Daja's Book by Tamora Pierce Read Free Book Online Page B

perform prodigies unknown to Lightsbridge.”
    The expression in Inoulia’s eyes clearly said she would believe that when she saw it.
    With an inner sigh, Sandry looked over the length of table that stretched between the dais and the main doors of the dining hall. Halfway down, just above the salt-cellar, were Lark and Rosethorn in fresh green habits, and Frostpine in red. At the far end sat Briar,Daja, and Tris, talking among themselves. Didn’t she wish she sat with them!
    The main course was over; the subtlety—a spun sugar and fruit peacock, made to be admired, not eaten—had just been presented when the main doors opened. A gray-haired white man entered, leaning on a tall staff decorated with bright enamels. He dressed in much the same fashion as Niko, wearing dark gray silk breeches and shirt and a short-sleeved overrobe of a garnet red velvet, its hems and collar embroidered in black silk. Unlike Niko, he wore his gray hair short; his face was shaved clean, and the scent of expensive soap floated in his wake. Seeing all the guests, he stretched his thin lips in a smile that betrayed no real feeling of pleasure. Sandry, eyeing him, thought that he didn’t look all that well. His large, moist brown eyes sported bags on bags, and there was a sallow tone in his skin.
    â€œMy lady, forgive me,” he said as he walked past the salt-cellar. “I was inspecting the cattle ranges when I heard that his grace the duke had come. I could not be laggardly in paying my respects.” He bowed deeply to Vedris. “Your grace honors we northerners by taking so personal an interest in our troubles.”
    Inoulia smiled. “Your grace, may I present our chief mage, Yarrun Firetamer?” The duke nodded a greeting, and the lady continued, “My dear Yarrun, you have a colleague in my honored father-in-law’s party,Master Nikiaren Goldeye, who has been in residence at Summersea.”
    Niko got to his feet. Yarrun bowed, though not as deeply as he had to the duke. “Everyone knows the name of Goldeye,” he said, as if he’d bitten on a sour apple. Niko returned the bow, though if the sideways twitch of his mustache were any clue, he was unimpressed by the newcomer.
    Some of these university mages are like overbred cats, thought Sandry watching Yarrun as the lady introduced the most important of her other guests. They dress to kill and don’t want to get their paws wet. Even Niko is a little that way sometimes, especially when he’s on his dignity.
    Since the diners were almost finished, the new arrival stood on the dais, talking quietly with the duke and Lady Inoulia. They were all about to leave the table when a boy stumbled into the great hall, panting as if he’d been running hard and long.
    â€œMaster Yarrun, you’re back!” he cried. “Thank all the gods!” He staggered up to the dais, still puffing. Everyone stared at him, noting the burns and soot marks on his rough peasant’s clothes.
    The duke murmured something to one of the servers, who poured a crystal goblet full of water. The boy gulped its contents between gasps.
    Yarrun had drawn back a step, as if to put distance between himself and the messenger. “I take it there is a fire,” he murmured.
    The boy nodded vigorously, draining the goblet. The server took it back and filled it again as the lad said, “It—it was the croft’s chimney, the night drawing down cool and them not cleaning it out first.” He took the goblet from the server once more and drank. “Their house is burning. We thought we had it under control, but the wind—”
    â€œHow bad is it?” demanded Yarrun.
    â€œTreadwell’s roof’s burning, and one of the barns. It’s in the gardens. If it reaches the wall—you know our wall is just logs, sir—”
    Yarrun held up a finger to silence the boy, then pondered for a moment—a
long
moment, Sandry thought,