..Your mother doesn't like me, does she?" I phrased it as a question,but I was fairly certain I was right."Huh?" Abigail blinked, surprised. "No, she ...ikes you fine. I mean,she's been practically flirting with you since you got here, y'know?" The real me," I corrected. "She does not like Queen Devilla. Does she?" Oh." There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, during which Abigaillooked at everything in the room except me. Then her eyes met mine andshe spoke. "My other mother was a soldier,. She's looking good."Louise had, even on her better days, never been a fashion plate. Her clothes had generally been clean, but she never seemed at home in them; nothing seemed to match, nothing seemed quite correctly put together. She had tended toward rather ratty tee shirts, ill-fitting jeans and grungy running shoes. Her complexion had been blotchy, her hair straggly and lifeless.Today, Louise was another story. Her hair was shining and casually styled in the way that shows thought has been. More

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