Malta glanced from one to die other. “At the Trader gathering,” she admitted in disgust. “I went outside for some air. I said good evening to a coachman as I passed by. I think he was leaning on die Khuprus coach. That's all.”

“What did he look like?” Ronica demanded.

“I don't know,” Malta said, her words slowed with sarcasm. “He was from the Rain Wilds. They wear veils and hoods, you know.”

“Yes, I do know,” her grandmother retorted. “But their coachman does not. You foolish girl, do you think they drove a coach down die river? The Rain Wild families store their coaches here, and use them only when they come to Bingtown. So their hired drivers are from Bingtown. If you talked to a veiled man, you talked to a Rain Wild Trader. What did you say, and what did you give him?”

“Nothing,” Malta flared. “I said 'good evening' as I passed him. He said die same. That's all.”

“Then how does he know your name? How does he make you a dream?” Ronica pressed.

“I don't know,” Malta retorted. “Maybe he guessed my family from my robe color, and asked someone.” Suddenly, to Keffria's complete amazement, Malta burst into tears. “Why do you always treat me like this? You never say anything nice to me, it's always accusations and scolding. You think I'm some kind of a whore or a liar or something. Someone sends me a present, you won't even let me look at it, and you say it's all my fault. I don't know what you want from me anymore. You want me to be a little girl, but then you expect me to know everything and be responsible for everything. It's not fair!” She lowered her face into her hands and sobbed.

“Oh, Malta,” Keffria heard herself say wearily. She went swiftly to her daughter, and put her hands on her shaking shoulders. “We don't think you're a whore and a liar. We're simply very worried about you. You're trying to grow up so fast, and there are so many dangers you don't understand.”

“I'm sorry,” Malta sobbed. “I shouldn't have gone outside that night. But it was so stuffy in there, and so scary with everyone yelling at each other.”

“I know. I know, it was scary.” Keffria patted her child. She hated to see Malta weep like this, hated that she and her mother had pressed her until she had broken down. At the same time, it was almost a relief. The defiant, bitter Malta was someone Keffria didn't know. This Malta was a little girl, crying and wanting to be comforted. Perhaps they had broken through tonight. Perhaps this Malta was someone she could reason with. She bent down to hug her daughter, who returned the embrace briefly and awkwardly.

“Malta,” she said softly. “Here. Look here. Here is the box. You can't keep it or open it: it has to be returned tomorrow intact. But you can look at it.”

Malta gave a sniff and sat up. She glanced at the box on her mother's palm, but did not reach for it. “Oh,” she said after a moment. “It's just a carved box. I thought it might have jewels on it or something.” She looked away from it. “Can I go to bed now?” she asked wearily.

“Of course. You go on to bed. We'll talk more in the morning, when we've all had some rest.”

A very subdued Malta sniffed once, then nodded. Keffria watched her slowly leave the room, and then turned back to her own mother with a sigh. “Sometimes it's so hard, watching her grow up.”

Ronica nodded sympathetically. But then she added, “Lock up that box somewhere safe for the night. I'll get a runner in the morning to carry your letter and the box down to the docks to die Kendry.”

It was just a few hours shy of dawn when Malta took the small box back to her room. It had been exactly where she had known it would be: in her mother's “secret” cupboard at the back of her wardrobe in her dressing chamber. It was where she always hid the naming-day presents and her most expensive body oils. She had been afraid Mother would put it under her pillow, or perhaps even open the box and claim the dream for herself. But she hadn't.

Malta shut the door behind her and sat down on her bed with the box in her lap. Such a small present for them to raise such a fuss about. She lifted the box to her nose and inhaled. Yes, she had thought it carried a sweet scent. She got out of bed again and padded quietly across to her own wardrobe. In a box up in the corner, under several old dolls, was the scarf and the flame jewel. In the dark room it seemed to burn more brightly than ever. For a time she just watched it before she recalled why she had taken it out. She sniffed the scarf, then brought it back to her bed to compare it to the box. Different scents, both exotic. Both sweet, but different.