The Barbed Rose. Gail Dayton

people. Kallista and her ilian already had neighbors in the suite below them and likely on the floor above, given the thumping coming through the ceiling. Likely had them on the floors above that as well. When they crossed over into Winterhold, it showed no signs of being emptied out for summer. In fact, it seemed more crowded than Summerglen.

      Kallista spotted a familiar face in courier’s gray and reached out to snag Viyelle before she vanished in the crowd. “Are you on assignment?”

      “No, Captain.” Viyelle saluted with perfect form. “What are your orders?”

      “No orders. Just didn’t want to delay you if you already had them.” Kallista stepped into an alcove out of the jostling streams of people, drawing the younger woman with her. All three men took up posts at its entrance, playing bodyguard. Time to give the courier an opportunity to prove herself. The One was a God of second chances. Kallista could do no less. “Has every minor prinsep in Adara decided to take up residence in the palace?”

      Viyelle’s grin looked harassed. “It must be so. If I hadn’t already taken oath as a courier, I would now, just to get a little space to breathe. As it is, I still have to share with my mother, because Courier’s Quarters are filled up with displaced colonels and majors. I’m going to beg for an assignment. Any assignment. Anywhere. It’s that or be taken up for matricide.”

      Kallista chuckled, amused by the prinsipella’s irreverence. “If it gets too bad, you can come share our suite. We’re only using one sleeping room. There are plenty more.”

      “I may. Since it didn’t happen on our trip south, I know you won’t kill me by accident while you sleep.” She winked at Kallista.

      “Brat.” Kallista cuffed the back of her head, laughing. “If the rumors give us some privacy, I don’t mind them. But listen, do you know of any place where we can practice our magic? Where no one will get cut if I happen to break a few windows?”

      Viyelle made a face. “I’m not sure. Truly? I don’t think so. The palace is overflowing. I have never in my life seen so many people crammed inside, and I’ve been coming here since before I can remember.”

      “What of the yard she used last year?” Joh turned slightly, spoke over his shoulder. “It was badly damaged in the explosion. Has it been repaired?”

      Viyelle stared at him, and a slow flush rose on Joh’s cheeks. “Isn’t he the one—” she began.

      “Yes,” Kallista said. “But that’s over. He’s ilias now. Joh Suteny, Viyelle Torvyll.”

      “Ilias?” Viyelle’s shocked expression smoothed into perfect courtier’s courtesy when she glanced at Kallista. “Of course, Naitan. I am honored.”

      She put her right leg forward and swept into a graceful bow, flourishes and all. Joh blushed a deeper red and nodded.

      “The courtyard?” Kallista prompted.

      “Oh.” Viyelle blinked back to awareness, out of her shock. “As he said, it was badly damaged. It may be available. Do you want me to investigate?”

      “No need. We can check ourselves.”

      “Please, Naitan, let me see. Give me an assignment. Anything. Please. Do not send me back into that den of prinsipi that is my mother’s chambers.”

      Viyelle’s dramatically rolling eyes made Kallista laugh. “Go first and find out whether there might be real work for you. If there are more couriers than assignments, then come back and find me. We can discuss matters then. Oh, and Courier?”

      “Yes, Captain?” She snapped to attention again.

      Kallista blew out a breath. “I wish I knew whether it would be better to quash rumors or spread them.”

      “Which rumors, Naitan?” Viyelle asked carefully.

      “Any rumors. About my magic. About our new ilias. Any of it.” Kallista looked at Viyelle, seeing possibilities. “You’ve been coming to the palace since you were born. What would you recommend?”

      “Spread them. They’re going to talk anyway. See if you can turn them the way you want.” Viyelle’s eyes strayed toward Joh, her curiosity obvious. “I think—it is a good thing to have them a little afraid of you, Naitan. Taking this one as ilias shows you can forgive, that you are not totally heartless. The fact he is di pentivas, though—that shows you are not wholly foolish either.”

      “Good.” Kallista squeezed Viyelle’s shoulder, gratified by the good sense she showed. Maybe she had matured some. “And as we were not bosom friends the last time I was here—” she ignored Torchay’s snicker “—everyone will believe you when you share this gossip.”

      “Yes, Captain.” Viyelle saluted, face solemn, eyes dancing with mischief.

      “It’s not an official assignment, mind. The Reinine may have real work for you. But if you can…”

      Viyelle grinned. “I like working with you much more than I thought I would. No wonder you collect men like honey draws bees.”

      And she was gone, leaving Kallista staring openmouthed after her and Torchay choking with laughter.

      “Come along, woman.” He snagged Kallista by the back of her neck, drawing her out of the alcove. “Let’s go find your courtyard. Your collection is getting tired of standing about.”

      The courtyard was exactly where they had left it last summer. The huge slabs of broken stone that had tumbled from the walls in the gunpowder explosion had all been cleared away and the flooring swept clear of stone dust and powdered glass. But the windows lining two of the walls were still covered with boards on both the first and second floors, and the courtyard itself was abandoned.

      Kallista made a circuit of the area, noting where masons and carpenters had put in posts and patches to brace the walls. The flagstone paving gleamed dully under its smooth coating. In one of her practice sessions, she’d converted the glass broken out of the windows by a ghost she’d raised into this impervious floor surface. She supposed it might have made the sweeping a bit easier, but otherwise didn’t know what use it was.

      “It looks safe enough,” she said. “I doubt the walls will fall down on our heads.”

      “Not without another keg of gunpowder,” Torchay agreed easily, watching Joh flush red.

      Kallista slapped his arm. “Behave. And it seems quiet enough. The boards over the windows will help. No more glass to break, and it will keep the curious at bay. We may as well work here. We’re not going to find any place better, not with this many people crowded in here.”

      “Agreed.” Torchay looked to the other two, received their acknowledgment. He dropped to one knee and raised his hands palm up over his bowed head. “Naitan, I accept your gloves.”

      At those words, at the old, familiar ritual of a military naitan preparing for battle, Kallista felt her magic stir. Not the godstruck magic gifted by the One a short year ago, but her own. Magic given at her birth, wakened at puberty. Magic she knew better than her own heart, the lightning that had directed the course of her life.

      One finger at a time, she drew off the supple, brown-leather regulation gloves that blocked all magic save for that under the most exquisite control. Once, the gloves could not block her lightning, but that had changed—along with everything else—one bright dawn on the battered walls of a city under siege. Now, Kallista could not swear to what might happen. Which was why they were here, in this protected place.

      “Back away.” She laid the gloves in Torchay’s uplifted hands. “All of you. Joh, as far back as you can go. I’m calling my magic first, not yours.”

      Obedient but reluctant, the men moved away, all three of them clumped together at the end of Joh’s magical tether. Kallista took a deep breath, refusing to think of the possibility that her magic might not answer her call. She’d felt it stir at Torchay’s words. It was there. It would come. It had to. She wanted her babies