“As she walked through the dark, stepping softly through the wet stones, she looked ahead to where the first cautious star managed to blink through the clouds.”

“The tinkle of a wind chime stirred from over a window. Purple and white phlox cascaded cheerfully over the top of a nearby stone wall. Sunlight sifted through the weave of her straw hat, casting freckles of light on her nose and cheeks that shifted, out of focus, as she walked.”

“What happened to your face?' he asked. 'When I was little, my grandmother was making candles and she had a big vat of hot beeswax in the backyard,' she said. 'I walked into the vat.' Usually that ended the conversation. 'I don't remember it,' she added. 'How old were you?' he asked. She tilted her face slightly, watching him. 'Ten months.' 'You were walking at ten months?' he asked. 'Not very well, apparently,' she said dryly.”

“She pivoted right, and sensed the vast, open space of the wasteland stretching before her under the opaque sky, a darkness as thin and final as the velvet lining of a shroud.”

“Be good, Gaia,” Capt. Grey told her, his voice grave. She still refused to look at him, but she could feel the heated flush of anger again in her cheeks. “Cooperate with the guards. For your own sake,” he continued.“Be good yourself, Captain,” she said bitterly. “If you know how.”

“And for once, she was happy. Very.”

“Though she could not see his shadowed eyes clearly, she sensed an emptiness in there that matched the controlled composure of his other features. It chilled her.”