I pick at the bread and cheese in front of me. It's not exactly what I want, nothing offered on the table seems to sate my appetite. The Patriarch doesn't seem to mind my pickiness. He just keeps asking Banio, the cook, to bring me something different.

I drink the wine, however. I've never been interested in the watered-down wine offered at my House. I always preferred plain water with lemon and cherries. Now, I can't seem to drink enough of it.

"Please..."

"Can you tell me a bit about who you are, Mara? I don't wish to pry, but if your security is in question..."

I push a bite of parsley to the side of my plate. "My name is Parijan, I was of the Fifth House." My voice is dull, empty. I feel as if I am floating, drifting further and further away from Parijan, but it feels like just yesterday I was her.

His eyes widen. "Ah, she was declared a traitor to the First House." He frowns, "you were of the Fifth, though?"

I take a deep breath. "My Fated Bond was with Thane of the First."

The Patriarch stares at me. I can feel his gaze, but I don't look up. I just sit and try to blink the tears away before they fall.

"I beseech you, Lady..."

"The future Lord of the House?" he finally asks.

I feel my mouth twist bitterly. "Yes."

"He has recently bonded," he tells me quietly.

I feel gorge rise in my throat. He did it. He had me imprisoned and tortured to death then replaced me in a month.

"To Anthea of the Fourth?" I choke out my question.

"Yes," comes the reply.

I take in a shuddering breath, then another, before the tears overwhelm me.

The Patriarch slowly stands up and walks around the table to sit next to me. "Now, now, little one, your Fate has changed. Let it hurt, then let yourself heal. You are no longer Parijan of the Fifth. You are Mara, Death's Daughter.

"I don't know how to be her," I sob.

"You will learn. You are Mara, you can't fail at being yourself."

It seems like hours later when my tears finally stem. Banio plies me with wine and I see Alnue pour something into my cup. It tastes spicy, sharp and warm, and soothes my tears far faster than I expected.

"Can you eat a bit more, Mara?" the Patriarch asks me.

"Thank you, Patriarch, but no," I say quietly, when the food is turning my stomach more than enticing me.

"Save him..."

"Are you sure?" he asks, looking at the unfinished food in front of me.

"Yes," I murmur.

He nods, saying under his breath, "Nateos knows."

"Well, then, I will show you around, unless you wish to rest again?"

I'm tired. My legs are aching as if I have the coughing sickness. My eyes burn and my chest aches. But, that voice has whispered so often during the meal that I keep thinking I hear it even when it's silent.

"Where are you going?" I ask him, trying to build the courage to mention the voices.

"Ah, I little male of the Second House passed away last eve. He was one of the orphans, a popular male, I believe. I'm heading over there to bless the house. One of the noble ladies is distraught, apparently."

I shake off the chills at the idea of a dead little male. Is this the son the ghost is talking about? Then who is the Second House lady who is so distraught?

"May I go with you?" I ask. I can't stay here with that plaintive voice and I want a distraction from Thane's final betrayal.

"Ah," Patriarch Rimon looks surprised. "Mara... no one in this temple would dare to betray you, but you are considered an enemy in this city."

I nod, sipping my wine and staring at my cup. I feel stupid. I didn't think about that. I just want to escape from my memories and that voice.

"Please, Lady... save him..."

"We can cover her," Banio pokes his head out of the kitchen. "Shroud you up so no one can see your face or eyes. After a bit you will grow up a little, then you can reveal yourself again."

I offer him a smile and turn to the Patriarch.

"You must promise me, Mara, to keep yourself covered at all times."

"I will," I say promptly.

"Well, then... No time like the present, I suppose." He stands again, giving himself time for his knees to unlock. "Come, I need to grab my bag. Banio, can you get robes for Mara?"

I eagerly follow Banio to a wardrobe located just down the hall. "Most of the living quarters is down here, um... supplies and the like. If you needs anything it's somewhere here."

The light grey-colored robes are a little loose, but they don't drag on the floor so I won't be tripping.

"You're a tiny mite," Banio says with a frown. His hands go on his rather-substantial hips as he frowns, looking me up and down.

"I just haven't grown, yet," I tell him what mama always told me when I complained about my flat, skinny body. She's voluptuous and curvy and swears on the goddess that she looked just like me at my age.

I miss my mama. I want to know if she's OK. Maybe I can ask Patriarch later.

"Lady Grief... his soul..."

---

The Postite, Farso, fusses about me, sighing heavily every so often.

"How do you hide this?" he laments, picking up a hank of my red hair in his hand and shaking it gently at Banio. "It's like fire. How will she ever blend in?"

"By covering it, Farso," Banio says mildly, with more than a hint of sarcasm.

"It's a shame to cover this," Farso murmurs. With another heavy sigh he sweeps the veil over me with a flourish. "There, I have doused the Flame."

A small giggle escapes me. I must look ridiculous, but there's comfort in hiding. I have enemies. Who would have thought a red-headed, too-skinny, nothing-special-about-me female would have enemies?

"...save him..."

