had insisted on reading your bedtime story yourself until I saw you do it. You were barely three years old. How proud your father and I were of your clever little mind."
"If you were so proud of me, then why did you give me away?" The question was asked calmly, but Tris could feel the old wounds inside even after all this time.
Her mother's shrug was that of someone who knew their answer wasn't a good one, but had nothing else to give. "We thought it was the only way to protect you. And your father and I were scared, scared of what others might do to you, of what future harm may come to your siblings, what you eventually might have become. We did everything we knew to do..."
"Well, it wasn't enough, was it?" Tris' gaze was steady, and Darra met it, despite the pain it caused.
"No, it wasn't," she agreed softly. "To be honest, I did not know until recently about the abuse you suffered at the hands of our family, but that doesn't excuse me or your father for allowing it to happen. At the time, the best decision we could come to was to send you away."
"Why didn't you at least say goodbye?" Tris asked, cold anger layering her words with ice. "Didn't you think that maybe I was scared, too? I didn't understand what was going on anymore than you did. Things just...happened, whether or not I wanted them to."
"I could give you excuses," Darra replied, her own voice laced with pain. "I could tell you so many things that influenced our decisions back then, but none of it will satisfy. None of it was logical or of sound judgement. We allowed ourselves to be swayed by the beliefs and fears of others. I suppose it is too late now to ask for your forgiveness."
"Sandry would say it is never too late, but I am not sure that I am ready to forgive," her daughter admitted raggedly. "You abandoned me. Left me alone. I can't remember most of my childhood because I don't want to. I didn't feel safe or accepted or cared about until I was almost eleven, and it took months for them to convince me that I was worth caring about because that's how much I believed no one ever would. You did that to me." Tris took a deep, shuddering breath as she closed her eyes, willing away the tears that had risen to the surface. "I don't know if I can forgive you," she finished quietly. "Not after everything that happened."
"Then perhaps I should stop prying about the son-in-law who cares for you and, instead, ask about the girl I so carelessly let go of," her mother said softly, touching gentle fingers to Tris' cheek. She did not miss the way the weather witch flinched at the touch, and her heart ached with the realization that this might be irreparable. Even when she had heard about the abuse, she had not considered how deeply scarred her daughter still may be.
"I don't think you want to know," the redhead said with a hint of stubbornness.
"I don't," Darra admitted, with a shrug. "I should very much like to pretend it had never happened at all. But I need to know, and I think you need to tell me."
Tris had never given a full account of her time among her relatives before. She had doled out tidbits here and there, even showed her foster-sisters the scar on her shoulder where her uncle had struck her with a hot poker. But in this telling she spared no details. Being locked in cold, dank cellars at night. Eating only the scraps left of the servants dinner. Being forced to do the heavy household chores that should be beyond the abilities of a child of six, seven, eight, nine and ten. And being punished when her abilities were not up to the task. Sleeping on the floors of kitchens, closets, in stables, away from everyone else lest she somehow contaminate them with her very presence. The rituals she had been forced through by uncaring scholars of religion to try and purge her of her 'evil'. Tests she had undergone to prove her 'demonic' or 'changeling' nature. Her mother listened, silent tears tracing down her face at times and eyes blazing in anger at others.
The beatings and whippings had been easy to speak of, the curses and vile names less so.
Tris had only reached Broken Circle temple loading her off on Niko when it was time for them to leave, feeling empty and spent as her mother left a generous tip for the staff and took her home.
Darra had not hesitated to hug her daughter, though the young woman barely had the presence of mind to respond in kind. "We will continue another time," was the only thing she said as she pressed a kiss to the freckled brow, walking away and wiping at her eyes surreptitiously with a linen square.
Tris went up the back stairs to her room, seeing no one and laid on the bed once more. She was thoroughly distracted from earlier now, and entirely absorbed by something else. And now that something else was tearing her apart from the inside instead.
Wonderful.
