Hello again, third chapter. I'm quite sad because I only have one comment. Please help me massage my ego, improve my writing, and tell me what you think.

Also, Daja and Tris will appear in this story. Don't think this will be entire independent of them physically, though there will be some flashbacks. Like in this chapter.

I like Briar as a boy, and I hope this grown up version is also acceptable. As tragic as he is.

Briar was absolutely astonished. "You kept a log?" he asked, staring at the pad of paper Del had handed him. There were pages and pages of neatly written rows, each stating the number of tries and her destination.

"I thought I might as well write it down." She shrugged, sitting as she made a little grimace. "It almost made me feel like I knew what I was doing."

He wondered what he had gotten himself into. Evvy hadn't been an idiot student, but he had at least felt that his system of magical organization had been an improvement on hers. Briar hadn't even thought of writing things down, and here Del had been keeping notes for what looked like seven years.

It had been bad enough that she had mastered the concepts behind meditation in the two weeks he had been living at the castle. Briar had been planning to use that time to figure out just what Del was doing when she magically transported herself.

Del, fiddling with the piece of red yarn Briar had been teaching her to ward with, took one look at the expression on Briar's face and winced. "Am I doing this wrong?"

He looked at her, startled, then realized he was scowling. "No, keep going. You're doing fine." Carefully, she drew a thin mist of her magic into the palm of her hand, allowing the cloud to stretch to a thin line and sink into the string.

Briar, on the inside of the circle, sent a thick vine of magic toward the border of the ward. "Not bad," he told his student, who flushed slightly with pleasure. "I can't get my stuff through this one."

She disarmed the magic as he taught her, winding the red yarn around her fingers and tucking it back into the pocket of her cloak. "Does that mean that I can start going places again?" she asked, a plaintive note in her voice. "I don't like staying here all day without a little fun."

Briar shook his head, ignoring the little glare he gained from his student. "Not yet. What if you're just thinking about a place, and you end up getting there? I mean, one day you could end up in Yanjing for all I know." Which is nothing, he reminded himself. He hadn't felt this clueless about Evvy's magic, at least once he had gotten the hang of it for a couple of weeks.

"Never happened yet," Del muttered.

"Not yet. But as we practice meditation and warding and small standard spells, you'll get better at your power. When we figure out how to start learning whatever it is you do, you might find it won't take you twelve tries to get to the cloth merchant's stall."

"You had to bring that one up."

"Twelve is impressive."

Del sighed. "Impressively shameful. But I'm serious," she continued. "I only figured out how to get places because I wanted to be far away from here."

It was Briar's turn to sigh. "Fine. Go riding, or something. Just don't do your thing, or I'll be on your case so fast."

"So fast, what?"

"It was a threat."

"There was nothing threatening about that," Del retorted, a slight drawl in her rather sarcastic voice. "Besides, maybe you haven't dealt with stuffy stupid nobles in a long time, because you forgot I need a chaperone."

"So, go get one."

"Briar!"

He tapped one bare foot in frustration. "Fine! I'll go. Get your cloak, 'fore I change my mind."

"If you, Master Briar, would kindly put on some shoes," Del said, quite formally, "I would be happy to don my cloak." She managed an unrepentant snicker as Briar looked down at his own feet in surprise.

If he hadn't felt like such a chuff at the moment, maybe he would have laughed, too. The unfamiliar tickle was bubbling in his throat, at least, and he needed more than one good cough to fight it down. "Out in front, ten minutes," he told her, one side of his mouth twitching, before stepping out of Del's small private chamber where they held daily lessons. He hoped none of the servants would see him walking down the hall, barefoot; they didn't seem comfortable with a guest who would run around in real clothes instead of the frivolity Gerntyl's folk seemed to prefer.

The room the fat Lord had given Briar was only a few doors down from Del's, and quite remarkably fine. Briar suspected this was a way Gerntyl was compensating for the comparative lack of payment Briar himself had demanded. After a good deal of spluttering, the fatty had simply given up, agreed to room and board and pay for his supplies. Including clothing, some of which Briar was now going to put on, so Del would not find the means to kill him.

