CHAPTER ONE

by Sache8

Briar Moss bit his lip, resisting the urge to grin like an idiot. He leaned forward on the wagon-seat, craning his neck to get a better view of the path ahead.

"Sit down boy," said the pointed voice of Rosethorn. "I don't see why you would find the walls of Winding Circle to be so fascinating. They won't have changed them, you know."

"Easy for you to say," grumbled Briar. Nevertheless, he obediently settled back down beside his teacher, trying his best to relax, and failing.

"That's just it Rosethorn," he said. "I love it that things don't change. Winding Circle is home. It doesn't change. If you can't understand that well… too bad for you." He punched her playfully on the arm, and his silly grin got free of him again.

"What do you think of the news we had? At port?"

Briar frowned, and shrugged. "The Duke's son is dead." He idly picked up a piece of straw at his side and began fiddling with it.

"And?"

"And what?" he repeated. "I feel bad for the Duke certainly, but I didn't know the his son. Or the guy's wife. Don't rain on my parade, Rosethorn!"

"If you'd follow your good sense a little further than your stomach sometimes, you'd realize that this might concern you much more than you think."

He rolled his eyes. "Well, since I'm very hungry right now it might not be possible. So why don't we just stop with the guessing games, save ourselves a lot of time and trouble, and have you just tell me."

"The Duke's most direct descendent is dead. Where does that leave Emelan? The Duke will not live forever, you know. His health is failing as it is."

Briar paused. That was something he hadn't realized. "Sandry…" he began lamely.

"Exactly," she finished for him.

"What?" piped up a small voice behind them. "What is it?"

Briar turned to regard the wagon's other human passenger, a scrawny little girl with dark, lank hair and gently sloping eyes. At the moment, she also had dirt on her face, straw in her hair, and a kitten perched on her shoulder. The kitten was carefully looking for a way to climb down, and eventually the girl just plucked him off and held him instead.

"I thought you were asleep," said Briar said to his student, the onetime street-urchin and now turned-stone-mage Evumeimei Dingzai.

"Well, I can't sleep forever!" she said brightly. "So tell me, what's going on?"

"You remember I told you about my special friends here at Winding Circle?"

Evvy's nose wrinkled in a laugh. "All those girls? Yeah."

Briar pointedly ignored this jibe and continued. "Well, Sandry…" he began.

"The one who made my shirt," she interrupted, tugging on the large white shirt that was slightly too big for her.

It was indeed Sandry's handiwork, as evidenced by its cleanliness and lack of wear, even after a year and a half on the road. But she hadn't made it for Evvy, she'd made it for Briar. Unfortunately, he could not wear it anymore, because in the time since he'd left Emelan he'd simply grown too big. And Sandry had not spelled the shirt to grow with its wearer. Idly, Briar wondered if that was something she could do. Probably.

"Yes, that's the one," he confirmed to his student. He'd given all his shirts to Evvy. The breeches had been to big for her, so they were stored among the trio's belongings. He missed those clothes. They had been much more comfortable and practical than regular clothes. Not to mention they were a constant reminder of his friend.

"Anyway," he continued, "it seems that she is now in line to become the Duchess of Emelan."

As he said the words, his voice was impassive, but inside he was a little more confused. Of course, he'd always known Sandry was very high on the social ladder, but as a child he'd learned to treat the nobility with disdain. Since coming to Winding Circle there were only three nobles Briar had met that he'd come to respect, and the Duke and his great-niece were the only two he actually liked.

It had been easy to ignore Sandry's status when they were at Winding Circle. He had learned not to think of her in terms of her rank. He'd placed it in on obscure corner of his mind, and only paid attention to it when absolutely necessary.

In the city it would become more evident. She would become a different person. Still, she wasn't like most nobles, even then. She wasn't conceited or condescending, but truly…noble, caring, as nobles should be. She used her influence for sensible and practical purposes, to help her people. Exactly what the noble class always should have been, in his opinion. But in those moments she seemed miles away from her friends, and Briar never knew how to behave. It was quite intimidating.

Evvy's voice interrupted his thoughts. "So…" she said. "She'll be the Duchess someday?"

Her voice was a little nervous, and for good reason. Evvy's experience with the nobility thus far in life hadn't exactly endeared her to them. In fact, her run in with one particular power-hungry noble in Chummar had inclined her to be downright afraid.

"Yeah," he agreed idly, "someday."

I wonder, what will it be like then? What will happen to Sandry and the rest of us?/

All of a sudden the clop-clop of the mules' hooves seemed to grate on his nerves in the worst way. He began to get fidgety again. He barely listened as Rosethorn carried on the conversation with Evvy that Briar was too distracted to properly conduct.

