"I'd like one fine," she said. "And after supper, would you like to get your own eel stewed? I have a room upstairs." Her sigh was low and throaty. "It's so good to be in Algarve again, where we belong."

"I think it'll be good, coming into Bari," Tealdo said, and pulled the serving girl down on to his lap. Her arms twined around him. Suddenly, he didn't care whether he got supper or not.

Krasta peered into her closet, wondering what she had that was suit able to wear to a declaration of war. That problem had never before vexed the young marchioness, although her mother had surely had to make the same difficult choice at the outset of the Six Years' War, when Valmiera and her allies last sought to invade and subdue Algarve.

Her mouth thinned to a narrow line. She could not make up her mind.

She picked up a bell and rang it. Let a servant figure out the permutations. That was what servants were for.

Bauska hurried in. She was wearing a sensible gray tunic and trousers: sensible and boring. "What shall I put on to go to the palace, Bauska?" Krasta asked. "Should I be cautious with a tunic, or show our grand Kauman heritage by wearing trousers and blouse?" She sighed. "I really fancy a short tunic and kilt, but I don't suppose I can wear an Algarvian style when we're declaring war on that windbag, Mezentio."

"Not unless you care to be stoned through the streets of Priekule, Bauska replied.

"No, that wouldn't be good," Krasta said peevishly. She plucked a cinnamon-flavored sweet from a gold-chased bowl on the dresser and popped it into her mouth. "Now - what should I do?"

Not being a hereditary noble, Bauska had to make her wits work. She plucked at a loose wisp of pale hair - but not so pale as Krasta's - while she thought. At last, she said, "Tunic and trousers would show solidarity with Jelgava, and to some degree with Forthweg, though folk of Kaunian blood don't rule there," Krasta sniffed. "Kaunians in Forthweg bore me to tears, with their endless chatter about being oldest of the old."