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‘M ALTA, YOU HAVE used too much powder. You look pale as a ghost,’ Keffria rebuked her.

‘I haven’t used any,’ the girl replied listlessly.

She sat in her shift before the mirror, staring into the glass.

Her shoulders were slumped, her hair but half-brushed.

She looked more like a weary serving girl at the end of her day’s work than a Trader’s daughter just an evening away from her presentation at the Summer Ball.

Keffria’s heart went out to her. She had come into her room, expecting to find her daughter primping and sparkling with excitement.

Instead, the girl looked dazed. The summer had been too hard on her.

She wished that somehow she could have spared Malta the drudgery and scrimping.

Above all else, Keffria wished that this ball could have been as they had both imagined it.

Malta was not the only one who had looked forward to this for years.

Keffria, too, had dreamed of the proud moment when her only daughter would walk into the Traders’ Concourse on her father’s arm, to pause in the entry and be announced to the gathered Old Traders.

She had dreamed of an extravagant gown for her daughter, a presentation of fine jewellery to commemorate the occasion.

Instead, she would soon lace Malta into a dress concocted from older gowns.

Her only jewellery would be gifts from Reyn, rather than a woman’s wealth bestowed by her father.

It was neither fitting nor proper, but what else were they to do? It rankled.

She saw her own frown in the mirror over Malta’s shoulder. Self-consciously, she smoothed it from her face. ‘I know you didn’t sleep well last night, but I thought you were going to rest this afternoon. Didn’t you lie down?’

‘I did. I couldn’t sleep.’ Malta leaned closer to the mirror, pinching at her cheeks to try to bring up some colour in them. After an instant, she seemed caught in her own reflection. ‘Mother?’ she asked quietly. ‘Do you ever look at yourself and wonder if there is someone else inside?’

‘What?’ Keffria took up the hairbrush. Under the guise of smoothing Malta’s hair, she felt her skin.

She was not feverish. If anything, her skin seemed too cool.

She lifted the heavy flow of Malta’s hair.

As she began pinning it up, she reminded her, ‘You need to wash the back of your neck. Or is that a bruise?’ She bent closer to look at the pale blue spot.

She brushed at it, and Malta flinched away. ‘Does that hurt?’

‘Not exactly. It buzzes, when you touch it. What is it?’ Malta twisted her head to try to see it in the mirror, but could not.

‘It’s just a greyish-blue spot, about the size of a fingertip. It looks like a bruise. Did you bump yourself, when you fainted on the ship?’

Malta frowned distractedly. ‘Perhaps. Does it show much? Should I powder it?’

Keffria had already dipped her fingers in the talc. With a quick dab, the smudge disappeared. ‘There. No one else will even notice it,’ she said comfortingly. But Malta had already gone back to staring at her face in the mirror.

‘Sometimes I don’t know who I am anymore.

’ Malta spoke quietly, but her voice was apprehensive rather than dreamy.

‘I’m not the silly little girl I was last summer, all in a hurry to grow up.

’ Malta bit her lower lip and shook her head at herself.

‘I’ve tried to be responsible and learn all the things you’ve tried to teach me.

A part of me knows that they are important.

But, in all honesty, I hate the fussing with numbers and the constant juggling of this debt against that one.

That isn’t who I am, either. Sometimes I think of Reyn or another young man, and my heart flutters and I think I could be so happy if I could just have him.

But a few minutes later, that all seems like pretend, like a little girl being mother to her dolls.

Or worse, it seems that I just want the man because he is who I wish I were…

if that makes sense. When I try to think who I really am, all I feel is tired and somewhat sad in a way that doesn’t have tears.

And when I try to sleep and I dream, the dreams seem foreign and distorted.

Then when I wake up, the dreams seem to follow me, and I find myself thinking someone else’s thoughts.

Almost. Does anything like that happen to you? ’

Keffria was at a loss. Malta had never spoken like this before.

She put a falsely bright smile on her face.

‘My dear, you are just nervous, and it is making you have all these odd thoughts. Once we arrive at the Ball, your spirits will rise. This will be quite a Ball, such as Bingtown has never seen.’ She shook her head.

