Genevieve gritted her teeth. “I’ll try to get to know you better, but I beg you, don’t call me Marchioness. I did nothing to earn the title save be born to it. I would as soon never have had it since it brought me to the notice of the Prince. I did everything I could to escape the Prince while remaining true to a vow I made my mother, long ago.”
The woman’s voice softened. “So it seems.”
“Then you know a great deal more than you did last night!”
“Ah, well, we made detailed inquiries during the night. All the bloodshed took place three days ago, but Mahahm-qum returned to peace promptly. The thrice yearly Time-of-Renewal was upon them, four days of ritual and mystery, and when that time comes, calm must prevail. On the third day, today, the Shah himself goes out into the desert, and he could not do so if there were unrest. If he did not go, the hopes and dreams of those close to him would wither, resulting in a loss of support, which would dismay as nothing else does.” Her mouth twisted, as though she wanted to spit. “Even as we speak, the Shah is welcoming the aspirants whom he will lead into the desert with the candidates. While he does so, the city holds its breath, waiting.”
“I’m missing all the fun?” said Genevieve, watching her informant through narrowed eyes.
“Ha,” the woman barked. “Fun of the Shah’s sort? Yes. And be everlastingly grateful for that.”
“Are you going to tell me what all this is about?”
“You don’t know what it’s about?”
“How could I?”
“I have no way of knowing what you know or don’t know, not yet. In any case, we can do better than tell you. Today, you will see for yourself.”
“We’re going back to the city?” she asked, dismayed despite herself. Her body still ached from the struggle to gain this refuge.
“Not to the city, no, and you won’t have to walk.” The woman stood and came to peer into Genevieve’s face. “You’re still weak, your face is burned, your lips are raw. Walking on deep sand is difficult and exhausting. You probably ache.”
“I do, yes.”
“Well, take comfort. Today will require little physical strain.” She returned to the bundle and took it up, delivering it into Genevieve’s hands. “I’m returning your soft robe. The stuff you spilled down your front wouldn’t have killed you, but if you’d drunk it, you wouldn’t have had the wits to escape. We know that drug; the soporific effect lasts for days. Now, put it on. There’s a new pair of sandals inside. We’re expected at breakfast.”
“My hair.” Genevieve tugged at a recalcitrant snarl with fruitless tenacity. “I was too sleepy to braid it.”
Suddenly Melanie smiled, like a sunrise. “Sit quiet. I used to do it for my own daughters, let me do it for you.”
She was a generation older than Genevieve, as old as Genevieve’s mother might have been. Her hands were gentle as she worked out the tangles, humming to herself as she did so. It was this familiar sound that made Genevieve realize why the woman seemed familiar to her.
“You sound like my mother,” she cried, aware all at once of what had escaped her until that moment. “You almost have my nose! The family nose, my mother’s! And Lyndafal’s!”
“When you come to breakfast you will see that many of us have Stephanie’s nose, and Tenopia’s, though most of ours are not as impressive as yours. We, too, are descended from that line.”
“Are there many of Tenopia’s descendants here?”
“Some, but most of her descendants are in Haven.”
“Queen Stephanie was descended from Tenopia?”
“She was a direct descendant. She and some of the other daughters and granddaughters were appointed by Tenopia to go into Haven.”
“Do your people all have visions, too?”
“Almost none of us have them, no, and we don’t call them visions. We call them extrapolations, connections, implications, likelihoods.” She began to braid Genevieve’s hair, humming once more, fingers moving swiftly. There is nothing supernatural about them, vivid though they are, and some of our visionaries have them to a greater or lesser degree. I take it you see things clearly?”