"Those claims hold some truth, milady," Bauska said.

"I don't care," Krasta said. "I don't care at all. They're still dull."

"As you say, milady." Bauska held a finger in the air. "But tunic and trousers might offend the envoys from the islands of Sibiu and from Lagoas, for their ancestors have close ties to the ancestors of the Algarvians."

"They all spring from the same pack of barbarian dogs, you mean, even if some of them might be on our side now." Krasta barely refrained from boxing Bauska's ears. "You still haven't told me what I ought to wear!"

"You cannot know till you reach the palace whether or not you have made the perfect choice," her servant answered, mild as ever.

"It's not fair!" Krasta cried. "My brother doesn't have to worry about things like this. Why should I?"

"Lord Skarmi has no choice in his apparel because he wears King Gainibu's uniform," Bauska said. "I am sure he will make Valmiera proud of his brave service."

"I am sure I don't know what to put on, and you're no help at all," Krasta said, Bauska bowed her head. "Get out!" Krasta shouted, and the servant fled. That left Krasta alone with her choice. "I can't get good help," she fumed, taking gray wool trousers and a blue silk top from their hooks and putting them on.

She studied the effect in the mirror. It didn't satisfy her, but then very little satisfied her. A few pounds lighter, a couple of inches taller… and she probably would have remained dissatisfied, though she didn't think so. Grudgingly, she adrulitted to herself that the blue of her tunic set off the almost matching blue of her eyes. She belted the trousers with a rope of white gold and put a thinner rope around her neck. They played up the paleness of her hair.