Cold Fire by Tamora Pierce

Kugisko’s canals made her think that perhaps she could be elegant for a time with her own body. She wanted to try, at least.
    She got down to the bench and put her skates on. As the twins glided to a halt to watch, Daja stood. This time she dug in with the toe of one skate until she felt steady. Then she pushed off, freeing the dug-in toe at the same moment. She stroked down with that skate next, gliding into the center of the ice. Feeling the smoothness of her motion, its grace, Daja got excited. Her next stroke was a little too enthusiastic. She flew across the basin and slammed into a frozen snowbank, face-first.
    “Ow,” she said. Her nose was mashed flat.
    The twins pulled her to her feet. I want to learn this, Daja told herself grimly. She pushed off again, gliding to the center of the basin.
    After breakfast Nia and Jory rushed out of the house and clambered into Serg’s waiting sleigh. Once the girls were in place, Daja used her staff to climb in.
    “You walk like an old woman,” Serg remarked, confused. “But you were fine yesterday.”
    “It’s the ice-skating,” Jory informed him. “She’s trying really hard.”
    “And you are really trying,” Daja said, trying to get comfortable on the padded seat. She glanced up at the sky: fat snowflakes drifted down in a slow dance. “I hope this doesn’t get too bad.”
    “It won’t,” Nia replied. “The weather-mage’s crier comes every morning. Today’s supposed to be just snowfall like this. It’ll build up, but not too badly.”
    “At least, it won’t if the weather-mage is right. Most of the time they are,” Jory contributed.
    “Do not borrow trouble, Ravvikki,” Serg told Jory. “Viymese Daja, I await orders.”
    “Camoc Oakborn,” began Daja.
    “Nyree Street,” replied Serg. He clucked to the horses and drove out the main gate with easy grace.
    Once they arrived, an apprentice ushered Daja and the girls into Camoc Oakborn’s large shop, then went to find the master. They didn’t have long to wait before Camoc joined them. “Viymese Daja,” he said with a nod. He looked at Nia. “This is the girl you spoke of?”
    “Niamara Bancanor, this is Viynain Camoc Oakborn,” Daja said giving him the Namornese title for a mage. As Nia curtsied, Daja added, “And this is her sister Jorality.” Jory curtsied as well. “Jory doesn’t share Nia’s magic, Viynain Camoc.”
    “I see that,” he said. “Come along, then, Ravvikki Niamara. I’ll give you the tour.” He led Daja and the twins around the shop, identifying for Nia what was being made. He took a moment to inspect each of his people’s work before he moved on. Nia looked at everything with wide and shining eyes, breathing the scents of paint and wood shavings as if they were perfume. By the time they reached the second floor, her dark and practical gown had acquired a coat of sawdust and a variety of wood shavings. Her creamy brown cheeks were flushed.
    She belongs here, Daja realized. Remembering her misgivings when she’d met Camoc, she added, Or someplace like it.
    On the next floor carpenters toiled over everything from tables to beds. Jory was bored by then; Daja sent her out to buy hot cider and wait with Serg at the sleigh.
    Daja toiled up more steps behind Camoc and Nia, who remained spellbound by her surroundings. The third floor was for delicate work: inlays on fancy boxes, end tables, and cupboards, parts for looms and spinning wheels, even a dollhouse in the east Namornese style.
    “Most places are smaller,” Camoc explained to Nia. “I don’t specialize, so instead of running from shop to shop all day, I put it all under one roof, and climb stairs to keep my figure.” He smiled ruefully at Daja. To the girl he said, “About half my people are woodcraft-mages, as I told Viymese Daja. All are specialists. If you choose to study here, one of the senior mage-students will teach you at first. I don’t really handle beginners. Arnen would be your tutor.”
    He