I shiver. The voice was quiet for awhile. It sounds weaker now, but more depressed. It makes a terrible feeling well inside me. Agitated, I fidget.

"Would you stop it right now, Mara? Honestly, children can't ever hold still," Farso scolds me through the pins in his teeth.

"She looks like a ghost," the other Postitie who drifted over to us, Antin I think his name is, announces as Farso twists and pins the veil into place.

"Better a ghost than actually be dead," Banio defends himself.

I think the Postites are bored today.

I tug the bottom of my robe out of Momo's fingers. He's casting the ends onto his head, then leaping out from under my skirts with fangs bared and claws curled threateningly at a bored-looking Harku.

"Stop fidgeting, I said," Farso snaps. Momo curls up under the robes, hiding.

He flips up part of the veil to reveal my face. "There. You can remove the veil over your face and flip it back down quickly. You know, in case you want to breath," he says with a glare cast at Banio.

"It's for her safety," Banio mutters.

"She's the daughter of a god. Who is dumb enough to threaten her?" Farso snaps back.

I just watch them bicker, back and forth. It's far better than being stuck in that bedroom that feels so strongly of sorrow. I feel the weight of Momo drop onto my foot. Soft snores come a moment later. I nudge him off of me. Silly gargoyle.

"Alright, then. I finally found the satchel. Salbin placed it on the wrong hook. Nateos knows how he finds his own bottom sometimes," Patriarch Rimon comes into the room in a hurry.

He stops to look me over. "Well, it is interesting. Tongues will wag, that's for certain."

I start to grow nervous. Enemies. I don't want to die... again.

"Come on, we're very late." Patriarch leads the way down the hallway, clutching his satchel. At the doors to the temple, I watch the tail of Mushu disappear into the bag.

I wait for the Patriarch to notice the extra weight, but he makes no comment. When we step outside, I stop thinking of the stowaway in the satchel. I'm walking out into the city again.

I trip over my feet no less than four times on the short, ten-minute walk to the temple of the Mother. Thrice because I am craning my neck all around to see this part of the city, and once because the shadows of a winged creature overhead catches my attention. Momo and Mishu have accompanied me, but, unlike their brother, failed to catch a ride so they must fly.

I must make an odd sight. The third time I trip I nearly tumble into a cobbler's stall. The bonded female snickers at me. I hear her words, "must be so ugly they covered her." Antin growls at the female and she falls silent. I wonder at her foolishness, Death's postites are no joke.

It's sensitive, being called ugly, even if this female has no idea what I actually look like. I feel better when Momo swoops down and knocks over half the sandals on display with his oversized feet and whipcord tail. Ha ha.

We turn the corner with the angry shrieks of the cobbler blaming his bonded for the mess ringing in my ears. Despite how hot and stifling the veil is, I appreciate the fact that I can smile without anyone knowing.

The temple to the Mother goddess is up ahead. It's a low building, curving gently upwards into a white dome on top. I bite my lip when I see it. The Father temple is steep angles and planes, reaching sky-high with turrets and towers. This temple is much softer, much nicer. It's certainly more welcoming.

"Oh, Patriarch, thank you for coming," a rotund, sweet-looking female bustles through a door in the side of the temple towards us. Behind her I can hear the sounds of children talking and laughing. "The Lady Naomi is beside herself this morning. She was close to the orphans and dear little Reggie held a special place in her heart."

We follow the female, a priestess, I believe, into the cool interior of the building. Off to my left is a dining chamber, filled with children eating an early afternoon meal. I stop to gaze at them a moment. They seem carefree, but some of them... I can see their sorrow as if they, too, wear a veil. I feel their sorrow, their hurt, like a toothache.

Poor children. These must be orphans.

"Mara?" Patriarch pulls my attention away from the children. "Are you hungry or thirsty, little one?"

I shake my head, 'no.' My stomach aches and I can smell something wonderful, but I'm not hungry.

I'm glad to be drawn away from the children by the priestess. "Poor Reggie is in here." We walk to another room and I balk at entering. I'm not sure I'm ready to see a body.

Antin gently urges me inside. On a table lies a small figure, shrouded much like I am, from head to toe. Not even his face is revealed.

"We will entomb the child," the Patriarch starts to say gently.

The priestess interrupts him, her hands fluttering nervously. "You see, that's the problem, Patriarch. I would have had the males bring Reggie to you last night, but Lady Naomi became hysterical. She begged us to allow her more time to grieve."

"Every person must grieve in their own way, Priestess," the Patriarch says gently. "But, Reggie must be entombed. Death has claimed his soul, now. He does not belong here, anymore."

I drift closer to Reggie with morbid curiosity. If I am Death's daughter, shouldn't I feel something for him? But, there is nothing. Reggie is like a blank canvas, waiting for paints to be added. Or, maybe, he has been washed off of the canvas. The colors of his life faded to muted grey. His body is empty. There is no soul left in his earthly remains.

I'm oddly disappointed. I haven't heard the ghost's voice in a couple of hours, but I know she hasn't stopped. For my own sanity I need to find out what she needs me to do.

