The family was seated in the banquet hall. The board was already laden with an array of food; the sight and scent were almost dizzying to Mhera, used as she was now to bread, potatoes and boiled vegetables for every repast. A long line of servants, some with markes stark upon their cheeks, stood ready to wait upon the royal family.

Mhera's parents rose to greet her with brisk embraces, and Mhera kissed each of them on the cheek with a sinking heart. How could it be that each reunion with her parents left her feeling so disappointed, so unfulfilled? Even after seven long years, she had nurtured a feeble hope—a longing to suddenly feel some deep connection with those who had made her. Yet their faces were nearly unknown to her. She looked around the room, hoping to see her governess, Madam Gella, but of course the woman was not present.

"Daughter," Joris said, clasping her shoulder. "You are looking so well. How good that the abbess could release you from your service in time for us to reunite, however briefly."

"Thank you, Father," Mhera said. To her own ears her tone was flat and ungrateful, but Joris did not seem even to notice. She thought, If he can say I look well in these widow's weeds, he knows me not at all.

"I trust you are making progress at the Haven?" Mhera's mother asked, studying her daughter with a small frown. Her eyes flicked down to Mhera's wet braid and the damp breast of her robe and back up again at her plain, pale face. Mharin had never managed to look pleased with her child, so her thinly-veiled disappointment did not faze Mhera.

"I am. I have come to understand the Sight better than before, at the least, although I do not think I shall ever understand it fully."

"As I told you before, Sister, Mhera has served the realm with this gift," the emperor said. He smiled fondly at Mhera as he took his place at the head of the table. "It was a vision of hers that led us to capture the woman they call the rebel queen. Justice will be served."

Mharin gave her daughter an awkward smile and patted her cheek. She said, "I see. I am sure you must stay very busy there. Well—come, dear."

Breaking away from a conversation Mhera suspected was equally uncomfortable for them both, Mharin glided to her place at the table. Joris pulled out a high-backed chair and Mharin folded herself smoothly into her seat.

The meal was a symphony of appealing scents, tastes, and sights. It was a feast fit to welcome back the emperor's sister, his favored ambassador, and his young niece. But the food was too rich for Mhera. She took small portions. After a few bites, she began to feel ill, and she turned her attention instead to a fragrant floral tea.

She let her family's conversation flood over her. There was little she could contribute, having been absent for so long, and of course Joris and Mharin came home laden with a dozen stories from their travels and triumphs. Then there was talk of her cousins' progress in their studies and their myriad accomplishments, none of which was especially interesting to her now.

Mhera watched her cousins from under her lashes, letting the steam from her tea warm her cheeks. They were so changed in the years that had passed she might not have recognized them. Koren, stabbing chunks of meat with his knife and talking over his brother, had grown broader and stronger than ever, if it were possible. He had always had a love of the more active pursuits such as swordplay, archery and riding, which showed in his physique. He made frequent ventures into conversation with his father; his ambition to succeed Korvan as emperor was clear. At his side was his beautiful young wife, Princess Liara, whose gentle personality was so overshadowed by Koren's that she hardly seemed to be there at all.

Kaori, mild-mannered as always, ventured into polite conversation with Mhera. "How do you fare at the Haven, Cousin?"

"Well enough," Mhera replied. She smiled, but tried through her tone to discourage the line of conversation.

And Kaori, a sensitive man, smiled back at her. "I'm glad to hear it. Things here go smoothly also—not everything is focused on the war. Why, just the other day I spoke with our lorekeeper about a new trove of documents he has discovered. Did you know that, a few hundred years ago, our very own ancestor, Emperor Selius, invented the game of cross-the-sea? It's a fascinating story. He was inspired when he took a journey to Tyrria near the start of his reign ..."

