“I know some feel it is sacrilege, Lady Moonhawk, for one of the world to wear Circle blue. But Tael loved the color. She spun the thread, wove the cloth, dyed it in taelberry juice, fashioned the cloak—all with her own hands. Being so, I thought it might aid you. This…” her fingers caressed the beaded necklace.

“Is my troth gift to her,” Cedar finished harshly, and laughed, “which she hardly wore.”

“Still,” said Aster, “it must have meant a great deal! Perhaps fear of losing it—”

“Yes, of course!” he said bitterly. “But the truth is that she would rather wear that length of leather and that stupid bit of wood—” He caught himself, folded his lips and made an awkward bow. “Your pardon, housemother; my concern and grief make me short of temper.”

“I see that it does,” Aster replied, “but in just a few moments, Lady Moonhawk will find her and—”

“I also require, “Moonhawk interrupted, “quiet. You may repair to the parlor. I will call as soon as I have found what there is to find.” She looked hard at Aster. “Remember, this lies with the Goddess, not with mere mortal hope."

The older woman bowed her head, hand rising to touch her breast. “We abide by the will of the Goddess,” she said devoutly. She beckoned the others with a sweep of her hand. “Come.”

Moonhawk bent to arrange the items upon the table: Candle to the north, string coiled before her, one end tied securely about the trothing gift. The cloak she considered for a long moment before laying it about her own shoulders and twisting the brooch closed.

“You may leave also,” she said, without turning her head to look at Lute, leaning silent against the mantle.

“Ungracious, Lady Moonhawk!” he returned. “You watch my magic, after all. Fair trade is fair trade.”