-090-
Briar had heard Darra arrive, waved to the pair as they went, and returned immediately to his garden. He wondered, briefly, if he should have protested her going. Something still wasn't right with her, and he didn't like it, but knew Tris would probably skin him alive if he called attention to it now. Deciding it wasn't worth the risk of said skinning and that maybe talking with the reason for her stress might help, he got on with his work.
When Valden arrived half an hour later, he gave the older man a polite nod from where he knelt in the dirt but remained as he was otherwise.
"I can't go traipsing off today," he informed the merchant firmly as he carefully placed the seedling in the hole he had made. "But you are welcome to stay if you like."
"If you don't mind, I will," Valden replied, pulling over a stool from a shady spot. "Mages don't usually let people see them work."
"It won't be anything special," the mage replied with a laugh. "Today is planting and weeding. Lots and lots and lots of weeding."
"What, you can't just magic them away?" Valden twiddled his fingers dramatically in what he likely thought was an accurate demonstration of using magic.
"Might be able to," Briar replied, stifling the urge to roll his eyes. "But meddling that much is dangerous. Maybe, I make a spray that kills the weeds, but what if it kills my flowers and my useful plants? Or poisons the vegetables I grow? Maybe, I make it a charm instead, inscribed on something in the soil. But what if it also keep out the worms or the bugs? The good ones that help the soil replenish itself. Or maybe, I just pull them out by the root, and toss them in the compost heap where they'll do some good because easy isn't always right."
The merchant shook his head, rubbing at his chin thoughtfully. "So what you're saying is magic is useless."
"No, I'm saying using it wisely is what separates the mages from the bleaters," Briar replied seriously. "Our teachers pounded that into us time and again. If there's a perfectly good way to do something without magic, then do it that way. Sandry weaves the fabric she makes the old-fashioned way, and generally buys most of it from trusted sellers in the marketplace. Daja could pull metal directly from the earth, but why bother when she can purchase bars of good ore for a decent price and far less trouble? I could take a seed, and in hours take it through every cycle of its short life, harvest the seeds and begin again. But unless there is a need, I let them grow in their own time in my garden."
"It still costs you time and energy," his companion pointed out, motioning to the tools laid out around them. "A lot, I would wager."
Briar nodded but added, "But not as much as it would to do it by magic. What you save in time you must give up somewhere else, and usually, it is not an equal exchange."
"Then what's the point of having magic." The words were almost plaintive, and his companion laughed.
"I wonder that myself, sometimes," the mage said as he regained control of himself. "I suppose it is like being a merchant and discovering an untapped market. Having magic gives you information, insight into something no one else or few others can see. Having the information does not by itself make you successful or wealthy, but doing something with it and doing it correctly does."
"How so?" the older man asked, sounding genuinely curious.
Briar glanced around, then pointed to some purple blooms with white centers in a pot to the side. "Those flowers there," he said as he gestured. "They are from Yanjing, and most people can't grow them here outside of a hothouse. Most people think it's because it's too cold here during our winters, but that's not true. I know why because I have information they don't. The winters here near the sea give our soil a 'taste' that the flowers don't like, so they don't grow properly when it comes spring again and dies before giving seed. The soil in the pot was specifically cleaned of the 'taste' before I grew the flowers in it. In two months, when these seed and sleep until next year, I will take the pot inside and keep it stored through the winter. Then, in the spring when it is time to plant again, I will bring it back out and start again. Because of this, they are able to grow very well here, and I am able to harvest more with less bother than those who keep them in hot houses or plant them anew each spring. Mine also grow larger and give more blooms because they are older and being kept outside through the summer makes their scent more potent. Because of that, I make a better price per ounce of the oil they produce with the perfume sellers and make more profit off what I sell."
Valden considered that, then nodded slowly. "Very clever, I am beginning to see your point. It is work, and hard work I'm sure, but made more productive by the 'information' your magic gives you."
"Exactly." The plant mage went back to his work, and the merchant sat there thoughtfully as both got lost in their own minds for a bit.