The old lord really must be used to overpaying his mages, Briar thought, as he pulled on a pair of boots that were made out of very fine leather. Maybe the custom here was to regularly skin clientele.

But in the meantime, Briar had a fine, dark green embroidered tunic to wear, along with dark linen breeches and what was turning out to be extremely comfortable boots. Maybe there were benefits to being a mage, after all. Briar hadn't dressed so fine since Sandry had organized his wardrobe.

Of course, all of his animated thoughts froze there. As usual.

Briar was still in a daze even after he and Del fetched their horses from a quivering stable hand; he hadn't even noticed the look Del had been giving him as they walked toward the gate.

A hard hand painfully gripping his elbow brought him out of his reverie. "What," he asked unintelligibly, vaguely irritated by the distraction.

"You," Del said, "have been standing by the entrance for fully a minute, eyes fixed blankly on your reins."

Briar mentally shook himself from his fog, and turned to his horse. "Sorry," he said, mounting, as they nudged the gates open with their feet. "Sometimes I get ... distracted."

The vexed expression on Del's face changed rapidly to one infinitely more compassionate. Briar wondered how much of his life's story she had heard.

"What's his name?" she asked, drawing her tall mare closer to Briar's mount. "I know you brought him from farther south."

Briar looked up at her, almost amused. "I'm not sure I remember his first one. The owner had names for all his horses, and I picked this one out not far from the Pebbled Sea."

"Well, what do you call him?"

"I don't think I've named him. It's just us on the road, after all, and I don't think he has a name for me."

Del had resumed what Briar privately called her irritated face. "Why don't you come up with a name now?" she told him.

"Does he have to have a name?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Just pick one."

Briar rolled his eyes. "Fine. Horse."

"Try harder."

"Brownie."

Del threw up her hands in frustration. "Fine, I'll pick. His name will be ... I don't know! You name your horse!"

Briar let out a long sigh. "I did, twice, and you didn't like those." How come every conversation with Del eventually turned into an argument? He could see the small murmuring crowd that had gathered to watch as the two mages - plus a couple of wary guards- rode their horses into the street.

What a pretty picture we make, as long as no one can hear us talking.



He was sitting on a footstool, his head in his hands. He hadn't even made it in time for the funeral.

Feet stopped in front of him, but he only flicked his eyes slightly upwards to see who had come.

Daja had even found red boots. In fact, Briar didn't think he had seen her with even a handkerchief that wasn't in red, she was that deeply in mourning.

She hadn't moved, and Briar didn't say anything. Minutes later she finally sighed. "I suppose Tris got at you."

Briar was almost surprised at how bitter his laugh was. "How did you know?" The weathermage's words still rang though his head.

"There was practically a trail of blood leading to your room. Not literally, of course, but you must know you're leaking magic everywhere. We all are, saati," she added.

"I don't even understand what happened, no one would tell me. All I know is that-"He stopped speaking abruptly, practically choking on his words.

Daja sat heavily on the chair next to him, an eye-smarting blur of red he could see even through his brimming eyes. "She was caught in a backfire of some magical experiment," she explained, struggling to keep her voice analytical. "Of course, Moonstream practically killed the worthless mage. I believe he's been disgraced and probably imprisoned. But Sandry became sick shortly after, and the healers weren't able to do it in time. They mostly blame themselves."

Briar blinked. So that was why Dedicate Comfrey had burst into tears when he had spoken to her. "But- if she had been in Emelan at the time- then what was the delay?"

Daja gave him a careful look, one he couldn't decipher. "She wouldn't let them put too much magic in her, right away. Her fever was largely magical, you know, and far more complicated than a natural illness. By the time she let them, they weren't able to do much to save her."

"I don't understand," Briar said, fighting off helpless anger. "Why?"

She wouldn't meet his eyes. "Because of the baby," she said, so quietly he almost couldn't hear her.

