“Maybe,” she conceded and turned to follow Rapskal as he explored. He came to a tall door. It was wood, but it had been decorated with panels of metal with shapes beaten into it. Perhaps that was why it had survived. He opened it and wondered aloud, “Where does this go?”

Thymara followed him as he entered a wide corridor. More doors, similar to the one he had just opened, lined the walls. “Are they locked?” Rapskal wondered and pushed on one. It swung open silently and he hesitated on the threshold.

“What’s in there?” she asked, hurrying to join him.

“Someone’s room,” he said, but still he did not enter.

Thymara stood on tiptoe to peer over his shoulder. Someone’s room indeed. So many of the houses she had seen were empty, as if the inhabitants had packed and left, while others held only splinters and shards of furniture. This was different. There was a desk and a chair, of dark wood, but coated with something very shiny and inset with colors. She had once seen a very small and expensive box from Trehaug that was finished like that. A tall shelf in the corner matched the desk, and on the shelves there were containers of glass and pottery, most of them blue but a few orange and silver ones for contrast.

“Look. A bed made of stone. Who would want a bed made of stone?” Rapskal walked boldly into the room, and Thymara followed shyly. She felt like an intruder here, as if the narrow door in the opposite wall might open at any time and the room’s inhabitant emerge to demand what they were doing here. She moved to the shelf and found a comb and a brush, seemingly made of glass. The bristles of the brush were stiff when she poked at them.

“I’m taking this!” she heard herself say and was shocked at the greed in her voice. But she had not had a proper hairbrush since hers had been lost months ago. A flat object on the desk looked rather like a book, but when she opened it, it unfolded into three hinged mirror panels. She looked at herself and then could not look away. Was that her? Had Sintara changed her so much?

Gone was the girl who had been “marked by the Rain Wilds.” An Elderling, narrow of face, her features traced in fine blue scales, looked out at her. Her wet hair, sleek and black, revealed fine blue scaling in the parting. She lifted her hand to touch her face, to prove the reflection was her own, and was struck by the deep cobalt of her claws and the tracery of silver, like a vine, that now ran from each fingertip up the back of her hands to her elbows. She was sure it had not been there before the bath.

She was still staring when Rapskal interrupted her. “You’re going to like what’s in here even better. Girl clothes. Elderling stuff, like that gown Alise has. Pretty stuff. Silver and blue and green, your colors. And slippers of the same stuff, only heavier.”

“Let me see!” she demanded.

He turned from the set of shelves behind the narrow door, holding up a shimmering garment of green and blue. Thymara’s heart leaped.

Rapskal was grinning at her. “There’s a lot of them in here. You could share. If they fit anyone.”

She pushed past him, her fingers running over the stacked folds. Silver like the running river, green that was greener than Fente. Blue like Sintara. She was breathless with excitement.

“Hey. Look over your shoulder,” Rapskal commanded her.

She did and found he was holding the unfolded mirror up for her. “How do you like your wings?” he demanded, and then he fell silent at the stunned look on her face. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she felt her lips trembling. She couldn’t speak.

“You don’t like them?” he asked, shocked.

She was even more shocked. “Rapskal. I’m beautiful.”

“Well, I’ve been telling you that!” Now he sounded disgusted that she had doubted him. He wandered back to the desk and set the mirror on it. He glanced at her and then away, as if suddenly uncomfortable with her. Instead he went to the stone bed. “Weird,” he said and sat down on it. Then he gasped and sprang up. “It grabbed me!” he exclaimed.

They both stared at the fading impression of his bottom on the bed. As they watched, it returned to a smooth, blank surface. Cautiously he set his hand to it and pushed down. His hand sank slightly into it. “Looks like stone, but it gets soft when you push on it. And it’s warm.” He sat down and then lay back on it. “Oh, sweet Sa! I’ve never slept on anything like this. Come feel it.”

She pressed it first with a hand, then gingerly sat down. It obligingly shaped itself to her.

“Lie down. You have to feel this,” he told her, moving back to make room for her. She did, and for a moment rested on her back, looking up at the gently glowing ceiling. She sighed suddenly. “It makes room for my wings. It has been so long since I’ve been able to lie flat on my back. And it’s warm.”