“I was,” she admitted. “I'm not anymore.”

“You didn't shout at me. You were so quiet I thought you had left.”

“I almost did. I detest shouting. I hate being shouted at, and I never shout at anyone. That doesn't mean I never get angry, though.” After a moment's pause, she added, “Or that I never get hurt. 'Only my pain is more silent than my anger.' That's a quote from the poet Tinni. Or a paraphrase, actually, a translation.”

“Tell me the whole poem,” Paragon begged, leaping swiftly to this safe topic. He wanted to get away from speaking of anger and hatred and spoiled children. Perhaps if she told him the poem, she would forget that he had not apologized. He did not want her to know that he could not apologize.

“Nana has said that she would rather stay on at half-pay, if we can still afford that.” Ronica spoke the words into the quiet room. Keffria sat in the chair on the opposite side of the hearth, where her father had sat in the times when he was home. She held a small embroidery frame, and skeins of colored thread were arranged on the arm of the chair, but she no longer pretended to work. Ronica's hands were likewise idle.

“Can we afford that?” Keffria asked.

“Only just. If we are willing to eat simply and live simply. I'm almost embarrassed to say how grateful and relieved I am that she offered. I felt so guilty letting her go. Most families want a young woman to watch over their children. It would have been hard for her to find another place.”

“I know. And Selden would have been devastated.” She cleared her throat. “So. What about Rache?”

“The same,” her mother said shortly.

Keffria began carefully, “If our finances are so strained, then perhaps paying Rache a wage is not as essential-”

“I don't see it that way,” Ronica stated abruptly.

Keffria was silent, simply looking at her.

After a short time, Ronica was the one to glance aside. “Beg pardon. I know I've been too sharp with everyone lately.” She forced her voice to be conversational. “I feel it is important that Rache be paid something. Important for all of us. Not so important that I would put Malta at risk for it, but far more important than new frocks and hair ribbons.”

“Actually, I agree,” Keffria said quietly. “I but wanted to discuss it with you. So. With those expenses agreed on ... will we still have enough to pay the Festrews?”

Her mother nodded. “We have the gold, Keffria. I've set it aside, the full amount we owe, and the penalty. We can pay the Festrews. What we can't pay is anyone else. And there are a few who will come between now and then, demanding payment.”

“What will you do?” Keffria asked. Then, remembering, she changed it to, “What do you think we should do?”

Ronica took a breath. “I suggest we wait and see who comes, and how insistent they are. The Vivacia is due before long. Some may be willing to be put off until she arrives, others may demand extra interest. If we are unlucky, there will be some that demand immediate payment. Then we will have to sell something from the holdings.”

“But you believe that should be a final resort?”

“I do.” Her mother spoke firmly. “Carriages, horses, even jewelry are all things that come and go. I don't think we've truly missed what we've sold. Oh, I know it has grated on Malta not to have new clothes this winter, but I don't think her suffering as been as acute as her temper. It is good for her to learn a little thrift; she has not had to practice it much at any other time in her life.”

Keffria bit her tongue. Her daughter had become a painful topic, one she wished to discuss as little as possible. “But land?” she prompted her mother. It was a discussion they had had before. She didn't really know why she brought it up again.

“The holdings are another matter. As more and more folk come to Bingtown, the best land becomes ever more precious. If we sold what we have now, our best offers would come from new folk. That goes without saying. If we sell to them, we lose much goodwill from our Old Trader kin. We deliver more power into the hands of the new folk. And, to me the most telling point, we are selling something that can never be replaced. One can always buy a new carriage or some earrings. But there is no more bottom land near Bingtown to be had. Once ours is gone, we've given it up forever.”

“I think you are right. And you believe we can hold out until the Vivacia returns?”

“I do. We had word that she hailed the Vestroy as they passed one another in Markham's Straits. That means she is right on schedule getting into Jamaillia. The southbound trip is always the trickiest this time of year.” Her mother was only speaking what they both already knew. What was so reassuring about again sharing these thoughts? A belief that perhaps if one spoke them often enough, fate would listen and heed their plans? “If Kyle does as well with selling slaves as he believed he would, then when he returns, we should have enough to put ourselves current with our creditors.” Ronica's voice was carefully neutral when she mentioned the slaves. She still did not approve. Well, neither did Keffria. But what else could they do?