“No!” Ronica exploded. “Malta, you are not listening. You cannot have it at all. It has to be returned as it is, unopened, with an extremely courteous explanation that somehow there has been a misunderstanding. If you open this box and have this dream, you have consented to his suit. You have given him permission to court you.”

“Well, what's so terrible about that? It's not like I'm promising to marry him!”

“If we allow you to open it, then we are accepting his suit as well. Which is the same thing as saying that we consider you a woman, and eligible to have suitors. Which we do not,” Ronica finished firmly.

Malta crossed her arms on her chest, then flung herself back into a chair. She stuck her chin out. “I shall be so glad when my father comes home,” she declared sulkily.

“Will you?” asked Ronica acidly.

Watching them both, Keffria felt invisible. And useless. To watch these two strong wills clash was like watching young bulls in the spring, when they pushed and snorted and challenged one another. There was a battle going on here, a battle for dominance, to determine which of these women was going to set the rules for the household while Kyle was away. No, she suddenly realized. Kyle was but a game-piece Malta threw in. Because Malta had already discovered she could manipulate her father. He was no match for her juvenile deviousness; as she grew, he would be even less of a problem to her. Plainly, she believed that only her grandmother stood in her path. Her own mother she had dismissed as insignificant.

Well, wasn't she? For years she had washed about with the ebb and flow of the household. Her father had sailed, her mother ran the on-shore holdings. She lived in her father's house still, as she always had. When Kyle had come home, they had spent his wages mostly on amusing themselves. Now her father was dead, and Kyle and her mother were battling over the helm, while Malta and her mother struggled over who would set the rules of the household. No matter how it was decided, Keffria would remain invisible and unheeded. Malta paid no attention to her floundering attempts at authority. No one did.

Keffria crossed the room abruptly. “Mother, give me the gift,” she demanded peremptorily. “As my daughter has caused this unfortunate misunderstanding, I believe it is up to me to rectify the matter.”

For a moment, she thought her mother would deny her. Then, with a glance at Malta, she handed it over to her. Keffria took the small wooden box. It weighed light in her hands. She became aware that it gave off a sweet scent, spicier than sandalwood. Malta's eyes tracked the box into her possession the way a hungry dog follows a piece of raw meat. “I shall write to them first thing in the morning. I think I can ask the Kendry to ferry it upriver for me.”

Her mother was nodding. “But take care to wrap the box well. It would not do for anyone else to know what is being returned. The refusal of a courting suit, for any reason, is a delicate thing. It would be best if this were kept a secret between the two parties.” As Keffria nodded to this, her mother suddenly turned to Malta. “Do you fully understand that, Malta? This cannot be spoken of to others, not to your little friends, not to the servants. This misunderstanding must be ended swiftly and completely.”

The sullen girl looked at her mutely.

“Malta!” barked Keffria, and her daughter jumped. “Do you understand? Answer.”

“I understand,” she mumbled. She shot a defiant glance up at her mother, then wadded herself farther into her chair.

“Good. It's all settled then.” Keffria had decided to end the battle while she was still winning. “And I'm ready to go to bed.”

“Wait.” Ronica's voice was serious. “There is one thing more you should know about a dream-box, Keffria. They are not common items. Each one is individually made, keyed to a certain person.”

“How?” Keffria asked unwillingly.

“Well, of course I don't know. But one thing I do know is that to create one, the maker must begin with a personal item from the intended recipient.” Her mother sighed as she leaned back in her chair. “Such a thing did not come to our door randomly. It was addressed to Malta specifically.” Ronica shook her head and looked grieved. “Malta must have given something of hers to a Rain Wild man. Something personal that he construed as a gift.”

“Oh, Malta, no!” Keffria cried in dismay.

“I did not,” Malta sat up defiantly. “I did not!” She raised her voice in a shout.

Keffria got up and went to the door. Once she was sure it was firmly closed, she came back to confront her daughter. “I want the truth,” she said quietly and simply. “What happened and when? How did you meet this young man? Why would he think you'd accept a courting gift from him?”