Honourable Duchess Hayeel,

  My ambassador. I was surprised that not only do you have a noble name, but so does your mother and sister, and I searched out your mother's records, and her mother also had a noble name. And the records proved that it was not, as mother first thought, a great presumption of a slave to name her daughter thus, but honouring of her forebears. Duchess Taheena was falsely accused of writing a rhyme that flew from the flagpole of her family home during a visit of the collector of taxes. The writing seemed childish, though the subject matter was not. This was at a time of discontent, which had seen the honourable parents of the duchess killed, it was thought, by bandits. Duchess Taheena protested her innocence, but was found guilty. Her lands were handed to the neighbour with the longest adjoining border, as was the unwise process at the time, and the case closed. Thirty years later, when your mother was ten, and your grandmother had just died, a similar rhyme was found hanging not far away. The writing was compared, and deemed to be the same. Your grandmother's neighbour was investigated, and found to have the same handwriting.

  Here, I am at a loss to explain what happened next. For some unknown reason, the policy of the ministry of the interior, on discovery of a miscarriage of justice, is to investigate it, punish the guilty party, and make restitution if the directly affected person still lives. If an indirectly affected person is alive, then action is only taken if they apply to the ministry. Quite how they are supposed to discover in the meantime that the case of their husband, wife, father or mother has been declared unjust I do not know, especially if they are a slave unable to travel.

  But that is the process; the restitution of any miscarriage of justice requires imperial decree, and imperial decree is only automatic in the case of a living victim. The emperor my father was as surprised to learn this as I was. The grand vizier says this has been the way for centuries, except that some fifty years ago one of his predecessors decided that the policy of posting a list once a week of cases determined to be miscarriages of justice that week was a waste of time, since in the five years that there'd been 'a put a pebble in here if you looked at this list' box, the only thing ever found in the box was litter. Personally, I'd have made the list of cases stay there five or ten years. But there is dishonour here, and father will be reviewing the cases. Your grandmother's was the first, and finishing the backlog will take a long time.

  A member of the royal family involving themselves in what ought to be a civil service matter is often portrayed as a type of protectionism, and protectionism and corruption are terrible things, Hayeel, but for my personal peace of mind and sense of justice I have been investigating the cases relating to you. The system has failed you badly, and it only seems right that having been so abused by the system, you benefit from a little protection. Actually you would benefit from a lot of protection if only you were here, my ambassador, but in any case, I have looked into things. I was shocked to understand that you had been made to marry your parents' killer. I was also shocked to discover that any killer could have been named my ambassador. There are people whose task it is to ensure that documents relating to a civil servant being raised to a royal-connected post have been checked. All your documents were checked and you received high marks. Your husband-in-name, however, received only a passing grade, and it was only his language ability that allowed him to be considered. But... none of the papers regarding his demerits for outbursts of anger nor the fact that he had been expelled from the service for the murder of your father and had to reapply from scratch was passed on to the checkers. He should have been on a black-list, restricting him to menial posts out of contact with civilians or high officials, not taking a language course at all. He was not on such a list. Could it have been incompetence? I had hoped to be able to write to you with all details, but the grand-vizier is still investigating. He tells me that there were multiple failings, probably some were corruption, others might have been incompetence. Maybe we'll never know. What I ask myself is, given that it is his sin (and of course his realisation of it and refusal to add further sin to it, the Grace of God be praised) that has (at least by his account — may it be true!) kept you untouched by him or another, should I be pleased that you are in that state, or should I be horrified that you were almost (I pray it was no more than almost) ravaged by that murderer, and that if I had but spoken to you or read your documents myself then things might have been so different. So I ask your forgiveness instead, my ambassador.

  Your late husband-in-name has declared you a virgin, and on the evidence of his letter the emperor my father has annulled your marriage. If that would cause you any inconvenience (e.g. you are respected only as the widow of the late murderer, heaven forbid) you have no responsibility to report that, it is an internal matter unless you choose to publicise it. However, as a virgin duchess of the empire, assigned in an official role, you may not marry without the emperor's consent. Further, a failure to adequately protect your personal honour by a foreign power will be considered an act of that merits a war of devastation, or immediate execution within the empire.