"Does Tris' magic work in this way?"
The question caught him off guard, and Briar hesitated, sitting back on his heels as he deposited a handful of weeds to the side. "That's not a simple question to answer," he finally said, voice grave. "What Tris' magic is best at are big things. Moving mountains or changing the course of rivers. Calming storms and stopping earthquakes. Shoring up the sides of a narrow ravine that would cost several hundred agribs to fix the usual way. That makes small things hard for her. Her rain shield charms. I've seen her lay one over a small village, without bothering to look up from her book or turning a hair for hours at a time. But trying to pack that much strength into a piece of glass, it just can't contain the same amount of power she does without breaking down. You don't realize how strong she is until you think about how hard it would be for you to do the things she does."
"People have mentioned seeing her touch her braids makes them nervous," the older man said in a carefully neutral voice.
"It makes me nervous too."
Valden sat up in surprise, and his voice betrayed his displeasure. "You're afraid of her?"
"No, I'm afraid for her," Briar said stoutly as he went back to pulling weeds. "I'm afraid that someday she's going to meet a problem too big, and take it on anyway because there is no one else."
"That she'll face it alone," the merchant said in an understanding voice.
"She would not be alone." The young man did not shout, but the raw intensity burned through his words to the older man and left him feeling scorched somehow.
Valden processed that silently, and Briar turned back to his work, moving among his plants with a tenderness that seemed impossible after the naked fury of moments before.
"I think I will take my leave," the merchant said after a time. Briar nodded and gave a slight bow from his knees. Valden returned the gesture and then stepped forward to lay a hand on the young man's shoulder. "It is good to know," he said softly, "that she would not be alone."
He squeezed once, then turned around and left. Briar watched him, uncertain of how he felt in the aftermath of the exchange.
-090-
It was a few hours later that he found Tris still lying on the bed as he came upstairs to change out of his dirt-stained clothes into something more acceptable for dinner.
"Are you ok?" he asked when he realized she was awake and not scrying or meditating.
"No. Maybe. I don't know." Her face contorted into a scowl, but practice told him it was not directed at him.
"What's wrong?" he asked, sitting next to her on the bed as she sat up and rubbed at her eyes under her wire-rimmed spectacles.
"Only everything!" The explanation exploded out, as though holding it in a moment more would have simply been impossible. Briar listened attentively, only raising his brows when she reached the part about describing what living with her relatives had been. She didn't go into detail with him, but he hadn't expected her to. At the end, after she accounted for everything up to the moment she had been left at the front door, she seemed to collapse in on herself. The energy from before deserting her in a great rush of a sigh.
"It must have hurt, listening to you describe all that," her husband said as he laid a careful hand over hers.
"I think it did," she agreed, her voice just short of lifeless.
"And how did that make you feel?"
The question was a difficult one to answer. "I want to pity her," Tris said after several moments of thought. "To feel...relief that she was hurt about it too? But I was too mad. So I felt- nothing. Just cold and shriveled up inside."
"Master Bruntswort used to say that if you hated one thing long enough it would eventually taint everything else that you loved. And that refusing to forgive or let things go eventually breeds the hate that will eat you from the inside out like a cancerous growth." Briar felt a little silly saying the words, but they had rung true for him when the soulhealer had spoken them two years ago.
Tris slid off the bed, scrubbing at her face again as she turned away from him. "Argh! Why can't this be easy?" she hissed through clenched teeth, facing out the open balcony door. "I just want to be normal..."
"I think even 'normal' people have problems sometimes, Coppercurls." Briar stood slowly, taking her by the arm as he pulled her into a hug. She didn't resist, but kept her gaze away from him as she rested her forehead on his chest. "You know...I don't think they're bad people. Stupid and ignorant but not bad." He gave the opinion quietly, carefully venturing into potentially unpopular territory.
His wife scowled, even as she felt the tears rise to the surface once more. "I know. And that somehow makes what they did worse."
