Niko shook his head. “You can’t be that worried, if you can take the time to insult your colleagues. I’ll come back with these things as soon as I can.”

Frowning, Briar stepped back as Niko closed the grating and Rosethorn turned away from the door. Somehow the boy had always known his teacher was uncomfortable with others. She seemed to like him well enough; she adored Lark, and enjoyed the company of Niko, Frostpine, and the duke. He even suspected she’d come to like the girls, but when it came to outsiders, she hid her softer nature and showed only thorns. Watching her handle Flick, he’d been surprised at how gentle she was. To hear she disliked working with people was no surprise. But Rosethorn was frightened?

That frightened him.

When the duke and his escort came to a halt at the gate of Discipline Cottage, a curly-haired dog two and a half feet tall at the shoulder burst out of the open door, barking wildly. Sandry and Tris dismounted with a splash, hurrying to get to their pet before he could terrify the horses. The soldiers grinned as the big dog raced around both girls, shrieking at the top of his lungs. Behind him came a tall, broad-shouldered girl with mahogany-colored skin—Daja Kisubo, another of Briar’s housemates. Rather than go to tea with the duke or visit the market that day, she had chosen to stay home and assist her teacher Frostpine with a particularly complex piece of metalwork.

“How did it go?” Sandry called over the dog’s noise.

“Fine,” Daja shouted. She bore no sign of time spent in the forge, but wore a clean russet tunic and dark leggings. “The shield will be grand, once it’s cleaned and polished.” Her dozen braids were still wet from the bath; her round face was freshly scrubbed.

Out of patience at last, a scarlet-faced Tris yelled, “Little Bear, down!”

The dog Little Bear dropped to the ground and rolled onto his back, pawing the air.

“I’m not washing him this time,” Daja informed Tris calmly.

“Young ladies,” said the duke. The girls looked up at him. “Tell only Dedicate Lark what Rosethorn said—no one else. Once rumors get started …”

“We understand, Uncle,” replied Sandry. Tris dipped a small curtsey. Daja looked from them to the duke, frowning.

“Aren’t you coming in, your grace?” asked Lark from the cottage door. Like Rosethorn, she wore a green habit to show she served the gods of the earth. Unlike Rosethorn, Lark was tall and willowy, graceful rather than crisp. Her dark bronze face was catlike, with its small chin and wide cheekbones, and was framed with short-cropped black curls. The girls saw worry in her dark eyes as she glanced from them to their escort.

The duke shook his head. “I need to speak with Honored Moonstream on a matter of some importance. Good day to you, Dedicate.” He bowed slightly in the saddle, then urged his horse forward. His guards followed.

“You’re getting soaked, all of you,” Lark said, watching the duke go. “Come inside. Where are Briar and Rosethorn and Niko?”

“In Summersea,” replied Tris shortly as the girls passed Lark. Little Bear would have followed, but Lark shook her head at him.

“You stay and get wet some more,” she told him firmly. “Rinse that mud out before you come in!” She closed the door in his face.

Once Sandry and Tris had shed their rain gear, they sat at the table with Lark and Daja. Sandry told them what she knew of the day’s events. Tris watched Lark, not liking what she saw. The laugh lines around the woman’s eyes and mouth had deepened; her lips were tight. She looked weary.

“I don’t like this,” Daja said quietly when Sandry had finished. “Not at all.” Getting up, she went to the cottage’s shrine in the corner by the front door. With a hand that trembled, she lit the candles for health and luck and set a pinch of incense to burn.

“I knew they had read omens for an epidemic,” Lark commented, watching Daja. “Moonstream summoned the full temple council and all the healers while you were gone and told us. Ah, I was being silly.” She scrubbed her face with her hands.

“Silly how?” asked Sandry, putting an arm around her teacher.

“It’s been three years since our last epidemic. I’d hoped it might stay that way forever. I don’t know how Crane’s going to manage without Rosethorn,” Lark said, getting up to make tea. “He’ll say she got herself thrown into quarantine on purpose.”

“What has Crane to do with anything?” Tris inquired. None of the young people at Discipline Cottage liked Crane, the mage who was also first, or head, dedicate of Winding Circle’s Air Temple.

“He and Rosethorn are always set to finding the nature of any new illness and creating a remedy,” explained Lark.

“He and Rosethorn work together?” asked Daja, shocked. “They hate each other.”

“I didn’t say they liked it,” replied Lark with a tiny smile.

Little Bear crept in the back door, looking as meek as a thoroughly soaked large dog could look. His ears were down; his tail gave the tiniest of wags. Since the mud had been rinsed from his coat, no one told him to go. As Lark poured out tea, the dog trotted over to them. Something made him rock back on his haunches and whine deep in his throat.

“What?” Tris demanded, wiping her lenses with her handkerchief.

Little Bear circled the table, sniffing each girl. He whined again.

“You don’t get fed until this evening,” Daja said curtly.