Two days later, Aunt Rose threw Tarissa out of the house. She had awakened Tarissa early that morning. "Ungrateful child of a loose woman" was one of the gentler things she called Tarissa. Without even letting her eat breakfast, her aunt thrust two old jute bags at her. "Pack all your things and leave," she said crossly. "Mind that you don't take anything that doesn't belong to you."

Tarissa's anger cleared the haze of sleep from her head. "There's nothing of yours I want," she growled.

Her aunt stared at her sourly. "Churlish little trollop." She sniffed. "Go see if those wastrel friends of yours treat you as well as I have."

Aunt Rose's implication that she had treated Tarissa well triggered a flash of fiery indignation. Tarissa's face flushed, but she held her tongue. Rather than strike out at her aunt, she turned away. Although Tarissa was slightly taller, Aunt Rose was stocky, outweighing Tarissa by a goodly amount. The woman had hit her before, not often but painfully. Despite her anger, she had enough sense not to risk her aunt's retaliation.

Once Aunt Rose had flounced out of the room, Tarissa set about gathering her few possessions. As her anger dissipated, Tarissa wondered what had triggered this morning's expulsion. Did it have something to do with her mother's diary?

As her temper cooled, Tarissa became relieved by her aunt's ultimatum. She had never felt truly welcome in Aunt Rose's home. Many times Tarissa had considered moving somewhere else, but Tunis had encouraged her to keep the peace with Aunt Rose until Tarissa was older. She huffed a rueful laugh. I guess I must be older now.

At the last, she folded her two extra tunics and put them on top of the bag so they would not wrinkle too badly. She slung the heavier of the two bags over her shoulder. The lighter bag with her clothes she put under her arm while she carried the case with her mother's mandolin. The burden was awkward but manageable.

Aunt Rose stopped her at the door and insisted on checking the bags. She worried that Tarissa might take something that did not belong to her. Tarissa watched contemptuously while she searched. The only items of real value her aunt possessed were a few pieces of jewelry that Aunt Rose hoarded carefully so she could "wear something fancy" if she was invited to any of the parties given by the city's aristocrats. Tarissa wanted nothing to do with those trinkets, and there was very little else in the house that she would have found useful. Certainly nothing of Aunt Rose's held any sentimental value for Tarissa.

But her aunt did have one thing Tarissa wanted. Aunt Rose finished her search and stood at the door with her arms crossed, watching Tarissa repack. When Tarissa was ready to leave, she confronted her. "I want my mother's diary."

Aunt Rose raised her chin and glared at her. "You're too late. I don't have it," she proclaimed haughtily.

Unfortunately, Tarissa heard the truth in what her aunt said about the diary. "Then where is it?" she snapped.

Her aunt smiled tightly. "Never you mind, but you'll never see it again." She sniffed. "Don't bother coming back for help, either."

Come back for help? She almost snorted. That order was unnecessary. In the last three years, Tarissa had gotten little enough help from her aunt. Tarissa had worked late at the Cat last night. If she had been fully awake, she might have thought of something cutting to say. Finding no bitter words, Tarissa picked up her bags and walked out the door.

Outside, the bright morning sun hung low in the sky. Tunis, Tarissa thought with a sigh. Tunis will help me. Unfortunately his apartment lay to the east, which put the sun in her eyes. She shook her head resignedly and started walking. It was a fair distance, but maybe he would have something she could eat.

Her eyes were still sandy from lack of sleep, but as she walked, her thinking revived. The first things that came to mind were any number of scathing retorts she could have—should have—said during the confrontation with her aunt. From there she moved on to more practical considerations. Her job at the Cat would now be her sole support. Before, she had not worried too much about Catalta's reactions to the way she handled overly fresh customers. Maybe she could work out a signal so Tunis could warn her when she was serving a Guild member or one of the Keepers.

Soon, her thoughts came back to her mother's diary. If Aunt Rose did not have it, who did? Her aunt might have tried to use the diary for blackmail. If her ploy had been foiled, it would explain her anger this morning. She smiled with the thought that her aunt's scheme had gone awry, but the smile turned grim. Her mother's treasured diary was gone. Worst of all, she had no idea where it might be.