Briar tossed and turned in bed that night, his worried eyes searching through the darkness for some salvation. There was nothing there but ravenous, black night enveloping the distance. He had screwed up, and he had screwed up for real this time. He couldn't shake that cold image of Tris's eyes watching him in that lost, distant way, her face reflecting against the tear-streaked glass of the windowpane.

He softened inside. He had hurt her, and he didn't know why. Her eyes had been clouded over in stormy pain, pain without an explanation. Haunted by her vision, her sobbing ghost following him throughout the night, sleep evaded Briar.

Surely, Tris was upset. She had every right to be, after he'd held her in his arms like that for long minutes, endless minutes, timeless minutes. She'd never asked for it; it had been an accident. Who knew if Briar had made Tris uncomfortable like that? He knew Tris well enough to be able to say that she never got upset to the point of tears without a reason. Guilt welled up in him like a jet-black pool, unforgettable.

One part of him argued, She didn't push you away, now did she? She even pulled you closer, right? Tingling feelings raced up his spine as he thought of the moment. Ecstatically, he exhaled those free, pure emotions from his blood, and then he inhaled the rush once more.

Her hands on the back of my neck, fingers nearly weaving into my hair, he remembered. His eyes fluttered closed briefly, reliving those gentle touches. Suddenly, mentally, he woke himself up savagely, and his eyes sprang open. This wasn't the time to be fantasizing, not when the actual reality was so twisted.

He swore at himself aloud.

Briar reminded himself that Tris had been crying afterwards. If that wasn't a sign that something was wrong, what was? He hadn't seen Tris cry like that for a long time, and it had never before been so feverish. Her eyes had been lit up in a knotted confusion. Angry at himself and at his stupid, pointless thoughts, which were not finding any sort of an answer, he slammed the pillow over his head in a furious motion. Hope drifted away from him like fog lifting at the sun's warmth, like a bottle thrown out to sea. His bottle was sinking.

Bitterly, Briar closed his eyes to no avail. He would not fall asleep for a very long time. The worry of the current problem, as well as the soft yet constant murmur of Lark and Rosethorn chatting in hushed whispers in the kitchen just outside his door, kept him awake for hours.

---

Briar staggered lifelessly down the stairs early the next morning. It seemed that no one had slept well. Daja's face was planted on the table after working for endless stretches of time in the disaster in her room. She had remade her bed, mopped her entire floor, and rearranged her furniture to avoid the drips. In addition, she had woken up every four hours the previous night to change buckets, just as Tris had.

Tris's condition was no better; she moved robotically and dazedly. Tris didn't look at anyone as she drizzled honey into the porridge; instead, her eyes lingered on some object in the distance, as if she was floating in an alternate universe.

Sandry's tiredness was because of a different reason than Tris and Daja's. Sandry was wobbling as she poured milk for breakfast; she hadn't returned until late the previous night. Briar had heard her stumble laughingly through the kitchen in the wee hours of the morning; he thanked the gods that Rosethorn hadn't heard her and scolded her for it, simply because he knew it made her happy to steal away time with the mysterious Raeldro Earthkin. Even Lark and Rosethorn seemed a step behind as they tripped over their own shoes multiple times.

They each grunted in various tones at him as he collided with the bench. Muttering timeless swear words against the furniture, he seated himself clumsily. "You need a brush," Daja muttered to him, plucking at a dark curl on his head. Briar swatted her away tiredly, his lashes lowered.

"I was rolling over in my sleep all night," he explained softly, raising his eyes to Tris's. "I couldn't sleep." Unfortunately, the redheaded mage wasn't looking; she was staring out into the distance still, her eyes fazed over from weariness and worry. Regretfully, Briar turned away from her.


"I should have come back sooner," Sandry mumbled, spilling milk haphazardly onto the table. She didn't notice her mistake. "I was out too late, and I'm so tired." Upon noting the white blotch on the wood, she started to sigh her favorite curse: "Cat dirt, cat dirt, cat dirt." Often enough, the others wondered what "cat dirt" actually was.

"Where were you two?" snapped Rosethorn protectively, her dark brown eyes narrowed into snake-like slits underneath reddish-brown lashes. She mannishly combed her hair with her hands; the normally smooth locks were pushed up in various angles on her
head.

"Walking," replied Sandry in a brisk manner. Her crystal eyes seemed to defy Rosie, blocking out warmth uncharacteristically. She let her hair slide slowly over her shoulder as she rolled her neck tiredly.

"You were walking in the rain? You're lucky you didn't catch your death, child," Lark scolded gently, knocking over a stool as she walked past the table. Some hint in her eyes reminded the thread-mage of previous sour weather encounters, particularly her ghostly encounter with the cold a few nights before.

Sandry exhaled deeply, either out of irritation or sleepiness. "We were walking, yes. We went to the seawall and looked out over the sea at the storm. It was absolutely beautiful; you would have loved it, Tris. The sky was lit up in greens and yellows and shades of gold and blues as lightning flashed, and the water was in a white-capped rage, smashing up against the walls." Tris's eyes flashed, half with jealousy, half with awe and excitement. She felt her veins twitch in excitement, as if a bolt of energy had just struck her.

The noble soaked up the milk she had spilled, oblivious to her friend's exhilaration.

Daja groaned. "Yes, thank you for helping us clean up last night," she remarked sarcastically. Daja was usually not one to hold back her words; this time was not an exception. Flipping back her braids, she stared into the clear glass in front of her, watching Sandry's distorted image in the substance.

Sandry's eyes shot up, as if she had been struck in the face by an unseen attacker. Her pulse quickened uneasily as she saw her friend glaring. Sandry raised an eyebrow at her grumpy dark-skinned friend. "You said that I could go," she reminded Daja slowly and carefully, who looked up at Sandry with a glare. The Trader girl then watched as Tris set out bowls before suddenly making a comment.

"Of course you could go. I would not stop you from that man. But if it had been your room with the leaks, we'd have all pitched in," Daja said very calmly, looking straight into Sandry's eyes. Her voice was not angry or disappointed, but she was blunt, and she was right. Sealing the word as final, she clamped her teeth together.

"I didn't know," Sandry confessed, unable to meet her friend's eyes. She didn't sound very upset, though, to the others' disapproval. "I'm sorry." Daja watched her friend move lazily through the kitchen, getting utensils.

