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place.
    “As is often the case,” Chayin said from somewhere before me, “Hael was right. When that chald is cut from you, you will be very lovely. Lace the flap.” I turned and did so, the laces and holes slowly detaching themselves from the grainy dark as my vision cleared and sharpened. When that afraid is cut from you, he had said.
    “Do not take my chald from me.” I faced him, my back against the laced flap, my hands clenched behind me.
    “Crells do not wear chalds. It lessens their beauty, their usefulness, their humility. It slows their adjustment. What use is a chald without meaning? Come here.”
    I went to him, where he lounged with his back against the middle stanchion. I remembered, as I knelt before him, not to meet his gaze.
    “Crells do not wear chalds,” he repeated, his hands taking up the hair over my breast and gently brushing it back, that he might see me better.
    “Then I will remove it if you wish.” I would not have my chald defaced.
    “Do so.” he commanded.
    I put my hands to my chald, running the strands through my fingers. I found the juncture, took the tiny key from , its housing, and fitted the key in the lock. The ends parted. I took my eighteen-strand chald in my palms and looked at it. I saw the silver chain with white interwoven, that of Well Astria. I saw the red, due for changing, of the chaldra of the mother. I saw the bronze of birthing, unfulfilled. I saw my chains of patronage; to the Day-Keepers and the Slayers and the gol-masters, I closed my fists in upon my platinum deep-reader’s chain, and that of Astria’s dependent city, Port Astrin. My eyes swam with tears. I could not see my clenched fists, but still I saw the strands of my chald. I saw the six brass mixed, of my schooling, and that of the singers of titrium and iron, and that of the musicians, of copper and bronze, and the green stra metal of the threx breeders, and the Well-Keepress’ chain, of white gold set with white-fire gems. That one had been mine when I was born. The others, I had spent three hundred and two years acquiring. What is a Silistran, without chaldra? I brought it to my lips and kissed it, and handed it to the cahndor of the Nemarsi. I had never before felt so exposed. I shook my head to bring my hair forward, that it might cover my nudity. It settled in a cloud around me, soft and sweet-smelling. I crossed my arms over my breasts.
    His hand, which held my chald, was still outstretched to me.
    “And the key, little crell.” This, also, I handed over to Chayin.
    He fitted the key in the housing, laid the chald aside. He looked me over, long and slow, where I huddled shamed before him. I could feel the heat of my blood, racing to my skin.
    “Such a position suits you,” he commented. “You might have been born crell.” I did not meet his gaze, nor answer him. I was crell. A crell does not raise her eyes to her cahndor.

II. Chosen Son of Tar-Kesa
    The apprei was red-lit with the sun’s setting when I awakened. Chayin slept soundly. He had not removed the Shaper’s cloak, but wrapped it around his chest, though the day was fireside-hot. His alien chald glittered in the dim light. I could make nothing of it, but I must honor it. He was chalded; I was not. There were fourteen strands, of various metals, some with teeth and charms, tufts of hair and gems depending from them. It was loosely woven, more so even than the chalds of Arlet.
    He had not used me as a wellwoman, but as an animal. If such was a crell’s couching, I wanted no more of it. He had forced upon me more of the stimulant drug Hael had given me in the desert, and my heart pounded against my ribs. He had made no attempt to sate my needs, and my heat burned within me. I lay upon my side, my loins pressing against his thigh of their own accord. I hated him. He slept. I could not. He had taken my chald from me, made me crell. In my mind, he was every man who had ever misused me. He became for me Raet, and Estrazi, and Dellin.