Briar wrapped her a little tighter in his embrace as he whispered, "I know."
Tris didn't want to cry. She hated that every time she did her face turned red and blotchy and her eyes would swell and her nose would run. The fact that she now associated that with her mother suffering the same plight only made it worse. It would take hours before she would feel like herself afterwards, and it never seemed to help like some people said. But the feelings inside were too overwhelming to fight any longer, and Briar's embrace was warm and safe.
He never let go as she wept, never said it would be alright or that they'd figure it out. He didn't treat her as a child and pat her on the head, or do anything to distract her from pouring forth the grief and pain she'd been holding for far too long.
Her small hands eventually stopped scrubbing at her face, and he was startled to realize how perfectly she fit under his chin as she stood inside his arms and just breathed.
"I want to keep hating them," she said softly, exhaustion coloring her words.
"How dare they be decent people who made a couple of wrong decisions," Briar replied deep in his chest. She snorted, and he grinned. "Admittedly, terrible, wrong decisions, but look on the bright side: if they hadn't, I'd never have met you."
"Not true," Tris replied absently. It was an old argument, but it helped her find her center as she followed the familiar path of logic. "He was looking for us. Niko was looking for all of us, and he would have found each of us, eventually."
"Maybe." He conceded, dropping the point as he sensed her draw away. The plant mage let her, but felt the space she had left in his arms and wished it didn't feel so empty.
Bells began to ring in the city, announcing the hour, and Tris started scrubbing at her face again to try and erase the signs of her tears. Briar handed her a clean handkerchief from his pocket, and she thanked him before adding, "We'd better get ready for dinner. Daja will be wondering where we are, and the cook was going to make that chicken dish you like from your travels."
"The spicy one?" he asked, distracted from his debate of whether or not she needed another hug. You know, just in case. Because sometimes you needed more than one hug.
"The one I need to eat with twice as much cream as you to be able to stand it? Yes." It wasn't her favorite dish, but the combination of spices were tasty, even if they left her feeling like her mouth had been burned for a day or two afterwards.
Briar adopted an all-too innocent tone as he asked, "Sandry's not coming to dinner?"
"No," Tris replied as she added some cold water from the washbasin to the handkerchief and pressed it against her face. Sometimes, it helped the redness go away faster, and she didn't want to have to explain to Daja why she had been crying. For some reason, it didn't bother her in the least that Briar had been there. "She refuses to eat it after that trick you played on her last time. Not telling her what it was...that was unkind, even for you."
"Her face was worth it, and Daja agrees," the plant mage said, entirely unrepentant.
"You really are infuriating sometimes," she said as she tried to hide a smile.
"And you love me anyways. Lucky me." He said it dramatically, but it did not draw the dry chuckle it once would have. Instead, Tris blushed and refused to look at him, turning away abruptly.
"I'll get changed and meet you downstairs?" he offered when the silence began to stretch uncomfortably long.
Tris nodded and left.
-090-
Rosethorn had decided from the beginning that she was not broaching the subject of Tris' family with Glaki. If the girl wanted to ask, she could, and until then, the dedicate could pretend that none of this fiasco was happening. She had reached her own conclusions about the couple, and they were surprisingly similar to her student's. However, she had little respect for people who did not own up to their failings and attempt to make amends.
Still, none of it was precisely Glaki's business and she and Lark had agreed that it was best to keep their students in the dark until they had no choice in the matter. Darra's unexpected visit to the house had nearly forced her hand, but Glaki had obeyed and since then said nothing about the matter.
It was after dinner, and Evvy was outside in the garden with Luvo, while Comas had retired to his room early. Finding herself at the table alone with the beautiful Tharian girl, Rosethorn had a feeling her reprieve was about to end.
"Rosethorn," Glaki said carefully as she watched her foster-mother with unblinking eyes. "If I ask you a question, would you answer it honestly?"
