“How do you know so much about dream-boxes?” Malta asked curiously. She poured herself a cup of tea and sweetened it well with honey as she waited for a reply.

“A friend of mine was given one once. She opened the box and dreamed the dream. And she accepted the young man's suit. But he died before they were wed. I believe she married his brother a few years later.”

“Ick,” observed Malta. She took another spoonful of porridge and added, “I can't imagine marrying a Rain Wilder. Even if they are supposed to be our kin, and all. Can you imagine kissing someone who was all warty? Or having breakfast with him in the morning?”

“There is more to men than how they look,” her grandmother observed coldly. “When you realize that, I may start treating you as a woman.” She turned her disapproving stare on her own daughter now. “Well. What are we going to do?”

Malta's mother shook her head. "What can we do? Explain, most politely, that somehow the gift was lost before we could return it. But that we still cannot consider the suit, as Malta is far too young.

“We can't possibly tell them we lost his gift!” her grandmother exclaimed.

“Then what can we do? Lie? Say we are keeping it but refusing the suit anyway? Pretend we never got it and ignore the situation?” Keffria's voice was getting more and more sarcastic with each suggestion she made. “We'd only end up looking more foolish. As it was my fault, I shall write the letter, and I shall take the blame. I shall write that I had put it in a place I deemed safe, but it was gone in the morning. I shall offer most sincere apologies and reparation. But I shall also refuse the suit, and most tactfully point out that such a gift so early in a courting is scarcely appropriate. ...”

“By Rain Wild standards, it is,” Grandmother disagreed. “Especially for the Khuprus family. Their wealth is legendary. The boy probably considered it little more than a trinket.”

“Mm. Maybe we should marry Malta off to him, then,” her mother offered facetiously. “We could certainly use a wealthy relative these days.”

“Mother!” Malta exclaimed in irritation. She hated it when her mother said things like that.

“It was a joke, Malta. Don't fly into a fit about it.” Keffria stood up from the table. “Well. This is not going to be an easy letter to compose, and I have little time if I am to get it to the Kendry before she sails. I had best get busy.”

“Assure them that if we find the box, it will be returned,” her grandmother suggested.

“Of course. And I do intend to search my room again. But I'd best get this letter written if I am to have anything to send with the Kendry when she sails.” Malta's mother hastened out of the room.

Malta scooped up the last spoonful of porridge from her bowl, but she was not quite fast enough.

“Malta,” her grandmother said in a soft but firm voice. “I want to ask you, one last time, if you stole the box from your mother's room. No, think before you answer. Think what this means to our family honor, to your reputation. Answer truthfully, and I promise not to be angry with you about your first lie.” Her grandmother waited, holding her breath, watching Malta like a snake.

Malta set down her spoon. “I did not steal anything,” she said in a quivering voice. “I don't know how you can believe such things of me. What have I ever done to you, to deserve these accusations all the time? Oh, I wish my father were here, to see how I am treated while he is away. I am sure this is not the life he intended for his only daughter!”

“No. He'd have auctioned you off like a fat calf by now,” her grandmother said shortly. “Do not flap your emotions at me. You may fool your mother but you don't fool me. I tell you this plainly. If you have taken the dream-box and opened it, well, that is bad enough a hole for us to dig out of. But if you persist in lying and keep that thing ... oh, Malta. You cannot flaunt a courtship from one of the major Trader families of the Rain Wilds. This is not a time for your childish little games. Financially, we are teetering. What has saved us thus far is that we are known for keeping our word. We don't lie, we don't cheat, we don't steal. We pay our debts honestly. But if folk lose faith in that, if they start believing we do not keep our word, then we are lost, Malta. Lost. And young as you are, you will have to help pay the forfeit for that.”

Malta stood slowly. She flung down her spoon so it rang against her plate. “My father will be home soon, with a fat purse from his hard work. And he will pay off your debts and protect us from the ruin your stubbornness has brought us to. We'd have no problems if Grandpa had traded up the Rain Wild River, like any other man with a liveship. If you'd listened to Davad and sold off the bottom land, or at least let him use his slaves to work it for shares, we wouldn't be in this hole. It's not my stubbornness that threatens this family, but yours.”