“That’s the envy that every Rain Wild woman has for a pregnant woman. It doesn’t mean they think I’m beautiful.” She put her hands on the vanity table and pushed herself to her feet. As always, the sight of her belly in a mirror startled her. She set her narrow, long-fingered hands on the bulge and stared. Becoming an Elderling had elongated so many of her body parts; her hands, her fingers, the long bones of her arms and legs—now this round bump in the middle of her frame seemed startling. “I look as if I swallowed a melon,” she said to herself.

Reyn looked over her shoulder into the mirror. “No. You look as if you carry our child within you.” He slid his hands down to just beneath the curve of their child and cradled it. The nails of his hands were a midnight blue, contrasting sharply with the soft white tunic she wore. He kissed the side of her face. “There are times when I still cannot believe in my good fortune. All we went through, all the times we nearly lost each other, and now, soon, we will have—”

“Hush!” she cautioned him. “Don’t speak it aloud. Not yet. We have been disappointed too many times.”

“But this time, I’m sure, all will be well. Never before have you managed to carry a child this long. You’ve felt him move, I’ve seen him move! He’s alive. And soon he will be where we can see him.”

“And if ‘he’ is a girl?”

“I promise you, I will be just as content.”

They felt the branch that supported the small house give to someone’s tread. There came a tap at the door. They moved apart reluctantly, Malta resuming her seat before her mirror and Reyn moving swiftly to the door. “Yes?”

“Please, sir, I’ve news!” a breathless and boyish voice responded.

“News of what?” Reyn opened the door wider. The lad on the doorstep was no runner. His clothes were ragged and he was thin. He looked up at Reyn hopefully. Tattoos marred both his cheeks.

“Please, sir, I heard at the trunk market that someone named Malta Elderling would want to know about the ship what’s come in. That she might pay a penny for such news.”

“What news? What ship?”

The boy hesitated until Reyn groped in his belt purse and held up a coin.

“Tarman, sir. That boat what went out with the dragons. It’s back.”

Malta lurched to her feet as Reyn slid the flimsy door open. Rain from high above pattered down in stray droplets, but the runner who still stood outside was soaked with it. “Come in,” Reyn invited him, and he stepped gratefully into the chamber and over to the firepot on its baked-clay hearth. He warmed his hands, his clothes dripping water onto the rough plank floor.

“What of the dragons?” Malta demanded.