As she dug through the basket containing spoons, Sandry glanced up to briefly meet Daja's gaze, hoping for some sort of forgiveness surfacing there. In her eyes, Sandry saw a sort of mournful regret. Sandry saw now that Daja was not mad in the least; rather, Daja was upset that her friend had abandoned her.

They would have all helped me, and I just left, Sandry realized ashamedly. I let them down. Bleary-eyed, the light-haired girl blushed crimson with guilt that eroded her heart. Shivering, despite the rising heat of the dawning, she laid the utensils on the table, her expensive dress the color of her porcelain face.

"Next time, saati," Daja said, nodding her thanks to Tris for setting out the bowls. Sandry, nearly in tears, turned back to the cold box to put away the milk. Lark coughed uneasily and seated herself on her stool, having retrieved it from the floor. Rosethorn struggled to find her seat after kicking the stool out from under her twice clumsily.

They prayed to gods, thankful for their meal. Sandry added, Let Daja forgive me. Let them all forgive me. Her prayer held that same noble elegance that it always had; she hoped that it was able to win over the gods by its charm, but she figured gods were solid enough beings to look past exterior at the meat within. Or were they more superficial than she'd thought?

After their prayers, the pot of oatmeal passed around the table. Tris nearly dropped it twice, while Sandry had to be tapped on the shoulder three times before she realized that Daja was handing it to her. A lazy aura floated over the table; no one seemed able to concentrate, and nobody seemed to care about anything anymore.

The door opened midway through the meal. Niko, kerchief in hand, entered. He was coughing rather loudly, and his face was a strange reddish color. Mumbles and sedated salutations arose half-heartedly from the table. Niko nodded his greeting and coughed into his white kerchief once again, his face somewhat detached from the rest of him; his body looked quite relaxed, almost limp, while his face was stressed with his cold symptoms.

"Are you alright?" Lark asked in a concerned manner, twisting backwards in her stool to see him. She nearly fell off of her chair; Sandry steadied her, her palm meeting green fabric at Lark's knee.

"A mere cold," Niko gasped before bending over and submitting to the virus's painful wrath. The others winced at the muffled gasping noises that he made; he sounded as if someone were trying to strangle him.

"Doesn't sound like a 'mere cold' to me, sir," Rosethorn chided, sliding off her stool. In a green and red blur she rushed to her workshop. Bottles clanked together as she searched for her medicines. Briar winced as he heard something cracking. Stumbling from the bench and tripping on the lip of his sandals, he headed for the workroom to help with the mess.

"And so sudden!" Lark pondered. "Oh, dear, it was probably from getting all wet and cold last night, Niko. I'm terribly sorry." Her eyes were down in a genuine apology. Niko smiled at her kindly from behind his fabric, the caverns of his eyes deeper than usual. Had he been haunted last night, just as the rest of them had?

"My own fault," Niko said, excusing himself with a hand as he started to wheeze. "I was the one who opened that window so thoughtlessly. And you did your best to get me dried off; thank you for that. This was inevitable." He pulled back his dark hair with a vengeance, frustrated by everything. Tying it with a leather thong, Niko lifted his eyes to the figure in the doorway.

Rosethorn entered the room, holding a vial of foul-smelling liquid. "This should help you with your cough, Niko. Hopefully it will soothe your throat," she told him, handing him the vial. He opened it and peeked inside cautiously. Briar poked his head out of the
workroom, his green eyes sharp. "If that's the Birch Potion, Niko, it's got all sorts of nasty things in it, like lard and ground-up beetles. You're better off with the cough rather than take that!"

Rosethorn glowered at him with sharp daggers in her eyes; the young man ducked back into the room and started to gather up the shards of glass.

From the other room, as he lazily swept, Briar was trying to find a good spot to interrupt Tris's thoughts to give her his apologies, just as he'd been trying to all morning. The table was seemingly quiet as Rosie dictated instructions for the medicine she had prescribed.

Briar pawed at the ground with his broom and paused a moment, unsure of himself. What should he say? He gritted his teeth, vexed with himself. Finally, after he was almost finished cleaning up the accident in the workshop, Briar thought to Tris, I'm sorry about ... about what happened last night. I shouldn't have. I'm sorry if I hurt you or anything.

It was difficult for him to figure out how to word his apology, since he wasn't even sure what he had done wrong. Briar wished that he was face to face with her, so he could see her eyes. What was she thinking?

He felt her mind do a double-take. It wasn't you. It wasn't anything, Briar. Don't be sorry, she told him privately, dismissing his apology. I know that I'm not. With that, she returned to eating, pushing him away very quietly and gently as to not disturb her anymore. She wasn't blocking him out, but a part of Tris murmured to him that they could talk later.

How was he supposed to interpret that? Was that an answer to the question he had been pondering? Had she really enjoyed lingering softly in his arms, holding him, feeling his hands sliding down her sides? Had he actually done something right last night? Briar felt himself shiver, both inside and out.

He disposed of the glass and the dirty rag soaked in dirt and Lavender and Vanilla Essence. The now impure substance was useless. He then settled himself down at the table and stirred his half-cold oatmeal. He glanced at Tris diagonally from him, his eyes questioning her own.

And yet, he was unable to ask her through their mind-link, not because of anything on her part, but because of his own doubt. His desire for a response was unfulfilled due to the fact that the questions were all unasked. As much as he desired a certain reply, he feared another, and that tension was enough to block the words from his mouth, cutting off his air and making him turn bluer than the sky.

Niko was tucking away his package inside the flowing depths of his dark robes. "One spoonful every day at noon," Rosethorn instructed in a monotone voice; the instructions were timelessly memorized. "That should soothe your throat enough to rid you of that cough." Niko nodded in understanding, nearly sweating.

"Join us for the meal, Niko?" Lark asked, her warm eyes sympathetic. Niko shook his head, his eyes meeting hers underneath his dark brows.

"This is not a social meeting," he said with a slight cough. "I came to speak with you all about something very important." His eyes held a spark behind them. Those at the table leaned forward in interest, while Rosethorn, still standing next to Niko, laid her hand on his arm in a question.

"Trouble, Niko?" Rosethorn asked in a worried voice. Her eyes glimmered in a hesitant manner. She didn't know if she wanted him to answer. Her one hand touched her lips gently. Was she trembling at the mere thought of more trouble brewing ever so slowly at the horizon?

