Free Daja's Book by Tamora Pierce

to use magic to bring air to the fire. “
We
make sense.”
    â€œThat’s what confuses me,” said Daja.
    â€œHere,” Rosethorn said to a servant behind her. She entered the courtyard carrying a basket full of pointed, spiny-edged leaves. Behind her trooped castle servants burdened with various jars, bowls, knives, ladles, bundles, pots, and a portable stove. A pair of footmen brought up the rear with a long worktable.
    Briar screwed up his face. “Awww, Rosethorn,” he whined.
    The table was placed on a section of the courtyard paved with flagstones, and the other supplies dumped on it. A number of matching blue jars were taken from baskets and lined up: eight of them, all alike, sealed with wax and cord.
    â€œDon’t ‘awww’ me,” Rosethorn said, placing the basket of leaves beside the table. “After yesterday I don’t want you near the crocuses, but you can still make yourself useful. Those jars—” she pointed to the blue containers “—contain the same aloe-and-oil mixture we make at home. I need you to start turning the liquid into burn salve. You have wax—” She patted a heap of paper-wrapped bricks. “Cheesecloth for straining the liquid, and pots for heating it to blend with the wax. Someone will come with containers for the finished salve in a moment.” She settled a lumpybag with a long strap over her shoulder. “You know the proportions of wax to oil, or you ought to—”
    â€œI know ’em,” Briar retorted, and sighed. “After we got rid of the pirates this summer, we did so much of this burn glop I dreamed about it.” His hands, giving the lie to his gloomy face, dull voice, and slumped shoulders, cracked the seals on the blue containers.
    â€œThen amuse yourself with salve. Before you start, though, show Tris how to cut up aloe leaves. You’ll set a fresh batch to steep in oil while you’re at it.”
    â€œUrda’s womb!” cried the boy. “How much do you want? Enough to
drown
in?”
    Rosethorn’s eyes were sharp as they met his. “You heard what was said last night, I’m told.” Briar grinned sheepishly. “Then you
know
what I expect,” she continued, her mouth quivering with amusement. “Look at it this way—maybe if you go to all the trouble of making salve, there won’t be a fire. Now get to work.” With a salute, she left them. On her way through the arch, she passed a servant with a wheelbarrow full of jars.
    â€œWhat if I don’t want to cut up aloe leaves?” Tris demanded softly.
    Rosethorn’s voice came back through the arch. “Ask me if I
care
what you want.”
    â€œWhy?” grumbled Tris. She gave the bellows a gentle pump to keep Daja’s fire going at its present heat. “It’s not like I don’t know the answer.” Picking up a knife, she asked Briar, “How am I to do this?”
    She had just started to cut pieces of emerald-green flesh from the heart of each leaf when Lark arrived. She carried a basket of her own under one arm and smooth wooden sticks in her free hand. Sandry hurried to take the basket.
    â€œIf you want to practice your magic, go ahead,” Lark told the other three young people. “We’ll be working here all day.” Everyone settled into their tasks with very little conversation.
    The first interruption came from an outsider. “Dedicate Lark, surely this is not proper work for Lady Sandrilene.” Yarrun Firetamer stood in the archway, a thin, unfriendly smile on his lips. His damp-looking eyes were fixed on Sandry, who walked on her knees between three stakes she and Lark had driven into bare earth. As she passed from stake to stake, she unrolled a sturdy thread from a ball of silk yarn. First she wrapped it in a figure eight between the two stakes that were closest together. She then stretched it cleanly around the farthest stake.