Not Coincidences At All

She blinked at him, confused, and then she threw her head back, laughed, the sound musical and deliriously sweet. “Oh, aren’t you sly? My name is Aliana, but you were close. Been listening to the children, have you?”

“The children?” Rastaban asked. She thought he was flirting with her? He’d been about to try that, granted, but -- this was uncanny. Two such coincidences were not coincidences at all, he was sure.

“They call me Mama Aliana - perhaps the little ones who cannot quite speak call me Malia.” She refilled his goblet with deft hands. “Eat! There will be dancing next.”