  I include the gold, white and red-black bands of purity, honour and war-threat for your robes of office. In the terrible case that the late murderer lied, then the annulment will be void, and the gold band should be replaced by a black ribbon denoting you as a widow, I hope that you do not need to find such. As a widowed duchess of the empire, you may marry only with the permission of a member of the royal family, the war-threat for insult to your honour remains. I have spoken to my imperial father about what I can write, what I cannot, my ambassador, and I wish letters did not take so long to arrive. So, in case your husband-in-name was totally incompetent, here is your core task, if you can do it. You are to seek to find out under what conditions you or another may be exposed to what I presume is a great royal treasure of the Isles, the Tesk catalyst. There have been some unsavoury rumours which I find impossible to believe of my ancestress, but in any case, take no repugnant action, and merely discover. (If access is somehow granted to you at request or in exchange for some kind of simple gift, feel free to accept and see if it affects you).

  Your other task is to identify any women who match this set of criteria: having sufficient Tesk blood that they might be affected by the Tesk catalyst, be of noble blood, be teachers. You and your sister of course match the first and second criteria, but she does not match the third. Nor does she, being a mother, match the sensitive fourth criteria: she should be a virgin. My ambassador, I would be delighted if this criteria was also true of you. But... I sent you away, as the prophesy told me I should not. I sent you away as the wife of the murderer of your father. Please forgive me.

  There are other criteria, but either you have heard them or you have not, I may not write of them. One more remains I can speak of. If you are immune to the catalyst, you are certainly not the one spoken of, so since uncertainty is not good, I pray that God almighty will enable you to find out soon. If you are not immune, I cannot make promises. We must meet, I must be satisfied there is no other who matches better, and that you match all criteria. And it may be that you hate me for what I have done to you and what the system has done to you, and you would never be willing to sit beside me. It may be that your hopes are set on another. You have not yet received my first letter as I write this, perhaps someone has already won your heart and you will yet become engaged or even married before you will see my instruction to warn them off. I am selfish for us both and for this world. I pray this is not the case unless you know of a better match than yourself. How I long to know! And I long for it to be spring so I can travel to talk to you face to face.

  Guard yourself well, my ambassador, whatever happens you are a high noble of Dahel, a national treasure.

  Your sister and her husband have left Dahel, and (so far) there is no record of their return or present location. They left aboard the ship 'Wanderer' while you were on your journey. More, I do not know.

  I pray that somehow you will receive word of them. I pray a lot concerning you, my ambassador. May God protect you and not get bored of my prayers.

  Crown Prince Salay

  Hayeel looked up at her sister. “Taheela, just so you know, you do not match the criteria of the woman I am to look for. On two counts and a half.”

  “But you do?”

  “All of those the prince reveals to me, but I must continue to look, and... it becomes more complex. There will almost certainly be others with the gift soon. I must beg them all to answer some questions. I must phrase questions that do not give away what answers I seek.”

  “You have to find out if you have any rivals?”

  “Who else can he ask?” Hayeel said, “Who else should he trust?”

  “Hayeel, I don't know how you can be so calm. You ought to be screaming in outrage!”

  “Why? It is a good challenge, I like challenges. It provides certainty, which I also like. And he will come.”

  “Pardon?”

  “The prince writes that he wishes it to be spring so he will come. I do not need to beg him to drop everything to come, it is his firm desire. Do you see this sash?”

  “White is purity, isn't it?” Taheela asked.

  “Gold is purity; white is nobility; red and black are blood and death: war. You don't understand.”

  “No.” Taheela agreed, “I don't understand why he'd send you a sash that says war.”

  “It is a warning to be worn by an unmarried duchess. My honour and purity protect you from death, bloodshed and war. You dare diminish my honour? You fail to protect my purity? Within the empire, capital punishment, outside, war will be the result.”

  “But... you are a widow.” Taheela said, confused.

  “If I were widow, the gold band of purity would be the black of mourning. His imperial majesty has ruled that I am not a widow. My false marriage to our father's murderer is annulled. And look, my sister, at the white band of nobility, hold it to the light.”

  “There are.. sparkles in it,” Taheela said.

  “I noticed that too. My prince has been most sneaky. Most sneaky indeed. This is not the band for any unmarried duchess. These sparkles are not diamonds, but a hint, a hint that diamond might be there in the future. The prince has sent me the bands of a duchess who is being considered as a prospective member of royalty. He prays concerning me and he hopes.”

