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‘M ALTA ! D ELO ! You should not be just wandering about. It is nearly time for you to be presented.’ Her mother sounded both exasperated and amused as she added, ‘Delo, I saw your mother just a few moments ago, and she was looking for you over by the fountain. Malta, you come with me!’

They had both taken refuge behind one of the columns by the entrance, and had been spying on the late arrivals to the ball.

Kitten, they agreed, had the finest dress; it was a pity she had not the figure for the neckline she had chosen.

Tritta Redof had a headdress that was far too big for her, but her fan was exquisite.

Krion Trentor had put on weight since he had begun courting Riell Krell, and lost his melancholy poetic face.

How had they ever thought he was handsome?

Roed Caern was as dark and dangerous as ever.

Delo had near swooned at the sight of him, but oddly enough, Malta had caught herself thinking that his shoulders were not nearly as wide as Reyn’s.

Veiled and hooded Rain Wild Folk arrived to mingle with their Bingtown counterparts.

Malta looked in vain for Reyn. ‘How will you know him when he gets here? They all look the same, muffled like that,’ Delo complained.

In a line worthy of the girl she had been last year, Malta sighed back, ‘Oh, I shall know him, never fear. My heart always leaps at the sight of him.’ For a moment Delo had stared at her wide eyed, and then they had both broken down in gales of smothered laughter.

As they whispered and spied, all the spring’s awkwardness between them was forgotten.

Delo had assured Malta that the fabric of her dress was far richer than anything that could be bought nowadays, and that the cut of it suited her tiny waist quite well, while Malta had sworn that Delo did not have thick ankles, and that even if she did, no one could see them tonight anyway.

It was as girlish and gay as she had felt in a long time.

As Malta obediently followed her mother away, she wondered that she had ever wanted to leave such things behind and become a woman.

A screen trellised with flowers provided an alcove for the young women to be presented tonight.

The fathers who would present them and then escort them into the Concourse for the first dance shifted restlessly outside, while within anxious mamas made last minute adjustments to hair and hemlines.

They had drawn lots, and it seemed the hand of fate that she would be presented last. Girl after girl was led away.

Malta felt as if she could not get enough breath.

As Keffria tugged a few stray hairs up and into place, she whispered to Malta, ‘Reyn has not arrived yet. I suppose he was delayed because the Kendry arrived so late. Do you want me to tell Davad to take the first dance with you?’

Malta looked at her mother in horror, but to her shock, Keffria grinned wickedly. ‘I thought that might remind you that there are worse things than having to stand alone during the first dance of your formal presentation.’

‘I shall wait it out and think of Papa,’ Malta assured her.

Her mother’s eyes shimmered suddenly with tears, and then Keffria was tugging at the neck of her gown, saying, ‘Now be calm, keep your head up, mind your skirts’ and ‘Oh, it’s your turn now!

’ The last words came out as a half-sob.

Malta was suddenly blinking away tears of her own.

Half-blinded by them, she stepped from behind the screen, to take her place in the circle of torchlight at the top of the stairs.

‘Malta Vestrit, the daughter of Kyle Haven and Keffria Vestrit, is presented now to the Bingtown Traders and the Rain Wild Traders. Malta Vestrit.’

For a moment, she was angered because they named her by her Trader name.

Did not they think her father was good enough for their company?

Then she accepted it as the Bingtown way.

She would do him proud. He might not be here to extend an arm to her and descend the steps with her, but she would walk as his daughter.

Head up, but eyes cast down, she sank in a slow curtsey to the assembled folk.

As she came back up, she lifted her eyes.

For a moment, the people seemed far too numerous, the stairs too many and too steep.

She thought she might faint and go tumbling down them.

Then she took a deeper breath and began her slow descent to the floor.

Below her on the dance floor, the other girls and their papas awaited her in a half circle.

It was her time, and her moment. She wanted it to last forever, and yet, as she reached the bottom of the stair, she felt grateful.

As she joined the line of young women and their fathers, she lifted her eyes to look about the room.