Niko shook his head and coughed at the motion, his hand flying over his mouth. "The opposite, actually," he said calmly, as if he had no emotion whatsoever. "I have some news." Pausing to look at the others' wide, nervous eyes, he said, "We have a suspect."

Lark nearly fell out of her chair, while the young mages shared excited glances. "Does this mean the trouble with the earth is going to stop, Niko?" Sandry asked in a high, joyous voice. The sleepy, foggy stupor that had settled over the kitchen table had risen and gone like a migrating dove.

Niko held out a warning palm. "A suspect, Sandry, is innocent until proven guilty. This woman is only a suspect; she may or may not be the person we are looking for, but a good amount of the evidence points to her," he replied, his eyes cautious. Sandry bit her lip, nonetheless exuberant. Nothing could dampen her spirits; a suspect was better than nothing. Her eyes glinted like twin blue moons against a chalk-white sky.

"Who is she?" asked Briar, his palms flat on the table. Lark looked down to see his fingers gripping the wood. "Where is she?" A billion questions popped up in his mind; he was only able to stutter out in broken, excited words the first two.

"Her name is Woodberry. She is the Dedicate Superior of Stone Circle Temple," Niko started. The others gasped in shock, reeling back at some invisible blow. Tris felt suddenly as exposed as if she were naked; she covered folded her arms together, pulling them against herself in a protective way.

"A Dedicate Superior was able to get away, hidden, even after being tested by a soothsayer? How could she have outwitted a soothsayer?" Lark wailed passionately. She echoed Tris's own fears. The taller woman's face was contorted in a strained manner that Tris had hardly ever seen her ever wear; the mask was usually hidden by that warm smile, but now it sparkled through her skin like gray mists.

Niko looked down for a moment. "I was the soothsayer for Dedicate Woodberry," he said in a very blunt voice. There was a loud gulping sound as Lark swallowed her next words. He looked up and regained his composure. Was that guilt creeping up into his face, guilt the color of dried berries and fresh blood?

"Dedicate Woodberry did not lie to me. The tested dedicates were asked if they were conspiring against the earth, if they knew of anyone who was conspiring against the earth, and if they swore to report any suspicious activity towards the earth. Woodberry answered truthfully to the three questions, replying that she was innocent of the high crimes and that she was loyal to the Living Circle. I would have known if she had lied; she would have glittered with magic in my magical vision," Niko said in that usual calm manner that was so distinctively his own. Tris sighed appreciatively; it was so comforting to hear Niko talk like himself.

"How could she possibly be a suspect if she answered truthfully?" Tris asked in a confused manner, motioning with her hands. It was a habit she had picked up from her teacher.

Niko coughed furiously into his kerchief for a moment before answering her. "A worker at the temple said that Woodberry would often disappear for long periods of time without returning. They reported her to the Mage Council, saying her activities were suspicious. A general search warrant was given so that her rooms could be investigated. What they found is amazing; it damns Woodberry in the eyes of any man." Niko coughed once and shook his head. "Woodberry had sap spells activated."

When Briar, Daja, and Sandry looked at him in a sideways manner, he looked to Tris. "You understand what they are, am I right, Tris?"

The redhead nodded, feeling ill. "Sap spells are useful," she told them. "They are used with a physical object, a sap case. The case is a three-dimensional rectangular box made of glass with a single glass sheet cutting through it in the middle. The middle glass piece has a hole through it. Depending on which way it is turned, the sap inside flows from one side to the other through the hole. Many sap cases can be attached together to make a very large case." The others nodded in understanding, necks craned in her direction.

Tris smiled at their curious faces and continued with an air of intelligence, "The case is symbolic. The sap flowing through it is energy; rather, the sap is magicked so that a certain energy moves just as the sap does. The sap flows through the different sections, which might be symbolic for a certain force. You remember when Niko told us that each person has a number of forces in his or her body, such as the life-force, anti-magic, and our magical powers? The sections might represent one of those. Usually, the sap case is used to create a balance between these different sections in a person if they are thrown out of symmetry. The sap flows until there is enough sap equally throughout all the sections; then it is turned on its side to stop the flow."

"So, basically, the sap case is used to spread magic from one thing to another, or from one part of a being to another," Daja concluded, looking somewhat baffled, cocking her head in a bird-like fashion.

Tris nodded. "Essentially," she remarked. Her eyes fell uneasily, as if a shadow the color of midnight had fallen over her face. "At Stone Circle Temple, they used a sap spell on me. They said I had demons in my body, stopping up things. They hoped the sap spell would restore my balance." She bit her lip. If anyone had tried to pity her, she would have hit them. It still stung to remember the disapproving faces of the Stone Circle Dedicates, bleak and stony like statues.

Sandry asked Niko, "But what I don't understand is how the sap case works against the earth. They're only used to move power within one being or one body, not from person to person, or from earth to person, in this case."

"What Woodberry was trying to do was to use a sap spell to flow magic from the earth into herself," Niko explained, cracking his bony knuckles. "Somehow, she magicked it to work that way. How she did it precisely is beyond me; I don't know how something as simple as a sap spell could take energy from the complexity of earth. I think she had some other spells working with the sap spell to make it stronger, but that is immaterial. We know that Woodberry has been participating in this. We could detect traces of the earth's core in one of the sections, the section that the sap was flowing away from." He buried his face in his cloth again, his brows knit together in a pained way.

Sandry brimmed with anger. "So this is it," she remarked. "We have found the selfish one who is responsible."

Niko shushed at her and then coughed a few times into his kerchief. "The matter isn't that simple, Sandry," he told her, his eyes softening. "Woodberry's intentions were not selfish. She has a daughter, Lilith, who is very sick. In fact, Lilith is dying from a very
serious and incurable disease. Doctors are unable to heal her completely. Woodberry had been feeding the energy into her sick daughter, trying to keep her alive with energy. She was trying to defy the inevitability of her child's sickness."

"Are you sure?" Lark asked in a quiet voice. "Are you sure she's not making up that lie to get the Mage Council to let her go?" She was twisting her robe in her hands nervously. Her eyes had lost their usual magic; she looked dull and tired, as if someone had sucked out her life.

"It's true," Niko replied. "Traces of the earth's core have been found in Lilith's system."

