“The Hall of Roses is for fun.” Caidlene plaited grass stems to make a bracelet. She had already outfitted half of their group with them. “The Hall of the Sun is for the full court and more private ceremonies, and the Hall of Swords is for audiences, elegant receptions, and the like.”

“So it’s like a code to life at court,” commented Sandry. “If you know where people are, you have a good idea of what’s going on.”

Daja smiled. “Writing a guidebook for us, Sandry?” she asked. “Or for you?”

Sandry made a rude noise in reply.

“What’s going on is that our empress took your friend into the greenhouses, where she won’t allow most of us,” grumbled Quenaill, his hazel eyes smoky.

“Speak for yourself,” Rizu said. “She lets some of her ladies come in.”

“Well, their friend Briar is hardly a lady,” Jak pointed out. “And he’d better mind his manners with Her Imperial Majesty.”

Sandry and Daja exchanged a smile. Nobody makes Briar mind his manners but Rosethorn, thought Daja, knowing that Sandry thought the same thing. And Briar’s not such a fool as to offend the empress, no matter what these court fluff-heads think. “He’s a green mage,” she said aloud, choosing the diplomatic comment. “If she’s got a problem with bugs or something, she’ll want his advice. Does she keep shakkans?”

“Dozens,” replied Jak. “They’re her second favorites, after her precious orchids.”

“Well, then, there you are,” Daja said. Movement tickled her skin: Rizu was curiously tracing the outline of the metal on the back of her hand. It made Daja shiver. She smiled shyly at Rizu and continued: “Briar’s made himself rich on fashioning shakkans. She probably wanted his advice. They’re tricky creatures.”

“They’ve been in there a long time for him just to inspect some runty trees,” grumbled Quenaill. “I saw how he looked at her.”

Rizu laughed outright. “Quen, you silly creature, only think how insulted she would be if he hadn’t!” she teased, nudging Quenaill with her foot. “When she goes to two hours of effort to dress every morning, men had better look at her!”

“Women, too, eh, Rizu?” snapped Fin.

Now all of the women laughed. “Next you’ll be jealous of the sun and the moon for looking at her,” said one of Rizu’s friends with a wicked smile. “And her mirror.”

“Her bath,” suggested Caidlene, her eyes sparkling. “He’ll break into the imperial chambers some night—”

“When she’s not there,” Shan interrupted. “Never break into her chambers when she’s there. The last fellow who tried is nothing but a greasy spot.”

“He thought she would like a pretend kidnapping, for the sake of romance,” murmured Rizu in Daja’s ear. “She didn’t. Only a dunderhead would have thought she’d like it.”

“Anyway,” Caidlene said, glaring at Rizu and Shan for interrupting, “Fin will burst into her chambers and attack her bathtub. Then our new friend the smith mage here…” She winked at Daja. “She’ll turn Fin into a bathtub so he can embrace Her Imperial Majesty at long last.”

“And he’ll get soap in his mouth,” joked Shan. “His borscht will never taste the same.”

“Tubs don’t eat soup,” replied another man with a grin. “They’re always being emptied.”

Fin grimaced. “Don’t listen,” he told Sandry. “Do you believe these are my friends?”

Daja watched Sandry giggle and wave his remark away. It seems she likes a bit of flattery, whatever she might say, Daja thought. Though if any of them think that Sandry might mistake flattery for true affection, they will be in for a sad awakening. She’s too levelheaded for that. Or she always was.

Sandry glanced at Daja and smiled crookedly.

She still is, Daja told herself with satisfaction.

Shan draped his grass bracelet over one of Sandry’s ears. She laughed and took it off, then threw it, discus-like, to Daja. Within a moment, grass bracelets flew through the air as their group reached and grabbed, everyone trying to collect the most.

“Ah-hah,” Shan said, getting to his feet. It was a long look from the ground to the top of his head, Daja noticed. Now the other courtiers were rising to their feet. In the distance they could see the empress and Briar emerge from behind the greenhouses, Berenene on the young man’s arm.

As most of the court surged forward, Daja kept Rizu back. “They aren’t, well, courting Her Imperial Majesty, are they?” she asked quietly. “She’s old enough to be their mother—or at least, mother to some of them.”

Rizu flashed her lovely smile. “Well, it’s the fashion, for everyone to be in love with her. She makes sure of that,” she replied, her voice as soft as Daja’s. “If they’re hanging on her every word, she says, they stay out of trouble. Besides, if she makes one of them her favorite, like some in the court, they can make their fortunes on offices like that of Chancellor of the Imperial Purse and Governor of the Imperial Granaries.”

“Would she marry any of them?” Daja inquired, awed.

“Hardly!” Rizu said, amused. “Give a husband governance over her? No one but Her Imperial Majesty even knows who fathered her three daughters.” She tugged at an eardrop, smiling wistfully. “Being a woman with power in Namorn is nearly impossible. She’s managed it by never letting us take her for granted. She can ride all day, dance all night, and then wants to know why your work isn’t done the next morning—hers is. She has spies and mages by the barge load, and she pays close attention to them. Men have tried to get control over her, and failed. Nowadays, they don’t even try. But that’s her.” Rizu shook her head. “She’s one of a kind.”