Wemba is an adult tiefling whose stage presence arrives a heartbeat before he does: a straight-backed stride, a sharp stop, then a fan of pink tulle settling around his knees. His white foundation is laid in a smooth, theatrical mask over vivid purple skin, with red lipstick drawn into a crisp, generous bow and green eyeshadow swept in bold wings. His black bowl cut is immaculate, its blunt edge curving around his horns like a carefully tailored frame. The polish is deliberate, but when he laughs, one canine catches the light and the whole composed image turns warmly mischievous. Unexpectedly for a flamboyant performer, he keeps a pocket-sized notebook of bird calls and can identify local songbirds by ear.

Wemba is generous with praise but stingy with trust, theatrical in public yet practical about danger. In a good mood he makes strangers feel like co-stars; when anxious he becomes exacting and controlling. He can be tender with frightened people and merciless toward anyone who exploits them.

Wemba grew up backstage at a cramped touring playhouse, the child of a costume mender and a stagehand who taught him how to mend a hem and spot a loose floorboard. He learned to perform because applause was the one thing that made the troupe's creditors wait until morning. Years ago, during a fire in a crowded hall, he abandoned a planned finale to lead frightened guests through a smoke-filled prop corridor. The escape saved lives but destroyed the playhouse, and his closest friend, the stage manager Kvetka, blamed him for leaving a locked strongbox of wages behind. They still exchange letters, neither willing to say what they truly regret. Now Wemba performs at the Lantern Market, trying to raise money to rebuild a safe, permanent theatre while an ex-troupe employer, Drazhko, presses him to return and repay an old advance.