"Explain it to them," Sandry told him firmly, trying to keep her growing impatience hidden. She supposed he'd been through a lot today, but surely he could see what was right under his nose. He acted as if he were to ignore his power long enough, it would go away. "Surely they must have noticed something odd about you by now."

"Other than me not having the sense of a butterfly?" Pasco inquired, meeting her eyes. The curl of his mouth was bitter. "They've noticed that, right enough. But no one's said anything to me of magic. I never saw pictures in the fire or made things dance in the air when I was a babe, like all the mages do—,"

"I didn't," Sandry told him flatly. "Any more than my friends did." Pasco winced and she sighed. Where had people gotten this silly notion that Briar, Daja, and Tris were to be feared? "Not all magic shows itself like that," she went on.

He looked from her to the boats, black eyes wide with panic, then shook his head and clapped his hands to his ears. Still covering them, he bowed and walked away, toward Summersea's east gate.

"Shall I fetch him back, my lady?" asked Oama. "Knock sense into that head?"

"No, please don't," Sandry replied. "He's frightened, that's all. Besides, I'll be able to find him when I need to." Thinking it over, she knew she was in over her head. She hadn't the first notion of what to do next, but she knew who would.

"I have to go to Winding Circle," she told her guards.

Once inside the curtain wall that sheltered the temple city of Winding Circle, Sandry told Oama and Kwaben to ride to the east gate stables, where they and their mounts would be made comfortable until Sandry was ready to go home. They insisted on remaining with her until she had dismounted in front of the small cottage that lay behind the Earth temple. Only then did they take her mare's reins and leave.

The cottage known as Discipline was set back from the temple's spiral road and framed in gardens. For a moment Sandry remained outside the gate, looking around her. She had left in a hurry, hoping to be back in a day or two. Now she felt like a stranger. She had not helped to whitewash the cottage, weatherproofing it against the winter storms. She had not helped to put a fresh layer of thatch on the roof, or to bring in the last fruits and veg etables. The shutters on her room and the rooms of her three friends were tightly shut, as they had almost never been when the four were there.

Lark must be so lonely with no one at home, Sandry thought sadly. That spring Tris, Briar, and Daja had left Winding Circle with their teachers, who had decided they needed to see more of the world and of the magics used outside the temple city. Sandry and Lark had rattled about the empty cottage all summer, until word had come of the duke's heart attack. It had been just like Lark to urge Sandry to go and stay with her great-uncle for as long as was necessary.

Sandry shook her head. She had seen Lark since the duke's illness, but always at the citadel. This was her first trip home, and she felt as if she'd lost something. She missed open shutters, the sight of Briar's miniature pine in his window, the lamps burning in the workshops built onto the sides of the cottage. Something else was missing, too.

Opening the gate, she realized what it was. Once any visitor would be hailed by canine shrieks and then bowled over, if they were not careful, by the wolfhound-sized dog who lived here—Little Bear was enthusiastic in his greetings. He belonged to all four of the young people. That spring, when Tris's teacher Niko wanted to take her south, Tris had been so heartbroken at leaving that they had talked her into taking the dog. The three of them would be south of the Pebbled Sea by now, and were not due to return until next summer.

The front door was closed against the night's growing chill. Sandry, feeling unsure, knocked.

She heard footsteps, then the door opened. The |woman who stood there was four inches taller than Sandry, with bronze-colored skin and wide brown eyes set over sharp cheekbones. Lark was dressed in a long habit of the dark green shade worn by those who dedicated themselves to the gods of the earth. She smiled warmly and hugged Sandry. "What a wonderful surprise!" she exclaimed. "I wasn't expecting to see you till next week! How is his grace? Come in, and we'll have tea."

Sandry hugged Lark fiercely, then walked into her home.

Once she had brewed some tea, Lark made Sandry and eat. As she did, Sandry asked after the other residents of Winding Circle. "I have to stay with Uncle a while more," she said, though Lark hadn't asked when she would be coming home. "Till I'm sure he'll be all right. He was so tired this morning, and he doesn't know how to be careful."

Lark smiled at her. "It's comforting to know you're with him," she said, offering Sandry an apple. "He really does listen to you—he has ever since we took that trip north with him, the year when you first came to us. He told us then he thought you had a head on your shoulders. And everyone knows he works much too hard."

Looking at her made Sandry feel as if she'd been walking through a gale and had stepped through a door into a warm house. "I miss you so much," she said. "I wish you were there with me."

Lark shook her head. "I have so much to do here. Besides, Duke's Citadel is too big and drafty for an ex-tumbler turned stitch witch," she teased. "And Dedicate Vetiver says one of the novices who came this summer shows some odd flashes that could be magic. I don't think Daja will mind if this boy turns out to need her old room. Vetiver says he's terribly shy and can hardly speak, even to other novices."

Sandry nodded. Just-discovered mages who had trouble fitting in at Winding Circle were often turned over to Lark and Rosethorn. The two women had taught a number of mages over the years, though none so unusual as Sandry, Briar, Daja, and Tris. "Can you manage without Rosethorn here?" asked Sandry.

Lark chuckled. "It might even be easier, at least for the first few months. Never tell Rosie I said that."

Sandry grinned. Dedicate Rosethorn was a terror.

The Hub clock chimed the hour. It was getting late, and there was the ride back to Dukes Citadel to be thought of. "Lark, this boy I found…" She told her teacher about Pasco. "His magic's as plain as the nose on my face," she said when she had finished. "I'm just not sure of what to do. Should I leave him to his own devices? We were always told that if a mage doesn't get proper training, sooner or later his magic starts to run wild, like Tris's used to." Her friend Tris had left a wake of frightened people and ruined property before she had come to Discipline.

Lark sat back in her chair, brows knit in thought. "A dance-mage," she murmured. "How very odd."

"I figured you'd know if there were any," Sandry pointed out. "All the places you've been."

Lark rubbed her temples. "I've seen a few, but it was far and away. The shamans of the Qidao people dance their magic. So do the shamans of Ugurulz—it's between the Sea of Grass and Yanjing, in the north."

"He won't go all that way to learn from a shaman if he doesn't even want his magic here," Sandry remarked. "What about those Qidao people?"

"More thousands of miles," Lark replied. "They're in southern Yanjing. Even if he wanted to journey so far, we couldn't allow it. First he must learn basic control over his power. There's no telling what kind of mischief he could set in motion with a step here, and a step there."

"I don't think he's strong enough to do serious damage," Sandry told her.

"It doesn't matter if he is or he isn't," Lark said. "Dances are patterns. You know what patterns can do."

"Placing magic in a pattern makes the magic stronger," Sandry replied; it was a lesson she knew as well as her own name. She smiled. "That's why you and I have to be careful when we weave. So you're saying that Pasco can extend his power through dance patterns."