She wasn't at all worried when the men took Momma away from her bed. It was common to hear, especially in the nighttime, just before the terrabugs started creaking their moon songs and lulling her to sleep. One pair of heavy footsteps, then two pairs -- or maybe more -- leaving a few minutes later. An "arrangement", Momma called it. She would return before the dawn, as she always did.

It wasn't until long after the sun had set upon the next day that she understood Momma wasn't coming back.

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"A small favor," Ganna said. "As a courtesy to one of our highest echelon."

"Our 'highest', Priestess?" the younger woman scoffed. "But Artemis was a common -- "

"No matter what she chose to do later in life, Diana, she was one of our own," Ganna said firmly. "And her child has a place here until other arrangements can be made."

Arrangements. She knew that word. She didn't like it.

"And is she to be a Companion, Mother Ganna?" Diana forced herself to keep a civil tongue.

"Of course not. Artemis came from an esteemed family, but that family is gone now. As I recall, she was the last of her name."

Diana found she could breathe again.

"But Artemis had a substansive dowry put aside for this little one. It will come to the House, if we take her in." Ganna peered down her nose at the scruffy girl. "The child may stay until she is sold, or until she can be of no longer use to us."

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Everything was taken. Every rug, curtain, chair, and dish. Even the treasured Aurelian tiles that Momma said had reminded her of the ocean -- these were carefully pried off the floor and shipped off to some trader's vessel, adding a few more coins to the House coffers.

Perched on a flat stump in the outer court, she watched the funny bald men (eunuchs, Mother Ganna had called them) haul away her home, swinging her skinny legs where her feet did not quite re