The news that the new Queen of Cheliax - Iomedae and all the good gods bless her - meant to honor Heloisa's claim to the Duchy of Anferita was, to put it mildly, the single best piece of news that Heloisa had received in her entire life. Her father had fled Cheliax for Absalom as little more than a child, when his father was killed, and all their territory had been snapped up by the damnable Charthagnions. By the time Heloisa was grown, being the heir to an important duchy in Cheliax meant embarrassingly little, and the best available match had been to a gentleman who had made his fortunes by breeding and training pegasi. His income was quite modest, for a duke's heir, but her father was dead by then, and one must not be so picky that her pickiness outlasts her youth.

Her daughters, though. They shine blindingly bright, bright as diamonds, bright as stars. They shall have their pick of the new nobility. No one will be able to resist them. They shall have in their youth everything that Heloisa was denied in hers.

For some reason, though, they don't seem nearly as excited as she is. They trail morosely around the estate - a much plainer one than what they will move into in Anferita - and talk about what a noblewoman ought to be, with the pointed implication that Heloisa is none of these things. She does not see why it matters, seeing as she is, in fact, a noblewoman.

A few days before they leave, Heloisa takes the liberty of eavesdropping on her eldest daughter as she cares for the pegasi and horses. They are much less use now, but for a long time they were the family's livelihood, and Scholastica was poised to inherit the family business.

"Oh, Daydream," murmurs Scholastica. "There must be someone you like. You've had your eye on Prime for a while, haven't you? We could buy him, before we go."

The pegasus whinnies. Heloisa cannot for the life of her tell what it is saying.

"Please don't make this harder," says Scholastica, still brushing. "I swear to you, I won't give the foal to any man who isn't worthy. If every nobleman in Cheliax is a scoundrel or a fiend, I shall have to marry one, but I need not subject your children to him. I'll sell him in Katapesh. In Taldor. In Nex, if I have to, and only with your permission. But you must pick someone, or our best line dies with you."

The pegasus makes another incomprehensible noise. Scholastica sighs, and finishes brushing her. She passes her mother on the way out of the stables.

     "You coddle her, you know," says Heloisa. "Your father never bothered with this business of asking the livestock what they thought. He was firm about breeding, and the pegasi were quite fecund."

"And the breeders were quite useless for anything else," sighs Scholastica. "You cannot ride a pegasus that hates you, Mama. It will fly away."

     "I don't see why the pegasi should hate their natural life cycle," says Heloisa.

Scholastica sets her jaw. Her voice is quiet. "All creatures must be practical, Mama. Gods and kings, dukes and commoners, slaves and horses. But it is practical to spend a moment thinking, now and again, whether a decision will doom you to unhappiness forever, unnecessarily."

"I," says Heloisa, "Firmly intend never to be practical about anything for the rest of my life. That, I think, is the very point of security. I naturally wish the same for you. All we need to do is find you a husband of good character and breeding, and I suppose it will matter very little how you raise the horses."

Scholastica looks pained, but does not argue the point.