"I suppose that's why she wasn't caught. She wasn't conspiring against the earth, so she spoke truthfully in saying that; she was just trying to save her daughter. But, Niko, what's going to happen to them? Woodberry isn't malicious, or she seems to be harmless enough, anyways," Daja reasoned, flinging her braids behind her shoulders.

"No one knows, not yet," Niko answered before shoving his face in his kerchief. Once he was finished coughing, he went on in a very hoarse voice. "We don't know how much energy that Woodberry has actually taken."

Niko cleared his throat and went on. "As you know, there are all the elements of magic, such as life-force, common-bond, etcetera. Lilith's illness is in which her body cannot regenerate her life-force itself. Lilith's body is rapidly using the energy given to her, but her own true life-force dies still.  Without the power that her mother has been supplying to her, Lilith will die."

There was a very long, silent moment after that. Briar felt his mind fill with sad images of little children dying. Flick, a fading memory, withered away in his soul. He remembered that he'd been holding her hand, whispering to her, as she had exhaled her last sigh. He vaguely saw himself sitting by her side for long minutes, waiting for her to breathe in again, but she had not. Very quietly, Briar asked, "How old is Lilith?"

"She's nine," replied Niko sadly.

"Flick was no more than ten," whispered Briar to himself. He saw her lifeless body next to him in the bed. He remembered plucking at her clothes, trying to wake her up. Harshly, Briar bit his lip painfully. The others heard his soft voice, so mournful, and gave him compassionate looks. Lark squeezed his shoulder in a sweet, comforting touch. Rosie cleared her throat brokenly.

Niko coughed, interrupting their remembrance and tribute to long-dead family, friends, even strangers. He continued, "As bad as it sounds to say it, Lilith must die. Her illness will eventually kill her; her mother cannot keep using the earth's energy to try and save her."

"What will they do with Woodberry?" asked Sandry.

"If she is the one who has taken all of this power, then she is guilty of a very serious crime, regardless of her intentions," Niko said, putting his face into his kerchief again. A particularly nasty cough ripped from his throat, and Niko doubled over in pain. Lark rose from her stool, and Rosethorn next to him steadied the older mage.

"Niko?" asked Lark gently, trying to get him to stand up straight. Niko looked at his kerchief as he brought it from his mouth. Bloodstains permeated through the light fabric. The young people at the children could see the red spots on the cloth, and they rose with worried looks on their young faces. Niko's eyes darted to Lark's; he looked afraid. His lips were touched with his own blood.

Tris was at the water bucket getting him a drink with a dipper in a flash. Sweat formed on her brow. Why was Niko coughing up blood? Shakily, she went over to hand him the glass. His eyes met hers; he saw the worry rooted there and gripped her shoulder. "I'm alright, Tris," he assured her. She didn't know how sure he even was. She could see that his dark lashes fluttered with uneasiness.

"Sit down, Niko," Rosethorn said, drawing Niko to a chair. Niko did as he was told, his water glass wobbling. Lark sat next to him and steadied him, holding his glass as he coughed into his red-stained cloth. More spots appeared as he continued. Lark opened her lashes as her eyes darted from his eyes to his hands, to the cloth and to the water glass in her hands. A gossamer of dizziness fell over her. She thrust the glass into his trembling hands as he lowered the fabric from his face.

"Let's see if this can clear your mouth some," she said, offering him the glass forcefully. He took it, watching her face over the glass as he sipped and gulped the water. Lark's worried, protective, motherly brain surveyed him with a twinge in her heart. He washed the metallic rusty taste of blood from his mouth.

"Should we call for a healer?" Sandry asked, twisting her gown together in a wrinkled mess, like a knotted sunset. Her loose hair fell into her wet blue eyes.

"Go," Lark said, shooing Sandry with a flapping hand and taking Niko's glass with the other. "Moonstream will be at the Hub by this hour, and she'll know what to do." Her gaze fixed on Niko's weary eyes; Lark could see that the man's face had deepened, the crows' feet at the corners of his eyes sinking in sadness and exhaustion. Sandry was out of the door in a moment, her rose-colored dress a blur behind her. Sandry rushed through the gate, yanking it open with a vengeance. Panting, she passed a blur that might have been Raeldro. She paid him no heed. She was breathless and in tears by the time she reached the Hub. Slamming the door open as she came in, she saw a handful of dedicates there, seemingly waiting for someone.

"Where is Moonstream?" she asked them in a hurry, wetness running down her face. Gasping, she impatiently watched them slowly look at each other and then back at her. "Where is she?" she screamed, her furious eyes meeting their own.

She grabbed the first one, garbed in blue, by the top of his robe. Threads snaked out towards her like dancing cobras. She shook him once violently; his bright green eyes were huge in his fury and fear. She was a wild sight, her hair falling into blazing blue orbs and her lips set in a thin line. The third one, a stout, fat young man with blond hair, said in a frightened voice, "Third floor, I think." Sandry dropped the dedicate's collar swiftly.

Sandry nodded her thanks briskly and rushed up the stairs with a loud thunder, spiraling up and up. She felt dizzy by the time she reached the top.

"Moonstream," she said in a sob as she saw the dark-skinned woman standing by the window with Dedicate Crane. "Honored Moonstream!" she cried again in a louder, clearer voice.

The woman turned, her lips parted slightly. Seeing Sandry, the dedicate turned up her lips in a smile. "Yes, my dear?" she cooed, stepping closer. Her smile faded quickly when she saw the ugly tear marks on Sandry's face. "Child, what is it?" she asked in a hushed voice, cupping the noble's face in her right hand.

"It's Niko," Sandry breathed in a tense manner, her voice strained against the ringing sobs that threatened to burst from the cavern of her throat. "He's at Discipline. He came with a cough this morning, but he wasn't sick last night. Niko said that it was only a cold, but now he's coughing up blood."

Moonstream's eyes widened, the whites around them glistening. "He needs a healer," she said with a blink, letting her memory run through like a tape playing. Her full, dark lips came together in a deep frown.

Sandry nodded. "That's why I came here," she answered. "Because it's Niko who's sick, I thought I ought to ask you for help to get a good healer." Sandry yanked a kerchief from her bosom and dabbed it over her eyelids to no avail; her face was still a sad,
scared wreck.

