As Malta had hoped, Delo's parents got out first. Her mama was dazzling. Her gown was simple and deep blue. The neckline left her throat and shoulders bare save for a single silver chain with a row of pendant perfume gems. How Malta wished her own mother would appear, just once, so elegantly dressed. Even from where she lurked, she could smell the heady scent of the gems. Delo's mama took her papa's arm. He was tall and thin. His linen jacket and trousers were also blue, flattering his wife's gown. They ascended the steps to the hall like folk from a legend. Behind them, Cerwin waited impatiently for Delo to clamber out of the carriage. Like his father, his coat and trousers were blue, his boots a softly gleaming black. He wore a single gold earring in one ear, and his black hair was daringly curled into long locks. Malta, who had known him all her life, suddenly felt an odd little shiver in her belly. Never before had he looked so handsome to her. She longed to astonish him with her presence.

Instead, she herself was astonished when Delo finally appeared in the carriage door. Her dress echoed the color of her mother's, but there the resemblance stopped. Her hair was plaited into a crown decked with fresh flowers, and a flounce of lace graced her short skirts to make them almost mid-calf. Matching lace trimmed the high collar and cuffs. She wore no jewelry at all.

Malta could not contain herself. She swept up to Delo like an avenging spirit. “But you said you were going to wear a gown this year! You said your mama had promised you would,” she greeted her friend. “What happened?”

Delo looked up at Malta miserably. Then her eyes widened in astonishment and her mouth opened. No sound came out of it.

Cerwin stepped protectively in front of her. “I don't believe you could know my sister,” he said in a haughty voice.

“Cerwin!” Malta exclaimed in annoyance. She peered past him at Delo. “What happened?”

Delo's eyes widened another fraction. “Malta? Is that you?”

“Of course it's me. Did your mama change her mind?” A nasty suspicion began to unfold in Malta's mind. “You must have had dress fittings. You must have known you weren't going to be allowed to wear a gown!”

“I didn't think you'd be here!” Delo wailed miserably, while Cerwin Trell asked incredulously, “Malta? Malta Vestrit?” His eyes moved over her in a way that she knew was rude. Rude or not, it made another shiver run over her.

“Trell?” Shukor Kev was dismounting from his horse. “Trell, is that you? Good to see you. And who is this?” His incredulous glance went from Malta to Cerwin. “You can't bring her to the Harvest Ball, friend. You know it's only for Traders.” Something in his tone made Malta uncomfortable.

Another carriage had pulled up. The footman was having trouble opening the door, the catch appeared to be stuck. Malta tried not to stare. It was not ladylike. But the footman caught sight of her and appeared to be so struck by her appearance that he completely forgot his task. Within the carriage, a portly man thudded his shoulder against the door, which flew open, narrowly missing her. And Davad Restart, in all his portly clumsy glory, nearly tumbled out into the street.

The footman had caught at her arm to steady her as she stepped hastily back from the wide-flung door. Had he not had hold of her arm, she could have easily stepped away and avoided disaster. Instead she was there as Davad caught his balance by snatching at the door and then trod squarely on the hem of her dress. “Oh, I beg pardon, I do,” he declared fervently, and then the words died on his lips at he looked her up and down. So transformed was she that for a time she was sure he did not recognize her. She could not resist. She smiled at him.

“Good evening, Trader Restart,” she greeted him. She curtseyed, a trickier task in the longer skirts than she had thought it would be. “I trust you are well.”

Still, he goggled at her. After a moment, he opened his mouth and squeaked out, “Malta? Malta Vestrit?”

Another carriage came to take the place of the Trells'. This one was resplendent in green and gilt, Rain Wild colors. That would be the representatives from the Rain Wild families. The ball would begin as soon as they were seated.

Behind her, like an echo, came Shukor's incredulous, “Malta Vestrit? I don't believe it!”

“Of course.” She smiled up at Davad again, enjoying the astonished way his eyes leapt from the necklace at her throat to the lace that frothed at her bosom. He suddenly glanced behind her. She turned, but there was no one there. Damn. Delo had gone into the Ball without her! She turned back to Davad, but he was staring wildly about. As the door of the Rain Wild carriage opened, he suddenly seized her by the shoulders and thrust her behind him, almost inside the still open door of his carriage. “Be still!” he hissed. “Say nothing at all!”