From her window Eunice could see the distant haze rising from the Purple Sea, the mountains to the west, the dull pattern of fields to the east.  These things held little interest against the crescent-sweep of the town, which rested in the curve of jagged hills; the down-sloping mass threaded with a maze of narrow streets, the whole touched with shifting, vibrant color.

It was a good view and Eunice was proud to command it; many high in the hierarchy of Krantz had to be content with less.  Proof of the importance of the Family to which she belonged - the Yeketania took care of their own.  And Vruya was kind.

Thought of him turned her from the window to face the room.  It was one she had made her own; high-roofed, circular, decorated with abstract symbols learned from ancient tomes.  Seated on a long bench a row of bright-eyed dolls regarded her with unwinking attention.  Facing the window a mirror held the subtle distortion of a limpid pool.  A plume of scented smoke rose from a container of hammered brass.  A clock measured the hours.  A bowl held a fluid as black as liquid jet.  An ornate box held bones marked in an elaborate pattern.

These things reflected her personality as did the drapes, the chair and table, the thick books adorned with scarlet ribbons.  One lay open on a desk, the pages held by a skull set with ruby eyes.

Ignoring it she turned to the dolls.  Vruya held the place of honor, small, wizened in his ceremonial robe, the thin, peaked face holding the whimsical expression she knew so well - she had seen it often as a child.

Impulsively she picked up the doll and kissed it, breathing into the mouth, transferring some of her strength and vitality into the replica and so into the man it represented.

"Live, Vruya," she said, replacing the doll.  "Live and grow strong."

Her movement disturbed the next in line; Mada with her sour face and bitter mouth.  A bitch, but she had influence and so was capable of harm.  She had little patience with those of the Family who had yet to prove their worth.

A situation soon to be changed; once married and a mother Eunice would be entitled to preference.  Even Sybil who despised Urich would have to defer to her then; a dozen years of barren waste would provide no bastion for the woman once she had laid her child at Vruya's feet.

The phone rang as she straightened from the dolls.  It was Helga with her usual spite.

"Eunice, my dear!"  In the screen the woman's face creased and puffed beneath its paint, betrayed a sadistic pleasure.  "I simply had to call and let you know about Myrna.  Such fantastic news!"

"She's pregnant?"

"You knew!"  A cloud passed over the painted face as she said, "No, you couldn't have done.  The test only proved positive an hour ago and I was the first she told.  Of course we must have a celebration.  I thought tomorrow evening would be nice.  Just a small gathering and we'd best restrict it to the Family.  No friends or outsiders.  I'm sure you understand."

Urich wasn't to be invited - she understood well enough."

"Eunice?"

"I'm not sure.  I don't think I can make it."  She added, with venom, "I'm pretty busy just now.  Or have you forgotten I'm to be married soon."