"If I thought you were old enough to hear it, yes," the plant mage replied in her soft, slow voice. As an afterthought, she added, "Which you probably are, all things considered." It was difficult telling a child who had grown up in the poorest district of a city that she would not understand something. She not only did understand, Glaki would probably handle it better than some adults.
"Why are my Tris' parents here in Emelan? Why didn't anyone tell me they were coming, and why did you not want me to meet them?"
The Dedicate didn't answer immediately, instead folding her hands and staring at the girl intently. When Glaki didn't flinch or get up to leave, she sighed. "That is three questions, not one. However, Tris' parents gave her to the temple when she was around the age you are now. They thought she was possessed or some such ridiculous nonsense. What none of us ever knew was there was a contract that allowed them to come and collect her around her twentieth birthday. The contract had a clause that allowed Tris a way to remain here with us: get married. Briar proposed, and she accepted."
Glaki radiated disappointment as her face fell. "So...they aren't really in love."
"No, they were not," Rosethorn agreed carefully. "The Chandlers came because there was no time to inform them of the wedding before they arrived. They have decided to remain to ascertain for themselves whether or not Briar is a good match for their daughter. Legally, the contract gives them no power over the situation, but until Tris turns twenty one, they can still cause trouble. The hope is that they will decide Tris is fine where she is and leave."
"So everyone is lying to them." The pointed statement was delivered with a disapproving frown.
"Everyone is carefully omitting a single truth- that their love was that of siblings when they married, not of lovers." Rosethorn shrugged after a moment. "Which is, I suppose, the same as telling a lie. Would you have rathered they told the truth and Tris had to leave without saying goodbye? It might have happened that way."
Glaki was silent for a long time, her face a study in concentration as she thought through everything before she spoke. It was something Tris had taught her in their traveling days together and had come in useful more than once. It was also something Rosethorn had found extremely annoying as it had made the girl that much harder to distract.
"No," she agreed after a time. "This is better than her leaving. They won't stay married, though."
"Most likely not," the dedicate agreed softly. "They will wait for Tris to come of age, though."
The girl's sigh was huge, seeming to deflate her completely as she rested her chin in her hands. "Oh. I had thought...I just wanted my Tris to be happy." Tears filled her eyes, but the girl stayed silent as they ran down her cheeks.
"She has always been happy with you," Rosethorn said awkwardly as she patted the girl on the arm. "And when you're able, I know she's looking forward to you living with her some day."
"It's not the same," the girl whispered as she wiped at her face in vain. "Boys used to make her thunder inside, when they would be mean, but she never did anything back. I just wanted her to find someone who sees how wonderful she is! And I thought she had..."
The tears came faster, and Rosethorn glanced over her shoulder at Lark's workroom. Her partner and friend came to the door as though summoned and, assessing the situation quickly, came to Glaki's side to wrap her in a gentle hug. She hummed as she held her, and Glaki quickly regained control of herself, though she remained in the dedicate's embrace.
"You still didn't tell me why you didn't introduce me," she said after awhile, looking to Rosethorn again.
"We didn't want you getting attached to them," Rosethorn replied simply. "We didn't know if they would try to use you against Tris. Having learned more about them, I don't think they would have. But we didn't know that at the time, and it is our duty to protect you as much as we protect her."
"What happens now?"
"Now, I think it is best if you stay out of it. Tris and Briar are doing well so far, and hopefully, the Chandlers' will soon be heading home to trouble us no more. But until then, Lark and I agree none of you children should get involved."
"And now you know the truth," Lark added as she smoothed the girl's hair back from her face. "I am sorry, little one, that your hopes for your Tris were unfounded. But don't worry, she is a grown woman and can see to herself."
"I suppose I can see where you would want her to find someone," Rosethorn mused to herself. "It would probably be like when you were with Keth all the time."
"No, because that's not the way Keth and Tris were," Glaki replied softly. "He respected her, and she took care of and taught us, but she never had anyone special like you two."
