Mother Pip was there, singlebodied, in a white shift like Fift’s, zir skin a deep forest green. Ze had stubby fingers that were usually relaxed, but right now they were tugging on zir thumb: tug, tug, tug. Ze had powerful, searching eyes that looked deep into you, white and gold and black. They were blazing. Fift wasn’t sure, but ze thought maybe Mother Pip was furious.

Fathers Miskisk and Nupolo and Frill and Squell were there, too. Nupolo was glaring. Squell was holding vir hands over vir mouth. Frill was throwing up vir hands in exasperation.

Father Miskisk was shouting. And pointing at Mother Pip. “It’s always Pip! Ze’s the Mother, ze guards our ratings, ze decides where we’ll live and when little Fift has to—has to—”

“Will you calm down, Misky?” Frill said. “Pip’s not going to be Mother twice over—even ze knows that would be too much! It will be Nupolo or Arevio, or Thurm if ve’d agree to it, or—well—” Ve tugged at one of the knives on vir sash as if waiting for someone to say “or Frill,” but no one did.

“If I may—” Pip began.

“Why are we talking about this?” Nupolo said. “On Fift’s big day? There’s no rush here. Ze’s not even five—”

Squell looked up, then, and saw Fift in the doorway. In the little atrium, where Frill had finished oiling zir last scalp and was rubbing vir hands with a towel, Squell said, “Come away from there, Fift. Come back in here, please.”

“This is the age when it matters!” Miskisk roared, tears streaming down vir face. “And what makes you think it will ever change? None of you will ever dare struggle with Pip over the maternity, and none of you have the strength to watch Fift be supplanted!”

Pip’s mouth tightened into a line.

“Fift,” Squell said, in the little atrium.

“Oh, for Kumru’s sake, Squell,” Frill said, in the little atrium, “just get zir out of there. Do I have to do it?”

Fift came out of the supper garden and into the hallway. Ze hesitated. Father Squell wanted zir to come back to the atrium, but ze looked down the hall at zirself, standing at the door to the main anteroom . . .

Miskisk was crying. Zir Vail Fathers cried all the time, but this was different. Vir limbs had loosened with sorrow and hopelessness; ve looked as if ve were going to collapse.

A chill raced down from Fift’s necks and settled in zir stomachs. Ze headed down the hall towards zir body watching Father Miskisk.

“It’s true!” Miskisk cried. “You’re too cowardly and too comfortable! You’d rather ze end up sisterless than endure the discomfort of zir supplanting!”

Sisterless was a bad word; Fift knew that much.