Wren used to love this cloak.

She remembered when she was a few years younger, how the deep, sky blue color had dazzled her. It was a rare dye that made that sort of shade, and once upon a time this had been a very expensive garment. A hundred little beads chimed together as she slinked it over her arm. The edges of the fabric had yellowed with age, and she wasn’t so sure she fit into it anymore.

She spun it around one of her fingers and then dumped it back in her sleeping-pack before eyeing it with disdain. This is not necessary.

All that thought put into making it for nothing, since she wasn’t going to marry Elyn anyway, no matter how much her mother begged. There was no need for pretending she was someone other than herself.

Of course, the longest stop on their journey also meant plenty of time for her mother to torture her with social outings. They were still a distance from the main cities, but the sales near the oasis towns would keep up for weeks before they needed to continue on to restock. That was her favorite time, because it meant she could go back to spending her evenings hiding in the back corners of the caravan.

“Wren, put your clothes on and stop fussing.”

Her mother’s voice carried over the tent partition. Wren had half a mind to dump the damn cloak in the sand instead, then grind it in with her feet.

“Maybe if you didn’t drag me to dinners with people I don’t want to impress, I wouldn’t need to fuss,” Wren replied, with all the saccharine sweetness of a lollipop poisoned with acid. If she could light the cloak on fire just by looking at it, she would have. Instead, she draped it over her back and stuffed her arms into the sleeves.

Wren shrugged her shoulders up and down and the fabric tugged at her shoulder blades. Apparently she'd grown more than a little bit since the last time she'd worn it. Not that it mattered much. No merchant in the caravan could afford new clothes, at least not ones this nice. Wearing things from her old life--the one in which they had been wealthy--was just going to serve to make Elyn’s mother feel bad either way. She would have pointed this out to her mother, but thought better of it. It wasn't worth the trouble.

Well, I might as well get it over with.

If she didn't march herself out now, she was going to lose her nerve, and someone would just come and do it for her. All the foot dragging in the world wouldn't get her around the dinner party. It would happen no matter how determined she was to hate it.

A gust of wind blew as she stepped outside. Wren tugged the cloak tighter around herself. The wind caught up in the beads and they let out an ethereal shimmer that was nothing at all like anything she felt inside. She watched the light of the lantern bounce off them into the darkness and resisted the urge to bolt off after it into the night.

She shuffled her feet in the dirt and kicked at a stray rock for a few strides before falling back into step. Her mother stared straight ahead, brows furrowed into tight lines, eyes fixed at a point way off in the distance. She wrung her hands. For a moment Wren almost felt the smallest, tiniest bit bad for her.

They got close enough that Wren could see the soft glow emanating from inside their market tent. Dorah, Elyn’s mother, sat at a wooden table perched below a low overhang of canvas fabric.

The family stood chatting near a fire that crackled merrily outside. The child in Dorah's lap grabbed a piece from the board game on the table and stuffed it in her mouth. Dorah gasped and took it away from her. Everyone around them laughed. Wren’s stomach contracted on itself until she worried she might vomit.

"We're here!" Wren's mother shouted. Dorah passed the baby off to one of the older girls and stood. She stepped forward and enveloped Wren in an uncomfortably tight hug. Wren coughed as the smell of patchouli and powder worked its way up her nose.

"You look lovely, Wren!" Dorah exclaimed as she released her. It was a thin sort of lie, meant for social graces only. Dorah wore a wide smile across her equally-wide face, but it did not reach her eyes. Wren's shoulders tightened as she grabbed Wren's hand and gave it a squeeze.

"Thank you," Wren managed through gritted teeth. She couldn’t help but feel like a goat or a camel, there for their appraisal before a buyer found the right price and made away with her.

She looked around Dorah's shoulder and into the tent. A boy sat in the corner, crouched over a notebook. His dark hair fell over his eyes, and when he looked up at her, they widened and his neck started to go red. He looked away again quickly and picked at a spot on his thumb. Wren flushed a bit and pried her hand away from Dorah.

"Elyn, come out here," Dorah called. The boy stood and wandered his way toward the front of the tent. Wren tried to look at him without meeting his eyes. His face was splotched red and when she looked away again she thought she caught him stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"Yes?" he said, and he made eye contact with Wren just barely long enough for Dorah to give a nod of approval.

