Sairu regarded the wary face before her, considering many things and choosing her next words with care. After all, the idea had only just come to her, and it was not politic to rush ahead without at least a moment’s reflection. But then, Golden Daughters were trained to make swift judgments—judgments which, right or wrong, had the potential to alter entire histories. In that moment Sairu believed that history was a knife balanced by its point on the end of her finger. She could only hold it upright for so long. It must, very soon now, tilt. But she could manipulate, by a twist of the wrist, which direction it would fall. “You say my Lady Hariawan is this Umeer’s daughter whom you met in the Dream,” she said slowly, lacing her words with sweetness and masking her face in guileless concern. “If what you say is true, it verifies my suspicion that my mistress is one of the Dream Walkers. A rare, a wonderful individual.” “She is that,”
