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and not Sulis. Sulis flushed, feeling foolish about her arrogance.
    She glanced up at the Crone. Sulis thought the woman was probably salivating at the thought of getting her hands on one of the desert barbarians and converting her to the landed religion—­possibly getting her to reveal the travel routes that would let them spread the Temple into the desert like a plague. Sulis wished her luck with that. The landed wouldn’t steal desert gold if she had anything to say about it.
    The Crone jotted down some things on the papers in front of her. She asked Sulis questions about her education: writing, reading, and sum-­making. The woman seemed doubtful of her claims. She suppressed a surge of anger that the woman thought her ignorant because she was from the desert. Most desert clans’ children, boys and girls, learned their books early and quickly so that they could be apprenticed for much of their late childhood. The city folk taught only their boys and only from books, so they learned late in life the practical knowledge Sulis had known for a decade. And city girls were taught practically nothing—­no reading, no writing. Many could not even ride well or bargain for their silks.
    The Crone looked horrified when Sulis admitted she could not weave, embroider, or do fine lacework. It didn’t appease her to know that Sulis was good at leatherwork and stitching, and was a good hand around the cook fire.
    â€œWe don’t even have classes on those necessities here,” the woman admitted. “We expect that our girls’ mothers would have instructed their daughters already.”
    Sulis shrugged unapologetically. “I am certain the boys will not have learned needlecraft. What do they do?”
    The Crone sat up very straight. “Men don’t need to learn such work,” she said bluntly.
    Sulis shrugged again. “Then just think of me as a small man,” she said, thinking that their job divisions were very odd.
    After all the questioning was over, and more horror was expressed at Sulis’s ignorance of the fifty prayers and church hierarchy, the Crone called in a rose-­cloaked girl who didn’t look much older than Sulis was. She goggled at Sulis’s brown skin and flame-­colored robes.
    â€œAngelase, find her appropriate clothing and show her to the pledges’ long room while I arrange for her testing,” the Crone told the girl, who bowed respectfully.
    â€œNormally, we would put you in classes with your fellow pledges right away, but your upbringing is unusual, and you will need training in even the basics of what Northern children grow up learning.” The Crone’s voice implied that this was Sulis’s fault. “I will arrange orientation, deportment and scripture classes for the next few weeks, and perhaps by mid-­summer you will be able to join your classmates.”
    Sulis gave her a quick bow, imitating Angelase, and followed the girl out of the room, Djinn on her heels. Angelase led her downstairs to an underground storage region. The area was damp, and Sulis cringed at the sight of cloth stored in racks in the musty earth.
    â€œWhat a terrible way to store cloth,” she said softly. The girl shot her a sharp look.
    â€œHow would you know?” she asked as she rummaged around on the shelves, looking for something in Sulis’s size.
    â€œMy family deals in cloths of all kinds. Dark and dampness can ruin a good silk, and breeds molds and moths that eat holes in the fabric,” Sulis told her.
    Angelase thrust a gray cloak at her and began rummaging on other shelves for personal items. “Well, we don’t deal in silks around here. It’s not proper for the Temple acolytes,” she replied, her tone condescending. “I suppose you wouldn’t know better, being raised a heathen and all. You’ll find that what your kind thinks is proper isn’t accepted here.”
    Her kind? Heathens? Her