A wail of grief suddenly splits the air. The priestess flinches with me, but the Postites and the Patriarch don't seem bothered.

"She's woken up," the Priestess sighs.

No sooner do those words leave her mouth than the plaintive begging begins again.

"...his soul... please, Lady Grief... my son... my son... his soul... help him... save him... please... please..."

I clamp my hands over my ears, "tell her to stop," I shout out. Farso, quietly observing up until now, enfolds me in his large arms. A good think, because my knees are clacking together. I shake my head madly, fingers tearing at my hair. "Be quiet!" I yell.

The priestess gasps, looking affronted, pressing her hand to her ample chest. "She is... she is grieving. She was so close to poor Reggie. How, by the gods, can I ask her to stop?" she sounds offended and aghast.

"I believe, Priestess, that Mara must see the Lady Naomi," the Patriarch says with a speculative glance at the door the wailing can be heard from.

"Oh, oh, my. I'm not sure if that's a good idea-"

"It is," the Patriarch says firmly. He nods to Farso, who wastes no time in picking me up. "Hurry, please."

The Priestess nods, her mouth firming into a thin line. "You are Death's disciples." It's clear that she will happily place the blame on the Patriarch's shoulders if this doesn't go well.

The Priestess turns, robes flapping, and hurries down the hall to a locked door. "This is the way to the nobles' quarters," she explains as she fiddles with her set of keys on a large, metal ring hung on her belt.

The door opens to reveal a staircase. As soon as the door swings open the cries grow louder. Intermingled with the begging is a wailing, screeching noise. I bury my face in Farso's robes, my body quaking as the begging grows louder and more strident.

"Please... his soul, his soul, please, Lady Grief, save him... please, his soul, his soul, save him, his soul..."

Momo hisses in agitation. Mushu pops his head from the satchel hanging from the Patriarch's shoulder. His ears are perked skyward, orange eyes glowering. Nothing I do can shut out the wailing until we reach a set of opulent rooms.

Velveteen drapes are shoved aside by a harried-looking priestess.

"She awoke," the female says grimly to the other female. Her eyes catch me and widen.

"I can hear that."

I ignore their whispered explanations about me. All I can focus on is the female who must be Lady Naomi. The dark-haired female is dripping in luxury. Furs from the Mountain villages, ivory from the coasts beyond the deserts, jewels mined from our own river valleys. Her bed that encases her is draped in silks that must cost more than everything my mama and father ever owned. She is beyond wealthy.

But Death doesn't care for earthly wealth, does he? I see the darkness enveloping her. Blackness is pouring from her eyes. Unlike the children below, these are more than shadows. This bleakness is alive, a corporeal mass of black grief.

Grief.

It draws me to the female like a moth to a flame. I can't resist wiggling free of Antin's arms and stumbling towards the female, hand outstretched to touch the dark.

Momo, Mishu, and Mushu are there, their greedy little fingers seeking the same inky demon surrounding the female. Forked tongues lap at the black mass. Eyes glow. The gargoyles are feeding.

My fingertips brush the mass. It feels cool to the touch, heavy and sticky, like pushing through thick honeyed candy that dropped on a hot day and congeals to the cobblestone streets.

I see her truth.

"He is your son. You hid him," I tell the female. She has stopped wailing to stare at me in horror. And, thankfully, the voice has stopped, too.

She is not a ghost, I realize. It was her grief, her truth, screaming to me. Her son's soul is safe. He has moved beyond this world to the next. It is this female who needs help. She can't ever let go of this grief without admitting the truth.

"He is not my Bound mate's child. I had Reggie so long ago. A youthful mistake," the lady whispers.

Both priestesses gasp. I wonder at their surprise. It must be difficult to hide a pregnancy and a child.

"You must let it go. He is safe. His soul is gone to the Underworld with my-"

The Patriarch clears his throat to stop my words. "He is gone on, Lady Naomi. Your son is safe."

"I had dreams," she whispers. "Nightmares. He's trapped, asking me why I never loved him. I do love him, did love him." She begins to weep, but I can feel the dark, congealed honey mass of grief start to break apart.

A hissing noise makes me realize that I am crying, too. I reach up under my veil to wipe away the tears. Part of the cloth covering my face is forming holes. I start in wonder at the pink-tinged liquid on my fingertips.

"We must go," the Patriarch says grimly while staring at me.

"But-" the priestess starts to protest.

"I will send postites to collect the body. I believe you have a lady that must confess to her goddess," the Patriarch says in a tone that I haven't heard from him, yet. He sounds cold and disapproving.

I am so tired. Antin picks me up, careful to avoid my tears leaking onto his skin.

We hurry from the room, my gargoyles waddling after us with fat tummies.

I see stars. I'm fairly certain that it's not nighttime, but they dance in front of my eyes anyway.

"Place her in the pool," the Patriarch's grim voice filters through my consciousness.

"Are her tears..."

"I can only imagine, yes."

I feel the warm water envelope me and sigh with relief. It feels like a father's warm embrace.