The Will of the Empress Read Online Free Page A

speaking with them,” Briar muttered, avoiding her gaze. “Not in my mind. I didn’t tell them we’re coming, or we’re here.”
    Rosethorn’s eyebrows snapped together. “You haven’t linked back up with the girls? In Mila’s name, why not? They could help you so much better than I can!”
    Briar stared at her. Had Rosethorn run mad? “ Help me? Boo-hoo and wail and drape themselves all over me and treat me as if I was a refugee, more like!” he said tartly. “Want me to talk about it, like talking pays for anything, and cuddle me, and cosset me!”
    Rosethorn’s delicate mouth curled in her familiar sarcastic curve. “Did some imperial Yanjing brute knock youon the head ten or twelve times?” she wanted to know. “That doesn’t sound like our girls. If you’ve shut them out for that reason, boy, you took more of a beating than I guessed.”
    Briar hung his head and ground his teeth. Why does Rosethorn always have to cut through any smoke screen I put up? he asked himself. It’s unnatural, the way she knows my mind. He steeled himself to say the truth: “I don’t want them in my mind, seeing what I saw. Hearing what I heard, smelling…I don’t want them knowing the things I did.” Sure of Rosethorn’s next objection, he quickly added, “And I don’t know if I can hide that away from them once they get in. It’s everywhere, Rosethorn. All that mess. My head’s a charnel house. I have no way of cleaning it up yet.”
    To his surprise, Rosethorn had no answer to that but to hug him tight, blankets and all. After a moment’s hesitation, he hugged her back. With Rosethorn, hugging was all right. She had been in Gyongxe, too.
    The 26th day of Storm Moon, 1043 K. F.
    Market Street to Number 6 Cheeseman Street
    Summersea, Emelan
    As a way to build up her defenses against being overwhelmed by sights on the wind, Tris had begun to journey farther afield in her marketing, controlling the drafts that touchedher face and the images she chose to inspect. On this day she had offered to go to Rainen Alley to buy Daja’s metal polish. It meant she would take Market Street on the way home, spending three blocks on a direct line with the East Gate, able to catch whatever wind came through.
    She had barely stepped into that wind when it showered her with pictures. She walked along, discarding or ignoring most as useless, dull, or meaningless, until a solid one gleaming with the silver fire of pure magic brought her to a complete halt.
    A young man five feet nine inches tall walked through the slums beyond the East Gate, leading a pack-laden donkey. Atop its more usual burdens the donkey carried boxes with an assortment of shakkans , or miniature trees. The young man was a handsome fellow with bronze skin, broad shoulders, and glossy black hair that he wore cropped an inch long. His eyes were gray-green, turning darker green as he returned the admiring glances of the women who passed him by. Those eyes were set over a thin blade of a nose, a sensitive mouth, and a firm chin. He wore a Yanjing-style round-collared coat and leggings in tree green, and rough leather boots with fleece linings. A closer examination revealed what looked like flower tattoos covering his hands. Very close examination showed that the flowers lay under the young man’s skin and nails. They also moved, grew, put out leaves, and blossomed.
    Tris immediately changed course. If she hurried, shecould have a batch of Briar’s favorite spice cookies in the oven when he reached the house.
    That night Tris set the dining room table for four. Daja walked in as Tris laid out plates of olives and warm, fresh bread.
    “What, no wine?” asked Daja. She was still wet from scrubbing her face and hands after a day at the forge. She carried the tang of hot metal around her like perfume.
    Tris raised nearly invisible eyebrows. In here, with more control and fewer drafts, she wore her clear spectacles. “You drink it?” she asked, skeptical. “You never