  “You mean he's as crazy about marrying someone he's never met as you are,” Taheela said.

  “Taheela, our ancestress was accused of flying a rude poem on her flagpole. Condemned to slavery because they guessed it was her. They didn't even check her hand-writing. Be very very careful about what words you use. A word like 'crazy' might easily be taken as negative, even as rude criticism. Enthusiastic is far more neutral.”

  “So I can say the prince is as enthusiastic as my unusually enthusiastic sister, and that's OK?”

  “Almost certainly. But it would be safer to say that from what you've heard, to you he seems that way.”

  “And to you?”

  “Why do you think I'm sitting here with a grin on my face like a five year old with an empty cream pot?”

  “You don't have a grin on your face, Hayeel. You are calm.”

  “I'm afraid my heart might explode with joy if I let my official mask slip.”

  “You're going to be heart-broken if he doesn't choose you, aren't you?”

  “I think he will be too. So I will do my job well.”

  “I don't understand.”

  “It is imperative that I build up a list of women who have noble blood, and Tesk blood, who match a number of other criteria.”

  “Like a slave for a mother?”

  “A parent, anyway, if I can trust my husband-in-name's mutterings.”

  “You said there are criteria I don't match?”

  “See those two sleepy little dumplings in their cots?” Hayeel said.

  “Oh yes! That's an easy one!”

  “Hello Val,” the King of Caneth greeted his old friend.

  “Kilith, I heard you were almost dead.”

  “Not quite though. Esme did well.”

  “Very well. Have you heard about Yalisa inheriting?”

  “Yes. Nothing quite like the enemy dying to make you wonder if it was all worth it.”

  “Twists and turns, Kilith, our God leads us down twists and turns. You've met young Hayeel from Dahel?”

  “Turn up for the books there. Dahel getting involved, I mean.” Kilith said.

  “Are they involved or are they just checking up on us?” Val asked.

  “Oh, a bit of both. You know she's looking for a woman to match a prophecy?”

  “She said, yes.” Val said, “Your Esme said there's a reasonable chance it's her.”

  “Esme?”

  “No, Hayeel.”

  “Hayeel's come looking for herself?” Kilith asked, “Sounds complicated. But at least she sent Teng off with an invitation.”

  “Teng?”

  “Eslind's brother.”

  “Oh! Sorry, missed his name in all the fun.”

  “Crazy scheme they've got on Tesk, academics not allowed to approach directly.”

  “Everything's crazy on Tesk. Did your hear Hal's invited them to the wedding?”

  “No one tells me things. The academics?”

  “Them too, but thirty of their politicians, and thirty hopeful lasses who might end up with the gift.”

  “Throwing away an advantage there,” Kilith said.

  “I think it's quite cunning. He points out that we don't eat babies, or whatever else their mothers have been telling them, and makes it's clear that it's only their suborn proud stupidity that's been depriving them of half their government.”

  “Don't expect many to turn up, that's my advice. And if they do, check for weapons. They don't like nobility.”

  “How did you ever get Eslind off Tesk?”

  “The hardest part was getting her to let me try to woo her. That took an ultimatum. I told her that if she wouldn't even consider me a suitor, then I'd invade and tell everyone she dared me to. After that it was quite easy. I'd ask her for a dance or a walk and she's say 'I'd say yes if only you weren't a king.... I suppose you'll invade if I say no because of that?' I'd laugh and say 'of course'. Then I asked her to marry me. Same reply as normal, and I said, no, I'd go away with a broken heart. And she was very sorry for teasing me.”

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  “What does she say about Esme and Hal?”

  “They're more in love than we were, and she'll tell me to invade any country that stands in their way.”

  “She's a good mother,”

  “She's a good wife too. Pray for her to come to faith, Val.” Kilith asked, obviously exhausted, and closed his eyes.

  Val quietly let him self out of the room.

  “How is he?” Queen Eslind asked.

  “Still in love with you, still hoping you'll come to faith, and exhausted.”

  “I told you not to stay too long.” Eslind said.

  “It was sudden.”

  “No, he just hides it. He's almost as stubborn as me and Tesk.”

