“And your third reason?”

This was the one that had convinced him to be honest. “With all due respect, lady, you would not have put that dress on if you did not want to provoke lust. The angled neckline, the fit at the hips-that dress is designed to inflame men’s hearts, and as a witch you surely know it and chose it for that purpose.”

“Ah, one of your sisters is a seamstress, isn’t she? I hadn’t known that.”

“Ekava, the next-to-youngest,” Gresh agreed. “Still a journeyman, but she knows her profession well enough.”

Karanissa glanced upward and stepped away from the stairs as Tobas appeared, hurrying down the spiral. He wore a loose black robe and a pointed velvet cap, looking every inch a wizard save for the fact that he held a sleeping baby in his arms. “Alorria will be down in a moment,” he said, shifting Alris from one elbow to the other and straightening the lush crimson blanket that now wrapped her.

Until now Gresh had always seen Alris bundled in white or gray or yellow, if one didn’t count the usual stains and discolorations. It appeared that tonight even she was dressed up for their dinner with the king. Gresh looked down at his own brown wool tunic and black leather breeches and decided they would do well enough-he was a traveler, after all, and could not be blamed if he looked the part. If they stayed in Dwomor for any length of time, and royal suppers were the norm, he might eventually take the time to dress up, but not tonight.

The three of them stood silently for an awkward moment,; then Tobas said, “I’ll see what’s keeping Alorria.” He handed Alris to Karanissa, then hurried back up the stairs.

Karanissa watched him go, then looked down at the baby and smiled. She glanced at Gresh.

“She’ll be down soon enough, once she realizes I’m holding her child,” Karanissa said. “You look fine just as you are; don’t worry about it.”

“You look…well, ‘fine’ isn’t strong enough,” Gresh replied.

“Thank you.”

Gresh started to form a question, but Karanissa answered before he started to speak.

“Ali is a princess here,” she said. “Alris is the king’s grandchild. I prefer not to fade completely into the background. I hope this dress will work to compete with the two of them.”

“I can’t imagine you fading into the background anywhere,” Gresh replied.

She smiled at him, much as she had at the baby a moment before. “Many men consider me too tall and thin and dark; they prefer their women a little fairer and more rounded, like Ali.”

Gresh’s immediate thought would never, ever have been spoken aloud, but Karanissa was a witch; it didn’t need to be audible.

“Tobas has no fixed preference,” she said softly. “He tries very hard not to favor one of us over the other. Anything beyond that is none of your business; I say this much only so that I will not be troubled by your curious thoughts any further.”

“I’m sorry,” Gresh said. “If I could have prevented that thought, I would have.”

“Of course. And if I could have avoided hearing it-well, actually, I could have and should have; I was careless.” She sighed. “I was trying to hurry the conversation, so… Ah! There they are!”

Gresh looked up to see Tobas leading a smiling Alorria down the stairs. Tobas was still in his robe and cap; Alorria wore a green-and-white dress elaborately embroidered in green, black, and gold. Where Karanissa’s white silk was unadorned and simple, clearly designed to draw attention to its wearer rather than itself, Alorria’s gown seemed intended as an exercise in ostentation, with fancywork at collar and cuffs, intricate lace ruffles across the bodice and around the hem, velvet puffs at the shoulders, and gold-edged slashes in either upper sleeve. Her hair had been brushed out and arranged so that the sides were swept back into two wings, then secured with the familiar golden coronet.

To Gresh, she looked old-fashioned and faintly ridiculous-no one would wear such a dress in present-day Ethshar-but he knew that this was the semi-formal attire of a princess in the Small Kingdoms. Whatever her garb, she was an attractive young woman, and judging by her expression very pleased with her appearance, so he tried to look appropriately admiring.

He wondered whether Karanissa was still listening to his thoughts and detecting his faint scorn for Alorria. He risked a glance at her and thought he saw a faint nod.

“Shall we go?” Alorria said, flouncing cheerfully off the bottom stair and snatching the baby from Karanissa’s arms.

Gresh made no comment as he was led through a veritable maze of corridors and stairwells; he was trying to take in as much of his surroundings as possible. He was also keeping an eye out for lurking spriggans. There ought to be some around here. Why didn’t he see any?

He accompanied the wizard’s family into a good-sized dining hall where a few dozen people were milling about; places were set at the long table, but no one had been seated yet.

His party was greeted with shouts of greeting and much shaking of hands and slapping of backs, but Gresh could not follow any of the happy conversation-it was all in an unfamiliar language he took to be Dwomoritic. Alorria was smiling and laughing, clearly in her element. Gresh thought he understood now what Tobas saw in her beyond a pretty face.

He heard his own name spoken a few times, and then suddenly he was shaking hands with a young man with silky white hair, red eyes, and unnaturally pale skin.

“A pleasure to meet you, Gresh,” he said, in perfect Ethsharitic. “I am Peren the White-Lord Peren the Dragonslayer, they call me here, but that’s just Small Kingdoms pomposity.”

“Dragon slayer?” Gresh said, as he eyed the man’s strange hair.

“I didn’t slay it, of course,” Peren said. “Tobas did. He blew its head off with a single spell. But I was there, trying to help, and before that I was the one who got him out of his castle when he was trapped there, so he’s always shared the credit with me, and I got a share of the reward.” He pulled forward a young woman who was unmistakably related to Alorria, and who wore a green dress that was also clearly akin to Alorria’s. “This is my wife, Her Highness Princess Tinira of Dwomor-she and her dowry were my share.”

“I am honored to meet you,” the princess said with a curtsey. Her Ethsharitic was heavily accented, but intelligible.

“The honor is mine,” Gresh said with a bow, thinking as he did how odd it was that princesses, nominally people of high rank, were treated as mere property, to be handed out as rewards for heroism. He knew the reasoning behind it-princesses were too good to marry mere ordinary men, but at the same time the Small Kingdoms produced a surplus that had to be dealt with somehow-but it still seemed slightly perverse.

“I know you have met my sister Alorria,” Tinira said. “Have you met any of my other siblings?”

Gresh turned up an empty palm. “I have only just arrived…”

“I will fetch them! Wait here!” She turned and bustled away, leaving Gresh and Peren together.

“A lovely young woman,” Gresh remarked.

“I’m a lucky man,” Peren agreed, watching his wife.

“You are an unusual man,” Gresh said. “If you will pardon my impertinence, might you be interested in selling some of your hair?”

“What?” His gaze whipped back to Gresh.

“Your hair. I believe it might be quite valuable in my business.”

Peren frowned. “Aren’t you…well, some sort of adventurer? How would my hair be of any value?”

“No, no,” Gresh said. “I’m not an adventurer; I’m a wizards’ supplier. I sell the wizards of Ethshar of the Rocks their dragon’s blood and virgin’s tears-and if I’m not mistaken, pure white hair such as yours is useful in certain obscure spells. I’ve never found a reliable source. Fortunately, demand has been so slight that I haven’t needed a source, but it’s best to be prepared.”