Why has prayer brought me no peace? Is it my fault for bringing an unsettled heart to your shrine, sweet Zoria?

No answer came. Some days of deep sadness or confusion Utta could al¬most hear the voice of the goddess close as her own heartbeat, but today Perm's daughter seemed far away from her, even the stained glass window without its customary gleam, the birds that surrounded the virgin goddess not flying but only hovering, drab and distressed.

Utta took a breath, turned to the girl in the heavy woolen cloak. "Are you waiting for me?"

The child nodded helplessly, as if she had been caught doing something illicit. After a moment of wide-eyed confusion she reached into her cloak and produced an envelope with the seal of the dowager duchess on it. Utta took it, noting with surprise and sadness that the girl snatched her hand away as soon as the transfer had finished, as though she feared catching an illness.

What is that about? Utta wondered. Am I the subject of evil rumors again? She sighed, but kept it from making a sound. "Does she wish an answer now or shall I send one back later?"

"She… she wants you to read it, then come back with me."

Utta had to repress another sigh. She had much to do-the shrine needed sweeping, for one thing. The great bowl on the roof of the shrine needed filling so the birds could feed, a journey of many steps, and she also had letters to write. One of the other Zorians, the oldest of the castle's sis¬terhood, was ill and almost certainly dying and there were relatives who should be told, on the chance-however unlikely-that they would wish to come see her in the final days. Still, it was impossible to refuse the

duchess, especially in a castle so unsettled by change, when the Zorian shrine had scarcely any protectors left. Hendon Tolly was openly con-temptuous of Utta and the other Zorian sisters, calling them "white ants" and making it clear he thought the shrine took up room in the residence that could be better employed housing some of his kin and hangers on. No, Utta needed Merolanna's continued goodwill: she was one of the lew allies the sisterhood still retained.

Then again, perhaps the duchess was ill herself. Utta felt a clutch of worry. For all they were different, she liked the woman, and there were few enough among the castle folk these days with whom she felt anything in common.

"Of course I will come," Utta told the girl. She opened the letter and saw that it said nothing much more than the maid had suggested, except for a curious coda in the duchess' slightly shaky hand, "if you have a pair of specktakle glasses, bring them."

Utta did not, so she waved the girl toward the door of the shrine and followed her, but she could not help wondering what the duchess wanted of her that would require such a thing: Merolanna was an educated woman and could read and write perfectly well.

As she followed the girl Eilis through the nearly empty halls Utta could not help noticing how the interior of the residence seemed to mirror the weather outside. Half the torches were unlit and a dim gray murk seemed to have fallen over the corridors. Even the sounds of voices behind doors were muffled as though by a thick fog. The few people she passed, servants mostly, seemed pale and silent as ghosts.

Is it the fairy folk across the river? It has been a full month now and they have done nothing, but it is hard not to think of them every night. Is it the twins disap¬pearing? Or is there something more-may the White Daughter protect us always- something deeper, that has made this place as cold and lonely as a deserted seashore?

When they reached the duchess' chambers, Eilis left Utta standing in the middle of the front room surrounded by a largely silent group of gentle¬women and servants, most of them sewing, while she went and knocked on the inner chamber door.

"Sor Utta is here, Your Grace."

"Ah." Merolanna's voice was faint but firm. Utta felt a little better: if the dowager duchess was ill, she did not sound it. "Send her in. You stay out¬side with the others, child."

Utta was surprised to find the duchess fully dressed, her hair done and

her face powdered, looking in all ways prepared for any stale 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, beauti¬ful 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 per¬mit 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 yon?"

"No, Duchess. I cannot imagine a person who would never be angry al 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.

Utta squinted. "It has no beginning or ending. Is there more?"

"There must be, but this is all I have. That is Olin's handwriting-the king. I believe it must be the letter that came to Kendrick just before the poor boy was murdered."

"And you wish me to read it?"

"In a moment. First you must understand why… why I doubt my senses. That page, that one page, simply… appeared in my room this morning."

"Do you mean someone left it for you? Put it under your door?"

"No, that is not what I mean. I mean it… appeared. While I sat in the other room with my ladies and Eilis, talking about the morning's service in the chapel."

"Appeared while you were at the service?"

"No, while I sat in the other room! Gods, woman, I do not think so lit¬tle of my own wit that I would believe myself mad because someone left me a letter. We came back from the service. It was the new priest, that peevish-looking fellow. As you know, the Tollys drove my dear Timoid away." Her voice was as bitter as gall.