"Okay, that's it!" he said suddenly. He jumped up and vaulted neatly over the side of the wagon to the ground. "I can get there quicker walking than I can in this wagon. I'll see you at Discipline, Rosethorn!" He began trotting away and turned back to wave.

Rosethorn grabbed a handful of Evvy's shirt to prevent the girl from following him. No mean feat, considering she was also holding onto the reigns. "They're not going to be there, Briar!" she shouted after him.

"No, but the garden will!"

Rosethorn laughed, and shook her head.

:--:--:

"Paloma."

Paloma's head shot up at the sound of her master's voice. She hastily put her quill in its stand and scrambled out of her seat, straightening her dress and heading for the other room.

"Is there something you require, Master?" she began with a small curtsey. As a dancing student, her curtsey was graceful and perfect.

Paloma stood in awe of her master. She could never understand why Haman, one of the greatest mages of Lightsbridge had chosen her of all people for an assistant. She didn't even have any magic, and yet he had kept her.

"Only your attention, child," he said calmly, with a kind smile. "I need to tell you that unfortunately, I will not be able to enlist your services as we had discussed previously."

Paloma's heart and face fell together. "Why?" she blurted out and then covered her mouth with her hand. Her master was fair and generous, but he did not like rudeness.

Haman seemed not to have noticed, however. "We were forced to change the plan," he said matter-of-factly. "Or one of its players, rather, to be more specific."

Paloma frowned, and concentrated for a moment, seeing if she could guess her master's train of thought before he told her. What 'players' had been part of the plan? The Duke, of course. And his niece. They had to be killed, something that her master was very sad about. But as he said, it was for the greater good of the region, and her master was never wrong. Since the whole point of the plan was to destroy noble pair, it wasn't likely that they were the 'players' who had changed.

Who else then? If he didn't need Paloma anymore…

"The dancer!" she cried. "You're not going to frame the dancer anymore!"

"Quite right," he said, "very good my dear. No, a more serious threat has turned up. That plant-mage has returned to Emelan, and it would be good for us to get him out of the way. He's a dear friend of the Lady Sandrilene, you know, and extremely powerful.

Paloma nodded.

"So we'll be using him instead of Acalon," Haman added.

Paloma swallowed, and tried in vain to hide her disappointment. "So you don't need me to help you with the spell," she concluded.

"Oh don't look so upset Paloma," he said with a smile. "No, I will not require your assistance in that manner. I have, however, thought of another way in which you might help."

She brightened again, and this time made no effort to conceal it.

"I am writing a letter to Mistress Yazmin, of the dance academy here in the Summersea. Requesting that she take you as a student."

Paloma gasped. "Me?" she squeaked. Dancing was a small-time hobby of hers, something her master had always indulged her in. How happy she was that this sideline interest was now proving to be useful to his efforts! But all the dance classes she'd taken so far had been small potatoes compared to studying under Mistress Yazmin.

"Yes, I want you to see if you can make friends with this dance-mage, since for right now we won't be using him. I don't know yet how I might make use of your presence there, but it is always a good idea to open opportunities that may be drawn on in the future. You must be a pair of eyes and ears for me."

He got up, walked around the desk, and leaned down. He placed his hands on Paloma's shoulders and looked her gravely in the eyes. "What I am asking you to do is very serious, Paloma. Although it is not a pleasant thought, you will be in effect acting as a spy for me. I know it seems hard, but you know why we must do this."

Paloma matched the gravity of his voice with her nod. "Emelan must be conquered, because it is holding back the mages of Lightsbridge, and their great work," she pronounced obediently.

"Very good, yes," he said. "You understand." He patted her head affectionately, and bid her leave to go.

As Paloma stepped back out into the antechamber, she took a deep steadying breath as many conflicting emotions began a furious battle inside her. She was thrilled at the prospect of helping the cause, nervous about coming out from behind her master's wing, excited about getting to attend the dance academy (for its own sake), and afraid of her potential failure.

She could not concentrate on her work properly for the rest of the afternoon.

:--:--:

As Briar had drawn closer and closer to the cottage, his excitement and impatience had become increasingly more acute, until he reached the point where he was almost frantic to get there.

But at long last, he finally reached the front gate, slowing down as he reached it.

Not much had changed. He grinned. Just the way he liked it. True, the garden didn't have the lustrous effect it had when under the direct care of Briar and Rosethorn, but that was only temporary. The plants were still quite healthy, and obviously still loved by someone, even if that person didn't have plant magic. Briar made a mental note to kiss Lark when he saw her.

