The girl dropped her onion basket, ran into the house.

Iome tried to calm herself, to forget how the girl’s slight had affected her, made her feel worthless and wretched.

Iome’s father had drifted to sleep in the saddle last night. Iome felt glad of it. King Sylvarresta had fallen from his horse, spent much of the night sobbing. Gaborn now held the King in the saddle in front of him, the way one might hold a child.

The mounts began to tear at the clover, ravenous.

Iome looked about. The cottages here were of stone and wood, with thatch roofs. Flowers and herbs grew from pots beneath windows made of real glass. The few people in Hobtown seemed wealthy enough.

The town occupied a lovely meadow between the oak-covered hills. Bachelor’s buttons and pinks grew wild in the grass, alongside daisies. Fat cattle grazed just outside town. Rich. This town is rich in contentment, Iome thought.

If Gaborn’s fears proved true, Raj Ahten’s army of reinforcements would march through this town today. Something of great value would be lost, a sort of innocence.

Iome looked up, caught Gaborn smiling at her. Yet only a moment before, the girl had put her hand to her mouth in horror at the sight of Iome.

Iome feared she’d never be beautiful again. Yet when Gaborn turned his gaze on her, he made her feel that she’d never lost her glamour.

“How do you do that?” Iome said, grateful for his attention.

“Do what?”

“How do you look at me like that and make me feel beautiful?”

“Let me ask you another question,” Gaborn said. “In Internook, a woman must have flaxen hair to be beautiful, but in Fleeds she must have red hair and freckles. In Mystarria, our people have long admired women with wide hips and pendulous breasts. But here in Heredon, beautiful women must have small, pert breasts and boyish figures.

“All over Rofehavan, women must be pale to be beautiful. But in Deyazz they must be dark and brown. Also in Deyazz, the women wear heavy golden earrings that pull down the ears. But here, such enlarged ears would seem grotesque.

“So I ask you, who is right? Are all these women really beautiful, or are they all ugly, or are they all the same?”

Iome considered. “Perhaps physical beauty is only an illusion,” she said. “And you look beyond the illusion?”

“I do not think beauty is an illusion,” Gaborn said. “It’s just so common, we often don’t see it. It is like these meadows: We as travelers see the flowers, but the townsfolk probably seldom notice how handsome their lands are.”

Iome countered, “But what if our beauty is taken from us, and there is nothing left to see?”