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them before the fire. The fashion among the rich families was for the brides to appear as simply arrayed as possible, their hair undone down their backs and their bridal gowns severe and unadorned. Rachel had always thought this made the young girls look likechildren running away from home—but then, as she had told Mary, the Edori did not have bridal customs. Perhaps her opinion was worthless.
    The very affluent had found ways to show off their wealth even under these restrictions. Mary’s dress was made of the finest blue silk, covered with tiny flowers embroidered in matching thread. It had taken nearly a year to make. She had been allowed a single clip to hold her hair back from her face, and this was a silver and sapphire barrette made by the master craftsmen of Luminaux. She wore white gloves on her small hands, each glove encrusted with pearls from fingertip to palm, making it clear that this hand was made to do no labor even as strenuous as lifting a goblet to her mouth.
    While she dressed the girl and made up her face, Rachel told her stories of Edori Gatherings to distract Mary from her growing nervousness. “At day’s end, the clans would gather before the fire, and singers from every tribe would come forward to praise Yovah.”
    “Were there angels at these Gatherings, then?”
    Rachel laughed. “No.”
    “But I thought you could only sing to Jovah at a Gloria, or when an angel came to lead you.”
    “That is what the angels tell you, perhaps, but the Edori have always felt their songs went straight to Yovah’s heart, whether or not an angel was there to guide the notes. Do you want to hear the story or not?”
    “Oh, yes, yes—I’m sorry, go on.”
    “Everyone was invited to sing—solos, duets, whatever. There was a woman from my clan, Naomi, who had gone to live with a man in another clan. We had been very close; we had sung together for years. At every Gathering we saw each other again, and she would teach me a new song she had written while we were traveling apart. And every time we sang together, the Edori cheered.”
    “Are you a singer, then?”
    Rachel was silent a moment. “I used to be,” she said. “I do not feel much like singing in Lord Jethro’s house.”
    Mary’s eyes lifted to Rachel’s. Once again they were working before the mirror, Rachel brushing out Mary’s long hair and preparing to confine a few tendrils in the clip. “I wish you were not a slave,” the lady said.
    Rachel almost laughed. “So do I wish it,” she said.
    “Because then, when my new house is completed, I could offer you a scandalous wage and you could come work for me instead of for Lord Jethro.”
    Rachel gave her a mocking curtsey. “And I would come.”
    “And together we could figure out everything about pigs and candles.” Mary sighed. “And you could do my hair, and I would have one friend in the house.”
    “Well, you will be here another year. I can be your friend that long.”
    But something had occurred to Mary. She bounced in her chair, clapping her small hands together. “I had the best idea!” she exclaimed. “Daniel asked me just the other day, and I had no answer!”
    “What?” Rachel said, amused.
    “What I wanted from him for a wedding gift! I will request you!”
    Rachel merely stared at her in the looking glass. Mary waved her hands impatiently.
    “You. I will say I want him to buy you for me. And then you will be my slave, and I will set you free! And then you
can
come work for me when I have my own house, and I can pay you as much as I want.”
    Rachel found her hands were trembling. She carefully set down the hairbrush and the barrette. “But if I was your slave,” she said, “I would come to your new house anyway, and you would not have to pay me anything.”
    Mary looked shocked. “But I don’t want slaves,” she said. “I would not want anyone in my house who hates me. All my father’s slaves hate him, I know it. I would rather pay someone and know she was