‘Our problems all seem quite small to me when I consider all that is happening in Bingtown. Here we are, blockaded in our own harbour by Chalcedean galleys that claim to be the Satrap’s patrol.

The Satrap himself and most of his entourage are staying with Davad Restart.

The Satrap will be coming to the Ball tonight, with several of his Companions.

That alone will make Bingtown history. Even those who most ardently oppose Jamaillia will be endeavouring to get a moment with him.

Some say we are at the brink of war, but I prefer to believe that the Satrap intends to correct the wrongs done us. Why else would he have come so far?’

‘And brought so many fine Chalcedean galleys and mercenaries?’ Malta added with a skewed smile.

‘I have heard it was to protect himself from pirates on his trip up,’ Keffria told her.

The girl sounded altogether too disillusioned for her years.

Had they done this to her? Had their discipline, lessons, and chores destroyed the selfish flighty girl and replaced her with this weary, cynical young woman? It squeezed her heart to think so.

‘Did they let the other ship come in? The one with the nobles aboard? I heard that the New Traders were quite upset about them being turned back. Many claimed to have relatives aboard.’

‘Not the ship, no, but they allowed the nobles themselves to come ashore in small boats. Many of them were ill, or suffered injuries in their many battles with the pirates on their way here. It was only common mercy to let them come ashore. Besides, as you say, they have kin here, among the New Traders. They are not Chalcedean mercenaries. What harm can they do us?’

Malta shook her head. ‘No more than their relatives have already done, I suppose. After the great panic when all those ships came into the harbour, I expected we would exercise more caution. We spent near the whole day in Bingtown, filling buckets and barrels with water. Not to mention hours standing about with no idea what was happening out on the ships during the confrontation.’

Keffria shook her head in exasperation at the memory. ‘That is because nothing was happening out there. Our ships held a line across the harbour mouth, and the Chalcedean galleys formed up across the sea entrance. I am glad all parties were reasonable and there was no bloodshed.’

‘Mother, there has been no trade since then. Trade is the lifeblood of Bingtown. There is no bloodshed when someone is strangled, but it is murder all the same.’

‘The Chalcedeans let the Kendry into the harbour,’ Keffria pointed out. ‘With your young man aboard.’

‘And they closed up the blockade behind him. Were I the captain of the Kendry, I would not have brought him in. I suspect they only let him through to have one more liveship corralled in the harbour. You know they fear our liveships since Ophelia stood up to their galleys.’ A mirthless light dawned in Malta’s eyes.

Keffria tried again. ‘Davad Restart has promised us that he will see you are personally presented to the Satrap and his Companions. That is a great honour, you know. There are many distinguished matrons in Bingtown who will envy you that. Yet, I suppose you will hardly have eyes for the Satrap, once Reyn arrives. The Khuprus family is always known to distinguish itself in matters of dress. Your young man will probably be resplendent. You will be the envy of every girl at the ball. Most young ladies spend their Presentation Ball dancing with fathers, uncles and cousins, or standing modestly beside mothers and aunts. I know I certainly did.’

‘I would throw both Reyn and the Satrap aside, could I have but one dance with my father,’ Malta observed to herself.

‘I wish there was something I could do to bring him home. Something besides this eternal waiting.’ She sat for a time in utter stillness staring into the mirror.

Suddenly, she drew herself up straight and looked hard at her reflection.

‘I look awful. I have not slept well in weeks; my dreams when I do sleep allow me no rest. I shall not go to my presentation looking like this it is too important an opportunity. May I borrow rouge from you, Mother? And something to make my eyes look brighter?’

‘Of course.’ Keffria’s relief was so intense her head swam.

She knew this Malta. ‘I’ll bring it to you right now, while you finish dressing your hair.

Both of us need to get ready. Davad could not send his coach for us, of course; it will be much too busy, ferrying his grand visitors to the ball.

But between your grandmother and I, we have scraped up enough for a hired coach.

It will be coming soon, and we had best be ready. ’

‘I intend to be ready,’ Malta replied determinedly, but it did not sound as if she were speaking of rouge and dresses.