He raised an eyebrow. “Turquoise? Really?”

“The color of a cloudless sky in summer. Really. Now what’s yours?”

“If I say red, you’ll think I’m flattering you.”

“Not if it’s true.”

“It’s true.” Teraeth’s eyes went far away. “There’s this red, a shifting crimson, which results from using copper to glaze porcelain. It’s very difficult to create it on purpose. Most people use copper to create green glazes. But if you know what you’re doing, you can make red and shade it anywhere from Khorveshan sandstone to the freshest arterial blood. My father used to make—” He stopped himself. “I mean, my father in my last life. Not this life. I don’t really know my father in this life.”

“I’m beginning to think it’s not an advantage to remember one’s past lives.”

“No, I suppose it isn’t. But then—” He smiled an acid and self-deprecating smile. “Sooner or later, one’s blessings are always one’s curses.”

“Yes.” I leaned up to him and …

Well.

Let’s just say we proceeded to make a start on the “getting to know each other a lot better” part of our relationship and leave it there.

I woke the next morning in a good mood.

For about two seconds.

And I can’t even blame waking in Yor for my ill humor.

I can, however, blame the strange woman leaning over my bed.

She was old. Not a well-aged, graceful old. Dorna is old, but she has a face anyone would love in a grandmother, all warm eyes and sweet smiles. This old woman looked like she’d be a danger to any child. Her wrinkled skin looked lizard-like, if an albino lizard with watery brown eyes. Her hair evoked rat kings and knotted string.

Her grin made my skin crawl. “I made you breakfast, dearie.” On the nightstand beside the bed, she set a platter loaded with cooked oats and apples, crusty bread, and red meat stew.

I was reaching for the bread when Senera walked through the door, took one look at the old woman, and snapped, “Don’t eat anything she gives you!” She upended the tray, splattering stew and oatmeal all over the floor.

I blinked, even as the old woman snarled. “Bitch! I was trying to be nice!”

Senera hit her across the face.

“Hey, now hold on—”

“What meat did you use, Wyrga? Kitten? Puppy? Or did a local woman leave another baby out in the cold?”

I stopped protesting, and sat there, horrified, more horrified still by the gleeful look that stole over the old woman’s face. “Aw, you spoil all my games. I found a stillborn foal last night.”

I leaned away, fighting back bile.

“Damn it all, Wyrga. How many times do we have to tell you to stop doing this?”

“Forever,” the old woman snarled. “Let me have my fun.”