“A small reminder,” said the Golds leader with us, “of how powerful the new Southern religious-regime is, and how even their army fears its disapproval.”

“How could he have been sexed up,” said Iren virtuously, “by that brazen jiggler?”

“No accounting for men’s tastes,” Ijleldla sighed. She pouted at myself and the leader, seizing as usual on any old pretext to remind people that men and women are ever so different.

“Remember that pale-faced prunes-and-prisms girl with us on the journey—so pallid and prissy though she straddled a bird all day like a tomboy—but Smahil quite liked her. The General himself played at liking her.”

“The sly, quiet ones are always the best,” the leader cliched, hearty. “Piss-faced by day and fierce as f…. by night. Eh, mate?” He jabbed me in the inside of the thigh, which was still sore minutes after.

“Now Smahil has a thing about that yellow girl. They’re never out of each other’s little pockets—”

“Have you seen Smahil lately?” asked Iren.

“Not me, not likely!” Ijleldla tossed her hair so it flicked my face. “But I do hear he’s always about with the yellow hussy, like I say. He buys her jewels and they go to parties together and sort of coagulate all over each other.”

“She has got a figure—” Iren said doubtfully.

“But—”

“So obvious—”

“And I hear she’s got a delightful temper—”

The leader groaned at me in conventional despair, and together, behind Ijleldla’s and Iren’s backs but so that they could see us, we toasted Terez.

After a while the guests got tired of not being waited on (most of the servers had somehow got to doing what I was) and started serving each other themselves.

It was amusing to see ladies in flowing draperies and nobles and officers in jewels and gleaming uniforms passing about between the tables with trays and flagons. Some of the nearest pages got kicked back to duty, but not many; someone tapped my shoulder.

“Wine, sir?”

I turned to see an officer bowing beside me with a proffered flagon. “No thanks,” I waved him away. “But my companions might be grateful for a little service.”

He stared at them and shuddered.

“Gods, no! How can you sit beside them? I’m scooting before I’m noticed!”

“Your dancing-girl may be thirsty,” I reminded him. I put my hand on his arm as he went. “Congratulations,” I said with the beam of the loving sister I’ve sincerely decided to be. “She’s beautiful.”

But he scowled and stalked away, his long legs in their pale leather thigh-boots lurching a very little.