  “Do you think any young women will come to the conference?”

  “Check them for weapons if they do.”

  “He said the same. Why?”

  “Old propaganda, repeated enough... The average girl on Tesk is taught by her mother that the royal family of the Isles are rapists and abduct foolish girls for their harem, that the only good noble is a dead noble, and so on.”

  “You don't think it was just your mother being an extremist?”

  “There might have been some not as extreme as her. But it was playground chatter as well.”

  “So... tell me. Do you think that if some of us get on your ship we'll ever come home again?” one girl challenged a sailor when he got to the end of the song he'd been singing while working. She'd almost joined in.

  “Why shouldn't you?” the sailor asked confused, “It's not the storm season yet.”

  “Girls disappear,” she replied.

  “Theeba!” the sailor called to his wife, “want to reassure some of your compatriots?”

  “I'll try,” Theeba replied.

  “You're from here?” the young woman asked.

  “Yes. Then I met this nice man and he taught me faith one visit and checked up on how I was his second visit, and as well as checking up on me he brought me some really pretty shells he'd bound on the beach at Captita the next visit, and the fourth he brought me a necklace, and some matching ear-rings the next visit, and I asked him what he thought he was doing, and he said he was building up courage to ask me to marry him. And I said that was nice, and I hoped it wouldn't take him too long, and the gifts were nice, but actually, food was a bit scarce, and a simple meal or two wouldn't be refused either. Later that day he got my brother to follow us down to his ship and spoke to the captain, and my brother and me went home with a whole barrel of eels. The next day, he came up with his sister who was on the crew too, and talked to dad, respectfully asking what he thought the winter would be like if food was short now, and would it be a weight off dad's mind if I stayed with his sister, while I worked out if I wanted to marry him. I told him he was an idiot, I knew I wanted to already, but he said, no, it was a big decision, and we didn't have to rush. And he did get round to asking eventually, about a month after I'd started asking him daily when he was going to ask me. And we came here for the wedding, in the spring, and the no-one had starved, which had looked pretty likely to me before I left. This was six years ago, when a lot of mums got really thin, you know?” There were nods. “So did I disappear? Or did I just find my brother a job on a ship and my parents a home on the Isles and myself a nice man to keep me warm, and leave my aunts and uncles more land to farm?”

  “So you don't think the problem's that they're gouging us?”

  “Do you know what a barrel of eels costs in Captita? More than here. In Captita the merchants make a profit and king charges a tax on eels. On eels exported to Caneth or Tew, the captain charges double and the export tax is fifty percent on top of that. When we bring eels here, the captain charges a bit more than we pay the fishermen but less than the cost of keeping the ship running, and the export tariff is one percent, which is to say less than the wages of the guy who checks that the eels are up to export standard. Anyone here with relatives in the cloth trade?”

  The first speaker nodded.

  “Did it ever occur to you that you've got a product for nobles but nobles think they're risking their lives to come and visit? I was taught the only good noble is a dead one.”

  “They keep the catalyst to themselves,” someone said.

  “The catalyst is the male line, girl. It's not some magic box. If you want to grow the gift then you're going to need to spend half a day chatting to one of the princes or maybe the king about politics or sailing or the weather or something. Not sticking a knife in him when shaking hands is just plain polite. Personally I'd be happier if they wore a bell round their neck so I could avoid them like the plague; I don't see the attraction of knowing what these sailors are really thinking, I was getting enough of it straight from their mouths, when some old guy came to chat to the captain about something. They used my kitchen. I think it was snowing outside, but that's no excuse. Natter natter natter about this and that for an hour and a half and I suddenly realise I'm getting insightful, you know, hearing unspoken words. I was not amused one bit. Gave them a right piece of my mind, I did. Captain knew what I thought of coming down with a case of the gift. I reckon I ought to get injury pay, but the captain says it's my fault for not recognising his majesty or his name. It's Val, by the way, Val, Hal, Sal: the royal line always have one syllable names ending in al. Helps you run away if you know that. I didn't. So much for our famous education system.”

  “So... you don't...” one of the girls didn't finish her question, not sure quite how to finish it. Theeba didn't need her to.

