Grag was already grinning widely.

She ignored him and turned to Reyn. “I must beg your pardon that I ask you to share your garments with my son. It seems the best way to preserve the masquerade.”

Reyn laughed self-deprecatingly. “I assure you, in my nervousness about the ball, I have probably brought enough garments to well clothe half a dozen young men.”

“And I, for one, am looking forward to both the elegance and the mystery of being a Rain Wild son at the Bingtown Summer Ball,” Grag chimed in. He held up the veil and peered around the corner of it at his mother.

She looked dismayed. “Be serious, Grag. Stay at home, here, where you are safe. Reyn, of course, must go, as must your sisters and I. But-”

“It would look decidedly odd for me to have come all the way from the Rain Wilds and then not attend the ball,” Grag pointed out.

“Especially as we have announced him as my cousin,” Reyn agreed.

“Could not we say he was taken ill?” Naria Tenira pleaded.

“Then surely it would be expected that someone would stay with me here. No, Mother, I think the least attention will be paid to me if I continue to play my role as expected. Besides. Do you think I could resist the chance to see the Satrap face-to-face?”

“Grag, I beg you, none of your wildness tonight. You shall go, then, as you seem so set on it. But I beg you, do not be tempted to do anything to call attention to yourself.” She fixed him with a grave stare. “Remember, the trouble you bring down may fall upon others besides yourself. Your sisters, for instance.”

“I'll behave like a very gentlemanly Rain Wilder, Mother. I promise. But if we are not to be late, we must all make haste now to get ready.”

“Your sisters were ready long ago,” Naria admitted wearily. “They have only been waiting for me, not that it takes long for an old woman like myself to dress. I do not pay as much attention to primp and powder as they do.”

Grag leaned back in his chair with a soft snort of disbelief. “That means that we have plenty of time to eat, bathe and dress, Reyn. No woman in my family can be ready to do anything in less than half a watch.”

“We shall see,” Reyn told him pleasantly. “You may find that attiring yourself as a Rain Wilder takes longer than you think. A Rain Wild man seldom uses a valet or body servant. It is not our way. And you must practice, at least a bit, how to sip a glass of wine through a veil. Put it on. I'll show you now, so my 'cousin' doesn't disgrace me at the ball this evening.”

THE INSIDE OF THE HIRED COACH SMELLED LIKE STALE WINE. HER mother had insisted on inspecting the seats before she had allowed Malta to sit down on them. Her grandmother had insisted on inspecting the coachman before she allowed him to drive them. Malta had felt impatient with both of them. The excitement of her presentation had finally sparked her. Despite the hired coach and her made-over dress, her heart was beating faster than the rattling of the horse's hooves.

The Traders' Concourse had been transformed. Scores of tiny lanterns had been set out in the gardens and ground surrounding it. In the late summer evening, they seemed reflections of the stars in the clear sky. Arches erected over the walks were garlanded with greenery. Pots of sweet-scented night-blooming flowers, imported from the Rain Wild, added their eerily glowing blooms to the colors of the walkways. All this Malta glimpsed from the window. It was so hard to resist the urge to hang her head out the window like a child. Their hired coach joined a line of carriages and coaches. As each reached the steps before the main entrance, it paused and footmen opened the doors and handed down the ladies. Malta turned to her mother. “Do I look all right?” she asked anxiously.

Before Keffria could answer, Malta's grandmother replied quietly, “You are the loveliest thing to grace this gathering since your mother was presented.”

The most shocking thing was not that she had said it with such sincerity. What amazed Malta was that, at that instant, she believed it, too. She held her head a notch higher and waited for her coach's turn.

When the footman opened the door at last, her grandmother descended first, followed by her mother. Then they stood to either side, as if they were already presenting her, whilst the footman helped her step down from the coach. She stood between them, and then little Selden, groomed and scrubbed, came out to offer his grandmother his arm. She took it with a smile.

The night was suddenly a mystical and magical place. Little glass cups in different hues held candles that edged the steps to the entrance. Other families clad in their best and bearing their symbolic offerings to the Rain Wild Traders were making their way into the hall. Keffria, as Trader for the Vestrit family, carried their offering. It was a simple tray of carved wood, one that Grandfather had brought back from the Spice Isles long ago. On it were six little pots of homemade preserves. Malta knew that the gifts were largely symbolic, gestures of remembered bonds and kinship. Even so, she could remember when the gift had been lengths of rainbow hued silk so heavy that Papa had had to help Grandfather carry them. It did not matter, she told herself stoutly.