Moonstream let go of Sandry and knotted her hands together as she thought. Her eyes lingered on nothing as she gazed through the resources stocked in her brain. "A good healer is not enough. We need the best healer we have," she said in a determined manner. "Come, Sandry. Let's go get Dedicate Iris. She's very talented, and she should be able to figure out what's wrong with dear Niko." Her eyes had shifted to Sandry's face.

Turning back to Crane for a moment, Moonstream called, "I'm going away for now. Someone is sick, and I must tend to him, too." They were gone from the room before Crane could breathe a word to them.

---

Once at Discipline with Dedicate Iris, a petite, bright woman with shining dark hair, Sandry had started to settle down. Her eyes, having been wiped with her own kerchief, looked clearer to any observer, no longer clouded with misery. Moonstream sat on one side of Niko, Lark on the other, and Iris in front of him. The latter laid her hands on his face and felt for all the magics flowing within him, her eyes closed. The others could see shimmering magic shining from her fingers, running through Niko's body. Briar had seen Dedicate Henna do the same thing while he was in quarantine during the blue pox epidemic.

"I can't see what's going on, Master Niklaren," clucked Dedicate Iris confusedly. Her accent was rich as cream; the others could tell she was from the Namorn Empire. "You seem perfectly normal." She released him, her cool, earth-toned hands curling into the blue folds of her robe.

"Normal?" snapped Rosethorn. "If you call coughing up blood normal, I'm a man." When Niko cleared his throat and looked at her in a way that suggested that she be polite, the prickly woman reduced her threats to glares and sarcastic sighs momentarily.

"Aside from that," finished Iris, seemingly not dazed by Rosethorn's words. "There isn't wrong with you, Master Niklaren. You don't have any diseases in you. I can't sense any sort of sickness. You just... have this unexplainable coughing; your lungs are convulsing so hard that you're wearing away at yourself. You shouldn't have a cough! There's nothing in you to make you have a cough! It doesn't make sense." The others glanced at her worriedly as she closed up her bag.


Iris rocked back to sit on the floor, her blue robe falling to the floor in a pool like water. "I don't know what to say to you, Master Niklaren. I'd advise that you take that medicine that you say Dedicate Rosethorn gave you, as long as she's sure it won't interfere with the blood."

"It won't," Rosethorn replied tersely. Her voice was like a guitar strung much too tightly. Moonstream cleared her voice warningly, and Rosethorn quieted momentarily.

"We're going to have to wait this out, I'm afraid. Feel free to have someone fetch me if you need anything," she said, rising graceful. She shrugged. "I wish there was something I could do."

"We wish you could have been some help," muttered Rosethorn. Moonstream clicked her tongue at Rosethorn. Iris seemed to not have heard Rosethorn's harsh words. She was ushered out of the door by a shaky Tris, her thin, dark brows together in a frown.

"Look, it's almost noon, Niko," Lark cooed. "I'll get you a spoon so you can take that medicine now. We'll see if it does any good, alright?" She started to get up, but Daja's voice froze her in the middle of her motion.

"And if it doesn't?" whispered Daja in a hushed tone.

"It will work," said Sandry determinedly, grabbing a spoon from the drawer. She tossed it to Lark and stuck out her chin. "It will work, or I'll know why." Fire blazed fiercely in her eyes.

Niko took the medicine carefully, being sure to tell Rosethorn that it tasted disgusting. The others laughed uneasily, unsure of everything. He continued to cough periodically for about ten minutes, but after that his coughing slowed until it gradually disappeared.

The others breathed sighs of relief, though not entirely satisfied. They knew the medicine would eventually wear off. How soon?

---

After Niko had left, the six remaining mages climbed onto the roof and started to strip it of its worn layers. "We're lucky," said Lark, yanking off some of the still damp straw. "A great deal of this straw is good still. We're only going to have to re-thatch in patches. Just yank off the dark stuff and toss it down next to the workshop. I'm going to go pick up a few bales of straw for the project." She hopped down onto the roof of the shop and then flipped to the ground. She grinned up at them after landing the trick.

Rosethorn narrowed her eyes at her friend. "Ta-da," grumbled the plant-mage sarcastically, throwing some straw down at Lark. "We know you were a tumbler. Now get on with your visit." Lark laughed, ducking the flying straw, and went on her way, hopping over the fence.

The five remaining mages threw down handfuls of straw, giggling as the straw intertwined with their hair and clothes. Sandry, her rose-colored dress covered in the grasses, was having a particularly fun time with the straw, throwing it at them in a girlishly playful manner. Tris especially didn't like this prank; she could hardly get out the straw from her wiry curls.

About thirty minutes later, all the old, decaying hay was off the roof. Lark returned with a wheelbarrow filled with bales of hay. "I'm going to get some more in a moment," she told the others. "And I'll get the spars, too."

Lark smiled at the others and wiped her forehead. Her dark robe surely attracted light like a magnet. She rolled her sleeves up and tucked her robe up, and her willowy form, wheelbarrow in tow, vanished towards the storehouses. Briar hopped down to the ground and started to toss up the flakes, the sections of the straw that are naturally clumped together.

"The straw is sticking to me," Sandry said in annoyed manner as she caught another flake. "Shoo!" she told it, flapping her hand.
Grudgingly, the straw fell away from her sweaty skin; the sun was hot and high, and she was perspiring underneath her full gowns.

Tris was laying layers of thatching over the places where they had ripped off the old, dewy straw. The deepest layers of thatching had been left, being that they were secured to the wood logs that were laid together to make the actual roof. Piling over more
straw, Tris wiped her forehead. "So cursed hot," she muttered, taking the bandanna off her head and wiping her forehead with it. She retied it.

Lark was back in fifteen minutes, this time with the spars and more straw. She let Briar continue to throw up the straw while running through the house and upstairs with the spars. She started to help Tris and Daja pin down the straw onto the roof. They labored tirelessly, sweat running down their backs and in their eyes. Periodically they stood and shook like dogs, trying to get the perspiration from their foreheads.

Briar soon joined them on the roof. They put layers upon layers upon layers of thick, dry straw, and the chore was tiring and dull. Sandry tried to liven up the mood by tickling them all with pieces of straw, but that failed when Daja fell over laughing and nearly slid off the roof. Little Bear ran around in the yard, yapping at them impatiently. Why were they on the roof instead of being with him? He chased bits of straw that fell, yipping in glee.

