Free The Will of the Empress by Tamora Pierce

lap.
    “Can I help it I like the ladies?” Briar demanded, needling her with innocence on his face. “There are so many delightful ones in the world, each beautiful in her own way. Even you, Coppercurls.”
    “ Briar! ” cried his sisters.
    “I didn’t mean that I’d gratify her with my attention,” Briar said impatiently. “Kissing one of you would be like kissing Rosethorn.”
    Daja chuckled. “Kissing Rosethorn would be safer than kissing Tris,” she pointed out. “Mildly, anyway. Minutely.”
    “Cursed right,” Tris said. “ I’m not kissing anyone. I’m going to Lightsbridge.”
    “You won’t be safe there,” replied Daja as she mounted her horse once more. “Frostpine and I went to the university after we left Namorn. I think kissing’s all those students think about. Well…that, and drinking. And throwing up.”
    “I’ll bet the mage students don’t drink that much,” Briar said as he swung back into his saddle. “Elsewise, Lightsbridge would prob’ly be a smoking hole in the ground.” He shuddered along with the three girls. None of them had liked their first attempts at drinking, or cleaning up the wreckage of the abandoned barn they had chosen to do it in.
    “Well,” Sandry remarked as Tris mounted her horse,“we may not want to drink, but in just twelve more miles, we can unpack and laze in hot Namornese baths.”
    All of them groaned with longing as they took to the road once more. Daja had described the Namornese baths with such eloquence that, after weeks of travel, the four could hardly wait to give them a try.
    Sandry listened to them with the tiniest of smiles. So who we were together before, it’s not entirely gone, she thought. A common threat, and we’re closer than ever. And we all want hot baths.
    It’s a start.
    Berenene, empress of Namorn, allowed her maids to take away her hunting dress and let Rizu, her Mistress of the Wardrobe, replace it with clothes more suitable for afternoon wear. Once her hair was set in order again, she told Rizu and the maids to tidy up and left her bedchamber for her most private workroom.
    It was small compared with her other rooms, its walls lined with bookshelves and maps. The chairs, particularly her own, were designed for comfort. The desk met Berenene’s exact requirements, its drawers and furnishings within her reach. Beside it was a window that looked out onto any part of the palace she wished it to, needing only the proper word to change what it showed her. At the moment it was filled with views of her favorite gardens. Berenene loved springtime. Winters in Dancruan, oranywhere else on the shores of the vast lake called the Syth, were long and iron hard. She bore them with the help of her precious greenhouses, but she reveled in the arrival of spring and the wild growth outdoors.
    A leather folder sat on her desk. She sat in her cushioned chair and kissed the lock that kept its contents safe. The lock, like so many of the men at the court, responded eagerly to her lips. It popped open.
    Inside were sheets of parchment, condensed notes of reports that she had been assembling for more than seventeen years. Its contents dealt with all things that touched on her young cousin Sandrilene. The girl had been foremost in her mind since the mages of the Living Circle communications chain had sent word that she was on her way from Emelan. Now that Berenene had actual faces to put with the notes—the sketches and portraits her spies had made were well enough, but she trusted her own judgment most—she wanted to review the file one last time.
    She lifted a painting on vellum. It was a very good portrait of Sandry, all things considered. She’s added more curves since my agent in Emelan painted her, Berenene mused, but the likeness is nearly perfect, right down to her posture and expression—I didn’t really need Sandry’s resemblance to her mother to tell me who she was.
    Berenene skimmed the written notes until she reached the