Briar yelped as something curled around his arm, tickling him and jolting him out of his reverie. Then he laughed as he looked down to see one of the climbing vines from the front gate trying to climb around him.

"None of that now," he said, gingerly pulling the vine away and wrapping it back around the gate post, "I just want to go see Lark and I'll be right back out, I promise."

The leaves, shriveled a little, then withdrew farther from him haughtily. Briar laughed again, and progressed up the path.

How great it would be for Little Bear to come bounding out right now… he thought wistfully. But that was not to be. Little Bear, the four friends' giant, over-exuberant dog, was with Tris right now, and Tris most certainly was not at home.

As he opened the front door, Briar drew his magic even more tightly around him. If Lark was home, he wanted to surprise her. He'd already been keeping a low magical profile, because he didn't want Sandry (and possibly Daja) to know he was back until he saw them. It would be much more fun that way.

From what he was able to tell, Daja may or may not be back yet. He hadn't risked his magic to find out, because that would ruin the surprise. But she and Frostpine had been due back sooner than Briar and Rosethorn, which meant that they would probably be arriving any day. At any rate, she was likely to be able to detect him mind-to-mind now, so it was best to play it safe.

He tiptoed into the front walkway and smiled as he heard the familiar click-clack of the loom in the workshop to the left, and the murmur of low voices. He took in a good, deep breath of home-smell, taking delight in all the memories it brought.

It brought memories to his stomach too, and he decided he must rearrange his priorities: Say hi to Lark first, eat something second, and then go visit his garden.

Still tiptoeing, he crept to the doorway and peered carefully around its edge.

Lark was seated in the center, working away quite industrially, and giving instructions to a short, mouse-faced boy who was sorting full spindles of thread. This must be the new boy- Comas or something like that- that Sandry had written him about.

"I thought you only worked with wool during the new moon," he said, sauntering into the doorway and leaning against the jamb, arms crossed and a smile on his face.

Lark didn't even look up. "No, we like silk too. But wool and silk both come from animals, so neither are your cup of tea, Briar Moss."

After a moment's silence the twinkle in Lark's eye got too bright for her to contain, and she looked up at Briar. They both burst out laughing.

He walked over and gave her a big, laughing hug, delivering the promised kiss on her forehead. "For my plants," he said. He was surprised to find that he was now a full inch taller than Lark.

She put her hands on his shoulders. "Welcome home!" she cried, and gave him another hug. "I can see you're still part weed, after all. You sure sprouted like one."

"You don't seem surprised to see me."

Lark gave a knowing smile. "Well Rosethorn said you would be coming home soon. And to expect you any day."

Briar groaned. "She told you? She knew I wanted…"

"She also said," interrupted Lark, "not to tell anyone else about it."

Briar breathed a sigh of relief. "I might have gotten really angry."

Lark accompanied him out into the main room, and introduced him to Comas, who nodded and didn't seem inclined to use his voice. Then she looked beyond Briar to the front door. "Where is Rosethorn?"

Now it was Briar's turn to have a twinkle in his eye. "Eh," he said with a shrug, "she was too slow for me. I think she's getting old." He gave a small wink.

Lark raised her eyebrows and tried not to smile.

"Listen, Lark. Do you have anything to eat? I'm starving. I haven't eaten since lunch."

"That long, huh? Well, sure Briar, but don't you want to say hi to Sandry first?"

Briar, who had already been halfway to the pantry, stopped short and turned around. "Sandry? You mean she's here? I thought she lived in the city now."

"She does," said Lark, walking to the kitchen window and pulling back the curtain to look into the backyard, "but the Duke gave her an executive order to take a vacation. So she's staying here for a few weeks."

Briar gave a small, joyous jump and headed for the staircase to the bedrooms upstairs.

"Briar…" Lark called.

He turned around again. "What?"

"She's in the garden."

He frowned. "In the garden? Why?"

"She made some new ties for your tomato plants. She went out to change them over an hour ago, so I suspect she's working on something else too."

Mumbling his thanks to Lark, Briar slipped as quietly as possible outside.

And there he saw her.

She was kneeling in the sunlight among the flowerbeds, wearing a pair of gloves, and pulling weeds.

The future Duchess of Emelan is pulling weeds in my garden.

The Lady Sandrilene fa Toren had always been pretty. Oval shaped face, honey-brown hair, a pert little nose, eyes of cornflower blue, and a neat figure. Combine that with her natural grace- it made for a charming effect. Sandry was admired by almost everyone who met her.

