I glowered at the word trade and squirmed around in my too-tight silk dress: a real pretty one, the color of cinnamon and draped the way the court ladies wore ‘em a couple of seasons ago. We’d nicked it off a merchant ship a few months back. Mama had said it suited me when we were on board Papa's boat and she was lining my eyes with kohl and pinning my hair on top of my head, trying to turn me into a beauty. I could tell by the expression on Mistress Hariri’s face that it hadn’t worked.