An hour passed. Nearly dead with exhaustion, the group had completed half of the roof's re-thatching. The new thatch was bright and clean against the dirtier, older spots, but despite the mismatched appearance, the new roof would do the job of keeping out the rain and insulating the house.

"And we're not halfway done yet," Daja groaned tiredly. She wiped her forehead; straw stuck there. Lark laughed and plucked it off her face, flicking the piece at Rosie.

"Listen, I've got to go to the stores and get more straw for thatching and more spars. Would you come with me, Rosethorn? I think I need an extra hand," Lark said. Rosethorn nodded.

"You four keep piling on the leftover straw while we're gone, alright?" Lark instructed. She and Rosethorn vanished down the stairs.

Briar stretched up, his arms almost touching the sky. He might have snatched white puffs of clouds from the heavens above. "Forget her. I'm going to take a quick break," he informed the group. "I'm tired and I need a drink." He wiped his hot brow with
the back of his hand, moving curls from his forehead.

"I think I'll go with you," said Tris, standing up from her place. "I'm thirsty, too." Her mouth was dry and dusty, like parched sands, after inhaling the scent of dried grasses all afternoon.

Sandry nodded, wiping her face with her tear-stained kerchief. "Alright," she said, rolling up her sleeves. "We might as well all take a break, then." She bent and hopped down from the roof onto the top of the workshop and then to the ground from there.
Her skirts billowed around her like a parachute. "I'm going to the Hub for a quick walk," she said determinedly. "Would you like to come, Daja?"

The metal mage smiled, nodded agreement, and hopped down in the same way Sandry had done. Briar tossed down her staff for her; the dark-skinned girl grinned in gratitude, catching it with her metal-sheathed hand, which shone like a small sun in the light.

"Can we meet back here in a few minutes?" Daja asked, flipping dark, wet braids over her shoulder.

"Sure thing," Briar said, making his way to the ladder. Tris followed his lead, descending right after him. They went into the deserted kitchen. Tris reached the cabinets and pulled out a glass. She set it on the table and then paused. "Would you like me to pour you one?" she asked her companion.

"Yes, thanks," he said, sitting down on the bench and folding his arms. He rested his crossed arms on the table and laid his head on top of them, watching Tris move around the kitchen. She flowed through the room like a dark bird, a raven, her skirts swishing around her. Ravens were evil birds; they sneakily ate the seeds planted in the garden. Yet, somehow, the association between the raven and Tris Chandler fit.

Silently, Tris took another glass from the cabinet and filled the two with cold water from the bucket. She set the first glass in front of him and sat next to him, starting to gulp down the cool, clear liquid. She was oddly quiet. Briar wondered what she was thinking.

"You're quiet, Coppercurls," Briar commented after she finished her sip. "Are you not talking to me still?" He leaned over to rest his head on the table, pushing his glass to the side slowly.

Tris looked down and blushed crimson. She honestly didn't want Briar, of all people, to know what she'd been thinking. But when she glanced down at his face, she couldn't lie to him; his head lay on the table, and he looked at her sideways, his green eyes
large. She couldn't turn that face down. Thief-boy, if only you knew what you do to me, she thought with feeling.

"Does it look like I'm not talking to you?" she said rhetorically.

He paused. "Why were you crying last night?"

"It wasn't you," she lied. "Seeing Sandry and Raeldro just made me sort of – well, it made me start to think about – about love." She moistened her lips nervously, running her tongue along the opening of her small mouth.

"If you were crying about not being loved, you shouldn't be. You have a family here, and friends who are close to family," Briar concluded, eagerly wanting to end an awkward conversation.

"I know. Niko might as well be my father, and Lark and Rosethorn have become surrogate mothers to me. You, Sandry, and Daja were tough to get along with, but I suppose we never would have been put in Discipline if we weren't tough," Tris remarked. She smirked at him as he did the same. Something in that sideways glance was attractive; was it his boyish slyness?

"I'm glad we were a rotten bunch," he said passionately, his eyes blinking. Suddenly, he grinned crookedly. "I'm glad we still are a rotten bunch."

Tris snickered and tugged one of her curls. "Well, all of us are tame now, and safe to play with. And you're right; we are best friends." Her face fell a bit, and she sighed. "But seeing Sandry and Raeldro reminded me that there's a third side to love. Their romance is different from the thing between us four. It's not better or worse. But, what if – well, I won't start, asking questions that can't be answered. It just upset me, seeing them, laughing, having something I don't."


Then she looked at Briar with a question in her eyes. "Don't worry about me. You probably don't have a clue as to what I'm talking about. I'm sure you never think of it," she said to him. Her gaze seemed to permeate his brain. He pushed himself up from his position, looking at her straight, a lightning bolt streaking across his beautifully carved features.

"Think about love?" he repeated, startled by her question. Why would she suddenly care? She seemed interested; her eyes were glowing like dark fire behind her glasses. "No." He paused. "I don't think of it often, at least."

"Oh," Tris commented. She eyed him. "It's alright if you've gone a little soft, you know. I promised I wouldn't tell before, and I'll promise it again." She sipped at her water.

He chuckled. "How did you know?"

Tris raked her fingers through her hair. "You paused."

"It doesn't mean I've gone soft," Briar assured her. "But – well, you can't help but to feel a bit jealous of Raeldro and Sandry, making faces at each other all the time, and laughing. They seem happy."

"Must be nice," Tris remarked. She stared into her water glass.

"It would be," he echoed. "But – I'm far from that. I'm brave, but never when it comes to girls."

"You wouldn't say anything?" she asked. Briar could almost, but not quite, hear the exasperation in her voice. "You wouldn't tell her?"

"She'd hate me," Briar said calmly, his green eyes looking straight into hers.

"Not if she loved you, she wouldn't," Tris responded. "If you told her, everything would be right."

There was a long silence. Their eyes clashed like swords, and their glances were sharp and sparking at the tips, dodging each other evasively. Tris's heart was stopping at the edge of a deep precipice. Would she fall into it, drown in the emptiness of it all? Or would she fly over it? The door was unlocked, the handle halfway turned.

Tris didn't know what to do. She had forgotten how to speak. She had forgotten how to breathe. But she would not die at the hands of her gods playing the "what if" game, asking unanswerable questions. She knew that she could not die knowing that she had left things unfulfilled, his questions unanswered.

