‘I’m a man of the people, Sephrenia,’ Emban replied. ‘My father was a tavern keeper, and I know how to please a crowd. The people love a good show, and that’s what I wanted to give them.’

Sephrenia had lifted Ehlana’s hair into a mass atop the queen’s head. ‘What do you think, Mirtai?’ she asked.

‘I liked it the way it was before,’ the giantess replied.

‘She’s married now. The way she wore her hair before was the way a young girl would wear it. We have to do something with it to indicate that she’s a married woman now.’

‘Brand her,’ Mirtai shrugged. ‘That’s what my people do.’

‘Do what?’ Ehlana exclaimed.

‘Among my people, a woman is branded with her husband’s mark when she marries – usually on the shoulder.’

‘To indicate that she’s his property?’ the queen asked scornfully. ‘What sort of mark does the husband wear?’

‘He wears his wife’s mark. Marriages are not undertaken lightly among my people.’

‘I can see why,’ Kurik said with a certain awe.

‘Eat your breakfast before it gets cold, Ehlana,’ Mirtai commanded.

‘I don’t really care all that much for fried liver, Mirtai.’

‘It’s not for you. My people lay some importance on the wedding night. Many brides become pregnant on that night – or so they say. That might be the result of practising before the ceremony, though.’

‘Mirtai!’ Ehlana gasped, flushing.

‘You mean you didn’t? I’m disappointed in you.’

‘I didn’t think of it,’ Ehlana confessed. ‘Why didn’t you say something, Sparhawk?’

Emban for some reason was blushing furiously. ‘Why don’t I just run along?’ he said. ‘I have a million things to take care of.’ And he bolted from the room.

‘Was it something I said?’ Mirtai asked innocently.

‘Emban’s a Churchman, dear,’ Sephrenia told her, trying to stifle a laugh. ‘Churchmen prefer not to know too much about such things.’

‘Foolishness. Eat, Ehlana.’