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For answer, Malta held up the cup. ‘I couldn’t sleep. I made myself some camomile tea.’

‘Did you hear an odd sound, a few moments ago?’

Malta shrugged. ‘Not really. Perhaps the cat knocked something down.’

‘Perhaps not,’ Ronica muttered worriedly. She brushed past Keffria and headed towards the kitchen. Keffria followed her and Malta, cup in hand, trailed after them curiously.

The kitchen was dark save for the glow of the banked fires.

There were the familiar, somehow safe smells of the room: the cook-fire, the yeasty smell of the slow bread put out to rise for the morning’s baking, the lingering aroma of the night’s meat.

Ronica had brought a candle from the den; she crossed the familiar room to the outside door and tugged it open.

Winter cold flowed in, making mist ghosts in the room.

‘Is there anyone there?’ Keffria asked as the candle guttered in the breeze.

‘Not any more,’ her mother replied grimly. She stepped out of the door onto the icy porch. She looked all around, and then stooped down to retrieve something. She came back into the kitchen and shut the door firmly.

‘What is it?’ Keffria and Malta asked together.

Ronica set the candle down on the table. Beside it she placed a small wooden box. She peered at it for a moment, then turned a narrowed gaze on Malta. ‘It’s addressed to Malta.’

‘It is?’ Malta cried in delight. ‘What is it? Who is it from?’ She surged towards the table, her face alight with anticipation. She had always loved surprises.

Her grandmother put a firm hand on top of the box as Malta reached for it. Her denial was plain. ‘What it is,’ Ronica went on in an icy tone, ‘I believe, is a dream-box. It is a traditional Rain Wild courting gift.’

Keffria felt her heart pause inside her. She couldn’t get her breath, but Malta only tugged at the box under her grandmother’s forbidding grip. ‘What’s in it?’ she demanded. ‘Give it to me.’

‘No.’ Ronica’s voice was full of authority. ‘You will come back with us to your grandfather’s study. You have some explaining to do, young woman.’

Ronica scooped up the box and strode from the room.

‘Mother, it’s not fair, it’s addressed to me! Make Grandma give it to me. Mother? Mother!’

Keffria realized she was leaning on the table. She straightened up slowly. ‘Malta. Didn’t you hear what your grandmother just told you? It’s a courting gift! How could this be?’

Malta shrugged elaborately. ‘I don’t know! I don’t even know who it’s from or what’s in it! How can I tell you something about it if Grandma won’t even let me look at it?’

‘Come to the study,’ Keffria instructed her with a sigh. Malta raced off ahead of her. By the time Keffria entered the room, she was already arguing with her grandmother.

‘Can’t I at least look at it? It’s for me, isn’t it?’

‘No. You can’t. Malta, this is serious, far more serious than you seem to understand.

This is a dream-box. And it’s marked with the crest of the Khuprus family.

They are perhaps the most prestigious family of the Rain Wild Traders.

It was not a coincidence that they came to represent all the Rain Wild families at the last gathering.

They are not a family to offend, or to take lightly.

Knowing that, do you still want this box? ’ Ronica held it out to the child.

‘Yes!’ Malta replied indignantly and made a grab for it. Ronica snatched it back.

‘Malta!’ cried Keffria. ‘Don’t be foolish. It’s a courting gift. It must be sent back, but very politely. It must be made clear to them that you are too young to consider any man’s suit. But in a very courteous way.’

‘No, I’m not,’ Malta protested. ‘I’m too young to be promised to a man, yet, but why can’t I consider his suit? Please, Grandma, at least let me see what’s in it!’

‘It’s a dream-box,’ Ronica said brusquely. ‘So it has a dream in it. You don’t open it to see what’s in it, you open it to have the dream.’

‘How can there be a dream in a box?’ Keffria asked.

‘Magic,’ Ronica said brusquely. ‘Rain Wild magic.’

The sudden intake of Malta’s breath betrayed her excitement. ‘Can I have it tonight?’

‘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 had 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 lightly 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 further 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?’

Malta glanced from one to the 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 the 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 the 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?’