"Say hello to Wren. She’s nice enough to join us for dinner."

"It's fine," Wren replied. The cloak fluttered slightly in the wind and Wren pulled it closer around herself. For a moment, a suffocating silence hung in the air. Dorah began waving them all inside. Wren ducked her head under the flap of the tent and flopped down onto an ancient camelskin pad that emitted a small cloud of dust when she landed on it.

Dorah busied herself with a set of wooden mugs set in a corner. She placed them on a platter and ducked outside for a moment and returned bearing a metal kettle.

"Would you like some spice?" she asked. The pot wafted the smell of cinnamon and fennel seed. She nodded and Dorah thrust a mug into her hands. As she wrapped her fingers around it she realized they'd started to go numb with cold. She inhaled across the surface of the drink and gingerly took a sip. The spices filled her sinuses and she swallowed.

"Dorah, we should discuss the matter at hand," Meria said with a smile that was more charm and poise than friendly. Dorah tutted and took her place on her own cushion.

"Well, I'm not sure what to tell you, Meria," Dorah replied, as if Wren wasn't even there. "She's already rejected him once, and it's not my decision, is it? If I were her, I would make the choice quickly before the involved parties began to lose interest." She shot a hard look at Elyn, who hid his face behind his beverage. "Elyn, what do you have to say for yourself?"

"Oh, um--" Elyn swallowed audibly. Wren almost couldn't bring herself to hate him. "Well. Ah..." He glanced at her, then away again. "I'm sorry if I embarrassed you the other day."

Dorah sighed and rolled her eyes. "Oh, for Heaven's sake, child. I'm getting the stew. Try not to trip over your words too much while I'm gone."

"Dorah, I am so sorry about Wren's behavior at the marketplace. It's just...You know how it is at their age. It's...well, it's a big decision."

Dorah nodded in a way that said 'I'm listening, but I just don't care'. She lifted a hand to stop Meria from speaking.

"It's been nearly a year," she reminded Meria. She turned toward Wren. "You should really consider what type of life you want to have, and whether it's worth it to shut out every option presented to you. You aren't getting any younger."

Wren bit back a sarcastic comment and nodded instead. She turned her attention back to her mug. She tried to block out the sound of Dorah's voice as she and Wren's mother went on about the marketplace and business and the weather, not that it ever changed. She glanced at Elyn. His eyes darted around the room as if he were trying just as hard to avoid being included in conversation. Neither touched their stew. Every once in awhile one parent or the other would ask her a question and she'd say something that made it sound like she was listening, even though she really wasn't.

Elyn looked every bit as miserable as she felt. Sixteen wasn't as bad as nineteen. If this didn't work out, he'd have other chances. At the same time the aging cushion she sat upon and the quality of the meal made her wonder if she was really getting the better deal.

About an hour later she heard the words she'd been waiting to hear.

"We should be getting home, it's getting late."

Meria stood and stretched her arms, then walked to the entrance of the tent. She reached for Dorah's hand and Wren did the same. Her legs felt like they might collapse underneath her. Wren gave Dorah's hand a halfhearted squeeze but did not say goodbye. She took Elyn's hand as he offered it. It felt cold and clammy. He gave her a nervous look, then glanced away again.

"Goodbye, Wren," Dorah said. "Do think about our conversation." Elyn said nothing but she noticed his eyes followed her as she turned to leave.

Wren followed her mother out of the tent and back into the caravan. Meria waited until they were out of earshot.

"I know neither of you want to do this," she said quietly. "Elyn has put a lot on the line for you, Wren, and your behavior is embarrassing him. You should really consider--"

"Oh, stuff it, Mother," Wren growled. "This decision isn't about me. It's about you. What if I did marry one of the guardsmen? Or if I didn't marry anyone?"

Meria let out a long, sad sigh. Her eyes darted down to the ground, and her shoulders sank. The diatribe Wren was preparing to launch suddenly lost all its steam.

"Then you'll just have to accept what comes with that decision," she replied. "If we get attacked you'll have no one to protect you. You won't be able to have a career, not unless you want to sell yourself. If you marry one of the guardsmen and he dies, you'll be raising children alone. And most of them do." She turned toward Wren and Wren shrank to the size of an ant. "It's really up to you, Wren."

The rest of their walk was silent. Wren could think of nothing else to say, and Meria had made her point. What if her mother was right?