  “Don't be daft. Strong believers the entire family. They'd rather swim home than commit that sin. And don't forget princess Esme's got the gift. Any of that from you lot and expect her to chuck you in the harbour and tell you to swim home. By the way, all the 'laws should allow people to do what they like as long as it hurts no-one' stuff that shocks your grandmothers is seen as complete rubbish there. Exploitation of the poor is exploitation of the poor no matter how you wrap it up. The last resort is not that you beg or sell yourself, it's that you go ask the palace what you can do so you don't freeze or starve. You might end up cleaning out stables, polishing street-lights or pickling fruit for export, but it'll be what your grandmother called an honest job, and you'll normally have an interview first so they have some idea what you're capable of. I'm just saying this so you know, and if you ever decide to leave this little paradise where starvation seems too close sometimes, you've got better options than here.”

  “My brother says there are massage parlours in Caneth too,” one of the girls said.

  “Yes. And you know what? You can go there and get a massage, and maybe a hot bath or a manicure. And every year people get arrested for demanding more.”

  “You make it sound like a wonderfully safe place to be a woman.”

  “People still get robbed there. I prefer Captita. If you accidentally leave your front door open then the next passer-by will shut it for you. You need to leave a notice on it saying 'I burnt lunch, please leave open' if you don't want that to happen.”

  “Gran says her gran said it used to be like that here,” one girl said.

  “Hold that thought, dwell on it, and listen to an alternative view of history from prince Hal. I expect he'll be doing most of the talking about that, anyway.”

  “Alternative view of history?” another girl asked.

  “Believe it or not, the Isles have a different view to what happened when we left the kingdom, why we banned the monarch from visiting, why the high council refused to even consider debating that decision and so on.”

  “Yes, there used to be a high council, didn't there?” one of the girls mused, puzzled.

  “What do you think the invitation is about girl? A party? An all-expenses paid tourist trip? If you end up with the gift, you're on the high council.”

  The girl who had first spoken nodded. “If we come home with the gift, we will be listening to the thoughts of politicians when they give their votes, listening to the rest of Tesk. Trying to purge the lies from politics. Being brave and bold, unafraid to use our constitutional powers to remove the corrupt, the bribe-taker and the bribe offerer. That's what we ought to be. That's not what the high council became. It became timid, rumours abounded and the high council knew the rumours were false, but at first considered them absurd, and then the lies grew so powerful that they felt powerless to stand against them, even when they found the source. And there is more. Any law passed without the approval of the high council can be struck down, any.”

  “Including the ban on the catalyst, the annulment of titles, the personal liberty laws,” Theeba said.

  “You forgot the biggest one: the Separation Law.”

  Theeba gave a low whistle, “What's your name?”

  “Most people call me Rena,” she said. Theeba heard her thinking her real name was secret. “Well, young woman who wants to be called Rena, and given what you wanted me to understand, I'm not surprised either. You, at least, do not seem to be daft, and know what you're getting into. For what it's worth, Val was about three steps away from me when I ended up insightful. There has to be some distance limit, but I don't know what it is.”

  “Hello, Hayeel, I see you have a new stripy sash.” Esme said.

  “I do. It goes with being a duchess. And Hal recognises it, I see. Well done, my sister didn't.”

  “I always make it a point to learn about danger signs, honourable lady ambassador.”

  “What do you mean, danger signs?” Esme asked.

  “Red and black stripes.” Hal said, “You'd know what they meant on a fly. It's a warning sign.”

  “It means 'don't step on me?'” Esme asked, even more confused.

  “Quite close.” Hayeel said, for Hal's benefit. “Red is the colour of blood, black the colour of death. They are surrounded by white, the colour of nobility and gold, the colour of purity. Step on my honour or trample my purity, and the emperor promises blood and death. Inside the empire it just means that, outside it means the emperor is declaring that he will go to war if, for example, I'm not adequately protected. I think that probably means I need a body-guard when I'm out in the streets, sorry.”

  “Worth knowing, and worth acting on, lady ambassador. Thank you for explaining it. When you say stepping on your honour, what do you mean?”

  “My grandmother was condemned to slavery because they thought she'd written a rude poem about a tax collector — a count — and hung it on the flagpole of her house. It turned out to be a neighbour after her land, but not until she'd died. In Caneth context, that probably means that your newspapers ought to be very careful that what they print about me is true, fair, and not insulting. But I was wondering if you could do me a favour.”