Mhera was content to listen as Kaori spoke, grateful that he had taken her meaning and did not press her about her own life. His expressive features told half the story; now and then, he tapped the table with a finger to make a point. The second prince had not yet married, but apparently spent his time studying history and politics—both obscure, like the history of a game Mhera had once loved, and more useful, as was revealed when he shifted into a discussion of modern-day Penrua's relationship with the kingdom of Tyrria. He seemed to have endless resources for conversation; it was a great relief to Mhera that she had hardly to say anything at all as the night wore on.

Lulled by the low cadence of Kaori's voice and exhausted by her journey and the emotional burden of the day, Mhera felt herself growing sleepy. The scent of her tea wafted out of her cup, soothing her. She felt herself sinking ... sinking ...

The sound of her delicate teacup shattering on the floor startled Mhera awake. Hot tea spilled over her sleeve and the skirt of her habit. Almost before she was aware of what was happening, a pair of servants in red skirts and white tunics appeared at her side. One carried a small tray, the other a cloth, and together they dried the table and floor and brushed the shards of the teacup onto the tray to be whisked away.

"I'm sorry," Mhera stammered. "I must be more tired than I thought." She felt her mother's shrewd eyes upon her.

"Best you go and rest, then, my dear," said the princess.

"For the sake of the teacups." Koren's smile was mocking.

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence. Korvan looked sharply at Koren. Then he said, "We bid you good night, Mhera. Your journey has no doubt exhausted you. We shall look for you at breakfast, refreshed from a good night's sleep."

Mhera rose. She bowed to the emperor—a gesture more befitting her station as a Daughter of Zanara than a curtsy, or so she hoped. "Thank you, Your Grace." She cast a glance and a hint of a smile in Kaori's direction, but left without a word to the others.

Heartsick and unmoored, Mhera struggled against tears as she walked toward her chamber. There was small comfort in knowing that the emperor had welcomed her home. She had grown apart from this place, and the added complication of her parents' presence had the same effect as always of making her feel inadequate and confused.

As she did her best to sort through her jumbled thoughts, Mhera noticed a familiar figure coming down the stairway toward her: a woman clad in black, holding a smaller figure by the hand. Mhera stopped and drew an astonished breath.

"Madam Gella?"

"Lady Mhera!"

Mhera rushed down the hall to meet her former governess, overwhelmed with the love and gratitude she had, to her discredit, seldom felt in her youth for the woman. Seeing Gella's face was like being transported back to her childhood. Although years had passed, Gella hardly looked older than she had in Mhera's memory. The young woman reached out to take Gella's hand, raising it and kissing the knuckles.

Gella looked both pleased and embarrassed. "My dear lady, it is good to see you," she said. "Please meet His Highness, Prince Kochan."

Mhera looked down at the child. Even as small and young as he was, she could tell the boy was Koren's; he was stout and had a familiar set to his mouth. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Your Highness," she said. "I am your father's cousin."

"You look like a ode person," the child pronounced, frowning at Mhera's plain clothes. "Like Noose Gella."

Mhera laughed, relieved enough to see Gella's friendly face that she could find humor in this. She looked at the old woman, indicating her garments with a gesture. "Well, His Highness is right: the habit is not flattering, and I suppose it is not meant to be. You look well, madam."

"I am a nurse now," Gella said, "until one of the princes has a daughter. Ah, boys are a trial, my dear! I thought you were a terror, but you must forgive me. I did not know what awaited me. And you, Lady Mhera. You look ... changed."

Mhera nodded. "Yes. It's Sister Mhera now," she said, feeling the gulf of time open up between them. "And will be forever soon."

Gella met her gaze, and they stood there for a moment in silence, acknowledging their shared past, their separate futures, their mutual affection. Gella said, "Forgive me, my lady—Sister—but I am due in the dining hall. His Highness Prince Koren asked me to bring the young prince for you to meet. I see you are retiring, but he will expect me regardless."

"Well then, I shall bid you good night, Your Highness," Mhera said to the boy. To Gella, she continued, "Perhaps we can find time. Time to talk."

Gella smiled. "I would like that, Sister Mhera. Good night."