She would strip herself of all fear. Tris's mind pleaded to him in an echo to her words, Tell me that you love me. And the message was sent. Exposed and weak, Tris was vulnerable. 

In a second, Briar's mouth was upon hers.

Briar had kissed three or four girls in the Stepping Stone Islands, either out of curiosity or vague interest. Those kisses were nothing like kissing Tris. This was new, fresh. She was hesitant, tasting, experimental in her movements. He could feel her lips tremble slightly as they brushed his; he could taste the salt of the sea barely on her lips. Her breath quivered, and her touch was like that of a cautious child. Briar pressed her deeper, searching, yearning.

Tris wanted to laugh, to cry, to scream. He was kissing her… it was surreal to her. It was like when Niko had told her that she had magic; it was knowledge, it was power, and it was the sense of belonging. Tris was half-afraid to kiss him, wondering if perhaps there was a mistake in all this. But she could not deny the thunder that rolled between her breasts, the pounding of her heart. She was shy, timid, and wanting, needing. Trembling hands found their way to her shoulders, into his hair, across his back. Her tongue brushed his; she felt him gasp.

Briar was slowly using his hand around her waist as an anchor, drawing her progressively closer and closer. Their torsos now were nearly touching. He liked how her hands ran along the back of his neck, her fingers buried in the hair at the back of his head.

Does this answer your question? he thought to her alone, holding her so tightly that he could feel the rumbling of their hearts together. He kissed her more feverishly, making her sigh and quiver. How else can I tell you – that I've gone soft for you?


---

Outside, leaning on the front gate, Sandry had returned from her walk to the Hub. She was gazing wistfully at the garden, half brown and half a rainbow. She was also concentrated on braiding a small strand of hair, since she had nothing else to do for the moment. Her tongue curled up at the corner of her mouth as she focused.

Daja, having gone as well, had not returned with Sandry, since she had met up with Frostpine at the Hub and was chatting with him. Sandry had decided on passing up on their conversation about all the odd metals that were being extracted from a nearby mine. Metals that couldn't be separated before had melted down and distilled themselves into new substances. Frostpine had said that it was a great scientific discovery, but it was something that never would have - or should have - occurred. Had the earth not torn the metals apart, the discovery never would have been made. At that point, Sandry had left. She wanted to hear no more of her planet's ill fate. Life was confusing enough, with Niko's cough and Raeldro romancing her.

Bored, Sandry gazed at the garden. It only stung her more deep inside to see all of Briar and Rosie's hard work go to waste. Damn Woodberry, she thought bitterly. It isn't your fault that your daughter is dying, but other farmers are unable to grow
their crops, and they're perishing, too. Do you care?

Sandry hoped that maybe Tris and Briar were discussing more uplifting topics, and so she decided to go and see what they were doing. She swung open the gate with her knee and headed up the path to the house while finishing her braid. The door was open in an effort to air out the hot house. She was focused on her braid as she soundlessly entered the house. Behind the view of her hair, Sandry saw something that nearly startled her into a scream.

Tris and Briar were kissing.

Sandry dropped the braid and it undid in a second. She clapped her hand over her mouth, as if she might muffle the noise of a cry that snuck out. A million thoughts ran through her mind, all of them things that she could not fathom the answers to.

Then, Sandry realized that if they stopped kissing that moment, Tris and Briar would see her gazing at them, and that would cause and interesting confrontation in which uncomfortable questions might be asked. Slowly, making close to no noise, Sandry
tiptoed backwards out of the room. Her hair ribbon fell to the floor. As soon as she was safely on the front step, Sandry reversed and made her way as quietly as possible back to the gate.

My ribbon! she thought, suddenly realizing that she had dropped it. Knowing that Tris and Briar would see it if she left it, she turned back to the door, hurrying. She bent in the doorframe, reaching for the ribbon.

She heard the sound of lips drawing apart. A sharp gasp from Tris and the cry of "Sandry!" from Briar alerted Sandry that she'd been caught. Sandry very slowly stood and looked into the house, shielding her eyes from the light of the shining sun. "Hello," she said casually.

Tris's face was quite red from embarrassment. Briar hurriedly tried to feign innocence by folding his hands on the table. He'd forgotten about his glass of water. He knocked it over, causing water to spill over the wooden table. He swore under his breath and rushed for a rag to sop it up.

"How much did you see?" Tris demanded angrily, her eyes alight.


"See?" Sandry questioned. Tris and Briar seemed unwilling to share, so she wasn't going to ask about it. She would have to find out later, after things had blown over. "The only thing I saw was... was Rosethorn's garden," she fibbed quickly, motioning towards the plants outside with thin, worn hands. "That's what I was looking at outside. Just looking at them, trying to remember what they all are. Why, was there something to see?"

"Nothing, nothing at all," Briar said nonchalantly, soaking up the water. He thought it highly unlike that Sandry had not seen them.

Sandry decided to drop the next words, swallowing them. "I'm going to see if Daja's back. She hung back to talk with Frostpine." With that, Sandry skipped out the front door, glancing back with a smirk at the two, her face shining with amusement.

Daja was just past the gate. "What's the rush, saati?" asked the dark- skinned girl, one eyebrow cocked questioningly.

Sandry grinned, perfect teeth glinting in her built-up excitement. Unable to contain herself, she snickered. "I've got something to tell you, Daja. Walk with me once around the house and I'll tell you." Linking her arm in her friend's, she said, "You'll never believe what I just saw." They started their trek around the house, watching butterflies descend on deadened flowers.

Tris watched in numb silence as Briar wiped up the mess he'd made, blushing furiously. Nervously, almost, he returned the rag to its proper place and wandered back to the table, wringing his hands together. Tris, still sitting, looked up at him as he seated himself across from her.  

Let's talk like this, so we can't be heard, Tris urged him, her eyes flashing in a secretive, luminous way. Our affairs don't need to be public matters.

True, Briar admitted, leaning closer to her, his lips slightly parted.


So, before I say anything else, let me tell you – you're an amazing kisser, Tris thought to him, her eyes diverting to her hands, following his gaze. You really are.

Briar blushed furiously. Thank you, he replied, his mind-voice breathless. We ought to do that again sometime.

