He stepped back from her. Had there ever been a day when she had not gone outside? He had run to the Water Temple or the Earth Temple with her in the foulest rains, or just walked, following Winding Circle’s spiral road all the way down to the Hub and back out again as they stopped to examine every sleeping patch of flowers and vegetables.

“Should we go on the roof?” he inquired.

Rosethorn shook her head. “I’m not wilting for lack of sun, boy,” she informed him.

He wasn’t convinced she was right about that, not entirely.

Tears began to roll down her cheeks again. “Oh, dear,” she whispered, turning her face away. “I want to be home,” she said, almost to herself. “With Lark and the girls and even that idiot dog. I want people to stop—gabbling at me. I want my own workshop, and my own garden.”

“I gabble at you,” Briar pointed out softly.

“You don’t,” she said, once more wiping her face on her sleeve. “Not about cost, or when at the latest you have to get what you want. You aren’t telling me to obey you or make things clear to someone or do written reports every day. You don’t cough on me or vomit on me….” She took a deep breath. “I wouldn’t be weepy if I weren’t tired. And if you ever tell anyone I got foolish like this, I’ll deny it,” she added, trying to sound like the Rosethorn he knew.

Briar reached out for the girls. Who at home was free? Not Sandry; she and Lark were rubbing oil into a length of undyed cotton like that used for masks and gloves. Not Daja either; she was helping Frostpine pour molten iron into a mold. Tris sat in Rosethorn’s workshop, a book open before her, staring glumly out the window as rain streamed down outside.

Tris? Briar called silently to her. I need my shakkan brought here right away—that and some of the potted herbs growing in the house. Living plants, mind.

You want me to come all the way down there with a load of plants? was the redhead’s indignant reply. On a day like this? She waved at the rainswept garden.

Please, he replied solemnly. It’s important.

She reached back along their bond, feeling his distress, and looked at Rosethorn through him. If she noticed the tearstains or the bleak expression in Rosethorn’s eyes, for once Tris was diplomatic enough to keep silent. Oh, all right, she said, exaggeratedly patient. It’s not like I have too much to do.

Briar turned to Rosethorn. His silent chat with Tris had come and gone in a flash. “Look, we’re both wore out. We did enough to hold them for an hour, I bet. So let’s catch us some winks now, what do you say? I’ll do it if you will.”

She gripped his earlobe. “Street slang,” she remarked.

“You’re right, it is,” he said blithely. “How ’bout them winks?”

“Are you trying to look after me?” she wanted to know.

Rather than answer so tricky a question, Briar yawned. Rosethorn’s eyelids fluttered. “We should do more,” she said, her voice soft. She fell silent, deep in thought, and Briar went to borrow two blankets from another storeroom. When he returned, she was curled up in a corner, already napping. Gently he covered her. It was cold in the cellar. He wrapped the second blanket around his own shoulders and took down jars of stale blackberry syrup for stomach ailments.

When Briar realized that his shakkan was somewhere near, he got to his feet. Rosethorn was still asleep; she had been up often in the night, trying to help the consumptive man. Briar put aside blanket and syrup and left the cellar. Halfway up the stairs, he remembered his cloth mask and settled it over his nose and mouth.

“Goods coming in,” someone at the front door was shouting. “All back. Back!”

I’m here, Briar heard Tris say in mind-speech. I hitched a ride with supplies from Winding Circle. The carter was only allowed to put everything onto the house porch, though, and they’re making us go outside the fence. I won’t even get to see you, will I?

Dunno, Briar told her sadly. Prob’ly not.

Quarantined members of the Duke’s Guard kept the sick who were able to walk away from the door. Two blue-robed healers went outside, a blinding shield of white light raised before them like a wall.

“Will that stuff hurt what I have coming in?” Briar asked Jokubas Atwater.

The man scowled at Briar. “This is not your affair,” snapped the head of Urda’s House. “Get back to bed where you belong.”

“That’s no invalid,” said one of the guards. “That’s Briar, Rosethorn’s boy.” He winked at Briar, taking the sting out of Jokubas’s behavior. “She’s got things coming in, lad?”

Briar nodded. “Plants.”

“The cleansing spell will not hurt plants,” Jokubas said irritably. “I thought you and she were enhancing our medicines.”

“We are,” Briar said evenly, without another word. The white light ahead of the two healers trickled around and through a pile of crates, baskets, and a lone wicker container without a top.

That’s it, Tris told Briar, watching through his eyes. I just grabbed what looked sturdy enough to survive the trip.

When house staff walked out to get the supplies, Briar did too. The moment he peered into the basket, his spirits rose. Whether by accident or because she’d learned something from Briar and Rosethorn over the long winter, Tris had chosen plants Briar himself might have picked. The basket held not only his shakkan, but also one of Discipline’s many protective ivy plants. Tris had even brought the small herb garden from the windowsill of Rosethorn’s shop: marjoram, oregano, fennel, dill, and spearmint. All possessed some property of healing or protection in addition to the flavors they gave to food.