“Most Amparan citizens already boil their water,” says Jesmin. “Everyone at court is required to, as is the army.”

“The army?” I ask. This surprises me, though I don’t immediately comprehend why.

“Yes. Every soldiers boils his water when on a mission. It’s deemed the best way of keeping the soldiers safe.”

Still, that doesn’t sound right. “Every single one?”

“It is a universal practice of the Amparan army. I helped draft the recommendation myself.”

My mind is spinning. I’d not yet come up with a completely satisfactory theory for how the Dara battalion had been infected with rose plague, but part of me had always assumed it was through their water. I simply didn’t see any other plausible way to infect so many soldiers at the same time. I suppose it could be done through food, but rose plague essence thrives on moisture. Once it dries, its potency decreases manyfold.

“If the army boils their water,” I ask, “then how did the Dara battalion get infected in such great numbers?”

“That,” says Jesmin, “is the question we’ve all been asking.”

Mehtap looks radiant when she comes down to dinner a week later, and it takes me a while to figure out what it is. She smiles at me, a mischievous gleam in her eye, and I finally see it.

“Your rosemarks!”

Her skin is smooth and unblemished, and I can hardly believe my eyes. Only when she steps closer can I see the chalky finish of whatever ointment she’s smeared on her skin.

“It’s pretty convincing, isn’t it?” she says. “At least from a distance. I mixed it with clays from the garden.”

“You’re not planning to go out like this, are you?” She knows as well as I do that it’s a capital crime to cover up rosemarks. Not even Arxa’s status would protect her.

“I won’t leave the house with it. I just wanted to be able to look into the mirror and not see the marks for a while.” Mehtap looks at me and scowls. “Oh, don’t look so stricken, Zivah. I just wanted to look healthy for an evening. And I won’t let Father see me like this. He’s a man. He wouldn’t understand.”

I relax a little. “You do look very nice.”

“I can make some for you too,” she says. “I’d have to adjust the clays a bit, but our complexions aren’t so different.”

“It’s all right,” I say. “It looks like it’d be hard to wash off.”

She grimaces. “That it is. But I have plenty of free time. Probably too much, since all I’ve done this past day is worry about Father’s mission tomorrow.”

“It’s just accompanying the prince to some northern cities, isn’t it? Surely it’s not as dangerous as other trips that your father has undertaken.”