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A week later they crossed the River Drell into Tortall on a ferryboat. Watching the Gallan shore pull away, Daine searched her soul. I should tell Onua all the truth, she thought. (By then she had given her new friend the less painful details of her life, and had come to see Onua was right–it felt better to talk.) I should tell the rest–but won’t she turn on me, like they did? Maybe it’s best to keep shut. Ma’s and Grandda’s bones, the madness, the scandal–it’s all back there. Maybe that’s where it should stay.
She went forward, to look at Tortall as it moved closer. I could start fresh. It can’t be worse than home, with folk calling me “bastard” and scorning me. Nobody here knows I’ve no father, and they don’t know about the other thing–the bad thing. They wouldn’t need to know.
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