Magic Steps by Tamora Pierce

would take his position,” replied Sandry hesitantly. It hurt her heart to think of it.
    “After bloodshed,” Lark pointed out. “After civil war. councils ensure that our people have someone to answer to, as Emelan answers to his grace. Other parts of the world have their own ways to hinder rogue mages.”
    “I don’t know how to teach,” complained Sandry.
    “It hasn’t been that long since you learned the basics,” Lark said firmly.
    “Start with those. Go through your uncle’s library. Talk to merchants and nobles—see if any of them have ever heard of dance-mages. And he’ll need a dance teacher. If he’s from a lower-class family, he’ll know jigs, country dances, and wedding dances, but little else. Learning new dances will help to keep him out of mis chief, and create a direction for his power.” Bending down, she picked her workbasket up from the floor. It was filled with clothes—she dumped them on the table. “If you’ll take the stitching out, I’ll cut these into patches for a quilt,” she told Sandry. “One of the East District families wants the father to have a quilt made of their old things when he takes ship in the spring.”
    “That’s sweet,” remarked Sandry, pulling a tattered shirt toward her. Turning it inside out, she laid her fingers along one of the seams and called to the thread that held it closed. The thread began to wriggle free, twining around her index finger like a vine. Watching it slither out of the cloth, Sandry remembered the most vexatious part of her conversations with Pasco.
    “He seems to think his family won’t let him learn magic,” she pointed out to Lark, drawing out the threads that tacked the cuffs to the shirt. “He says it would be different if he had a talent for provost’s magic, but his family won’t hear of dancing magic—as if it’s a toy that Pasco might pick up. I don’t understand it.”
    “You see this in a lot of guild families and in the no ble houses,” Lark replied, cutting a worn skirt into squares. “And from what I heard of the Acalons when I lived in the Mire, they’ve served the provost for genera tions.
    They’re practical people. Still, they aren’t fools. Once they realize Pasco is a genuine mage, they’ll know he must be taught.” She put her scissors down and gazed at Sandry. “Of course, they may take it better if they hear it from you.”
    The girl sighed. The last thread came out of the collar, leaving the shirt in pieces on the table before her. She stacked them up and put them aside, drawing a pair of breeches out of the pile. “I really think he should be the one to tell them. He might as well get in the habit of owning up to his magic, after all.”
    Once she had turned the breeches inside out, she saw these were better made than the shirt, with the ends of the thread all hidden inside the hems. She glared at the cloth. All the sewing-threads jumped out of the material in a hundred pieces, flying across the room.
    Lark hid a smile behind her hand and remarked quietly, “That seems like a dreadful waste of thread.”
    Sandry nodded wryly, and lifted her hands. It took several calls to get the scattered pieces to return. Once she had them, she scooped them into a mound on the table. She petted them gently for a moment until they ceased to tremble.
    When the bits of thread were calm, she sent her power cautiously through each fiber. As the mound wriggled and shifted, she confessed, “I don’t know how I’m going to get him to like the idea of magic.”
    “Of course you do,” Lark said, picking up a square of cloth in one hand and her scissors in the other. “It sounds like your Pasco is dying to dance. Lure him in by telling him he gets to learn new dances to use with his power. Of course, he’ll have to practice a great deal—but I’ll wager he wants to practice dancing.
    You just need to weave the two lessons into one, and I know you can do that.’”
    Sandry looked up at her teacher and grinned.