Barl pushed off her heels and rested her hands on her agitated brother’s knees. “No, Remmie. I won’t. Do you hear me? This is my word to you, my solemn unflinching word. Batava is your home, now. I’ll not ask you to leave it.”

Arms folded, he stared over his shoulder at the majestically sinking sun. Its mellow rose-gold light set his pale hair afire. A muscle leapt along his jaw.

“I know you’ll not stay with Arndel forever,” he said at last, his voice low. “You’re ambitious, and you’ll outgrow him. I do understand that. But if you mean what you say… at least for now… if you promise that what Lady Grie is offering is enough to keep you content a while longer, then I’ll believe you. And I won’t pretend I’m not well pleased for it.”

“I never asked you to pretend,” she said, still stinging.

He shrugged. “Yes, you did. But that’s neither here nor there. If it’s been hard for me, it’s not been easy for you either. I do know that, Barl.”

For all their closeness, their easy camaraderie, she and Remmie rarely bared their tender hearts to each other. She liked to tell herself it was because twins had no need of cumbersome words but that wasn’t entirely true, and she knew it. If they never spoke honestly of how her restless nature affected him, then she was spared discomfort.

And that was a prickling thing to know of oneself.

“I’m content enough at the artisanry,” she said firmly. “I moan about Arndel, but in truth I know full well I’m lucky to be there. And now, with this chance to make beautiful things for Lady Grie, my fortune is even brighter. I’ve no need to look toward the horizon, Remmie.”

“I must get supper started,” he said, almost smiling, and slid off the windowsill. “Come and peel potatoes, and tell me incant by incant how you made Lady Grie’s nursery clock. Since you always find an excuse not to come and talk to my pupils, a second-hand accounting will have to do.”

“I’m not a teacher,” she protested, guilt-seared, and clambered to her feet. “Or a storyteller. You wouldn’t have me embarrass you in front of your flock, would you?”

That made Remmie laugh. “For an arrogant woman, Barl, you have the oddest notions.”

“Arrogant? Arrogant?” Outraged, she stared after him. “Would an arrogant women peel potatoes? I hardly think so!”

“You haven’t peeled anything yet,” he said, heading for the kitchen. “So come along and prove me wrong!”

Oh, he was impossible. But he was her brother, and she loved him, and she owed him for the loss of that insipid girl in Granley.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” she said, and followed him out.

Chapter Three

Elvado.

Staring around her at the fabled city, Barl pressed a fist to her roiling midriff.

I should’ve eaten more runip berries. Heaving scrambled eggs over the cobblestones would hardly be polite.