Indeed, these charms hadn't been completely lost even on a twelve-year-old former thief. He'd teased her mercilessly when they were younger, in the manner of schoolchildren on the playground, partially because it was so fun to make her mad, and partially because she looked so cute when she was annoyed.

But 'pretty' or 'cute' didn't seem to be the right words to use now. She'd become beautiful. Radiant, really.

Briar's steps slowed as he watched her, and in half a heartbeat…he fell in love.

It wasn't just her beauty. He'd met many pretty girls in his life. It was the look on her face just now that sent strange warmth flooding up and down his body. It was so… serene and caring. Sandry's simple kindness touched everything she did. He knew she was tending his garden to please him when he got back. She thought of things like that.

Although Briar was still keeping his connection to Sandry closed, he was making no such effort towards his plants. They were very aware of his presence. And they were making sure that everyone knew.

"Now cut that out!" Sandry's clear voice filled the afternoon sunlight as the petunias in her work area began shaking like crazy, sending sprays of pollen everywhere. She sneezed.

"Honestly!" she cried, straightening and putting her hands on her hips. "I know I'm not Briar, but I didn't think it was that bad! Behave!"

Briar choked back a laugh. She was using her 'duchess' voice, the one she pulled on unsuspecting villagers and other people the foursome often ran into trouble with. The sight of her bossing the flowers this way was enough to make anyone laugh. And it was all the more endearing to Briar.

Sandry bent down again, and started back into her work.

Almost hesitantly, Briar reached out the smallest of magic tendrils and began extending it towards her.

Odd, he thought. Five minutes ago I wouldn't have been nervous.

He watched breathlessly as his tendril reached its recipient.

Sandry froze. Her hands hovered over the earth, as her head slowly turned and looked in his direction.

"Hey duchess," he said softly.

"Briar!" she cried gleefully. She leapt up off the ground in a most unladylike fashion and bounded across the grass, and into his arms.

Laughing, he pulled her close and spun her around.

"You dolt!" she said again, hitting him gently across the back of his head when he pulled away, "why didn't you say you would be early?!"

"And miss the expression on your face just now?" he replied with a grin. "I don't think so."

"You got so tall!" Her eyes were large and round as she looked him up and down. "Turn around," she added, spinning her finger in the air.

Briar obliged her.

"Hmmph," she said disapprovingly, stepping up to his side and examining his sleeve. "Where did you get this?"

He rolled his eyes playfully. "I'm afraid that you didn't plan growth spurts into my wardrobe. I had to make do."

She laughed and grabbed his hand. "Come on!" She ran into the house, a still-dazed Briar following her.

:--:--:

Supper that night was a very merry occasion, full of laughter.

Sandry couldn't describe how happy she felt. She'd been so lonely here at home, all alone while her friends were off having adventures. Trying to juggle the responsibilities of training Pasco and helping her uncle run the province were starting to wear on her.

Pasco was good company, but in many ways he was still a child, and she did not share the special bond with him that she did with Briar, Tris, and Daja. Now that they were beginning to come home everything was going to be much better.

She didn't say much as they ate, only listened to the delightful sounds of Rosethorn and Briar's voices telling of their journey, accompanied by the usual dose of lighthearted bickering. She smiled. A sound she hadn't heard in such a long time.

Poor Comas looked as frightened as the day Sandry had first met him. She really wasn't very surprised. People in general intimidated him, which meant that Briar and Rosethorn were probably coming off like foghorns to the poor boy.

Lark had been keeping another boy at Discipline recently, whom Sandry had just met on her current respite here. His name was Ivren, a water-mage with a speech impediment. Sandry had felt sympathetic toward him, she knew how cruel other children could be, even at Winding Circle. Unlike Comas, however, Ivren wasn't one to take teasing by cowering. His confrontational nature had led him to be placed here.

He was literally hanging on Rosethorn's every word. Sandry barely noticed Rosethorn's halting speech anymore- a remnant of her near-death brush with the Blue Plague. But she knew that it would be of utmost importance to Ivren. Maybe Rosethorn would be a good role model for him.

Sandry wasn't quite sure what to make of Briar's little pupil, Evvy. The girl kept studying Sandry in fascination. She had been very distant at first, but had started warming up considerably after Sandry had spent a good half-hour cooing over her kittens. She'd even offered one to Sandry, a coal-dust-colored one with green eyes named Moss.

"Moss?" Sandry had asked. "That's Briar's last name."

"I know," the girl had replied confidently. "His real name is Briar, actually. Trust me, he's just like the real Briar. But I figured we could call him Moss so as not to get confused."

