Is that really me?“ Kavi asked, a smile touching her lips.

“She certainly looks like you. Don’t you think?”

The girl nodded, her eyes never straying from the stone.

Cresenne continued to look as well. And then it hit her. In the image, Kavi and her children wore light clothing and stood amid flowers and green trees. But the windows of the house were shuttered. There had been a death within the last turn. Kavi’s husband, no doubt.

The gleaner’s eyes flew to the child sitting before her, but Kavi didn’t notice. The image in the stone held her, and the small smile lingered on her face. Cresenne looked into the stone again, hoping, against all she knew to be true, to see a man emerge from the house. None came.

Fool! she railed at herself. This was an image better suited to Kavi’s Fating, four years from now. The girl was far too young to learn of such a dark fate. It would have been so easy to create a vision for her, to give her a handsome man and beautiful children, to put them all in a big house. She conjured such images all the time for children of Determining age-all the gleaners did. Thinking that perhaps it wasn’t too late, the gleaner tried to alter the image. How hard could it be to add a husband to the glowing scene before them?

But the stone would not allow such a thing. Maybe if she had used her magic to create the image in the first place, as she usually did for Determimngs, she could have changed it. Once she summoned the power of the stone, however, Cresenne was helpless to do anything more than watch and hope that Kavi would not notice the closed shutters and the look of loss on her own face.

Finally, mercifully, the image began to fade, retreating into the white glow of the Qiran as if swallowed by a mist. When it was completely gone, Kavi looked up at Cresenne, blinking once or twice.

“I was almost as big as you are,” she said. “I was going to have another baby.”

Cresenne nodded, eyeing the girl closely, searching for any sign that she had noticed. “I saw that.”

Her head spun slightly, and her stomach felt hollow and sour. It occurred to her that she had eaten nothing all morning. The baby kicked once and rolled over lazily.

“Did you see my daughter? She looked just like me.”

“She was quite pretty.”

“Did you see the house?”

Cresenne held herself still. “What about the house?”

“I think someone died. The windows were all closed, the way they are when a person dies.”

The gleaner took a breath, making herself hold the girl’s gaze. “Yes, they were.”

“I didn’t see my husband. Do you think he’s the one who died?”

“I don’t know, Kavi. People shutter their windows for a lot of reasons. Maybe a storm was coming, or maybe you were getting ready to leave your home for a time. And even if they were closed because someone died, that doesn’t mean it was your husband. Sometimes we close windows when the king dies or a duke.”

“I looked sad,” the girl said. “I’m not sure I’d look that sad if the duke died.” She looked down at her hands, as if ashamed of what she had said. “You won’t tell anyone, will you?”

“No. And just between us, I know what you mean.”

Kavi smiled again, though she kept her eyes on her hands. “Do you have a husband?” she asked.

“No, I don’t.”

“Did he die?”

Cresenne nearly laughed, though she felt tears stinging her eyes. Gnnsa wasn’t dead, though she had done her best to have him killed, sending one assassin to keep him from reaching Kentigern Tor after he left the Revel, and then giving his name to the assassin’s partner, who all but vowed to avenge the first man’s death. She didn’t want him dead-in truth, she never had-but she had pledged herself to serving the Weaver long ago, and his desires ruled her own. Even now she searched for Grinsa, not knowing how she could find him without betraying him to the Weaver and thus endangering his life a third time.

“I don’t think he’s dead,” she answered, looking off to the side. “To be honest, I don’t know where he is. We had… a fight, before I knew about the baby, and he left.”

“Does he know about the baby now?”

This conversation had gone on long enough. “That’s not any-”

“If he doesn’t know, you should tell him. It might end your fight.”

Cresenne’s head was beginning to hurt. She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. I need to eat. The baby kicked again, as if agreeing with her.

“Are you all right?” Kavi asked.

“Yes.” The gleaner opened her eyes and made herself smile. “I’m sorry about your Determining, Kavi. I shouldn’t have-” She stopped herself. Most children had no idea that a gleaner could make images appear in the stone. They assumed that like a Fating, a Determining came only from the stone and the god, as this one had. “I wish it had shown something different.”

Kavi shrugged. “That’s all right. Maybe you’re right: maybe it was the king or someone else.”

“Maybe. I hope so.”

She waited for the girl to stand and leave, but Kavi just sat there.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” Cresenne said, “but I have more gleanings to do this morning.”

She nodded, but still she didn’t move. “I’m sorry for what I said about your baby,” she said at last, her hands twisting together in her lap. “I wasn’t trying to be mean.”

“I know,” Cresenne said quietly. “I didn’t think you were.”

“But you think my mother is mean.”

“I don’t know your mother.”

“She’s not,” the girl said, her voice rising. “She’s not mean and she’s not a liar!”

Cresenne felt her anger returning and she almost responded with the first words that came to her mind. But once again her baby moved within her, and the gleaner realized that she would want her child to defend her just as passionately.

“Your mother must be a good woman,” she said instead, choosing her words with care, “if she can raise a daughter like you who loves her so much.”

Kavi eyed her suspiciously. “She is a good woman.”

Cresenne allowed herself a small grin. “I’m willing to say that I was wrong about her before, if you’ll admit that she was wrong about Qirsi babies.”

The girl smiled. “All right.”

“Now go. There are other children waiting.”

“Thank you, gleaner.”

For what? Insulting your mother or revealing your dire fate four years too early? “You’re welcome.”

The child stood and walked to the tent entrance. Cresenne closed her eyes again, resting her head in her hands.

“Are you sure you’re not sick?”

She looked up. Kavi was still there, watching her from the tent opening.

“I’m just hungry. I’ll be fine.”

“Want me to get you some food?”

“No, thank you. I’ll eat later.”

“I don’t mind.”

Cresenne hesitated. It would be hours before she would be able to leave the tent, and the pain in her head was growing worse, settling at the base of her skull.

“Really?”

“Sure. What do you want?”

The gleaner dug into her pocket and pulled out two silvers.

“Anything you can find. There’s a Sanbiri woman on the west end of the commons who sells spiced breads and dried fruit. That would be perfect.”

Kavi took the money, seeming pleased to be able to do something for her, though Cresenne couldn’t imagine why.

“I’ll be back soon.”

“Thank you,” the gleaner said, watching her leave.

She put her hands on her stomach, but the baby had grown still again, one of its feet pressed against the center of Cresenne’s stomach.

As she had so many times in the past few turns, the gleaner found herself thinking of her mother and the time they spent alone together after Cresenne’s father died, traveling with Wethyrn’s Crown Fair. There had been one night in particular when, after a performance in Strempfar, her mother offered to let her join the rest of the Qirsi gleaners and performers when they went to a tavern. Cresenne had just turned fifteen, and was reluctant to go anywhere with her mother, but tempted nonetheless by the thought of spending time with the older Qirsi.