Preferably when Sandry isn't here, Tris commented dryly. Briar mind-voice laughed in response.

She's not here now. Kiss me again. You've made me all weak in the knees – look what you've done to me, Coppercurls, he thought to her. He leaned forward again to kiss her.

"Well!" cried an overly exuberant Sandry as she waltzed through the door dramatically.

Briar stumbled backwards, his eyes still fixed on Tris's own. She was smirking at him, her head tipped back. The light-haired noble went on, "What a wonderful break! Perhaps we ought to get back to work before Lark and Rosie get back."

Daja glared around the room. At least they had a good time, she thought grudgingly. Now I'm more depressed than I was before. She tapped at the floor with her staff, marked with the cap of Tenth Caravan Idram, and sighed heatedly. They made their way to the roof tiredly, their eyelids heavier than their limbs.

---

On the newly-thatched roof that night, the four watched the sun set over the horizon, lighting the skies with purples, hazels, and reds. Itching, Tris watched Briar move slowly across the thatching, shifting his weight against the chimney. Tris sighed and gazed at the stars peeking out from their homeland.

"Dinner!" called Rosethorn from downstairs; she and Lark had offered to make the meal that night, a chance which the young mages had lunged for. "Get down here before it gets cold!" Her voice was terse, and it meant business. They were sure she was wearing a harsh glare.

Sandry and Daja rose very slowly, their eyes fixated on the motionless forms of Briar and Tris. They gave each other a sideways glance. "Aren't you two coming?" Sandry asked, her face emotionless. The two girls stumbled to their feet, feeling the thatch give at their weight.

"I'll be right down," Tris told them, looking at them upside-down as she flipped her head over to face them. Her glasses slid up her nose and her copper hair pooled out around her freckled face, lit by a setting sun.

"Same," Briar said, gazing out over the horizon. He could almost see the sea touched by rays of golden light. His dark lashes brushed his dark, perfect skin as he blinked, feeling the wind ruffle his mussed hair and wrinkled clothes. He seemed to be half-asleep.

Sandry and Daja grinned at each other knowingly, though Tris and Briar didn't notice. They quietly descended down the stairs, their smirks widening, leaving the young lovers alone once more. Sandry was giggling slightly as she descended, while Daja flapped a cautious hand at her friend.

As soon as the last strand of Sandry's hair had vanished down the ladder, Tris had crawled over to Briar. "What now?" she whispered to him in hushed tones. "What do we tell those two? They're going to hate us for this, I think."

"We can tell them later," he said. "Must go you and gab so soon? Stay near to me." She sighed, her hair blowing in the wind; something about solitude was romantic to her. Tris slid her glasses farther up her nose. He seemed to have been thinking about this for a while.

"They might have figured it out already, anyways, but they're keeping silent if so," he added. "We might not have to address that anyhow."

"You're right," Tris admitted. "I bet Sandry did see us. We... would have been hard to miss."

"And what does it matter? They're going to have to accept it," Briar told her. "They should be happy for us. And it's not like... like we don't like them now. They're still our best friends, and they're always going to be." He smiled. "There are three kinds of love. I just love them differently."

"I hope they don't mind," breathed Tris, her voice dry. "They had better not mind, or I'm going to be very upset with them."


"They'll get over it. They like us well enough to not like other things get in the way," Briar assured her, smoothing his shirt to no avail. A breeze whipped around the chimney, blowing their locks into each others' faces.

"I hope that you're right this once, Briar Moss," she said honestly. She took his hand in her own gently, lacing their fingers together as if she were weaving. He turned his head so that his face lingered on the edges of hers.

"I like to be right," he replied calmly, meeting her eyes. He realized that she was very close. Primal instinct took over his body. His hands slid away from her own, running up her smooth arms to lay, palms flat, on her shoulders. Smiling, she scooted herself over closer to him. Tris knew that she'd found the reason she loved him, despite his moronic boyish teasing and his hard exterior shell. Her glasses slid down her nose and off her face, landing softly on his lap. She didn't bother to get them; Tris didn't even want to move from his hold.

His lips trembled against hers briefly, and delved deep.

"Get down here, you two!" called Rosethorn from downstairs. Tris jumped back from Briar, landing on her rear on the thatching. Gasping for air, she watched the ladder with apprehension.

"We're on our way!" she cried with a squint, trying to see if Rosethorn was at the ladder.

A hand on her shoulder startled her. She barely recognized the blurry form as Briar. He slid her glasses onto her nose, grinning wickedly. "Once again, rudely interrupted," he whispered into her ear, causing her to shiver. "Let's go eat, weather-witch."

She pinched his arm, looking at him from underneath her glasses. "Don't make fun of me, please," she demanded. Then she dropped down the ladder, laughing as she had not in years.

---

Halfway through the meal Niko entered in a rush. "I have news," he gasped, choking back a cough. His robe swished around him, seemingly as worried as he was. "Dedicate Woodberry is dead!"

They all started to get up, half-shocked, half-frightened. Daja patted Sandry's back as the girl tried to swallow her bread. "What happened?" Daja asked. "Was she executed? I thought she was arrested, but I didn't think she'd even had a trial yet. "

"She was arrested, yes, but not executed," murmured Niko. "Her death was self-inflicted, in a way. She begged to see her daughter one last time, and, given the circumstances, she was allowed to do so. While she was there, she gave her energy to Lilith, passing it through like a healer would."

"All of it?" questioned Sandry. Her mouth hung open slightly.

Niko nodded gravely. "She gave all her power to her daughter. She sacrificed everything, and now she's gone." Solid, startled eyes watched him steady himself against the doorframe. Lark bit her lip for the sake of the child.

"Does this mean the trouble with the earth is over at last?" Rosethorn asked in a hushed tone, seemingly out of respect for Lark's tears. Briar hated to note that her face held that distant look, the one she wore only when she was at the verge of cracking her shell. Her eyes seemed fixed on air, not on Niko.

Niko shrugged. "If Woodberry was indeed the one taking all that energy from the earth, then yes. If not, we're going to have to find a new suspect; Woodberry wasn't the one we were looking for. Only time will tell."

Tris chewed her lip. "As awful as this sounds, I hope that Woodberry did it. I'm tired of...of everything, really." She swirled her soup with her spoon, watching vegetable forms drift through the murky liquid.