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“We don’t know, do we?” she countered. “As I haven’t needed to. All you’ve done is bluster and wave your little fireballs about.”

“They’re hardly little, Oneira,” he said, having nothing else.

She actually smirked. “I’m sure they’re much bigger than anyone else’s.”

To his great consternation, he actually struggled not to laugh. He released the spell, allowing the fire to go out. “What are we even doing here?”

Cocking her head, she considered the question as if it deserved an answer, rather than being an admission of defeat. “Continuing a conversation that began in your library, I believe.”

He didn’t know what to make of that. “Just give me my books,” he conceded wearily. “You can keep the novel, but I want the rose cultivation manual.”

“I’m not done with it yet,” she replied, almost lightly, perhaps even teasing him, yet again. “You’ve come all this way,” she added, with the barest hesitation, “would you like to see what I’ve done with your manual?”

Arrested by the possibility, by the improbable invitation, he searched her face for signs of a trap. “You have the roses,” he said, not a question. After all, he’d known since she left him the leaf.

She nodded, a genuine smile blooming across her face as rareand beautiful as a Veredian rose was purported to be. “I’ll show them to you, if you like.”

He did want to see them. Badly. And, worse, she knew it. Still, even if that was the trigger that would spring the trap, she’d baited it well. He couldn’t resist. “Fine,” he nodded curtly. “But no tricks.”

“No tricks.” She held up a hand in solemn vow. “I offer you the hospitality of my home, Eminence Stearanos, for the duration of this visit, if you agree to guest rules.”

A full détente between them. How fascinating. He held up his own hand. “I accept the hospitality of your home, Sorceress Oneira, for the duration of this visit, and agree to abide by guest rules.”

“Excellent. Repair my wards—since you were the one to break them and you’re better at wardmaking, anyway—and come inside. I’m baking bread and making soup, perhaps a spring salad. We can discuss more over a late lunch, and then I’ll show you my roses.” She turned and walked away, Adsila on her shoulder, Bunny by her side. Moriah remained where she was, as if assigned to supervise.

Stunned that she’d dared to turn her back on him, Stearanos watched her go. Had she really invited him to stay for lunch and a tour of her garden? Apparently so. And, his stomach reminded him, he was hungry. Bemused, at himself, at her, he put his mind and magic to reconstructing her wards, fully aware that he hadn’t done anyone’s bidding who wasn’t paying him to do so in decades.

It made no sense that he felt cheerful about it.

21

Keenly aware of the Stormbreaker’s acute gaze drilling between her shoulder blades, Oneira made herself stroll casually through the kitchen garden and into the house, blowing out her exhalations at twice the count of her inhalations. Her heart rabbited in her breast and a cold sweat trickled down her spine, but she’d made it through the confrontation. More, she’dbluffedher way through it.

She’d even instructed His Eminence, the great and terrifying Stearanos—who was even more intimidating awake—to repair her wards. Her own temerity astonished her, and she actually giggled in shocked relief.

“Who isthat?” Tristan demanded, popping up from behind the counter and startling an undignified squeak out of her. She was still on edge from being ready to defend her life and the lives of her animals, braced for the blow that never came—she could swear her eyebrows had singed from the sparks from those fireballs—and she’d somehow forgotten about Tristan’s existence entirely.

“Where have you been?” she demanded in return.

“Hiding,” Tristan answered quietly, flushing in embarrassment. “Under the kitchen table.”

“All this time?” she asked incredulously. The standoff had taken quite a while.

“I’m not a fighter and I didn’t know what else to do,” he replied defensively. “Were thosefireballs?”

Oneira sighed. “A trick of the light,” she told him, thinking shecould slip something like that into Tristan’s dreams as he slept that night, to reinforce the idea.

Adsila flew to her perch and Bunny flopped down where he was. Tristan eyed both uneasily. She didn’t blame him for being afraid, then or now, particularly of thescáthcú, but she was still sorting through the astonishing fact that not only had Stearanosnotbeen afraid, he’d known Adsila and Moriah for who they were. Of course, so had she, but still. It was strikingly odd to be around a sorcerer so much like herself. They were a rare breed and not convivial for obvious reasons. Sorcerers, as a rule, only encountered each other as enemies. Now she’d invited one for lunch.

“That’s a big dog,” Tristan said, eying the cheerfully panting Bunny uneasily. “Or… a wolf?”

“He won’t harm you.”

“And you have a hawk?” Tristan asked. “A tame hawk without jesses.”

“Adsila is a kestrel,” she corrected, not bothering to tell him more than that. Better that he not know. She’d have to weave several threads into Tristan’s dreams to ease his concerns.

“And the gentleman outside is an old friend.” She decided upon the word as she said it, amused with herself. Everything she’d said to Stearanos had been absolutely true—and she’d seen through him because she saw herself in him. That conversation, even worrying that he might throw one of those fireballs at any moment and being unsure if her planned countermeasure would work, had been the most fun for her in… probably ever.