Utta was surprised to find the duchess fully dressed, her hair done and her face powdered, looking in all ways prepared for any state occasion, but seated on the edge of her bed like a despondent child. Merolanna held a piece of paper in her hand, and she waved it distractedly, gesturing toward a chair high and wide enough to hold a woman wearing a voluminous court dress. Utta sat down. Because she wore only her simple robes, the seat stretched away on either side, so that she felt a bit like a single pea rolling in a wide bowl. “How may I help you, Your Grace?”

Merolanna waggled the piece of paper again, this time as if to drive away some annoying insect. “I think I am going mad, Sister. Well, perhaps not mad, but I do not know whether I am upside down or right side up.”

“Your Grace?”

“Did you bring your reading spectacles?”

“I do not use such things, ma’am. I get along well enough, although my eyes are not what they were…”

“I can scarcely read without mine—Chaven made them for me, beautiful spectacle-lenses in a gold wire frame. But I lost them, curse it, and he’s gone.” She looked around the bedchamber in mingled outrage and misery, as though Chaven had disappeared on purpose, just to leave her half-blind.

“Do you want me to read something to you?”

“To yourself—but quietly! Come sit next to me. I already muddled it out, even without my spectacles, but I want to see if you read the same words.” Merolanna patted the bed.

Utta herself did not wear scents, not because the Sisterhood didn’t permit her to, but out of personal preference, and she found Merolanna’s sweet, powdery smell a little disconcerting, not to mention almost strong enough to make her sneeze. She composed herself with her hands on her lap and tried not to breathe too deeply.

“This!” Merolanna said, waving the piece of paper again. “I don’t know if I’m going mad, as I’m sure I already said. The whole world is topsy-turvy and has been for months! It almost feels like the end of the world.”

“Surely the gods will bring us through safely, my lady.”

“Perhaps, but they’re not doing much to help so far. Asleep, perhaps, or simply gone away.” Merolanna laughed, short and sharp. “Do I shock you?”

“No, Duchess. I cannot imagine a person who would never be angry at the gods or full of doubt in days like these. We have all—and especially you—lost too many that we love, and seen too many frightening things.”

“Exactly.” Merolanna hissed out a breath like someone who has waited a long time to hear such words. “Do I seem mad?”

“Not at all, my lady.”

“Then perhaps there is some explanation for this.” She handed Utta the piece of paper. It was a page of a letter, written in a careful and narrow hand, the letters set close as though the paper itself was precious and none of it was to be wasted.