“You can’t have any friends, can you?” she blurted.
Cha-bos went solemn and shook her head in a slow arc, but the mem- brane flicked back and she blinked. “Vanda. She takes care of me.”
Vanda was a name Illyra recognized from before. An Ilsigi girl who had somehow gotten herself made nursemaid to the polyglot menagerie of the palace nursery. Illyra had not seen her since Arton had been sent away and had, for no good reason, assumed the young woman had been swallowed back into the city.
“Is Vanda still here?”
“Course she’s here. I need her.”
Cha-bos’s faith in Vanda was as strong as her gut-level certainty that the world-in the proper order of things-revolved around her personal needs. She was willing to lead Illyra through the palatial maze to an interior chamber which by its chaotic condition and the size of its beds had to be the current location of the the nursery.
Vanda sat with her needle and thread amid heaps of children’s ravaged clothing. Her face glowed with genuine welcome when Cha-bos an- nounced herself but cooled and became mature when she saw Illyra.
“It’s been a long time,” she explained, shaking the mending from her lap and bowing slightly-as was proper in the presence of one who was the mother of a potential god. “Fare you well?”
Illyra nodded and was at a loss for words, wondering what she had hoped to accomplish by visiting. “Well enough,” she stammered politely.
Living with children had preserved some of Vanda’s audacity and forth rightness. “What brings you here?” she asked, taking up the mend- ing again.