The folk of Bingtown and the Rain Wild displayed themselves in their finest clothes.

Many were not so prosperous as in years past, and it showed.

Yet they all carried themselves proudly, and smiled at this latest crop of eligible young women.

She did not see Reyn. Soon the music would strike up, and the young girls would be whirled away to it.

She would be left standing alone while they danced.

It fitted so well with all the rest of her life, she thought bitterly. Then the impossible happened.

Things became worse.

On the dais across the room, wedged into a chair between a pale young man and the head of the Bingtown Council sat Davad Restart.

Rather, she devoutly wished he had been sitting.

He had half stood up, to lean across the table and frantically waggle his fingers at her.

In an agony of humiliation, she lifted her hand slightly and waved her fingers at him.

He didn’t stop. Instead, once he was sure she had seen him, he made frantic gestures for her to cross the empty dance floor and come up to the dais.

Malta was dying. She longed to faint, but could not.

The leader of the musicians, who was awaiting the signal from the dais to begin the music, looked puzzled.

At last, she realized she had no other choice.

This nightmarish moment would not be over until she had left the safety of the other young women and their papas and crossed the vast expanse of the empty floor alone and presented herself to Davad to hear his congratulations.

So be it.

She drew a deep breath, took one glance at her grandmother’s shocked white face, and then began her slow crossing of the dance floor.

She would not hurry; that would be even more unseemly.

She kept her head up, and lifted her skirts to allow them to float across the polished floor.

She tried to smile as if this were something she had expected, as if it were a perfectly normal part of her presentation.

She fixed her eyes on Davad and recalled the dead pig stuck in his carriage window.

She managed to keep the smile, despite the roaring in her ears.

Then she was standing before the dais. At that moment, she suddenly realized that the pale young man seated next to Davad must be the Satrap of all Jamaillia.

She had just been humiliated before the Satrap of all Jamaillia and two of his Companions.

The elegant women of the court were looking down at her in tolerant condescension.

Now she would faint. Instead, some sort of instinct took over.

She sank down before the dais in a low curtsey.

Through the blood pounding in her ears, she heard Davad say enthusiastically, ‘This is the young woman I told you about. Malta Vestrit of the Bingtown Traders. Is not she the fairest young blossom you have ever seen?’

Malta could not rise. If she stood now, she would have to look at their faces. Here she crouched, in her pieced-together gown and her made-over slippers and —

‘You did not exaggerate at all, Trader Restart. But why is this sweet flower unaccompanied?’ Jamaillian accent, and a languid tone. The Satrap himself spoke of her.

The leader of the Bingtown Council took pity on her and signalled the musicians.

The tentative opening notes of the music suddenly flowed through the hall.

Behind her, proud fathers escorted their daughters onto the dance floor.

The thought of it suddenly was anger instead of pain.

She came to her feet and lifted her eyes to meet the Satrap’s indulgent stare.

She spoke out clearly in answer to his question.

‘I am alone, Magnadon Satrap, because my father has been taken by pirates. Pirates that your Chalcedean patrol vessels did nothing to stop.’

The other people on the dais gasped. The Satrap dared to smile at her.

‘I see this little one has the spark of spirit to match her beauty,’ he observed.

As a hot flush coloured Malta’s cheeks, he added, ‘And at last I have met one Bingtown Trader who admits that the Chalcedean galleys are simply my patrol vessels.’ One of his Companions chuckled throatily at this cleverness, but the Bingtown Council did not look amused.

Her temper got the better of her. ‘I shall concede that, sir, if you will concede they are ineffective. They have left my family bereft of both our ship and my father.’

The Satrap of all Jamaillia rose to his feet.

He would order her dragged off and killed now, she decided.

Behind her, in the room, the musicians played on and the couples whirled.

She waited for him to summon guards. Instead, he announced, ‘Well, as you blame me for your father’s absence, there is only one way I can rectify this. ’

She could not believe her ears. Could it really be this simple? Ask for it, and get it? Breathlessly, she whispered, ‘You will command your ships to rescue him?’