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door of the dining chamber and paused for a moment to gather her thoughts. Should she knock? No—Talitha would respect it more if she simply entered. She opened the door and stepped inside.

Chapter Four
    The dining room was modest, set for private feasting rather than banqueting. A sturdy, attractive table with a rich cloth took up most of the space. The paintings and tapestries on the walls were forgettable but for a remarkable oil painting of an archer. So realistic was the depiction, it was possible to believe the muscles in his arms were tensing.
    “Good evening,” said Talitha. She sat alone at the farthest end of the table, her hands folded before her. Her face bore the same contemplative squint as before. “Please sit beside me.”
    Rema bowed and took her place. “How has the day treated you?”
    “No worse than usual. Incidentally, it’ll be easier if you go back to bowing and scraping while we’re at dinner. He’s bound to sulk about it afterward if you don’t.”
    “I don’t think he expects me to do much of either. I’ve just come from talking with him.”
    “Hah!” Talitha gripped Rema’s shoulder. “I’d say ‘you poor girl,’ but I expect you gave him a hiding. I wish I could’ve been there.”
    They waited in amiable silence. After several minutes, Cedrin shambled in and squeezed into a seat at the opposite end of the table, leaving a significant distance between himself and the women. “Good evening to you both.”
    “Why so far away?” said Talitha. “Does our guest have the plague?”
    “I always sit here, and you always sit there. Let’s not upset a court tradition.”
    As they waited for their food, Rema admired the tension rising in Cedrin’s face. His fingers tapped without rest against the table, and a cord of muscle at his jaw tightened as he ground his teeth. “Look at him,” said Talitha, leaning over to whisper in Rema’s ear. “He’s utterly infuriated.”
    The door opened to admit three servants with platters. “Thank God,” said Cedrin. “What took them so long?”
    The servants struggled not to stare at Rema as they spread the dinner across the table. Among them was Alys, the young girl who had earlier attended the Queen. Rema smiled at her, and Alys, instantly befuddled, dropped her cutlery and earned a deadly look from Talitha.
    The moment the servants had left, Cedrin speared a rubbery steak with his fork and began to eat. Talitha poured herself a glass of wine and turned to Rema. “The servants have been talking about you all day. Do you always create such a stir?”
    “Often,” said Rema. “Once, however, I arrived at court at the same time as a troupe of dancing crocodiles. Very few people noticed me.”
    “You have a knack for inoffensively nonsensical responses.” Talitha tilted her wineglass, shifting the sediment. “You claimed to be thirty years old, I recall.”
    “I’ve worked four years for Ormun. Nine years for his father.”
    “Thirteen years. A diplomat since the age of seventeen. Little wonder you’re good. And how does a woman enter such an unlikely career?”
    “I decided upon it when I was fifteen. At that time, I could write and speak in five languages, which helped convince the diplomatic college to take me seriously.”
    “What manner of girl has such ambitions and talents?”
    It was a pleasant subject, and Rema let herself warm to it. “I was the child of traders. My mother was an eccentric obsessed with finding the perfect trade route. By land, by sea, over mountains, she didn’t care. My father was just as mad. He encouraged her because he believed the travel was good for his poetry.” Rema raised a goblet of wine to her lips. “My father spoke Ajulai, my mother Nastil, and of course we all spoke Annari too. I learned Ulat and Tahdi as we traded across Amantis. A reasonable repertoire at fifteen.”
    “I take it then that your father was Ajulese and your mother a Nastine. Parents from different continents. How