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had thrown baker's cinnamon powder over him. He looked at Jack. Bryn had the odd feeling that he and the dog were silently talking. About her.
    “Kiran, this is Bryn,” Dawn said, “a new hand-maid—and I'm her duenna.”
    Jack lowered his paw and Bryn got to her feet, her robe mussed. Kiran gave her a long glance; the shade of his eyes matched his hair. He murmured a gruff hello.
    “Hello,” she answered, feeling flustered and not knowing why.
    Kiran began moving away, whistling a short call to Jack, who paused to lick Bryn's hand before following the tall young man.
    Bryn twisted to look after them. Dawn left the footpath to walk through the grass that bordered a pasture fence. Bryn trailed after her, the long grass dragging at her robe. “But who
is
Kiran?” she asked.
    “He's from the Eastland. The Master Priest found him there,” Dawn answered. “He keeps to himself, but he's good with animals. Everyone says he should be swan-chosen.”
    “Should be?” Bryn asked in confusion.
    Dawn climbed the fence that divided a flock of sheep from a herd of horses. “A swan's feather means spirit-talk with the animals, though don't tell anyone I said so.”
    Bryn perched beside her, watching the colts gallop. “Why not tell anyone?”
    Dawn frowned. “We're not supposed to speak of the bird gifts. They're secret.”
    “Bird gifts?”
    “Gifts,” Dawn answered firmly. “All the bird-chosen can prophesy, of course, though some are
much
better than others—”
    “Prophesy?” Bryn interrupted.
    Dawn squinted at her. “Surely you know what prophecy is? Seeing visions sent by the Oracle. Visions of the future.”
    “Oh.” Bryn chewed her lip. “All the bird-chosen see visions, then?”
    “ Yes. While they're young. Prophecy dwindles with age,” Dawn explained. “I don't know how quickly it's lost—handmaids aren't told about such things. But beyond prophecy, all bird-chosen people have one other talent that's secret, a talent given to them along with their feathers. A few of the talents are so famous they're no longer secret. For instance, everyone knows that being chosen by the vulture means being able to cast curses. But the gifts are
supposed
to be hidden.” She leaned nearer. “At any rate, most of the bird-chosen are unable to use their gifts—except for prophecy—until they join thepriesthood. After that, they guard the secrets of their gifts very closely.”
    “Oh.” Bryn thought of the way Kiran had looked at the dog Jack. “Is the swan feather famous too? Is that how you know it means spirit-talk with animals?”
    Dawn nodded. She lowered her voice. “A swan was winging for Kiran in the Ceremony of Birds when he was thirteen but he spoke to it—mind to mind—to make it leave without choosing him. He's sent it away every year since; I've seen him do it four years running. The Master Priest wants honored feathers such as the swan to be part of the Temple, of course. No doubt he's enraged by Kiran, though who can tell what the Master Priest is thinking?”
    Not I
, thought Bryn. Just then a black colt dashed up to the fence. Dawn leaped down, but Bryn stayed where she was. The colt nudged her with his downy nose. She put a hand on his forehead and set her cheek against his face for a moment.
    “The colts won't be trained until fall,” Dawn cried. “He's wild.”
    Bryn patted the young stallion's neck before jumping off the fence. He pranced along the greensward, and something about the proud tilt of his head reminded her of Kiran.
    That evening, Dawn sat at her scarred desk with a worn Star Atlas, using her abacus to calculate the positions of Bryn's stars. Bryn had been born one minute past midnight on the day upon which the winter solstice fell.
    Dawn carefully drew the full star chart. She studied it closely to glean understanding from the symbols arranged in a circle on her parchment.
    Many unusual placements, with Ellerth foremost. According to the stars, Bryn is stronger than she