  “I'm hearing thoughts about your prince and the gift, speak on, I'm intrigued.”

  “The prince thinks I'm probably going to turn into the woman of the prophesy as soon as I get to smell the magic box the catalyst is hidden away in, or whatever. But he also wants to be careful... can I try to do an experiment on the candidates, just in case one of them matches the criteria too?”

  “Hello ladies, sorry, young women. As some of you know, since you're staying in spare rooms in my embassy, my name is Hayeel, and I am the ambassador of Crown prince Salay of the Dahel empire. That's not quite the same as a normal ambassador, but some of the same rules apply. Just so you know, this sash I'm wearing is a warning that means that the emperor has decreed that if anyone insults my honour — say by publishing rude comments about me — or fails to protect my personal purity, which is more a warning to men and governments, the result will be war. Scary isn't it? I only got it a week ago, but on the other hand, it's much nicer to be appreciated than thinking you're just disposable, which is roughly what I thought a month or so ago. Along with the sash, and a letter from the prince explaining why my grandmother was reduced from a duchess to a slave, and why it's taken this long to redress the miscarriage of justice, he set me a challenge: to find out as much as I can about the gift, who gets it, what factors might be involved and such like. Because it takes six weeks for letters to get there, he doesn't even know I've actually got it, but still, orders are orders.

  “Hal and Esme don't know much about the gift either. So, I hope you don't mind, they've said I can do a bit of an experiment with you. I'm planning that we'll have assigned seats for the first day's discussions, and then just in case there's a distance-thing involved, I'll move you around so that those who end up in the back for the first day get the front row for the second. I've also got a list of questions I'd like to ask everyone. For the record, every young woman with half-Tesk blood that Hal has spent five hours with has ended up with the gift. His grandmother told him it took longer, so maybe it depends on prince Hal too. We do know that some people don't, no matter how long they spend around the catalyst, and that's what my questions are hoping to find out, among other things. If the other things are relevant to you then you'll be fully informed. Are there any questions coming to mind? How do I have Tesk blood? My father was a trader from Tesk. Anonymity? That'd be really tricky, since I expect most of you are going to end up with the gift. In a certain unlikely set of circumstances, my prince might want to talk to you about a personal matter.

  "Someone wants to know in what sense he's mine. Well, he's my prince in the sense of nationality, also in the sense that you'd maybe address a king as your majesty, it's respectful for his direct employees to refer to him as 'my prince'.

  "Other senses may or may not apply. I'm ignoring a personal question. No, hearing your thoughts is hardly any different to hearing with my ears. I am learning to tune out individuals, which is handy sometimes. No, I don't mean now. I have seen Tesk, in the sense that I was on prince Hal's ship when he invited you here. Someone asked what I thought; as an ambassador, I have to share my private impressions with my prince, but since private impressions can sometimes be a sensitive issue, and since I represent my prince, I try not to share them, just like I don't share what some of you are thinking about your home. Now, I hope I've demonstrated that I hear your thoughts. This has practical purpose. No one except me will hear your response to the questions I ask. Now, would anyone prefer that I ask the questions aloud? Otherwise I'll show you them one by one. Oh! I forgot, do you all know each other? No, OK, does anyone object to everyone sharing names and answers to some get-to-know one another questions I've thought of? No, I'm not asking those sorts of questions.”

  “Why not?” the woman asked.

  “Because in my culture, the topic you thought of might be a thing of shame. You do not make someone share their shame, or anything else that might affect their honour or reputation, just as a getting-to-know each other session.”

  “Thank you.”

  “So, I would like each of us to say our personal names as you are normally known, (but without family name, rank, title or qualification) and where we were born unless that is divisive or might cause embarrassment? No? Good. Then whether your parents are alive, and if one or more is dead, then the cause of death, and other information about your family if you choose. Lastly, an opinion. If all the nations of the world were committed to peace unless provoked, would there be a need for soldiers? I will start, I am Hayeel, I was born just outside Wahleet. Both my parents are dead, father was lashed by a corrupt official and fined more than we could pay because the official had had a bad day. Father died from an infection in his wounds. Mother was administratively a slave, and she was taken to the slave pens to be sold to help pay the fine. Soon afterwards she died from lack of medicine. I have one sister, who is married and if you stay at the embassy you'll taste her cooking, and meet my niece and nephew. I think that I would be nervous with this sash around me if there were no soldiers to protect me, but maybe my guards could be some kind of police instead.”

