“How are your studies going?” Marianna asked. “I worried you might have forgotten everything you knew, having been isolated up in the camps so long; but I’ve had good reports from the masters.” She sounded mildly surprised.

“Well.” Raisa shifted uncomfortably. You married a clansman, Mama, she thought. Do you remember why? When her parents were together, it seemed like she did. But now her mother sounded like a mouthpiece for Gavan Bayar’s continual digs and slanders.

“I don’t think I suffered for being at Demonai,” Raisa said. “You know the clans are great for reading and storytelling and music and dance,” she said. “Even ciphering. I spent a lot of time working in the markets.”

“Well, I can’t say I approve of that,” Marianna said, frowning. “The future Queen of the Fells, learning to be a shopkeeper?”

“Oh, Mama, I learned so much,” Raisa said. “It’s all about learning to read people, and knowing when to give in and when to stick to a price. You have to be able to judge quality on the fly and decide what your high price is. Plus, you learn to walk away from a bad deal, no matter how much you want something.”

Raisa leaned forward, gripping her skirts, willing her mother to understand how the delicate give and take of trade and negotiation fueled her. How the flicker of an eye or a sheen of sweat on a trader’s upper lip revealed more than he intended. And how letting go of greed and desire allowed her to present an unreadable face in the tough and tumble world of the markets.

The queen listened, fingering the bracelet on her slender wrist, but Raisa could tell she wasn’t in a buying mood. Raisa forced herself to settle back into her chair. “Anyway, it wasn’t a waste of time,” she said lightly.

“I’ll take your word for it,” Marianna said. She paused as Claire carried in a silver tray, set it on the table, and left again. The queen stood. “Well, then,” she said. “Let’s eat, shall we?”

Raisa’s mother seemed to find it easier to say what was on her mind with food between them. “Your sixteenth name day is coming,” she said abruptly as Raisa picked apart her puff-pastry fish pie.

“Is it really? I hadn’t realized,” Raisa said, rolling her eyes. “Magret is going swaybacked carrying in the suitor gifts.”

Her mother smiled. “We expect your debut to attract considerable interest,” she said, in her element now that the discussion was about marriages and parties. “Given the war in the south, the successions are, shall we say, in question. Many southern princes will see marriage to a northern princess as a means of solidifying their position in the south, and also as a kind of refuge in case the worst happens.” She looked directly at Raisa. “We don’t want to fall into that trap.”