Lark looked to her her partner who smiled faintly but nodded. They had never wanted to outright ask, and Niko had always been a little fuzzy on the details. He tended to get wrapped up in his own affairs, and while Tris had been adamant that Keth was only her student, they had never been quite sure. Given how often she wrote to the young man, there had been some reasonable suspicions. Still, at least there would be no potential problems with the marriage with that out of the way.
-090-
It was after dinner when Daja pulled the envelope from her pocket, one corner slightly crinkled from the cramped space and soot smeared over the thick paper.
"What's that?" Tris asked as she poured herself a second cup of tea. She needed it to try and rinse the last of the burning spice from her mouth.
"Our invitation to the ball next week," the smith-mage replied with a grin. "Sandry is hosting it, and Yazmin has planned it. Your parents were invited and have already accepted, according to Sandry, so she thinks we should come too."
"You usually avoid those kinds of things," Briar observed thoughtfully. "It wouldn't be out of character for you not to go."
"It would be very out of character for you," Daja pointed out. "Everyone knows you love to dance."
Briar rolled his eyes and tried to sound certain as he said, "Well, yeah, but she's the wife."
"It would still be noticed." Daja's response was more to her sister, and the weather witch sighed.
"We'll go," Tris said, mostly to stop them from arguing but also because Daja was right. "Or at least we'll make an appearance. It's been awhile since I've been anyways, and I promised Sandry I would be at the next one I was home for. I had assumed I would have a year to put it off, but I don't and that's that."
"Sandry also included instructions on what she thinks we should wear," Daja added as she scanned further down the note. "She's a little irritating when she does that, but she's also usually right. She does have the best fashion sense out of the four of us."
"How long do we have to dread this momentous occasion?" Tris asked dryly.
"A week. You're sure you're going?" Daja asked with a hint of teasing, and her sister gave her a dark look. Yes, she had ducked out of such engagements before, but the smith mage should know better given what was at stake.
"Yes," she said with certainty, and Briar smiled. He like dancing, and Tris was a decent partner. She wouldn't want to go the whole night, but he would get a few rounds in, even if being married meant most of the rest of the room was off limits.
Daja smiled back. "I'll let Sandry know, then."
-090-
Author's Notes:
Well, that was certainly a busy chapter. If you liked it drop a review for the author.
The Bargain:Yes, still doing this. 20 reviews guys, I know you can do it! Each chapter is getting like 40 some hits in the first two or three days, so if even just half of you reviewed you would immediately earn a new chapter within 12 hours of the 20th review going up. It seems like a pretty good deal to me, just saying. :)
A clarification: It was pointed out to me (by Fateless who is awesome) that Evvy's death reference in the previous chapter may not be understood by everyone, so here is some clarification. If you have not read Battle Magic there will be spoilers! In Battle Magic, Briar believes Evvy died for a good couple of chapters. In terms of time, I believe it is implied that a few weeks to a moon or so has passed before they discover she is not dead. That, plus everything that happened to Briar in that relatively short period of time, I think contributed hugely to his PTSD. There was a lot of guilt built into leaving Evvy behind, and even if she wasn't dead she didn't come through that experience unscathed. So, still guilt piled on top of guilt. So, in a way, in his mind, she did die. That still left a mental wound that needed help healing.
Also: so apparently I have messed up a name. It is Duke Vedris not Duke Verdis. However...I'm pretty sure that at this point it is Duke Verdis in essentially the whole 20-ish chapters that are complete. For the sake of continuity (and the fact that only one person has noticed so far, thank you livezinshadowz for being awesome) I am probably going to leave it that way. This is assuming my Beta has not been changing them behind me without me noticing. Or that at some point I started to get it right. It's fanfiction guys, so perfection just isn't going to happen. You know who I mean either way, right? Still, sorry for the mix up.
I think that's all. I hope everyone had a fun and safe Memorial Day if you are stateside, and a good week in general if you aren't. Until next Friday (or, you know, sooner if we get 20 new reviews!).
~CB~