  “I am Rena, I was born in a village called Resk, just outside the city limits. My father is alive, my mother died in childbirth. My brother died because he found a gold coin and another boy coming down the road behind him saw him pick it up and punched him until he would let it go. He let it go because the boy had broken a rib and it went through his heart. The lawyers for the other boy claimed the coin was his and my brother had attacked him to steal it. There would be a need for soldiers, because sometimes governments need to stop peaceful protests against defence spending with deadly weapons. Sorry, I was just being provocative, if governments always behaved properly, there'd be no need for soldiers.” Hayeel made a mental note of the thought she'd heard, that the other boy had been rich, had connections, and then listened to the other introductions. None of the young women had escaped death somewhere: they'd lost parents or siblings, or both, either to famine or brutality or crime. It painted a terrible picture of life on Tesk if this was normal. But maybe it was just that those who'd suffered were more likely to take this risky step of ignoring the prejudices of their people.

  Rena was the first to come to be questioned too. “Are you always first?” Hayeel asked.

  “No, sometimes I'm last. Never mediocre.”

  “You like to stand out?”

  “In silly things, yes.”

  “Ah, I understand,” Hayeel said.

  “Do you?” Rena asked.

  “You hide the important behind the trivial. Yes, I understand that very well. A defence mechanism. My secret was my mother's status. Father treated her as free, and wanted her to be free, but he could not make her so. If he'd paid for her, she'd have been free automatically, but he inherited her. A legal oddity, foreigners can't own slaves so can't free them, he inherited her, but she was his wife, he didn't want to own her.”

  “And her mother was the duchess?”

  “Yes.”

  “And now you are?” Rena guessed.

  “I am. I did not want to make a point of it, in front of everyone. Tesk has a reputation of not liking noble titles.”

  “Wise. I...”

  “Shhh..” Hayeel said gently. “There will be time later. Let us start on the questions.”

  The question on the first card was 'Was coming your idea or someone else's?' Mine. 'How strongly do you want the gift, how strongly do you fear the changes it might bring in your life?”

  Very strongly, to both. 'So far, after about one and a half or two hours near the catalyst, someone on the way to the gift becomes “insightful “; getting the idea behind a spoken word. Might you be satisfied with that?' No 'As far as we know, women from all (old) ranks of society can have the gift, but we don't know much. Do you have any noble blood?' Yes (I'd be a baroness, but don't tell anyone, secret!) 'Any relatives who are or were slaves?' No. 'What job(s) do you have or have you done?' I studied political sciences, and have a part time job lecturing. Before the last elections, I helped my father who was trying to become a local representative. We had lots of people who said they liked dad and his manifesto, but didn't think he'd be able to make any changes because he was an independent candidate and everyone would ignore him. 'Acquiring the gift of Tesk is known to be age-related; women over thirty-five don't get it, and it may be related to marriage or childbirth. How old are you?' Twenty five.

  'Do you have any children?' no. 'Do you or have you had a husband or regular lover?' no, these are getting a bit personal! 'Are you a virgin?' Yes. Very personal! Hayeel selected a secondary set of cards and let Rena read them, 'You match a high number of the criteria which I was asked to look for. There are other criteria which I believe I know, and others I probably do not know at all. Do you have a living faith in Jesus?' You know that's counted as more personal than asking if I'm a virgin? I think my faith is alive, yes. 'If you do not acquire the gift there is no chance that you match the prince's criteria. The prince still doesn't know I have it — letters take too long — but he writes that he thinks I match all the other criteria. Have you heard of the prophecy of the final kingdom?' Prophecy? No, wait, yes, I read about it once. Shock. “No way!” she burst out aloud. “Me?”

  “Not if I can rely on word of mouth like I said, but we'd still better talk in case the dying man who told me got it wrong.”

  “Hayeel?” Rena asked, [Do you want the prince? I don't; there's someone I'd like to marry. I could throw myself at him and see what happens. Does that disqualify me?]

  “Don't suggest I condone insulting the God I serve, please.”