"Unusual name for a High Farban, but then so is your accent. You've a curious lilt to your words."

The white lips widened into a grin again and she shuffled up to the bars. A gaunt woman with ratty, black hair and wild eyes came into view. Her shapely lips were as white as the snowy plains of Sjoortha, her skin caramel like the rest of the Arenah descendents. She wore a tattered dress layered with patterns and colour, though the filth of the cage disguised them, and the material had been worn shiny at the elbows.

"Oh, don't mind my appearance," she said as she raked her fingers through her locks. "I've been down here long enough not to. You know, I don't even know day from night, anymore. What year is it?"

"6244."

She shot him a look that bordered on both incredulity and ridicule. "What crazy calendar do you use? The last I remember was the year 451 in the Era of Kuzoroism. Early summer."

"We don't divide history into eras where I come from," he said.

"Of course not; you're practically primitive. And why is it a dainty little forest boy like you happens to be kept beneath the palace? You're nothing but a northernlander – what's so special about you?"

"That's the second time I've been asked that today, and I still don't know the answer."

The woman gave a jittering giggle. "You're so cute. So cute. Isn't this nice? Our little chat? It's nice. Though you know, 'Al Mar's new laws demand the Guard spare her native citizens execution in most circumstances. Every man and woman within the Hold is High Farban. They may not wear silks now, but they used to. My point is: You don't belong in here with us. Tell me, why should the Guard contaminate our prison with foreign commonfolk? Why not dispose of you like they do others of your ... kind?"

Even the prisoners are pretentious. "I don't know," Tan said. "Who are you to question the emperor?"

"Ah, that is exactly the reason I am down here. How wise you are to have known. Very clever. This is my punishment for questioning the transition of the crown to a kuzorocari of the Order. My Order. My name is Mahdeen Sivaar, barely thirty and once happily married. I'm a Sor of the healing arts. You know what that means, northernlander? It means I tutor those who haven't yet earned their staves. White-tattooed lips are the brand of the healer. Not that my status is worth a damn if I disgrace the name of the sovereign. Oh, it was a terrible day."

"The Odeise teach that a sorcerer shalt not be graced with a position of power, lest he be tempted to use his art hatefully, or breed inequality against those who are not burdened with the craft. I'd say you were right to question it."

"Burdened? Ha! You sweet boy, kuzoroism is a gift that few can learn and even fewer are born with. We are talented and sacred people in this city. But you are quite right. The Order and the monarchy are not intertwined, and yet the Order's laws are an extension of the emperor's and even they state that no kuzorocari, whatever his role, may adopt the significant titles of ungifted humans. Let alone rule them."

"I've been told it all before through somebody else, but one thing doesn't make sense. The last I heard was that the empress had two sons. Shouldn't the eldest male inherit the crown and not the head of the Order?"

"Correct. Sadly, she died childless. Crown Prince Zair passed away two years ago, aged only eight and thirty, and his younger brother, Tisham, followed him to the crypt shortly after. It is said something in the princes' blood killed them young ... but I wouldn't put my marakgel on that, even if I had any. In circumstances where there is no rightful heir, an elective monarchy supersedes ours and members of other provinces' royal families would come forth as candidates. A lengthy, competitive process that could take years before the deserved emerged. You can see why the Council would rather appoint a cousin or an uncle, even if it isn't proper transition. In the end the new sovereign forsakes rights to his own crown, his family, his people, and becomes the recognised Emperor or Empress of Farba. As long as they have royal blood, there is always a chance for triumph. That's always been the way in Farba. New bloodline, new era."

"But that's not what happened?"

"Oh, you are a smart little boy. Well done." Tan was growing tired of her being condescending. "Of course that's not what happened. The Rera Kuzorocari had already won the people's love and it seems the Council made an exception to overrule the laws of succession. Whose idea was that, do you think? The man is still charged with naming his era. How about the Era of 'Fuck Traditions'? Do you want to know what I did when I found out that Rera Dashaan, of all people, had begun ruling the empire?"

"What?"

"I rebelled ... and did it for all I was worth. I led those who opposed and broadcast the corruption of a millennia-old law. I gathered followers in the lowgrounds and the Order and conspired to wreak havoc on the palace in protest, once I'd gained some momentum, that is. We were but two to begin with, me and my husband, but within the following week I had near a hundred supporting my cause. After two weeks I had a following five times the size. I was Sivaar the Sage! Ha! One day I held a parade in the lower central avenue, more racket and banners than anything, but the Painted Guard apprehended me none-the-less and now I stare at the inside of a cage for my trouble."

"So it's real? There are High Farbans resisting the emperor?"

"Yes, ever since his coronation." Mahdeen slammed her fist into her palm. There was something undeniably affecting about the fire in her eyes. "And we're being silenced and locked up down here to die like vermin. We'd rebel again and again until somebody damn well listens to us. If you tell a lie enough times, it's as good as bleeding truth. Even the deceiver believes his own horseshit, eventually. That is what I believe the Rera Kuzorocari has done and I wished to undo his falsehoods if I could just insist enough. Undo this man being treated and worshipped like a god. You are a child of no more than fourteen by the looks of you, Ruri; you would not understand the full magnitude of this plight. You know my story now, so tell me, what is a foreigner doing where he is not welcomed?"

"Charming," Tan said. "I'm here for the Grand Market. I'm a trader."

"A trader!" she laughed, throwing back her head and clutching her elbows. A nearby gaoler shushed her. "But you're just a boy! What kind of trade can you offer that is worthy of our market? Oh, don't say it! Your scrawny body is hardly worth the gold! Ha! It's within the gates of Elamendi you should advertise yourself, not ours."

Tan pinched the bridge of his nose. "I use the word trader loosely."

"Meaning?"

"It's a one-way trade."

"Ah, so you're a crook?" she asked. "The black market of Rakhai'al Yuvuruch is where they find lowlifes like you, not in great Farba'al Mar. Let me guess, you'd have been conspicuous to the Painted Guard and arrested on entry. Am I right? Is that what happened?"

"No."

"Then what?"

"You learn a few tricks," he told her, "but even so, I got played at my own game. A man I thought I could trust betrayed me, and now here I am."

"That was foolish, boy. Amateur. The people here are so fearful they will do anything to rid the citadel of wrong-doers like you and me. Why, Saluzhe's youngest scribbled a charcoal drawing depicting Farba'al Mar engulfed in flame. When asked who the figure in the foreground was meant to be she replied that it was the Conjurer watching his work from afar. Nothing more than a child's drawing, but they whisked her away as though sick, and the Moricasters obliterated her memory by the next day. Does that give you an idea of the fear ripe within these walls?"

"Cassa is not a fearful man. At least, I don't think he is."

"What!?" Her maddened brown eyes came within an inch of the bars. She wetted her white lips. "What did you say?"

"Cassa. Why, do you know him?"

"Cassa Faro of the Painted Guard? Captain of the Inner Gates?"

"Yes, him."

Mahdeen released another burst of rattling laughter and rocked back and forth on her knees. "Oh, that bastard. That slimy bastard. What ever got into him this time? Don't take it personally though, Ruri; my husband has a reputation for turning in his loved ones."