The general’s mouth twisted. Not a smile, but a grimace. “Gold head to you,” she said. “Perceptive.” She spoke Dorinah with no accent, which was even more perplexing than the odd accent of the Dhai-looking woman.

“Are we dining?” Hofsha asked. Big grin. The grin would not leave her abhorrent face.

“Yes, of course,” Zezili said. “Daolyn, bring tea and – what would you like? Are you some kind of vegetarian cannibal Dhai?”

“Nothing so exciting as that,” Hofsha said. “Bread and cheese will do.”

“Cheese?”

“Ah, there are some differences, I remember,” Hofsha said. “Jam, then. Bread and jam.”

Zezili motioned Daolyn toward the kitchen and ushered the visitors into her sunken sitting room. She couldn’t help but wince when she saw them walk across her unrolled rug. They sat on opposite ends of the divan. Monshara leaned slightly away from Hofsha, as if the foot of space between them already was not quite enough. Hofsha, for her part, leaned forward, as if ready to leap into Zezili’s lap.

“I understand that this is a difficult time for you,” Hofsha said.

Zezili raised her brows but said nothing.

Hofsha said, “I’d like you to work with Monshara to purge the dajian camps.”

“The slave camps?” Zezili said. “That’s over eight thousand dajians.”

“Indeed,” Hofsha said. “It’s a large task but necessary.”

“Necessary for what?” Zezili asked. She had expected some grand invasion – command of a dual force to overtake Tordin or Aaldia to the south.

“It’s necessary,” Hofsha repeated. “That’s all you need know.” The smile was ever-present. “Monshara has… much experience with this type of assignment. I hope you can come to an agreement and work well together. I know our government and your own Empress have great hopes for the success of this campaign.”

“And who is your government, exactly?” Zezili asked.

“All in good time,” Hofsha said. “Can you complete this task?”

“I know how to kill dajians,” Zezili said. “If your friend here can help, it’s another pair of hands. That’s something.”

Monshara was not looking at either of them but at something above and behind Zezili. Zezili glanced back; the woman was staring at the gilded mirror above the hearth. It was a tarnished silver mirror with a bit of greenish color in the frame, as wide as Zezili was tall.

“You make mirrors?” Monshara asked.

“What? No,” Zezili said. “I buy them.”

“Not that one, I think.”

“It was a hobby of my mother’s. Not mine.”

“But you have her blood.”

“I have a lot of things my mother doesn’t approve of.”

“But she taught you this skill? How to build mirrors and infuse them with the power of the stars?” Monshara asked.

“What has that got to do with anything?”

Hofsha’s smile had vanished. She, too, was staring at Zezili with genuine interest now. “You know how to work mirrors?” Hofsha asked.