So now 'Moss' was comfortably set up in a box by Sandry's bed. Not that it especially made a difference, as all the other cats were currently up there as well. Lark and Rosethorn refused to have them in the room while they ate.

Sandry's chin was propped in her hand, her eyes on Briar, who was telling a lively story with a good deal of enthusiasm and hand motions. He kept sending glances her way, accompanied by many small, secret smiles.

Almost everything about him had changed, physically speaking. Gone was the lanky pre-adolescent frame. He was so tall now, and broadening. And his voice was deeper too. When he'd left, it had just started changing, something that she and the other girls had teased him about to no end. Sandry smiled into her hand at the thought. Now it was a smooth, rich baritone.

But not everything was different. His cropped black curls were the same, his swarthy skin just as dark, his wonderful white smile contrasting the dark complexion was just as striking…

Sandry sat up suddenly very straight, dropping her hand.

What on earth am I saying? Striking smile? I never worried about Briar's smile before…when he starts smiling at me, it usually means I'd better run for it.

With a barely perceptible shake of her head to clear her thoughts, she went back to concentrating on Briar's story.

But it was in vain. She found she could not focus on what he was saying, as she suddenly started studying him with new eyes. He always had been a good-looking boy…and the way he looked now, well… she knew he would have many of the girls of Winding Circle giggling long into the night.

Sandry frowned. Right now you're behaving just like one of those silly, giggling girls, Sandrilene fa Toren. Now cut it out and be sensible.

But she couldn't. Suddenly the idea of anyone giggling over Briar was making her feel…well… defensive.

She was not able to concentrate on the rest of the meal. She was too lost in thought and all-of-a-sudden very confused.

Lark must have noticed something was wrong when they did the evening dishes together.

"Are you okay sweetheart?"

"Hmmmn?" Sandry said, looking up at the sound of Lark's voice, a little daze-eyed. "Oh! Yes, I'm fine. It's just…it's been a long day, huh?"

"Yes, that it has," Lark replied. "But..," she added slowly, "a good one, I hope?"

"Oh most certainly," Sandry replied, with over-forced conviction. "Listen, do you mind finishing without me? We're almost done… I'll be in my room…"

And she walked off with soap still on her hands, leaving a chuckling Lark to finish alone.

"Here you are." Briar found Sandry in Tris's old room, staring blankly out the window.

She turned and offered up a small smile. "Hi," she said softly.

Briar swallowed, and walked over to stand beside her. For a few moments, they studied the paths of the garden below in the fading twilight. He rubbed his sweaty palms on his trouser legs.

"Strange to have you sleeping in here," he began awkwardly, looking around the room.

"Yeah...I'm trying not too move anything. You never know what kind of anti-stealing spells Tris might've left behind. Getting zapped is not the way I want to begin my day."

Why won't she look at me? Panic filled him, and he brushed it off almost immediately. For crying out loud Briar, stop acting like a pansy.

He hoped none of his pansies had detected that last comment.

"So…" he tried again, giving her a playful shove, "I hear you really are going to be a duchess. Imagine that, huh?"

Sandry sighed. "Please," she said, rolling her eyes, "don't remind me. I've already begun looking for a suitable replacement."

"Sandry, nobody could be more suitable than you." He was amazed at the sudden seriousness in his voice.

There was a moment's pause.

"Briar?" she spoke up suddenly.

"Yes?" he asked in kind, a little more quickly and eagerly than he would have liked.

She turned her face toward him, her beautiful eyes large and serene in the increasing moonlight. "When you were gone…did you miss me?"

"Now that's an obvious question," he said kindly, taking a step closer and putting an arm around her shoulders. "Everyday."

She leaned in with a sigh. "I missed you all so much. You have no idea how lonely I've been."

Briar didn't know what to say. He gulped nervously.

She picked up his hand and began slowly tracing the vine patterns he'd tattooed on his hands to cover the condemning thief-marks. The light, soft touch of her finger sent tingles up and down his whole body, and a shaky breath escaped suddenly from inside him.

She looked up again. "But you know," she said slowly, "I don't think I realized how much I missed you…I mean…" she faltered, "just you, until…" she trailed off. Her chin lifted, ever so slightly.

I could kiss her right now. he realized. I could do it, and… she wouldn't be surprised.

In all likelihood, he probably would have done it too, had it not been for the delighted shriek of a child at play below the window. Evvy, he realized, with a portion of his brain that seemed to still be connected to the real world. The spell of the moment was broken.

Suddenly Briar was acutely of where he was, what he was doing, whom he was with…and why he had to get away.

In a panic, he broke free of Sandry's grasp and fled to his room.