“Special price,” the woman assured him. “Since you’re getting several items.”

She did finally sell the extra clothes for a lower price than she’d first asked. That was because Briar had learned to dicker from Tris, who knew how to turn a bargain. Even Daja, who was born a Trader, let Tris handle the money when they shopped.

Homesickness. Back in the spring, when Rosethorn had suggested a trip east, with new plants and new uses for them, he had jumped at it. Living in a cottage with three girls and two women, closer to the girls than even a normal boy because they were all in each other’s minds, he couldn’t wait to get away. The idea of months without Sandry drafting him as a dressmaker’s dummy, or Daja going on at table over a new way to work metal, or Tris’s swings between lost-in-a-book oblivion and maturing-crosspatch, brought him out of Winding Circle in a flash. He hadn’t even minded saying goodbye to Lark. Sometimes Lark was a little too understanding, not to mention indecently aware of the thoughts that went through a growing boy’s mind when a pretty novice smiled at him. Rosethorn was uninterested in Briar’s changing view of girls who were not his housemates, and her own temper made it impossible for her to be too understanding, ever.

It was only after they’d been gone a week that Briar realized he was listening for the girls’ voices, and wondering what they were up to. It was harder to find good books without Tris, harder to get a good round of quarterstaff practice without Daja, and pouring his troubles into Rosethorn’s ears wasn’t as soothing as it was with Sandry. Sandry would listen solemnly, and sympathize, and tell him how wonderful he was. Briar knew better than to even suggest that Rosethorn treat him that way. He liked his nose — girls admired it. He didn’t want to give Rosethorn an excuse to bite it off.

The merchant woman took a loincloth and a headcloth behind the curtain. Soon afterward she emerged with Evvy. The girl was neatly dressed in the orange tunic and black trousers; a brown and orange headcloth covering her ragged hair. “I don’t see why you bother,” she grumbled.

“Because someone did it for me, four years ago. He’s always got more clothes than he needs, so he said I’d waste my time giving him more. He told me just do the same for someone else,” Briar said. He thrust the hemp bag with the other new clothes at her. “You get to carry ‘em, though.” He bundled the dirty things under one arm and marched out of the stall before she asked other uncomfortable questions. He wasn’t really sure why he was doing so much for her, though what he’d said about Niko, the mage who had clothed him and brought him to Winding Circle, was true. It certainly wasn’t as if he liked this rude, impudent brat.

High overhead they could hear the toll of the Karang Gate clock. It was the third hour after noon. “Time and past to eat something,” he said as his stomach rumbled. Evvy’s eyes brightened at the prospect of a meal.

He followed his nose to a food vendor, where they bought steamed lamb and baked mushroom-onion dumplings. Steamed quinces with walnut and honey stuffing were next. Both of them were pleasantly full when they washed their hands at a fountain and headed back to Briar’s.

“How long have you been on the street?” Briar asked.

Evvy yawned. “I was six when we left Yanjing. That was the Year of the Crow,” she said. “And this is the year of the Turtle.” She calculated on her fingers. “Four years. Maybe nearer three. They sold me when we got here, and I escaped two moons before the Year of the Cat began.”

“Who sold you?” Briar asked, before he thought he might not like the answer.

“My parents,” Evvy said. “It cost plenty to come west. I was only a girl and the youngest. I ate food my brothers and parents needed. I took up space in the cart, and I couldn’t do anything to bring in money.” She rattled off the reasons, as if she could recite them in her sleep. “Girls are pretty worthless, even here. They only got two silver davs for me. I saw a boy my age get sold for twice that.”

Briar looked down. Despite her matter-of-fact answer, he felt as if he should apologize — not for the question, perhaps, but because that had been her life. Kids came to the street for many reasons, as he knew too well, but at least his mother had kept him, fed him, and loved him until she was killed on a dark street for her cheap jewelry.

Evvy suddenly laughed. “I’ll find them someday and show them what slipped through their fingers!” she told Briar. “Even a girl is worth something if she’s a pahan!”

He’d grinned, too, until the second part of her argument sunk in. “Girl mages are worth every bit as much as boy mages,” he informed her. “Believe me — I’ve been surrounded by them for four long years, and never for a moment did they let me forget it.”

“How did you get to be a pahan?” she asked, curious. “Did you always know?”

Briar shook his head. “I was on the street after my ma was killed. I was four,” he explained. “If she’d had magic, we’d have lived better than we did. She wouldn’t have been out late the night she got killed, for certain. Anyway, the landlord tossed me. I was on my own a while, till the Thief-Lord picked me up and brought me into the Lightnings. That was our gang.” Evvy nodded. “First I learned to pick pockets, because I had the good hands for it. Then they taught me climbing, and thieving inside. The third time we were caught, I was maybe ten. You know the law.”

Evvy made a face. “Third arrest, hard labor for life.”