Briar froze.



But he didn't freeze, because he was sitting upright in bed, gasping. And he was aware that, in his almost conscious moment he had cried out to Sandry though his magic.

Sitting alone in his room, Briar was acutely aware of the blank spot where Sandry had always been at the end of his magic, as much a part of himself as he was.

A familiar pale shimmer at the corner of his eye made him scowl. It would be too embarrassing if Del showed up at this moment.

So, of course, she had. It was practically a law of nature, in Briar's mind, that she would be present for his most private moment of grief and shame, simply because he wanted to be alone.

"What are you doing here?" he growled, yanking himself from his covers and getting out of bed. At least standing, he was taller than Del, and he most likely needed as much advantage as he could muster.

He could feel her glare in the darkness. "You're lucky, Briar, that we Kenati are not fond of gardens. Because it would have been far more trouble putting a landscape back to rights than a few rioting houseplants. When mine exploded, I knew enough to come here."

So he had lost momentary control over his magic. Hopefully no one else had noticed.

And something else clicked in his mind. "Del, I told you not to use that magic yet."

She shrugged, unrepentant. "I couldn't very well walk into your room. Servants gossip."

Sighing, he sat in a backless chair and rubbed at his face. "I might as well ask, since you're here. How many tries?"

"One." Could he detect just a bit of smugness in her voice?

"Not bad," he admitted. Then again, during his last breakdown outside the inn, it had only taken her two tries. Maybe this detestable girl was just drawn to his pain. "Now go back to your room, young lady," he told her, trying to put as much of Rosethorn and Lark into his voice as possible.

"I'm not that much younger." she replied. But, of course, she was. At seventeen, Del was seven years younger than Briar himself. Two years younger than Briar had been when Sandry – dare he even think the word? – died.

When he was himself enough to look up at her, Del had already settled herself into a comfortable chair. The set of her face clearly indicated she wasn't going anywhere.

And she didn't. They sat silently for about an hour, Briar obviously trying to bore her out of his room, and she stubbornly refusing. By the time he was about to give up, his eyes were so tired from lack of sleep that her dark edges were starting to blend into the shadows.

"You should go back to sleep."

"You should start living more than half a life," she replied.

He was too startled not to meet her eyes, which bore into his like amber coals. "I'm right, you know," she told him, and he looked away.

"How could I possibly-"he began. A stopped when a shudder ran though his body. "I don't even feel like myself anymore," Briar whispered. "Like I'm not Briar. Or anyone." He stopped speaking abruptly, and glared weakly at his student. "I don't know why I just said that."

Del had a ready answer. "Because it's four in the morning, you're tired, your defenses are down, and,"she added almost shyly, "I'm offering to listen."

"I'm your teacher. I'm not supposed to tell you things like this. I'm not supposed to be your friend, I'm to lay down rules and have authority and ... whatever else a teacher does." He didn't care at the moment, but everything could so easily be ruined.

But, of course, she didn't care either. "I've never had a teacher or a friend. I don't know the difference, so it won't matter."

Briar sighed; it was futile. He needed to talk- he had just never realized it before. And Del was not leaving. "She –Sandry, that is- used to barge into my room when I had nightmares. Just like you," he added waspishly, but Del only smiled wanly.

"I'd hear the door creak open, and she'd float in with her light-stone we had made her. You'd never feel ashamed to have her see you wake up scared."

Come to think of it, Del hadn't made him feel that way, either. Not that she'd done it in the same way Sandry would have. He looked at his student thoughtfully. "Is that enough sharing for now?" he asked her, but even Briar could hear the change in his own voice.

Calmer. Calmer than he could have expected after thinking- and talking- about Sandry. And there was something else, but he didn't allow himself to think about it.

"Yes," Del replied, seemingly satisfied. "Now go to sleep. If you will, I will. Fix my plant in the morning, and," she added, "anytime you ever need me, just let me know. As you can see, I am awake even at the oddest hours." Grinning, she blinked out before he could answer.