my heritage.” Rosanda began to rub at some invisible spot on her palm. “Molin
has forsaken it all. Ranke means nothing to him. He schemes with the Beysib
fish-folk. He turns away from our gods and our customs.” She threw up her hands
suddenly in frustration, and there was a moistness in her eye. “I just couldn’t
stay with him anymore. I still retain my lands and my titles. But I needed to
get away from the Palace and all its intrigues for awhile. You and Lowan Vigeles
are the only relatives I have in this city, so I came here.” She leaned down and
placed a gentle hand on Chenaya’s hair, smoothing it on the pillows. “You and
your father are the best of Rankan society, of all that we hold ideal. I needed
a little of what you have to remind me who I am.”
It was Chenaya’s turn to flush. Perhaps she should have taken time long ago to
get to know her aunt. The old woman might seem air-headed, but there was a
kindness in her that was endearing. “Thank you. Lady,” Chenaya said simply.
Then, she decided to trust Ro-sanda. “I asked Father to find a way to keep you
here a while …”
Rosanda put on a faint, patient smile. “So I wouldn’t talk about Daphne?”
That startled Chenaya. Her aunt was perceptive, too. More and more about Rosanda
surprised her.
“You needn’t worry about that,” her aunt promised. “But the palace walls are
going to shake when word gets out. Are you planning to take her to the Festival
of the Winter Bey?”
Chenaya picked up the orange, peeled it, and took a juicy bite. “Festival?” she
said with barely contained interest. An amusing idea began to form in her head.