“Does it look like we can go soon?” her mother demanded. “Malta, please try to be useful instead of driving me mad. Go and see if Trader Restart's carriage has arrived.”

“Oh, not him!” Malta protested. “Please, please tell me we are not riding with him in that smelly old carriage of his. Mother, the doors don't even stay shut or open properly. I am going to be so humiliated if we have to go with-”

“Malta, go and see if the carriage is here,” her grandmother tersely commanded her. As if her mother had not already said it.

Malta sighed and stalked off. By the time they got there, the food and drink would be gone and everyone would be seated on the council benches. If she had to go and sit through a whole council meeting, she at least wanted to be there for the fun part. As she walked down the hall, she wondered if Delo would even be there. Cerwin would. His family had been treating him like an adult for years. Maybe Delo would be there, and if she was, Malta could find a way to get permission to sit with her. It would be easy to get Delo to sit next to her brother. She hadn't seen Cerwin since the day Mother had insisted on showing him around the garden room. But that didn't mean that Cerwin was no longer interested.

At that thought, she made a quick side trip to the water closet. There was a small looking-glass there. The light was not good, but Malta still smiled at what she saw. She had swept her dark hair up from her face, braiding it and then securing it to the crown of her head. Artless tendrils danced on her forehead and brushed the tops of her cheeks. They still would allow her only flowers as adornments, but she had chosen the last tiny roses that still bloomed in the garden room. They were a deep red, with a heady sweet fragrance. Her robe for this evening was very simple, but at least it was not a little girl's frock. It was a Trader's robe, such as all the Traders wore to such meetings. Hers was a deep magenta, almost the same shade as the roses in her hair. It was traditionally the Vestrit color. Malta would have preferred a blue, but the magenta did look good on her. And at least it was new.

She'd never had a Trader's robe before. In a way, they were stuffy garments, round necklines, ankle length, belted at the waist like a monk's robe. She admired the shining black leather of her wide belt, the stylized initial that formed the buckle. She had cinched it tight, to better emphasize the swell of her hips and to pull the fabric tauter over her breasts. Papa was right. She did have a woman's shape already; why should she not have a woman's clothes and privileges? Well, it was only a matter of time before he was back, and then things would change around here. His trading would go well, he'd come home with pockets full of money, and then he would hear of how she had been mistreated and cheated of her promised gown and . . .

“Malta!” Her mother jerked the door open. “What are you doing in here? Everyone is waiting for you. Get your cloak and hurry up!”

“Is the carriage here?” she asked her mother's back as she hurried after her.

“Yes,” Mama replied with asperity. “And Trader Restart has been standing beside it waiting for us.”

“Well, why didn't he knock or ring the bell or . . .”

“He did,” her mother snapped. “But as usual, you were off in some daydream of your own.”

“Do I have to wear my cloak? We'll be in the carriage and then the hall, and my old cloak looks stupid with my new robe.”

“It's cold out. Wear your cloak. And, please, try to remember your manners tonight. Pay attention to what is said. The Rain Wild families don't ask for an audience of all the Old Traders without good cause. I have no doubt that whatever is said tonight will affect the fates of us all. And remember that the Rain Wild folk are kin to us. Don't stare, have your best manners and . . .”

“Yes, Mother.” The same lecture she had already delivered six times at least today. Did she think Malta was deaf, or stupid? Hadn't she been told ever since she was born that they were kin to the Rain Wild families? That reminded her. As they went out the door past a stern-faced Nana, Malta began, “I've heard that the Rain Wild folk have a new ware. Flame jewels. I heard that the beads are clear as raindrops, but there are small tongues of flames that dance in each one.”

Her mother did not even answer. “Thank you so much for waiting, Davad. And this is so far out of your way as well,” she was saying to the dumpy little man.

He beamed at her mother, his face shining with pleasure and grease as he helped her up into the carriage. Malta didn't say a word to him and managed to hop in before he could touch her arm. She hadn't forgotten nor forgiven him for her last carriage ride. Her mother had settled in next to her grandmother. Oh, they couldn't expect her to sit next to Trader Restart. It was just too disgusting. “May I sit in the middle?” she said, and managed to squeeze herself in between them. “Mother, about the flame jewels . . .” she began hopefully, but Trader Restart started speaking as if she weren't even there.