“Lady Carilla is correct,” Rosario says. “It would have been catastrophic. My stepmother saved the world that year.”

“Let’s not get carried away!” Astón says. “It’s fashionable to exaggerate the accomplishments of our monarchs, but that usually happens long after their deaths, as their reigns fade to myth and legend.”

Rosario raises his chin and says, “As the only Joyan bearer of a Godstone, Elisa is a living legend, the kind who only comes along once every century.”

“It’s heartwarming to know you have such love and loyalty for her,” Astón says.

I wish I could see Rosario’s face during this long silence. I imagine him glowering, so I’m surprised when he says, lightly, “Ambassador Songbird, my compliments to your cook. This soup is delicious.”

The ambassador inclines his head. “It’s an Invierno recipe, modified with Joyan spices. I thought it an appropriate starter for this occasion.”

Servants bring a main dish of red snapper on a bed of greens and lime-soaked radish slices, along with roasted peppers stuffed with cheese. My mouth waters. Nothing I’ve eaten in the last two weeks smells as delicious as this.

As everyone eats, the conversation moves to the increase in wood-based construction projects—which Ambassador Songbird is quick to point out is thanks to new trade pacts with Invierno loggers—and then to the precipitous price drop of Basajuan wool, which Lady Jada believes may affect wardrobe choices for the upcoming Deliverance Gala.

“Do you have a gown picked out for the gala already?” Carilla asks Lady Jada.

“I do!” Jada says. “My designer is piecing it together now. We found an incredible silk, dyed with azure berries. I saw it and simply had to have it.”

The mere mention of azure berries used to make my stomach roil, but as the tattoos on my feet have faded, so has my aversion. I admit they produce an incredible shade of silk.

“I can’t wait to see it,” Carilla says.

“And you? Anything picked out yet?”

Carilla frowns daintily. “Not yet. To be honest, I’m not one for dressing up. I find all the petticoats and corsets and everything . . . just so uncomfortable and, frankly, intimidating.”

“My dear, I could help you find something,” Jada says. “It doesn’t have to be a chore.”

“Really? I mean, I’d like that.”

“I’ve often wondered,” Conde Astón says, “how women manage with so many distractions. The hair and wardrobe and . . . not to be too indelicate, but—other womanly concerns. It would be difficult to go through life so encumbered.”

Carilla’s softness is chased away by a hard edge, and her focus on Astón is suddenly razor-sharp. “And yet, somehow, we’ve always managed,” she says. “Managed well, in fact.”

“Oh, certainly,” Conde Astón says. “I meant no disrespect. But you have to permit that having so many extraneous things to worry about is difficult. It’s why women are unsuited to certain types of work. Very few women attend the university, for instance. Fewer still become master carpenters, or captain merchant ships . . .” He grins slightly. “Or become Royal Guards. And when they do, they often find the challenge too much to bear.”