“I’ve heard the rumors,” Jani conceded uneasily. “They lead to theft and carelessness by the workers. When there is no personal reward for a chamber well excavated but only a day’s pay, why should they go cautiously and keep meticulous records? When the Vargus Traders treat them as little better than slaves, why should they behave any better?

“But I’ve also heard what the Tattooed say. We promised them that we would welcome them and make them part of us. That they could work and have homes and vote on their fates. That they would not be lesser citizens here but could live among us, marry among us, and, we hoped, have healthy children to repopulate our cities. I made those promises to them.” She shook her head bitterly. “Well, we’ve seen where that has taken us. Traders such as the Vargus family treat them poorly and disdain them for anything but physical labor. In retaliation, many of the Tattooed hold themselves apart. They keep to their own sections of the city and do not share in the upkeep of the public ways and bridges. They marry only their own kind and produce lots of children while our population continues to dwindle. They outlive us by decades. And they do not respect our ways. And that leads only to more resentment, as the established Rain Wild families fear they will be displaced by them.” She sighed again more heavily and said, “It was my idea to bring them here. In the dark days of the war with Chalced, it seemed a brilliant idea, one that would benefit all of us. When I told them they could live among us where their tattooed faces would not be a badge of shame but only markings on their skin, I thought they would accept the changes that the Rain Wild causes in us. I thought they would know that those things were likewise skin-deep.”

“But it did not work that way, not entirely,” Malta agreed. She heard guilt in Jani’s voice. It was a familiar conversation as the older woman went over what she had negotiated and wondered how it had gone wrong. Malta reached over and picked up a pair of stockings. Slowly she rolled them into a ball. “Jani, it is not your fault. At the time, it seemed a brilliant solution, for them and for us. You bargained in good faith, and no one can fault you if it did not turn out as you planned. We cannot force them to join us. But we all know that eventually they will. Already the Rain Wilds have touched some of them, though not as heavily as it did the early settlers. Some of the Tattooed who came here as adults have begun to scale as they age, and their youngsters more so. Their children are being born with copper glints in their eyes and that sheen to the skin that speaks of pebbling later in life. Their children will be Rain Wilders whether they like it or not.” Malta set her feet firmly on the floor and stood up. Her lower back protested, and without thinking, she set her hands to her belly, supporting her growing child.

Jani smiled. “As will your child, Malta Vestrit Khuprus.”

Malta’s smile was more tenuous. She turned away hastily to drop the balled-up stockings in her case, then turned back to her wardrobe to look for a winter cloak to add to what she had packed. Tears stung her eyes, and she did not want Reyn’s mother to see them.

Jani spoke quietly. “Sometimes, sharing a fear or sorrow can lessen it.”

“Oh,” Malta said, striving for a casual note in her voice and failing as her throat closed on the words. “It was just something the midwife said yesterday when I went to see her.”

“Koli is one of our best midwives. She has been helping with births for years.”

“I know. She is just so blunt sometimes. About our chances. About what she thinks of us for even trying for a child.” Malta searched through the wardrobe and found the cloak she wanted. It was scarlet and lined with velvet, so soft against her skin. She held a fold of it to her cheek. “She said we can hope for the best, but we must plan for the worst. That we must choose now what we will do if the child is born breathing but so changed that survival is unlikely.” She tried to steady her voice. “If I wish, she can smother or drown our baby in warm water before she is exposed for the animals to devour. She can let us see it dead and say farewell. Or we can leave it to the midwife to whisk it away, to make her decision, and never speak of it again. If I choose that, we don’t have to know if the baby ever drew a breath or was stillborn.” Despite her resolution, her voice was trembling. “She said that only the mother has the right to make those choices. But I cannot, Jani. I cannot. Yet each time I see her, she presses me for answers.” Malta clutched the cloak to her as if it were a child about to be torn from her arms. “But I cannot.”

“It’s her job,” Jani said softly. “Years of doing it have hardened her in some ways. Ignore her words. It’s her hands and her skills that we’ll be paying Koli for, not her opinions.”