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would have been told throughout her life that her way of loving was some monstrous sin. If only Rema were free to demonstrate the beautiful truth that women could love one another—with as much passion and lust as they dared—and day would continue to burn into night, as it had always done.
    She caught herself. Such thoughts could easily crush her. Far more productive to find Yorin and learn more about the imminent arrival of the eldest prince. Her knees ached as she stood from the bench, and she took a moment to shake the pain from her legs.
    As she crossed the garden, she passed a group of servants beating compost out of tin drums. She caught, for a lingering moment, the eye of a young woman among the group, and received her reward: a nervous smile, a coy movement of long lashes. It was a fine thing to be Rema.
    She found the front court once more crowded with peasants, their harried faces expressing countless miseries. As Rema stood near a wall, trying to see through the packed mass of heads, a tall man with a coiled purple mustache walked toward her. His tunic was dyed orange and red, and it had been wrapped several times around his body, causing him to puff at the waist. Judging by his absurd mustache, he was either a dye merchant or a dangerous lunatic.
    The man’s chapped lips lifted in a smile. “Fancy meeting a mouth of the Emperor in a dungheap like this,” he said in Annari, the language of the Empire.
    “Perhaps you’ll bring a little color to it,” Rema said in the same tongue. The man spoke with an accent, and it took her only a second to place it—he was an Ulati, from the far northern steppes of Amantis. She switched to Ulat, which she enjoyed speaking for its melodic, rolling vowels. “You’re a long way from home.”
    “A merchant is always far from home,” he said, switching likewise to Ulat. “And your master has ensured my home is not what it used to be. I feel bound to note that when he conquered our province, he killed two of my brothers.”
    “If he’d had his way, he’d have killed everyone. I’m sorry I didn’t end the war in time to save your brothers.”
    The Ulati tugged on his mustache, which sprang pertly back into position. “Anyone who speaks my language so sweetly can’t be entirely rotten.” He extended his hand, and she shook it. “My name is Muhan.”
    “Rema. I’m amazed. You still haven’t made an astonished comment about my being a woman.”
    Muhan grinned, revealing teeth stained in countless colors. “I didn’t want to be rude, and besides, it made a great deal of sense. My wife always settles disputes at home, so why shouldn’t women be out settling them abroad?”
    “I don’t know if I like your analogy, but at least you’re trying. Have you really come here to sell dye?”
    Muhan gestured to his prismatic body. “Do I look as though I’m here to sell cabbage?”
    “With leaves of particularly vivid green.” Rema smiled. This meeting was precisely the antidote she needed to the dourness of this cold, superstitious kingdom. “It merely seems odd to offer luxury goods to a kingdom that’s impoverished and on the wrong end of a war. You should be selling your goods in Lyorn.”
    “Such is my plan, but I thought I’d try my chances here before heading north. At the very least I can earn some coins exhibiting myself in the street.”
    Rema glanced at Muhan’s hands. Each finger was stained a different color, and a vivid swirl ran up his dark forearms. “If you want to skip the queue, come with me. We need to find a man in a white robe, his forehead dragged somewhere down to his knees by the weight of the world.”
    “I will follow you like a puppy.” Muhan returned to speaking Annari. “Where might this man be?”
    “Let’s find out.” Rema stepped onto a bench and gazed over the heads of the crowd. “There he is! Hiding in the corner and shouting at a servant. Follow me.”
    Rema led Muhan toward Yorin, who was berating an unfortunate