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Her student Keth had described the lake’s storms to her so eloquently that Tris would even forego reading to watch one...

...Finally she had turned the entire storm into a ball the size of her hand...

...Briar, who had helped Tris to walk, stepped in. He turned her around and lifted her up to sit on the wide, flat rail, then went to get food for the redhead. While he did that, Quenaill sat beside Tris, smiling at the scowling girl.

From Chapters 6-7 of Will of the Empress

Tris knew her bones were going to ache for days after dragging the storm into her braids. If it had been anyone but Briar helping her to sit up on the rail of the terrace, she might have snapped at them. She hated the way the ladies who now sat with Daja had flinched when she'd gotten close. Like I'm possessed or unnatural. It was always like this after a working. Her body hurt, and people cringed away. 

"It's the lot of great mages." She hadn't noticed Quen approach. In response to her glare, he merely hopped up onto the rail to join her, seemingly unconscious of how he was crumpling his fine courtly clothing. "The more wondrous a thing you do, the less people like it. A juggler with no more magic than this pastry—" he bit into the cream puff in his hand, paused politely to chew, then looked appreciatively at the remaining half of the puff "—less magic, even, gets more applause than a girl who ties up storms into her hair like they're ribbons."

Tris resisted the urge to smack his evidently magical cream puff out of his hand and off the terrace. He was trying to be kind, she supposed. Or charming. For all that she didn't care for people offering her pitying kindness, they were better than those who offered charm. Then again, he was a great mage, too. Maybe it wasn't pity at all. Maybe it was sympathy.

"Has it happened to you?"

He smiled wryly. "Of course. The Emperor's Comet, two years past."

Tris's eyes widened. She hadn't heard about this. "A comet? What happened?"

Quen ducked his head. He was always so cocky, it was odd to see him embarrassed. Or pretending to be, whispered the nasty, suspicious part of her.

"The honorable Emperor of Yanjing sent our mistress an unexpected gift from the heavens. We were out in Dancruan, for the Longnight celebration. The Empress carries the torch which fires the great-lights that burn until Carp Moon. We were atop the tower that holds the shamash, the chief of the great-lights, when the sky suddenly blazed like the sun had returned two months early."

Tris noticed Ishabal had wandered up to them, looking amused, and having presumably overheard.

"It lit the clouds from horizon to horizon, like a sunset falling from above. I've never seen the like." Her voice carried wonder, and a touch of something Tris couldn't place.

"What happened next?" Tris couldn't hide her eagerness, aching bones and ungrateful ladies forgotten.

Quen looked pained. Manners demanded he defer to Isha. The older mage let him stew for a few moments, then smiled beatifically and patted Tris's shoulder. "Quen tells it best." She moved on, out into the crowded terrace.

Quen leaned in, his voice quieter. "I felt it before I heard it. When comets fall, they fall so quickly they outrun sound, like how the flash of lightning outruns thunder. I could sense magic in it. Magic of this world. Yanjingi magic." His lips quirked. "I knew it pretty well, by that point. I didn't have time to think. I threw the biggest, strongest shield spell I had at it, shaped like a dome over Dancruan. Isha says I lit up like I was trying to become the shamash myself. She fed as much of her power into me as she had to give. When the comet struck the shield, they both shattered. The sky rained molten gravel. If there hadn't been two feet of snow on every roof, the whole city might have burned." The memory was clearly one he was proud of, but Tris could hear in his voice he knew how close he'd come to disaster. "Not a single stone larger than my thumb came down within the walls of Dancruan."

Now that was pure pridefulness. Tris put her hands on her hips.

"And I suppose you strolled away from it unharmed?"

That startled a laugh from him.

"Gods, no. The backlash from the shield spell threw me clear off the roof. I fell thirty feet into a snowdrift. Isha pulled me out, still glowing, out cold. I woke up a week later, and couldn't cast spells for all of Wolf Moon." He raised a finger. "But the worst part is? I haven't been able to get a drink in any alehouse in Dancruan since. People stare and jump and pour drinks onto the table instead of in my cup."

At that moment, Briar appeared with food, so Tris didn't have the chance to tell the well-dressed mage she found it hard to believe he'd ever frequented alehouses in Dancruan. Quen, story told, seemed just as happy to exploit the opportunity of Briar being tray-laden with lunch, fruit juice, and cream puffs to make a line for Berenene. Nervous a green mage is going to steal your precious Empress?

The green mage in question seemed more interested in stealing puffs off the plates he'd brought her while she shuffled her skirts to make room for him and his burdens on the railing. She smiled at him crookedly. "Thanks for the food."

Briar grinned back. "You're welcome. And a second helping of welcomes for the rescue."

She glanced at Quen's retreating back. "Actually, he was being friendly." She gave Briar a pointed look. "People tend to be nicer to you if you don't spend three hours alone in a greenhouse with their lover, you know."

Briar gave her his best innocent look, and tapped the edge of her plate with his toe. The last cream puff —when had he had time to steal all six?—arced through the air. Since each hand already held two, he caught it in his mouth, and mumbled something that sounded like "I wouldn't know."

Knowing he expected her to scowl, she smiled back at him instead. She supposed having your foster-brother steal your pastries must be the lot of great mages as well, but doubted Quen had as good a story on the subject. She almost reached out with her mind to share the joke, but drew back. They sat on the railing, Briar wolfing pastries and grinning, Tris working her way though a plate of dumplings. It's not our bond. But it's a start.